Chapter 9

He was wasting time. Jon had said three, and it was two-thirty now, but Gendry hadn't worked up the nerve to leave the mall and go back to the car. His mom had lent it to him for the afternoon, promising she could get a ride from a co-worker after her shift at Target, but he still felt guilty. It would be dark when she finished work, and all he would be doing was eating burgers and awkwardly trying to flirt with a girl he was trying to deceive.

He turned down the next aisle of the music store, circling a display of vintage vinyl with great caution. He didn't have the money to pay for a dozen broken records. If he did, he still wouldn't have wanted to spend it on something his mom probably still had copies of in the attic.
He liked music and more than once the record store at the mall had been his solace, but today it was giving him the heebie jeebies. He couldn't stand still, and his neck itched. He glanced over his shoulder again, and was sure he saw someone duck behind a stack of posters. He leaned a hand on a shelf of ceramic figurines (artists from the seventies and eighties immortalised in pottery, the most rock and roll of all the materials) as he peered over the top, stretching onto his toes to see over the pile, but he couldn't see anyone. When the shelf started to creak he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet.
Someone coughed over his shoulder, and he turned to meet the disapproving gaze of a white-haired man clutching a death metal t-shirt under his arm.

Gendry took another step back from the row of statues and held up a hand in apology. When the old man turned his disapproval elsewhere Gendry looked back to the pile of posters. Still no-one. He was being paranoid. He needed to stop.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Holy Fuck!"

He jumped and fell back against a metal CD stand. Big brown eyes stared up at him, sending a shock akin to an electric pulse through him. Or maybe that was the sharp metal poking into his lower back. He moved away from it and a shower of CDs fell down around him. He didn't need to look to know the white-haired man was glaring again.

"Careful," Arya snorted, nudging a fallen CD with a leather boot.

Gendry huffed, and bent to pick up the debris.

"Don't just appear like that. I could have stepped on you." He could feel himself blushing and did his best not to meet her eye. Idiot. Why could he never look cool in front of her?

"You could have stepped on me?" she laughed, but her eyes were cold when he finally stood up and looked at her, "Because you're some giant?"

He thought she sounded angrier than just their usual play-fighting - her lips were pressed tightly together, and the usual quirk of her lips was missing,
"No, because you jumped out from behind me. I could have stepped on you and hurt you." He explained hurriedly, hoping she was appeased and not insulted by his wanting to protect her.

She folded her arms and glared at him, but he was certain her frown softened somewhat. Her gaze still burned though, so he looked down at his shoes.

"It's okay, I'm not that delicate."

He looked at her again, and took in the stance for what it was. She wasn't trying to intimidate him, or threaten him, she looked much too sad for that. No, the crossed arms and clenched teeth was all defence.

"No fear, Arya, I never thought you were delicate."

She frowned but it looked like approval to Gendry, "Hm. Good."

He cleared his throat nervously, and looked for a change of topic,
"What are you doing here anyway? I thought your big fancy barbeque started soon."

"It does, but it's not mine. It's Robb's, and I have no interest in watching all the knucklehead football fools lounging about my house." She sounded more bored than angry.

"Not a fan of football fools?"

"Some of them," she shrugged and turned to the shelf beside her. She flipped past the first five CDs too quickly for Gendry to see what they were, but when she stopped on Fleetwood Mac he knew they weren't worth her time anyway. He looked back at her face when she muttered, "They're just a lot."

Arya in profile always fascinated Gendry. She smiled often, but was particularly talented at scowling, and when she did her eyebrows curled protectively over her eyes, like they were being shielded from enemy eyes. Her nose was expressive, wrinkling and twisting more than anyone else's that Gendry had ever seen. And then her lips. Soft-looking and dark, they were usually upturned. Even when she was biting them or pursing them she always looked like she was on the brink of a smile.
Gendry watched as she peered down at the case in her hand before slotting it into a gap three rows over. He looked at the label. Was she sorting them?

"Do you come here often?"

She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and a saucy expression and he suddenly realised what he had said,

"Excuse me?"

He felt his cheeks grow hot, and his fingers tingled with nerves. He spoke as calmly as he could, as though he had asked a perfectly normal question. "To the music store. I normally come by when I drop my mom off at work, and I don't think I've seen you here before."

"Every now and then. We have most of everything I would wanna listen to, but it's still nice to see it all laid out so well."

"Like it's being appreciated properly," Gendry nodded.

Arya laughed, "Does this make us music snobs?"

"I dunno, do you call yourself a 'true fan' and only listen to the originals on thousand dollar headphones?"

"Only on weekends," she smiled.

Gendry laughed. "Do you want to get a smoothie? I'm not looking to buy anything here, I'm just killing time before I have to go to your place," he almost blushed, but not quite.

"Maybe. I want to listen to this first. Join me?" She nodded towards the sample station at the back of the store. It looked like a photobooth, worked like a jukebox, and was definitely something from another time, but the owners had updated it with QR codes and scanners so you could try out an album before buying it.
Gendry used to spend hours in there when he was younger, waiting around after school for his mom to finish work. He looked down at the case in her hand to avoid thinking about crowding into a tiny booth with her.

"Cheap Trick. Good band."

"Yeah. I've had one of their songs in my head all morning." She turned to the back of the store and he followed her down the aisle.

"Oh yeah?"

She nodded, and then span around so quickly it looked like some sort of dance move, "You should grab something to listen to too."

"I don't have any money,"

"Neither do I, we're not buying it," she shrugged

"Then why are we trying stuff out?" he tilted his head in interest. He knew why he liked listening to clips of tracks, but he wanted to know about her.

"Because sometimes I like to play with things I know I'll never have. Isn't it better to have a little bit of it than none at all?" She said it like it was an offhand comment, but her eyes widened and a startled expression crossed her face.

Gendry didn't reply. He gave her the grace of looking away from her face and down at her hands wrapped around the CD, sharp nails tapping on the plastic, "Yeah, you're right."

He turned and grabbed the first thing his hand fell on and followed her retreating form to the booth.

It was a tight fit, and for the first few seconds they fumbled around each other awkwardly, but then Arya took charge and Gendry did as he was told. They twisted the stool down as low as it would go, and Gendry sat, bent knees up to his ears, so that Arya could lean her elbow on his shoulder as she rested against the back wall.
He was doing very well at not focusing on that elbow, the point where their bodies met, but then she leant forward to scan the CD and her hip nudged his knee and his eyes fixed on the back pocket of her jeans. There was a patch sewn on in clumsy stitches and he wanted to ask her about it but if he did she would know he had been looking.

Oh god.

He blinked and looked up at her face, watching her profile again, tracing the shape with his eyes.

Forehead, eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips, chin.

Repeat.

His breathing slowed and finally noticed the music playing through tinny speakers. He tried to tune his ears to the song, to work out what it was, but all he could hear was her humming along. And that was totally fine with him. There would always be time for music, but time with her was limited. He wasn't going to waste it.

. . .

The boy was with Arya again. Rickon squinted at them. They had settled in the old chairs near the fence, the ones Mom had tried to hide in the garage and then sent Rickon to fetch them when more people arrived. They were an appropriate distance apart, but Rickon still wasn't happy with it.

Partly, because they had shown up an hour late in some beat-up old minivan that did not look safe, and partly because they had been given food right away.
Rickon had been here all day and done so many chores and he had still been forced to let Robb's friends eat first.

He looked down at his plate, scowling. One stinking burger and not even any onions left.
Dad was frying some more on the stove inside, but that wasn't the point. Rickon had been deprived of the full burger experience because Robb needed to be surrounded by testosterone-filled bozos to get amped.

He glared at everyone in his path, and walked as confidently as he could. Show them no fear and blaze a trail. He was on a mission and nothing stood in his way.

"Hey! Little Stark! How's it hanging?"

A hand reached out and ruffled Rickon's hair. He tried not to growl. Serious-Men-On-A-Mission didn't growl.

"Excuse me," he said curtly, side-stepping whoever was stupid enough to step between him and his hot dog.

The figure moved with him.

"Not so fast, little guy, the food's not going anywhere," the goon guffawed, patting him on the shoulder like they were friends, as though they knew each other.

Rickon looked up at his face. It had probably been symmetrical once, but one too many tackles to the ground and the heavy brow sat over a wonky nose. That and the thick lips, it was a lot to put on such a small, round face. Like putting spaghetti on a side-plate.

"Where are you running off to?" Spaghetti-Boy asked. He laughed before Rickon could answer, which just set his stomach into a twist.

"Food," he answered begrudgingly.

"Ah of course, little guy like you needs his protein!" Pasta-brain threw a punch towards Rickon's gut, making him flinch backwards. He feinted at the last second and burst out laughing when Rickon took a step back.

"Don't worry, little buddy, I'm not gonna hurt you. You go on and get fed up," He leered at Rickon, and patted his big paw over Rickon's hair again.

Asshole.

Rickon stomped his way onto the patio, and ducked into the kitchen. There was more smoke than you would hope for in any given kitchen, but Dad seemed to have it under control. Or at least, he wasn't swearing at the stove, and when he saw Rickon he grinned.

"First game day! Are you excited to come and watch your brothers play?"

"Sure, hot dogs, nachos, what's not to get excited about?"

Rickon shrugged, and stepped towards the breakfast bar as casually as he could. His dad glanced between him and the bowl of chips resting on the edge of the counter. Rickon carefully leaned back, pretending he didn't know they were perfectly in reach.

Dad chuckled, "You know there's more to football than snacks, right?"

"Is there? All I see is violent soccer played badly. The food's the only perk," Rickon shrugged and shoved a handful of chips in his mouth as nonchalantly as possible.

"You not bothered about seeing the boys play, then?"

Rickon tilted his head from side to side, "Eh, I guess. It's better if there's a fight or something, though," He leant his head back to catch a glimpse of Arya and Gendry, still sat in their own little bubble.

Dad shook up the frying pan full of onions, and the oils hissed. On the backburner something popped, and Dad muttered a curse,

"Damn, this pork isn't going – ah! Shit!" he jumped back and shook his burned hand, before stuffing it in his mouth to numb the pain.

"Are you alright?" Rickon asked hesitantly. There wasn't much he could do if he wasn't – other than fetch Mum, he supposed.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem," Dad grinned, his red face sweating a little more than it had been a minute ago, "All good,"

"Okay. I'm just gonna-" he nodded outside, glancing through the glass one more time at his elder sister. Well, at the space his sister had been. Gendry was gawping at an empty chair. Maybe she'd found someone more interesting to talk to.

"Alright, save some of those for the others!"

Rickon waved a hand over his shoulder at his dad's parting words, barely taking them in. Where had Arya gone? We there plan developments? Did they need Rickon's espionage excellence to smooth a few cracks?

"Hey! Don't hog those," sharp nails dug into his arm and Rickon slid to a halt.

Sansa was stronger than she looked. Her thin arms held him firmly in place. As though her glare wasn't enough to do that on its own, he huffed.

"I wasn't! Dad said to bring 'em out," He rolled his eyes at his eldest sister, looking over her shoulder at a pair of empty chairs now. Where had they gone? Snuck off to a secret place for secret reasons?

"Okay, you can bring them over here," she let go of his arm and turned to the corner of the garden furthest from the house. There were people filling the space, but right at the back there was a bench that Dad had been promising to paint for a few years. Bran was already sat there, his head leant back and his eyes closed against the sun.

They sat in a line, Bran in the middle, now holding the bowl of chips. The garden was busy enough that nobody was bothered to look their way. The spy in him was sure this was all for the best, but Rickon liked just sitting with his brother and sister for a minute.

"Do you think there's something going on between Arya and Gendry?"

Rickon and Sansa turned to look at him in unison.

Bran had one eye open now, and it was trained on the pair in the corner. Gendry was standing near the backdoor, bent down to keep eye-contact with their smallest sister. Her posture was far more aggressive, arms folded, lip curling.

"Looks like a fight," Rickon shrugged. He was trying to be cool about it, but seeing key plan members so obviously arguing was doing nothing for his nerves.

"I thought they were getting on, though," Sansa frowned delicately, her nose wrinkling a little as she squinted at them through the sunlight.

"They like to argue. Maybe that's what's happening now." Bran shrugged and let his eyelids slide shut again.

Rickon snorted, "Arya likes arguing with everyone,"

"Ha," Sansa gave a soft bark of laughter, but didn't elaborate.

"He takes it though, and gives it back to her,"

"I think they'd make a cute couple,"

Rickon sat stone still. This was pivotal. This was Important Information his brothers would want to know.

"Really?" Bran's tone was less like the surprise coursing through Rickon and more a disinterested amusement.

"They get on - they argue well together at least - and he's not exactly unattractive."

"I don't think Arya's into him," Rickon said quickly. They both turned to look at him.

"How would you know?" Sansa scoffed.

"Because she told me," he said, mimicking her condescending tone. "She likes someone else."

"What? Who?" Sansa was frowning now, a proper full-face-frown where her forehead crunched and her chin wrinkled.

"I dunno, some guy friend of hers. I don't remember. But I know it's not Gendry,"

He finished confidently, certain Robb would be pleased with his efforts.

"Hm," Sansa folded her arms.

"Maybe it's Ned Dayne. He's throwing a party tonight for her."

Rickon and Sansa both turned to look at their brother again.

"Ned Dayne is always throwing parties," Sansa dismissed.

"Yes, but she asked him for this one, and he's called her five times this week about it."

Sansa looked unimpressed, but Rickon was marvelling at his brother's skill.

"How do you know this stuff?"

He shrugged, "Arya doesn't shut her door to the bathroom all the way."

Bran's room was on the same side of the house as Arya's and they shared a bathroom. It was an arrangement that had, at times, boiled Sansa's blood, and frustrated Rickon by the favouritism, but it was also the arrangement that led to the least amount of fights over the bathroom, so Mom and Dad allowed it.

"Huh," Sansa sat back against the bench and looked back at her sister, silently.

Rickon watched as her face slid from confusion and derision to deep thought. He wasn't sure why, there wasn't that much to think about. Arya's not interested, Gendry's there. Go on, he urged, make the leap!

"Hey, where have all the funyons gone?" Jon's voice rang out across the lawn.

Bran sat up quickly and thrust the bowl into a still-blinking Rickon's hands. He was a second too late to put it down before Jon caught sight of him.

"Rickon!"

. . . .

Fucking Rickon.

How did one boy have so many jerseys? The laundry room was an overflowing mess of muddy shirts and clothes waiting to be ironed, but Robb couldn't see a single one for himself. How often did he play soccer anyway?

"Argh!"

It was a small noise but aggressive enough to catch Robb's attention. He poked his head round the kitchen door, and couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"Oh, calm down," he grinned, "It's not that bad,"

Arya gestured to the orange juice stain on her once white t-shirt, glaring at him.

"Here," Robb handed her a sheet of kitchen roll off the counter, "Dad's been burning himself all afternoon, over there, and we haven't heard a peep. One cup of juice and you can't handle it," he chuckled.

She snatched the towel off him and started jabbing at her stain.

"This is my favourite top," she muttered, angrier than an orange juice spill warranted.

"You'll just have to wear something else. Or you can wear it anyway, and not care," Robb shrugged. That's what she normally did.

"Clothes are meant to be sticky and gross at the end of a party, not the beginning," she said sardonically.

Robb wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Everything set for that?" he asked, trying not to think too hard about what she meant by 'sticky and gross'.

"Yeah, it's all go," she muttered, scowling at the very thought of it, "I had to promise that I would 'help set up' for it, so I'll probably miss the end of your game, but other than that everything is hunky dory."

Robb examined his sister. She said everything was hunky dory, but something told him that wasn't totally true. She was stabbing at a stain already well soaked into her t-shirt for one thing. She was glowering and not meeting his eye for another.

"Arya, what's wrong?"

Arya paused in her stain-removal and took a breath, trying to clear the lump in her throat.

"I'm fine," She tried to say, but it came out more like a whisper.

"Come here," he grabbed her dabbing arm and pulled her into the living room. It was cooler in here, and away from the open patio doors. Everyone was in the garden now, so the house was quiet. Arya sniffed and it was amplified by the hush of the house.

Robb pulled her down onto the sofa and into a hug. He felt the dampness of her cheek against his shirt and he curled himself around his little sister.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, you know," his voice was soothing as he pulled her onto his lap, "There's no point freeing Sansa if we're just tying you up in knots in the process,"

Arya tucked her head against his shoulder, nodding against him.

His Big-Brother Senses were tingling. This wasn't just about the party.

"What else is going on?"

Robb felt her shake her head against him, the hairs on the top of her head tickling his nose.

"You know, Gendry's a good guy. Good enough to help Sansa see sense," he rubbed her back absentmindedly and pretended not to notice the wetness on his t-shirt, "but he's also nice enough not to keep up false pretences."

They sat in silence for a while, Arya's sniffles the loudest thing in the room. They could hear their mom setting up in the kitchen, starting dinner. There was no-one else around, Sansa having gone up to her room to start her homework. Arya took a deep breath.

"She's starting to like him."

Robb didn't react. It was what they'd been waiting for, but his baby sister was crying over it.

"How do you know?"

"We were talking about it in the car,"

"Since when do you two talk about boys, eh?" Robb laughed.

Arya just sniffed, "I think she was trying to cheer me up about Dayne, but she just-"
She stopped herself. Whatever Sansa had been trying to do in the car had turned into a conversation about a guy who was sweet and nice, and as much as they treated him like a pawn in their plot, was actually a person. A person whose sole focus was to get Sansa to date him. A person who Arya liked very much and who Sansa was considering dating.

Robb "Yeah? You two talking is good though, isn't it?"

Arya frowned up at him, "Why?"

Robb paused and considered his words carefully, "Because even after everything she's still your big sister. And as the biggest brother I can tell you that means something."

Arya snorted and shook her head. "Doesn't mean she doesn't hate me."

She leant back against the sofa, cradling the box of tissues.

"Arya," Robb's tone made her look up at him. There was an intensity behind his eyes that he saved for Serious Things. "She never hated you."

Arya's eyes welled again. "She said it enough times."

"Because you pissed her off. You went too far, so she did the same."

"I didn't mean to upset her! I just really hate Joffrey."

A laugh fell from Robb's lips before he could help it, "We know," he shook his head at his stubborn little sister, "But just because she doesn't agree with you, doesn't mean she's an idiot. She's going to come to the right conclusion eventually."

"Then why did you two decide to do all this bothering with all this?" Arya laughed, but there was no humour in it. Her life for the past month had been this plan. This boy. What an exhausting waste of time it had been if Sansa was just going to sort it out on her own.

"Because Joffrey's the biggest cause of problems between you two. We don't actually like living in a warzone, you know."

The silence returned. Arya bit her lip. She hadn't known that. Well, she had, but she hadn't realised how bad it had been for the others.

"I'm sorry." she said in a small voice.

Robb sighed, "We know." he reached an arm out again and Arya leant back against his shoulder.

"I really didn't mean to fuck up like this." she muttered.

"I know. Why do you think we let you help so much with our delicate-top-secret-spy plan?"

She peered up at him, "Because you two share a single bran cell?"

"Hey!" He laughed, but he still flung an arm out in outrage, "Why do people always think I'm dumb? I take AP Biology!"

Arya laughed, "Oh sorry, I didn't know you were such a genius. Must have missed it somewhere between the broken plates and you dropping food on the floor."

"That was once and it was because I was distracted!"

"By chocolate cake! You already had a plate full of profiteroles."

"That was a good Christmas," Robb sighed, contentedly. His hand came to rest again on Arya's shoulder. "Are you okay, little one?"

Arya smiled, "Yeah, I think so."

A key scraped in the front door and their moment was broken. Nymeria started barking, and Catelyn poked her head out from the kitchen.

Ned Stark came rumbling through the door with a sigh and his phone still attached to his ear. He was nodding and clearly tired of listening, he rolled his eyes at Catelyn who nodded in understanding. And then he saw his children in the living room, the red eyes and crumpled tissues.

"Sorry Rob, I'll have to call you back in a bit. Right-o, speak soon. Ta-ta,"

He tucked his phone away in his suit jacket pocket which he immediately threw over the banister.

"Everything alright?"

He perched himself on the arm of the sofa and looked at Arya closely.

She nodded, dabbing at her nose again. "I'm fine, it's just- um. It's fine." she nodded quickly.

Ned and Robb shared a look and Arya did her best not to roll her eyes at these men who cared about her.

"I'm - uh - I'm going to wash my face I think. Before anyone sees. Y'know."

Robb nodded and pulled his arm away so she could clamber up, but her dad reached for her, pulling her into a quick hug before she left. He dropped a kiss on her forehead and looked at her for a moment before nodding towards the stairs.

"Up you go. You've got some time before we head off to the game."

Arya nodded and scurried up the stairs.

It was a mark of how used to tears and arguments they had gotten as a family that Ned didn't need to ask what had happened, just to look at his eldest son.

"It's just Sansa stuff. She's okay."

"Again?" Ned sighed, moving to settle in his armchair.

"No," Robb leant back on the sofa, mirroring his dad's end-of-the-day slump, "it's nothing new, just processing I think."

"That's good," Ned said, relieved. He paused in thought for a moment. "You're okay, are you?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine," Robb laughed half-heartedly, "I'm an old hand at weeping women."

"Yeah?" Ned smiled sardonically, "Want to take on Cersei?"

Robb groaned, "Is she still causing problems?"

Ned didn't answer immediately. Nymeria had padded into the living room and was pressing her face into his lap, begging for affection.

"Oh go on then," Ned muttered to the dog and patted his legs. She jumped up and licked his cheek. "Alright, alright, settle there, girl," he muttered to the dog and ran his hand through her fur, seeming to calm down himself.

"Cersei?" Robb prompted. He always found his dad's job interesting, even when it involved people like Cersei.

"Isn't she always causing trouble? But this time she's actually right. It's all old history she's dragging up, old wounds and now I have to make a few painful phone calls."

"What sort of phone calls?"

"Compensation, exes, infidelity. It's bringing children into it too. Nasty business."

"Wait, children and exes?" Robb paused, frowning at his dad, wondering if he had misunderstood, "Robert has other children?"

Ned was quiet for a moment, but eventually nodded, huffing a huge sigh.

"Not that he'd admit it willingly, but there's a few quiet agreements that Cersei's only just finding out about. Helping with bills over the years, scholarships. All sorts of things."

"Wow. I had no idea."

"Yeah, it's not something he's proud of, or even remembers half the time," Ned muttered darkly, "He was pretty angry when it all came out," he closed his eyes and leant his head back against the soft cushions of the chair, remembering his friend's face. "Cersei wasn't too happy about it either."

"What? Because it takes away from her money?" Robb asked bitterly.

"Exactly. And now she's contesting it, so some poor kid might not be able to go to college."

"Damn."

"Yeah. Sometimes it's like that. Innocent people get hurt by no fault of their own. Wendy's a nice lady too. She doesn't deserve to have Cersei pull her history out all over again."

They sat in silence for a moment. Robb watched his dad. Even at home in his favourite spot with a dog on his lap, he didn't look at peace. There was always something worrying him.

"It's shit sometimes."

Robb blinked, startled, "Being a lawyer?"

Ned nodded, and then shook his head.

"No, life."

. . . .

I found this chapter lying on my computer – I haven't written anything in this story in so long, and I think I kept this back as a way of inspiring myself to write, but I don't know if/when I will get the chance so here is chapter 9. I hope you enjoy – or even remember what was happening before!