-PART FIVE-

"It was all very careless and confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy – they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made…"

SANSA

[eight weeks past the election]

.

"You know, I wish I could save you, Sansa," he said very softly. "I really do. And I like to tell myself that I've tried, but in the end, I guess I just can't."

She just looked at him, didn't react, because she had no idea how. He looked so hurt, and she knew that was her fault, but she'd said sorry so often and it wasn't enough.

The old Sansa would have loved him, that was the worst thing. Before her family had died, before everything had become so horrible and complicated, he would have been everything she ever wanted – or well, everything she ever needed. He would have made her so happy.

But now, she just felt empty and he couldn't help her at all.

"Here," Willas said and handed her some thirty-odd pounds. "Call a cab. The address would be Downing Street now, wouldn't it?"

She stared at the money, then nodded. "Yeah, I suppose it would be."

"I know he's who made you this miserable, Sansa, but I think if anyone can make you feel better again, and I really can't believe I'm saying that, it's probably him as well."

"Willas, I-"

"Really, you should go," he said quietly, throwing her a sad smile.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble you've had-"

"It's okay, honestly. I'll be fine. Go."

For some reason his guards let her pass, just like that, as if Petyr Baelish had been careless enough not to tell them she wasn't to be let near him at all cost. She felt almost stupid, ringing his doorbell like that, after two whole months. He was the bloody prime minister now, and she had no idea what she would even tell him, and on top of everything, it was almost midnight.

It was so foolish. She felt very much like her old self.

Following a sudden, irrational hope it would make her feel more like the Sansa of last summer, she fished her lipstick out of her bag and put on a layer of bloody red, checking her reflection in the glass of the front door. There, that's better.

"Ma'am, have you seen the time-" was the first thing she heard when someone opened the door.

"Yes, but knowing Mr Baelish, he'll be awake for at least another three hours, and I really need to talk to him." The man opened his mouth to say something else, but she cut him off. "I know he's awfully busy, but this can't wait, I'm sorry."

"Alright," he said sourly. "Wait here. I'll ask him to get the door."

Sansa sighed and nodded. "Thank you," she muttered, but he'd already slammed the door in her face.

Nothing happened for so long Sansa was starting to wonder if she was still going to stand there at dawn, but then finally someone opened the door again.

"Is this a social call?" he asked drily. "At eleven thirty... But I appreciate the gesture."

"I forgot how funny you are," she gave back just as sardonically. "Petyr, I need to talk to you."

"As I just pointed out, it's kind of late." He did look tired, and the sight of it almost surprised her. She wasn't used to seeing him worn, but then again this was probably just another mask, another face he'd put on because it was what the world expected to see.

"I know."

He sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "What do you want?"

"You," she replied flatly, because what else was there to say?

For a split second, there was a look of complete shock on his face, then he said very slowly: "Sansa, sweetling. Do you really think I told Willas to get you away from me just so you come to ring my doorbell in the middle of the night?"

"Well, did you really think you could tell Willas to get me away from you and he could keep me away?" she asked, somewhat insulted.

"You know, I should have known that the one thing I did for anyone other than myself in the past few years would come right back to get on my nerves," he gave back drily, probably hoping it would hurt her.

It didn't. It made her furious. "Oh, of course. I'm such an ungrateful brat, right? I mean, I should thank you, for plucking me off the street, dragging me to parties, getting me drunk, telling me countless bizarre political theories and disturbing secrets and… and luring me into your bed and corrupting my every bloody thought and then putting me in a car with some young reporter and telling him to get me the hell away from you. How kind of you, Petyr," she hissed, shaking her head.

"I'm not good for you, Sansa," he replied in a cold voice, "you shouldn't be around me and I care enough for you to see to that. So yes, you should be thankful, sweetling."

"I tried, okay?" she snapped, her voice louder than she'd intended. "I tried to make the best of it. And after two weeks I was still miserable and I felt like I was trying on someone else's life and it didn't fit, but I told myself it would get better. I waited, and I tried to ignore how he tried to keep everything away from me for my own protection until I had nothing to fill my days with at all, I waited and waited, but after over two months even Willas had to admit that nothing's changed. Every moment with him just reminded me of that person I was, and how much I wish I could still be her, and I was trying so hard to tell myself it's my fault," she said angrily, her voice tense, "but you don't get to do this to me. You don't get to mess me up and take away everything that I was before everyone died and then leave me alone and feel like a sodding hero. Okay, I won't let you come out of this so unscathed. It's unfair. Do you really think you can make me into this cold, calculating, manipulative person and then just hand me over to somebody as pure and wonderful as Willas Tyrell and somehow it'll all work out?" She could feel angry tears burning in her eyes and she didn't even care to blink them away. "Think you were being noble, Petyr? Well, maybe you were, but as always, that good bit in you took over just a little bit too late. Yes, you're not good for me, and yes, you ruined me, but the damage's done, okay, it's too bloody late to save me."

He looked confused and a little shocked about her outburst, and surprisingly made no attempt to interrupt her.

"You made this of me, Petyr, and now you're gonna have to live with it, because who else is gonna put up with me this way?"

For a while, he just looked at her, his face half-hidden in the shadows, then he sighed and pushed himself off the wall. "I'm sorry that's how you perceive things," he said in a dead voice, throwing her a smile that looked rather hollow. "But my point still stands, Sansa – I was wrong to drag you into this world of mine, the drinks, the backstabbing, the company I keep… it was all too much and I see now I should have never done this to you."

She wanted to argue, but he continued before she could say anything.

"Besides… I'm standing on very thin ice at the moment, and distraction, however lovely, is the very last thing I need."

It sounded a little like a text he'd learned by heart.

"You don't have to be scared of me, Petyr," she said softly, suddenly certain she knew what this was about. "I won't hold you back. I'm through with being the good girl, I learned my lesson. Being a saint got me nowhere. I got your back, and even if it's true you had my aunt murdered… I still got your back. I don't care."

"You don't care?" he repeated incredulously. "You're Sansa Stark, of course you care. Who would you be if you didn't?"

She shrugged, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "Okay, it's not that I don't care, but… I'll live with it."

"You think you can live with that? Don't think you've seen me at my worst, Sansa. I get far worse than this, and I've done a few things that I doubt you could handle."

"I think I could sooner live with your sins than with my demons," she replied slowly. "I've had enough of being alone. I've had enough of pretending I didn't dream of cutting a few throats, I've had enough of trying to be a better person than I am, and most of all I've had enough of everyone pretending I was some stupid breakable little girl. You're the only one who never gave me that feeling, the only one who never made me feel like I was a failure or an embarrassment or weak. And believe me, I could put up with a lot of things to stop feeling that way."

Suddenly, a faint smile flickered across his features. "You don't need to tell me that, sweetling, I invented that feeling."

For a while, she just eyed him, trying to figure out what was going on behind those greyish green eyes, then she asked softly: "So, can I come in?"

Again, that smile tugged at his lips, but then it was gone. "Not unless you mean it. I need to know you'll be by my side no matter what, I can't let anyone into my life who might stab me in the back one day or another." His voice was quiet, cold, but his eyes were dark and hungry. "You step through this door, you're mine."

His cold voice made her hesitate for a second, then she walked past him, a hand on his shirt collar. "Well, I don't think I'll need to make terms here," she said quietly, a smile playing around her lips now, "you can be possessive all you want, it just proves one thing."

The spark in his eyes might have been mockery, but it might as well have been desire – it was hard to tell, in the dim light, and his proximity messing with her head.

"And what might that be, sweetling?"

She stepped closer, still smiling, and tightened her grip around the fine cotton, partly to pull him closer, partly to steady herself. The last time they'd been this close had probably been the last time they'd slept with each other; their shins, their shoulders, their hands were all touching and Sansa knew she had all the desired effects on him.

"Think you need to tell me I belong to you, Petyr," she murmured, their lips almost touching, "well, you're mine, you've done nothing but prove that." It was hard to keep her eyes on his, and even harder to keep track of what she was saying. But, as sick as that probably was, she had missed those power plays as much as she'd missed him. "Keep that in mind when you play your little games."

He didn't reply – he probably thought it chivalry to let her win this round – just put his arms around her and kissed her.