Thanks to Seanna (Charlotte K) for the beta, and also to Kendall (sam2zeus2) for helping me with the plans. I couldn't do it without you guys!

So this story is basically the result of me watching the movie 'Chicago' for the umpteenth time, seeing it on Broadway and then listening to the soundtrack on repeat for days.

Feedback would be greatly appreciated. I hope the lingo doesn't make things too confusing- if so, just ask :)

Thanks! Enjoy!

~Cas

It Started with a Bang

Eddard Stark was pronounced dead at 4:27 in the morning, on November 21st, 1927. The news of his death was on the cover of every newspaper in Illinois, and it was all anyone could speak about on the radio. The famed club owner and businessman was well-liked by everyone, and well-loved by quite a few; Ned was a good man.

Ned's godfather, Jon Arryn, died almost exactly six months ago. The doctors said it was because of natural causes and old age, but he had never had any health problems in the past. Most people believed that story; after all, he was past wife, Lysa, fled Chicago right after her husband was declared to be deceased. She and her kid ran away to Jon's estate in the mountainous Colorado, and hasn't been heard from since.

Robert Baratheon, Eddard's best friend and business partner, kicked the bucket five months after Jon passed. Robert got into a bar fight, they said, and the other guy pulled out a knife. His wife, Cersei Lannister, tearfully told the press that he sure did love his booze, maybe even more than he loved her, and it was bound to be his downfall, damn the bull-headed son of a bitch. She smiled sweetly and quickly wrapped up the press conference, then left arm in arm with her twin brother, Jaime.

Three weeks later, Ned was found in his hotel room in Los Angeles, two shots in his chest and one in his head. The gun was left next to his body, though no note or hint was with it. The police tested for fingerprints on the gun and around the room, but the culprit was smart enough to wear gloves. Ned's case was given up on, and, due to the lack of evidence, they declared suicide.

His family knew that it wasn't a suicide. They knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't take his own life. He was a father, a husband, and the last thing he wanted to do was leave his family.

Each member of the family had their own way to cope with Ned's death; Robb took over the club, The Wolves' Den, and focused solely on his work; Jon became a journalist at a dying newspaper, The Wall- writing about other people's problems made him feel less shitty about his own; Sansa packed up her things and moved to New York City; Arya became a flapper girl and worked at her gunshots daily, because "you never know when you'll have to blow someone's brains out"; Bran went to the local med school, wanting to help out people like him; and Rickon was practically living at the Baratheon manor with his sort-of girlfriend, Shireen.

Catelyn took things the hardest, since she had not been there for Ned, and had not been able to see him one last time. She tried to help out Robb as best as she could with the club, but soon developed a routine of staying locked in her room and nursing a bottle of bootlegged whiskey. She'd taken up smoking again, too, which she hadn't done since she was pregnant with Robb.

The news reported suicide, the whispers around town said murder. The Starks only talked of vengeance.

Start the Car

Catelyn is trying to get the family together for Ned's funeral, which has not been an easy feat, since the Starks seem to have a penchant for going missing or running away. Benjen hasn't been seen for months on end, lost on some camping trip in Vermont; Sansa packed up her bags and moved to the Big Apple almost five months ago, and there hasn't been any word from her; and Rickon can almost be considered missing, for he's constantly at Shireen Baratheon's house.

Edmure and Brynden are coming in from Virginia, and there's still been no word from Lysa. Cat's father is practically on his deathbed, so there's no chance of him coming. Dr. Luwin, the family practitioner, says that Ned's funeral will be a rather small affair, and she thinks that suits her husband just fine; Ned was always a quiet one.

Catelyn has tried to get in contact with Sansa, but the girl seems to have been wiped off the face of the earth. It's after she finishes her third shot of whiskey- drinking became a habit of hers, after Ned died-, she decides to drive to the Big Apple to find her daughter. Cat extinguishes her cigarette and moves about the room to pack her bags.

She'll kill two birds with one stone, too; her old friend, Petyr, lives in New York also. The Starks have decided that there's something bigger to Ned's death; murder. Petyr may be in the Big Apple now, a long ways from Chicago, but if you need information, he's the one to go to.

Cat brushes past her oldest son, who's talking to Theon Greyjoy at one of the tables in the club; their apartment is right above The Wolves' Den, and Cat still thinks it's a wonder she can ever fall asleep with the music blasting until the early hours of the morning.

"Ma!" Robb calls, cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. "Where are you goin'?"

"New York City." She shrugs on her trench coat and puts on a hat. "I need to find Sansa." And Petyr.

"Ma, are you crazy? That's almost a day's drive; you can't go alone." From next to her son, Theon chuckles silently, his signature smirk on his lips.

"I'll be fine, Robb." She picks up her suitcase and pushes open the door. "I'll call you when I get there, alright? I'll only be away for a few days; you won't even know I'm gone." Wordlessly, Robb crosses the room and pulls her into a tight hug. "I'm taking the Royce," she murmurs into the crook of his neck, a hint of a laugh in her voice. Before her son can refuse, she dashes out of the door, throwing a quick "I love you!" over her shoulder.

She feels like a young girl again as she hops into the car. She thinks back to when she and Lysa were teenagers, and when they 'borrowed' their dad's car and took a spin around Virginia. She feels a slight pang in her chest, but it quickly passes, a newfound sense of determination replacing it.

Cat pops open the glove box, her eyes scanning for the pistol. It may be Robb's car, but she made a few adjustments of her own, hiding things here and there. She finds the small gun and tucks it into her garter belt, a small smile of triumph on her face.

Sansa Stark, you're gonna get in this car with me, if it's the last thing I do.