It was the hottest day of summer, and Alayne Stone, newly 20, was spending her birthday waiting tables at the local diner. Not my birthday though, she thought to herself. The birth date on her new documents was different, something she couldn't even recall at the moment. The Moon Door was empty, the post-lunch afternoon lull causing her mind to wander on thoughts that were better left untouched. She leaned against the counter, wishing she could lay her head on it and sleep for a while. The heat was unbearable, and for the first time she was glad of the thin little uniform her boss had recently made mandatory. Myranda Royce had told them it would help revive business. Alayne and Mya had exchanged looks and rolled their eyes at that, but kept quiet.

Father had told her she didn't have to take up a job, but the thought of staying at home all day, hidden away, with nobody for company except an aunt who seemed to hate her and her whiny cousin was hardly appealing. Alayne looked up when the bell chimed and a lone man walked in and seated himself in a corner booth. She picked up a notepad and made her way over to the table, glad for some distraction.

Black coffee, he said, without so much as glancing up at her. His head was buried in his hands, and his breathing was heavy and erratic. Alayne paused for a while looking at him, worried he was about to suffer a heat stroke. It wouldn't be the first time that happened this summer. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He looked up, muttering something vague that could have been reassurances about his health but he stalled when he noticed her. He looked different, more worn though no less golden, since she had last seen him, but Alayne could recognize his eyes anywhere. They were Cersei's eyes. She turned without a word and made her way to the kitchen. If he recognized her he didn't say anything. He made no attempt to stop her, though that didn't ease her tightening chest, on the brink of a panic attack. She handed Randa the slip of paper when she saw her, told her she was quitting, and ran out of the back door.

It had been a week since the breach, since Jaime Lannister had crawled in and torn her perfectly constructed new life. That was all it had taken, she thought bitterly. A year of trying to forget and wearing a disguise that now felt like second skin, and an old face was enough to wreck her peace of mind. He has come for revenge, she thought, not for the first time. He believed that she had killed his son, and caused his sister and lover to fall into despair. Cersei had also died, not long after Alayne was created. Surely he was hunting her down for reprisal. Because there was no other way he could have found her. He couldn't have been just stumbling about in this small, sleepy town, at the other side of the country. How is he not dead yet, she wondered. She thought they had all died. Everyone she had known in her old life was dead.

She didn't tell her father or aunt about Jaime Lannister being in their town because she was certain her aunt would be furious and demand Alayne be sent away because she was endangering her darling son. And it wasn't like Alayne couldn't take care of herself. She had bought a little pistol on her way back home after quitting at the diner, and she fit her hand around it again now, admiring the way her fingers curled around the trigger. She tried to pretend she had held it like this a hundred times before. Alayne probably had, she decided.

She was ready for him when he came, because of course he did. He raised his hand when he saw her pointing the gun at him, as if to indicate he was unarmed.

"I have come to help you."

As if.

"Put down the gun. I am not gonna hurt you."

Like she would ever trust a Lannister again.

"I am here to take you to your mother."

Her hand started shaking suddenly. He is trying to trick you, she screamed in her brain.

"My mother is dead."

"No, she isn't. She is sick though. And she wants to meet you. I am gonna take you to her, so put down the pistol. Don't be rash."

"You are lying."

"You know they never found a body."

"Stop it," she screamed. Her hands were shaking violently, her fingers no longer felt like they belonged with the stupid gun.

"Sansa," he said, advancing closer.

Not my name, she thought to herself. She hadn't heard that name since a year now. She hadn't even allowed herself to think of it. Now it felt closer to her, she longed to taste it on her lips, to remove her mask, and embrace Sansa once again. But Sansa was a weak, stupid girl. Sansa was dead.

"I am going to kill you," she whispered.

"No, you are not. You are going to leave that lecherous man you call father and that foolish aunt who despises your very sight, and you are going to come with me."

"I am a holding the gun. What makes you think I am going anywhere with you?"

That made him smirk at her, and suddenly she felt like a little child playing games she would never win. She tightened her grip on the pistol but it was no use, he moved faster than she could ever hope to and pinned her to the ground, her now empty hands clasped behind her back.

"I hate you."

He didn't even bother to answer. They had been travelling for hours now and Alayne's legs felt cramped folded up in his car. She longed to stretch them out on the dashboard but hardly thought prisoners were allowed such luxury.

"You should be glad I didn't stuff you in the trunk," he said, scratching his beard, and staring straight ahead.

Could he read her mind?

"What are you gonna do with me?"

"I already told you," he sighed. "I honestly thought you would be more grateful about this."

"Grateful that you kidnapped me?"

"Grateful for saving you from that man, and taking you to your mother."

She didn't ask how he knew about Petyr. She tried not to think about it too much. She had deflected the topic whenever Jaime brought him up. She still didn't know how he found her, and she wasn't gonna bother asking him. He'll start reciting the same lie about her mother still being alive. And even though she knew it to be false, it was too painful to think about her. Plus, it hardly seemed to matter now, she told herself. Alayne never even had a mother.

An hour later they stopped at a shady looking gas station. "I am watching you", he said, pointing two fingers at his eyes and back at her as she walked towards the ladies, and he made his way to a dingy convenience store. As if she would be stupid enough to attempt running away so soon. She'd wait till his guard was down, and then she'd run. She could start a new life again. Don another mask. There would be no Petyr this time, calling her his daughter and stealing her kisses. Anyway, she had learnt her lessons well, and she didn't really need him anymore. And she could be a blonde this time. She had always wanted to try that out.

When she got back to the car, Jaime threw a packet of crisps to her, and handed her a can of soda. "I didn't know what you liked, so I just randomly picked these. I also got these," he said, rummaging around in a bag and pulling out an assortment of brightly coloured candies which he proceeded to add to her lap.

"How old do you think I am?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I thought girls liked eating such nonsense, you can throw it away if you want, but that's your dinner for tonight. We aren't stopping again for a while, and I couldn't care less if you starve away."

Alayne believed him when he said that, but as she gingerly opened the soda, she wondered why he bothered buying her any food at all.

They had been on the road for two days now. She really wanted to know what he was planning on doing with her, because the route they were following did seem to lead North, to Winterfell. To her old lost home, she thought, painfully. But it's not Alayne's home, and the girl who once dreamed of returning there is now truly buried deep inside.

She had not just wasted away her time musing over dead dreams. She had studied her captor well. She had first noticed his eyes linger over her legs when she lay stretched out over the hood of his car trying to enjoy the cool night wind. "Couldn't find anything shorter to wear?" he had said. She didn't mind though. She was used to his cruel jokes. They were designed to hide his insecurities more than anything else, she had observed. The next day when they sat opposite each other at a booth - Alayne sipping cherry cola through a straw, dawdling on purpose, just to annoy him as he sat waiting for her, having finished his coffee 20 minutes back- she noticed him staring at her cleavage. His irritation with her had clearly not made him oblivious, she thought. She was surprised initially, for though she did figure she could charm and seduce her way out of trouble with most men (Petyr had taught her well), she thought Jaime Lannister with his undying love for his dead sister would have proved more difficult. Because he still loves her, of that she is certain. Nothing destroys his snarky façade faster than when Alayne casually slips in his late sister's name in their conversations. Still, he was a man and all men were weak.

She climbed into his bed that night, whispering soft lies about nightmares. "I am too scared to sleep alone." He didn't suspect a thing, and when he placed his arm around her body protectively, telling her she was safe, she should have felt triumphant. Instead she felt dread settle in the pit of her stomach. Because while Alayne knew better than to take comfort in such words, she could recall another girl, one who seemed to have existed a lifetime away, who would.

Before she could quail, she took a deep breath, steeled herself, and turned around to face him. He was beautiful, and as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, it didn't seem like such a task, didn't seem like pretending. She kissed him, and he responded with an intensity that made her shiver. I wanted to do this for such a long time, he whispered, as he pulled down her flimsy camisole, and kissed the top of her breasts. She blushed at his words, and suddenly felt panic replace her pleasure. Alayne doesn't blush, she thought hysterically. But she was losing control, and everything was crumbling away. When he entered her with a cruelly sharp thrust, she gasped, biting into her lip to keep from crying out loud. She could feel her mask slipping away as he rocked into her, muttering filthy compliments. And her name, her name. Sansa, Sansa, Sansa he chanted it like an ancient prayer. Till she believed him.

Sansa Stark woke up the next morning and marveled at the change in weather. The heat wave had passed, she could tell. And as she hauled her neat little suitcase – well, his suitcase, but she was stealing it- and finally walked towards the car, she actually felt happy. She also felt a little guilty, about stealing his car and abandoning him in the middle of nowhere. But why should she? He was a Lannister, & the taste of freedom, that has evaded her for over a decade, felt too sweet too resist.

Author's Note:

Thanks for reading, lovelies. This is probably just gonna be a one shot but I have another Jaime/Sansa multi chapter fic in the works.