A.N.: Written originally for a tumblr prompt (meeting in prison AU). I'm getting really sick of your shit, ffDotnet document editor.

She had stopped crying around three in the morning, which was good. It hadn't been loud enough to rouse the attention of the women around her in the cells that scattered the dark hall, just quiet whimpers of a broken child to serve as a lullaby of horror in a frightening world; a world she didn't belong in.

But in any case, she had stopped crying, and simply stood, staring straight ahead at the bars. "Stark, it's your lawyer," the female officer on watch had said, and Sansa hadn't even blinked. Lawyer? She hadn't been able to contact anyone. Court appointed? She'd sink like a stone… An attorney and his client have certain rights to privacy, and so Sansa got to leave that horrible, cold, dirty, dark, stinking cell and enter a room that even had a window and looked out over brown hills. Her throat seized, she almost wanted to cry again. The door had a window of reinforced glass, and she didn't turn around right away when she heard it open behind her. "She'll need to be returned by 2100 hours."

"Not to worry, I'm well aware of the rules."

That voice…her lawyer? It was both rough and smooth, and it made Sansa turn around in her uniform blue-grey jumper, a color that looked as washed out as her eyes did. The girl's lips parted in a bit of wonder: nothing was uniform about him.His black suit was flawless, his tie was dark green silk, and a mockingbird shone from it in silver as a tie tack. Sansa's voice broke because she hadn't used it in hours. "Mr….Baelish?"

He set his leather briefcase down on the composite board table, a kind of smirking smile on his features. "I'm so pleased to see you remember me."

"But…I don't-"

"Sit, Sansa," he told her, and she pulled back the metal chair immediately and sat, not minding the squeal of it scraping against the floor. "Your mother would be rolling over in her grave to see you here." His mouth twisted in a grimace, he looked as pained as Sansa was by the thought. "Of course I'd come to help dear Cat's child."

One of the greatest lawyers in this part of the country, she actually stood a chance-! But, oh, how could she ever afford to- "I-I have a trust fund," Sansa stammered. "Mom and Dad set it up for me, I can pay you from tha-"

"We'll not worry about payments right now, sweetling," he dismissed without even looking at her, sitting across from her at the table and opening his case with a sharp "snap." His green and grey eyes slowly looked up at her, and Sansa could not have placed the look in them. "I'm sure we can work something out, though." When Sansa failed to respond, he continued, "But for an old friend? Why, pro bono would be fine. Now, Sansa: whoever else you lie to, I have to know the truth."

She almost started crying again. "Mr. Baelish, please! I haven't lied, not once! I didn't kill Joffrey, I wouldn't!"

"He'd been abusing you for months." His manner was absolutely pitiless, his gold-tipped pen tapped against the plastic top of the table. "He left you for another girl and there's talk he's responsible for what happened to your family. It's a grand motivation, don't you think?"

Sansa's sobs threatened to choke her, she began to drop her weary head onto her arms, crooked on the table. "No, no, no…" It was all she could say, on repeat. "I didn't, I didn't-! I didn't…"

For a moment, the only sound was the girl's desperate sniffles, but then she heard her council breathe in a husky voice. "Yes." Yes? What did that mean. His fingers found her chin and lifted her face up to him. Sansa sniffled, her cheeks splotchy with her tears. The man removed a white silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his coat and dabbed at her tears with touching gentleness, nearly intimacy. "Oh, you're perfect."

"I…I don't understand."

"You will. Now, sweetling, remember: the best lies always have a bit of truth in them."

"But I told you, I'm not-"

"Shhh…" His index finger was warm, pressed against her lips. "I believe you." The tension visibly left Sansa's shoulders, she slumped forward. "But they are lying, aren't they? Cersei? The detectives in her pocket?"

"I…" Sansa hesitated, but then nodded, firmly. "I suppose so."

"Good girl. Now." He stood, the chair scraping against the floor, and Sansa was a little nervous as he walked slowly around the table, his long, lithe hands coming to rest at her shoulders. Squeezing slightly. "You're young and you're beautiful, and you're heartbreaking when you cry. That's going to put a lot of favor in your corner. You trust me, don't you, Sansa?"

Did she have a choice? "Yes, Mr. Baelish."

"Please, call me Petyr." She nodded, almost imperceptibly. "You always tell the truth, don't you, Sansa? That's a virtue. But what good is the truth if it sounds like a lie? And if a lie sounds like the truth, that is another kind of virtue, isn't it?"

"It doesn't sound like one."

"A virtue of rescuing an innocent girl from a horrible fate. Now….if you do exactly as I say, not only will I rescue you from the lion's den, I'll have you rolling in cash for wrongful imprisonment, companies lining up to film your life story, and every magazine in America in love with your picture."

"I-I…I don't want all those things."

"If nothing else…" He bent forward, and Sansa could feel his breath upon her ear. She shivered slightly. "I'll get you home." Baelish righted himself, striding back to his case and latching it once more. "I'm going to get you out on bail."

"B-but the judge said - Petyr, it's over two hundred thousand-"

"You let me worry about that." His look wasn't hard, she realized, when his green-grey gaze snapped up at her; it was determined. Sansa's stomach twisted a little, but if he was on her side…she might be a very lucky girl. "You don't belong here, not you, sweetling."

"…w-where would I go? The Baratheons were the ones who were taking care of me."

"I'll take responsibility for you. That way there will be no risk of flight."

Sansa could have kissed him. "I'll never be able to repay you for this, Mr. Baelish." Her breath was almost gone with the joy and terror in her heart.

The crafty man smiled again, and it was sharp, and just a little dangerous. "A lot can happen between now and never."