Summary: Some kind of AU, using both the book and the TV show. Tyrion has a plan to exact a tiny revenge on his family, but he needs the help of his wife. Not sure when in the storyline it happens.

AN and disclaimer: This is written mostly for my own sake, because after season 3 my mind wouldn't leave Tyrion and Sansa alone. I liked them in the books, but I didn't truly ship them until after last season. I blame Peter Dinklage for that. There is no actual plot in this, and I truly have no idea when this happens. It might be before Joff's wedding, maybe that "certain thing" didn't happen in the wedding and this is later… I don't know. It doesn't matter. Please enjoy. And disclaimer? Seriously? I don't own shit.

Chapter 1

"Sansa?"

"Yes, my lord."

Tyrion sighed. An idea had been brewing in his mind for quite some time, and it needed to be put into motion soon. But he needed his wife cooperation. She sat in their solar, staring at some needlework she had been working on for the last week. It didn't look like she had done much in those days. He'd almost given up on reminding her of his name, it didn't seem like it was much use.

"I have been thinking," he started. She didn't look very impressed with this fact, but her eyes diverted themselves to him for a fraction of a second. He sighed again and started pacing in front of her.

"I've been thinking about our situation, and how others view it." How would he put this in words without sounding like an idiot?

"I am not happy. You are not happy. I'm content, you're… well, you've covered yourself in such icy courtesies that there doesn't seem to be any way to reach you, so I have no idea how you truly feel. But do you know who are happy? The King, my beloved sister and my dear father. They are happy because we are unhappy." He stopped pacing in front of Sansa. She had her eyes fixed on her needlework.

"Please do me the wondrous favor of looking at me from time to time, Sansa."

"Yes, my lord," she answered in her courteous and hollow voice and took few seconds to look at his face.

"This is the situation we're in. I have a strong need to change it. I want us to be the happy ones, and my family to be miserable, even if just for a day." Sansa had the good graces to look at him again for a split second. "Do you have any suggestions as to how we might accomplish that goal?" he asked her.

"No, my lord."

"Well, I have. And it's so very simple in thought, but might be more difficult in action." He took a step closer to her. Should he put his hands on her knees? No, that would be too much for her. The armrest was a safer choice.

"So very simple, we might pull it off if you're willing to help me. Do you think you could do that?"

"If it will please my lord husband."

"It would please your lord husband very much, but I'm counting on that it will also please you, seeing as you have little love for my family." He put his palms on the armrest and leaned slightly closer to her.

"If we act as if we're happy, they will be unhappy," he whispered. Sansa arched her eyebrows.

"What do you mean, my lord?" she asked, sitting slightly straighter. Or was she trying to get further away from him?

"My father doesn't want to see me happy. Well, in truth, he doesn't want to see me at all. I don't think he cares much if you're in high spirits or low, but he has no special vendetta against you, no more than he has against most of other people that breathe in the realm. My sister and her son want to see us miserable, and they know we are extremely miserable when sitting awkwardly at a feast surrounded by couples that are much more perfect than we can ever hope to be." He poked her knee. "That's what we are going to change tomorrow night."

"How so, my lord?"

"We will make them miserable with our happiness!" Tyrion exclaimed, smiling at his simple solution.

"Our happiness?" she echoed, confusion etched into her face. Tyrion took her needlework from her hands, put it on a table, and took her hands in his.

"My dear lady wife, for just one night, could you act as if you were happy? You don't have to go around kissing me, that might be a bit over the top, but if you could just… smile for me. Laugh with me, scold me for drinking too much and steal my cup every now and then, smile at other people. Can you imagine how annoyed my nephew will be at seeing you happy? And my sister, she'll be absolutely wretched when she sees that my marriage is not a complete failure!" He squeezed her hands. "It will be our revenge, no matter how little it is. Just for one night, one feast."

Sansa's eyebrows were knotted together, her mouth slightly open and her hands completely slack in his. For few moments she tried to stutter something unladylike, until she managed a sentence.

"You want me to act as if I am happy?"

"Yes."

"To make your family unhappy?"

"Yes!"

She looked down at their hands. It was the only physical contact they'd had for weeks. After some very concentrated thinking she looked back at him and asked:

"Do you think it would actually work?"

Tyrion could have danced at this response.

"My wonderful, beautiful Sansa, I do not doubt it for one second!" Was he overdoing the praising? Nah, not in this situation. "They will be sour and displeased with us, and I will make sure that my nephew will not get a chance to get you alone, my father will think for some horrible moments that he did us a favor by marrying us, and we shall laugh at them!" He kissed her knuckles. "It will be a wonderful feast!" he declared.

"And will I…" she took a deep breath, "will I truly be allowed to berate you for drinking excessively?"

"Excessively, yes. But you must allow me to drink something. Although, I have been thinking of getting you drunk for some time, so if you agree to drink all the cups you take away from me…" he trailed off, not sure the sentence should have gone in this direction.

"I am not sure if I would like to get drunk, my lord. Ever," Sansa answered warily. Tyrion cursed in his mind. Why did he have to bring that up? They both knew why he'd want her to drink away all her senses. Perhaps he could rectify that notion.

"No, Sansa. I do not want you drunk so that I can take advantage of you. I want you drunk so that I can speak with you without having to hear "if it please my lord husband" in every other sentence. I want you drunk because I like drunk people and think they can be quite interesting." He let go of her hands and turned around to walk away. "But none of that now." He stopped in the doorway. "Do you truly think you can, for one night, act as if the demon monkey that is your husband is not the worst thing that could have happened to you in King's Landing?"

Sansa stretched her hand to get back her needlework from the table. "My lord, I do not have to act. You are not the worst thing that has or could happen to me here," she said in her soft voice. "I think tomorrow evening might turn out to be quite fun," she added as he was about to walk away. The corners of his lips turned slightly upwards and he waddled away.

"And my name is Tyrion!" he called before closing the door behind him.