Part Two (or Tyrion's Amazing-Psychedelic-Halloween-Adventure!)

Chapter 5 (or disgusting, slobbering, pungent, plump hog)

November 21, 2003 (or the first date)

The Giggling Girl

Serendipity. Sansa adored that word. When she looked it up she found it meant a happy accident, a pleasant surprise, or a fortunate mistake. Serendipity explained where she was now. She was on the rich side of town a place she saw but never went. The Gold Tooth was just a couple blocks away from Starbucks, and she drove past it every day, but had never been inside. The cheapest meal was at least forty dollars and she could never afford that much for one meal. It was a large black building with huge tinted windows framed in gold - simple but elegant. The awning over the entrance was black with gold trim, the table cloths black with gold trim, and the wait staff wore black button up shirts with gold buttons. Even when she went to the bathroom she found black and gold speckled tiles.

It was serendipity that Tyrion came back to see Sansa at Starbucks again. The dashing stranger that consumed her dreams after he appeared in her life for a cup of coffee. It wasn't fair she forgot to ask his name or at least take a peek at his credit card so she wouldn't have to ask. She thought she would never see him again, but she was wrong. The stars aligned and compelled Tyrion to go get another vanilla latte on the only night that week Sansa was working. He strolled back into her life, just as dashing, just as smart, just as funny as the first time. Sansa tried to act causal, like she wasn't hopelessly smitten, but she was probably horribly awkward. She probably said all the wrong things and seemed like a stupid, gangly, ginger girl. Smart, funny men were never attracted to Sansa. Fate had deemed it necessary that she only attract douche bags and closeted gay men. Tyrion wasn't either of those. When he asked if Sansa wouldn't mind going out to dinner sometime, she was more than happy to oblige. Not only was she dying to, she really didn't have a choice it seemed. Who was she to spit in the face of fate?

She was proud of the outfit she picked out for the night. Admittedly it was her seventh option and it took fifty minutes to get there, but when she looked in the mirror, it was worth the trip. The first outfit she tried, the jean skirt and green sweater, was too modest, she wasn't a prude. The sixth outfit, the mini-skirt with the blue halter top, showed too much skin, and she wasn't a slut. The answer was a little black dress. The answer was always a little black dress, with the black pumps and her red purse with the black chain on it. It was so obvious in retrospect. What Tyrion wore only further proved it was fate. He wore a black buttoned up shirt and a radiant red tie that showed off his gorgeous blond mane of hair. How did he know to wear that? Their outfits matched and they didn't even plan it. It was fate. It was a miracle. It was serendipity.

"Enjoying the chicken?" the dashing Tyrion asked midway through the meal.

"Yes, it's very good. What's it called?" Tyrion had recommended it, and it sounded tasty. It was soaked in a sauce that had a rich yet mellow flavor.

"Chicken Marsala. It's a wine based sauce with mushrooms," he said with a chuckle. He had such a sexy voice, deep and husky, and sometimes when he said certain words she couldn't help but shiver. He wasn't that tall, in fact he wasn't much taller than Arya. If he had a twin, they would have to stand on each others shoulders to equal Sandor's height. But with his voice he towered over all others.

"What's so funny?" Sansa asked.

"Ohh, just...you already asked me that."

"I did?"

"Yeah, when you were ordering you asked me what Chicken Marsala was."

"Ohh," Sansa said and felt her face devoured by blush.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"It's just, I've never had it before. Actually, I've never been in a place this fancy before."

"Don't be embarrassed, it's cute," h told her with a smile. He had such nice teeth. They were perfectly straight and shimmering white.

He probably flosses. He seems like the type of guy who would gloss. He would take the time and effort to properly take care of his teeth.

"Really? You think it's cute?" Sansa couldn't help but ask.

"I think mostly everything you do is cute," he said, and Sansa swore he winked at her.

"Ohhh, stop," she said and could feel her face redden even more.

"Even now, when you're blushing like that, it's pretty cute. I think that shade is called 'blushing cute ginger girl' in the Crayola sixty-four pack."

What happened next was the worst moment in Sansa's entire life. Painful sex in a hot was nothing compared to this. Being stranded at a lake, naked and freezing to death, was nothing compared to this. That weird candle wax thing Sandor was into was nothing compared to this.

Sansa snorted. He told his funny, charming joke, and she snorted. Like a pig. Like a plump hog. Like a disgusting plump hog. Like a disgusting, slobbering, pungent, plump hog. She was supposed to have a cute little laugh, with a cute little lilt, that he was supposed to add to the list of things he found cute about her.

But, she snorted.

Time seemed to freeze as shame began to crush her. It pressed against her head and her sides and caused her to squirm. She wasn't sure if the waiter heard her but she wouldn't be surprised. She wouldn't be surprised if someone in Kansas heard that snort. Everyone heard it.

Tyrion heard it, but he didn't say anything. He just tilted his head to the side and gave her a look. "Now, that wasn't cute."

"I know...I'm sorry, I can't believe..." Sansa sputtered.

"That was just plain sexy," he said with a laugh.

"Ohh, now you're just messing with me."

"It was. Not many women can laugh like that and make it cute. It was even refined."

"Really?"

"Sure, you make it work," he said with a shrug and took a sip of his wine.

Sansa just giggled. It was the same giggle she had when she was a stupid little girl. She flipped her hair carelessly like she used to. She nibbled on her bottom lip, tasting the grape lip balm she loved, like she used to. Tyrion made her feel like a stupid little girl again.

And I can't get enough of it.

She loved the way he made her feel. She never wanted it to end. Hopefully it wouldn't. Maybe because fate was behind this wondrous first date, time would stop flowing, and allow them to eat this meal for the rest of their lives. Tyrion telling bawdy stories about his youth and Sansa gleefully relishing every moment of it. Sansa talking about her plans of teaching and Tyrion instantly agreeing she'd make a great teacher. She was afraid that any unexpected action would ruin the moment and she didn't want to screw this up. But, there was just one question she just had to ask. One question that had rattled around her head ever since she first laid eyes on Tyrion.

"So, Tyrion, I have a question for you."

"Red."

"What?"

"I was answering your question. I think the answer is red."

"No," she giggled. "Red isn't that answer. At least I doubt it is."

"Okay, so not red. What's your question then?"

"Well, it's kinda personal," Sansa said with a cringe, feeling uncomfortable even thinking of asking him.

"How personal?"

"Possibly very personal."

"Well, I'm a daring man. Go ahead."

"You sure?" Sansa asked.

"Yeah, shoot."

"Okay, don't say I didn't warn you," Sansa said with a deep breath, then took a sip of her wine. Sometimes she cursed her incredibly low tolerance of alcohol, but at the moment it gave her the courage she needed for this question.

"Do you remember that morning we first met...at Starbucks?"

"Not to be a smart ass, but besides this restaurant, we've only seen each other at that Starbucks. But, yes, I remember that morning after Halloween."

"Yes, that morning. I was just curious...what happened?"

"Well, I ordered a vanilla latte..."

"No, smart ass," she giggled and playfully slapped him on the arm. "What I meant was, what happened the night before you came in. On Halloween night. You said it was a long night with an interesting story."

"Ohhh, that...that is kind of personal," Tyrion said quietly, for the first time all evening growing coy. Normally Sansa wouldn't dig any deeper, but the wine told her it was better to keep on drilling until she hit something juicy. That she would find another funny story that he would tell so amazingly.

"Really? Personal? You just told me a story about one Christmas weekend where you drugged a woman, committed arson, and got to third base at a church."

"Well, that was personal, but also a lot of fun," Tyrion chuckled. Again, that chuckle. His chuckle. And the word fun. After that last sip of wine the word 'fun' just made her spine shiver.

"And Halloween wasn't fun?" Sansa asked and couldn't help flip her hair to the side, hoping her charms would get the better of him. She had lost all faith in her charms, but maybe she still had them. Maybe he was the one to bring her back after all the shit she had been through in her past relationships. Maybe he could make everything the way she wanted it when she was young and stupid. Maybe he was the right kind of sinner to release her inner fantasies.

Pat Benatar hasn't led me astray before.

"Well...that is a long story..." Tyrion stammered.

"Well, long stories are my favorite," Sansa said with an inviting smile.

"Well..."

October 31, 2003 (or the morning of 'That Halloween')

The Forsaken

Forsaken. That was Tyrion was. He was forsaken. Forsaken by fate, or God, or whatever bullshit he didn't believe in to begin with. He must have done something to anger the forces in the universe. Maybe it was that time he drugged Cersei to throw a party while their father was out-of-town. Or maybe it was the time he almost burned down this house while his sister was drugged. Or maybe it was the time he fingered a girl during midnight mass.

That was a crazy Christmas weekend...

It was stupid to blame his troubles on actions from twenty years ago. It didn't matter what he did back then. Karma was bullshit. The reason for his current predicament was painfully simple to him now because it was simply pleasurable during the time. The reason Shae was pregnant was because Tyrion decided to fuck her. Again, and again, and again, in numerous positions and places. But, it was inconceivable...that she had conceived.

"What did you just say?" Tyrion asked his long-term booty call.

"I'm two months pregnant," she repeated as Tyrion sat in stunned silence.

"But...how?"

"How?!" his booty call asked in bewilderment. "You were there."

"You know what I mean!" Tyrion yelled against his better judgment. The last thing he needed was someone over hearing this conversation. His father had finally gotten off his case about Shae. This was the last thing he needed. He need an infected scrotum before he needed this.

If I had an infected scrotum I probably wouldn't be in this position.

"You told me you were on the pill!" Tyrion yelled at her, regretting his volume after the fact, but unable to hide his anger and astonishment.

"I'm on the pill, but it isn't one-hundred percent effective!"

"It isn't?" Tyrion growled as he realized he had been forsaken by hormonal birth control.

"No it isn't. And they recently changed my dosage, so that might have caused it too."

"You knew they did this?" Tyrion snarled, feeling betrayed. "Why didn't you tell me to put a condom on!?"

"Don't yell at me! I didn't know I'd get pregnant, Tyrion!"

"Ohh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Why is this happening to me?" the forsaken man couldn't help but mutter under his breath.

"Happening to you!? Nothing is happening to you! I'm the one that has to give birth!"

Wait...what? She's not going to...dispose..of the...problem?

"Wait...you're going to keep it?" he bluntly asked with the subtlety of a two bulls trying to make love to a third bull in a china shop.

"No. You did not just ask me that," Shae said dryly. "You did not just ask me that."

"What!? I was 'there' as you pointed out! Don't I get some kind of say in the matter!?"

"No! You get no fucking say!"

"So then...Shae...what are you going to do with it?"

"It? It's a baby. It's your baby." The word baby usually sent chills down Tyrion's spine. Never had he realized if you put the word 'your' before the word 'baby' would it induce instant nausea. It wasn't fair that his favorite activity could produce his least favorite thing.

Tyrion then ended the conversation with a few simple words. He had a knack for it.

"Wait...are you sure it's mine?"

"Ohh, you are such a fucking asshole. It's yours, you fucking piece of shit." With that, Shae hung up.

No...no...no...no...

Originally Tyrion had no plans for tonight. He loved Halloween. It was a tradition for him to become a creature of the night every October thirty-first. It was a glorious night where girls took the as a chance lose all their inhibitions. Tyrion was a hunter and the girls were willing prey. In his life, Tyrion had mounted Catwoman, Xena, and Raggedy Ann on Halloween. This year he didn't plan on going out. He was tired with the work load his father had piled onto him and didn't want to bother. For as amazing Halloween was, it was a heavy lift every year. The hangover would be so massive one year he wasn't one hundred percent until Thanksgiving. There would be other nights for his misadventures. He'd go home, make a drink, watch Jaws, and it would be glorious in its own right. Nowhere in any of his plans were cleaning up the feces of another creature – an activity he was now fated to. Feeding another creature. Loving another creature because it was his own. His own. His son or daughter...

...no...no...no...NO! Fuck...fuck...fuck!

But now it was different. The rouge sperm that decided to go against the prime directive and impregnate an egg ruined everything. If she kept it...the baby...nothing would be the same. Everything was different now. He now had the immense weight of knowing he was a father on his shoulders and he couldn't support that mantle right now. Now it was his goal to add Smurfette or Cleopatra to his list of mounted beasts. There was one way to solve his problems for a night - To drown his sorrows in a twenty-two year old.

With a condom, and a diaphragm, with her on top, and pulling out, and having sex in a hot tub, and whatever other fucking possible birth control there is out there.

But that's not all he had in mind. A twenty-two year old wouldn't be enough for him tonight. He needed more, he craved more, and the two white pills he popped into his mouth wouldn't be enough. The eight to ten drinks gin and tonics he was going to get wouldn't be enough. He had to have more, and lucky he had a 'friend' who could help him. After a couple of minutes of brooding and letting his little white friends melt into his body, he grabbed the phone off his desk and made a call.

"Bronn, it's me," Tyrion said as soon as he heard his 'friend' pick up.

"What do you want?" his 'friend' gruffly responded, clearly annoyed to hear from Tyrion.

"I need my usual order tonight."

"Tonight? I gave you your usual order a week ago...there's no way you already got through that much."

"I need more...now. Actually, no...I need more than the usual. Could you get me some Molly."

"Molly? You want ecstasy?"

No, I'll need more than that.

"Yeah...and some acid."

"Acid? Fuck, I haven't gotten you acid in a while. I don't even have those contacts anymore."

"I will make it worth your while if you can get me my usual order, plus my other items, by five."

"...How worth my while?" Bronn couldn't resist Tyrion making it 'worth his while.'

"Two grand," Tyrion told him. He'd have to stop at the bank at lunch, but it'd be worth it.

"Three grand," was the counter offer.

"Three grand? Fuck you."

"I'm going to have to find a new dealer for the 'other' stuff and hope to God he's not a cop. Three grand."

"Twenty-five hundred."

"Three grand."

"Fuck, okay, you win. Three grand. Be here at five," he ordered and hung up. He didn't have time for small talk. Three grand guaranteed him the drugs he wanted and a timely delivery. Tyrion had one other task. He had to convince someone to go out with him tonight and make sure he didn't get into too much trouble.

Based on the news he just got, he was going to get into a lot of trouble.

The Kingslayer

Jamie's father loved trophies. Once he told his son that Indians scalped their foes to prove their prowess and that the vikings raped and pillaged those they devastated. His fathertold Jamie he they did this not because it was right, or wrong, but because they could. They had won the spoils of war. Lining Jamie's wall were multiple trophies he had accumulated. His college degree, his law degree, multiple pictures with Jamie and other important people. State senators, congressmen, even one picture with the governor that his father arranged. None of those trophies were what gave Tywin Lannister pride in his son though. The greatest thing Jamie ever did for his father was encapsulated in one newspaper headline.

'Kingslayer' named Bar Attorney of the Year.

The Kingslayer. In 1999, Jamie smote the mighty dragon that was the Targaryen family, who ran the King Medical Center. It made his father so proud. It sometimes made his stomach turn.

The things you do for your father.

The Kingslayer's moment was interrupted by a knock on his door, and before he could answer, his younger brother brazenly strode into his office. "Please, come in," Jamie dryly said as Tyrion entered the room in a huff. He quickly but quietly shut the door behind him and paced about the room a few times before sitting at the chair across from Jamie.

"Make yourself at home," Jamie told his brother, who remained silent. His foot nervously tapped on the floor and his thumbs drummed on the arms of his chair.

"Did you need something?" Jamie asked to break the silence.

"Yes, I need you to go out with me tonight."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going drinking tonight. I want you to go with me."

"Tyrion," Jamie sighed, "I don't feel like babysitting." Jamie had made the mistake of going out on Halloween before with Tyrion. It was his brother at his best and his worst. His impressive lechery always triumphed over the better judgment of females on this night. But it would be up to Jamie to collect him the next morning from whatever shit bag hotel or ratty apartment building his brother inevitably ended up at.

"You wouldn't have to babysit. You could go and enjoy yourself. When was the last time you actually had good night out, or have you inherited dad's allergy to fun?"

"I'm not allergic to fun."

"When was the last time you got laid?" Tyrion frankly asked with a cock eyebrow, daring Jamie to answer honestly.

Jamie had a cutting retort but it didn't come to mind fast enough as he found himself distracted. Distracted mostly because the correct answer wasn't weeks like it once was, or even months, it was now about a year.

"It's been a while hasn't it?" he asked with a leering grin. "Wouldn't it be fun to go out and meet a nice girl?"

"Nice girl? At a bar? On Halloween?"

"Don't discriminate. There are plenty of nice girls out there tonight. They're just dressed up."

"Like sluts?"

"Yes! Slutty witches, and slutty nurses, and slutty cheerleaders...which in my experience is redundant. But it doesn't matter. We are two young, handsome business men, in the sexual prime of our lives! Why not go out?"

"What's gotten into you?" Jamie asked. Tyrion usually needled more softly when he wanted something. Sometimes he'd bring out the big guns and guilt trip Jamie over his damn scar when he really needed something from him. But, this was different. Tyrion was salivating at going out tonight with Jamie. His brother was desperate to go out it seemed.

"What's gotten into me? What's gotten into me? What's gotten into me is the fact you haven't gotten into anyone else in over nine months by my count."

"You are truly a poet," Jamie answered with the cutting retort he had from before.

"Whatever, just...c'mon...it's been so long since we've gone out. All we ever do is talk about work or how much dad hates me. Let's go somewhere else, get drunk, and talk about those things...and then help some girls make some fun mistakes!"

"Okay, Tyrion, I'm not going out. I'm coming in tomorrow and I don't want to be hungover."

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow is fucking Saturday! You don't need to come in tomorrow. Why the fuck would you come in tomorrow?"

"Because...I'm working on a case with Dad..."

"Ohh, yes of course, with Dad," Tyrion said as he rose from the chair again and resumed the pacing he began when he first entered. Since he had come in he had yet to really sit still. "Of course with our fucking loving father."

"Tyrion, what the hell is wrong with you? What the hell are you on?"

"Nothing...well, nothing that would make me pace like this. I...have a problem..."

"Okay..." Jamie said with a nod, hoping to coax out more details.

"A real problem. A huge fucking problem."

"What did you do Tyrion?"

His little brother stopped his pacing and stared at his big brother. At this moment they weren't lawyers anymore. They weren't two young, handsome business men, in the sexual prime of our lives. They were children again. Jamie was thirteen, Tyrion was eight, and they had found their father's vintage Playboy collection in the basement. They needed to keep the treasure a secret. They needed to be bonded in eternal silence about the amazing bounty they found in the old rusted trunk in the corner of their basement. So they did what any two reasonable boys would do.

In the present day Tyrion walked towards table and did what most dignified lawyers would do in this situation. He reeled his head back and with a mighty spit hocked a humongous loogie into his hand.

"Tyrion really? We aren't kids anymore. I'm not going to shake your snotty, sticky hand."

"It's important. I need to know you won't tell anyone."

"Tyrion...really?"

"It's...important," Tyrion told him with steely resolve. When Tyrion spent an hour prying open the old wooden trunk to find the hidden booty, he needed Jamie to promise he'd never tell. Their father could never find out about the Playboys. And a spitty handshake sealed them to the secret. Now, the spittle dribbling down Tyrion's palm meant that their father, or anyone else, couldn't find out about this latest secret.

I hope he didn't kill a hobo or something.

"Okay, fine," Jamie groaned as lightly spat into his palm and stuck it out to his brother. They were joined in that moment, blood brothers bonded in something deeper – a spit shake. They shook hands and both men grimaced as their hands rubbed together unpleasantly, the noise of their spit merging disconcerting.

"So, Tyrion...what did you do?" Jamie asked, getting out two tissues for them to clean up.

"...You know Shae?" Tyrion quietly asked.

"That client you were never fucking? Yes, of course. She was the focus of a lot of gossip this summer," Jamie answered and rolled his eyes.

'Yeah...well, I was fucking her..."

"You don't say...I am absolutely shocked."

"No, the shocking part was that I knocked her up."

"What?"

"I got her pregnant."

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did."

"How could you be so stupid?" Jamie growled under his breath. "I'm sure you've heard of those magic latex circles called condoms."

"She said she was on the pill. That we were covered."

"Well...besides the fact you could catch something from her, you could have always covered all your bases."

"Well, excuse me. I fucked up," Tyrion grunted and begrudgingly sat back down. "I fucked up."

"Is she going to...you know..." Jamie delicately asked and then mumbled off.

"...Get an abortion?" Tyrion finished the unpleasant thought. "No, no she isn't. She was pretty certain about it."

"What, did you ask her if she was going to?"

"I may have..."

"Jesus Christ, Tyrion, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Jamie couldn't help but yell.

"What!? You just asked me about it! Is it so bad I asked her about it?"

"Yes! It's a little more than a little uncouth."

"Fine, whatever," Tyrion shook his head. "What's done is done. And won't be undone apparently. And sevens months from now I'll be a dad. Fuck." Tyrion deeply exhaled. Jamie had seen his brother under pressure before, but not like this. Jamie had never seen Tyrion at a loss for words. "So, will come out with me tonight?"

"What? You're still on that? You shouldn't go out tonight. You have bigger things to deal with," Jamie told his brother.

"I do have big things to deal with. I plan on dealing with them by drinking until I can't see straight and fucking a co-ed dressed up like nurse! Or maybe a slutty psychiatrist! I'm sure we'd have a lot to talk about!" Tyrion exclaimed, his voice growing louder then Jamie liked with his declaration to bed a slutty medical professional.

"Tyrion. Just don't. Why don't we just stay in, have a couple of drinks, order a pizza or something, we can talk about this."

"No," he told him as got up from the chair as walked back to the door. "I'm going out tonight whether you like it or not. Whether you come or not." His brother was now threatening him. If Jamie didn't go out with him, he would terrorize the city on his own. If Jamie wasn't there Tyrion would be left to his own devices and that wouldn't be good for anyone.

"Oh, fuck. Fine. I'll go out for a couple of drinks," Jamie relented.

"Good. We'll grab a bite to eat and then head out," his little brother told him with a sly grin. "I'll stop by a little after five?"

"Sure," Jamie groaned as Tyrion left his office. Jamie still didn't want to go out tonight, but he certainly wanted a drink now.

Why did he have to fuck her? Why did she have to get pregnant? Dad would be less upset if Tyrion had just killed a hobo.

AN:

Thanks to all my reviews, follows, favorites, etc. It means a lot. Every time you let me know you like what I'm doing it gives me a little more reason to get back to writing.

Also, this might sound odd, but thanks for being so cool everyone. I enjoy writing slash fiction and I like writing about relationships. To paraphrase Homer Simpson, Relationships are the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems. But, sometimes people get super protective about their shipping and it really cramps my style. So, thanks for being so cool and letting me tell the story I wanted to. I was afraid when I had Tyrion fuck Shae, and then get her pregnant, that everyone would freak out. But, you've been awesome.

If I haven't mentioned it yet – I'm a guy. Sometimes it blows people's mind (in the realm of fanfiction at least). But, yep, I'm a dude.

I paraphrased Pat Benetar's "Heartbreaker" in this chapter - "You're the right kind of sinner to release my inner fantasy" It a song I didn't know I liked until I played it a dozen times on Guitar Hero.

I spelled the word "serendipity" correctly on my first attempt. Considering my dyslexia is so large It can be seen from space - it's kind of a big deal #humblegrab

Now for homework. I'm not saying you have to watch Kill Bill Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 before the rest of Halloween part of this story, I'm just recommending it.

Next time – Sansa plans a low key party with her new roommate(s). Tyrion drags Jamie out on Halloween and runs into a familiar face who is also a kindred spirit when it comes to parent issues.