Brewed Awakening Café, Manchester, New Hampshire

Third week of November

After her singing lesson was over, Sansa took her time putting on her coat and taking up Lady's harness, then dragged her feet as she made her way to the elevator to delay her arrival at the coffee shop as long as possible. Her usual eagerness for lunch— she never ate before her lessons in order to keep her throat and vocal chords clear— had been effectively killed by her very strong desire to avoid Sandor for the rest of her life.

She'd gone 24 years without making his acquaintance, prior to last week, so she felt there were pretty good odds of making it at least another 24 without managing it a second time. She knew she had nothing to feel bad about, being blind. It wasn't her fault, and it wasn't a shameful condition, but she still felt unreasonably hurt by his shocked silence upon learning she couldn't see.

She hadn't been that attracted to a man in years, and never so immediately. But his voice was like dragging velvet over her skin, or letting dark chocolate melt on her tongue. She could tell he was tall, by how high up his voice was, and as a tall woman it was nice to not match or tower over a man. Knowing he was quite fit, as the owner and trainer of a gym, didn't hurt, either.

It had been a long while since a man had shown interest in her as a woman instead of a patient or student or colleague. And he'd seemed so cute and awkward, when he'd stumbled over his responses to her. It made her wonder if he, too, was out of practice in the ways of romance. Gods knew she certainly was. Despite it, though, there had been a sweet, immediate tension stretching between them in just those few minutes they'd had before Arya had arrived and dropped the bomb.

It was Robb's turn, today, to pick Sansa up from her singing lesson, and she'd asked him to come right afterward instead of waiting the usual half-hour she took to have lunch. However, he'd not been able to rearrange his schedule, so she was stuck— either gird her loins and go to the café as usual, or stand on the sidewalk like a dope until Robb arrived.

Her stomach burbled in hunger. Her mouth was parched from all the singing. She sighed and turned right, heading for the coffee shop, thanking Lady when the dog guided her around a slick patch on the sidewalk.

The bell over the door dinged as she pushed it open.

"Hey, Sansa! The usual?"

"Hey, Hot Pie!" she replied with a warm smile, determined not to let her low mood affect her outward demeanor. "Yes, please!"

"There's a free table right over here—" Hot Pie began, his voice growing louder so she knew he had left the counter to approach her. His hand touched her elbow in his usual discreet way of helping her to an empty seat. He was an old friend of Arya's and never failed to be an absolute sweetheart to Sansa.

"Hi, Sansa," said a dark-chocolate voice right in front of her. "It's… it's Sandor."

Her eyes widened in dismay. Drat.

"Sandor," she breathed, feeling a little panicky and wishing she could escape. "…hi," she managed eventually.

"Will you sit with me?"

All that money spent on therapy to cope with her condition, and she was still pathologically adverse to confrontation. Her impulse to flee communicated itself to Lady, who shifted her stance, ready to direct her partner wherever she wanted to go.

Sandor probably only wanted to ease his conscience by apologizing to her for his behavior upon realizing her blindness. It was stupid to give him a second chance to be unwittingly hurtful to her. It was on the tip of Sansa's tongue to refuse him, to tell him she was going right home but had only stopped in to say hello to Hot Pie. Then she could go back to the building where she had her singing lessons, sit in the lobby, and starve to death while waiting for Robb to arrive.

But there was some mysterious texture to Sandor's delicious voice, something that sounded like genuine regret. Sansa recalled the immediate curl of attraction she'd felt in her stomach at the sound of it last week. And it wasn't like he could do anything besides hurt her feelings a little more, right?

Beside her, Hot Pie was as silent and still as the Venus di Milo. She imagined he'd hardly make it behind the counter before he was texting Arya aaaaalllllllll about it.

Oh, to hell with it. For once, Sansa was going to take a chance.

"Okay," she said at last. She reached out a hand. "Lead me there?"

"Yes," he replied, sounding immeasurably relieved.

He took her hand in his huge, warm one and placed it in the crook of his elbow, then started toward a table. Sansa thought it might be the same one at which they'd sat the previous week. Under her palm, his bicep was a boulder of flexing muscle as he steered her around various minor hazards. She bit back a wistful sigh.

"I'll go order my lunch, then be right back," he mumbled, then left her there at the table.

She settled in with Lady, holding her tote bag in her lap. She decided against taking off her coat, in case things got awkward and she had to make a fast getaway.

Sandor returned after only a minute, and she realized she hadn't paid for her order. "I have to go to the register."

"Ah, no need, I got it," he replied quickly. "I asked you, last week, after all…" He sounded desperately uncomfortable.

"Thank you," she said in a tiny voice, head downcast and shoulders stiff.

Silence fell.

After a few fraught moments, Sandor said, "So who's this fine beast?" Sansa winced at the blatantly false joviality of his tone.

"This is Lady," she replied. The dog glanced up at the sound of her name, and Sansa lowered her hand to fondle Lady's fuzzy ears. "She's the best guide dog ever."

They dropped into another tense little silence.

"Sansa, I wanted to apologize. For last week," he said in a rush. "I think you misunderstood something."

"I don't think I did. You're not the first man to be disappointed in me, when he learns I'm blind." Her tone was grim, and she wished belatedly she'd been able to keep it more neutral instead of giving away so much.

"No," he said, quite firmly. "No, I wasn't disappointed in you. I don't care that you're blind. In fact, I'm… I'm glad for it."

Huh? That was new.

"I don't mean that I'm glad you're blind." He blew out an impatient, resigned breath. "Sansa, the truth is that I'm a very ugly man. I have scars over half my face, and elsewhere. Bad ones. And most women won't have anything to do with me because of them."

Ah. She believed him; the rough emotion in that raw-silk voice was genuine. He really hadn't been repelled by her, just dumbstruck to think that the only reason a woman wasn't repelled by his appearance because she couldn't see him. Her heart ached at how much that must have hurt.

Sansa clenched her fists in her lap, angry that someone would discard a person just because of an unsightly characteristic, but she knew it happened every day. Heck, before she had lost her sight when she was a teenager, she'd been one of those people, ignoring nice-but-homely boys in favor of panting after hot guys who lacked any redeeming qualities whatsoever.

Then she'd gone blind, and realized that a person's face meant nothing. Those she'd thought were her friends— a clique of the high school's most attractive and popular kids, and even Joffrey, her gorgeous, rich boyfriend— had deserted her as soon as she'd begun having serious problems with her vision.

"I'm sorry you were treated that way," she replied gravely. "It makes no sense. Looks aren't kind, or patient, or generous, or compassionate, or brave, or reliable. Looks didn't do anything. If anything, they're just a disguise for real ugliness."

"Yes," he rasped, sounding a little breathless. "They often are."

Sansa wished like anything that she could see him right now, not because she wanted to admire his looks (or lack thereof) but to have some clue as to what he was thinking. His terse way of speaking didn't give her much to go on.

"Except for you," he muttered after a few seconds. "You're the same outside as inside, I think."

Sansa felt a tide of heat sweep over her cheeks. She knew she was considered pretty, for all the good that did her.

"My brothers and sister would be the first to tell you how many flaws I have," she murmured, her hands going to the buttons of her coat. After that compliment, she was definitely staying.

Sandor took a long time to reply, and Sansa felt a bit self-conscious, knowing he was watching her, and hoping she hadn't said something wrong.

"I think siblings are our worst critics," he said at last, before clamming up again.

"Ah, you have some, too?" she prompted gently. She slipped from her her coat and draped it over the back of her seat.

"One brother, one sister. Sister's nice. Brother's the world's biggest asshole."

"Brothers can be a trial." Hers certainly were. She smiled a little. "I have three. Four if you count our foster brother, five if you count a cousin who lived with us, growing up."

Hot Pie arrived with their meal, announcing, "Here it is!" so Sansa wouldn't be surprised by him. He was so considerate, she thought warmly, and smiled up at him in thanks. Her smile started to fade when he kept putting more and more food on the table, until her expression shifted to one of amazement.

"Are you on some high-calorie diet for, uh, muscle-building or something?" she asked Sandor, patting around on the table until she found two thick sandwiches, three of the over-sized muffins, and two enormous beverage containers— her latte was twice as big as what she had ordered. "Or are you larger than I think? Because this is a lot of food."

There was a short, embarrassed silence, during which Hot Pie took himself back to the kitchen.

"Well," he began hesitantly, sounding as if he expected her to laugh at him, "I thought I'd get one of those lemon muffins also, since you seem to like them so well. And then I thought you might be hungrier than just a muffin, so I got you a sandwich, too, and then another muffin, and then if you're eating all that, you might be thirsty, so…"

Oh, god. He was completely adorable. The idea that this huge man could be so anxious to make sure she had enough, generous enough to pay the shop's exorbitant prices without a qualm, and so abashed about it all, made her feel a clenching in her chest that had her a little breathless. Sandor was a gem, and she wasn't letting him get away if she had anything to say about it. If he was going to be shy, she'd just have to help him out a bit.

"You are the cutest person I've ever met," she informed him seriously, "and you'd better ask me on a real date sometime soon, or you'll break my heart."

"I wouldn't want to do that," he said after a long moment, sounding stunned, and as serious as a heart attack, and relieved. All at once. Sansa gave a little internal squee. "Where should we go?"

"Hm." She paused, working her way through half a sandwich before moving on to a muffin. "Anywhere, really. I'm not picky," she said eventually. And she meant it; she was more than tired of how carefully her parents and brothers treated her, as if she were a toddler needing to be babysat instead of an adult.

Arya, however, often forgot Sansa was blind, or maybe didn't care, or perhaps just took it as a challenge. Her 'damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead' approach had resulted in a few minor kerfuffles when Sansa just wasn't able to keep up with her sister's derring-do. That Rammstein concert had gone down in Stark family history as one of Arya's worse ideas, which was saying something.

"I just like getting out. I don't get to do that too often. Or I do, but only with my family, and they either try to wrap me in cotton wool or… are Arya."

"She's a firecracker," Sandor commented mildly, seeming to feel that diplomacy was the better part of valor.

"That she is," she agreed, then offered him the other half of her sandwich, which she couldn't finish. He took it gladly, then offered her the other two muffins and a refill on her latte, which wasn't even half-empty yet.

"One muffin will do," she said with a laugh, "and if I have more than the one latte, I'll be up all night, but thank you."

They finished eating, with Sandor finally agreeing to take the last muffin home after Sansa insisted she couldn't eat another bite.

Then her phone rang. She rifled through her tote bag for it, flipping it open to hear her brother say, "Hey, it's me."

"Hi, Robb!" she said cheerfully, though in truth she was disappointed to have lunch end so soon.

"Be there in five, Sans."

"Ok, I'll be ready!" She hung up and began to shrug back into her coat, but slowly, reluctant to end their time together. "That's my brother. He'll be here soon."

"…walk you out?"

She nodded, so he did, leading her carefully between the tables, and Sansa bade Hot Pie farewell. Once outside in the brisk air— today it wasn't raining, at least, just cold enough to make her nose freeze together— she stood quietly, trying to think of something to talk about before Robb's arrival.

"I'm glad you let me explain about…" Sandor trailed off. "…last week."

"So am I!" She smiled again, feeling very relieved indeed. It was quite a turnaround from how down she'd felt upon arriving at the café just— she felt the face of her watch— 23 minutes earlier.

The vroom of a sports car suffering unnecessarily vigorous acceleration sounded from down the street.

"Ah, Robb's almost here," she murmured.

A squeal of tires, followed by the faint scent of burnt rubber, heralded Robb's arrival.

"Hey, Sans, you ready?" asked Robb. There was a moment of silence, during which she knew he was inspecting Sandor. "Who's your friend?"

A click told her that Sandor had opened the door for her and Lady. She released the dog's harness, murmuring "In," so Lady could enter the car.

"This is Sandor," she told him. "Sandor, my brother, Robb."

More silence; she guessed they were staring each other down in that way men had. Testosterone was a terrible poison, she thought sadly.

Sansa stepped to the car, hands out to feel for it, and bent to get in. She felt something lightly cup her head and realized that Sandor had reached to place his hand between her and the door frame, to keep her from bonking herself. Her chest did that peculiar little clench again.

He shut the doors. She hastened to open the window, reluctant for their time together to end just yet, and 'looked' up at where she imagined his face would be.

"Will I see you here next week?" she asked, very hopeful.

"Yes. Same time?"

"Yes, twelve-thirty." She smiled at him in pleasure. "Have a good week!"

"You too."

Robb, back in the car, slammed his own door. "See ya," he said across the car to Sandor, his tone just this side of rude, then pushed his button to roll Sansa's window back up before pulling away.

They had barely started moving before Robb said, "Sansa, what the hell."

She sighed. "What, Robb?"

"Arya texted me that Hot Pie texted her that the scarred guy who'd been rude to you last week was there again. So I rearranged things and came early, just to find you arm-in-arm with him, looking like you were ten minutes from eloping."

"He wasn't rude last week," Sansa defended him. She chose to ignore the 'eloping' comment though it did send a little thrill through her at the idea she'd managed to have a romantic lunch with someone she actually found attractive. "He was just very surprised. He apologized. I accepted. It's all good."

"As long as he doesn't try anything," Robb muttered darkly. Sansa remembered well his moods and expressions from before her vision loss, and knew he was scowling fiercely. "If he thinks you'll be an easy mark because of your sight, we'll beat the shit out of him."

"Maybe I want him to try something," she shot back, feeling tired of this old issue. "Is it really so impossible to believe that a man might actually want to spend time with me, instead of trying to take advantage of my disability to victimize me?"

There was a short, shocked silence. "Sansa, that's—"

"Because that's what I hear, every time you or Mom or Dad or Arya say something like that," she continued hotly. "I hear you saying that the only reason someone would bother with me was because I'm too helpless or easy to know better."

They said nothing the rest of the journey home to North Concord. Robb pulled into the driveway and turned the car off, then just sat there a moment.

"I'm sorry if that's what you thought we were saying," he said at last. "Of course we know you have qualities that would make a man want to date you. We just… we get scared, Sans. There are a lot of shitty people out there, and like it or not, you are vulnerable. We just don't want anything to happen to you."

She felt like a balloon, slowly deflating, as the anger left her. "I know you don't, Robb. But you have to let me take some chances, at some point. I can't spend the rest of my life being… being swaddled by everyone. I want a life of my own. A husband and family, one day. Other blind people have independent lives like actual adults. Why can't I, too?"

There was a tap on Sansa's window; she turned her head to it, automatically, but of course couldn't tell who it was. She fumbled for the button to roll down the glass.

"Something wrong?" their mother asked, opening the back door so Lady could get out. "Why aren't you coming inside?"

"Nothing's wrong," Sansa told her. "Just working through a difference in philosophies. But Robb understands my thoughts, now, and is going to keep his giant piehole shut about it in the future."

"Is that right," Catelyn commented, her voice amused.

Sansa could hear Robb grumbling as she pushed open her door and stood. "Fine, whatever, don't come crying to me, et cetera."

"I definitely won't come crying to you," she replied, and flounced away as best a blind girl with a guide dog could.