SUNDAY

Sandor watches her back, spellbound, from his side of the bed. He has to blink twice to believe his eyes.

After waking up with the first sunlight that came through the dormer, it has taken him some moments to realize that he isn't dreaming; that the red-haired beauty who is sleeping in his bed is real. Then the moments shared last night flash through his mind: how he carried her to his bedroom and they kept talking until late in the bed, speaking of everything and nothing, laughing and also kissing from time to time, until Sandor noticed she had fallen asleep while he was telling her some story - probably too boring - about some of his latest projects. At some point during the night, Sansa had left his left side to roll over to the other side of the bed, and he had spread out his body all over the rest of the mattress as he usually does when he sleeps alone – that's always. Sansa is now cuddled in the small space his body hasn't invaded yet, his long t-shirt rolled up to her belly allowing him a glorious view of her perfectly shaped butt. What a magnificent way to wake up on what was supposed to be any other Sunday.

Sansa is sleeping quietly, unaware of the lustful attention she's drawing, when Sandor reaches out to where she is and entangles his fingers in her hair, spread now between them over the sheets. He caresses her shoulder and lets it slide along her side before wrapping his arm around her waist. He presses his chest to her back, being careful not to get too close and wake her up thanks to the growing erection he's already having.

Hells, she is more than real; she is warm flesh and bone under his hands, a smile in the middle of the night, laughs on the porch, a slight taste of wine, a little girl inside his piece of cloth - a woman in his arms. She is all those things he's never dared to dream of, things that certainly will be difficult to forget. Sansa Stark. a. Little bird. Such an unexpected gift some forgotten old god has granted him to light up his gray life for a few days. God bless the old gods of the plains of Invernalia because theirs is the realm of dreams.

Sandor breathes in her hair like an addict to his drug and lightly kisses her shoulder before getting out of the bed. It's hard to leave her, to step away from her side lest she vanishes like a reverie. However, he's made a promise and as he isn't prone to make promises lightly, he means to fulfill this one: coffee.

Once downstairs, he goes in the bathroom to have a shower before turning on the coffee-maker, allowing the smell of morning coffee fill the house. Her coral dress is still there where Sansa left it, more proof that this isn't a dream, that he has really spent the night with her and that she was really enjoying his company too. A smile creeps onto his lips as he tosses it aside and steps into the shower, welcoming the cold water that flows down his hair and body, waking him up completely. Sandor doesn't remember when was the last time he felt so good and alive on a Sunday morning – certainly long ago – or if he had ever had fun at a festival – probably never. However, both things seem good now that Sansa has been part of them. The thought of her dancing in that sexy dress she was wearing, taking his hands or smiling and laughing with him during the night cause his previous erection show up again and this time he doesn't bother to hide it.

Coffee is ready when a sleepy Sansa steps slowly from his bedroom rubbing her eyes, her hair in a big bun on top of her head. She grants him that awestruck smile from the previous night when she sees he's still wearing only a pair of pajama pants; that impressed look on her pretty face that betrays her when she's admiring his bare body, and he can't help but laugh to himself. It's true that he's in good shape; all his family had a strong constitution, although it's not as if his body has attracted many gazes from women so far. His ugly scarred face, added to the fact that he isn't very good with people, much less with women, hasn't helped him at all. There have been some women, of course, but very few have tried to see him more than twice and he has never had the patience to enter the game of dating for any of them. In fact, it's been a long time since he quit trying and he thinks he's been happier and calmer since then. That's why he likes Sansa; nothing seems forced with her. Everything that has happened between the two of them has flowed naturally and, in some kind of miracle, she doesn't mind the worst part of his face, nor the fact that he was part of the bunch of assholes that used to be around the Lannisters that turned her life into a nightmare six years ago.

As she comes downstairs, Sansa keeps looking at him so intently that she slips on a step and has to grab the handrail not to fall on her butt. Sandor laughs out loud this time, surprised and amused by the clumsiness she has shown during the week.

"Hells Sansa, I can't leave you alone!" he says, approaching where she's still standing, her cheeks already red with embarrassment. "Come here." Sandor climbs a couple of steps and wraps his arms around her middle letting her throw her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

"I'm sorry. You distract me," she whispers playfully in his ear as he lifts her and carries her safely to the kitchen, between giggles of joy and kisses on their necks, before Sandor leaves her on a stool.

"Good morning," he says before letting her go, his lips brushing hers. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," Sansa assures him. "Mmmm… love the smell. I can't begin the day without a big cup of coffee."

"Me neither. Hope you like it, I'm afraid it may be too strong," Sandor replies as he pours two mugs and hands one to Sansa. "Want to drink it outside?"

Sansa stretches and nods before following him, padding barefoot over the floor to the porch. It's still a bit cold outside at this hour in the morning – it's already mid-September, after all – but it's still comfortable and probably the day will be warm, and he has always enjoyed having breakfast outside when the weather allows it. She sits cross-legged on the bench by his side, blowing her coffee and sipping it slowly, and Sandor wonders how it is possible that they have come to share these simple bits of life together - having a coffee on a Sunday morning on his porch, watching the fields, enjoying that quiet moment of the morning in which the only sound that can be heard is the birds chirping. It seems nothing, however it's all now because she somehow makes it special. Sansa has goosebumps on her legs though he is fine even without a t-shirt, and he finds somehow funny the idea that they are wearing one complete pajama between the two of them. He throws an arm over her shoulders and she leans immediately against his side.

"Thank you," she tells him between sips. "For the coffee; I love it. And for the rest…"

"Huh?"

"You know, for not making me regret coming to Invernalia. For helping me with the house, for showing me new places I hadn't been before. For sharing your wine and opening your home to me. For yesterday… I've really had a great time this week, something a few days ago I thought would be impossible."

"Well, it's obvious that I'm a good host!" he says, and they both giggle. "But don't tell Brienne or she'll be jealous."

"She's great too. And Jaime, and even Beric, although you don't like him. There are really good people here now and I'm glad to have changed my mind about this village. Fortunately, the years have changed this place for better and I think I may like it again."

"Glad to hear you say it," Sandor hugs her tighter and kisses her temple. "That means you'll stay a little longer, then?" The question has lingered in his mind since he woke up and slips without thinking, though he isn't even sure he wants to hear the answer.

"I can't, Sandor. My week off finishes today and I have to go back to work tomorrow." She sighs, obviously not happy with the thought, although Sandor dislikes it even more. The idea of letting her go again makes him sick. He had known she had to return to her own life at some point; in fact, it's already been a couple of days since she completed what she came to Invernalia to do, but Sandor had erased that idea from his thoughts. Now reality hits him hard and he realizes he's not prepared for letting her go yet. As he wasn't prepared for meeting her again or for anything that has happened between them these last few days.

"When are you leaving?" he manages to ask through gritted teeth and as quietly as he can, though he knows it sounds bitter.

"I planned on leaving after lunch. It's a long drive to the city and tomorrow I have to get up early…" She leaves his side then and looks at him frowning. "What is it?"

"Nothing." Sandor sips his coffee, which is already getting cold, and stares at some vague point of the landscape in front of them, unable to meet her questioning gaze. What's he going to tell her? That he'd like her to forget her job and her apartment and her amazing friends without telling anyone and stay at Invernalia? It's a stupid and selfish wish and he knows it, though he can't help but feel it nevertheless. He doesn't want to lose her again, otherwise he'll think all those moments never really happened. He doesn't want his good luck to end, he doesn't want to let her go, he doesn't want to stop feeling this good – not yet.

"I wish I could stay longer, I really do, but I have a job, Sandor. And there is also the issue of the house. I have things to do in the city. You understand that, don't you?" Sansa speaks softly and quietly, her hand over his thigh, as if taming an animal who can go wild at any moment. As if fearing to startle him. And she has all the right, because there is a storm inside him, threatening to release at any moment. He sips his coffee again, takes a deep breath, and swallows the dark liquid and with it her words, his bitterness and his damned wasted feelings.

"I know, little bird. Your job. The house, the family and all." He feels her hand cupping his cheek, forcing him to look at her instead of at the fields.

"I'm sorry. It's hard for me to leave now too. I wish… I wish I had more time with you. I didn't plan this…"

Sandor cups her cheek too, her face fitting perfectly in his huge hand. She is sad, he can tell, and he wonders if she has felt it too, whatever it is that has sparked between them during their time together, if it's also there for her. A feeling with no name yet, an invisible bow that has tied them tight and that, as impossible as it may have seemed a week ago, makes hard to be parted. He stares at her, that girl inside his clothing that has slid into his life from his past to turn his safe and boring life upside down with her kindness and a bunch of smiles and laughter. The woman whose body ached to be next to his when he touched her, whose desire matched his last night. An impossibility. An illusion. Something too good to stay in his life. He kisses her and they remain cuddled one against the other for a little while more.

"I hope it doesn't take so long to see you again."

"I hope so too," she says, a little smile forming now on her lips. "It's just… Many things have happened and… well, I need to deal with some personal things first… I promise I'll call you, and we'll see each other again. If you want."

Sandor knows that he'll be waiting like a dog for his master, hoping that she decides to come back, for her to call him or to throw a bone to him. Waiting for her to, in the end, choose him above the rest of her life. You're a fool that never learns, Clegane. "Yeah, I'd like that, little bird," he replies before he gives her a brief kiss and tries to memorize the taste and the shape of her lips for the long empty days to come. "Now, go take a shower if you want, I'll take care of this."

While Sansa leaves the porch and goes into the house, Sandor remains there finishing his coffee and finally unleashing his true thoughts. How nice it'd be to believe they'll meet again. He really wishes he could at least find some comfort in that. He may be a pessimist, or too realistic or it's simply that life has taught him not to want much from people, that promises are easy to break. And so he realizes he can't hold on to her confident words. Sansa probably meant what she said, but he knows that once back to her life, Sandor Clegane and Invernalia will be left behind, the same as her family house - things that were nice for some moments, then forgotten among the duties and reality of her daily fancy life. And he still doesn't know what is going to hurt more: never having been with her or having the chance to taste her and losing her for a second time.

Sandor imagines her now, naked in his own shower, washing away the effects of the night before leaving to pack her things at Brienne's, and has to restrain himself not to go to the bathroom to join her under the water and make love to her. Yeah, so you'd have another memory with which punish yourself for weeks.

He's trying to digest what is going to happen when his phone rings somewhere in the living room, startling him. He grabs the mugs from breakfast and goes inside to look for it, just to find out it's Brienne. Sandor thinks about not answering it - she knows well enough not to call him on Sunday morning - but his friend is stubborn and would be calling once and again until he picks it up, so he grabs the phone and slides the bar with a grunt.

"What… Yes she's here... No! I won't tell you anything woman! Since when are you one to gossip?... huh… fine, I'll tell her… uh… See you, bye."

Several minutes later, Sansa leaves the bathroom wearing her dress and her hair wrapped in a towel and sits on a stool next to him with a satisfied grin on her face. Sandor approaches her and settles between her legs, sliding her skirt up to leave space for his hands to be placed over her bare flesh. She smells of his shampoo, of hot water and clean skin and he can't help but to caress the soft skin and lead his hands carefully up her thighs. "Mmmmm..." she purrs as her arms surround his waist, pulling him closer. "There's nothing like a proper shower…"

"I know," he replies with low voice before leaving a kiss on her long neck. "Listen, Brienne just called. Wanted to know if you're here." Another kiss. "Said she's preparing kind of a farewell lunch." One more kiss. "She has even invited your friends and all," the last one.

"Oh," she just mutters, her breath agitated. "Sounds nice. We should go then…"

Sandor finally moves off her neck to look at her, "I'm not going."

"Why? She's your friend too."

"There's no need to extend this, Sansa. It's better to say goodbye now."

He sees the disappointment in her eyes before he's even finished speaking, but can't change his feelings either. He doesn't want to waste a few more hours with her that won't change anything in the end, nor does he want to spend them with her friends.

"Oh, please, come to have lunch. It'll be nice…" she tries weakly to convince him, all pleading eyes and sweet words.

"I don't think it's a good idea. It's better this way, believe me."

"Better for who? For you?"

Sansa's doesn't sound angry, but sad. He'd like to do whatever she wants, but he has already made up his mind and prefers this to end as soon as possible. Sandor steps away from her and she stands, trying to smile but failing at it. She goes into the bathroom and leaves with her wet hair combed. Hells, she is so beautiful. She is fun and she's smart and she's leaving and he can't do anything to stop that from happening, to stop the events from breaking him apart again. Sandor stands in the center of the living room, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, watching how she walks outside to look for her shoes and then picks up her purse from the couch.

Sansa steps next to him letting him wrap her into his arms and rest his bad cheek on the crown of her head. "Try not to get cornered by any animal and not to slip on anything. I won't be there to help you next time," he mutters. He feels her breasts rising and falling, laughing softly.

Sansa finally leaves his side and looks up at him. "So, that's it… " He looks away, at the porch and beyond, not finding anything useful to say, his arms now limp along his body. "I guess."

And with that she walks to the front door, opens it and steps out of his life. Sandor doesn't turn around to look at her one last time as the weight of his usual loneliness falls over his shoulders when, at his back, the door closes slowly with a soft click.

A bittersweet taste is creeping into her mouth as Sansa leaves behind Sandor's home on her way to Brienne's. She understands him. She knows how hard and sad it may be for Sandor to part ways, because she feels that way too. Leaving Invernalia today is more difficult than she ever thought, but she feels helpless about it; it's not as if she could change the way things are or the way he feels about it. It was always meant to be one week; that's what she asked for at work and, to be honest, a week ago it was more than she expected herself to be able to stay in the village. Things have changed during these days, though; probably in a more significant way that she's aware of yet. But work is waiting for her in the office - piles of paperwork and mails disregarded during the past week – and she can't extend her free time any longer. Besides, what did he expect? That she would leave everything she has in the city because of a few kisses and a nice night together? It hasn't been an easy path to make a life of her own, to lose everything for a foolish decision from one day to the other. Routine, work and friends await both of them from tomorrow; responsibilities that can't be simply forgotten. Real life in a real world with no sunsets and no festivals, and certainly, not watching the stars before falling asleep. That's how reality is, whether they like it or not.

Some minutes later, Sansa parks in front of the Bed and Breakfast and opens the door quietly, trying to go unnoticed - suddenly ashamed of arriving almost at lunch wearing the same clothes as the day before. Tiptoeing her way to the stairs, she hears male voices coming from the kitchen, Jaime and Beric it seems, though Brienne can't be heard anywhere. She manages to arrive at her bedroom without finding anyone on her way, closes the door and stares astonished at the tidy room. Last time she was there – Saturday morning, though more than one day seems to have passed – the bed and chair were scattered with several dismissed clothes and a fair amount of shoes were displayed in the middle of the room. Now all her clothes are perfectly folded over the bed and a perfect line of shoes welcome her next to the wardrobe. She feels guilty as she imagines Brienne taking care of her mess, making the bed, cleaning everything and trying to make the room inhabitable again. Sighing and taking mental note to thank her later, Sansa changes her dress and peep toes into a more comfy outfit of jeans, blouse and flats. Grabbing the strength to pick up her suitcase from the corner of the room she begins preparing her luggage, though it isn't long until someone knocks at her door.

"Sweetie, are you there?" Brienne's voice says from the corridor followed by a chorus of giggles. When Sansa hesitates a moment before answering, Jeyne's voice joins too: "Oh, come on! Don't try to hide, Sansa Stark. We already know you are there!"

Sansa rolls her eyes and tries to suppress a laugh before opening the door and find the two women smiling behind it.

"A hard night?" Jeyne ask innocently clasping her hands in front of her. "Anything you want to share with us?"

Sansa finally bursts out laughing and moves away from the door to let her friends and their friendly curiosity come in. Two friends I didn't have a week ago, she thinks with pride. They sit on the bed on each side of her, expectant and looking forward hearing her story of what's happened since the last time they were together.

"What?" she asks them, though she can't help the grin on her face.

"We left you yesterday with Clegane and you are arriving home right now," Jeyne begins. "Sooooo…"

"I've been with him until now," Sansa confesses.

"Aaaawwww!" the two women exclaim at the same time with utter delight.

"Did you two enjoy the evening then?" Brienne dares to ask, more cautiously than Jeyne.

A flash of moments come now to her mind – cotton candy, holding hands, cuddling on the porch, Sandor holding her at night, she running her fingers through his hair, his kisses, his kisses, his kisses - and she nods firmly. "We did. It was great. I think… it think it was too long since I was so comfortable with someone actually."

"I'm so glad for you two!" Brienne says holding her hands, "I'd never seen Sandor so interested in anyone before, nor behaving the way he does when you are around. He really likes you, Sansa."

Sansa feels her cheeks burning and the goofy smile her lips are already forming. "I like him too."

"Wow, you and Sandor!" Jeyne adds. "Who could have imagined it when we were just two foolish girl dreaming about our charming prince!"

They both laugh at the thought of 13-year-old Sansa and Jeyne laying on Sansa's bed daydreaming about how their knight in shining armor would be – strong, brave and gentle - and longing for the day true love would come to their lives. A few years later Sansa had thought Joffrey could fulfill that dream, only to have it become a painful nightmare. During the following years she had believed that love was just something distant to her. And never in a thousand years would she have imagined she would have butterflies again simply by returning to Invernalia and meeting someone from that same painful past.

"Is he coming for lunch?"

"I don't think so. Sorry, Brienne."

"Why? I called him this morning…" She seems surprised by it and Sansa can simply shake her head and lift her palms, as if that explained everything. "Well, knowing him, I guess he simply doesn't want to say goodbye to you," Brienne offers kindly.

Sansa shrugs, not wanting to keep talking about something she doesn't have words for either. Brienne hugs her warmly before getting up. "Fine, there'll be the six of us then, Pod arrived right after you. Take your time with your luggage while I finish cooking."

Jeyne and Brienne leave together and Sansa is finally left alone with her suitcase and her pile of clothes and shoes. Time to pack, Sansa.

Lunch time passes by quietly among enjoyable conversation and anecdotes from Salinas' festival, praises for Brienne's dishes and promises from Sansa to call them. It's a nice meal and the good mood helps to cheer her up and stop thinking about the journey still ahead. Sansa realizes how happy and comfortable she feels with this new little family she has made at Invernalia and promises herself to keep in touch as much as possible.

Half an hour later, Jaime is helping to take her luggage to the car as Sansa is saying good bye, giving hugs and kisses and trying to hold back some tears she is aware are about come out as soon as she is alone. She gets in her car quickly, waves her hand for the last time and speeds to the road that will take her back to her real life. As she leaves the village, she feels silly for feeling so sad that the week is over. Come on, it's not as if you're never seeing them again!

But behind the smiles and the hugs, a part of her still wishes that Sandor were there too, misses getting to see him one more time. She finds herself constantly searching the rear-view mirror, watching how Invernalia gets increasingly smaller behind her and secretly hoping Sandor's bike will appear driving behind her car to say good-bye to her properly, although that doesn't happen. Sansa is sure she'll remember these days, and the moments spent with him, that something has changed in her, but fears he'll be so disappointed with her that he won't even talk to her again.

However, a little part of her refuses to fall into pessimism; the great time lived during the weekend, how much she has laughed, his hands on her, their kisses… all of it is still fresh in her memory and her skin and she is already wondering when she could come again to Invernalia, if Sandor would wait for her until then. When the good memories finally win the battle over gloom, Sansa smiles openly to herself despite the farewell. Those days have done her a lot of good, have helped her to finally close old stories and to open new bright ones. Have helped her to be in peace with her past, to meet new friends, to fondly remember her family. Funny, how some wounds simply needed some talk, wine, peace, and caresses to heal.

Sansa dials Myranda's number on her phone and waits some seconds for her friend's cheerful voice to fill the car.

"Sansa! You meanie, I haven't heard from you since your message from yesterday!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Listen, I'm calling just to tell you I'm already on my way. I'll be there in four hours more or less."

"Great! I'll be waiting for you. But give me a clue, did you have fun? And by fun I mean…."

"Randa! I promise I'll tell you everything tonight, OK? But yeah, it was great."

The never ending one-way road spreads in front of her for kilometers and kilometers, leading her back to the city and her friend, though she doesn't find driving through it boring any more. Sansa turns on the music and smiles widely. There may be many people who find the lack of dense vegetation of this part of the country less than exciting, believing it to be just a vast dry and barren plain. Sansa herself may have forgotten how beautiful it really looked after so many years far from her birthplace. Old wounds, fears, and bad memories have kept her apart from it for too long. However, she now delights in the sight of the endless plains of ochre fields she is driving through, hypnotic and soothing on its own way, a quiet and sparsely populated land that, after a long time, finally feels like home again.

A/N: No, this is not the end yet ;-)