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She was so positive. Naive too, Jon thinks, but not in a bad way. Just that there's still an air of innocence about her that was charming to him. But, as he thinks back on her argument, he can’t help but chuckle that she has a point. Of course, the evidence is stacked against their client, and that sobers him up quickly, but she isn't completely wrong.
She's been underestimated, Stark comma Sansa. Since the moment these Harvard law students saw her, they've dismissed her as a redheaded bimbo who only cared for fashion and pop culture. And he almost did the same when he saw her running out to the quad that day, tears running streaks down her face, but he thought that could've been him all those years ago. Not the crying, he supposes. But the feeling of being overwhelmed in a university that breeds competitiveness.
He understood, and he found enough compassion in himself to reach out to her.
And now-
Now Jon can't seem to remember what his pre-Sansa existence was like.
Baelish's lawyers and interns move to clear the desk and work on their tasks while he and Sansa are paired to interview the ex-wife. Baelish means for him to babysit her, but Jon thinks that she's more than capable of handling this one, even if he just stood in the background.
"So what," he starts to ask her on their way back from the spa they found the ex-wife in, green facial mask and cucumber slices sitting on her eyes. "You're discriminating someone now because they're a brunette?"
"Why not? People have always discoutned me just because I like feminine things." She scoffs back at him. And although she sounds completely bratty, Jon can't help the fond smile that tugs on his lips.
"I don't think it's such a bad thing to be underestimated, Sansa," he says to her, eyes determinedly on the road. "It's like being a dark horse. No one will see you coming."
"Yeah, but no one will take you seriously either."
Her tone drains him of the lightness they've established. He has detected enough dejection in them that he knows for certain it has been her reality for most of her life.
"And it's fine, you know. Because it feels great to prove them wrong, but," she trails off, and Jon notcies her biting on her lip anxiously. "But what?" he prods, wanting her to feel safe to speak freely.
"But when even your own parents act patronizingly towards you, you start to question if you're overreaching. If I'm only good for one thing."
He doesn't ask what that one thing is, thinking that it might be too personal to explore right now.
"You'll be a good lawyer, Sansa," he offers to her in earnest.
A snort, "You don't need to placate me, Jon. I'm fine."
Jon pulls to a stop outside her dorm, and then faces her. Thankfully, she faces him too.
"I'm not placating you. You have empathy and compassion," he starts to say, his hands still on the steering wheel so he doesn't do something stupid like pull her in for a hug. Or touch her face. Or some other nonsense.
"You have an optimism in you that is lacking in most seasoned, yet jaded lawyers."
"Naive, you mean," she rolls her eyes at him.
"No, optimism. You try to see the good in people," he presses, urging her to see the sincerity in his words. "No one tells us this in law school, but we need a little bit of idealism. Because if we look at our client and all we see is guilty," Jon pauses when she sees her fully attentive. "That's not a very good place to start when defending them."
At the end of his mini-speech, he begins to worry if he's overstepped, or pushed too much. But when he sees a slow smile spread on Sansa's face, he knows he did something right.
When she leans over the stick to place a chaste kiss on his cheek, Jon's brain near short-circuits.
"Good night, Jon. Thank you," she tells him, almost shyly.
It is only by sheer will that Jon returns the greeting without saying something dumb, like I love you.
And as he sits in his car, hand touching his cheek like a maiden from an old fairytale, Jon Snow knows for certain that he is screwed. And that Sansa Stark has got him wrapped around her dainty little manicured finger.