Sandor

They were standing in line in Starbucks, and it was so crowded that their bodies were just touching. Sansa's back was to him, brushing up against his chest, and Sandor fought the urge to wrap his arms around her. She was so close he could smell her perfume: something soft and light and feminine, mixing with her own natural scent. It was difficult not to lean down and put his nose in her hair.

Sandor hated shopping, and always had. It was a waste of time to go to the mall and meander around aimlessly, leaving with more than you intended to spend. While he dressed well for his job (as Joffrey's bodyguard he was expected to not look like a slob), Sandor rarely went out of his way to buy clothes unless he absolutely needed them.

And shopping during the holidays, even though he was only checking price tags, was even more stressful and aggravating. But having Sansa with him changed everything.

They had not spoken a whole lot during their time together walking from store to store, but it was pleasant to be with her. Her cheerful smile had crumbled when they visited the pet store, and he watched concernedly as her shoulders drooped. She missed her dog, Lady, he knew. That whole thing had been a huge mess; the Stark children were close with their dogs, and it was no surprise that Sansa still felt pain after a couple of years. Wanting to lift her spirits a little, he saw the coffee shop and suggested getting a drink, remembering her addiction with the beverage. She had perked up at his offer, and gave him a grateful smile and a polite chirp of thank you.

Sansa turned to look up at him, breaking him out of his thoughts. "What are you getting?" she asked. Sandor scanned the red menu behind the counter. "Just a regular coffee. I don't like that fancy stuff." She giggled. "The fancy stuff is fun though! And they have so many good holiday drinks." Sandor just stared at her. "I'll pass." She rolled her eyes but smiled

Sansa ordered when it was her turn, but when she reached into her purse to fetch her wallet, Sandor stopped her. "This is on me." She opened her mouth to protest, then clamped it shut, a tiny grin pulling at her lips. Sandor ordered and paid, and they walked to the counter to wait for their drinks. "Thank you," she said shyly, biting her lip and looking up at him through her eyelashes. She needs to stop that, he thought, watching her mouth. "No problem," he said out loud.

Her drink came first, and he watched as she blew on it and took a sip. "Do you want a taste?" she asked. Would I. He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Fine." She giggled again and handed him the cup, and he took a sip. It wasn't bad, but too sweet. "What is it?" "Pumpkin Spice Latte. I always get it around this time of the year, because it's seasonal," Sansa explained, taking the cup back. That's when it hit him. Had they really just shared a drink from the same cup? And she hadn't minded at all…he shifted back and forth, half-expecting her to at least wipe the opening off or reach for a new lid. She did neither, and instead took a long swig out of the cup, licking some whipped cream from her lips. He swallowed, grateful when his drink came to distract him from her perfect pink mouth.

There was nowhere to sit, so they wandered back out into the mall. "I still have no idea what to get Arya," Sansa sighed, gazing around mournfully. "I guess I'll have to do some detective work." Sandor simply nodded, not having much of an opinion on the subject. The younger Stark girl hated his guts, and the feeling was pretty mutual. He had prevented her from beating the snot out of Joffrey one time at a party, and he had been on her blacklist ever since.

"So…how is everything?" Sansa asked. They found a table in an open area near the food court and took shrugged, turning his cup around and around in his hand. "Same as always. Watching his highness. Tasks for the Lannisters. The usual crap." Sansa nodded slowly, glancing down at her own cup. "Has…Joffrey said anything?" Sandor hesitated, regarding her closely. He wasn't going to lie to her, but he didn't want her to be hurt more than she already was Joffrey's abuse. "Nothing worth repeating," he finally answered. She nodded again. "He's mad I wouldn't hang out with him today." "Yea he was bitching about it when I left to come here." Sandor hadn't meant to bring it up, but he decided to ask her anyways. "Are you still planning on breaking up with him?"

She avoided his eye, and for a moment Sandor panicked. Had she backed out? "Yes," she answered. "We have that Christmas party in two days. I'm going to do it then." Relief spread through him, but he tried to appear nonchalant. "That's good." Sansa glanced at him curiously, chewing her lip again. "Have you ever dated anyone, Sandor?" He choked on his coffee, and lifted his sleeve to cover his mouth as he coughed. "Why would you ask that, girl?" She shrugged, giving him a playful grin. "Just wondering." He rolled his eyes at her and frowned. He didn't like where this was going, not one bit. Sandor had never really dated anyone; he had one night stands occasionally, and maybe saw some of them more than once, but he was quick to get rid of them. They didn't actually like him, he knew. Those women only wanted his money and the title of dating Joffrey Baratheon's bodyguard. Most women were too afraid of him and his scars to be approachable, unless they were already well into their drinks and didn't care what guy they ended up with that night.

But of course, he wasn't going to tell Sansa all that. "I don't date," he answered, hoping she would drop the matter. Her brow furrowed. "Why not?" He looked at her in frustration. "Because, that's why." "That makes no sense," she replied, crossing her arms. "I don't care if it does or not," he snapped. Sansa jumped a little at his angry tone, but her eyes narrowed. "You're so touchy," she fired back. "I was just asking a question." Surprised by her reaction, he huffed and looked away. A few minutes passed in silence, creating an awkward tension in the air. Sandor wondered why she didn't just get up and leave. She was still mad; he could practically taste the irritation rolling off of her as she glared at him.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed. "Look, little bird, I don't date because there aren't exactly a lot of women lined up to go out with this ugly mug, ok?" There, he said. She better be satisfied.

She didn't answer at first, but the anger disappeared from her face, replaced by something like pity. He gritted his teeth. He didn't need pity, especially not from her. "Well…" she said softly, looking more embarrassed now. "That shouldn't detain you from finding someone. Beauty is only skin deep, you know." He snorted. "There's nothing 'beautiful' as you say, inside either, girl. You should know that." She gave him a sad smile. "I think there is." He blinked, gaping at her. What?

Suddenly her phone rang, and Sansa answered it quickly. "Hello? Oh, hey, Mom." Sandor leaned back in his chair, trying to unravel what just happened. The little bird thought he was a good person inside…clearly, she had overlooked his past because he had been nice to her every once in a while. But just because he had a soft spot for her didn't mean he was good. Sandor was a black, dirty scoundrel down to the core, and he knew it. He had killed lots of people, and even enjoyed it. He was involved in many of the Lannister's schemes. Sandor shook his head. The girl had either forgotten or chosen to turn a blind eye. The question was, would he let her?

A/N: Sandor, go for it!