They sat in silence for some time, watching the rain fall and listening to the thunder rumble as the storm began to move past them. Sandor still held Sansa's hand in his until she pulled it away. When he looked at her, he saw her cheeks were stained with silent tears and that she was wiping them away. He reached into his pocket for a hankie and remembered she was wearing his jacket. He moved toward her and she drew back instinctively.

"There's a handkerchief in the inside pocket, girl; might be it's as soaked as we are," he rasped. "Take it if you need it."

"Thank you," she murmured quietly and pulled it out when she found it. She dabbed at her eyes but still her tears came. She ducked her head when he kept looking at her. "I remember you hate crying," she apologized.

"Never thought it did no good," he acknowledged, "but I think I can suffer it this once. Nothing else you can do now: there's no changing what's past. Have your cry, girl, and move on from there."

She sniffled softly. "Oregon sounds pretty," she ventured hopefully. "I like nature: wildflowers and streams…" she trailed off quietly before speaking again. "I thought Hawaii was so beautiful when we arrived: a tropical paradise. I thought it would be such a wonderful adventure, that everything would be beautiful and splendid." Her chin quivered and she closed her eyes as more tears coursed down her cheeks. "How- why did it all go so wrong, Sandor?" she whispered now. "Was I a spoiled little rich girl? Did I expect too much? Did God punish me for having so much when others didn't?"

He shifted in the seat next to her, unsure how to answer.

"I don't know, girl," he began, "I'm not one for God or even expectations…I seen a lot in my life, a lot of it ugly and brutal and hard, and not just the war or police work. There are lots that like to hurt others, or use them; lots who are just plain mean or greedy. There don't seem to be any reason to it: just the way things are."

She sniffled again. "I used to think you were mean: you were so awfully hard."

"I'm honest; it's the world that's awful. You're right though, it did make me hard…hurts less that way, I figured."

"Does it? I tried to be hard: with myself and with others and with the world. I thought that I didn't care about the things that used to matter to me anymore; and I thought that I was doing fine, that I was surviving the way most people need to do," she smirked slightly, reminding him of her cynical coyness from their first meeting. "Fool. What did I know?" she mocked herself now.

Sandor considered her words. "You're not wrong about that. Most have to work hard and be tough to get by. You learning all that just came later and much harder, that's all."

"And lots of others have lost family now, because of the war; they've suffered and had to start over again. So I tell myself that it's not so bad…but it still hurts. My landlady had to leave her country a long time ago because of wars. I think she was badly hurt as well. She doesn't say so, but I think it's why she helps other women…" she stopped short.

"How does she help: she takes them in?" Sandor asked when she did not continue.

Sansa shook her head. "I forget sometimes that you're a policeman; I don't want to get her in trouble."

Sandor laughed, a short rough laugh. "And how could an old lady be in trouble? Is she dealing in contraband doilies? Is she laundering money as well as sheets?"

"She helps women," she answered simply.

Sandor turned to look at her suddenly. "You mean she-"

"Not like it's done here," Sansa rushed to defend her, "with wire hangers and bleeding and infections that kill them. She makes a tea with herbs, like in the old country; she grows them in the yard. It's much safer…and cheaper; you can see she hasn't much. Is that a crime, to help women and girls that way? You won't turn her in, will you, Sandor? She's been so kind to me."

Sandor was stunned. "And you've helped her with this? Of course you have, that's how you know." Another thought occurred to him. "Have you-?"

She blushed and stammered. "I- I drink a lit- little every day…so that…so I don't… It's the safest way," she explained.

"Well, bugger me, girl. You have learned a lot out in the world. Could be worse, I suppose. As long as she keeps it quiet, I can turn a blind eye; but anyone dies or turns up in the emergency ward and she'll land in jail, no two ways about it. Doctors working out of fancy offices in Beverly Hills may get away with this but not old ladies from the old country who work out of boardinghouses. Life's not fair, remember?"

"Oh, yes," she replied flatly with her old cynicism, "I'll always remember that, Sandor."

He sighed now and reached to caress her face.

"Hm. I told you you'd learn one day, didn't I? What all your dreams and beautiful ideas were worth? Do you think that I jinxed you, little bird? Do you hate me for it?"

She stared back levelly; then dropped her eyes sadly.

"No, Sandor, I don't hate you; but sometimes, I just hate that you were so right, then…and now. Do you hate having to keep watching over me?"

"No, girl, I just hate that I need to do it, hate the kind of world he live in sometimes. If I could I'd keep you safe always. But you have to go away, so I'll have to trust you to my friend. Tell me truthfully now: when does this Tor come back again?"

She thought a moment. "He- he said it would be six weeks before he got leave again, that means five weeks left."

"That's plenty of time. I'll write my friend, no maybe I should try to call him from the police station. You might want to pick yourself a new name; I'll look into getting you some kind of identification…off the record, of course." He thought about what she might need.

"Thank you for helping me, Sandor," she whispered. She thought as well. "I'll try to work extra hours in the coming weeks, to save more money. I don't want to be a burden to your friend."

"Rain's let up a bit," Sandor noticed. "I'll take you home now."

He pulled up later in front of the boarding house.

"I'll walk you to the porch; we're both wet enough already not to care anymore." He put his hand on the door handle and turned back when she did not move.

She looked confused. "I thought…when you said home, that we were going to your place."

"Aren't you safe here with him away? I'm on duty tonight but you can stay at my apartment if you need to; we'll just go get want you need."

She shook her head. "No, I- I guess I'll be fine."

"What is it?" Best tell me before I go, girl."

"I thought…thought you still wanted me," she admitted tremulously.

He turned completely in the driver's seat to face her directly now. "I will help you, Sansa; but there won't any price for it. I told you that I would always want you," he interrupted when he saw that she would excuse what she had said about the price of his protection, "but more than that, more than anything: I want to keep you safe."

He leaned and kissed her forehead, a comforting gesture, as Elder brother might have done. "If you decided you want me, girl," he rasped closely, "well, there will be time enough for you to think about that before you go. Now hand me that jacket."

She shrugged out of his damp jacket and handed it to him. Sandor got out the driver's side and put the jacket up over his head and waited for her to come out the same side. When she did, he held the jacket over both their heads and walked her up to the porch. The elderly landlady was sitting in one of the worn wicker chairs, crocheting yet another doily.

"Ah, you home. I worry you in rain," she looked them both over. "I right to worry," she noted. "Alayne, go have bath or you will catch cold."

"Thank you," she smiled gently. "I'll wait to hear from you?" she asked Sandor who nodded.

After she went in, Sandor stepped back and went to the end of the porch to speak to her landlady. She looked up at him, her weathered face a mixture of knowing and amusement, and he saw at once how truly wise she was.

"You like girl. This is good. But you worry too."

"I do," he told her. "There is another man, a young soldier."

She screwed up her face. "I see him. I no like. I no let him in house." She sighed. "But I say nothing. I can no be mother to her."

He looked back over his shoulder. "He's dangerous. If he comes back, you call me." He handed her a card. "If I'm not there, just ask for a patrol car and say he's trespassing."

She shook her head. "I no have phone. I hit man. Frying pan, or iron."

Sandor laughed ruefully. "Too dangerous. You watch out for yourself too."

She eyed him with her shrewd, warm eyes, dark purple like mulberries: eyes that had seen much and still were good and kind. He wondered how she had managed that.

"I like you, policeman. You good man."

"Maybe," he replied shortly.

"Good for her," she insisted.

He twitched his scarred half-smile. "I'm trying."

….

Sandor was filling out a robbery report for a downtown jewelry store, squinting at the list of stolen items made by the owner. Columbian emeralds, he read. He remembered the emerald earrings Robert Baratheon had given Cersei; he had said they matched her eyes. That was back when they could at least pretend to stand each other. She wore the earrings to his funeral, the bitch. Money did not buy happiness from what he'd seen, just Columbian emeralds. Maybe the girl would be better off where she was going after all.

He scratched in the necessary information on all the right lines: name, address, time and date, responding officer, etc. He signed the bottom and put it in an out-basket to be filed. A cup of coffee and a corned-beef sandwich sat on the corner of his desk. He glanced at his wristwatch: 11:57. Everyone else was milling about, sitting on desks and talking and waiting to go to lunch. He pulled his own food in front of him and began un-wrapping it. Suddenly, the room grew quiet. Sandor looked up.

"I'd like to speak with Officer Clegane, please," she politely asked the nearest man.

It was her, standing in the door of the squad room in a belted, bottle-green dress and her hair in those lovely waves under a purple hat. Second-hand, he thought to himself as he stood and nodded to her. She still looked better than whoever had worn it first, he had no doubt.

"Miss Stone," he greeted her.

"Officer Clegane," she replied formally.

"Please have a seat," he brought a chair over next to his desk. The others began drifting out of the room for lunch but most turned to watch her walk towards his desk and didn't bother keeping their observations to themselves.

"What a dish. What's she want with Clegane?"

"Legs like that should be against the law."

"Legs like that should be standard issue for every broad on the West Coast."

"She walks any farther and I'll have to arrest her for a moving violation."

Sansa politely ignored their comments; Sandor suspected Alayne Stone would have given them coy smiles. Once she sat down near him, she could not hide her yearning.

"Go on, you know you want it," he rasped.

She reached into his sandwich wrapping and took his dill pickle.

"Thank you," she smiled and took a ladylike bite.

"Now, why are you here? Has Private Tormund-"

She shook her head. "No. I've been working extra hours to save money."

"And?" he prompted.

"Tonight will be my first night off in a week; then I don't work again until the day after tomorrow."

"I'm not your parole officer, girl: I don't need to know your every waking moment."

She blinked slowly, languidly. "What do you need?"

He arched an eyebrow in surprise at her sultry tone.

"You said that I could think about whether I wanted you…before I leave," she ventured now.

Sandor stared levelly. "What are you after, girl?"

She bit into the dill pickle again; she chewed and swallowed. "You," she breathed finally.

"Sansa-" he rasped low.

"I can even cook for us tonight. Hodor has been teaching me: simple things but good."

He looked down at his sandwich. "You don't have to do this, girl," he mumbled.

There was a silence that followed. "I know," she whispered. "Sandor, I want to."

He looked up again, looked at her beautiful face with her deep blue eyes and full lips in a gentle but uncertain smile. He wanted to kiss those lips again; he wanted to sink his hands into her thick dark hair. He wanted her to take off her ridiculous purple hat and keep taking things off until she was naked in the dimness of his bedroom, and warm and soft under his body.

He cleared his throat and pushed back from his desk then pulled his wallet and keys out of his pockets. He handed her his apartment key.

"Can you find it on your own? Good." He opened his wallet and peeled off a five dollar bill. "Is that enough for dinner? Pick up what you need on the way."

"Thank you, Sandor," she smiled genuinely now. "You won't regret it."

He barked a short laugh. "I know I won't." He looked at her tenderly now. "I only hope you don't."

She imitated his laughter. "I know I won't." She tucked his key and the folded bill into her little handbag, closing the metal clasp "I'll see you tonight."

"Damn right you will," he squinted up at the wall clock. "I finish at four. And girl?"

"Yes, officer?"

"Ditch the hat."