Disclaimer: Nothing's mine, I'm just a poor mad mage.

AN1: Hello and welcome to my Roose/Sansa one-shot! It's a second part of my Christmas Specials 2021 *places this story next to the first one happily*

Happiness

The Great Hall in Winterfell was tastefully decorated in shades of white and silver, the Stark colors. A string quartet was playing classical music at a small podium where the family's long table usually was, and four moderately large Christmas trees were standing in the corners, their little lights twinkling merrily.

Sansa stopped at the entrance and her gaze swept over the crowd. It looked magical, stirring in her memories of her childhood and ringing laughter, reminding her that life could be wonderful.

The hall was full, as it was every year. The Starks' Christmas party was the highlight of the holiday season, and her parents (well, her mother – Dad didn't care about such things) usually invited anyone who was anyone in the North. There were high-ranking members of the Night's Watch, representatives of large companies operating north of the Neck, local business owners, and anyone with a title or a flashy name. The gloss of the party, however, was only a wonderful decoration – a façade.

In other words, it was a pretty snobbish party and Sansa wanted to be anywhere but there in the hall; especially if one particular person was in attendance. She located poor Robb surrounded by a gaggle of young girls as he was desperately trying to shake them off. Arya was hiding behind one of the Christmas trees. Their younger brothers were nowhere to be seen and judging from her father's expression, Ned Stark shared his children's sentiments. Her mother was in her element, on the other hand. She was dragging Dad from one cluster of important people to the next, oozing graciousness and displaying her good breeding and completely ignoring the fact that most of the Stark family was completely miserable in such a setting.

"I was thinking about rescuing Robb, but I'm afraid I'll end up in the same predicament as he should I step a foot inside," said a familiar voice.

"Jon!" Sansa spun around and moved to wrap her arms around her cousin.

"Good to see you, too, Sansa." Jon returned the hug and went as far as lifting her from the ground and spinning her around. "You're looking good. Is he here? Can I break his jaw?"

"Shhh!" she hissed, alarmed. Sansa hadn't seen him but it didn't mean he wasn't there. He was invited every year – he and his wife. The idea of meeting them was making Sansa uncomfortable and she cleared her throat, glancing around. It would be just her luck to run into them at the entrance.

As Starks, they were naturally drawing a lot of attention at their own Christmas party, especially as two very notoriously unattached younger Starks.

"There are too many curious ears and I don't want my parents to catch even a whiff of this. Let's go." She grabbed Jon's arm and hurried through the entrance. Amused, Jon soon took the lead and positioned them by the same tree where Arya was hiding.

"You can't fuse with the tree, you know," he informed the girl and grinned when she moved to punch his arm.

"Shut up!" she snapped. "Go dodge marriageable girls, Jon, and you can return to puking your guts out, Sansa! And for your information, I'm not trying to fuse with the tree, I'm just avoiding Mother. So go away, you two are as inconspicuous as a lit flare."

"And here I thought you liked me!" cried Jon and placed a hand over his heart. "But we'll go. I just wanted to say hi and utilize your observation skills. Have you seen You-Know-Who?"

"Do you think I'd be standing here, hiding, if I had?" Arya growled in a very faithful imitation of an enraged wolf pup and sent both Jon and Sansa a heated glare. Then she focused on her older sister, and her face took on a less aggressive expression. "Sorry, Sansa, I know you don't want us to make a fuss about it… But if I see him, I'll make sure to break his kneecap."

Gods, Arya would, too. She wouldn't risk inflicting a head injury on him, but breaking his kneecap would be painful and inconvenient as hell for anyone.

Sansa shook her head and tried to suppress the tears that were stinging her eyes suddenly. Jon moved to wrap his arm over Sansa's shoulder and pressed her closer, placing a kiss on her cheek. "We've got your back, don't worry about it."

"I know. But could you, pretty please, stop threatening him with bodily harm and referring to him as You-Know-Who? We're not twelve, are we?"

Having her siblings' and Jon's support was something she cherished. While they had been growing up, Sansa had always felt like the odd one out. She wasn't interested in sports or the outdoors like the rest of her siblings. She had been Mother's perfect little princess, enjoying exactly these types of settings… Until Joff. When that little shit had tried to attack her at Robert's birthday party a few years ago, it had been Arya who had found them just in time and raised the seventh hell over it.

Sansa was the only one lacking any self-defense training and her siblings and Jon had become rather protective of her ever since, saying that she was too damned gentle and trusting for her own good. Their nosiness was aggravating at times as they made her life their business – but Sansa was glad that they had grown closer, sharing details of their lives.

Their worry wasn't unfounded, as Sansa's current predicament showed, and she vowed to be better, to be stronger. Sansa had to, now. She couldn't afford to make any more stupid mistakes.

"Alright, I won't start if he doesn't, and we'll call him Voldemort if you think that You-Know-You sounds too infantile," Jon agreed with a nod.

At his serious answer, Sansa snorted and buried her face in Jon's neck briefly. She liked that about him, he was serious and calm like Dad, and having Jon know was almost like having Dad know. Robb had gotten ballistic when he had found out, and it had taken him two days to calm down. It made her rather reluctant to speak to her parents about her situation, especially telling her mother – Sansa didn't want to disappoint them, but she knew that Catelyn Stark was going to take the news bad.

"Go away, Mother's looking in our direction!" hissed Arya suddenly and pushed Jon a few steps back – therefore pushing Sansa as well. Chuckling, they went and intercepted Catelyn and Ned, distracting them long enough for Arya to change locations.

"Sansa! Jon, here you are!" cried Mother as soon as they were close enough to hear her over the music. "Oh, Jon, you look so handsome in your uniform. Sansa, what are you wearing?"

"Oh, she looks very nice, Cat," said Dad and moved to hug each of them. "Not everything has to go according to plan, love."

"Well, of course… but… Sansa, you didn't like the dress I bought for you, dear?" Mother moved to kiss their cheeks and then forced Sansa to stand still as she observed her critically. "It would have brought out the color of your eyes so nicely, Sansa…"

"I couldn't breathe in it." Sansa smoothed a hand over her cream-colored, slightly oversized dress with flowing sleeves. "And this dress is much warmer, Mother. You know how chilly the corridors get in December."

"Yes, that's true. You look radiant and if there's the bonus of feeling warm, my dear, who am I to object? Are you two enjoying the party?"

They assured her that they were having fun, exchanging conspiratorial glances with Dad. After a few more minutes of chatter, Mother spotted someone 'Ned just had to talk to,' and dragged Dad away with her.

Sansa heaved a sigh of relief and agreed to dance with Jon, lest her poor cousin would suffer the same fate as Robb. The party was the beginning of an open season on single Starks, as the winter usually saw them all back at Winterfell.

"So, when are you going to tell your parents?" asked Jon after a few seconds of silence, and nodded toward Sansa's middle. The dress was wonderfully warm, but also wonderfully loose – just enough to mask her small baby bump. "You'll start showing pretty soon, Sansa, and Aunt Cat is right. You are glowing. I'm surprised she hasn't connected the dots yet."

Sansa wouldn't say she was glowing, exactly, but she wasn't the depressed ball of misery she had been a month ago. Jon had helped, and Arya, and Robb and Bran's oh so inconspicuous daily video chats… but finding out about the baby, that had been the swift kick in the right direction Sansa had needed.

"Mother sees what she wants to see." Sansa looked over Jon's shoulder and into the distance. "I mean, I was always the smart, responsible one. She'd never guess that her perfect little girl could get knocked up just like that."

"You're never going to tell them who the father is, are you?"

"Not if I can help it. This is my mess and I have to clean it up myself."

"That's a very responsible approach, but you know your parents will want to help you in any way they can, right?" Jon gave her a lopsided smile. "You are not going to raise a little Stark on your own, not if we have anything to say about it."

"I know, and I can't even say how much that means to me, Jon." Sansa beamed at him and damn, the tears were back. Jon was her greatest defender when Robb had started berating her because Jon understood. Aunt Lyanna had been in the exactly same situation as Sansa, and she had chosen to keep her child as well. Jon would be the best uncle in the world, he had said, he'd always be there for his favorite niece or nephew, just like Dad had always been there for Jon.

She was so lucky to have such a wonderful family. Sansa blinked several times and Jon spun them around, pretending that he didn't hear her sniffling.

"Tell me… How are you doing, Sansa?" he asked, drawing her close when the music slowed, and just swayed to the rhythm unhurriedly.

"Good, Jon. I'm good. I'm looking toward the future, not back. I knew from the beginning that there was never going to be happily ever after, not with him. He didn't promise me anything, you know, and I didn't ask him to. I was just stupid, thinking I had it all under control."

"People in love do a lot of stupid things, Sansa, and it's okay to wish for things to be different," Jon said so gently that Sansa felt like crying. Again. Gods. She was a bad liar, and her siblings could easily see through her façade of forced cheerfulness – and there was no fooling Jon, who wasn't the youngest Lord Commander of the Night's Watch in a century for nothing.

"That obvious, huh?" she asked. Love had been something Sansa hadn't taken into consideration when she had started an affair with a married man. She had been determined not to fall in love with him, not with someone so emotionally unavailable, and look how well that had turned out.

"Well, I certainly learned my lesson," she chuckled sorrowfully and then shook her head. "But this is a party, and it's Christmas Eve. I don't want to talk about any of that, Jon, not even about my morning sickness that seems to be decidedly not limited only to the mornings. Life's going to be good. Not easy, but it will be worth it. The baby is worth it and I'm going to do my best to make my child's life happy."

"And the father?" asked Jon softly.

"What about him?"

"Are you ever going to tell him?" he prompted. "Don't you think he has a right to know? Maybe he'd like to be a part of his child's life, you know. Maybe you could have your happily ever after, or a closure at least if you spoke to him."

Sansa looked at Jon, searching his eyes as they danced. He would ask about that, of course. His father had died before Jon had been even born. Was it fair to keep the baby a secret from the father? No, and she knew that. Sansa was so tired of pretending and covering up the truth… But she couldn't force herself to tell him.

"I don't want to ruin his marriage."

Jon just raised his eyebrow at her and Sansa sighed. She didn't need him to say what he thought; that the marriage had been already ruined the moment You-Know-Who had decided to cheat on his wife. That's what Sansa found the hardest to stomach, that she had almost become a homewrecker, and that's why she had eventually ended things. It hadn't been him, it had been Sansa. She had decided to move on, to give herself a chance at happiness that a married man couldn't give her. She hadn't wanted to be his lover – a carefully kept secret – any longer. It had been the right thing to do, despite the pain it had caused her.

"So, you'd be able to talk to him as if nothing happened between you two, as if you're not expecting his child?"

"Of course, I'll have to… But why are you… Oh, he's here, isn't he?" Sansa closed her eyes briefly and prayed that he wasn't standing right behind them. That would be like a scene from a really badly written short story.

"Yep." Jon was looking over her shoulder. "He's scanning the crowd quite intently. I'd say he's looking for someone… Any guess who that might be?"

"What?!" Sansa whirled around, spotted him standing by the entrance, and promptly flew to hide behind Jon's back. "He hasn't seen me, has he?"

Just that one glance of him was enough to send her heart beating painfully in her chest. It had been three months since she had seen him last, but it felt like yesterday. He had taken the break-up so calmly, simply sitting there and listening to all she had had to say. Then he had inclined his head and agreed with her, just like that. But then again, Sansa hadn't expected him to object. He was a reasonable man, and he hadn't been looking for anything more than a summer fling.

"So much for being over him and acting like a grown-up woman, eh?" Jon's chuckle forced a small laugh out of Sansa as well. "No, you hid just in time. Now come on, I think I know how to help you. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Sansa kept Jon between herself and the entrance, breathing hard from the shock. The other dancing couples certainly helped in her effort to stay unnoticed by You-Know-Who, and she managed to stop herself from looking for him.

He wasn't a handsome man in the traditional sense of the word, but he was intense, focused. Being at the center of his attention had been exhilarating. Everything about him made Sansa's blood sing; his mere presence sent Sansa's heart racing, and she felt alive when he was near. It had been as if an electric current run through her every time he had touched her, every time he had whispered her name.

Northern summers weren't exactly hot, but he had made sure that Sansa had been kept quite warm. His hands had always been so hot, and his mouth could leave a trail of scorching fire behind…Gods, and his voice. He had the sexiest voice, and just the memory of it could do unspeakable things to her. He'd always made sure to whisper into her ear what he had been about to do to her body…such wonderful things…

"Your face is glowing red, Sansa. Get a grip or your mother's bound to notice and make a fuss."

"Where are you taking me?" Sansa sure as hell wasn't going to acknowledge her brightly flaming cheeks or the reasons behind the blush. "I hope you're not trying to set me up with one of your officers because that's a stupid idea."

"I'm just going to introduce you to a friend."

"Jon!" hissed Sansa, aggravated and tugged at his arm.

"Relax, Sansa! He's utterly in love with someone else, but that woman is not interested. He's about as depressed as you and could use the distraction. Would you rather mope about alone, trying to hide from your ex-lover, or enjoy the party with a nice guy who doesn't have any expectations?"

Jon was right, and thus Sansa was introduced to Tormund Giantsbane, who was a recent transfer to the Night's Watch from the marines. Tormund was tall, loud, and impertinent, and Sansa found herself surprisingly liking the man maybe because he was the exact opposite of him. In Tormund's eyes, she could also see the same pain of broken heart she felt – hidden as carefully as hers –, and it made her relax in his company even further.

By mutual agreement, they decided to stick it to their respective heartbreakers and just enjoy the evening. They talked, dodged Sansa's parents, danced, and laughed loudly. Sansa could swear that she felt his eyes on her more than once, but she refused to acknowledge it and didn't look for him in the crowd. Tormund was the type who always seemed to be drawing the attention of everyone who was near, and she was a Stark, so there were many eyes trained on them at any given moment.

"Are you uncomfortable with all the stares?" Sansa asked as they finished their rumba. Tormund knew how to move despite his size, and he was an excellent dancer. She couldn't remember when she had this much fun dancing – her brothers refused to go for the more interesting moves, and she wouldn't dare to try it with strangers.

"No. Let them look," Tormund said, offering her his arm. As he led her to the edge of the dance floor, the other people cleared out of their way quickly to their amusement. "They've never seen so much perfection, and have no idea that their staring is rude."

She laughed loudly, shaking her head. She was hot, her cheeks were on fire, and she had trouble breathing, but she just couldn't stop and had to lean on his arm for support. He was handsome and they did look striking together – both were taller than average, blue-eyed, pale, and with fiery hair. Red-heads were rare in the North; kissed by fire they were called.

"Now, now, little one, you have to breathe. I'll get you something to drink before we tackle the dance floor again, yeah?"

"That would be nice, thank you."

Tormund winked at her and then Sansa watched as he navigated the crowd towards the bar. The sea of people parted before him and then closed again. Sansa could still see the top of his head, though, and she had to giggle to herself. He was anything but unobtrusive.

"Sansa." That one word sent shivers down her spine and she immediately stopped smiling and whipped her head toward the owner of the wickedly soft voice. "You seem rather taken with your dance partner."

She hadn't heard his approach – he had always been light on his feet, moving almost soundlessly, and she cursed her inattention. Her mouth went dry as her eyes landed on the very man she had been trying to avoid the whole evening. He was standing just two steps away from her, dressed in a black on black tux with his left arm tucked behind his back while from the fingers of his right hand, a glass of brandy was dangling nonchalantly.

She focused on the glass – it was such an unusual sight to see him with a drink. It was certainly better than to look the man in the eyes, not when he was watching her so intently.

"Lord Bolton," she managed to squeeze out. "Hello."

"You have been avoiding me." With that, Roose took a step closer and drained the glass in one swallow, placing it at the window sill behind Sansa and trapping her between his body and the wall.

"Have I?" Sansa shivered at their proximity and was forced to look into his face now. His expression was unreadable, but his pale eyes were burning right through her very soul.

"Yes, not even privileging me with the opportunity to greet you." Slowly, he lowered his arm and caressed languidly first her cheek and then the column of her neck with his knuckles. Up and down and up again. She could feel that painfully familiar current spark between them at the first touch, and by the time he settled his warm palm at the back of her neck, a fire was coursing through her veins. "I wished to see you, Sansa. Very much so."

"We are in public, Lord Bolton," she whispered, her eyes closing on their own accord. Was he drunk? That was ridiculous. He rarely drank. So, what he thought he was doing, touching her like where anyone could see?

It was always like that with him – the fear of discovery sent her heart beating wildly in her chest. The yearning for something exhilarating, forbidden, and dangerous would undoubtedly draw Sansa into his arms again.

"You didn't seem to mind that oaf's hands pawning you the whole night." His voice grew deeper, colder, and she could feel his other hand settle on her waist. He was so close she could smell his cologne. It was fresh and crisp, reminding her of snowfall in deep dark woods, and it sharply contrasted with the brandy on his breath that was warm and inviting, with a dash of cinnamon.

He drew her even closer, the grip on her neck tightening. She knew what he was about to do with crystal clear clarity, and it was everything she had once secretly dreamed about. Now she only dreaded the consequences; Sansa had learned her lesson.

"Tormund was less forward than you are right now."

Roose abruptly released her as soon as Tormund's name left her lips. Sansa blinked her eyes open and found him standing at her side not too far but not close enough to touch either. He was looking over at the crowd, not at her, but Sansa couldn't take her eyes off his profile. There was something different about him, and the changes were noticeable only from up this close. He looked weary, thinner; his cheekbones were more pronounced and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He seemed sharper, on edge, the hand not tucked behind his back was fisted.

"Given our history, my dear, I believe I am allowed slightly more… leeway," he said finally, turning his head to Sansa, smirking slightly. "Wouldn't you say?"

"No, I wouldn't, Lord Bolton. You should keep your hands to yourself."

"Sansa," he sighed, his lips pressed tightly together, eyes darkening in such a way that sent Sansa's heart plummeting in anticipation. She knew that look, and its consequences were delightful. Sure enough, he continued, "Can we talk? In private?"

"That would be unseemly. What would your wife think?"

"I am no longer married," he said, glancing at her, observing her reaction.

No longer married? Sansa wasn't sure if he said anything after that, and was refusing to look him in the eyes. The world seemed to fade away and her body swayed forward as if pulled to him by gravitation itself. Blood rushed from her limbs toward her heart and it pumped and pumped and pumped painfully and she was sure she couldn't breathe…

"Sansa!" he stepped closer and held her and she realized that she had swayed dangerously. The calm mask Roose had been wearing cracked and she caught a glimpse of something that resembled concern. "Would you like some water? Do you need to sit down?"

"I need some air," she whispered, grateful that she felt only lightheaded and not sick. "I can't breathe in here."

He nodded and shifted his hold on her. Escorting her through the hall, he didn't dare to be overly familiar with her and held her by the arm. Sansa was dismayed to see the mask sliding back in place effortlessly as she watched his face for a moment before she refocused on putting one foot in front of the other. They drew a considerable amount of attention now as they made their way through the crowd and Roose had to repeat several times that "Lady Sansa needs fresh air."

Out of the great hall and in the corridor, there weren't as many people, and it was darker and quieter, and Roose wrapped his arm around her lower back automatically. Sansa didn't have the willpower to admonish him, not when her heart had yearned for his closeness for so long. The urge to lean into his solid presence was overwhelming and just as they were walking past a massive support pillar, she gave in. In the pillar's shadow, Sansa felt herself fall into him. Just for a moment, she told herself and closed her eyes.

Roose stopped and stayed still. Then, very carefully, he drew her closer. His touch was scolding hot when he placed his palm against Sansa's cheek.

"You are so pale, Sansa." His breath ghosted over her skin, so very close, and she could smell the brandy on him. "You should rest. I could take you to your room."

It sounded like a proposition, she was sure he meant it like one. It would be so easy to lean into his palm or to tilt her head just so and answer him with a kiss. And it was tempting, to just surrender one more time to the fire he ignited within her. It would be so, so easy – and so selfish. Sansa couldn't afford to be that stupid again, not until he explained his previous remark. Until then, she shouldn't get ahead of herself.

"My absence will be noted soon," she informed him, swallowed, and caught his hand, pushing it away from her face. As she opened her eyes, she saw a fleeting expression of hurt in his gaze. But that couldn't be, could it? Shaking her head, she glanced around and gathered her strength, motioning for him to follow her.

It wasn't her room where she was taking him, no. There was an old guardroom just off to the main entrance to the Great Hall where they stored furniture currently not needed in the hall. She opened the door and waited for him to reach her.

Roose did so swiftly and at Sansa's impassive look proceeded inside the room. She looked around the corridor one more time, satisfied that no one had seemed to see them, and closed the door behind her.

The room was half empty. Sansa switched the lights on and with a telltale splutter, the bulbs in the chandelier died, leaving only the moonlight coming through the windows as their only source of light. The night was clear and the full moon shone brightly.

"Damn." Locating the nearest chair, she sat down with a sigh of relief and tried to do her best to ignore his silent presence. Her feet were killing her. All was silent for a long moment, and she could hear the music from the Great Hall in the distance.

"You wanted to talk, so talk."

Despite her determination, Sansa's eyes were immediately drawn to him when he crossed the room to stand by the window. In the silvery moonlight, he looked like a creature from another world – so silent, so cold, made of dark shadows and white ice. When he turned to look at her, Sansa had to bite her tongue to stifle her gasp at how striking her former lover was. His eyes came alive in that light, two pools of molten silver.

"I came tonight only to see you. I can't stop thinking of you, Sansa," he said. She wondered what Roose saw when he looked at her in the moonlight, what he read in her face at the revelation. She remained silent, unwilling to say that there wasn't a day when she didn't think of him, too.

He swallowed hard and his stoic expression shattered. Suddenly, he seemed wrecked, and he placed both his hands behind his back, but not fast enough. Sansa still caught how they shook.

"I can't eat. I can't sleep. Your face is all I see when I close my eyes," he continued, taking slow steps toward her. When he moved close enough, Sansa could see that his whole body was trembling.

"Watching that man touching you was hell. I kept wondering if he knew how you looked tangled in the sheets, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, fucked senseless." His voice cracked and wavered. "Does he, Sansa? Does he know how stunning you are looking like that, my dear?"

Heat infused her cheeks and Sansa shook her head once shortly before she looked away from his burning eyes.

"It was so good between us, Sansa, wasn't it?" he whispered, leaning over to her. Then his palm was on Sansa's cheek and he turned her head to look at him. But she couldn't. She couldn't bear to look at his face and tightly shut her eyes as she listened to his voice wash over her. Gods, why did he insist on calling her by her name in that tone? Didn't he know that Sansa could barely stand it?

"I was never lonely until you left and I never should have allowed you to walk away. I think… I think I was never in love before I met you." He placed his other hand on Sansa's other cheek, framing her face between his palms, and swept away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks with his thumbs. "It took me a long time to realize what you made me feel, and then it was too late and you were gone."

Love. Roose was talking about that very emotion that had eventually forced her to leave him. He had never indicated that there could be more between them than fantastic sex, and it had broken her heart, seeped the joy out of her life. Loving someone who didn't love you back was a hopeless feeling, devastating.

"What… Just what are you saying?" Sansa grabbed his hands and tugged them away from her face. She couldn't stand the way he was touching her, the gentleness. He had always been so careful with her - even when he was rough - but he was breaking her heart all over again right now.

Roose didn't allow her to push him away, turning her hands in his palms and keeping a firm hold on them. When she opened her eyes, she was shocked to see that he was kneeling at her feet.

As he kissed the back of her hands, that beautiful spark run through her body again. She had missed his touch so much. Sansa had missed him so much she couldn't believe that she had fooled herself into feeling anything but misery when parted from him.

"After you left, I couldn't get your words out of my head. You said you were tired of hiding, that you wanted the possibility of a future with the man you were with, that you wanted the chance of a home of your own, a family." His expression was open, vulnerable, and his eyes glistened suspiciously. "I want to be the man giving you that, to share all my days and nights with you openly. My home, my heart, everything I am, is yours… even my name, if you'll have it… If you'll have me."

"But… but…" Sansa fell silent and had to take a deep breath before she was able to continue. She just wanted to scream yes, but she couldn't. There was still the matter of Walda Bolton. "Your wife? You… you left her?"

Roose nodded, still kneeling at her feet, still holding her hands so gently. Sansa turned away from his hopeful face and frowned, biting her lip, her mind whirling.

"That's not what I wanted. I never wanted you to leave her. I never wanted to be that kind of woman…" She yanked her hands out of his grasp and moved to stand.

"No, no! Stop!" he ordered, rising as well, wrapping his arms around her and forcing Sansa to spin around. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, she met his eyes as she braced herself against his chest. She didn't want to melt into him, even if his embrace made her feel happy and whole. She should be disgusted with herself for being the woman responsible for ruining someone else's life.

"Walda and I had been miserable long before I even met you. We parted by mutual agreement, and she moved in with the head of my security… who is no longer in my employ, understandably." He delivered the news in a dry, detached tone of voice that was so different from his heartfelt confession from moments before. His expression had also closed off, leaving no doubts that he didn't particularly care about Walda. "You did not wreck my marriage, Sansa, and I know you were not expecting anything from me when you left. You are not a woman who would take a gamble like that. You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to. I liked you, you liked me, we fucked. It was that simple. Now, the situation's changed. I love you but the question is… Do you… Do you love me back?"

When he asked that, Roose had to turn away from her for a moment. His voice hadn't wavered, and his expression was smooth and calm. She could feel his heartbeat through all the layers of his clothes, though, and his heart was thumping painfully quickly. Sansa took a second to search his eyes, and the nervousness was right there, lurking just under the surface.

The man had a reputation of being cold and remorseless, and the last thing he would want was for anyone to see him as weak. But he had made himself vulnerable tonight – for her. Taking a chance, reaching for something that he wanted, fighting for someone he loved.

Sansa let out a small chuckle that suspiciously resembled a sob. He was much braver than her. She hadn't even tried to fight for him because she couldn't bear the thought of being a homewrecker; of him not returning her feelings. Her pride had put them through three months of misery, and Sansa didn't want to waste any minute longer than necessary.

"Yes," she choked out, and the mirth won over the heartache, a smile blossoming over her face.

"Yes?" he questioned, his lips turning upward slightly, his eyes brightening. "You mean yes, you love me?"

"Yes, I love you," Sansa declared and moved to kiss him on the mouth. His smile widened but he stopped her, the pad of his forefinger resting on her lower lip.

"Does that yes apply to anything else I asked you, by any chance?"

"Oh, I don't know," she spoke, with both her lips touching his finger. Several things came to mind, but Sansa wasn't sure that she should take the plunge and address what she thought had been Roose's way of subtly asking her to marry him. She'd rather take it slow, and move to known territory. When she proceeded to lick his finger, his pupils dilated and he inhaled sharply at Sansa's asking him, "Was there anything else you wanted from me?"

"Oh, yes," he rumbled, his voice dropping impossibly low as his arms encircled her waist and he brought their bodies closer. Leaning to her neck, he breathed against her skin, "I wouldn't mind an invitation to your room, for a start."

"Why should I do that?"

"Well, I think it would be amusing to watch your father's expression when he catches me leaving it in the morning." Roose grinned against her neck and when Sansa hit his arm in exasperation, he chuckled. "It would also save us the terribly awkward moment of explaining the basic mechanics of sex when we break the news to your parents."

His voice sounded rather smug, and Sansa didn't want to ask, she really didn't, but eventually sighed out, "What are you talking about?"

Roose leaned back slightly, and she had been right. His expression was as smug as the tone of his voice. One of his hands traveled from Sansa's waist to rest on her stomach gently, and his expression softened and he gave her a knowing look.

"I… how did you… I mean…" Sansa's mind short-circuited. It wasn't noticeable yet. Her own mother, who was a mother of five, hadn't noticed it. No one had! "How long…"

"Does it matter?" He dropped his gaze down and caressed the slight bump through the fabric.

"Does it matter?" she repeated and tried to push at his chest. "Of course it does! I don't want you to feel obliged to take care of me! This isn't the three hundred A.C.! Women can raise children on their own perfectly fine without getting married!"

"The old gods help me if you don't stop acting like a righteousness martyr, I'm going to fuck that damned Stark morality out of you right here," he shook her slightly and when Sansa's mouth snapped shut at his words, he swallowed and took a calming breath.

"I will not repeat myself. I want you, and I want that child, and I want everything that comes with the two of you. Not because I feel duty-bound but because I can't imagine my life without falling asleep next to you every night. Okay?"

"Okay," she breathed out weakly, and to her utter embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears and she shut them tightly, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs. "Oh, gods, I'm sorry! I don't know why I'm crying!"

"I'll settle for being 'overwhelmingly happy,' Sansa," Roose said and drew her into his arms again. Holding her gently, he pressed a soft kiss in her hair. "That's what I feel, at least."

"You are 'overwhelmingly happy?'"

"Yes," he agreed instantly as he wiped away her tears. "Just an hour ago, the odds weren't looking too good. You refused to even acknowledge my existence, and now I have you in my arms. I've got everything I have wanted, and it isn't even Christmas yet. Well, almost everything. We're still not in your room."

"You are incorrigible, Lord Bolton."

"And you wouldn't have it any other way, would you, Lady Sansa?" Roose murmured and as he leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses at her collarbone, Sansa had to acknowledge that he was absolutely right. His touch, his voice, his presence still quickened her pulse in sweet anticipation, and her heart felt like bursting, full of love.

AN2: That bad boy was a nightmare to write! *hits her head against the table* First Cat always comes off as an overbearing mother and no matter how many times I rewrite her lines, I still want to hit her. Then Sansa decides that nope, we're not going down the fun, fluffy, and feel-good road and she wants to mope about. Jon just appears and is adamant about being the best stepdad material (someone really wants their own Christmas one-shot, I get it, Snow, now stop intervening)… and when my favorite Bolton finally decides to show his face, he's such a possessive ass I wonder what Sansa sees in him. But then he opens his mouth and I melt alongside our girl. So. Yeah. This one just didn't go according to the plan at all. Hope you still liked it.

Love, Mage