Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: They meet each other again, a year after the fire that tore so many lives apart, in the waiting area of the small office, struggling to find some sort of semblance of peace. Sandor Clegane just wants to forget the memories of the flames. Sansa Stark just wants to forget the memories of her past. In between, the Elder Brother reminds them what it means to live.

A/N: This one is for bestrafemich21. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed/kudos'd/bookmarked/followed/favorited, shoutouts are at the bottom. Hope you all enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated and any mistakes are mine and mine alone!

Warning: relevant for all chapters. There is mentions and discussions of violence against women (Sansa) as well as the other warnings in the tags. In case these are triggers.

WARNINGS: AU, PTSD, very coarse language, violence, violence against women (memories), bullying, mentions of blood, killing, arson, intimidation, political stuff (though let's be real, it's a backdrop), past abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, self-esteem issues, healing, kissing, sex, there are others that I'm missing but I will add them when I remember them. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

The lights weren't that bright (but our eyes were tired)

Part 6

And wipe the mark of sadness from my face

Show me that your love will never change

If my yesterday is a disgrace

Tell me that you still recall my name

Cactus in the Valley – Lights

She can feel Arya's anger the moment she steps back into the house, the door slamming shut behind her with restrained anger. Tears prick her eyes as she moves into the living room, where Arya is still standing, her hands clenched into tight fists.

"Are you fucking stupid?" Arya hisses at her, her brown eyes blazing. "Or have you forgotten everything he's done to you?"

"He hasn't done anything to me!" Sansa talks loudly over her sister. She rarely, if ever, raises her voice at anyone in her family. "He saved me."

Arya looks at her, eyes wide with disbelief and there is a hint of cruelty that Sansa has always known to exist in her sister but was rarely directed at Sansa. They got into fights and arguments, of course they did, but never, ever, has Arya looked at her with such…contempt as she's looking at her now. "Are you even listening to yourself? Do you even fucking understand what you're saying? That man is a monster. He is a murderer. He's an arsonist."

Sansa wants to lash out at her, wants to tell her that no, he's not. He's not a monster, because if he were a monster, he wouldn't have wiped blood from her split lip. He's not a murderer, he may have been before, in his past, but that's not who he is. It's not what defines him. She wants to tell her sister that he isn't an arsonist and that his nightmares are made of flames.

But she doesn't. Instead, she bites her lip and looks away from her sister's accusing gaze. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Arya barks out a laugh, it's bitter and harsh and Sansa cringes from the sound of it. "Because you won't tell me, tell us, anything. How are we supposed to help you, if you don't say a fucking thing? You wanted to leave? Fine. You fucking left north and Robb and Jon welcomed you with open arms. Great. You're seeing the Elder Brother again, fine. At least he has you talking. But what about us? What about me? I'm your fucking sister and you don't say anything and none of us have a fucking clue as to what goes in your empty little head."

There are times when all Sansa has wanted to do is tell her sister what happened. What Joffrey put her through. What she went through, physically, mentally and emotionally and every time she's goes to open her mouth and confess her darkest thoughts and memories, a blinding fear washes over her and all she can hear, all that invades his mind are his promises, his threats: I'll kill them all and make you watch. I'll kill your noble father and older brother first, chopping their head's off. I think I'd enjoy hearing your scream. Then I'll kill your crippled little shit of a brother and the wild one. Your bitch of a sister will be next and I'll take my time with her. And you're mother…you look like her. I wonder if she'll scream like a little bitch when I have Blount beat her to death. And you…you, I'll save for last.

And that…that is enough for her to snap her mouth shut and not say a thing, just stare at her bedroom ceiling, hand reaching out to grasp her sister's, holding it tightly in the space between them.

"You wouldn't understand." Sansa says quietly, head bowed and toes tracing the hardwood floor beneath her feet. And she wouldn't. Not Arya. Arya is strong, much stronger than Sansa is. She would never have let this happen to her. Arya would have fought back, but Sansa isn't Arya. She's not strong; she's just…she's just Sansa.

"You really are stupid. Jesus Christ, are you really that fucking pathetic that you run to the fucking Hound? Your tormentor?"

Her head snaps up and she gazes at her sister, eyes wide with hurt.

You're pathetic. You're worth nothing. You're nothing but a little bitch.

Arya's eyes widen and she steps forward, only to stop in her place when Sansa takes a step back, tears pooling in her eyes and her lungs on the verge of collapsing in her chest.

"Shit." Arya curses, "Sansa. Sansa, I didn't…"

"I need to finish studying." She says robotically and she turns around, her hands trembling at her sides, knees weak and she can hear her sister following, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, "Sansa, please. I didn't…fuck, Sansa!"

The only answer Sansa gives is the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut and Arya's pleas stop.

She sinks into her chair, pulling her legs up and resting her head on her knees, her tears finally spilling over and soaking her skin.

You're pathetic. You're weak. You're worth nothing. You're nothing but a little bitch.

A couple of hours later, she hears her father's footsteps outside her door and listens as he knocks softly, peaking his head in. "Stannis is coming over for dinner with Shireen." He tells her.

"Tonight?"

Her father shrugs sheepishly and gives her a soft look. "I couldn't say no."

She nods, feeling a lump in her throat. "You're right. It's…it's fine. I just…I'll get ready and help mom."

He nods and steps deeper into her room, placing a kiss atop her head. "Sansa?" He says, pausing to look at her. "I don't know what happened between you and Arya today, but she seems pretty torn up about it. I get it…I do…sisters fight, but she's your sister. Try to make up. If not for your sake, then for my sanity, because you know your mother is going to be complaining the entire night."

"I heard that!" Her mother yells from downstairs.

Her father rolls his eyes, "and they say the Stark's have wolf blood. What about the Tully's?" He mumbles.

"Eddard Stark, I heard that too!"

Sansa gives him a small smile and stares at her closed door when he walks out of the room, shutting it behind him, she taking deep breath after deep breath.

It's instinctive that she gets out of her chair, strips off her clothes and steps into the shower, trying to wash the day away. She leans her head against the cool tile and closes her eyes.

You really are fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, are you really that fucking pathetic that you run to the fucking Hound? Your tormentor?

(Arya doesn't understand. None of them would.)

When she first hears Stannis Baratheon's voice, she goes rigid. The lump in her throat returning with ferocity, her heart beats faster and her blood pounds in her veins. It feels like she's underwater, when she finally catches sight of him. He's taller than she remembers, face more drawn in. He's tired, she realizes, though she doesn't know if he's tired from politics or from always looking behind his shoulder.

"Sansa!" Shireen exclaims, her eyes lighting up and her face crinkling with a smile, the scar on the side of her face becoming more prominent.

It makes her stomach clench harder. Shireen has always had the scar, Sansa knows this, but looking at her face reminds her of another scarred face and she lets out a breath. Shireen weaves through the people and launches herself at Sansa when she's within arm's length. Her small but strong arms wrap around her waist and she buries her head in her stomach.

Shireen has always held an affinity towards Sansa, since the moment she met her and Sansa has always liked her. "I haven't seen you in forever. Rickon said you were gone because you were sick. Are you okay, now?"

Sansa blinks and again, her stomach plummets and her chest clenches and she looks up to see Stannis staring at them and her parents staring at Stannis staring at Sansa and Arya and her brothers are watching with wary eyes, darting back and forth. The entire room is wrought with tension and it makes her feel sick to her stomach.

She tears her eyes away from Stannis and looks down at Shireen, giving her a small, if somewhat pained smile and holds her a bit closer.

She doesn't say anything.

(She doesn't have the courage to lie to her, to anyone, not anymore.)

Dinner isn't as tense as she thinks it would be. She plays with her food (it tastes like ash in her mouth) and Arya sits across from her, staring at her, but Sansa continues to stare at her plate.

When it comes to clearing the table, she helps her mom and keeps an ear on the conversation her dad and Stannis are having.

"…it will be Davos, yourself, Melisandre and I, going."

"And it's just to meet with the developers."

"I want to ensure I have the right people behind me."

"Daenerys is a good person. She is equal and loves her company and the people who work for her."

"I want to be the judge of the people who work for her." Stannis says.

My work, we're building a number of his apartment complexes.

"We won't bore you ladies with business talk." Her father says, coming around to kiss her both her mother and herself on the cheek. "We'll be in my study."

Sansa nods and looks up, finding Stannis' eyes on her and she looks away, fidgeting with the cup in her hands.

My work, we're building a number of his apartment complexes.

I want to be the judge of the people who work for her.

Her breath catches as realization slams into her and suddenly she grows weak, leaning forward, gripping the counter with her hands.

My work, we're building a number of his apartment complexes.

I want to be the judge of the people who work for her.

Sandor, she thinks wildly, her eyes darting down the hall, to the closed door of her father's study.

My work, we're building a number of his apartment complexes.

I want to be the judge of the people who work for her.

She pretends to be watching television from her spot at the kitchen table, one eye on Rickon, Bran and Shireen and her other eye darting down the hall, to the closed door of her father's study.

After an hour, the door opens and Stannis walks out, walking down towards her and entering the small bathroom off to the side. Sansa looks at her brothers and Shireen again and then moves from her spot, standing in front of the door, waiting for Stannis to finish.

She feels like a creep for waiting like this. She feels like she has no right to do this. No right to even ask for a moment of his time, but this isn't about her. It's about Sandor and the veiled threat she knows Stannis made.

(She has seen the Baratheon form of judgment and she wouldn't want to inflict it on anyone, especially not Sandor.)

She's jolted from her thoughts when she hears the toilet flush, the water run and then the door open.

He doesn't look surprised to see her; he leans against the doorframe and cocks an eyebrow.

She takes a shaky breath and gives him half a smile, bile already forming in the pit of her stomach. "Mr. Baratheon, can I just have-"

"It's Stannis, Sansa. Just call me Stannis." His voice is soft but wary.

She nods, hands wringing behind her back. "Stannis." She corrects. "I…I overheard you and my father talking about the meeting tomorrow and I just…well…you see…my friend is going to be there. Or well…he's going to be working for you."

"Does your friend have a name?" The way he says it is almost mocking as if he already knows what she's going to say and maybe he does.

Sansa nods, "Sandor Clegane."

There is a hiss that comes out of Stannis' mouth and Sansa can feel his fury emit from him. She scrambles for words and finds herself clinging to his arm. "I don't have a right to ask you this, I don't…I know I don't…my god, I swear…I'm so sorry, for what happened. For everything, but you know my father, you know his integrity so, please, please, even though I have never given anyone a reason, believe my integrity. Sandor…he's…he's a good man." She winces at his glare. "He is." She takes a deep breath and lets go of his arm. "When…when Joffrey did…what he did to me…" she stumbles over the words, angry at herself for not even being able to accomplish this one little thing, this one little favor for the man who has already done so much for her, "he is a kind man." She settles on saying, "he's…he's misunderstood by just about everyone, but he is a kind man. I know his gentleness first hand and he is a good man. One of the best. He is truthful and…and…I am asking you…please. Please give him a chance."

"He burned my house down with me and my daughter in it."

"I know." She says, her voice croaking. "I know, but that was because Joffrey told him to, and that's not an excuse, I know it's not, but you have to understand what it was like being with Joffrey and having him…" she trails off, her eyes burning. She takes a deep breath, her chest tightening, "Sandor…he's not like that. He's not…he's not happy about what he did. Will you give him a chance? I know…I know what you mean by being the judge." She takes a deep breath, despite the thundering of her heart and looks him in the eyes, "Joffrey was my judge, jury and executioner."

Stannis recoils at being compared to Joffrey and he narrows his eyes at her, stepping forward. "Why should I?"

She straightens her back when she answers him, trying to muster up all the energy she has. "Because if I didn't tell my father that night, if he didn't call and warn you, Joffrey would have succeeded in having you and your daughter killed. You owe me, Mr. Baratheon."

He's silent and then he leans closer to her, "And you're wasting it on an old scarred dog?"

She takes a step backwards, "you wouldn't understand." No one does.

Stannis straightens up and looks down at her. "No." He muses. "I suppose I don't. One chance, Sansa. One. Fucking. Chance." And then he slinks off down the hallway, closing her father's study door behind him.

Sansa makes her way to the kitchen, collapsing onto an empty chair and she starts to chuckle and then she starts to laugh, until tears sting her eyes and her brothers and Shireen are looking at her like she's lost her mind.

Maybe I have, she thinks. Maybe, I have.

His apartment is neater and cleaner than she thought it would be. She stands in the middle of his living room, looking at the sparse furniture and the small television. He lives a simple life, she thinks, no fuss, no worry, just the necessities. Her eyes cut towards him as he awkwardly pulls on his shirt and she bites back a small groan of disappointment.

She's seen naked men before (when she lived with Jon and Robb, there were a lot of awkward run-ins on the way in and out of the bathroom the three of them shared.) She saw Joffrey naked, the first and only time they had sex (it was when she thought she was in love with him, before he turned abusive and monstrous but it was still the worst experience in her life, it hurt too much, he went too fast and he laughed when she cried) and she can't help but compare Joffrey's body to Sandor's.

Where Joffrey is pale and smooth, almost porcelain, Sandor is tanned, muscular, scarred and burned. She finds herself thinking that he looks like how a man is supposed to look like and she bites her lip, turning her face, cheeks flushing when he cocks an eyebrow at her.

"What happened to your hand?" She asks, her voice hoarse.

He glances down at it, "I punched a mirror."

"Why?"

He frowns at her, eyes roving over her and there is a heat that spreads throughout her body, starting from her head to her toes. "Why do I do anything, little bird? Because I'm angry."

She can feel herself nod and feels her mouth open, lips forming an O shape.

"Why are you here?" He asks her, warily, almost hesitantly.

Why is she here? Because she couldn't get him out of her mind? Because she didn't want their last interaction to be the one they had at the house? Because she didn't want him to think that she thinks he's a monster, an arsonist, her tormentor come to life? Because she wants a kiss? She frowns to herself. Since Joffrey, there's been no one else, no other man that she could bare to even let herself be alone with, for fear of them turning into a replicate of Joffrey. She knows it's stupid, she knows it's irrational, because Joffrey…well, Joffrey is one of a kind, he's a certain breed of despicable.

Not all men are like Joffrey, some are, but not all of them.

Sandor Clegane is nothing like Joffrey.

Does he frighten you?

He used to, but not anymore.

She clears her throat and perches on the armrest of his worn out couch. "I'm here because I want to be." She answers him truthfully.

There is a weird sense of déjà vu, sitting on the floor, next to Sandor, their backs pressed against the couch, legs outstretched in front of them. He's nursing his second beer that night and she's picking the label off her water bottle. They've lapsed into a comfortable silence and Sansa finds that they do this a lot, talk until they find the need to stop talking, letting the silence overcome them in a familiar sort of way.

She wonders what he thinks about during these lapses. She wonders if he thinks about his brother, or Joffrey, or fire. She wonders if he thinks about her. Does she ever cross his mind as anything other than a little chirping bird?

"You're thinking too loudly." He says gruffly and the raspy tone of his voice makes the hairs on her body stand on end.

She twists her body around, until she's perched on her knees beside him. "You can hear me think now, is that it?" She teases him softly.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of his lips and he inclines his head, turning it slightly so he can look at her. "Anyone could hear that mind of yours churning away."

But you're not just anyone, she wants to say, and I'm not just someone and I'm thinking of you, can't you tell? I think you're starting to consume me. Her hand lifts, the tips of her fingers, running softly, gently brushing against his hair. It's softer, silkier than she imagined it. "And yet, I don't know what you think about." She says quietly.

"My thoughts are not a place you want to be, little bird." He tells her and he says it so matter-of-factly, so nonchalantly, that it aches and pulls on her heart.

"Is it so awful, being you?" She asks.

She inches her body closer to his, until she can feel the fabric of his t-shirt and jeans brushing against her body. She inches closer to him, until she can feel the heat of his body and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, if she bends her head and steals a kiss, just a small one, he won't mind.

He turns away from her, scrambling up and running his good hand through his hair. "It's getting late. Go home."

She nods, a flush of rejection and dejection, stinging her cheeks and eyes. She takes two steps towards the door, no more, no less and she turns around, facing him, her thumbs hooked in the pockets of her shorts, lightly tugging them down with pressure. "If I asked something of you, would you do it?"

She thinks she's pushing this. She doesn't have a right to ask anymore of him than she already has, but she does because if she doesn't she thinks she's going to explode and for once, just this once, this moment, this decision is hers and hers alone. There is no one, nothing else, pressuring her. There is no burning house, just the burning that ignites in the pit of her stomach.

He looks at her and doesn't say anything, just nods and she wonders if he knows then, what she's going to ask.

"Kiss me." She says it breathily, taking a step towards him. It's not a question, it's not even a suggestion, it's more of a demand and for a moment, just a moment, she feels a bit guilty, because he is not hers to demand anything from.

He recoils away from her as if slapped. "You have no idea what you're asking."

"But I do." She tells him, anger suddenly flaring in her. She takes another step towards him and he takes one back.

"Sansa-"

Once when she was younger and it was winter, and they were back north, where they could be free and away from everything people thought they should be, she and her siblings were outside in the snow and Robb crept behind her and before she knew it, the collar of her jacket was being pulled and he rammed a ball of snow down her back, sending her squealing with shock.

She's reminded of that moment now, the moment her name leaves his lips. She crosses the space between them, until she's in front of him, chest pressed against chest and she can sense his resolve wavering. "My name." She says, "I think, that's the first time you've ever called me by my name." Her hands are trembling as she lifts them up and places them on his chest, hands curling and she can feel the thundering of his heart underneath her palms and it's calming. "I like it." She decides, "you saying my name." He breathes in through his nose. "Could you say it again?"

He exhales and his hands hesitantly land on her hips. "Sansa."

She bites her lip, entranced at the emotion in his eyes. "Again."

"Sansa."

"Sandor." She replies, testing his name from her mouth, enjoying the way it feels and sounds coming from her. "Can you kiss me now?"

She doesn't want Joffrey's kisses to be the only ones she remembers.

When he still doesn't do anything, the war evident in his eyes, she reaches up on her tiptoes and presses a small, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

It's the catalyst, she thinks, because he turns his head, catching her lips with his own and her heart stops beating. She stops breathing and all she can concentrate on are the vast contrasts between the good side of his lips and the burnt side. It makes her gasp and she lets out a small moan when his tongue brushes against hers. His arms wrap around her waist, crushing her to him and her arms wrap around his neck, pressing incessantly against him, taking in his warmth and strength.

It's unlike any kiss she's ever received, any kiss she's ever seen and she thinks the movies and songs, don't do it justice. He kisses and holds her like a starved man, learning every contour of her mouth and she is just as desperate.

She feels her blood pumping faster, feels her heart beat faster and it feels like she's flying.

She pulls away when oxygen is needed and she's breathing heavily, lifting her eyes to stare at him and finding him staring back at her with hooded eyes. "Thank you." She breathes, pressing a small kiss to his pulse point on his neck. She repeats the process on his cheeks and the corner of his lips, before finally capturing his lips once again.

She's drowning in him. She's become addicted to him so easily, so quickly.

It's him who pulls away from her, holding her at arm's length. "It's late." He says, his voice heavy, "go home."

"What if I don't want to?"

His eyes flash and he pins her with a look. "Then we'll be doing more than just kissing." He warns her.

She bites her lip and nods, her stomach coiling with an unknown emotion.

He walks her to the door, keeping a respective distance between them and she turns, hand on the doorknob and gives him a small smile. Before she knows it, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips. It's quick, fleeting in the moment but she blushes and giggles nonetheless and then she slips out his door, heart still hammering and pulse still pounding.

(She's never felt more alive.)

It's late by the time she gets home and her parents are already asleep. She slips off her shoes and silently creeps up to her room, pushing her door open and turning on the lights.

It doesn't take her long to slip out of her clothes and into her pajamas. She can see in the mirror as she washes her face and brushes her teeth that she's still blushing.

She sighs contentedly as she slips into bed, pushing the covers down in the oppressive heat. Less than a minute later, she hears her bedroom door open and she sits up in bed. She breathes in when the moonlight illuminates her sister's figure.

"I didn't mean it." Arya whispers, coming to stand next to her bed. "What I said to you. I didn't mean it. I was just…angry. Frustrated."

"I know." Sansa replies. And she does. Her sister is many things, she's impulsive, she's strong, she's opinionated, but she's not cruel, especially not towards her family.

"I just want you to be safe again. I want you to be happy again." There is a pause and a shuffle and Sansa feels her bed dip with Arya's weight. She can feel her sister's gaze as she turns on her side. "Are you happy?"

Sansa pauses and thinks about the Elder Brother and Myranda Royce who smile and teases her, she thinks about her family, she thinks about Sandor and the weight of his arms around her waist, the way his heart pounds underneath the palm of her hands, the way his mouth molds against hers and the way he kisses her fiercely, with a hint of gentleness. "I think I could be." She tells her sister truthfully.

Arya sighs and nods in the darkness, her small hand reaching out to grab Sansa's.

(They fall asleep like that, hands clasped in the space between them.)

Her leg is bouncing and she bites her lip, hands digging into the leather underneath her. "I kissed a man, the other day." Sansa tells the Elder Brother.

He doesn't look surprised and instead her stares at her, gazing softly, no judgment on his face. "How did it feel?" He asks.

"Like freedom."

(You're free now, little bird. You're free.)

So, originally, I was going to post this tomorrow but I couldn't help it. Yes, yes, I know. I'm a glutton. But seriously, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! THANK YOU ALL SO SO MUCH for your response to the story!

HUGE SHOUTOUT to: firedew, Katya Jade, and Teresa Trav and Jillypups (who AO3 won't let me respond to you for some reason!) as well as EVERYONE at AO3. Hopefully, I've responded to everyone! If I've missed anyone, please please please let me know! Seriously, it means so much to me! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Your constant support and love for this story is beyond anything I could have imagined. Hopefully, I don't disappoint with this one!

MAD LOVE AND RESPECT

BB