They call Robb just in time to catch him before he leaves the apartment. Sansa gives him a list of things to pack, and by the time they pull into the garage under their building, she hopes he has it all ready to go. She's having a hard time hiding just how tired she is from Jon.

"I'll just run in and get your things," she says, unbuckling. "You stay here."

"Honestly, I can handle a few stairs, and if Robb packs anything like you do I know there will be more than one bag." Jon says, looking a little irritated by the babying.

"Then I'll make him bring it down," Sansa replies, leaving out a remark about how she's stronger than she looks these days. "If you injure yourself on the first day under my watch I'll never live it down."

"Your watch-" He sputters, but she's already swinging the door open. If he wants to have a tantrum about being taken care of, he can do it while she's retrieving his things. When she gets to the apartment door, her legs are burning.

Maybe the doctor wasn't quite so wrong about the stairs being a problem after all.

Robb meets her there, swinging it open before she has a chance to knock.

"Care to explain, Sans?"

"Hmm?" She asks, stepping around him into the apartment and spying a small pile of luggage stacked against the wall. "Explain what?"

"You just show up out of the blue and call to say that Jon's going to be staying with you in New York after-" He cuts himself off so abruptly that Sansa turns to look at him.

"After what?" She asks carefully. Part of her knows exactly what he was going to say, but part of her needs to hear it out loud from him. He takes a small step back, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I didn't-"

"After what, Robb?"

He sighs.

"Look, you've just never been close, alright? I mean, I never really thought you even liked Jon."

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing at it.

"I like him fine, I just…I understand it, why you'd think that. But the alternative was that he stay with Theon and even if I hated him I wouldn't wish that on him."

Her brother's lips twitch.

"And it's not completely out of the blue, I offered a couple days ago. I just didn't think he wanted to come."

"Oh?" Robb's eyebrows quirk. "And what exactly changed your mind?"

She looks down at her hands.

"He called."

"He asked to stay with you?" Robb sounds gobsmacked, not that she can blame him.

"No, not exactly. I just-it's not a problem, is it?" She wonders suddenly. It occurs to her that he might not trust her to take care of Jon, that he thinks she'll neglect him out there in the city where he knows no one. And though she may deserve that, it stings a little.

"No, Sans, it's not a problem. It's just…"

"Strange?" Sansa asks, her own lips curving. He grins back.

"Pretty much."

"Are you going to help me carry these or are we just going to talk about how incredibly out of character it is that I'm doing something nice for someone?" She finally asks.

"I'm not saying you're not nice," Robb mutters as he moves to sling two of the bags over his shoulder, though it sounds like that's exactly what he's saying. "You're just not usually nice to Jon." She hits him in the shoulder, clearly harder than he was expecting. He rubs at it, shooting her a dark look. She picks up the last bag, then looks around.

"Where's Ghost?"

At the sound of his name, he comes plodding out of Jon's rooms, tail wagging furiously at the sight of Sansa.

"Hello there," she murmurs, fingers combing through the thick fur on his head as he nudges her thigh with his nose. "Does he have things as well?"

Robb pauses in the doorway, frowning at her.

"What d'you mean?"

"A leash, food, toys…I don't know, dog things." She says, struggling to swallow a yawn. Robb just stares. "Robb?"

"Wait, are you taking Ghost?" He asks, shock written across his features. She blinks.

"Of course. Jon could be at my place for a month or two and-"

"Sansa, a dog? Are you sure? You realize he sheds and he's dirty and-" Her brother looks so incredulous, and her stomach aches a little as she realizes what he sees. He sees Sansa. The one who cared so much about appearances and frivolous thing and would never stand for dog hair on her couch.

The Sansa who died. The one she's mourned and buried. But her family…they look at her and they see a dead woman. They have no idea who she is now.

It's her fault, entirely her fault. But then again, that was the point.

She swallows the sudden lump in her throat and forces a smile.

"I know what a dog is, Robb. I think it would be good for Jon to have him around. He's not going to know anyone else in the city."

"I…alright." Robb nods, still looking confused. He dumps the bags on the ground, walking toward Jon's room. "You take some of that down." He calls over his shoulder. "I'll find some of Ghost's shit and meet you at the car."

She does, hefting one of the bags over her shoulder and grabbing one more in each hand. The smooth line of her muscles bunch under her porcelain skin, a reminder of how much has changed. Of all the pieces of her she's carved into steel, inside and out.

When she rounds the corner of the parkade and the Range Rover comes into view, Jon's eyes widen. She probably looks like a pack mule, but she clicks a button on her key ring and the hatch at the back hisses open. She huffs a little as she swings the luggage into the trunk.

Jon tries to swivel in his seat, then swears.

"Don't hurt yourself," she says automatically.

"Did Robb make you bring it all down yourself?" He asks indignantly. A long yawn escapes.

"No," she says, sighing. "He's grabbing a few more things."

As if on cue, Robb appears, another small bag on his shoulder, Ghost trotting happily beside him. Sansa slams the trunk shut and walks around the car to meet them.

"Here are some of his things. He's nearly out of food here, so you'll just have to buy some in New York." He hands the leash over to her, and she nods.

"Thanks. If you want to say goodbye…" she gestures at the car. She doesn't want to say it out loud in case Jon can hear them, but he clearly is going to need help getting out of the car, so her brother will have to go to him instead. Robb seems to understand, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"I'm not sure what this is all about," he says quietly, his familiar blue eyes warm on hers. "But it's nice, Sans. You're doing a good thing."

"If only you would stop sounding so surprised about it," she says drily, and he grins.

As he walks over to speak to his friend, Sansa opens one of the back doors.

"In you get," she says to Ghost, gesturing up at the seat. He jumps up without further prompting. Even in the bigger SUV he looks a little cramped, but it's not too long a drive, and she makes a mental note to make a stop in the middle to let him out.

When it seems that Robb has wrapped up his farewell, she climbs into the drivers seat, waving at him through the windshield. He waves back, then turns the corner and disappears.

Jon is quiet as she starts the car, and neither of them say anything until they've been driving nearly fifteen minutes. Ghost seems to have gone to sleep after a good ten minutes of showering Jon with affectionate whines and wet noses on cheeks, and it's so quiet Sansa considers turning the radio on just to have something to keep her awake.

"I didn't realize you were bringing Ghost, too." He says.

It takes her a moment to register that he's speaking, and another few seconds to make sense of his words.

"I-would you rather have left him with Robb?" She'd just assumed he'd want his dog with him, especially considering how abnormally close the two seem to be.

"No," he says quickly. "I'd rather have him, but-you didn't have to do that Sansa."

She gives him a quizzical look.

"I know. But he was included in the invitation to stay with me. I suppose I should have mentioned it. Besides, he'd drive Robb mad if we left them alone for a month."

"Yeah," Jon nods at that, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. It's going to be a sore ride for him, she knows that, and she's torn between going slow to smooth out the ride and just getting it over with so he can get out of the car. "Well, thank you."

"You're welcome," she says, simply.

The silence falls again, and by the time they reach New Haven she caves and hit a Starbucks drive-through while she's getting gas, something she hadn't had time to do the night before.

"Black?" She asks, as they pull up to the speaker box. He nods, frowning.

"How'd you know?"

She snorts, and again, the sound surprises him.

"A lucky guess," she replies, turning around to put in their order. He doesn't say anything when she asks for a Venti Americano with two extra shots of espresso.

After they've gassed up, she parks and lets Ghost out for a quick run around the block. When they're back on the road, the dog settles back into his nap as though he's perfectly used to such long drives. Sansa can't imagine when he'd have been taken on any, since Jon never brings him home for holidays that she knows of.

"This is a nice car," Jon says. She's pulled out of her musings, and shrugs.

"I guess." She doesn't care much about cars, aside from making sure the ones she drives go fast.

"Not really what I'd have pictured for you, a Range Rover," he adds, looking over at her.

"It's not mine," she tells him. "I mean, it is, but it's for work. For hauling supplies back and forth to venues and in case we need any last minute catering or something like that."

"You brought your work car on an interstate trip? How's your boss like that?"

Again, she shrugs.

"Well, since I own it, she probably won't care. It's more of a second car than a company car, I just meant that I only use it for work. And I figured the three of us wouldn't fit in my car, not comfortably." She pictures Ghost squished in the back of her Mercedes coupe and shakes her head. When she can still feel him staring at her after a few moments have passed, her skin begins to itch. "What?" She asks.

He looks away.

"I just…you've really thought of all this in a few hours. Remembered all the details. I never understood what you did when Robb explained it, but…it makes sense. I can see it now."

Surprised, and more touched than she's entirely comfortable with, she clears her throat. Compliments are one thing. Completely sincere compliments from someone she's always been awful to are another entirely.

"Thank you." His compliment, ironically, reminds her of something she forgot. "Did you want me to have someone drive your car out? I don't know if you'll be up to driving, but I can get an extra parking spot."

He waves a hand dismissively.

"It wouldn't survive the trip, honestly. I should probably junk it when I get back."

Ah, yes. As much as Ned has tried to support Jon financially, the same way he supported his other children, Jon has never been comfortable accepting Stark money. He didn't go to college, opting to become a firefighter instead. He pays rent to Robb, who owns their apartment, and bought a secondhand car with more miles than most live to see.

She used to think it was stupid.

But now…she understands that need for independence. Better, maybe, than anyone.

"Well if you need to go out you can take this one, or my car if I'm not using it." She offers. He's much more responsible than Robb, and she's hardly worried about him damaging it. He's always so careful with things. He's had to be.

"Thanks," he winces. "But I doubt I'll be driving anytime soon."

She glances over at him in concern.

"Are you in a lot of pain? Did they give you anything for it?"

"I'm fine," he says, though not convincingly. "I've already taken some, I'm just stiff."

"We're almost there," she says, surprised to realize it's true. The drive there had seemed much longer than this one. "About twenty minutes."

He grunts in response, then goes quiet. As Sansa pulls into her parking garage twenty minutes later, she realizes he's fallen asleep.

Ghost's head pops up when she turns off the engine. She opens the door to let him out, then grabs Jon's things from the back.

"Let's take these up, give him a minute to sleep," she says to the dog, who follows her into the elevator. They take it to the top, and she deposits the luggage, along with Ghost, in her spare room. "I'll be right back," she tells him. It occurs to her that it's not normal, strictly speaking, to talk to an animal that way, but she's far too tired to care.

When she gets back to the car, Jon is still asleep.

She unbuckles his seat belt, then shakes his shoulder carefully. He groans, eyes fluttering reluctantly open. They crinkle with confusion when they see her standing over him.

"Hey sleepyhead, we're here," she says. He blinks a few times, looking around. "I've already taken Ghost upstairs."

"Oh," he says. "Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," she says firmly. "You're still healing. You need your rest."

He moves to get out of the car, then hisses with pain. She's beside him immediately, arm wrapping around his waist. Gently, she helps him slide out and onto the concrete. Once he's straightened up, he pulls out of her grip.

"Thanks," he says, not meeting her eyes.

Men, she thinks. Such fragile things.

And oh, how sharp they can be with their broken pieces.

When they step into the elevator, his eyes widen. For the first time, she realizes he's never been here before. He scans the glossy wood panels, the gleaming chrome. Compared to the apartment building he and Robb live in, it probably seems a bit much. Then he spots the green ring currently highlighting the PH at the top of the button panel.

"You live in the penthouse," he says, sleep still lingering in the softness of his words.

"Uh, yes. But you'll never have to take the stairs." She says. "Unless there's a fire or-."

"No I just-" He shakes his head. "Never mind."

When the elevator stops at her floor, she taps her key fob against the sensor, and they swing open. Through the short hallway is another door, and she slides her key into that lock before swinging it open too.

Jon follows her in, and she's suddenly, inexplicably, nervous. She's guarded her home carefully over the past few years. Like a dragon guarding it's lair, or a wolf guarding it's den. Bad things have happened to her here, and sometimes she's afraid they've left a trace, that anyone who makes it inside will be able to read them on the walls.

Nevermind that she cleaned up all the blood long ago.

"So," she says, hanging her keys on the hook in the entry. "This is home."

He looks around silently, face unreadable.

"It's really nice," he says finally. Ghost appears at the sound of his voice, and he smiles, the first genuine one she's seen on him all day. As Sansa watches the two interact, she feels the stirring of something warm and unfamiliar in her chest. Something she hasn't felt in a long time.

It's followed by a twinge of panic, and she sweeps both emotions away to a place they can be ignored.

"Thanks." She murmurs it as an afterthought, a slip in manners her mother would have been horrified at. "Are you hungry?"

It's just four, and they haven't eaten, save for a shared bag of potato chips from the gas station. He shrugs, then winces. His nonchalance is betrayed when his stomach lets out a loud growl, and the corners of her lips curl despite herself.

"I'm too knackered to cook," she says with a sigh. Truthfully, she suspects her legs are going to give out beneath her, and she's much too tired to be hungry. But she can hardly let her new guest go hungry. "How does takeout sound? Pizza?"

She usually goes for something more fussy, like a lettuce wrap from the vegan place down the street. It's not that she even likes the overpriced and underflavoured food so much, but it seems to be what people expect of her. But she's not planning on eating much anyway, and she remembers him and Robb and Theon devouring a large pizza each when they were in high school.

Besides, New York is famous for it's pizza.

"That sounds great," he says, though he does it without much enthusiasm. She suspects he's nearly as tired as she is, considering his impromptu nap in the car.

"I'll show you your room," she says, thinking he might want to crash for a few minutes before the food comes. When she turns to the hallway, something wet and cold nudges her thigh. Her hand goes to rest on Ghost's head automatically as they come up to the bedroom door. She looks over her shoulder to point out the bathroom across the hall, but stops short at the look on Jon's face.

He's frowning at her, eyes trained on where her fingers have nestled in his wolf's fur.

"Are you alright?" She asks, not sure if she's done something wrong. His gaze snaps up to her face, and he blinks.

"I-yeah. Sorry. I've just…I've never seen him like that with anyone else," he mutters, jerking his chin at the animal pressed against her side. "I assumed you were just being polite when you said he was well behaved for you, honestly."

"Oh." Not quite sure what to make of that, she shrugs. "Well, this is your room. The bathroom's just there. I've already put your and Ghost's things in here."

"Thanks." He doesn't smile, that same, puzzled frown fixed on her. Sansa considers herself adept at making small talk, at playing the gracious hostess. It's a skill she learned from her mother, and one that's served her well in her career.

But with Jon standing there, his grey eyes considering her so intensely, she finds herself at a loss.

"I'll just…" she gestures toward her own bedroom. "I'll call for the pizza."

She needs a shower as well. A bath would be even better, but she's afraid she'll fall asleep in the tub if she lays down. Besides, she'll have to go down to the lobby to pick up her food from their doorman. Nothing ever gets delivered directly to the penthouse, a stipulation she put into place after Joffrey. She doesn't greet visitors or deliveries personally. To an outsider, it would just seem as though she considers it beneath her, which suits Sansa just fine. The truth, that she considers it putting herself at unnecessary risk of exposure, wouldn't fit with the slightly air headed persona she's cultivated in the city.

After calling in the order, and then calling down to Rodrik to let him know to expect it, she peels off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on her bedroom floor. She's never fully appreciated the convenience of having a master suite before, but she has a feeling the adjoining bathroom will become a godsend in the upcoming weeks with her houseguest.

It's a small thing, the way she can physically feel two days of sweat and makeup and grime sliding off her body under the spray of water, but it grounds her. Joffrey always considered her vast collection of expensive soaps and shower gels to be frivolous, but the ritual has become something he would never understand. She runs her hand over her arm, washing away the fine lather of soap, and presses her finger gently against a tiny bruise. She's not sure where it came from.

For a long time, she was covered in them. Her skin, beneath her clothes, was a mosaic of purple and green and yellow. Sometimes, when Joffrey slept, Sansa would take his hand and lay it across the bruises, watching his fingers fit the shadows of each perfectly. A reminder to herself of where they'd come from. She'd resolve, in the quiet and the still of the night, to leave him.

And then morning would come, and she'd realize she had nowhere to go.

It started then, the baths and the showers and the expensive, fragrant lotions. She'd rub them into her skin as an apology for the neglect and abuse.

I'm sorry, she'd think. I'm sorry that I'm a coward.

For a while, after Ramsey, she'd had to switch to something gentler, medical, something that wouldn't anger the deep lines in her back that ran the water red for weeks. Her thumb finds a ridge on her back now, just at the dip of her waist, and she traces it. All the scars Joffrey left her were on the inside. Bruises faded and she replaced the things of hers he broke, and suddenly there was nothing left to prove her story except for a few text messages that she saved to her computer. Ramsay's work was not so ephemeral. The texture of her skin as she runs her fingers across her back remind her of that.

Not that anyone will see those either.

Twenty minutes later she's stepping out of the elevator into the lobby. Rodrik greets her, his long white hair swept into a braid at the back of his neck. Some of the tenants find his demeanour and appearance unprofessional. But Sansa trusts him, and she respects his loyalty, and none of the rest of it matters to her.

"Pizza for you, Ms. Stark. I charged it to your card." She has a credit card on file for building expenses, and long ago approved it's use by the doorman for deliveries.

She greets him with a tired smile.

"Thank you, Rodrik." Then something else occurs to her. "I have a houseguest, he'll be staying for at least a month. I'll bring him down and introduce the two of you tomorrow, but I'm sure you'll be seeing him around the building. He should have access to my account here, as well as all our amenities." And the building certainly has it's fair share of those. Two pools, a gym, a lounge for entertaining clients and friends, and the personal service of Rodrik and the other building staff.

His eyebrows go up, then he catches himself.

"Certainly, Ms. Stark. A friend?"

She tells herself it's only polite conversation, and that the older man doesn't mean to pry. It's not his fault she guards her privacy so preciously.

"Family," she corrects, because it's both mostly true and something of an explanation for why such a fiercely private resident would suddenly have a long term houseguest. "His name is Jon. He has a rather large dog as well."

This information only seems to increase Rodrik's surprise, though Sansa suspects he thinks he's doing a good job of hiding it.

"Ah, well, that's very nice." He says, dipping his chin. "I look forward to meeting him."

"Oh, I'm sure by the time he's leaving you'll prefer him to me," Sansa says, lips twitching. The old man shakes his head.

"I doubt that very much. Have a good night, Ms. Stark."

She gives him another smile, this one warmer than her first.

"You as well, Rodrick."

As the elevator doors close behind her, Sansa realizes that his is only the first of a long chain of shocked reactions at her taking Jon in. The thought only serves to add a new layer of fatigue on her existing exhaustion.

She barely manages to set the pizza on the counter and let Jon know it's arrived before collapsing face first onto her bed.