A/N: slight references to domestic violence, not graphic.

Blackwater Arms Apartments, Los Angeles, California

To say that it was probably the most exciting, maybe even the happiest, two weeks in my entire life is no exaggeration.

I first saw her at my apartment complex, while I was outside washing my car. I hadn't lived here for that long. Climbing off of the back of her boyfriend's, or husband's, motorcycle; black leather jacket and jeans that looked like they were made for her - her hair, when she took off her helmet and shook out her hair, was red, in a long braid, that was loosened and tousled from the wind. Mid-20's or so. She walked with a feminine kind of swagger, when she tossed her handbag over one shoulder. But those weren't the most remarkable things about her.

Their names, Baratheon/Stark, were listed on the entry intercom in the lobby, above mine - S. Clegane; they lived at the apartment next to mine. The apartments were in a beautiful old building that had been originally built back in the 1930s.

As time went on, I'd see one or the other, or both of them, in the halls or elevator in passing, or picking up our mail in the lobby, and we'd say hello.

But sometimes the walls were thin, and I heard loud arguments between them, sounds of banging and crashing. Doors opening and closing. I rolled over, hit the pillow with my fist, tried to block out the sound so I could sleep.

I'd see her leaving for work in the mornings; sometimes her eyes looked like she'd been crying.

One time, her delicate face looked bruised, at her cheekbone; her eyes red and swollen from crying. I didn't know what to say, just nodded my head as she passed, and sometimes she'd manage a forced, tearful smile, or turn her head away. I was surprised by how angry it made me, and it was none of my business. But I did not like it when men slapped women around.

The next time - I had to say something. I was to find that my tough girl wasn't so tough.

"Are you all right, miss?" She waved me away, told me it was nothing.

"You're upset, can I buy you a cup of coffee, at least?" I was her neighbor.

She agreed, and we made the short walk to the local coffee shop down the street. By that time, the walk seemed to have relaxed her a little and she looked like she was starting to feel a little bit better. She told me her first name was Sansa.

Over time, and more coffee, I had to ask it - "Why do you stay with him? Don't you have any family you could go to, girlfriends to talk to? You're not married, no children?"

"My parents are dead; I have a brother and a sister I haven't seen in years. No girlfriends I could talk to about something like this with." In truth, her girlfriends and co-workers had noticed, but she wouldn't talk about it with anyone, she didn't want to be the subject of office gossip. And it wasn't always like this, she said. She said she thought they might work things out, that she didn't want to involve the police and for him to be left with an arrest record that could hurt his future. She began crying again.

It's too bad he wasn't as considerate of you, I thought, but didn't say anything.

"Where are you from?"

"Winterfell, Oregon." she said. That was up near the California border.

I was no one to judge, my family was fractured as well. The scars on my face were from my own brother. She had been too polite to ask about them, but I told her how it all happened.

"I could take you home." I suddenly blurted out.

Who the hell did I think I was anyway, Sir Galahad?

She hesitated, and I didn't want to push her. She was like a little bird.

"Well, you let me know if there's anything I can do." I told her, and walked with her back to the apartment.

When she made up her mind to leave, she came to me.

"There's something I'd like to ask you." she said. "Will you come with me? I'd feel safer with somebody with me. I could go alone, but it's nice to have someone in your corner, you know? I'll pay for the gas, expenses."

I didn't know what else to say at first but yes. Nevermind about the money, we'd split the difference.

"Could I leave some things at your place until then?"

"Sure." She left a small suitcase and a backpack with me.

"Wait, won't he come after you? Maybe you should go to the police, get a restraining order or something?"

"I don't care what he does anymore." she said. "I just want to get away from him for now." One step at a time.

I took some needed vacation days. She bundled her German Shepherd, Lady, into my car and closed out her bank account. She was a receptionist at an office somewhere, I think she said, and she gave two weeks' notice. She'd been thinking about this for quite some time. She left Joffrey a brief note via e-mail so that she wouldn't be listed as a missing person - gone to stay with family - and made a long overdue phone call to her brother Bran from her cell phone.

This was a big step for her. "He's going to let my sister know too. We'll spend the holidays together."

"You see?" I was glad for her.

"So where to, my lady." I said. "You're the navigator."

"Inverness." she said, laughing, a twinkle in her eyes. The first brightness I'd seen in her face in awhile.

"Ha." I chuckled. "Very funny."

I made sure my old car and tires were ready for a long trip, loaded our bags into the trunk, and we headed North, up the I-5, over the Tehachapi Pass into the Central Valley.

It was cool now in the high desert, it was December, and there was snow in the mountains. As we drove at the western edge of the Mojave, she said that in the summers, she was in awe, thought she might curl up and blow away, like a leaf, the air was so hot, dry and windy. And how beautiful it was when the Joshua trees and desert flowers were in bloom.

"Why'd you move to L.A. anyway? I asked her.

She took a sip of her bottled water.

"I guess I thought I'd find something better, something different." she said. "And there was Joffrey."

"No Hollywood dreams?" I said, teasing her.

"No." she said, softly laughing. "At least not that kind."

"I went to college here too, I transferred to UCLA from Berkeley."

"Oh? What did you study?"

"Architecture." she said. "And I minored in dance."

We took the coastal route to the Pacific the next day, Highway 1, up to Big Sur and over the Bixby Canyon Bridge. It was a gorgeous drive, I'd never seen it; the view of the ocean, the rhythmic lull of the waves crashing when we stopped for awhile to look, the coastal redwoods and fir, Monterey cypress and pines at Point Lobos shaped by the winds, and the cool sea mist and afternoon fog drifting in below us as we watched from the open car windows.

"It's magnificent." I breathed.

"It is, isn't it." She smiled. One of her favorite places, she said.

Somehow we drifted closer together on that drive, closer to each other in the front seat, as she leaned in close to me, and I put my arm around her shoulders; she hugged me and kissed my cheek. I wanted to kiss her, but I had to keep my eyes on the road. Carmel, up to Seaside and Marina past Monterey, and to Castroville, stopping at a farmers market and bakery, and she bought some groceries, some fresh fruit and vegetables, after we made reservations at a little motel in Santa Cruz with an efficiency kitchen, and she made us a simple dinner, pasta with tomatoes and artichoke hearts, and poured some white wine.

"I thought we could use a little break from restaurants and take-out." she said.

"This is great," I mumbled, my mouth full of food.

"Well it's the least I can do, since you agreed to help me."

"I finally hit him back, you know." she told me. He had started in on her again, coming at her, and she had been so frightened she had just reacted, hitting him as hard as she could in the stomach, and he had fallen, gasping for breath, staggering back to his feet. She was rather proud of herself at first, then shocked, she said. She didn't know she was capable of something like that. But once that had happened, she realized, she could not stay with him. It was not healthy.

She slept in the bed that night; I curled up on the sofa. I went out for coffees the next morning, to bring back for when she woke.

"I can drive today if you're tired." she said.

"I'm all right."

We patiently endured the heavy traffic for the beauty of San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge, Sausalito and the Muir Woods. Another trip for another time.

At Inverness, at the Point Reyes National Seashore, we fell in love. We stayed in a quiet little cabin, slept together for the first time. It seemed like we had all the time in the world, and it was easy to become happily lost. We let Lady have a run on the beach as we walked, and I put my jacket around her shoulders in the coolness.

When we neared the Oregon border, we stopped at a little truck stop near Yreka, near Mount Shasta. I knew that our time together was going to end soon.

"The food is great here." she told me. And we had a fantastic homemade soup.

She left me her phone number. I wanted to call her, but would let her have some time to settle down, get her head together; reconnect with her family. And I made the long drive back to LA, which I needed to get my own thoughts together.

But I will call her.