Risk Assessment
by SharkAria
A/N: This idea came to me and I was laughing about it in my head while I was driving home, and then I started taking it seriously in my head and before I knew it this was all out on the page and I thought, what the hell, maybe there are other SanSan fans who think it would be funny to see Sandor in a daily grind kind of job. Was gonna be a one-shot but I think now it will be more like 2-3 chapters.
oOo
Sansa sat primly on one of two green upholstered office chairs across the desk from the man who had been assigned to be her insurance agent. He was a bearded, sneering man in a shiny grey suit who clearly believed that his job duties included shaming his customers. His name and position were neatly embossed in black on a white placard that proclaimed proudly that he was "Janos Slynt, Sr Acct Exec, Kingsguard Auto Insurance". As far as Sansa could tell, the title did not confer any manners upon the bearer. Sansa tried to keep her expression pleasantly neutral, although her patience was certainly wearing thin.
Mr. Slynt gave her a long look down his nose. "Frankly, lady, your paperwork is a total mess. We can't reimburse you for the full value of your stolen car without a lot more documentation than what you brought here. Can't risk this being a case of fraudulent activity."
Sansa remained silent but thought, /How dare he accuse me of being a thief. I've been a loyal customer with Kingsguard since the day I got my license./
Mr. Slynt smirked and ran his index finger along a shiny incisor, then leaned forward and pointed to her open folder, the saliva on his fingertip leaving a dense wet mark on the top page. "You're going to need a copy of your most recent premium payment, verification from your employer that you're allowed to park in that lot, a bank statement -"
Sansa sighed and carefully kept the disgust from registering on her visage as she interrupted with as much grace as she could muster. "But you see, sir, I'm here now, taking time off work to address this issue, and since my car was stolen - well, you can imagine that it is not very convenient for me to come all the way down here -"
"Well, maybe you should have paid more attention to what I was saying you needed when we spoke on the phone. Now you're going to have to pay quite a few fees and fill out a bunch of forms just to start the reimbursement process."
Sansa tightly laced her fingers together in her lap, her knuckles whitening from the pressure. She couldn't afford to ask for another day off to deal with this mess, and she had followed Mr. Slynt's directions precisely. It was unfair that he should expect her to come back when she was his customer and the mistake had clearly been his, not hers. Assertiveness did not come to her naturally, but she simply could not leave without a check to replace her lost car. Why else had she been paying premiums all these years?
She cleared her throat and responded, "I hate to point out a shortcoming when you've already provided me so much help -" even as Sansa said it, she knew it came out sounding as much like the lie it was, "but you failed to mention that I needed to collect all those additional documents -"
A white haired man popped his head over the top of the cubicle. "Slynt, stop wasting time and send her over to the Hound." The man nodded to Sansa. "He's not much better mannered than this one here, young lady, but he'll fix you up just fine. You'll have a new car in no time." The man glared at the back of Mr. Slynt's head expecting a response.
Mr. Slynt rolled his eyes and grunted without looking at the older man. "Sure, Selmy, anything you say." Satisfied, Mr. Selmy disappeared behind the barrier. Sansa's eyes lit up. Finally, she was getting somewhere.
Mr. Slynt shoved Sansa's papers back across the desk toward her, and the top several sheets fluttered to the floor. He snickered and did not move to help her.
Sansa pursed her lips and crouched down to collect her papers with as much dignity as she could muster. Mr. Slynt leered as she bent over, her bare legs pale under the fluorescent lights. She blushed and looked down at her papers, although she felt that she should be able to wear a nice pair of shorts in the summer without having to feel men's eyes all over her. At least her flowy, modest top precluded him from staring down the front of her shirt. She stood up and met his eyes again.
"Ask for Sandor Clegane in the special claims division." Mr. Slynt scribbled a few words and numbers across a form handed the piece of paper to her. "You'll find him on the seventh floor in Cube Row G-3."
Sansa tucked the form into her folder, then nodded and turned to leave. This Clegane person had to be more helpful than Mr. Slynt had been. "Thank you for your assistance," Sansa said to Mr. Slynt, not meaning a word.
"Oh, and Miss Stark," Mr. Slynt muttered slickly, "we call him the Hound because he can sniff out insurance fraud a mile away. So don't get any ideas."
"Not everyone's a cheat like you, Slynt," Mr. Selmy's voice barked from behind the cubicle wall. Not wishing to engage either of them any further, Sansa turned on her heel and hurried to the elevators.
oOo
The seventh floor was a replica of the one that Sansa had just left; past the elevator bank and a small receptionist area, blocks of cubicles were smashed together like inner city blocks or tetris pieces or jail cells or any number of other comparisons that Sansa could have made, were she not more interested in taking care of her business and getting out of there. The low voices of dozens of workers taking phone calls were muted by the sound-deadening carpet and ceiling tiles that were matching shades of neutral green-grey.
She shuddered at the idea of toiling all day long under the cold unnatural lights, staring at a computer and willing the hours to fly toward 5 PM, willing the years to fly toward vestment in a pension plan. As rude as Mr. Slynt had been, she could understand how years of work in this soul sucking building could have embittered him. Resolving to try to think more kindly of the insurance company employees, Sansa walked toward the row of workspaces that Mr. Slynt had indicated. A laminated card was hung up on the outer wall of the cube she was looking for, confirming that she had found "Sandor Clegane, Claims Adjuster - Special Projects".
Sansa thought it might be impolite to just barge in, so she lightly rapped her knuckles against the cheap workspace divider, causing the cube-farm walls to shake. In a soft voice, she entreated, "Excuse me sir, Mr. Slynt said you could help me . . .?"
She was answered with a noncommittal grunt. Sansa poked her head in. There, hunched over a standard issue desktop PC on an ergonomically-correct office chair in the tiny grey cell was the broad back of the largest man that Sansa had ever seen. His long, disheveled dark hair slid over the collar of his cheap-looking white polyester shirt and along his massive shoulders. He pounded the keyboard with a level of aggression that seemed more suited to a bar brawl than to email composition.
The man whipped around in his office chair. "I told that snivelly little - " He rasped, his voice dripping with exasperation. His brow was furrowed, his heavy jaw was set in clenched teeth, but it was the disfiguring scars across half of his face that made Sansa step back in shock before she could compose herself.
The man narrowed his eyes at her reaction. "So you're the new associate Slynt hired, are you?" He gave her a cursory once-over, though his eyes lingered for a moment on her legs. "Those shorts are a little casual for office work, don't you think?"
Sansa felt her face get hot and she held the paperwork stiffly across her legs, hoping that the folder covered her thighs a little. She swallowed, unsure of how to respond. "Um -" she stuttered, unable to tear her eyes away from the unexpected, gruesome spectacle of the man's face in order to explain that he had misinterpreted her purpose for being in his cubicle.
The man chuckled, the burned side of his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. "Go ahead, take a good long look. My face isn't pretty like yours is, but I can teach you how to use an actuarial table better than one of those preening brats downstairs in the sales office."
She forced herself to stop staring at the man's terrible scars and look down at his skinny black necktie, which appeared downright waif-like against the solid wall of his chest. The tip was far too high, many inches above his belt buckle; with a thick neck like that he probably had a hard time finding the right size of neckwear. Her eyes flicked across his massive hairy forearms that were exposed where he had rolled up his sleeves. He was so big that he seemed to take up the entire space. She looked down at her hands, the only part of her view that none of his body was in. "I - I think there's been some mistake -" she choked out and let her eyes rest on his pawlike hands. It seemed like the most neutral part of him to look at.
He leaned back, his chair squealing in protest. He crossed his arms over his chest and muttered, "Look girl, those fawning salesmen will flirt with you and stare at those long legs of yours when they think you aren't looking, but they won't teach you how to protect one of our customers from insurance fraud. The last little airhead lost her job because she didn't listen to me. So if you don't want that to happen, you'll do your training with me for a couple hours like Slynt told you to, and then you'll never have to gaze upon my ugly face again."
Now Sansa was starting to get exasperated in addition to feeling uncomfortable. She just wanted to get her claim resolved and this man was completely misunderstanding everything. And she couldn't help but feel a little sad that he kept referring to his fearsome visage. Her ears got hot as she felt ashamed for having been unable to keep the shock off her face when she saw his scars.
She gathered up her courage and stepped fully into his cubicle, looking right into his grey eyes. "No - I mean - I'm not an employee. I'm a customer. My car got stolen and Mr. Slynt said I didn't have the right paperwork, so -" here the man rolled his eyes and nearly derailed Sansa's train of thought, though she could not tell whether he was directing his insouciance at her or at his coworker - "so I hope you can help me, Mr. Clegane," she finished. She held out her papers like a peace offering.
He snatched the folder from her hand and snapped it open. "No need for 'Mr. Clegane.' Sandor will do." He flipped through the pages and spun around to his computer, bringing up a few windows on his monitor, then whipped back around to face her. "Take a seat, girl. This will take a bit of work, whether you want to wait with the likes of me or not." He made a curt nod with his chin toward a grungy vinyl chair on the other side of his desk, then pulled a pen out of a drawer and started marking up her forms.
At that, she felt like she had to say something. "I don't mind waiting with you at all, especially if you can get my claim resolved, Mr. - Sandor." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear nervously. Sandor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing in return.
Sansa perched daintily on the edge of the seat he had offered, smoothing the front of her shorts demurely. She looked past Sandor's shoulder, at what she could see of the rest of his cubicle - anything to avoid staring impolitely at his face and making him feel even more self-conscious. Several spreadsheets had been printed out and pinned to the padded walls. A sharp letter opener rested next to his computer mouse, glinting under the task light. Everything in his workspace was conspicuously utilitarian; there was not one personal effect to be seen.
She turned her attention again to Sandor as he spun back to the computer and clicked his mouse a few times. The printer next to his monitor sprung to life.
"Well, girl, you left out a few pieces of paperwork, but nothing essential. It's not the disaster that Slynt made it out to be. You'll get a check in the mail day after tomorrow and you'll be out terrorizing the streets in whatever precious little car you purchase by the end of the week."
"Oh, thank you!" she breathed, a grin spreading across her face.
He gave her an odd look that might have had the hint of a genuine smile, then pulled the curling sheets out of the printer tray and passed them across the desk to her. "Sign here," he indicated where with a thick finger, "and here," and handed her a pen.
Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. /Mr. Selmy was right. He's not very refined, but he did help me./ She took the pen from his hand, her smooth fingertips brushing against his rough skin, and neatly signed her name where he had pointed.
"A proper little lady, you are," he said quietly, and Sansa couldn't tell if he was teasing or unkindly mocking her. "The Queen herself doesn't sign her name so perfectly." Sandor folded the papers and put them in an envelope, which he tossed in a bin at the edge of his desk labeled "outbox". Abruptly he stood up, practically blocking out the light.
"Is - is that all?" Sansa asked, surprised both by his quick work and his height.
"It is until the next time somebody steals your car." He picked up her folder off his desk and handed it back to her. "But I recommend installing an alarm system on your next ride so that you don't have to deal with me again."
His self-deprecating comments were so painful to hear, especially since he had taken care of her problem so efficiently. "It was my pleasure to deal with you," she countered. "I truly appreciate your help, Sandor. If I have another problem with my insurance you'll be the first person I call." She thrust her hand forward in a gesture of goodwill.
Sandor looked down at her hand awkwardly, as though he didn't know what to do with it. Sansa's face fell and her ears started to get hot again. But just as she was about to turn away, he engulfed her delicate hand in his huge one and gave it a gentle shake.
"And it would be my pleasure to help you again," he rasped. The expression on his face looked as though his own words surprised him.