Sansa jerked back from Ned to see the live version of that same terribly-injured face. Sandor had draped his hair over most of the scars, while he'd been gone, and the one eye she could see was wide and wary. The fact that he was hiding himself from her was like a punch to the solar plexus. She honestly didn't know what she'd do, if he couldn't get past this.

Die, maybe.

"Sandor—" she began.

"Don't pity me," he rasped, but he wasn't angry. There was no bite to his words. It was… a plea, Sansa realized. He was begging her not to pity him. Her heart somehow broke a little more.

"I don't pity you," she told him. "I never did. This isn't— this wasn't—" She waved her arms around, trying to indicate her meltdown. "This was me freaking out at the idea that the person I love more than anything in this world has been hurt so badly. And that I can't do anything to change it. I can't fix it, or make it go away."

She gulped past the aching knot in her throat. "You've been hurt so much, Sandor, and all I can do is… accept it. And it's really hard. It hurts a lot. I feel so powerless, like I've failed to protect you, somehow."

He blinked slowly. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I know it doesn't!" she wailed. "It's completely ridiculous."

Sandor barked out a laugh, just one short, harsh burst of noise that sounded more like a sob. Sansa didn't know what was going through his head, at that moment, just that he was too far away, so she held out her arms to him.

He was by her side in a blink, plucking her off the bed, blankets and all, and into his arms. He turned and dropped onto the bed himself, cradling Sansa in his lap so tightly she could scarcely breathe. But she didn't care. He was there with her, he wasn't running away. She chanced a look from the corner of her eye and saw that her parents had left the room, and taken the laptop with them. She and Sandor were completely alone.

"You're such a good man," she whispered. "A dream come true, really— you work hard, you're honest, you're kind and sweet and loving, you're gorgeous—"

He snorted.

"You are," she insisted, poking a pointy finger into his beefy pectoral. "Your body is the kind women drool over. You could make a fortune as a Chippendale dancer. If we ever run into financial problems, you can shake your booty and make us millionaires."

"Fuck's sake," Sandor mumbled, trying for irritable but mostly just sounding embarrassed.

"I just wanted to be good enough for you," Sansa continued. "I've been so scared that taking care of a blind girl would be too much work, and you'd eventually come to resent me for it."

"You were always good enough for me," he told her hoarsely. "More than good enough… so much better. So out of my league. There's not a day I don't wake up terrified you'll come to your senses and leave me."

"I'll never leave you," she said passionately, pressing her face against his shoulder. "I'd give anything to take it from you... the scars, the pain..."

They clutched each other for long, silent moments. She buried her face against his throat and inhaled his familiar smell, his beard comfortingly scratchy against her skin.

"I want to kill anyone who ever treated you badly because of it," she muttered to his shoulder.

He gave a short laugh.

"It would be a full-time job, little bird," he rasped, somehow finding a shred of humor deep within. "Too many of them. Fuckers aren't worth your attention, anyway."

"No," she agreed with a sniffle, "because we've got too much to do."

"We do?"

She nodded against his neck. "We have to go home and get me through radiation. And then we have to plan the wedding, and get married. And then you have to get me pregnant, and then we'll have a baby."

He shifted, adjusting her placement in his lap, and she realized with a secret smile that it was because she was squashing his erection under her butt cheek. Even when she hadn't had a proper bath in a week, and probably had morning breath that could knock over a herd of moose, he still wanted her. She hummed happily, feeling heat streak through her belly, and wished she were stronger so they could take advantage of their solitude. They hadn't gone more than two or three days without sex since they'd gotten together, and this had been over a week without. Sansa marveled, once more, about the fact that she'd been in a coma for eight days.

"Sounds like a lot of work, little bird."

"I'll be sure to make it worth your while."

Now it was his turn to hum, and when he adjusted her again, it was more of a rubbing of himself against her, but he stopped all too soon, with a rueful sigh.

"You're too weak for… anything. And will be for a while." Still, he covered one of her breasts with his big warm hand, squeezing gently. It felt to Sansa more like he was doing it for comfort, to reassure himself she really was there with him, than anything else. "But it's okay. I can wait."

"I doubt I can," she muttered, making him laugh.

Another blissful, relieved few minutes were spent just holding each other. Slowly, Sandor's rigid body relaxed, and with a sigh, he flopped back against the pillows, draping Sansa over him like a living duvet cover.

"Sandor," she said after a moment, "I'm going to have to get a good look at you eventually."

"I know," he said eventually. Reluctantly. "I just wanted to put it off as long as possible."

"I don't think it can wait any more," said Sansa. "Let's get it over with."

He took a deep breath, his massive chest swelling with the effort, and let it out as he sat up once more, shifting them both so she could face him. Sansa realized that he was trembling, and took his big hands in hers, kissing their palms.

"Ready?" she asked.

"No."

"I'm doing it anyway."

"…fine."

She leaned back and looked at him close-up for the first time.

It was even more appalling in person than it had been in the photos, and knowing that the pitted, ridged texture and inhuman coloring— gray and black mingling with red- was due to his flesh having melted made it all the more grotesque. She tried desperately to hold back her tears, but they overflowed anyway.

"Oh, my love," she whispered. Sansa took his beloved face in her hands and drew it near enough for their noses to brush. She looked into his eyes, watched as his pupils expanded. She saw misery in their depths, but also hope, mingling with his strength and kindness and a truly humbling amount of adoration.

"There you are." She smiled at him, willing all her love to shine at him from her face, and for him to see she meant what she was saying. "In there, that's Sandor. Not whatever happened outside. And you're so beautiful, love."

He embraced her, his arms circling her convulsively as he buried his face— the scarred side— against her neck. After a moment, she felt the wetness of tears against her skin. She murmured soothingly, nonsense words, really, and combed her fingers through his long hair until he calmed.

When Sandor pulled back, Sansa fussed with her Johnny coat, tangled around her legs, instead of watching him, so he could wipe his tears on his sleeve without her observing him. When she looked back at him, his face was dry but his eyes were red. She pretended not to notice.

"So how fast do you think we can convince the doctor to discharge me?" she asked perkily. "I want to get home and start moving on those important plans we discussed. Especially that last one."

Sandor settled back into the mound of pillows and drew her back into his lap. "The baby-making, huh? But you still have at least two months left on that birth control injection."

"I figured we could practice," she replied easily, "so when it's time, we'll know just what to do."

"Practice does make perfect," Sandor agreed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "And there are still a few positions we haven't tried yet."

"And you know what a stickler I am for high quality," Sansa continued, unable to stop the spread of a goofy smile. "I know it'll be tough, but try to persevere."

"Work, work, work," he said, a realistic tone of exasperation and resignation to his voice. So realistic, in fact, that Sansa thought he needed to be punished, a little, and gave him a pinch on the leg. She felt annoyingly weak and tired, and it was still really strange that everything in her vision was tinged a little blue. But the fact that she could even say something was 'in her vision' was incredible. If she saw everything bluish for the rest of her life, she'd take it.

"I think I need a nap." She dropped her head against Sandor's shoulder and curled into him. He pulled her granny's afghan over her and settled in.

But she didn't sleep, just lay there, calm and quiet, breathing in his scent and feeling the scritchiness of his bearded chin against her forehead. She'd been in a coma for a week, and she wondered what had changed in that time. It must have been tense and frightening, and she felt bad that she'd made Sandor and her parents go through it. Knowing how crazy they could drive him, Sansa also marveled that he hadn't ended up killing them over the past few days.

It wasn't long before they returned, however.

"How is she?" whispered Catelyn.

"Tired after all the emotional shit." Sandor tried to be quiet, but even if she had been asleep, the deep rumble under her cheek would have woken her. The dear man had no idea, though, and she just kept laying there silently.

"Are you two… okay?" her father ventured. She opened her eyes a sliver and through her eyelashes saw Ned put his hand on Sandor's shoulder.

Aw, she thought happily, they were getting along so well that Sandor was letting someone else touch him.

"We're good," Sandor murmured. "Nothing to worry about."

And then, to her shock, her mom took Sandor's free hand in both of her own and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm so glad," Catelyn said, her voice choked with tears. "We were worried, when you left like that. Don't you ever do that again. You should know by now that we all love you no matter what."

"Yeah, I know," Sandor muttered.

It took everything she had to keep from twitching in surprise. What the hell had happened while she was in that coma? Since when were her mother and Sandor openly affectionate? To each other?

"We talk things out in this family, buster," her mother scolded, continuing to blow Sansa's mind.

"You know you're only two years older than my sister, right?" he asked grumpily.

"I'm her mother, so if you're marrying her, I'm your mother, too," was Catelyn's complacent response.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, but there was no edge to it. Sansa could pretend unconsciousness no longer.

"You guys are freaking me out," she mumbled sleepily. "How are you best buds now?"

"Abject terror at losing you made us bond," quipped Ned. She stared up at him, and while his words were playful, his face was serious. They'd been through a lot, that week.

"I'm sorry," she told them all. "Do they have any idea why it happened?"

"Your body just needed to shut down in order to heal. That's Dr. H'ghar's theory, at least," said Catelyn.

"He told us, just now, that if you feel fine tomorrow and there are no complications, we can go home the day after," said Ned. "He has arranged radiation to start in Manchester the day after that. You also have physical therapy, to strengthen your ocular muscles, and in Boston, there might be some treatments possible to calibrate your sense of color."

"Sounds good." Sansa yawned and rubbed her cheek against Sandor's shoulder. "I'm… I'm really sorry I made you all go through this. But you don't know what it means to me, to be able to see everyone again. And to not feel so much guilt, at needing everyone to do so much for me. Needing one of you stop in the middle of your day to drive me places was making me crazy!"

"We didn't mind," Sandor told her, stroking a big warm hand down her arm.

"I know you didn't mind, but it was still inconvenient. And I don't ever want to be inconvenient to you. Any of you."

"Worth it," he rumbled in her ear.

"Worth it." Ned, with a grin.

"Worth it." Catelyn, smiling even as she sniffled once more, reaching out to squeeze Sansa's hand.

Sansa buried her face against Sandor's broad chest, trying not to cry, feeling like she was glowing with how much she loved them all. The future was looking bright, and she could barely wait to get started on it.