Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3599337.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Sandor_Clegane, Sansa_Stark, Robb_Stark, Bran_Stark, Rickon_Stark, Arya
      Stark, Catelyn_Tully_Stark, Petyr_Baelish, Joffrey_Baratheon, Robert
      Baratheon, Cersei_Lannister, Jaime_Lannister, Myranda_(Game_of_Thrones),
      Mya_Stone, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Angst, #realtalk, Underage_Drinking,
      Drug_Use, Substance_Abuse, Basically_everything_and_anything_illegal,
      Grief/Mourning, Eventual_Smut, Eventual_Happy_Ending, maybe_even_a_little
      fluff, we'll_see_how_it_all_goes
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-23 Updated: 2015-11-21 Chapters: 23/? Words: 71399
****** It's only me. ******
by annie_rose
Summary
     After Sansa's father dies it's left up to her to provide and take
     care of her family and sick mother.
     Sandors just come back to town and thinks himself a changed man,
     whether he actually is or not however, is a different story.
     It's a modern au, Sansa's poor and Sandors rich (though reluctant to
     admit it). This story is about them tearing each others lives apart
     and building them back up again to something -not better or worse,
     just different.
***** Here's to old beginnings *****
He was tired. Too tired to still be here. Working three jobs was taking its
toll on Sandor and he'd only just come back to town. Four years away and he'd
started to miss it some. Gregor was long gone, as was his father and any other
family he once had, but the house was still there. His father had left it to
him in the will. Left everything to him. He was quite well off, but he hated to
be put in the same category as those rich suburban assholes that threw their
money around just to show how much they had. His colleagues would see the bags
under his eyes, catch him yawning every now and again and would say he
shouldn't work so much, that he should relax a little. But Sandor had never
been one to sit still. He liked being preoccupied every moment of the day until
he couldn't possibly keep his eyes open. He didn't like to allow himself time
to think, and to dwell on what had happened these last few years. He was
manning the door at some fancy nightclub, he'd started working for a few weeks
ago. He knew the owners as old family friends and they needed a new security
guard/bar tender. It wasn't too bad but standing in one place for hours on end
got boring, quickly. He nudged the guy next to him awake and told him he'd be
taking his cigarette break now.
He flipped open the cheap packet, and got one out. Placing it in his mouth it
took a few tries before he could light the damn thing, he'd forgotten how cold,
and how windy it was here. He took a deep pull and welcomed the familiarity of
it as he sucked it into his lungs. He'd missed this too. It'd been years since
he'd smoked and being back in the cold weather he remembered why he started in
the first place. It calms his shot nerves and helps keep him warm.
He looks up from where he stands at the end of the ally and sees a flash of red
ascending the stairs of the club. He thinks of a girl he used to know, with
that colour hair but he can't remember who she was to him. Too long ago.
It's five minutes, one more smoke and he's ready to get back to work. As the
light hits his body girls raise they're eyes to him and smirk and twirl their
hair between their fingers. It's strange having girls go after him now, while,
when he was growing up, no-one could bare to look at him. He supposed he'd
filled out a bit though. Up until he was 16 he was tall and awkward and lanky.
Now he was heavily muscled, by years of hard labour. He didn't like the
attention. Sometimes, to relieve the pressure in his balls it was handy but
apart from that he enjoyed solitude. He enjoyed being his own person. He waved
a select few through, gave a nod to the other bouncer and headed up the
staircase to check everything was alright. They rarely had disturbances since
it was such an expensive place, but sometimes one dickhead or another would
slip through the door and start trouble. He headed over to the bar and tapped
the bar top. One of the juniors working, messily poured a shot of his usual and
slid it to him. He threw it back and scanned the room for any possible trouble.
He saw that same red hair again flitting through the mass of bodies on the
dance floor. She looked like a little bird running backwards and forwards
between different stalls on opposite sides of the room. Something about her
caught his eye though. Not the too short dress she was wearing or the too high
heels, or the ridiculous amount of makeup but a small packet of pills she was
trying (and failing) to conceal in her tiny fist.
He rolled his eyes and stood up to his full height, pushing his way through the
crowd to get to her. "Girl." He caught her hand just as she was about to break
through the crowd. A smile still on her face as she turned to look up at him.
Her smile faded when she saw his security badge. He nodded over to the side of
the room and she followed him through a door that led to one of the many
hallways this place had. When the music got quiet enough for them to talk he
turned to her and stopped.
"What have you got there?" He asked pointing to her handbag.
"A bag?" She asked feigning confusion.
"Of what though?"
"Nothing."
"So you won't mind if I have a look then?"
The girl pulled back and shook her head. It was then she started to fret. Her
eyes watering and we weight shifting from either foot as she looked at anything
but him. He sighed and grasped her chin gently, leaning down. He looked at her
features. She was underage. Underneath all that make-up was still a child. He
shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "How old are you, 14?"
"I'm 18.."
"Don't lie." He growled pinning her with his stare.
She swallowed the apparent lump in her throat and looked away again. "15."
"And you're name?"
"I don't give my name to strangers."
Sandor laughed. "You don't give your name to strangers, but have no problem
dealing drugs in a club you're not nearly old enough to be in."
"I am too allowed! I'm not 5! My boyfriends parents own this place, and I'm
allowed in whenever I want."
"Well, I work for said parents, and I can tell you right now you're not.
Especially if you're bringing drugs in."
Her eyes start to water again and she looks away. A tear spills down her cheek
and she whimpers he goes to hand her a napkin with some chicks number on it
that he'd conveniently stuffed in his pocket. She flinches when he extends his
hand to her. And he frowns at the movement.
"Please, he'll be so mad if he finds out!"
"Who?"
"The... My.. Supplier. At least let me take them back to him."
Sandor runs a hand down his face and closes his eyes. It's too late for this
shit. "Fine. Take them back and then come to the door, I'll call you a taxi. If
I catch you here again though I'm calling the police. Or worse, your parents."
The girl nods and heads back down the hall. He sees her hand the packet back to
the guy, and recognises the older man. He's been here before. He's about mid-
forties. Short, with cropped hair. Always with his harem of women surrounding
him. He can see her explaining to him, and the man nods, smiles and kisses her
cheek before she turns to leave.
She meets him at the door without saying a word and they walk down the steps in
silence. The taxi is already there waiting and she thanks him quickly before
getting into the cab and shooting down the ally. When he turns back to the
other security guard it's with a scowl.
"What?"
"She was 15, you fuckwit."
"So?"
"You let her in!"
"Bosses don't mind, $20 entry for under 18's. We've been making an extra $800
every weekend since they started it up."
Sandor groans and loosens the tie around his neck that feels more like a noose.
"Alright, whatever. I'm off. See you tomorrow night."
"Yeah man, see ya."
He walks round the side of the building to a separate set of steps, grabs his
pay and is done for the night. He's ten minutes from home when he spots a
streak of red walking on the sidewalk.
***** And it goes on and on and on and... *****
Chapter Summary
     Sansa pov
It had been a long day, and it was turning out to be an even longer night. Her
feet were blistered from the high heels she wore, every step like a knife
inching into the soles of her feet. She'd only had enough to get the cab to a
drop-off Baelish had asked her to make before leaving. Her ankle twisted and
she almost fell, she contemplated taking the shoes off but the ground was
covered in glass. Sansa sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. She was so
tired. It'd been 2 years since her father died and she felt as though she
hadn't had rest since the night he passed. Her mother was a wreck, and Robb was
just as bad, always off fighting some street war, getting himself cut-up. One
day he wouldn't come home at all. The thought tore at what was left of her
heart. It was up to her to bring in the money, support the family, take care of
her younger brothers and Arya. She was lucky, really. Not many girls in her
situation have so much going for them. Her uncle Petyr gave her a good amount
of work, and with that, a good amount of pay. She was pretty enough to catch
the eye of the son of a a rich family, and besides that, she was smart. She
knew how the world worked and she used that to her advantage. Tonight was just
another example of that. She'd known the security guy would feel sorry for her.
They all do. At first she hated it. But then someone told her to use it to her
advantage. And that's what she'd done. She didn't feel guilty for taking what
was manipulated into being given, because that's the way it was in her town. In
her world.
She was counting footsteps, seeing how many until she was home. She'd taken
this walk many times before. "3-34, 3-35, 3-36, 3..."
She hears a car drive past and let's her hand sit in her bag just in case. Her
fingers curl around her pocket knife and she feels safe. The car slows down
until it stops, and drives back to where she is. Her heels are already off and
in one hand while her knife is open but concealed behind her back in the other.
She stands off to the far side of the pavement and looks in. It's the security
guard. She remembers him, from another time too though. She smiles and sighs in
relief.
"What happened to the cab?"
"Not enough money."
"You wanna ride?"
"Sure." She wouldn't usually say yes. Usually she'd run, but she knows him from
years ago and though he doesn't remember her, she can see it wont make much
difference than if he did. It's an old Toyota ute, and she's surprised he
drives such a crummy looking car when she knows he's from one of the richer
families in the city.
"So, now that we aren't strangers, you got a name?"
"Who says we aren't strangers?" She asks looking out of the corner of her eye.
"Well, it's twice now that we've met. That makes us not strangers."
"Sansa Stark at your service." She stretches out her hand and he takes a hand
off the wheel a second to shake it. His hands are warm and calloused and remind
her of something her daddy used to say. "Don't trust a man with soft
hands,cause he doesn't know what it's like to work." She doesn't know if that
was a very fair judgement, but her daddy was always a hard worker so she
supposes it's easy to think the best kind of people are 'your' kind of people.
"Stark? I used to work for a man named Stark."
"Ned?"
"No Benjen. You know him?"
"My uncle."
"Really? How's he doing? My first job was with him, good man."
"He's.. Dead. A couple years gone now, he had a heart attack." She never really
knew her uncle Benjen. Her half brother, Jon, was close with him but apart from
him no-one else in the family really got along with him. He died a year before
her father, and that's the only reason she remembers him at all. Because thats
when her father started getting stressed with all the work, he couldn't do on
his own. In her mind, uncle Benjen is a villain, the root of the cause of what
made her life the way it was now.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Sansa nods and rests her head against the window.
"I'm .."
"Sandor, I know, you were in the same grade as my brother."
"his name?" 
"Jon, Jon Snow."
"Oh yeah, Jon, You've got a good memory."
"I suppose."
Silence again.
"So are you in school?"
"When I've got the time." He snorts at that and she likes the strange sound.
Though, she knows he thinks she's joking. She's not.
"So what way am I going?" His voice breaks her from her reverie. He's driving
up town, but she lives on the dodgy side of the city. He thinks they're still
well off. She almost laughs at that.
"Fleabottom"
His face doesn't give anything away. He turns the car around at the next
lights, and heads towards her home. When he gets to Fleabottom she gives him
directions to her house until they're stopped outside. She's ashamed anyone has
to see where she lives. But he's practically a stranger. "Thanks, for the ride.
It was very kind of you." She smiles to him and goes to walk away. But he calls
after her.
"You should.. You should stay away from that guy, he'll only lead you down the
wrong path."
She smiles again, small and sad. "Too far gone, my friend."
She taps the front of his truck and waves as he drives away. She breathes in
and out. One last time before her next job begins. She walks up the rickety old
steps that lead to her front door, and tries to quietly turn the handle. As
soon as the door opens though the noise from inside is unleashed.
The dogs are barking to be fed at the back door. Rickons screaming, his toy is
broken. Arya's yelling with someone over the phone. Robb's got the tv up to
full blast. And the smoke alarm in the kitchen is going off.
She takes in the anarchy that surrounds her and within the next second she
moves into action.
Kitchen.
"Bran, what were you thinking?"
"I was hungry! I didn't mean to burn it!"
"That's okay honey, I know you didn't. Go watch tv with Robb. I'll make you
something." She pats his head and ushers him out. "Oh, and tell Robb to turn it
down!"
The ovens off. The burnt pizza discarded. Nuggets and garlic bread are now in
and on a timer.
Dogs.
Dogs are fed and brushed. I'll have to bathe them tomorrow, she thinks and
stores the thought somewhere amidst the chaos in her brain. The back door to
the house closed.
Rickon.
"Here baby, let me fix him. Doctor Sansa is gonna make it all better."
"But he's broken on the bendy part too!"
"That's okay, I'll fix it, come on, come help me glue him back together."
Five minutes later his tears have dried and his Iron man toy is together again,
bendy parts and all.
Kitchen.
Food is almost ready.
Mum.
She opens her door and peeks in. "Are you alright Mumma?"
"Yes sweetie, just tired."
"Have you had your meds?"
"No.."
"I'll get them for you."
"Thank you Sansa."
Kitchen.
Meds. Water. Turn off the oven.
Arya.
"Can you stop yelling, mums trying to sleep. Go out on the porch if you want to
yell."
"All she ever does is sleep. whatever."
Mum.
"Here you are. Sit up so you can take them."
"Thank you Sansa"
"It's alright, you just rest. Good night mum. I love you."
"Love you too."
Kitchen.
Dinner is cooled down, and separated into allocated plates.
Lounge room.
She takes them out to her brothers and packs away Rickons toys and straightens
up the living area.
Arya.
She takes the food out to her little sister and listens to her problems as she
eats. Trying to console her little sister who doesmt want to be consoled. Who
wants to be strong and brave. Little does she know that you only ever strong a
few select times in your life, and in every other moment you're weak. 
she collects all the dishes and puts Bran and Rickon to bed. It's too late for
them. They need to go to bed earlier.But time gets away from her, and she she
sees the clock it's usually well passed midnight.
Dishes. Done.
Laundry. Folded.
Finances. Sorted.
Bins. Taken out.
School lunches. Packed.
It's 4am by the time she's finished. And school starts at 8.
***** I know *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey guys, thanks for all the kudos :) I'd just like to say, please
     heed warning to the underage warning. This fic is quite dark and is
     mainly based around Sansa's life and struggles. I promise a happy
     sansan ending, but it's not a happy start or even a happy middle. But
     Ive really enjoyed writing this fic so far so I hope you enjoy
     reading it. I understand this chapter might seem a bit vague, but
     answers will all come in due time. Hope you like it :)
     xxx
The alarm was set for seven, but she wakes at quarter to eight. Fuck. The Nokia
she's had for the past 3 years is giving out on her.
She gets out of bed and rises quickly, throwing on her uniform and a spare
change of clothes in her bag. She walks out to the kitchen and gets the lunches
out of the fridge, putting them in the kids school bags, and places them next
to the door with their shoes.
"Up, everybody, up." She calls out to the room as she enters. They usually all
sleep in the lounge room. Easier that way. The boys room has a damp smell, she
doesn't trust, she doesn't want them getting sick so she usually moves the
mattresses into the lounge room and they all camp out in the living space. She
hears groans from the three of them and she loves the look on their faces when
they first wake up. Still all scrunched up, trying to shut out the light. They
look like newborns. It reminds her of when they were little.
Though Arya is 12, now. Bran is 10, Rickon 7- they still feel like babies to
her. She feels like the mother of the house, and sometimes thats hard, but at
other times it rewarding. The kids all yawn and moan and 'I don't wanna go to
school.' Is said almost ten times, but every time her reply is the same. 'You
should have gone to bed earlier, now, hurry up, were already late.' She sends
the kids to the bus stop but has to go back to fetch the rent so she can hand
it to the landlord tonight.
There's a jar at the top of the fridge with their earnings and her heart stops
when she feels how empty it is. She empties it on the table and groans in
frustration when she counts that they're $200 short. Sansa stalks out into the
lounge room where Robb is still asleep and kicks him in the side. He jolts
upright and mutters a few expletives before turning sleepy eyes towards her.
"Where's your share of rent? It's due today and we're 200 short." She throws
the jar down at him in anger. This isn't the first time this has happened. He
does this all the time. Leaves it to the last minute and she has to somehow
convince the landlord, to give them another chance. She doesn't blame him for
wanting to kick them out. Almost always behind on rent, dogs that bark too
much, family of people who yell, who wail, who fight. They need the rent today
or he'll kick them out. She knows it.
"About that.."
"What do you mean 'about that'? You said you had the money, that it was in the
jar ready to go in an envelope."
"There was an attack on the street, one of our guys got shot. We needed money
for his medical bill. We all chipped in."
"Fuck. Robb, we needed that money! We're gonna get evicted!"
"What was I supposed to do Sansa? Let one of my own brothers die?"
"Your brothers. YOUR REAL BROTHERS are going to be on the street tomorrow
because of your thoughtlessness! I'm tired of this shit Robb. You wrack up the
electricity, you eat all the school lunch food, and you never help with the
kids. I want you out of here tonight. I'm done putting up with your shit."
"Sansa.."
"I don't want to hear it. Grab your things and leave before the kids get home.
I don't want this to become a thing."
"So what? I just can't come by at all?"
"Come round on Sunday's for lunch, it's when we're least busy. I know Bran and
Rickon will still want to see you."
There's silence for a while and when she looks down Robb is just as miserable
as she is.
 
"I'm sorry San," She sat down next to her brother and looked down at her hands
shaking her head. It just never ends.
"I know." She gave herself a moment to think on what she'd do and then stood up
to leave. "I do love you Robb. You know that right?"
He smiled and nodded. "I love you too."
She picked up her bag and left the house. Once out the door Sansa made a call
to her landlord trying to persuade him to give her more time. They settled that
she'd have the rent money two days from now. When she arrives at school it's
already 10. She hurries into her English class and tries to ignore the sniggers
at her tardiness. Like they know what she's been through, just this morning
alone. She likes to silence them with her ridiculously high marks, and perfect
grades. She asks for extra work, and she completes it all, before it's due.
Sansa is a smart girl and she knows it. But being smart is not enough. Not
here. She does her presentation, and she knows it's the best in her class but
she hates standing in front of them all. All they do is judge. Her skirt is too
short, her hair too messy, her shirt undone too low, too much makeup. But, she
is who she is and makes no apologies.
The bell rings and she has a lunch break and two spare periods. She decides to
use the time to go see Baelish. If there's anyway she'll get money it's through
him. While she's walking down the corridor though Joffrey, her on-again, off-
again boyfriend snags her arm. "Where are you off to babe?"
"Baelish's. Robb forgot to pay his part of rent and I'm short."
"What are you going to do?"
"I've worked behind the screens at the Mockingbird before, I'm too young to be
on the floor, but if I can work tonight and tomorrow I should have enough."
"I don't like you working there. Why don't you just let me pay the difference?"
His voice is sweet, and sometimes the boy himself is too, but Sansa knows
better. She doesn't want a loan from the Lannisters. She doesn't want to owe
anything to anyone. Too many times people she's known, and she's loved, have
gone missing because they didn't pay what was loaned. Sansa knew Joffrey
wouldn't ask for the money back, but he'd expect different payment, and though
lately it seemed she fit the title more and more of slut or whore, she wasn't
that. There was a difference between being naked for money and fucking people
for money, though most people forgot that.
"No. I'll sort it out." She went to kiss his cheek but he caught her lips and
held her close.
"You go work there, we're done. You hear me? I can't salvage your reputation
anymore. People know and I won't be tied to your poor, helpless, slut act."
Sansa jerked away from him and shrugged, raising her hands to match her
eyebrows. "I guess we're done?" She turned and hurriedly walked away from him,
if he caught up to her when the halls were quiet she knew she'd get a beating,
and she couldn't earn anything if she was swollen and black and blue- wasn't
exactly a market for that sort of thing.
Another bus ride, twenty minutes walk and two flights of stairs and she's at
The MoCKingbird. A strip club on the outskirts of town and arguably the best in
the city. She's sitting in front of her uncle Petyr, hoping to the gods he
needs an extra girl behind screens tonight.
"So do you?"
"Are you late for rent again?"
"Just a couple hundred down. I've got til Wednesday night."
"I could loan you.."
"No. I don't want a loan. I don't want to owe anyone. You know how I feel about
that."
"Well, you know how I feel about you working here." He said leaning forward.
"You're still a child Sansa, I don't like you working here. The hours are late,
the men are creeps. Fuck, you're fifteen years old. Please just let me.."
"No. Now, will you let me work or not?"
He sighed. "Mya called in sick today, you can take her shift. You'll be working
with Randa, room 3, go work out your routine."
"Thank you. Mum said hi, by the way."
His head snapped up at that. "How's she doing?" Sansa looked away. How was her
mother doing? She stayed in bed all day, hardly ate, was prone to fits of
screaming and random bouts of crying. But it was nothing new. She'd been this
way since her father had died.
"She's the same." Her uncle nodded and thinned his lips. Sansa knew he loved
her mother, and it was hard for him too, watching her rot away with her
depression. "She's doing a little bit better though, eats a bit more." She
didn't like seeing him sad. She didn't like seeing anyone sad. Petyr smiled at
her and nodded. She got up and left to go find Randa so she could work out
their routine.
* * *
By the time her and Randa had finished working out their routine it was 1:30,
there was no point in going back to school now, so she stayed and caught up
with the other girls. They were her only real friends now. Once Sansa had been
popular, the 'princess' of the school, but those days were long gone. After her
Father died and they lost most of their money, she learnt who her true friends
were. And there were none. So she made new friends. Ones that stuck with her
through thick and thin, and she loved each and every one of them.
"Soooo, how's your Prince Charming, doing these days?" Cherry asked. Cherry
wasn't her real name of course. It was Sandra. 'Who would want to fuck a
'Sandra'' was her reasoning behind the name change. She was a short girl with
waist-length long blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes that lit the room. Her body
was much curvier than Sansa's and her waist dipped in perfectly. Sansa wished
for a long time she looked like her, but working here over the last year had
shown Sansa that there are different kinds of men who are attracted to
different kinds of women. Men payed her bills. That's what she relied on, so it
was only natural she would measure her worth by how much they wanted her. Men
were just as interested in her as they were in Cherry. Sansa was only a B-cup
but waist dipped in and her hips flared out and she had legs that lasted for
miles. Sansa knew this. She was not a vain girl, but she knew her faults and
her strengths. She knew how to use them.
Randa, who was sitting beside her, nudged her back into the present. Sansa
shook herself and smiled "Prince Charming, and I are no more." The girls in the
room all 'aww'd' and 'ahh'd' and Sansa rolled her eyes and laughed, they all
knew what Joff was really like.
"Finally!" Randa shouted. "It's about God-damned time! I've been telling you to
ditch that prick for months. But, what did it?"
"He didn't want me working here. He doesn't understand that money is earned,
not just given." The girls rolled their eyes. They also knew he'd offered her
money time and time again. No one understood why she wouldn't take it. But only
a girl who has taken out a loan and been unable to repay it understands. All
the girls there had done it countless times, but it was different for them.
They were on their own. Had no families to support. Money got swallowed in the
Stark house and wasn't returned. After what happened last time she borrowed
money she swore she'd never owe anyone anything again.
She stayed and talked a while longer but at 2:30pm bid her farewells and went
back home to get dinner ready for the kids and to wash the dogs. She was home
by three, and set straight away to bathing their three huskies. Robb must have
taken his with him. The dogs barked and yippee playfully, delighted at the
soapy buds and having someone to play with. She felt sorry them. They didn't
get to out much anymore. The kids would get home between 3:30 and 4 and would
only be allowed to play outside til 5. It's too dangerous after then. It starts
getting dark and monsters creep into the streets. The kids still spent as much
time as they could with them though. They loved their dogs. As for Sansa, it
was hard for her to be around them too long. It brought back painful memories
of her dog. Sansa sighed and towelled off the dogs before stepping back inside.
She got dressed, did her makeup and quickly pulled out a couple chicken Kiev's
to defrost and placed some microwave vegetables on the table with instructions.
She left a note to Arya, saying Robb had moved out, and to lock the door
tonight cause she wouldn't be home until late. Sansa slipped on her bag and
walked back to the bus-stop to wait for the next bus to work.
***** Just like a woman *****
Chapter Summary
     This chapter is inspired by Jeff Buckleys cover of "just like a
     woman".
     Umm, yeah another quick reminder about the whole underage thing.
     That's a real warning. So yeah, just keep it in mind. Hope you enjoy
     the chapter :) xxx
"Nah, I'm alright. Think I'll just head home." The guys are all going out for
old Robert Baratheon's 50th. But if he's honest, he can't think of anything
worse than going out with these guys. They're alright to work with, but Sandor
isn't a fan of crowds, and drunken idiots. He prefers to do his drinking on his
own, spends the time sulking and mulling over the past.
"You have to come, or your fired!" Baratheon jokes, and the guys all laugh to
loud for it to be true mirth.
Sandor sighs. "Alright then."
The guys all cheer, and Robert claps him on the back. He doesn't know where
they're going but Davos, one of the older bartenders, tells him just to follow
him. The drive isn't too long, about twenty minutes from the club, they all
work at. The guys all meet up at the front of the joint and it's all neon
lights, loud music, girls in tacky outfits, and the smell of lit cigarettes.
The atmosphere would appear lively to most but to Sandor it's bleak. This is
not how he wants to spend his Monday night.
They're all stamped and through the door and Sandor can hardly see through the
smoke. He finds a stool at the bar and orders a maker mark. He scans the room
and through the smoke and the blue light haze he sees shiny metal poles placed
around the room. There's a stage at the back, and to the left hand side of the
room there's a bunch of doors with different words on them. One says 'jungle'
another 'nurse' a few down says 'school'. It's strange here and he doesn't like
it. A girl with fake tits and an even faker smile steps up to the pole in front
of him and dances with her eyes locked to his. She's pretty, she'd be prettier
if she wasn't trying so hard though. Sandor isn't interested.
He throws back his drink and stands to go find some of the guys. He sees them
on the far side of the room watching some girl, in a thong as she slides down
the pole and lands in the splits. Strip clubs have never really been Sandor's
thing. He just wasn't into the whole 'lets-go-watch-naked-girls-and-get-hard-
ons-while-my-mate-sits-next-to-me.'
"Bronn." He taps his friends shoulder and bends down, to shout over the music
"I'm gonna get going, this ain't really my scene."
Bronn laughs and rolls his eyes. "Of course it's not. At least stay for the
birthday cake? It'll be out any second now, and then you can go. Otherwise old
Rob, might take offence."
Sandor nods and goes back to the bar to get a drink before coming sit down next
to Bronn again. It's a few more awkward minutes before a giant birthday cake
comes out. It's a topless girl with the cake as her skirts. Whipped cream cover
her nipples and she holds a candle in her hand that says fifty. His boss blows
out the candles and licks the cream off her nipples before Sandor can save
himself from the sight. He wonders how they can do that. The girls, always look
like they're having such a good time, but they can't be. Surrounded by feral
mean all leering at the bodies while they dance. Sandor's always hated liars,
but he can't hate someone for doing their job. He turns towards the exit and is
about to leave when I hand grabs his forearm. He turns back and it's Robert
with a girl on either arm. "Leaving already?"
"Aye, I've got work early in the morning. I'd best be going. Happy birthday
though big man." And he claps him on the back. He does like Robert, he's a nice
enough guy, but he's over this crowd.
"Well, hold on there a minute buddy. I saw you checking out the rooms earlier,
ay." He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
"I wasn't.."
"Uh, uh, uh. I bought you ten minutes in one of those rooms. Don't give me that
look! You should thank me! They're pricey."
Sandor chuckles at the older man and shakes his head. "Alright."
"Haha, that the spirit. Go get em tiger." Sandor shudders at the phrase.
There's something definably gay about that phrase. Robert hands him a paper
ticket and he moves over to a room at random. A girl is standing there waiting
to take his ticket and ushers him in and sits him down. He hears the door close
but he can still hear her breathing behind him. He's in front of a glass window
and suddenly all the lights go off. The next thing he sees is a spotlight on a
couch about two metres behind the glass. A girl is lounging on it in a school
uniform, pretending to do homework. He rolls his eyes. It's the tackiest thing
he's ever seen.
A hand rests on his shoulder and his head shoots up to see the girl who was at
the door. She smiles down at him and starts massaging his shoulders. He thinks
he should leave, but is shoulders are genuinely sore, and a free massage is
fine by him. Another girl walks in behind the screen and she's dressed
similarly. Her hair is brown, and shoulder length and she comes to sit beside
the one doing homework. They stay like that a minute until the one with the
brown hair strokes the other girls thigh. It's pretty obvious where it all goes
from there. They start making out and touching each other, and Sandor finds
himself painfully hard. It's been too long, He thinks.
The first girl removes her shirt to reveal massive round tits, and the stripper
that's been massaging his shoulders, hands', move down his chest, til they
reach his buckle. His breath catches as her hand disappears down his pants.
When he looks back to the screen the first girl has her hands down the
brunettes pants and she's bucking and panting and trying to rid herself of her
shirt. The strippers fist closes around his dick and gives a long pull and he
groans, his head falling back. The girls behind the screen fuck each other's
hands until one goes down on the other. It isn't until now that he recognises
one of them. Her wig comes loose as her head falls back and she moans. He sees
the copper hair, sees her face half shrouded in darkness, half in light, and
shoots his load into the strippers hand before quickly getting up and cleaning
himself.
"Don't know why you're embarrassed honey, most men don't last a minute in here,
besides, you're rather large." He grunts, stuffs himself back inside his pants
and goes for the door. He feels sick. She's fifteen. She didn't look fifteen.
In his haste to get out of the damn club he turns down the wrong set of stairs
and ends up in some hallway where moans, groans and the smell of sex fill the
air.
"Sansa!" He hears his bosses voice call. And hid around a corner, if he saw him
now he'd never let him leave.
"Mr. Baratheon! How are you? It's been too long!"
"I'm good, I'm good. What are you doing here?"
"Just, um, filing, and stuff, you know." Liar.
"Joffrey came home miserable today..." He left the sentence hanging.
"Yeah, well, we had a slight disagreement." Sansa chuckled.
"I know, he told me." Sansa went quiet at this and for some time neither one of
them spoke, he thought maybe they'd moved on when he heard Robert speak again.
"Look Sansa, your father was my friend, I owe it to him to keep an eye on you
guys. How are you really doing? Are you okay for money?"
"We're fine." Sansa's answer was short and clipped, it was obvious she was a
very independent young woman, and besides that very stubborn.
"If you were fine you wouldn't be working here for money."
"Well, we can't all live in mansions and fairy tales. I've got to do something
for work, and a don't believe anything comes for free. At least here I know
where I stand."
"You could work for me? I've got a spot as a secretary available. Or you could
work with Cersei I'm sure we could find something for you to do..."
"Thank you, Mr Baratheon, it's kind of you. I'll have a think about it."
Suddenly the voices were a lot closer and before Sandor could move he was seen.
He heard two variations of his name at once, a high pitched, feminine "Sandor?"
And a low rumble "Sandor!" He turned back and nodded to them both.
"I was just on my way out."
"Hey how'd you like the show?"
"I um.."
"Haha, it was Sandor's first time here! I bought him ten minutes in one of the
show rooms." Robert said nudging Sansa. He couldn't look at her. He'd just seen
her naked, and now she was in track pants and a crop top with her bag, ready to
go home.
"Sansa, do you need a ride?" The girl didn't answer. Robert turned his
attention back to Sandor. "Can you give her a ride home, I wouldn't forgive
myself If something happened to you." Sansa went to decline the offer, but Rob
insisted. "You don't mind, do you boy?" Sandor shook his head, still looking at
anything but Sansa.
"Alright." She stepped forward and showed him the way out of the maze of
hallways. Once they were outside Sandor showed her to where the car was parked
and opened her door for her, closing it after her. It was almost 3am and half
way back to Sansa's she turned to him, studying his features. He looked at her
through the corner of his eye and she nodded, seemingly to no one. "So, you
were in my room."
"What?"
"I thought, you were acting strange. Don't worry about it, lots of men see me
like that and lots of men like it. Don't feel guilty that you do too."
"God, Sansa, how did you end up like that, doing this. When I left the Starks
were one of the wealthiest families here. What happened?"
She sat back and closed her eyes. "So much."
All was quiet for minutes more when he heard a stomach rumbling he turned to
Sansa just as her eyes went wide and she cracked a smile. "Sorry, I haven't
eaten all day." She wasn't complaining, just explaining.
"Let's go get some food then." He saw her trying to come up with a polite way
to decline. She obviously had no money on her. "My shout." He rasped. He knew
if he said too much he'd scare her off.
"Okay, thanks." He could tell she was unaccustomed to being given anything that
wasn't earned. He pulled into an old diner he used to go to that was still
running and ordered a steak and pepper pie, while Sansa had eggs benedict. "So,
what's your story." She asked him between mouthfuls, pointing at him with her
fork.
"Mm, not much to know. Left town to escape my family, came back when they were
all dead." Sansa nodded, she didn't seem shocked or appalled. She probably knew
what his family was like. They were notorious for their bad name.
"I knew your brother." And she squints down at her food as if she's trying to
remember something. Her ice blue eyes turn to him "I didn't like him much."
"It takes a certain type of person to genuinely 'like' someone like Gregor."
"So he's dead then?"
"Yeah, pissed someone off and was shot a dozen times. No one could survive
that. Not even him."
"Well. I'm not sorry he's dead. But, I'm sorry for your loss."
Sandor just laughed and shook his head. She gave him an enquiring look but he
just waved the question away. "Another time maybe." She nodded and continued
her meal. "And what about you? What's your story?"
She finished her mouthful and put down her cutlery, delicately on her plate.
"Well, my father died a year after Benjen. Everyone called it suicide. After
his death, we couldn't pay bills where we were living so the bank seized our
house. Now we live in Fleabottom, and I'm the only one there who works so, I
need work that brings in large amounts of cash, and those sorts of jobs are
usually the illegal kind, with no questions asked. Thats my story." She
finished and she smiled like she'd just been talking about the weather. But he
could see in her eyes a deep sadness. He saw the bags under her eyes from lack
of sleep. He tried not to show her pity, cause he could also see how proud she
was.
"Tough gig."
"It has its moments." She said looking away. They stayed and talked for hours
more, until the sun began to rise. They left the diner at 5am, and were at her
house just a little after then.
"Heres my number." He said handing her a small card. "If you ever need
somewhere to go, I can take you, just call." Sansa smiled at him, a bright
smile, a real smile. And he thought that look suited her best. She bit her
bottom lip and waved before she tapped the front of his truck again. He pulled
away from the curb, ready to restart.
***** The Gentle Touch of a Giant *****
Chapter Summary
     Hey there faithful readers! Um another heads up this chapter has a
     scene in it where there's physical abuse towards a woman. I'll put a
     lil *where it starts and ends.* thank you so much for your kind words
     and kudos, I hope I don't disappoint. I know so far it's been kinda
     slow, but I think that just the kind of story this is. There will be
     'action' I suppose in later chapters, but for the moment, it's just
     Sansa and Sandor getting to know eachother, and more importantly
     TRUST eachother. Anyways, thanks for reading :D xxx
Sunday came around rather quickly, and Sansa couldn't be happier. Since Robb
moved out the boys had been giving her the cold shoulder. They looked up to
their older brother more than anyone, and Sansa couldn't blame them, he was the
only male role model in their lives. Itd be nice to see them smiling again.
Sansa loved Sunday's. It was the only day of the week where she could have a
bit of a sleep in. Today she woke up 10, and was pleasantly surprised that Arya
had already made them breakfast, and left some bacon for her in the pan. After
grabbing a piece and nibbling on it she went to check on her mother. "You
alright Mumma?"
"I'm okay honey."
"If you feel up to it, do you think you could help me with lunch in a couple
hours?" She was a horrible cook, but her mother used to make all kinds of
extravagant meals. Every Sunday, Sansa would walk to the store and buy fresh
ingredients with what little money they had left over. She'd slowly coax her
mother out of bed, and it was the only time she'd leave her room. Sunday's were
good days.
"Alright, yeah, that might be nice." Her mother managed a smile and Sansa
kissed her forehead before leaving the dark room. She finished her breakfast,
did an hours study, and then quickly ran down to the corner store to get the
ingredients needed for lunch. Once she returned she went and got her mother and
they prepared the food together while chatting idly. Sansa loved these moments.
Where she caught glimpses of how her mother used to be. It saddens her to think
that whenever she conjures up a picture of her mother in her mind, it's of her
curled up in a dark room, crying herself to sleep, not the string, happy woman
she once was. It shouldn't be like that. She wants it to be better, not for
her, but for the kids. It brings tears to her eyes. They deserve better.
She tosses the salad and rids herself of her dark thoughts, smiling over to
where her mother stands by the oven. The door bell rings and the kids all run
to see who it is. When they open the door Robb runs in and picks either one of
his brothers up in each arm. They both scream with delight, and her mother
smiles fondly at the scene. Her brothers friend Theon is standing by the door,
waiting to be addressed and Sansa rolls her eyes. He's like a brother to them,
but still he's always been very respectful. "Come in Theon!" He smiles at her
and gives her and her mother a kiss on their cheeks by way of greeting.
"I just dropped in to say hi! I don't want to intrude."
Sansa snorts "Of course your not intruding, God, Theon, you're family. Besides
there's plenty to go round, join us for lunch." In reality there was hardly any
to go round, but if there was anything the Starks could do, it was make do.
They all sat outside and had a picnic for lunch the dogs were tied up But that
didn't stop the kids from throwing food over when they thought no one was
looking. As the day wore on, everyone receded back inside and Robb and Theon
got ready to leave. They all lined up at the door and said their good-byes but
before Robb left he grabbed Sansa and pulled her aside.
"I want you to have this." He said, placing a couple hundred dollars in her
hand. Sansa looked down at the money in shock,
"Robb, you don't have to. You don't live here anymore."
"I want to though. I'll try to keep it coming. I want to take care of you guys.
And I think moving out was good for me. Made me grow up. I'm not asking to move
back in, but I'd really like to come by more than just Sunday's. I miss you
guys so much and it's only been a week." Sansa smiled and nodded at her
brother. He was a good man. Her father would be proud of him. Sansa knew and
understood that everyone had their faults, and Robb's was simply getting pushed
in the wrong direction too easily.
"Thank you. For this. And for coming today, they've missed you too. We all love
you so much Robb." They hugged for what seemed forever. Sansa had always had a
strained relationship with her older brother, but family was family, and she
loved him more than life itself.
After they left she placed the money in the jar at the top of the fridge, and
began to get ready for work. It was another small thing, she loved doing. She
loved the feeling of powder on her skin, she loved how her eyes looked wider,
and older when she drew on her eyeliner, she loved how when she finished she
was a completely different person. It helped her get into character, and helped
 her differentiate in her head home life from work. She was two people in one
body.
She left instructions on the bench for dinner, and left for the bus-stop. She
was working Kings tonight, as she did every Sunday. She hoped Sandor would have
been brought up to date with the arrangement that she had with door men. When
she got there Sandor was there, with another man, she recognised as Gendry. She
smiled at them both and went to walk in but Sandor stopped her. "ID" She
slipped him a twenty and went to walk in again but he stopped her again. She
gave him a strained smile, and gritted her teeth. This was a job like any
other, and Baelish would get pissy if she were late.
"Can I talk with you a moment?" Sandor nodded and they both headed down the
ally.
"What the fuck? Why won't you let me through?"
"I told you before I wouldn't." Sansa clenched her fists and felt her jaw
working. It had been a long time since she'd last lost her temper, but she was
about to.
"I work here. Robert and Cersei know about it. I'm going to be late, and I
can't afford that, so please, let me through."
"I told you what I'd do if I caught you here again."
Sansa groaned and muttered a 'I swear to god' and looked back up to meet his
gaze. When she did though, she caught him looking at her chest instead of her
eyes. Sansa smirked. "I'll let you touch them."
Sandor frowned "what?"
"My breasts. You can touch them if you let me pass." Touching had never been a
big deal for Sansa. It was just skin. And it wasn't like other people hadn't
before. To be honest she didn't know why she was even bargaining with him. She
could call Robert and have him talk to Sandor himself, but Sansa (though she
loathed to admit it) kind of liked these small confrontations with him. he was
kind of cute in his own way, and it was almost flattering that he cared.
Almost.
"Look, you can't just use your body to manipulate people into getting what you
want."
Sansa sighed. "I have a job to do Sandor. Just like you, just like everyone
else here. No, it's not the most clean work around, but it pays extremely well.
My rents due tomorrow and if I don't work tonight, I'm fucked. Everyone around
here knows the deal, and though some don't agree with what I do they learn to
accept it. Just like you will." When she finished Sandor's face was a blank
stare. She couldn't read what he was thinking.
"What if you get caught?"
Sansa snorted. "Do you know how many police we have in our pockets? You don't
get caught in this town. Not for drugs, not for being underage. The only time
they'd actually do something is if someone wound up dead. So I'm fine. Stop
worrying about me, I'm a big girl and can take care of myself." She headed back
to the club before he could argue with her again. When she got to the door she
nodded to Gendry and walked up the steps.
Walking up those steps was like walking up to the gates of heaven. A filthy,
dark, smokey heaven. And a part of Sansa, the part who worked to keep her
family afloat, revelled in it. People knew her here by name. They all waved and
kissed and hugged, and Sansa felt like she were coming home to a second family.
The lights flashing, the red floors, the black and gold stalls on either side
of the dance floor. Bodies swayed like tall grass in the wind, and Sansa saw a
deep beauty to what others would call just a night out. It was like a piece of
art but one constantly changing, and one that took many people to complete.
She made her way to Baelish and he was already tapping his foot, checking the
time every two seconds. Before she even made her presence known she heard a
'you're late.' And then he stood in front of her, frowning. "Trouble at the
door." She explained. He nodded and gave set her to work. It was easy dealing
in Kings. She knew the regulars and found it easy to approach the newbies.
After 3 hours on floor Sansa went to the bar for a drink. She tapped the bar
top and Bronn smiled at her and poured her her usual. "How's it going out there
tonight?"
"It's alright, would've been better if I hadn't missed Alex, but the asshole on
door, wouldn't let me through."
"Who, Gendry?"
"Nah, Sandor."
Bronn laughed heartily at that. Sansa frowned. "He used to handle the other end
of the business. Didn't realise he was such a hypocrite." He explained.
"Oh yeah and what manner of business exactly are you talking about?"
"Collecting payment."
"Oh." Sansa nodded. The knowledge made her sick. She knew what happened to
people who didn't pay up. She'd always known her job was a shabby one, and most
days she was okay with that, but Sansa had known someone once who didn't make
their payment, and then they were gone. She drank her drink and then went back
on floor, for a couple more hours. By the time she got back to Baelish it was
11, and her feet were killing her. She went to sit down next to him when she
saw who was accompanying him.
"Sansa."
"Joffrey."
"Can I have a word."
"Of course." He held her by the arm and they disappeared behind a door down the
myriad of halls. When they were completely alone, Joffrey backed her up against
a wall, and kissed her hard.
"I've missed you." He groaned pressing his forehead to hers.
"Joff, we can't keep doing this. All we do is fight. I loved you once, but not
anymore, I'm too busy for this."
He stepped back and took a deep breath, "I know. I just really wanted us to
work." She smiled at him and gave him a sympathetic look. She shouldn't have.
He had her alone in a club, his parents owned. Later she would scream at
herself for being so foolish, but at that moment Sansa was too busy staring at
her ex-boyfriend with pity, to notice the two men coming towards her. When she
did it was already too late. She turned to run but her wrist was easily caught
by a thick greasy hand. She was pulled back and held by two of the clubs
guards'. Joff was walking backwards and forwards in front of her, stroking his
imaginary beard. "I really am upset over your decision, but I'll respect it. I
just want to feel you one last time before we're over. A parting gift of you
will." To anyone else it'd sound like a threat of rape, but that's not what he
wanted. He was messed up in the head. He got off on seeing other people hurt.
Sansa straightened, and braced herself for the inevitable.
*The first punch was to her stomach, the second to her side, when she fell to
her knees it was a kick to the thigh. It went on a while. It was probably one
of the worst beatings she'd had. But funnily enough, the only thing that went
through her mind was 'how am I gonna finish my homework in time for school if I
can't see.' She laughed at herself and Joff rewarded her laughter with his belt
slapped across her back. Thats new. She cried out at the pain for the first
time, and immediately understood her mistake. It was another five minutes
before it was over but it felt like eternity. When he was done, Joffrey kissed
her one last time and then sauntered down the hall. "Go find me Margaery!" He
called over his shoulder and the men dropped her to the ground like a pile of
rubbish.*
She stayed there a while. Just trying to make herself stand. After fifteen
minutes and countless attempts, Sansa finally stood with most of her weight
against the wall. She was okay. Really, she was fine. All she needed was to get
through the next couple of hours. When she made her way back to Petyr again,
his mouth hung loose in shock. "That little shit." Was all he said. She tried
to tell him she was fine, but he wasn't having any of it. He gave her a full
nights wage, even though she'd only worked half of it and gave her extra for a
taxi. "Go home, and don't come here again. It's not safe."
"But, I need to. Please, I know it's unprofessional of me, and it won't happen
again. Please." Tears started to fill her swollen eyes.
"We'll talk about it later, Sansa. Go home now though." She nodded and began to
walk slowly down the entry steps. When she got to the bottom Gendry looked at
her with pity, and she had to swallow the number of expletives rising in her
throat. She hated that look.
"Do you want me to call a cab?"
"Y..."
"What the fuck happened?" Sandor was by her side in a blink of an eye, his hand
resting lightly on her shoulder, he didn't look at her with pity. Only concern
and anger, she wasn't sure if the latter was directed at her though.
"I.." Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and thought for a moment on what to say, her
eyes opened and she shrugged lifting up her hands. "Fell down some stairs." As
good an excuse as any. Sandor looked at her disbelievingly and raised his eyes
somewhere above her. He couldn't even look at her. It must be bad.
"I'll give you a ride home."
"I'm okay..."
"I'll give you a ride home." Apparently this was not up for discussion. He
shook Gendry's hand and then led her to his car. When they got in the car Sansa
dug through her bag to find her old brick of a phone.
"Do you mind if I make a call?" Sandor nodded and she called the home phone.
She only waited a second before Arya picked up
"Stark residence." She said between mouthfuls of something. Did they really
onlyjusthave dinner? She heard a ruckus in the background.
"Those boys better be asleep when I get home. I told you, it's too late for
them to be staying up! They have school tomorrow. Rickons, already fallen
asleep twice in class, if it happens again they might request a meeting with
mum."
"So? Let her go to the damn meeting. Fresh air'll do her good."
Sansa groaned. "You and I both know, why that's not possible Arya, please.."
She heard a voice in the background, a males voice.
"Is Robb there?"
"Yeah, he's staying the night." Sansa froze. If he saw her like this she wasn't
sure what he'd do. She was tired and sore and wanted her own bed, but there
were other people to consider, she couldnt have them start a war over a couple
of cowards throwing punches.
"Oh, good. Umm... I can't come home tonight, I'm working late. Ask him to get
you guys ready for school in the morning. And I'll try and be home by
Wednesday."
"Why not tomorrow?"
"I'm really busy. You know, the Diner has been really hectic lately, they asked
if I could do extra shifts."
"Oh, okay, well that's good, I suppose. Are you okay though? Don't tire
yourself out." Sansa quietly laughed at that. She'd been more than tired out
the last two years non-stop. She nodded until she realised Arya couldn't see
her. How hard did he hit me? God.
"Yeah, I'll try not to. Love you"
"Yeah, love you too." She hung up the phone and turned to Sandor.
"Umm, would you mind, possibly taking me to the Mockingbird instead?"
"Why?"
"My brothers home. He won't believe me if I tell him..."
"You fell?" The sarcasm was strong in his tone, and it made Sansa pout.
"Yeah." She said folding her arms over her chest defensively.
He's quiet for a while and then he rubs the back of his neck and squints at the
road ahead. "You could stay at mine."
She's a little taken aback. She grabs a couple of rides home from him and now
he's expecting her to sleep with him? Well...
"Not like that. I mean, gods... It's probably nicer at my place than at a
brothel, where the sheets are likely covered in cum and spit and whatever else.
It's unsanitary." Apparently her attempt at disguising her affront was a lousy
one cause he snorted a laugh at her when he looked to her again.
"First of all, it's not a br..." He pins her with his eyes again, like he did
that first time he met her, and she gives up trying to lie. "No offence, but I
don't even know you. Not really. You could be anyone."
"I could be Sandor, the nice guy offering you a clean place to stay..."
"Or you could be Larry the killer, who lures unsuspecting girls into his lair
and kills them."
Sandor laughed hard at that, it sounded bitter though, and when their eyes met
again she could see she'd crossed a line. "I'm sorry."
Sandor just shrugged and grunted in reply. A couple minutes later she caught
him staring at her again. This time his gaze flicking to her various bruises.
He stopped outside a chemist and ran in without saying a word. He came back a
couple minutes later carrying a plastic bag and threw it down at her feet,
before getting into the drivers seat. She tried to look without him noticing,
and without touching anything for a while but he saw her and wordlessly lifted
the bag into her lap. "What's this for?"
"I don't have a first aid kit at my place." Oh. So we're back to that.
"I already said..."
He slammed on the breaks and suddenly there was a rage so intense in Sandor's
eyes it made her flinch with the weight of his stare. "SANSA! For fucks sake,
can you quit being so god-damn stubborn for just two minutes." He hit the
steering wheel and was breathing heavily for a few silent seconds before
looking over at her, this time calmer, the rage only simmering now in his grey
eyes. "Just let me help you."
Sansa couldn't break eye contact. The intensity of his state was something
she'd never experienced before. She nodded as a tear rolled down her cheek. He
sighed and reached across to wipe her tears away and she flinched again. It
didn't stop him, he gently stroked her cheek with warm, calloused hands and a
frown on his face. "Who did this to you?"
Sansa wiped hastily at hear tear streaked face and shook her head looking away.
"I fell."
Sandor's hand retreated and she found herself missing the gentle touch of a
giant. He started the car up again. And just as he turned on the ignition she
thought she heard him ask 'aye, but who pushed you?'
***** Lose the feeling, Take the Shock Away *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from Joy divisions 'Disorder'
Chapter Notes
     Just posting quickly before I go out, sorry to leave you hanging ....
     ;)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
He sat there in front of Cersei's desk for what felt like years. She didn't
usually take this long to give him his pay. She was staring at him intently
with those sharp green eyes. "Are you sure you're not interested in picking up
the family business. There was some good money in it. And you know we'd hire
you without a shadow of a doubt."
"Thank you, but no. I'm.. Done."
"That's a shame. It seems as though people lately have forgotten who we are and
what we do. Lannister's always repay their debts, it's only natural that we
expect the same standard from our clientele." Her green eyes cut to his again.
"I can recommend a few guys for the job, but apart from that, I don't have
anything to do with that side of business anymore."
"Okay. Your pay." She threw it down on the table. It was shit money, and he
thinks that ever since he's come back they've given him the lowest going rate
to help persuade him into doing their dirty work. He's done with that life
though. Three years was more than enough for Sandor to know it's not what he
wants. He couldn't give two shits about the pay, with the money that he
inherited, and the earnings of his last big job, he's set for life. He'd never
have to work again if he wanted. The Lannister's had three times as much money
as he did, and they'd never stopped reaching out their hands for more.
He grabs the little yellow envelope with his name written all neatly on front
and the sum amount of his pay. With a nod to Cersei, he's out the door and back
down the ally. He was just going to say good bye to the guys, when he saw her.
Leaning against the wall of the entrance. All beat up, black and blue. When she
saw him she tried to smile, and it was such a miserable looking thing. He
gritted his teeth. He shouldn't have let her go up there. He'd seen Joff enter
earlier. He'd heard from the guys, the day after the strip club, that Sansa was
Joffrey's Mrs. And he knew the royal prick as a child. They were only separated
by a couple years. The kid used to follow his brother round like he was Jesus.
He'd always find dead animals, cats, dogs, mice, lying around the Baratheon
acreage. Half buried, in the ground with petrified looks on their faces. It
didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened to Sansa, with such
knowledge at his disposal.
He tried being nice. Really, he did, but she was so fucking stubborn. She
wouldn't accept anyone's help. He lost his temper and almost immediately
regretted it. Watching the way she shrank back in her seat, flinched at his
every move. It made him angry, that someone had done this to her. They arrived
at his place after twenty minutes of silence. She looked up at his apartment
with a questioning look. "Why don't you live in your families home?"
"Too many memories." He didn't care to dwell on what those memories were.
Sansa nodded and went to get out of his truck. He quickly ran round to her door
and opened it for her, helping her down and taking the plastic shopping bag
from her hand. He unlocked the first door that led to the stairs and then
started ascending when he noticed Sansa was still on the first step.
"Ascending is a lot harder than descending." She said with a bitter laugh. He
sighed and looked away. He felt sorry for her, but he knew if she saw him look
at her like that, he'd break whatever little trust and respect they'd built.
"Let me hold your hand." He was down by her side again, and her dainty little
fingers curled into his palm as her held out his hand. He could tell she was
trying not to put any weight on him, but after a couple of almost falls, she
was clutching his bicep and leaning heavily on his forearm - not that she was
heavy. "I can carry you if you want?" He asked as they reached the top of the
first flight of stairs. She was hesitant but after a moment of silence Sandor
was done waiting and simply picked her up, trying to avoid where she looked
hurt. Sansa let out a squeak of surprise but then giggled as he grunted
climbing up the first few steps "fuck, you're heavier than you look.." He
joked. Sansa threw her head back and laughed. She was so quick to laugh at
everything. Her hands went around his neck on flight 2 and her head against his
shoulder by the third floor. By the time they were in front of his door Sandor
didn't want to put her down. He'd run round the world with her in his arms. He
liked her hands around his shoulders, head against his chest, breath tickling
his jaw.
He held her in one arm and expertly grabbed the keys from his front pocket,
unlocking the door to his apartment. He moved to the couch and placed her down
softly. She was looking up at him with tired, warn eyes, and he could see the
million thoughts and questions brewing behind them. He put the ice packs in the
freezer to get cold and pulled out the disinfectant. She had a few small cuts
on her face and her knees were grazed. Sansa pulled back from him as he went to
put it on, with a little pout, she looked more a child than ever with that
expression. "It's okay. I don't need that."
"It might get infected. Floors a dirty. You fell. You hurt yourself. If you got
dirt in that hurt it'll get infected without this." She still looked unsure,
glancing back and forth between him and the bottle. "It'll only hurt a second."
Sansa didn't move any closer, but nodded. He had to kneel to be able to reach
her, and every time his hand moved away she pulled back further and further
until she was lying down and he was leaning over her.Just as he finished
spreading the disinfectant on her knees he saw another on her collarbone. Three
short scratch marks. He softly dabbed at them and leaned in with concentration.
When he looked up Sansa was biting her lip and blushing like mad. "What?"
"I'm.. Sorry. For earlier tonight. When I... Umm.. You know... Offered... For
you to.. Um." She kept stopping and looking at different places around the
room, getting more and more red. "I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."
"You don't.."
"I know it's not right. And I shouldn't have done it. But it's all I know. I
hope I didn't offend you." Her blush faded and tears filled her eyes. "I'm
sorry." She wiped angrily at the fallen tears and tried to turn away from him.
"Sansa, I was going to say don't worry about it. It's fine. Now, are you hurt
anywhere else? Or are we done patching you up?"
She bit her lip again and looked downwards. "My back. He.. It's... I think it's
pretty bad." She mumbled under her breath.
"Why didn't you fight back?"
"Three to one ain't exactly a fair fight. He would've really hurt me if I had."
"Was it Joffrey?"
She looked up at him in surprise then but only met his gaze fleetingly. "I
don't want to talk about it."
"Okay." He gently turned her so her back was facing him and already he could
see thin red lines staining her shirt. It took him a moment to recognise it was
blood. He lifted her top and dropped it back down almost immediately, looking
away. Her back was covered in red lines, the skin swollen and broken. He
clenched his jaw and asked her to lie on her stomach. "This'll hurt more." He
said before applying the antiseptic cream to where the skin had broken.
She screamed the second he touched her and buried her face in one of the
pillows on his couch. It had to be done. He worked as quickly as possible and
when he was done, went to the freezer and got the semi-cool packs pressing them
as lightly as possible to Sansa's wounds. She'd stopped crying and only
hiccuped every now and again.
Her eyes were swollen and her nose was red from crying, but she still looked
beautiful. He stroked his fingers through her hair and she sighed, closing her
eyes. "You won't hurt me, will you Sandor." She said it with resignation. It
was not a question, it sounded like she'd finally stopped fighting him long
enough to realise the truth.
"No."
"Why are you doing this?" Her blue eyes pierced him, pinned him with their
ferocity. She was angry? "I don't know what you want, and that scares me."
"I don't want anything."
"Nothing comes for free."
"Maybe it does."
"Maybe it doesn't." He sighed and looked away.
"Maybe you're penitence for all the bad things that I've done. Maybe you remind
me of someone. Maybe I help you, simply because I want to."
"Because you want me?"
"That's not what I said." Their eyes met briefly and she looked almost sad
about it.
"Come on," he took the ice packs from her back and helped her to stand. "The
bed is just up those steps, d'you think you can make it up them?" Sansa stared
at the steps as if they were Her enemy.
Sandor rolled his eyes but secretly revelled in having her in his arms again.
When they got to the top he placed her down on the bed and caught her laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"Why on Earth, do you have a bunk bed?"
It was one of the only things Sandor let himself indulge in. He loved being up
high so he decided to spend a bit more on a bunk.
He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, in embarrassment. He'd only just
realised now how childish it was. "I like being up high."
Sansa smiled at him and suddenly her hand was on his cheek. Not his whole one,
the hideous, angry red scars that covered half his face. He sucked in a breath
at the contact. "I like you Sandor Clegane."
His eyes darted around the room, suddenly uncomfortable with how intimate their
situation was. No one had ever touched his scars, except doctors when he'd
first gotten them. It was strange. He felt nothing- maybe a little bit of
pressure, but that was all.
"Do you still hurt?"
"I don't feel anything." He went to get up but Sansa held his hand and tugged
him back.
"I want to be up high too."
He laughed "You can have top bunk then, I'll sleep down here."
"Then I don't want it." Deep blue eyes pierced his skin everywhere they landed.
His scars, his lips, down his neck to his arms and then to where their hands
were joined. Her lips parted, and a flush spread over her features. She leaned
forward and he did too meeting her half way. Their foreheads touched and rested
against each other, their breaths mingling in the small space between them
Sansa tilted her head slightly and their lips hovered with barely an inch
between them. He kissed her cute little nose and her eyelids, and then the top
of her head. Resting his chin there.
"Okay."
Chapter End Notes
     Hey mannnnnns so yeah, lannisters aren't the main evil in this story,
     Petyrs not evil either, just a business man. Sorry I'm being quite
     vague but all will be revealed soonish.
***** Lazy diamond studded flunkies *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry this chapter took a while longer, I had a bit of trouble
     writing it, and you know, reality gets in the way of fiction. I hope
     you like it, I know it's a bit slow going at the moment but it will
     pick up soon :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Sandor stood up and crossed the room to a chest of draws. "Here."He tossed her
a shirt that looked like it belonged to a giant.
"What's this for?"
"To sleep in. Thought you might want something else to change into since..."
"Thank you." He pointed her over to where the bathroom was and she quickly
stripped out of her dirty blood stained clothes and threw his shirt over her
head. When she came out Sandor was in his Pyjamas too. Black track pants and a
grey shirt that matched his eyes. He has nice eyes.
When she walked over to the bed, he picked her up around her thighs so he could
place her on the top bunk without her having to climb. It was a tricky
manoeuvre, and it kind of hurt as his arms were holding tight to where one of
her bruises were, but she didn't mind. He was a strange one, this 'Sandor
Clegane'. She'd never trusted anyone, not since she was a little girl, but now
she had the most overpowering feeling, of simply being safe. It was such an
uncommon feeling for her, that instead of welcoming it, she tried to push it
away. Alas, it was no use. She supposed she was still a stupid little girl in
more ways than she'd like to admit, because no matter how hard she tried every
time he showed her kindness her walls would to crumble a little more.
She scooted back and moved as far as she could to the left hand side to give
Sandor as much room as possible. It was a tiny space, and she was slightly
disappointed when the thought that they might not both fit up there crossed her
mind. But when Sandor climbed up after her and settled himself beside her, she
saw that it would be fine, and even if it wasn't she'd rather sleep curled at
his feet than that bottom bunk. She just didn't want to be alone. So much of
her time she spent in others company but still so utterly alone, and now the
chance of being next to someone, close to someone, had arisen she couldn't bare
the thought of turning away. It's true, there was always her family, but their
family wasn't one that hugged and kissed all the time. It was mostly a silent
understanding that they all loved each other. Sansa certainly didn't love
Sandor, she didn't even know him, really. But his kindness had made her like
him, and his persistency in trying to help her - even once she'd pushed him
away - had made her like him a little more than like. Not love, but something
in between.
He was trying to move the covers so Sansa lifted her hips and slipped under
them. It was warm in his bed. It was comfortable too. Sansa hadn't slept on a
bed that soft in years. She let out a content little hum and moved closer to
Sandor. He looked down at her from where his head rested on the pillow and hers
on his shoulder.
"Are you okay?"
Was she? She hadn't really stopped to think about if she was or not. And if she
wasn't? What was there to be done? Nothing would change the past, so why cry
about it. Why am I crying about it? She soon noticed the tears that filled her
eyes and ran down her face, soaking Sandor's pyjama shirt. She huffed at her
own weakness and gritted her teeth. Why was she such a wreck around him? She
wasn't like this with anyone else. When the time came for Sansa to unleash her
tears it was always in silence and alone. He was changing her whole system.
Suddenly sobs wracked her body and she found it hard to breathe. It felt as
though her throat were closing up, her heart felt as though it were slowly
breaking apart. Pieces being pulled in every possible direction one at a time.
And through it all he was there. Long, clumsy fingers running through her hair,
whispers and murmurs in her ear, and a warm body wrapped around her. Eventually
it all subsided. Her throat ached, eyes were itchy and her nose probably looked
like Rudolph, but still he never pushed her away in disgust. She wondered how
he could stand to be around someone so weak. She thought she was strong once.
"What are you doing to me?" She whispered into his chest, only so she could
hear. Eventually the feather light touch of his calloused hands stroking up and
down her back lulled her to sleep.
* * *
In the night she was awoken by nightmares, but not her own. Sandor was shaking
next to her, sweat dripping down his face, his hand an iron clasp around her
waist. He mumbled and growled and buried his face in her hair. Eventually he
awoke with a jolt and Sansa stared straight into the depths of his eyes. He was
scared, she realised. She moved her arm so it was resting beneath his neck and
his face burrowed into the crook between her neck and shoulder. His arm pulled
her tighter to him.
"Are you okay?" She echoed his words from earlier back to him.
He nodded his head rapidly, almost too much so, like he was desperate to show
he was fine. There was nothing she could do for him. Everyone dealt with their
own demons, and that's the way it was. So she just held. It seemed to help. His
breathing became deeper and she realised he was asleep again, so she followed
him back into sleep.
* * *
The second time she awoke it was to the gentle sound of a radio playing, and
the soft kiss of sunlight on her skin. It was only her in the bed and she could
smell breakfast, her stomach grumbled and she laughed. She took the time alone
to look at her surroundings. She didn't really get a chance to last night, with
all the crying and what-not. She huffed at herself, and tried to push the
memories of what had happened to the back of her mind.
He lived in a loft type apartment. The ceilings were extremely high and the
walls in front of her and to her right were made of bare brick. She liked it.
On the left side of the room there was an entire wall of windows, thankfully
the curtains were closed, but she could see a slither of light where the two
curtains met and drifted slightly apart, with the rhythm of the breeze.
She carefully (and ridiculously slowly) climbed down from his bunk and walked
over to where the windows were. She opened the curtains and her breath was
immediately taken away. It was such a pretty sight. He lived right next to a
forest, she looked over the tops of the hundreds of trees that seemed to never
end and smiled. It had been so long since she'd been anywhere near nature. Most
of her life was spent in the city -work, school, and the cost of transport made
it hard for her to ever get away from the flashing lights and noise of Kings
Landing.
One of her favourites started playing on the radio and she sang along as she
watched the trees sway with the movement of the wind.
"She lives in love street, lingers long on love street..."
Her hips moved from side to side with the music, mimicking the trees. Her arms
gathered and wrapped around the curtains and he twirled them around her body in
a childish daydream, that it was the seventies and she was a hippie with her
skirts flowing and not a care in the world.
"She has wisdom and knows what to do, she has me and she has..."
She twirled and caught sight of Sandor leaning against the bed frame, arms
crossed over and a look of utter amusement on his face.
"Oh," she jumped back, with a hand on her chest, flushed. "I didn't see you
there..."
He smirked at her and tilted his head towards the stairs. "There's breakfast
downstairs, you must be hungry after all that dancing."
Sansa coughed and inclined her head trying to slip past him without making eye
contact.
"You looked like a little bird just then.. With your wings and your song."
Sansa scrunched up her face. Birds are stupid.
"No, not a bird. Maybe a bat." Bats come alive at night and were beautiful in
their own dark way
"Bats are too big, youre too small to be a bat."
"A dwarf bat then."
Sandor laughed at that. "Okay, then, my little dork bat, are you hungry?"
She ignored the little jab he took at her and rolled her eyes. "Yes, thank-
you."
He helped her down the stairs and led her to the kitchen, there were a couple
of stools there with two plates and cutlery out. In the stove there were still
tomatoes and mushrooms, and bacon cooking. Sandor was in front of the stove and
pulled out a second, smaller, pan. "Would you like eggs?"
"Are you having eggs?"
"Yes."
"Okay, yes please."
She smiled at him and he looked at her oddly, before turning back to the task
at hand. When Sansa looked down she realised why. The shirt Sandor had given
her was so thin, her nipples were easily visible and the neck hole of the shirt
was so wide it had slid half way down her arm. She blushed and quickly
rectified the shirt. They ate breakfast in silence, filled with fleeting
glances and awkward moments when they made eye contact and quickly turned away.
We're like animals, so weary of each other.The thought made her snort. If she
was a bat he was a Sasquatch. That thought made her spit out her juice in
badly-concealed mirth. Sandor laughed at her. With juice all over her face she
was sure she made quite a sight, "You right there?"
Sansa coughed and sputtered. "Am...fine' she wheezed. After breakfast she
thanked him and helped him with dishes (even though he'd practically yelled at
her to go sit down).
"Thank you, so much, for everything. I've gotta get going, I've got so much
work to do..."
He stopped her with a look if disapproval. "There's no way you're getting back
in Kings after last night."
Sansa growled and looked away. She wasn't a child. She'd been doing fine on her
own the last three years. She could handle anything Joff threw at her with the
knowledge that he'd never kill her. That was good enough for the moment. One
day she would get revenge, but until that day she would wait patiently and roll
with the punches. "I wasn't actually talking about kings, but I will get back
in there because somebody has to pay bills and that somebody is me. I'll be
back there next Sunday, just like I always am. There's nothing you can do to
stop it. But anyway, I need to go home and clean the house before the kids get
home. No doubt it's a mess. And I need to check up on a few things."
"Where are you staying tonight?"
"Umm..."
"You can stay here again, if you want." He suggested it casually but she could
see his fingers tapping nervously, as if he was uncomfortable with offering
help. He kind of is. At least he was giving her a choice this time though.
"That'd be nice. Thanks Sandor." She smiled up at him. He quickly got up and
disappeared down the hall. When he came back he had a pile of neatly folded
clothes in his hand.
"Umm, I tried to clean them, but some of the blood is still there. It stained."
"That's alright, thanks. Is there a bathroom down here?"
"First on the left." He pointed to the hall.
After she'd gotten dressed Sandor insisted he drive her home. Now that she knew
him better she didn't want him seeing her house again. It was such an ugly
looking thing. One step up from a trailer, she thought. When they got to her
house though Sandor said he'd wait for her so she invited him in, as it was the
polite thing to do. The steps leading up to the front porch creaked under his
weight, and added to Sansa's nervousness. What if the floor gives? Exactly how
dirty is the house? What if Robb is till there and he sees me like this? The
keys shook a little in her hand as she raised them to unlock the door. When
they stepped through Sandor's face was stoic, he gave nothing away. She didn't
know how he did that. The house was an absolute pig-sty. There was food on the
couch, the beds were all left out in the lounge and there was something burnt
and acrid smelling on the coffee table, and Sansa even gasped when she saw the
state of the kitchen.
She turned to Sandor embarrassed, "I'm so sorry for the state of my house. It
isn't usually this bad." Her face was bright red and for some reason she felt
an immense amount of disappointment in herself.
"It's a nice place. Do you have younger siblings?" She was thankful and once
again surprised he didn't seem to mind the mess.
"Yes, three. Arya, Bran and Rickon. And Robb is my older brother but he might
as well be a five years old, cause he has the maturity level of one." She
finished. After a few awkward moments of silence she asked if Sandor wanted
anything to drink, and excused herself to go start cleaning. She left him in
the living room, with the tv. First she did the kitchen, which didn't take too
long, there were only dishes to be done. She moved through the boys room,
Arya's and hers and then finally to the lounge room where Sandor was seated
amongst the mess. He looked so big, sat there on their tiny couch. He is quite
big... She thought to herself with a deep flush spreading over her cheeks. She
was almost finished, all she had to do was wipe down the table, and she'd be
done...
"Sansa... Sansa is that you?" Her mother started wailing. Her breath caught in
her chest and her eyes shot to Sandor who was already looking at her with a
question in his eyes.
"Umm.. I'll be right back." The wailing got louder.
"Who is that?" Sandor asked concern etched into the unburnt side of his face.
"That's.. It's.. My,"
"Sansa!!"
"Coming Mumma!" When she looked back to Sandor he looked surprised. The first
emotion he'd shown since walking into her house. She gnawed at her bottom lip
and hurried to her mothers side. Her mother took a lot longer to console this
time, and Sansa was kept an hour longer than anticipated. Luckily her mother
didn't notice the state of her, or the way she winced every time she clung to
her. Eventually she'd lulled her to sleep with a song, Catelyn used to sing her
when Sansa was the child and she was the parent.
As she closed the door to her mothers room she was confronted with Sandor
standing across the hall from her looking at her like she'd done something
wrong. He probably thinks I shouldn't have left the kids alone with her. Her
jaw tensed and Sansa fought to keep her composure. Like he knew what it was
like. Like he had any right to judge. She did all that she could for her
family. She has one night away, when she's hurt and needs a god-damn break and
that makes her a bad person?
"It shouldn't be up to you to care for your family."
Oh.
She sighs in relief and gives him a thin lipped smile. "Like I said, someone
has to." She's glad he doesn't think bad of her for it. It means a lot to
her. He nods and after that he can't meet her gaze.
She pulls party pies and sausage rolls out of the freezer for the kids dinner,
and writes out instructions for dinner and homework and promises a surprise
when she gets home tomorrow if the house is kept clean. After that they leave
and head back to Sandor's.
"So... Kings. How's that going for you?" She says trying to make conversation
in the otherwise silent car. Only the rattle of the engine answers her, it
sounds like a dying mans last breath.
After a few minutes he turns his piercing eyes on her and stops the car in an
empty car park. "Can I ask you a favour?"
The weight of his gaze leaves her breathless. She doesn't care that she was
right. That his kindness comes with a price, like everyone else's. He's looking
at her in a way no one ever has, and she thinks she'd give him anything he
wanted in that moment. The thought scares her enough to make her nod timidly
and prepare for whatever comes next.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you for all your lovely comments, please don't hesitate to ask
     any questions, I'm more than happy to answer them :)
***** As you were *****
Chapter Notes
     Hiya fellas. So, sorry it's been a little while. Life's been a bit
     hectic this week. Hope you like the new chapter :) xxx
"I have a corporate function to attend next month. Will you accompany me?"
"Like a date?"
His breath is uneven and he wants to punch himself. Why is he so uncomfortable?
"If you want to call it that." He wipes his sweaty palms on his pant legs and
hopes she doesn't notice. When he catches her eye again there's flecks of
happiness and uncertainty dancing behind them.
She looks down at her hands shyly and smiles "Well since you ask so nicely..."
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and nods.
"What's the event?" She asks.
"My father founded a Company that provides security for clubs, bars, and
whatever else. He left it to me when he died. I don't do anything but I'm
expected to make appearances every now and again." It's a half truth. He is
expected to go to these functions but he never has before.
Gods, who have I become? He used to be someone mean, someone others feared and
resented, and he loved that feeling, craved it. Something had changed his
mindset after he found out his father died, though. There wasn't such a chip on
his shoulder anymore. The persona of 'the hound' mattered little to nothing
now. He just couldn't find it within himself to care about what others might
think of him.
But that wasn't entirely true, he cared what Sansa thought. He wanted to help
her. He wasn't quite sure why, but he decided not to question it.
She nods and he starts the car engine up again, and keeps driving back to his
place. When they get there he carries Sansa up the stairs again. When inside,
it's much of the same routine, he washes and reapplied antiseptic to her cuts
and gashes, and then bandages her up again. It's a night of slightly over
cooked frozen pizzas, beer, and then the education of Sansa Stark, on the
mastermind that is Quentin Tarantino.
"You're telling me, that you've never ever seen kill bill?"
"Nope. Haven't even heard of it."
"Dear gods." He rolls his eyes and quickly fishes through his dvd collection to
find Vol. 1 and 2. "This," he says holding up the case in front of her, "is
going to change your life."
They watch the movie and though it's a bit gory in some parts (most parts) she
seems to enjoy the films. When the first one finishes he offers to watch it
tomorrow and Sansa jumps in her seat and looks at him like he hit her. "Why
would we do that?" She's so serious, he can't help but laugh. He puts in the
second disc and this time when he sits down on the couch Sansa nudges into his
arm. He wordlessly lifts it and drapes it across the back of the couch, and
Sansa wastes no time snuggling into his side. Everything between them is done
through silence. He thinks that maybe they're both too scared of waking the
other out of this trance they've been in the last couple of days. He's never
been the type to be affectionate. And guessing from what little he knows of
Sansa, she's much the same. But it's something almost unreal. Something fragile
he doesn't want to break. So he does his best not to.
They stay like that the whole movie, and when it's over he wordlessly turns off
the television, lifts her in his arms and carries her upstairs to his bed. When
they're in bed together Sansa turns to him and studies his face with what
little light is cast through the windows. "Sandor." She whispers, as if to test
the word on her tongue.
"Yes?"
"Why'd you ask me to come with you?" She's so quiet he almost can't hear her.
"Why are we whispering?" He whispers back, amused.
"I thought it might be a secret."
"If it's a secret then you've no business knowing, do you?"
She huffs, a sound that's half annoyance and half amused.
"It depends on what time you mean," he concedes "I've asked you a couple times
now and they're for different reasons."
"To the ball then?"
"It's not a ball."
"Can't I pretend?"
He sighs and shakes his head. Who is this strange little creature? So
streetwise, but likes to daydream, every chance she gets. Will put herself
anywhere at anytime and all in her mind. "I asked you cause I need a date."
"I don't like being lied to." He doesn't like lying.
"I don't want to stand in a hall, with people I once knew and pretend we don't
know exactly what is we do and have done. I.. Have a past. And on that night
I'll be stepping back in time."
"You don't want to be alone." There, she knows.
He doesn't answer but he doesn't need to. Sansa's hand finds his and there's a
gentle squeeze and he'd swear it's a hold on his heart she has and not his
hand.
* * *
When he wakes it's to a jumble of limbs and a mouthful of auburn hair. He
almost chokes on the damn stuff. He spits it out and tries to keep the noise
from his coughing fit to a minimum, while he disentangles himself from Sansa's
embrace. He pulls the blankets back over her and climbs down the step ladder of
the bed. It's 7:00am and he readies himself for his usual morning jog. He
leaves a note for Sansa on the bench and sets off.
It's a nice way, around the block. He lives right next to a forest so a lot of
the time he's surrounded by green, the smell of earth and sweat. It's an hour
when he's ready to retire, and is almost back at his apartment when he feels
it. It's a strange feeling. It's a knowing he can't explain. And it's possibly
the only reason he'd believe in the gods. It's gut, and it's soul, something
almost spiritual, that lets him know he's being followed. He picks up the pace
and runs around a corner, when the asshole following him shows up he doesn't
know what's coming.
He's a gangly young lad, a couple years younger than him, but the look in his
eyes tells him he hasn't seen half as much shit Sandor has. His hand is a vice
grip around his neck and he knows there's a crazed wild look in his vicious
grey eyes cause he sees it reflected in the kids. Sandor flicks out his pocket
knife and touches the flat of the blade along the kids cheek, just below his
eye. "Name."
"Th..." His stalker can't speak so he loosens his hold. "Theon." He gasps out.
"Nice to meet you Theon. Now, why were you following me?" He hears a click
behind his head and knows without turning there's a pistol about a foot away
from the back of his head. He chuckles and lifts his hands slowly. Theon
collapses on the ground clutching his throat and a few others come into the
periphery of his vision. He takes it all in. The sound of shuffling, nervous
feet. The smell of testosterone from boys no older than 18 trying prove they're
hard, tryna fight for a place worth having in there 'street gang'. He hears
their whispers too, 'is that the hound?', 'yeah, that's him, big motherfucker',
'ugly motherfucker' it's the last one that makes his smile into a grin though,
cause it's practically an invitation. 'Well, I gotta say, I was expecting
more.'
In less than a second the gun aimed at the back of his head is in his hand. The
idiot holding it so close has his head locked in Sandor's arm, and Theon, the
wimp from before is a mess on the ground from when he'd tried to sneak up on
him, and in return, received a broken nose. The kid did get in one good punch
before he went down however, and Sandor could see and feel the blood dripping
down from his forehead. It wasn't a very hard punch, but it was on his burnt
side, and the skin was more easily broken on that side of his face. He was
backed against a wall but there were still three possible exits to escape from.
The assholes were shocking at holding a goddamn formation. Amateurs. They send
amateurs. He was insulted.
"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company. Or to whom?"
A boy with a solemn look on his face steps forward, who looks vaguely familiar.
"Hound. You do live up to your reputation." He despises that name, and the
pompous twat seems to notice as he cracks a small smile.
"You have me at a disadvantage, you know my name, but yours eludes me..."
"They call me king." He said pointing to his overgrown rats. "But most just
call me Robb."
"Alright then, Robb. What is it you want." He was annoyed now. And this stupid
polite banter was grating on his nerves. it wasn't who he'd though was after
him so his concern diminishes from little to nothing at all. He was going to
miss the morning news if he was kept any longer. Sandor had his routine, and he
stuck to it. He'd be very mad if this little run-in threw off his whole day.
"I want you to leave this town and never come back."
He laughs long and hard at that. Him? Leave? They should be the ones getting
the fuck out of dodge after this. And then he wonders just how much they really
know of his reputation. He looks around to each and every face and studies it.
There's 12 men (boys really) all together. Very little then. He decides. "No. I
only just got back. I ain't going anywhere. Now, before you say anymore, I'm
willing to let this go. I don't want any trouble. Approach like this again
however, and I won't be so forgiving."
Robb smiles and as quick as anything draws his gun. Too bad he's quicker.
Sandor dodges and the kid he'd had under his arm takes a bullet to his side.
They all shift uneasily on their feet. "So, I'm going to get going, I have
someone waiting on me. It was nice to meet you, and I hope to personally
introduce myself to each and every one of you in due time."
It's perfect timing as a few civilians drive past that could be witnesses. He
throws down the guy he's got under his arm, and jogs on as if nothing ever
happened. They might be inexperienced but their 'king' isn't too stupid, he
doesn't let them shoot while other people are around. And no one follows him
any further. When he walks through the door to his apartment, he feels...
Agitated. Like a bug has burrowed under his skin and he needs to scratch at it.
He pushes the feeling aside for he knows full well what it means, and what it
leads to.
He finds Sansa in the kitchen pouring milk into a bowl of cereal gently humming
to herself. She's a bit cute. He thinks to himself, and smiles as she moves her
hips awkwardly. And uncoordinated. When she turns around his smile drops a
second after hers does. "Sandor, what the hell happened to you?"
It's now he remembers that right hook and winces at the thought of how it'd
look. "I was attacked.... By birds. You know, it's magpie season."
"No it's not it's winter."
"Well, obviously someone didn't get the memo." She laughs and rolls her eyes.
"Whatever, if you don't want to tell me then fine. Come let me have a look at
it." He feels himself close off at her words. The cut is on the burnt side of
his face, and he doesn't like the thought of someone closely studying that part
of him. It's too vulnerable a state to be in.
"I'll do it myself."
She gives him a berating look and he feels like a child again. "Please."
"Fine." He sits on the couch, where the first aid is already out from last
night. And Sansa is to his left. His arms rest heavily on his knees and his
long unruly hair falls into his eyes as his back hunches over. Sansa moves to
the floor instead of asking him to lift his head and works around his position.
He's grateful to her for that. He knows he's a coward for hiding behind his
hair but she doesn't say a word. When she's all done she fishes through her bag
and pulls out a packet of 'hello kitty' band aids. "Not. A. Chance."
"Sandor, all the band aids you bought are too big! It's a small gash. Come on,
it's not that bad. It's not like anyone will see you with it. You can take it
off be the end of the day." In the end she sticks It on without his consent,
after much struggle. "There." She says smiling at her handiwork. She strokes
his burnt face and the action makes him life his eyes from the floor. She
studies his face. All the while stroking his cheek. When she leans forward his
breath catches in his throat and his eyes close, face scrunched up as if he
were in pain. Her lips touch his marred, burned face and his expression
softens, and air fills his lungs. It's what he'd imagine it'd be like to be
reborn.
She pulls back, but only slightly and they find themselves in the same
situation as a couple of days ago. She's not even an inch from his lips, and he
feels as her breath becomes uneven from where it blows against his lips. There
eyes flicker, studying one another, and time slows down. He rests his forehead
against hers and looks into her eyes. His hands find her hips and pull her
closer between his legs. One hand abandons her side, to brush a lock of auburn.
He follows it down her jaw, her neck to the top of her shirt his fingers
brushing ever so lightly over the swell of her breasts. She gasps and the
movement draws his attention back to her. "Is this what you want?" His voice is
low and husky, and breathless even to his own ears.
"I..."
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
They're waken from their dream. Sansa backs away as Sandor stands to answer the
door. He thinks on who it might be and then as a result asks Sansa to go and
get her things ready, for when he'll take her home. Once she's left the room he
grabs his knife from the inside of his jacket by the door and checks the
peephole. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees its only Gendry. He
opens it up and tucks his knife in his belt behind him.
"Hey, sorry to just drop by like this but I had to ask you something."
Sandor looks out around the corner down the hall as he and Gendry take a seat
in the lounge room. "Shoot."
"Well I.." Gendry stops mid-sentence and frowns seemingly looking behind him.
"Wait, why is there a hello kitty bandaid on your head?" Fucking hells. Sansa.
He rips it off, and scrunched it up. "Go on."
"Did you name drop me to fucking Cersei?"
Sandor frowned "About what?"
"Collecting debts."
"Oh, yeah, why?"
"Look, I know you were probably just trying to help out and your new here. But
Cersei fucking hates my guts. You should probably steer clear of mentioning my
name again or you might get fired she really doesn't like me."
Sandor laughed. "Does it look like I need that job? It's just something to do.
I don't need it. If you don't want me to say anything because you don't feel
comfortable than fine, but I won't hold my tongue on account of her. She knows
that. So, do you want the job?"
"I suppose, I could use the money."
"Than I'll set it all up. I've been thinking about it and I might take over, so
If I do you won't even have anything to do with Cersei."
"Thanks man, I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it." They clapped each other on the back and Sandor showed him
out the door.
I'm thinking about taking it over? Where the fuck did that come from? Only a
few months back and already he's slipping back into old habits.
Sansa walks down the hall with her bag slung over her shoulder. He sucks in a
breath. Then there's that. He doesn't know what happened earlier, and he
doesn't want to. He doesn't want payment from her for his kindness and that's
exactly what she was trying to do, the only way she knew how. He can't look at
her. "You ready to go?"
"Yep."
He grabs his keys and they leave his place without another word.
***** I close my eyes *****
Chapter Summary
     Title taken from lyric in 'the sun is cruising' by the fauns.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Is this what you want?
The words went around and around in her brain. Like a mantra, she replayed that
sentence, in that context, in her bed at 3:00am.
What did she want? It was such a ambiguous question, that seemed to revolve
around what his definition of 'this' meant. And say she did know what 'this'
was, would she know whether she wanted it or not? She wondered if just doing
something, without thinking about it, means you want to do it...
3:00am. The only light in her room coming from her alarm clock by her bedside
that glowed an angry red. Will I ever find rest?
Sansa lifted herself from the bed and turned on the light, deciding to study
instead of glowering at her clock, thinking of what might have been if they'd
gone uninterrupted. By 6:00am it was time to get ready, and get the kids up for
school, she found it a miracle that for once they were actually on time.
School went by as a blur. The only time she was roused from her thoughts was
when she saw Joffrey in the lunch hall, with Margaery Tyrell seated in his lap.
This is a perfect example of why PDA should be against the law. His hand
resting on her arse, and her head thrown back, chest stuck out as she laughed
at something someone said. From the smug look on his face it must have been
Boros, who'd told the joke. It can't have been that funny then. She watched a
little longer, wondering if he'd started hitting his new toy yet, if he'd hit
her at all. Margaery was the daughter of a very wealthy man. Sansa was as good
as trailer trash. I hope she fairs better than me. Sansa thought. Even though
as soon as Sansa had lost her wealth and status Margaery had shunned her,
treated her like dirt, and started spreading rumours (which to be fair were
half true) that she was a whore and worked at a strip club. Who cares what they
think? They're all assholes anyway.
She had one more class, that went by rather quickly. Before she knew it the
school bell had rung to signal the end of school and the sound of chairs
screeching against concrete floor and bags being zipped filled the room. She
had just walked outside the main entrance doors, when she spotted Sandor,
leaning up against the big old oak, that stood tall and proud at the front of
the school. People stared openly and whispered conspiringly to one another and
Sansa smiled when Sandor made a show of flexing his arms to the girls. They all
swooned and twirled their hair while Sansa rolled her eyes And made her way
over to him. "What's shakin' bacon'?"
"You left your jacket at mine the other night, and I work two blocks down from
here so I thought I'd return it to you."
"Oh, thanks, I'd totally forgotten bout this." They fell into an awkward
silence and Sansa kicked dirt around and watched the dust until Sandor cleared
his throat.
"How are you getting home?"
"I'll just walk, it's not too far."
"I can give you a ride." She looked up at him squinting as rays of sunlight
peeked through branches.
"Where's your car?"
"It's back at the precinct, it's only a five minute walk from here."
The precinct, hey? Fuck. What if he's a cop? No. I'd know by now. Wouldn't I?
She gave a terse nod and adjusted her backpack on her shoulder. Sandor reached
over and took her bag for her, and dropped his arm down dramatically, letting
her bag almost drag on the ground. "God, what do you have in here?"
"Books."
"You sure that's all that's in here?"
"Illegal drugs and a dildo." Sandor broke into a coughing fit. And Sansa
smirked. She liked that it was so easy to make him uncomfortable.
Once he caught his breath he just shook his head, and mumbled something along
the lines of "is it made of lead?" They walked mostly in silence, but Sandor
broke it when he picked up on all the stares they attracted. "People are
starin"
"That they are."
"Why?"
"Well because you're Sandor Clegane, heir to a massive security company, well-
off, and muscled like a bull. And I'm Sansa Stark. A whore and supplier of
illegal drugs. We're kind of opposite ends of the scale. I suppose they find it
strange."
"You're not a whore."
I might as well be, she thought bitterly. "Do you find it strange?"
"Do I find what strange?"
"Whatever... This is." She said motioning between them.
He stopped to look at her then, staring down with all the grey-eyed intensity
she'd seen the day before. "I..." He paused and looked away, seemingly trying
to find the right words. "I don't know what I think. Do you find it strange?"
"Yes." He gave her a funny look then, one she didn't quite know how to read.
"So if that's why they stare, why do they whisper?"
Sansa sighed and gave him a dead look. "Because It's human fucking nature, to
stick our noses where it doesn't belong. Hundreds of years ago people would
gather round to watch criminals beheaded. Thousands of years ago people would
stone criminals to death on the basis of whispers. It's what we do. We look for
the weak links and then we fuck them up more than the already are."
"You're saying criminals are weak links."
"I'm saying they're a subdivision of the group of people more commonly known as
'misfits'. Fortunately, with society as... progressed as it is, we no longer
resort to beheading and stoning people to death. Instead we kill their
reputation. This world we live in is built on words. Knowledge is power. And
power is all." Petyr had told her that, and Petyr was right.
Sansa turned and looked back down the path, the sun was setting low. Days are
getting shorter. "Where abouts is this place? I thought you said it was just
round the corner."
"Just there." He said pointing to a big ugly orange coloured building with the
paint half chipped off. They started walking when sandor spoke again. "So, you
see yourself as a criminal."
Sansa laughed, something bitter, but amused all the same. "I could see myself
as the Queen of the seven kingdoms. That wouldn't change who I actually am. Who
I see myself as has nothing to do with it."
"It has everything to do with it."
"Please, oh wise one, tell me, enlighten me if you will, on how this changes
anything at all."
"The way you see yourself is in the way you present yourself, it might not
change the circumstances you've been put in, but it changes the way you react
to them." They're outside the 'precinct' close enough for Sansa to see its an
animal welfare league. She turns to him, and she suspects she's giving him the
same look he gave her ten minutes earlier. "Who even are you?"
He smiled and shook his head. "I don't think you wanna know."
"Now? You're going to be cryptic, now?"
"Come on." I suppose that's the end of that then.
He opened the door for her and she walked in to the front reception area. "Wait
here." He disappeared behind a door and the next time it opened and old man
walked out. He was bald and smiling a smile that reached his eyes, a rare
commodity these days. No one Sansa knew was truly happy. "You must be Sansa."
The man said holding out his hand.
"The one and only." She replied taking his hand. His hands are calloused too.
"Sandor will be out in a moment, he's just finishing up." She nodded, and took
a seat on the front desk, flipping out her packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
When she looked up the old man with the real smile and calloused hands was
staring at her with his eyebrows raised. "Sorry." She put the pack away.
"So do you own this place or..."
"Or...?" He repeated with a smirk.
"Or is it just a cool hang?" She replied, mirroring his expression.
He mouthed the words. 'Cool hang' and shrugged. After a few more seconds of
silence he replied. "Yes. I own this place."
"And sandor works for you?"
"Yes."
"Is he good?"
"What makes you think I know."
Quite a few things. She thought, but settled on, "just a guess."
He smiled again, one of those ones that reached his eyes. He looked at her like
a child who'd just said something funny without meaning to. "He's.." Just then
the door opened and both their heads turned to see Sandors large form, taking
up the entire space in the doorway.
"We ready to go?" He asked her tossing his keys and catching them with one
hand.
She looked back to the old man "I guess I'll never know now." And turned
towards the door. The old man chuckled and patted Sandor on the back, muttering
something she was too far away to hear.
On the drive to her house they talked about theor days and Sansa bitched about
Joff and Marge and Sandor pretended to listen, giving a nod and a grunt every
so often. When they finally reached her house she invited him in and to her
dismay he accepted. She turned to him before she opened the door, the key
already turned. "I'm sorry." And opened the door. It was like every other day.
Rickon screaming Arya yelling Bran chasing after Rickon and something that
smelled a lot like burnt food. Her mind ticks, and she falls into a well known
pattern of recreating order where there is chaos. She seats Sandor in the
lounge and asks him if he'd like anything to drink, before dragging all three
children into the kitchen.
"Would someone like to explain, why I got home and found a piece of toast
covered in dog shit in our lounge-room?" Arya started laughing hysterically
while Bran scowled and punched her.
"She said it was Nutella." He muttered haughtily. Sansa's jaw clenched and she
turned her glare to Arya.
"Really? For fu... For gods sake Arya. Bran did you eat any?"
"No! I can smell! God!" She pinched her nose between to fingers and sighed. The
lack of sleep is finally catching up to me.
"Arya, you can pick up the dogs shit by yourself for the next month. OR you can
eat this piece of toast. Pick your punishment."
"Are you serious?!?"
"Deadly."
"Well I'm obviously not eating dog shit."
"Well then, you're obviously cleaning the yard. You can start now." Arya rolled
her eyes and huffed as she grabbed an old shopping bag and went out the back
door.
"Go clear the table please. We have a guest." She said to Bran and Rickon as
she flicked on the kettle. It proved to be the wrong thing to say as Rickon
shouted 'oooh, a guest!' And sprinted down the hallway, no doubt to terrorise
Sandor.
When she made it to the dining room juggling two hot cups of coffee Bran had
just finished clearing it. She gave him an appreciative smile and kissed him on
the forehead with a 'thank-you honey,'. Before heading back to save Sandor from
Rickon's game of twenty questions.
She lingered by the doorway for just a moment as she heard Rickon ask "So, are
you like, Sansa's boyfriend now?" Sandor chuckled and looked away towards the
stained carpeted floor.
"No, we're married." He said in all seriousness. Rickons eyes went wide and jaw
dropped and Sansa had to try and stifle her laughter as he asked, "but how?" In
complete wonder.
This is when Sansa revealed herself. "There you are, darling!" She said moving
to the couch and taking his hand in hers. Sandor's eyes sparked mischievously
as he realised she'd heard him. Rickon wrinkled his knows and crossed his arms
in front of his chest.
"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Sansa?" He said in his most
authorities seven year old voice.
She couldn't help it, she burst out laughing and She heard Sandor's loud bark
of laughter following her own. "What's so funny?" Rickon spat. "Does this mean
you're leaving. Is that why he's here? Is he gonna take you away?" His voice
started to quiver and immediately Sansa fell to her knees in front of him,
"Oh no sweetie, we were just kidding. Sandor's just a friend of mine. I'm not
going anywhere." She stroked back his unruly curls. He seemed to calm at her
words and he nodded and gave Sandor one last look through narrowed eyes before
leaving the room. Sandor laughed of course, at his cheek. Rickon had always
been quite... Confronting.
"Kid sure asks a lot of questions."
Sansa chuckled and rolled her eyes, "He wants to be a detective when he grows
up." Sandor just nods with a strange kind of smile and she leads him to where
their cups of coffee sit waiting for them. They talk for hours and the only
time the conversation is interrupted is when she makes more coffee and puts the
kids to bed. He gives her an enquiring look when he sees them all in the lounge
room but she pretended not to see. She'd rather not explain that situation.
When he says it's time for him to leave Sansa almost asks him to stay, but
catches herself before the words escape her lips. She looks at the time and
realises it's almost 3am and is amazed that time should go so quickly. She
walks Sandor out and he's lingering by the door with a question on his mind
(she knows because he always shifts his weight from foot to foot nervously when
he does) and finally when he looks up from the ground he speaks. "I come by
here every morning on my way to work, I can give you guys a lift if you'd
like."
She's left speechless. Something so simple could make such a huge difference.
The money they spend on bus fares could go to much needed clothes and shoes for
the kids, or to more food, or even towards savings for a rainy day. She's so
excited she doesn't even answer and Sandor is still staring with her with a
look of reluctance as if he's scared she'll take offence.
"That would be... Yes please, I'd appreciate that very much." She tries not to
sound too eager, in case she come across as destitute but quickly shrugs off
that last little bit of pride when she remembers he's seen where she lives,
knows how she lives, and is slowly becoming to know who she is. "Thank you."
She adds belatedly but she knows, that he can see it means more to her than
just a simple thank you. She leans in and kisses his scarred cheek and although
he jolts at the touch he doesn't move away. When she leans back she sees his
face is somewhat surprised but he quickly turns away and coughs, mutters a
"Good night, little bird." And is gone.
Chapter End Notes
     Hope you liked the chapter, please if you have any questions or if
     something doesn't make sense just tell me :) sorry the stories kinda
     slow going at the moment but I promise it'll pick up a bit next
     chapter when Sandor and Robb meet again.
***** Even When we're Smiling out of Fear *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from Lorde's 'Tennis court' - cause I've been
     listening to that shit like cray cray the whole time I've been
     writing this chapter. It's a pretty good song to sum up the whole
     story really, in fact, that whole album is.
Chapter Notes
     So sorry, I really wanted to get this chapter up sooner, but couldn't
     find the time to fix it up, parts of this chapter really bug me, but
     I think I got there towards the end ;) unfortunately updates may not
     be as regular as I'd like the next few months as I'm starting job no.
     3 this week, and it's hard to find time and inspiration to write when
     im tired. The good news however is I've booked my flight and I'm
     going to Europe bitches!!! Anyways, what I really wanted to say was
     Thankyou. Thankyou so much for all your kind words and feedback, I
     honsetly cannot express how much it means to me, and I'm so glad
     you're enjoying the story so far. That being said, next chapter will
     be the last easy-going chapter before the shit hits the fan, so enjoy
     it while you can haha xxx
4 am
He's about to make a decision on whether to go back to sleep or not when his
phone rings and decides for him. He checks the caller ID and rolls his eyes.
"The fuck do you want?"
"Sorry, I forgot how grumpy you are in the morning."
"It's 4am."
"Forgot about the time difference too."
"Alright then, what do you want, spit it out."
There's a pause, a deep breath, and he can imagine his friend running his hand
through his hair trying to calm his nerves. "How are they?"
"They're fine."
"Sandor.."
He rolls his eyes again, and his friend chuckles as if he could see him do it.
"Still in school. All of them. I'm meant to pick them up this morning actually.
I still don't understand why you don't just come and see them for yourself."
"I have a duty..."
"So did I. And I left for less." He growls, because he doesn't understand why
he stays away when his family needs him.
"Jon, they're fine. But that's all they are. Fine. Because they're just getting
by. They'd be better if you were here."
"I already told you I can't..."
"I know, and I'm just answering your question."
There's silence, and Sandor knows that Jon beats himself up about this enough
as it is, but he wants him to reconsider. Those kids need their big brother.
Sansa can't do it all on her own. He helps her as much as she'll let him, but
he's careful not to over-step his boundaries. He called Jon again after he was
first invited into Sansa's home. Jon and him were in the same business for a
time, and had kept in touch after Sandor had left.
They'd never spoken of family. Sandor only knew Sansa was his younger sister
because of her last name. As soon as Sandor had mentioned her Jon had been all
ears. All Sandor knew was that Jon had left his home when his father died, two
years passed. As far as he knew, he hadn't spoken to any of his family since
then. "They're not fine." Jon said with resignation.
"No, they're not."
Jon growled and it was so unlike him it almost made Sandor jump, to hear such
an angry sound come from such a soft spoken man. "Where the fuck is Robb at?
Did you not see him at all?"
"Robb?"
"He's a year younger than us, Sansa's older brother."
"No, she hasn't even mentioned an older brother." He thought long and hard,
over every conversation they'd had. "Nope, never mentioned a 'Robb' but to be
fair, neither did you."
"You know as well as I do, we have no family once we commit to the wall, or
faceless."
"Then why are you callin, Jon. It's 4 o'clock in the fucking morning and I'm
tired as hell."
"I'm calling for the same reason you called me in the first place." Jon groans
and sandor can hear the phone rattle as he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I'll
let you go. Let me know how they are though, let me know if anything important
happens. I still love them."
It's then it hits him, he remembers why she had to stay at his place a couple
of nights. "Wait, she did mention him, once. She said he was staying over at
her house so she couldn't go home."
"Why couldn't she go home, while he was there."
He didn't know if it was his place to say anything, so settled with "they were
having a disagreement."
"Oh. Okay. Listen, I gotta go, but if you could possibly talk to Robb..."
"I'll give it a try."
"Thanks, buddy."
The line goes dead, and he decides he might as well get up. It's the same old
routine, of getting dressed, going for a jog, get home, have a shower, watch
the news while eating his breakfast and then leaving for work.
He's early getting to the Stark household today, and Sansa tells him the boys
are sick and only Arya needs to be dropped to school. Both Sandor and Arya
side-eye each other with distaste. He'd made an effort with the girl but no
matter what he did she still seemed to hate him. The first time he'd dropped
the kids to school she'd spent the entire ride scowling at the back of his
head, from her seat behind him. Eventually Sansa noticed and he saw her
chastise her younger sister as soon as they'd hopped out of the car. He'd
laughed a little too loud and he knew that it didn't win him any points with
the younger stark sister when she whipped her head back and glared at him.
"You ready to go?" Arya nodded wordlessly and trudged out of the house. Sansa
scowled at her retreating form, and thanked Sandor a million times over for
giving her a ride. And ran to the kitchen to get Arya's lunch bag, he took it
for her and she smiled one of those pretty smiles of hers. He hopped into his
car and tossed her lunch bag into her lap. She shoved it into her bag and
continued to pout. "You cut all your hair." He said when they'd gone 5 minutes
of silence down the road. He was okay with quiet, in fact he was more than
okay, he liked silence, but in this instance it unnerved him.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It got in the way."
Fair enough. "You don't like me very much, do you." She turned to him then, she
looked him up and down, studying his face long and hard.
"No."
"Whys that?"
"Do you know how my father died?"
"Your sister said it was suicide."
Arya raised her eyebrows at that and chuckled, though the sound held no mirth,
only malice. "Did she? Well, that's interesting."
"What do you mean?" Arya shook her head and went back to staring out the
window. The rest of the drive was spent in silence. The car rattled as it came
to a halt outside the school. Arya contemplated her hands that lay in her lap,
her expression was that of a child, not a bratty teen. He felt sorry for her
when he saw her like that. She seemed to compose herself, and then turned back
into the girl who hates him, staring an ice cold gaze, "My father borrowed
money from some people. A month later he was found dead. Sansa saw the whole
thing, and so did I. Only one of us told the truth when the cops came around
asking questions. Now, I know who you were. I know what you did, but I don't
know who you are now. So I'll hate you until I do know. Cause that's all I can
do." She left the truck and Sandor was left alone to deal with his thoughts.
What did she mean 'she knows who he was.' Very few people knew who he was and
what he did. He doubted a pissy 12 year old knew anything at all. Let alone the
truth to such a well hidden secret.
He pulls up at the animal welfare league and is greeted by the chipped and
cracked orange paint that's only barely holding onto the building. He looks up
at the sky, and seeing as though it's a bright day, without a storm cloud in
sight, he thinks he'll start repainting today. He's had the paint for weeks
now, but every time he's gone to do it, it's rained, or there's been an
emergency with one of the animals, or he gets pulled into one of the Eugene's,
endless conversations.
As he steps through the front door, the man himself, is seated behind the
reception desk with a cup of tea in hand and a folder open on top of the
tabletop. He raises his eyes, so he's looking at Sandor above his glasses and
smiles. "And what is it you're doing today, my boy?"
"Thought I might get started on painting out front."
Eugene smiles and nods, "thank you, Sandor. For all you do here. Really, it's a
big help." Sandor doesn't know how to receive praise so he only shifts
uncomfortably and looks away.
"That girl you brought here the other day, what was her name?"
"Sansa." He says looking back up.
The old man laughs and shakes his head, "Sansa. Quite the fire cracker, that
one."
Sandor chuckles too, and rubs the back of his neck, "you have no idea."
"Is she your girl?" When he meets Eugene's wise old eyes, he sees the way they
wrinkle at the corners, sees the spark lit in his eyes, ad recognises it as
hope.
"No sir, not my girl. Not sure she could ever be anybody's girl. I think she'll
always belong to herself."
"So then are you her man?"
Always needling out the truth, even when I try so hard to dodge it without
lying... "Aye, not that she knows it though. Not in the way you'd think."
"It doesn't matter what anyone thinks Sandor, it's what someone does. But just
so you know, I think you're a good young man, and I think she's lucky to have
you."
"Alright old man, enough talk. I'm gonna get started on the front." Though he's
curt and changes subject quickly, without offering compliments in return,
Eugene doesn't seem to mind as he beams at Sandor anyway, and claps him on the
back. It goes unsaid that Sandor looks up to him, but they both know it. It's a
long day of hard work, but it's all worth it when he sees the finished product.
He'd sandpapered down the whole of the front and had done one coat of a dark
grey paint, he was going to redo the entry doors as well, but decided they
looked alright. Surprisingly the dark grey and yellow went quite well together.
Once he'd finished for the day, he said farewell to Eugene, clocked out and
headed to the school to pick up Arya.
The ride home was spent much the same as the ride in the morning- in an awkward
silence. Finally, when they were five minutes from home he asked the question
that had been on his mind all day. "How do you know what I used to do?"
Arya turned to him with fierce grey eyes, and a scowl on her face. "Do you
really not remember?"
Sandor raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "evidently not."
"Last year I was out with my friend Mycah. He had just gotten his license so he
took me out of town for the day, we were at a restaurant when you and a bunch
of other guys came up to us. You said you needed to speak with him about
something. He went outside with you and never came back. I had to catch a cab
home, I didn't know what had happened to him. A week later we were at his
funeral." Angry tears streaked down her face, but she quickly wiped them away.
He remembered that boy. The ginger. It was funny that Arya had remembered his
face, but didn't recognise her own brother, Jon. He was there that day, in
fact, he was the one leading that mission. 'Mycah' was a convicted felon.
'Mycah' had raped two little girls. And yet, Sandor was the monster. "And you
think I killed him for owing money."
"He said he owed money to the wrong people, he said that you were after him,
but that you wouldn't hurt him if I was there, cause I'd be a witness."
Sandor nodded and furrowed his brow turning slightly to her, "How old was this
boy?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.
"17."
"And how old were you?"
"11..."
"And you didn't think it strange for a 17 year old boy to be hanging out with
an 11 year old girl?"
"He was my friend..."
"Answer the question."
"Why? so you can tell me I was wrong for being there, when you're the one
who.."
"I'm the one who what?" He said pulling the car to the curb. They weren't at
her house yet, but he felt this conversation had to have all his attention, or
Arya would think him insincere. He turned to look at her, and noticed how she
suddenly looked unsure of herself.
"He was still my friend..." She said in a whisper.
"I know. And I'm sure your reasons for wanting to be his friend were noble. But
his were not. I knew this. The people I worked for, knew this. And something
had to be done."
"So you killed him." She said accusingly, tears filling her eyes once more.
"No."
"Than what the fuck happened to him?"
"That's none of your business. But I didn't kill him. That's all you need to
know. Now stop, glaring at me all the time. You've no reason."
Arya looked away out the window again and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Can we
go now." She whispered, voice crackling with the effort to choke back her sobs.
He started the car without another word and the world descended into silence
once more, save the rattle of the engine. When they stopped in front of the
Stark household, Arya opened the car door and ran inside. Sandor jumped out of
the car and made his way to the house and was greeted by the usual noise that
emanated from their residents.
When he went to knock at the door it suddenly swung open and Sansa was standing
there, all wild hair, and pink cheeks. Her eyes met his and her scowl changed
to a smile. "Sandor," she said in between breaths. "Sorry, it's been a busy
day." He looks behind her and the kitchen is flooded, he looks back down to her
and she's flushed in embarrassment. "One of the kids put something down the
drain and it clogged it and now the kitchen is flooding, and I don't know how
to fix it." She says so fast that he has to ask her to repeat herself.
"Don't sweat it, little bird. I'll sort it out." He makes his way over to the
kitchen and slips off his shoes and socks before walking through the inch deep
sink water that covers the kitchen floor. He sets to work straight away, and
Sansa stands beside him the whole time biting her nails and asking if there's
anything she can do to help. He eventually gets the water to stop and starts
looking for the source of all the trouble while Sansa mops the floor. He finds
half a garden gnome shoved down the waste disposal. He pulls out the pieces and
Sansa growls. "Rickon."
She screams and storms out of the kitchen. He just laughs. The kid reminds him
of himself when he was his age. When she comes back into the soaked room, she
has Rickon by the ear, and it's evident he's been crying. "What do you say?"
She says looking down at him with a look of chastisement.
"I'm sorry I put gnomes down the sink, and I'm sorry I wasted your v..v...val-
uable time San..dor." He says between hiccups.
"It's alright kid, don't you worry bout it. I'm sure those gnomes had it
coming." Sansa rolls her eyes but smiles all the same and Rickon cracks a small
smile as well, with a mumbled 'they did!' As he waddles out in his pyjamas.
Sansa exhale is a deep and heavy thing, and he can see the weariness in her
features as she runs a hand through her dark auburn hair. She seems to suddenly
remember herself and shoots a look his way, with a lazy smile "Thankyou so much
Sandor. I wouldn't have had even the slightest clue of how to deal with that
situation."
"No worries little bird. Anything else need fixing?" She laughs and says the
back door jams and though he knows she's joking he asks where their toolbox is
anyway and pulls it apart and reassembles it so that it opens and closes with
ease. By the end of it Sansa is looking at him like he's her knight in shining
armour, and though he'll never admit it, he likes this look she gives him.
It's... nice.
She huffs a laugh and pulls at his sleeve so he follows her into a small room.
"Take this off." She says tugging at his shirt. He goes to say no but she stops
him when she tells him to have a look at himself, and he's covered in grease
and filth. It's now he recognises the room as a laundry room, with a washing
machine and dryer and a small sink beside it. There's hardly enough room for
the both of them in there and he feels self-conscious about her seeing his
chest, scattered with ugly burns and puckered scars from knife fights, bullets
wounds. It's such an ugly sight. It's no worse than his face, but it doesn't
make him look any prettier.
Why do I even care? With that thought in mind he shrugs off his shirt and hands
it over to her. Sansa tosses it in the machine without even looking at him, and
puts in fabric softener and laundry detergent. It smells like limes and
coconuts, and he realises this is why the little bird always smells so good.
She shuts the lid and turns on the machine. When she turns round to face him
she gasps. He sees her eyes widen, and she covers her mouth with her hand.
"Sandor." She frowns and reaches out to touch his chest he flinches, but
there's nowhere to run as they wait for his shirt to wash in such a close
proximity. The doors closed behind him and he feels the cold wood as his back
presses up against it. He feels stupid. Scared of a girls touch, like a five
year old who still believes in cooties. He frowns and stares at the opposite
wall as he resigns himself to the feeling of her touchon his scarred flesh.
"Who hurt you?" She whispers so close to his skin he doesn't dare look at her.
He's tried so hard to help while keeping his distance but it's so difficult
when she's always pushing at the boundaries.
"I fell." He says sarcastically. And Sansa tsk's at him and he can almost feel
her eyes as they sweep across his body. Almost. Though it's not her eyes that
are soft and warm against his right shoulder. He looks down and Sansa's lips
are pressed to an old scar he'd gotten from a shiv, when he'd picked his first
real fight at 15. She pulls back and her eyes are two bright blue orbs of
light, they see into the very depths of his soul, and all he can manage to say
is "what are you doing?" She leans in again and this time her lips land just a
little lower, under his collarbone. "You shouldn't." And she's kissing her way
up his neck, her hands on his chest. His eyes close for a split second as he
tries to regain control, and it's in that second he loses it.
His arms wind around her waist and lift her so they're of a same height. He
moves so that it's her against the door supporting her weight and their breaths
are coming in short and heavy. He buries his face in the crook of her neck as
she winds her legs around his waist and he pushes himself further against her.
Her gasp makes him groan and he's planting desperate kisses along her cheek.
Their hips rock together and he stops his trail of kisses before he reaches her
perfect pink lips. They're so tempting like that, dark pink and caught between
her teeth. Time stands still and all there is, is the feelings they evoke in
one another. Her eyes don't leave his, and there's no way he'd ever turn away.
Not now. Not now that the damn has broke. There's no going back and he sees she
understands, as she grinds herself harder and faster against him. There's a
knock on the other side of the door, but it doesn't halt their movements, only
their breaths. The knock gets louder and Rickon is whining on the other side of
the door. "Sansa!! I'm hungry!!"
"Just a... Just a minute." She says breathlessly and it's now her eyes become
desperate almost pleading. She doesn't need to plead to him. He needs this as
much as she does. He drops his head to her shoulder and watches as his hand
closes around her breast. Her moans are pretty little melodies, each and every
one are ingrained into his brain.
There's a knock again on the door, and this time Sansa actually growls. "Sansa,
Robb called and said he's coming round, he needs to talk to you. He'll be here
in five, so wrap up whatever shit you've got going on in there." They hear
Arya's footsteps as she retreats. They both know, that they can't win. Not
today.
Sandor chuckles, and Sansa nods knowingly. Her legs unwrap from his waist and
he lets her back down on the ground. She moves over to the washing machine and
grabs his shirt out to put in the dryer. She fixes her hair in the reflection
of the dirty metal that covers the sink, even though it's a blurred vision.
"I'd better go make Rickon something to eat."
"Okay."
She opens the door and the kids right there waiting "finally! I'm so hungry!"
"Alright alright.." She moves quickly to the kitchen to make peanut butter
sandwiches and Rickon sticks around with Sandor, telling him all about his war
with the garden gnomes from next doors front lawn.
The dryer buzzes and signals the end of the cycle. Sandor grabs his shirt
throws it on and heads for the kitchen. "I'd better get going." He says to her
back, she's cutting the crusts off and he sees as she pauses a moment before
continuing.
"Okay." He walks up behind her and tucks her hair behind her ear and she leans
into his touch and let's out the breath they've both been holding.
She turns around to face him and there's tears in her eyes. "I'm not just
something to do, am I?"
Sandor frowns and strokes down her cheek. "What do you mean?"
"Just... Tell me if you don't really want me. If you want that," she says
inclining her head towards the laundry room, "Then that's fine. But don't let
me believe you really want all of me if you don't."
"Sansa, I..fuck," His phone rings and he knows it's Cersei cause he's been
expecting her call all day, he can't ignore it now. Can't catch a god-damn
break. "I've gotta take this, but we'll talk... Tomorrow. I'll come and pick
you up at 8, yeah?" She nods and he kisses her on her cheek, the gesture seems
to alleviate some of the tension she holds as her shoulders droop and she
manages a small, shy smile.
"Yep, Sandor." He picks up his phone and is on his way out the door when it
opens, he bumps into someone but is too focused on trying to hear what Cersei's
saying to pay any real attention. He mumbles a 'sorry man,' and makes his way
quickly to his car to write down the details she's giving him.
***** Do you want more *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from 'ship to wreck' by the fabulous Florence and
     the machine.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"What was he doing here?"
"He's my friend."
"What the fuck, was he doing here, Sansa?" Robb yelled gripping her arm. His
eyes were crazed. Sansa tried to pull away but he held tight. He was high on
something. And it scared her. Robb had never hurt her before but there was a
first for everything she supposed.
"Tell me!" His grip tightened.
"He was just helping with the plumbing! The sink in the kitchen stopped
working, and It wasn't going to fix itself. What does it matter anyway? He's my
friend. This is my house. You don't even live here."
Robb clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes at her. "Stupid girl. If the boys
found out he was here, they'd kill him. He's not even supposed to be in town.
He's supposed to have left."
The insult stung but his cryptic answer annoyed her more.
Robb sighed and let go of her arm, sitting down and rubbing his face. "His
brother, fuck, his whole family, was working against us in the first big street
war we had. It was years ago but the boys don't forget so easy. They paid him a
visit a couple weeks back, threatened him and told him to leave town. He's
meant to have left."
"He's my friend and he's not going anywhere." She yelled, her hands balled into
fists, and her foot stomping. Tears were pooling at the corners of her eyes.
She tried to fight them back but it did no use.
As the first tear fell Robb groaned. "Grow up Sansa, it's not the end of the
world. You're not going to see him anymore and that's final. Stop being such a
child."
Her hand moved without her thinking, she slapped him hard across the face "A
child?!? A child? I have been anything but a child, these last three years. And
you do not talk to me that way. I am your sister. Not some dumb bitch who
trails after you and 'your boys', do you hear me? You treat me with respect or
you get out of my house." She yelled at him.
He looked as though he were in shock. His hand reached up to touch his now red
cheek. He shook his head "It's getting dangerous now Sansa. It's so tense
within the gang. Something big is coming. Everyone can feel it. It's been quiet
too long. Im worried about you guys. I don't want you near him. He's bad news.
And I wasn't exaggerating, if the boys found him here they'd kill him. On your
doorstep. Is that what you want? Police snooping around the house? You'd lose a
friend and the way you guys have been living would come to light. You and I
both know mum is unfit to care for you guys. You'd all be split into separate
homes, and mum would most likely end up in a psychiatric ward. I don't think
she'd survive that Sansa. So you see, its not like I'm thinking of myself. I'm
only thinking of you and those kids."
It made sense, it made too much sense to try and fight it. "Fine."
"Don't be like that.."
"Like what?" She whispered. There was this ache at the back of her throat that
prevented her from speaking like a normal person. It hurt. Physically hurt, to
think of never seeing Sandor again. "What is the point of all this Robb? What
do you fight for? Do you even know?"
"Sansa? The point of all this was to make a better life, not just for myself
but all those boys without a home, without a purpose, that among other things."
He looked at her pointedly.
"Doing something just for the sake of doing it is not noble. It's not
honourable, it's not what you preach to the people who follow you. You say
you're apart of this war because you want to make a better life- why not get a
real job, live in the real world. There's no reason you can't. All there is to
gain from the path you walk is death."
"Even if I wanted to leave -which I don't- I couldn't now. Not when they all
look to me to lead them..."
"LEAD THEM WHERE? The only place you lead them is to their graves. You let your
pride rule you Robb, and that's why you'll never succeed at this 'better life'
you try so hard to attain."
"Have you forgotten what they did to our father? Did that thought just slip
your mind? I would've thought you of all people would want to get even." He
said standing to his feet, he towered above her but she did not flinch. It was
low bringing up their fathers death. No one in their family ever talked about
what had happened. Of course she hadn't forgotten, and yes, she felt the brunt
of the guilt for her fathers murder. If it wasn't for her, he might still be
alive. But she refused to believe this is what her father would have wanted.
Yes, she longed for justice, but it simply didn't exist. Life was not a
fairytale. The good guys didn't just lose, they were beaten to a pulp and then
disposed of like trash. She knows, she saw it happen.
"You can tell yourself all you like, that what you do is for him. But if dad
were here you know what he'd say."
"Dads dead. I don't have a clue what he'd say, cause he'll never say anything
again." He shot an accusatory glare at Sansa and it was enough to break her
beyond repair. Her chest felt as though it was being ripped open. This was the
kind of pain only the people you loved could cause, a kind of pain that made
you want to be sick at the very thought of it.
"I know! I know that you all think it's my fault he's gone! I think it too, but
I am still your sister. Don't act like I'm no longer your blood. Because of the
mistake of a stupid 12 year old girl, who didn't know any better." She was
sobbing but Robb didn't seem to care. She knew, that soon he'd come down from
whatever he was on and would regret the things he'd said to her this night. She
closed her eyes to the pain she felt in her chest and tried to calm her
breathing.
Her fingers traced the pattern of the pillow she held close to her and Robb sat
staring at the adjacent wall, a thousand miles away. Rickon waddled into the
room with his blanky in one hand and iron man in the other. "Are you guys
fighting?" His shaky little voice was all it took for sansa to wipe her tears
and regain her composure.
"Oh no, honey. We were just talking."
"Did you make her cry?" Rickon frowned at Robb.
Robb snorted and shook his head, raising a cigarette to his mouth and lighting
it. "She makes herself cry."
Rickons soft hand touched her cheek catching a stray tear. "Don't cry Sansa."
She smiles at her little brother and tells him she'll come and read him a
bedtime story soon.
As Rickon leaves the room, Robbs chuckling to himself. She's angry now. She was
having a good day. She was fine, and then he came in throwing his weight
around. "What did you come here to tell me? Arya said you needed to speak with
me about something."
"You baby him too much. He's 7, not 2."
"What did you come here to tell me." She grinds out.
Robb blinks and his eyes widen and she hates having to talk to her brother when
he's off his face. "I'm going away for a while. You probably won't see me for a
couple of weeks."
Good. She thinks. But then she connects the dots, and his behaviour suddenly
worries her. He's scared. He only ever pulls shit like this when he's scared.
"Where are you going?" He raise his eyebrows at her and she knows he can't tell
her. "Okay."
"I just wanted to come let you know so you don't overreact and call the police
or something."
"Alright. Was there anything else?"
"No. I'll be going."
"Do you wanna say good bye to the kids?" He looks torn for a second but then
shakes his head, and leaves.
When she's lying awake staring at the ceiling that night, a thin body cuddles
up to her side. She thinks it's Rickon at first but when she looks down she
sees Arya's tangled mop of brown hair. "I don't think it was your fault." She
whispers. And Sansa clings to her little sister like a lifeline. "It wasn't
your fault Sansa." She buries her face in the crook of her neck and Arya
strokes her hair until she falls asleep.
* * *
Just like he said he'd be, Sandor was there to pick her up at 8am. Her eyes
were swollen and her throat croaky, and though he gave her an enquiring look,
he didn't push her to talk. It was strange to think that this would be the last
day they spent together. She tried not to think about it, it only brought fresh
tears to her eyes. Sansa hadn't cried like this in years, and she marvelled at
how quickly she'd grown attached to Sandor, when she'd always prided herself,
on being independent.
She sat in his old, beat-up truck staring blankly at the road ahead. How do I
tell him? She gnawed at her bottom lip in thought until Sandor pulled into the
car park at the mall. Sandor turned to her and frowned, reaching into his
pocket he pulled out a handkerchief -of all things- and dabbed at her lip. When
he pulled away, she saw a drop of blood on it, and Sansa licked away the copper
taste.
She stared at her hands in her lap while he stared at her, and after a moment
of awkward silence he hopped out of the car and came round to open her door for
her. She went to step down but Sandor stood in front of her blocking her way.
His hands rested against the roof top, and Sansa was entranced by the thick
corded muscle that caged her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing..."
"If it's about yesterday, I... That doesn't have to happen again."
"Do you want it to?" The question scared her but it might go easier for her, if
he didn't care. If he said that that's all he ever wanted. It would hurt now,
but in the long run it would... Still hurt. Maybe just a little less.
"I don't want you just for that. I want to be there for you. You decide what
you do with that knowledge." He said stepping back. She immediately missed the
close proximity. How am I gonna be when he really leaves?
 "I want you." She says on impulse, and she can't decide whether she regrets it
or not, because two sides of herself are at war. Family. Duty. Honour. That's
what her mother always said, but now her mothers a wreck. A miserable, widowed
wreck.
The burnt corner of his mouth twitches and he looks away, but holds his hand
out to her, to help her down from the truck. When they start walking he doesn't
let go.
As they walk further into the mall, Sansa recognises all the places she used to
shop before her life got turned upside down. "Where are we going?"
"I have a friend I want you to meet." They stop outside one of the more
expensive clothes store and Sansa is mesmerised by the beautiful dresses on
display in the window. They're so elegant. Sandor gives her a half smile and
pulls her into the shop. At the back of the store is the register and a young
woman stands behind it. She looks up when she hears them and immediately
narrows her eyes at Sandor. She walks around the desk and leans her hip against
it with her arms crossed over her chest. She looks them both up and down with
disgust and Sandor snorts. "What do you want?"
"It's nice to see you too. Nikita, this is my friend Sansa." He says and
'Nikita' offers a thin lipped smile and nod of her head in a way of saying
hello. "Sansa, this is Nikita, the only person you'll ever meet that's grumpier
than me."
The girl widens her eyes at him but soon cracks a smile. "Alright, alright. So
what is it you need, you didn't say over the phone."
"Well..." Sandor goes over to her and speaks to her privately, she can see the
girl frown, then her expression softens and eventually she nods and says
something that makes Sandor laugh, but she's too far away to hear. Nikita
showed her over to a rack of dresses and quickly sorted through them chucking
random dresses at her to try on. Sansa peeks at the price tag and gasps at the
price. Nikita looks over her shoulder and waves a hand in her direction, "Don't
worry, it's covered."
Sansa cringes. "I don't..."
"I owe Sandor a favour. So don't worry bout it." She still feels uncomfortable
about being given something so expensive but says thank you and catches another
dress that goes flying over Nikita's shoulder. She's very pretty. She had thick
chocolate brown hair that reached her waist, big brown eyes. She was just a
little bit shorter than Sansa, and she was one of those girls who emanate self-
confidence. She wondered if..
"So, how do you know Sandor?" She tries to ask casually, but it comes across a
little too casual to truly be casual. Nikita stares at her blankly for a second
before her eyes narrow and her lips spread into a grin.
"Ew! Not like you think." She laughed and Sansa tried (and failed) to convince
her she didn't assume they had... "No, it's fine. Our mothers were friends."
She absentmindedly flicked through the dresses and laughed to herself. "At
first we absolutely loathed each other. We'd call each other names and he'd
pull my hair and I'd bite him. One day our mothers locked us in his garage and
turned the lights off though. They found us cuddled up together pissing
ourselves in the dark. We were only 5, but we've been friends ever since."
Sansa laughs, she likes Nikita. She's blunt, and very sarcastic. A lot like
Sandor. "I used to know your brother too, you know."
Sansa's smile falters slightly "Robb?"
"No, Jon. Me, him and Sandor were like the three amigos, back in the day. Like
three peas in a pod." Sansa's easy smile returns and she tried to remember
Jon's solemn face. He was a good brother. She wondered how he was, what he was
doing. He'd left as soon as their father had died. Not of his own volition
though. Her mother had driven him out. Had yelled and screamed and sobbed until
finally he stopped trying, and left.
Nikita scanned the store one last time before pushing her towards the dressing
room. "We'll try these for now, but I'll keep looking while you dress. Call me
over and show me each one."
"Okay." She takes the clothes and starts walking towards the changing rooms,
when she looks around Sandor's gone. "Where did.."
"He's gone to get fitted for a suit, said he'd be back soon." Nikita yelled out
as she buried herself in one of the clothe piles. She worked her way through
the various dresses, and Nikita was brutally honest- as expected. After almost
an hour of trying on dresses a 'there's the fucker.' Was heard from across the
store. Nikita walked over to Sansa with a look of triumph on her face.
In her hand she held a dark blue dress. It was short in the front and long in
the back and puffed out. It was the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen. "Try
it on." Nikita urged excitedly.
When she walked out wearing the dress the other girl nodded and smirked,
looking off to her side. Sansa followed her line of sight and found Sandor
sitting in the chair across from her dressing room, he stood when he saw her
and his jaw dropped. She felt pretty."What do you think?"
Sandor coughed and sfood a little straighter, he closed his mouth and nodded.
"You look nice."
Nikita rolled her eyes and grabbed her hand. "You look hot."
Sansa beamed at them both and thanked them profusely. Nikita wrapped up the
dress for her and told her she was welcome to come by anytime and Sandor took
her hand in his and lead them back to the truck.
"You looked beautiful." He said low and quiet when they were in his car. Sansa
leaned over the console, and kissed his cheek and he started the car and drove
them back to her place.
"Thank you, again, for today. It was, it's been so long since... Just, thank
you."
"Your welcome little bird." He patted her hand and she got of the truck and
waved goodbye. I'm sure Robb was exaggerating.
* * *
The following day Sansa went to MoCKingbird, to see Baelish. She hadn't spoken
to him since the incident with Joffrey, it was awkward between them now. But
being two weeks rent in arrears made her swallow her pride. "It's too risky you
going back to Kings, I don't want you getting hurt."
"Then I'll work the other clubs. I'll work here. I turn sixteen next week,
it'll be legal."
"Yeah, it'll be legal, but I don't want you to. This," he said waving his hands
around the large main room "this is not your life. Some girls have no choice,
you do."
"What choice do I have? I'm practically a single parent who's still trying to
finish high school. I don't have time for another job. The late hours suit me
here. You wont even know I'm here, I'll stay out of your way, be your best
worker. Even minimum wage here is three times as much as what I'd get working a
'normal' job."
"Please, at least consider my offer from before, you can pay me back whenever
you have it, just let me help..."
"No. I earn."
Petyr sighed, he reached down to the bar he was resting against and poured
himself a gin and tonic. "You can work the other clubs Thursday, Sunday, and
Monday." He said taking a sip of his drink. "You can work a couple hours here
Friday, Saturday."
She leapt to her feet and hugged him around his waist. "Thank-you."
"Sure." He replied and moved back to his office on the far side of the room.
After her talk with Petyr, Sansa went to go find the girls, and caught up on
gossip. She told them all she'd start working there over the weekends and they
opened a bottle of champagne at 11am to celebrate. It was rather early but
there was no saying no to these girls. Randa shared way too much information
about her new love interest -Bronn. Which led to Mya, sharing way too much
information about her lover, Lothor. Which led to them all asking if Sansa was
seeing anyone.
"Depends what you call seeing..." She replied cryptically.
The girls all "woo'd" and scrambled closer like children gathering around to
hear a story.
"Well, I'm kind of seeing this guy.."
"What's his name?" Cherry asked.
"Sandor..."
"What's he look like?" Mya butted in.
"Umm, he's tall - like really tall. Heavily muscled. Black hair. Light grey
eyes. And he has, burns down one side of his face, though he's had skin grafts
so it's not that bad."
"I remember him! I gave him a wristie the other night!" Cherry yelled out,
already drunk from one glass of champagne. Light weight. Sansa didn't know why
she was jealous. It was her job to get men off, Cherry didn't pick and choose
who she went with, but suddenly Sansa felt more anger than she thought she was
capable of. And it was all directed at the blonde haired girl who currently sat
describing her friend/not friend/love interest?'s penis. "You're lucky Sansa.
He'll make you really happy." The girl winked at her.
Sansa blushed and the girls all teased her for it. Suddenly she wasn't in the
mood to socialise anymore. She left the strip club soon after and headed home.
* * *
A few more days passed and Sansa's normal routine went about as usual. Sandor
and her would have coffee and tea after he dropped them home and would usually
leave late at night. It was a Wednesday and 3am when she heard a knock at the
door. She sat upright and scanned her surroundings listening hard for anything
unusual. After a minute another knock came, this time more curt, whoever it was
was getting impatient. She got her pocket knife from out of her bag and
approached the door. She looked through the peep hole and opened the door
immediately.
Robb was there, all bet up. His eye was a dark grey and his bottom lip hung
forward, it was cut quite deep. he limped in through the doorway. "Oh my god,
Robb, what the hell happened to you?"
He waved her off and took a seat on the floor, for a moment. "I can't stay
long. I just came to give you something." He reached into his jacket pocket and
passed her a thick, heavy envelope. She knew without looking at it what it was,
but she did anyway.
"Robb where did you..."
"I've gotta go."
"Wait, I can't take this."
"Yes you can, think of it as payment for all those times I missed our rent." He
smiled at her with blood in his mouth.
"I don't want this. It'll only bring trouble. Take it back to wherever you got
it from."
"No. I earned it. It was mine, and now it's yours because I'm giving it to you.
I don't have time to argue right now. I'll see you round Sanny." He said with
his hand on the door.
She gripped his jacket sleeve before he could leave and turned him round to
face her. "Stay safe." She whispered. He snorted and closed the door behind
him.
Chapter End Notes
     Hi guys! So I finished this chapter this afternoon and thought I'd
     post it now. Sorry it was kinda boring, I promise exciting stuff next
     chapter and a bit more heat ;) the next chapter probs won't come
     about til next week though, so sorry bout that. Hope you enjoyed!
     Shoot me a comment if you like, I absolutely love reading them xxx
     Btw Nikitas a realm person, she's my best friend and she's the
     funniest bitch I know so I added her into my fic... As a show of my
     appreciation of her putting up with my shit.
***** Ignore everybody else *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from a tune called 'retrograde' by the one and
     only James Blake.
Chapter Notes
     Hello hello, so it's been a few days, and I slaved away writing this
     all night tonight after work, and am finally posting it at 3 am,
     that's how devoted I am to you lovely readers. Pretty sure this is my
     longest chapter to date, I'm a bit proud. Anyways, let me know what
     you think. And once again thanks to everyone who leaves comments,
     they really do inspire me to write. Much love, hope you enjoy,
     annie_rose xxx
His phone buzzes on the solid oak table but no one in the board room notices.
They're all too busy trying to make themselves look good in front of the boss.
Little do they know he could give two shits. Their real boss is the quiet man
sitting next to him, drumming his fingers against the table. He looks just as
bored as Sandor, if not more. He checks his phone and sees its a text from
Sansa.
"What are you up to?"
"In a board meeting, you?"
"I'm at mockingbird. Do you want meet up later?"
"Sure."
"Cool see you then"
"Wait. Don't go. I'm so fucking bored."
"Haha what do you want me to do to keep you entertained?"
"Nudes?"
"Hahaha! No, I don't think so."
"Fine, you can leave then." He jokes.
"Hahaha okay, then."
She doesn't text back for a few minutes and he puts down his phone, a little
disappointed. Even though it's for the best, he really should be listening. Two
minutes later and his phone buzzes and he reaches for it a little too quick.
Tywin side eyes him. That mans always unnerved him. He's the CEO of the company
and was a close friend of his father and brother. He can't say that he shares
that same bond.
He unlocks his phone and nearly drops it. He manages to keep his shit together,
but only barely. Sansa sent him a text saying, "something to get you by..." And
underneath the goofiest looking nude he's ever seen, but a nude all the same.
She's drawn smiley faces on her breasts and is pulling a stupid face but it
still turns him on. They're still breasts. He doesn't know what to do. He looks
away from the screen and leans over to Tywin. "I've gotta go. You've got this
right?" Tywin frowns but nods. And Sandor just about trips in his haste to get
out of there.
As soon as he's made it out of the building he calls Sansa. "I'm coming to pick
you up." He growls into the phone and she giggles and says she waiting for him,
and its the sexiest thing he's ever heard. His drive to the club is a daze,
there's only one thing on his mind. It's been so long, too long.
He stops outside the club and sits in his truck just trying to calm himself.
This was a bad idea. He should leave. He still doesn't know if she's just doing
this out of obligation or because she genuinely wants it. He runs his hands
over his face and rests his head on the dash board. Get a hold of yourself. A
few deep breaths and he's back to his usual controlled self. He walks up the
steps and he's feeling confident and then he opens the door and suddenly he's
not.
Sansa stands there with a bunch of other girls giggling topless and they all
turn to see who's entered and he feels awkward with all their eyes on him.
"Sandor!" Sansa runs up to him and kisses him, her bare breast pressing against
his T-shirt. The other girls all whistle and Sansa turns around to them and
bows, announcing her new boyfriend.
It's now Sandor realises she's drunk. He growls and goes to leave but Sansa has
his hand and she tugs him back and over to an empty room. She attacks his mouth
as soon as the door closes and there's nothing sexy about it. She's so drunk
she's delirious. He pulls away but she follows until eventually he pushes her a
little more than he should and she falls to the ground. It's been a while since
he last lost his temper and he thinks that maybe he takes everything out on her
when he opens his mouth to speak because by the end of his rant she's sobbing
and he doesn't even know what he said. Something about her being a dumb slut,
he can't recall but he immediately feels guilty to see the result of his
tirade.
"Fuck." He mutters under his breath and gets down onto the floor with Sansa
checking her body for hurts he might have caused. She doesn't move, just sits
there sobbing. "I'm sorry, Sansa." She won't look at him and it's killing him.
He can't stop touching her, rubbing her arms, her back, her waist and she still
won't look. "Sansa please," he pleads, and he pulls her into his lap, wrapping
his arms around her shivering body. It's a while but eventually Sansa softens
into his embrace and burrows closer.
"I don't know what to do." She whispers, and her voice is hoarse from crying
and he feels like the biggest cunt for making her cry.
"What do you mean?"
She sighs and closes her eyes. "I just don't know what to do. About everything.
I'm so tired Sandor. I'm so very tired. I don't know how to be okay, with what
I am now, who i am. I keep thinking if my family ever knew, they'd be so
ashamed. But I have no choice. This is the only option. And then there's you. I
don't know how to deal with this. With you. I've only ever been with Joffrey.
And I can only go off what kind of way he liked to be treated. That's why..."
Her words are cryptic at best and her voice progressively gets quieter until it
drops out completely.
"I've told you before I can give you money. And believe it or not I don't
expect anything in return. But every time I offer you close off and stop
talking to me so I don't mention it anymore. But the offer still stands. As for
us, it's all up to you Sansa. It's not what I like, it's what you want. If you
just want to be friends then we're just friends, if you want to be more then we
can be more, but it's your decision." He hopes that's an adequate answer.
"I shouldn't have kissed you." She says and he's sad to hear it until he hears
the next words that leave her mouth. "In 'pretty woman' she says if you kiss
them you fall for them. And I kissed you, but I think I'd already fallen, so
does it really matter?" Drunken ramblings. They're just drunken ramblings. He'd
just yelled at her and called her mean names and now she was saying she's
smitten with him.
"Alright." He says, for lack of anything better to say, and hugs her close to
him. It's nice. Just to have her in his arms. Just for a while. She's warm, and
smells like that lime and coconut laundry freshener she uses. And it's just
Sansa. His Sansa.
"Sandor?" She asks after a few quiet minutes In each others embrace.
"Hmm?"
"How did you get your scars?" She asks lightly brushing his scarred cheek.
"How did your father really die?" He retorts defensively, trying to get her to
shut down again, anything to change the topic. It's not something he liked to
dwell on.
"If I tell you, will you tell me?" She says and it surprises him enough that he
nods his head and stares down at this curious little creature resting in his
arms, waiting for her words.
"Daddy owned a law firm. And it was once very successful. I don't know exactly
what happened but all of a sudden work seemed to dry up and the bills... they
just kept coming. He tried to hide it from us but we all knew. At that time I
was angry with him, Joffrey had just started showing interest in me and daddy
didn't like him, said I was too young to have a boyfriend. I was just so angry.
I didn't talk to him for weeks, Sandor, weeks! He... Borrowed money from the
wrong people. I was there once when he picked up some money, and one day I saw
them while I was walking to school. I went over and told them my dad needed
more money. It was only $100, but I didn't know my dad had taken so much more
from them. I spent the day shopping for stupid dresses that were too short, so
I could go to Joff's stupid party. I snuck out one night with one of my
friends. Apparently mum had gone out looking for me in the car with Bran and
Rickon; and Jon and Robb had gone looking on the streets. When I got home dad
and Arya were waiting. I thought daddy would be mad at me but he was so happy
that I was okay. He just wanted to know I was okay. He hugged me and I said I
was sorry, for everything." Throughout her story tears ran down Sansa's cheeks
but it wasn't until she reached the end she started sobbing, clutching tight to
his shirt. He rubbed circles on her back and urged her to continue.
"There was a knock at the door and daddy didn't even check to see who it was.
As soon as he'd opened the door men came storming in. I recognised the man who
I'd talked to and he smiled at me. They held us back, and we watched as they
tied a noose around his neck, strung that rope over the railing of the second
floor. Arya kicked and screamed and fought, but I sat there stunned. With my
dress too short and my makeup running. I watched and my daddy looked at me one
last time and smiled."
Sansa wiped at her eyes and looked up at him, "That's how he died. That's how
all of this happened. So you see, I don't deserve your sympathy, it's my own
fault." He doesn't know what to say so he just holds her. Plants kisses on her
neck and whispers words that taste strange on his tongue.
"How did you get these?" She says stroking his scars. He turns his head away
and fights the urge to bark at her. It's not something he talks about. It's not
something he's ever talked about, to anyone. He supposes it's only fair when
she's shared so much, but he opens his mouth and the words won't come out.
Instead tears fill his eyes and he's angry that they're their. Angry that after
so long being fine, he's not anymore. He goes to push her away but she holds
tight and it's hard to find the will to turn away. So he doesn't. And she holds
him like he held her and runs her fingers through his hair. "It's okay." She
whispers over and over again. "You don't have to."
They stay that way a long while. Until one of the girls comes to knock at the
door. "Do you want to come back to mine?" Sansa nods and after She gets dressed
and he's driven them back to his, they spend the rest of the day watching
movies together on his couch. They don't once talk about what happened.
* * *
"Hello?" It's 2am when he drops Sansa home and that's when he gets the call.
"Hey, umm, we ran into a couple problems man."
Sandor growls into the phone. "What kind of problems?"
"Well Me and Lommy went to go collect from Thoros the other night, and he said
he didn't have anything, so I told him we'd come back today to get what was
still owed."
"Yes, so what's the problem?"
"He... There were other people with him, we asked for the money, he said he
still didn't have it, and long story short, Lommy got stabbed and we didn't get
the money."
"Fuck, is he dead?"
"Who? Lommy? No, he's fine. Just a scratch he reckons." Gendry chuckles.
"Alright, what's his address?" Gendry tells him and it's a twenty minute drive
downtown. He sits outside observing the people who come and go. That 'Robb' guy
is one of them. Big surprise. It's 3:00am when something of interest happens.
Arya shows up. She walks up the steps of the house and the man who Gendry had
described, as Thoros welcomes her in.
He spends a good 2 minutes deliberating on whether or not he should still go
in, but then realises the younger Stark sister still hates him and probably
always will. He hops out of the car armed only with his dagger. It's his
favourite weapon. He can use guns and all the rest but he's always been fond of
the dagger. It's small and easily concealed, and doesn't need to be reloaded.
He walks up to the house and stands at the front door. He knocks. His eyes
close and he breathes. Counts down the seconds with the footsteps he hears
getting closer to the door. 1-2-3-4...The door opens.
There's three people in the house. It's unexpected, but in a good way, he was
thinking there'd be at least five. It's only Thoros, that stupid boy Theon and
Arya. Robb must have left. Theon's the one who answered the door, and the one
to first be knocked out. It's easy enough, he elbows him in the face and he
goes down.
Next is Thoros. He comes at him with a butchers knife, and Sandor winces at his
weapon of choice. Butchers knives, ugly things. Thoros leans in to slash at him
and Sandor takes the opportunity to give him a light cut on his side. It isn't
deep, but it's enough to aggravate him and make him stupid. He lunges again,
lifting his arm, this time he cuts a little deeper, enough to slow him down.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Arya, standing in the corner, watching and
anticipating each movement. It's the reason he doesn't see Theon coming from
behind.
Pat first there's nothing, then there's a pain. This pain that takes him back
to over ten years ago. And he's a helpless boy who can't defend himself. At
first it makes him scared. But then it makes him angry.
They were taught that anger makes you clumsy in a fight, but Sandor found it
gave him a strange sort of focus. It's like his mind sped up and the world
slowed down. He'd go so fast he wouldn't even see what happened until all was
done. It's Arya, that pulls his blade from his hand, and the words "please,
he's like a brother to me."
He looks at her for what seems like hours, trying to remember where he is. Who
she is. God, who he is. And it all comes back to him when he feels that burning
on his arm. He grits his teeth and stands. Thoros is still conscious, so he
kicks him and asks where the money is. He gets what he came for and leaves a
trail of destruction. He thought he had changed but apparently not. Perhaps he
never will.
He grabs Arya and she doesn't put up a fight, they leave together. "Do you know
how to drive?" He asks, when they get to his truck.
"I'm 12."
"Do you know how to drive?"
"I can try...?"
"Good." He chucks her the keys and gets in the passenger seat cradling his
burnt arm. The fucker got him with a hot poker, from the fire place, after that
his sleeve had caught fire. It took a minute amongst the fighting and the rage
to put out, and by then the damage had been done. He winces as he takes off his
outer shirt, the blood is already sticking to his clothing. "Take a left here."
He says when they're at the emergency ward.
She's an alright driver it's obvious she's driven before, despite her
indignation about being twelve and asked to drive. Arya follows him in and
waits with him while he gets his wound cleaned and dressed. It's all white
walls, and blue scrubs and the smell of disinfectant. The door opens and he
sighs as a draft of hot air blows in, it's cold as death in the ward. It's the
one thing he always forgets about hospitals.
It's an hour and a half when he's finally all patched up and ready to go home.
Arya skips back to the car like she's just been out on a fucking field trip and
he tells her to scoot over to the other side so he can drive her home. It might
just be the pain killers but he thinks he sees her frown.
"How did you learn to fight like that?" She asks, when they're out of the
hospital parking lot.
"Wouldn't you like to know." He says and in that moment the two Stark sisters
could be twins - she gives him the same dead look Sansa does when she's fed up.
"I learnt everywhere. You pick up different things from different people."
"Will you teach me?"
He laughs "Not a chance."
She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. "I already know a little. I have
my own dagger." She says unsheathing a thin knife from her belt.
"Looks more like a needle."
"That's what I named it!"
He laughs at her enthusiasm and takes a closer look when they stop at the
lights. "It's a fine little blade, where'd you get it?"
"My brother Jon have it to me before he left. To keep me safe while he's not
here." She looks down at the dagger and traces around the edge with eyes far
too sad to belong to a little girl.
"Alright, maybe I'll teach you. But don't tell Sansa. She'll kill me if she
finds out."
Arya laughs and it's the sound a child makes. It adds to his realisation that
she is just that- a child. Only 12. "What were you doing there?" She squints at
the road ahead and bites her lip. "And don't lie."
She sighs and turns in her seat to look up at him. "Robb wants me learning the
business. Sansa doesn't know about it. So don't tell her. But he wants me to
fight for their cause. Just like he does. And I believe in it enough. So why
shouldn't I?"
Something is scratching at the back of his mind but he doesn't pay it any
notice. "Umm, because you're twelve fucking years old? And what even is this
cause? Is it worth dying for? Cause that's what happens, girl. I don't know
what he's told you, but it ain't a fairytale."
"We fight against the ones who murdered my father, you tell me, if it's worth
it."
He doesn't understand her need for revenge because he's never felt that
strongly about any of his family, but then he thinks back to faded memories of
his mother, and realises that's not true. He would've killed for her, and more.
"I'll teach you, if you don't go there anymore. If you stay clear - and I'll
know if you haven't - then I'll teach how to use that thing properly. Maybe
I'll gift you one name too."
She doesn't ask what he means, he suspects she already knows. She narrows her
eyes at him but after a moment of deliberating she sticks out her dirty little
hand to shake and says 'deal.
They sit outside her house and he's just waiting for her to get out so he can
go home and take some pain meds and pass out.
"I hope I can be a bit like you." She says and jumps before he can say anything
in reply. She runs up the steps of the house and climbs through window on the
left, that she must have kept open. He wits until she's out of sight before he
drives on.
* * *
The 'ball' is two days later and he doesn't know why but he's nervous. He's
dressed in a tux, and his hair is tied back. For once he uses his dad's car -
an old black Mercedes that's as temperamental as his father was, but it's nicer
than his old beat up truck so he gives it a go. When he arrives at Sansa's
she's already outside waiting, he watches as she shifts from foot to foot. Her
hair is tied back in a bun, with a few stray tendrils hanging down. Her makeup
is more subtle than usual but he wouldn't know how. She smiles when she sees
him, and he's relieved that she seems just as nervous as him.
It's too quiet when she's in the car so he tries to turn on the radio but
instead one of his dad's old tapes starts playing and the music of Jimi Hendrix
fills the car. Sansa hums along to the tune and it makes him supress a smile.
"Thanks for bringing me tonight." She says so shy. And there's a blush on her
cheeks, that only makes her more beautiful.
"I told you before, you're doing me a favour." She smiles, one of those wry
ones of hers that he's had to learn to like. The car descends into quiet as the
first song finishes and they pull up to the front of the massive hall the
function is being held at. He steps out and hands the keys to the valet. He
walks around to Sansa's side and opens her door and offers her his arm. They
both take a deep breath before the doors open and when they step inside Sansa
gasps.
"It really is a ball." She whispers, with her eyes wide as saucers and her
gloved hands wringing. He leads her to their table and introduces her to the
many people who run his company. Even though he barely knows their names. After
their meal Sansa drags him out of his seat to dance with her and he loves the
way she gasps when she realises he can actually dance. For once in his life
he's glad his mother forced into those ballroom dancing classes with Nikita.
When they make their way back to their table Tywin approaches.
"Sandor, I didn't think I'd see you here tonight."
"Well, I thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. Everyone in the office
has been raving about your organised events so I came to see for myself."
"And?"
"I've seen better." The older man chuckles and it's so rare that it catches
Sandor off-guard.
"And who might this lovely young lady be?"
Sansa stands and holds out her hand. "Sansa, Sansa Stark."
He takes we hand and kisses the back of it. "Tywin Lannister. I believe I knew
your father, Ned Stark?"
"That you probably did. He was a lawyer, you used to be his client back in
2010."
"Yes, I was, you have quite a good memory."
"So I've been told." She smiles. It's strange seeing her like this. So proper
and business minded.
"Might I have the next dance, Miss Sansa? That is, if your date doesn't
mind..."
"Not at all." He quickly replies and Sansa smiles prettily (but it isn't the
smile she gives to him, so he's not jealous.)
He watches her dance and she moves so gracefully, her dress fanning out as she
twirls. He's mesmerised by her.
"Valar Morghulis." A thick accented voice says from beside him, and his breath
catches in his throat. The man beside him laughs and pats his shoulder. "Relax,
friend. If I had wanted you dead, you would already be so." He forces himself
to breathe out, and turns to his old friend.
"And is it gonna stay that way?"
"For now." He frowns and the man laughs again, "Yes. I would not kill you for
leaving, you were never really there." His old friend talks in riddles and it
always did drive him insane.
"So why are you here?"
"I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I'd say hello, see what it is you do here.
I was disappointed to see you've gone back to how I'd found you. You were
trained for more than such petty things, you could have been one of the
greatest assassins to ever live, and now you are a loan shark. This disappoints
me."
"Well, you wouldn't be the only one to be disappointed." He looks to where
Sansa is dancing, and wonders what she'll say if she finds out. If she says
anything at all, maybe she'll just leave.
"Yes, I see you have a new girl. She's very beautiful."
Sandor nods. "What is it you really want, Jaqen?"
The man sighs and shakes his head, "You know too well. You have left, others
have also left. I search for replacements. So do the wall. I'm here
recruiting."
"And you want to know if I know anyone."
"Yes."
"I'll ask around. Can't promise anything, but I will look, I'll at least find
you one, in exchange for myself leaving. How long are you in town?"
"Three weeks."
"Than I will find you before then."
"Good." His old friend shakes his hand and stands, disappearing into the sea of
bodies that cover the dance floor.
"Who was that?" Sansa stands before him breathless and red cheeked, with her
exertion from dancing.
"No-one." Sansa laughs and rolls her eyes at his keeping secrets, but it's only
the truth.
"Shall we go?" She asks and it surprises him, since she's been playing little
miss social butterfly all night.
"Bored of the 'ball' already, my lady? Is it not to your liking?" She giggles
and blushes as she leans closer, her breasts brushing against his chest. She
knows what she's doing.
"Tonight has been wonderful, but seeing you in that tux..." She bites her lip
and looks up through her lashes at him, and it unmans him. He has to force
himself not to run to the car, but Sansa still has to take two steps at a time
to keep up.
They somehow make it to his place without crashing. And he carries her up the
four flights of stairs just like he did that first night, only tripping twice.
The door to the apartment bursts open and his keys go flying somewhere towards
the couch but he doesn't care, Sansa lips are on his and her hands are in his
hair, and his are constantly moving up and down her sides.
The kiss becomes hard, with pressure and tongue and teeth and he's annoyed when
he has to break it to say "where the fuck is the zip on this dress?" and Sansa
giggles and unzips it down the side as he undoes her hair. She takes her arms
out of the sleeves and everything, it all, slows down. He takes his time
marvelling her flawless skin, so pale in the light cast by the lamp on his
table beside the couch. She smiles shyly at him and he tries to kiss away that
feeling, she should never be shy in front of him.
It's now he takes in the softness of her lips, the way they move against his.
The way her tongue runs along his bottom lip and begs for entry, she's
straddling his lap, and he grips her hips as she slowly begins to rock against
him. One of his hands moves upwards and instead of taking her bra off, he pulls
it down so it hangs around her waist. He pulls back just to look at her and
Sansa laughs at the expression on his face. Her laughter soon turns to moans as
he grazes the back of his hand against the side of her breast. He watches as
her nipples harden and goose bumps cover her flesh.
He catches her eye and glimpses a part of her she hides so well. This reckless
abandon when she lets herself go. He sees it, and he lusts after it.
Her phone rings and breaks the spell. She looks at him longingly and extracts
herself from his lap to go get her phone, saying "it might be the kids." She
flips open the phone, and almost immediately her demeanour changes.
"Yes." "What happened." "Yeah, I can be there in ten. Thankyou, bye."
"I need you to drop me to the hospital.' She says fixing her bra, and pulling
up her dress.
"Yeah, sure, what happened?" She just shakes her head, and shuts down.
He's amazed at how quickly she can change. Maybe she should be a faceless
woman, God knows you need to be at least a little bipolar for that job. He
thinks bitterly as they run down the flights of stairs. The drive to the
hospital is silent, and even when he turns on the radio that strange
awkwardness that's suddenly come between them seems to swallow up the noise.
Sansa stares, eyes straight ahead on the road. Her lip trembles, and her hands
are slightly shaking in her lap. He tries to comfort her, but it's like no ones
home. She just doesn't answer.
When they get there Sansa runs out as soon as the car pulls up, not even
waiting for him to stop. He quickly parks haphazardly and runs in to find her,
when he catches up, she's frozen staring at a room. All he hears is her whimper
'Robb' and she's gone from his side.
He runs over to the room and freezes when he sees who Robb is to her. He's
kicking himself for not knowing sooner. It suddenly all makes sense. It's why
he looked so familiar. it explains so much. Sandor steps into the room and
looks on as she squeezes her brothers hand tight, shivering. Cold as death in
hospitals.
Robb lies unconscious with about ten different tubes sticking out of him. His
face is almost unrecognisable, it's been beaten so bad. There's different
beeping noises from all the different machines hes hooked up to, enough to make
it sound like some strange kind of symphony, made up entirely of heartbeats and
whatever else it is they record.
He's shaken from his reverie by the sound of Sansa's sobs. He kneels down
beside her, and tries to comfort her but she shakes him off. "Just leave," she
says between gasps. "Oh my god, it's all my fault. I should've listened. I'm so
sorry."
She cries so hard he's scared she'll pass out. "Sansa..."
"I said leave, please, for gods sake, just leave Sandor." She cries not turning
away from her brother.
So he does.
***** In the Big Rock Candy Mountains... *****
Chapter Summary
     This chapter is a bit extremely sad. Chapter title is the song big
     rock candy mountain. By Burl Ives (Thankyou Oloi5!).
Chapter Notes
     Hey hey hey! So um, couple of warnings, for underage, well Sansa is
     16 but I know that might still make people uncomfortable. This
     chapter is a bit sad, as well. I hope you enjoy. :) xxx
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Her phones ringing again. She rejects the call without even looking at it, she
knows who it is. Sandor hasn't stopped calling since he left her that night,
he's left text messages too, but she refuses to open them. It makes her cry
harder. This is all my fault.She should've known better. Every selfish act has
a consequence, and hers often end in tragedy.
She looks up from where she's been resting her head against Robb's bed. She
looks over to the cards Rickon made for his older brother, Brans left his
favourite photo of them all on his bedside and Arya put her lucky baseball cap
that he gave her there, too. They can't spend as much time here as Sansa.
Between school and the time it takes to get here and home, they only get to
come every few days. Sansa stays almost all the time. She spends all her spare
periods here, she comes here straight after school, before and after work, she
spends all her time holding his hand and talking to an unconscious body as it
grows thin and grey. The hospital bill is another thing entirely. She's spent
almost all of what he gave her on medical bills. Soon she'll run out, and that
realisation scares her.
Robb's been unconscious almost a month now. She's watched as they've stuck
tubes in and taken some out, they've told her he won't wake but she refuses to
believe them. They don't know Robb like she does, he's a fighter. There's been
two close calls when his heart has just stopped for no reason at all but he's
fought death, so he can fight this other darkness that threatens to take his
life, if he doesn't wake soon she'll be forced to sign the papers that turn off
life support.
She'd gone to his 'boys'. Had begged and pleaded they help her like he had
helped them so often, but they'd already moved passed his state. To them he was
dead, she didn't understand it because they looked up to him so much. It came
to her attention that much had changed since Robb had been taken out. She
remembered how Robb had told her things on the street had been tense, and being
there, she could tell he was not lying. The mood at the club house was morose
at best. Theon, who still visited their family every Sunday, had told her the
gang had a new leader. He can't be any good.She thought. They all look
miserable. Their faces drawn and heads hanging low. Maybe Robbs condition
affected them more than they'd show. Still, she couldn't understand how they
could abandon their leader in his time of need.
She squeezed Robbs hand one last time and stood, getting out of the
uncomfortable couch she'd called home for the last month. It was a Saturday and
she had work at the MoCKingbird that night. She brushed Robbs long curly hair,
so much like her own, out of his face, and brushed a kiss against his forehead.
Picking up her bag of clothes and her wallet she made her way down to the first
floor of the hospital and handed back her visitors badge, thanking the nurse.
She followed her usual routine on a Saturday. Two buses, a walk down the street
and up a flight of stairs. She quickly got dressed and said hi to the girls.
Her outfit tonight could scarcely be called an outfit. An emerald green thong
was literally all there was to it. She could work floors now, and had been
since her birthday three weeks back. As good a birthday present as any. She
laughed hysterically at her own thoughts, on that day, her first shift, and
afterwards she'd cried almost as hard as she'd laughed.
Sansa took her hair out of the tight bun she'd had it in and turned on the
curling iron. She still loved getting dressed up. I'm still just a silly little
girl. She shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts and began curling her
long silky hair. After that was done she moved on to makeup. She put sparkling
green and gold glitter on her eyelids to match her 'outfit'. She then placed on
her fake lashes, drew her eyebrows and added blush. Her lips were red and
glossy and she smiled at herself in the mirror, trying to figure out a way to
make the fake expression look sincere.
Stepping out of the dressing room she made her way to the main floor. As she
got closer she heard 'Dani California' playing. It must be Mya's set. She
reached the door and took a deep breath, closed her eyes and leaned her head
against the cool wood of the door, she could feel the vibrations from the music
against her cheek, could smell and see the smoke of cigarettes as they drifted
beneath the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. You can do this,
just like you did it last time and the time before that and so on...She smiled
once. Feeling it only show her teeth in a grimace she frowned and tried again.
There, that's it. She nodded, proud of her accomplishment, and stepped out onto
the floor.
It was a busy night earlier in the night, she made at least 200 in tips and the
rule here was whatever you made you kept on top of your salary. Baelish was
good for that, he paid more than most employers in this line of work, and she
supposed it showed, because his club was the best in town. The night had gone
rather quickly so far, but it was still only 12, they had three hours more
until they closed for the night. As the night wore on it became easier for
Sansa to pretend she was this girl. Alayne, that was her name here. The men who
visited frequently would always smile, big toothy grins when they saw her.
Most of the girls there were also prostitutes too. After Robb's accident it
became harder to pay rent, and without the money she used to get working at
Kings, things spiralled out of control. Sansa wasn't a prostitute. But most of
her breaks were spent engaging in unsavoury acts with the men who frequented
the club. They were often quite wealthy, and even though she didn't sell sex,
they paid good money for other things. She wasn't proud of what she did, but it
was the only way she could keep from going under. She barely saw the kids and
her mother anymore, and although it was partially due to the fact she simply
did not have time, it was mostly because she found it hard to look at them
without shame. How could she go home and pretend to be the good, wholesome
daughter and sister they thought her to be, when most of her nights were spent
in a seedy part of town, letting men touch her, let them put their filthy hands
on her body, while she danced practically naked in front of them.
The next two hours went just as fast as the rest, and before long it was her
turn to take the stage. She stood behind the red, velvet curtain, with her
breath shallow and her nerves making her jittery. She heard the claps as
Baelish introduced the next act. When the intro of 'haunted' started playing,
she pulled aside the curtains and stepped forward into the spotlight. Her steps
were slow, and her hips swayed seductively with each step. As the bass gets
louder and the beat faster her hand grasps the pole. She drops suddenly and
climbs back up slow, following the cadence of the music. Her body twists and
curves and pulls against the metal bar. She crawls forward on her hands and
knees, head hanging down and her hair covering her face, and heavy breathing.
When she reaches the edge of the stage she flicks her hair back and sits back
on her haunches. It's in that moment she finds grey eyes. Light, grey eyes,
that watch her every move. Grey eyes that stare at her body. Grey eyes that are
alight with rage, passion and desire.
She remembers herself and begins to move again. She tries to forget the grey
eyes as she dances the rest of her set. She bowed and winked and blew kisses,
the men all strained to catch as she made her way off stage. She quickly dabbed
at the perspiration on her forehead that threatened to ruin her makeup and got
back out on floor, she went over to the bar and threw back a shot before Randa
approached her. "You were great! 'Haunted' got them all on the edge of their
seats." She complimented. Sansa only nodded and threw back another.
Randa sighed and stroked her hair. She didn't like the look she was giving her.
The pity that she saw in her friends eyes crushed her. "My beautiful girl, have
you lost your light already?"
Sansa doesn't answer the question, only stares down at the bar top, trying to
decide whether or not she should break Baelish's rule on a two drink limit.
"You have a couple of lap dance requests, I can tell them you can't if you're
not up to it?"
Sansa looks up to her friend and smiles, and Randa smiles back. I'm getting
better at this. She thinks as she sees her expression reflected in Randa's
features. I'm getting better."It's okay. I'm fine. Just tell me who the first
one is and I'll come find you when I'm ready to do the next."
Randa points her on the direction of on of the regulars. A short, pudgy, ruddy-
skinned man. He's nice enough. He's rich, and that's all that matters. His tips
were always the best, and luckily he had a thing for red-heads. After finishing
her first lap-dance she made her way back over to Randa and asked who was the
other person who wanted a dance. Her breath caught in her chest when she
pointed to the person those grey eyes belonged to, in the far corner of the
room. Yes, I think I will break the rule. She thought as she reached over the
bar to grab the tequila and did another shot.
After she'd knocked back the shot, she squared her shoulders and walked over to
Sandor with her mask set perfectly in place. Smiling red lips, rosy cheeks, and
sparkling eyes. I'm like a carnival clown. She thought distantly. She stopped
beside him and, resolved to treat him no different than anyone else, stroked
his hair back to get his attention. It did. "You wanted a dance?" She inquired.
He stared at her blankly for a few moments, she saw what she couldn't see from
afar, which was that his eyes were glassy and unfocused. He's drunk. Sansa
rolled her eyes and went to walk away, but he caught her wrist in a grip that
was slightly too tight. "So... You're a whore for true, now." His speech was
stunted and his breath reeked of alcohol. And though she knew he was drunk and
probably didn't mean his words they caused fractures in her mask. First it was
her smile that faltered.
"That's unkind."
"You all but said it yourself just a few weeks back, has something changed that
you're not who you said you were?"
"You're drunk." Her voice quivered.
"Yes."
"I don't have time for this, I've got to get back to work."
"You are working."
Oh. Her breath gets caught somewhere between realisation and disappointment,
and she finds it hard to let her lungs do their job.
"So you do want..."
"I called you over here didn't I?" His voice is thick with derision, and it's
another crack in the mask. I did this, to him. The sparkle in her eyes, is only
shame clad in glitter. A new song starts and he looks at her expectantly.
Sansa straddles his lap. Tentatively her hands go around his neck. His eyes
bore into her but she avoids meeting his gaze as she moves in time to the music
and grinds down against his erection. A few bars into the song his hands find
her hips and stroke the flimsy material of her thong. Suddenly it's easy to
forget the words he'd said, his hands on her ignite a flame inside her and she
shivers under his touch. It doesn't go unnoticed and Sandor leans forward
burying his face in her hair. His lips graze her neck, they're a feather light
touch and the caress of his alcohol stained breath against her alabaster skin.
His hands move behind her to grip her ass and press her further into him. She
forgets everything but the feeling he ignites in her. Forgets Robb, forgets her
family, forgets work, forgets her own name. All there is, is the feeling they
create together in the corner of a smoky room shrouded in darkness. Sandor
bends his head down to take a nipple into his mouth and Sansa's head falls
back, jaw slack as she moans her thanks.
Her relief is short-lived. The song comes to an end and she's pulled from the
dream. She leans back and looks at him. He looks wretched. "It's over." She
says but he shakes his head and holds her tighter. Her mask is all but useless
now, her face is pale and drawn and shows the hell she's been living the last
month. All she wants is him but it's mean, it's selfish. He'll get hurt when
she pushes him away again.
"I need to talk to you."
"Talk."
He sighs and shakes his head. "I'll give you a ride home tonight."
She goes to argue but one look at the stubbornness he practically emanates is
enough to quell her urge to turn him down. "I'll be done in 10."
He nods and she gets up to finish her shift. After they close up and Sansa has
dressed she walks out and finds his car. He doesn't drive the truck anymore, he
uses the car they'd taken to the ball. The drive to the hospital is quiet. They
don't talk and all there is to fill the space between them is the cassette
Sandor put in when they started driving. The whole ride passes in silence, and
when he pulls up to the hospital entrance she's ready to leave it that way, but
he has her hand in his before she can move. He strokes the palm of her hand
with his calloused fingers, in some kind of trance drunkards find so easily to
fall into.
"I didn't mean what I said to you." His voice is a hoarse whisper among the
many noises that drift down from the chaos inside the hospital, but she hears
him loud and clear.
"I know you didn't."
"Good." He lets go of her hand and Sansa gets out of the car without looking
back. She hopes Sandor does the same.
* * *
She goes back to the same old monotonous routine that all revolves around
staying by Robb's side. It's a Monday night and she's sitting in her
uncomfortable couch chair, knitting a scarf for her home economics class. She
doesn't know why but she starts humming a song their daddy used to sing them to
sleep with. Usually it was Catelyn, their mother, who'd tuck them in for bed.
Their daddy was always a busy man. But on this night she quietly begins to sing
'big rock candy mountain'.
One evening as the sun went down
and the jungle fires were burning
Down the track came a hobo Hikin'
And he said "boys I'm not turning;
"I'm headed for a land thats far away
Beside the crystal fountains
So come with me well go and see
The big rock candy mountains
The big rock candy mountains...
"In the big rock candy..." Robb coughed and opened his eyes.
Sansa leapt to her feet and and into his arms. She began to cry hugging him
with all her might. After a moment an arm wrapped around her shoulders and
pulled her closer. "I'm so sorry Robb! I'm so sorry! It was all my fault!" She
doesn't know how many times she says it. Robb only holds her. She looks to her
older brother and finds him smiling at her. His lips are cracked and bleeding
with the effort but he doesn't seem to mind. He brushes Sansa's hair out of her
face and wipes away her tears.
"Silly girl, it wasn't your Fault. It was mine. If I'd have listened to you,
none of this would have happened." His voice was croaky and sometimes dropped
out as he spoke, but she could make out what he said. His words were still very
cryptic, that's one thing that hadn't changed. They stay there just holding
eachother almost an hour when he speaks up again. "Can you sing that song
again?"
She laughs "I need to call the nurses over! They never thought you'd wake! And
I need to call the family, let them know they need to get down here."
"Yes, but I just want to hear that song once more." It's a strange request, but
she'd give him anything right now.
So she sings to him about the big rock candy mountains and he laughs at the
lyrics and sings along (as much as he can) and he's so out of tune, but he
still sings, because Robb has always fancied himself a good singer, though
everyone who's heard him, knows that's not the case. She laughs and cries when
the song finishes and once again, he's there to wipe her tears- just like a big
brother should be. "Okay, I'm going to call the nurses and doctor over now. And
I'll go call the family, alright?"
"Can you bring me back some apple juice?" Sansa laughs and nods her head. As
she goes to leave the room, Robb calls out to her again. "Sansa!"
"Yes?" When she whips her head around to look at him the sparkle in his eyes
has dimmed some, but he tries to hide it. Something behind her catches his eye
and his smile falters slightly before quickly reappearing, she checks to see
what it might be but no one is there.
"I'm..." His stuttered sentence makes her turn back to him. He looks at war
with himself. He eventually seems to give up and huffs. "I'm happy to see you."
He says.
Sansa scrunched her face up with a funny kind of smile on her lips, the one she
uses when she's happy and confused all at once. "Me too, Robby." She leaves the
room and chuckles when she hears Robbs terrible singing serenading her out the
door.
She goes over to the nurses station and tells them calmly while they all
scramble to go and check to see if it's the truth or if Sansa has finally gone
insane. She walks outside to make the call to home, away from all the noise of
the hospital. She calls twice but no one picks up. That's strange. She heads
back inside and while she lines up for Apple juice at the hospital cafeteria,
she thinks she'll have to go home and bring them herself cause they wouldn't
want to miss this for the world.
She buys the apple juice and a big bowl of soup. The doctors told her of Robb
woke up he'd be unable to eat solids at first. She's on her way there, on the
same floor, but as she gets closer there's a commotion, a large body of people
all headed in one direction. And her tray rattles as her hands shake, her feet
stop moving. A man bumps into her and the tray starts to fall. The man touches
her shoulder and smiles at her. It's a smile she knows. And now there's this
sickening feeling in her middle like her stomach is eating itself. Like her
guts, and everything she's made of has turned to ash. It crawls up her windpipe
until she tastes it on her tongue, there is no sound but a high pitched ringing
in her ears. The bowl breaks and the Apple juice spills and she knows. She's
running but it's not fast enough. She's there just in time to hear them call
it, and she knew, like family only can.
Chapter End Notes
     I know! I'm sorry, it had to happen though. Thanks for reading also,
     special shout out to luficersiam who came up with the idea of the
     lap-dance scene xx
***** How to disappear completely *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter titled and inspired after Radiohead's "how to disappear
     completely"
     Arya pov
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It was a quiet night. Which was a rare commodity in the Stark home. Bran was
helping Rickon with his homework up at the table, Catelyn had cried rather than
screamed herself to sleep and Arya was in the middle of cooking dinner.
Arya stared into the mix of cheap mince and tomato sauce with the occasional
onion and mushroom popping up here and there. She daydreamed of places far
away. Of dirty back alleys, where no sane twelve year old girl would go. She
dreamed of men who's hands reached from the shadows, and she dreamed of how
she'd stop them. Her eyes close and she's in the game. One comes from the left.
She immediately identifies the weapon as a parrying dagger. A short hand-held
blade, almost identical to her own. She catches the glint of a faltering
streetlights reflection as it comes down towards her. She dances away from the
blow, swift as a deer. He strikes again, and this time she blocks. Another man,
one with a long chain, with a large spiked ball attached to the end of it.
Haven't fought with one of them before. Her mind plays this game as she
continues to stir the mince until she smells it burning, and is shaken from her
thought.
The pan is quickly moved to the other side of the stove and there's a muttered
curse as she burns her hand as it passes over the burning element.
"Dinners ready!" She yells as she dishes up too soft pasta with burnt mince
slosh dumped on top. The boys both come running in. Bran, with his glasses in
his hair and book under his arm, and Rickon, with his Iron-man tucked into his
little fist. Arya smiles at them both, and it's the first time she understands
this part of Sansa. The Mother. It would be easy for someone like her sister to
think of them as her children. They were kind of cute, in a grubby kind of way.
She realised she was just standing there staring at them with a dazed smile on
her face like an idiot and quickly handed them their plates. Rickon made a
face, but Bran only thinned his lips in Ill-disguised repulsion.
There was an unenthusiastic "thanks." Said in unison as they walked towards the
lounge room.
She dished up a small portion for her mother and filled a cup of water for her
to take her meds with, and placed them on a tray. Her mother rarely ate, but
this was what Sansa always did, so she mimicked what she'd seen her do, and
hoped she was doing it right. Walking down the hall, she dodged stray toys and
pillows. She balanced the tray against her hip as she knocked on the door, and
entered.
This room was darker and scarier than any dirty alley. This room crawled with
monsters, and the constant reminder of that night painted the walls. Her mother
laid huddled in a ball, in a mass of dirty linen sheets and used tissues. The
floor of the room was unable to be seen. With clothes and photos and old
newspapers covering the ground. She slowly approached the bed and clicked on
the lamplight after placing down the tray. Catelyn's eyes blinked open, once,
twice before coming to rest on her daughter.
This is stupid. She thought as she stared into her mothers eyes. Eyes that were
once so full with joy, and warmth. They were now cold and dead. I shouldn't
have come in here. She thought- not for the first time, as her own eyes filled
with tears. She quickly turned and left the room, trying her best to shut the
door quietly in her haste to escape the nightmare. She leaned back against the
door breathing heavily, trying to calm herself. Calm as still water. She
thought, and steeled herself. She stood and ran her fingers through her hair
once, before wiping away her tears.
She went back to the kitchen and dished up her own dinner, and ate it cold. She
doubted it would taste any better heated. After dinner she did everything she
could remember Sansa doing. Feeding the dogs. Bathing Rickon. Homework. Dishes.
Rubbish. She skipped, checking on her mother though. She tried, she really did.
But every time her hand touched that door, her bottom lip would begin to shake
and her vision would blur. So she left her.
She was putting Rickon and Bran to bed when simultaneously the phone rang as
there was a knock at the door. She finished tucking the kids in before
approaching the door. Spying through the peep hole her eyes narrowed at the two
tall figures blocking the entrance to their home. As quiet as possible she
moved back away from the door. She didn't know these men. Maybe they had the
wrong house? As soon as the thought crossed her mind she knew it for wishful
thinking.
"We know you're in there." One of them said, from the either side and her eyes
went wide with panic. She heard them begin to pick the lock.
She ran to the lounge-room where the boys were laying on their mattresses.
"Up now!" She whispered urgently as a loud bang, resounded throughout the house
and the door swung open.
"But..?" Rickon started to yawn.
"Now!" She hissed and grabbed him by the arm to drag him to their old room.
Bran followed behind her. Without asking questions. She assumed he already knew
what was going on from the terrified look on his face. She heard as the
intruders walked through their home. If she could just get to her room she
could get needle.
"Come out, come out!" She heard a sing-song voice "we just wanna talk." He
sounded close.
She signalled for Bran to take Rickon and run to their room as she went for
hers to get her dagger. They split up and she felt her heart break, to think
what might happen. Tears filled her eyes once more, and she cursed herself. No
time for that, now. She slipped into her room, and begun to dig through her
closet when a hand closed around her mouth. She bit down and screamed but it
was to no avail. There was only a vicious laugh and a hand squeezing around her
neck. Her breath ran out quicker than she would've thought and her vision began
to fade.
The pressure around her neck suddenly released and she coughed and wheezed as
she tried to catch her breath.
Picking her up by the arm, the man dragged her from her room yanking her along.
He brought her to the lounge room and she saw her brothers kneeling on the
stained carpet floors. She studied the room. Studied the situation. She tried
to think outside of herself, but shaking hands and a crying baby brother kept
on bringing her back and reduced her to an incapable mess.
Breathe. Lifting her eyes she saw that there were two men. One looked older, in
his early twenties. The other still had his baby fat. Chubby and with a ruddy
complexion, who looked maybe two years older than herself - at the most. Just a
boy, really.She thought. The older of the two, which she soon recognised as the
one in charge, held a Glock 22 in his hand. Her eyes moved to the younger
intruder. He had no visible weapon, but he wouldn't be so stupid as to walk
into a home invasion without a weapon. They were both relatively well built,
but were tall in stature. That would be a disadvantage for them in hand to hand
combat. Arya was quick. Stealthy. She would use this to her advantage. She
watched the way he stalked back and forth across the room. The nervousness the
elder gave away, with the drip of sweat running down his forehead. The younger
one was cock-sure. Eager to prove himself, but too arrogant for his own good.
He would underestimate her, he would be easy.
They were speaking words. Words she couldn't hear until the older man with the
gun, hit her.
"I said, where the fuck is the money?"
He was pointing the gun in her face and Rickon was screaming while Bran tried
to calm him. Clever boy.She thought, and nodded ever so slightly to her
brother. Her attention turned back to the gun. His hand was shaking. This is
probably his first hold-up. She searched his face for more secrets. His eyes
were twitching back and forth. Bloodshot. He's on something. She almost groaned
in frustration. He'd be unpredictable. Her palms were beginning to sweat. She
could feel herself shaking. She forced herself to think back to his question
and try to answer.
"What? What money?" She asked somewhat dazedly.
"What money? What money?" He began to laugh hysterically, waving his gun around
the room. "She thinks she's funny! The little wolf princess thinks she's funny!
Let's see something really funny.." He reached into his pocket and fumbled with
a switch-blade. Squatting beside her, he he dragged the flat of the blade
against her cheek. "We can play a game. A funny game. I'll laugh, but I doubt
you will. So tell me. Where did your brother put the money?"
"I..." The point of the knife dug into her flesh. A teardrop of Crimson ran
down her cheek. He began to follow it down, when his phone rang. Almost
dropping the knife, he quickly clambered to his feet and answered his phone
with a brusque "sir."
The man paced to the far side of the room, biting down his nails in time with
his steps. He threw his small blade on the table. "Yes, sir.", "no sir.", a
pause and then "yes." Signalled the end of that conversation. He looked over to
his companion and huffed a laugh, shaking his head agitatedly.
"Who was it?" The younger boy asked, a smile playing on his lips.
"Have a guess." The older one replied. His hands were still shaking and every
now and then he'd flinch. Running his hands through his hair he looked over to
Arya and her brothers. Thinking on something. "Can you take care of this? The
bastard wants me on the street."
The ruddy boy nodded his assent with an arrogant smile. "Yeah, I think I can
handle a couple of kids." He laughed.
"Yeah," the man nodded his head, and with an awkward pat on the back, left the
house with the slam of a door.
The boy smirked cruelly at her, and moved forward. "Do you know my name?" He
asked flicking something between his fingers. It caught light, and she saw that
it was something made of metal.
"No." She replied shakily, trying to see his intention.
"My name is..." He came down to her level and pulled her arm in front of him.
He finally revealed what he was concealing in his hands. A long thin razor
blade. He touched it to the skin of her arm and then quickly yanked down and
forward, taking with him a small strip of flesh. She screamed in agony while it
felt like her arm was on fire with the pain. The boy stood up cheerfully and
smiled. "Bolton. My name is Tristan Bolton."
Bolton. She knew that name. Not well. Only ever from Robb's lips. But still,
she knew some. Knew enough.
"Now. Where, oh where could that money possibly be?" He walked self-assuredly
back and forth before them all. When no-one answered he kneeled in front of
Rickon, pulling him forward. They all screamed and tried to leap for him but
Tristan pulled a gun out from the back of his jeans, before they could reach
Rickon.
"On the top of the fridge!" She yelled, before he even had time to touch thin
steel to a baby's skin. His cold blue eyes cut to hers with a mocking smile.
"There. Was that so hard?" He asked standing once more. He pulled Arya up to
her feet and shoved her towards the kitchen. "Stay." He commanded the two
children, pointing his gun back and forth between them. Bran looked to Arya and
she nodded. Hoping, he'd understand to stay put.
It'll all be over soon. He'll get what he wants and leave. A part of Arya knew
that it wouldn't be so simple, but wishful thinking had gotten the better of
her. He'll leave and we'll all be okay.
She led him to the kitchen with a gun to the back of her head. Once they
reached the kitchen he shoved her towards the fridge. She winced as her wound
pulled as she stretched to reach the top of the fridge. Grappling at stray
pieces of scrap paper and random bits of trash, she finally felt the tin with
the tip of her fingers. With great effort she pulled it forward to the edge of
the fridge until she could grab it with both hands. "Empty it on the bench." He
ordered, pointing with his gun to the table-top. Arya did as she was told and
for a few short seconds Tristan seemed happy. But then his face fell. "Where's
the rest of it?" he grabbed her arm and his fingers dug into her cut.
"I don't know..." She didn't get to finish her answer as his face pulled back
into a snarl and he bared his teeth at her. She whimpered as his fingers dug
further into her skin and he pulled her back towards the lounge-room. He threw
her to the floor and stalked towards her younger brothers. He had just grasped
Bran's ankle to pull him forward when there was unearthly scream. They all
turned towards the source of the noise.
Catelyn, her mother, ran towards Tristan, knocking him to the ground. "Don't
you touch him!" She screamed as she rolled around on the floor with the boy,
struggling for the upper hand. It was no use of course. He was stronger, and
quickly had her in a headlock, while he pulled on her hair to make her stand.
Her mother got to her feet and stared at the opposite wall. Her eyes wide with
shock. Later that night, Arya would wonder about that moment in time. How it
all seemed to slow right down to nothing. She'd wonder if her mother knew what
was to come. She must have. She was so scared. Everyone is afraid to die.
A knife touched soft, pale skin, and slid easily across. Arya watched as her
mothers body shook and fell from her feet to her knees to face down on the
floor. Her eye lids became heavy and blinks became longer and longer until all
she was able to see was snippets of what was happening around her. She was
vaguely aware of her brothers screaming, but it was a dull sound. Almost as
though it were muffled. And all she could see was told in a series of still-
frames, that cut to long pauses of nothing at all.
She was staring at him. At Tristan. Her mothers blood covered his hands and he
was rubbing blood between his fingers in wonder. Marvelling at the consistency.
And then all was dark. Not for long. But long enough. The next time she opened
her eyes he was falling to the floor, with the other mans switch-blade in his
chest.
Again, the lights go out. "Stay here. Don't move." She recognises the small
hiding place under the house. She knows it's her voice saying these words, but
it's not her.
She's panting. And running. The lights are dodgy in this part of town and it's
hard to tell when she's lost control again, or if she's just on a dark stretch
of street.
Eventually she doesn't see anything anymore. For a long time all there is is
darkness. She's not sure whether she liked it or not. It was quiet, in this
place she was trapped. It was warm, and felt safe.
Her eyes blinked. Once, twice and they were open. Blood stained hands scratched
against a light blue door, her body slumped up against it for support. Looking
closer at where she was she knew this door. She knew where she was.
The door handle rattled and then swung open. She stumbled forward into the hard
body of Sandor Clegane. He caught her and pulled her inside looking down the
halls to see if anyone had seen her bloody state.
"What the fuck..." He tried to check her wounds but she brushed him off. She
needed to tell him. But she couldn't remember what it was. The thought was
scratching at the back of her skull.
"Arya.."
"No. no. no." She hit her head trying to think.
"Stop that." He snapped and she remembered a few seconds of the time she'd
lost. She remembered Bran whimpering and Rickon screaming. "Stop it." Came her
voice. It cracked like a whip. They both cried silently then. She remembered
replacing the wooden planks over the entry hole, to conceal them.
"Under the house." She whispered.
"What?"
"Under the house. They're under the house."
"What does that mean?!" Sandor was shaking her by the arms frantically, his
face filled with worry. But she couldn't answer. The black stole her away
again.
* * *
She awoke in Sandor's car, to the sound of Johnny cash. They were in his nice
car. Not the ugly beat-up truck. She rubbed her eyes and felt a dry and flaky
texture covering her hands. Looking down at them she saw a dark red and brown
coloured her skin.
"Didn't have time to wash that off." Sandor said from next to her. His eyes
remained on the road a head.
"My brothers.."
"I've taken care of it."
"And Sansa?"
His expression became pained before he could school it back to one of
nonchalance. "I'll take care of her too." She was happy with that answer. It
wasn't a promise, but the way he said it made it sound like one.
Staring out the car window she wondered on all the things that had happened.
She thought she'd feel different. That maybe she'd cry hysterically. Or scream,
or hurt, or anything. But not feel nothing. Everything inside was frozen, and
she couldn't understand how. In a matter of hours her world had been turned
upside down. And she couldn't feel.
Minutes, maybe hours, passed in silence before she spoke again. "Where are we
going?" Looking at the tall trees that surrounded them for miles, she knew they
were a fair way from town.
Sandor shifted and winced as his back cracked. "Laws have changed recently. If
you get convicted of this murder you will get a full sentence, even if you are
still a child. The boy you killed was from a wealthy family, with political
ties. I have a friend who'll take you. Keep you off the grid."
"But... What about Sansa and my brothers... And..." She stopped herself from
saying her mother. Tears filled her eyes, and a sharp pain dug into her chest.
She wished for the dark to take her again. Or to feel numb once more.
"I already told you I'm taking care of them." He replied quickly. Assertively.
She'd never heard him take that tone with her before. When he was training her
he'd always mock her and would laugh at her. He was never really a teacher.
More, a friend who showed you what they knew.
Silence once more. The Johnny Cash tape he'd been playing comes to an end and
all they can hear is tyres against a dirt road.
"My mums dead."
Sandor side eyes her and frowns. She knows he doesn't know how to comfort
someone. So it comes to no surprise to her when all he replies is "I know." And
then a belated "I'm sorry."
"Arya, there's something else..."
"What." She can feel her eyes getting heavy again.
"Robb. He didn't make it." He says. He never takes his eyes off the road.
"Oh." Is all she can manage before she's gone again.
This time there are no peeks into what is happening. Only complete darkness.
She likes this place. Her secret place. Where nothing can hurt her. She wishes
she could stay her forever and hide. But she can't. She can't stay another
second as her eyes begin to open, and the moonlight filters in through her
lashes.
They've stopped in front of a small stone cottage, and Sandor is by her side,
opening the door for her. She steps out and winces as her bare feet touch the
sharp stones that cover the ground. Fortunately it's only a short walk to the
front door of the cottage.
Sandor knocks twice and the door opens to a tall thin man, all dressed in
black.
"Wasn't expecting you." The man dressed in black spat, accusingly.
"Jaqen is." Was all Sandor said and the man begrudgingly let them in.
The cottage was beautiful. With hard wood floors and a massive fire place. A
fur rug was draped across the floor in front of two leather couches. One couch
was occupied by a man with a pointed face and long orange hair with a streak of
white through it.
He was cleaning a gun. She wasn't sure what kind. It was disassembled, and
laying on the small glass, coffee table before him. He wiped the piece he was
holding with a rag and reassembled the gun, before standing and scrutinising
her form.
His grey eyes bore into hers and a secret smile played on his lips. He looked
at Sandor and raised his eyebrows. Sandor didn't move an inch.
The man with the Orange hair, who she assumed was 'Jaqen' rolled his eyes and
looked back to her.
"Does the girl have a name?" He asked in a thick foreign accent.
"A..Arya." She stuttered.
The man nodded. "And do you know my name?"
The question jolted her back to hours before and she flinched, moving her
injured arm away from him.
The mans playful smile seemed to falter when he caught sight at what she was
trying to hide. But, he continued all the same. "Why do you have blood on your
hands, girl?" He asked.
"I.. Don't know." She said amazedly. She couldn't remember where it had come
from. From her arm? From her mothers body?
She shook her head, trying to think back to it. But all she saw was a mass of
red and a switchblade as it plunged into broken flesh.
Sandor was studying her features from beside her. She met his eyes "I lost
time."
"What do you mean, by that?" Jaqen inquired, leaning forward.
"I.. It's hard to explain."
"Take your time." Jaqen said and urged her on.
"There were... Uhh.. I was there, but then I'd black out. And I was awake, but
I had no control. I couldn't see or hear. I was stuck in..."
Jaqen nodded once more. "It was like I was stuck in my head, while someone else
took over."
The foreign mans slight smile returned and he turned to face Sandor once more.
"Okay. I will take her with me."
Sandor nodded his thanks and turned to Arya, kneeling in front of her. Panic
began to grip her, and her breaths came in short. It was too much. It was all
far, far too much to handle. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed
with all her might as tears filled her eyes.
"I don't want to go. I don't want to." She cried quietly into his ear. "Please
don't make me."
Sandor pulled back from her and looked into her face. His expression was as
hard as stone. "There's no other choice Arya. I know it's hard at the moment
but you have to think logically. I know you're scared. That's okay. But I need
you to be brave as well. Can you do that for me?"
Arya nodded her head and wiped at her tears as they continued to fall. "Good
girl." Taking a step back, she allowed Sandor room to stand up before hugging
him one last time. He didn't return the hug but he ruffled her hair, the way
that Jon used to and pat her back.
Once she let go, he turned and left without another word. It was better that
way she thought. It was a kindness. The word goodbye was such a messy thing.
Chapter End Notes
     Hi guys! Sorry it's been ages!!! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, next
     one will be up soon hopefully.
     Special thanks to Firehound, who gave advice and key ideas for this
     chapter. And also to the lovely asimplylucia for being encouraging
     and just lovely :)
     Let me know what you think about this chapter! I've only written Arya
     pov once. It kind of needed to be her pov for plot reasons. And there
     will be a few more in her pov later on in te story.
     In this fic the faceless men are made up of mostly people with
     multipersonality disorder. It was the only way I could think of to
     portray them in a world without magic. Thought I'd better make that
     more clear here, as it ain't very clear int his chapter. I'll go into
     more detail though in future chapters.
     Thanks for reading guys!! Xx
***** There is a violence in love *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from "is it me" by the kooks.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It was a long while before Sansa could leave the hospital. There were forms she
had to sign, she had to decide what would happen with Robb. Where he would go,
when would he go there... And stuff of the like. Eager young interns, circled
around his body like vultures. They needed to know if they could have his
organs. One after the other they all approached. First it was his heart. Robb
had a good strong heart, they needed good strong hearts. So she gave them his
heart. Then it was his kidneys, he could save two lives in his death.-that's
what they'd said about them. His liver - "the liver is amazing, it can grow
itself back when half is taken, but some people don't even have a liver to grow
back.". And then his eyes, so much like her own. But harder. -"to help the
blind" they'd said. And now...
"His skin?" She looked at the young doctor in disbelief. He had no sympathy. He
didn't care that this was a person. This was her brother. Her dead brother.
"It's used to treat burn victims. We can leave the skin on his face if you
like."
Sansa snorted and shook her head. "If I like?" She threw her hands down onto
the table. It startled the young doctor, but he didn't seem to regret his
choice in words. Don't be angry at him, she tried to calm herself. He doesn't
understand what he's done wrong. But then he's looking past her, to the glass
panel behind and relaying a mimed joke to a colleague, and she can't. She just
can't. She stands and goes to leave, because one more second of this and she'll
break. She'll turn into a mess, just like her mother. A wailing, crying,
unconsolable mess. The young doctor reaches for her hand and she tries to shake
him off.
"Do you know what I would like doctor.." She looks down at his name badge.
Printed in bold letters, standing proud on his white coat. "...Smith? I would
like my older brother alive and well, and laughing and joking with me like he
was just two hours ago. I would like to be able to grieve in peace, and to bury
myself in misery. I would like to go home, without having to tell my younger
siblings, my mother, that Robb, our Robb is dead. But more than anything, I
would like for you to shut the fuck up about skin grafts for burn victims and
peeling the flesh from my brothers face because I don't care for them. I don't
care for anyone but him, and he's... D..gone. So please, if you'd remove your
hand. My answer is no. It's no, to anything and everything else."
The doctor swallowed hard and released her arm. "Of course, Miss Stark. Thank-
you for your time and I'm sorry for your loss." He seemed sincere this time,
and Sansa almost felt bad that she'd yelled at him. But she couldn't. All she
could feel was a hole in her chest, an all-consuming sadness, that took every
ounce of her strength to keep from breaking down.
"I have to go." Was all she said, before leaving the room, and then the
hospital.
As she stepped outside the doors to the main entrance, a chill ran through her.
Breathing slow and deep she almost fell asleep standing right where she was.
But an ambulance whizzed passed, with loud flashing sirens and coaxed her into
moving. Her steps were heavy, like her shoes were filled with lead, but as she
kept walking it became easier and easier, until she didn't have to think about
it at all. It was too late to catch a bus, and the taxi's were all too
expensive. She did call Sandor once, but quickly hung up before he could
answer. And then her phone, died. She couldn't see him now anyway. Not tonight.
It would be a long walk, but the fresh air would do her good. It was also
helping to dry the onslaught of tears that seemed never-ending. There were long
stretches of road where darkness enveloped her, but she was not afraid. She
didn't feel alone in the darkness. Rather, She felt a certain kinship with it.
She reached deep into her bag and grabbed her pack of cigarettes, and fumbled
for her lighter. Her shaky hands almost drops the pack. She flips open the pack
and takes out two thin cigarettes. Holding them with her mouth, she raises her
lighter and watches the flames as they dance and burn away just inches away
from her face. She feels their warmth and she thinks back to the skin grafts.
Maybe I should have said yes. I doubt many would. It could've helped someone
else. Someone like Sandor. No. Don't think on him now. Her time would be better
spent coming up with a way to deliver Robb's death to her family. Her mother.
Oh god. A sob escaped her parted lips. She won't come back from this.
As her heavy steps continue, she practises words she wishes she didn't have to
ever even think of saying. "Robb's passed on... No. Our brother... No. Robb is
d..."
Her words are cut short by what her eyes behold. Red flames that flicker in the
night like a lone candle in the midst of a storm. The red darts from side to
side, in a vicious dance of light and darkness. And she doesn't know what's
worse, the darkness from which she came or the fire that awaits her. She's a
block away and she can taste smoke, she gets closer and she can smell the
putrid combination of gas and burnt plastic. And then she's running, cause the
closer she gets the easier it is too see, but the harder it is to believe that
her home is on fire.
She doesn't even think to stop when she gets there. She can hear sirens going
off in the distance and someone calling her name, but she doesn't care. She
can't! She needs to know if her family -what little remains of it- aren't in
there burning alive. She can feel as the stairs that lead to the front porch
give beneath her feet and she barely manages to make it to the deck, before
lunging to open the door. The hot metal of the handle scolds her hand, but she
barely feels it. She turns the handle and runs into the flames that welcome her
with open arms.
She's screaming, with all that she has, calling for her brothers, for Arya, for
her mother. She checks all the rooms. She feels as the flames lick at her skin
and the smoke begins to choke the life out of her. She's checked everywhere but
the lounge. She's running down the hall, the fire crackles and it almost sounds
like it's laughing, taunting her.
When she makes it to the lounge her vision is blurred by ashen clouds of smoke.
She waves her hand frantically before her, trying to see her way through the
grey. When she finally does she wishes she hadn't.
She sees her mothers body lying flat on the floor, unmoving. She's just as
still as her mother until Catelyn's nightdress catches alight and She shrieks
as she runs to try and put out the flames, though somewhere in the back of her
mind she knows it to be futile. She swats at the flames and they burn at her
hands but she doesn't care. She welcomes the distraction it gives her from the
overwhelming feeling of loss. The smoke is getting heavier and her sobs are
choked off by the fire. Yet, She still cries over her mothers body as the
ceiling falls, and the fiery red draws nearer.
She cries out her brothers and fathers name. She hopes her departed family will
come to greet her into the afterlife as the fire draws ever nearer.
She's coughing too much to notice she's moving, Crying too much to see it. That
she's being dragged from the house to the safety of the front lawn. That
someone is holding her up, is consoling her. And she hugs onto him fiercely,
thinking that someone may just be her father, or Robb, or maybe even her
mother.
The voice of her saviour breaks in a way she remembers. Not as Robb, not as her
father or mother, but as Theon. Though he's not the family she had hoped for
she hugs him back with what little strength she has left. "Oh Theon. What are
we gonna do?" She manages between sobs. But he doesn't reply only repeats his
mantra of "im sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry"
She strokes through his hair, and tries to calm her crying. "It's okay, it's
okay." She whispers as she tries to convince herself the same.
"No, you don't understand. It's my fault! It's all my fault."
"Theon, it's not your fault. God, if anyone's, it's mine!"
"No! You, don't get it. He said where's the money. And I didn't know. And he
starts to... To... Take off.. Bits... And I can't disobey. He says light the
fire, and I light the fire. And Bran and Rickon... Oh god..." His senseless
babbling is too quick to keep up with before his words a cut short by him being
sick, on the ground beside them.
She pulls back from his arms, and looks at him through the blur of her tears.
He leans back on his haunches and let's out an almost scream, as tears stain
his face. "What? Theon, what are you saying." She says between sniffs.
No answer.
She thinks back over his words and two specifically caught her ear. Suddenly
she's sober once more and fear makes adrenaline flood through her veins "What
do you mean, "bran and Rickon"" she asks again.
Still no answer, but he turns to her this time, and she sees it in his eyes.
The self-loathing, the guilt. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THEON?!?" She has the front of
his shirt in the fist of her hand. His eyes are screwed shut and he lifts his
arms in front of his face. It's the first time she notices the deep cuts along
his arms. Old and new.
"You don't understand I had to!" Her breath is coming short and fast. And she
fears and hopes she'll pass out. That she'll wake up, and this will all have
been a dream. But she doesn't. Instead she's heartbreakingly conscious to hear
his next words. The words she thinks break her for good. "Under the house. They
were under the house. The foot steps in the mud. They blocked it off. Made
me... Light..."
He doesn't have time to finish as she launches herself at him. Screaming,
begging, demanding, crying. She's on top of him and she hits him until She
feels her knuckles crunch against his face. Even then, she only switches to the
other hand. And then there's a switch blade at his throat. Her switchblade.
Though she doesn't know how it happened. His eyes are swollen, but wide and
pleading. "Please." She presses just hard enough to draw blood. The way he
swallows brings it deeper, almost too deep. And what's stopping her now? She
might as well finish him...
"Sansa." A callous hand against her shoulder. She knows it's him, but she can't
look at him, now. He'll make her stop. She doesn't break eye contact with
Theon. The knife sliding ever so slightly to the left, before she pulls her
hand away. She's disgusted that she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Sandor starts to pull her off of Theon's broken body, but not before she spits
on his face and whispers, her revenge in his ear. His eyes are tired. But so
full with sadness. And it's the only thing that's made her happy that night.
Strong arms carry her where her legs cannot, and put her down gently in the
passenger seat. The tears keep falling, they won't stop. She wonders if they
ever will. Sandor drives them to the animal shelter and steps out of the car
without a word. He comes round to her door and lifts her in his arms once more.
She can't help but hold back onto him. He's warm, an strong and comforting.
He leans against his car for a moment before he Sit's atop the hood of the car
with her in his lap, he strokes fumbling fingers through her hair. As she
sniffs and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.
"You're brothers are inside." He says quietly, and she looks up so fast she
makes herself dizzy.
"But, Theon said..."
"They didn't know. We got their just in time. Made it look like they were still
there. I'm sorry San, we had to..." She grips onto him with all her might and
begins sobbing a new.
"Oh, thank god." She repeats over and over as they cling to one another. After
a few minutes she composes herself enough to allow Sandor to take her inside.
It's strange. The feelings that wage war inside of her. She feels grief. And
loss. But at the moment what overwhelms her is relief for her younger brothers
safety. She doesn't know how long it'll stay that way. But she relishes the
change of pace.
They walk through the shelter and up a set of stairs near the back entrance,
that leads to a small living area with a few rooms attached to it. Sandor opens
the door to their left, and Sansa's heart sings, when she sees her two brothers
curled up together. Covered in dirt, but warm and safe. She gestures for Sandor
to let her down and walks towards them on shaky legs. As she gets closer she
finds it harder not to fall onto them and shower them with hugs and kisses. But
they're sleeping. So instead, she slowly crawls under the blankets and curls
her body around little Rickon's and holds Brans hand. When she looks back to
the doorway, Sandor is gone and the door is closed. Her eyes get heavy, and her
breathing slows until finally sleep takes her.
Chapter End Notes
     Hope this was alright. It was really difficult to write and I fear
     the next one will be as well. But, after that the fun really starts :
     ) hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always, I'd love to hear what you
     think xxx
     Also, the first scene was totally inspired by greys anatomy. One of
     my old favourite shows.
***** How to say good-bye *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry, more boring sadness, if it's any consolation, I'm already
     writing the next chapter so it shouldn't be too long a wait. There
     are hints at what's to come in future chapters in this one, so it is
     kinda important. I promise next chapter will be more exciting xxx
Cotton. The kind that scratches at the skin. Dry and unrelenting. That's the
first thing she felt.
Then there was pain. An inscrutable pain. Sucking in a breath she sat up
quickly and looked at her hands. They were swaddled in bandages, so thick she
thought they looked like gloves on a new born babe. She tries scratching at
them but it only makes her cry out. And where is she? She looks around the
plain room. With peach coloured walls and nothing but the bed on the floor, on
which She sat.
Slowly clambering out of bed she makes her way to the door. Trying to open it
without using her hands proves difficult, but possible. The old floorboards
screech under her weight, though she knows she's light as a feather. She
wonders what sound they'd make if sandor....
And there he is. Sitting with her two younger brothers. Playing go fish, with a
packet of cards that look like they've been round since the First World War.
All sat in their pyjamas with stern looks on their faces. They look like Starks
through and through, with that look.
She coughs and makes her presence known. Bran and Rickon both look up and run
to hug her. Cards forgotten on the table, where Sandor is still seated and
looks on. Rickon reaches her first and practically tackles her. His small arms
wrapping around her waist and face buried against her stomach. Bran is next. He
hugs her and it's now she realises how much she's missed. He's almost as tall,
she notices as strong arms go over her shoulders. She holds onto her brothers
and shivers. Her tears are all gone. But there's still an unbearable ache in
her chest.
Maybe it's minutes, maybe it's hours before they let go. She sits them down at
the table and opens her mouth to speak, but no words will come. With Rickon in
her lap, and bran staring his wide knowing eyes at her, all words have fled.
"Robb..." She croaks, her throat feels dry and sore. Damaged from the violent
sobbing and the exposure to smoke. But it's not this that stops her. It's Bran.
"We know." He says. And there are tears in his eyes but he won't let them fall.
He's so brave, she thinks and hugs Rickon closer as he begins to cry. It's
almost unbearable. The build-up. The pain. But then Bran is reaching across the
table, taking her hand in his, with a gentle squeeze she feels all the support
she needs.
She holds her youngest brother until eventually he falls asleep. Bran walks
over to where they're sitting and takes Rickon from her lap. Carrying him into
the bedroom she'd first found them in. She goes to follow but bran halts her
with a shake of his head. "I'll watch over him." 
She moves into the kitchen and flicks on the kettle. It's a small living space
here. Three rooms near the stairs, then a kitchen with an island bench and in
front of it, the round table they were just seated at. Behind that is the what
looks like the bathroom and that's it.
She opens up the cupboards in search of a mug. She was just about to give up
her search when she feels a gentle nudge at her back. She turns and offers a
weak smile. Sandor doesn't smile back but his expression is soft. Sympathetic.
"We need to discuss some things." He says as he reaches over her head and pulls
two cups down from the top cupboard.
He makes himself a coffee, her a tea, and brings it back to the table. For a
long time, he says nothing at all. So she says something instead.
"Where's Arya?"
It's not that she hadn't noticed. Not that she'd forgotten about her little
sister. She'd been worried out of her mind. But just the thought of hearing
more bad news.... She couldn't take it.
Sandor sighs and runs a hand over his face, and then begins. He starts from the
beginning. How he'd found Arya half unconscious outside his apartment. How
she'd told him where her brothers were and had managed to get to them before
the others did. And then, that Arya had had to leave if she was to survive.
Sansa knew it to be the most logical coarse of action but it didn't stop that
hole in her chest from growing larger. Her breaths came short and heavy. She
could feel the strain of the muscle in her chest. I should have kept my stupid
mouth shut. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
"Sansa. Sansa, calm down." Sandor's voice brings her back to earth. She turns
her head and he's by her side. Holding onto her shoulders. Light grey eyes
staring into her bright blue with concern. She nods and closes her eyes trying
to focus on her breathing.I can do this.
Sandor takes his seat across from her once more and shuffles through some
papers on the table. "You don't need to do anything. Just answer some questions
and I'll take care of the rest."
She lifts her head, and pushes her shoulders backwards. Like a true lady. She
sits with her back straight and legs crossed. And she thinks if her mother were
here, she'd be proud.
"What do you need?"
* * *
The process is long and arduous but it's what she needs. The time she spends
filling out paper work and discussing options with Sandor is enough to clear
her head. He must think me such an idiot. Carrying on like that. She thinks to
poor bran and Rickon. She was so selfish, thinking only of her grief. What
about theirs? They'd lost a brother, a sister and a mother all in one night.
They were there when it happened. They'd watched their mother die. She shakes
her head and tries to focus again on what Sandor is trying to tell her. "Okay,
so Robbs funeral."
"He doesn't need a funeral. No one will come." It pains her to say it, but it's
true. No one came to visit him while he was in the hospital. She would know,
she barely left his side.
"I'll come. You'll come. Rickon and Bran..."
"That's four people Sandor. Besides, I don't have the money for it."
"I could..." He starts but she cuts him off with a glare. He goes quiet after
that and changes the subject. He obviously disagrees but is too afraid to push
her while she's grieving. Too scared that she'll lose it again.
He's still talking but she can't listen. She's still stuck on the fact her
brother is dead. She tries to picture his face, but finds her visions blurred.
It's probably just the lack of sleep but the thought that she can't remember
her own brother brings tears to her eyes. She wipes them away before Sandor can
notice.
"...there's your aunt Lysa..."
"Thursday."
"What?" He looks up from the papers in front of him and stares her way, trying
to catch her eye. She won't look at him.
"Robb. His funeral. We'll have it Thursday. Something small. No one needs to
know. I'd like him to have a grave though, and a headstone. I'll pay it all
back, I promise." Once again she sees as he bites his tongue, at that last bit.
She knows he won't take money from her; but she can pay it in less obvious
ways. He needn't know. He nods and writes down a few notes.
"Your brothers." He says it like they're an issue. She doesn't like that.
"What about them?" She snaps.
His expression turns sympathetic and she hates it. That look of pity, though
it's fleeting, makes her want to scream. Especially coming from him. "They
can't stay here. I can't take the! social services wlild never allow it. The
closest family you have is in Riverrun. You'd be better off sending them to
live with your aunt Lysa though. She has a son about Brans age."
"Brans been accepted into a boarding school, up North. He starts next year.
'Ravens school for extraordinary boys.' That's where the money went. His
scholarship was only going to cover fifty percent of his fees. When Robb gave
me that money, I knew I should have just left it. But, bran, he's so smart. How
could I pass up the opportunity to change his life? He could actually leave
this place."
Sandor stares on, encouraging her to continue. "The rest of the money was spent
on Robb's medical expenses and rent, since I'd been working less. I think there
was about a grand left."
"How much was there to begin with?"
She's hesitant to say, but she does. "Fifty thousand."
He mutters a 'fuck' below his breath, and runs his hands through his hair.
Shaking his head he moves back onto the topic. "That still leaves Rickon. He'd
be safest at Riverrun. Your family there know him, you have an uncle who's more
than willing to foster him. I don't think he'd get along with your aunt Lysa if
Bran wasn't there. I have a feeling his son and him wouldn't exactly get
along." He chuckles and she would too, if it weren't for the fact she's having
to ship off the last of her family. Rickon's her baby brother. But he's more
like her baby. It feels like she's giving the last of herself away.
"Can't he stay with me?"
"And where are you staying, Sansa?" She doesn't want to answer. She doesn't
want to fight. Not now. He's right, of course. Rickon can't stay where she's
staying. A strippers club/whore house isn't a suitable environment for a young
boy to grow up in. He kicks her foot under the table.
"Where?"
"Rickon will move to uncle Edmure's place. Bran will go with him, until it's
time for school to start. I'll check with Baelish to see if there's an extra
room available at MoCKingbird."
Sandor's head whips around when he hears where she'll be staying. "You'll stay
with me."
"No."
"It wasn't a question." He says voice low, and she knows he won't relent. He
has that fire in his eyes, he gets when he's being difficult.
"You're not my parent, Sandor. You can't tell me what I will and won't do."
"I know you're upset. I know you're grieving. So I'll let everything else go,
but not this Sansa. It's not safe for you there. Stop being difficult, you know
it's the best option you have. I'm never gonna ask for anything in return, if
that's what you're worried about." He talks so quickly, she doesn't have time
to answer before he says "Right, that's settled then." And moves onto something
else.
But that last sentence. It sticks with her and she wonders what he means
exactly by this. She'll never ask him.
* * *
Robb's funeral is four days later. Unlike the rest of the week, the day was
bright and sunny. Birds sang and the flowers were sweet smelling, but Sansa
hardly noticed. Her black clothing was a stark comparison to the blinding light
the sun provided. There was Robbs casket. Lying in front of a large headstone,
beside his fathers grave. A place she'd visited so many times before. Laying
blue roses on the grass. She'd been there enough to notice the new headstone on
the opposite side of her fathers. She reads the name and her breath catches.
Tears pool in the corner of her eyes, and though she wears shades to hide her
puffy red eyes from the rest of the people come to pay their respects, she's
angry that she's still so weak. Angry that she still hasn't run out of tears.
She sees her brothers standing in front of Robbs grave and chokes back her
tears. I must be brave.
She steps backwards and bumps into something. Or rather, someone. She turns
thinking for a split second it might be Sandor. But it's not. "She deserved at
least a headstone. I know with the fire... But at least we can visit her." Her
Uncle Petyr mumbles. His eyes are dry but hold a deep sadness, one she,
herself, was so well accustomed to. She smiles at him and offers a weak 'thank-
you' before moving to where everyone had congregated, as they waited for the
ceremony to begin.
She takes her place beside Sandor. Bran stands next to her, and immediately
takes her hand, while Rickon borrows into his older brothers side. More people
had turned up than expected. She knew few. Her uncle Edmure was there. Some old
associates of her fathers. A young woman, who stood close to the back. It was
such a strange lot of people. All so different from each other. As the ceremony
came to an end they began lowering the casket into the ground.
Suddenly it was all too real. Robb was dead. He was being lowered into the
ground. Her flesh, her blood. Her breathing comes hard to her, and she fights
with all she has not to cry, not to sob, not to run to him. But then there's a
warm calloused hand that covers her own. She squeezes with all her might and
her air floods her lungs.
People throw flowers into the grave and whisper their condolences as they
leave. Sansa doesn't hear them, but she sees them, and thanks them like the
good girl she is.
It gets down to the last few people and a man of massive stature approaches
her. A friend of her fathers, she remembers. His face is grim and his shoulders
hang low, but he makes an effort to smile at her. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank-you." She thinks that'll be the end of it but he stops by her side.
"If you should ever choose to take your brothers place, know that you would
have the support of the Umbers."
She looks to him with a frown creasing her brow. "I'm not sure I follow,
sorry?"
He studies her, trying to look passed her shades for answers only eyes can
tell. He seems to find them anyway, and a look of curiosity crosses his
features. Digging into his jacket pocket he hands her a calling card. "If you
ever need anything, if you ever need to know anything, call me." With that he
leaves her.
She stares at his retreating form wondering what his words meant but too
consumed with grief to think straight. When she turns back around, the air is
knocked out of her Once more. She almost laughs. The last few days have been
filled with enoigh surprises to last a lifetime, but they still keep coming.
She removes her glasses as if they could be the cause of hallucinations, but
they're not. Theon, walks slowly toward her with a limp and tears running down
his face. When he reaches her he opens his mouth to speak but she stops him.
"Leave." She whispers.
His face drops, eyes screw up and he begins to plead, reaches to touch her
hand, but she pulls it back out of his reach and repeats herself. He tries
again, and she can feel as her glasses snap in her hand. Her eyes cut to his,
but he's being pulled away by Sandor. She can't hear what he says but it's
enough to get him away from her. There's no one left but her brothers, Uncle
and Sandor.
She knows what time it is. They seem to as well. Rickon runs to her side and
latches on, crying. "I don't want to go! Please Sansa! Let me stay with you
I'll be good, I promise!" They'd already talked about living arrangements.
Edmure couldnt stay in town, he had a business to run. Today would be the last
time she'd see her brothers in God know how long. And yet...
She can't look at him. Can't see as her uncle pries his chubby little hands
from her body and carries him towards the car. Bran follows behind him. She's
glad there was no good-bye.
"I just want to go home." She says with the last of her energy.
Sandor nods and leads her to his car. Getting in she can't help but turn to
watch her uncles car leave in the opposite direction. It was the right thing to
do. It was a kindness. The word good-bye is such a messy thing.
***** I'll find you *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from Matt Corby's song "Lay you down"
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
He's teetering on the edge of awake and asleep when he hears the floorboards
give a low moan, under shifting weight. Bare feet pad against the wooden floor
and the bed dips under a second weight. He's too tired to move. Thinks he'll
let it go, and let himself fall back asleep. His eye lids are heavy. His
breathing is slow. Darkness consumes him.
There's a hand running up his side, but it's the kisses that awaken him. Gentle
and light as a feather. Slow but desperate as they land on his cheeks along
with the taste of salt. Tears. He hears as she sucks in a breath through her
teeth, trying to calm herself. He knew they'd come. She'd been strong through
the ceremony. She'd looked almost devoid of any emotion, until the end, when
Theon had approached her. Even then, her eyes were like ice and fire all at
once. So filled with hate. He'd never seen anything like it. Maybe in his
reflection, a long, time ago. But he was no longer that person. It was foreign
to him now. A forgotten friend. He hoped it would stay that way. But coming
back to this city was a poisonous decision considering the path he'd chosen.
And he was beginning to think her kisses were laced with venom, for he knew
he'd do anything for just one. He'd give her all and any of him, and there was
no hiding from the truth. They both knew it. It was easy to see in the way he
never pushed her away. Like now.
"Sansa..." Her name said as a warning. He won't tell her to stop. But maybe if
he tries to warn her...
"Please." Her breathing is unsteady, and the sound of her mourning seems to
echo in this room. After they'd left the graveyard, he'd taken her back to his
place. He'd turned his gym room into another bedroom, and taken it for himself.
When they'd gotten back she was asleep, so he'd carried her up the stairs
again, with her head resting against his chest. Her mouth making small noises
of discontent and a fitful sleep. Resting her on the bed he'd practically
collapsed when he'd got to his. He hadn't slept in almost three days. There'd
been so much to do. With the funeral, and Arya and her younger brothers. And
then his usual jobs on top of that. But he won't complain. He did it all of his
own volition.
Her hands are cold and clammy, as they touch his body feverishly. It shouldn't
be like this. And with that thought he moves onto his side and takes hold of
her hands. She looks at him knowingly, and his will falters when he sees her
tear stricken face by light of the crack in the doorway. A sob escapes her lips
and she hides her face in the crook of his neck. His grip on her wrists goes
slack and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close.
"I can't. I can't." She says it over and over again, like she's forgotten every
other word there is.
"Shh." He murmurs into her hair and she scratches at his chest trying to get
closer. Eventually her breaths even out and he's not sure whether he'd call it
falling asleep. It's more likely she passed out from exhaustion. He goes to
move away but she holds him tighter to her. He has no real desire to let her
go. So he gives in. Pulls her closer, if  possible, and rests his chin on the
top of her head. She still smells like coconuts. He smiles and kisses her
forehead, before falling asleep.
* * *
The sun shines bright through the open window adjacent to his bed. It's the
first time in years he's slept this late into the morning.
He remembers the night before. And the cold hits him, though there is no chill.
It's the lack of her warmth. He steps out into the hallway and he can see the
tv flashing images and colour down the dark hall. When he walks out, Sansa is
there sitting, watching-but-not-watching television.
He heads straight to the kitchen and begins cooking.
He places their food onto plates and when he turns around Sansa is already
sitting at the bench, staring at him with dead eyes.
He places her food, down in front of her and stands beside her as he tucks in
to his breakfast. She pushes the scrambled eggs around the plate, with a look
of displeasure.
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry." She says, leaning back in her chair.
"You have to eat, Sansa." He tries.
"I don't have to do anything." She snaps back at him.
"If you don't eat, you don't shit, and if you don't shit, you die." He
remembers his Father saying that to him after 'the accident'. His burns would
make it difficult and sore to eat. Eventually Sandor gave up on it. He was in
bed all day anyway, it wasn't as though he needed it for energy. He decided it
wasn't worth the pain it caused him. His father had come into his room one
night with a bowl of soup and some bread, and finally coaxed him into getting
something in his stomach, with that sentence. Not exactly a great poet, his
father, but that was one of his fondest memories with him. Not the crude words,
but the tenderness in his voice. The way he made it sound like he'd care if
Sandor died. It was almost like an apology.
"I said I'm not hungry." Sansa's reply brought him back to the present.
He sighs and leans against the kitchen island "Look, I know..."
Sansa huffs and pushes the plate so hard it slides off the bench and crashes to
the floor. "How could you possibly know? This situation is nothing like yours.
So you lost half your face, I lost my family. Fucked up scars are nothing. I
lost everything." She's seething. Her hands balled into fists, teeth bared in a
snarl.
He doesn't bother telling her to have a look around them. He's the same as her.
He has no family, and better yet, half of his family had betrayed him. They'd
kept their mouths shut about what Gregor had done to him. His father may have
tried to apologise, but that didn't mean he forgave him. He never forgave his
parents for that. She didn't know what it was like to love and to hate all at
once. It was hell. He breathes in and out slowly. Closes his eyes and counts to
three. Tries to think on something else. Anything but what she just said. He
tries to tape down the hound, for he knows he's lurking just below the surface,
waiting for an opportunity to lash out.
"I'm... gonna leave." He says as calmly as possible and turns to walk away.
"Yeah, run away Sandor. Leave me again." She hits at his back, and that's all
it takes.
He's facing her and holding her by the scruff of her shirt, before he even
knows what he's doing. He loses his control for only a split second, but still,
a second too long. "Don't fucking push me, Sansa. If you were anyone else you'd
be dead."
He pushes her away and she stumbles back wide eyed and breathing heavily. He
storms out of the apartment before he can make it any worse.
The cool morning air helps him breath a little easier. He can feel as the hound
dissolves back into the deeper recesses of his soul.
It starts out as a walk but the more he thinks on the argument him and Sansa
had, the faster his pace. The only time he stops is when he realises he's been
running at least an hour and is too tired to walk back to the apartment.
Especially when there's a very real chance she'll be gone.
At least he'd had the common sense to pick up his wallet on the way out.
There's some loose change in there and he decides to catch a bus to the shelter
and do some work there.
When he gets there Eugene is out front, trying to mow the grass out front. He
smirks as he hears some less than savoury language murmured below the old mans
breath when he can't get it to start.
"Need some help with that?"
Eugene wipes at his brow with the back of his hand and squints to see who
addresses him. A smile covers his lips when he sees its Sandor.
"No. I've got it." He says stubbornly, pulling at the start cord.
He keeps at it for a good while before giving up on it and kicking it. "Stupid
old thing. It's broken." He huffs.
Sandor walks over and gets it his first try. He raises his eyebrows to the old
man. "Well, I've lost the will to do it now, haven't I?"
Sandor chuckles, turning it off, and following his friend inside.
"What brings you here today, Sandor?"
He turns away from the man. He can't lie to his face. He's a rubbish liar
around Eugene. And they both know it.
"Nothing, really." He says pouring himself and Eugene a cup of coffee.
"Oh, really?" He can hear the smile in his words and it annoys him.
"I don't want to talk about it." He says, handing him his coffee.
Eugene rolls his eyes and looks at him with a knowing smile. "If you didn't
want to talk about it, you wouldn't be here, Sandor."
"Look, I just came here to do some work, and then you..."
"You're the one who made the coffee! I didn't drag you up here!" He says waving
his hands, at his small living area. He's right. Damn it. "So what's wrong,
friend?"
He covers his face and talks without looking into the old mans eyes. Cause he
knows his eyes will betray all that he feels. And he can't be that vulnerable
around anyone.
The old man nods and asks questions here and there, but otherwise just listens.
When he finishes he removes his hand from his face and looks at the old man
wearily. He knows whatever he says is going to be something he doesn't want to
hear. He knows, because the old mans always telling him the truth.
"She's grieving. How can you forget so easily how you were, when you were doing
the same?" He asks. Eugene and him had crossed paths just after he came back to
town. Sandor had already made the conscious decision to change his ways for the
better. But that doesn't mean it'd happened straight away. He was a mess. He
wanted to be better, but he was so confused and broken. His fathers death only
added to that. He remembers many late night conversations between him and the
old man. Talking about things he wouldn't dare talk about with anyone else.
Eugene asking questions no-one else was brave enough to. In a way, Eugene had
saved him. And now I have to do the same for Sansa.
"You have to have patience."
Sandor nodded and rose from the table. He thanked Eugene for the coffee and
left the shelter.
* * *
When he gets home, the apartment is empty. He expected it! but still it hurts
to come home to no one. He checks upstairs and her clothes are gone too. He
doesn't know what to do with himself, so he digs through the cupboard and
fishes out all the hard liquor he can find. It's hours by the time he finishes
them. By it's not enough.
He walks over to the fridge and swings it open so violently the hinges on the
old thing almost come loose. He's not angry, he's upset. And in his experience,
that emotion was so much more volatile. It made you reckless and clumsy.
Unpredictable. He reaches in to grab a beer but his hand drops when he sees a
small container with a note on top of it.
"I'm sorry." Is all it says. He opens it and inside are some chocolate
brownies. He drops the container on the bench and runs a hand through his hair.
Fuck, I'm an asshole.There's a moment of complete rage and anger at himself,
and he's not sure what happened but his knuckles are bruised and swollen and
there's a hole in the wall beside the refrigerator.
He goes to his phone and sees there's half a dozen missed calls from Sansa.
What if something's wrong? Panic grips him and he's running to check his mobile
and grabbing his keys and wallet.
He's making a bee-line towards the door when it rattles and opens.
She's there.
Standing with next to nothing on. Her face full of make-up. Her cheeks are dry
but her eyes water. Heavy bags in each one of hands. He lets out a sigh of
relief and walks towards her with only one thing on his mind.
Sansa walks forward with the same passion burning in her eyes. Her bags drop as
do his wallet and keys. He bends as she jumps. He catches her, and her arms and
legs wind around his body.
Time slows to a halt. He holds her so tight, he think it may hurt, but she only
pulls herself closer.
Their lips meet, and he lets out another sigh. Finally.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry it short!
     Hope you all liked it though :) xxx
***** I Love the Way You Survive *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from 'survival expert' by Something for Kate. You
     should totes listen to it. It's a really cool song and sums up the
     next two chapters. It's a cool one. Umm...Quick warning for drug use
     in this chapter.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Are you angry at me?" She asks in a whisper. She traces patterns on his chest,
and watches the skin turn to goose flesh, under her long, cold digits. She
isn't scared of his answer. Whether he is or not doesn't matter to her. She's
gotten what she wanted and she isn't sorry.
"I'm not angry at you, Sansa. I can't be. I'm just..." He shakes his head and
looks away, but he doesn't move his arm from where it lies beneath her head.
"What?" She asks with a laugh, "disappointed?" But when she sees his expression
her smile falters and there's an ugly taste in her mouth. "In me, or yourself?"
She says moving to get up. She takes the sheet with her to stand, and she's by
the set of windows, looking out onto the night life. I wish it were me. She
thinks, seeing as silly girls in silly dresses, giggle and joke with one
another. Like the world is so easy.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She gives him that dead-pan look she's known for and its all the explanation
she'll give him.
He didn't notice the pinched look on her face when he'd entered her. It was the
blood on the sheets that had given her away. He looked confused for a second
and then it had dawned on him. He looked sad. To know, she'd lied to him, to
get what she wanted. It wasn't that cut and dry though. He would never
understand. He's a man.
After their argument, she'd been upset. She wanted to be angry but knew she had
no right to be. He was only trying to help. Realising the argument was her
fault, she'd done what she'd always done -she'd tried to apologise. But Sandor
wasn't picking up his phone and she didn't know where he'd gone, so she settled
on making him some brownies. The steps were easy and required little to no
thought at all. But the smell of the batter, the heat of the oven, the subtle
strain on her muscles as she mixed the ingredients, all brought her back to
easy Sunday mornings. As the Suns glow would come through the window, and
everything seemed okay- at least for a while. She'd remembered how her mother
would only ever really come back to life when she was cooking. How she'd open
up, and talk about dreams she once had and memories and asked to hear Sansa's
in return.
She found herself so very alone at that moment. As if her whole life had been
swallowed whole. There was nothing left. Nothing but what she'd managed to
find, sifting through the rubble. Even then, it was stupid things. Like
clothes, not fully damaged, or cups and plates. She had no photos, no relics,
none of Rickon's toys or Bran's books. I did manage to steal one of the garden
gnomes from the neighbours lawn, though. Yes, she was lonely. And it was better
to be lonely and homeless, than lonely and unwelcome.
So she'd packed her bags, and left. She Didn't know where she'd go, but the
bags were too heavy to carry with her. She'd hidden them, and her belongings
under a sheet behind a rubbish bin, and that was enough to remind her she
always had a home at MoCKingbird.
The smell of smoke and sin was thick in the air, it reminded her of who she
was. I'm a survivor, and this is how I survive. With dollar bills hanging out
the sides of her panties. With hickies on her neck, and a loose fitting wig.
She couldn't hide forever. She needed to get back to work. She needed the
money, but most of all she needed something to take the pain away. Or at least
to redirect her attention. So there she was. Dancing for men twice her age.
Letting them touch her. Want her. All of them studying her with hungry eyes.
They all wanted to devour her. To strip away her 'innocence.' In Sansa's eyes,
she'd lost her innocence long before now, and it had nothing to do with whether
she spread her legs or not.
But they'd stare, and lust, and she'd wonder if they could see it on her.
Wondered if they could hear or smell it or something because they all wanted to
take it. To steal it for themselves. After the long night had ended she'd
headed outside for a smoke. It was too stuffy in the club and she liked the
cold bite the air had to it now of days.
She lit her smoke, and breathed the toxins into her lungs. Relishing the
familiar burn. Fire can't hurt me, anymore. She thought. She heard stumbling
footsteps and then a hand was on her side. One of the customers had lingered
after closing and stood barely a foot away from her. He was quite handsome, in
his own way. Light brown hair, with hazel coloured eyes. He was drunk. Leaning
forward and using her to balance. She knew he'd kiss her, but didn't pull away.
Instead she'd encouraged him. Had opened up her mouth and touched her tongue to
his. It was saliva, and teeth and too much. But she'd wanted to feel close to
someone again. She wanted intimacy, but not from her work, but by choice. It
soon struck her how idiotic the idea was. He was loitering around the front
entrance of MoCKingbird. He's not here for you, he's here for sex, idiot. It's
all they ever want.
She turned her face away and broke contact but he kept his hold on her tight.
He licked up her neck and she pushed him back. His hand flung forward out of
reflex and hit her just below her eye. Without thinking she reached into her
bag for her pepper spray. He'd stumbled back, cursing and swatting at the air
before him, but he hadn't been able to see her. She was on a bus and half way
to Sandor's before his eye sight would start to come back to him. She'd done it
without thinking. She should've just run back inside the club.
I just want to feel safe. It was a thought that had dictated her every decision
the rest of the night.
She'd practically ran to Sandor's apartment. Taking two steps at a time, with
her life packed into the two duffle bags, she'd hidden earlier. She was going
to leave him be. To step out of his life forever. And stop causing him so much
grief, but... To feel safe...
Meant everything and anything 'Sandor.' To be near him. As near as anyone could
ever be. And she knows it's selfish because it's less than what he's given her.
She knows he offers an emotional level of support but it's not what she needs.
So she takes what isn't offered.
She hears him murmur, "finally" against her lips and it makes her smile. It's a
sad one. Her lips curve, but the only sparkle in her eyes are the reflection of
pale light on unshed tears.
He'd carried her up the staircase to his bunk. All the while whispering sounds
that weren't words but were comforting in their own right. Her grip around his
neck tightened when her back hit the bed. Scared, that he'd leave if she let
go. He'd stared at her a moment before looking away nervously. Opening and
closing his mouth a few times before actually saying anything. "You're not
a..." Virgin.
She'd smiled and shook her head 'no.' It was a lie. But she hadn't said it, so
did it still count? Apparently to Sandor, it did.
His hands shook slightly as he touched her. She liked that she had that effect
on him. She was the first to remove her clothes. Disentangling herself from his
embrace to stand. Eyes darting around the room, while he studied every bit of
skin revealed. It was slow, and she was grateful he didn't rush her. When she
finally stood before him, bare of all clothing, he leaned forward and kissed
directly above her heart. She wondered if he could feel it beating on his lips.
His kisses were slow travelling up her neck. He pulled her closer to him to
bring her lips to his. His kisses were so much nicer than the other boys. They
didn't push too hard, he didn't bite until it hurt, he didn't leave drool
trailing down her chin.
The kiss, was only the beginning. His hands were everywhere. In her hair, up
and down her arms, stroking the backs of her thighs. And there were clothes
joining hers on the floor, and everything that night had moved so quickly.
Every decision made in the blink of an eye. It wasn't long enough to decide.
Her brain felt muddled. The same feeling she got when she'd drunk too much. She
thought briefly if she should stop. There would be no going back after this.
But he was already as naked as she was and then he was rolling her onto her
back. Positioning himself at her entrance.
There was a slight pressure, and she looked up in time to catch the question in
his eyes. Time would not stand still forever. Tomorrow she would go back to
work and feel their eyes on her once more. She didn't want to be hunted. She
closed her eyes and nodded, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. Maybe
they won't see me anymore, if it's gone.
It was a burn, and a sting and she gasped at the pain. Sandor's head was buried
in her hair, his kisses still present with every in and out. His hips seemed to
roll against hers and soon enough the pain gave way to -not something
pleasurable, but a feeling of completeness. It didn't feel bad. It didn't
necessarily feel good. But, it felt safe. And safe is what she wanted. His body
on top of hers, shielding her from the world.
Not really knowing what to do, she followed Sandor's lead, and rocked her hips
back and forth in time with his. She'd moan when he did, though she felt no
need to. She studied how he reacted to her touch, and her sounds and repeat
what she knew he'd like. She stroked up his back and kissed down his neck, and
soon enough he was spilling words into her ear.
Lovely words, she wanted to believe. That she was beautiful. That he'd take
care of her. That no-one would ever hurt her again. His movements became
erratic and she felt a little uncomfortable again, but then it was over. He
grunted atop of her and rolled his hips a couple more times, before collapsing.
His weight was heavy, but she enjoyed the pressure on her chest. Enjoyed being
completely surrounded by him.
After a minute he'd collected himself and put his weight on his arms that rest
either side of her head. He leant down and kissed the tip of her nose, before
rolling over to lie next to her. His arms open and waiting for her. She
snuggled up into his side and closed her eyes. Though she hadn't finished, she
felt content...
Until Sandor had moved the sheet aside to wipe up the mess. That's when he'd
seen it.
The bed screeches as he sits up, and then stands to his feet. She loves the
feeling of his arms wrapped around her. He stands behind her, holding her close
to his chest, chin resting on her shoulder. "You should've told me."
She turns around and wraps her arms around his waist. "I know."
He leads her back towards the bed and wraps his body around hers. Sheilding her
from the world once more.
* * *
When she awakes, it's to the sound of his old radio playing, and a lazy smile
graces her lips. I could live like this. She thinks.
She shrugs on one of his shirts and pads her way down to the kitchen. He isn't
there. Probably on his morning jog. She uses the time to start making
breakfast. Eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes. The works. When she hears the
front door open and then slam she quickly pours him a cup of orange juice and
dishes up his food. He's still puffing. Sweat beads along his forehead and he
nods to her, in thanks, before drinking all the juice in one go. When he's done
he comes around the bench and places a kiss on her cheek, while grabbing a
piece of bacon directly from the pan.
"Hey!" She swats at his hands. "That ones yours!" She says pointing to where
she'd placed his breakfast. He grins at her and takes a seat on one of the
stools at the bench. Her eggs are still cooking and as she waits for them, she
sings along with the radio, swinging her hips from side to side. When she feels
a hand slide round her waist she almost hits Sandor with the spatula, she's so
surprised.
He chuckles and pulls her to him, placing a chaste kiss on her jaw. "You're in
a good mood today." She says, stroking up and down his forearms.
'Mmm' he grunts into her hair. "I'm always a ray of sunshine, what are you
trying to insinuate?" Sansa outright laughs at him and it's a lovely feeling.
She thought she'd forgotten how to. "What do you want to do today?" He asks,
mimicking her movements, swinging from side to side with the music. She
cringes, for she knows she's going to ruin the lovely moment their having.
"I need to go to Kings."
Sandor halts, and his body tenses behind her. "Why?" He asks, though it comes
out as more of a growl.
She shrugs out of his embrace and quickly takes the eggs off the element and
puts them on her plate. She then picks up hers and places her food beside his
on the bench. "You know why." She mumbles, pulling out the chair. When she sits
down to eat she notices Sandor still standing by the stove. Staring at her with
a look of disapproval. "Come. Eat." She says, patting the seat beside her. She
tries to lighten the mood, but he's having none of it. Eventually, he comes to
sit beside her and eat his breakfast, but he won't even look at herLet alone
talk to her. Exasperated, after her third attempt at starting a conversation is
rebuffed, Sansa throws up her hands and drops them in her lap. "Fine." She says
collecting her dishes noisily and dumping them in the sink. That seemed to have
gotten his attention.
"'Fine' what, Sansa?" He asks, she can hear that he's already annoyed. She
turns around and frowns.
"This is obviously going to be one of those things, you won't let go. So let's
talk about it."
He barks a laugh, that's all sarcasm and no real humour. "I don't want to talk
about it."
"Then what do you want?!" She retorts exasperated. "I want you to pull your
head out of your arse and stop being so bloody reckless! Have you forgotten
what happened last time you were there?"
"Joffrey will be at school. There'll be no-one there to hurt me. If you're
really so concerned, why don't you just come with me." She tries to reach out
to him. To hold his hand, but he pulls it out of her reach and shakes his head.
"I'm not getting caught up in that scene. Not again. I came here to escape
that, I won't have you dragging it into my life again. I can't tell you what to
do. You make your own decisions. But don't talk about it. Don't even mention
it. Not here, not around me." He gets more and more worked up as he continues.
His face pulls back into a snarl, and his hands turned into fists by his sides.
"Alright, alright." She concedes, and goes back to wash dishes. Sandor stalks
away to go do something else, judging by the loud 'thud' that echoes through
the apartment -to punch something.
She sighs and leans her against the cupboard in front of her, as if the
pressure will help her to think. Am I wrong? No. He can't tell her what to do,
and she won't be manipulated into thinking otherwise. After finishing the
dishes she fishes through her bags and finds something to wear, before slipping
out the door, without saying good-bye. Best leave him be.
* * *
Though it's the middle of the day, King's is still bustling with activity.
People are busy moving tables and chairs, cleaning, getting the bar prepped for
a big night. Sansa makes her way over to Bronn, behind the bar. He's so very
serious, and it makes her snort when she sees all he's doing is cutting lime.
The sound draws his attention, he smiles and nods in her direction before
cursing himself when he cuts his finger. "That's your fault." He says, pointing
the knife at her and sucking on his cut finger.
Sansa gasps and puts a hand over her chest in mock-offence, before dropping the
act and becoming serious. She's not in the mood to play around. She just wants
to get this over and done with. "I've got the stuff for tonight." She says
tapping her bag. "I need to speak with Cersei. See if she wants me here, or has
someone lined up." He nods and moves around the bar to lead her to Cersei's
office.
As he walks her down the back stairs he tries to engage her in small talk, but
her mind is elsewhere. She thinks he finally gets the point when he stays quiet
a short while, but then he opens his fat mouth to speak again. And what he says
is enough to make her hold on to the hilt of her blade in her bag. "Heard about
Robb. Sorry. But, you know. It's the lifestyle. You can't get that far in the
business without the threat of someone trying to take your place..." It doesn't
make sense to her. These things he says. She knows what Robb, did was illegal.
But she never really knew anything more than that. She would hardly call being
the leader of a street gang a 'business', let alone 'the business'. Before she
has time to ask him about it though, they're at Cersei's office and she's
bracing herself for what's to come.
She used to get along with Cersei. But since her and Joff had broken up,
working with her had become difficult. She walks into the dimly lit room,
feeling like she's walking into the lions den. Cersei sits perched in high
backed chair. Before her a series of envelopes. She picks up a wad of cash
before placing it in the envelope and neatly writing a name on the front of it.
Then sets it off to the side, with the ones she'd already done. She looks up
for a brief moment and nods to the chair adjacent her desk, before going back
to what she was doing. Sansa takes a seat and waits until she's addressed to
speak. The blonde woman, sighs heavily and looks up from her work, with
critical green eyes. "Yes?"
Sansa fishes through her bag and places the large amount of pills, and various
powders on her desk. "For tonight." She says, sorting through the drugs and
offering a sample of the coke. Cersei separates it into two perfectly straight
lines, and they both snort it at the same time. Blinking a few times and
rubbing at their noses before they continue business. As a rule, Sansa doesn't
take drugs on the job. But there's no other way to conduct business with
Cersei. She's strange. She'd be offended if you didn't take what was offered.
 Cersei huffs a laugh and shakes her head. "Would you buy this?" She says,
eyebrows raised.
She knows it's shit. Baelish had recently changed suppliers, but she couldn't
tell what for. It wasn't any cheaper, and though it isn't the worst she's had,
it's nothing compared to what they used to supply. The hit isn't as strong, and
though coke generally doesn't last very long, at least you had a high. With
this it felt as though she was barely off the ground before she was coming back
down again.
"No." She answers honestly. "But I can sell it."
Cersei grins at her and nods her head. "They won't be happy bout it."
Sansa rolls her eyes. "It's one of the risks you take buying drugs. Everybody
knows that. I don't see what other choice you have either, unless you wanna
spend the night dry."
"How much?"
"Forty percent of sales, and I'll take back what doesn't sell."
The older woman thinks it over for a moment and then nods her head. "Got
yourself a deal. What time you coming in?"
Sansa looks away and shrugs, fingers at the last little bit of coke on the
desk. "Say 'round 12." She licks the coke off her finger and packs the drugs
back into the bag. "I'll leave these here and come pick them up before I start.
Don't wanna be carrying them around."
She stands and heads towards the door. "You know, I did really like you Sansa.
It's a shame you and Joff never worked out."
Sansa chuckles and tilts her head. "Yeah, well. He's got Margaery now, so..."
"Ugh. Don't even get me started on that little slut."
Sansa laughs aloud at tha and it might just be the lighting but she thinks she
sees Cersei smile a little. "I'll see you tonight." She waves over her shoulder
and heads out the door. Fuck. What am I supposed to do all day? It was only ten
in the morning. She climbs back up the steps and walks through the doors when
something stops her in her tracks. Or rather, someone. He leans against the bar
top, his hair slicked back, and shiny gold watch on his wrist. His suit is all
black, his shoes recently shined. But his smile. That smile reeks of depravity,
and it's one she knows. He spots her. He squints and then, recognising who she
is, grins. He stands up straight and starts to walk towards her, and she finds
herself shuffling backwards. She's running out of time. He's getting closer.
And then she bumps into someone. She quickly whips her head around to see who
it is and apologise profusely, while staring behind her, only to see the
smiling man, gone. "Are you alright?" A deep voice asks, and the light pressure
of his hand on her arm.
"Yeah, I'm fine." She says, shaking her head, and looking up to see who she'd
crashed into. When she raises her eyes, she sees its the gentlemen she'd met at
Robb's funeral. Her Fathers friend. "I'm so sorry, It was just..." She trailed
off, checking behind her once more.
"Running from someone?" He says. And it's so casual, that she almost laughs and
pretends it is only a joke, but when she meets his eyes, she knows he can see
she's scared. "You haven't called."
"Sorry?" She says somewhat distractedly. "I gave you my card, at Robb's
funeral. You haven't called."
"Oh, I.. I'm sorry. Everything has been so crazy lately. Was there something in
particular that needed discussing?" Something caught his eye behind her and he
frowned. She turned her head to see the smiling man had reappeared, with a
couple of other men, by his side. He smiled at her once more and tipped his
head to her.
"Yes." Mr. Umber said, resting his hand on her shoulder and pushing her gently
towards the exit. "There's quite a lot that needs discussing actually, why
don't we go and talk about it over lunch?"
She had nothing better to do. She didn't start work until midnight. "Sure."
Chapter End Notes
     GUYS. GUYS. NEXT CHAPTER IS THE CHAPTER THAT ANSWERS ALL YOUR
     QUESTIONS AND THEN FROM THERE ON ITS ALL LIKE ACTION-Y GOODNESS AND
     IM SO EXCITED. it'll be up soon.
     ;)
***** That pretty blue flame that's burning you alive *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title take. From the same song as last chapter : 'survival
     expert' by Something for Kate.
     Once again, a warning for drug use in this chapter, it's a bit more
     explicit.
     Also warning for violence.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 Its a short drive to the restaurant and before they know it, they're seated at
a table for two, ordering.
"There's so much to explain." He sighs and runs his calloused hands back and
forth on his tailor suited thighs. A crease between his brows and the glass of
whiskey resting in his other hand. "Your father was a good man. I knew him for
years. I knew him better than anyone else did." He says sipping at his drink.
It's not a conceited statement. She can tell it's simply the truth off her
matter. 
Sansa merely stares in reply. Bidding him with her eyes to continue.
"He was a good man. But good men aren't always honest men."
Sansa frowned, leaning forward. "What are you trying to say."
"He wasn't honest with you about his line of work."
Rolling her eyes she places her hands on the table. "Ugh. Can you just tell me?
Stop dancing around the answer. Be honest and to the point. Your wasting my
time." She snaps. Talking about her father on any circumstance puts her on
edge, but she doesn't like what he's implying. Besides, her patience was
wearing thin these days.
Instead of taking offence, like she thought he would, he laughs. "Your father,"
he says pointing a large chubby digger her way, "you sounded so much like him,
just then." He shakes his head and smiles down at the table, lost in thought as
if remembering a distant yet fond memory.
He composes himself and takes another drink before smacking his lips and
looking into the contents of his glass. "Your father was a criminal."
She stands so quickly her chair falls backwards. Her hands slam on the table
and angry tears fill her eyes. "My father was a good man, I will not sit here
and listen while you sully his name." It happens without her approval. Her body
moves its own accord and her tongue doesn't want to sit still. A rage fuels
this part of her she only very recently become accustomed to.
It's now, that Mr. Umber becomes affronted and she watches as his face
transforms into something red and furious. Something that mirrors her own
expression, she suspects. "Sit your arse down, girl and stop making a scene.
I'm only telling it true, that's what you asked. The fact you think, I'd insult
him is shows how much you know."
She's breathing heavily and their eyes are caught in a game of wills.
Eventually the anger dissipates from his eyes and is replaced with mirth. He
laughs once more, mumbling about 'that damn wolf blood' and gestures to the
seat on the floor. She narrows her eyes at him, but picks up her seat and sits
in it.
Their food arrives and he tucks into his while a thousand thoughts run through
Sansa's brain. She doesn't notice the man putting down his knife and fork, she
doesn't notice him studying her. She doesn't notice as he smiles once more,
when he sees her frowning. His voice makes her jolt, in her seat. So low and
gravelly and the words so unexpected. At times she feels she'll faint. But she
listens to what he has to say.
"Eddard Stark invested in illegal businesses. There are many different
components to organised crime. It's not all just drugs. There are hundreds of
ways to break the law, but specifically your father was involved in; extortion
and money laundering." He said, digging back in to his meal, talking with his
mouth full. Bits of chewed steak flying at the table. "His friend, Robert -the
one who owns King's, asked to borrow some money. Now, Robert may only be
involved with the drugs now a'days, but when he was young, he ran the business.
Your father, took over for him as right hand man, when it all became too much,
and Robert had worked himself into too much debt. Ned eventually got everything
smoothed out, and everyone got paid. Everything was good again. Not great, but
good. That's when Robert wanted the reins to the business back. A lot of people
were unhappy about this. Specifically, a man named Roose Bolton. Your fathers
second in command. Robert had borrowed and still owed Roose money..."
"I thought you said my father, paid everyone?"
"No, not every... Don't interrupt. Robert wanted to invest in Baelish's
business."
"Drugs?"
"Prostitution. He somehow scraped together some money. Some he had in savings,
some from Tywin, and some from Roose. Your father wouldn't have a bar of it.
He'd refused to invest and him and Robert very nearly had a falling out because
of it."
"How do you invest in prostitution?"
"Baelish was looking at opening another MoCKingbird, closer in town. He needed
money to do that however. Anyway, long story short the whole thing fell
through. The week he bought the venue it was burnt to the ground. Because
Bealish deals directly with Robert he had to give him back the money he'd lost,
if he wanted to continue to do business with the man. He gave him back half the
money he'd invested and then the other half, its value in drugs. Robert pays
back his father in-law first, and forgets all about Roose, or so he says. By
this point, Bolton has had enough. He puts a hit on Robert..."
"But, I don't understand how killing Robert would fix anything? He still
wouldn't have his money."
"Because..." He sighs and mumbles below his breath. "By killing Robert, your
father would become, the one solely in charge, then, Roose, would take his job
as the hand. Which meant earning more money, and having a bigger influence on
how business is conducted."
"The hand?" It sounded ridiculous. Like they were children making make-believe.
"Second in command. Over everything. That's: underground fighting pits, drugs,
hits, and then some more political stuff comes into play, but that's something
we can talk about at a later time. Where there's more illegal activity, there's
more money. It all comes down to money."
"But, Roberts not dead..."
"No. He's not. Roose told your father about what he was planning and your
father warned Robert. The hit failed and since Robert is practically a king
around here Roose lost all credibility, and was shoved out of the business."
"I'm so confused. I don't understand how any of this involves me, or my
father." She takes her nails through her hair and leans her elbows on the
table. I'm so tired. And she was. Of all these games, and conspiracies. How
nothing was ever as it seemed. How could she have gone so long without knowing
these things. Mr. Umber leans forward and pats her shoulder, as a show of
support.
"I know it's a lot to take in. But the more you know the safer you'll be. If
you don't want me to continue though..."
"Roose Bolton killed my father because he warned Robert, didn't he?" She looks
up at him through her hands. She's hiding her face. She used to do it as a
child when she got in trouble or was afraid. I'm still such a child. She thinks
angrily and forces her hands down to rest in her lap.
"Yes and no... In killing Ned, he scattered the board pieces. All of a sudden
everything was disjointed. Since Ned dealt in money laundering and extortion,
everything started to fall apart. Bolton thought everyone would turn to him,
but no-one would chance Roberts fury. You're father certainly wasn't going to
be working with him anymore. Like I said before, Robert owns this town. One bad
word would do more than just put you out of business. So, Roose killed your
father to get his way back into business."
A queer feeling filled her lungs at that moment. It was the same sensation
she'd feel as an answer sat on her tongue. It was a burning in her chest, and a
ringing in her ears. And it wouldn't leave her be.
"It didn't work like he thought it would though." Mr. Umber says, interrupting
her thoughts. "Eventually Tywin Lannister coughed up a good couple million to
get the ball rolling again. And after that it slowly climbed back to where it
was. Robert thinks he manages it again, though we all know that means Tywin.
He's the one who makes sure it doesn't all go to shit again." He leaned back on
his chair and yawned.
"So, if Robert doesn't deal with Roose anymore, why were his men at King's?"
She asks, and Mr. Umber does a double take of her, as if not realising she knew
who they were.
"Alright, listen closely, because here is where it becomes confusing. There are
three main drug suppliers in this city. There's the Tyrell's, the Greyjoy's and
just recently, a new name has surfaced -the Dothraki. Now, your brother, Robb,
was the only person to deal with the dothraki, and I'm not sure if you'd
sampled their product, but it's the best. Everyone wants it, and everyone is
willing to pay good money for it. Baelish, used to trade with the Greyjoy's but
they've recently gone out of business. The reasoning behind their sudden halt
in activity is slightly sketchy, but it doesn't matter. They're done cooking
drugs, and Baelish needed someone new. He's now buying off the Tyrell's.
Because, like I said Robb was the only person to deal with the dothraki. Now,
the Tyrell shit, just doesn't sell. It's terrible, and the only reason they
haven't gone out of business is because they're absolutely loaded. Robert wants
the dothraki product, and it just so happens, Roose's bastard, Ramsay, has
recently taken over Robb's army. We don't know how they're dealing with the
dothraki, but I suspect they haven't told them of Robb's passing. I think
they're using Theon as a go-between. So you do the math. Robert wants good
shit, and Roose has it."
"He's trading with Roose."
"Yes."
"And what about all the other things you mentioned?" She inquires. The more she
learns, the more she needs to know. It's like a puzzle in her head. Knowledge
is power, and power is all.
"Other things?"
"You said there was more to organised crime than drug dealing."
"Well, it's fairly straight forward from there. Pretty much anyone you know
with a substantial amount of money is more than likely involved in the more
technical stuff. Which is gathering information on people in high places and
calling in favours or blackmailing."
"Examples?"
"Uh, off the top of my head, Tywin, Roose, Olenna Tyrell... Daenerys..." He
lists off names, as he taps his fingers.
"Who is she?" She feels like she knows the name.
"Daenerys? She's affiliated with the Dothraki. She's the partner of the head of
the organisation."
"I don't know how she wouldn't catch on to Robb's death. If they've met, she'd
know he only ever does things himself."
"Well that's just it. She's disappeared. Around the same time that Robb
was...Umm..."
She nods stares blankly at the table as the pieces slowly fit together in her
head. "And Ramsay has taken over the streets?"
"Correct." He says, studying her intently. Shreds of information congregate in
her head. Greyjoy's go out of business. Ramsay takes over the streets. Roose
deals in drugs and...
"What else is Roose involved in? In the business?"
"Well, now that Ramsay owns the streets, he essentially has a hit team. He also
deals in money laundering, as your father did. And extortion. And rumours are,
he's been known to dabble in fire-arms and illegal weaponry."
He's running the business. Right beneath all their noses. If Robert agrees to
dealing with him... As she finally begins to understand this mess, that's
churning in her brain she stands with shaky hands, and unsteady legs. She
closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She focuses all her energy on
controlling her body. Be still. "What am I suppose to do with this
information?" She asks, and she's proud that her voice doesn't break.
Her eyes make contact with his and she has her answer. He isn't hiding
anything. He leans back. Slouches in his chair with his fingers intertwined,
resting on his rounded belly. "Whatever you want." He shrugs. "But know, that
it's not just me who will be waiting for your answer."
She barely nods her head before leaving the restaurant. She doesn't say Thank-
you. She won't turn back. As she walks through the exit there's a moment she
stands still, and let's the cool winter air hit her.
Then she runs. She runs and runs and runs, until that burning in her lungs is
from a lack of oxygen. Not from this all consuming ache that sits in her chest.
Runs until she feels the blisters forming on her feet. Runs until the world is
nothing but flashes of colours. When her body betrays her, and she falls to her
knees she crawls herself to a public bathroom and quickly locks herself in a
stall.
She thinks on all that he'd said, and just as her breathing is returning to
normal it speeds up again. She scratches at her clothing, begging for air,
begging for space. It feels as though the walls are closing in. Looking down to
where her bag rests in her lap, she's faced with two choices. I could call him.
Tell him to come and get me. He would. But the thought of letting him see her
so weak, yet again, is another kick to the gut, and she can't bear it. She
can't tell him. He doesn't understand.
Her life felt like a curse. A mean and cruel joke, the gods had written for
entertainment. Reaching into her bag, once more she feels around for sharp
edges and plastic bags, that hold the key to her ease of mind.
The feeling can't come quick enough. As soon as the needle is in her arm, the
liquid is in her veins. She sighs and lies back against the wall, feeling it
move through her. Letting it take over. This is her 'finally'. Her moment of
release. And as it washes over in waves it's hazy, and warm and she's so
grateful for its presence. Eventually she's pulled out to sea as her eyes shut,
and reality turns black, but her imagination peaks.
* * *
A high pitched scream, that's loud enough to burst her eardrums. She's
clutching her head, trying to press away the pain, but it doesn't make a
difference.
"Sansa!" A voice sobs and wails.
And she's running down the hall of her house, to her mothers room. As she makes
contact with the door handle it burns and melts away the skin. It won't stop.
The sickness is spreading, burning it's way up her arm. But she must reach her
mother. She opens the door with her other hand and runs into darkness. The
screaming gets louder, but she can't move fast enough.
Her movements are drowned by tears and spider webs, and she's running out of
time. She can see a figure thrashing in the bed. If she can just...
Her eyes shoot wide open and her mouth is open, ready to scream. She sweating,
and it drops down into her eyes. It takes her a minute to remember where she
is. But it all comes back to her, as she feels the cold tiles, that her cheek
rests against. As she looks up and is surrounded by walls of graffiti and a
used syringe lies next to her. Her ears are still ringing, but through the haze
she can hear girls bitching about one another. Blinking twice, to shoo away the
blurriness in her sight, she groans and pushes up off the floor.
Slowly standing to her feet, she tries her best to brush off the filth that
still clings to her. She walks out from the stall and the three girls all look
her up and down, hiding smirks behind their ugly neon lipstick. She catches a
glimpse of herself and mutters an 'oh fuck', quickly exiting the bathroom. She
hears their raucous laughter as she runs out of the toilets. She heads down the
street to the nearest bus-stop, whilst trying to fix her hair, and checking the
time. Good. I've still got time. She thinks as she checks to see the time. It's
only 11, she'll be there by then. While on the bumpy ride to kings, she fishes
out her make-up bag, and begins to reapply what she'd sweat, off.
When she gets there she's got ten minutes before she starts. After picking up
the drugs from Cersei, she makes her way up the stairs and to the bar. She taps
twice on the counter and a Japanese slipper is brought to her after a couple
minutes. "It's looking busy tonight." Bronn leans forward on his elbows and
nods to the crowd. She takes a sip and scans the room before placing her drink
down behind the bar.
"Make sure nobody spikes it!" She yells over the noise. She pushes and squeezes
her way through the people until she finds her target. "Lommy my man, can I
interest you in any of my extensive range of substances tonight?" She smirks at
him and he nudges her shoulder, digging into his pockets.
"Is this that dothraki stuff?" He asks over the loud thumping over the bass.
Her smile falters slightly before she can school her features back to
confusion.
She shrugs, "don't know where it comes from. I don't ask."
"Hmm." He grunts, shoving the money in her back pocket, before he takes his
pick. Business is quick and dirty, and two hours in she's sold the lot. Making
her way back to the bar, she wonders if she should stay out tonight. Get high,
and put off facing the big bad world. They all look like they're having so much
fun.She thinks. Sighing she gets to the bar and searches for her drink while
she thinks it over. Bronn must have chucked it. She taps the counter twice, and
waits for her drink. She leans against the cold steel rail and watches the
swarm of bodies as they move. So beautiful.
"...and then I said "where the fuck's the money?!?" The bitch nearly pissed
herself. Left her a pretty scar to remember me by."
Ugh. You always got hyped up dickheads In Kings.  Talking about their greatest
conquests or how 'hardcore' they were. Turning away from the crowd, she turned
back to the bar and took a sip of her drink. Winking her thanks to Bronn. He
blew a kiss her way and she snorted as she pretended to strain to catch it.
"Wow, so you were really there? If the Bastard hadn't called you, you could've
been dead by now." One of the skinheads answered him.
"Yeah. I suppose I owe him, or I'd be dead and buried with that Stark bitch.
And Tristan, of course. You know, Ramsay reckons she's still alive..."
His words became meaningless after that. She tried her hardest not to stop and
stare at him. He was there. He was there, in your house, with your family
threatening to kill them.
"Fuck, I'm dry as the Crones cunt. What's a guy gotta do to get some fucking
pingas around here?"
Bronn materialises out of nowhere "the young lady a few paces down from you,
with the red hair, might have what you're looking for boys."
Fucking Bronn. She mutters under her breath. Turning around and fixing her mask
in place. "Boys, how can I help?"
They both look her up and down, licking their lips, like its her for sale. It
usually is. The one on the left smirks at her and leans forward. "You can start
by putting that pretty mouth of yours to good use."
She fights the urge to roll her eyes and barely manages. "I'm afraid I can't
help with that, but your friend here seems to have a perfectly functioning
mouth, maybe he'd be more suited to what you're looking for."
His eyes darken and his next sentence begins with "look, bitch..."
"Hey, hey, my friend. Is that any way to treat a lady?" Her eyes cut to the boy
on the right and it's him. She recognises his voice. He's the one who was
talking about her sister. Without her even noticing her hand slips into her bag
to hold the hilt of her knife.
"I'm sorry about him. No sense of humour. We were just wondering if you've got
anything left?"
She eyes them warily before an idea hits her. "I've only got the hard stuff
left..." She says, trying to sound unsure.
"We'll take anything!" He pleads jokingly.
"Alright," she concedes with a put-on heavy sigh. "It'll cost ya, though."
"Sure, how much?" He asks flicking through the notes in his wallet
suggestively.
"Yeah, and what is it?" His moody friend buts in.
"Speed. Fifty bucks, a pop."
"What?!? I could get it off Beric, for less than half that price!"
"Do I look like fucking Beric? This is all I've got left, and besides, it's not
that shit he cooks in his mums kitchen. This Is dothraki. First taste." Now
they're listening. They look over the pills with a critical eye.
"It does look different, to how they usually do..."
"Yeah alright." He hands over a hundred dollar bill and him and his friend pop
it in their mouths without a second thought.
She smiles, as she sees their Adam's apple bobbing up and down with the
swallow. "I've gotta get going!" She yells as he leans forward. "Is Cersei
still in?" He nods and she she pats him on the shoulder. Offers him a thanks
and a good-bye before heading down the back stairs. After paying her share to
Cersei she begins to make the long walk home. She has enough for a cab, but
figures the fresh air'll do her some good.
She's fifteen minutes down the road when she hears the shuffling of feet behind
her. She's used to it. She's used to the sounds of drunk people trailing their
way home. So she doesn't turn. She hears a catcall from not too far behind her
and decides to pick up her pace. Then there's the heavy thud of boots on
concrete. Hitting hard and fast and she doesn't need to run to know she's being
chased. Doesn't need to turn to know who it is,
"Come back! Hey, red! Come back! We just wanna play a little!"
She peeks at her phone. It's 2:40am. They took the drugs at about 2:20. The
roofie should hit them any second now...
A hand is on her arm. Holding tight but falling down. She moves her arm to push
him, but his friend grasps it and holds it back. He's blinking a lot. His
eyelids look heavy. He'll pass out soon. But how soon? He gropes at her and she
kicks and screams. The guy behind her lets her go, and laughs
"come on, baby. We were only playing." She sneers at him in disgust and brushes
off her clothes. They both sit down on the gutter. Then they lie down next to
eachother and stare up at the sky. "We were only playin'. Just wanted to have a
little fun." He says stroking his hand down her calf. Those hands scarred my
baby sister for life.
It's too much. She snaps. She breaks. She screams. She kicks his hand away,
before stomping on it. He howls, but he's too weak to move. She moves upwards
until her heel is in line with his face and stomps down with a sickening
crunch. Blood pours down his face, and she can hear him sputtering. Good. Let
him choke on his own blood. She thinks. She goes to walk away, but she can't.
Something inside of her wont let her. And she calls it a weakness and curses it
to no end as she turns back to where he lays and kicks his head to the side, so
the fluid from his nose won't drown him.
She squats down beside him and looks at his pathetic face. "You will die. Not
by my hand, but by my word, you will die." He can't hear her, but he doesn't
need to. It's not a promise to him, but a promise to herself. To that stubborn
little shred of hope inside her that begs her to be the girl her daddy raised
her to be. There's no place for that girl in this world. She stands and walks
away never looking back.
* * *
The keys are still under the mat outside his door and she's grateful he hasn't
kicked her out yet. She turns the handle and opens the door as quietly as she
can she slips her blood smattered shoes off by the door and creeps across the
open space of the living room. She walks down the hall, and heads straight to
the shower room. She strips off her dirty clothes, turns on the shower and
begins to wash the day away.
She doesn't bother turning on the cold tap. Just lets the heat consume her.
It's hurts her hands, but she doesn't mind it. She holds her breath as she lets
the water run down over her face. Scrubbing at the piles of make-up she hides
herself beneath. She sits down on the tiled floor and leans back against the
wall, closing her eyes.
"I don't know how to do this." Her voice shakes. She's never been so unsure.
She hasn't done this in years. "It's been so long." She breathes deeply. Closes
her eyes again, and tries to reach for that connection she once thought she'd
had with the gods. "The Stranger. Help me." There's that feeling in her chest
from earlier today. The feeling of having all the answers at your disposal. All
you need to do is reach for them. But now she understands.
"I want revenge." She speaks louder, so that he might hear her. "I want all of
them to die. Slow and painful. And when it happens, I want them to know who it
was that doomed them to their fate."
She doesn't know if the gods will see fit to answer her prayer. But she at
least knows he heard her.
She steps out of the shower, and quickly dries off before wrapping the towel
around her. She tiptoes down the hall and opens the door as quietly as she
could. She moves about the room slowly, feeling her way to the bed. Once she's
by its side, the towel drops to the floor and she crawls into the warm sheets
that await her.
She moves closer and closer until she's by his side and slowly brings her arm
around his waist, as she kisses his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
He doesn't answer her. Only shrugs his shoulder from beneath her and turns to
face away from her. But I at least know he heard me.
Chapter End Notes
     btw, pingas is ecstasy, not sure if that's just. An Australian term
     or not.
     Let me know what you think!
***** As long as someone'll bleed *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from My Chemical Romance's 'teenagers'
     Warning for graphic depictions of violence and drug use.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
He counts the seconds between her breathes. He peeks over his shoulder at her
sleeping form. Reaching over to lightly trace a stray tear that escapes her
eyes. He wipes it away with his thumb, and let's his finger drag to her bottom
lip. Stroking it, remembering the taste and feel of it against his own ruined
lips. Another tear falls, but this time he pulls his hand away. The only time
she cries is in her sleep. She hides herself from him now. It pains him, but he
knows it's for the best. Besides, he can't blame her. He does the same. It's
what he's doing now. They haven't talked in days, not since she said sorry. He
knows she doesn't mean it. He hates how manipulative she can be, without even
trying. He hates that he falls for it every time, even more. He stands, and
quietly pulls on some jeans and a jacket, not bothering to change out of his
pyjama shirt. He grabs his phone and his keys on the way out, and locks the
door behind him. It's a brisk walk down the apartment block stairs and the
drive there is slightly over the speeding limit. Second ally, on the left.
Three doors down, up the stairs to your right, and then one more left.
Knock, knock, knock.
His knuckles sound like gunshots, against the hardwood door. The sound echoes,
and bounces off the concrete walls that surround him. There's a screech, as the
latch on the other side is being lifted, and he finds himself wincing. Though
whether it's the sound that makes him do so, or the man who's come to welcome
him, he's not sure.
The smell of flowers and cinnamon hits him hard, and he tries not to gag, and
offend the man he's come to see. Despite his efforts, his displeasure must
still show upon his face, judging by his companions huff of amusement.
"Hound." He blanches at the use of his old name. Better get used to it dog.
"Spider."
The fat man inclines his head, and waves his hand towards the inside of his
home. Sandor steps through the door, and feels his insides turn as he breaks a
promise to himself, he'd hoped to keep. He never thought he'd be back here
again. For being here, meant picking up where the hound left off. The apartment
is set up with a Moroccan theme. Orange and fuchsia curtains are draped from
the ceiling, giving the impression you're in a tent. Beads are hung in the
doorways, and a variety of intricate rugs cover the floor. The place is lit
only by candles and the smell of herbs and spices full the air. The Spider
leads him to the couch, and pours him a cup of tea. He's a strange one, the
Spider. There's a certain way business must be handled, and if you don't play
the game his way, he won't play at all. He takes the tea when it's handed to
him and gives a thin lipped smile, in thanks. What am I supposed to do with a
sodding cup of tea? He places it down haphazardly on the arm of the couch.
Leaning forward with his elbows against his thighs, he waits to catch the
Spiders eye. Once the spider has his tea, he leans back in his chair and eyes
him up and down. "It's been a while. Can't say I'd thought I'd ever see you
again." He says, almost disdainfully. Sandor remebers their last encounter well
enough. His associate has more than enough reason to be a little less than
enthusiastic about his surprise visit. "Yeah, well..." A girl walks in through
one of the beaded doorways and quickly comes and kneels by the spiders side on
one of the many pillows strewn randomly around the floor, to whisper in his
ear. He watches the man frown and nod and then whisper a few words back, before
the girl stands and scurries away. "You were saying?" Sandor shrugs "neither
did I." The man nods slowly, contemplating all that has happened and all that
possibly will. Varys knows everything and anything that happens in that town.
So he knows why he's here, hell, he probably already knows what he intends to
ask. "I've heard you've got Ned Starks daughter hanging off your arm." He looks
away, grounding his molars until he feels as if they'll turn to dust. "No." Is
his only reply. The spider smirks knowingly at him, and stirs his tea with a
delicate teaspoon, pinky up, legs crossed. "Then, why are you here?" Varys
deadpans. It makes him want to roll his eyes. You knows why I'm here. Don't
make me say it. Sandor looks away in defeat and picks up the teacup once more.
Trying to focus his attention on anything, but the truth. But I came here for
the truth? He tips the teacup side to side and watches the contents slosh,
almost over the edge of the rim of the fine bone china. Varys sighs and places
his tea down on the small coffee table between them, before leaning back in his
seat.
"What would you like to know?" His eyes cut to Varys. He doesn't even need to
think before he answers.
"Everything."
* * *
When he returns home it's the early hours of the morning, three or four at the
latest. He doesn't need to open the door to know what waits behind it. He steps
into an apartment filled with the noise and mess that accompanies any high
school party. Swarms of people are everywhere. Empty bottles and cans litter
his kitchen, and sweat drenched bodies grind against each other, everywhere you
look. But no Sansa.
He growls in the back of his throat and begins yelling at people to get out,
while he moves towards the speakers, in the lounge room. He unplugs them and
suddenly the thudding of the bass ceases and all that's left is the sound of
the angry and confused voices of the adolescents that plague his abode.
"Out! Everybody out!" He shouts, shooing them from his house, as if he's a
cattle dog and they're the sheep. Might as well be, they all follow each other
blindly.Once everyone has left, he begins to clean the house. The damage isn't
too bad. It seems that there were only drinks. No food stomped into the rugs or
sauce smeared on the walls. There's not even any sick. Party can't have been
going long. He doesn't bother looking for Sansa until he's done. He doesn't
want to see her. Because he now knows everything that she knows. He knowns from
experience the responsibility and stress that comes with taking over the family
business, even though he's chosen to delegate most of the work to Tywin. But
he's angry. It's no excuse to act this way. Especially towards him when all he
ever does is try to help.
The more he thinks about it the angrier he gets, and he can feel himself
slipping. Feels The Hound waiting to take his place. He realises then, that
it'll never be over. He thought that maybe he could change. Maybe he could be
good. Do good. But no. It seemed as though there would always be an invisible
struggle within his body for power. The will to do good, or bad.
He'd talked about it with Jon many times. Told him about the war that was waged
inside his head. Jon always justified his wrong-doings with the fact they were
done to people who deserved it.
"Yeah, but I enjoyed it Jon! Isn't that fucking messed up? I enjoy the power it
gives me. I crave it. I love it." He'd confessed to his friend. Jon had gone
quiet after that. He'd looked out the window, seeming to wonder on how to
answer. How could he? He was the same. He loved to fight. Loved the rush. A
frown creased his friends brow. Only just realising what Sandor already knew.
It was when he tried to find the words to comfort his friend that he realised
the difference between Jon and himself. "You love the fight, Jon. Not the
kill."
His friend gave a terse nod and pondered further for a moment or two before
changing the subject. He flipped his hair and started prattling on a bout
girls. A much lighter topic. Bragging about Ygritte and all the things they did
together. Sandor didn't care. It only took Nikita's name to shut him up. He'd
tease him about it and Jon would flush red from the anger and embarrassment
that only comes from reminiscing of a first love. He found in this moment,
while picking up the remnants of teenage rebellion, that he missed Jon. More
than he'd care to admit. It often got lonely in his loft. Sure, Sansa was
there, but she was never really present. Not anymore. And everything was so
messy and disjointed with her. He cared for her, but at the same time he almost
hated her. The way she'd roll her eyes, or snap back at him. The way she was on
an incredible high one second and the lowest of the low the next. The way she
brought out the worst in him, but encouraged the best. It was exhausting.
The last empty can was placed into one of the multiple rubbish bags he'd set by
the door, and the furniture was moved back to where it should've been. He
searches through the rooms a second time to make sure everyone's gone. When he
knows that the house is all clear he goes to lock the front door. His hand is
on the lock when he hears someone humming. He follows the sound until he's
standing outside the bathroom door.
"The big rock candy...moun...tains..." The singing is stunted and interrupted
by hiccups but he knows her voice. Knows it's her. He takes a deep breath in
and out to try and calm himself before pushing on the whitewashed door, and
scanning the room.
There he finds Sansa, hunched over, sitting down, leaning against the bathtub.
Cigarette in her hand and a syringe resting on the floor beside her. She
doesn't turn to look at him. "Sandor." She breathes, still staring at the floor
dazedly, twirling her smoke in her hands. "I threw a party."
"Yeah. I saw." He grunts as he studies her form. She's all dolled up. Her make-
up laid on thick, and her dress real short, like he's sure all the boys like.
It's the first time she's looked at him, and she has the decency to act sorry.
"I was lonely." She whispers, with a puff of smoke. "And my thoughts. They
aren't mine anymore. There's a different girl in my body. She's mean, and
ruthless. She demands revenge, and maybe I do too, or maybe it's just grief.
But I pray for their deaths. Every night Sandor. The possibility of one day
feeling guilt and remorse is not enough to still my tongue."
"What're their names?" She's talking nonsense. She doesn't know what's she's
saying. And come morning she won't remeber this conversation. Does it matter? A
voice somewhere inside of him asks. He's tense and fidgety, and a fight sounds
like bliss right now. Something to ease the tension he's been holding in his
body for far too long. He already knows their names. The spider told him
everything there was to know. But he wants to hear her say it. As if she says
it, his actions aren't his own.
"I don't know." She slurs, head rolling to the side. "He was there though.
At... Kings... Kicked him..."
Crossing his arms over his chest he leans against the door frame. "What are you
on?"
"Smack."
"Why?" The question escapes his lips without thought. He knows why. It's the
reason he, himself was addicted to the stuff for almost a year.
"Sadness comes so easy. It's merely a thought, away. And once it's here you
can't just will it to go. It sits there, at the front of your brain. Won't let
you concentrate on anything but." Finally, she focused her gaze on him once
more. Eyes blood shot, nose red. Scratches down her neck. Things he hadn't
noticed until now. "I'm so sad, Sandor. So extremely, heartbreakingly sad and
it never goes away. It never leaves." Tears fill her eyes and recede. Nothing
will fall, because she won't let it. She flicks the end of the needle and
watches it spin across the tiled floor. "That's why."
He bends and picks it up. Studying it, before looking back to her. "There's
still some left. I know you're sad too." She says, releasing the belt around
her arm.
He snaps the disgusting thing in half and drops it in the bin, before looking
up to meet her eyes. "I'm not sad, Sansa." He picks up the rest of her stash
and flushes it down the toilet. "Don't bring that shit into my house again." He
straightens and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and he
doesn't stop. He storms into his room and grabs the hand gun he keeps in the
top of his cupboard and stuffs bullets in his pockets. He walks in large
strides down the hall. He picks up his keys and phone for the second time that
night, and slams the door behind him.
Once he's out the door, he reaches into his pocket for his packet of smokes,
and lights it. He breathes in and the smoke helps calm him some, but not
enough. Never enough.
Driving to the dodgier side of town, speeding down the highway, the rational
part of Sandor tries to question his intentions. He pushes the thoughts back
down and clears his mind. He begins to paint a picture. A house, half ruined by
the dampness that seeps in and the shit material it's made of. Bullets would
fly through the walls in a breeze, but he wants to be close to it all. Wants to
fight with his bare hands. So he clears the images of bullet holes flying
through the walls and glass shattering. Instead he walks up the stairs. Doesn't
bother trying to hide. He rings the door bell and cracks his knuckles, while he
waits.
The door swings open to reveal a man, about his age, maybe slightly older than
he. He's tall, but not as tall as Sandor. He's talking over his shoulder to his
buddy, before he faces Sandor. He turns just in time, for his jaw to meet
Sandor's fist. There's a loud crunch, and a slight stinging in his knuckles
where a tooth dug deep into his hand. There's blood and yelling, and the room
goes silent for a split second before moving into chaos.
He smiles at the anarchy. Another boy around his age raises a gun but not
before Sandor pulls the trigger. It hits him square in the chest, and now his
adrenaline is pumping. The first guy comes at him with a chair, and Sandor
lifts his hand in anticipation of the blow. It cracks down on his arm and pain
shoots through his body. He grits his teeth and growls in annoyance before
tackling him to the floor. He points his gun at the guys head, who's now
sobbing and pleading.
"Shut the fuck up."
The piece of shit nods and tries to calm himself as snot and dribble trail down
his face. "What's your name?"
"Thomas."
"Alright, Thomas. I just want to ask you some questions. I don't have to tell
you what happens if you lie, now do I?" He says jabbing the gun against his
temple.
"N..no..." He stutters out. His chin is shaking and Sandor's sure he's wet
himself, by the way the smell of urine stains the air.
"About a month ago, a house burnt down in Fleabottom. Not to far from here. You
know anything about that, Thomas."
"N..n.n..no, never heard about."
He rolls his eyes at Thomas's reply. Sandor remembers multiple family dinners,
sat in awkward silence around a dinner table far to big to share 'family'
dinners at. He remembers his brother dazed and high, trying new drugs for the
very first time. Remembers his mothers drunken ramblings and his father
speaking quietly on the phone, whilst flicking through documents. And the only
thing he had to keep him amused was his mashed potato and green peas. He'd mash
it all up and mix it together. He'd use it to build green houses out of his
food. "Stop playing with your food!" His mother would chastise.
Leaning over this man, watching him shake and stutter, and lie, the memory came
to the forefront of his brain. Stop playing with your food. You already know
he's guilty. You have all the answers. He ignores his thoughts.
Sandor chuckles and unsheathes his dagger from his jacket pocket. Making a
tsking sound of chastisement before he speaks "Thomas, Thomas, Thomas. I'd
hoped it wouldn't have to come to this." Liar. He cuts a line from below his
eye to his jaw. He uses the sedated side of the blade so it catches and tears
messily at his victims skin. The pathetic worm, tries to move away but only
makes the cut messier. Good.
"Now do you remember?" He rasps low, leaning close to his face. "Do you
remember the little girl, you've scarred for life? Or the children you
threatened?" With each sentence he gets more and more worked up until he's
spitting the words at him. He thinks back to that night. Of Arya and the mess
of broken flesh she'd been. Of Sansa and her grief that never ends. Before the
man beneath him can utter another word he's hitting him. Pounding his fists
into his face until it's no longer recognisable. Just a bloody mess. He's
panting, all his hurts make themselves known at this moment and he winces. The
mistake hes made finally hitting him. 
"Fuck."
He slowly stands to his feet. How did I even get here? He thinks. He was in his
car one second and the next he was here. In this moment. Chest heaving, hands
swollen and feeling like time moves too fast to think. To make real decisions.
He can blame 'time' all he likes, he knows he's the only one to blame. He
wanted a fight. And he wanted to kill. It's no ones fault but his own. Running
his hands through his hair he tries to catch his breath. He feels guilt start
to creep in as he sees the body of the friend, a bullet hole in his chest and a
look of total shock still gleaming in his eyes, even after death.
Can't feel bad now. I can hate myself later.He pulls himself together long
enough to figure out what he'll do with this mess. An hour, and a few phone
calls later, and the situation is rectified. Though he's been out of the game a
while, his name has a reputation. People who know him respect him. It's not
hard finding someone to clean up his mess. He leaves without having to lift a
finger. Cleaning up was never his strong point anyway. 
It's almost 3am when he comes stumbling through the door. Drunk and tired and
sore. As soon as he walks In he sees Sansa. Sat on the couch, wringing her
hands. She quickly stands, from where she was sitting on the couch, and her jaw
drops. Time is suspended in that moment. He'd cleaned himself up in the
bathroom at the bar he'd spent the last two hours at sulking and drinking away
the nights happenings, as much as he could. She still notices his bloody hands
though. His knuckles haven't stopped bleeding. She doesn't say a thing only
disappears into the kitchen before reappearing with the first aid kit and a
bottle of vodka. She nods towards the couch, and he follows her into the
lounge.
He sits down where directed and offers his hands without a word. Sansa cleans
them with alcohol first and then puts anti-bacterial cream on his cuts. She
does it all in silence, huffing to herself when she sees the deeper gashes. As
she works on his hands he studies her. Her face is pale and drawn in. Her hair
thin and lifeless. Red dots cover the insides of her arms. She no longer
exuberrates light and happiness. She's still the most beautiful thing he's ever
seen.
There's an overwhelming urge to bring his lips to hers. To bring colour and
life back into her hollowed cheeks. So he does.
His lips touch her forehead first, with her eyes still focused on her work, and
her face turned downward. There's a sharp intake of breath and she lifts her
head but she won't meet his eyes.
He kisses again. This time her cheek. And a little bit of Rose tints her pale
skin. "Sandor" she breathes as his lips finally reach their destination. It's
soft, this kiss. He pulls away and then leans in again. His lips match hers
once more and he's able to feel as they quiver against his own. They're dry,
and cracked but the fact that they're hers makes them feel like velvet. She
pushes back. There's a pressure as she slowly moves her lips against his. Her
hands slide up his arms and rest gently around his neck, as if unsure of her
own movements.
His hands go to her waist. And for a while, all they are, is chaste. Like kids,
careful and unsure of what to do on their first kiss. Sansa pulls back, and
stares into his eyes. Trying to find answers to questions she hasn't yet asked.
She stands and walks away, heading towards their bedroom. He gets up and
follows behind.
When he enters, the room is dark, but there's enough light to see as Sansa
removes all her clothes and hops into bed. He follows her lead, and undresses.
Everything hurts. His hands. His arm. His mind, his soul. He can't find the
strength to reach out and touch who he's longed for. Luckily he doesn't have
to. When he lies down next to her She moves to his side and places her head on
his shoulder. His eyes close, and for the first time that night he gives the
hound a rest. Puts the mask away, for another day. His hand reaches up and
strokes her hair and she sighs. Just that simple movement, takes all the energy
he has left. She traces patterns on his chest and turns her face, so that her
lips brush his shoulder when she speaks. "What are we gonna do with ourselves,
huh?"
"Nothing." He replies. It's a truth he's been needing to face. No-one ever
changes. Not really.
Chapter End Notes
     Next chapter is arya pov!
     Btw, I've started posting pic sets on tumblr for this fic. I don't
     know how to do the link thing, but my tumblr is anniephuckitt if
     you'd like to see them :)
     Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Xxx
***** I just want to see some vital signs *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from "vital signs" by Gang of youths.
"Mm..." She groans, before bile fills her mouth. Running to the bathroom she
collapses on the floor beside the toilet bowl and retches. This needs to stop,
she thinks as she wipes at the corner of her mouth.
Looking down she sees the the small red dots that cover the insides of her
arms. Slightly swollen and angry looking. One of them looks almost infected.
She presses down lightly on them and gasps at the pain. Yes, this needs to
stop. Standing from her place on the floor the first thing she sees is her kit,
still out in the bathroom sink, Sandor had only snapped the syringe and flushed
the drugs he could see, she'd kept some hidden and gone back to it throughout
the night. There's still some left. She stares for what feels like hours at the
small piece of foil. A small bag of black powder sits next to it. Easier said
than done. She thinks reaching for the drugs, but when she looks up into the
mirror her hand drops back to her side.
He stares at her with nothing. There's no judgement, there's no anger. All he's
doing is watching her. It unnerves her and she shifts from foot to foot,
wringing her hands. Taking a deep breath, she quickly turns around and says the
words before she can take them back.
"I need your help."
* * *
Her whole body feels on fire, but she's so, so cold. The blanket on top of her
gets thrown aside, but she still holds it in her hands. She twists and pulls at
it. Tries to take her mind off the pain she feels coursing through her body.
Someone is trying to talk to her but she can't answer them. It hurts too much,
everything hurts. She's barely able to lean to the side as she vomits. However,
she doesn't know what there even is to throw up. She can't remember the last
time she ate. Sansa tries to open her eyes and is greeted by blinding light a
large figure, looking down at her, his hand on her forehead.
"Good girl, you're okay. I've got you"
* * *
She's screaming. "I can't! I can't! It feels like spiders Sandor!"
"Sansa, there's nothing on you, it's the withdrawal. You've just got to wait a
little while longer. Come on, baby. You can do this." He holds her tight to
him. Trapping her arms against him and her body so she can't scratch herself.
"It's so bad, Sandor!" She sobs into his neck. He kisses her cheek and makes
quiet sounds next to her ear, to try and calm her down. She might've recognised
the tune, if she wasn't in so much pain.
* * *
Her breaths are coming and fast. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe!" She's
clawing at her throat, trying to get some air. She feels as if a snakes wrapped
itself around her neck.
"Sansa, look at me. Look at me." Her eyes can't stay still. She can't focus on
anything. She feels so dizzy.
Sandor lifts her, from her place on the bed, and carries her to the bathroom.
Turning on the, shower he steps under the water fully clothed with her in his
arms.
The water is warm. Not too cold, not too hot. He holds her there with him until
her breathing returns to normal and she's almost asleep.
She barely notices when the water turns off and he steps out from the shower.
He places her sitting on the edge of the bath tub and looks under the sink for
towels.
When he returns she diligently lifts her arms and legs when requested and
shrugs out of her wet clothes. He dries her, and himself and carries her back
into the bedroom.
"You've done good. The worst parts over." He says. She clings to his side as
they get into bed, and she knows he must be right, because she's thinking the
way she used to. She's feeling the way she used to. Grief and sadness are still
ever-present, but she feels alive. She'd forgotten what that was, up until now.
* * *
It's seven days before the symptoms subside. The longest seven days of her
life. She feels whole again though. She doesn't drift between highs and lows.
She stays the same. It's hard, and it still hurts when she thinks about her
family, but it gets easier to think on them without wanting to reach for
something to numb the pain.
She puts her grieving aside and focuses on the task at hand. The two men
sitting adjacent her. Mr. Umber she'd met before, and though he gives nothing
away with his expression, his eyes hold a warmth to them. The fellow next him
however, looks angry and annoyed by her very presence.
She quirks an eyebrow at him and he snorts and looks away. She doesn't care.
"Where's the rest of them then?" She asks.
Mr. Umber frowns and nods towards her arms. Though she'd quit using a week ago,
it wasn't long enough to make the marks go away. "They can't see you looking
like this. You need to get that situation under control."
"It is under control." She replies calmly.
"It doesn't look...."
"I said it's fine. It's taken care of. I don't lie. Not outright anyway, and
not to you." She snaps back. Which is a lie in its own. She'd have no problem
lying to him. She doesn't even know him, not really. He seems to buy it anyway.
And the small smile that tugs at his lips reminds her that he likes it when she
looses her temper. "It was a small mistake. Not one I'll be repeating any time
soon. Now, where are the rest of them?"
"Supporters need a reason to support. They're going to be betting on you.
They'll be investing their money. You're only a 16 year old girl. It's a big
ask."
"They want a reason?"
Mr Umber nods.
"Okay, how about because there's no one else who'll take the lead. Because I'm
the only one out of all of them who has the balls to do what needs to be done.
Because I'm the only one with nothing left to lose. And finally, because no one
wants revenge more than I do."
The younger man beside mr. Umber huffs and shakes his head. "Most of the things
you just listed are the reasons we don't trust you. You're young, you're rash.
You're dramatic. You'll burn out before you ever get anywhere. And looking at
your arms and you're family's history with the business you're already half way
there."
Sansa tilts her head and smiles. There's a moment of silence and then she
reaches for her purse and stands to leave.
"Miss Stark..." Mr Umber calls after her.
Turning around and walking backwards she smiles at them both.
"Where are you going?"
"To prove a point." She says turning back around. "I'll see you in a week." She
calls over her shoulder.
 
* * *
 
"Thomas Michaels and Tony Rogers were last seen five days ago outside of their
shared apartment in Fleabottom. Neighbours report that they'd seen a figure
entering the apartment, and to have heard yelling and things being smashed, but
when further investigated their was no evidence to suggest anything of the sort
happened. Police have suspected the two young males involved in drug dealing
for some time and believe they fled the city after being tipped off that they
were under surveillance..."
Sandor takes the remote from her hand and flicks the tv off, standing and
walking away. She thinks nothing of it. Why wouldn't she?
 
* * *
 
"Miss Stark, what a pleasant surprise."
"Good Morning, Mr Lannister."
"What can I do for you?"
"I don't want to waste your time sir, so let me cut straight to the point."
Tywin inclines his head and nods to her to continue. "We both want the same
things, you and I."
"And that would be?"
"A successful and smooth running business."
"Speak frankly, Miss Stark."
"Mr Lannister, your almost broke due to your son-in-laws exploits. We can both
agree on that. I want in on this business. I believe we can help each other."
At first there's nothing, but then he throws his head back and laughs.
Something she'd never seen him do.
"Get out, girl." He says wiping tears from his eyes still laughing to himself.
"I'm not finished." She says.
Tywin reigns himself in and leans forward in his chair. "You're sixteen. You're
a stripper. You're a drug addict. And you're an orphan. I think you are
'finished'."
She looks away. You knew it would be hard. Don't be so surprised. You need to
prove yourself.
Meeting his eyes she stands and smiles politely, "Thank-you for your time."
 
* * *
 
"Seventeen year old, Joffrey Baratheon was found bound and beaten two blocks
from his family, on the upper east side of the city. We are yet to know whether
there are any witnesses, sources say Mr. Baratheon, suffered major internal
bleeding, and various broken bones, and is now in intensive care..."
She flicks the tv off as she hears the door open and slam. She searches inside
herself to see if there's any semblance of sympathy for Joffrey. The girl she
used to be would cry for him, even after the horrible things he'd done. Now all
she can feel is something akin to a high. A calmness, something sweet tasting
that makes her want to smile.
He comes home that night like he had every other night that week. Silent and
brooding, yet edgy and quick to anger. She greets him as he walks through
passed, and all he'll do is grunt. She'll try make small talk and he'll tell
her to shut-up. It's the last straw when he growls at her for taking too long
with the dinner.
"What is wrong with you? You come home, all tied up in knots and take it out on
me. It's not fair Sandor. You can't keep doing this."
"I can do whatever I damn well please. In case you've forgotten, this is my
home you're living in Sansa."
She huffs at him and rolls her eyes. He's taken a menacing stance. His eyes lit
with fury. But she's never been scared of him. And she's not about to start
now. "In case you've forgotten, this isn't the only place I have to be. It was
you, who refused to let me live at mockingbird. If you're gonna be an ass
Sandor, I'll just leave." It's a threat. An empty one with empty words in empty
sentences. She doesn't want to leave him. In some ways he's become a lifeline
to her. The way he'd nursed her back to health. The way he used to look at her.
They're memories she cannot eradicate. They're always at the forefront of her
mind, and they prevent her from thinking logically when it comes to him.
"So what, now you're threatening me with the absence of your presence?" He
throws his head back and laughs. It's such an ugly sound. "Go then. Like a give
a fuck."
She frowns and looks at his expression. Tries to understand him. Does he really
mean it? The timer on the oven goes off, but their still stuck in their staring
contest. It must have been minutes when she finally looked away. Throwing down
the tea towel, she had in her hand, she goes to walk passed Sandor to go up
stairs and get her things. Before she can his hand grips her wrist and pulls
her to a halt. "Kitchens that way." He says with an incline of his head. And
he's so damn smug. So sure she'll just let him walk all over her, that she's
glad when her hand smacks him hard across the face - even though it happened of
its own accord. His eyes fill with anger and he lifts his other hand pulling
her closer as if to hit her.
She quickly shields her face with her free hand and awaits the cruel blow she
thinks she knows will come. But it doesn't. When she removes her arm from in
front of her and squints up at him, through scrunched up eyes, he's sober.
Which is interesting, since she couldn't smell the whisky on his breath until
now. He lowers both his arms and stumbles back with a horrified look on his
face. Walking backwards until he hits the wall and falls down against it.
Hiding his face in his hands.
He looks so childlike. Just a kid, in a mans body. And suddenly, she pities
him. But pity and forgiveness are two completely different things. So, she
makes her way to the kitchen to turn off the smoke alarm and the now burnt
dinner, while he wallows in his misery.
When she returns he's exactly as she left him. Fingers running through thick
black hair as he stares wide eyed at the floor boards.
"I can't be both, Sansa." He says in a mumble so quiet she's not sure she heard
him correctly.
"What?"
He turns his blood-shot eyes on her and fixes her with a stare so heavy she
think she may faint beneath its weight. "I said, I can't be both. I can't be
there, being who I used to be, for you, and then be here and act any different.
I can't come home after a night of beating the shit out of any one who's
crossed you, and then act like nothing happened. I'm either the guy when you
first met me, or I'm the killer."
"Then don't be!"
"It's your choice Sansa. It's always been your choice."
"I never said, anything. I never asked you to..."
"Oh, and all those nights you stay up praying to the stranger?"
"I..."
"You can't tell me you never knew. You can't be that stupid."
She shoots him a glare, but she knows him to be true. Somewhere deep down, she
knew it was him behind the missing persons, Joffrey's beating. Maybe, not even
deep down. Maybe somewhere lurking just under the surface. It'd be hard to
miss. And Sansa was a smart girl.
"Just choose Sansa. Let me know."
She gets flustered and wrings her hands before her. "You can't just make me
choose, your path in life. That's unfair. It's.... Its..."
"Choose."
"Why can't you be both? Why can't I have both of you?"
"Because it doesn't work that way. Choose."
"I cant! I can't let go. I can't just let the chance of justice for my family
to pass me by. You're the only way that..."
And it hits her like a ton of bricks - That she'd made the choice, the night
she started praying to the stranger. To forsake Sandor in search of revenge
brought to those who had wronged her. To ruin this new life, he'd made for
himself for her own selfish need to avenge her family.
For a split second his expression is one of disbelief. But then a sad smile
plays on his lips and he just nods his head in defeat.
"Then, I'll just be that." He says, as he gets to his feet. "If it's what you
want."
"More than anything." She says. He looks towards her. Both studying each other.
"Anything?" He asks taking a step towards her.
"Anything." A whisper said in a breath. It's a dangerous game they play. He
takes one step forward and she takes two steps back. She tries to make him
believe she doesn't care for him. Everyone I love dies. Let me spare him. She
thinks, and hopes that one day she can convince herself the same.
But he's so close. He's breathing her air. Taking steps towards her until she
can't retreat, for the wall at her back. Stuck somewhere between a rock and a
hard place. His breath tickles her cheek and his hooked nose skims against her
jawline, and then into her hair. He breathes hard. She Feels as his hands come
to rest on her hips. Gently at first. Then squeezing, harder and harder until
she thinks they'll bruise. She doesn't mind it. Knows it's her punishment for
lying. A punishment befitting her crime. Bitter and sweet. Painful and
addictive. Everything he is to her.
She tells herself she'll miss the person he was, but hopes she'll find hints of
his former self in the hound.
His fingers flex and move to her waist, her shirt riding up with the slide of
his hand. She feels his calloused fingers as they brush against her bare skin,
and he draws back from her to read her expression.
She knows they shouldn't. It'll only make things worse. Make it all messy. But
then his lips are on hers and it's too late. Though they're gone as soon as
they were there, it's enough to make her sigh. He kisses her once more. This
time harder, but breaks away again just as fast. Waiting for her answer. She
gives an almost imperceptible nod, and this time when he kisses her he won't
stop. This kiss is harsh. It's more like an assault on the lips. His fingers
grip hard again, before pulling at the buttons of her flannelette. A button
flies off where's he pulls too hard and he smirks against her lips.
When his hands touch her their warm as they skim along the outline of her body.
He undoes the button of her shorts while his other hand strokes and squeezes
her breast. Her hands are in his hair but she doesn't know of much else that
she should do - Besides from stand their and let him feel her. She feels oddly
detached as his movements become rougher. As he pulls her hard against him.
Grinds his hips against hers. He seems to notice this and looks back to her
with a question on his lips.
"Is this what you want?" He kisses down her stomach, until he has to get on his
knees to continue his path. "Or is it just my payment?" He removes her shorts,
and strokes her hips.
She looks away. She doesn't know what she wants. Maybe it is a payment? His
payment for killing. Her payment for stealing who he was, and making him
convert back to what he tried to escape. She's knows it's not either of those
things. But the truth is scary, and she can't let herself care any more than
she already does. It's too dangerous. "It doesn't really matter, does it?"
His laughter is dry and mirthless, and maybe even sad. "Apparently not." He
says and pulls at the sheer pink panties that keep her from his eyes. He kisses
her hip, her thigh. Closer and closer. Dry, cracked lips that drag against the
skin, make her shiver. And then he's kissing the top of her slit. Tongue
sliding between her folds to taste her. He moves his head down a little more,
and this time when he licks at her she jumps, with the shock of pleasure she
feels. He does it again, harder, wetter, but slower. It releases a low moan
from her lips. His hands move to cup her behind, and squeeze as he presses her
more firmly to his lips and tongue.
She writhes against him. Hips bucking, legs shaking, head thrown from side to
side until she thinks she can take no more. His fingers trail along the inside
of her leg and one long digit pushes in and out of her. He stops short of her
climax and she groans in frustration.
She feels heavy and exhausted while still fidgety and tense from the lack of
her release. Sandor lifts her and carries her down the hall to their bed. He
lays her down, before climbing on top of her. He's still fully clothed but his
hands are moving fast to remedy that situation.
She still wears his flannelette t-shirt, and she thinks he might like the sight
of her bare but for his clothing. He doesn't take it off, only opens it so he
can see more of her skin.
Her legs are open, feet planted on the bed, and he kneels before her. His eyes
ever so slowly take in all that is on display. They travel from between her
legs, to her hips, her stomach, her breasts, up her neck. Then his eyes meet
hers. They're a dark grey but they change so quickly. To a warm silver, his
pupils becoming smaller. He braces his hands either side of her head and rests
his body atop of hers.
Kissing her brow, he brushes her hair back from her face. He lets his hands
stay there, resting on either side of her cheeks. In a slow, gentle thrust he
pushes into her. His size still takes her breath away, and she's glad when he
gives her a moment to adjust to the intrusion. He doesn't move again until she
nods her head.
Every movement, every shift in his hips is deliberate and slow and sensual.
They maintain eye-contact until eventually the pleasure is too great. She shuts
her eyes to his heavy breathing. His grunts and groans, that mingle with the
sounds she makes. I love you, Gods, I love you. And it's such a heart breaking
revelation that she wraps her legs and arms around him tighter. She grinds her
hips back and forth in time with him and scratches down his back. She needs to
get a grip of herself. She demands that he go faster and harder until it hurts.
As if that'll make her hate him. Nothing ever could.
The bed thumps against the wall. The springs screech under both their weight,
and Sansa never knew that simply breathing, could sound so loud. She feels so
close. So close to that incredible feeling she'd never managed to reach with
anyone else. Sandor removes his hand from her cheek and brings it to in-between
their bodies. He presses down and circles his fingers over her clitoris and a
minute later she's crying from the pleasure that racks her body. When her moans
retreat back to heavy breathing he removes his hand and once again cups her
face.
"Look at me." He pleads.
And through the heady feeling that's overwhelmed her body she manages to meet
his eyes once more. Her breath catches at the sight of him. His hair an unruly
mess. His brow sweat drenched. Jaw clenched. But his eyes. It's always his
eyes. He kisses her. It's like a movie. She feels fireworks in her stomach, she
feels this feeling so close to happiness that it scares her. She feels him, as
he groans her name against her lips, and the kiss becomes messy until it's not
a kiss at all. Just a meeting of mouth, teeth and tongue.
As his hips slap against the back of her thighs one last time, he collapses
atop of her. She is as still as can be. Staring at the ceiling, trying to hold
on to what she'd just experienced.
But reality is impatient, and it takes little time at all for her to remember
she was supposed to show him she didn't love him. That she didn't care. If
there were a mirror present, she'd see her expression so pained. So broken by
the things she was yet to do.
Sandor lifts himself off of her and rolls onto his back, his hands lift behind
his head and he faces the ceiling, just as she does.
"There's a man named Vargo Hoat, in Roose Boltons employ. I need him brought to
me alive."
Sandors head, falls to the side, facing away from her. He huffs a humourless
laugh and sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He rests his
elbows on his thighs and runs his hands through his hair. "Okay." Is his only
response. Not that she expected more, but it hurts her when he walks into the
bathroom and slams the door behind him.
***** Starting wars with anonymous brothers *****
Chapter Summary
     Chapter title taken from the song "trip switch" by nothing but
     theives.
* * * The Present * * *
Dust captured moonlight, and flickered like the stars that the clouds had
hidden away from sight. The forest was deadly silent. Kneeling on damp grass,
before ten burly men and a scrawny teenage girl, was a battered and broken
Vargo Hoat. He had to give the man credit. He'd been much harder to find than
first anticipated. It had been three long weeks of searching and dead end after
dead end that he'd finally drawn the man out of hiding.
For a long while, no one said anything. They merely stared, as if they didn't
know what to do with themselves. Sansa had expressed how she didn't think her
fathers men had any faith in her, and judging by the expressions they all wore
she was right. They were in complete and utter shock, while Sansa stood calm.
Cloaked in a willow green Cape that ran to the ground, she looked a vision. The
most beautiful villain he'd ever seen. Her red lips downturned and her brow far
too heavy for such delicate features. Two dogs sat on their haunches either
side of her. All with black eyes that didn't seem to miss a beat. She took
three deep breathes and the frown disappeared. All that was left in its wake
was a picture of poise and grace. She clasped her hands together in front of
her and opened her mouth to speak, but Vargo interrupted before she'd even
started.
"So what is it you want then? I won't tell you anything. I won't say a fucking
word, I'm no rat." He spat at her feet. He was an ugly man, Vargo. Limbs too
long and gangly. the gel he used in his hair looked more like grease and
pronounced his already obvious dandruff problem. Just ugly.
The corner of her mouth quirked at that. She turned from the man at her feet
and addressed Mr Umber and the eight men he'd brought with him. All her fathers
men. They stood tall with tailored suits and chips on their shoulders. "This
man, was there the nights of both my fathers and brothers deaths. And though
not wholly responsible for what happened, his hands carried out the order of
Roose Bolton. A man my father called friend. A man my father trusted." She
turned back to Vargo. "So to answer your question, no, I don't want to hear you
talk."
* * * 24 hours previous * * *
Once again he was up far too early, doing Sansa's business. It had been two and
a half weeks since Sansa had given him the mans name, and still he found
nothing but bits and pieces of scrap information that was of no use to him. So
here he was, 4am on a Wednesday morning, freezing his balls off in the corridor
outside the Spiders HQ.
He hadn't wanted to use the spider, but finding any viable information was
proving near impossible without him. It wasn't the fact that he had to accept
help from someone else, it was that nothing came free, and the information the
spider would give him would most undoubtedly come with a hefty price.
His knuckles hit the wood of the door and immediately it opened. "Sandor! What
a pleasant surprise. You're here early."
Sandor merely grunted and pushed through the door way to sit on the couch in
the living area. "I don't have time for pleasantries I'm afraid, I'm running on
a tight schedule." He said over his shoulder.
The spider laughed and entered the space plopping himself down on an armchair
adjacent from him. "You never have time for pleasantries full stop!" He joked,
lightly tapping sandors arm. Sandor looked down at where Varys had tapped his
arm and back at the man himself with raised eyebrows. "Alright, alright, I have
a very important folder here for you with some things in it that might interest
you."
"Yes I'm aware, you said on the phone. How much do you want for it. Or what do
you want?"
"Haha, straight to the point as always. I need you to get in contact with an
old friend of yours, Jon." The spider said, motioning for a girl to place a
tray of tea before them.
"And what is it you'd have me say, once in contact." He said, taking a sip of
the god-awful drink he'd been poured.
"Daenerys and Viserys targaryen have both been missing for three days now. I
need faceless and the black to direct their efforts towards helping us find
them."
"You ask a lot." Faceless were a lot better at finding people than Varys was.
They had a larger team and better equipment. Faceless and the spider had
collaborated in the past, but always for a price, there was no charity to those
who could afford to pay.
"We all want the same thing, Sandor. It's in their interests to find the girl,
and in yours. There could be an alliance made between Sansa and Daenerys. She
did business with Robb stark before he was taken out."
"What business?"
"Are you familiar with the Dothraki?" He asked taking a sip of the tea.
"I know of them, I wouldn't say I'm familiar with them. They deal in drugs and
arms, yeah?"
"Yes, and guess who's married to and handles all of their presidents deals?"
Sandor nodded, as he finally caught on. Spider was right, it did benefit
everyone involved that the Targaryen girl was found. Faceless had a good
relationship with the dothraki, and either group had lended a hand for the
right price in the past. The black would follow along with anything the
faceless men did. He didn't see why this time would be any different.
"Fine. Done. Anything else?"
"No, that's all for now." Sandor nodded and went to stand before the spider
leaned forward and continued. "Just... make sure Sansa knows who her allies
are."
"Of course." He said, standing to his feet and taking the folder from his old
friends hand. He clasped him on the shoulder, bid his farewell, and left.
* * *
"Sandor! You're here early!" Sandor shook Eugene's hand and smiled.
"I've been getting that today. I've got a lot to do."
"Haha, alright then. What brings you here?" He asked, clasping him on the
shoulder and walking with him towards the kennels.
"Here to see about some mutts."
"Oh, that's why. I think I know the ones you're on about. How about you get
their leads and I'll get the dogs ready." Sandor walked towards the shelf
behind the reception, opening up the cupboard doors. He took out three leads,
three collars, some bowls and food. The bell on the entrance door rang. "Sorry
mate, we're not open yet..." He said over his shoulder. There were footsteps.
The sound of leather against metal. That was the tell. He ducked but a split
second before the shot was fired, and instead of hitting his heart the bullet
lodged itself in his shoulder. "Fuck." He hissed through clenched teeth.
He's sheltered by the reception desk but he can hear him moving he pats himself
down looking for his gun. The one day I leave it at home. At least I brought my
knife. "I heard you were looking for me. Well," cutting the top of the cigar,
he lights it breathes in, and blows out a puff of smoke. "Here I am."
There's a hole in the desk about an inch off the ground. The daft cunt hasn't
bothered to look down. The man begins to walk towards the desk before a noise
outside captures his attention. It's his only chance, to move. Sandor dives
into the back room and slams the door. He can hear as the bullets rip through
the drywall, and smash the cups and bowls on the bench of their "break room".
Place needed a renovation anyway.
Directly to the left of the door is a small crevice. Well, big enough for him
to fit in, so how small could it really be. Sandor stands and waits in the
space for Vargo to walk into the small room. It's risky. If he chooses to fire
another round through the wall he could hit him. But he can those shiny leather
shoes against the concrete floor, so instead of crouching he readies himself
for a fight. As soon as Vargo enters the room he makes the mistake of looking
right before he looked left. Sandor slams the door backwards with all of his
strength, and Vargo's right arm gets jammed in the door. The gun falls to the
ground. There's a second if silence. But so much can happen in a second. Sandor
swings with the knife in his fist and nicks the man just below his ribs. Vargo
smiles. He has a strong left hook, that's for sure. The force of it sends
Sandor stumbling backwards. There's two more quick well placed punches to his
side and the knife drops out of his hands. He spits blood and raises his fists.
They circle each other like boxers but both men know they're playing dirty.
They both lean forward at once but the click of a gun halts their movements.
Vargo looks away and it's the wrong decision. Sandor delivers a solid punch to
his jaw that knocks him out cold.
"Thank-you."
"You can thank me with a refurbishment." Eugene replies throwing the gun across
the floor behind the reception. "Honestly, Sandor."
"I know. You don't need to tell me. I know," he grunts, moving passed the old
man.
"Dogs are in the car. Bring it out back, I'll help you get him in the boot." He
says poking at Vargo's comatose body with the toe of his boot.
"I thought you didn't approve of these things." Sandor joked, wincing when he
tried to move his shoulder. The drive home should be interesting.
"If you get arrested, I don't get my refurb." Sandor sneered back at the old
man but it held no real venom, and did as he was told. Walking out to the car,
when he sat in the drivers seat he was greeted with a nip to the neck and a low
growl. "What the fuck are you doing in here?" The dog merely groaned at his
owner and sat back down on the passenger seat. Old man picked a fine day to try
my patience.
Sandor drove his fathers car around to the back of the property, and jumped
out. Eugene helped him carry Vargo out to the car and shove him in the boot.
Panting and leaning against the hood of his car Sandor motioned to the inside
of the car. "What's he doing in there?"
Eugene glanced over his shoulder and huffed. "There's no room, and no patience
here for your demon dog. The husky's were the only ones game enough to share a
kennel with the mean old thing. If you take them you take him too. There isn't
enough room here to give him his own kennel."
"Fine." He said screwing the cap on his bottled water, and pushing off the
hood.
"You off now?" The old man asked.
"Yeah" he helped Eugene up with his good arm.
"Alright then, see to that shoulder of yours." He waved over his shoulder and
headed towards the back gate.
"Will do!" He hollered back and jumped back into the drivers side. Stranger
growled again. "Oh shut up!"
* * *
When he got back to the loft he was so delirious with the pain shooting through
his shoulder, the dogs leads slipped through his fingers, when they tugged. As
quick as lightning they bolted down the hall towards the bedroom. "Oi! You
mangy mutts, get back here!"
Chasing them down the hallway he made it just in time to see Nymeria jump up on
the bed and give Sansa a big kiss. "Sandor..." She moaned. Right after the
other three jumped up and almost suffocated her with their weight. Sansa
shrieked "Sandor! What the fuck!"
He'd never had so much anger directed at him before by Sansa. He lost his
ability to keep a straight face, and laughed the most he'd laughed since he
could remember. His breaths began to become shorter, his vision began to blur,
and then he was falling, falling, falling. But he never hit the ground.
* * *
He could smell alcohol. Right beneath his nose. And then the pain in his
shoulder returned. "I want some..." He mumbled.
Sansa was leaning over him, her eyes wide with worry. "What? You want what?"
She asked hurriedly, stroking his face.
"That vodka." He said snatching the bottle from her hand. Sansa leaned back and
rolled her eyes. Suddenly losing all concern for his well being.
"What? I need to numb the pain."
"Oh please!" She scoffed.
"Excuse me, have you ever been shot?"
"No, but I've been stabbed, and I wish it was as clean as this wound." He
didn't bother asking how or when. She wouldn't tell. She kept her secrets to
herself. He didn't care. So did he.
"You got it out then?" Sansa rubbed his neck and let her hands slide down his
chest. It made his skin rise into goose flesh.
"No need to." She said. Her hands left his body and he missed the warmth of
them. She wiped her hands of blood and alcohol on a rag by her side, "went in
and out the other side. Superficial. Don't you worry, I stitched you up nice
and pretty." She said pointing to his shoulder. He turned his head down and
nodded his appreciation. He didn't know why but he found it hard to thank
Sansa. For anything, big or small, he just couldn't say those two words. Not to
her. Slowly moving to sit up she propped pillows behind his back.
"Where did you learn to do this." He said waving towards his shoulder, and the
medical kit he didn't know she had. There was his measly bandaida and bandages
under the sink but her kit had a needle and thread and long pointed tweezer-
looking things. 
"Robb." Was all she replied. Looking away and busying herself with cleaning
everything before placing it back in the kit box.
"The dogs?"
"Good protection for you. The shelter needs to more room as well." That was
half the truth. Honestly though, he'd hoped the dogs would help cheer Sansa up
a bit. He knew she missed her family. He had work a lot of the time and she was
stuck in the house all day, it must've been lonely. He'd also seen the dogs
fight. They were the only ones in the shelter who got along with stranger,
probably because they could keep him in his place. Once stranger had snapped at
one of the husky's and the other two had given him a reason to never try it
again. Which reminded him. "How was stranger with you?"
"Stranger? Huh, should've guessed you'd name your dog after the God of death.
He's a sweetheart. The name hardly fits him."
Sandor let out a bark of laughter. "A sweetheart? Hardly! Miserable old
bastard, snaps at anything that moves."
"Stranger!" She called out. The dog came bounding down the hall. "To me!" He
came and sat panting by her feet. "Good boy! He's such a good boy! Aren't you!"
Sandor frowned. What had she done to his dog? The nasty thing was never that
nice to him! He was licking her hand and making stupid yipping sounds. It was
weird. He imagined it'd be the equivalent of seeing himself smile. Weird.
"Alright, piss off now!" He commanded the dog. Stranger turned and growled at
him but did as he was told, disappearing down the hallway. Nows as good a time
as any. "So Vargo Hoat is in the boot."
She dropped the rag and needle she was holding to look at him. "Is that how?"
She said nodding at his wound.
He chuckled "How else would it have happened?"
"I don't know, you tend to have a knack for aggravating people, Sandor."
"Yeah well It seems as though I don't need to aggravate anyone anymore. A few
months with you and a week goes by I don't recieve a death threat I'm worried."
Sansa laughed and went back to cleaning.
"I want this done tonight. The longer we hold him the bigger the chance someone
will come for him. If you don't feel up to it, you can stay, I don't want you
hurting yourself anymore than you already have."
"I'll be there. I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Sansa, I wouldn't have said so if I wasn't."
"Okay, then. I have things to take care of. I'm going into to town, I'm taking
the dogs with me." She said closing up the first aid kit and at ding to her
feet..
"Call me and let me know what's happening." He called out as she began to walk
Dow the hallway.
"Will do." She winked at him and blew him a kiss. Well, this is certainly the
most agreeable I've seen her.
* * * The present * * *
Walking forward she grasped a handful of thin black hair and pulled back,
forcing him to look at her. There was a silent exchange, one he thought she'd
been the victor of as Vargo tried to turn his head away. Until he'd turned his
head too much and bit into her forearm. Sansa gasped and they all lurched
forward including the dogs, but she stopped them with a huff of a laugh and a
raise of her hand. The bite looked deep and drew blood, but it didn't seem to
phase her. She's done worse to herself. He thought, as she dropped her arm to
her side.
One of the beasts, Stranger, came forward and expected the wound, Licking away
the blood before he looked up to his mistress. She smiled fondly at the dog and
pat between his ears. Only with her was the dog ever gentle. He was Sandor's,
but he even snapped at him sometimes. It was hard to believe that this was a
vicious ex-fighting dog she was stroking.
Sansa sighed and drew all the dogs attention. Nymeria, Summer and Shaggy
approached and waited for command. Sansa inclined her head towards Vargo,
"Bite." She said, almost lazily, and all dogs lunged forward at once.
He heard the horrified sounds of some of the men around him but when he chanced
a glance to his left Mr Umber looked on with an expression of grim
satisfaction. The sound of tearing flesh and a cowards screams proved too much
for one lad, not much older than Sandor, as he wretched into one of the nearby
bushes that surrounded the clearing they were in.
One man, a portly fellow with a shiny bald head stepped forward and caught
Sansa's attention, with his angry red face and hands balled into fists. " Is
this how you do business? I want no part in this."
"By all means, sir, leave if you must. No one here is forcing you to stay." She
replied diplomatically. With no traces of judgement in her voice, but what she
said next sent him into another fit of rage. "We all know this business is no
place for the weak hearted." Inclining her head towards the boy with his head
in a shrub. Must be his son. He saw the likeness in features. And demeanour too
it seemed. Sansa had told him about the lunch with Umber and the upstart. She'd
played it off as nothing, but knew the boy had hit a nerve with the things he'd
said. He'd picked a fight with the wrong girl. Sansa could hold a grudge like
no-ones business. If the boy did stick around this wouldn't be the last of his
embarrassment.
"Your father would be disgusted." The man spat at her.
He saw hurt in Sansa's eyes before anger had replaced it. She whistled and the
dogs all turned to her. "To me." She said. Vargo lay a bloody mess, almost
unrecognisable. He groaned and whimpered in pain. Sansa pushed her shoulders
back and lifted her chin when she opened her mouth her voice was strong and
unfaltering. "My father wouldn't be anything. My father is dead. And do you
know why? For years I blamed myself, but not any more. He's dead because he was
good, and honourable, and believed in second chances. I will not make those
same mistakes. I'm not here to make 'good' business. I'm here to destroy the
beginnings of an empire built on the lives of innocents." Turning from the man
she addressed the rest of the suits. "There will be opportunities for all of
your businesses to grow but that's not what this is about for me personally. If
that's not something you can get behind than you should leave too."
The fat man left along with his son, and two others. The rest, however stayed.
Sansa nodded to each man in way of recognition of their trust and in thanks.
The men all stepped forward and properly introduced themselves and they set a
time to have a meeting to discuss specifics of what was to happen and what
everyone expected to gain from it.
"Sansa." He nudged her shoulder to get her attention. She turned her head and
looked at him for the first time that night. "Why don't you and everyone head
back to Umber's now, I'll take care of this mess." He said.
She frowned and nodded. "Yes, why don't you all go along, we'll follow
shortly." Umber looked unsure to leave Sansa behind but when he questioned her
decision she simply shook her head and said she'd be there soon.
When everyone had left she came to stand by his side. Vargo Hoat was still
alive and still conscious. He was a feral mess of mauled limbs and broken
bones. "Do you want me to end it?" He asked.
She looked as though she were in a trance. Her eyes unblinking as she was
hypnotised in a mix of disgust and morbid fascination. "No. Just wait." She
said, never looking away. She walked over to the mans side and squat down
beside him. Vargo groaned and tried to speak but his words were hard to
understand when drowned out by spit and blood. She stayed there for forty
minutes, until finally Vargo breathed his last breath. It was almost
disturbing, the sigh she let out.
"Do you feel better?"
Her eyes cut to his and she smiled. "I'll never feel better. But I'm glad he's
dead, and I'm glad he suffered. It feels... Right." He could understand that.
It made sense to him, he'd felt the same when his brother had died. That and a
sense of loss at not being the one to kill him, himself.
"Let's go then." He said holding out his hand to her.
She looked around at the bloody mess they'd left behind. "But.."
"It's okay, I've gotta guy coming to clean it." She nodded her head and stood,
taking his hand.
***** Something like Avalanches *****
Chapter Summary
     Arya pov. Warning for violence against women.
Chapter Notes
     Chapter title is a song by sleepmakeswaves. I Listened to it while
     writing this, if you want a bit of mood music, this is where it's at
     haha
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Shut up, stupid. You're going to ruin everything."
"I'm acting like a teenager, it's inconspicuous. That's what we're supposed to
be."
"No, you're eye-fucking every guy that walks by. We're supposed to be
forgettable." The younger girl huffs and shifts to lie back down beside Arya on
their picnic blanket. They're doing surveillance work in some little no name
town in Braavos. They're supposed to be gathering information on a man who the
faceless men have been contracted to kill. Arya always thought the killing
business was thoughtless. She thought all you needed was to be good with a
weapon, But she was wrong. Yes, it did help. However it wasn't all that was
involved. In the short time she'd been with the faceless men she'd learnt
killing was more than just actions. It was this. It was a lot of waiting
around, and a lot observing. It was learning your victims patterns. Being able
to anticipate their every move. As well as choreographing a plan to kill.
The man comes to the park everyday. He sits in the same chair everyday.
Receives a phone call from someone at exactly 3:03 everyday, and feeds the
pigeons. It's a routine he's never strayed from, and ARay is a girl he's never
noticed. Until now. Their eyes meet for a split second. He has the look of a
deer caught in headlights. She's forced to assume He knows who she is now. The
man slowly stands to his feet. "Fuck." She mumbles under her breath. She
doesn't stand to follow him. She waits until he's reached the end of the path
and she knows him. Knows his pace is too fast to be considered casual. Knows
he's tense by the way his back is kept straight and the way he catches her eye
one last time before he completely disappears from sight.
Rising to her feet, she begins to follow. "Stay here, numb nuts. You've caused
enough fucking trouble."
Arya rolls down her sleeves and sticks to the shadows. Following the man until
he reaches a long alley. There's no longer any shadows to stick to. The alley
is lit and clear. She curses her bad luck and quickly looks for an alternative
as the man fastens his pace. Glancing up the sides of the buildings behind
which he is hid, she looks for anything that could possibly help her scale the
wall. She's still learning and was never very good at climbing. That was Bran.
Bran, her brother. The thought stunted her for a moment. No time for that.
She found a pole that extended half way to the roof. Without thinking how she'd
get up the rest of the way she began to climb. Jaqen said that desperation both
opened and closed your eyes. Opened them to possibilities and closed them to
failure. Once she'd reached the top of the pole she could see a balcony near
by. She couldn't reach it with her hands. Swinging her body side to side until
she had enough momentum behind her she let go and swing towards the balcony,
her knees locking onto the railing and suspending her mid air. It was all
smooth sailing from there, a ladder that led to the roof joined to the balcony.
Once on the roof she hurried to the edge. Her target was out of site. "Shit."
She cursed and followed over roof tops to the end of the alley.
With still no sign of him she chose to go left. He's left handed. Running along
side the alley she keeps her eyes sharp. Still nothing. But then she sees it.
From the corner of her eye. Right. Left. Left. She gets lower and lower to the
ground until finally she's behind him. And this is a dead end. The lights
flicker, stray cats make noise in the garbage cans.
"Cat!" The name throws her. She turns, it's Stella. Her 'associate' from the
park. More like my fucking charge. It's enough time for the target to slip
through a door to the right. Fuck, should have noticed that. She hears his
heavy footfalls she follows him down the stairs. When she reaches the bottom
he's running for the front door. A woman, comes out from a bedroom and starts
screaming for them to get out. The man reaches the door, smiles, and disappears
when it opens and the crowd swallows him up. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." She punches
the wall.
The woman is still screaming. "Alright, alright, I'm leaving." She heads back
to the alley.
Stella is waiting with her foot tapping, and her eyebrows raised. "What was
that?!"
"That was you ballsing things up. Again. Stupid cunt."
"Woah, calm down psycho."
"Calm down?" Arya scoffed at the girls arrogance. "Have you ever failed Jaqen
before?" The younger girl shook her head. She has no idea what she's in for.
Arya had only been with faceless six months and in that time she had exceeded
all expectations. She was the fastest rising student since Sandor, Jaqen had
said. That also meant she was the one who made the most mistakes and as a
result had received the most discipline. Looking back to Stella she suddenly
felt bad for her. She wasn't much younger than Arya, maybe a year? Amazing with
weapons, but needed to learn the Intel side of things, Jaqen had said. Today
she would find out what it meant to fail.
* * *
Smack. Cry. Smack. Cry. Some talking. Another smack. The girl is carried away.
Arya pities her. She continues to sharpen her dagger with a whetstone. It's
time consuming, and there are faster and easier ways to sharpen a weapon but
she enjoys this. This is how Sandor taught her. "Why did you assign her to me.
You knew she wasn't ready."
Jaqen placed the cane down on a small wooden table next to where he sat. "You
said it yourself. She wasn't ready, I need her to be sooner than she will be.
This way speeds up the process."
Arya scoffed. Jaqen's eyes cut to hers. "She's a child."
"You're a child." He pointed out.
"Not in mind. And that's what counts. Push too hard and you'll break her. "
"You think you know better than me?" He asks with a smirk.
"Never." Arya puts aside her whetstone and dagger and comes to kneel before
Jaqen. He picks up the cane once more and touches beneath her chin.
"Tell me again how it happened."
"We were in the park..."
"How you lost him." He interrupts.
"I chased him through the house, he got to the front door and disappeared into
the crowd."
Smack. Right in the middle of her left cheek.
"Why didn't you continue to pursue?"
Arya frowned, looking to her master. "I told you he dissa..."
Smack. This time on her neck, just below her jaw.
"Stupid girl. No one disappears, but us. He is not us. You should have tried
harder. Tell the truth. You were lazy."
"Master, I couldn't possibly.."
Smack.
"Maybe you aren't ready. Maybe I overestimated you."
"No!" This time when the cane hit her cheek she leaned into it causing it to
cut from beneath her ear to her jaw. Meeting Jaqen's eyes she continued.
"You're right. I was lazy. It was my fault he got away. But it won't happen
again."
Jaqen's eyes danced. He leaned back in his chair. "And who's going to find him
again, huh?"
"I will." She answered.
He raised his eyebrows. "Very well."
"And do I have clearance to kill?" She asked. She knew she was pushing it.
She'd already tried his patience today.
He huffed. "If you find him, yes, you can kill. But keep it clean, we want an
accident not a murder."
"Yes sir." The cane stroked down her cheek in an almost loving way. She closed
her eyes and smiled. It left her skin.
"Leave me now." She stood and went to leave. "And Arya,"
"Yes sir?"
"After you've completed this task, I have another for you. There'll be no room
for mistakes."
"Yes, sir." She closed the door behind her.
* * *
Arya went back to her room that night and studied every little scrap of Intel
she'd written down while doing surveillance on her mission. And all night she
found nothing. So the next morning at 5am she was knocking on Stella's door,
and demanding she tell her everything she remembered.
"I can't remember anything! It's too early! Go away Arya, I'm tried and I'm
sore." She said gently touching her cheek. It was red raw. Arya felt a twinge
of remorse but it was quickly swallowed by her determination to finish what
she'd started.
"You don't remember anything? Nothing at all? There's no place for whining
idiots in faceless." She said going to leave. When still Stella said nothing
she continued, "Jaqen would certainly be displeased to know you retained none
of the information we gathered..."
Stella's eyes went wide and then anger overtook her expression. "You wouldn't!"
"Why are you making this so fucking difficult? Just tell me what you remember!
I know that you do! Why won't you tell me?" There was more going on here.
"I told you, I don't..." Stella tried to shut the door but Arya stuck her boot
in the door, keeping it open.
"Yes, yes, that you don't remember." She said casually. Arya's hand shot out
and gripped her shirt, fast as anything. Pulling her close to the door, she
studied her features more closely. "You're not allowed." She said as
realisation dawned on her. "Jaqen told you not to. Didn't he?" When Stella said
nothing in return she knew she had her answer. Rolling her eyes and pushing the
other girl hard enough that she fell to the ground Arya, left the house. She
thought she saw Jaqen smirking on the way out but all she did was glare at him.
She'd probably receive a lashing for that later but she didn't care. She was
beginning to feel another part of herself awaken.
It wasn't as bad as what it used to be. Now, she didn't lose all control. She
was present when her other self took over, she just didn't have much say in
what happened. Her second personality was good to have when it came to the
thick of things. It was someone to blame all the horrible things she did on.
Within the first week of coming to faceless Arya understood why everyone had a
moniker. A second self. Because no one could live with the guilt of what they
did. Sometimes it would get to her. Late at night, when it was just her left,
and no matter how much she called for darkness to overtake her, it wouldn't.
But there were things to be done, one could not feel sorry for oneself all day
long. Besides, everyone they killed deserved it.
Arya's other self went by many names. To her colleagues she was Cat. However
Jaqen would always call her Wolf. She liked that better. Cat was her mothers
name, and every time someone said it there was a sting in her chest. Arya hated
to think of her family. It caused more bad than good. It wasn't worth the
trouble. She'd get sad, and then get angry, and then get punished for the
things she'd done while angry and sad. Pushing all thoughts of family back she
focused on what 'Wolf' was doing.
She was walking down an alley. She didn't know how she'd gotten there. It was
the same alley she'd been down yesterday. 'Wolf' looked for clues. When she
found none, she walked into the house she'd chased her target in, and searched
once more. The house was blessedly empty so she worked quick, and meticulous.
It was on the stairs she came across a smear of blood on the underside of the
railing. It wasn't hers. Taking a sample, she finished looking and headed back
to HQ.
Once there she went to the lab. It was there that she discovered, the man had a
blood infection, known as septicaemia. The only hospital on the city was a
small one, in the centre of town. Immediately she left the house of black and
white again In pursuit of her target.
Once at the hospital Arya looked for the one name on the outpatients unit list
that was a fake. She'd feigned the 'worried daughter' and gotten his room,
along with the key to open it. Walking down the hall with a knowing smile on
her face, she wondered what way she'd kill him. She had her case of concoctions
in her backpack. She took them with her everywhere. Wolf hated using poisons
instead of her own hands to kill, but Jaqen had said accident, so accident it
would be... Or look like at least.
Room 203. In all its white, clinical glory. Never had Arya been so excited to
see a door. Never had she been so excited to kill someone either. The thought
stopped her from turning the key. Was she wrong for longing to kill. For loving
it even? He deserved to die. Didn't that make it okay? Did that make up for the
fact, she'd feel a rush of adrenaline when she took his life? That her eyes
would roll into the back of her head, and her breathing would be slow and heavy
and everything felt like it was right with all these people's blood on her
hands. It felt right. Like this is what she was born to do.
Wolf won't wait any longer, she takes over once more and unlocks the door, with
her gun drawn. Arya tries to put it away, but her control is non-existent now.
She'd wasted it all on pausing for five minutes while she had an existential
 crisis in the middle of her mission. All she can do now is watch. Jaqens going
to have my head. Is all she can think as she watches wolf draw back the curtain
slowly.
What she sees next almost makes her jump. Luckily, wolf is still in control.
Cocking her head to the side and frowning she hears her say "You're not my
target." She checks every corner of the room but there's nothing there to
suggest he was ever there. Wolf goes to walk out of the room, and Arya fights
for the control to stay.
"Can I please speak with Arya?" He calls. Wolf doesn't respond, just keeps
walking. "I've a message from Jaqen." He adds.
That stops her. And just like that, Arya has control over her own body again.
Turning back around she runs into her brothers arms. "Jon!" She can feel tears
stinging the corners of her eyes but she refuses to let them fall, as she holds
to her brother tighter.
Jon laughs and ruffles her hair, just the way he used to. "I thought you'd
leave without saying hello." Arya only shakes her head and tries harder not to
cry. "You need to get a better handle on Cat. You need total control at all
times."
"I'm getting there." Is all she can manage to reply. She swallows back her
tears and changes the subject. "So," she says feigning annoyance, "This was all
a stupid test."
"I'm afraid so." Jon laughs. Arya huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.
Jon laughs even harder. "You look so much like dad when you're angry." Arya
tries to smile, but it hurts. She thinks of fleeing. Of running away. She loves
Jon, but seeing him only reminds her of who she used to be. I'm not that girl
anymore.
Jon seems to notice the sullen nature she's taken on. "Come on, let's go back
to mine and have a drink." He smiles down at her. "Besides, we have business to
discuss. Faceless and the black will be working together in the near future.
I'm to update you on who our target is, and the mission."
"Okay." Work she could handle. Besides, it's not like she had a choice. It was
Jaqens order. Sighing, she followed her brother to his car and tried to push
down all the emotions that threatened to overtake her.
Chapter End Notes
     Hope you enjoyed the chapter guys! It might be a little while before
     the next one is up but I'll try my best to update as soon as I can.
     Thanks for the continuing support with this fic, I really appreciate
     all your comments and kudos, they really make my day :)
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