Chapter 6

Some people think Sundays are sacred, meant for reflection and quiet. Sometimes people use the early morning to gather together in old buildings, and nod along to soothing music and snooze-inducing voices.

These people, in Rickon Stark's opinion, were morons.

Why would you spend your day being boring when the Wintertown sports field stood waiting?

With freshly cut grass in your nostrils, sweat on your brow, and a throat raw from shouting, Sunday mornings here had more soul-nourishing goodness than a whole parish of cathedrals.

"Come on, dummies, pass the frickin' ball!"

If his face wasn't already red from exertion, Rickon would be turning tomato-berry with rage. His team was losing – again – and nobody was fricking listening to him. He was breathing hard, running up the pitch alongside Jorge Keep, the supposed captain, and all-round moron. It was only the sound of Rickon's breathing that kept the furious ringing in his ears at bay.

Captain Stupid - chosen apparently because he had the smallest dick known to man and needed to be given as much sympathy as possible – was once again proving that Rickon was right and the Wintertown under sixteens soccer team was made up of fruckwits and suck-ups.

"Pass the fucking ball, Keep!"

A whistle sounded and Rickon couldn't hold back his groan, they were such pussies.

"What?" he span, arms wide in outrage, to face their sweaty boob of a coach waddling towards him. Coach Keep was scowling at him – again, for frick's sake.

"Stark! Language," he held out a yellow card and Rickon groaned,

"Are you fricking kidding me? I'mgetting carded? He's the one who won't get his head out of his fat ass long enough to pass the fucking ball!"

In hindsight, it probably wasn't a good idea to insult Jorge's ass to his father's face, especially since they were of similar sized asses. The red card bounced off his forehead.

It felt like he had a paper cut. He should have the captain's badge. He glared at the team behind the captain's back. Maesy Bont was smirking at him like a cat in front of a plate of cream so he could only assume she'd finally let Keep stick his fingers down her pants. He wasn't surprised – she had stuck her tongue down his throat barely ten minutes after finishing a milkshake with Max Cagg last month. She wasn't fussy. She was fucking annoying though.

Fuck them all. Rickon ripped his bib off and dropped it in the mud. Let them lose. He stomped back to the lockers, scraping his studs against the concrete making a racket they couldn't ignore. It's not like he wanted to get ice-cream with them anyway. His mom probably had ice-cream at home. Fucking Keep. Fucking Coach. Fucking –

Rickon pulled his phone out of his bag and groaned. His dad still hadn't worked out how to turn off predictive text. It took hours to figure out what he meant most the time, but this one was pretty clear.

Work emergency, call Santa for a ride, she's at the mall.

Unless Mr Claus had made some big life-changes, 'Santa' was probably Rickon's dad struggling with the predictive text again. Rickon heaved a great sigh. He was going to have to call his sister and get shouted at for getting mud on the car. Great. Because he needed another lecture. He sighed again as he press 'call'. He could hardly contain his excitement.

-.*.-.*.-

"This is so exciting!"

The front door slammed, and all four of them froze.

"Oh my God, Marg, I'm so happy for you!"

The lounge was at the back of the house, overlooking the sloping garden, and completely concealed from the front door. And yet they could hear every word of Sansa's conversation.

Gendry looked at Jon who was struggling not to laugh. His lips were wobbling and he was frowning like he expected uncontrolled eyebrows to give him away. Robb took a deep breath and whispered to the others,

"It's okay, just be quiet for a bit, she'll probably just go upstairs."

Gendry looked around at the others, and was surprised to find them taking Robb somewhat seriously, giggling aside. They sat perfectly still, listening as their sister's voice floated away upstairs. A door closed and it was gone. Gendry watched Robb sigh in relief, and his confusion increased.

"Um, why are we hiding from her? I mean, can't we just put the TV on or something?"

Robb shook his head solemnly, "No, we told her we'd be out all day. I said Jon wanted to try rock-climbing."

Arya scowled at him, "Why?"

"She wanted a ride to the mall."

It was like Arya and Robb were having a competition to see who could look angrier. Robb ground his teeth making his jaw jump. Gendry felt a little intimidated until he looked back at Arya whose nostrils were flaring and he felt ready to declare a winner. Ding ding ding, the award for the most terrifying Stark goes to-

"So to avoid a twenty minute drive, you told a ridiculous lie-"

Robb recoiled, pouting and tucking his chin to his chest like a child hearing his mom calling him to get off the climbing frame, "I could totally take up rock-climbing, I'm athletic."

"-that now compromises the whole thing if she finds us in the house?" Arya's voice was quiet but Gendry knew that was more for Sansa's benefit than Robb's. She had totally ignored her brother's comment.

"Well, us, not you." Robb shrugged, reaching forward for another pastry and finally Gendry caught the glimmer of humour. It must have been there before for their scowling contest to have slipped away so suddenly, but it was much harder to see it in Robb's eyes than Arya's. But then, Gendry spent a lot less time looking at Robb.

Arya rolled her eyes, and pursed her lips, but Gendry caught that it was just a way of holding back her laughter, "You're such a dummy."

"What? This is serious!" Jon ducked behind a cushion to avoid the spray of crumbs but Gendry wasn't so quick. He hoped it was just a phantom chocolate chip on his cheek, but the wobble of Robb's lips told him there was no imagining necessary. Jon held out a napkin and Gendry did his best not to meet his eye.

"Well I'm not hiding from Sansa." Arya declared, turning – finally – to look at Gendry. She frowned when she saw him dabbing blindly at his face, and without a word took the napkin and swiped at his cheek. "Do you want to stay here with these fools or come and see if we have pretzels?"

Gendry watched as she placed the napkin back on the tray thoughtlessly, as though touching him and his flaming face was the most casual thing in the world.

"I-uh-" he glanced over at Robb who was ignoring his sister, and instead focusing on the pastry in front of him, and nodded, "Sure, I could eat a pretzel."

As they stood he glanced over at Jon, who was watching them. There was something about his expression that didn't quite make sense – a protectiveness, a confusion, a frown that wasn't quite a scowl but definitely wasn't not a scowl either.

Whatever was going on in Jon's head was his own business, Gendry decided. He could only control his own thoughts. And he was very much over trying to interpret the Starks and their facial expressions. Sometimes a scowl should just be a scowl.

He stood and followed Arya down a hallway. He watched as she swept her hair over her shoulder. It was a tick he had seen before, but only now, walking through their home did he realise that it was a habit both Stark sisters shared. He wondered if Arya knew how like her sister she was. And then Arya turned and smiled at him, pulling him into the kitchen and he brushed all thoughts of comparison out of his mind. He could control his own thoughts.

Feelings however, were an entirely different matter.

-.*.-.*.-

Rickon stamped his foot against the curb, knocking a clump of mud away but doing nothing for his bad mood.

As predicted, Sansa had been annoyed. She had turned up to the sports field looking ruffled and unhappy. If it hadn't been for the flick of her long red hair and moody tilt of her chin, Rickon wouldn't have known it was her. She drove in silence, the only noise her grunt of irritation when a clod of mud dropped from his shoe onto the floor mat. She had glared when he had reached for the radio and he had taken the hint. No talk. Silence today. Sansa needed to be left alone.

She sighed when he jumped out of the car, scattering dirt over the drive, but then her phone rang and Rickon nearly shat himself when she answered.

"Hiya Marge, how are you? I've missed you, girlie!"

Perky, high-pitched, happily hair flicking.

He thought back over the past week as quickly as he could – when had he upset Sansa? What had he done to make her hate just him in particular? He had borrowed her shower gel, but that was just because he liked lemons. Lemons were a gender neutral scent, there was no way she was mad at him for that, right? And it wouldn't be the toast crumbs he had spat over her homework last night, that had been math and nobody ever cared if their math homework was ruined.

Rickon frowned as Sansa swung her bags onto her arms and marched to the front door. She swept inside, somehow balancing bags and keys and phone without a single wobble. She shut the door sharply behind her and Rickon looked down at his feet. Yeah, best not to follow her just now.

He trudged round to the back door. That was okay, the back door led to the kitchen and the kitchen was where the ice-cream was. If anything could make this shit day better it was ice-cream.

"I want a milkshake with my pretzel. Or maybe a hot chocolate." Arya's voice slipped out the open kitchen window, loud and clear and stopped Rickon in his tracks.

Yes. Pretzels. Milkshakes. Chocolate. All good. Not ice-cream, but still good. He smiled. At least one of his sisters was sane.

"Not a mega-shake?"

Rickon froze. Who was that? Why did Arya have a boy in the house?

The back of the Stark house was made almost entirely of windows. It was beautifully designed if you wanted light and fresh air. It was terribly designed if you were trying to spy on your sister and the tall muscly guy following her around. Rickon tucked himself between two bushes covered in those bright flowers his mother loved, praying they weren't the thorny kind. He could only handle so many unexpected pricks at one time.
He leant forward slowly, gripping onto the window-ledge, waiting. His family would have you believe that Rickon was only capable of moving at top speed, crashing his way through life, but when there was someone staring at his sister like a lost puppy he could be quiet. He could bide his time.

The couple in the kitchen had continued their conversation, oblivious to the wannabe-ninja crouched in the bushes outside. The sleuthing a success so far.

"No, I still haven't recovered from the last one. I had such a hangover the next day."

A hangover? Arya? Rickon knew dad would kill any of them for underage drinking, not even Arya would ignore him on that. Who was this guy who could lead his sister astray like that? He squinted past the lace curtains and watched a large hand run through dark spikey hair. A nervous habit perhaps. Rickon filed the information away. Spies did that. You never knew what you might need later. The scoundrel was talking again. Rickon glared at him.

"Yeah, it's a beast. Still not as good as Mott's shakes."

Well at least Arya's scoundrel had good taste. Rickon couldn't see more than the back of his head from this angle, just a bit of his neck. It looked red though – was he blushing? Was he horny? Was he nervous? Was he sunburnt? Rickon was determined to find out. He pulled himself closer to the wall, pressing his toes into the soil. It was a good thing nobody had done the dishes this morning, they were the perfect cover. See, Mom? Sometimes being lazy is a good thing.
The scoundrel was hovering near the sink. Brown hair. Fairly tall. Knew Mott's was the best milkshake place. Possibly leading Arya towards underage binge-drinking. Or was that binge-milkshake-drinking? Rickon tallied it up in his head. He wasn't prepared to approve of this guy. Not yet anyway.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll believe that when I taste it. Why are you so loyal to Mott anyway? I thought you didn't work there anymore." It sounded to Rickon – he still couldn't see Arya, she was far too little to feature in the window – like she was trying not to laugh. There was an edge to her voice he was only a little familiar with, like she was trying not to be too interested, like she was being cool and aloof. Aren't girls supposed to be interested in guys they like? Did this mean Arya didn't like him?

"I don't but he – er – he was good to me. And that place helped me a lot, working there I mean. He – well, promise not to tell anyone, okay, but he took me on when I was 14. I was too young to be working there, but we really needed the money so he let me wash dishes."

It was the worst kept secret around that Mott's was the place to go if you were short on cash. If you had a dollar he would make it stretch to three, but Rickon was surprised that he would let a kid work in the kitchen. Rickon frowned. He wasn't impressed with that sort of shady business. It wasn't looking good for this guy.

"That's cool of him."

"Yeah it is. It's a good place."

Just because he knew Mott being decent didn't mean he was decent, Rickon mused. And then he thought of his soccer team squawking like seagulls about whether they were getting a cup or cone after practice and he remembered that it wasn't that great. Closer to 'awful and terrible' than good. Stupid Mott and his home-made ice-cream.

"And you liked washing dishes?"

She definitely wasn't interested in him, Rickon decided. Nobody asked stupid questions like that around people they're trying to impress.

"Nobody likes washing dishes, but I liked earning money. It was good to support my mom."

"Why?"

The question was quiet and Rickon wondered if Arya was near the doorway to the hall, getting ready to leave the room. He took a step to the side – crack! – a branch broke and Rickon's heart pounded. Shit, he was supposed to be spying on them, spies weren't betrayed by their camouflage. His heart pounded, his breath quickened, but his feet were slow. By the time he had dragged himself round to the side window he was sure they would be there, their faces pressed to the glass, laughing at his failed attempt at espionage.

"Huh?"

"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine – I – uh-"

"So-"

"Yeah, uh – well"

There was a clattering and the sound of two people bumbling around each other. Through the glass panel Rickon saw the boy duck down, and Arya dance forward. His head bounced off her chin, just enough to make him jump and drop the mugs again. They hadn't even noticed the noises from outside. Excellent.

You are a ninja, Rickon thought, you are the breeze on the leaves, you are invisible. He peered through the glass and kept an ear to the voices still coming from the open window.

Arya was bright red and chewing on her lip, grabbing at broken ceramic pieces. She had her back to Mr. Smooth now, focused on organising the ceramic shards on the counter by the sink. The boy was equally red-faced but he was watching her. Rickon glared at him, at his casual lean against the table, his folded arms. Rickon waited for the boy to glance in the wrong place, for his eyes to slip down. Just you try it, buddy. If he was a real spy Rickon would have had a stun gun, and he would absolutely use it. Even if the scoundrel did only have his eyes fixed on Arya's hair. She brushed it over her ears, hiding more of her face.

"So, Mott?"

"He let me work coz my mom already had a lot going on, two jobs, y'know?"

"Huh. Where's your dad?"

"He wasn't really in the picture."

"Oh, sorry."

Rickon didn't care much for their conversation. If you're interested in a girl you ask her questions, you learn about her. This guy was too busy talking about himself. There was no way Arya could be into him.
Arya was still facing the sink. She was biting her lip and looking awful. Her face was the deepest red Rickon had ever seen, almost purple. It was a good thing she didn't like this guy because she was blowing it.

"No big deal. It just means I've learnt to live without him. Learnt to adapt. For example, I could make you a better hot chocolate than you could ever dream of whipping up."

Arya's lips twitched and Rickon was grudgingly impressed – this guy knew how to drag himself out of an embarrassing situation. She turned from the sink and flicked her hair over her shoulder. Rickon took a little step forward, his feet digging into the flowerbed again. Shit. Those were his mother's petunias. And that was plant fertiliser. Fresh too from the smell of it. Fuck, it stank. But Arya was talking again, so Rickon was listening through the fumes.

"Oh yeah?" Arya laughed, and swished her hair again, crossing her arms and leaning back against the draining board, "Prove it."

"Yes, ma'am." The boy grinned, and stepped toward Arya. Annoyingly he stepped to her right, shielding himself from Rickon's line of sight. Damn. Arya leaned forward and swayed slightly. Or maybe Rickon swayed – the fertiliser was really strong, he was starting to feel it in the back of his throat. It tasted like having no ice-cream and a ne'er-do-well in his kitchen.

Rickon saw an elbow, a hand rubbing the back of a red neck – was the boy blushing again? What was with all these red faces? The boy leant closer to Arya, and Rickon saw the smile on his face. She shook her head and laughed – fuck, he had said something, something funny perhaps? - and now Arya was shaken, with red cheeks and nervous hands.

When her phone rang it nearly tumbled out of her hands. Her eyes widened and she looked up sort of guiltily, her lower lip caught between her teeth again.

"I have to get this, shouldn't be too long."

"Okay." He nodded and turned back to the counter, back out of Rickon's line of vision. Just before Arya left the room, the boy stepped forward and Rickon saw his face in full, watching her go.

Rickon was stood in his mother's flower-bed with something tickling at his shin, squashing prize-winners and getting high off fertilizer, going slightly mad, but he needed to see, needed to know. The boy in his kitchen looked – well, weird. The look on his face wasn't a look of love, of a boy wishing for more time with the girl he wanted. It was kid with his hand in the cookie jar. It was Rickon when he tracked mud through the house and made mom sigh like she was a thousand years old and sick of it all. It was guilt.

Maybe the guy in Rickon's kitchen wasn't a scoundrel. He could make his sister laugh and knew where the best shakes in town came from. But from Rickon's experience – and he wouldn't have called it limited, he had made out with Maya Sunspear behind the equipment shed last semester – nobody looked that guilty over something they should be doing.

-.*.-.*.-

"Hey, Ned, so are we on?"

"Yeah, babe, on like Donkey-Kong."

Some people said Ned was hot. He was known as being a bit of a jock – on the hockey team at least – easy-going and funny. He was not known for his subtlety.

Arya did her best not to sigh. But then she remembered that she wasn't Sansa, and didn't have to lady-like and genteel.

"Stop being a dick."

"Sorry, babe. I'm just a keen bean, I love football season." He didn't, he loved the parties that got thrown during football season. The Dayne residence was renowned both for its casual owners and heated pool. Many a night gone wrong had started in the Dayne house.

"Yeah, sure, you're the party man-"

Ned laughed and Arya carried on speaking, worried he was going to come out with another dumb comment.

"- but I am the girl asking for the party and I want to make sure my demands are met."

"Sure, sure, I can meet all your needs."

"For fuck's sake, Ned, will there be booze, will there be a lack of parental supervision, and will there be enough of a weird mix of people that I can sort out what I need to sort out?"

"Done and done. Are you sure those are all of your needs, babe?"

"No, Ned, my other need is that you stop calling be 'babe'. It's fucking annoying."

"Sorry, babe, I just can't help myself around you."

"You sound like a sleazy date-rape college kid. Or like a bad pimp in an even worse movie. Just call people by their name, dammit."

She hung up before he could reply. Ned Dayne was best dealt with in short bursts. He hadn't always been a douche, but sometime around last year he had gone from the sweet guy Arya could chat to about hockey, to the weirdo who kept trying to get in her panties, and frankly she didn't have the time for it.

A door slammed somewhere down the hall. Arya could only imagine what had happened in Sansa's conversation for her to go from giggling Barbie girl to angst monster, but she assumed it had something to do with a blonde haired, blue eyed little shit she was looking forward to seeing kicked to the curb very shortly. And maybe physically kicked too. She would love to kick that smug face. Or at least slap it around a bit. Fucker.

It was barely half three and she was already so tired. She ought to go back to Gendry, save him from the lunacy of Robb and Jon. But then she thought about his face in the kitchen, that look when she had grabbed onto his arm, the curve of his lips when he teased her.

She buried her face in her pillow and groaned. These boys. They were going to be the death of her.

-.*.-.*.-

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

Sorry for the long wait, big life changes have happened and now I live in a different country and do a completely different job, and am so much busier! I have chapter 7 pretty much finished but I want to break the back on chapter 8 before I post it, just in case I decide to change anything major.

A comment would mean so much to me, just to let me know if you like it, hate it, have any feedback whatsoever.
Thanks for your time!