Save Me (And I Will Save You)
By Myriddin
Chapter Eight: Moving Forward
King's Landing, Late 2008
"Jon!"
It was one of the greatest joys his life had known up until that point to see Sansa Stark running toward him across a crowded airport terminal and jumped into his arms. As he held her close, he felt at peace for the first time in nearly a year. She buried her face in his shoulder, murmuring against his shirt. "Gods, Jon, I've missed you so much."
"Me too, Sansa, me too."
She raised her head from his shoulder to give him a brilliant smile, one he couldn't help but return, especially as she leaned up to press her lips to his. The kiss was light and chaste, but full of more feeling than either had experienced since that day at the hot springs, before the fateful phone call that had changed everything.
A throat cleared behind them and the couple broke apart to look at Sam, who looked very sheepish over his interruption. "I...I'm very sorry to interrupt, but we really need to be going if I'm still your ride. I have a class to teach in a couple hours."
Jon blinked as the outside world came rushing back in and he nodded apologetically at his friend. Introductions were made as they headed to the baggage claim. Jon had to stifle a laugh at how flustered Sam became when Sansa turned her million-watt smile on him. She tended to have that effect on people.
The three of them split the luggage evenly between them, two suitcases and a large bag full of gifts. Sansa appreciated that neither of the boys insisted they could carry it all themselves, though she did catch Sam's nervous side-eye when Jon handed her the bag. She gave him a wink and the shade of beet red his face turned would have been concerning if not for the stifled laugh Jon covered with a cough.
Speaking of side-eye, she caught Jon's questioning glance and realized what he was asking with the offered outstretching of his arm. Of course Jon being Jon, he was truly asking instead of presuming and Sansa happily accepted, fitting against his side as he wrapped his arm around her waist. She adjusted her purse to slip her arm around him in return, boldly sliding a hand into his back pocket. Jon's only visible reaction was the corner of his mouth twitching up into a subtle smirk, and seemed content to let her hand rest where it wished.
With her suitcases loaded in the trunk, Jon held the car door open for her as she slid her purse and gift bag into the backseat. He was clearly expecting her to follow, given his bewildered look when she instead turned back around instead. Without much preamble, she cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss. It was not the chaste kiss from the entrance gate, nor something inappropriate for a public setting, but it was something very potent, very real.
"Wh-what was that for?" He definitely wasn't displeased, just shocked and more than a little breathless.
She smiled coyly and winked before climbing into the passenger seat. "Just for being you."
As he dazedly loaded himself into the backseat and Sam started up the ignition, Sansa caught Jon's eyes through the rearview mirror, her lips curling into a smile.
By the Seven, it was so good to see him.
xxx
"So what's on the menu?"
Jon grinned as she sidled up beside him, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her chin in the crook of his shoulder as she watched him expertly slice a bell pepper. "So? All that noise you were making earlier didn't come from cutting vegetables."
"I suppose you're not going to let me make it a surprise, are you? I give. There's wine in the fridge if you wouldn't mind opening it. The rest of my ingredients are in there, and you can take your best guess."
As he began to saute garlic, onions, tomatoes and peppers in a deep-set pan, she fetched what turned out to be bottle of Dornish white, one that would pair beautifully with the plastic-covered plate of prawns, mussels and clams she found on the middle shelf, cleaned, peeled, shucked and ready to go. So that was what all the earlier noise had been.
She tried desperately to ignore that the wine was an expensive top-vintage and that the shellfish were out of season and likely incredibly pricy. No, she wouldn't think about the shadow of Rhaegar Targaryen's money and the role it had played in driving a wedge between them. Instead, she smiled brightly, delighted that he had remembered her fondness for seafood. "You really are too good to me," she commented appreciatively, closing the fridge to rummage through a drawer in search of the corkscrew.
She was considerably impressed when he fished a pair of wineglasses out of the cabinet above his head and handed them to her without breaking his rhythm. "Only as good as you deserve, Freckles. And you deserve a lot more than I can ever give."
"Jon..." she sighed as she turned to face him after she had poured them both generously full glasses. He shook his head with a small smile, showing he was being complimentary and not self-deprecating, and accepted the offered glass with a murmur of thanks. As he sipped the wine, she noticed he had added rice to the mixture on the stove-top while her back had been turned, and she arched an eyebrow as she finally connected the dots.
"Where in Westeros' name did you learn to make paella?"
He hummed and looked back at her inquiringly. "Have you had it before?"
"I haven't, but I've heard wonderful things about it."
"This one is Aunt Ashara's recipe." His mouth curved into a fond, but melancholy smile. "It's something she really wanted to pass on to Arya, but you know, Arya was so young when she got sick, so..."
Sansa smiled softly. "So she entrusted it to you?"
"Yeah. Cooking wasn't exactly my favorite pastime when I was fourteen, but at least I could reach the stove. I taught Arya a couple of summers ago. She and Little Ned made it together last year, I think, and that was a big thing for her." Little Ned was the nickname the Starks used to refer to Arya's Dayne cousin, Edric.
"I'm glad she has you." She leaned her hip against the counter, studying him as he stirred. "You miss her, don't you?"
"Arya?"
"No. Aunt Ashara."
Jon sighed, keeping his eyes forward under the guise of not letting their supper burn, but even Sansa, who baked more than she cooked, knew the rice would need several more minutes to cook. "Yeah," he finally conceded, "Yeah, I do. And I guess I miss her more now that-" He cut himself off, uncertain whether he should continue. Knowing him as well as she did though, Sansa knew there was more.
"Now that Uncle Ned and my mom are getting closer?" she questioned, smiling amusedly at his gobsmacked expression. "You don't honestly think I'm too self-absorbed not to notice that Uncle Ned practically lives there? He answers the phone more often than Mom does."
Jon conceded her point, shooting her an askance glance. "You're not upset?"
This time, Sansa was the one to hesitate, but eventually she shook her head. "No. I loved my dad because he was my dad, but he was an awful husband. I think even worse than he was as a father. At least we got some of his attention. After what happened to Bran.." she shuddered, pushing away the familiar feelings of guilty anger, "I can't blame Mom for not grieving him longer. And I think there's been something between her and Uncle Ned for a while. Do you remember that Solstice a few years ago...?"
"The two of them under the mistletoe? Yeah, I remember." He leveled another heavy look in her direction. Ned and Catelyn hadn't been the only one to share a mistletoe kiss that night. It felt so long ago, though he knew logically it had only been two years. He had always believed that it was that Solstice kiss that gave them the push into consummating their attraction the next summer.
She cocked her head, misreading his intentionally blank expression (it was likely too early to let her see arousal in his face when they hadn't even eaten, right?). "What about you? Are you angry?"
"About your mother and Uncle Ned? No. Aunt Ashara's been gone a long time. I think it's the house and the memories with it I'm going to miss when they finally decide to drop the charade and do the formal moving in."
"That makes sense," she replied, squeezing his arm sympathetically, "It's where you grew up."
"Yeah." He placed his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze in return. "I don't even want to think about what Arya's reaction is going to be."
"Seven save us. Let's not go into that tonight." Seeking to divert his attention, she sidled up closer. "I honestly had no idea you could cook. You keep surprising me by pulling these new skills out of the woodwork."
"Mmm, if this wasn't so delicate, we could keep discussing areas I'm skilled in..."
Delighted by the sultry gleam in his eyes, Sansa slid behind him. She slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, lightly squeezing his backside as she returned her lips to his neck, her tongue lightly tracing over his pulse-point.
Jon groaned, letting his head fall back, her hand stroking along his jaw as she cupped his chin, drawing his mouth to hers in a deep, bone-melting kiss. He groaned deeply when she slid her tongue against his, skimming a hand up his shirt to scratch her nails against the small of his back.
When they parted, he licked his lips, feeling hazy and just barely remembering to check on the food. He dipped a spoon into the pan to test the mixture and when satisfied, offered it again for her perusal. Sansa accepted the offer, closing her eyes as the spices danced across her tongue. "Saffron?"
"Hmm-mm."
Her lips closed around his thumb as he traced it against her mouth, sucking at the digit in a provocative fashion that had him swallowing hard, his eyes darkening as he gazed at her. She released his finger and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, then threw him a wink and slid past him to disappear into the living room.
"Cruel," he grumbled, earning her good-natured laughter. He added the shellfish, covered the pan and adjusted the temperature to allow it to simmer. After setting a quick alarm, the pull between them got the better of him and he followed her earlier path to find her standing near the entertainment center, sipping delicately at her wine, body swaying to the smooth, melodious chords of the soft music playing from the stereo.
He placed his hands on her hips, pressing a kiss to her ear as he set her wineglass aside, and whispered, "Dance with me."
And they came together, not in the way they had collided occasion after occasion in some forceful twist of fate, but a smooth, fluid gesture as he pulled her to him, her body fitting seamlessly to his.
They moved together, mimicking the movements everyone picks up on sometime or another learning to slow dance, with her head resting against the crook of his neck and his arms around her waist.
Her hands glided up his back, coming to rest on his broad shoulders. The feel of the sleek muscles beneath the fabric of his flannel shirt was a delicious, long-missed indulgence beneath her fingertips.
There was a heat between them, dizzy and blinding, almost surreal as it embraced them both with welcoming arms, overtaking any sense of reality present in their minds. He pressed a kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder, trailing his lips lightly down the sharp definition of her collarbone. He felt her shudder under his touch and shift just a little closer.
He breathed in the scent of her perfume, not the heavy floral type that always burned his nose and throat, but a subtle, light fragrance, a mild mixture of spice and sweet that fit her personality so well.
Gods, he had missed this; the feel of her body pressed flush against his, the rhythmic movement of her hips as they swayed to the music, the delicate way her thick lashes fell against her fair skin as she closed her eyes.
His body responded to her proximity just as it always had. His head felt dizzy, as if he was in the ocean, under the water where the world was submerged in soundless dark. His breath was not coming freely, panting and heated, and his heart was thundering so loud in his chest he was sure she would hear it.
"Jon…" she whispered in his ear, lightly brushing her lips against the lobe. The sound of his name spoken so softly, so intimately, almost turned his world upside down as he filled with a sensation that almost sent him reeling in its intensity.
He knows this feeling she can invoke in him so easily, so effortlessly, and he can't get enough of it.
The intimate moment was shattered by the loud beeping of the kitchen alarm. The obnoxious sound reverberated in time with Jon's rather theatrical groan, accompanied by Sansa's giggling at the blatant disappointment on his face. She patted his cheek soothingly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before disengaging from his embrace, leaving Jon pouting rather puppy-like before he obediently returned to the kitchen.
Wine and conversation flowed as they filled themselves to the brim with paella and the mixed green salad Jon had made to go with it. After they could eat no more, they piled the dishes in the sink for later and retired to the living room. The half-empty bottle of wine and their glasses were set on the coffee table, within an arm's reach from where they lay together on the sofa, Jon reclined back and Sansa resting against him.
Jon hummed contently, breathing her in and savoring her closeness. "We probably need to talk, hmm?"
"Yeah, we probably should."
He sighed. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I did what I thought I had to-"
"I know. I thought about it later. You made the right choice. It hurt to watch you go, but I know it had to be done." She leaned her head back, nuzzling against his jaw. "I'm sorry, Jon. I acted like a selfish brat, expecting you to drop everything and stay in Winterfell."
"No, it's okay." She noticed one of his hands twitching and recognized the gesture as one he often got when unsettled. His fingers began to drum against his thigh as he continued speaking. "You were hurting and you wanted me to be there for you. I got it. I just wish I had responded better."
She placed her hand over his to stop the nervous fidgeting. "Jon, you had every right to be angry. I know I was distant after the accident. I wanted to ask you to stay so badly. You have no idea how much."
"Why didn't you?"
"I felt guilty. The morning of accident, we were together at the hot springs, remember? I knew...I knew that if I had been home, my mom would have asked me to drive Bran to the Reed's. He never would have gotten in the car with Dad."
"Oh, Sansa. Honey, did you blame yourself?"
Sansa swallowed thickly and nodded. "I did. For months. But I started talking to someone, a counselor at the school, and I'm starting to realize there's nothing I could have done." She sighed. "I need you to understand Jon, I've never felt anything like what I felt when we were together. But after what happened, I didn't feel like I deserved to feel that good. I couldn't make myself lie to you, so I just...said nothing at all."
Jon wrapped his arm around her and she curled into him, nestling into his chest. "I'm sorry, Jon. I'm so sorry."
He kissed her temple, her forehead and nuzzled her cheek. "Here's an idea. Why don't we stop playing the blame game and just accept the fact that we're both sorry? Otherwise this could go back and forth all night."
She laughed softly, the sound full of self-deprecating relief. "Agreed."
"Good."
She settled her head against his shoulder, tilting her face up to study him. She ran a hand through his hair, noting the new length. It wasn't quite the crew-cut he had returned with after boot camp, but it was a far cry from the scruffy look he had sported the previous summer. The wild, fly-away mess she remembered had been tamed and cropped, baring his ears with a tapered neckline. The tresses even retained their natural curl, much to her delight, with a few smooth ringlets falling endearingly against his forehead.
"You cut it."
"I have a certain image I need to keep up as a TA."
"Mmm…I suppose that makes sense. You just look different."
"It's just growing up. I'm still me. No matter what."
She gave a nod, her unspoken satisfaction with the answer evident in the gesture. She pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and Jon sucked in a sharp breath. Sansa, quietly curious, noted the way his muscles quivered beneath her, the way he tensed in that special way she knew to be arousal and nothing else. "Jon…the way we left things…"
"I'm sorry-"
She placed a finger against his lips. "No. We already went through that. I'm talking about us," she traced her hand down his chest, feeling again that trembling both of anticipation and excitement, "This."
He exhaled heavily. "Do you have someone?"
She shook her head, "Nothing that lasted. What about you? Are you still with that woman?"
"I ended things about a month ago."
"Good."
She kissed him softly, letting the contact linger for a moment before pulling back. He breathed her name and kissed her again, equally as tender as hers had been, stroking his fingers against her cheek. "Sansa, I want to do it right."
"Us?"
"Yeah."
"Me too. I want a chance to be with you, Jon. A real chance this time. But we're so far apart…"
"I have less than a year left here, and King's Landing is closer to the Vale than Winterfell. Honestly, Sansa, I've wanted this for too long to let distance get in the way. The only thing that matters to me is if you feel the same."
She leaned her forehead against his, doubts falling away in the wake of his resolution. "I do."
He grinned, bright and boyish, and she giggled with delight as he pulled her into an even tighter hug. Somewhere in their enthusiasm and excitement, their mouths met and clung and their bodies entwined in heated anticipation. Soon enough, Sansa found herself half-naked, sprawled over the body of the man she was quickly considering to be the love of her life, and subject to the very pleasurable attentions his lips were attending to her bare skin.
Reluctantly, she pulled away from him. "Jon, wait."
Jon obeyed immediately. "What's wrong?"
"Let's take things slow this time around. We're not in any rush, right?"
He smiled and nodded, leaning up to nuzzle against her neck. "Yeah. No rush."
"Okay." Long since lacking inhibitions around him, she didn't bother to redress herself, nestling back against him. Jon's arms slipped around her and he laid back, holding her in silence. She idly caressed her fingers against his bare chest in random patterns. "So what are the plans for tomorrow?"
"I was thinking we could spend the day in the city," he murmured in reply, running his fingers through the long auburn locks draped across his torso. "I know a bunch of places I think you might like. And if you feel like it, my friends want to meet you."
"Sounds good." She murmured with contentment as he continued to stroke her hair. Her breath began to slow and even, her body relaxing against the heat of his.
He smiled amusedly. "Sleeping here?"
"Mmm…"
Jon chuckled at the drowsy response, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart."
xxx
Jon's friends, it turned out, were a lot of fun to be with.
They had barely made it out the door before Jon got a sudden call on his cell. Whatever it was, it wasn't good if his expression was anything to go by. He apologized profusely as he excused himself, telling them to have fun without him for a bit. He wouldn't be long, he promised.
Sansa found herself sitting with Pyp, Grenn and Sam in a local restaurant and bar, lingering over drinks as a live band played on stage. "You have to tell us what Professor Laconic was like as a teenager," Pyp stated, leaning forward in his eagerness. He nearly knocked over the beer in front of him, which was saved only by Grenn's quick reflexes. The mechanic frowned at his gesticulating friend, and Pyp waved him off. Grenn's frown only deepened in that thick beard of his.
She laughed at their antics. "Professor Laconic?"
"He's got dozens of them," Sam informed her as he arrived back at the table with the baskets of appetizers they had ordered. "This one's a little more creative than Sergeant Succinct."
"Captain Tight-Lip," Grenn continued.
"Lieutenant Reticent."
"I admit, that one was pretty good."
"Alright," Pyp interrupted, glaring at his friends. "I think the lady gets the picture."
Sansa could not say much in reply, lost as she was in a fit of giggles.
The boys were true in their word to Jon that they would keep her entertained. Her glass was never empty, they passed food around her way until she was so full she was fit to burst. She found that Sam told the most wonderful stories, that Pyp loved to flirt and Grenn was a terrible gossip. They were wonderful company, and she loved that Jon had them in his life. But Jon's absence soon became too prominent to ignore after nearly two hours had passed and calls and texts to his phone went unanswered.
What had started as a slightly uneasy feeling in the back of her mind turned into an uncomfortable sensation crawling up her spine and culminating into an anxious twisting in her stomach. She knew something had to be wrong.
"Sam, could you...?"
"Of course. Let me grab our coats."
Sansa let herself into Jon's place with the key he had given her, stepping warily into the silent apartment. She removed her shoes and coat, calling out his name, "Jon? Jon, are you here?"
She found him a few moments later in the living room, seated on the couch. He was hunched in on himself, staring blankly ahead as if seeing nothing before him but his own thoughts. Sansa frowned with concern, stepping cautiously toward him, "Jon?" She touched his shoulder and he flinched away, his eyes closing painfully.
"Jon, what is it? What's wrong?"
"…Margaery Tyrell is pregnant…she says it's mine…"
Sansa took a shuddering breath, swallowing back her own heartbreak to focus on the hurting man before her. She watched worriedly as he sank to his knees before her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach and she felt the beginnings of his deep, broken sobs.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She stroked his hair, unable to find words but forgiving him in her silence. He tightened his hold on her in response, clinging desperately to the one thing that still made sense.
xx
Author's Note: There's always been a lot of debate over whether the ethnicity of Rhoynar-descended Dornish is more Mediterranean, Arabic or Indian. I'm going with Spanish here in honor of Pedro Pascal's portrayal of Oberyn Martell. Why paella? I've never made it, but it sounded just complicated enough to be something Jon could use to impress his date, and the seafood version seemed appropriate since Starfall, the seat of House Dayne, is located on the Torentine and is so close to the Summer Sea coastline.
