A/N: Thanks to everyone for the kind reviews and thoughtful comments. I really do appreciate each one of them, though this site seems hellbent on not allowing me to respond properly, so once more I say thank you! :D
Occupied as she was with studying and work, Sansa's days nevertheless went by painfully slow. Sandor was never far from her thoughts: she woke up expecting to see his muscular frame slumbering beside her, and every time the bell on the door chimed in the coffee shop, Sansa would inadvertently look up hoping he would walk in just as he did that day in September. Unfortunately, Sandor did not, and in his absence Sansa struggled to function within the deep haze of sadness that settled over her life.
She had not spoken to Sandor in so long that Sansa feared she would no longer remember the sound of his voice, and she would have given anything to hear his rasping voice once again, but, sadly, it was not to be. The last and only time Sansa heard from him was the day after the wedding when he called during a stopover at the Joint Base Myer-Henderson Hall. Apparently the general wanted to confer with Joffrey as well as Tyrion, both of whom were travelling to Arlington expressly for that purpose, and this gave Sandor the opportunity to call her.
Their conversation had been brief and mostly consisted of explanations as to why he would not be able to contact her once he left the United States, along with repeated admonitions for her to be careful. A deep sinking feeling emerged in the pit of her stomach at the mention of the names of her former fiancé and his uncle; he had avowed to her he would kill Joffrey, Meryn and anyone else who had hurt her, after all. Though she heard no discernable emotion in Sandor's tone as he spoke; still, Sansa could not shake the impending dread after their conversation. Her husband was a man of his word, and she knew somehow, somewhere, he would keep his grisly promise.
A week after their wedding while Sansa was waiting tables at the coffee house, Margaery exclaimed, "Holy shit! Sansa, come here!"
"What is it? I'm busy." Sansa sing-songed her words and offered a polite smile to her customer.
"That man of Joffrey's that used to knock you around, what is his name?" She lowered her lips to Sansa's ear.
"Meryn Trant. Why?" Sansa glanced between the siblings curiously as she moved beside Mrs. Olenna.
"Told you," she hissed at Loras. "Anyway, he was found dead in Arlington Tuesday," Margaery lowered her voice to a whisper. "It seems he went missing last Sunday."
"Oh my god," Sansa's mind began to reel. "Joffrey and Tyrion went to see the general while they were laid over. Something must have happened then. Joffrey doesn't go anywhere without his bodyguard!"
"Well, it's time he learned how to do just that, because the police found the bastard not far from the base." Mrs. Olenna laughed ruefully. "Apparently he had gone for a late night run and fell into a drainage ditch. His neck was broken."
Her heart began racing. Margaery raised her brow at Sansa, studying her closely, but the young woman carefully schooled her face into a mildly interested expression. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry to hear that."
"You shouldn't be sorry dear." Mrs. Olenna admonished her. "I hope he burns in hell for what he did to you."
"Grandma!" Loras and Margaery said in unison. "I thought it's the Lord's day. You just got back from church." Loras needled her.
"The Lord sayeth that you reap what you sow," Lady Olenna spoke pointedly. "And that man reaped what he did to Sansa; he got his comeuppance. Now the Lord will settle him down."
"I thought God is love." Margaery nudged her. "Anything else you might want to say about it, Sansa?"
Shrugging, Sansa turned away while struggling to still the trembling in her hands. "Well, I don't know about hell, but it's just like your grandma said: he got his comeuppance."
"God is love, dear, but he can only be pushed so far, just like this old lady." Olenna held out her cup for Sansa to refill. Loras and Margaery giggled.
"Did they close the investigation?"
"Yes," Loras nodded. "They ruled it an accident. Joffrey is expected to make an announcement later."
Turning away, Sansa went back to refill her coffee pot and left the rest of the theological discussion to the Tyrells. It was a regular family occurrence on Sundays, but Sansa did not have the heart for it just then. The truth of the matter resounded plainly in her heart: Sandor had killed him, just as he said he would. The gods used him to get justice for her, of that she was certain, and no deity would punish him for it. In fact, Sansa felt nothing but relief, as though a great weight had been lifted from her. Only later did Sansa understand the weight that had been lifted was fear.
The local VA hospital accepted her application for internship earlier than she anticipated, and before long Sansa was working as a nurse's assistant in the wound care ward, cleaning burns and injuries sustained far away, everything from concussive wounds from road side bombs to shrapnel, amputations and burns. The work was difficult, gruesome and tedious but to Sansa's great dismay, that was not the worst of it. Many of the men's worst injuries were not physical but mental; and Sansa found the vacuous gazes of the young soldiers far more difficult to stomach than the sight of their physical wounds.
For this reason, Sansa spent a fair amount of time at the Shawnee sept praying with her friend Jennifer and making sacred bundles for Sandor. In the deepest recesses of her loneliness, Sansa's faith in Sandor's return would waver and so she sought solace and encouragement from the people. Every time she visited, the holy woman would bless her and provide reassurance that her husband would return safely, and Sansa felt better for it. She also visited Elder brother on a semi-weekly basis, and the therapy sessions helped her in more ways than she could have imagined: she slept better at night and the frequency of her anxiety attacks lessened as well. Talking about Sandor made her feel better too, and though the holy man revealed nothing confidential, it was nice learning more about her husband through the eyes of his friend.
Whenever Sansa felt she could endure no more, she reminded herself that working in the VA as a registered nurse would allow her to help other men just like her beloved husband, that she would understand him better for the experience, and with great determination Sansa continued her studies, rose to the head of her class and distinguished herself among the staff at the hospital as well.
Before long Halloween arrived. Loras and Margaery had implored her to come to their annual blowout, but Sansa chose to stay at home carving pumpkins and preparing the puree for pies. It was time to carry on an old Stark tradition, she decided, and so Sansa went about making huge batches of her mother's handmade candies. As gifts for the neighborhood children, Sansa painstakingly wrapped large candy filled boxes and made sample trays to dole out on Halloween, just as her family had done at Winterfell.
To her surprise, at dusk a few children had already gathered outside the house, lurking in her bushes, waiting for dark. Seeing them all dressed up in costume made Sansa ache for the day when her and Sandor's children would be the ones running around the place.
"Welcome, y'all, come on in." When they hid, she added, "What are you children doing?" Smiling, she then waved them on to the porch. "Is this a local tradition?"
"No, we came to see the scary man," one boy grinned.
"The monster with the scary face who jumps out of the bushes." Another boy offered before he noticed Sansa's cheerful expression quickly deteriorate into a saddened frown.
Even though she knew they meant no harm, her heart ached for Sandor at their innocent words. It was clear that in previous years he played along with them, but that was a common coping mechanism for those who have been bullied or viewed as outcasts. How long has Sandor suffered being seen as a monster? How long has his burned face been used as a Halloween foil for the neighborhood children?
She thought of her brother Bran, who had been paralyzed in a fall, and silently prayed he would be spared such indignity.
A little girl dressed as Elsa shook her head at the boys. "Forgive us, missus, we didn't mean any harm. Mister Clegane always gives us a good scare, jumping out from the bushes and growling and all, and has plenty of candy. He gives us the full sized ones, not the miniatures. Is he coming out?" She peeked hopefully around Sansa.
A deep ache settled in her chest as Sansa imagined her husband's lifelong suffering. "No, he's not. My husband Sandor isn't a monster; he was burned as a child. It makes him special, not scary, and while it's okay to play monster with him, I won't have you calling him such." She knew they didn't mean to upset her but still, Sansa could not let it go. "He is a brave soldier, like GI Joe, and he is off serving our country as we speak."
"Sorry ma'am." The children muttered by turns.
"Okay then, all's forgiven." Sansa smiled and held out a tray to them. "You all come and get some candy now."
"Is his feelings hurt, do ya think?" The smallest boy asked quietly as he debated over the tray, trying to pick the biggest piece.
"Well, I don't know, he's pretty thick-skinned," Sansa knelt down to give him better access. "But if you had been burned, wouldn't it bother you for people to call you scary?" She secretly pointed out the biggest candy to him.
"Yes, I would." the boy nodded solemnly, though the candy restored his happy smile quickly enough. "I don't like being called names on account of being little. We won't call him scary no more." The other children quickly agreed.
"Thank you," Sansa smiled at each of them. Feeling a bit guilty for lecturing them on their holiday, she then invited them onto the porch. "I made special Clegane candies for you all. Wouldn't you like to try some more, just to see if you like them?"
Beaming, the children eagerly sampled Sansa's candies and happily took her individually wrapped packages.
"Do you miss Mister Clegane?" The little girl asked.
"Yes, very much," Sansa choked back her tears and gave her another candy.
After that day, the children, sometimes bearing flowers pilfered from a nearby yard, would stop by and said hello to her on their way home from school. The children's presence somehow soothed Sansa even as it increased her desire to have children of her own, and before long Sansa was hosting her own games of hide and seek with them (complete with full size candies), thus ingratiating herself with the neighborhood children just as Sandor had done before her.
It really didn't take Sansa very long to feel comfortable in her new home (though not so much as when Sandor was there) but the place held so many good memories for her that the young woman preferred staying in and crafting to going out. Sansa excelled at knitting, and so she made throw blankets, socks, and scarves for both she and Sandor, all the while replaying their times together in her mind.
When she grew weary of that routine, Sansa went shopping for the items they would need such as extra blankets and sheets, a new duvet cover, new dishes, towels and anything else that struck her fancy. Loras and Margaery often accompanied her on this shopping trips, and though they pleaded with her to go out and get a social life, Sansa preferred readying her nest for Sandor's arrival to attending concerts and movies.
When the late November rains began, the change in the weather brought a multitude of household disasters upon their home. The roof began leaking in the den and then the pipe in the bathroom wall burst and flooded the basement, requiring a host of expensive repairs. Fortunately, Sansa's full inheritance had come into her possession on her twenty-first birthday and while meeting the cost of the repairs was not difficult, the stress of having their home under construction put yet another great strain on Sansa.
The outside of the house needed painting, and so Sansa meticulously studied colors with Loras until she found a match for the exterior. The bathroom needed rebuilding after the flooding, and she used the opportunity to have a large jetted tub installed where a small closet had been, along with another skylight in the ceiling. Since the basement was brick and empty, aside from a good drying out and a new washer and dryer, very little repairs needed to be made there.
Not wanting to make too many changes while Sandor was gone lest she upset her new husband, Sansa vigilantly insisted that the materials and colors match the original work and then let Loras add a few decorative touches for good measure. The finished result was a very lovely, very warm and pleasant home, pleasing Sansa greatly and making her long all the more for her husband's return.
The nights were the hardest for her, and many times Sansa cuddled his pillow, inhaling Sandor's lingering masculine scent and pretending he was beside her. Invariably she would cry then, cry until she was exhausted. When his masculine masculine smell faded from the bedding, Sansa then took one of his shirts, dabbed his cologne on it and then put it over the pillow.
"Oh honey," Loras consoled her when he stopped by early one morning and caught her. Before Sansa could offer an excuse, he said, "I've done the same many times since Renly passed. You're grieving too, you know, so be gentle with yourself and do whatever you need to feel better." After that Sansa didn't feel so foolish about it.
On a late November morning, an orderly wheeled in a new patient for Sansa, a man with golden blond hair as bright as the sun. In fact, Sansa had never seen anyone with hair that color, and she tried hard not to stare at him. He was handsome, that much she could tell, even though he was very thin, dehydrated and his skin was covered in ulcers and bruises. Despite his serious condition, he still managed to wink his eye at her as she looked over his injuries.
Something about the man was familiar, though Sansa could not put her finger on it. She studied him carefully, trying to place who the soldier reminded her of while Dr. Pycelle looked over his sores.
"Welcome, sir, I am Sansa, your wound care nurse." Sansa extended her hand with a friendly smile. "I am here to assist Dr. Pycelle today."
She started to look at his chart when the soldier raised the stump where his right hand had been. "You'll forgive me, Miss, if I don't reciprocate the pleasantries. Major Jaime Lannister at your service."
Gasping, Sansa dropped the tray she was holding, spilling her supplies all over his lap. "Please forgive me, Major Lannister, I am merely surprised to see you here is all." Fear and hope both swept over her at the sound of his name on her lips.
"You would be Sansa Clegane," Jaime laughed wickedly, his deep green eyes twinkling in amusement despite his obvious discomfort. "Sandor said his wife was studying to be a wound care nurse. Forgive my forwardness, but what you lack in grace you make up for in prettiness. You're every bit the beauty he described, a fete I believed no woman could accomplish after the way he carried on about you."
Disregarding his complements, Sansa's mind flooded with questions about Sandor, but the withering glare Dr. Pycelle gave Sansa said that she needed to focus on her professionalism. Perhaps if I am extra kind to him, he will tell me news of Sandor. "I was with Sandor when your wife called with the news of your capture. I prayed for you every day, and I am so relieved to see you are home safe at last."
"Safe but not sound, Sansa." He wryly remarked. "No more missions for me."
Dr. Pycelle examined Jaime's amputation, frowning at the infection he found there. "Nurse, I'm going to debride the wound. He has cellulitis and rapidly developing sepsis in his right arm."
"Yes, doctor," Sansa replied while readying the equipment. "Will you be needing a local anesthetic?"
"No," Jaime insisted. "None of that for me."
Swallowing hard, Sansa tried another approach. "You might consider it, sir, for it will go easier on you and lessen the time it takes the doctor to work."
"No, I don't want any more of that shit." He shook his head resolutely as he turned away.
As the doctor began, Sansa tried to divert his attention from the pain. "I met your wife, Brienne. She is a lovely woman, truly, and so kind hearted, too."
"Yes she is," Jaime stared off for a moment as if lost in thought, then hissed in pain. "She'll be home shortly."
Shortly-how soon was shortly? Did Brienne's return mean that Sandor would be home soon as well?
Fighting to control her emotions, Sansa smiled as she swabbed his skin. "I am so glad to hear that. I'll be very happy to have her back here, too. We were just starting to get to know each other before she deployed. The last time I saw her, she was-"
"…at your wedding. She told me," Jaime finished for her, the man sizing up her anxious expression as he spoke. "Clegane told me all about the ugly business you suffered with my family, Sansa, there's no need to dance around it. It might surprise you to learn that I've no regard for my nephew and neither does Tyrion. I can only apologize for what they have put you and your family through."
The color had drained from him face, but the way in which Jaime stared at her made Sansa wonder if he was sincere. After a few moments she concluded that he was being genuine, and so soberly Sansa nodded, after which the young woman allowed a small smile to light up her face.
Sighing in relief, Jaime mirrored her expression and let out a short laugh in response. "No more of such talk, then; do we have a deal?"
"Alright." Sansa smiled, amazed that a grievously injured man who was undergoing a surgical procedure without anesthetic and almost too weak to talk still had so much mischief left in him. She so desperately wanted to ask about Sandor but another sharp glare from the doctor silenced her once more.
Jaime watched her closely as she wrapped the freshly debrided areas in clean bandages. "You must forgive me, Major Lannister. I am a student here and as you can imagine I have set all of my professionalism aside with you just now."
Jaime shook his head. "Dr. Pycelle, you're dismissed."
"Major, I-"
"I wish to have a word with Sansa alone." Jaime suddenly ordered in a surprisingly strong and authoritative voice.
"But Sir, I have am not finished-"
"That's an order, Captain, unless you feel like getting busted down a few ranks," he intoned, his green eyes sharpening narrowly at the man. After the doctor took his leave, Jaime turned his attention to her. "Now then, go ahead."
Confused, Sansa shook her head. "Go ahead with what?"
"Go ahead and ask me about your husband. I know you're dying to, and that old codger was the only reason you held back." Jaime grinned at her.
"Please tell me: do you have news of Sandor?" Anxiously she stared into his eyes, waiting for what she did not know.
"He was wounded in the leg but he'll be fine, Sansa," Jaime spoke softly, and for the first time Sansa saw no sign of the mocking, jovial charmer within the soldier; just a very weak, very sad man. "He expressly requested that no one tell you."
"Wounded? Oh good gods-how?" Sansa gasped out, suddenly clutching Jaime's shoulder to steady herself. "Was he captured too? How did it happen?"
"Rescuing me, that's how." Jaime's eyes clouded over at the admission, and then he hesitantly reached out and patted her with his good hand. "No one would take Sandor Clegane alive, Sansa, believe that." He shook his head at the memory, as though he was replaying the scene over in his mind as he spoke. "He wasn't captured but he sustained a flesh wound on his thigh. He'll most likely walk with a limp, but he's had worse. They sent him to Walter Reed until he can walk on his own. Should be in another week or so, judging by his determination to return to you." He attempted a laugh to lighten the mood. "He's got a few other issues, too, you know."
"I know, sir," Sansa whispered. "I know all about the PTSD."
"He's suffering, Sansa," Jaime quickly raised his finger to his lips. "But don't mention that here or to anyone else. They'll keep him longer."
"Well, maybe they should, if it is as serious as that," Sansa weakly suggested, all the while inwardly she desperately tried to force down the worst scenarios she could imagine. "We both know he needs the help."
"The Elder brother is the only one who can help him, aside from you." Jaime leaned in closer. "Sandor kept your amulets, you know, he wore them next to his heart despite the ribbing of the men. It was the worst fighting either of us has ever seen, Sansa, and yet never once did he retreat, never once did he back down. It was his memory of you that kept him alive, kept him fighting-Sandor believed he would make it because you told him he would. Just be there for him, Sansa, and he'll heal." Turning away, he called, "Doctor, get your ass back in here and finish this mess. I don't have all day."
As the doctor finished up the procedure, the frail man turned back and smirked at her one last time before quietly fainting away from the pain. Pulling up a chair, Sansa sighed heavily, covered him with a blanket and then settled back in her seat, watching him sleep while she prayed to her father.