Chapter Text
Back in class that week, Sansa checks in with Arya and Jon often and stays at the apartment the rest of the time. She hates inconveniencing Jon the most with him staying there, but he is the one who insisted. If he hadn’t, her parents might not have let her leave.
She tries to make up for it by cooking. Today, it’s waffles, Jon’s favorite. And with lots of bacon, a generous portion of which ends up with the three huskies around the table. Lady lies at her feet as usual. Nymeria whines intermittently and nudges Arya’s elbow. Ghost just rests his head on Jon’s lap.
Sansa takes this as her moment. “I’m planning to go to group tomorrow.”
“Is that necessary?” Jon asks immediately. “Why would you want to go back to that bar?”
“I thought you haven’t heard from Sandor since Saturday, when he kinda hung up on you,” Arya says.
With a frustrated exhale, Sansa replies, “I’m going back because I want to see Sandor and thank him in person. And no, I haven’t heard from him since then.” Even though she texted him when she got back.
Arya and Jon share a look.
“I’ll go on my own if I have to. I’ll have the gun on me,” Sansa adds.
Sandor’s silence is driving her to formulate some kind of plan. All she knows is she wants him back. If that means she’ll leave King’s Landing after graduation or stay, she doesn’t know yet. Just the taste of what could be has her unable to move past him without a last-ditch attempt.
“That fucking asshat,” Arya swears. “I can’t believe I wasted my breath on him.”
“Arya!” Sansa objects.
“What? This man-baby can’t get over you not talking to him for a couple weeks after what happened? Fuck him,” Arya says.
“I said I’m going,” she repeats.
“Fine, we’ll go,” Jon says.
By Thursday, focusing in class becomes nearly impossible. Her mind keeps running away on different scenarios. He was the one that pursued her first. Now the onus is on her, which is another thing she has little experience with.
Back at her apartment, Sansa lays out a blush-pink mini skirt and a soft knit top to pair with it. Sexy but cute and still polished. He always compliments her outfits, so getting this right is key.
She touches up her makeup, then runs a curling iron through her hair. After a coating of hair spray, she surveys herself in the mirror, picking at the curls so they fall more naturally.
After feeding the dogs, she makes sandwiches for Arya, Jon, and herself.
In the middle of this, Jon comes through the door. “Arya?”
“In her room, I think,” Sansa says. He walks past and knocks on her door.
It’s a few minutes before they come out with Arya wiping at her face.
Munching on her sandwich, Sansa motions to their respective plates. “Are you all right?” Sansa asks.
Arya sighs, sitting down. “I’m fine.” She takes a bite.
Jon looks a bit sheepish as he picks up his sandwich.
“Obviously not,” Sansa says. “Is everything okay with Gendry?”
Jon sucks in a breath like she shouldn’t have mentioned that.
Arya unloads, “Fine, you want to know what’s been going on? This motherfucker randomly confessed he’s been fucking Thoros’s friend. Ya know, the one with the red hair who cosplays as a dominatrix. Yeah, that bitch. Something about how he’s her bull or some shit. Okay, whatever.
“But suddenly, they’re exclusive. Or just he is? ‘Cause I know she didn’t dump the Night Fort’s owner just for Gendry. And today, guess what? He’s like he can’t text me anymore, unless it’s in the group chat with her and the band or something. Like what the actual fuck? Is her cunt a magical void that swallowed your brains?”
Sansa frowns with concern, wishing she’d been there for her sister. Her problems with Sandor seem less important in comparison. Gendry’s been Arya’s best friend for years now. Poor Arya.
“You should tell him how you feel,” Sansa suggests. “It may not be too late.”
Jon shakes his head very subtly at her.
Though Sansa’s told her sister that Gendry might decide to seriously date at some point, it’s fallen on deaf ears. Sansa definitely won’t say she told her so, which is probably what Jon is warning her about. Still, this is a bizarre situation. What is a bull?
“Just forget it.” Arya returns to moping.
Sansa adds, “You don’t have to come tonight. I’m sorry. I’ve been putting all my problems on you.”
“San,” Arya says with an exasperated sigh. “For the hundredth time, it’s okay. I wouldn’t piss on Joffrey if he was on fire. Stop feeling bad about it, okay? Don’t be like Gendry, listen to me.”
“Okay,” Sansa says with a little laugh. Sometimes Arya’s bluntness is what she needs.
“I was planning to go to group anyways,” Arya says.
Sansa’s tempted to ask if that’s because of Jaqen. Better not. Arya’s worked up enough.
After finishing her sandwich, Sansa throws on the clothes she set out, and buckles on her platform sandals since Jon will be driving them. With a final glance in the mirror, she’s satisfied with how pretty she looks…and the way the skirt hugs her hips.
Grabbing her little backpack, she pats Lady on the head. Is she really doing this? Gods, if Sandor rejects her to her face… She can’t shake the feeling that it’s what she’s walking into.
Jon drives them down the street to the bar. As they walk up, they pass a few people congregated outside smoking. Jon gets the door.
The moment Sansa steps inside, her feet glue to the floor. Her chest seizes.
Arya reaches for her arm. “Are you alright?”
She shakes her head slightly no. Her eyes travel to the back where Joff cornered her. “I can’t do this.”
“I tried to tell you.” Arya insistently tugs on her arm to go back outside.
Sansa follows as if in a trance. She stops along the brick wall and leans back. The surface is coarse as sandpaper and unforgiving, likely ruining her clothes, but she clings to it.
Inhale. Exhale.
“Sansa?” Jon asks.
Sansa gives them a tight smile. “I’ll be okay. Just need a minute.”
“Want something to drink? I can go ahead and order for us,” Arya offers.
Lemon drop martini.
"Maybe just scope it out,” Jon suggests instead.
“Recon, good idea,” Arya says and heads to the front door.
“You must really like him,” Jon says.
Sansa meets his concerned gaze and nods.
“Even after the background check?”
“Was it yours or Robb’s idea?”
“Hard to say who first.” He gives her a boyish grin. “But Robb took the fall, I suppose.”
“He told you. Not surprising.”
“Is this worth the trouble?” Jon asks.
“I have to try, ya know?” Having made it this far, she’s resolved to see this through. If there’s a chance to get him back, she refuses to squander it.
Arya exits the bar. That was quick. When she rejoins them, she says, “Spotted him behind the bar. Group’s in swing at their usual table.”
“Did he see you or say anything?” Sansa asks.
“I don’t know, but I didn’t speak to him. His sister isn’t here. There are some folks at the bar. Not as busy as it sometimes is, which is good.”
“Okay.” Sansa takes a deep breath. It’s time. She needs to march her butt in there and do this.
Mid-pour, Sandor catches sight of Sansa’s little sister slinking into the bar. Arya scans the place like she’s never been here before, then slips back out. Strange. She’s probably searching for Gendry and didn’t see him. Not his problem.
Mya and Val reappear across from him, their glasses now empty. Earlier, they arrived before the main group and sat at the bar, peppering him with questions about this kink or that.
“Another round?” he asks.
“Why not,” Val says with a little grin, looking up at him through her lashes.
“You sure you can’t join the munch for just a bit?” Mya asks.
“Too busy,” he says despite the scant crowd.
Dany emerges from the kitchen. “Let me help you with that,” she says, taking over the girls’ order. Likely less to save him as to root for her own horse in this unwelcome race.
Lately, Dany’s taken to dropping Doreah into conversation here and there. Elinor nearly dragged him into a double date. He’s surprised the woman in question hasn’t showed tonight, if Doreah is so into this BDSM shit. He has his doubts their interests are in fact aligned.
After he hands Dany a bottle from the top shelf, the front door rattles before banging shut. Broken again, the sound has been driving him mad all day. He rubs a hand across a week’s worth of stubble, his eyes shifting toward the entrance…and stops dead.
It’s her.
Sansa.
Floating into his bar, so lovely like something out of a dream. Only he wouldn’t dream her hand in hand with that walking headache of a sister, plus Jon trailing behind.
Gods, she’s fucking gorgeous.
He barely remembers to breathe. One selfie is all he has from when they were dating, so seeing her…
Her eyes land on him and widen, wary and tinged with fear. She drops her gaze and whispers something to her sister.
What is she doing here? This is where she was attacked. Can’t just be the kink group. But him?
Admittedly, he was short with her on the phone. And he put off texting her back. He’s not angry, at least not anymore. Just decided she’s too young and inexperienced in the end. Better to let her go.
But she’s here.
He hurries down the bar, nervous energy coursing through him. When he reaches the spot they stopped at, he hesitates, unsure if he should come around. Instead, he braces his hands on the counter, leaning in.
Still holding onto her sister, Sansa’s chin is tucked, her gaze on the wood grain.
“Sandor,” Jon greets him.
Sandor nods. “Jon. Good to see you, Sansa. And Arya.”
Though Arya’s attention is down the bar, her head snaps back with a familiar grimace. So, back to hating him.
Sansa finally raises her eyes. “Hi Sandor,” she says, her voice so quiet he can barely hear her over the sounds of the bar. “It’s good to see you, too.”
Up close, he looks her over, all soft pink and cream. And her hair. He can tell she put even more than her usual care into her appearance. And that skirt seems intentional.
She blushes lightly and turns to her cousin. “Um…”
“Do you know what you’d like to drink?” Jon asks, looking worried at Sansa. “Arya?”
Arya replies first, “I’d kill for a bloody mary right now with all the fixings. Celery, olives, and don’t forget jalapeños. A little extra black pepper. For vodka—”
“Fucking hells, not this again,” Sandor curses without thinking.
“Arya seriously?” Sansa raises her voice a fraction, looking mortified.
Arya snarks, “Oh my gods, like it’s so hard. Fine, I know it’s very difficult as a bartender to understand complex things, so let’s stick with what you know.” She enunciates, “An old-fashioned with northern whiskey. Is that good with you two?”
“That’s fine,” Jon says, laying a hand on Sansa’s shoulder to reassure her.
“Heavy pours on two of those,” Arya says. “Unless you want extra, San?”
Sansa huffs, murmuring to Jon, “I’m going to the lady’s room.” With that, she turns toward the restrooms.
“Arya,” Jon says coldly. “Go with her, dammit. You know what this…” He trails off with a glance at Sandor.
Arya levels a final glare at him before following after Sansa. Jon rubs his temples.
“Not getting much sleep?” Sandor asks, setting three glasses down.
With a short laugh, Jon nods. “Staying with them for right now. Believe it or not, this is less dramatic than when we were growing up. At least they talk to each other and make up on their own now.”
“I’ll admit,” Sandor says, fetching ice. “Wasn’t expecting to see Sansa back here.”
Jon’s frown deepens, his head turning in the direction the girls went.
Sandor adds, “Not that I’m not glad to see her…doing better.”
“She insisted,” Jon says, hesitating to add, “Joffrey’s taken enough from her.”
“Right bastard, that ex of hers,” Sandor says as he pours the whiskey. “Arya said you saw him slap her.”
“We knew something was up, but yeah, that was…confirmation. I did more than slap him back. Was kind of a big deal.”
“Hope these last punches made their mark,” Sandor says and slides the drinks toward Jon.
“They better,” Jon agrees. “I probably had it, but I appreciate you ending it quicker.” He reaches for his wallet.
“This round on the house,” Sandor says.
“Thanks, man. If you get a chance to talk to her for a minute, it’d mean a lot to her.”
The bar bathroom is little more than a closet, its walls scribbled with phone numbers and raunchy jokes. Over the sink, the mirror has a spiderweb of cracks spreading from one corner. Sansa doesn’t need to do more than check her makeup, but now she feels stuck.
Seeing him again only set fire to the longing she’s already grappling with. They were so close before, and now he feels so far away. He wasn’t completely indifferent, just friendly? But then Arya…
After a knock on the door, Arya calls out, “Sansa? Sorry! Gendry’s here for a band thing, so I got stopped on my way over here.”
With a resigned breath, Sansa opens the door, and Arya steps in. “Is Gendry’s girlfriend here?” Sansa asks, touching up under her eyes again.
“No. Thank god. Especially since I kinda just blurted out that I’m in love with him.”
“Aw, that’s awesome.” Sansa tries to sound as cheerful as she can.
Arya smiles, girlish, before concern sets in. “Are you okay? Ready to join group?”
Sansa just purses her lips.
“I’m really sorry,” Arya adds. “I shouldn’t have gone off on Sandor. I know you’re wanting to patch things up, but my words got ahead of me, and I just—”
“Couldn’t help yourself,” Sansa finishes for her.
Flustered, Arya goes on, “I’ve been having a day, and he’s being such an asshole to you. Even after I actually explained shit to him! I’m pissed for you.”
“I know,” Sansa says, “I just don’t feel any closer to… This was pointless.”
“He can’t keep his eyes off you,” Arya says, giving her an ember of hope.
With a small smile, she says, “Let’s go.”
Out the bathroom, they run into Jon waiting for them. He hands them their drinks and tells them he’ll be at the bar.
Gendry waves to them from the kink group’s table. Sansa’s brows rise, but Arya acts like everything’s normal, taking the chair by Gendry. Sansa squeezes in on her other side, noting that Jaqen isn’t here. She can’t keep up with whatever the hells is going on between Arya and either of them.
Sansa attempts small talk with the two girls across from her. Mya she remembers from the play party, but Val is new to her. Sansa barely gets in a word with all they have to divulge about parties and workshops they’ve attended. It doesn’t take long before her glass is drained down to chips of ice.
“Of course, we got to meet the bartender at the last two workshops,” Mya says with a glance toward the bar. “He’s got a sort of quiet dominance to him, I think.”
Sansa swallows, studying Mya closer. She has cute dimples when she smiles and blue eyes brighter than her own. Her eyebrow and septum piercings give her more edge. Would Sandor go for her? The other girl, Val, is even prettier with long, dark-blonde hair.
“Wouldn’t mind that hand on my throat,” Val says conspiratorially to her friend, and they both share a small laugh.
Sansa’s heart sinks before her words register. Do they know Sandor at all? Her head tilting to one side as she asks, “Seriously?”
“Does he scare you then?” Val teases. “A little too rough around the edges? But who’s that handsome guy brooding at the bar?” She elbows her friend. “He keeps glancing over here.”
“That’s my cousin Jon,” Sansa tells them.
“Your cousin! Is he here to keep you safe from sexy bartenders?” Val asks.
Mya snorts.
“No,” Sansa says. “He just drove me and my sister here, but he isn’t interested in the group.”
“I’m sure you could make him interested,” Mya jokes to Val. Poor Jon getting dragged into more stuff.
“Maybe, since Sandor is being no fun,” Val complains.
Sansa digests that, hoping past hope that maybe he hasn’t gotten far into moving on.
Arya turns to her. “I sent Gendry for drinks,” she says, then drops to a whisper, “You look…grim.”
“These girls met Sandor,” she whispers back even quieter.
“Oh…shit.”
Precariously carrying three glasses, Gendry arrives back and sets the drinks down with minimal spillage.
“Here, thought you could use one,” Arya says.
“Thank you,” Sansa says.
“No problem,” Gendry replies, taking a seat and slipping an arm around Arya’s waist. And now Sansa really has no clue what is going on. Guess Gendry just needed to make Arya sweat…
“Oh, almost forgot,” Gendry says. “Sandor told me to ask if you could see him at the bar when you have a chance.”
“Thanks,” she says, her chest rising on a sharp inhale. So he does want to talk to her! She was unsure of her next move, and he’s at least given her an opening. Without checking if Mya or Val heard Gendry, she gets up. No need to make the man wait.
Hovering at the bar, Sansa chats with Jon for a moment while Sandor finishes with a customer.
When he approaches, Sandor asks her, “Want to talk for a minute? I can take a quick break. Not as busy today.”
Her mouth goes dry, and all she manages is a weak, “Yeah.” She follows him toward the front, his tall frame before her.
This is her chance. She must tell him how she feels, no matter how difficult.
Outside, Sandor leans against the bricks. “You look good,” he says, his tone clipped compared to the slow perusal of his gaze. “I’m glad you’re doing all right after everything.”
“Thanks,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Before she loses the nerve, she begins, “I know you probably don’t want to hear me apologize more, but I really am sorry. And I want to make it up to you. That night, I was hoping to tell you that I wanted to be with you. I didn’t mean to mess all of it up, and I still really like you.”
“Sansa,” he says her name as if ready to dismiss her words.
“Please give me a second chance. That’s why I’m here. Not for group, but for you.” She hates how desperate she sounds, worried that’ll put him off more.
With a sigh, he says, “You don’t understand. I was being patient for you to decide, but I was treating you like my girlfriend already. If you were going to accept, why couldn’t you talk to me? Let me hold you? I wanted to be there for you. How do I know you won’t shut me out again?”
He’s not wrong, and heavens, does it hurt.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I just felt so humiliated you had to see me like that.” Her tears flood after she’s kept them dammed all evening. “Oh gods, now I’m crying.” She turns from him and rummages in her backpack. Struggling to find her tissues, she has to pull her handgun out.
“What’s this? A gun?” he asks with a faint chuckle.
“Oh, yeah. One of my conditions to return to King’s Landing.”
He looks amused and extends his hand out. “Need me to hold onto it for a second?”
“Thanks,” she says, giving it to him. Tissues found, she wipes her eyes. The levity provides much needed relief to help dry them.
He inspects her gun, pulling out the full magazine and checking the chamber. Getting herself sorted, she takes the gun back to put in her backpack.
“You know how to shoot it?” he asks.
“Of course. You think my brother Robb or Jon would let me carry one if I didn’t?” Her confidence grows by the way his eyes smile at her.
“Funny how you have a way of surprising me. You look so feminine and sweet, but you’re toting a loaded nine-mil around?” The unburnt corner of his lip curls up slightly.
She smiles big. “I take it that’s a good thing?”
He rubs his neck, turning his head as his smirk evolves into a grin.
Returning to the matter at hand, she ventures, “Will you think about it? Please let me know how I can fix this. I really miss you. Maybe one more date?”
His gray eyes fall on her, heavy and direct. Her skin prickles, and he hasn’t even touched her. What she would do to feel his hands on her again…
“To be honest, I think I might’ve ignored our age difference too much,” he says.
Her stomach plummets with her hope. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t shown much interest in those other girls. They’re around her age. But is there still someone else?
He continues, “But what you went through must be very hard to deal with. I know I can’t totally understand, but I’m trying, I really am. I think I owe you at least one more date.”
She smiles again in relief. Before she can gush her appreciation, his eyebrow raises in seriousness as he adds, “But I must see a commitment from you to communicate.”
“Thank you! I promise—”
“Not just words, actions,” he stresses.
She nods, taking it in.
“I want you to text me at night before bed, and in the morning when you wake up. Can you do that starting tonight?”
“Yes, Sandor, I will.” Something about this request fills her with a deep-seated gratification. She’s getting a chance to prove herself.
“I won’t respond all the time,” he says, “but I’ll plan to call you in the evening around dinner time. I expect you to answer or call back promptly. Understand?”
“Yes, Sandor,” she says.
“You can come with me Sunday to whatever workshop is planned, but let’s say the following Sunday for our date. Then we’ll decide together what comes next. Sound alright?”
“Sounds perfect! Thank you so much.” Now she has a clear path to win him back for good. Her heart feels like it could burst after the roller coaster of emotions she’s been on today.
With the shadow of a smile, he adds, “Good. Do you want a hug?”
With a soft laugh, she says, “Of course!”
She didn’t want to press her luck asking before, but now she rushes into his open arms. He wraps them tight around her, gently squeezing her close. Her cheek rests on his chest, so solid and warm. She breathes in clean cotton and soldier pine, and lets out an embarrassingly contented sigh.
He feels like home.
If only he would never let her go, she could just stay right here. She presses closer, so he’ll have no doubts about how much she wants this.
His head tilts closer to her ear, and he rasps, “You look gorgeous in this skirt.” His hand trails down her hip as excitement rushes through her, her body tingling at his words. She wishes he would scoop her up and take her back to his place.
But she has to earn that, show him he can trust her again, and by gods, she will.