A/N: I know that apologies are just ignored a lot of the time, but really, I am sorry that it's taken me so long to update. I started college this fall, and instead of giving me more time to write like I thought/hoped it would, the opposite turned out to be true. But now I'm home, the time I dedicated to my studies earned me a 4.0, and I'm writing again. Thank you to anyone who's stuck out my absence, and I hope that this makes up for it. It's pretty much just fluff, and modern fluff, because that's easier to write. Thank you to Mari88 and tini243 for reviewing Purgatory, I hope that you all enjoy this, and Merry Christmas!
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.
Rating: M for language and pretty obviously suggestive/sexual content.
Five...
The first time he saw her, she was five years old. There was a pink paper party hat perched atop her auburn curls and when she saw him lingering by the fence, her pudgy little face lit up with a smile. His heart stopped at the sight, unsure of the last time that his face had been met with anything but revulsion.
"Would you like some cake?"
She had descended from her crudely crafted birthday throne and was standing on her tiptoes at the edge of the fence, peering up at him curiously.
His first thought was to sneer and reject the offer of the strangely courteous toddler. He was ten after all, a mature fourth grader who had no business at the princess themed birthday party of a little girl half his age. But when his stomach rumbled and he remembered his breakfast, buried deep in the trash thanks to Gregor, he nodded.
Ever the attentive mother, Catelyn Stark had overheard the exchange and was at the front door with a friendly smile the moment he conceded.
"You must be our new neighbor," she said as he timidly approached the porch. She faltered when she saw the scars, her eyes flashing with alarm, fear, and then pity as her smile returned, weaker than before. "Ned said he saw the moving trucks just yesterday."
An uncomfortable silence reigned, but it was broken before it grew too long by the soft footfalls of the birthday girl, plate in hand. Her smile still wide, she held it up to him, displaying a large slice of vanilla cake with a good two inches of fluffy pink frosting. His stomach growled greedily at the sight and he flushed in embarrassment, but accepted the offering.
Sensing his discomfort, Catelyn drifted back to the party, and the little girl watched her mother go for a moment before turning back to the stranger before her and lifting the edges of her dress in a curtsy. "Good day, sir. My name is Lady Sansa."
Caught with the piece of cake shoved unceremoniously in his mouth, her guest gaped for a moment before speaking thickly around the frosting. "I'm not a sir. Just Sandor."
Eight...
It was a few weeks before Sandor turned thirteen that he found himself in a starched black suit, standing beside his sister's grave. His blank stare as the preacher droned on gave no indication of emotion, but the dark circles beneath his eyes belied his recent lack of sleep.
His father stood nearby, shoulders shaking with silent tears as he cried into his hands. Gregor was nowhere to be found, having run away from home sometime in the hours before Elinor's body had been found. An investigation was underway, but without concrete evidence, nothing was guaranteed.
As Elinor's casket was lowered into the awaiting grave, Sansa left her mother's side to stand next to the boy who had quickly become something of an older brother to her and her younger siblings. She slipped her tiny hand into his already much larger one and looked up at him with a serious expression.
"Do you wish that you could fly to heaven and see her again?"
Though Sansa and Elinor were similar in age, the Clegane girl was often too sick to leave their home and as such, they had seen little of each other. For the younger Starks, her death was nothing more than something that affected their friend.
When he cocked an eyebrow at her, Sansa continued. "Mother says that when somebody dies, they go to a place called heaven, and that it's up there above the clouds." They both looked up at the gray sky for a moment in thoughtful silence. "She says that's where my aunt Lyanna is. And my Uncle Brandon too. Sometimes I wish that I was a bird so I could fly up there and meet them."
She looked startled when Sandor dropped to his knees and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Don't say that, Sansa. That's no place for you. Stay here with me, little bird. Please."
Though she may have been too young yet to understand death, his plea was simple enough, and her quiet response was what sent the first tears spilling down his cheeks.
"Sure, Sandor. Always."
Thirteen...
After Elinor's death, Sandor had changed. He smiled less, laughed almost never, and spent a majority of his time listening to heavy metal loud enough to damage his hearing. With the change came a motorcycle, a drop in grades, and the decision to join the military.
It was the day of his departure for basic training that the Starks decided to throw a farewell party. If a modest gathering of only the aforementioned family and their honored guest could be considered a party.
Sandor was glad for the chance to say a proper goodbye to the family that had all but taken him in so many years ago, but it was only ten minutes in that he retreated to the library for some quiet solitude. Upon entering, he found Sansa curled up on the window seat with her nose deep in a contraband romance novel, likely from her friend Myranda.
"You know you shouldn't read those, little bird. They're all nothing but bullshit."
She sat up in alarm and shoved the book behind a pillow, a blush rising to her cheeks as she realized who had discovered her. "I think they're quite romantic," she retorted, absently running her fingers through her hair and smoothing out her skirt.
Sandor snorted in derision and stood for a moment in the doorway before crossing his arms over his broad chest. Even as a child he had been bigger than most of the boys his age, but after puberty, he had grown to an intimidating 6'7" and his intensive preparation for basic training had earned him muscles that strained against whatever fabric tried to contain them. It wasn't the first time that Sansa had looked at him with butterflies in her stomach.
"Why weren't you out there with the rest of your family? Don't you want to say goodbye?"
She hesitated for a moment before sighing and putting on a weak smile. "Of course. Goodbye, Sandor. And good luck."
"You know I don't believe in luck, little bird."
"Well then..." she faltered and rubbed at a wrinkle on her skirt. "Just...be careful. I don't want you getting hurt."
Sandor nodded slowly in acceptance of her words before turning to go. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."
When he turned the corner, she felt the first tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and viciously wiped them away. Yes, she agreed. He would be fine. But will I?
Eighteen...
"Mom! I need to go to the mall, but Margaery can't make it out tonight! Could you drop me off there on your way to pick up Rickon from soccer practice?"
Sansa tottered downstairs in a pair of three inch heels and planted herself in the doorway to the kitchen, resting a hand on her hip and arching one perfectly manicured eyebrow at her mother.
"I'm sorry, dear," Catelyn said absently as she flitted about, searching for her purse. "I'm already late as it is and I really can't afford to make a stop. Ask your sister if she has any friends that could take the two of you."
Sansa sighed dramatically and turned her full lips into a pout. "But, mom...Arya hates going shopping. She'll say she doesn't just to spite me. And besides, all of her friends are like...freshmen."
Catelyn cast her oldest daughter a look that brokered no room for argument. "Go ask. Or just accept that you won't be going to the mall."
"But, mom—" At the pursing of her mother's lips, she turned with a huff and retreated to the living room where Arya was engaged in an intense game of co-op Halo with Sandor, who had returned home for the next few months between completing his officer's training and leaving for his first deployment.
"Arya," she began, casting a cursory glance at the television screen. "I need to go to the mall and mom and Margaery can't take me. Do you have any friends that could?"
As she had anticipated, Arya hardly gave her any attention, just snorting and continuing her assault against the Covenant. "No. My friends are too cool to want to go to the mall anyway."
Sansa stomped her foot impatiently and crossed her arms over her chest. "Arya Stark! I need to go and find a prom dress! It's next weekend. I need to go now."
Rolling her eyes, her little sister stuck out her tongue and Sansa was about to begin the usual series of bribes that were necessary to convince Arya to do much of anything when Sandor put aside his controller and stood up.
"I'll take you, little bird. Just give me a minute."
Ignoring Arya's protests, he crossed the room and paused for a moment beside Sansa. Her heart beat faster as his grey eyes bore into her and after a moment, she looked away, a bright blush flooding her cheeks. He gave a noncommittal grunt and departed, only appearing again to order her to his bike.
The ride to the mall was silent save for the sound of the wind as it whipped past them. Sansa clung tightly to the broad chest of the man in front of her, willing herself not to inhale too deeply when the breeze carried the faint smell of his cologne to her nose.
The silence remained even when they reached their destination. On a mission, Sansa led the way to the nearest dress shop and began pulling items from the racks as Sandor trailed behind, hands shoved deep in his pockets and a scowl on his face.
"Wait here," Sansa commanded as she swept into the dressing room, myriad gowns in tow. Always obedient, Sandor seated himself outside of the area into which she had disappeared and she set to work trying on the first of many dresses.
"What do you think about this one?" Sansa's voice rose with the question and then fell into a murmur as she answered it herself. "I don't think I like the color. It washes me out. And the bodice is a little too loose. Hm, no. Definitely not this one."
Sandor didn't even bother looking up.
A few minutes later, she emerged again, and went through the same routine. In all honesty, she was glad that Sandor wasn't paying much attention. None of them had been particularly flattering so far.
Some twenty minutes passed in much the same fashion before she came back out again after a longer pause between dresses.
"I think this might be the one. It fits well, and I definitely like the color. I think it will go with the nail polish I just ordered. What do you—Sandor, look at me."
He lifted his eyes from the screen of his phone and she saw his expression shift as he looked her over. A heavy silence fell between them and Sansa began to fidget when Sandor finally spoke, clearing his throat and shifting his legs a bit as he shrugged.
"Looks good, little bird."
His answer elicited a frown and she turned back to the mirror behind her. "Really? Just "good"? I was hoping for something a little bit better. I mean, this is my senior prom after all. And I have to look perfect." She tried to quell the bitter churning of her stomach. She was going to the prom with Joffrey Baratheon, the most popular boy in school. Why should she care about the opinion of the man she had always thought of like a brother?
"I—"
Sansa turned at the sound of his voice and cocked an eyebrow.
"I just...well, I meant. I should've said..." He wiped his palms on the coarse fabric of his jeans and started again. "You look beautiful."
His eyes were dark when they met hers, and the queasy sensation in her belly quickly evaporated, replaced by the inexplicable heat that had come along with thoughts of Sandor for the past few years.
No, she mused to herself as she held his gaze. Definitely not like a brother.
Four months later...
"Sansa? Where are you going so early?"
She froze at the front door and turned to see her father sitting at the kitchen table, his newspaper flattened out before him as he peered at her from above his reading glasses.
"Just going over to see Sandor, Daddy." She replied, hoping that he couldn't see her blush. "I wanted to make sure I had the chance to say goodbye."
Satisfied, Ned nodded and returned to the news, leaving Sansa to hurry out the front door with a sigh of relief.
After Sandor's father had died and Gregor had finally ended up in jail, if only on a minor charge, their house had gone up for sale, and unwilling to live in a home with such painful memories, Sandor had accepted the money from it and bought his own apartment just outside of the neighborhood.
Deciding not to borrow her mother's car for a three minute drive, Sansa opted for walking instead, making her way slowly down the sidewalk in her high heels and tugging self-consciously at the hem of her skirt. Thankfully, her father hadn't questioned her choice in attire. More likely than not, he had assumed that she would be going out with Margaery and Myranda after saying her farewells to Sandor.
Her resolve faltered momentarily when she reached the door of his apartment, but she steeled her nerves and knocked once. When no reply came, she knocked again, louder.
"Sandor?"
The sound of muffled movement came from inside before the door flew open to reveal a scowling and disheveled Sandor wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants. "What the fuck do you wa—Sansa?"
She stood there for a few seconds too long, gawking at the sight of his bare chest, and when she finally dragged her gaze to his, he had a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.
Blushing hotly, Sansa dropped her eyes to her feet and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry it's so early. It's just...you know what today is, right?"
After a moment, he nodded. "Yeah. I know what today is. So I guess this is you coming to say goodbye then?"
Sansa nodded back, trying hard to even her suddenly labored breathing. "I guess. I..." She laughed nervously. "I've known you for so long. Basically my whole life. You're like my..."
When she hesitated, he answered for her. "Brother?"
Her heart sank and she desperately tried to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. "Yeah...Yeah. So, just…goodbye, I guess. I'll miss you."
Sandor cocked an eyebrow. "You didn't seem this broken up when I moved away."
Sansa shrugged and avoided his searching gaze. "I always knew you would be coming back someday though. Now, I'm the one who's gone. It's just..."
"Different," they finished together, before laughing quietly.
A somewhat awkward silence followed and Sansa turned to go, struggling to keep her composure as she reached for the front door. When her fingers hit the knob, she faltered, and then whirled around again, stalking toward Sandor and jabbing a finger into his chest as he stared down at her with comically wide eyes.
"You know what? No. I came over here so that after thirteen years, I could finally tell you how I feel. You may just think of me as a little sister, but I...I..."
She was cut off when Sandor grasped her firmly by the hips and pulled her into him, silencing her with a kiss. Caught by surprise, she stiffened for a moment before relaxing and sinking into his arms, her lips parting slightly as she sighed. When they finally pulled apart, both were flushed and breathing heavily and Sansa brought her fingers absently to her bottom lip.
"Oh...but I thought..."
Sandor frowned, shaking his head. "No, little bird. I only said that because I didn't think you could ever see me as anything else. But me? I never thought of you as my little sister. I've known since the day we met that I wanted you. Not like this, at first, of course, but with time, you were all I could ever think about. Do you know how many nights I spent away these past few months, having to keep quiet when I couldn't stop myself from getting off to thoughts of you? You're fucking perfect, Sansa, and I'm...not."
Sansa smiled so wide that her cheeks began to hurt, and shaking her head, she laughed happily and wrapped a hand around his neck. "Shut up and kiss me."
Now knowing what they both wanted, the second kiss was far less innocent, and Sansa couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips when Sandor swept his tongue across hers. Sandor groaned with each soft sigh she uttered, and when she dragged him closer to eliminate the space between them, she gasped and took a step back.
"Oh."
Clearly embarrassed by her reaction, Sandor backed away and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. It's just...you, finally, and I just woke up anyway. I didn't mean to scare you, little bird. You should probably go..." He trailed off when he saw the look of amusement on her face. "What?"
"You didn't scare me, Sandor. I'm eighteen now, I know about all of this. It just...surprised me, is all. I've never actually done this before..."
She couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt by his look of surprise.
"But what about your prom night?" He asked hesitantly. "I heard your date telling his friend that he had rented a hotel room for the night, while they were waiting for you and Margaery."
Sansa just shook her head, resting her palm against his chest. "I never wanted Joffrey. Or anyone else. I've only ever wanted you."
The rejoining of their lips eliminated the need for further conversation, and Sansa found herself pressed against the front door of Sandor's apartment, his mouth on her neck and his hands locked firmly around her hips. Experimentally, she shifted against him and felt a flare of heat between her thighs when Sandor groaned and pushed back against her.
With each second that passed, their desperation increased, and within minutes, Sansa was stepping out of her skirt as Sandor dragged her top off over her head. He paused for a moment to enjoy the view before burying his face in her tousled hair and inhaling deeply.
"You're so beautiful, little bird," he murmured. "So perfect."
Emboldened by his response, she reached around to unclasp her bra and let it fall with a gentle thud before guiding one of his large hands to her chest. Her panties followed, and Sandor watched her squirm and moan beneath his fingers for only a moment before she was impatiently undressing him and seeking the friction of his bare skin against her own.
In the end, they made it the few feet to Sandor's couch before finally seeking fulfillment in each other, and it was as their breathing returned to normal in the post-orgasm afterglow that Sandor spoke again, his voice muffled by the arm slung across his face.
"You're leaving for college tomorrow."
Sansa nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his scarred cheek. "You said you knew that."
"I did," he conceded, lifting his arm and moving it to wrap around her thin waist. "But I don't think it really hit me. And besides, how am I supposed to let you go now? Shit, Sansa. I just fucked you. Do you even realize what this means?"
"It means," she replied with a faint smirk, "that we'll be spending my breaks in an entirely different way than we had previously thought." When he didn't respond to the joke, she sighed and offered him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, okay? I may not be here anymore, but I'll be here." She brushed her lips across his chest, right above the steady beating of his heart. "And I'll stay with you there. Always...remember?"
The worry vanished from his features and he captured her lips in a tender kiss. "Always."
Twenty-one...
"San...Sandor! Oh...oh god...yes! Mmm..." Sansa arched her back and buried her fingers in his hair to keep him from moving.
Her boyfriend chuckled in amusement and raised his eyes to meet hers, hazy and unfocused as they were. "I've missed you, little bird."
"Shut up and keep going," she growled in response, glaring down at him as he laughed again and moved one hand to give her a cheeky salute.
It was right as the echo of Sansa's passionate scream was fading that the doorbell rang, and they both froze for a moment. When it didn't come again, Sandor let out a sigh of relief and crawled up to lie beside his girlfriend, gathering her into his arms.
"Whoever it was must have left."
Even before he finished speaking, they heard the front door open and Sansa pushed him away, eyes wide with panic. "You didn't lock the front door?!"
Sandor frowned and snapped back at her, not too keen on being blamed for their situation. "I just wanted to be with you again. Besides, you didn't lock it either!"
"Well it's your apart—"
"Sandor?"
He ran a hand back through his tangled hair and closed his eyes. "Fuck me."
"I already did," Sansa muttered, earning such a vicious look that she had to hold back a laugh despite the circumstances.
"Just...wait here." Getting up, he retreated into the adjoining bathroom before returning with a towel around his waist and moving to the bedroom door. "Don't make a sound."
Quietly, Sansa got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against it.
"Hey, Mr. Stark. Sorry about the door. I would've gotten it for you, but I was just getting out of the shower. What can I do for you?"
Ned sounded a bit confused when he replied and Sansa desperately hoped that her father wasn't seeing any of the discrepancies in Sandor's story. "I was just looking for Sansa. Arya said that she thought she saw her come over here, but...I guess not, if you were...in the shower..."
Sandor laughed nervously and Sansa resisted the urge to bang her head against the door. Maybe her father was finally catching on. It had, after all, been over three years since they had first started sleeping together. In fact...maybe...maybe it was time...
In a moment of immense courage—or stupidity—she grabbed the sheet from off of the bed and wrapped it around herself before opening the bedroom door.
"Hi, Daddy..."
Roughly one year later...
"Wow, it's dead in here tonight. Guess we'll get great service."
Sandor nodded absently and pulled out Sansa's chair for her before putting his suit jacket across the back of his own. "Mmhm."
A waitress flitted over as he took his seat and smiled warmly at the couple. "Good evening, Miss Stark, Mr. Clegane. What could I get you to drink?"
Sansa briefly scanned the menu before looking up with a smile. "I'll have a glass of your Chateau Ste. Michelle please."
"And for you sir?"
"Scotch. On the rocks."
She left them alone at their table and Sansa raised an eyebrow when she noticed her boyfriend's absent expression. "Are you alright, Sandor?"
He blinked a few times before mustering a small smile and moving his hand to cover hers. "Yeah. Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind. Have I mentioned that you look absolutely stunning tonight?"
She blushed lightly and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Thank you. You look rather handsome yourself. Is there any particular reason that you had us dress up and come to the nicest restaurant in the city?"
He grinned crookedly and shrugged. "Only the best for my girl. Besides, it's nice to get out like this. It's been a while since we've had any time to ourselves."
"I know," Sansa countered with a smirk. "That's why I'm surprised that we're not spending it against your bedroom wall."
"Mm." Sandor took a drink of his scotch as the waitress placed it before him. "Just give it a few hours."
Laughing lightly, Sansa shook her head in amusement and sipped at her wine, eyeing him affectionately over the rim of the glass.
Their meal passed without much excitement, consisting mainly of good food, comfortable silence, and the occasional loving gaze shared between mouthfuls of pasta. It was a nice change of pace from the hectic past few weeks, and they enjoyed every peaceful moment together away from the prying eyes of younger siblings and overprotective parents.
Sansa had just pushed aside her plate when the waitress reappeared and lifted it from the table. "Are you ready for your dessert, Miss Stark?"
"Dessert?" She groaned half-heartedly and put a hand to her stomach. "I'm going to have a hard enough time getting out of this dress as it is."
The waitress smiled slightly and added, "It's lemon cake. Specially made."
At that, Sansa cast a look of exasperation at Sandor before sighing. "Oh, alright. I suppose I can make some room."
When she returned to the kitchen, Sansa raised an eyebrow at her boyfriend. "Really? Are you trying to fatten me up for any particular reason?"
Sandor laughed and smirked devilishly. "Hoping it'll all go to your ass I suppose."
Scandalized, Sansa gasped and swatted at him with her napkin before giggling. "You're terrible."
"But you love me."
Her expression softened and she laid a hand gently on his arm. "Yes. I still love you."
He met her gaze and was just moving to lean across the table and kiss her when the waitress appeared with the cake, effectively spoiling the moment. Smiling apologetically, she set the plate between them before retreating and leaving the two of them alone again.
"I can't believe no one else has come in tonight," Sansa said in disbelief, her eyes roaming across the rows of empty tables. "This place is usually so popular."
"It was reserved for a private party tonight," Sandor replied off-handedly before handing her his knife. "Here, I'll split it with you."
Distracted from his initial response, she nodded, a slight frown still apparent, before taking the knife and cutting through the middle of the cake. Just as the knife sliced to the bottom of the cake, it hit a solid object and Sansa stopped, puzzled.
"I think there's...something in it. Should we send it back? Oh, I don't want to be rude..."
Sandor smiled in amusement and shrugged indifferently. "Just pull it out. I'm sure it's nothing that would hurt us."
Nodding begrudgingly, she set the knife across the edge of the plate before gingerly reaching into the cake and withdrawing the object inside.
She froze when her fingers curled around the slender silver band and she looked up to see a slightly nervous grin across her boyfriend's face.
"Do my parents know about this?" she whispered. Ever since Ned had found out about their relationship, things had grown a bit more strained between Sandor and the heads of the Stark household.
He nodded. "I asked your father before I even bought it."
A brief silence fell between them before Sansa smiled shyly and looked between Sandor and the ring. "Don't you have something to ask me then?"
Startled, his eyebrow rose and he cleared his throat, fidgeting a bit in his seat. "Oh. Yeah. Umm..." He took the ring from her fingers and gently wiped it off with his napkin before taking her hand and holding it above the proper finger. "Sansa Stark...would you do me the honor of marrying me?"
Nodding, she wiped at the corners of her eyes before breaking into a wide, happy grin. "Yes."
Eight months later...
"Do you, Sandor Clegane, take Sansa Elizabeth Stark, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"
"I do."
"And do you, Sansa Elizabeth Stark, take Sandor Clegane, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"
"I do."
"Then in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
The applause from those gathered before the altar was loud and joyous, but to Mr. and Mrs. Clegane, nothing else existed beyond the soft brush of their lips, and the love in their eyes as they pulled apart to gaze at each other.
"I love you, Sandor Clegane," Sansa murmured, standing on her toes to give him another quick kiss.
Sandor smiled and placed his hands around her waist, drawing her towards him until her forehead rested against his own. "I love you too, Sansa Clegane." He leaned in and she could feel the ghost of his lips as he whispered against her mouth. "Always."