She hasn’t been sleeping. Pod can see that from the dark circles under her eyes. He brings her coffee which she doesn’t drink, and he shares nervous glances with Brienne, who asks if she’s taking care of herself--a question she doesn’t respond to.
Then she comes in with no hair and Pod can’t help it. He knows he’s not supposed to talk to her--it’s for the best. Keep distance while Brienne sorts out some more details with her, keep his head down and his contact with the case through reports. But she comes in with a headscarf to cover her scalp and sunglasses to hide her face and Pod grabs her arm.
“Sansa,” he breathes. “Did you...did you cut your own...”
She nods from behind the huge black sunglasses. “Last night.”
Her voice is dry, but surprisingly light. Smooth. She knows how to pretend. It’s a thought that’s chilling.
“Sansa,” he says again, and he reaches up and pulls the sunglasses off her face. She doesn’t stop him. Her eyes are red--bloodshot. She didn’t sleep. She’d been crying. Her hair is gone.
Pod glances at Brienne who is pretending not to be watching closely, and Sandor who isn’t pretending, then he takes Sansa’s hand and leads her into the lounge. It’s empty, thank god.
“You’re not fine,” he says, thinking quickly. “That’s more than understandable. I’d be the same, I’m sure.”
“Would you?” Her head is cocked and she’s watching him. “How would you know. Have you lived a lie for the last ten years? By my count it’s only been a few months.”
It stings. She sounds like Sandor.
“Have you taken any sleeping pills?”
“It’s all I can do not to swallow a bottle of them.”
Pod looks at her, alarmed, his mouth dropping open and before he can even begin to think of what to say next, tears fill her eyes again. “God damn it,” she says, and her voice is thick. “I thought I was done crying.”
If she were Alayne, and he were still silly bumbling Pod, he’d hug her. If they were sitting on his couch watching Battlestar Galactica, or if he were chilling in her practice room while she noodled on the piano, he’d have pulled her into a bear hug. But he’s a cop and she’s his case so all he can do is put a hand on her shoulder, and he shouldn’t even be doing that.
“You spoke with your uncle yesterday?” he asks her.
She nods. “Yeah. Edmure.” She presses the sleeve of her sweatshirt to her eyes.
That was a dumb question, he thinks. She went back to her hotel and shaved her head. Of course it was hard.
“Are you...are you going to see them soon? Are they coming out?”
Sansa pulls out her phone. “Randa’s booking a flight for me to go out this weekend.” She says. “As if they’re not all going to hate me.”
“They’re not going to hate you,” Pod says. “They’ve been assuming you’re dead. They’ll want to see you.”
“And what will they see?” she asks and she sounds hysterical now. “Who will they see? I’m not...” her voice breaks and she lets out a strangled sob and fuck it, he’s hugging her. He pulls her close and she sobs into his chest, clutching his shirt and he’s squeezing her so tight. She’s warm, and shaking, and alive.
“They’ll see you,” he says. “The same way I see you.”
“You don’t--” Sansa begins, but he cuts her off.
“I see someone who tries to make major songs sound sad because minor songs can sound happy if you do that right, but no one tries to make major songs sound sad. I see someone who likes lemon cakes, and who wishes she could draw and who knits her way through meetings to give herself something to do with her hands. I see someone who listens, who is thoughtful, and caring, and passionate. And you don’t see her right now because you think she’s Alayne, but she’s not. She’s you. And maybe there are parts of Alayne that aren’t you, but I’m willing to be that not all of her isn’t you--just as not all of her isn’t Sansa.”
She’s still trembling, but she’s not sobbing quite so intensely.
“My head won’t stop hurting,” she says at last. “I’ve taken so much ibuprofin, but my headache won’t go away.”
“Probably because you’re not sleeping. Are you eating?”
She doesn’t move. Pod sighs. “Take some sleeping pills tonight. If you need me to come and make sure you don’t swallow the whole bottle, I’ll do it. Remember to breathe. Just because he forced you to lie doesn’t mean you don’t exist, Sansa. I promise you--you do.”
baratheonpilled
blakekathryn
jacobvanloon
vaporwave
romaincrisis