What in this world keeps us from tearing apart?
"You look goo—well, you look well, Jon," Sansa corrected herself, fumbling like an imbecile and unable to keep the shock from her voice, as her eyes drank in the sight before her.
Gone was the handsome gangly boy from her memories —now a man, he stood before her with an air of confidence that was as appealing as it was unsettling. But she'd gotten it right on the first note —he looked good, damn good.
"And you are as radiant as ever," he smiled charmingly up at her from the lower step, evoking a warmth deep in her belly that spread straight to her cheeks. "Aren't you going to invite me in? It's rather cold out here, don't you think?"
"What are you doing here?" Sansa cringed even as the words tumbled from her lips, knowing how rude they sounded, despite that being the farthest from her intentions. She was shocked —that was all. She'd opened the door expecting to throw her arms around her little sister, and instead ...
"It's good to see you too, Sansa," there was no mistaking Jon's hurt, although he masked it with sarcasm. It rolled off his tongue with the biting cold of the wind whipping around them, and Sansa wrapped her arms around herself in a failing attempt to ward off the chill.
"I didn't mean it like—" the door swung open behind her, startling Sansa —she whirled around and lost her footing, her arms flailing as she stumbled off the stoop, and collided with the hard wall of Jon's chest. His warm hands encircled her waist —hauntingly familiar, even as they were foreign, steadying her as she composed herself, and glared up at Theon who was chuckling from the doorway.
"Ever graceful, Sans," he teased her, his mouth twisted in a goofy grin as he shoved the door all the way open and beckoned them in from the cold.
Sansa led the way, stepping aside as the foster brothers embraced, emasculating each other with playful banter, as was customary. "So they made a man of you, eh Snow?" Theon barked, slapping Jon playfully on the back.
"Aye, and they might even be able to make one of you," Jon shot back, respectfully removing his cover, as her parents joined the fray. "Mr. and Mrs. Stark," he greeted them formally.
"Don't give us that Mr. and Mrs. horse shit," Ned Stark chastised, folding Jon in a bear hug, and ruffling his big meaty hand in what was left of Jon's military issued short hair.
"Come, lets have a look at you," Catelyn Stark said sternly, slapping her husband's hands away so she could plant a kiss on Jon's cheek, and Sansa couldn't help remembering a time her mother hadn't regarded him quite so fondly.
Time and circumstances certainly had a funny way of changing things ...and so Sansa tried not to be bitter as her family passed Jon around, Bran and even little Rickon clinging to him as if they were an extension of his crisp pressed uniform that he had the audacity of looking so good in. There wasn't much time for reflection anyway, as the front door burst open again, and Robb and his entourage tumbled into the foyer, laughing merrily as they shook the snow from themselves and the second round of hugs ensued.
"This is Gendry," Arya proudly introduced Jon to her long-time boyfriend, who wasn't a stranger to any of the Starks, as they'd been dating for almost two years now.
Sansa rolled her eyes as Jon shared a knowing look between both Robb and Theon, who nodded their approval, before he extended his hand to Arya's beau. The three stooges were back in full force, so it seemed. A nudge from behind her, reminded Sansa she was being rude, as Joff cleared his throat rather loudly and drew everyone's eyes to them. But it was Jon's gray gaze that caught and held her, making her suddenly feel like a deer caught in headlights —wanting to flee, but her feet were stuck fast, as if she'd wandered into wet cement.
"This is Joffrey," Sansa swallowed, praying her voice wouldn't crack and betray her. "My boyfriend, Joffrey Lannister."
Had she imagined the twitch in Jon's lip as he reached for the hand Joffrey extended, and shook vigorously?
No matter where I go, I hear the beating of your heart ...
Sansa pushed her candied carrots around on her plate, as she nursed her second glass of red wine this evening. Despite her love of her mothers' homemade cooking, her appetite had escaped her, and Joff's grabby hand that kept inching its way up her thigh under the table, wasn't helping. Nor were the accusing looks Jon kept shooting at her under hooded lashes —as if he somehow knew about it.
Of course he didn't, unless he had X-ray vision that she was unaware of. However, it didn't take super powers to see how Joffrey had inconsiderately planted himself in his chair, whilst even her little sister's 'rough-around-the-edges' boyfriend, pulled out hers. It had been Jon, who was already seated, that had gotten up from his chair and came to her rescue —and despite the kind gesture, it only served to embarrass her more.
Further frustrating was that no one seemed to notice the personal hell she'd somehow managed to step in —with both feet and no goddamned shoes, as she brushed Joffrey's hand away for the umpteenth time, and suffered through another brooding glance from across the table.
Or so she'd thought ...
"Sansa, you've barely touched your food," her mother chastised in that loving yet intrusive tone that parents had a knack for. "Candied carrots are your favorite, and I made them especially for you, love."
"Yeah, you've been especially twitchy tonight, Sans. Is there something wrong with your chair?" Arya asked, a smirk twisting at the corner of her mouth when Sansa shot her a wry look.
"Yes, than—"
"She's watching her weight," Joffrey cut her off, earning a disapproving look from both of her parents —but not that he'd noticed as he was too busy stuffing his own face with food.
"Watching her weight?" Theon snorted. "Where's it going?"
"That's not true is it?" Catelyn persisted. "Sansa, you've absolutely no need to watch your weight."
Sansa's cheeks stained crimson, as she reached for her wine glass and drained it's contents. "No, mother. I'm not watching my—"
"Yes you are," Joffrey insisted, interrupting her once more, bits of food flying from his overstuffed mouth, as he waved his fork around. "That whole cleanse thing you're supposed to be doing with Myrcella. And you're gonna need it after gorging yourself on lemon cakes last night —especially if you intend on stuffing yourself into that snowsuit I bought you for our ski trip. It wasn't cheap, you know?"
Sansa blinked back her embarrassment, as Jon shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his grip on his fork tightening until his knuckles glared white at her from across the table. "It fits me just fine," she smiled sweetly, forcing her reply out through clenched teeth.
"Soooo... you're going skiing?" Robb asked, thankfully shifting the conversation off the topic of her weight.
"Yes, my parents own a cabin up north of East Watch. We're meeting them tomorrow." Sansa cringed at the collective gasps that ensued from all around the table, as Joffrey made the announcement. Of course she had intended to tell them at some point, but she'd hoped to break the news to them herself.
"But tomorrow is Christmas," Bran protested.
"Yes, you can't leave on Christmas, Sansa," Rickon chimed in. "You'll miss our annual snowball battle. It's Stark tradition!"
"Well, I promise we won't leave until after the snowball fight," Sansa winked at her little brother.
"Well really that depends on the weather dear," Joffrey set his fork down and wiped his napkin across his face. "You shouldn't really make promises you can't keep. I'd like to get on the road as soon as possible. I've been waiting to hit the slopes all year."
"Perhaps we could move the snowball battle up then?" Ned suggested, ruffling the curls atop his youngest son's head —ever the voice of reason. "That way Sansa won't miss it."
"Yeah, it's just tradition. No biggie," Robb snarked in typical Stark fashion, as Jon let his fork drop to his plate with a loud clang.
"More wine, Sansa?" Arya asked with a saccharine sweet smile, already tilting the bottle towards her empty glass.
"Yes, thank you," Sansa nodded politely, feeling like she was trapped in the fucking twilight zone, and this godforsaken dinner from hell would never end.
Joffrey huffed beside her, placing his hand over the top of her wine glass, to block Arya from pouring. "She's had enough, haven't you darling?" Not bothering to wait for her reply, he picked up her goblet and moved it out of reach. "Seriously, watching my mother hasn't motivated you to practice a little self control, hmm?"
"I'm sorry," Jon growled, fixing Joffrey with a cold stare as he jerked in his seat, as if some unseen force was the only thing keeping him from lunging across the table. "Did I miss something? Is your name Sansa?"
Sansa cringed, as Joffrey rolled his eyes into the back of his head, preparing herself as best she could for the insult she knew was perched on the tip of his tongue that would only provoke Jon further.
"How about dessert?" Catelyn stood abruptly, slapping both hands on the table —an attempt to diffuse the toxic situation unfolding at her dinner table on Christmas Eve. "Sansa, Arya, will you give me a hand in the kitchen?"
Sansa released a shaky breath, grateful for the reprieve her mother had granted her —granted them all, really. The legs of her chair scraping against the hardwood floors, she pushed away from the table with gusto.
"Oh right, before I forget," It was Joff's hand that shot out and grabbed her wrist, effectively foiling her route of escape. As agitated as she was, Sansa would've slapped him if his next move hadn't robbed the breath from her lungs with a quickness that made her dizzy ...
Producing a heart shaped box from his pocket, Joffrey took a knee before her, as the dinning room collapsed into a deafening silence. "I think it's about time we get hitched lady, don't you?" He asked, flipping the box open to reveal the most expensive-looking diamond ring that she'd ever seen. "So what do you say about changing that last name of yours from Stark to Lannister?"
Sansa barely heard his proposal over the thudding of her heart beating a painful crescendo against her ribs. "I ...I ...uh ... "
"Well? Is it a yes or a hell yes, babes?" Joffrey persisted, as she stood there gaping down at him, her tongue competing with her empty stomach in a knot tying contest.
"How romantic," It was Jon's voice that broke through the void —damn him, "But you can't really marry a woman who's already married, now can you?"
Sansa didn't want to look —tried not to, but her body betrayed her as Jon's eyes caught and held hers —blue and grey crashing into each other like waves in a stormy sea, as his lips curled into a sardonic grin. "Isn't that right, Mrs. Snow?"