Chapter Text
If he wasn’t so attuned to her voice, Jon didn’t think he would have heard her from all the way across the bar, through the music and laughter and the low hum of conversation. But as it was, Jon had spent the last year deeply in love with Sansa Stark and deeply in denial about it, and this state of things manifested itself in strange ways, such as being able to pick up on her regardless of whatever else was happening around him.
“That’s my decision, and I think…”
The rest of her sentence was swallowed up by a round of applause as the group onstage wrapped up a song. It was open mic night. Jon stood up, his papers forgotten on the far end of the bar, his head swiveling as he tried to find a glimpse of Sansa’s fire-red hair.
“I don’t believe you, Joffrey!”
So she was with Joffrey, and she sounded angry. Jon swallowed as he strode purposely towards the southeast end of the bar, when he thought he heard her voice from. Joffrey. The undeserving boyfriend with the wandering eyes.
As he grew closer he heard her name on a raised, male voice, high pitched with anger. “… Sansa, believin’ everythin’ you hear.”
“I believe her. Why would she lie?”
“To break us up! What the fuck do you think?”
Jon sped up, needing to see Sansa’s face, needing to make sure she was alright. Needing to bash Joffrey’s face in for talking to her that way.
“I don’t believe you. I don’t trust you.”
“But you trust her? Some slut you barely know? You’re still a naïve little girl. Stupid as the day I met you.”
“I’m not stupid, Joffrey! Stop saying that! I won’t take it anymore!”
Finally, Jon saw her . She stood tall in the face of Joffrey’s abuse, although her chin was quivering and there was a gleam in her eye that might have been more than the lights. A little crowd had formed around them, though none of the cowards had intervened on Sansa’s behalf.
In two strides Jon was at her side. “Are you okay?” he asked in a low but urgent voice, ignoring everyone else for a moment.
Her mouth had opened in surprise when she saw him, but she quickly recovered. She nodded, although the stitch of her brows implied she wasn’t so sure about it.
“Go away, Jon. This ain’t none of your business.”
Joffrey’s southern accent seemed to slip out of him the further he lost control. Jon huffed through his nose, aware of his hands curling into fists as he struggled to maintain his own control. Jon knew Joffrey well; it didn’t take much to know a superficial prick. Joffrey was at the bar a few nights a month, when he bothered to accompany his girlfriend. Jon had been coming to the bar regularly ever since he moved to town. It was down the street from his house, it was better than grading papers in front of the TV, and the habit had become a difficult one to break. Especially when he met Sansa, the nurse who liked to unwind here on her nights off, and the bar owner’s best friend.
But she was with Joffrey. That’s what he tried to remind himself of now; she’s with Joffrey.
Except, it looked like she was finally dumping him.
“I think you should leave.” There was no doubt in anyone’s mind who Jon was talking to as he glared at Joffrey, discreetly moving his body to the right to place himself between him and Sansa.
Joffrey scoffed. “You’re kidding. She’s my girl.”
“I’m not your anything anymore, Joffrey.” Sansa spoke up from behind Jon. “I told you. It’s over.”
“This is bullshit!” Joffrey stepped forward and gesticulated wildly between them. Jon placed himself more firmly in front of Sansa so he was covering her body with his. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think I haven’t seen the way you look at her…” Joffrey gasped, rounding in on Sansa again, and Jon jerked to the right to block his advance. “Is that what this is? You been screwing Snow?”
“Stop it, Joffrey.” Sansa’s voice sounded wet with tears. Jon’s instinct was to turn and look at her, comfort her. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t take his eyes off Joffrey until he was no longer a danger to Sansa.
“You’re fucking him!” Joffrey sounded feral, growling. “So you’re projecting, accusing me of cheating—”
Joffrey lunged for Sansa, but Jon was quicker. He grabbed Joffrey’s arm before it could reach her and twisted it behind his back.
“You’re out of here,” Jon hissed as he pushed Joffrey towards the exit. “And if you ever come near Sansa again, you’ll regret it.”
“I’ll fuck you up,” Joffrey retorted, spit flying from his mouth. Jon doubted it. Joffrey was taller but thinner; Jon had no less than fifty pounds of pure muscle on him.
Brienne, the owner of the bar, was suddenly blocking their way, cool eyes regarding them both. “Is there a problem here?”
“No problem, Brienne.” Sansa was suddenly beside them, too, flushed with embarrassment to the roots of her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Jon said. Then, to Brienne, “Joffrey was giving her trouble.”
Brienne’s gaze snapped to him. “Out of here, Joffrey. Don’t come back. Right to refuse service.”
“You’re kidding! Seriously, Brienne? You’re taking his side over mine?”
“I’m taking Sansa’s side,” Brienne replied simply. “Don’t come back.”
Now that he had Brienne’s permission Jon let himself push Joffrey a bit more roughly than he needed to. But Joffrey started struggling anew as they reached the door, squirming to free himself from Jon’s hold, looking back at where Sansa stood. “You’re coming with me, Sansa, we are not done talking about this—”
“What did I say?” Jon’s voice was low, more venomous than he’d ever heard it. He supposed Sansa brought out that side of him. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that. Don’t even look at her. You’re done.”
“You’re crazy. You’re fucking nuts. If you think I’m going to let you do this to us—”
You did this all on your own. But the asshole didn’t deserve a response. Jon cut off the rest of his sentence as he pushed the door of the bar open with Joffrey’s body, then released him with a hard shove. When the door slammed shut behind him, Jon released a heavy breath he’d been holding for months.
Moving on instinct, his feet took him to Sansa. She was standing with Brienne, undoubtedly preoccupied with filling in her friend on what had happened between her and Joffrey. Jon was a bit curious, too, but that could wait. Suddenly it felt like they had all the time in the world.
Her eyes flickered to him when he was near. They widened. She said something to Brienne and stepped towards him.
“Sansa, are you okay?”
She nodded, chin quivering again and eyes going soft—the only warning he had before she leapt into his arms. Jon had only a second to react, his arms opening automatically to welcome her, the breath knocked out of him despite her slighter frame. He’d never held her this closely before, and he acutely felt what he’d been missing—softness, the vice grip of her arms around his neck, the overwhelming scent of her, something fresh and citrusy.
When she pulled away, much too soon, he saw that her eyes were most definitely shiny with tears.
“Hey.” He wouldn’t be able to bear it if she started to cry. Not over that worthless asshole. He would listen to her rant and rave and cry for hours if she wanted, but he knew Sansa; she didn’t like public scenes. She was probably mortified over everything that had happened already—he knew she didn’t want to add a public meltdown to the list. So his mind searched frantically for something to cheer her up.
“I can’t believe he’s a therapist.”
It was stupid, but it seemed to do the trick. Her beautiful face cracked into a wide grin.
“Psychiatrist,” Sansa corrected in a perfect mockery of Joffrey’s voice, and they both burst out laughing.