Chapter Text
Survivors Guilt
The bickering over camera angles may very well be her final straw. Arya attempted to close her ears to the nonsense going on in the van and decided, once and for all that three people were two too many. The Gods were punishing her. Well the Gods and Beric Dondarrion were punishing her. Dondarrion was just trying to make it look like a reward by appointing her as the point agent for the surveillance operation. Arya had been near living in this van for three weeks, a series of other agents filing in and out, bitching and moaning about their shifts on board while she had practically grown upholstery of her own. Her brief reprieves existed to go home, shower, sleep and then trot right back to hell. The van held no secrets from her anymore. It was cleaner than it had ever been. The keyboards had been vacuumed. The pile of cords that had been tangled in a heap along the side wall had been organized, labelled and dusted. She had a pile of gum she had scraped off the underside of the desk that she could build a life size replica of the Braavosi Titan out of. She was so fucking bored. As she listened to Gendry and Podrick argue one more time about the placement of the cameras they were lucky to even have been able to place she wondered how anyone, ever, thought being an Agent with the Knight’s Bureau was glamorous. Or dangerous. Or interesting. They were taking entirely too long and using far too many words to turn the shift over. Nothing had happened all day. Or the day before. Or the day before that.
“Let’s play a game.” She said affecting the tone of voice she had used when she tried to trick Rickon into doing a chore for her growing up. “It’s called the Silent Game. Who ever is quietest the longest wins.”
“What do we win?” Gendry asked, and she turned to flash him her sunniest smile, before snapping,
“You get to fucking live.” Watching Podrick’s perpetually cheerful face fall was almost a reward in itself, but Gendry just rolled his eyes used to her attitude by now. When she glared at him, trying to remind him that she was a person to be feared, he just snorted and turned back in his seat.
“Go home Pod.” She snapped, irritated that he got to leave and she was stuck here for at least 4 more hours. “I won’t let him fuck anything up.”
There was a rustling, Podrick giving his farewells as he left them for the night. At least there would be one less person in the van. She glared at the back of Gendry’s head, still one too many. He must have felt her glare, because he turned, smiling because he knows it annoys her when she’s the only angry one, “Want to order pizza?”
“I want you to be quiet for the next 4 hours.”
Turning back to the surveillance feed she was monitoring she saw the door of the Mockingbird Club closing. Shit. Rewinding the track a few moments to see who had entered she pulled up the facial recognition program, so she could send the pictures to the database so they could receive an update in a few days saying, “No matches found.” Because they were surveilling a nightclub, and while there definitely were illegal activities going on inside, the cover of having a steady stream of people coming in hoping to dance, drink and maybe go home with a stranger was a solid one. It was a waste of assets. Financially and personally because Arya Stark was better than this. She had been assigned to the King’s Landing Field Office for almost a year, since graduating from the academy. She wasn’t stupid, she knew she had dues to pay, grunt work to slog through. Knew being one of only a handful of women in active duty roles with the Bureau meant swallowing shit and working at least twice as hard for half the recognition. But she was also a Stark. Which she was finally accepting was the bigger hinderance on her future than she had anticipated. It was a bullshit assignment, but it was her bullshit assignment.
A man walked into view of the camera and she slowed the recording, clicking through one frame at a time to get the right angles for the program. As he stepped into the sweet spot she pushed the space bar and froze right along with the image on screen.
Oh .
Oh.
She jerked her hands away from the mouse, where she had been automatically dragging the picture to the recognition program. She didn’t need it. Clicking a key on the keyboard the image zoomed in, tighter and tighter.
Boom
Boom
Boom
Each magnification a shock to the system.
It was him.
Her heart was beating so loudly she was surprised Gendry hadn’t told her to quiet down. Her fingers rattled against the keyboard and she quickly pulled them into her lap, lacing them together tightly as she tried to rein herself in. She swallowed convulsively against the flood of saliva that had filled her mouth, hoping she wasn’t about to puke.
“It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.” Her brain chanted, she didn’t need to pull the file out of her briefcase to confirm it, she had it memorized. Every report, every crime scene photo, stills from the security system. She dropped her hand to the gun on her hip, the cold metal, the texture of the grip helping her come back to her body. Helped her figure out what her next step was.
She could kill him.
That’s what this had all been about right? Revenge? Robb was dead. He had done it. He was here and he wasn’t in Essos as suspected, the reports she had received a month ago with possible sightings hadn’t been accurate because he was here. Apparently seven years was long enough for everyone to forget. She had seen the bouncer nod in recognition at him, he wasn’t a stranger. When was the last time he was here? Had she missed him at some point in the past couple weeks? Had he wandered through on her off hours and she hadn’t caught him when she had gone back over the footage?
No. She wouldn’t have missed him. She thought again of the crime scene photos she wasn’t supposed to ever see, the autopsy details no one should know about their own family. That was her own blood this man had spilled.
Her hand tightened around the butt of the gun.
“I need to get some air.” She said suddenly, grabbing her coat and jumping out of the van before Gendry could react. The night was balmy, she wished it was cold like home, the heat just reminded her that she wasn’t home. This wasn’t home and Robb had been killed because he left home, her father had been killed because he left home. If her mother and sister were right she would be killed because she left home. She leaned against the side of the van for a moment, trying to still her heart, calm her mind, to breathe but found no reprieve. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out her phone and scrubbed through the contacts.
She hit Jon’s name and lifted it to her ear. Listened to it ring and ring and ring. Hung up when his voicemail picked up and redialed. No answer. She felt the van jostling behind her back, heard the click of the door being opened and darted for the nearest alleyway. She ducked behind a dumpster and held the phone back up to her ear.
No answer. Letting out a frustrated breath and knocking her head against the brick wall behind her she scrolled through her contacts again.
Hit dial.
“Arya?” The answer was immediate and for a second she couldn’t speak. Had she been expecting another series of unanswered rings? What was she supposed to say?
“Arya.” The voice repeated, it was urgent, worried.
“I found him.” She finally managed clearing her throat when her voice cracked. As she spoke the words, heard the sharp inhale on the other end of the line and her pulse started to slow. To quiet. This was real. This wasn’t a dream.
“He’s right across the street from me.” She continued, her voice low, “He’s not hiding, he’s walking around like he has nothing to worry about.” He did though. She found him.
“Okay.” The voice on the other end sounded shaken too, something she wasn’t used to in him at all. She went to him for reassurance, for calm. Hearing a rattle in his usually musical voice unsettled her. “Okay. You need to arrest him.”
“What? No!” That wasn’t the plan. He knew that. Syrio knew. He was the one who had given her the file. Had sponsored her application to the academy. His deviation from the plan that she thought he understood, that he supported, set her back. She felt the rough brick catch on her ponytail as she shook her head in disbelief. As if hearing her, though she hadn’t spoken he continued,
“You are an Agent of the Knight Bureau.” He reminded her, “You are not a hit man. You are not a criminal.”
“He deserves it.” Arya bit out, clenching her teeth as she thought of the massacre that had taken her brother, her sister-in-law and their unborn child. Butchered in their bed in the middle of the night.
“He does.” Syrio assured her, “But you, Arya Stark, you are more than this.”
No she wasn’t. Maybe she had the potential once but now. He knew. He had to know. He had done this for her, for her family, for her Father. He knew why she needed this.
“I don’t think I am.” She whispered, hanging up the phone, sliding it into her back pocket and ignoring it when it immediately started to vibrate. She reached down to her hip and pulled her gun. She had gone to the range before shift that morning, needing some sort of action in her day, had cleaned her weapon and reloaded it. She re-holstered the weapon. Leaning forward, reaching to her lower back she pulled her backup. Her father’s backup gun. Robb’s backup gun.
They wouldn’t want this. She knew that. She also knew they hadn’t wanted to be murdered either. Taking a deep breath, deciding, palming the smaller weapon and darting out of the alley, Quickly walking up the block until the club was in her eye line. Arya ducked into the mouth of another alley and waited. Watching. The vibrating in her pocket continued, distracting her so she pulled it out, glancing down at it quickly.
Five missed calls from Syrio.
Two missed calls from Jon.
Text messages from Gendry.
How much time had passed? It felt like seconds. It felt like years.
Waters: Where are you?
Waters: Stark
Waters: Whats wrong?
Shit. She had forgotten about them. That she was working. Glad she had stayed far enough away from the front of the club to not fall into view of the cameras.
Arya: sick, sorry
She replied, dismissing the thread as the phone began to vibrate in her hand as another call from Jon came through, she sent it to voicemail and typed him a message too.
Arya: At work, call you later.
He would find out after.
She shut her phone off. A burst of noise across the street caught her attention as the door to the nightclub opened, letting out a blast of music. She watched Roose Bolton leave the club. Alone. He checked his phone and headed down the street. Not looking around. Not worried about anything. Good. This would be easy. Tightening her hold on the gun, she followed him away from the club.
She caught up with him quickly, breath coming quicker at the fast pace and the rapid turn that her night had taken. That her life had taken. She saw his step falter as she neared him. Saw him realize he was being followed. Saw his hand raising from his side and she held up her gun, closing the last few steps separating them, pressing the gun between his shoulder blades briefly before retreating out of reach.
“Bolton.” Her heart is pounding again, she barely hears herself speak over the echo in her ears, “Get in the alley.” He freezes, hands going out to his sides, fingers splaying, starting to turn in her direction.
“The alley.” She repeats, channeling the authority of her position. She was a Knight.
She was a Knight about to kill a man in the streets. It didn’t matter, because he listens and steps where she directing. Following behind she keeps her gun trained on his back. He still doesn’t seem worried. Doesn’t seem afraid.
“Last I heard you’d fled to the East.” Her voice doesn’t waver, her hands are steady.
“Hmmm.” He doesn’t offer a reply, cocking his head as if trying to hear past her words. Then finally, “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“No.” A step closer behind him, the muzzle raising to point at the back of his head, deciding, “You killed my family. You should have stayed away.”
He doesn’t try to talk his way out of it. Doesn’t try to deny anything. Robb wasn’t the first person he had ever killed, he had been suspected in things for years, connections and money keeping him useful though. She couldn’t be the only one that wished him dead.
Just do it.
Just do it.
Her finger on the trigger, the bullet leaving the muzzle of the gun and flying past the thinning hair at the back of his head. Ricocheting around his skull and ending his torment on her families days. Her hands were starting to sweat, the weight of the small gun starting to feel heavier from being held up for so long. How long had they been standing here? Minutes? Years? Had he felt this disassociation as he stood over their bed?
“Are we going to stand here all night?” He drawled, his hands still raised lightly by his sides, unconcerned with the gun she had pointed at him.
“Shut up.” She snapped, lowering the gun and wiped her palms off on her jacket. She raised it again, stepping closer, one bullet to the back of his head. It was quicker than he deserved, but it would be enough.
Revenge.
Justice.
Her family would thank her.
They would thank her when they visited her in prison.
Shit.
She lifted the gun again, revisualized her path. A bullet in the head. One? Three? Then what? Run? Hide forever? Walk back to the van and turn herself over to Waters? Let him take credit for collaring a dirty Knight?
Shit.
“Arya Stark, you are more than this.”
“Put your hands in the air.” She commanded, “Get down on your knees.” His hands rose a little higher, but otherwise he stayed stationary.
“Hands up Bolton.” She snapped, reaching for her hip, for her cuffs and stepping closer.
Which was when he finally moved, with a speed she hadn’t expected him capable of, the knife flashing out towards her. As she finally pulled the trigger she thought of her Mother, and how she was right once again.
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He looked so scared. Why was he so scared? Where was she?
She heard a scream, felt fire tearing her apart and Gendry’s face above hers went even whiter. When he raised a radio to his mouth his hand was dark against his skin as the rest of the world started to fade.
“Arya!” A smack against her face, she opened her eyes again to glare and the hand on her chin forced her eyes to meet his, “Keep your eyes open Stark!” The touch on her chin left, she felt wet, she felt so heavy and so light at the same time, and then the pain was back, it was back and all she could see was his bright blue eyes terrified as the darkness finally took her away.
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“Don’t say anything.” Sansa whispered in her ear as the nurses filed in, her long red hair a barrier between them and the rest of the world, “Not to anyone.” Arya looked up into those dark blue eyes and felt the same fear she’d had as a child when her mother levelled that same stare
at her. Her mother had always known when she was guilty, giving her room to confess and an opportunity to lessen her punishment. Sansa knew she was guilty too, but she wasn’t giving her room to confess.
She nodded her understanding as Sansa let herself be moved aside by the nurse who unceremoniously lifted the gown she had been put in, inspecting the bandage around her midsection, lifting the plastic container that was catching the various fluids draining from her.
“I’ll be back this afternoon,” The nurse told her, a stern faced old woman who looked like she could break Arya in half with a glare, “And you’re going to walk around the ward.” In response Arya reached for the pump at her side releasing another dose of medication into her bloodstream. She saw her sisters lip quirk at the movement. As the nurse left there was a perfunctory knock at the door. Her boss stood at the threshold with Harwin. Beric Dondarrion looked angry, but like he was trying to hide it, Harwin held a small bouquet of carnations and offered a somber smile.
“My sister is still on pain medication Agent Dondarrion.” Sansa replied as a greeting, positioning herself between the men and her hospital bed. “She has a concussion from the fall and is not in a place to be questioned.”
“Miss. Stark.” Dondarrion bowed his head lightly in greeting, “We aren’t here in an official capacity, we’re here to check on our fellow agent.” Harwin lifted the carnations, chancing a few steps into the room and leaving them on the side table, “These are from the guys.” Sansa’s eyes narrowed on the small bouquet,
“Lovely.” She offered, clearly finding them wanting. Arya offered nothing, remembering Sansa’s words and taking them in, letting her head loll back as the pain medication took hold of her, leaning into the sensation and letting the forced small talk flow over her, before they took their leave. They would be back tomorrow. When the door shut behind them, she turned to Sansa,
“Did you talk to Mom?” Wanting to cover up the sound of beeping around them.
“Yes. I told her to wait to come down.”
“Thank you.” It was hard to thank Sansa for anything. The years of resentment, of a lifetime of misunderstandings had formed canyon between them that Arya didn’t know how to traverse. But the first thing she had seen when she had come to after surgery was her sisters calm face cautioning her against getting herself into more trouble. Her emergency contact was Jon, he had been reached immediately after she was taken into surgery. He was also on an operation and couldn’t get away so Sansa had been sent in his stead. He was arriving in 4 days. She hoped to be home in two.
If she wasn’t in jail by then.
“Are you going to ask what happened?” Arya finally asked the question that was burning in her gut right along the stitches that were holding her together. Sansa looked up from the pile of paperwork she had spread out on the rolling table she had commandeered, and Arya saw the top defense attorney of Winterfell, one of the best in Westeros looking back at her. Calm. Assured. Cold.
“Not right now.” Came her measured reply, the unspoken, “Not here.” Then a crack of humanity as her sister’s long elegant hand reached out and squeezed her own, “It doesn’t matter.” Arya let herself turn her hand and squeeze back, taking the comfort offered. She pressed the pump button again, knowing her allotment for the moment had probably been reached, but needing it. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come.
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There’s a humiliation of having him in her home that’s compounded by the humiliation of being seen like this. Hunched, sweating and pale as she’s attempting to cut herself off from her pain medication. The doctors had told her to give herself a few more days, that prematurely removing herself from managing her pain could end up slowing down her recovery. Sansa wanted her to stay on it for a few more days as well, to delay the interview, but Arya just wanted it all over with.
Having Gendry glowering from the doorway of her cheap studio apartment, with it’s flimsy particle board front door made her crave the cool numbness that had flowed into her veins at the hospital with the press of a button. Having Gendry who she had last seen hovering above her, panicking and splattered in her own blood as she was bleeding out in the alley was a lot to process.
She reached for something, some defense as her eyes hovered somewhere near his clavicle, she couldn’t stand straight, her body wanted to curl around the small pillow the hospital had sent to bolster her middle. She reached for something and found hostility, as she attempted to straighten a little further, feeling sweat rise on her upper lip as she pulled on her bindings,
“My interview is tomorrow Waters.” She snapped, rerouting the shame she felt towards anger. He had saved her life and she was incapable of saying thank you.
“Oh that’s nice for you,” He said, sounding pleasant as he crouched down slightly, but when his blue eyes met hers she saw none of the friendliness his tone offered, dark brows furrowed as he took in her appearance, looking her over and glancing past her into the small shabby apartment, “Because I’ve been interviewed daily since this all happened. Breaks up the monotony of being on unpaid leave I guess though.”
Oh.
Shit.
Slowly, because her entire life was in slow motion right now, she stepped back and he entered, giving a look down the hallway as he did so. She made her way across the single room heading for the only chair, not liking turning her back on him but needing to be seated. Sansa’s last caution before leaving for the airport was to stay in bed. That she didn’t want to end up at the hospital again because Arya tore her stitches. Gendry’s words, Gendry’s appearance at her doorstep had her light headed, left her wishing she had taken one last pill before Sansa left to get Jon so she could have slept through the knocking.
As she reached the glorified TV tray she called a kitchen table with the wobbly metal chair shoved beside it she steeled herself for the task of lowering into it. Bracing herself against the pillow and reaching for the table’s edge, hoping it would be strong enough to support her weight she started her slow descent only to find Gendry’s hand firmly wrapped around her upper arm guiding her down. She wanted to yank herself free, to snap at him that she didn’t need his help, but she couldn’t move that sharply and she did need help. Instead she closed her eyes as she reached her destination, moving the pillow from her stomach to her lap as the cool metal against her legs reminded her suddenly that she was only wearing an oversized t-shirt and a thick pad of gauze and medical tape. It’s been just her and Sansa for the past two days, they’d found that having Sansa have to lower her onto the toilet and then back up again was awkward enough, without having to raise and lower her underwear each time as well. When she finally looked up and found Gendry perched hesitantly on the edge of her bed, judging his surroundings, the place she called home, she added that to the miles long list of indignities of the past few days. He wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was. Watching him take in the way she lived, weighing the cramped run down quarters against the long list of assumptions that came with the Stark name and legacy, his eyes lingering on the wall that held a large map dotted with pins, the stacks of paperwork and photos shoved in a pile on the shelf below it, suddenly glad that Sansa had taken down the crime scene photos. Ned, Robb, Talisa and their unborn child all captured in their lowest forms, betrayed and alone greeting her on a daily basis. She watched as he finally dragged his gaze back to her, watched his body tighten as he found her already looking at him. The frown deepened, his arms crossing tightly across his chest he clenched and unclenched his jaw for a few seconds before asking,
“How are you feeling?” The barely restrained hostility in the question, in his demeanor that had her snapping back,
“Like I got gutted. So you know, I’ve been better.” If possible he clenched even tighter at her words and her own hackles rose in response. Who the fuck was he to be mad at her? She hadn’t asked for him to intervene. She hadn’t called for help or backup. She hadn’t followed Roose intending to die but once it all happened it hadn’t felt wrong. Then Gendry had appeared, uninvited, pale and panicking above her, calling for help and pressing painfully against her wound staunching the flow of life out of her.
“You shouldn’t have involved yourself.” She continued, ungraciously, in an instant he was on his feet, lumbering towards her, crowding her,
“Oh I should have just let you die?” His arms were uncrossed but his fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides. Dark eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle at the force of his glare.
“I don’t even know how you found me.” She answered flatly, feeling the petulance drain out of her because, well, he had a point. Feeling small because she was alive because of him and she couldn’t even say thank you. She knew she probably should, but… she couldn’t. She looked away, unable to face his judgement, studying the blank wall above her bookcase.
“Syrio called me.”
That set her back, turning sharply,
“What?”
“Yeah, right after your text message came through. An unknown number popped up on my phone and he was asking if I knew where you were.”
Fuck. This was bad. She had been chalking up Dondarrion’s persistence to his general dislike of her but this.
Shit.
“What did he say to you?” Did she sound as panicked as she felt? Even Sansa wouldn’t be able to get her out of this. Not with two witnesses. Syrio wouldn’t… would he?
“That I needed to find you. Asap. By then your phone was off. So I left the van and was searching the street, when I heard the gunshots.”
“Why are you on administrative leave?” She asked. Why have I not been arrested? She wanted to ask. Sansa wasn’t that intimidating. The Stark legacy wasn’t that strong. They could have come and arrested her in her hospital bed. His blue eyes were boring through her, so she turned away again. The silence between them stretched before he finally answered,
“I saw your cuffs lying next to you.” A loud sigh, “So I cuffed one of his wrists before the ambulance got there.”
The silence again before he continued, “I saw his photo on the computer when you first left the van, you said his name in the alley and uh, Robb’s… I made an assumption. Beric, I don’t know if he believes me.”
He didn’t. He wasn’t stupid.
Why. Why would he cover up her fuck up. Her… murder.
“What did you tell him?” She asked instead.
“That you saw someone suspicious in the surveillance. That we broke protocol by not phoning anything in because it wasn’t related to our current operation. That you went to follow him and I stayed at the van. That I ended up following you and left the van unattended. That I came upon you cuffing him in the alley, when he stabbed you and you shot him in self defense.”
What did you say to that?
“Waters-” He cut her off with a sharp swipe of his hand,
“Just don’t fuck me over Stark.” The anger in his voice is breaking through the grip he was holding himself under. She wanted to explode back because it’s what they do now. She wanted to explain that he was right, to explain that she decided to arrest him. In the end, she was going to do what she was supposed to do. That her hesitation in deciding had caused her to get stabbed.
Instead she nods. Once. Twice. She sees his disappointment, his disgust as he shakes his head watching her for a moment longer before leaving. The echo of the slamming door ringing in her ears.
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Jon’s presence doesn’t calm her. He’s angry at her, he’s disappointed in her though he doesn’t say it. It’s surprising really that Sansa has offered more approval for her actions than Jon does. He just hugs her when he arrives at the apartment. Doesn’t question why she’s not in bed though Sansa’s eyes ask the question clearly as they help her back into the bed. Jon toeing off his shoes and getting in beside her, holding onto her hand, reaching out and stroking her hair. Sansa pulls the rickety chair to the bedside and begins questioning her and Arya automatically parrots the story Gendry told. Feels Jon’s grip on her falter as she neglects to mention the phone calls, the texts. She couldn’t muddy it. No one could know about Gendry Waters lying for her. She couldn’t thank him. She couldn’t apologize. She couldn’t fuck him over.
They go over and over the story, asking questions in different forms, in different orders. Sansa is relentless and Arya appreciates how she’s reached her high clearance rate. She’s drilled until her story is solid without sounding overly rehearsed and abruptly Sansa stands,
“I’m going to a hotel tonight.” She shares a look with Jon, “I’ll be back in the morning to help you get ready.” When she leaves Jon mentions food, but Arya has no appetite, just lies back in bed feeling the guilt of her impulses. If she had just… a million alternatives ran through her mind. Maybe if she had just died in that alley with Roose. Proved her Mother right, Gendry wouldn’t have involved himself and she wouldn’t hold his future in her hands. Beric hated her. He had seen through her from day one. It explained his hostility towards her from the jump, her isolation, he knew clearer than she did why she was there. Not to be a Knight. To follow in the footsteps of her father and brother, but to use her access to revenge their deaths.
Finally the lights dimmed and the bed dipped as Jon climbed in beside her.
“You shouldn’t have come to King’s Landing.” He finally says into the dark. “They wouldn’t have wanted you to do this.”
Coming to Kings Landing as a girl had been the only option. Ned being transferred from the Winterfell office had coincided with new treatments from Bran’s slew of doctors up North. Jon had already left for the military. Robb was going to the University at King’s Landing, planning to follow in Ned’s footsteps. Sansa wanted to experience high school in the Capital. Arya was neck deep in her teenage rebellion of Catelyn’s expectations for her youngest daughter, so she had gone South. Their family had fractured and when Ned was killed less than a year into their time in the capital it was irreparably broken. Coming to King’s Landing as an adult had been a choice. One her father wouldn’t have approved of. He wouldn’t have wanted his daughter to follow in his footsteps. He had tried to talk Robb out of it as well. Had he lived to see what happened to Robb and then what had become of Arya…
“I know.” She answered her brother, grateful for the dark that surrounded them. She heard his breathe draw as he prepared to continue and then release as his hand found hers in the darkness again,
“I’m glad I didn’t lose you too.” She appreciated his certainty, because she felt lost.
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“You’re sending me to Dorne?”
Months. It had taken months for her doctor to grant her request to return to work and it still apparently wasn’t long enough in Dondarrion’s eyes. She had been cleared physically, medically and legally, she had been on the verge of having Sansa draft a complaint when she received a phone call instructing her of when to be in the office. Had prepared for her first day of work with nerves she hadn’t felt since school. Only to find that she was a fool.
“Yes.” He answered decisively, “They need agents right now and with the current climate I think it’s a good fit for everyone.”
She wondered if this qualified as retaliation. She had been cleared.
“The current climate?” She repeated back to him. Dondarrion leveled her with a look, clearly saying, you aren’t that stupid.
“Your coworkers don’t feel safe working with you.” He said bluntly, “They wonder who will be the next person shot in an alley.” She tried not to react. This directly contradicted the response to her appearance that had occured when she stepped foot in the building. The greetings began as soon as she stepped past the sliding doors, friendlier than any she had received before. A conquering hero in the eyes of her fellow Knight’s, she had taken out a man who had taken out one of their own. She had spilled her blood in the name of it. She had finally proven herself to them.
Almost everyone had been happy to see her. Gendry had been in Dondarrion’s office when she had arrived, as he left and found her waiting at the door his step had faltered at the sight of her returned. Seeing him had made her scar twinge remembering their last encounters. Her at her lowest points and she had to roll her shoulders backwards to keep herself from hunching over at the muscle memory that wanted to take over. Remembering that last he had seen her she had been greasy and weak, probably still smelling of the hospital. She was glad there was a gun at her waist and her hair was combed. That she wore pants this time.
There was a ringing in her ears as she re-entered the elevator to descend back to the parking garage. She was standing numbly at her door when she realized he was standing behind her. She didn’t want to hear him boast. She didn’t want to deal with him right now. Arya unlocked her door, feeling him move behind her. Not speaking as she climbed in and started the engine. As she moved to shift gears, to drive away a sharp rap on her window had her looking up at him. Pressing the button and lowering the window he opened his mouth, started forming a sentence and she cut him off,
“You win. I’m not coming back.” Watching as his face tightened at her words, brow creasing. She reached to shift gears again, his fist pounded on the roof of her car, just once, the sound reverberating through the parking garage and making her jump. The action rankling the familiar anger and she kindled it,
“What?” She rested her finger on the button that would raise her window, refusing to look at him, grasping at the familiar obstinance his presence brought, “I did what I came here to do.”
“Kill a man in cold blood?” She shrugged at his accusation. He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t exactly right either though, “You’re full of it Stark.” She didn’t respond, she didn’t drive away or close the window either, and he continued,
“If that’s the truth why did you even come back?” In her periphery she saw him crouch down, if she would look at him they would be eye level. What was he looking for here? She already told him he won, though the more minutes that passed and she considered life not here she wasn’t sure he had. Or maybe he had, but she wasn’t losing. He got rid of her and she got rid of this place. Of remembering visiting her father in that same office everyday she was at work.
She didn’t have to go to Dorne. She could just go back to Winterfell and… do what? She could figure something out.
“Just take the win Waters.” She sighed, “I didn’t ask you to lie or tamper with evidence and now you never need to see me again.” She saw him stand abruptly from the corner of her eye, as she drove away she watched him watch her go from her rearview mirror.
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