The garish beep of Sansa's alarm punctuated the last remnants of her dream. She grumbled and her hand shot from beneath her comforter, fingers fumbling until they reached the alarm's snooze button. She pulled the covers over her head and had scarcely closed her eyes again before it blared once more. Three, four, maybe five more times she did this and was about to drift back to sleep when the alarm set in with its beeping again and her covers were yanked off of her.
"If you're just going to keep hitting the snooze button, then why don't you turn the damn thing off?" Arya stood over her with deep bags beneath her eyes and hair matted against her face on one side. "You're not the only one in this room."
Sansa snatched the blankets from her sister as Arya ripped the alarm's cord from the wall and retreated back to her bed in stumbling steps. Fully awake now and irritated, Sansa jumped from the bed and grabbed up her robe.
"Do you have to be such a brat?" Sansa snapped and stomped her away towards the door. "The room will be all yours in a week." A pillow hit the back of her head as she reached for the door knob.
"I bet you can't wait to live in a house full of spoiled bitches. It will suit you well."
Arya turned away and pulled the covers over her head with a huff. Sansa's mouth hung open at her sister's words that admittedly stung. If she wasn't already running fifteen minutes behind for her first class of the day, she'd ream Arya for that. As it stood, she didn't have time to get into a battle of words with her sister.
She rolled her eyes and headed for the bathroom for a quick shower. After toweling off, she threw on an oversized striped sweater, leggings, and her Ked shoes. Her full makeup routine was abbreviated as Sansa applied just a bit of powder and concealer, a quick swipe of mascara, and a smattering of blush across her cheeks. With only five minutes before she had to be out the door, her hair would have to air dry.
With her school bag thrown over her shoulder, Sansa bounded down the stairs with car keys already in hand. Breakfast would have to be eliminated from her morning routine as well.
"Sansa!" her mother called from the kitchen just as she reached the front door. Sansa paused with a sigh and hovered in the foyer.
"I'm running late," she shouted back.
Her mother shuffled down the hallway, still in her robe and with curlers in her dark auburn hair. In one hand was a large, tattered envelope stuffed to the brim with papers inside, and in the other was a steaming cup of coffee.
"I need you to do me a favor," her mother said and handed Sansa the envelope. It appeared as though she was doing this favor whether she wanted to or not. "Your dad forgot these this morning and needs them for an afternoon meeting. Can you run them by his office for me?"
Sansa furrowed her brow and bit her bottom lip as she mentally scrolled through her schedule for the day. She was already running behind for Politics of the Twentieth Century with Professor Baelish, and she had planned on studying during the break before her chemistry lab started in the afternoon.
"Mom, that's all the way downtown," Sansa sighed and shook her head. "My morning class isn't over until noon, and then my lab starts at two."
Her mother cocked her head to the side and rested one hand on her hip. Sansa knew this was the mark of disappointment and the beginning of some sort of guilt trip that would end up in her agreeing to whatever task her mother wanted her to do. There was no getting out of this.
"Rickon has a doctor's appointment. I need you to do this for me. You should have plenty of time." Her mother gabbed the enveloped at her and gave Sansa a pleading stare. She hated when her mom looked at her this way and could have sworn she never saw the woman look to Arya with the same sort of expectation. Whereas Arya seemed hell bent on disappointing their mother, Sansa was expected to be a proper lady.
Sansa grabbed the envelope with a groan of protest and shoved it into her school bag.
"Thank you." Her mother smiled warmly and kissed Sansa on the cheek before seeing her out the door. "Tell Petyr I said hi," she called out from the porch as Sansa tossed her bag onto the passenger seat of the Volvo.
Although she nodded and waved back at her mother, she had no intention of passing that message along to Professor Baelish. It didn't matter if he was a childhood friend of her mother's, both of them having grown up next door to one another and attending college together.
The man was a creep and had somehow fixated on her after learning Catelyn Stark's daughter was going to be in his class this semester. On more than one occasion, Sansa had caught him leering at her across the quad or even during the weekly in-class quizzes, conveniently when no one else might notice. Margaery had made a joke out of it, although Sansa hardly found it amusing. 'Oh Sansa! He'll never actually make a move on you. He would lose his job. Play it up. The whole professor-student fantasy exists for a reason. It's fun!'
Perhaps Margaery Tyrell could maneuver her way through a situation like this, but Sansa wanted nothing to do with it and certainly didn't see the allure of this sort of "fantasy."
Her thoughts turned to her car as the engine refused to turn over. Of all times for it to give her trouble, this was the absolute worst. After a few more attempts, the engine fired up and Sansa headed towards Northwestern's campus. She could deal with her car troubles later. For now, she needed to get to class on time.
When Sansa peeled into the parking lot nearest Scott Hall, she was already ten minutes late. The lot was nearly full, the only free spaces in a remote corner furthest from where she needed to be. Sansa pulled her bag from the car and hurried across the parking lot.
When she made it into the lecture hall, she was out of breath and saw that Baelish was already well into his lecture. As quietly as she could, Sansa tiptoed down the steps of the main aisle and eased into the nearest empty seat a few rows back from where Margaery, Mya, and Jeyne say together.
She lifted her eyes and Baelish was already looking at her, smiling slightly beneath a well-manicured mustache. Sansa averted her gaze and cringed as she pulled her notebook out of her bag. Myranda often made jokes that Professor Baelish, or Petyr as he told the students to call him, looked like a poor man's version of Tom Selleck and a wannabe for a spot on Magnum, P.I. With his tight pants, penchant for colorful and casually unbuttoned shirts, and the red sports car he drove, Sansa had to admit it was true.
She tried her best to pay attention, scribbling the bits and pieces of information about the League of Nations as Baelish droned on. Her mind wandered elsewhere, namely the logistics of how she was supposed to get downtown to drop off her dad's papers and then all the way back to campus again. She would have to skip lunch, a thought which only added to the inconvenience of her task. Her stomach was already grumbling with hunger and a missed breakfast.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard someone take a seat behind her. Sansa's heart raced as she picked up on the familiar scent of his cologne. It made her sick to her stomach.
"Wanna tell me why you were late for class, slut?" Joffrey breathed into her ear. His voice elicited shivers to run down her spine. Sansa tried in earnest to still the shaking of her hand. Her eyes flickered about the room hoping someone might see, although there was nothing anyone could do for her right now. Her best option was to ignore him. Sansa steadied her gaze to the front of the room and tried to focus on Baelish's lecture instead.
She knew Joffrey, though, and he wasn't the type to back down. If anything, her reticence would spur him on even further. She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt his breath hit her cheek once more.
"People have been talking about us around campus, saying that you dumped me. What they should be saying is that I kicked you to the curb because you were a lousy lay and a fucking moron to boot."
Joffrey chuckled when he saw Sansa visibly tense at that. She had, in fact, never slept with Joff, somehow sensing he wasn't likely to be gentle with her. They had fooled around, but she never let it go any further than that. His patience with that particular facet of their relationship had waned almost immediately when they started at Northwestern. He had puzzled out quickly enough that girls were willing to sleep with him without much pretense of conversation or commitment.
Sansa felt the familiar sting of tears, brought on more out of exasperation than hurt. She was used to Joff's insults, but after a few weeks of no run-ins with him, she'd thought that he would finally leave her alone. The incident with Boros and Meryn had left her on edge, precisely the reaction Joff had been looking to elicit.
"Still have nothing to say do you?" he continued, his voice every bit as cruel as she remembered. "Your family is trash. My father did Ned Stark a favor by hiring him. It was charity for your family. You're the most pathetic of them all. You're nothing."
Sansa had had enough. She whipped her head around and leveled an irate stare at him. With his hair curled in golden waves to his chin and disgustingly thick lips, Sansa could hardly believe she had once found him attractive.
"This is harassment," she scolded beneath her breath. "If you don't leave me alone, I will file a restraining order against you. My dad-"
"Your dad can't do shit! My grandfather runs this city, bitch. My family has more connections than you can even dream of. Don't you ever tell me what to do. I'll do whatever I want. You can't do anything about it."
Baelish was staring at them as he continued his lecture, obviously aware of the unpleasantries occurring between her and Joffrey.
"I should have listened to my mother," Joffrey seethed. "She always said you were stupid and a waste of my time. I should have gone for Margaery."
Joffrey removed himself from the seat behind her and headed back towards Meryn and Boros seated in the row adjacent to her.
Occupied with her and Joffrey's exchange, Sansa hadn't noticed the time, not until her classmates seemed to shift restlessly in their seats as they discreetly began putting away their notebooks and pencils. It was the tell-tale sign that Baelish would be wrapping up soon, and it couldn't come soon enough. Sitting up in her seat, Sansa watched as Petyr turned to the clock and noticed the minute hand encroaching on the top of the hour.
"Alright. I think that will do it for today," he announced and dusted the chalk off his hands. "Remember, you need to have a rough draft of your papers turned into your partners by Monday!" His voice carried through the lecture hall despite the class eagerly snatching up their belongings and clearing from the room.
Sansa waited in her seat until she saw Joff, Meryn, and Boros retreat from the room. Margaery and the girls must not have seen her, as they exited down the row away from her and headed out of the hall. Sansa tucked away her notebook and began back up the stairs of the hall in quick steps.
"Miss Stark," she heard Baelish call out from behind her when she had almost reached the top.
She squeezed her eyes shut and cursed beneath her breath. This wasn't the first time Petyr had spoken with her after class. In fact, the frequency of these "meetings" was increasing as the semester wore on. Sansa turned with a feigned smile, her eyes undoubtedly betraying her discomfort. With his hands shoved in his pockets, Baelish gradually closed the distance between them as he meandered up the stairs.
"You missed a riveting introduction to the League of Nations," he joked on a saccharine smile. His eyes did not stray from her, but instead seemed to roam the features of her face.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Sansa said and shifted side to side with unease. "I was late getting out the door this morning. I apologize for having missed it."
"Oh, no. Don't apologize," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "And please, call me Petyr."
Sansa's lips creased once more in a tense smile. He was the only professor she knew who preferred for his students to call him by his first name. It was a bit too informal for her taste. The other students, however, seemed to enjoy his unconventional approach to higher education. The rumors were that Baelish traveled around the country in the Sixties, a product of the counterculture and proponent of free love. Sansa cringed at the thought, considering that her mother had been close friends with the guy during that time.
Baelish stepped forward. He gently rested the tips of his fingers on her forearm and stared at her intently.
"You know, Sansa, if you ever need anything at all, my office door is always open. It doesn't even have to be related to this course. Even if you just need someone to talk to, you can always come to me, and I'm not just saying that because your mother is my close friend."
Sansa had been trying to avoid his gaze, but finally met Petyr's insistent stare and nodded. She didn't doubt that he would eagerly invite her into his office. As if the overpowering smell of his cologne wasn't enough, that thought beckoned the bile to rise in the back of her throat and threatened to make her gag. Dealing with Joff had been enough to sour her day. This was too much.
"Good." Baelish gave a toothy grin before slowly retreating. Sansa wasn't sure if he meant to say more or was simply waiting for her to resuscitate the conversation with her own input. It made no difference. She wasn't going to stick around long enough to find out.
Without another word, Sansa hurried from the room. She breathed a sigh of relief as she made her way from Scott Hall back towards the parking lot. Her walk towards her car was rife with tension as her eyes darted around the quad, waiting for Joffrey and his friends to pop out at any moment. They must have wandered elsewhere and Sansa made it to her car without incident. The engine of her Volvo fired up without much hassle and Sansa headed towards downtown.
As she made the half-hour commute into the city, her eyes gravitated towards her watch as she measured the time. Perhaps her mother was right; as long as the lunch-hour traffic was at a minimum, she would have plenty of time to return to school for her next class.
Sansa navigated the streets of the business district, mindful of how the lanes seemed to narrow and watchful as people attempted to parallel park. Having never mastered the art of parallel parking, Sansa opted for the parking garage of her father's building and grabbed the envelope from her school bag.
She rode the elevator to the forty-third floor and still was quite sure what her father did for a living. He worked in corporate finance at Baratheon & Company and she knew he was part of the mergers and acquisitions department. Beyond that, details seemed to blur and Sansa couldn't place what her father did all day beyond sit in meetings and take important phone calls. It all seemed terribly boring and stressful, especially considering her father was always tying up Robert Baratheon's loose ends.
The thought of Robert unnerved Sansa. He was a nice enough man—loud and boisterous—but pleasant nonetheless. Regardless of how pleasant the man was, he and Cersei had still raised in Joffrey a monster for a son. Sansa's parents had been relieved when Sansa ended the relationship, but it was still a tender subject; not due to any regrets on her part, but for the awkward fact that the Baratheons and Starks were still good friends. Well, at least the patriarchs were. Sansa knew for certain her mother couldn't stand Cersei Lannister-Baratheon and imagined the sentiment was probably mutual.
Off the elevator, a receptionist greeted Sansa. Behind the woman, floor to ceiling windows held a beautiful view of downtown Chicago and the sparkling waters of Lake Michigan. The view alone was worth the hassle of maneuvering through the city.
"Hello," the receptionist greeted with a smile, lips a vibrant shade of red. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I am Ned Stark's daughter. I'm here to drop off some papers to him."
"He's in a meeting, but I will make sure—"
"Sansa!" her father's voice interrupted from down the hall.
Sansa turned as he approached with a beaming smile, one that intimated his relief at either seeing her or perhaps the adjournment of whatever meeting he was coming from. Sharply dressed as always, he wore a pressed grey suit, something she knew wasn't quite to his taste but he wore anyway. 'Dressing the part,' was what he always called it, although he preferred to be clothed less formally.
He pulled Sansa into a tight embrace. "Good to see you, kiddo. Thanks for bringing the papers. I'd be dead meat without them."
He sighed, seeming exhausted despite his cheerfulness, and led the way to his office.
When he pushed the door open, she could see stacks of manila folders piled on his desk, each filled to the brim with documents.
"Busy day?" Sansa asked and settled into a plush leather chair opposite his desk and placed the envelope on top of a stack of folders.
He leaned against the wall behind his desk and stared out the window to the city beyond.
"Yeah. There's an important merger Robert wants me to take over while he's on vacation."
Sansa could tell her father had left quite a bit unsaid, perhaps his frustrations with the man who he had grown up with and now worked for. Undoubtedly, the shifting dynamics between Robert and her father put certain strains on their relationship. If that weren't enough, Joff's mistreatment of her had also been a point of contention between them as well.
"I don't know, kiddo. The man seems content to work me into an early grave," he joked with a chuckle and eased into his desk chair.
"You haven't had any problems with Joffrey, have you?" he asked, but graveness now colored his demeanor.
Sansa swallowed hard and shifted her eyes away from him. Prior to this morning's run-in, she hadn't heard from Joffrey in a weeks. She didn't want to alarm her dad by relaying what had happened in class. With any luck, Joff had gotten it out of his system and would leave her alone, but Robert was a University benefactor and that meant that Joffrey seemed to think he could get away anything. Unfortunately, that notion had been proven correct in the past and only exacerbated the behavior.
Sansa lifted her gaze to her father and offered what reassurance she could.
"I see him around campus, but he's usually with his friends."
Her father tensed at that and Sansa could hear him suck in a quick breath.
"Those boys are bad news. I still think Boros got off too easy with what he did to you. If you see them around campus, I want you to turn and walk the other way, Sansa."
His words were heavy with concern and his eyes hardened with severity. It seemed this sort of sternness came naturally to her father. Not that he was a cold man but perpetually cautious and concerned for things he didn't always have control over.
"I will. I really don't think they're going to bother me anymore."
She couldn't say for certain if it was true, but Sansa did know Joffrey had set his sights on another girl from a different sorority. Although she never wished Joffrey on any other girl, Sansa had to admit her relief at hearing that tidbit of gossip from Margaery.
Her father leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. "And these sorority mixers, will he be at those?"
Sansa bit her bottom lip. She knew damn well he would be there. She nodded and shrugged her shoulders.
"Dad, I really can't help that. I can't hide from him. I have to attend certain events for Tri Delta and, if he happens to be there, what am I supposed to do?"
"Everything will be fine," she assured before he could protest. "I promise you I won't be alone with him again. If I do run into him, it will be with tons of people around."
He nodded, seemingly mollified for the moment. "Alright. If you say so. I've got to get back to work. See you tonight at dinner? Your mother is making pot roast. She's been carrying on about it all week."
Giggling, Sansa giggled and stood. With her stomach still grumbling, pot roast sounded divine.
"You bet! I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Oh! One more thing," her father called out as she reached the door. "The Hardyng's are coming for dinner on Saturday. Your mom is really looking forward to it and wants you to be there."
Sansa cast a dubious glance at him and grimaced. "Is Mom requesting Arya's presence as well or is it just mine?"
She watched as her dad held up his hands in acquiescence.
"Don't shoot the messenger! I'm just saying she's really excited about finally having the Hardyng's over for dinner."
"This is about Harry, isn't it?" Sansa pressed.
Her mother had, rather obviously, favored Harry over Joffrey even though Sansa had repeatedly reminded her mom that she wasn't interested in Harry. Still, the woman was convinced that all it would take was getting Harry and her in a room together for sparks to fly.
Sansa watched the sheepish way her father shrugged and the conversation ended as his phone rang. She waved goodbye and headed back through the lobby.
On the elevator ride down to the parking garage, the unsavory memories of her relationship with Joff invaded her thoughts. They had known each other since eleven when Sansa and her family moved from Duluth, Minnesota to Chicago so her father could take the job at Robert's firm.
At the time, she swore Joff was a spitting image of Leif Garrett from the covers of her Tiger Beat magazines. Many nights, she would pray that Joffrey would be her boyfriend and from sixteen on, it seemed the heavens had answered her prayers. Arya had always hated Joffrey and was never shy about vocalizing that hatred. If only I would have listened to my sister…
As it stood, Arya had better luck in finding good guys. Her sister's first boyfriend, Gendry, was leaps and bounds better than Sansa's own first attempt at a relationship. Perhaps she could take a page from her sister's book after all. And what might that look like?
Sandor.
Unbidden, his name and image flashed across Sansa's mind as she climbed into her Volvo.
No. It was ridiculous.
He was uncouth and foul-mouthed. Even now, she could hear his voice, deep and rough, in her head; the way he seemed to say whatever he wanted, regardless of how crude or inappropriate. He was in a metal band and had been wasted the first night she met him. In fact, he didn't seem to remember much of their first conversation. Then there was the way he always looked at her, his stares lingering a bit longer than what was customary for casual and polite interactions. Instead, his eyes would remain steadfast on her with a brooding sort of intensity that held a bit of curiosity despite the heaviness.
Perhaps more alarming than all of this combined was Sansa's own reaction to him. She should be thoroughly offended and repulsed by the man, but that wasn't the case. She too found there to be something intriguing about him. It had been nearly a week since she saw him last, and yet her thoughts seemed to wander to him in quiet moments. They were fleeting and quickly replaced by other, more pressing matters. Truth be told, Sansa purposefully steered her thoughts away from him.
On paper, he wasn't her type, not in the least. However, Sansa knew she had already dated her "type": pretty rich boys who drove nice cars, dressed immaculately, and came from well-to-do families. She thought Joff was her type and for all intents and purposes was, but that had been a disaster.
Maybe I could date someone like Sandor…
It was absurd and, although she would never admit it to anyone out loud, it was also enthralling.
Sansa shook her head, as if dispelling the thought, and backed out of the parking space. She pulled out of the garage and onto a one-way street and pursed her lips as she tried to visualize the layout of this part of town. She would have to circle around the block to catch the nearest highway ramp heading towards campus.
At the end of the block, the cross street was blocked off to traffic and construction crews and their equipment occupied the entirety of the road. The cars in front of her were in a dead lock, all trying to maneuver themselves away from the construction zone and towards potential detours. Sansa glimpsed the detour signs leading her further south down the road she was on.
She chewed her bottom lip as time steadily crept towards a quarter past one. At this rate, she might just barely make her second class. However, that hope diminished as the detour led her further and further towards the south side of town.
One by one, the cars in front of her turned off on various side streets, ignoring the detour signs and seeking their own path towards their destinations. With each passing block, the roads became less familiar to her, and the area deteriorated. The detour signs vanished and Sansa concluded that she must have missed a turn, perhaps too preoccupied with the dilapidated buildings that now surrounded either side of the street.
Realizing she'd have to turn around, Sansa turned onto a side street and pulled into a driveway. She shifted the car into reverse and backed out carefully to avoid an enormous pothole. Once out of the driveway, she threw the car into first gear, content to take out her frustration on the shift stick. The car lurched forward before coming to an abrupt halt, the engine having been killed as her foot slipped off the clutch. She turned the keys in the ignition and waited for the car to turn on. Nothing happened. Normally, the car at least made an attempt to turn over. Now there was only dead silence.
In a panic, Sansa scanned her surroundings. She had landed in a sketchy part of town, the nearest gas station a few blocks away. She swallowed hard and took deep breaths to calm herself. I'll just walk to a gas station and call someone. No big deal. Sansa snatched up her bag and pulled the keys from the ignition.
With quickened paces, she headed towards the gas station, her eyes cautiously taking in her surroundings as she went. When she reached the payphone on the side of the minimart, Sansa dug in her bag and pulled out her wallet. She sifted through the coins inside, fingering past pennies and a lone nickel but coming across no dimes. If she wasn't so resolved to get this situation taken care of, Sansa could have burst into tears; tears of frustration and tears of anger. She knew she should have had her damn car looked at before now.
An old woman shuffled past her to pay for her gas and Sansa called out.
"Excuse me, ma'am," she pled. "Would you happen to have a dime? My car broke down and I need to call someone."
The woman did not speak, but instead shoved her hand in her pocket and removed a few coins. Picking out a dime, she handed it to Sansa with a small smile and walked away. Only now did it occur to Sansa that she didn't know her father's office number by heart. It was written down in her address book that sat on her dresser at home.
Arya was at school and her mother at the doctor's office with Rickon. Her options were quickly dwindling. To make matters worse, she only had one phone call. Sansa stared at the dime in the palm of her hand and Sandor's words flooded her mind.
'If you ever need any maintenance or if you just want to go for a ride.'
With renewed resolve, Sansa tore through her wallet, remembering she had put his card in there and hoping to God that it was still in the same place. After thumbing through the other cards, she finally found it.
Sansa picked up the receiver and pushed the dime into the pay phone. She dialed the number to Selmy's Auto Repair. With each ring, she could feel the steady rise of her heart beat until a deep voice answered on the other end.