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Willas was not avoiding Sansa Stark. At all. Rhaenys’ effortlessly polite, gently and impossibly efficient secretary with the enormous blue eyes and the mile long legs…
All right, he was avoiding her. A bit.
Because he turned into a giant green rage monster, which was not exactly conductive to flirting.
“Come off it, Tyrell, you can be in the same room as me and Renly, you can handle talking to the poor girl,” Rhaenys said, a smudge of dry-erase marker on her face and hairline.
“Drop it,” he said.
“Or what? You have better control of Big Green than you think, and constant denial isn’t going to help you,” she pointed out. “You’re just making the two of you miserable, and Dany will blame me if she gets broken.”
He winced, and her eyes went wide at the intentional .
“Targaryen,” Renly said in a warning tone, striding into the lab.
Rhaenys flipped him off. “I’ve got a demonstration to make, so just think about it.”
~
He made breakfast the next morning, because Sansa usually got stuck doing it, as Rhaenys didn’t believe in sleeping unless she completely crashed, Renly was still running about the city, Margaery and Ned Dayne were asleep until near noon, and god only knew what (or who) Oberyn was doing in the morning.
That… was an entirely unintentional pun.
So he started the usual tray for the pancakes around ten, a few minutes before Sansa was set to come in, according to Bloodraven. The batter was easy enough, reminding him of lazy days in Highgarden, helping his mother with cooking and laughing at Garlan’s crazier ideas about recipes.
“Do you think we have peanut butter cups?” he asked Sansa went she shuffled into the kitchen. She was dressed and prepared for the day, of course- he’d never seen her fully relaxed, now that he thought about it, and Rhae never pushed Sansa that way like she pushed everyone else. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and she was wearing a crisp button up and slacks, heels clicking.
“We probably do,” she said slowly. “Wouldn’t that be too much with syrup, though?”
He frowned. “Not really- the peanut butter helps, I think. We could go for strawberries and fruits- I think we have fruit syrups in there.”
She headed to the cabinet he pointed towards. “We have syrup,” she said in an amused tone. “We have a lot of syrup. Who can we blame for having a cabinet full of different syrups, Bloodraven?”
“Mr. Martell,” the AI said smoothly. “He seemed quite enthusiastic about the subject, and asked who preferred various flavors.”
“Why would he…?” Sansa turned to look at him, far too innocent for a woman who was PA to a genius who tended to view sex as a stress relief measure and lacked a filter for her mouth.
…And Willas had possibly learned far too much about Iron Man’s probable kinks with that confusion. (He was also reflecting that she didn’t seem to bring half as many people to the penthouse as rumor would have suggested.)
“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he said, too disturbed to think about what he was saying, until he picked up on the expression on her face and realized he stepped in it. “Sorry, family joke. We all said it too each other, regardless of actual ages.”
The expression of hurt and pricked pride fell away, and her eyes went very wide. “Oh. Oh.”
They managed to each wordlessly convey that they were not going to talk about that, and didn’t specify why they were only going to use unopened bottles of syrup.
Still, though, they occasionally stopped, met each other’s eyes, and started laughing.
The Other Guy was sleepy in the back of his mind, and he decided not to push his luck by kissing her.
He forced himself not to think about the disappointment in her eyes when Renly came in, freshly showered and with hair spiking everywhere.
~
Sansa had lovely, graceful hands, prone to sweeping gestures or having her fingers trace shapes when she was thinking. Willas found himself staring, sometimes, earning him a slight smile from Margaery or an impatient sigh from Rhaenys.
He had taken to teaching her piano, watching her study the way he played from the doorway, ready to bolt with a word from him. He had instead steeled his mind (and other parts) and invited her over, watching her carefully perch on the edge of the bench.
“Do you know why there is a piano here?” he asked, after one lesson.
“Dany likes to play,” Sansa sighed. “I think it was meant as a peace offering.”
He nodded at that, and, a fit of whimsy hitting him, prepared to press two keys, in a slow crescendo, turning into a frenzy.
“Jaws?” Sansa laughed, hair starting to escape from its normal twist.
“It is an easy, recognizable tune,” he said loftily. “Also, Dany scares me.”
She tried to hide her smile behind her hands, revealing her blue-and-red patterned nails, stifling her giggle. “She’s not that bad.”
“Until she’s angry,” he said, fully realizing the hypocrisy of that statement. But she probably could have them all thrown out on their ears, so he felt justified in that. “Then she’s a bit terrifying.”
“A bit,” Sansa agreed. “She made Ryman Frey cry last week. Actual tears were escaping his eyes and everything- it was inspiring to watch.”
He shook his head at that, but chose not to comment, instead explaining the keys and laying out the music to her. It wasn’t astronomy, but it was hard to see the stars in New York City.
Maybe Ned would decide that they all needed some sort of road trip bonding, or Ellaria would drag them all out for her work. Then they could talk, and find someplace quiet. He liked these quiet places they made for each other.
~
Knowing his luck, the Other Guy showed up near Sansa just as he was starting to hope that it could maybe be better.
He came out for a reason- there was a man with an automatic weapon, ready to kill Sansa and the other bystanders.
He didn’t remember much past the fog that wrapped around his brain and distorted his memories. Just waking up later, head pounding and wondering what exactly happened.
The Other Guy seemed almost… sheepish, and he was confronted with a familiar red-and-black suit.
“Will, we have got to stop meeting like this, people will talk,” the modulated voice said.
“Shut up, Targaryen,” he muttered. “Is Sansa alright?”
“She’s fine- she was worried about you,” Rhae said. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”
There was a sick dread he could pretend was only because he was being carried through the air.
~
Sansa was waiting for him- Rhae must have told Bloodraven to keep her in the loop. She looked fine, actually, save for a livid bruise on her cheekbone. Catching him staring, she touched it, looking embarrassed.
“Someone threw a can of spaghetti at me,” she said ruefully. “One of the robbers. I zapped him, though.”
He remembered suddenly what Ned had said about “Chaos Magic” and how Sansa had been the one to rescue him from being kidnapped, turning them invisible and so on. She wasn’t an Avenger, but she was more capable of defending herself than anyone else he knew.
“You were going to be stupid, weren’t you?” she asked.
He nodded, feeling a bit sheepish at her narrow eyed glare.
“I will find a way for you to suffer if your excuse for causing yourself harm or locking yourself away from life is to protect me,” she said, voice sweet. “Now, I have some soup and crackers waiting for you.”
He kissed her, then, and she laughed.
“I’ll have to make soup more often, then?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Or dressing me down,” he agreed, wondering how far he could push that bossy streak.
Maybe he could hope, now. After all, he did have a bit of magic on his side.