A/N – This is a San x San interlude. The timing of this chapter starts the same night that Arya got into her accident.
It's dark outside. Sansa watches as Joffrey paces across the floor of his living room. She is sitting on the leather couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Sandor is standing by the window, staring out at the night sky as Joffrey continues to scream at him.
"I will not have you making a mockery of me in front of my own fucking circuit! Do you hear me, dog? Look at me!" Joffrey yells.
Slowly, Sandor turns around. He towers over Joffrey, and his shoulders are almost twice as wide. Coal black eyes stare Joffrey down, and Sandor's scarred lip breaks into a snarl. "A little louder, Joff. I didn't quite catch that last part."
Joffrey narrows his eyes. "I will not deal with your insubordination. I pay you to race for me. I pay you to fucking win for me. I pay you to protect me. I do not pay you to be a fucking incompetent, disobedient bastard! Now are you going to tuck your ragged tail between your legs and bow your fucking head, or am I going to have to fire you?"
"I dare you to fire me," Sandor growls. "Try showing up at the circuit without protection, and you'll find out just how loved you are."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a fact."
Sansa clasps her hands more tightly. It's not good for her when Joffrey gets mad, and Sandor is doing a very good job of pushing him over the edge. When Joffrey gets angry, he likes picking on the weak, on those smaller than him. And considering that the only person in the room besides Sansa is the hound, her chances aren't very good of escaping unharmed.
Unsure of what to do, she tentatively clears her throat. Joffrey whips around to look at her, eyes wild. "What is it?" He snaps.
"I've just remembered that I need to go home. There are some documents that I need to sign, and-"
Joffrey walks forward so that he's standing in front of Sansa. "Getting behind on your work, are you? I wouldn't want you to have the same fate as your pathetic, fucking father. Baratheon Corporations needs a Stark at all times to keep the mindless masses happy."
"Of course. You're so right." Sansa grabs her small purse and stands up. She sidles to the side so that there's space between Joffrey and her. "I'll go home right now and finish my work."
Sansa starts to turn around but Joffrey grabs her by the arm. His grip is tight and forceful. He yanks her so that she's standing in front of him. "You're hurting me, Joffrey," Sansa says.
"Don't be so pathetic." Joffrey only tightens his grip. "I won't have you running out of here so quickly. Don't think Sandor is the only one in trouble."
Sandor is still standing by the window, but his eyes are hard and narrowed in on Joffrey's hand. He takes just the smallest step forward so that Joffrey won't notice. "I haven't done anything wrong," Sansa says.
"Really?"
"Yes, of course." Sansa bites her lip and widens her eyes, praying she looks innocent. "Have I done something to bother you?"
"The other night at the track- why did you try to hold me back when that fucking mystery racer appeared? You never interfere with the races. Why were you suddenly so interested in keeping me uninvolved?"
Sansa bows her eyes. "I didn't want you to get hurt, Joffrey."
"You thought a little girl could hurt me? How pathetic do you think I am?" Joffrey finally releases the grip on Sansa's arm and shoves her to the couch.
"I don't," Sansa whispers. "Of course I don't think that."
Joffrey steps forward and lowers his voice. "Than what the fuck were you trying to do? Protect the girl? Do you know who she is?"
Sansa's face pales. "Of course not."
"You're lying."
"I'm not." Her voice is unsteady, and Sansa prays Joffrey doesn't notice. He can't know about Arya, she thinks, he can't know. He's just bluffing. Sansa stands back up so that she's in front of Joffrey. She raises a hand and presses it against his cheek. "I love you, Joffrey. I would never lie to you."
Her heart is beating wildly. Joffrey narrows his eyes. "You're a stupid, lying, bitch," he spits out before smacking her across the face.
Sansa gasps and stumbles backwards. She raises a hand to the tender cheek, and tears prick at her eyes. Sandor is still standing silently behind Joffrey, but his jaw is clenched tightly, and his hand is hovering above the knife he keeps latched to his belt.
Breathe, Sansa tells herself, ignore the pain. Make Joffrey believe you. For Arya. She takes a steadying breath before stepping forward once more. Joffrey is staring at her with wild eyes. "I don't like it when you hurt me," Sansa says quietly. "It shows weakness. I was just trying to be honest, and-"
"Are you calling me weak?"
"That's not what I-"
"You think I'm weak? That I'm some stupid, little bastard that you have wound around your fucking finger?"
"That's not-"
"You will learn to respect me, Sansa. I am your fucking fiancé. You answer to me. You obey me."
The thought of obeying Joffrey for the rest of her life makes Sansa sick to her stomach. The thought of living under the rule of some over-privileged tyrant for year after year is horrifying. "Marriage is a communion of equals," Sansa says, "and I will not-"
And then Joffrey punches her. A sharp right hook to her cheekbone. The pain is instant and overwhelming. Sansa falls to the couch, her vision blurring. She can feel Joffrey approach, but she's too dizzy to keep her eyes open. "We are not equals, and you'd better learn that soon enough, or I'll beat the lesson into you." Sansa gasps in pain, in fear. She lifts a hand to her cheek and it feels wet with blood and tears.
"As for you hound-" Joffrey is further away now. "You'd better learn to respect me or get the fuck out of San Diego. Now clean that bitch up for me, and I'll see you both tomorrow."
As soon as Joffrey slams the door shut behind him, Sansa starts crying. Tears slide down her face, the salt burning the cut in her cheek. She tries to stay calm, but she knows her entire body is trembling. Joffrey has hit her before but never this hard. And what's to keep him from doing it again and again?
"Stop crying, would you?" Sandor says, his voice rough.
Sansa opens her eyes. The room is titled sideways, and her vertigo is making her nauseous. Sandor steps forward and crouches down. Even on his knees, he still towers above Sansa as she lies on the couch. He lifts a hand to her face, and Sansa automatically flinches away.
"I'm not going to hurt you," his says gruffly. "I'm just seeing how bad the damage is. One of Joffrey's rings must have cut you."
"All right," Sansa whispers. It's strange. She never imagined in her entire life that the hound would be nursing to her. His black eyes are dark and intent as his hand gently sweeps against her cheek. For some reason, up close, his scars don't look as menacing. Sansa can almost see the handsome, young man behind the burned face.
"Does this hurt?" He asks, as he gently prods the cut.
Sansa winces. "Yes."
Sandor's hand sweeps down the rest of her face, touching even the unbruised parts. Sansa blushes as his thumb just barely brushes against the side of her lip. She can't read his dark eyes, but she feels as if she's lain naked before him, and that he can hear her each and every thought. Unsettling man, she thinks. Yet still much more comforting than Joffrey.
Finally, Sandor takes his hand away. He stands up and clears his throat. "The cut doesn't look too bad, but you're going to have a lot of swelling tomorrow."
"Would you mind," Sansa pauses. She's embarrassed to ask Sandor for help. "Is there any chance you could take me home? I'm afraid to drive. I'm feeling very dizzy."
"Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"No, definitely no." Sansa can just imagine that unfolding. The nurse asking her what happened, trying to lie, and then eventually breaking into tears and admitting that her fiancé abused her. "Just a ride home, please."
"Fine." Sandor steps forward and suddenly lifts Sansa from the couch. She feels tiny in his giant arms.
Her face flushes. "You don't have to carry me."
"I won't have you passing out on this hard floor."
"I suppose, thank you then." Sandor is right. Sansa is sure she wouldn't make it five steps without collapsing. Her head is still spinning. Everything feels safer with her head cradled against Sandor's hard chest.
"You left some blood on the couch," Sandor says. "Maybe we should clean it."
Sansa glances at the stain. It's barely visible against the dark leather. "No. Leave it." Maybe one day, Joffrey will see it as a reminder and actually regret the monster he is.
That night Sansa dreams of a car bursting into flames. There's a driver inside. Sansa rushes towards the car and pries open the melting, scorched door. "Arya," she gasps, expecting to find her little sister inside. But instead, it's the hound who turns towards her, his face burned and charred. "Come to save me?" He asks, his grin twisted and terrifying. "Come to fly me away little bird?" "Where's my sister?" Sansa gasps. He grins again, flakes of skin flying into the wind. "You can't save everyone, little bird."
When Sansa wakes up, her entire body is slick with cold sweat. She wants to curl into a ball and go back to sleep, but her face feels stiff and tender, and she's far too curious to see what damage Joffrey has done.
Just the thought of his name makes her furious. He's always been abusive, but usually it was verbal abuse, and Sansa can take any spiteful word he throws at her. However, she can't defend herself from these physical assaults. Even if she were able to a get a few punches in, Joffrey would eventually overpower her, and she would turn out worse for the wear.
She makes her way to her vanity table and gasps when she sees her face. The entire left side is swollen, and there's a sharp cut down her cheek. She tentatively touches the swollen area and winces in pain. "Fuck," she whispers. She's supposed to be at a meeting at 10 o'clock, but there's no way she can go into the office looking like this.
Sansa grabs her foundation and starts applying it thickly over the bruised skin, but it doesn't help much. There's no way to hide the swelling or the cut. Frustrated, Sansa throws her foundation onto the dresser where it clangs against the wood. She'll have to miss work, which will make Joffrey even more furious.
The thought of packing up of all her things and simply driving back to Montana is incredibly tempting. She's considered it before, but then she remembers why she's stuck with Joffrey in the first place. If she leaves him, he will sue her father and ruin the prospects of her entire family. No. She has to stay. She has to be strong.
She grabs her cell phone and calls the office. The secretary immediately picks up. "Melissa, this is Sansa. I won't be able to come into today. I'm not feeling well." She hangs up before Melissa can respond. That way there's no need to answer questions with more lies.
Sansa places her cell phone back on the table and heads to the bathroom. If she's going to take the day off of work, she might as well enjoy it by lounging in the bath for a while. Just as she's turning the knobs on the tub, there's a knock on the door.
Her stomach automatically clenches in fear. Joffrey, she thinks, he's come over to make sure I've learned my lesson. Her heart starts racing. Maybe I'll just go back to bed. I'm sleeping. I'm still sleeping, and I didn't hear the door.
Someone knocks again. This time louder. And then a voice speaks up, "I know you're in there! I see the light on!"
Arya. It's not Joffrey, it's Arya! Sansa sighs in relief. She rushes towards the door and pulls it open. Arya is standing there in jean shorts and a black tank top. There's a large bandage on her forehead and bruises on her arms.
"What happened?" Sansa gasps, immediately forgetting about Joffrey.
Arya laughs. "What happened to me? What about what happened to you?" Arya walks through the door, right past Sansa. "That's a nice shiner you've got there, sister."
Sansa's hand goes up to her cheek. She wishes she had tried putting on more foundation. What is she going to tell Arya? That Joffrey hit her? Or should she lie? "Thanks, same to you. What happened?"
Arya shrugs her shoulders. "Crashed the car. Pretty stupid of me, to be honest." She's pacing around Sansa's apartment, picking things up and putting them back down. "This is a nice place. How do you afford it?"
"Baratheon Corporations pays me to smile prettily."
"Right. So who'd you get in a fight with? I never imagined Sansa Stark in a fist fight."
"It's not important."
Arya steps forward and catches Sansa's eye. "He hit you didn't he?" Her voice is dripping with distaste.
"It's not important," Sansa repeats.
"I won't let him hit you."
"Really? What are you going to do about it? Fight him back? You may be strong, Arya, but you're tiny."
"And he's a tiny little piece of shit, and I'm not going to let him beat up on my sister!" Arya grabs Sansa's hand and squeezes it tightly. "I understand that you're trying to sacrifice yourself for the family, Sansa, but don't be stupid. Do you think mom or dad or Bran or Robb would want you to get yourself beat up over it?"
"Of course not, but-"
"But what?" Arya crosses her arms.
"But it's for the good of everyone, and besides, this is the first time Joffrey has hit me this hard. He was mad at Sandor, and he took it out on me." Best not to mention that he was mad because a new racer showed up. Sansa doesn't want Arya blaming herself.
"And you think he won't do it again?"
Sansa sighs. "I'm not sure."
"I don't want you seeing him alone anymore."
"How are you going to manage that?"
Arya throws her hands up in frustration. "This is insane. I'm not going to let you be Joffrey's chew toy. Look, I came over here this morning because he called about half an hour ago. He wants me in the race this Friday. I'm going to continue to race anonymously, but I don't want you getting hurt if for some reason my real identity comes out. I think you should get out of town for awhile."
"I can't do that, and you know it."
"Well then maybe I shouldn't race," Arya says, but Sansa knows it would absolutely kill her sister to stop racing.
"No. You came here to race, and you're racing."
"Well than what are we supposed to do?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe," Arya is pacing now. "Maybe I have an idea. What if you agreed to at least learn how to defend yourself? That way if Joffrey gets rough again, you can do something about it."
Sansa narrows her eyes. "I've never been good at fighting or sports or any of that, Arya. That was always your territory."
"That's because you never practiced, and you never wanted to get your nails messed up."
"Well who's going to teach me?"
"I will! Well, no..." Arya pauses, pacing again. "I don't really have time. I need to get my car fixed and practice for Friday, but I promise you that I will find someone for you by the end of the day."
Sansa narrows her eyes. "Who are you going to find? You just moved here. You don't know anyone besides Jon and that mechanic that seems to have taken a liking to you."
Arya's face blushes at the mention of the mechanic, and Sansa realizes that's a topic she wants to pursue later. "I'll find someone."
"The thing is, I know someone who might be willing to help me."
"Who?"
"He hates Joffrey as much as I do, and he definitely knows how to fight."
"Who?" Arya repeats.
"Sandor Clegane."
Arya snorts. "You want that fucking monster of a racer to teach you how to fight?"
"He's not a monster. He's actually quite gentle for his size."
"Gentle for his size?"
"Look. He's strong, and he's smart, and he hates Joffrey."
"You think he'll agree to teach you?"
"If you pay Sandor enough, I'm pretty sure he'll agree to do just about anything."
A/N – Sorry this is a bit of a filler chapter. I'll try to get the next one up quickly. Hope you enjoyed!
Thank you so much for all of the reviews / alerts/ favorites !