NOTES: Quick, fun fic based on a prompt in Lunar_Art and The_Moonmoth's Comment Fic Meme in the sansaxsandor community on Livejournal. Many thanks to the lovely iorwen107 for supplying the great prompt!

Crazy Modern AU: 1920's Sansa is a flapper and Sandor is a bouncer for the Lannisters' speak easy

All characters and such belong to the brilliant GRRM. Songs by Helen Kane. Suitably kooky flapper lingo courtesy of Havemann's 'The Flapper's Dictionary'.

Her foot tapped the base of the barstool to the rhythm as the jazz quartet on the cramped stage in the corner of the lounge launched into a new song. Sansa Stark plucked the cigarette from her lips between two long fingers and blew a slick tendril of smoke across the bar, eliciting a sympathetic half-smile from the diminutive bartender.

'My useless nephew keeping you waiting again?'

Sansa tapped the butt of her cigarette in a nearby ashtray and donned her best polite smile. Something about the dwarf's expression told her she'd done a less than adequate job of powdering over her latest black eye.

'He'll be along. Pour me another martini, will you? I have every intention of being half-cut by the time he shows.'

She turned on the stool and leaned back against the polished rosewood bar, demurely crossing her legs as she surveyed the well-dressed crowd that filled the elegantly decorated crimson and gold Lion's Den Lounge. For those in-the-know, the posh speakeasy run by the well-connected Lannister family was the place to be when night fell on the bustling city of King's Landing. The aging owner, Tywin Lannister, was rarely in attendance - but his connections and influence with the city's legitimate and criminal elements were well known, if not publicly talked about. He preferred to leave the lounge's operation in the hands of his sons, Jaime and Tyrion.

While the older son provided the handsome public face of the business and made sure the necessary palms in the police department were kept well-greased, it was really Tyrion who kept the place running for the wealthy clientele that further fueled his family's already substantial fortune. The dapper sons of business tycoons mixed readily with the rebellious daughters of local politicians paraded the latest fashions and kicked up their heels to the latest dances in a hazy smoke-filled and gin-soaked dream world of status and privilege. It was the same scene every night, and it was Sansa Stark's glittering prison. The huge diamond ring decorating her left hand saw to that, with a little help from the hulking security men lurking unseen in the richly curtained alcoves.

Sansa heard the chink of a glass being set down on the bar behind her and reached blindly for the drink. She smiled gratefully at the sparkling martini with its curl of lemon peel and took a dainty sip, savoring the sensation as it burned all the way to her stomach. She could tell it was top shelf, and suppressed a glimmer of gratitude for her short jailer behind the bar.

Even now she could feel the piercing gaze of Joffrey's favorite strong-arm boring holes through the back of her slinky blue dress. Always dour and always packing a piece tucked discretely into the back of his trousers, Sandor Clegane was her constant companion these days and had been since the murder of her father, King's Landing's former chief of police. The youngest son of the rival Tyrell family was already rotting in Attica for the crime, but Sansa knew the truth. The Lannisters had tried to use her as collateral to ensure her father's cooperation, but Eddard Stark's sense of justice was too strong to make him a reliable player in the crime family's schemes. In the end they'd cut him loose and kept Sansa around as a bargaining chip to ensure her family's continued cooperation. A pretty bargaining chip who sang in the Lounge twice a week and was engaged to the mayor's son - who just happened to be half-Lannister by marriage. She hadn't spoken to anyone in her family in months, and any request to use a phone or write a letter were generally answered with a stiff back-handed slap in one of the back rooms, well away from the customers.

'Evenin', Birdy! You singing tonight?'

Sansa jumped as a soft hand brushed her shoulder and found herself looking into the mischievous green eyes of Asha Greyjoy. She nodded stiffly. Asha had always been kind to her and was a regular sight at the lounge, though she rarely stayed long. The Greyjoys were notorious bootleggers, and Asha - while jovial - was all business when it came to booze. The older girl smirked and shamelessly hiked up her black skirt, plucking a piece of paper from under her garter and handing it to Tyrion. The bartender smiled roguishly as his eyes inched up her bare leg, enjoying every moment until she released the hem of the skirt and let it fall back down into place. Only then did he bother to examine the list she'd handed him.

'And how's my favorite snake-charmer this evening? Any issues with the order?'

'Issues? Come, Tyrion, you know me better than that. It's all there, I assure you. Got my sugar?' Asha smiled in a manner that reminded Sansa of a leopard she'd once seen at the zoo. Tyrion rolled his eyes dramatically before stuffing the slip of paper into his jacket. He pulled a thick envelope out of another pocket and slapped it on the bar twice before handing it to her.

'Oooh, darlin'. Now you're playin' my song!' She beamed and tucked the envelope into the beaded velvet purse she always carried around her wrist before rounding on Sansa once more. Her eyes narrowed into cat-like slits as she leaned uncomfortably close.

'What the devil is that on your face? Are you going on stage like that?' She flicked a tendril of Sansa's auburn hair away from her eyes and squinted at the bluish bruise her makeup had failed to conceal.

Sansa blushed and leaned away. 'Is it really that bad?'

Asha glared and hopped down off her stool, grabbing Sansa by the forearm and nodding to Tyrion.

'Got some preening to do on your little Dove - make sure she looks as perfect as she sings. Won't take a minute!'

Tyrion shrugged and made a dismissive gesture before hopping down from the stool he regularly stood on while tending bar to fetch a tray of freshly washed glasses.

'Right, come on then.'

Sansa pressed her lips into a thin line and cast a quick glance at the shadowy alcove behind the bar. Nothing stirred there, and inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief as Asha pulled her past a red velvet curtain and down a narrow hallway hung with elegant gold-toned sconces toward the dressing rooms used by the various entertainers that frequently appeared at the Lion's Den. The moment they reached her room, Asha closed the door behind them and pushed Sansa into a chair.

'Asha, what's going on?'

'Cut a piece of cake, Birdy - just sit still and listen.' Asha hissed, snatching up a small pot of concealer cream from the dressing table and removing the lid. 'We're getting you out of here tonight.'

'What?' Sansa would have jumped from the chair if not for Asha's anticipation, pinning her in place with a firm shove on the chest. 'Truly, Asha? How? Did Robb send you?'

Asha hesitated a moment before dipping her finger into the makeup jar and dabbing the cream around Sansa's darkened eye.

'Not Robb. Your other brother. There isn't time to explain! I've left a bag in your closet, just there-' Asha nodded toward the narrow armoire that held the gowns Sansa wore while performing. 'There are clothes in it. You're to go back to the bar after I leave - chat up the Imp, sample some more of my family's fine wares - just keep it light, you can't afford to get all pie-eyed, hear me? Need your wits about you tonight, Dove.'

Sansa quivered with excitement. It wasn't making Asha's job with the concealer any easier.

'Then what? What are the clothes for? How are we getting out?'

'After you've put on a show for Tyrion, excuse yourself back here. Tell him you'll be quick. That you forgot your earrings or something like that - that you can't perform without them. Change into the clothes I brought, and hop the back stair down to the dry stores room, got it?'

'Dry stores,' Sansa swallowed, suddenly parched. Another martini or three would go down easy tonight, she was sure of it. 'What about my tail? You know Clegane will...'

'Nothing doing, Birdy – I've arranged a little distraction for him. Right hiphound, that one. Shouldn't be much trouble.'

'Distraction? Oh Asha, do be careful. He isn't like the others – he knows where I am all the time. If he figures out what you're trying to do, he'll tell Joffrey! Or worse, he could…'

Asha held up a hand and smirked. 'You have a lot to learn, Sansa Stark. Men are a lot simpler than you think. They all want the same thing.'

Something he wants... Sansa bit her lip. There was only one thing she could ever recall Sandor Clegane saying he wanted, and that was a clear shot at his brother. The very idea that anyone would want nothing in the world so much as to kill a member of their own family turned her stomach nearly as much as his scarred face had the first time she saw it.

'So change and down to dry stores.. then what? What about Joffrey? He knows I'm singing tonight - he's ALWAYS here when I sing...'

'Don't you worry about that little Sharpshooter. He's got company tonight that should keep his attention elsewhere. When you get to the store room, lock the door behind you. The shutters on the last window on the right will be unlocked. You'll go out the window and make for 7th street. I'll be waiting on the corner. I've got a sputter-tub ready to haul us out of Maegor's Wharf.'

The lanky bootlegger did her best to smile encouragingly as she smoothed out the last of the concealer. 'There now. Much better!'

Sansa glanced in the mirror and smiled at the older girl's handiwork. The bruises circling her left eye were now barely visible. Asha smoothed her elegantly bobbed black hair and rested a reassuring hand on Sansa's arm.

'It'll work. Keep your head on straight and remember what I told you. When the time comes, don't hesitate. We won't have much time.'

'Thank you, Asha. For everything.'

Greyjoy nodded. 'See you soon, Birdy. Give my love to Tyrion.' She winked and slipped out the door, pulling it closed behind her.

Sansa counted to ten slowly and then made her way back to the bar. Tyrion acknowledged her with a brief nod before pushing a fresh martini across the counter in her direction.

'Read my mind!' She chirped, hoping she imagined the quaver in her voice.

She flicked the twist of lemon peel in the glass with what she hoped was a casual air. The band was taking a quick break in preparation for her set. Tom Sevenstrings, the greasy looking yet oddly charming bandleader tipped his hat in her direction and smiled. Sansa smiled back before taking a sizable swallow of her drink. Half of it went down the wrong way and she was rewarded with an agonizing searing in her throat that set off a vicious, unladylike coughing fit.

Tyrion offered her a cloth from behind the bar, and Sansa snatched at it – coughing roughly into its slightly musty folds and doing her best to ignore the condescending expressions of nearby patrons. Fortunately, they were provided with a secondary distraction from the other end of the room as the blond and handsome Joffrey Baratheon entered with an elegant brunette. Seeing him with other women was nothing new, and Sansa shrank against the bar to avoid his notice.

'Pardon,' she sputtered. Sansa handed Tyrion back the dishcloth, which he accepted with a look that she read as equal parts concern and disgust.

'Take better care of that throat, Sansa. You're on in ten minutes…'

'Ten minutes! Oh! Oh.. I.. drat! My lucky earrings! I've left them in the dressing room. I.. best go fetch them.. Back in a jiff!'

She didn't even wait for Tyrion's approval; just made for the hallway at a half-trot. She cleared the curtain and passed the first three rooms which were reserved for visiting acts and currently empty before rounding the corner toward her own room and colliding face-first with a bulky, immovable object. Sansa squeaked with surprise and struggled fruitlessly as she was enveloped in a vice-lice grip and yanked through an open doorway with a thick hand clamped over her mouth.

'Quit your squirming, little bird…' A raspy voice that she instantly recognized hissed dangerously in her ear, prompting even more desperate thrashing. Sandor Clegane growled deep in his throat and shouldered the door closed before pressing her against it, pinning her arms and legs with his own impossibly large frame. 'I said keep still, you headstrong little…'

Thoroughly immobilized, she stared at him helplessly. The broom closet he'd pulled her into was dimly lit by a single bulb swinging on a wire, which swung wildly after being bumped in the struggle. The shifting light cast garish shadows across her captor's horribly scarred face and illuminated the glint of barely-restrained fury in his cold gray eyes.

A wave of despair replaced the abject terror she'd felt moments before. Thirty seconds into the escape plan, and already she'd mucked it up! Asha would be so cross. She could feel the sting of forming tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, and blinked the first of them loose – eliciting a sneer from the man looming over her.

'Always fucking crying, little bird. Well, you'd be doing a lot more of it if I'd let you go down that hall. Blount's in your dressing room with a little gift from your sweet fiancé – a nice necklace of fine, imported piano wire.'

She stared at him blankly. What was he trying to tell her? Why didn't he just kill her and get it over with? Clearly they'd been found out… If Joff knew she intended to escape, he wouldn't hesitate to send Clegane after her.

'I'm going to take my hand away now. Scream and you kill us both. Got it?'

She nodded stiffly and his rough hand slid from across her mouth to around her neck. It wasn't a very reassuring change. Sansa blinked the tears from her eyes and did her best to compose herself.

'What are you talking about? I was just going to fetch my earrings. The ones Joff gave me when father was promoted to chief of police. He likes to see me wear them. He…'

'Stuff it, little bird – who do you think you're talking to, hm? Have you been listening to a damned word I've said? I know all about your little game with the Greyjoy girl, even if your darling Joffrey doesn't. He was going to have you killed tonight, but not for that. Did you see the leggy dame he came in with? That's Margaery Tyrell. Get it now?'

Sansa paled, searching his face for some sign of deceit and coming up empty. 'Tyrell? What would she want with Joff? Why would she be here amongst the Lannisters and all their men?'

'What indeed. You have about as much sense as that father of yours. They sold you out, little bird. Painted it up to that idiot Mace Tyrell that it's you who put that fluky son of his behind bars. The Lannisters and Tyrells are playing all nice now, and they need you out of the way.'

Finally satisfied that the fight had gone out of her he backed off, making an effort to straighten his shirt and tie as she tried to make sense of it all.

'But then… you… Why are you telling me this?'

'Keeping you alive is one step closer to getting what I really want.'

'And what's that?' Sansa asked apprehensively.

'Gregor.' His jaw clenched as he bit out the name, and suddenly it all came together for her.

'It's Jon, isn't it.' Sansa whispered excitedly, picturing her half-brother who was in line to make district attorney. 'You think he can lock your brother up?'

Clegane laughed - a hushed, grating wheeze.

'Lock him up? I want that bastard to fry.'

Sansa frowned but bit back her disapproval, looking away from his manic expression. 'Fine. Just let me go then! I'll get out on my own while Joff's distracted. You can tell them you don't know where I went, and I'll see what Jon can do about your brother. Honest – please, just let me go!'

He seized her again and gave her a stiff shake before wrenching her chin around and forcing her to meet his gaze.

'Not that easy. Never that easy. Only in those sweet dreams of yours, little bird. Nope – any minute now Blount will realize you're not coming back to your dressing room, and they'll expect you've gone straight on stage. So that's just what you're gonna do.'

Sansa trembled.

'I can't sing. Not now. Not after all of this! Maybe there's still time… the storage room…'

The wild look in his eyes was unyielding.

'You're going to go on that stage, right now, and sing for your sweet little life – and once they've had that last pretty song from you, I'm getting you the hell out of here.'

Moments later she stood behind the curtain that led to the lounge's small stage, wringing her slender hands. She smoothed out the curves of her gown and lightly ran a hand over the blue feathered clip in her hair that her menacing assailant had adjusted mere moments before with surprising delicacy. Clegane was already gone – slinking through the shadows in the back of the room, unnoticed by the patrons.

Peeking through the red velvet folds of the curtain she could see the band fidgeting impatiently as Tom stared at the clock on the wall. Tyrion had finally been joined by his assistant barman, Bronn, and both men were busy turning out line after line of tumblers and martini glasses filled with the Greyjoy's finest while waiters in gold shirts bustled them to the tables on neat trays under the watchful eye of the portly head-waiter, Janos Slynt. The patrons seemed oblivious to the delay in entertainment and continued their rollicking conversations, flirting and drinking with carefree abandon as the bouncers watched for trouble from the sidelines in their crisp white coats.

It really could have been any night at the Lion's Den, and she couldn't help but wondering if the scene would have changed at all with her body cooling in one of the back rooms. She was little more than furniture to most of them. A handful of her regular admirers might notice the change in entertainment had Tom stepped in and covered – as he was undoubtedly all too eager to do – but outside of the smattering of folks that actually paid attention to the music, business would carry on as usual. The booze would flow, the money would roll in, and the Lannisters would bask in the golden glow of their knack for flaunting the law.

Only Joff showed any sign of agitation, she noticed, as her eyes finally fell on the table for two front-and-center to the stage. He glanced around the room nervously, though the pretty girl on his right appeared genuinely at ease. Margaery Tyrell's brilliant green dress was the latest fashion – a genuine Chanel if Sansa were any judge – and a tiny triangular cap resplendent with green and gold beadwork perched jauntily atop her mass of curly chestnut hair. She lounged casually in the plush scarlet chair, nursing an Aviation while her free hand plucked flirtatiously at the collar of Joffrey's black and gold pinstriped suit.

Steeling herself, Sansa parted the curtain and stepped onto the stage. The drummer, Lem, greeted her with a rhythmic tapping on the cymbals in time to her steps and smirked a lascivious greeting. Tom shot him a glare before clapping his hands twice to hush the hum of conversation in the room a fraction before announcing her.

'The Lion's Den is proud to present, for your listening pleasure, our very own winter songbird – Miss Sansa Stark!'

A polite smattering of applause rounded the room, intermingled with the clinking of glasses as the lights dimmed a fraction. Sansa donned her best stage-smile and sauntered to the mic, all the while scouring the alcoves for some sign of Clegane. A flash of white caught the corner of her eye in the nook to her left, nearest the stage, but with six bouncers in-house it was impossible to know who would be stationed where. At least it wasn't Blount, she realized, spotting the scruffy security man as he discretely approached Joffrey's table and leaned to whisper something in his ear. A brief sparkle of amusement lit the young man's eyes before he waved dismissively and Blout retreated to a back corner.

Sansa could feel Joffrey's eyes raking over her form, even as his hand slipped under the table and onto Margaery's thigh. He smirked, aware she was watching, and Sansa turned away quickly – nodding to Tom. The band leader took a seat at his piano and tapped his foot three times before beginning the intro to her first song, 'I'd Go Barefoot All Winter Long (If you'd fall for me in the Spring)'. It was a Helen Kane standard, and she knew Joffrey hated it.

Honey I've a notion
That I could swim the ocean
The cool, the great deep ocean
That I have for you
I try not to show it
And you may not know it
But I'm so brave my dear
That my little heart has no fear.

I'd go and kill a lion
And I'd give a bee a sting.
I'd go barefoot all winter long
If you'd fall for me in the spring.

Sansa lived for the moments that the music swelled and swept her away from her troubles. It was just her, the band and the microphone. The audience could have been anyone, out there past the footlights. Her father, her mother, her brothers and sister. For two sweet hours, two nights a week, Sansa Stark was home again – and nothing else mattered. But tonight, even that small consolation couldn't seem to go off without a hitch.

Mid-way through their third song of the night, a brilliant, pulsing red light suddenly went off above the bar and all hell broke loose. Sansa knew what it meant – the light was tied to a panic button that the doorman was instructed to trigger at the first sign of police or other trouble. Tyrion and Bronn swung into frantic action, sliding flat wood panels over the fronts of the bar shelves to conceal their illicit contents and waiters hurriedly snatched glasses off tables and bustled them to a hidden side room.

She briefly spotted Joffrey through the bedlam, cool and confident as always, leaning over Margaery in a gallant gesture that offered him a convenient view of her ample cleavage – before a firm hand closed around her upper arm and pulled her off stage.

'Time to fly, little bird!'

Sansa stumbled on her high heels as he hauled her through the lounge's back-of-house, past the dingy little office used by the Lannisters' crooked bookkeeper Petyr Baelish and the much larger and more richly appointed office used by Jaime Lannister himself on the rare occasion his appointment schedule called for it. They passed a hallway leading toward the Lounge's main foyer, where she could hear the insistent banging of their unexpected guests and caught snippets of Old Man Pycelle's stuttered excuses as the elderly doorman fumbled with the "stuck" lock.

'Where are we going?' She whispered franticly as Clegane veered suddenly and started pulling her up a staircase.

'Up. Keep quiet!'

'But…' The toe of her snub-nosed heel caught the lip of a stair and she toppled forward, caught just in time by a thick arm as the rough wooden planks rushed toward her face. Before she knew it, the arm around her waist was half-shoving, half-carrying her up the staircase as thin echoes of 'Police!' and 'Fan out!' echoed through the hall below them. Between the haste of their flight and the tightness of his grip on her midsection, Sansa was struggling for air by the time Clegane came to a stop in front of a non-descript door and quickly unlocked it with an iron key.

'That WAS the police…' She stammered between ragged breaths. 'Couldn't we just… I mean, if I tell them I'm in trouble surely they'll help us…'

The bouncer snorted and shoved her in the room, closing the door behind them with as little noise as possible and relocking it.

'You think Stannis Baratheon gives a damn about you, little bird? You're just another silly, scared girl in a town that's full of them.'

The mayor's younger brother was acting as interim chief of police in the wake of Eddard Stark's murder, and had made a pompous radio speech proclaiming his crusade to clean up the town of King's Landing. She'd never met the man, but something about the hard quality of his voice didn't strike her as particularly friendly.

Sansa's eyes scanned the dim confines of the scruffy bedroom, taking in the sparse furnishings and unmade bed as Clegane crossed the room and hoisted the window open. Her eyes widened as he climbed through into empty space, a metallic clank ringing through the darkness as his feet landed on what must have been a fire escape. He beckoned to her impatiently then leaned back in and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the opening.

'Out. Now!'

Sansa hesitated a moment before lifting the hem of her dress slightly and slipping her leg through the window. The fire escape was filthy, thanks to a constant stream of greasy soot emanating from the vents of the restaurant in the building next door. Her heels wobbled on the rough metal grating and she bit her lip, steadying herself with a hand on Clegane's broad shoulder.

'Take those damned things off and follow me,' he growled, crouching and swinging his heavily booted feet down onto the rungs of the escape's narrow ladder.

Sansa obliged, sitting on the windowsill just long enough to slip off her shoes and hand them to him. The look he gave her in return was scathing, but he tucked the shoes into his coat nonetheless. She grimaced as her stocking-clad toes squelched in the grime that coated every piece of the fire escape and inched forward hesitantly, peering down into the half-lit alley below. They were on the fourth floor, and the prospect of clambering down the rusty escape ladder with a surly thug staring up her dress did not flood her with enthusiasm.

'Promise you won't look?' she asked hopefully. Clegane snorted, already most of the way down to the first landing. She decided that'd have to be good enough and turned, lowering her feet onto the cool iron struts of the ladder. Sansa could feel goose prickles beginning to rise on her arms and legs as the cold autumn breeze cut through the alleyway, but tried to ignore it – focusing all her attention at moving one foot at a time down the ladder until her searching toes found the landing below.

Somewhere at the end of the block a dog barked wildly, followed by the sound of voices.

'Someone's coming!' She hissed as they resumed the downward climb. Clegane said nothing, but she saw him adjust his white coat to allow easier access to the gun she knew he'd be wearing. He reached the bottom of the final ladder just as a pair of dark figures rounded the corner and entered the alley. One shape pointed and the other shouted.

'You there! Freeze! Police!'

Sansa froze, clinging to the top of the ladder.

'Jump!' Clegane hissed as the figures broke into a run. Sansa looked at the pair of running officers and down at the wild-eyed man below her, suddenly more uncertain than she'd ever been in her short life. Her mouth set into a grim line, and Sansa Stark let go.

The fall was shorter than she'd imagined, but the impact as he caught her was still jarring. Suddenly her hand was in his as they ran down the alley, the huffing policemen shouting angrily in their wake. A sudden gunshot cracked through the air and Sansa heard Clegane curse as he yanked her around the corner. The frantic pace continued down the block, though the sounds of pursuit grew increasingly distant. The fleeing pair cut through another alley and out onto a wide street where several cars were parked.

'This one,' Clegane grunted, giving her a shove toward the passenger's side before circling the vehicle and climbing behind the wheel. The automobile had seen better days and when he turned the key the engine screamed like an angry warhorse before sputtering to life.

Sansa twisted in her seat and stared back the way they'd come, but saw no sign of the men who'd chased them. The car lurched and she slid roughly against the door as Clegane pressed the peddle to the floor boards and sped off into the night.

'They SHOT AT US!' Sansa squawked once the shock of the exchange wore off enough for her vocal chords to resume normal function. The car rattled through the dark streets with its lights turned off, and she gripped both sides of her seat with white-knuckled determination. She would breathe. She would not faint.

Clegane must have noticed her trembling, as he took one hand off the wheel at a time, shrugging out of his white coat and tossing it into her lap. The impact made her jump and she held up the coat to inspect it as he finally flipped the headlights on. It was filthy – covered in soot from the fire escape and smudged with some dark substance she couldn't identify in the darkness. After all they'd been through, Sansa imagined she must already look terrible; so she pulled the coat on over her thin dress and rolled up the sleeves enough to free her hands, grateful for the warmth.

She recognized the road they were on, and was surprised by the choice – it led north out of King's Landing, rather than south to the harbor.

'Where are we going? Asha said…'

'Incase you haven't noticed,' he rumbled, 'We were spotted back there. The first place they'll look is the Wharf. It's the closest route of escape. Your brother may have offered the Greyjoy girl a kippy deal in exchange for her help, but there's no way she'll risk her family's entire operation just to save your skin.'

He grimaced and shifted slightly in his seat as the car broke through the edge of town and onto one of the many dark roads that snaked their way through the surrounding countryside.

Sansa gave him a side-long glance.

'You did. There's no way you can go back to the Lannisters now. They'll put a mark on you for sure. And for what? To see your brother die?'

His laugh was clipped and bitter.

'Only thing better than watching would be to flip the switch myself. Think that brother of yours would be game?'

Sansa glowered, sinking deeper into the folds of the filthy white jacket and taking advantage of Clegane's distraction with the road to scrutinize her unlikely rescuer. The car seemed far too small for his bulky frame and he hunched over the steering wheel in a manner that did not look terribly comfortable.

'You know how to drive, little bird?' He asked, a slight slur in his words. Sansa's brow wrinkled as she realized he was sweating profusely, despite the coolness of the evening.

'No…' she answered hesitantly. 'Father never found time to teach me.'

'Of course not. Nobody taught you anything useful, did they?' He chuckled wildly, nodding at the road.

Sansa scooted forward in her seat, watching him with concern.

'How long until we get to my family?' They were slowing down, she noticed. Clegane suddenly pulled the car off the road and brought it to a halt behind a thick hedge.

As the vehicle lurched to a stop, he began fiddling with his pants. Sansa gaped and scooted backward until she hit the door. She swallowed roughly.

'That depends,' he snarled, pulling his belt free and handing it to her. 'You help me with this – maybe a few hours. Otherwise, you're walking – and gods only know where you'll end up.'

Sansa clutched the belt with one hand as the other fumbled behind her back for the door catch. Clegane grunted and stretched his right leg out as far as the cramped confines of the car would allow, and it was only then that she noticed the inky stain that plastered the fabric to the flesh of his thigh.

'What is that?' Her voice quivered as her hand slipped away from the door.

'They shot at us!' He mewed in a grating rendition of her earlier remark. Her eyes widened.

'It hit you? Seven Hells, why didn't you say something? What do I DO?'

'Belt –' He gritted through his teeth, holding out a hand. She gave it to him readily and watched as he gingerly lifted his leg and slid the length of leather underneath before looping the loose end back through the buckle and pulling it snuggly.

'Hold this. Tight.'

Sansa stretched shaking hands for the leather strap and took it from his grip. It was already slick with blood and her fingers slipped.

'I said tight, dammit! You've got a long walk ahead of you if I bleed out…'

'I'm sorry!' She wrapped the strap around her hand twice and pulled as hard as she could. The grunt of pain that escaped his throat made her tremble.

'Better. Now keep it that way.'

Clegane shoved the brake handle and the car lurched into reverse. They rolled over a rock and skimmed half of the hedge before he successfully jerked it back onto the road. As the car rattled its way down the dusty road she made every effort to keep her eyes straight ahead out the window and her mind off the sickeningly sticky warmth under her fingers.

The silence between them seemed to stretch on endlessly and Sansa was painfully aware of every tiny bump in the road. After a few moments that seemed like years, she fell back on the one tool left to her: courteous small talk.

'It will be nice to see Winterfell again,' she mused, attempting to sound casual and distract herself with thoughts of her home town. 'Have you ever been north? It's quite beautiful this time of year. Cold of course, but still…'

'Spare me your damned chirping.' He mumbled, without the enthusiasm typical of his rude remarks.

'Sing something.'

Sansa's brow furrowed, unsure she'd heard him correctly.

'Sing?'

'That's all you're good for, isn't it? Let's have the one that little shit Joffrey put Blount on you for the other night.'

She knew the one he meant. It'd earned her the black eye Asha'd helped cover up, and for some reason – she wanted to sing it. There in that battered old car applying a tourniquet to the leg of a man she barely knew but owed her life to, singing somehow seemed perfectly logical.

Sansa cleared her throat and gave the belt a sharp tug to assure she had his full attention.

Why can't I have the sunshine?
The sunshine instead of gloom?
Why must I have these little shadows
Creeping in my room?

When the night is dark and peaceful,
Loving hearts are all in tune,
There's two lonesome people in the whole wide world,
It's me and the man in the moon.

When the little birds are nesting,
And I listen to them croon,
There are two lonesome people in the whole wide world,
It's me and the man in the moon.

Hope you enjoyed! Here's the soundtrack, as a little bonus (YouTube, fill in the blanks):
.com/watch?v=403Jp2Dxe6c
.com/watch?v=WJptgWCUFWg