One Shot

It's Theon's idea. It always is when something goes wrong, though granted he's never screwed up quite as badly as this before. This is a new one, even for him. "Are you just going to stand there?" she asks, perched on the corner of the bed, ready to take flight at any given moment. The dress she wears – a clingy, grey number – shows far too much flesh, the creamy skin of her high drawing his eyes' attention every time he dares look in her direction and, as he crosses the room, he does his best to position himself away from the temptation of such a wicked sin.

"Does Robb know?" he asks, his eyes drawn to his own hands in an attempt to avoid looking at her sitting there, looking hauntingly beautiful and enticing, yet more innocent than he ever remembers her.

"What do you think?" she response, a small smile playing at her lips in a way that reminds him of the girl he once knew, the Sansa he'd grown up with. She'd been thirteen the last time he saw her, a sweet girls in shoes three sizes too big for her, crying as she watched her cousin convicted of armed robbery. She's almost unrecognisable when he thinks of that girl, puppy fat gone from her face and her long, red hair dyed and cut. She looks more like Arya like this, he thinks, more like me. The thought is sobering – scary – and he shakes his head, one hand fisting in his hair as he groans audibly.

"Fuck," he exhales, the gravity of the situation hitting him almost painfully.

"Well that's usually the plan but, uh, you'll have to excuse me if I say no. Just this once," she says, her lips curled into a thin smile though there's no humour in her voice. As she turns to face him, he realises that he can see the dark circles beneath her eyes better, as well as the slightly smeared red lipstick and he desperately wants to tell her to cover up, to wash her face and go home but he's struck dumb, not sure how she can make a joke at this time. "I can get Ros if you want. If you still want your money's worth I mean..."

"What?! No!" Jon responds, eyes wide in horror. "I don't want – I don't want anything." The headache which has been threatening to make itself known for the past eight hours begins to resurface and he pinches the bridge of his nose, desperately wishing there was a way around this. He's never had very good luck but this, even for him, is something else.

"Didn't really have you pegged as the type, if I'm honest," Sansa says, clearly trying to avoid an awkward silence from settling in. "First night of freedom and you want to spend it with a whore..."

"Of course I didn't!" he snaps, gaining him a death glare that would put her mother to shame. "It was Theon's idea." That is enough of an explanation, he knows – no doubt she knows her brother's best friend better than he does now – but now that he's opened his mouth, he can't seem to shut up. "Not that there's anything wrong with – you know – this. But it's not my thing. I was just happy with a pint and a game of pool but he insisted. Said it wasn't right that I'd made it to twenty-three and was still, well, you know..." he trails off, eyes glued to the fraying carpet, too embarrassed to look Sansa in the eye. It doesn't matter to her, of course; she doesn't care how many people he's slept with and yet, admitting it to her, he feels his cheeks flame. "Anyway, he thought this was a good idea and then he was going on about this girl he knew – Ros – and how she had some friends and this new one, Alayne, she would be perfect and then I turn up here and -"

"And Alayne was me," she finishes, pushing herself backwards on the bed until her back is resting against the pillows. "What a disappointment."

"Yes! I mean, no. Sansa – fuck, you're gorgeous. But, you know, you're my cousin. And it's bad enough that Robb and Theon even know but now you do and you're a – Jesus Christ, Sansa, you're a fucking hooker." The words are slipping from his lips, his hands moving maniacally as he speaks. He's not sure what horrifies him most – that he's discussing his virginity with his cousin or the dawning realisation that his cousin is having sex with strangers for money,

"We prefer 'escort' actually," she corrects him, with the sound of someone who has made that distinction many times. "And it's not half as bad as people would have you think. I'd have thought you'd have met a few of us in the Eerie."

"None of them were my cousin," he replies, his voice curt, his words clipped. As he looks up at her, his mind floods with questions: how many people has she 'worked' with? How long has she been doing this for? Does Theon know? The last one stings and Jon wonders if he's being set up. It's the sort of thing Theon would do. He always was an evil little bastard but he can't imagine that Sansa would involve herself in something so stupid. Not that he can be sure – she hasn't visited him in the eight years he's been away, not in any of the facilities he's been in. She was the only cousin who never visited and it occurs to him that he doesn't know her. Not even close.

"Are you going to tell them?" she asks and Jon sees another flicker of the girl he once knew. Her knees fall awkwardly, knocking together and she looks scared for the first time since he entered the hotel room. "Theon and Robb, I mean." A sigh of relief – ill timed and selfish, he knows – escapes him, glad that Theon didn't know, that his vile hands haven't touched Sansa. "They'll tell mum and after the year she's had..."

She doesn't have to finish the sentence. The year has been tough on all of the Starks, thanks to their father – and Jon's only real confidant -'s untimely death, Bran's accident and Robb's shotgun wedding. Even so, he can't help but think that someone has to know, someone other than him. "I know you can keep a secret," she whispers, watching him through dark lashes. The colour drains from his cheeks, his hands clammy as he raises an eyebrow in her direction. "Robb told me after dad's funeral. He was upset and kept apologising. A few sambuccas and I had it out of him."

Jon's stomach churns, his heart racing as he tries to convince himself that she's calling his bluff, that she knows some other kind of secret, though besides a couple of stolen beers behind Ned and Cat's back on his fifteenth birthday, he knows there's nothing else that it could be. "You can't tell anyone Sansa," he replies, his voice quiet and cracked. Eight years, he's lasted, steady and silent and he can't have his silence – or his sentence – go to waste.

"And neither can you," she replied, pleading in her eyes. "If you tell anyone, I'll tell mum who really robbed Tarth's, who really cut off Jaime's hand. I swear." She would ruin Robb's life, he realises. Because I don't have one to ruin.

"But – how?! I don't even get how... Is it safe? Are you safe?! How did you even -" His questions come out garbled, confused and mixed up, his words sticking in his throat, preventing him from asking what he really wants to know.

"The less you know the better, isn't that what they say?" He doesn't know who 'they' are exactly and he isn't quite ready to ask. Knotting his fingers together, he cracks his knuckles before pushing back to this feet, ready to make his excuses and leave. The longer he stays, the stranger the aches and knots in the pit of his stomach feel. Guilt? Horror? He's got them down, as well as a terrifyingly intimidating feeling, a lot like want. "Jon...I'm sorry I wasn't around for you coming home today. I guess they went with the college story but..."

"It doesn't matter, Sansa. It's fine. It's..." Trailing off, he sighs, chancing one last look at her. "Do you need money? Is that what this is about?"

"Why? Are you going to rob somewhere for me? No, Jon, it's not about money. Just...go. Tell Theon it all went well and you finally popped your cherry. But don't praise me too much. Can't have him deciding he wants to try Alayne out for himself, can we?" There's a dryness to her laugh that hurts him more than it should and he crosses the room, reaching for the door knob."

"So I-"

"I'll see you in May. That's when college lets out," she says, an air of finality to her words as she lights up a cigarette.

The door clicks behind him as he steps out into the musty hallway and despite the fact that it's his first day in 'real life' since he was fifteen, Jon can't help but wonder if he's the least fucked up person he knows.