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When the light turned green, the fancy SUV Sandor followed on his way home took its time to start and he ran his hand over his face with impatience, repressing a curse. As Rickon was on the passenger seat, he didn't want to look like the irresponsible grown up who glared at the boy when he swore like a sailor but did just the same. Fuck fuck fuck. Cursing inwardly and dwelling on the things that drove him mad were his only options since Sansa's brother had showed up.

Stuck behind the SUV's owner who drove far below the speed limit, Sandor exhaled deeply and restrained himself from honking. Gritting his teeth, he squinted at the headlights of a truck after they moved past the strip mall. If he was being honest, the sluggish pace of the SUV was not what infuriated him - nor was the fucking habit of some truck drivers; to blind everyone and their dog with headlights. His frustration came from something else. He had turned on the radio, hoping Rickon would just spend the short drive to his house texting back and forth instead of trying to make conversation: his head hanging over the screen of his phone, the youngest Stark boy looked busy sending texts to his friends who had stayed in the North.

Sandor sighed again. The rhythm of the song on the radio was familiar, something repetitive and haunting, something he associated with apprehension and smoking cigarettes. Fuck, what's this song? And suddenly, the male singer started singing:

"From the bottom of your heart

The relegation zone

I saw this coming from the start

The shake, rattle and roll"

Fucking Arctic Monkeys. He had seen this coming from the start; he knew that, someday his inability to commit himself and to make plans about the future would be a problem; he didn't think the question would come up so soon though. He didn't know someone would ask him how he saw his future with Sansa.

He turned off the radio.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Rickon protested.

"You like these guys? Fucking Brits…"

"Sansa loves this song."

Sandor snickered. "She loves it so I'm supposed to love it too, hmm?"

A snort coming from the passenger seat informed him how ridiculous he sounded. "What's wrong with you? Your day's over, Sansa said she'd bring back some take-out food so that you don't have to cook… why the long face?"

His grip on the steering wheel tightened but he remained silent, staring at the road.

"If it wasn't for that gravelly voice or the hair on your chest, I'd say you're PMSing."

Sandor swiveled his head and narrowed his eyes. "Lucky for you, you didn't mention another part of my anatomy. But... don't do that, boy."

Rickon shrugged innocently. Don't do that either. Don't pretend you didn't say anything because you just fucking did. Protesting or arguing with Rickon was a waste of time: he thus kept his mouth shut, knowing he couldn't have the last word with a smart kid who was better at shutting someone else's trap than at boxing. But he's a quick learner. He'd make strides if he trained daily.

"Seriously, man, what's the matter?" Rickon's voice was almost tinged with concern. Almost.

Sandor considered answering for a split second but they had already left the outskirts of Quiet Isle and they would arrive soon. Poor timing. With his big mouth, Rickon was not the confidant he needed anyway. As he made a turn to the right and moved into his driveway, Sandor tried to recall when he had started feeling so nervous. Easy: lunchtime with Rickon, the day after he arrived. He asked me- The engine roared as he seemed unable to use the shift properly. He asked me if I was going to propose.

Since that moment, he had turned paranoid, asking himself if Rickon had broached the subject with his sister, what had been her reaction if he had… He had even thought Sansa might be behind this, that perhaps she had let her brother into the secret and asked him to make this suggestion, just to see what would be Sandor's answer. A sort of trial balloon. If so, she must have been disappointed because he behaved as if nothing had happened. He shook his head: there was no way Sansa manipulated her brother like a puppet, because she wasn't that kind of girl and above all, because Rickon would never let anyone use him.

So… why ask? He woke up at sunrise, drifted off at night with that bloody question. He had constructed various scenarios: Rickon rubbing his hands and laughing cruelly before asking, Rickon frightened that his sister could get entangled in a third marriage, Rickon thinking a wedding was what Sansa wanted. Maybe she had alluded to married life and the boy thought it was what she dreamed of. Maybe Rickon thought Sandor should have asked already and he didn't understand why they were not engaged yet.

But we've been together for what? Two months? What kind of people get engaged after only two months? Is it even what she wants?

What Sansa had in mind was a mystery, not only because he didn't spend his nights with her, but also by spending less time with her, he felt part of the connection they had had disappeared, that he wasn't able to read her expressions as he did before. She had always kept a part of herself hidden away. Since day one. That's why I noticed her years ago, why I relapsed so easily the day we got stuck in the elevator. What the fuck does she want?

Not knowing drove him mad and he got angry easier since Rickon had asked him what would be his 'next move'. Shit. He said 'next move' as if this was a game of chess or something.

"Did you two fight?" Rickon inquired when the engine stopped. Sandor had parked his car next to Sansa's; she was waiting for them on the deck, judging by the lights outside.

He scoffed. "We barely see each other these days, how could we fight?"

"Got it: you think you don't spend enough time with her and you blame it on me."

"I don't blame you. You're here and it's fine. It's important for her."

"So what's the matter?" Rickon asked as they got out of the car.

Sandor heaved a sigh and looked at the boy with what he thought was a solemn expression.

"Oh no," Rickon whined. "You have that face - again! You know, the face that says 'I'm a grown man, I speak in a deep voice because I used to be a heavy smoker, I've seen it all, you can't understand kiddo.' Please don't make that face again, Sandor." Theatrical as ever, he clasped his hands and stepped closer. "You'd do me a great favor. You'd do us both a huge favour."

Sandor thus bit the bullet and followed the boy inside.

Fixing his gaze upon Sansa had been a lot more difficult - the word that came to his mind was 'painful' - since Rickon had asked him about the proposal. Sometimes, he told himself he couldn't look her in the eyes anymore. I'm a coward. Maybe that's what Rickon thinks and he doesn't tell me. He knows I didn't propose. Worse still, he fucking saw my reaction and he's figured out by now I don't intend to. How could I? I'm not even able to tell Sansa I love her.

The same thoughts assailed Sandor, night after night, and holding Sansa's gaze while he inwardly cursed his doubts was a torture.

"Did you call the Elder Brother?" Sansa asked him all of a sudden. He answered her he had not checked his phone. Add another line on the long list of the things I messed up. Sansa went on: "Well you should. He won't say anything but I know he's a bit sad. Promise me you will call him?"

He promised, but deep down he doubted he would be able to comfort his friend or to make that call in the first place. Too much on my mind… How can I be of some help? Whatever it is, the Elder Brother will have to sort this out by himself.

Harrenhal's boxing arena was buzzing long before Brienne's time to climb on the boxing ring came. From the dressing room where they waited, Sandor heard the crowd gathered around the boxing ring, whistling and shouting at the competitors who fought before the tall, robust blonde.

Sitting on the bench opposite him, Brienne was leaning forward, her elbows digging in her thighs, staring into space. From time to time, she winced and frowned at things only she could see. Earlier, after she had put on her boxing gear - sapphire blue boxing shorts and a matching tank top - Sandor had wrapped up her hands like Barristan Selmy had taught him too, then he had put some vaseline on her forehead, eyebrows, cheekbones and chin. He had done the same on her shoulders and down her arms. Now he remembered how surprised he had been when Barristan had 'greased him up' before his first fight, explaining his opponent's punches would slip off him, thanks to the lubricant.

Her headgear rested on the bench next to her, she had put on her boxing robe and her gloves: now they avoided talking. Sandor knew she had chosen him rather than anyone else because he would not talk strategy nor make small talk to release tension before the match; she wanted a quiet, stone-faced coach, someone who would keep his cool no matter what. Barristan would do great between two rounds when she'd sport a black eye and need encouragement; drinking a beer with Podrick afterward and talking about the match over and over again would be the best way to chill out, but for now it was Sandor she needed and he knew it.

Brienne's fight was the last one before the intermission; he saw the nervous movements of her feet when the distant clapping and cheering of the crowd informed them the match had ended and Brienne's time to climb on the ring had come.

"Time to go," she muttered, without ever looking at him.

As they both stood up, the door flew open and one of the morons who organized the event shouted at them it was time to go.

"We already know," Sandor replied coldly. He looked hard at the man, a short, bald guy who always looked very busy doing nothing.

They strode through the hallways, while music and clapping filled the air. The moment they entered the arena, all the spotlights turned to Brienne; although the bright light blinded him, he briefly saw Brienne raising her arms to greet the audience who cheered loudly in return. The speakers spewed out some cheap alternative rock as they headed to the boxing ring, Brienne climbing up while he stayed on the floor level. His protegee jutted out her chin, then insolently took off her robe. The man who organized the event, an unsavory character named Vargo Hoat, hollered her name over the mic, his gaunt face suddenly lit with excitement. Sandor didn't like the way he considered the competitors and he found him contemptuous when it came to women's boxing. It was clear that the man only organized this to make money; love of boxing had nothing to do with it.

Brienne paced a bit more in the boxing ring, giving the audience the impression she knew what she was doing, even if it was her first match. The stakes were high for the young woman, although she would never admit it: if she succeeded, she'd finally be able to prove herself she was talented. He saw her releasing a deep breath when Vargo Hoat started gesturing to announce who would face her. Hey, you can do it.

"... and now, please welcome the fearthome Chella!" Vargo Hoat roared. His fucking lisp makes his interventions more colorful, I guess. The audience shouted and clapped while blaring music filled the arena. Sandor didn't know anything about Chella, but when he saw her coming from the dressing rooms, her coach in tow, he couldn't help cursing. Fuck, what does it mean? Striding to the center of the arena, Chella shot a look of daggers at Brienne as soon as she spotted her, but apart from her glare, Chella had nothing to inspire fear. Dark-haired and as flat as a boy, she was swimming in a much too large black robe. She's a half-pint, Sandor mused. Brienne will make short work of her. He couldn't believe Vargo Hoat and whoever worked with him had chosen this woman to fight Brienne. It just proves what kind of amateurs they are.

If her dangling jaw was any indication, Brienne was just as surprised as Sandor. She turned to him and leaned over the rope. "She's small!" she whispered to him, her blue eyes widening in shock. "I can't…"

Here we go… Brienne didn't need to confess about her childhood to let him imagine what she had been taught. 'You're too tall for a girl', 'you're too strong and you'll hurt the other ones if you keep fooling around like this': those were the phrases she must have heard over and over as a kid, leading her to believe she might be the one who'd hurt others and she'd better be careful. That certainty was dangerous. Sandor thought it might have been less complicated for her to fight a woman of the same height and build.

"She might be tougher than we imagine," he replied. "Stay focused, Brienne. Put your mouthguard in."

Chella greeted the crowd, unabashed. If Brienne's tall frame and muscles impressed her, she didn't show it. Does it mean this girl has more experience? He had never heard of her and he now rued his habit to stay away from the other coaches and from the gossips. Swallowing hard, Sandor turned his gaze to the seats behind him: sitting on the first row, the Elder Brother observed the boxing ring with perplexity. Further behind, Sandor spotted Sansa and Rickon. She waved timidly at him while her brother shrugged theatrically to express his amazement. If it doesn't make sense for Rickon either…

The match began and suddenly his eyes followed Brienne who stepped forward. Her shoulders were tense, revealing her discomfort. If a taller opponent was to fear for obvious reasons, a smaller one could easily be disconcerting and lead a boxer to hold their hands close to their upper body, not high enough to protect their face. For fuck's sake, don't panic, Brienne. If this Chella was the aggressive type of boxer, as her pacing around the ring suggested, she had the means to unsettle Brienne.

Chella tried a jab at the head, Brienne barely avoided and she went on with two body punches. From his spot, Sandor saw the smug face of Chella's coach: the bastard lapped it up. Short and sturdy, with short arms he kept folded about his chest, he might have been a swarmer once and Sandor bet it was this technique he had taught Chella.

At the end of the first round, Brienne had blocked countless punches but had hardly hit her opponent.

"She's tiring herself," Brienne slurred after he helped her remove her mouthguard.

He gave her some water and shook his head. "I tell you what's going on, Brienne. I don't know if she's tiring herself but you're losing your self-assurance. You should counter and throw three punch combos like you do in the gym instead of blocking. You have what it takes to win this match, but you're behaving like a fucking amateur. You're scared and she sees it."

With an impatient gesture, the referee motioned the two women to the center of the boxing ring and they resumed fighting.

At the end of the fourth round, the crowd shouted for Chella who clearly prevailed over Brienne. Panting in the corner of the ring she'd been assigned, Brienne already looked defeated and her split lip only made it worse. While Barristan diligently dabbed at her lip and whispered soothing words at her, Sandor spat: "I don't want to remember this night as the night I wasted my time and energy, so you're going to go back to the center of the ring and you're going to fight. She's a fucking half pint! You should have settled this matter already!"

He saw Brienne blinking back tears, then nodding, and he mentally crossed his fingers. A quick glance at Sansa behind him confirmed she shared his apprehension: she had scooted to the edge of her seat and bit her lower lip. The fifth round was indecisive, yet Brienne fought back and her opponent lost part of her glory. The smug smile on Chella's coach vanished during round six but it took two more rounds and all of Brienne's pugnacity to punch out the short woman.

In the end, when the referee lifted Brienne's fist high in the air, she looked dazed. The audience applauded and some people even acclaimed her, without noticing she was hardly able to stand; when coming out of the ring, she almost fell in Barristan and Sandor's arms and they had to help her go back to the dressing rooms.

The feeling of having done what was expected from him was pleasant: Brienne thanked him profusely once in the dressing rooms and insisted on the fact she couldn't have won without his help and his way of giving her a kick up the backside. Then both men left Brienne alone.

While an exhausted and thirsty Barristan headed to the bar, Sandor went to observe the rows of seats, looking for Sansa. The surroundings of the boxing ring were more or less deserted at this moment and as she was nowhere to be seen, he limped along to the bar, telling himself she might have wanted to find something to drink; she was supposed to drive to Harrenhal after the end of her shift. He wasn't even sure she had had time to go back home and eat something.

Harrenhal's boxing arena wasn't a big one, so the bar was located in the large entrance hall; most of the spectators were gathered there, some going outside to have a smoke, others coming back inside, their lungs full of nicotine. His hand automatically went to his back pocket where his packet of cigarettes was, then he changed his mind. Sansa. Where are you? Several men he didn't know congratulated him for being Brienne's coach; he replied politely but never even tried to rekindle the conversation.

There were families, children and he even spotted a bunch of grown women dressed and made up like teenage girls, but most of the spectators were men. He was scanning the crowd when the Elder Brother planted himself in front of him.

"Congratulations, Sandor! I wish all the matches were as suspenseful as the one your protegee won. This Brienne is impressive."

Still looking for Sansa, he mumbled his thanks before locking eyes with the Elder Brother. His bald friend took a sip from a bottle of beer.

"You want a beer?" the Elder Brother asked.

"No. Thanks." Say something. Stop behaving like a grumpy old thing. "So… how are you?" he asked the surgeon.

"Could be better. I'm thinking about… retirement these days."

"Oh. Is that so?" Sandor didn't find anything else to say. Where's Sansa? "But… Why would you retire?" he went on, trying to focus on the Elder Brother's confession. "You still have plenty of time…"

His friend smiled sadly and took another sip of beer. "You know, Sandor… It's something I've had on my mind for a while now…" He would have elaborated, had Rickon not arrived like a fury.

"Where have you been? I was looking for you!" The boy barely cast a glance at the Elder Brother.

"I was looking for your sister... What's going on?"

The Elder Brother took a step back. "Well, you two apparently have better things to do, than listen to my whining, so… we'll talk later. Sandor, your seat is next to mine in the front row," he added with a hand gesture, before walking away.

Sandor couldn't help noticing his resigned look: he wanted to say something, but Rickon tugged at his sleeve. "There's this guy at the other end of the hall with Sansa… You know the kind that buttonholes a chick and flirts with her…"

This revelation made his blood boil instantly and he grabbed Rickon's upper arm. "Where?"

Rickon swallowed hard, then guided him between the clusters of spectators who chatted and laughed. "My sister must be the only girl in the country who puts on a dress and pretty shoes to go to a boxing match… Poor San should just tell him to fuck off, but you know her, she's too kind…" Rickon explained.

"Why didn't you intervene?"

"I told the guy who you were, but he didn't take me seriously," Sansa's brother replied, his voice hitting a high note.

"People would take you seriously if you stopped making fun of everything and everyone."

And finally, he saw her. Sansa wore one of her favorite black dresses with wedge heel sandals that made her look even taller. Her arms folded about her chest and keeping her distance with the man who sweet-talked her, she politely listened to him. When she spotted Sandor, a smile briefly graced her lips and as he came closer, Sandor heard her say: "... you know, the man I told you I was waiting for… He's here." With a flourish, she showed Sandor.

The douchebag who tried to flirt with his girlfriend followed her gesture with his eyes, saw Sandor's massive frame and gawked.

"Case, meet Sandor. Sandor, meet Case," Sansa said.

A hush fell on the corner where they stood: Sandor realized it when, a few seconds later, a woman who was sitting near Sansa and who apparently took a perverse pleasure in Case's discomfited look giggled. Slightly younger than Sandor, he looked like the kind of man who didn't take no for an answer.

"You have a death wish or something, man?" Rickon asked the moron. The boy sounded so revanchist Sandor silenced him with a glare, then he turned to the man again and looked hard at him. His fingers curled into balled fists and that was enough to scare him away.

"I- uh… I need to see someone," the man said, pathetic.

"Good idea," Sandor commented as he moved past him. "Stay away from my girl," he growled. Sandor's eyes followed him as he slalomed between the groups of spectators; he only noticed Rickon and Sansa had been staring at him for a while when he glanced back at them.

"Man… that was awesome," Rickon said. "I wish I could do the same."

"Well, you can't," he retorted coldly. "Training a bit might help, though."

Sansa chuckled at that and took a step forward. "My savior. Always on time." Her caressing tone sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine. I missed you.

As if she could read his mind, Sansa crossed the remaining distance between them, cupped his face and kissed him lightly. "This one is to say hello." She gave him another peck. "This one is for getting rid of the leech." He wrapped his arms around her as her lips brushed his again. "This one is for being a great coach and making me so proud of you."

If the place wasn't crowded he would have pinned her against a wall. Not having her in his bed since Rickon had showed up had made him realize how much he wanted her.

"Hey! Earth to Sansa… People are moving back to their seats and so should we," Rickon interrupted them.

They broke their embrace with a sigh. He kept her hand in his all the way to the row where Sansa and Rickon had been sitting. "Let's do something," he suggested to Rickon. "You take my seat in the front row, next to the Elder Brother and I'll take yours."

Rickon made a face and pursed his lips as if he smelled trouble, then he shrugged. "If you want…"

As the boy hurtled down the stairs, Sandor and Sansa found their way to their seats. He couldn't help staring hungrily at her and it made her alternatively laugh and blush. When most of the lights went off and the spotlights flooded the boxing ring, he placed his hand on her thigh.

"Keep your paws off," she murmured, suppressing a giggle.

For the rest of the night, he held her hand. Sometimes, when she turned to him to ask a question about the referee's decisions, her knee brushed his leg and it was like a one-way ticket to the first days of their relationship, after he had found her in the elevator, when they were not together yet but every touch felt like a promise.

"I'll have to go back to the boxing ring afterward," he told her at the end of the last match. "The local newspapers are here and I'm expected to get my picture taken or something."

"You're going to be famous," she whispered, teasing him. "I'll stay and watch during your photo call. I want to see what you look like when you say 'cheese'. Besides I don't want you to flirt with one of these girls."

"Oh, do you?"

Disguising her smile with a sulky face, she nodded. On the ring, Vargo Hoat bellowed in the mic all the contestants and their coaches had to join him. "When duty calls…" Sansa trailed off. He got on his feet reluctantly and she followed suit; going back to the boxing ring at this moment was difficult because the aisle was crowded with spectators who wanted to leave now the show was over. Sansa's hand pleasantly squeezed his while he made his way through the crowd.

Around the boxing ring, they found the Elder Brother who smiled although he looked awful and Rickon who yawned shamelessly. All the young women who had fought that night were there too, with their coaches; he spotted three local journalists he had seen before, two men and a woman. Once more Vargo Hoat called the shots, telling the photographer what he should do and how. Brienne rolled her eyes and so did half the contestants.

After a picture of the contestants surrounding Vargo Hoat like a modern, badass version of a harem, the compliant photographer took one of the contestants with their coaches, then another one of the six girls who had won that night.

"And now, the winnerth and their coacheth!" Vargo Hoat shouted. Too much beer had made him forget his lisp, assuming he cared about it.

The girls who had won their matches and their coaches gathered in front of the boxing ring, so that the photographer could immortalize the moment.

"Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?" Brienne asked Sandor.

"Maybe-"

"Everyone, ftay focuthed!" Vargo Hoat ordered, yelling and spluttering in one of the girls' bruised face.

The 'photo call', as Sansa called it went on for a minute or two; Sandor noticed Sansa was talking with one of the journalists working for the local newspaper. The guy nodded every now and then and visibly took notes.

"Hope it's not her number he's writing down..." Brienne teased him. "Of course not, you numbskull! Unless she has a very long phone number..."

"Shouldn't you stay quiet, with that split lip of yours?" he retorted. Brienne smirked, making her swollen lip look even more awful.

The young women and their coaches scattered as the annoying Vargo Hoat put on quite a show for the journalists. Brienne jumped at the chance to greet Sansa; without even waiting for Sandor, she walked towards his girlfriend and introduced herself: "You must be Sansa Stark, right? I'm Brienne Tarth. Sandor is my coach."

"Nice to meet you, Brienne. And... congratulations. It was a great match."

Hands in his pockets, Sandor stopped next to them. "You didn't really need me to introduce yourself," he commented, addressing Brienne.

The blonde shrugged and turned again to Sansa. "I once worked for your mother," she went on. "It was a long time ago. A true lady, Catelyn Stark."

Sansa nodded with a painful look and gazed momentarily at the far end of the boxing arena; Brienne's hand patted awkwardly her shoulder. When Sansa looked up at her again, a smile graced her lips. "It speaks very highly of you, Brienne."

"What?"

"The fact my mother chose you rather than anyone else."

"Oh, please! You're going to make me blush."

The two girls stayed there for a while, looking at each other, not saying much, but smiling as if they were glad to share this moment. Shoulders hunched and hands shoved in her pockets, Brienne towered over Sansa who complimented her on her performance. Somewhere behind, Sandor heard the Elder Brother talk with Rickon who didn't joke around for a change. In the end, Brienne seemed to realize Sandor was there and she took her leave.

"What were you talking about with that four-eyed guy?" he asked Sansa, once they were alone. Watching her with the journalist had aroused his curiosity and perhaps, even if there was nothing to brag about, a feeling of possessiveness.

"Are you jealous?" A mocking smile playing about her lips, she tilted her head. "We were talking about you. He asked me what I was doing here because I 'didn't look the part'," she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers. "I told him I came to support my boyfriend who coaches one of the girls and I insisted on your skills. I said you run a boxing gym in Quiet Isle and you're about to open a fitness center. I asked him kindly if he could keep this part in his article and he said yes so I wouldn't be surprised if you had new customers once the article is published." She looked very happy with herself and she pinched his cheek affectionately.

I can't believe she did this. Speechless, he stared at his girlfriend for long seconds. Sansa arched her eyebrows at his apparent lack of reaction: "Won't you say something?"

"How come a guy like me ends up with a beautiful woman who sings my praises? You're my hero." He wrapped his arm around her and drew her close.

"'Guardian angel' suits me best," she said, before puckering up. He kissed her eagerly, making her arch her back and slightly throwing her off balance in the process.

Five days, he thought. It's been five days since Rickon arrived and since I last spent the night with her. His right hand brushed the underside of her breast, eliciting a tiny gasp his lips smothered. When he let go of her, his eyes were heavy on her cleavage.

"Is there any chance you'll come to my place tonight?" he rasped. I sound desperate. Desperate and horny.

She wagged her finger. "I'm afraid I can't. I might be your guardian angel but I'm also Rickon's role model."

"And role models don't fuck. I got it. Nor do they eat, drink or shit."

Sansa snorted, then jabbed a finger at his chest. "Two more days and he'll be gone."

"Sounds like a promise."

"Sort of." She laughed at that and walked towards the Elder Brother.

Sandor took the opportunity to collapse next to Rickon who was sitting cross-legged on the first row, distractedly watching the journalists as they interviewed the boxers. "So... what did you think about all this?" he asked the boy.

"It was interesting. Female mud wrestling is more fun, though."

Rickon's laughing eyes met his. They both chuckled and an exhausted hush fell over them. After a while, Sandor rasped: "I've been told some of the kids who come daily to the gym organized a party tomorrow night. You know them: Travis and Josh… Would you... like to go?" With his arm resting on the back of the seats, he feigned nonchalance but deep down he hoped Rickon wouldn't say no.

Rickon swiveled his head and shot him a wary gaze. "Nice attempt to get rid of me, Sandor. Come on! Admit it."

Sandor shrugged innocently. "Just concerned about your social life." One by one, the spotlights above them began to go off. "I guess it's a no."

"I didn't say no!" Rickon protested. "I just want us to be on the same wave-length: if you admit you're trying to get rid of me so that Sansa spends the night with you, I'll... think about it."

Sandor pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Alright, I don't want you under my feet," Sandor said. "For just one night."

"See? It seems we can get along. Where is this party?"

"Dunno. I'll ask the kids."

"It doesn't matter, as long as I can escape Sansa's apartment. I swear I'm going to blow a fuse if she makes me watch another comedy or even worse, a hundredth documentary about World War II 'because it's important I improve my average in History'. Seriously, how do you not argue with her about TV programs?"

"Easy. She knows I never finished high school and... we have better things to do than watch TV."

Rickon gave him a knowing look. "I understand, man. Life's a bitch. Lucky for you your girlfriend's brother is so understanding."

"What are you two scheming?" Sansa planted herself in front of them, playing with the shoulder strap of her purse. She looked ready to go.

"We were talking about the TV programs you watch with Sandor at night," Rickon said, tongue in cheek. Jumping on his feet, he shot a bright smile at his sister.

The three of them started walking to the exit door. "But... We don't watch TV," Sansa replied, brow furrowed. Under the neons, her cheeks reddened as she seemingly began to realize her brother was pulling her leg. She's fucking adorable. Sandor took her hand in his and squeezed it.

"Exactly!" Rickon exclaimed. He seemed to take a intense pleasure in making her blush. "You and Sandor have better things to do at night that watch TV, like…" She shot him a glare. "... like playing scrabble."

The next day, Sandor was having dinner at Sansa's apartment when the doorbell rang. She headed to the entrance door while Rickon elbowed Sandor. "I gave Travis and Josh her address," the boy explained. "Hope San is not going to freak out."

From the living room they could hardly hear what Sansa said to the two boys, but from her high-pitched tone, Sandor could tell she was surprised. Rickon leaped up and ran to the door. Smirking to himself, Sandor stood up with a grunt and followed suit.

"Travis, Josh!" Rickon exclaimed. Although she had seen them at the boxing gym, he introduced his new friends to Sansa whose folded arms expressed a mix of concern and uneasiness. "Travis and Josh are taking me to a party," Rickon said as if it was all settled. For Sansa, though, things were never settled when it came to her little brother.

"Where are you taking him, exactly?" she asked.

"Josh's stepfather's house. It's by the river," Travis answered.

"We're responsible people," Josh added. "There's plenty of room at my stepfather's, so when people drink they spend the night out there. You can come tomorrow morning to pick Rickon if you want." I bet Rickon briefed them on the topic.

"Maybe we should go," Travis suggested, after giving a glance at his cellphone. "We still have things to do before the others arrive."

"See?" Rickon's voice exuded triumph because he knew his sister couldn't object to letting him go out.

"You didn't even eat your dessert!" she finally said, making the two other boys cackle. "There's coconut ice cream. Your favorite."

Rickon rubbed her shoulder with a goofy smile, then he told her with a straight face: "Maternal instinct… Stop treating me like a kid, sis: I'm not a kid anymore. You know what? Have kids instead. I'm sure Sandor here is willing to help you."

Speechless, Sansa looked as if she was a diver running out of air; the two boys suppressed a laugh. Rickon patted her sister's shoulder again, grabbed his things and left. The door slammed behind him and Sandor let out a snort. Sansa had her back to him and from where he was he could see her shoulders sag; she stayed still long enough for him to wonder if he had not made a mistake. The little bird has been clear on spending time with her brother this week, after all…

Then, very slowly, she spun on her heels and faced him. That night, she wore a tank top and one of her numerous skater skirts - a black one with polka dots. She swallowed and asked him: "Do you have anything to do with this?" She pointed at the door.

Sandor lifted his hands in acquiescence. "I plead guilty. I told Rickon the boys organized a party; but your brother is the one who asked them if he could tag along. Are you mad at me?"

She took her time before shaking her head. "Are they responsible boys?" she nonetheless asked, as if she had misgivings about letting Rickon go out.

Her trusting blue eyes locked with his; he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. "Well, Travis grows some pot in his grandma's backyard and Josh just got out of jail for murder," he said with feigned solemnity. He kissed the crown of her head.

She jabbed a finger at his chest. "You sound like Rickon. It's not funny!"

"They're responsible kids. I know them, I even have their numbers, just in case. So?"

For a few more seconds, Sansa didn't move: she didn't push him away but she didn't draw him close either. She sighed, looked up at him and finally wrapped her arms around his neck. "So what?"

"We're alone. Finally. Do you really want a dessert?" Please say no.

A mischievous smile graced her lips. "Desserts are so overrated." Good. His hand slipped under her skirt, moved up between her thighs. "I want you," she mouthed, taking his hand and leading him to her bedroom.

Sansa only had her panties on and she was already climbing on the bed when she asked him with a smile: "Did you hear what my brother said about me having kids?"

He wasn't sure what she expected him to say, so he mumbled: "Yeah. Fucking big mouth."

Once more, Rickon was the one who put his foot in it, who forced him to reflect on the things he didn't dare discuss with Sansa. What would he answer if she ever asked him about children? His throat went dry. Sansa pulled him close and unbuttoned his pants, but the feeling remained and he couldn't help thinking he was a coward, not about the talk about children or engagement. Fuck. I never even said I love her. They avoided words of love if he was being honest, like two persons who had seen enough to be afraid of the mere notion of admitting their feelings.

Sansa's hands on his cock should have made him impatient - it always did and they both knew it - but instead of throwing himself on her he surprised Sansa by stilling her hands and kissing her fervently. Her eyes widened yet she responded with an eagerness matching his.

We have time, he thought as Sansa's curves crushed against him. I'm an asshole unable to say 'I love you' or buy her a ring but there's no need to talk about wedding rings and kids now. Right?

If there was any trace of concern in his eyes, Sansa didn't seem to notice it as she lay down on the bed, smiling at him. Deep down, however, he couldn't shake the feeling his inability to commit would blow up in his face, sooner or later.

To Tanakacchi: Glad you liked the last chapter! Rickon is so straightforward it's fun to write scenes with him and Sandor. He was clearly trying to make Sandor hit the ceiling in the last update... and it took ages before Sandor noticed what he was doing. Anyway, I agree with you: Rickon is a bit underrated here. Apart from jillypups' fics, I didn't read many stories where he was a teenager or a young adult. Thank you for taking the time to leave a kind, thoughtful review!

To anon: Ha ha! Sandor proposing? Now that you've read this chapter you know how he feels about proposing to Sansa. And at the same time, he loves her dearly… Thank you for reviewing!