Chapter Text
Sandor had come straight from the base to the bar after a long day of training exercise. He’d wanted to shower, because even though an artificial swamp wasn’t the most intense SEALs training ground, not by far, it sure as hell was one of the stinkiest. But the shower had had to wait, as he’d agreed to meet up with one of his teammates for a drink. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem, but Lem’s wife kept a tight leash on him, expecting him back for dinner and all. So now he stank alone at the bar, waiting for Lem to show his ass.
Four minutes later, Lem’s ass still hadn’t shown, but his name did, on the screen of the forgotten phone vibrating on the bar.
He answered with a curt “Yeah.”
“Hound, it’s me. Listen, I'm not going to make it out tonight, I have to go home.”
Sandor grunted, “ok.”
“Are you already there? Shit, man. Next time we’re out, first round’s on me.”
When Sandor only grunted, Lem continued, “I’ll be your wingman, I’ll help them ladies get over your pissed off attitude, you’ll get so much pussy.”
“Fuck off Archer-boy.” Travis “Legolas” Lem had inherited the nickname, not just by making impossible shots and always reaching his mark, but mostly on account of being a huge Lord of the Rings fanboy and looking the part of an elf.
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah, well, fat chance of that happening before we go wheels up, might be soon.”
Sandor shared the little he’d heard at HQ, which wasn’t much, so he hung up soon after, and hung his head between his hands. If he wanted, Sandor could find a girl for the evening. His scarred face wasn’t that bad these days, what with the beard obscuring the worst of whatever the cheap reconstructive surgery of his youth hadn’t dealt with. Earlier when he’d arrived, he’d made eye-contact with a curvy brunette, she was currently expertly displaying her rack at the pool table, he could make a move if he wanted to. At 31, he wasn’t too old for the occasional twenty-something groupie yet, but lately, since his buddy Geary got one pregnant and ended up miserable and married to a virtual stranger, he’d lost a bit of his appetite for it.
He was about to drain the remnants of his beer and walk out of here when one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen walked into the bar and in the blink of an eye made him rethink his whole outlook on the topic. Long auburn hair, smooth creamy skin and delicate classical features, tall and slim, miles-long legs, she reminded Sandor of someone, probably some actress or model, she could definitely have walked straight out of a photoshoot if it weren’t for her somewhat mussed appearance and worried glance around. She walked up to the bar, and Sandor got treated to a profile view of her rack beautifully hugged by her form-fitting white t-shirt. She cast a nervous smile at him before addressing the barman.
Ernie, the barman looked at her with his usual level of friendliness, which looked a lot like downright hostility.
“Hi, I’m looking for someone, perhaps you know him?” She asked with a clear voice but hesitation in her tone, “Robb Stark.”
What the fuck.
Sandor knew Robb Stark. He was Sandor’s lieutenant commander at SEALs team 9. What did the girl want with Stark ? As far as he knew, Stark was all but engaged to his long-time girlfriend Jeyne, a residency student. The guy was a square, not one to fool around. Although with that incentive, all bets were off. She really was unbelievably beautiful. Old Sandor would have despised her for it. Now he felt almost sorry for her, with beauty like that came trouble, but not sorry enough to feel bad about ogling her.
Ernie didn’t answer her question, “I’m going to have to see some ID”
Ignoring the fucker, Sandor turned his head and cut in, “I know Robb Stark, I work with him.” They didn’t exactly get along swimmingly, the LC and him, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to offer up that information.
“You do?” she asked, crumbling on a stool and looking at him as if he were her savior, “Would you happen to know where I could find him?”
“Who’s asking?” She might be a looker, but Sandor wasn’t one to deal in drama, especially when it came to his SEALs teammates, pain in the ass officer or no.
“Oh, I’m Sansa, Sansa Stark, Robb’s sister.”
Well if that wasn’t a fuckfest. Figures the only girl Sandor would have seriously considered hooking up with for the last few weeks had to be his commanding officer's sister. Because, it’d finally clicked whom she reminded him of: Robb Stark. Robb fucking Stark who was also picture-perfect Hollywood-grade good-looking. Same auburn hair, same straight features, same intensely blue eyes. Fuck, he drew out the curse in his head. Stark’s sister. He barely refrained from cursing out loud. Instead he introduced himself, “Senior Chief Sandor Clegane.”
Ernie chose that moment, “are you going to show some ID, girl? Otherwise you can walk out of the door,” he said pointing to the exit.
She swallowed, “I’m sorry.”
Ernie was gearing up for another reply so Sandor interrupted him again, “why don’t we take this outside for a minute? I’ll help out the Lieutenant’s sister.”
Sansa breathed a “thank you, chief.”
“Clegane or Sandor is fine.”
“Ok Sandor,” and she turned the full power of her smile to him, he almost walked into the doorframe.
They stepped out in the late afternoon sunshine. She looked even more stunning in golden light, despite or maybe because of her slightly disheveled appearance.
“You in some kind of trouble?” he asked, too roughly.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s just, I finally split with my boyfriend, which is fine, more than fine, a relief. But he retaliated by just taking off and leaving me stranded at a Taco Bell” she enunciated the latter with perfect crispness making her thoughts on the story clear, “without my phone or wallet.”
His brows rose up at her story. Not wanting to pry into her personal matters, he asked instead, “So, how did you get here?”
“I hitched a ride. And… hum, I walked.” By her expression, probably a good while, “Rick had mentioned this hang out, I was really hoping to find Rob here.”
He looked at her sandals, but refrained from commenting. Something nagged at his mind in what she’d just said. “Rick?”
“Rick, hum, Rickon Stark, my other brother who’s just made SEALs. Team 7. I would have gone to him, but he went wheels up a week ago.”
So she’d have preferred to run to her kid brother instead of her older brother? He wondered what was up there. But all he said was, “I’ll make a few calls, let’s go in the shade.”
She looked up at him, nodded, eyes brimming with something, gratitude, the word flashed in his mind. Sandor experienced again that uncomfortable tightness. Sandor scrolled through his phone and called Stark. It went instantly to voicemail. He shook his head at the girl, Sansa. He then called Thor “Giant” Bane, who was, if not friends, at least friendly with the LC.
“Hey, it’s Clegane, do you know where to find Stark?”
“Yeah, he’s off in DC, word is, he’s being briefed for the presidential visit on base next week, why?”
Shit, he’d momentarily forgotten. Not a good sign, he needed to keep his wits about him. “I’m at the lounge, I’ve got his sister here. She huh, seems to be in a tight spot.”
“Which one, the hot redhead or the deadly brunette?” Thor asked. Sandor hoped she hadn’t heard that, By the slight widening of her eyes and the pink to her cheeks, no such luck. Christ, she had to know what she looked like, “first one.”
Thor let out a long “well damn, isn’t it fine? Stark’s hot sister and you. I should come over.”
“Don’t bother. Anyone might know about the LC’s ETA?”
“Try Gear, he might still be at the base, since, you know.”
“Yeah,” Sandor knew. Todd Geary, the guy who knocked up the girl with the stripper name. Any excuse to stay on base longer was fine by him.
He tried the guy’s cell phone. Geary answered on the second ring. He had been just about to leave, but when Sandor explained the issue, he stayed longer to ask around. According to intel he got from the Junior Lieutenant, the LC would be out of town for a few hours still, maybe even till the next day. Sandor relayed the news to the girl, Sansa. She suddenly looked so frail, glancing around trying to maintain her spirit.
After leaving a voicemail on Stark’s phone to call him back asap, he turned to Sansa and said,“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
She shook her head. “As of now I don’t, hum, I don’t have a home.” She backtracked a bit, “I mean I don’t live here. I was staying at a beach house with Joff, my ex. Aside from Rob and Rickon, there’s my aunt who leaves in Nevada, but frankly, I don’t want to go there, her husband, he, huh” she shook her head, “he makes me uncomfortable” she didn’t further specify, but her gaze to the side and her shuttered expression left very little room for doubt as to what kind of uncomfortable she was talking about. And where does that leave you, Hound? Just another creep after her? the unwelcome voice of his conscience rose inside him.
As usual, he ignored it. “You’ve eaten anything?”
She looked at him with a light in her eyes, “not since breakfast, you?”
“Not since breakfast. Come on then, let’s grab something, then we’ll regroup and think of a plan.” He nodded towards the rear of the parking lot where his black charger was parked.
But before they could reach his drive, they heard a shout “Hey Hound!” from the other car aisle, “who have you got? She new?” Trant, an asshole from the helo team strode over, Osbourne lumbering behind. Sansa stiffened and took a step closer to Sandor. Trant didn’t notice, he plowed on. “Hey sweetheart, are you sure you want to spend the evening with ugly here? Why don’t you follow us instead, we’ll have a grand old time.”
“I’m sure you will,” Sansa said, surprising Sandor by sliding her arm onto his, and stepping close to his side. “As I’m sure Sandor and I will.” Ignoring the two pilots, she looked at him with a suggestive smile “I’m all set to go,” she declared, she even brushed her chest against his arm, the incredible softness turning his mind to absolute mush and his boxers uncomfortably tight in the space of an instant. He did manage to get enough of a grip on himself to nod and steer her away from the idiots. Sansa, polite little thing that she was, waved at them and called, “have a good evening, gentlemen.”
She released him when they reached his car. “I’m sorry, that was, hum,” Sandor waited in vain for her to finish her thought, “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“No worries,” he said, his voice a little rough, “forget about them, they’re grade A assholes.”
She gave him a broad smile that had the light in her eyes dancing, as if he’d said something particularly clever or funny. The effect was almost too much. Sansa said, “then I’m really glad you were the one sitting at the bar and not them.”
“Try to hold on to that happy thought when you’re stuck in traffic with me, I didn’t go home first to shower after the training today. I smell.”
“…manly?,” she finished for him, amused.
“If you say so,” Sandor shrugged and opened the passenger door for her.
Hearing her musical laugh, seeing her climb into his car, legs for miles and the figure straight out of a wet dream, damn his inner caveman wanted her in his car, in his house, in his bed, maybe even in his life period. But, shit, Stark’s sister. Off limits didn’t even begin to cover it. So he got on the driver’s side, turned the key in the ignition, and felt a similar twist in his guts.