Chapter Text
I never made love by lantern-shine,
I never saw rainbows in my wine.
But now that your lips are burning mine
I'm beginning to see the light.
- Ella Fitzgerald
As the snow began to fall outside of Ray’s Diner, Sandor sat inside on his normal seat at the counter, basking in the warmth before heading out on duty, grumbling to himself that yet again this year he was working the Christmas Eve shift. Every fucking year, his captain automatically assumed that he wouldn’t mind serving the citizens of Westeros once again on this fine occasion, probably because he’d taken the damn shift for the last decade without complaining. This was the night that most folks were snuggled in with family and friends, singing yule tide carols, or doing whatever other cheesy shit normal people do this time of year.
In fact, there wasn’t a whole lot about the Christmas season that Sandor enjoyed. He hated the way people at the station suddenly pretended to care about each other when the rest of the year they acted like complete fucks to one another. He was sick of people buying all sorts of tacky shit made overseas that will break in a day.
He despised the sickening-sweet songs blasting everywhere a man went, paying homage to a fat old guy in furry red suit. Little old ladies wearing grotesque sweaters that flashed and played music. Mothers fighting each other in the store to get their hands on the last one of the hottest new toy in stock for their unappreciative brat. Dads being kicked outside in the freezing cold to hang bunches of tangled, gnarled strings of lights nobody bothered to pack correctly at the end of the season last year.
God, how Sandor hated the lights. Lights were his absolute least favorite of them all.
People filling their yards with gaudy light-up reindeer families. Gigantic glow-in-the-dark inflatables of motorcycle-driving Santas that were even taller than his 6’8” frame. Driveways turned into runways thanks to the countless rows of light-up candy canes tracing the outline. Lights on cars. Lights on buildings. Here a light, there a light, everywhere a light. Lights.
Yeah, his captain knew that Sandor didn’t have anything better to do, really. No family waiting for him at home. Parents dead. Brother estranged. No, not even a pet to come home to when off duty.
Actually, it really was a pretty sweet shift to work, which is why Sandor didn’t bother to bitch when he was saddled with it yet again. Time and half plus little-to-no shit to deal with around the city on this particular night of the year wasn’t that bad in the scheme of things. With most normal folks at home, gearing up to celebrate the orgy of consumerism that would occur tomorrow morning, not much usually went down on Christmas Eve around Westeros.
Well, there was that one year that he and Bronn pulled over that college-age couple for doing 90 down River Road. Turned out the little lady was giving her boyfriend head while he was driving them to his parents’ house for Christmas Eve dinner. Man, did he and Bronn have some fun making that little rich boy sweat before they let them go with a warning.
Anyway, tonight would probably not be nearly as eventful since most shifts on this particular occasion were normally quite dull.
“One more for the road?” Ray, the owner of the diner asked, interrupting Sandor’s thoughts about his upcoming boredom this evening.
“Sure, one more,” Sandor asked, pushing his coffee mug toward Ray for a refill.
“Where’s your buddy tonight?” Ray asked with a smirk, pouring another round of the hot, black liquid into Sandor’s mug.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Going to be a bit late for duty tonight. Seems that he may have overslept. Again.”
“Did you buy him an alarm clock for Christmas like I suggested?” Ray laughed as he turned to put the coffee pot back on the burner.
“Yup. Sure did,” Sandor grinned, “Wrapped and in the trunk.”
“That’s my boy!” laughed Ray, excusing himself with a nod as he returned to the kitchen.
As Sandor sipped his coffee, checking his watch to see just how late Bronn would be this time, he heard the bell above the entrance to the diner chime. He turned slightly, assuming it was partner, preparing to lob a snarky comment his way.
Well, fuck me…
Instead of seeing Bronn’s ugly puss, Sandor’s eyes fell upon the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen.
The young woman appeared to be in her early to mid-20s. She was tall, above-average in height. Slender, yet curvy. Miles of wavy, copper hair fell down her back, crystal blue eyes scanning the empty diner, a light dusting of freckles barely visible on her pale skin. The young lady was impeccably dressed, most likely designer label, wearing a charcoal gray knee-length trench coat with black leather heels so tall that Sandor wondered how she could even walk in the damn things. And those legs…
“Excuse me, sir, is this seat taken?”
Huh? Wait, is she really asking me if anyone is sitting next to me? The place is empty, for fuck’s sake?
“No, it’s not,” Sandor muttered, as the gorgeous young woman who was standing right next to him motioned to the empty stool.
“Good,” she huffed, yanking off her coat and sitting herself down on the stool beside him. The skin-tight, long-sleeve red velvet dress that she was wearing rode up slightly as she sat down, her hands attempting to pull her skirt down to a decent length but failing miserably.
Turning his attention back to his half-consumed second cup of coffee, Sandor wondered why on earth she chose to sit by him. He wasn’t the type of guy who attracted the attention of the ladies, what with his grumpy disposition and all of his scars. This little lady may not know about the bad attitude, but she could sure as hell see the scars.
“So, what’s good to eat here?” she chirped, smiling broadly at him, tapping her long, blood-red nails on the counter.
Where the fuck is Ray?
“Uh, that depends on what you’re in the mood for,” Sandor spoke, checking his watch, wondering when in the hell Bronn was going to show up.
The beautiful red-head snorted at his comment. Snorted. Like what he had said was somehow funny. “You don’t want to know what I’m in the mood for!” she uttered, her head bobbing around like some damn doll on a dashboard.
Not sure whether he wanted to take the bait or not, Sandor cleared his throat, figuring he’d take a nibble.
“Bad day at the office?” he tried to joke, hoping it actually sounded like one for a change.
“Nope.”
“Family troubles?”
“I wish!” she chuckled, the fakeness in her tone becoming more obvious with each passing second.
Right, then. I’m out.
Preparing to excuse himself and to escape into the solace of his unmarked squad car where he could hide until Bronn magically appeared, Sandor was about to leave some cash on the counter and bolt when Ray came to his rescue.
“Evening miss. Can I get you something to drink while you look?” Ray asked, handing the young woman a menu, leaning slightly on the counter, looking directly at the lady but definitely shooting Sandor a look without looking at him.
The fuck is that about?
“Coffee, please,” she smiled, “And if it’s not too much trouble, a piece of that lemon pie sitting over there.”
“Ah, excellent choice!” Ray beamed, now pouring her a cup, “Make every one of those from scratch myself. You’ll love it!”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful! I am certain that I will!” she grinned, taking her mug in both hands, blowing cool air onto the steaming hot liquid.
Sandor was trying not to stare, but damn if he didn’t find the way her mouth moved a little bit…sexy.
“So, what’s a beautiful young lady like yourself doing all alone here in my diner on Christmas Eve?” Ray asked, placing a rather large slice of lemon pie in front of the tall red-head. After asking the question, he looked directly at Sandor, virtually willing him to take over the conversation.
“Ugh, you don’t even want to know,” the young woman laughed brightly, the action not quite in sync with the sadness hidden in her eyes.
Sandor could feel Ray’s eyes burning a hole in his head. He knew Ray wanted him to talk to her. Wanted him to find someone. Wanted him to quit spending every waking hour interrogating perps, dealing with crime scenes, or investigating some sort of domestic bullshit. Did Ray really think that talking to this pretty, posh little bird who was pretending to be mysterious would somehow bring him eternal happiness?
“For someone who doesn’t want to talk about shit,” Sandor growled under his breath, turning slightly in his stool to face the young woman, calling her out on her load of crap, “You sure are eager to make sure you’re noticed.”
“Excuse me?” she huffed, setting her coffee mug down, her head whipping around to meet his stare with an icy look of annoyance, “You don’t know anything about me!”
“Is that so?” Sandor continued, a sneer forming across his face, ignoring the pleading look on Ray’s face, “You march in here, not a soul around save me, mind you, and plop yourself right down beside me.” He could see her facade start to falter, her lip just beginning to quiver at the corner, “Then you start talking to me, a total stranger, maybe even some ax murderer for all you know, and act like we’re best friends.” He stood to leave, tossing a $20 on the counter for Ray, not really as a tip but as a tacit apology for starting shit in his diner on Christmas Eve. “I’d say you’re definitely wanting to tell someone something, but you just want to make them jump through your damn little hoops for sport first.”
Turning on his heels, Sandor stomped toward the door to leave, quite certain that Ray would kill him right now if he could get a hold of him. Instead of leaving, however, his motion was stifled when he heard the young woman begin to cry.
“Yeah, I’m a real bitch, I know,” she sniffed, “You’re absolutely right. I should’ve just said, “Hi, I’m Sansa Stark. I’m a spoiled little rich girl with an even wealthier ass-hole boyfriend who just cheated on her again.’ That would’ve been a much better opener for sure.”
Sandor turned around to see the angry look on Ray’s face he had been expecting, but the young woman wasn’t looking at him at all. Her arms were folded on the counter, her head laying on them, heavy sobs beginning to pour out of her thin frame.
“Fix this, Clegane,” Ray warned, wagging his finger at Sandor, “You may carry a gun, young man, but the gods save you if I get a hold of you.”
Well, that’s just great. Ten minutes till my shift starts, my partner is still not here, and I just made the pretty little bird cry. And Ray wants my head on a spike. Merry Fucking Christmas.
Sandor sighed, resigning himself to his fate. Walking back to his stool, he sat down beside the beautiful woman, his legs facing the aisle, his back to the counter.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, ripping the proverbial bandage right off without further ado, “I spoke harshly to you. You didn’t deserve that.” He swirled his seat side-to-side nervously, still not quite sure what to do to fix "this," as Ray had demanded.
“Actually, you were so right,” she mumbled, her head still resting on her arms, “I did want you to jump through my hoops. I wanted you to beg me to tell you what was wrong. At least that way I could feel like I had some sort of control for a change.”
Sandor reached up to rub his chin, scratching lightly at his dark beard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m betting it has something to do with the little fuck who cheated on you, yeah?”
As he spoke, she lifted her head, reaching for a napkin in the dispenser, dabbing at her eyes in a futile attempt to remove the black streaks forming around the corners where her make-up had smeared. “Yeah, it does.”
Not knowing this lady one bit, he quickly assessed the situation using his years of crime solving skills, piecing together her story with what little information he had to go on.
“Let me take a guess,” Sandor began, narrowing his eyes as he studied her, “You’ve been dating this rich prick for…a year, maybe two. Met the fucker in college most likely. He was in your sorority’s brother frat. He’s been promising you a ring forever, yet judging by the lack of one on your finger, I’d say you were hoping it was coming tonight or tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened comically as he continued.
“So, the boyfriend is a complete ass, treats you like shit, doesn’t call when he says he will, and prefers to hang out with his buddies more than you,” Sandor continued, knowing full-well that he was on a roll, judging by how far her mouth had suddenly dropped while he was speaking, “Yet, you continue to date the little fucker - and for some reason I’m going with little, don’t know why, just got a gut feeling here - hoping he’ll magically change. How am I doing so far?”
“It’s…scary,” she whispered.
“Want to hear the rest?”
“Absolutely.”
Sandor took a deep breath before firing his next salvo, “Well, time passes, you see, and he doesn’t change. You get frustrated, you call him out on it, he gets all mushy for a while, promises you the ring, you take the bait, and on and on the cycle goes. Oh, and he sleeps with your friends, somehow manages to make it your fault, and of course you forgive him.” He grabbed the coffee mug he had left on the counter, gulping down the last few sips he had previously rejected, sitting the cup firmly down in its former spot.
“Wow,” she said, her head shaking in amazement, “Just…wow. It’s like you have my apartment bugged or something.”
“Not without a court order,” he smiled.
Surprisingly, she smiled in return. “Can we start over?”
Sandor’s one good eyebrow raised in question, “Start over?”
“Hi, I’m Sansa Stark,” she grinned, sticking out her delicate, well-manicured hand.
He took her hand, grasping it firmly yet gently, “Sandor Clegane. Nice to meet you, Sansa.” As he shook her hand, he could see her scanning his face, examining the damaged side in what she probably thought was an inconspicuous manner.
“So, what are you doing in here on Christmas Eve, Mr. Clegane?” she asked as they both turned in their stools, this time facing each other. Leaning on one elbow on the counter, she took her fork, stabbing her pie, and ate a bite.
Sandor couldn’t help but stare a little too long at the way she visibly enjoyed Ray’s pie. How is it even possible for someone to chew in a sexy way?
“I’m, uh…I’m waiting for my partner to show up,” he answered, blinking rapidly to right his thoughts, “He’s meeting me here in a few minutes.”
“Your partner?” Sansa asked, one perfectly groomed auburn eyebrow raising in question as she appeared to be trying to wrap her brain around something that he had just said.
Suddenly, it dawned on him what she thought he had meant by the term “partner.”
“Not that kind of partner,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes, “He’s my partner. We’re detectives.” He quickly realized that she was giggling at him. Now he knew that he’d stepped right into her trap. “Oh, but you figured that out already, hadn’t you?” he smiled, watching her cover her mouth as she burst out laughing at the fact that she had gotten him.
“Yeah, I figured you must be a cop by the way you whipped up that profile of me so fast,” she grinned widely, taking a sip of coffee, “Or a shrink. But your demeanor screams ‘cop’ way more than the other.”
Just then Sandor’s cell phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.
“Excuse me, but I need to see who this is.”
“Of course!” Sansa replied, her smile lighting up her whole face.
Sandor saw it was Bronn.
Bronn: Gonna meet you in 10 or less. Owe you one.
Sandor looked up to see the gorgeous young woman looking at him as if she were waiting to continue their conversation.
Sandor: Take your time. No rush.
Within seconds, his phone buzzed.
Bronn: Could you put Sandor on the phone, please, whomever the fuck this is?
Sandor: Real funny.
“Do you have to go?” Sansa asked tentatively, her head slightly lowered.
For the first time since he couldn’t remember, he actually wished he didn’t.
“Yeah, I’m on duty in…8 minutes,” he said, checking his watch.
Her nose wrinkled at the thought, “You have to work on Christmas Eve?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Since when did you ever care?
“Well, for what it’s worth, I wish you could stay a little longer.” Sansa’s eyes lowered to her lap, then darted back up to meet his. His steel gray eyes held her gaze, not knowing why, but unable to look away from her.
“Me too,” Sandor rasped, unsure why in the seven hells he had decided to say that just then.
The two of them sat in an awkward silence, neither speaking yet continuing to stare at each other like they were trying to find an answer to a question no one dared to ask.
Sandor’s phone buzzed again, waking him from his trance.
Bronn: Pulling into Ray’s. Meet you out here. Too damn cold to get out.
“Well, I have to run,” Sandor smiled, standing to exit, wishing that he could think of any excuse to bail on his shift tonight. He was coming up dry.
“OK, well, be safe,” Sansa chirped, her red lips parting into a toothy grin, “And have a merry Christmas, Detective Clegane.”
“Same to you, Miss Stark,” he grinned as he put his hand on the door handle.
As he was about to leave, Sansa called out for him to wait. Turning around to heed her call, he watched her sauntering toward him, hips swaying slightly, looking ever so like the siren sent to bring him to his delicious demise. His heart was racing in his enormous chest, his brain buzzing as it tried to process what was happening right now.
“Look,” she grinned, the look of devilment running amok on her dainty features, pointing above his head.
When Sandor looked up, following the path her finger was making, he saw in the few inches of space between his head and the doorframe a tiny tuft of greenery dangling precariously.
“It’s mistletoe,” she said, her voice suddenly low and lilting, now standing directly in front of him, her eyes cast straight up to look into his face, thanks to his enormous size, “And I don’t have to tell you what that’s for, do I, detective?”
Sandor felt like someone had whacked him in the gut with a baseball bat. Bugger me, she can’t be serious? He’d been a total dick to her just minutes ago, they barely had gotten past initial introductions, and now she wanted to…kiss him?
“No, you don’t,” he replied, giving himself an internal “fuck it,” diving in with both feet, lowering his mouth to hers. The sweetness of the whipped cream and the tartness of the lemon were both present on her lips when he kissed her.
When they finally broke apart, Sandor realized that his hands were holding her waist, her arms were around his neck, and they were standing so close it would be impossible to slip a quarter between the two of them.
“I’m in town for a week,” she said breathlessly, her hands moving down his shoulders to grasp his upper arms, “Any chance I could see you again, detective?”
The moment seemed so surreal, he couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I’d say yes, there is definitely a chance of that.”
Sansa pulled away slowly, walking back to the counter, pulling a cell phone out of her purse. “Give me your phone,” she grinned, handing him hers, “We can exchange numbers.”
After phone numbers were swapped, Sandor bid Sansa good-bye in a slightly more formal manner, although she did give him a quick kiss on his good cheek. Walking into the frigid night air, he yanked open the door of the unmarked car in which Bronn was already sitting.
“Out with you, Flynn,” Sandor barked, “You drive tonight.”
“Have you gone bloody daft?” Bronn chuckled, getting out of the car, jogging around the front to the driver’s seat, catching the keys that Sandor had tossed at him, “First you don’t care about me being late again? Then you want me to drive?”
“Shut it,” Sandor smiled, his hand rising to his face, his fingers gently brushing against his cheek where Sansa's lips had been just moments ago.
"Oh, now I know something’s amiss,” Bronn laughed, backing the car out of its space, "Been sneaking the eggnog already this evening, eh?"
“Just beginning to see the light, that’s all,” Sandor replied, watching the fluffy white snowflakes land on the windshield.
“The light?” Bronn scoffed, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Sandor ran his tongue along his bottom lip, wondering if what had happened between Sansa and himself had been a dream. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” he grinned, “Just focus on the road, will you?”