He had so few possessions, yet what he did own was strewn across the floor as he tried to find a way to bind it all up for his journey. Sandor had no idea where he would go - nor even any idea where he could go, for that matter. As it turned out, he hadn't done much in the way of thinking at all since the little bird had so very literally fallen into his lap...he'd thought so much of her and so little of anything else, and now that she didn't need him anymore...

And who's fault is that, you damnable dog? He'd pushed her away, after all, pushed and pushed until he'd shoved her right into handsome young Ser Willem's waiting arms. Fuck it all. He stopped for a moment and sucked air in through his nose, his jaw clenching of its own accord, the burnt side of his mouth twitching madly in his anger.

"Sandor?"

He tensed immediately. How had she found his quarters? Why in seven hells had she come here? He spun to face her, not bothering to hide just how angry he was - and somehow the fact that she was crying made him angrier still. He ground his teeth and finally asked, "What's wrong with you?"

Sansa Stark's face paled, her red-rimmed eyes widening as she gazed up at him like...like a lost little puppy, he thought, almost meanly. "I..." she began, then took a shuddering breath. "You...you're leaving me. I need you, and you're leaving me. And you were going to do it without..." her voice hitched, and he realized that she was holding back a sob. "Without saying goodbye," she finally finished.

That can't be it. Why is she crying like this? She was crying before she came here, that's for damn sure, Sandor knew. Suddenly a horrible idea dawned on him, and almost without thinking he strode toward the little bird, using one hand to slam the door shut behind her and then grabbing hold of her shoulders more roughly than he'd meant to do. "Did he hurt you?" Sandor growled. "Did he force himself on you?"

She had flinched when he'd taken hold of her, but she was looking him directly in the eye now and was clearly bewildered. "I...I don't know what you mean..." the little bird stammered.

"Ser Willem," Sandor forced himself to say. "You're crying! What in seven hells did he do to you?"

"Ser Willem? What did he...?" Sansa stopped. "Oh," she murmured. "Oh."

"Oh? Tell me, little bird, tell me what happened, and I swear - " I'll kill him. I'll rip him limb from limb. I'll -

"You saw," was all that she said in response.

Sandor's jaw clenched automatically. He hadn't meant for her to find out, but he'd obviously slipped up. Still, he had to know what had happened to make her cry like this. "Aye, I saw. Saw you willingly give Ser Willem a kiss. But if he laid his hands on you in...in a way you didn't want..." I'll kill him. I'll rip him limb from limb. I'll -

The little bird averted her eyes. "No. No, it wasn't...wasn't anything like that."

He shook her, though not ungently. "Well? What is it then? Tell me."

Sansa paused. He could feel her trembling, a sensation that both frustrated and thrilled him. "You," she finally whispered. "I kissed him, yes, because...because I wanted to know what it was like. To kiss someone who wasn't you. And then...I was so...so rude...I broke away from him and came to find you, because it wasn't the same. It wasn't right. I...I know that you don't want me anymore, but I couldn't - "

Sandor couldn't stop himself, then. Couldn't stop himself from bending his head and kissing her, because he'd wanted to for so long, because she'd let some other man - a man who was possibly far more worthy of her, in so many ways - kiss her...and yet she hadn't wanted Ser Willem, had somehow, for some gods-only-knew reason, kissed that man and yet wanted him, Sandor Clegane, instead.

And gods be damned, he needed her.

Her mouth opened for him as it always had, and in that moment he knew that though he should leave, he never would. Sansa Stark may not need him, but she wanted him. He didn't know why, and he knew that he didn't deserve this - didn't deserve her - but it was clear that pushing her away had gotten him nowhere.

So just now he drew her close, one large hand splayed across the small of her back, wanting to feel her body pressed against his. Did he know that this couldn't last forever? Well, deep down he at least assumed as much. But he was done thinking and worrying about some indeterminate point in the future, and he almost didn't even care about what had brought him to this point - not so long as she didn't hate him for everything that he'd done. Fuck, he realized suddenly, I have to apologize.

He abruptly broke their embrace, holding the little bird away from him so that he could look into her eyes. "Sansa," he began, almost hating himself for how hoarse with emotion his voice was, "I'm...I shouldn't have..."

She reached up and placed a finger over his lips, gazing at him with an affectionate smile. "No, you shouldn't have. And I'm not saying that we should pretend the past weeks didn't exist. But I know - "

"No. Let me say it," he insisted. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I - " He broke off, realizing - seven hells - realizing that there was a lump in his throat and that if he didn't stop talking, he'd start crying.

"We'll talk about that later," Sansa whispered. "For now..." She stopped talking, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him again. After just a moment's hesitation Sandor bent to her will, which he'd wanted to do for so very long, anyway. She'll bend me until I break, he knew, though she'll not mean for that to happen...it will happen. Eventually.

He wrapped his arms about her and lifted her, carrying her to the bed and laying her down, breaking their kiss for a moment to look at her there, to wonder at how she seemed to belong. In that place, but not to him - simply with him. "What?" she murmured, gazing up at him with eyes full of longing. "What is it?"

"You," he replied, lowering himself over her, careful to suspend himself enough so as not to crush her under his weight. He ran his fingers along the place where her robe had fallen open, nearly baring her breasts, and felt her shudder and arch her back so that her hips ground against him.

"Sandor," she said, her voice full of longing, almost strangled with it. He thought for a moment that she would speak the words he wanted to hear, and yet didn't want her to say, so he buried his face against her neck, brushing his lips over the hollow where it met her shoulder as his hand reached down and hiked up her hem, his fingers finding that warm wet place between her legs and caressing it until she said his name again, half sigh, half moan. "Sandor..."

"Sansa," he replied, placing his mouth against her ear as he worked at her, pressing his rock hard cock against her leg, wondering how in seven hells he was holding himself back just now. "Sansa," he repeated. "Sansa, I love you."

She came with a sound that was part shock and part pure desire, and somehow from the mere knowledge that he had brought her to her climax combined with the simple friction of rubbing himself against her, his release quickly followed. Sandor rolled onto his back, bringing the little bird with him and tucking her body against his. He'd meant what he said - damn it all, he did love her - but he knew that speaking the words out loud would change everything, and Sandor wasn't sure if he was quite ready for that.

Yet all Sansa did was press herself closer to him. He could feel her tracing her fingers over his chest through the thin tunic that he wore, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing her scent and wishing that he didn't have to tell her to leave, to return to her own chambers.

"Thank you," she finally said.

Sandor couldn't help but chuckle. "Still such a courteous little bird."

He felt her laugh as well, and in response he merely tightened his grip on her. Yes, she would have to return to her own bed, and probably very soon...but not just now. Not quite yet. For now, he wanted to relish the knowledge that not only had he understood what she wanted from him, but that Sansa herself had understood what he needed from her.