A/N: This one's a modern AU. And the chapter title was taken from the Alanis Morissette song that inspired it. It's a good one; I recommend listening to it sometime. Thank you to magnus374 and Jodi for their reviews of 'Paper Faces', and to everyone else who took the time to follow or favorite it. Your feedback means a lot.
Disclaimer: Everything important belongs to George R. R. Martin.
Rating: M for strong language and some suggestive content.
It was exactly ten years to the day. The day that she had finally escaped the Lannisters and their endless abuse. The day that she had last seen...him.
It started like any other. She got up, dressed in a white blouse and light grey pencil skirt, brushed her long auburn hair until it shone, then gracefully descended the stairs for a cup of coffee. It was as she was stirring in a healthy dose of hazelnut creamer that her cell phone rang; Beethoven's Ninth: Bran.
"Good morning, Brandon!"
There was a momentary pause before, "Is it, Sansa?"
She was aware, of course, of the significance of the day, and even as she responded, her eyes drifted to the mirror above the sink and the scar across her lower lip. "As good as any other," she responded cheerfully before changing the subject. "How are you two newlyweds?"
She could hear the smile in her brother's voice. "Couldn't be better. Which may have something to do with the fact that Meera's making pancakes."
Sansa laughed. "You're lucky to have her, Bran. Don't forget that."
"I won't," he promised, then noticeably hesitated. "Sansa, there's something you should know." Her mug halfway between her lips and the counter, Sansa froze, then lowered it back down with trembling hands as Bran continued. "I saw someone the other day. Someone I thought neither of us would ever see again. He was moving into an apartment somewhere downtown."
Sansa's mouth went dry and her hands clutched the counter to keep from falling. Oh God, Joffrey... She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until Bran replied. "No. Sandor Clegane."
Her heart nearly stopped when she heard that name, his name. It had been ten years since she had heard it outside of her own thoughts. Ten long years.
It was Clegane who had carried her broken body from the home of his employers to the nearest hospital. When she came to, she saw Brandon and Arya regarding her with eyes full of pity, and even little Rickon, who was still too young to understand. The first word from her lips was his name and the nurse, once told the significance of her whispered pleas, informed her that her scarred savior had disappeared the moment her family arrived. And she hadn't seen him since.
"Sansa? Sansa! Are you alright?"
Her brother's voice roused her from her thoughts and she responded shakily. "I'm fine, Bran. I just...can I call you back later?"
Bran sounded troubled, but he acquiesced nonetheless. "Yeah, sure. Just let me know if you need anything."
Sansa nodded absently as he ended the call, then collapsed to the floor as a broken sob tore from her lips. Her coffee sat on the counter, forgotten, as it gradually turned cold.
It was fitting that it should happen on that very day. Ten years since the night he left the fucking Lannisters to rot. Ten years since he had seen...her.
It was after a long first day at his new job that it happened. He walked into the little coffee shop down the street from his apartment and there she was. She had a coffee cup in one hand and one of those trashy paperback romances in the other. It disgusted him to think that the little bird's sense of love had shifted from white knights rescuing damsels in distress to sleazy men who treated their women no better than back-alley whores.
She looked up when the bell on the door pealed cheerfully and her pretty lips parted in surprise when their eyes met.
He could only imagine what she saw. A hideous ghost from her past, with mud caked up to his knees and cement dust clinging to the thin strands of his hair. She, on the other hand, was more beautiful than ever. Her fiery hair was tucked back to frame her delicate features and the skirt she wore revealed just enough of her long pale legs to make him remember the way he had once felt about her. Back then she was still barely more than a girl and now that she was a woman grown his desire for her burned hotter than it ever had before.
Disgusted with himself, he turned and left empty-handed, just as he had ten years before.
The next time she saw him was in her therapist's office.
The Quiet Isle Therapy Center had been the one place she had managed to feel at peace after her release from the hospital, and even though Dr. Edward Bruther only saw her one day a year (on the anniversary of that night), he always scheduled her appointment without question as soon as he got her call.
As he always did, the kind old man listened without interrupting her and silently handed over a box of tissues when she began to cry.
When the clock announced that her time was up, the doctor patted her shoulder comfortingly and, far outside of their normal routine, directed Sansa toward his secretary to set up another appointment before retreating back into his office.
He was there when she entered the waiting room, sitting in a chair that was far too small for his massive frame, his hands hanging loosely between parted knees. As though by some force unknown to them both, his gaze lifted and she found herself staring into the familiar deep grey of his eyes.
The longer he stared, the more her anger began to grow. Or, perhaps it wasn't quite anger. She certainly couldn't deny that she was upset with him for having left her all those years ago, and yes, angry that he had reappeared again to bring back all the painful memories. But...a part of her was also ashamed to feel that way about the only man who had ever tried to protect her from Joffrey's abuse, and, though the feeling confused her, she realized she was grateful that he had returned.
"Who do you think you are to make me feel this way?" she wanted to yell. After a decade she had finally thought herself rid of her past. Living on her own in Chicago, a successful fashion designer at only twenty-eight, she was happy for one of the first times since the accident that had killed her parents. And all it took to bring it all toppling down again was Sandor Clegane.
It was the sound of her own shaky breath that brought her back and he was on his feet in seconds, the rough pad of his thumb wiping a tear from her cheek that she didn't realize had fallen and settling against the scar that marred her lip.
Her pulse fluttered as she looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes and her lips parted as she contemplated what to say. Where have you been? Why did you leave me? ...I've missed you. The latter thought formed on her lips then died away when the door opened behind them.
"Mr. Clegane?"
And just like that, he was gone again.
After that, she didn't see him for weeks, though she made regular appointments at the Quiet Isle and continued drinking her after-work coffee in the same café. There were a few times she felt sure that he was nearby, but whenever she looked closely, the man with long dark hair was never the one she had expected. Never the one she was hoping for.
At first, his disappearance seemed like a relief. She told herself that she would be able to return to her life as it had been before: scheduled, predictable, and lacking in the department of anything that truly provided a link to her past.
However, as time went on, and a month had nearly passed without another meeting, she began to feel desperate. There were still so many things she needed to say to him. So many things that she needed to hear him say back.
She never would've survived her life with Joffrey if he hadn't been there to protect her, and whether she liked it or not, her life had been securely tethered to his the moment he had carried her out of the Lannister's mansion and into the nearest emergency room.
It wasn't until she found herself hiding behind a locked stall door in her office's bathroom, her thinning body wracked with uncontrollable sobs that she was able to admit to herself that she needed him. She had never thought that it would be Sandor Clegane of all people that she would have to rely on for her happiness, but she had finally realized that she would never be able to escape her past until she was able to confront it.
Nearly two months had passed before she finally mustered up her courage and called Bran again. He was happy to hear from his sister, but much less enthused to hear that she had only called to see if he could tell her where to find Joffrey's runaway dog. After enough assurances on the fact that she knew what she was doing, he relented to doing some research, and the next morning found her frantically scribbling on the notepad by her fridge before grabbing her purse and heading out the door.
After their run-in at the therapist's office, he didn't see her again. He got out of the bloody "Quiet Isle" as soon as the old man had asked him why he had helped the little bird escape from her cage and didn't bother to make a follow-up appointment.
And the coffee shop…well, he certainly went to it again. Every evening, he would stride confidently up the sidewalk to the artsy little door, get one glimpse of her through the windows, and turn back with his tail between his legs. He was too much of a mess to get anywhere near her after two weeks of that.
Maybe it was good that he couldn't bring himself to be around her again. She wouldn't get hurt that way. Wouldn't have to look up at him with those big blue eyes and ask why he had left her, again. Yes. It was better this way.
That's what he told himself as he drank himself into a stupor every night and dragged himself to work every day with an even worse hangover than the morning before. It was the only way to sleep without dreaming about the Stark girl naked and perfect in his bed.
Finally, he decided that it was time to leave. His job in the city was a good one, and a part of him had come to enjoy the company of his fellow workers, but he knew that he would never be able to live here so long as the little bird was flying about. So, ignoring the corner of his mind that so desperately wanted to go to her and beg for her forgiveness, he turned in his two-weeks' notice and started packing up his meager belongings in the same battered cardboard boxes they had come in.
Just as he was finishing, there was a knock at his door and he sighed in relief. That would be the landlord, collecting his last payment of rent and the key to his room.
"It's unlocked!"
He heard the door open behind him as he disappeared into his bedroom to retrieve the last of the boxes and when he walked back out, there she was, standing in the middle of his living room. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty shade of red as she stared down at her feet and her fingers idly twisted the bottom of her skirt.
The long forgotten box fell to the floor with a gentle thud, and he found himself at her side, his fists clenching and unclenching uselessly as he fought the urge to grab her and pull her against him.
A few minutes of silence passed before she let out a small sigh and raised her gaze to firmly meet his eyes. He didn't see any fear in them, as there had always been when she lived with the Lannisters and as she looked at him, a gentle smile began to curve at the corners of her lips. They parted as he stared at them and with a simple word, she became firmly rooted back in Sandor Clegane's pounding heart.
"Hello."