A/N: Hello! Greetings from...my new, very own laptop! Woohoo! I can write so much more easily now! And as such, here you go. This is more of a drabble than a one-shot I guess, because it's pretty short, but I had the idea, and I just didn't feel like it needed to be any longer than it is. This one is in a canon setting (taking a break from modern, but just for now), but a few years after A Dance With Dragons. And of course, thank you to TheRealTayler13 for reviewing 'She's so Mean'. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.

Rating: T for stuff.

Arya awoke to a slight shift in the usually stuffy air of her modest quarters, so it wasn't a surprise when she heard a deep, unfamiliar voice from the shadows. "Get up."

Silently, she rose from her pallet and faced the intruder, barely containing an exasperated sigh. This had been going on for almost a week now. Each night, she would awaken to find a strange face lurking in the darkened corner of her room. It was never someone she knew that took her through the silent halls of the House of Black and White to fight; to talk; to learn.

Until now. She wasn't sure if it was her years of training, or the undeniable connection that they had always seemed to share, but she knew before he even spoke that it was Jaqen H'ghar with her now. She could feel it.

The temple was eerily silent save for the gentle padding of her bare feet on the stone floor and the steady beating of her heart. How long had it been since she had last seen him? Too long. Other than that, she didn't know. It was easy to lose track of time when all your days were spent doing the same things over and over again. If she never had to see a mop for the rest of her life, she could die happy.

Of course, she wasn't who he remembered anymore. No longer was she the girl who he had first rescued from Harrenhal. She was a woman grown now, with a hint of the beauty that her elder sister was known for evident on her mischievous features.

Finally, they stopped, out by the Braavos docks which were surprisingly still, even for such an ungodly hour. When he turned, the light from the moon shone down on him and she was able to see him clearly for the first time since his appearance in her chambers.

This time the face he wore was older, with wrinkles about the deep brown eyes and thin, pursed lips. Even so, she knew it was him. His large calloused hands moved to rest on his hips and the deep voice spoke again.

"Who are you?"

She knew what her answer should be. She had said it so many times that a part of her was beginning to believe it. But this was Jaqen: her mentor, her savior, her friend. And so, she spoke the truth. "Arya Stark."

There was a split second of hesitation, a flicker of shock so brief she almost missed it, before he frowned. "Then you do not belong here. Arya Stark is a lady of Westeros, not a Faceless Man of Braavos."

Instead of offering a sharp and biting retort as he likely expected, she merely smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. "Arya Stark was never a lady."

She almost missed the smile that tugged at his lips. Almost.

"Who are you?" she countered.

One of his thick dark eyebrows rose and the strange eyes watched her closely. After a long moment, he replied. "No one."

Arya's grin grew feral. "Bullshit." His expression was hard to read, but she knew that she had caught him off guard, so she proceeded, stalking toward him and poking a finger into his chest. "I know exactly who you are."

"Oh?"

She nodded. "You may not talk the same, or look the same, or even..." She leaned in and inhaled deeply, smirking when his eyes widened and letting her point go unsaid. "But I know you."

Finally, he let his guard down and returned her smirk. "A man is impressed. Even he doesn't truly know who he is."

Faced with the familiar blue eyes and enigmatic smile, Arya softened slightly and reached out to gently run her hand along his forearm. "Well, your name may not be Jaqen H'ghar, and this may not be your true face," her fingers left his arm to trace his cheekbone and his breath hitched slightly, making her heart skip a beat. She had forgotten how much she had missed him, and how much he had always meant to her. "But I know that whoever you are, you're the man who saved my life. You're the man who gave me a reason not to give up. You're the man who, no matter how hard you try to hide it, has always cared about me."

His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips a moment before they pressed against hers in a kiss. They were softer than she had always imagined they would be, and she felt her stomach flip when he tugged her bottom lip between his teeth, gasping quietly.

When he pulled away, his forehead resting against hers, he smiled gently. "So then, Arya Stark, who am I?"

She returned the smile and leaned in again, her lips brushing against his as she shrugged and whispered her reply. "Someone."