A/N – Sorry it's been so long since the last update! I had to take this very, very, very annoying test called the GRE, so I've been studying for it instead of working on this fanfic. Obviously my priorities were not in the right place.
Hopefully I haven't lost your guys' attention. Here's the next chapter. It's a San x San!
Someone knocks on the apartment door, and Sansa jumps in surprise. Her pulse starts racing, and her first instinct is to run into her bedroom and lock the door. Her entire body is bruised and beaten from last night. After cleaning her up, Sandor took her back to her apartment at four in the morning, and instead of the sleeping, Sansa spent the entire night worrying.
Everything is getting too complicated. Her plan was so clear in the beginning: find something to incriminate Joffrey and make sure he never hurts her family again. Now she has the evidence, but she doesn't know what to do with it. Now she has the strength to fight back against Joffrey, but has she just made things worse? Did she just get lucky last night? What if he's at her door right now, and what if he doesn't fight fair?
And with all of that running through her head, Sansa's thoughts keep flickering back to Sandor, to his scarred muscles, to the long tattoos wrapped around his thick, strong arms. She isn't sure why she went to him last night. At the time, it had seemed like the right decision. But now Sansa isn't so sure. Spending this much time with Sandor is confusing. Every time his dark black eyes snap in her direction, her body fills with a low, pulsing heat. At first, she went to Sandor for protection, but is it possible she wants him for more than that?
Another knock sounds on the door, and Sansa whips her head in that direction. It's nine in the morning. Joffrey should be at work right now. He should be answering questions about his black eye and the limp in his step. There's no way he's at Sansa's door. And yet, the possibility makes her stomach curl in fear.
You're stronger than this, Sansa reminds herself. You're stronger than him. You don't let fear get in your way.
Sansa takes a steadying breath before standing up and walking over to the door. She peers through the peephole and is relieved to find Margaery standing in the hallway. Her friend looks as beautiful as usual. She's wearing fitted tan pants and a lacey white blouse, and her hair is swept up in a tight bun.
Sansa opens the door and smiles. "Morning," she says, "What are you doing here this early?'
Margaery stares at Sansa, eyes wide in shock. Her gaze slowly moves over Sansa's bruised face. "He hurt you again, didn't he?"
There's no point in lying. Last week, Sansa broke down and told Margaery about Joffrey's abusive tendencies. She told Margaery about her family and about Joffrey's threats. She was nervous revealing that much to someone outside of her own family, but so far, Margaery appears to be a true and caring friend.
"Come inside," Sansa responds. She closes the door after Margaery enters the room, and they move to the couch.
Margaery immediately takes Sansa's hands. She runs her fingers over the soft skin and squeezes warmly. She stares straight at Sansa with wide, compassionate eyes. "Tell me what happened. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Of course, that's a complete lie. "I promise."
"Sansa, sweetie, you don't look fine." Margaery moves once of her hands gently over the bruised skin on Sansa's cheek. The slight touch makes Sansa flinch in discomfort. "Why didn't you call me? I could have helped you. I could have come over last night and –"
"I'm fine. I promise. It's not as bad as it looks." Sansa tries to smile. "And anyways, you should see Joffrey. I bet he's all black and blue today."
Margaery looks shocked. "You hit him back?"
"I won't be his punching bag. He can threaten me. He can blackmail me. But I won't be his punching bag. And soon enough, I won't be his anything."
"You aren't going to marry him?"
This time Sansa smiles for real. "No. I'm not going to marry him."
"I thought you had to- what about your family? Won't he send your father to jail?"
"He can't hurt my family if I send him to jail first."
Something flickers in Margaery's gaze. Her expression changes. It looks more reserved, guarded, like a blank mask. She licks her lips. Her eyes widen even more than usual, filled with innocence. "Send him to jail?" She asks carefully. "How are you going to do that?"
An excited energy starts to emerge within Sansa. Margaery can help her. She can help her find a way to use this evidence.
"I have to show you something." Sansa stands up and quickly moves towards her bedroom. She opens the bottom drawer of her dresser, lifts the pile of soft cardigans, and extracts the manila folder.
When she gets back into the living room, Margaery is also standing up. Her eyes are trained on the folder. "What's that?" She says in a closed, tight voice.
"It's my secret weapon." Sansa starts to hand the folder to Margaery, but she pauses for just a second. "I can trust you, right? I know your brother works for the Baratheons now and-"
Margaery smiles warmly. Her voice is soft and sweet. "Of course you can trust me. My brother, well, it's just a job Sansa. If he knew what Joffrey was doing to you, he would quit the company in two seconds. I haven't told him what's going on because I promised to keep your secret safe." Margaery takes a step forward, her hand lifting to reach for the folder. "Sansa, you are one of my dearest friends. I love you, and I would never betray you."
The words are affectionate and sincere, and Sansa suddenly feels very thankful that she has found such a caring friend. "Yes. Of course I trust you," Sansa replies before handing over the folder. "I'm sorry I doubted that trust for even a second."
Margaery immediately takes the folder and moves back towards the couch. She opens the file and starts flipping through the memos, her eyes quickly scanning over the words. "My goodness," she says softly when she finishes reading.
"Exactly." Sansa stands before Margaery and starts pacing the floor. "This file proves that the Baratheons purposefully left dangerous cars on the market. They covered up the accidents with hush money, and they let the car stay in production because it was so profitable. It's sick."
"It's terrible," Margaery agrees. "I can't believe it."
"I can." Sansa continues to pace, and her hands twist together anxiously. "Now the problem is- I'm not sure how to use this information. Are these memos enough evidence? Would it hold up in court? Would it send the Baratheons to jail or would they just have to pay some fine with their exorbitant amount of money?" Sansa takes a breath. "I don't want to rush into this. I want to use the information in the best way possible, but the problem is, we only have three weeks."
"Three weeks?"
"Three weeks until the wedding. If I can't incriminate Joffrey and his family by that time, I'll have to marry the bastard to keep my family safe."
"So we have three weeks."
Sansa glances at Margaery. Her friend is already rereading the memos, innocent eyes trained in concentration. "Do you think you can help me?" Sansa asks.
Margaery looks up and smiles. "You did the right thing by showing me these memos. I'll get to work right away."
Margaery's smile eases the anxiety building up within Sansa. She's so glad she has a friend. A true friend. A loyal friend.
Sansa knocks on the door of Sandor's apartment. It takes awhile for him to answer the door, and when he does, he looks confused. He's wearing dark jeans and a white tank that exposes the same muscled skin that has been on Sansa's mind all night. His feet are bare, and his face is rough and stubbled with the beginnings of a beard.
"What are you doing here?" He asks
Sansa glances at her watch. "It's two o'clock. I'm here for practice."
Sandor quickly flicks his dark gaze over Sansa's body. His eyes land on her face, and he stares intently. "You have bruises all over your body, and you still want to practice?"
"If I practice more, I'll have less bruises next time."
"Hopefully there won't be a next time," Sandor mutters.
"What?"
"Nothing." Sandor opens the door wider. "Come in then."
As Sansa enters the room, she has to sidle past Sandor's broad body. She feels an electric tension pulsing between them. Her bare shoulder grazes against his chest as she walks past him, and the slight sensation flushes her cheeks with heat.
What's happening? Is this attraction even real? Is she so deprived of male contact that she's imagining these false feelings of desire?
It's possible. Sansa has only slept with two men before. One was her long-term boyfriend in high school. He was sweet and gentle and very popular. They broke up when he left for college.
And the other was of course, Joffrey.
They slept together after their second date. Sansa wasn't ready but Joffrey was insistent. And she didn't really have a reason to say no. He was smart, rich, beautiful, and such a gentleman. Their relationship was wonderful until it wasn't. It was wonderful until Joffrey decided to drop his sickly sweet veneer and show his true self. It's been months now since they've shared a bed, and although Sansa has no desire to touch Joffrey, she still has desires. Maybe she's simply projecting them onto Sandor.
"You're fucking crazy for wanting to practice, but if it's what you want, I'm not going to stop you," Sandor says as he shuts the apartment door.
Sansa looks up at the scarred man. "The fight last night was too close. If he had gotten lucky, I could be in a hospital bed right now. I don't want to be equal with him- I want to be better than him."
"Glad to see you've finally got some fucking backbone."
"Finally? What do you mean?"
Sandor lets out a low, sharp laugh. His hard black eyes flicker with dry amusement. "I've watched Joffrey abuse you for a year now. At first just verbally and now with the hitting. He put you in a little cage, and you let him do it. You never fought back. You took it like a dumb fucking dog that thought it deserved the punishment." Sandor takes a step closer. "And now you come to me, and you say you want to learn to fight. You say you won't stand for it anymore." Sandor leans down so that his eyes lock with Sansa's, so that she can feel the warmth of his body. "I don't know how or why you grew a pair, but I'm glad you did. It was about fucking time."
"That's not-" Sandor's speech has Sansa flustered. Her face is hot with embarrassment. She must have looked like such a fool. Of course Sandor has no idea about her family. No idea about the blackmail. For all he knows, Sansa let Joffrey abuse her because she was an insipid fool in love. "That's not right," Sansa finally says. "It's not what you think."
"I'm just telling you what I've watched for a year now, nothing more. I've watched him abuse you and hit you, and you just let it happen."
A hot flood of emotion rushes through Sansa. It's not fair. None of this is her fault. It's like Sandor is accusing her of her own abuse.
She looks up at him, eyes burning with accusation. "Well then why didn't you stop it? Why did you just let it happen, watching it all like some sick voyeur? Did you like it?" She steps forward. Their bodies are now inches apart, and Sansa is breathing heavily. "Did you like watching him hit me? You didn't stop it. You never said anything. You must have enjoyed it, you sick-"
"Enough!" Sandor growls. His voice is rough and strong, and his eyes are smoldering with anger. "You don't know what you're talking about. Don't you dare accuse me of something like that."
Sansa's voice is low and biting. Her gaze is ice hard. "I'm just telling you what I've watched for a year now, nothing more."
The tension between them is palatable. Electric. Intense. Unflinching. "Not all of us have trust funds, Sansa. Not all of us can run home to daddy if we lose our job."
"Standing by while a woman gets beaten is not a job."
Sandor laughs harshly. "There are all types of jobs. And the Baratheons are powerful people, as much as I hate to admit it. Crossing them would be a fool idea, and I wasn't about to do it for some girl-"
"I'm not a girl. I'm a-"
"I know," Sandor snaps. "I know what you are godammit. But when the Baratheons have you by the balls, you aren't going to sacrifice it all for some trust fund, naïve, red-headed thing. Do you understand that?"
Sansa narrows her eyes, hit with a sudden reliazation. "You're scared of them."
"No." Sandor drops his gaze. He steps away, and Sansa can feel the tension evaporating from the room. She feels cold and empty, and she's tempted to follow his steps, to stay close to him. "I'm not scared. I'm just not an idiot. They could destroy me if they wanted to."
The thought makes Sansa pause. Maybe she's not the only person in the world being blackmailed by the Baratheons. Maybe they've tangled Sandor in their sticky web as well.
"How?" She asks softly.
Sandor smiles bitterly. "That's not a story for ladies."
"I'm bruised and battered. My muscles are sore. Do I look like a lady?"
"A strong lady is a still lady Sansa." Sandor moves towards the back of the apartment. "Drop it, and we'll practice."
But Sansa doesn't want to drop it. She wants to know what the Baratheons have on Sandor. She wants to know what could make such a strong man cower. She wants to know why he never tried to save her.
Sansa follows him into the back room. There's a small gym inside, punching bags, weights, and an old treadmill. Sandor is already strapping boxing gloves onto his hands.
"I could help you," Sansa says. "If you told me what they were threatening you with, I could help you."
Sandor glances at her. His black eyes soften for just a moment, but then his face turns like cold steel. "No one can help me," he says.
"But I could-"
His rough voice is steady, and his words make Sansa's stomach clench with unknown fear. He repeats, "No one can help me."
A/N – What's that? An update? What's an update?
Thank you for dealing with my mini hiatus. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. I should hopefully be updating regularly again.
I'm still trying to work out some kinks in this sansa x sandor dynamic, so I hope you guys are liking it.