A/N: I posted this on my tumblr, but I decided to put it up here as well. This was inspired by Breaking Bad, so hopefully that gives you at least a slight indication of what you're in for.

Summary: She was untouched. Untouched by poverty and untouched by the scars and scars of crystal. And he would know. The more he looked at her, the more he could see it. She wasn't born for this world. But she lived in it. And a part of her liked it.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. All characters belong to GRRM, HBO, and the ASoIaF universe.

Arya Stark hated Joffrey Lannister's car. It was red and it was flashy.

Joffrey Lannister was an idiot to drive a Jaguar. But then again, Arya always knew that Joffrey was an idiot. He was an idiot to let Arya see Sansa come home with her face like that. He was an idiot to let her know that he was the one that was responsible. And he was an idiot to be so flippant about it to think that she wouldn't do something about it.

Joffrey Lannister was an idiot.

And someday, she was going to kill him.

But not today.

"Arya, no." Sansa was coating her newest accessory with a liberal amount of foundation for the night. Joffrey always gave her sister ugly accessories.

Arya always wanted to castrate him.

Arya crossed her arms over her chest, glaring as her sister fixed her reflection in the mirror.

"You think I'm going to let you go back to him tonight?"

Sansa's eyes flashed but they both knew there was nothing she could do about it.

"Just stay out of this," Sansa said. "You know you have to stay out of this."

"You know that's not going to happen."

"I won't let you."

"No," Arya said forcefully. "I'm not letting you. I'm not letting you go out there alone and seeing him again."

"But that's not what you're offering," Sansa said. "You've never done this."

"I think I can handle an ounce of crystal," Arya said. They both knew she could handle it better than Sansa ever could.

"You can't handle Joffrey."

Arya stiffened. Sansa stood up from the mirror, favoring the left side of her face.

Someday, she would kill the bastard.

"Nymeria says I can."

"Edric got hit yesterday."

Gendry had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Edric had always been an idiot – a self-assured idiot who thought too highly of his product. Gendry was relieved the DEA busted his lab. If he hadn't heard anything until now, it meant that at least they were still safe, even if Edric was gone. And he wouldn't talk.

Gendry always preferred Mya anyway. She didn't talk too much and did what he told to when they were cooking.

He was a better cook than Edric by far. That was why Joffrey kept him so close. Maybe that wasn't a blessing. But at least he didn't have to deal with Edric's pride.

Joffrey kept all his best employees close on the off chance they got busted. But that was never going to happen. The Lannisters owned the DEA. Edric was probably just an oversight and they had so many cooks it didn't even matter in the long run. All in all, that seemed good news to Gendry.

Mya laughed when he only shrugged.

"We need to get started," Gendry said. "He expects eight pounds by tomorrow."

Without another word, Mya put on her respirator. Edric would have given him shit and tried to take control of the operation. Gendry had seniority, but it always wasted time.

Gendry put on his own respirator.

It was still cooking when she arrived. His mask was still on. But even so, he saw her coming. He closed the door to the lab behind him.

He caught her eyes first. And he knew she was a stranger. He had never seen her before, but he couldn't look away. Eyes of steel cut into him as the girl came up the walk. Her head was high and her eyes so dead it was as though she didn't know how little she was.

Skinny and small, her untamed hair flowed down her back. Her eyes were rimmed with black; her hands stuffed into the front pockets of her jean shorts. Her black tank top showed a snarling wolf tattooed on the back of her right shoulder.

He should have looked away.

When she caught his eyes, she scowled.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in."

He stared at her blankly. He knew she couldn't be talking about the lab. She must be looking for Joffrey. She must be the girlfriend. He tore off his respirator. "You shouldn't be in here."

"Where the fuck is Joffrey?" she demanded impatiently. She wasn't having any of him. He looked around back and she breezed by him before he could answer. "Thanks."

She didn't sound thankful at all as she slammed the door to Joffrey's makeshift office behind her.

Mya usually took directions. She wore the mask and did as he instructed. She had come in after him and deferred to his expertise. The only thing he ever was artistic about was cooking.

The strange girl was still talking with Joffrey when Mya was done. She came out and took off her respirator. Gendry was still looking at the door.

"She doesn't really seem Joffrey's type," Gendry said conversationally.

Mya's eyes narrowed in thought for a moment before she spoke. She had seen the girl walk up the same as him.

"Oh, that's not Sansa," Mya corrected. "I know Sansa. That ain't her."

"I thought Sansa was Joffrey's mule."

"She usually is," Mya said. "My guess, that's her sister."

"That's Sansa Stark's sister?" Gendry asked doubtfully. He had heard how the other guys talked about her around the campfire, and that wasn't how he imagined her.

"Hard to see the resemblance, yeah?" Mya asked. "Joffrey likes to use Sansa for the prep crowds. They're attracted to a pretty face. But Arya? Arya will get the job done."

"She do this kind of work before?"

"Arya has done anything and everything," Mya said. "Including spotting Joffrey and being deathly protective of her older sister. Like I said. Just a guess."

"What makes you figure it?"

"The first time Arya ever met Joffrey," Mya said, "she set her pup on him."

"A puppy was what attacked Joff?"

"Arya knew from the beginning what no one really sees but us. The girl's got a sixth sense. What she's also got is some sort of mutant dog. That thing was barely a year old before she set it on Joffrey after she saw what he did to her sister's face."

"She's going to mule for us now?" Gendry asked curiously. Though it seemed doubtful a girl like that would ever be submissive to Joffrey.

"Don't," Mya warned.

"Don't what?"

"That look."

"What look?"

"I know that look," Mya said. "And I have never seen it on your face before."

Gendry tried to make his face stone, but it was too late.

"Arya is muling today to make it look like Joffrey's idea," Mya said. "But he won't let that chick in here again. His claws are in Sansa. No matter what Arya does, she won't get them out."

"And what if Arya kills him?"

"Wishful thinking?"

"Just thinking."

"Word of advice, kid. Stop. It's not your strong suit."

The girl named Arya walked out of Joffrey's office an hour later, though she was escorted by Clegane. Gendry thought the two would get along. They both had canine tattoos, though his was on one side of his face. But she glared over her shoulder at him.

"Gendry, you're escorting wolf-girl here downtown. Mya will take care of uptown tonight."

"Escort?" Gendry asked just as Arya shouted, "I don't need an escort," indignantly.

"Kid, a small thing like you will be happy for the Bull over here when you're downtown," Mya advised.

"I don't need him," Arya said stubbornly. Gendry could tell she was going to be a handful. "Sansa never needed one."

"Sansa only handled the prep school parties," Mya said.

"I've done worse," Arya said.

"And you'll look like Handsome over here when you're done if you don't," Mya said nodding towards Clegane. He said nothing but only glowered at the small girl.

Gendry could see the fury brewing on the girl's face but she wasn't allowed to argue. They left together and he had to coerce her into letting him drive.

No one drove his van but him.

She didn't seem to see the problem.

"So how old are you?"

"Shut up."

Gendry thought it was the best course of action to try and make friendly conversation with the girl he was going to spend eight hours riding around town with.

She was spectacularly opposed to the idea as they sat parked in his van across the street from the Flea Bottom projects.

Gendry knew the Starks. He knew Sansa. Or he had at least heard of her. And he knew girls like that—rich girls who got their rocks off peddling drugs and working out their unresolved daddy issues.

But it was true. Sansa only worked the upper-class parties.

Arya Stark was something else altogether. She didn't look as if she had bothered to cut her hair in a year and even her tattoo didn't look fresh. Her face was in a permanent scowl and she walked like she wasn't afraid of anything.

Even Gendry—though not specifically afraid of his stepbrother—knew what he was capable of. Arya didn't even seem to care, like she didn't care about anything. She didn't care about her last name, or if she even went to jail.

It only made Gendry ever more curious what she had gotten herself into and he couldn't help but ignore her antagonism and ask.

"How old even are you?"

She cast him another glare.

"What do you care?" she asked. "It's not like you're exactly afraid of staying in the lines of the law."

Gendry felt his ears burn and was grateful for the cover of darkness. He hadn't thought about her being a minor and knew he looked very old to be accused of many things. Too old for her, certainly. But it hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Just curious."

Arya finally looked over at him. The lines of her forehead smoothed out and he finally had to confront the fact that she was pretty. Not the pretty that he was sure her rich older sister was, but a different sort of pretty—a wild sort of pretty that scared people away. At least the sort of people that she most likely went to those rich schools with.

"Seventeen," Arya said, finally.

"So what is someone like—"

"We're not starting with that," Arya said. "I told you my age. Now shut up about it."

She was a hard little thing. He couldn't imagine her in a prep school.

"You haven't told me your name," he said.

"You know my name."

It didn't sound like a question, and he was sure that she knew that.

"What's your name?" he asked.

She threw him what must have been the thousandth look of annoyance.

"If I tell you, will you shut up?"

He just really wanted to hear her say it from her own mouth. He shrugged.

"It's Arya," she said, her syllables blending together. "Now. Shut. Up."

"My name's Gendry," he said.

She didn't reply.

If he had ever doubted her, he didn't anymore. The likes of her sister were perfect for mules. Arya was no mule. She was a wolf and she dealt even better than Clegane. She must have known that. Even Joffrey would have been an idiot to refuse her taking her sister's place – if only for one night.

Gendry should have stayed in the van. He rarely went out on deals anymore. Joffrey liked to keep him close. But he was the girl's escort even if she completely ignored him.

There was something he could say for Arya Stark – she was infinitely better company once she had the cash in her pocket.

Not that she would ever have it for herself. It all went to Joffrey. Sansa got paid by not having her face sliced off. Gendry was sure Arya was getting the same deal, though he was liking it less and less. His cut was as abysmal as Mya's, but that didn't seem to worry him so much now.

Arya handled herself like a pro. She walked into the projects like she had lived there every day of her life, even when he knew where she really came from. She was a Stark. He was her silent shadow and constant irritation.

He still liked it better that way.

"So what do you do for that cunt?" Arya slid the cash into her back pocket. Gendry's eyes followed her movements. They leaned against the wall of the rager, the bass vibrating through both of them while they waited around for more customers.

She really had a way with words, but everyone talked about Joffrey that way and it was easy to crack that code.

"I cook," Gendry said simply.

He knew she was having a go at him. He knew she was only needling him because she could. But she would see that he was different. He wasn't like the rest of the methheads. Not anymore.

"You any good?"

He couldn't tell if she was teasing.

"I don't know," he said. "It's all Joffrey's product, isn't it?"

"Joffrey's king," Arya said. "But he wouldn't be able to cook for shit. He's nothing without you. He couldn't hold it all together without employees."

"And you," Gendry said softly. "What would he do without you?"

Her eyes were confused.

"He has Sansa," she said harshly. "He controls Sansa."

"Not with you around."

"Well she has her own brand of stupidity," Arya said. "She won't leave him."

"Maybe she loves him."

"Then she's an idiot."

"I don't think it works that way."

"You would know, do you?" Arya asked.

"No," he said after a moment. But he didn't know how she would know that. "I don't suppose I do."

From the way she asked, he thought that maybe she didn't know either. But that would come as a surprise to him. She handled herself. She walked through the crowds of people twice her height. Men followed her with their eyes and he thought maybe she hadn't been in love. But it would be impossible to think no one had never wanted her.

She was untouched. Untouched by poverty and untouched by the pockmarks and scars of crystal. And he would know. The more he looked at her, the more he could see it. She wasn't born for this world. But she lived in it. And a part of her liked it.

"Stop hovering," she said in annoyance.

They hadn't sold anything in an hour. Or at least she hadn't. True to what she said, he was only a shadow.

"I'm sure I'm the reason," Gendry said. No one approached a girl with a hulking bodyguard. "I thought you were some kind of pro."

Her gaze was haughty.

"This place is dead anyway."

Where she led, he would follow. But he always drove. Some part of her seemed to respect that. They sat in the van for a moment after they arrived at the club.

The door slammed behind her, but he wasn't about to let her leave him behind.

"Wait here."

The retort was sarcastic. "As m'lady commands."

Her eyes brimmed with fire as he climbed out of his van, locking it behind him.

"You think I'm going to let you go in some tweaker bar alone?" he laughed bitterly. "Not likely."

She was quiet, but the anger in her eyes spoke volumes.

"You take your job seriously," she said. It wasn't his usual job. He was a cook. He wasn't a bouncer. But somehow, he was okay with that. He could be good at this job.

Gendry only shrugged. "I guess I do."

She didn't stop him from following her, but that didn't mean she acknowledged his presence.

It had been months since he had been in a place like this. Arya wove through the towering men and sly women like a knife through water. Gendry's bulkiness was only a hindrance to him and it was under a minute until he lost her in the crowd.

He had no doubt money was changing hands because she returned just as quickly, almost graceful in this wilderness.

He knew he should have followed her. He knew he should have pleased her as much as he could. He should have placated her if that were even possible. On her heels was a familiar sight and in her hand was a glass pipe.

They were safe in the shadows. Law enforcement wouldn't find themselves here but all the same, he knew she saw his hesitance.

She saw his weakness.

The smoke traveled up the crystal stem and he watched it sucked through Arya's lips. He couldn't think why he was looking at them so hard. She must have felt his gaze because she offered the pipe to him.

He shook his head. But she already knew his answer.

Her eyebrows knit.

"You don't do it?"

"Not regularly."

He could tell she wasn't satisfied.

"What kind of cook goes to NA?" she asked.

"What kind of cook smokes up his own wares?"

But her eyes never left him. "You must have a higher standard than most."

"I used to," Gendry said, crossing his arms over his chest. Her eyes were on the tattoos on his knuckles. She pointed.

"You went to jail."

"I don't go to NA," Gendry said. "But if I fuck up…"

He couldn't say it.

"Then you'll be where Sansa is," Arya said. Her eyes were hard.

"You shouldn't go to jail," Gendry said.

"Think I couldn't hack it?"

"I know you could," Gendry said. "I just… wouldn't want you to go to jail."

Her eyes were still unrelenting.

"I'd go to jail for my sister," Arya said. "I'd die for her."

Gendry didn't want that either.

He didn't want that so much that it confused him. To feel something so strongly about someone must be like chasing a high. That was the only time he could think feeling so strongly and wanting to protect something so much.

But now that he thought about it, maybe he would go to jail for Arya Stark.

If they were caught.

But Gendry didn't think Arya was the type of person to get caught. That was why she was here and he was there.

She was just better.

He would always be a hood rat.

"So you go to school with all those other rich kids?"

Some kids were already tweaking on the street.

"What do you mean?" Arya asked suspiciously.

"Sansa goes to school with those kids she deals too, right?" Gendry asked. It was the question they had all been waiting for.

Arya wasn't her sister. Everyone should know that.

"She doesn't deal," Arya replied. "She just peddles. She wouldn't be able to stand the reputation, I expect."

"But you don't know," Gendry mused.

Arya paused. "I don't go to school with her. Not anymore."

Gendry's interest piqued. He could feel her harden slightly at his interest. But he couldn't help that asking her questions about herself interested him.

"You go to some other prep school then?"

"No," Arya said in annoyance. "Why are you so interested?"

Gendry shrugged.

A man of few words. In theory.

She didn't know why she started talking. His eyes were probing and she had never had someone this interested in her since her brother.

But this was different. This was very different.

"My pare—my mom," Arya said vaguely. "She decided it wasn't worth it to send me to private school anymore. I go to public. It really doesn't matter."

"But Sansa is worth going to prep school?" Gendry said. She didn't know why he sounded so disapproving.

"It isn't like that," Arya answered. "It's understandable if you knew. I don't blame her. I prefer it really. She doesn't want to put me in if I'm just going to get myself expelled again."

"You do that a lot, do you?" He sounded impressed.

"Not that it's any of your business."

It was better if he didn't.

Strobes and lights dyed her hair blue and shocking white flashed across her face. She smiled. That smile could be a snarl when she wanted it to be. The bass was pounding and he shouldn't have been able to hear himself think but there was always a certain clarity to crystal.

He didn't even have to taste it. All he needed was the cook.

But Arya Stark…

He couldn't hear the music. And he knew it had kicked in. He wondered if Arya Stark would ever dance if she were sober.

For some reason, she stayed in his eyeline. She could disappear if she wanted to. She could turn into a shadow.

She only swayed. She swayed until she jumped, until she was part of the flashing lights and the pounding music.

She smiled at him.

She showed him her teeth. They glowed in the lights of the club. They were white and healthy.

Her heart thudded against his chest.

He couldn't hear her voice over the music. But he could smell her sweat, her hair sticking to her damp skin amidst the other dancers. He had the feeling that Arya Stark had never been a dancer.

He had a feeling Arya Stark was a wild card.

Her eyes were clear but her limbs were akimbo, knocking into him until he attempted to follow the beat with her. Her breath hit his chest in heavy pants, her wolf snarling at him – moving and breathing like a living thing.

His eyes were watering.

She gripped his shirt.

He couldn't hear her voice over the music – until she shouted in his ear.

"You're really going to go wherever I want."

He didn't have an answer for that.

"That girl called you the Bull," Arya said. "Are you really him?"

He could hear her better crammed into a crowded corner, but they both sweated more in such a close proximity. He could smell her more. He didn't mind.

"I'm the Bull," he affirmed simply.

"Joffrey's main cook," Arya pressed. She was far more interested with crystal rushing through her brain.

"Hard to believe?" On this front, Gendry could be cocky. He shouldn't have been, this close to her. He never had the right.

He was stupid like that.

"Not when I look it you," she retorted easily. "But what's Joffrey's best cook doing grunt work like escorting me around?"

Gendry shrugged. He had no idea what he was doing. This didn't feel like escorting anymore. This felt like he was pressed uncomfortably against her and Joffrey would throw him into a ditch for endangering the product for this Stark bitch. He wondered what it would be like to care.

Arya was a wildcard and there was nothing more dangerous than entrusting the product to her.

But then again, they all knew this had everything to do with Sansa and nothing to do with Gendry.

"I've tasted it, you know," Arya said. "You're no exaggeration."

Gendry knew that. But somehow impressing this affronted girl gave him a thrill of pleasure.

He shouldn't feel a thrill of anything.

"You ever seen a cook before?"

Her eyes were soft. He was glad that they were alone. There was barely anyone in this corner. He had never asked anyone anything so intimate as that before. Only Mya ever saw it. Edric didn't count.

Arya shook her head. "Like Joffrey would let me near his precious operation."

"I can't imagine what you could have done in the past to have this reputation of yours."

At that, she grinned. He liked her smile. "You have no idea."

"Well, he wouldn't have to know."

He really did have no idea. He had no idea what he was doing and no idea what to do next.

She solved that problem.

"Let's get out of here."

The sun hadn't come up yet. They were both sweating in the back of his van. He couldn't remember ever dancing before that night.

"You been dealing a long time?" It shouldn't have been a question. She was a pro.

"Sansa has always just been a mule," Arya said. "She doesn't need to know what I've done to keep her safe. She's my big sister. I have to protect her."

"Doesn't the older sibling protect the younger?" he asked.

"No," she said, her voice darkening with confusion. "Does yours?"

"I don't have any," Gendry said. "No real ones, at least."

Mya was only a crystal sister but he loved her just the same, he thought. Did Arya love her brothers? Did she love at all?

Gendry loved crystal and Gendry loved the cook. But looking at Arya now, this felt like something else. This felt stronger than crystal.

She was quiet for a moment. Her whisper was so quiet he almost missed it. "Joffrey."

But then there was Joffrey. "I cook for him. That's it."

"He's dangerous."

"Maybe you'll protect me, then."

"You ask him why I need an escort?" Clearly it still burned her.

"Would you?" he retorted.

"You're not an escort," Arya said. "You're the muscle. Joffrey doesn't trust me as far as he can throw me. And despite how I look, Joffrey can't throw for shit."

He couldn't help but smile.

The strap of her tank top slid over her shoulder. Her skin was sharp in the moonlight. Soon the sun would rise and this night never would have happened. But for now, it was still the hour of the wolf.

Hers snarled at him and her eyes were wide and bright.

He shouldn't have been looking.

"I have it."

He had been starting too long. "What?"

She didn't answer.

He watch her arch her back from the floor to pivot her hips forward, pulling the cash out of her back pocket. She slapped it into his hand.

"There's your payment."

He couldn't decide if she sounded bitter or not.

He said it before he realized what it meant. "I would have stayed even if you gipped me."

He had only known her for a day, and still, he wouldn't have pegged her for one to easily be caught off guard. But her face was blank and now she was the one that was staring.

She lay back down on the floor. The doors were locked and for the first time, she felt dwarfed by someone else. Growing up petite gave her bravado, but his eyes stripped her of that. There was nothing hiding behind those blue wells. He was on open book. He was easy to read, but that was what made him so difficult.

It was what made her lie back down. His eyes followed her and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

She was thinking it too.

He had a bull on his torso. She remembered dimly them calling him The Bull. He seemed to be the only thing she remembered of the night. And yet, she never remembered being this hot when she first saw him. She never remembered breathing so heavily.

It was the van. It was him. It was the wad of cash sticking haphazardly out of his pocket and the knowledge that she had never been this quiet in her life.

This was his fault.

She squirmed and his eyes flashed to the juncture of her thighs. It was only for a second, but she still caught it. She wasn't unaccustomed to the patronization of men, but this was different.

His eyes weren't dead like hers. He had a soul. A cook with a soul was something of an anomaly to her. She didn't care how old he was, but he struck her as someone that just looked old.

Maybe he just had an old soul. Like her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist. He braced himself against the floor of the van, but went no further. He was breathing heavily too, but his body was tense like he was about to pull away.

She felt so hot; she had to get her shirt off. He was looking again. He was slower to look away this time.

So she took off his shirt and that made it better. The bull on his torso was beautiful.

For a few minutes, she didn't feel so angry anymore. It was only the few minutes where she was lost in his animalistic groans and her own savage movements, relishing the look on his face. Then he said her name and it was over.

This wasn't her first time. In no way was she a virgin in anything. But for the first time, she wasn't angry. For the first time, she wasn't dull, wasn't empty.

For the first time, she could feel it.

He worried. She knew that he worried about her, but she didn't stop. She never asked him to stop cooking, no more than he could ask her to stop dealing. He didn't have the right. But as far as he was concerned, cooking had minimal danger.

Dealing scared him. Her dealing scared him.

The pretense of having an escort had dissipated long ago. She would be indignant now if he even offered. But every night by the time four AM rolled around, he would wait in the van. She would look annoyed, but she always climbed in.

After they finished making love in the back, he would take her home before her parents realized she was even gone.

She hated that he called it that. She said so every time, but he couldn't stop. Not with her. Not ever. This was forever, or until one of them died. It was unspoken, but true. Even as much as she protested, he would kiss her wolf and she would sink her nails into his bull and he knew that she felt the same way. She could never say it.

She had been ravaged too much from the inside to ever say it. But she did. And only when they lay in the back together afterwards would she let him hold her. She would let him nuzzle her neck and whisper things to her that she would never hear at any other time.

She liked his jailhouse tattoos the best. He could tell. Sometimes she would use his knuckles as a pillow. But she favored the bull. Her fingers were heavy with rings and she left gouges in his back sometimes and he loved her. Most of the times she would never hear it, but she let him say it with his tongue, though not verbally. Just his mouth between her thighs.

But this night was different. This night, she didn't scowl when she approached the van. But she didn't get in. Gendry waited but she only stared at him through the windshield. Finally he got out only to be accosted with her running at him and jumping into his arms, her mouth on his, her legs wrapped around his waist.

She would always be slight thing. She was never hard to carry. But he was so surprised his back slammed against the van as she kissed him furiously. Finally he found the handle of the van while his mouth was preoccupied and slid the door open.

He practically threw her inside and slammed the door shut, locking it as he always did in these neighborhoods. She was already naked when he reached her and she did away with his pants in seconds.

That night she loved him in a way she had never allowed herself to love him before and he came for what seemed like centuries. Centuries into the past where they had lived and lost.

She came too and said his name.

Their naked legs were entangled and they were wrapped around each other, facing each other this time. She kept kissing him from time to time and he didn't have to ask what was different. He already knew.

He smelled her and he held her and he waited.

Finally she said it.

"I'm going to kill him tonight," she whispered.

"I know," he said back, stroking her hair. He couldn't tell her no, or to be careful, or that he loved her.

She was finally alive.

And they were together.

For centuries, they were together.