PMO XIII 2

Sorry for not posting in a while. Again.No special warning. The events described in this update take place between January and June.

January 12th

Sandor still wondered about Sansa's behavior at his place - first expressing her anger and saying she wanted to get her things back, then seemingly forgetting about it - when he met the Elder Brother's cardiologist, the day after.

The Elder Brother's cardiologist, a pedantic man well into his fifties, with a curious chinstrap beard, was adamant: even if his patient seemed out of danger, he would not go back to work for months, at the very best, and should even retire. During his recovery, he couldn't stay alone. When the Elder Brother tried to reassure him by saying he could have a nurse come daily and make sure he was alright, the cardiologist snorted and turned to Sandor, as if he wanted him to back him up.

"Do you think your friend paid attention to what I said? For Christ's sake! If you had had this heart attack somewhere else, if it had happened at your place, your friend and I would be standing in some graveyard by now," he went on, addressing the Elder Brother, "us wearing fine black suits and you, esteemed colleague, lying six feet under. We were hardly able to save you!" He sighed, then he added, softening: "You need some surgery. After Dr Meyer performs this surgery, we can't just let you walk out of the hospital; you'll stay here, then when you'll go home, you'll still need someone by your side 24/7 for at least a week. And afterwards… someone will have to help you, to prepare your meals and to basically make sure you're not jeopardizing your surgeon's work."

"This is ridiculous," the Elder Brother protested, sitting up. "I can-"

"I'll do it," Sandor cut him off, boring into the cardiologist's eyes. "I'll try to figure out something before he leaves the hospital and I'll watch over him."

The cardiologist nodded approvingly, but the Elder Brother would have none of it. "What about your job, Sandor? How are you going to manage the gym-"

"I'll let you two discuss about it," the cardiologist said, stroking his beard and walking to the door.

"I ruined my relationship with Sansa, I won't risk to loose you," Sandor insisted, once the cardiologist had left. "I always wondered how I would repay you for saving my life and… for being there for me when I arrived in Quiet Isle. Now I've found a way. I won't change my mind."

Looking down at his lap, the Elder Brother scratched his wrist just above the plastic pipe of the drip. His weary eyes drifted slowly to Sandor.

"It's settled," Sandor said reassuringly. As he held the Elder Brother's gaze, he sensed it wouldn't be so easy to explain Barristan Selmy he didn't need a couple of hours out of the gym this time, but days to take care of his friend; for weeks, Sandor would have to slow down his activity and the only option left for Barristan Selmy would be to ask someone else's help to close the gym at night. He wasn't exactly well-off so he could imagine his banker's long face when he'd learned Sandor didn't make as much money as before. Despite all this and even if he doubted his ability to watch over someone with a heart condition, making this decision made him feel strangely exhilarated: he knew it was probably the first step to get his life back on track.

January 23th

I wish I could do something for you. That was what the Elder Brother kept telling Sandor the day he left the hospital and moved back to his house. Taking care of someone helped Sandor to keep his interrogations about Sansa at bay. He had met her several times in the Elder Brother's hospital room in the past few days, then at the doctor's house, as she had volunteered to do the grocery shopping for her ex boss; her anger had disappeared and given way to an embarrassed silence that echoed his. She didn't address him, but sometimes he would catch her eyes lingering on him: that was enough to distract him when he fixed dinner for the Elder Brother and him or when he did laundry. As he laid on his bed in the guestroom, this blue gaze of hers kept him awake at night. Like in the good old days. Maybe there was something the Elder Brother could do for him after all.

It took him two days to admit he needed the Elder Brother's help and one more to summon up the courage to ask him.

The Elder Brother was sitting in his bed, propped up against the pillows, frowning at the newspaper's crosswords. Sandor stopped in the doorway and observed his friend for a few seconds until the doctor raised his eyes and smiled at him.

"I want Sansa back," he said, a lump in his throat.

The Elder Brother folded the newspaper and put it aside. "I'd lie if I said it's a surprise… She won't let you come back to her easily. Not after the way you two broke up. The things she told me, the way she behaved… She was broken after you told her it was over, probably because your relationship meant so much for her. Did you see how angry she was when you came back from King's Landing? That anger seems to disappear, day after day, and I might be wrong but I think she realized by now how miserable you felt after breaking up. But her trust…" He paused, beckoning Sandor to sit down next to his bed. "Winning back Sansa's trust will not be easy."

Sansa came every two days or so to visit the Elder Brother; she didn't act as if Sandor's presence was unbearable, but she didn't talk to him either. Sandor stared at his shoes as if he had found something fascinating in their worn-out leather; the Elder Brother heaved a sigh. "You're far from being stupid, so you know showing up with a bunch of roses is not what she expects."

"Maybe she'd trust me again if she was sure I've changed," Sandor chanced. "If I talk to someone."

The Elder Brother opened his eyes wide. "And how are you going to prove to her you've changed? Are you considering seeing a shrink? You told me once you didn't believe in shrinks and you'd never do that. In a more colorful language, if I remember correctly."

"I still don't trust shrinks. I trust you." Surprised, the doctor exhaled deeply and rubbed his veined nose. "Since you came back home, you keep saying you'd like to do something for me," Sandor went on. "There's nothing else I need more right now: someone I trust, who will help me understand why I did what I did and what to do to stop being an asshole. Someone who kicks my arse if need be."

A silence fell on the room as the Elder Brother scratched his bald head. Sandor's chest constricted as he realized he was asking his friend to do him a huge favor even though said friend had had a lot on his plate; after he had narrowly escaped death, the Elder Brother could very well focus on his recovery and therefore decline to help him: it would make sense. He could also refuse because he didn't want to interfere between two persons he considered his friends. In this case, if the Elder Brother didn't step forward, Sandor ignored the fact that he'd didn't have the strength to find another person to talk to.

"First lesson," the Elder Brother said, thus putting an end to the suspense, "stop calling yourself an asshole. You did what you did because you were hurt. If someone dares to call you a coward, well… Screw them."

Foul language sounded strange in the Elder Brother's mouth, making him scoff out of surprise. "So will you help me?" Sandor asked.

His friend didn't answer at first and gave him a long look. On his square face lit by dark, deep-set eyes, amusement gave way to understanding. A smile playing about his lips, the Elder Brother said: "You know I will."

Thus began the biggest change in Sandor's life since he had started dating Sansa.

The Elder Brother resumed what he had done years ago, during Sandor's recovery, and never really carried out; if Sandor had given up alcohol abuse and violence thanks to the doctor's help, the Elder Brother had failed to relieve him from his insecurities. After a week spent at the Elder Brother's house, Sandor went back to the gym but he managed to have lunch and dinner with his old friend. Every day, whether it was before or after his day at the gym, the Elder Brother would tell Sandor to grab a chair and the conversation started. At the beginning, the Elder Brother did most of the talking; there were days when Sandor lost his temper and others when confessions were so painful he cried out of anger or out of sadness; sometimes there were long silences none of them tried to interrupt. The topics were almost always the same: his relationships with his brother or his parents, his sister's death, the Lannisters' influence and the life he had had as a teenager, then as a young adult.

Sansa kept visiting the Elder Brother and after some time, Sandor started wondering if she only came to her ex boss' place when he was there too. All trace of anger had disappeared in her behavior and only awkwardness remained every time they breathed the same air.

It took her several weeks to speak to him again and when it happened, at the beginning of spring, Sandor knew instinctively he would toss and turn in his bed all night, replaying their conversation in his head, over and over.

"So… how do you manage to work at the gym and spend time here with the Elder Brother?" she asked. Their host had disappeared into his library, looking for a book he wanted Sansa to read.

In the hallway where he waited with Sansa, Sandor swallowed hard. Words were caught in his throat; as only two feet separated them, she couldn't miss his uneasiness. "You know..." he stammered after a while, gazing at her loose braid, "... planning, anticipating. Barristan Selmy has been very understanding and Podrick helped me a lot."

"You look tired. Are you sure you're OK?"

Never had he thought she'd express some concern about him again; her remark caught him off guard because asking if he was alright was one of the things she often did when they were together. The truth was he looked like shit. Not enough exercise, not enough sleep, he enumerated for himself. Knowing he wasn't in great shape and probably needed a shower didn't help regaining his composure. He shrugged. What the hell is the Elder Brother doing? He started suspecting his friend had left them alone on purpose. "What about you, Sansa?"

Her blue eyes darted away from him and she bit her lip. "There are highs and lows."

In the dim light of the hallway, he couldn't get his eyes off her. When she glanced at him again, she pleaded: "Stop looking at me this way. Please."

"I'm sorry. For this... and for the rest."

As he uttered these words, he told himself his excuses were so pathetic she might slap him in the face for reminding her of their break-up; Sansa's answer nevertheless blew his mind.

"I know," she whispered, briefly holding his gaze. As timid as their eye contact was, Sandor knew this look would haunt him. She bit her lip again, let her eyes fall to the floor, folded her arms in a self-protective gesture and even though the setting had changed and so many things had changed between them since that time, he felt like he had when they had run into each other in the elevator of Quiet Isle General Hospital. Tension, hope, nothing of this was new. And my hands are clammy, he thought, as if I was a fucking teenager. It was happening again.

The Elder Brother finally came back, handed Sansa the book he insisted on giving her. The doctor's small talk didn't fool Sandor: since he had seen them standing a few feet apart and suddenly getting silent, a glint shone in his eyes. Is it a fucking smile on his lips?

He felt his shoulders sag when Sansa walked to her car and waved them goodbye, promising she would come back soon and maybe a sigh escaped his lips before the Elder Brother's voice raised him from his thoughts: "So… what now?"

Sandor shrugged. "I'd better put the stuff Sansa brought in the fridge," he offered.

The Elder Brother suppressed a smile. "Don't play dumb with me. You know I'm not talking about the lasagna she brought."

"What are we talking about, then?"

"You know better than that."

Sandor turned slightly and rested his head against the door frame so that his friend couldn't see his face anymore. "I doubt she wants to see me."

"Well, I called her yesterday, when you were at the gym," the Elder Brother informed him. "Said I wanted to know what was going on in orthopedics now that Narbert is in charge… I told her you're trying to get your life back on track and doing your best to change-"

Why did he tell her? Anger came back briefly, making his fist banging against the wall. "It wasn't your decision to make," he growled.

"On the contrary, I had to. If my pig-headed friend doesn't want to tell her, I have to let her know what's happening. Besides, it wasn't such a big secret: she told me she knew there was something different about you."

The Elder Brother's words left him speechless ; he leaned harder against the doorframe as if the contact of the wood against his forehead was necessary to process what he had heard. She knows it's not me helping the Elder Brother but him helping me. So, what now?

"Is she dating someone?" he asked the Elder Brother, barely above a whisper. The question burned his lips.

"Even if she is, that's none of your business… No, I don't think she is." His forehead still leaning against the doorframe, he closed his eyes for a second and heard the Elder Brother retreating inside his house, walking in the kitchen and heaving a contented sigh - probably while smelling the lasagna Sansa had prepared.

March 25th

Sandor didn't see her for a couple of days after their conversation at the Elder Brother's place and it gave him plenty of time to ponder on what he would tell her the next time and what she had in mind. We need to talk.

He considered calling her but convinced himself he wouldn't be able to find the right words if she didn't pick the phone and he had to leave her a message. Instead of making a fool of himself by leaving some incoherent monologue on her voicemail, he chose to wait until she'd visit the Elder Brother again. His friend had finally decided to retire after decades spent in Quiet Isle General Hospital. Sandor had first been first delighted by the news: had he chosen to go back to work, the Elder Brother would have been unable to spare himself. Then, Sandor had realized Sansa would visit her ex boss as soon as someone told her the Elder Brother was retiring.

The way he jumped when the doorbell rang that night made the Elder Brother laugh. "Go open that door, will you?" the older man said, still chuckling. They were doing the dishes after having dinner and Sandor had to wipe his wet hands on his jeans before opening the door.

Sansa was standing on the doorstep, looking at the river below the garden so he first saw her profile before she turned to him quickly and gave a hint of a smile. She looked a bit intimidated and clutched a brown bag ready to burst.

"Come on in," Sandor said after taking the brown bag from her hands. The mere contact of her hands made him shiver and he wondered for a second if she shivered too when she felt his hands on her, if it brought back memories of the months they had spent together. Her expression was unreadable as she moved past him and headed to the kitchen where the Elder Brother greeted her. They made small talk, Sansa listing all the things she had brought while Sandor put the vegetables, the dairy products and the meat away.

"Smells good," she finally commented, playing nervously with the zip of her coat.

"Sandor prepared some pork chops," the Elder Brother answered. "Did you have dinner already?" She shook her head. "There are plenty of leftovers. Try some."

Sansa kept her eyes downcast for a heartbeat, thus showing her hesitation, then she glanced at Sandor before shrugging off her coat. She was wearing a white, fluffy sweater he had bought for her a few months ago, on one of the rare occasions when Sansa had convinced him to go to the mall with her. Is it a fucking coincidence? The sweater was long - Sansa said 'oversized' - and after leaving the store that afternoon, he had whispered she should wear this sweater and nothing else when she was home, that he'd like to see her in only her sweater when he came back from the gym. Sansa had laughed at that and the next evening he had found her sitting cross-legged on his couch, only wearing her brand-new sweater as she waited for him. He had taken her on the spot, too eager to bury himself inside her to go to the bedroom.

And there she was, wearing a sweater he associated with intimacy and with the good moments of their relationship, when he was able to see past his commitment issues - or just to ignore them.

As the Elder Brother beckoned Sansa to take a seat, Sandor walked to the fridge, took the pork chops and mashed potatoes and microwaved them for her. For some reason he couldn't explain, he kept his back to her until she broke the silence: "Are you OK, Sandor?"

The unexpected, almost tender way she said his name made him close his eyes for a second because of all the promises he wanted to hear in those two syllables. Don't make a fool of yourself, he mused, pulling himself together. When he turned around, the Elder Brother had disappeared and Sansa stared at him with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Where's the Elder Brother?" he inquired.

"He just left. So… How are you doing?"

The beeps coming from the microwave informed him Sansa's food was ready. He couldn't help but feeling trapped by his friend; he decided to bury the thought away. "I'm good. What have you been up to?" he asked, taking the plate out of the microwave and placing it in front of Sansa. She got up to find some cutlery and shyly stepped back not to bump into him when going back to her seat. We're still uncomfortable with each other.

Sandor pulled out a chair and straddled it to hide his uneasiness. He was pretty sure he couldn't fool her. Oh well.

"Lots of work," she answered, seemingly focusing on her food and avoiding his gaze. "Doctor Narbert partly reorganized the orthopedics…"

"How is your family?"

"They're doing good. Rickon…" The mere evocation of her younger brother brought a smile on her lips. "Rickon still gives a hard time to my great-uncle. At some point, I almost decided to go back North and help Uncle Brynden… Maybe I wanted to go back North to leave all this behind me..." She stopped short from saying more. An embarrassed silence and a forkful of mashed potatoes in the air: that was all he needed to remember how he had hurt her.

"But you stayed," he rasped.

She nodded. "Part of me wanted to run away, because I don't know any better, I guess," she sneered. "Oddly enough, I couldn't." Her blue eyes flicked between her plate and Sandor's face.

What does she expect me to do? Apologize more? Take her hand? Stay still and listen to her? He realized he would never be sure about what she expected of him; maybe he just had to live with that uncertainty and try to do what felt right. Both his hands rested on the back of the kitchen chair; he extended one toward Sansa who stared at his long fingers as if it was the first time she saw them. She let him wrap his hand around one of hers and bored into his eyes before removing her hand.

"I'm not ready," she mouthed. A painful look on her face, she added: "I wish it was that simple but it's not. I'm terrified."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Sandor observed her pushing her meat around her plate with her fork; more than once he told himself he should just bolt out of the kitchen to put an end to this situation but every time he was about to run away he felt like he was glued to his seat, magnetized by her presence, her scent.

Sansa cleared her throat. "The Elder Brother told me you were… talking to him. How- how is it going?" Hesitation laced each syllable.

"We're making progress," he answered after a while. "I wish it wasn't taking so fucking long though…" Another hush, shorter this time; only the erratic beats of his heart gave rhythm to the silence. "I'll never be able to make up for what I did to you. You- you suffered because of me and I don't know if you'll forgive me someday… Don't know yet if I will forgive myself for this."

"I was mad at you," she confessed. "I would have hurt you if I could. At least that's what I told myself before realizing I couldn't hate you. Then... I became mad at me, for being so… weak."

What does it mean, she couldn't hate me? He sighed: "You're not weak."

The little bird looked at him intently for a while, before saying: "I bet you wonder if I forgave you or not. It's like what you're doing with the help of the Elder Brother. It takes time." She ate some more, daintily.

Observing her, Sandor frowned deeply; he wasn't sure what Sansa was getting at and that notion drove him mad. He ran his hand down his face and asked suddenly: "What does it fucking mean? If you're trying to say you don't want me in your life anymore without hurting me, quit beating around the bush and say it, girl."

Sandor had talked so fast he was almost out of breath; he mentally cursed his inability to say important things without yelling. Still sitting across him, Sansa swallowed hard. The muscles of her jaw looked tense for a second before she exhaled deeply. A tiny smile lit her face. "Will you always call me 'girl'?" Her eyes shone. "I'm trying to say the contrary, Sandor. It took me a long time to be sure about it but I want you in my life. I never stopped wanting you in my life. I need you... but I also need time."

They stared at each other wordlessly again, the tension driving Sandor mad. "Meaning?" he finally chanced.

"Meaning… I think we should meet in a different place, perhaps have a drink somewhere and talk. There are so many things we need to discuss."

"Why not at my place? You know the address-"

A silent but firm shake of the head cut him off. "I don't think it's a good idea. For now, at least. Anyway, I'm not ready."

If she's not ready, I'll wait then. What else can I do? Her reluctance to meet him at his place - or at hers - wasn't exactly a surprise. Too many memories. "You'll set the pace, then," he said, putting his elbows on the table.

Sansa nodded briefly. Her piercing blue eyes shone as she asked him: "What about the Crossroads, tomorrow night?"

Another night at the Crossroads, a different atmosphere… Yet he also had something to confess the first time he had taken her there and he had to apologize. It's not so different after all, he mused.

It was only the first step, the first date of a long series before he could tell he had won back her trust; of that, he was sure. He had to wait until she was comfortable enough in his presence; he needed to let her come to him. Faithful to his promise, he let her set the pace and ask the questions. He answered as honestly as he could, pausing sometimes to find his words while she looked at him over interlaced fingers. Even if he died to take her hand, he restrained himself, convinced she would not agree. Instead, he drank in the sight of her. Her subtle makeup made her eyes look brighter; she kept playing with the pendant of her necklace. After some time he realized the tension he had noticed in her shoulders when she had arrived had disappeared; she was more relaxed and when Sandor said he'd better leave because it was late, a sigh escaped her lips. She doesn't want me to go so soon.

"What are you doing, let's say, on Friday night? I feel like we still need to discuss," she said, taking her purse while he left a couple of notes on the table.

"Where do you want to meet?" Once again, he wanted her to choose in the hopes she'd feel safer.

Sansa suggested to meet at the Crossroads again, and that was what they did for the next weeks, going there twice a week. Not kissing, not even holding hands but talking over and over, or staring at each other silently until it was time to go back home. The situation was frustrating for him - sometimes he wondered if she was not as annoyed as he was - but never did he complain. Of course, it felt strange to let Sansa make all the decisions; it was like being helplessly tossed about on waves that were either almighty or calm, depending on the day. He was learning to trust her, unquestioningly. At some point, it reminded him of his troubled past, when the Lannisters employed him for their dirty work: the men he worked with had sometimes had Sandor's life in their hands. One of their mistakes could cost Sandor his life. Sansa didn't hold his life in her hands but his heart and somehow it was just as terrifying.

It's a process, the Elder Brother said, when Sandor talked about it with him. Not very different from what you experienced when you learned how to walk again after you were shot. It's kind of amusing that you meet Sansa in this tavern, at the same spot you were injured. It says a lot about you.

When Sandor had rolled his eyes and asked him what he meant with his fucking metaphors, the Elder Brother had grinned. It proves that you always go back to the places where important things happened to you and that you're probably bound to meet again the people who played an important part in your life. Stay, maybe have a good run with them.

"Tell this to all those who push up the daisies, like Tywin Lannister or his grandson Joffrey," he had countered, even if he knew exactly what his friend meant. He thinks I belong with Sansa.

June 12th

The day Sansa had suggested to have dinner with him at her place - blushing deeply, like it was some indecent proposal - he had felt so happy his words had fled him. For two weeks now, they had been holding hands and just that had been a victory.

"Let's get things straight," she had added, very serious despite her crimson cheeks. "We're going to have dinner at my place because I feel comfortable enough to invite you again and to be with you in my apartment, but we're just going to eat and talk. Nothing else. I'm not ready yet and I don't know when I will. I'm not even sure-"

"No need to explain, Sansa. It's fine," he had reassured her. "We'll have dinner, we'll talk, I'll help you do the dishes and I'll leave. Period."

She had given him an embarrassed smile and he had asked himself afterward if it was relief or disappointment he had seen in her eyes. These recurrent questions about what she felt, what she thought, he had learned to live with. He had no other choice, if he wanted to grow old with the woman he loved and already lost twice, the first time when he had drunkenly offered to escape King's Landing with her and the second when he had broken up with her. Maybe the urgency of the situation had forced him to change more drastically than he had ever done before, according to the Elder Brother.

Yet she wanted to have dinner with him at her place and he had been waiting for her invitation for so long it felt unreal; he needed to talk about it with the Elder Brother.

His friend felt better, thanks to a healthy diet and a quiet daily routine and decided to prepare his own retiring party. Sandor found the Elder Brother in his kitchen, behind his laptop; on the table, he saw a list of people - the ones the now retired doctor wanted to invite to his party.

"Did you know there are websites to help you plan your retiring party?" the Elder Brother asked, without a gaze at Sandor. He kept scrolling down, seemingly mesmerized.

"Sansa invited me."

"I don't want to sound indifferent, but she's been inviting you twice a week for months now. It's not what I would call the scoop of the century."

Slightly disappointed by his friend's lack of reaction, Sandor paused theatrically until the Elder Brother raised his eyes. "Except we're having dinner at her place, this time," he said all of a sudden, like one drops a bombshell.

The Elder Brother opened his eyes wide. "Damn. After all these months, it's like riding a bicycle without training wheels."

"At almost forty?" Sandor chuckled. "She made it clear; nothing's gonna happen tomorrow night."

The older man rubbed his big nose and stood up. "Remember, Sandor. No matter what happens, follow her lead. If you want her back, let her set the pace. She needs time. No reckless initiatives and I promise you'll have a wonderful moment with her."

He should have listened to his friend.

An implied consent existed between them since they had started meeting each other at the Crossroads: she wore casual clothes and crew neck T-shirts, she forgot about plunging necklines and things labelled as sexy; as for him, he didn't make any innuendos. Their unspoken agreement was apparently still topical that night, although the setting had changed; with her chino pants and white T-shirt, Sansa looked cute but not like she had a date. He nonetheless noticed her loose hair and the scent of her perfume.

Even if Sansa had made it clear that she invited him to eat and talk and nothing else, there was something different in the air. They were not in a public place, there was no one around and it changed the atmosphere. He could tell she was a bit nervous: her concern about the taste of the homemade mayonnaise and the cooking of the chicken pie was just an excuse. She doesn't want to recognize it's strange to be here together after what happened between us.

Making her laugh then seeing her relax was a tiny victory. While eating dessert, the tension she had unsuccessfully tried to disguise into something else subsided. She smiled, she allowed her blue eyes to linger on him; was it longing he saw in them before he dared touch her hand and wrap his fingers around hers? This is happening, again, you should seize the opportunity, a tiny voice said in his head before he remembered the Elder Brother's advice: let her set the pace. Torn, he squeezed her hand. Should he preempt her next move by kissing her right now? That was dangerous, yet he lusted for his little bird, he had never stopped wanting her. Seeing Sansa for months without touching her had been a torture.

Afraid to ruin the moment albeit frustrated, Sandor helped Sansa clear the table and do the dishes. A very similar scene had taken place at his house, less than a year ago and they had ended in his bed. He remembered a brief lull in the conversation, Sansa singing an old and rather sad song and him kissing her passionately. Not this time, he mused. The realization stirred something inside him and for second his grip on the china plate tightened uncontrollably. She'd made him wait, no, she'd made both of them wait because she needed to be sure before giving herself to him. And that's probably better this way.

With the discussion winding down, he allowed himself to steal a glance at her more often than not: feasting his eyes on her, observing her every move and remembering the softness of her skin underneath her clothes was all he could do for now. The clatter of the freshly washed silverware in the silverware drawer announced his impending departure; once the dishes done, he'd have no good reason to stay.

As he swept the now clean kitchen, his shoulders sagged. It's high time I leave, he tried to convince himself. The longer I stay, the more complicated it will be-

Sansa's gentle touch on his arm raised him from his thoughts. What are you doing, little bird? Do you want to drive me crazy? She was looking up at him, a tea towel in her hands.

"Thank you so much, Sandor. It's kind of you to help me to clean all this."

A modest shrug was the only answer he managed to give her; he was fascinated by the tenderness he read in her expression. Don't tempt me, love. They left the kitchen, Sansa leading the way, Sandor dragging his feet behind her. Still intoxicated by her presence but already preparing himself for the sensation of void he'd experience as soon as he would get inside his truck, he felt his heart beat wildly.

"So…" Sansa began, "I hope you enjoyed this dinner because I really liked having you here. Again... Are you free on Tuesday night?"

His fingers curled suddenly. If her cheerful tone was meant to appease the disappointment she had certainly seen in his gaze, she was bound to fail. I'm not sure I can take it any longer, he thought. How many dinners like this one before a proper kiss? Before a night in the same bed? I fucking waited, I let you set the pace but now I can't take it anymore…

Sansa had probably noticed his turmoil, for she slightly frowned. On an impulse, he crossed the two feet separating them, pulled her close and ducked his head to kiss her. Her scent, the softness of her lips, her warmth… it was like this stupid break-up had never existed, as if the uncertainty and awkwardness of these past months had been a bad dream.

Until he realized she wasn't answering his kiss and her hands were pushing against his chest.

He pulled away, out of breath, cursing his impulsiveness. Humiliated. I ruined it all. The Elder Brother told me to let her set the pace and I didn't listen. "I'm sorry," he rasped, looking down. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-"

When he dared raise his eyes, Sansa hugged herself. I ruined it all: she'll never forgive me. She stared at him, speechless, her eyes widened by surprise. By shock? Sandor asked himself. By disgust?

Explain yourself. Tell her what you're feeling. If there was something he had learned during these past months, it was the certainty Sansa hated when he withdrew into himself. "I couldn't wait any longer," he mumbled. "I wanted to kiss you so badly. Now I can see how stupid it was. Forgive me, Sansa. Please. I should leave now." Words came tumbling out; he already stepped back to exit her apartment and put an end to this awkward situation. He had opened the entrance door and already felt the cool breeze of June on his reddened face when he heard a strangled sound escaping Sansa's lips.

"Stay."

He turned to her, knitting his eyebrows. Sansa's lips were red - because of his kiss - and trembling as if she was about to cry. Her whole body was shaking and he could tell she had gathered her courage to utter this word.

She said it again, louder this time. "Stay." The urgency in her voice made Sandor's heart skip a beat. As he didn't move, she took a step forward.

He woke up at six because he always did but during the short moment when he hesitated between slumber and wakefulness, he felt like something wasn't quite right. The sun should be rising by now… Why can't I feel its rays on my face? Then he remembered: the dinner at Sansa's place, the kiss he had stolen from her, the awkwardness and finally the way she had thrown herself in his arms.

In the end he had let her set the pace. In the end he had followed her lead, when she had taken his hand and walked to her bedroom. Unlike his, Sansa's bedroom had curtains; that was why the morning sun had not woken him up.

A glance at the alarm confirmed it was 6 AM - 6:02, precisely. His little bird stirred in her sleep and got closer to him; her calm breathing lulled Sandor and he decided that for once, he deserved to sleep in.

"I know I'll probably have to propose myself if I want to get married," Sansa said, visibly amused by the idea. "If I want to get married someday, that is." She blew a strand of hair out of her face.

When he had finally woken up, the sun was high in the sky and a slender silhouette stood out against the French window. Sansa only wore a blue spaghetti strap top and matching panties. Eyes widening in disbelief, he had kept watching her for long seconds before clearing his throat to get her attention. She had turned around, smiled and beckoned him to join her by the window. As she had swiveled on her heels again and resumed watching the garden behind her condo, he had put his boxers on and walked to the window, stopping just behind her. The kisses he had planted on her shoulders and neck had made her laugh.

"Do you have regrets?" he had asked.

"Not at all. Do you?"

He had wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close until a satisfied moan had escaped her lips. "You know I don't," he had rasped against her ear, making her shiver.

That was when she had wriggled out of his arms with a chuckle and sashayed to the corner where her guitar case stood.

"I know I'll probably have to propose myself if I want to get married," Sansa said, a smile on her lips. "If I want to get married someday, that is. You know what? I'm getting used to the idea. I kinda like it. Arya would like it too."

Mentioning her sister didn't erase the smile on her lips. Maybe Arya will come back one day, maybe she won't, but Sansa feels more serene about it, he mused. As the young woman opened the guitar case and retrieved the guitar from it, Sandor stepped back and sat down on the bed; the box springs feebly protested under his weight.

"It's been so long since I last played," Sansa whispered, caressing the guitar. She joined Sandor on the bed, sitting with one foot tucked under the other leg.

The sight of her holding her guitar, reminded him of the day she had moved into this apartment, when he had discovered the guitar case among her luggage; it also brought back memories of their time together, when the morning of their days-off were filled with Sansa's music. "You used to play whenever you could," he told her, a quizzical look on his face.

"Some things don't make much sense when you can't share them with the ones you love, Sandor." She paused, briefly focusing on her guitar, before adding: "For a while, music didn't make much sense to me. Now it does, I guess."

She started playing, looking down at her hands, at first, then glancing at him. She shot him a smile, still playing a tune he knew he had heard before yet couldn't identify until she started singing:

"I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel

You were famous, your heart was a legend.

You told me again you preferred handsome men

But for me you would make an exception."

She stopped, sat up straight and bored into his eyes. This song, she had sung it before their first kiss; if he was honest these last words had spurred him to take her in his arms and to kiss her. Oddly enough, he felt a lump in his throat.

"It's a sad song," he stated. "Beautiful but way too sad for a day like today."

She nodded then rested the guitar on her lap, a playful smile on her lips. "Well, what do you suggest?"

"First of," he said, "after what happened last night, I should be the one singing for you, not the other way around. If my voice wasn't croaky as fuck, I mean."

Sansa chuckled. "And what would you sing to me?" Her tone was still playful, but her eyes sparkled as if she challenged him; she sat up straight, letting his eyes wander on the curve of her breasts, waiting for his answer.

"Told you I can't sing, but I remember the lyrics." He slightly leaned forward. "Since you like Leonard Cohen's songs..." he trailed off, before reciting:

"If you want a father for your child,

Or only want to walk with me a while

Across the sand

I'm your man"

Some of his insecurities would never disappear, he had learned this lesson too, thanks to the Elder Brother's help. There would be highs and lows, there would be happy moments and sad ones; he knew all this and Sansa knew it too. As he put aside the guitar, pulled her close and started kissing her, three words played over and over in his head. It wasn't a declaration of love, not the conventional one, nor some romantic promise - romantic promises were bullshit - but a certainty he was ready to base the rest of his life upon. He deepened the kiss, until she was out of breath, and when she half-broke their kiss to straddle him, he still mentally repeated these three words: I'm her man.

Now he knew who he was. I'm her man.

Thank you all for reading this, commenting and being so open-minded about this story, even when it surprised you. I know I'm not good at rubbing readers up the right way so I'm amazed by the mature reactions to this fic. I was also touched by the support some of you showed me on tumblr: thank you so much for encouraging authors.

Thanks a million to Underthenorthernlights, aka the-beta-who-wakes-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-to-check-something-I-wrote (I swear it's true). Without your help and your support, my dear, my fics would only exist in my mind. Thanks to my dear S. for his support.

In case some of you were wondering, the song Sandor sings at the end of this chapter is 'I'm Your Man', by Leonard Cohen. A conversation with ADKSansan on tumblr, a long time ago, gave me the idea to end up this fic with his wonderful song.

To tini243 (guest): Thank YOU for your lovely review. Writing the Brienne/Jaime part was lots of fun after the tense atmosphere of the previous update. Now you know how this story ends and I hope you enjoyed reading it!