Chapter Text
Till Dawn (Here Comes The Sun)
Prologue
Sandor heard the rap-a-tap-tap of his secretary’s knuckles against his doorframe just fine. In his periphery, he even saw her shifting from side-to-side on her chubby legs, impatiently waiting for him to acknowledge her hovering in the doorway.
Sandor stubbornly clung to the ruse that he was up to his eyeballs in work. He shuffled papers around his desk, threw down his pen with contrived exasperation, and sighed heavily as if the work was taxing and the interruption unwanted. In reality, he had been perusing some bullshit articles on a men’s health website to kill time before his next meeting. With another rap-a-tap and a clearing of her throat, Susan wandered into his office. It was her last day and he supposed she had come to bid her farewells.
Goodbyes were never easy, but this had nothing to do with him missing her. What was there to miss? Certainly, not the annoying way she talked to herself or her chronic habit of hacking up phlegm. During her first month, she’d boldly asked what happened to the secretaries before her. She was the sixth one he had hired within the past year. Sandor had answered her question, amused and irritated she even asked. “They all quit.” She had frowned at his vague response, but figured it out soon enough on her own.
Sandor never claimed to be an easy person to work for. He issued a heavy-handed warning during interviews and subsequent first days. Private investigative work wasn’t glamorous. It was long nights doing paperwork that the day-to-day investigations didn’t always leave time for. It was executing unusual tasks that the job required. Often times, it was handling unsettling issues that shed light on just how fucked up the world could be. The job was demanding and so was he. As much as he tried to make that exceedingly clear, all his previous secretaries had only smiled through thin, rouged lips and nodded understandingly at him.
In the end, they were all the same. They’d plop their fat asses down in front of a computer, answer the phones, file paperwork at a snail’s pace, and maybe create a spreadsheet in excel if they felt like kicking their productivity up a notch. Beyond that, the rest of their days were spent online shopping for hideous old lady get-ups or knitting patterns.
Soon enough, though, his demands would come pouring in and most would find themselves in over their heads. Susan was no exception—tacky outfits, fat ass and all—but she had stuck around the longest, a whopping five months. Her husband recently retired and wanted to settle somewhere north, Minnesota perhaps. At least, that was Susan’s story. If her husband wanted to freeze his old balls off up north, so be it. Would Sandor miss Susan? No, but his life would be a whole hell of a lot easier if he didn’t have to hire yet another secretary.
“I ordered three more boxes of printer paper,” Susan informed, one eye staring at him and the other, the lazy one, drifting off into open space. “Someone—either my replacement or you—will have to order toner for the copier soon.”
I don’t care about this boring shit, lady.
“Alright,” Sandor groaned before clicking his mouse and furrowing his brow at the screen. With any luck, she’d leave it at that and leave him to his “Give Her The Best Orgasm Ever” article, or whatever the fuck it was he had been browsing through.
To his dismay, not only did Susan not leave, she hobbled closer to his desk and, with an outstretched arm, shoved a stack of papers in front of him.
“You haven’t hired anyone to replace me yet. This was sent in last Thursday.”
Sandor warily eyed the papers, but refused to take them.
Not this song and dance again…
They’d already had this conversation and the path it paved was circular. Sandor argued he didn’t need a secretary. Susan scoffed and begged to differ. Sandor told her how tired he was of the hiring process and the eventual drama of his secretary either bursting into tears in his office while quitting or waning away into “no call, no show” oblivion. Susan countered with a laundry list of all the tasks she took care of for him. In the end, they had reached an impasse and left it at that.
It was her last day and her last stand. Accordingly, Susan tossed the papers down in front of him.
“I did a phone interview with her on Tuesday. She has a Bachelors degree in Criminal Justice and a Masters in Business Administration. She sounds very sweet and very professional. You should seriously consider this one."
Sandor glared at the woman. He had wasted enough of his time interviewing hordes of idiots who didn’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. Why would this chick be any different, even with her fancy degrees?
“I don't want sweet," he insisted harshly and shoved the papers back across his desk. “I want competent, level-headed, and thick-skinned. I don't need some princess who’s going to cry herself to sleep at night if I don’t have rainbows shooting out of my ass at every turn.”
Suddenly drained, Sandor ran a hand over his face and drew a deep breath.
“I’m tired of this shit.”
He meant to only think it, not speak it. When he got down to brass tacks, no one knew he needed a secretary better than he did. In the times he had gone without one, Sandor had found himself veritably drowning in the tedious components of business upkeep. He didn’t have the patience or wherewithal for those tasks.
He was a military police officer by training and his meticulous investigative work was what kept his client base intact. What he lacked was business acumen. He got by the best he could and learned as he went. An MBA would be a welcomed asset to have on board. Susan’s vested interest in the matter rapidly vanished as the clock tick-tocked towards five. As such, Sandor kept these revelations to himself.
“The deadline for applications was last Wednesday, not Thursday,” he said curtly. “If she can’t submit her resume by a deadline, how the hell do I know she’s going to meet other deadlines?”
Susan shrugged and rolled her eyes, too exasperated to humor his bullshit much longer. Sandor watched her waddle to the door with her purse in hand and a broad smile on her lips. Well, don’t look too goddamn happy that you’re free of me.
Susan stopped in the doorway on the way out and turned to him once more.
“Consider the Keurig my parting gift.” With another smile of sweet relief, she meandered from his office.
After a few moments of shuffling footsteps and one last round of Susan’s hacking up phlegm, Sandor was left in silence. He swiveled in his chair and tossed a foam stress ball in the air. He still had an hour and half left to kill before meeting a potential client. Having had his fill of trashy Internet articles, he scrolled through his inbox only to find his emails answered and sorted into their appropriate folders, no new ones in sight. A quick glance at his phone showed no new voicemails either. He rocked in his seat and eyed the papers scattered on his desk.
Toss it in the “reject” pile and be done with it.
Sandor would’ve done just that. He would’ve told himself the job posting Susan put up was the problem and, if he wanted qualified candidates, he’d have to write the posting himself.
It was the feel of the paper, the weight of it, that caught Sandor’s attention when he gathered up the pages. It didn’t have the thin feel of shitty printer paper. The girl had sent in her resume or perhaps dropped it off. No one bothered with that crap nowadays. Everything was electronically submitted with the expectation of employment without all the legwork. This was a small detail, but it was enough for him to turn over the pages of the linen paper to see what was on the other side.
Sansa Stark was her name. It had a nice alliterative ring to it. Sansa Stark.
If he said it out loud, Sandor imagined it’d be soft on his tongue. At first glance, her resume was better organized and more aesthetically pleasing than any that had come across his desk. Big name schools, top of her class, a volunteer at an animal shelter and other various charitable organizations—the girl would be better off applying for canonization as a Saint. A cursory look through her cover letter revealed a similar listing off of all the amazing shit she had done. Sandor expelled a derisive laugh.
I knew it. A total princess. We’ll see about that…
He tossed the papers aside and turned to his keyboard. He had learned early on to “screen” candidates by browsing their social media pages. Most were stupid enough to leave up pictures of themselves getting plastered on the weekends. Some even left up posts complaining about their current jobs or interviews they had been on. If he searched hard enough, he was likely to dig up some dirt on this girl or at least prove to himself she wasn’t all her resume suggested she was.
He typed her name into google, hit enter, and rubbed his hands together with a smug smile when a link popped up to her facebook page. When he clicked on it, Sandor found the smirk fading from his lips as he stared at the profile picture on his screen.
Goddamn, she’s pretty.
He leaned towards the screen, examining closer as if his eyes had deceived him. With her arms thrown around a large Siberian husky, she seemed to be laughing in the picture. Her smile was beaming, her eyes a vibrant blue, and her red hair tumbling over bare shoulders. This wasn’t some contrived selfie—the camera dangling precariously from above to capture the best angle and lips pursed into a ridiculous duck face. This picture was genuine and candid.
Sandor clicked through her album of tagged pictures. These were where the gems were usually found; the embarrassing, the unflattering, and the damning ones. All he found, though, were pictures of her posing shyly with friends, ones of her making goofy faces for the camera, and ones showcasing her many forays into baking.
He scanned her wall, waiting for something incriminating to pop up. Instead, he found pictures of girly shit—clothes, makeup, and shoes she seemed to like—and text posts that held a similar sort of innocent sweetness. She gushed about her family, her boyfriend, and her dog. By all appearances, this girl truly was all she seemed.
Clearly, there was no dirt to be found on her, but Sandor continued to scroll through her pictures anyhow, increasingly intrigued to know more. His scrolling abruptly stopped when he came across a picture buried amongst loads of innocuous posts.
Sitting on the edge of a couch, she was in a blue dress; low cut enough to show off just the right amount of cleavage and one strap falling off her shoulder. She didn’t smile for the camera as she had for the others. Instead, she bit at the fullness of her bottom lip and the length of her hair was tossed over one shoulder as she looked down.
It certainly wasn’t scandalous by his standards, but it elicited a reaction from him as if were and as if he shouldn’t be staring at it as he was—heart beating faster in his chest and his breaths coming quicker too. Someone named Joffrey, her boyfriend by all appearances, had tagged her in the photo along with an obnoxious declaration that she “belonged to him and him alone.” Sandor released a rumbling laugh at that before closing out of the tab.
He stared at her resume on his desk and toyed with the idea of calling her. Business had been picking up lately, both a blessing and a curse. There was no way he could manage it all on his own. This girl had the credentials to be of use around the office and hers was the most qualified application that he had come across.
Back and forth, his eyes drifted between the phone and her resume. He chewed his lip and squeezed his stress ball. He swiveled in his chair and listened to the city traffic somewhere outside the window. When his gaze landed back on the phone, he snatched it up and punched in the numbers before he could talk himself out of it.
The phone rang once and then twice. A third rang came and Sandor sighed with relief that he could leave a voicemail or maybe just hang up.
“Hello?” a voice answered, somewhere between the third and fourth ring.
“Hi,” Sandor spoke gruffly into the phone. “Is this Ms. Stark?”
“Yes, it is.” Even her voice was sweet—a soft chime in a sing-song rhythm and a bit breathless too.
“Ms. Stark,” Sandor began, aware now that his hands were inexplicably clammy. “My name is Sandor Clegane and I’m with Clegane Investigative Services. I’m calling about the resume you submitted.”
“Yes! Thank you so much for calling back. I really appreciate it.”
Sansa’s voice came exerted on the other end of the line and he could hear faint shuffling in the background.
“If you have a few moments, I’d like to ask you some questions,” Sandor continued, aware now that he may have interrupted her in the middle of something.
“Yes, sorry…” Sansa breathed gently before pausing. He heard a door open and then close from her end. “Just one second…” The noise died down until she spoke once more. “I teach a dance class on Thursday nights so I’m—”
“If you’re busy right now, you can call back later,” Sandor interrupted.
“No! Its fine,” she assured. “Alright, I’m all yours.”
He paused momentarily, knocked off kilter and a bit annoyed that he was suddenly at a loss for what to say. He had called her after all and it wasn’t for fucking small talk.
“My secretary…well…former secretary, Susan, she told you about the position?”
“Yes, during my phone interview she told me what you’re looking for and what the job is like. I think I could really be a great asset to your firm, Mr. Clegane.”
Sweet, she certainly was, but a go-getter too. Sandor hadn’t quite expected that from her and found himself surprisingly impressed.
“What’s your availability? You say you teach a dance class on Thursday nights. What if I want you on a Thursday night?”
Fuck, he mouthed silently and his forehead promptly met the palm of his hand.
Though he truly hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, he couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself with a shake of his head and a grin plastered to his lips. If the girl caught the blatant innuendo, she didn’t let on.
“I assure you that if you offered me the position, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Sansa replied without missing a beat. “My job with you would be my first priority.”
Sandor nodded at her reply, pleased with how she was living up to his expectations.
“Okay. What would your commute be like?” he asked. “There are times you might have to be here early or stay late. Is that something you could handle?”
“I live in the area, near the Central West End, so I wouldn’t have much of a commute. I’m okay with late nights and early mornings. Really, I’m flexible with my schedule.”
Sandor silently nodded once more. There wasn’t really much to consider. The girl not only stacked up on paper, but she had also given him all the answers he wanted to hear. For all intents and purposes, this was a slam-dunk and he should be offering her a job. So why the fuck was he so gun shy? He could hear her soft little breaths of anticipation on the other end as she waited for his reply.
“If you’re still interested in the job, you can come in for a day to get a feel for what you’d be doing and for me,” he spoke tepidly. “Then we can go from there. How does that sound?”
“That sounds perfect!” Sansa declared excitedly. “Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mr. Clegane. When would you like me to come in?"
Give her the weekend.
“Tomorrow. You can come tomorrow,” Sandor said despite his instincts. Fridays were the busiest days for him and not exactly ideal for showing this girl the ropes.
“Oh. Okay. Tomorrow it is.” He could hear the deflation in her voice and the way she tried to cover it up with feigned cheerfulness.
“Is that going to be a problem or something?” he snapped.
“No. Tomorrow is fine,” Sansa gently assured.
“Good. Come at eight. Make sure you’re on time. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow and I don’t like waiting.”
His words were biting and he couldn’t say why. Sandor was routinely accused of sabotaging the good things that came his way—nice gestures and kind people. He only felt passingly guilty for the unceremonious way he hung up the phone without another word. She’d have to get used to his brusque and sometimes surly demeanor eventually, so he had good reason to not coat his words in artificial sugar.
Later, though, he thought back on the way he ended the call and hoped like hell that she’d actually show up. Then he wondered why it mattered. Was it that MBA she had under her belt or was it the fact that he couldn’t get the pictures of her out of his mind?