Chapter Summary: Until Ned hears otherwise, it's nothing but gossip.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Ned

It's not every morning Jon makes it to breakfast. More often than not he's still in bed, while his younger siblings head off to school and Sansa leaves for her internship. It hasn't always been that way. As a teenager, the boy was never lazy, and while Ned doesn't like that a grown man can't seem to get out of bed in the morning, he's made allowances. After all, Ned knows what it's like coming home from war, and he's not sure what effect Jon's medication has on his sleeping patterns.

Today there could be no allowances. As Cat was toasting bagels and slicing fruit, Ned knocked on Jon's door and barked through it that he needed Jon up in time for breakfast. The discussion Ned needs to have with Jon can't wait. It's prompted by today's news, which made its unwanted appearance in the early hours, when Cat unrolled the morning newspaper and dropped her mug on the kitchen tile with a loud pop. As early as they discovered it—Osha wasn't yet upstairs with the boys, fighting with them over brushing their hair and teeth—they are still behind the eight ball with a bevy of phone calls to make. Ned has to put the lid on this malicious gossip as best he can.

You know how I worried about our children, when Jon came here. I didn't worry far enough into the future, when something like this, Cat said, pointing at the paper with the sheared off handle of her mug, could happen.

It's gossip, Cat. Gossip.

It has to be gossip.

Cat sits stiff-backed through breakfast, food untouched on her plate, while she stares at Jon and Sansa across the table. Ned expects she's taking note of everything that passes between the two of them to determine who has the right of it. He doesn't want to believe one word of that article, but he finds himself watching them almost as closely as his wife. Sipping his coffee and taking an overabundance of care smearing his bagel with cream cheese, he wonders if there are signs he missed before. Odd details like Jon using his left hand to drink his orange juice, while his right stays tucked under the table. Or the way Sansa smiles to herself after every comment that passes between Jon and their siblings. When did she start laughing this much again?

They both look tired. Just last night, while Cat was brushing her teeth and Ned was setting out his razor and shaving cream for the next morning, Cat looked up at the ceiling and pointed with her index finger for him to do the same.

Do you hear that?

Yes, he heard what drew her attention: voices in the bathroom above them. It sounded like a male voice. The depth of the voice muffling whatever was being said.

On the phone, I guess.

What, speaker phone? In the bathroom?

Ned didn't know. Kids are strange about their electronics. He would happily chuck his in the Hudson if given the choice, but the kids can barely be parted from their gadgets.

Neither Jon nor Sansa is buried in their phones now. Having your phone at the table is against family rules, and they're both rule followers. Which is why Ned knows this must be gossip, because even if he and Cat never thought to make a rule about it, it's unthinkable that Jon and Sansa would never entertain the idea.

Still. Even with breakfast over and Osha ushering a sticky fingered Rickon out of the dining room with his arms held out before him like a zombie, Ned can't stop scrutinizing what's right before him. Like the placement of Sansa and Jon's chairs. They're closer together than need be at a dining table long enough to seat more than eight. Closer than any of the other chairs. Close enough that Sansa brushes Jon's side as she scoots hers back, chattering away with Bran. Sansa is oblivious to her mother's fixed stare, while she gathers up her and her little brother's empty plates.

As Sansa flits by with a quiet thank you to her mother for breakfast, Cat hovers in the doorway with her eyes glued to Jon. The rest of the family is dressed for the day, but Jon came to the table with rumpled hair and a fistful of poorly concealed yawns. He didn't expect to be dragged out of bed, but then, Ned didn't wake up expecting to have this conversation with him.

"Son," Ned says, as Jon stands, ready to follow Sansa and Bran out of the dining room. "Stay put for a minute. I need to talk to you."

Jon's looks to Cat, where she stands with her hand on one hip and plate gripped in the other, and then back to his uncleared plate.

His wife wanted to confront Jon and Sansa together. Flipping the newspaper over on the kitchen counter, so the headline would no longer stare him in the face, while Cat swept ceramic shards into a dustbin, Ned suggested he should speak with Jon first. Alone.

The boy's my responsibility.

And Sansa?

Ned rolled up the paper and stuck it in his pocket, where it still waits, thickly ominous between him and the high back of the dining room 'll deal with her if there's anything to deal with. It's just gossip until then. No reason to bring it to her attention.

By the time she gets to her job, she'll know, Ned.

Cat's probably right, but Sansa will always be his little girl and he wants to shield her from what's brewing outside their doorstep for as long as possible. That's his job, and he shoulders some of the blame for this article. Jon made a mistake in hitting Joffrey. A big one that he may have to end up paying for. But if Ned wasn't a public figure, there would be no media spotlight on any of them and none of his kids would figure in nasty speculation. When you devote yourself to public service, there is a price the family pays.

Cat takes three brisk steps back into the room and extends a hand. "Give it to me, Jon."

"Thank you," Jon says, as he crosses his utensils over the plate and hands it over.

Stacking Jon's empty plate underneath her full one, she looks to Ned. "I'll make sure none of the children run back in here before they head off."

Cat always thinks of these things. She's invaluable. The best mother a man could ask for.

Ned can't have any interruptions. If this can be kept from the children, it would be for the best. TNed can't begin to think how they would explain this kind of scandal. That's yet another thing he'd need to rely on Cat for.

Ned can hear Jon swallow, as he takes his seat again and the hammer of Cat's heels on the stairs melts away. The boy's hands rub over the flannel pants he must have thrown on before coming up for breakfast, and he takes one more look towards the now empty doorway before speaking. "I'm going to jail, aren't I?"

"I don't know. That remains to be seen."

Ned pulls the newspaper from his back pocket and smoothes it out in until it's flat against the shiny surface of the table. Rotating it to face Jon, he slides it across. "We have a different problem to deal with here."

The headline—Stark Strumpet—boldly heralds an affair between his daughter and the man raised as her brother. A sordid story that has been set within the ever developing narrative of Jon and Joffrey's altercation at the Night's Watch complete with quotes from an unnamed source, who claims to have inside knowledge about the couple.

"She wanted him for months. She knew it was sick, but she couldn't help herself. She felt sorry for him. She's like that. He probably knew that and played up his issues."

Ned expects a member of the Baratheon and Lannister cabal fed the media this repulsive story. They went too far.

Jon's grabs the paper and drags it to the edge of the table. Eyes darting over the type, his hand spreads to cover the article until most of it is blotted out. "What is this?"

"The morning's garbage, I'm afraid."

First the fight and now claims of sexual impropriety within his family. Sansa and Jon bear the brunt of the fallout, but Ned's not untouched. Luwin will point out that the party is likely to have something to say about the constant tawdry gossip attached to his name. The professional repercussions are coming. His only concern is for his family, but eventually he will be made to worry about more than that.

Jon scrubs his mouth, and the rasp of his morning stubble is the only sound in the room for several long minutes. When he finally speaks, his voice is as rough as Ned's was, when he snatched the paper from Cat's trembling hands. "They can't write that about her."

"They can."

"No," Jon says, looking up and exhaling hard. "Something needs to be done to stop this."

"I'm going to issue a request that my daughter's privacy be respected, but it isn't likely to do much good. It was hard enough getting the press to leave you all alone when you were children." The commentary on Rickon's behavior during campaigns and family photo ops is a constant source of grief for Cat. Each of the children has drawn some sort of unwanted criticism over the years, including Sansa. People thought it frivolous for a Senator's daughter to pursue modeling, and they hounded Ned and Cat for it. They've never experienced anything like this, however. Not even when Jon came home under difficult circumstances, and Ned felt helpless to stop negative press from reaching his ears. "She's of age."

"If she sees that," Jon says, pointing a finger at the paper.

Ned wouldn't expect anything less than righteous anger from Jon over this headline. Jon would hardly be less touched by it than he and Cat are as Sansa's parents, because he and Sansa are family in all the ways that count. That's what makes the unnamed source's claim so preposterous.

"It's going to be very upsetting, but I don't see how we can keep her from knowing about it."

Ned will do everything he can to prevent its further spread beyond this article, but there's a chance someone at the magazine will be tasteless enough to ask whether the rumor is true and the damage will be done. They don't live in a bubble. They're not insulated from things the way they are when they're in Michigan among old friends and neighbors. If it wasn't the dead of winter and if Congress was not in session, Ned would suggest they leave for Michigan immediately.

Jon shoves the paper away with the tips of his fingers. "No one wants to see the worst things they think about themselves in print."

Everything about this article is confounding, including the implication that Sansa makes a habit of sleeping around. Strumpet, a nasty insult disguised as a cute joke. But Ned wouldn't have imagined Sansa ever thought of herself in those terms.

Frowning, Ned considers Jon's jerky fidgeting. Quick inhalations and long exhalations leverage Jon's chest in uneven measure. Bright color floods his cheeks. His brows furrow deeply enough to bring out the lines on a face that shouldn't yet have them. He's not just angry about the headline: there's something else going on. Jon knows something Ned does not. Not for the first time of late. At some point Sansa and Jon went from the most distant members of their family to confidants. It wouldn't be a bad thing, except from the looks of it, she's confiding in someone that can't fully handle the burden.

"Are you taking your medication, Jon?"

Ned only asked once before—after the fight—and Jon's huffed answer, "Yes," communicates his annoyance that Ned's asked again. He's an adult and Ned prefers to treat him as such, but at a certain point, the greater good of the family has to be taken into consideration.

"You want to tell me what's wrong then?"

Jon's hand flexes and relaxes twice before forming a white knuckled fist atop the table. "It's my fault."

"Is it?"

Jon does Ned the courtesy of acknowledging the question by looking him in the eye, but he says nothing. All Jon gives him is a dead eyed stare. It's a coping mechanism Ned became accustomed to after Jon came home. That blankness has always been disheartening, but it's especially unnerving in this moment, when he'd rather Jon speak openly and allay his fears.

He doesn't want to have to pull this from Jon bit by bit. Ned is no interrogator.

"Did you read beyond the headline?"

"No."

Ned rubs the spot between his brows, where his head splitting headache began about an hour earlier. "You should."

That would save Ned from having to say it out loud. Jon could see it for himself and express his disgust at the very suggestion. It would be the end of it, and Ned could head up to his office to make some strongly worded phone calls.

"No, sir. Reading that crap would be a violation."

Ned understands the sentiment. Reading gossip about his daughter and son written to titillate made him physically ill. Acknowledging it is akin to giving credence to it, and having to question Jon is the worst kind of acknowledgement.

He can't blame Jon for avoiding the gory details. Besides, it doesn't take any great leap of intuition to work it all out. Jon's picture is right there next to hers, to the right of the article, no reading required. If there's any truth to the accusation, Jon might not even need pictures to guess at the new angle. Either Jon believes he's to blame, because hitting Joffrey brought this bizarre attention Sansa's way, or his culpability has a much more immediate cause.

"Son, before I speak to Luwin about this, I need you to be perfectly honest with me. If something had happened between you and Sansa, you'd have told me. Right?" Ned waits for the sputtering, the grimace, and cursing, but Jon just stares. The seconds tick by and there's a corresponding pulse in Ned's temple that signals a spike in his blood pressure. "They make it out as if there's something going on between you two."

Jon's jaw works, his eyes dart away and back, and when Ned's about to repeat the question, Jon answers. "There is."

Ned pulls at the collar of his too tight shirt. The boy has misunderstood. "Something other than a…" How would you describe this friendliness between them if it isn't quite familial? "Flirtation," Ned settles on, though that catches in his throat too.

Jon nods. A sharp, sure nod. A yes. A silent affirmation of something more. Ned's veins fill with ice.

"You're not sleeping with my daughter. Under my own roof."

"I'm in love with her."

Ned's hollowed out. Like a sock to the gut, the delayed jolt of pain makes it impossible to draw a breath. By the time he sucks in a breath, the muscles in his hands and legs are firing without cause, and it seems as if time is unraveling, while he waits for the rubber band to snap, springing them back to a moment ago, when his family was as it should be.

"Jesus Christ." The two of them. Right here under their noses. Cat wasn't the only one who failed to think of every possible consequence of bringing Jon into their home: Ned never thought to concern himself about this, when Luwin ushered a sad eyed little boy through their front door with nothing but a duffle bag to his name. He was such a kid that he slept with a ratty old stuffed wolf, for God's sake. "Jesus Christ, son. You can't be."

"I am."

Cat said their closeness made her uncomfortable. She was thrilled when Sansa's internship took her out of the house. She wanted there to be more separation between them. Ned didn't see it that way. He thought it was only natural that they became closer after they lost Robb. Natural and good, because they were clearly better together than apart.

That voice in Sansa's bathroom when they all should have been asleep.

Oh, they're together all right.

Jon nods at the newspaper on the table. "I didn't want anything like this to happen."

"What did you want, damn it? She's your sister."

"No. She isn't." Every other part of Jon's confession has been softly voiced. Not this.

"Don't play semantics," Ned barks.

Jon's head snaps as if Ned reached across the table to hit him. Ned was always able to discipline without yelling. There was never any need. His word was law. The boys respected him. Or so he thought.

"How long have you been lying to us?"

"I wanted to be honest from the start."

"Now's your chance, son. How long has this been going on?"

The article said months. Months. Playing them all for fools.

Jon rubs at the back of his neck, "I'm not comfortable with that question."

Ned's brows arch. "I'm not comfortable with any of this. How long?"

"That's between me and your daughter."

Ned swipes the paper from off the table and rolls it up, wrists pistoning to make it tight enough so that it will hopefully disappear. "You're still going to play it that way? Pretending this only affects the two of you?"

"I'll tell you whatever seems right for me to share. But there are certain things I can't say."

"There are things I can't say now too," Ned says, thrusting the newspaper away. It immediately comes unrolls, and he squeezes his eyes shut to keep from seeing the headline come unfurled before him again. Pointing blindly, he says, "I planned to say these were lies. I planned to have this shut down as vicious gossip about a young girl, undeserving of this kind of speculation."

He opens his eyes, and drumming his hands against the arms of his chair, he grimaces. "I won't lie for you. I can't stop the press from dragging both of you through the mud over this. You'll have to bear the consequences of your actions."

"I understand."

"Did you think about that before?" Or did he think of nothing but his own libido? "Did you think about Sansa? Or the rest of the family?"

"All I do is think about Sansa."

Ned grunts. "You would have been better off thinking about getting a job. Or some girl not raised as your sister."

It's like a blasted Lifetime movie. The kind Cat used to watch, while feeding the babies late at night.

Jon rocks slightly forward and then back in his chair. "I know I have more work to do on myself to deserve her."

Ned can't think about that prospect. All he knows is that whatever is between them has to stop. The press will eat them alive. Jon and Sansa can't have any concept of the things people are going to say. There's a vague tease at the end about Sansa and older men, implying that there is more of this story to tell, waiting to be dished out day by day like arsenic in your morning milk.

Ned stands, and the back of his knees bash into his chair hard enough that it rocks, teetering on spindly legs. Grabbing the back, he rights it before it crashes to the ground. He can feel Jon's eyes on him as he walks to the far end of the room. Folding his arms over his chest, he stares at the floor, focusing on the wood grain in some vein attempt to gain control of himself.

It hurts square in the chest. Worse than Robert's betrayal. "I've never been so disappointed in you."

He can hear the shuffle of Jon's feet against the rug. "I wish you didn't feel that way. We both, we both need the family to… we both need the family," Jon finishes, his voice breaking.

To accept this change in Jon and Sansa's relationship is a tall order for any of them. Ned's gut rails against the idea, threatening to bring his breakfast back up. There are two little boys who are not going to understand at all. Arya will hate them for it. Cat. Ned sinks his head into his head. God help them when Cat finds out. "Can you be persuaded to put an end to this? For the good of the family?"

"No."

Ned turns back and fixes the back of Jon's dark head with a heavy stare. "You weren't raised to be selfish like that."

When Lyanna was young, she was selfish. She was selfish and high strung and overly romantic, and Ned loved her for it even when he couldn't be with her anymore. Maybe there's more of her in the boy than he ever imagined.

"We didn't want to hurt anyone."

"That's precisely what you've done. What you will continue to do if you don't give this up."

"I can't. I don't know how to put into words what she means to me. But my intentions are…"

Ned would like to blame Jon. Ultimately, that's not wholly possible. No matter what the unnamed source claims, Jon, whose shoulders are visibly shaking underneath his black t-shirt, is no manipulative lothario. His problems are real. He doesn't need to fake them, wouldn't fake them to secure anyone's love. It's also not charitable to believe his daughter would be taken in by such a disgraceful act. Sansa's strong and she's not the child she was a mere two years ago. Whatever mess they're in, they have sunk themselves in it together.

"Honorable," Ned supplies. "Your intentions have to be honorable. Nothing else is acceptable."

"I know." Jon looks over his shoulder. Eyes the same color as Lyanna's look back at Ned, sad and earnest and unguarded. "I promise you they are."

Ned lets his hands drop to his sides. It never did any good to fight with Lyanna. He can sense this is just as hopeless a case. If they can't quite make peace with it, somehow they need to start making sense of it. "We better get Cat." If they're lucky, she won't order Ned to string Jon up with one of Sansa's old jump ropes. "I'm warning you, she isn't going to be happy."