And... another chapter edited by Underthenorthernlights: a huge thank you to her.
Thank you all for sticking around and reviewing!
Warning for adult themes.
Even years after his stay at Quiet Isle General Hospital, Sandor still associated the characteristic smell of disinfectant with bad memories. He had thought he would die the day he had ended up in the ER, years ago, after Arya had dumped him on the roadside. He had convinced himself the anxious face of the spotty kid with an intern's uniform leaning over him and the lingering fragrance of the hospital would be the last sensations he would remember. He had never forgotten the faint smell of the meds, the distinctive odor of the disinfectant and even that of the detergent used to wash the sheets; he never would forget them. They always brought back the feeling he was vulnerable and he hated how the word sounded. Vulnerable. Vul-ne-rable.
"Did you say something?" The nurse asked him suddenly, placing the band-aid on the crease of his elbow and rubbing it deftly.
"No. Yes. Are we done? I have to go back to work."
"Just give this paper to the secretary and don't remove this band-aid before an hour or so." She gave him a shy smile, gazing at the good side of his face and avoiding to look at his scars.
Accustomed to the uneasiness his burns caused, Sandor forced out a "thank you," pushed himself from the armchair and walked out of the room; he waited a few minutes at the front desk of the clinical lab, looking at the band-aid in the crease of his elbow, then he paid and left.
Once outside, Sandor heaved a sigh and decided he needed a smoke. He headed to his truck, opened the door and rummaged inside the glove box until he found his cigarettes. He smoked less and less now that Sansa had joined the Elder Brother's crusade against tobacco: this morning, though, he couldn't do without it. He grunted with contentment when he found the packet, shut the truck door and leaned against it to enjoy what would be his first cigarette in three days.
Sandor gazed at the expanse of lawn separating the lab's parking lot from the main building of the hospital and his thoughts came back to Sansa. This is important. It would be insignificant in different circumstances but now that Sansa's here, it's important. So many negligible things have become important lately. He dragged on his cigarette, his eyes half-closed, telling himself he had made the right choice, listening to the singing of birds the distant engine of a car couldn't drown out. Staring at the gravel of the parking lot, he was mentally reviewing what he had to do at the gym when he heard a familiar voice.
"What are you doing here?"
He pushed himself off the side of the truck, turned around and spotted Sansa on the other side; she walked around the truck and planted herself in front of him. Under her white coat, she wore the jeans and the blouse he had seen on her when she had left his house at dawn.
"What are you doing here?" he replied, caught off guard as he walked over to the nearby outdoor ashtray. He snuffed the cigarette out in the sand and walked back and stood in front of Sansa.
"I work here. Remember? A doctor sent me to the lab to ask something… Whatever… I told myself you were here to pay me a visit, but apparently-" She gestured at the band-aid in the crease of Sandor's elbow. "-you came here for something else." Her words inflected at the end of the sentence, showing her concern.
"This is nothing," he replied disguising his awkwardness behind a smile that didn't fool her, if her furrowed brow was any indication.
"Hey, Sansa!" A woman called from the entrance of the lab. "Did Doctor Patel changed his mind?" Instead of waiting for Sansa's answer, the woman, visibly another nurse, walked toward them. "Are you going to introduce me?" She giggled, careless of Sansa's unease.
"Mona, my boyfriend, Sandor," Sansa recited. She did less than a satisfactory job at hiding her concern under a polite smile. "Mona works at the lab, but you probably already meet her since you just took some blood test." Her last words were laced with bitterness.
I'm not trying to hide something from you. Quite the opposite...
"We didn't," Mona replied. "I'm not the only nurse working here. So... Doctor Patel didn't change his mind, Sansa? Holy crap!" Are you going to leave us, now that you got your answer, you dirty sneak? The woman didn't move and smiled quite stupidly.
"Are you ill, Sandor?" Sansa asked him in an undertone, enunciating every syllable, and he imagined her tone was the same when she addressed her patients. He could almost hear her: 'Your treatment should be taken more seriously, Mrs. J.'
"No, I'm not." As reassuring as he sounded, he knew he failed convincing her when her blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Listen, we'll talk about it at my place or at yours, if you want. Tonight."
She shook her head. "I told you my co-workers invited me. Girls' night out."
Fuck. "I'm not free tomorrow. I told you about Brienne, the girl who practices every day at the gym, right? She's taking part to a non-professional competition and we're supposed to visit the boxing arena after the gym's closed. I can't reschedule this."
"Fine. It doesn't matter." Sansa took a step back and shrugged ever so slightly. Something in her blue eyes belied her words and her supposedly casual attitude. Under her ballet flats, the gravel scrunched.
Ruing the intrusion of the nurse who stood there, looking at them, soaking everything up like a sponge, Sandor reached out for her arm and stilled her. "We'll talk about this the day after tomorrow. I'll text you."
She nodded. Watching creases on her pretty little forehead made his heart sank. Shit. Ignoring the other woman, he took Sansa in his arms and kissed her eagerly. After he broke their kiss, he didn't loosen his grip on her and whispered against her ear: "I'm fine. Have fun with your friends tonight and we'll talk about this later." He felt her fisting the fabric of his T-shirt, then pulling away.
Hope she doesn't think I hugged her because I'm sick or something, he mused as the two women walked toward the entrance of the lab. Right before crossing the threshold, Sansa glanced back at him over her shoulder. From where he was, he could tell she was anxious.
"So what is it today?" The Elder Brother's tone conveyed a kind of irony Sandor didn't expect from him. "I've got this sign on my office door saying I'm an orthopaedic specialist but I should perhaps replace it by one saying I give free advice in case of heartache."
"Good evening to you too," Sandor rasped. "How are you?"
"I'm good. Forgive me if I don't ask you the same thing, I know you're probably in the throes of passion or else you wouldn't have called me."
Sandor pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Sorry, I don't want to bother you but I just wanted to know if Sansa is OK."
The silence stretched on the other end, then the Elder Brother replied: "She wasn't as smiling as she usually is, today. Why? What have you done this time?"
Clenching and unclenching his left hand, Sandor suppressed the urge to shout he had done nothing wrong and instead, he told him what had happened earlier that day.
"She lost almost everyone she cared for," the Elder Brother said. "Save her youngest brother and an uncle she barely knew before, from what I can gather. She thought she had lost you. You can expect her to worry every time you cough or sneeze. Just talk to her."
After his friend hung up, Sandor sent her a text telling her to have fun and asking if she wanted to come over the day after tomorrow. Sansa answered right away, saying she would be there for dinner. He then dragged his feet to the garage and turned on the light. Hidden behind his truck, a metallic table and its two matching chairs waited for a second coat of white paint. Two or three years before, he had bought the vintage patio furniture for a ridiculously low amount in an open air rummage sale, then he had forgotten his purchase in the garage. Sandor had had the idea of repainting and offering it to Sansa once he had given her the keys of his house: he still believed he could have given her the keys with more ceremony and a gift for no particular occasion seemed like the right thing to do.
He stopped by the table and brushed the painted surface with his fingers; it was dry now and smooth. Removing rust with a wire brush and filling in the tiny holes had taken him one evening and he had worked in secret, during Sansa's last night shift. Then he had applied the first coat of paint.
The patio table already looked nice with its whitish paint and he smirked at the notion it was more her style than his. When I bought this, I thought I'd never see her again, but… somehow I chose this for Sansa. She'll take her breakfast on this table during summer. Or her afternoon tea if she wants. She'll put this on the small sundeck of her apartment or she'll leave this here, if it makes her feel at home. Whatever she wants. He walked back inside the house, put on an old T-shirt and a pairs of jeans he used whenever he had home improvements to do and tackled his task.
Harrenhal's boxing arena was a small one, yet the silence inside that night made Sandor slightly uncomfortable. Like everyone, he had heard the urban legend about the place. He used to laugh about it when he was in the Quiet Isle but now he loved to frighten his little bird with the story of the ghost of Harrenhall. A good excuse for her to throw her arms around me. Being there, in one of the aisles, gave him an unobstructed view on the worn-out seats and further, on the ring lit by old, yellowish spotlights. Sinister. Sandor gazed nonchalantly at the bald man who had welcomed them.
"You guys want to see the dressing rooms, I guess," the man said, waving his bunch of keys. Podrick had not been able to get away that night and as Barristan Selmy, who had enrolled Brienne to the amateur competition, was bedridden, Sandor was the only person Brienne could take with her to Harrenhal. As Sandor didn't move, Brienne turned around and mouthed 'Come on!'; he dragged his feet down the aisle and towards the hallways of the arena.
After a never-ending perambulation in dark hallways, the bald man opened a door and showed them the room where Brienne would prepare herself before the match. It smelled of dirty socks and stale tobacco.
"I would have sworn there was a 'Thank You For Not Smoking' sign in the hallway," Brienne pointed out. That was one of the things Sandor disliked about her. Her disdainful air when she knows she's right and her fucking ability to press right where it hurts. In this case, when he saw the man's smug smile fade away, he almost wanted to pat her on the back.
The man mumbled pathetic explanations about how important it was to open the windows from time to time and Sandor smirked at the sight of Brienne rolling her blue eyes. Then they walked back to the boxing ring and Sandor observed the equipment with mild interest. If it wasn't for Brienne and the upcoming boxing match, he could have been home with Sansa. Instead, the little bird was at her place, probably watching some crappy movie while he was there...
"... Sandor. Earth calling Sandor. Is anyone there?" Brienne asked. Roused from his thoughts, he turned to her. "The gentleman asks you if you need to see something else," she said, her unctuous tone making the question almost insulting. Brienne smiled from ear to ear, showing her prominent teeth.
"No- I'm good, thank you."
"I guess we're done here, then," the man said, lifting his arms with relief. He was visibly happy to walk them out.
Once they were both in Brienne's car, she swiveled her head to look at him. In the confined space of the car, he couldn't miss her coarse features exuding at this very moment all her exasperation. "You shouldn't have come if you had better things to do, you know," she sighed.
"Did I say I had better things to do?" he growled, annoyed by the hint of reproach in her voice.
"You don't need to. You miss your girlfriend, it's plain to see." Silence stretched in the car as Brienne didn't turn on the ignition. "Can I ask you something, Sandor? This boxing match, in two weeks... It's everything I ever wanted. So will you be here to support me or do I need to ask someone else to put ice on my bruises and give me my mouthguard?"
"I'll be there!" he replied. "Listen, I know I could have shown more interest tonight, but…"
"But you'd rather spend your night with her than with me. How understandable." She ran her fingers through her flaxen hair, then turned the key; the engine roared and Sandor sat back, heaving a sigh. "Will I see your mysterious girlfriend at the boxing match, by the way? I heard she stopped by at the gym, but never got to see her."
Sandor nodded. "Yep. She's even more excited than I am," he said, before wishing he could swallow his words.
"Well," Brienne commented, deftly going into reverse to exit the parking spot, "that's not very difficult."
Sansa wore a pretty sundress when she arrived at his place 24 hours later. The dark red, almost brown fabric complimented her pale skin and her messy bun brought out her slender neck. He could tell she was a bit nervous when she stammered her excuses about the way she had parked her car in his driveway.
"This is fine. I don't expect anyone else," he reassured her. He wasn't exactly overconfident though. "Want to eat something?" he offered her, thinking of the envelope he had left in the kitchen: it contained the results of his blood test.
"Shouldn't we talk, first?" Sansa inquired, fidgeting with her car keys. "I'm not that hungry."
He took the keys from her, put them in the trinket bowl with his and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Let's have a seat in the kitchen then." With an incline of his head, he motioned her inside the kitchen, and gestured at a chair while he walked to the small niche where he kept bills and mail. Under Sansa's watchful gaze, he took the envelope with the name of the lab on it and he handed it out to her.
"Open it. You're more familiar with blood tests than I am," he rasped softly.
She swallowed hard, retrieved the paper from the envelope and read. At some point, her expression changed and she dropped the paper. "Why are you showing me this? This is none of my business."
"It is. You have a right to know why I insisted on using condoms. Now I know I've got no gonorrhea, no chlamydia-"
"I see," she cut him off. "You've got no VD. Fine. That's why you did that blood test, two days ago." It sounded more like a statement than like a question; he nodded and sat down on the chair opposite to her.
As she still avoided his gaze, he extended his arms across the table to take her hands in his. "I wanted to be sure," he explained, gently squeezing her fingers. "And I want to be honest with you. I've been with women before you. Three months ago, I spent the night with a woman I barely knew and-"
She shook her head with something akin to obstination. "I don't want the details, Sandor. I don't how you feel about my ex husband but I just don't want to know anything about the women you were with. It makes me sick."
His jaw dropped slowly; learning that she, Sansa Stark, a girl much too pretty for him was in all likelihood jealous of the women he had fucked was nothing less than surprising. "I trust you," he began, feeling awkward. "That's why I gave you my keys. Now I want you to be able to trust me. Hence the blood test."
For long seconds, he tried to make eye contact with her, to no avail; then he felt her fingers moving under his and she finally raised her head. Oddly enough, a shy smile pulled the corners of her lips.
"You want me to make a blood test too?" she asked.
"No need to make one. You nurses and doctors get tested on a regular basis. Learned that thanks to the Elder Brother." She nodded, stared down at the envelope again. "I guess we don't need condoms anymore, now…" he went on, feeling like he was the dumbest man who had ever dated a girl.
Sansa snorted. "Your unconventional flirting techniques keep surprising me, Sandor Clegane. Joffrey asked someone to buy flowers for me and Harry copied poems he had found on the Internet on Valentine's day cards. You- You make me read the results of your blood test and you talk about condoms to show how much you… care for me."
He could tell she had stopped short from saying 'you love me', because he had never been able to say the words she probably expected. He gritted his teeth. Probably made a fool of myself but at least, she understands why I did this. "I couldn't tell you anything the other day, with that woman listening to us."
"I know." Her blue eyes shone a bit too much now and he suspected she fought back tears. "Let's eat something," she said cheerfully. "Not that I'm starving but a sandwich would be welcome." She jumped from her chair, walked to the fridge and inspected it while he retrieved the white bread from a cupboard. He made two big cheese sandwiches and two smaller ones with peanut butter, placed them on a tray with a beer for him and a bottle of water for Sansa and carried the tray out of the kitchen.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He shrugged. "You'll see. Can you open the French window and turn the lights on?" She followed him on the terrace, then she spotted the repainted patio furniture. "It's for you," he explained. "Thought you might need a table and some chairs to take your breakfast outside, at your apartment. Hope you don't mind if we use it tonight…"
Sansa squealed in excitement, examined the table although it was pitch dark and the outdoor lamps didn't light it properly. She asked him where he had bought it, went into raptures when he told her he had given a new lease of life to something he had found in a rummage sale.
"But when did you find the time to do this?" she asked.
"You'd be surprised how boring a night can be when I'm here and you're stuck at the hospital."
He still carried the tray and Sansa suddenly seemed to realize it. Slightly embarrassed but laughing all the same, she took the tray from his hands, put it on the table and planted herself in front of him. "You can keep shoving blood test results in my face and talking about condoms and such as long as you are this man, Sandor. This is probably the loveliest present I ever received. Instead of buying something expensive you spent time repainting this and- and it's unique. Like you."
Standing on her tiptoes, she snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him. When he lifted her in his arms, she protested mildly against his mouth, probably concerned about his old wound; he didn't care though. Still holding her, he took a step back to lean against the wall while she wrapped her legs around his middle. Fuck, this is good. It was like finding her again and as his tongue explored her mouth, he realized how much he had missed not only since the morning he had accidentally met her outside the lab, but pretty much since the fuss he had made all by himself about his keys. Sansa ignored how stupid he had felt - or so he believed - but when she broke their kiss to give him a curious look, he wondered if she knew what kind of emotional roller-coaster he had been on.
"Are you OK?" she whispered, before nibbling at his mouth again.
He nodded and gently set her back on her feet. "Want me to bring these at your apartment next time I stop by?" he asked, gesturing at the patio furniture.
"Hmm… No," she replied. "I don't have much space out there. Besides.. they look perfect here. It would be a crime to remove them from your terrace."
"Isn't it strange if your gift stays here?"
She shook her head in a girlish way. "I'm not sure I'll allow you to sit on one of these chairs without me being present, but… yes, I want all this to stay here. I'll have a nice spot to take my breakfast tomorrow."
"You don't like the kitchen table?" he rasped, feigning disappointment. "Too bad… there are things we can do on the kitchen table we can't on a small, metallic patio table like this one…" He grabbed her hips and pulled her close, fisting the fabric of her dress in the process.
She grinned and by the way she closed and opened her eyes repeatedly he guessed she was racking her brains to find the right answer. He didn't expect her reply to leave him speechless though. "Maybe I've got a solution. Do you ever lie down on the decking?" she asked. "Because… you know, with a blanket…" She was flushed against him, waiting for his reaction with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.
Sandor gawked and it took him a few seconds to be able to say: "Are you fucking kidding me?" He was all the more surprised as she had become cautious and even a bit shy after she had showed up at the gym wearing lingerie.
"What? You never made it right here on the decking? Why buy a house that is not overlooked, then?"
He chuckled. "You like it outdoors?"
"I don't know. Do you?"
He hesitated a second, looking down at the girl who drove him mad and made him behave like a fucking teenager. Sandwiches won't get cold I guess.
It was harder to fall asleep when Sansa wasn't there and he often found himself waking up in the middle of the night, reaching out to an empty space in the bed and sighing. After he had given her his keys, she once asked if she could come at his place at the end of her night shift, promising she would be quiet and try not to disturb his sleep. From that moment on, his nights alone when she was at the hospital were filled with anticipation and he would wake up at all hours, not because he missed her, but because she would be there soon.
Sansa was usually exhausted after a night at the hospital and when she came back at dawn, tiptoeing in his house, she was hardly able to kiss him before crawling in between the sheets and resting her head on his chest.
That night, he had thought it would be the same: she would come in silently and nestle against him, quickly falling asleep. Perhaps she closed the front door a bit more forcefully than the previous times though, perhaps her pace was faster as she came upstairs; he had woken up and now he stared up at the ceiling, keeping his ears open.
There was something amiss, he realized it now, for she was always extra careful when she opened the bedroom door; this time however, the door creaked and she muffled an expletive. Sandor turned on the bedside lamp and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Head hanging and sniffing, she didn't say anything and took off her sweater; she tossed it to the floor. What the fuck- This display of carelessness was so unlike her whatever he was about to say died on his tongue. He saw her running a clumsy hand down her cheek but he couldn't see her face hidden by her loose hair. Seemingly forgetting about the clean T-shirt and the pj shorts she kept in his closet, she stood there for a second, hugging herself in her tank top and skater skirt; then, she raised her head just enough to lock eyes with him. Judging by her still wet cheeks, she had been crying.
"Are you OK?" he managed to ask but he got no answer.
She wiped her tears again, looking more angry now than really sad and did something he didn't expect. Staring at him and biting her bottom lip, she slipped her hands under her skirt and hastily removed her panties before climbing on the bed. The mattress depressed next to Sandor as she crawled toward him and his cock twitched.
"What happened?" he whispered, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Put aside whatever your cock says and talk to her. He sucked in a deep breath; she was already straddling him.
She fleetingly laid her forehead upon his, then mumbled: "I don't want to talk, now." What she wanted was plain to see: she claimed his lips and ground herself against him. Through the fabric of her tank top, he felt her tits brushing his cheek as she straightened herself.
"Anything you want," he said, answering her kisses and her heated touch.
It wasn't enough, most likely, for she yanked at the sheet that was in her way, angrily removing it, and she reached between them. Without a word, she freed his cock from his boxers, gave it a long pull: under her ministrations he became hard as rock in no time.
"I want you," she said under her breath. "I need you."
Between kisses, Sandor tried to take off her tank top; she stopped caressing him and obliged him, pulling the top over her head before running her fingers through his hair. He hurriedly reached behind her back, unhooked her bra and found himself with her full breast in the cup of his hand. Sansa moaned, begging for more; he hitched up the skirt she still wore, brushed the inner side of her thigh and slid a finger between her folds. Sansa locked eyes with him; in the dull sphere of light coming from the bedside lamp, she seemed as provocative as she was sad a minute earlier, the trail left by mascara and tears on her cheeks being the only proof of her outburst.
At that moment, she must have lost patience for she lifted herself ever so slightly before sitting on his cock, never breaking eye contact.
Once inside her, he grabbed her hips by reflex, but he soon renounced to guide her because her movements, back and forth, stated that she was setting the pace, not him. Instead, he focused on her breasts, sucking avidly one then the other. He felt, more than he saw her body arch. She needs more than this. That certainty made him pull his head back gently; his mouth still on her nipple, he gave it the slightest of tugs with his lips, eliciting a faint "oh" of protestation.
She needs more. No matter what had happened to Sansa that night, he would give her what she wanted at that moment. He slid a hand under her skirt and rubbed the spot between her legs that never failed to make her weak: she arched her back even more under his touch. As her moaning became louder, he understood her release was close. Faster, he thought, rubbing her with more energy; he could come anytime now but he tried to restrain himself as long as she didn't climax.
Her movements lost their regular pace, became more spasmodic and a strangled sound escaped her lips; she called him, softly, whispering his name. As if it was my turn now, he told himself. Head tossed back in pleasure, she kept riding him for a few seconds before she became limp in his arms. He then seized her hips again and pounded inside her, groaning, until his own release came. Abrupt and intense, it overwhelmed him and he had the impression he was mumbling incoherent words.
In the lustful haze he was in afterward, he felt Sansa's head resting in the crook of his neck and her bust leaning against him. She panted, just like him and she was holding him tightly. After a while, she shifted, crawled out of the bed and took of her skirt. Without a word, she walked to his closet, found her T-shirt and slipped it on. He saw her freeing her long hair from the collar of her T-shirt in a deft movement, then she came back to bed.
Sandor lay down, taking in the sight the girl who had just thrown herself on him and who now clutched the sheet up to her chin, a feeble, almost sheepish smile gracing her lips. He wondered if she would explain something to him or she would leave it at that. Confused, he turned off the light.
Sniffing, she shifted against him, as if she couldn't find the right position and finally snuggled up to him and rested her head on his chest, her hand finding its place on his stomach. A grateful sigh welcomed the arm he wrapped around her.
"It was a bad night," she said abruptly. "We lost a patient. Motorcycle accident. I know how strange all this-"
"I'm sorry, Sansa," he cut her his free hand, he brushed her jaw line. "No need to explain yourself... How is the Elder Brother doing?"
She sighed again. "He's not- He's not well. Although he didn't say anything. I know he must feel terrible right now. Perhaps you can call him tomorrow."
Silence stretched in the bedroom; Sandor asked himself how many hours remained before his alarm rang. "You sure you're OK?"
"I'll feel better tomorrow," she promised. "It's just that all I could think about while driving here was… I wanted to be with you. I'm sorry I woke you up-"
"Some guys would kill to get woken up this way," he teased her. As he chuckled, she elbowed him, then he heard her laughter, a tad nervous, at first, then as candid as ever.
It was good to know she was able to laugh, even after the shitty night she had had. They held each other in silence, and in the end, he decided what he had to say couldn't wait any longer. "Hey, you know I'm here for you, right?"
He felt Sansa's head nodding against his chest, then, very slowly, her lips brushed his skin, eliciting goosebumps he would have tried to hide, years ago; now he was past caring about what was manly and what was not. "Unlike you, I don't have a tattoo stating it," she whispered, "but I'm here for you too, Sandor."
Next time: Rickon returns...