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.

*There is specific mentions and description of violence against women (Sansa), if this is a trigger, do not read. There is physical violence against her as well as emotional and mental in this chapter, so just letting you all know in advance for any 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 WARNING


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

Part 8

It's always have and never hold

You've begun to feel like home

What's mine is yours to leave or take

What's mine is yours to make your own

Look after you – The Fray


It's stupid on her part. It's so incredibly stupid. She never studies in the library and when she does stay on campus, she doesn't stay late, but she needs research that the internet isn't able to provide her, so she stays at the campus library until the sun goes down and she wipes her eyes, stifling a yawn and shoving her things in her bag.

She gives a smile to the librarian who smiles back and bids her goodnight.

All she wants is a shower, or maybe a bath, quite possibly a glass of wine.

She didn't park her car far, she never does, and she shifts her bag closer to her chest, hand gripping on the strap as she looks around her. While the sun has set, the sky has settled into a dark blue, signifying the deep night about to settle in. Stars are already twinkling in their place in the sky and Sansa looks up, breathing in the warm air as she stares at the bright yellow dots in the sky, smiling softly.

"It'll be a cold one." She tells him quietly, head against the window, relishing in the coolness on her forehead.

She can feel his warm breath across her neck, her shoulder, her ear, as he nips at it and she stifles a moan when his hands land on her hips, fingers spanning across them, holding her pelvis and pressing against her. "What'll be a cold one?" He asks. His voice is raspy and hoarse and Sansa wishes he would talk more because she loves the way his voice sounds, especially when he whispers against her skin, igniting a fire deep within her.

"Winter. It'll be a cold one this year."

He barks out a laugh. "It's still summer, little bird. Winter is still a far way ahead and we have to get through the fall first."

She shakes her hand and places her hands over his and interlacing their fingers. "Winter is always close and it's always coming."

He rasps vulgar and crude things in her ears and she giggles and moans and she turns around in his arms, wrapping herself around him and kissing him soundly, eager to feel more of him.

Sometimes, all she wants to do is drown in him and she wonders if he'll let her.

She doesn't watch where she's going until she bumps into a thin but solid chest. She lets out a shriek and backs away, only to bump into two more chests behind her and fear grips her. It encases her heart in ice as she stares into two eyes that are narrowed into slits.

"Just who I was looking for. The Stark bitch." His voice hasn't changed. It's the first thing she notices and then she curses herself for her stupidity. He lets out a laugh and its shrill, it's the same laugh she's heard countless times before when he had her beaten and bruised and bloodied. "But then again, you like being mounted by a scarred old fucking dog, so what can I expect?" His eyes go hard and Sansa recognizes the intent. Before she can run, before she can fight back, before she can do anything, he has her wrist in a tight grip and she lets out a whimper. He yanks her closer to him and she stumbles forward, trying to get out of his grasp. "You are such a fucking cunt. You know that? You're still so fucking pathetic and I'm glad to be rid of you. You're useless, fucking worthless. Mother always did tell me I could do better than you and you know what? I have."

She twists in his grip, "then why are you here?" She hisses through gritted teeth.

His grin is feral and his eyes cut to the two men behind her. "The little bitch has grown claws has she?" He grips her tighter and she lets out a cry as she feels her bones grinding and pain erupting up her arm. He puts his mouth to her ear and Sansa struggles against him, tears pooling in her eyes as all the memories of him and what he's done to her, to Sandor, to everyone, play before her eyes like some fucked up movie. "I'm here to remind you of what happens to people who decide to fuck me over, Sansa. I promised you I'd see every single one of you fucking Starks dead and I mean to keep my promise."

"Joffrey!" A familiar voice calls out in the night and Joffrey instantly lets go, his face morphing into a honed smile. Sansa tumbles away from him, bracing herself against an unknown car and away from him, Blount and Trant. Margaery is wearing heels and she's still in her jeans and shirt from earlier today, when Sansa saw her briefly in the hallway. "I didn't know you planned to pick me up."

"I would hate for you to drive alone, sweetheart."

Margaery smiles at him but Sansa notices a glint in her eyes. "Aw, you're too sweet." She slinks up to him and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "But I'm not going to be alone. Loras is coming. Remember, I told you I was going home tonight. My grandmother is visiting and she wants all of us together."

He simpers at her, "I can't wait to meet your grandmother."

Margaery smiles and it's a secret smile, one that Sansa has seen one too many times on Arya's face as she sneaks a pack of beer into her room. "Oh. You have no idea how much my grandmother is eager to meet you as well." She steps away from him and makes a shooing motion with her hands. "Now," she says, crossing over and linking her arm with Sansa. "Leave us to our girl talk. I have so much to catch up with Sansa about."

Joffrey throws Sansa a malicious look. "Be sure to tell her the good news."

He kisses Margeary and Sansa gags at the sudden smell of his cologne and shifts away from him, her eyes trained to the ground as he walks away with Blount and Trant. When she can't see them anymore, Sansa slips her arm out of Margaery's grasp, ignoring her hurt look.

"Sansa," Margaery calls out softly, "I know you don't like me right now and frankly, I don't blame you, but you need to listen to me."

She reaches out for her and Sansa catches the glint of her diamond ring and her eyes grow wide as a saucer. "You're marrying him?" Sansa croaks and it's not because she's sad, or even remotely upset that he's marrying someone else, in fact, Sansa is almost gleeful, but she can hardly believe that Margaery Tyrell would willingly tie herself to Joffrey, knowing the sort of monster he is. "Are you stupid? You know what he's capable of."

Margaery nods slowly. "I do. You do as well, which is what I'm here to tell you. Sansa, you have to be careful."

"What are you talking about?" She asks, her stomach sinking. "What do you know?"

Margaery shakes her head. "He's out for blood and I'm trying to stop him but he's heard about you and his Dog-"

"Sandor is not his dog and don't you ever fucking call him that." Sansa snaps, baring her teeth to Margaery, not even feeling bad about cursing. She thinks Arya and Sandor would be proud.

Margaery gapes at her and takes a step back, only for her lips to curl into a smirk, one meticulously plucked brow cocked as she looks at her proudly. "He's heard about you and Sandor," Margaery corrects, "and he's out for blood. Particularly yours. You're my friend Sansa. I protect my friends."

"You should protect yourself." Sansa points out. "You're marrying a monster."

Margaery lips thin and her eyes glint with many secrets and Sansa wonders if she ever really knew her at all. She crosses the distance between them and kisses Sansa's cheek softly, her fingertips grazing the blooming bruise on her wrist. "I never wanted to see you hurt Sansa and he'll get what's coming to him." The corners of her mouth twitch, resembling a barely there smirk, "that's a Tyrell promise."

She leaves her and Sansa stumbles to her car, wrist throbbing and mind reeling.


She means to go home, really she does, except she finds herself staring at a familiar apartment complex and she all but tumbles out of her car, hurrying up the familiar steps and fumbling with her key chains, hurriedly trying to fit it into the lock.

"Here." He says, sliding a silver key across the table. "For whenever you need it." He shrugs, as if it's nothing, giving her a key to his apartment.

Her heart feels like it's going to burst and she struggles for a moment, her hands shaking with the meaning and then berating herself because it could mean nothing at all. It could be an easy way to let her in, instead of having her wait in front of his door. When the key finally dangles from its spot amongst her other keys, she looks up and sees him staring at its place on her chain, with hesitance and vulnerability that he barely ever lets her see and her heart is that much closer to exploding. She moves from her spot and settles onto his lap, pressing her forehead against his and just breathes in his scent.

His hands wrap around her waist, holding her firmly in place.

She locks the door as soon as she's inside, making her way throughout the dark apartment. "Sandor?" She calls out, her voice croaking and breaking, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "Sandor?" She calls again, this time walking into the bedroom and flicking on the light. He's not there and she trembles.

With jerky movements, she strips out of her clothes, eager to get the stench of Joffrey off her. She's in her bra and underwear when she snatches an old worn sweater lying on his bed. It's large and loose on her, but it smells like him and she flicks off the light, diving underneath the covers, sobs overcoming her, curling into the fetal position and cradling her bruised wrist against her stomach.

She doesn't realize she's fallen asleep until she feels the bed shift with extra weight and her stomach lurches until she inhales his scent and then she falls into him, arms wrapping around him.

He mumbles to her and she shakes her head, unable and unwilling to answer him, afraid that she'll start crying again. God, she's such a stupid idiot. Such a stupid little bird.

When he grabs her hand, the sleeve of the sweater shifts and she can feel his body tense and after a few moments, he asks, "where did you get this?" There is murder in his tone and all Sansa wants to see are his hands ripping Joffrey apart bit by bit. No, she thinks wildly, that's for me. That's for us.

(I am a Stark. We are wolves and we will tear you to pieces.)

So, she feeds him a lie. It's the first lie she's ever told him and she feels disgusting and she hates Joffrey all the more for making her lie to him.

He's heard about you and Sandor and he's out for blood.

Be careful Sansa.

He calls her out on her lie and she's not surprised.

A hound will die for you, but never lie to you, he once told her. It's a long lost memory, when she first started dating Joffrey and he cornered her in the hall, warning her against pretty little things with thorns. She was terrified of his scars, of the rage in his eyes, so she didn't listen.

(She wishes she did.)


When she gets the call that her father is fighting for his life, she feels her world crumble from beneath her feet.

I promised you I'd see every single one of you fucking Starks dead and I mean to keep my promise.

He's out for blood.

Be careful Sansa.


The television in the waiting area is turned on to the news and Sansa sits on the uncomfortable couch with her sister and Rickon, Robb and Jon are sitting on the couch opposite them and Bran sits near the door. Sansa runs her hands through Rickon's hair as he sleeps soundly, his head in her lap and she leans back, her eyes flickering to the television.

They spend their nights like this, the entire Stark family (Robb and Jon having flown in as soon as they got their frantic messages) crowded into the waiting area. The nurses and doctors all know them by name and they don't say anything to them when they stay past visiting hours.

"Holy mother of fuck." Robb says out of the blue, as he reaches for the remote and turns the volume up.

The woman on screen is wearing minimal make-up and a navy blue pants suit, microphone in her hands and standing in front of a looming mansion that makes Sansa's stomach curl with disgust. She knows that house. She's been inside that house. She's spent her days and nights in that house. She was beaten black and blue in that house.

"In what should have been the wedding of the century, Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell have married in a private ceremony at his house. Guests say that both bride and groom were beaming with happiness and that Baratheon, locked in a heavy feud with his uncle Stannis Baratheon over the upcoming senatorial election, could not have asked for a better wife and family-in law. Baratheon was currently linked to Sansa Stark, a friend of the newly minted Mrs. Baratheon. None of the Starks attended, as their father, Ned Stark, was recently in a car accident. Politically speaking, the Baratheon-Tyrell match is a fantastic match as both families are prominent in-"

Jon shakes his head and grabs the remote from Robb's hands and flicks the television off. "Enough of that shit."

There is a feeling so intense in her chest that Sansa doesn't think she can even breathe properly.

He'll get what's coming to him.

"Maybe he'll beat her black and blue too." Arya mutters darkly, eyes glaring at the screen darkly.

"Or maybe," Sansa says slowly, "He'll finally gets what's coming to him."

"One can only hope." Arya responds.

Sansa takes a deep breath and shifts, "I saw him." She confesses. "Before he got married. He…I…saw him."

It's not even a second before Arya lurches sideways and grabs her arm lifting her sleeve, glaring at the fading bruise on her wrist. "You didn't fucking fall."

Sansa shakes her head, a lump growing in her throat. "No. I didn't fall."

There is a moment of blissful silence and then her siblings erupt. Even Bran who has never ever wished harm on anyone and who never raises his voice about anything, joins in.

A nurse comes rushing in, hissing and snapping at them to quiet down or they'll be kicked out and they quiet down some, but not by much. Rickon has woken up confused and disoriented from the noise and Sansa holds him tightly, relishing in his warmth.

It doesn't take long for their mother to rush in, her red hair tousled and eyes wide. "What is going on?"

And so, Sansa tells them everything and in the end, Rickon is the one with his arms around her as she breaks down and sobs, until she can't breathe.

"Oh," Her mother says, kneeling down in front of her, eyes full of tears. "Oh, Sansa."

"I'm sorry." Sansa apologizes tearfully, "I'm so so sorry."


She's deep into studying when her phone rings. She answers it without looking. She doesn't even manage a greeting when her sister's voice breaks through. "Have you seen the news?"

"What? Arya, what's happening?"

Arya hesitates for a moment, "there's a fire."

"Where?" Sansa demands, already getting out of her chair and slipping into her flip-flops.

"At the development site. It's being burnt to the ground."

Sansa hangs up and rushes out of the house, her heart and chest in her throat.

All she can think of is Sandor and how much he hates fire.


The firefighters are there when she pulls up at the site and the blaze is larger than she's ever seen. She can feel the heat from her car. She rushes out and before she can get close, a firefighter grabs her by the waist, "you can't go through." He tells her.

"No, please." She coughs from the smoke, "Sandor!" She struggles in his grasp and calls out again, "Sandor!"

She can see Stannis coming towards her, and he waves the firefighter off. She can see three other men, a woman in red with red hair staring at her with a curious glance and a sly smile and a younger woman who Sansa recognizes as Dany, Jon's aunt who he sometimes talks to and who Sansa has seen only sparingly but is always cordial and polite to them.

"Where is he?" She gasps, when she scans the faces in the crowd and doesn't see Sandor anywhere amongst them. "Where is he?" There is a fear choking her and she thinks she's going to be sick.

"What the fuck is going on here?" A large man grumbles, scratching his head.

"Sansa, listen to me," Stannis says, placing his hands on her shoulders.

Sansa twists away from him and her eyes meet the woman dressed in red and she shivers, feeling uncomfortable in the way she looks at her. "Where is Sandor?"

"Sandor?" The larger man who spoke earlier nearly chokes over his words, "what the fuck is she-girl what the fuck are you doing looking for Sandor?"

The red-haired woman cocks her head, "she's afraid for her lover. He's not fond of fire."

"Lover? Jesus Christ. Aren't you Ned Stark's eldest daughter? Jorah-did you…? Fuck, I don't even fucking care anymore. He's not here."

She doesn't waste any time in elbowing her way past them, words floating to her ears.

"Sansa fucking Stark and Sandor? Well, I think I've officially seen everything. What a sneaky little bastard. Not telling us a damned thing."

"Shut-up, Bronn."

She gets into her car, eyes burning with the heat of the fire and drives away, the flames growing higher and higher, until it's all she can see in her rearview mirror.


She can't help herself, tears automatically sting her eyes, her hands covering her mouth as she stares at the carnage that used to be his apartment.

Tables are flipped, glass is scattered all over the floor as she steps carefully around them, the stench of whiskey and beer takes over the entire apartment and she hides her face under the collar of her shirt, trying to get the smell out of her senses. There are holes in the walls and she traces the large shapes with the pads of her fingertips. She knows his hands, she knows how they look like when they're clenched into fists and she knows that these holes that litter the walls would be the exact same size of his fists.

She stays close to the wall as she walks further into the apartment and down the hall to his room.

He's lying face down on his bed, the scarred side facing her, fast asleep. She can hear his soft snores and she leans against the doorframe, watching him. Her heart hurts when she sees him flinch and mumble, lips turning downward into a frown. Even in his sleep, he doesn't find any peace. She walks towards the bed and catches sight of the bloodstains and she turns her face when she sees his mangled hands. Biting her lip, she turns around and makes her way into the kitchen, rummaging around in his cupboards and drawers for everything she needs.

It takes her two trips, but she finally has everything in his room and she grabs a spare pillow, places it on the floor and kneels down, softly cleaning up his wounds and bandaging his hands.

She gives him a kiss, softly, gently, on his forehead and then she goes back into the living room, staring at the mess, hands on her hips and lets out a sigh. She grabs gloves and bags and starts cleaning up what she can.

He'll probably snap at her come morning. He'll grumble and hiss and snarl that she shouldn't have cleaned up this mess, his mess, that essentially, it's not her business, but it is. Because his pain is her pain. His fears are her fears and she knows how much he fears and loathes fire.

She keeps an ear out for any noise coming from the bedroom and frowns when she hears nothing but the stillness of the night. He's lucky that no one called the cops, she thinks to herself as she ties the final bag and leaves it off to the side.

It's not how it used to be, but it's better than how she found it.

Suddenly exhausted, Sansa makes her way back to his room and finds him on his side, curled into himself and she hesitates, just for a moment, until she takes a deep breath and climbs into bed with him, shuffling until her chest is flush against his back and her arm wraps around his chest, her other arm coming around, playing with his hair. She leans down until her forehead rests in the crook of his neck.

He smells like alcohol, blood and fire and she closes her eyes, suddenly remembering when she saw him at the hospital, standing at the end of the hallway, looking incredibly out of place.

(She never really knows how much she needs him until he's not there.)

I got you, he whispered into her hair, her ear, her neck, I got you.

She presses soft kisses on his neck and feels him shift and move, "I got you." She whispers in his ruined ear. "I got you."


He twists and lands on his back, staring at the ceiling and not at her. She lays her head on his chest, leg curling over his, hand underneath his shirt, relishing in the heat of his body.

They haven't said a word since he woke up and she repeated the words to him again and again until he laughed and then cried. She holds him tightly, trying to anchor him in his breakdown.

The silence is overwhelming, thoughts swirling in her head. She looks at him, sees his closed eyes and she wonders if he's sleeping. She studies his breathing and she knows he's not. He's just not looking at her and she knows, just knows, that he's ashamed of what happened. Of losing control.

She takes in a deep breath and shifts, until she's leaning over him, her hair falling over both their faces and enveloping them in a fiery curtain. She leans forward until her forehead is pressed against his and she kisses him, softly, gently.

"Sandor." She breathes, and she feels him jolt and suck in a breath at his name coming from her mouth and she would say his name a thousand times over if it would always bring that sort of reaction. "I love you." Her heart is hammering against her chest and she's sure that he can hear it.

He doesn't say anything, but he does open his eyes and she wants to cry, wants to weep, at the vulnerability in his stormy grey eyes.

(She was never afraid of him. Not really. She was afraid of his rage, of the fury behind his eyes and even then, she was never really afraid of that, because she knew, just knew, that he would never hurt her.)

"I love you. Sandor, I love you."

He still doesn't say anything, doesn't respond but she can feel his heart beat thunderously as she steadies herself by placing her hands on his chest. Instead, one of his arms wraps around her waist, pulling her flush against him and the other cradles her head and he kisses her like she means the world to him (and maybe, just maybe, she does.) He kisses her so intensely that she feels it from her head to her toes and she hears everything he doesn't say.

I love you too, little bird.

(And that's enough for her.)


Her phone rings shrilly and Sansa reaches over and grabs it, giggling into it as Sandor nuzzles her neck.

"Turn on the news." Arya says, her voice holds a sort of vindication and it makes her frown.

"Arya? What happened?" The last time Arya called her to tell her news, it was to say that the development was being burnt to the ground.

Arya laughs and it's bright and light, almost disbelieving and it holds a little bit of triumph, of glee. "Just turn on the news."

There is a small television in Sandor's room, one that he doesn't use all that often, but she reaches over and grabs the remote, her phone still pressed to her ear.

"In a tragic and horrifying twist of events, Joffrey Baratheon, upcoming senatorial candidate, eldest son to the late Senator Robert Baratheon, has died. His wife, Margaery Baratheon, has stated that it was a brain aneurysm that went undetected. His mother, Cersei Baratheon, nee Lannister, is devastated and Baratheon's widow has stated that the family would like to mourn in peace. So tragic, his life cut so short and such a promising future in front him. Our thoughts are with his family."

"Can you believe it?" Arya shouts through the phone, laughing hysterically, "that fucking piece of shit is dead. He's dead." She pauses. "Pity, I couldn't have been the one to kill him. Shit." She curses. "Sansa, I'll call you back, Robb's on the other line." There is a pause and Arya can feel her sister grin through the phone. "It's over, Sansa. It's all over."

She hears the dial tone and Sansa hangs up, staring at the screen and then Sandor.

They don't say anything and then Sansa starts laughing. She kneels on the bed, laughing, head tilted back and she can feel it in her stomach.

He'll get what's coming to him.

"It's over." She says, repeating her sister's words. "It's all over."

Sandor nods, running a hand through his hair. "Fucking finally."

She opens her mouth, ready to cry or laugh or likely tell him she loves him again and again and again until her voice and is raw and sore when her phone rings a second time. Arya's name lights up the screen and Sansa frowns as she answers it. "Arya?"

"You need to come to the hospital." She blurts out, almost shouting into the phone. There is a hitch in her voice and Sansa realizes that Arya is crying and Arya never cries.

Sansa climbs off the bed, struggling to put on her shoes. "What happened? Is it dad? Arya?"

Arya lets out a laugh and it's caught in a sob. "He's awake. He's awake. Fuck me, as if this day can't get any better, dad's awake."

Sansa lets out a gasp and she stumbles backwards as she sobs into the phone, her hand over her mouth and she looks up through wet eyes at Sandor, who is suddenly in front of her. She hangs up on her sister and smiles through her tears. "My dad, he's awake. Joffrey is dead and my dad is awake." And that's all that runs through her head, Joffrey is dead and my dad is awake. Joffrey is dead and my dad is awake. Joffreyisdeadandmydadisawake.

They waste no time in rushing out of the apartment, Sansa bouncing on the balls of her feet. They don't say anything during the ride to the hospital and he doesn't follow her into her dad's room where she joins her siblings, mom and Jon around her father's bed, tears streaming down all of their faces.

But he does wait for her and he squeezes her hand when she reaches out to him, anchoring her in her sudden breakdown. He buries his head in her hair, breathing in her scent and his arms wrap around her waist, keeping her close to him.

She hears what he doesn't say: I love you, little bird.

(And that's enough for her.)


"Joffrey is dead. Your father is alive. Stannis is winning the election." The Elder Brother repeats the facts back to her, ticking them off on his fingers. He stares at her from over his glasses and his eyes are soft, genuine and Sansa can see the happiness in them. "How does this make you feel?"

She doesn't hesitate in answering him, "free." She tells him. "I feel free."


Two more chappies! And you guys thought I would let Ned die. Pssh….no. I luuurve him. LOL. I hope you all enjoyed it!

HUGE SHOUTOUT TO: TeresaTrav, Katya Jade and EVERYONE at AO3. I've hopefully responded to you all personally but if I haven't, please please please let me know. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!

MAD LOVE AND RESPECT,

BB