Work Text:
i. the ledge
buy another fixture, tell another lie
paint another picture, see who's surprised
you can love me baby but you can't walk out
someone oughta tell you what it's really all about
Sansa had been dating Joffrey for a year and a half the first time she wondered if this was really good for her. She wasn't the first person to wonder, of course, or even the first person to voice it, but the pitying looks of women watching him yell at her at the grocery store had never spoken with the same urgency as that little voice inside her head telling her to get out, get out now, that these sorts of things never get better and only get worse. He was just a passionate person, that's what she told herself. He gave himself wholly to everything. He went into work early and came home late. He decided he wanted to try playing guitar and immediately bought himself a thousand dollar Fender and a bass and amp just for the hell of it. When they'd first met in university he'd been the same way about her -- he'd written her poetry, he'd showed up at her dorm room out of the blue, he'd somehow always managed to show up at every event she ever RSVP'd to on Facebook. And she'd loved it. The single-minded obsession, the way he'd followed her everywhere, thought about her constantly, everything. "You make me crazy," he'd tell her, "you make me do things I never thought I'd do".
And at the time, that had been romantic. She'd been picturing the normal kind of "things he'd never do". Trying new foods. Travelling spontaneously. Getting a nose piercing. Camping out in the standby line to try to get tickets to a concert. Exciting, but normal. Instead, his interest in her waned. He obsessed over other things -- work, expensive wines, his band (they were awful, but she dutifully attended all their dive bar gigs). Then he didn't have time for her anymore. He stopped writing her poems, stopped going to events with her, stopped taking an interest in her life entirely. Sometimes, he seemed to hate everything about her. He'd criticize her cooking, her taste in music, the places she shopped and the friends she made. Even though he never wanted to go anywhere with her, he couldn't stand the thought of her doing things on her own, talking to men that weren't him. Everything, somehow, became about her imagined infidelity. If she bought clothes he didn't like, she was trying to impress someone else. If she got a gym membership, she was trying to meet men at the weight racks. If she bought wines he didn't like, well, she was clearly sharing them with someone else. What Joffrey wanted, it seemed, was for Sansa to sit in their empty apartment, arms folded, staring dutifully at a wall.
She never told anyone the things he said to her, but her friends and family seemed to pick up on it regardless. Her mother quietly suggested they go to couples therapy. Arya refused to go on double dates with Joffrey. "I'm happy to see you anytime, Sans," she'd told her, "but I'm not going anywhere he is". One time, after hearing Joffrey yell at her in a bar, Margaery Tyrell, a girl she barely even knew, had put her hand on the small of Sansa's back and asked her quietly and seriously if she was okay. Sansa's eyes had threatened to spill over with tears of humiliation, but she'd kept her voice level and chipper and assured her that everything was fine, but thanks so much for checking, really appreciate it.
A part of her had always known something was up, that Joffrey's obsession with her cheating on him wasn't normal. If you'd really pressed her, maybe she'd say it was a hangup from one of those "crazy" girls he'd dated before who'd maybe cheated on him or something. But really, she preferred not to think of it at all, to dutifully text him where she was all the time and not spend much mental energy on it.
Maybe part of her wasn't surprised in how it ended.
It was early fall and the leaves were just starting to turn. Joffrey was waiting for an important work call, something about a merger, and had been on edge for days. So when his phone buzzed while he was in the shower, Sansa went to hand it to him, in case it was something important. She'd glanced briefly at the text, to see if it was anyone from work, and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach when she saw a text from some girl reminding him to bring rubbers.
"Was it them?" Joffrey asked when he came out of the shower.
"No," Sansa said. "Just Tommen."
Joffrey sort of laugh-sighed.
"Shit," he said. "I really had a feeling it was going to be today."
"Sorry," Sansa muttered, staring at her hands. She understood now, why Joffrey had always been so fixated on whether or not she was being faithful. The couples therapist they'd been to once had warned about the dangers of projection. She wondered why she'd never picked up on it until now. Was she really so dense and naive?
"Hey, Sans," Joffrey said, tossing his towel onto the floor. "Wanna relieve some of my stress?"
ii. storms
she said "every night he will break your heart"
i should have known from the first
i'd be the broken-hearted
The worst part about any of this, Sansa thought, weeks later, was the fact that even though she'd been the one cheated on, Joffrey had still been the one to break up with her. She hadn't known what to do. The girls on TV always screamed, broke things, left in the middle of the night, did something. But she hadn't felt anything besides numb shock. She'd still slept with him that night, white knuckled her way through it, going through the motions. He hadn't noticed. Late in the night, long after he'd fallen asleep, Sansa had lain awake, turning everything over in her mind, trying to figure out where to go from here, and coming up empty. She fell asleep around 4, slept lightly, and woke an hour later, still contemplating what to do.
Eventually, she resolved to investigate further. "Stop it," she told herself as she felt around the nightstand for his phone. "You know he's cheating. Anymore will just hurt worse."
But she couldn't stop herself. She found his phone on the nightstand, carried it to the kitchen, made her morning coffee, and sat down to scroll through his texts. He'd apparently never seen fit to put a lock on it. She felt a twinge of guilt at the breach of trust but forced herself to soldier on and immediately wished she hadn't. He'd been cheating, she realized, basically the entire time they'd been together. Still, she couldn't help scrolling through all of them, the dozens of conversations with the dozens of girls, the sexting, the plans for illicit meetings, the things he'd told them about her and their sex life. She was in the middle of one particularly heartbreaking conversation, where he'd complained about her blowjob technique, when Joffrey walked into the kitchen.
"Morning," he said sleepily, tucking in his shirt.
"Hi," she said, looking up at him with eyes red from crying.
"Oh," he said. "You know."
"Yeah."
The second worst part, she thought, was the fact that she never got an explanation, aside from the fact she apparently gave subpar blowjobs. She'd gone to work, he'd used some of his PTO, and when she came back he was more or less moved out. She passed his mother Cersei, sitting in her running car, next to the curb outside their apartment. They'd locked eyes, and Cersei had nodded curtly, her expression unreadable. Then, Sansa had climbed the stairs to their apartment to find Joffrey, Robert, and Tommen lifting boxes into the hall. She went into the kitchen and busied herself scrubbing down all the surfaces, blinking furiously to prevent hot tears from spilling onto the gleaming counter. Robert at least had the decency to look ashamed.
"Well," Joffrey had said, carrying his last box and surveying the place, "uh, bye, Sansa."
She realized later that he had never even apologized.
...
For weeks after the breakup, Sansa oscillated between sadness and anger. She couldn't help but feel the whole thing was, above all else, deeply humiliating. Even when she received nothing but support from her family, Sansa couldn't help but feel judgement. Even though Arya had never said anything, just hugged her tightly and changed the subject, Sansa couldn't help but picture her, secure in her happy relationship with Gendry, lamenting her older sister's poor judgement and shit taste in men. She imagined Joffrey at bars with his friends, telling his friends about all the things she thought were theirs alone, telling them they'd broken up because she was crazy, just like his other exes. In her imagination, the coworkers always laughed, and told him he'd dodged a bullet, and she became an office joke, the girl who was so bad at sucking dick Joffrey had to dump her.
She didn't know why she'd fixated so much on that, she told the therapist her mother had convinced her to see.
"It's a betrayal," the therapist had said. "Of your relationship, of you, of something you thought was private. And it was shared, in a very cruel way, with a stranger. I don't blame you for feeling upset."
But she didn't feel upset, she'd wanted to say. She felt humiliated. The whole thing was just so embarrassing. Everyone in their social circle knew, if not the details, the broad strokes. Sansa's relationship had failed and it was her fault. For picking such a shitty man. For not being enough. For not catching on earlier. For all of it.
iii. landslide
well i've been afraid of changing
'cause i built my life around you
but time makes you bolder
even children get older
and i'm getting older too
Her friends gave her three weeks before trying to drag her back into the swing of things.
"Come on," Jeyne had said, digging through her closet. "You can't just stay here, listening to Fleetwood Mac forever."
"I'm heartbroken," Sansa said, lying on the bed. "This is what heartbroken people listen to."
"No offence, Sansa, but if I have to hear Rumours one more time I am actually going to shoot myself in the mouth."
Sansa pulled her pillow over her face, groaning heavily. "I'm not going out tonight."
"You are," Jeyne said. Sansa heard something fly through the air, then collide with her legs. She groaned again. "Look, Sansa, you're young, you're hot, you have all these nice clothes and all of those things are going to waste. Pick something nice and come with us tonight."
Sansa felt the bed dip under Jeyne's weight. She curled into her side.
"Look," said Jeyne, running her fingers through Sansa's hair. "I'm not saying you have to fall in love tonight. I just think it'll be good for you to be somewhere that isn't here, thinking about something that isn't him."
"Fine," Sansa said. "But first round's on you."
Jeyne smiled at the ceiling.
"Sounds like a deal."
...
"See anyone you like?" Jeyne asked.
Sansa looked up from her vodka cranberry and surveyed the bar. It wasn't that people here were bad-looking, exactly, but the night out had just confirmed that she wasn't ready to date again. She'd been with Joffrey since she was nineteen. She needed time to mourn him, their relationship, everything she thought she'd had. Three weeks just wasn't nearly enough time to get over a three year long relationship.
Sansa stood up. "I'm gonna get another drink."
She hi-sorry-excuse me'd her way to the bar and waved her hands, trying to attract the attention attention of the bartender. He nodded at her. She sat, gloomily surveying the place, and waited for the bartender to return to take her order. A familiar voice pierced her ears.
"Oh my god! Sansa Stark! How are you?"
Margaery Tyrell was here, drunk, and yelling in Sansa's ear. Great.
"I'm fine," she said, wincing. "How are you, Margaery?"
"I'm great! I'm just here for a bachelorette party, how about you?"
Sansa hesitated. Somehow, she didn't think "I just got cheated on and dumped and this is my pity party" was a stunning conversation starter.
"Just here with some friends." She gestured vaguely at Jeyne and their friends.
"Oh, I'm so glad. I'm glad you're OK after--"
"Yeah."
She stood up abruptly, shrugging off the bartender, and power-walked her way back to the table.
"I want to go," she told Jeyne.
"But--"
"I'm leaving. Are you coming?"
"Yeah," Jeyne said, grabbing her coat. "I'll see you guys later."
iv. think about me
all it took was a special look
and i felt i knew you before
i didn't mean to love you
didn't think it would work out
The next morning, Sansa woke up to a text from an unknown number.
"Hey," the text read. "It's margaery."
"Hi," Sansa responded.
"I'm really sorry about last night. I saw you leave right after, i really didn't mean to upset you."
"It's OK. It's just a sensitive subject right now."
"I totally get that." Sansa put her phone back on the nightstand and rubbed her eyes, watching the sunlight stream in through the windows. Her phone buzzed. Margaery again.
"Do you wanna get breakfast? I'm hungover. And i'll pay!!!"
Sansa thought about it. On one hand, she really did not want to be the recipient of Margaery Tyrell's pity, no matter how seemingly desperate Margaery was to give it to her. On the other, well, it was free food. And it wasn't as though she were particularly busy.
"Sure. Where?"
...
Sansa was, as much as she felt bad saying it, genuinely shocked to be enjoying Margaery's company. It wasn't as though she'd ever disliked Margaery, exactly, it was just that they'd only ever been on the peripheries of each other's social circles. Margaery had dated Joffrey's uncle, Renly, before he'd come out. Even before everyone knew he was gay, the age difference had always been a source of gossip, and Sansa supposed she had just internalized the idea of Margaery as a gold-digging social climber.
But this breakfast seemed to be proving her wrong. Even hungover, Margaery was clearly very intelligent. And, last night's drunken episode aside, very cognizant and respectful of her feelings. Margaery asked her about everything else in her life -- her family, her job, her hobbies -- but tactfully avoided all mention of Joffrey. Sansa was grateful. He haunted her every moment, often appearing at the most unexpected and painful of times, like when she'd find a sweatshirt of his forgotten in the closet, and then sit, paralyzed, debating whether to return it or donate it or set it on fire. Sansa tried to politely inquire about Margaery's life as well, avoiding any mention of the whole Renly thing, and found out she worked as a political aide, had once dyed her hair blonde, and bizarrely, loved New Wave music.
"David Byrne's a genius," Margaery said, shoving an entire fried egg into her mouth. "Stop Making Sense is maybe the best live concert ever. And it's the whole band, too. Tina Weymouth is an incredible bassist. You a Talking Heads fan?" Margaery asked, pointing her knife at Sansa in a gesture Sansa tried very hard not to see as threatening.
"Not really," she said.
"Apparently 80s music is making a comeback."
"Not according to Joffrey," Sansa said, smiling. "He always hated whenever I put on anything from before this decade."
"What would you put on?"
"Oh, Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks' solo work, that sort of thing."
"Never really got into them. I was always so intimidated by how much there was. Here," Margaery said, handing Sansa her phone. "Give me some of your favourite songs by them, I'll check them out."
"Are you serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Margaery paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, smiling warmly. "If you like them, they must be good."
"I... OK, sure. I'll give you some recommendations."
"Thanks," said Margaery, putting her fork down. "Hey, we should do this again sometime. I had a really nice time."
"Yeah, we should," said Sansa. She found, to her surprise, that she actually meant it.
v. everywhere
you know that i'm falling and i don't know what to say
i'll speak a little louder, i'll even shout
you know that i'm proud and i can't get the words out
oh i, i wanna be with you everywhere
Perhaps the most bizarre part of her impromptu breakfast date with Margaery was that afterwards, Joffrey's grip on her mind seemed to slacken. Not disappear entirely, but Sansa found herself thinking about him less and less. She had flashes, even, where she forgot he had ever existed. At first, they were devastating -- how could she forget someone she had loved so much for so long? But eventually, they were welcome. Joffrey became an infrequent, unwanted visitor in her mind, not her only thought. She stopped skipping love songs on her playlist. She still felt fragile, hurt, but she didn't want to be alone anymore. She reached out to Jeyne, to Arya, to her mother, and now, to Margaery.
Somehow, Sansa found herself irresistibly drawn to Margaery. She wanted to spend all her time with her. She found herself making excuses to see her, going to bars she thought Margaery might like, listening to music Margaery had mentioned, watching movies she knew Margaery loved. It was different from what she felt with Joffrey, though. She didn't feel like she was being swallowed up in Margaery the way she had with Joffrey, her interests and personality pushed aside in order to make way for his. Instead, she felt... nice. Like she was sharing something with Margaery, peeling back the layers of the person she was.
Besides, she liked that it gave her an excuse to spend time with Margaery. She liked when Margaery suggested they watch movies together, or go to art exhibits she thought Sansa might like, or check out clubs that where the guys were "totally not disrespectful" (Sansa still found the guys pushy and the floor sticky, but she liked getting to see Margaery in her element).
But as much as she liked going out and doing things with Margaery, she liked it even more when it was just the two of them. When they'd curl up on the floor of Sansa's living room, heads by the one working speaker, put on a record, and talk for hours.
"So what drew you to vinyl?" Margaery had teased her. "The expense, or the inconvenience?"
"I just like being able to, like, physically hold the music I love, I guess. And I like the art."
"Mm," Margaery said, not really listening. She closed her eyes and stretched, resting her head on her right bicep. They were so close, Sansa could feel her breathing disturbing the hairs on the top of her head. They lay like that for a while, listening to the record fade away.
"Are you going to change it?" Margaery asked.
"I guess I should," said Sansa. "I'm just really comfortable."
"I'm not," said Margaery. "My neck hurts. I think I need to elevate it."
"Do you want a pillow or something?"
"Nah," Margaery said, shifting to rest her head on Sansa's stomach. "I think I'm good here." She winked at Sansa, who immediately began running her fingers through her hair. It was a little dry, maybe from when Margaery had bleached it, but Sansa didn't mind.
They lay there like that, Sansa playing with Margaery's hair, until they both fell asleep. When Sansa awoke in the pale blue glow of pre-twilight, she found she didn't really want to move at all.
...
The other strange thing with Margaery was that she hadn't actually told anyone else they were talking. It wasn't that she was embarrassed or ashamed, but it felt nice to have something all her own. Her friendship with Margaery felt pure and also inexplicably fragile, like it would be dirtied by public scrutiny. She made excuses for leaving hangouts with Jeyne, who teased her about having some new mystery man. She laughed it off, but she couldn't deny that something felt different with Margaery than it did with Jeyne or any of her other female friends, more like how she had felt about Joffrey than how she felt about Jeyne.
Still, she questioned if she was really falling for Margaery, or just looking for a rebound, or using Margaery as a proxy for exploring interest in women, or just thought Margaery was, on a purely aesthetic level, a really well-built person, as far as people went.
Her curiosity was how, three months after her breakup with Joffrey, Sansa ended up on the most awkward Tinder date of her life with a girl she quickly discovered she had absolutely no chemistry with. It's not that the girl was awful or ugly or anything, though Sansa thought, fleetingly, that it might've been easier if she was. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her. Maybe, in another life, Sansa even could have fallen for her. But all she'd been able to think about from the moment she sat down was Margaery. What she was doing, who she was with, whether she'd want to hang out later. She sighed. This was pointless.
"Excuse me," Sansa told her date, who had just launched into a story about rock climbing in Montana. "I'm just gonna go use the washroom."
Sansa ducked into a stall and began scrolling through her contacts. Jeyne was visiting her parents in Winterfell. Arya was on a romantic weekend getaway (yuck) with Gendry. Everyone she'd typically trust to come bail her out of the most awkward date ever was busy. So, Sansa bit the bullet and called Margaery.
"Ineedyoutocomepickmeup," Sansa whispered.
"What?" Margaery's voice was difficult to hear under what dimly registered as the distinctive sound of club speakers pumping.
"I need you to come get me," Sansa repeated.
"OK. Where are you?"
"I'm... I'm on a really bad date at that pizza place by the highway. Can you please come get me? Pretend to be a friend in crisis or something?"
"Of course."
...
"Thanks for coming to get me."
"No problem."
Sansa looked over at Margaery, dressed in tight black pants and and a bodysuit, with a jean jacket haphazardly thrown over and... was that lipstick on her neck? Mortified, Sansa sank back into her seat.
"Oh my god," she said. "Were you with someone? Did I just interrupt your date?"
"It's OK."
"No, I'm really sorry, I didn't realize."
"Sansa's, it's OK," Margaery repeated. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."
"Than helping me sneak out of an awkward date?"
"Than anywhere with you. Plus, it wasn't that great a date anyway."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, she doesn't have your legs."
"What does that mean?"
"You know, long, fit, attached to a total smokeshow." Margaery laughed.
Sansa laughed, an uncharacteristically shrill sound that cut through the car. Margaery started a little, looking over at Sansa, whose features were arranged into a tight smile.
They drove the rest of the way to Sansa's apartment in silence.
vi. not that funny
it's not that funny, is it?
but you can't get enough of it
it's not that funny, is it?
don't play with me
please, please, please
"Hey," Margaery texted her the next morning. "sorry for what i said last night."
Sansa ignored the text. And the call. And the Instagram DMs, Facebook messages, and Snapchats. The only reason she texted Margaery back at all is because her phone kept going off all throughout her lunch with Arya, who told her to "answer the fucking phone before I flush it down the toilet".
"Hi," Sansa texted.
"Come over?"
...
When Sansa arrived at Margaery's apartment, she found Margaery already sitting at her breakfast table, drinking a cup of coffee.
"Hi."
Margaery looked up. Even dressed pretty casually, with minimal makeup (though she doubted Margaery ever left the house completely bare-faced), Margaery was drop-dead gorgeous. Looking at her, Sansa almost wanted to cry again.
"Are you going to sit down?" Margaery asked her. Sansa sat stiffly.
"So," Margaery said.
"Yeah?"
"What happened?"
"It's just..." Sansa started. "I mean, how am I so repulsive that being attracted to me would is a joke to you?"
"What?"
"I mean, when you laughed in the car, about me being a "smokeshow" or whatever, that was just a really mean thing to do, especially after what happened with Joff--"
"Wait," Margaery said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, but you thought that was me making fun of you?"
"Well, yeah," Sansa said. "Because that's what you were doing, to try to get close to me to get in with my father or something. Like you did with Renly."
"Wow," Margaery whistled. "Is that what you think of me?"
"I mean..."
"Sansa..."
"Yeah?"
"Do me a favour and get out."
They both sat, frozen, for a moment.
"I'm serious. Please leave."
"I... OK."
...
For the next week, Sansa spammed Margaery's phone non-stop with apologies, but her messages went unanswered. In a last ditch effort, Sansa asked Margaery to breakfast. Margaery's typing bubble appeared and disappeared several times before, finally, she texted back:
"Fine. But you're paying."
...
"Margaery, I'm so sorry about those awful things I said," Sansa said, sliding into the booth across from Margaery. Margaery looked up from her phone, her expression unreadable. "You're so right, I should never have assumed anything, it's really none of my business. And I shouldn't have believed everything I heard, I mean, me of all people should know that. I'm so sorry. I was stupid and hurt and maybe a little rejected--"
"Rejected? What do you have to feel rejected about?"
"I mean... like, we were getting to be such good friends, and I was just starting to really trust you, and it felt like you were just making fun of me the way Joffrey had, and I lashed out, and I definitely shouldn't have, and I'm really, really sorry."
Margaery looked down at her coffee. Sansa tried not to dab at the sweat quickly gathering on her forehead. She'd practiced her apology so many times in her head, but it felt like her mouth was just outrunning her brain, spitting out more of a jumbled mess than a well-thought out apology.
"Are you gonna say anything?" Sansa asked, trying to stop her voice from cracking.
"It's just..." Margarey started, then stopped, seemingly at a loss. She sighed. "Sorry, it's just that I really liked you. And I thought you liked me too. And then for you to basically call me a slut..."
"I didn't mean to..."
"I know. But you still did, and I still don't really know what to do with that."
"I know," Sansa said, miserably.
"But... I think maybe I went about it the wrong way too. I mean, I've just tried to act like this whole Renly thing never happened, but I mean, I know everyone's always thinking about it, even if they never say anything. I've just always felt like it wasn't my story to tell, you know?"
"Yeah," Sansa said, without the faintest idea what Margaery was talking about. Margaery chuckled.
"No, you don't, but that's OK. I asked him and Loras if they were OK with you knowing last night, so I'm not sworn to secrecy anymore."
"Loras, like... your brother?"
"Yeah, he and Renly were together, but it was a secret, but people were starting to get suspicious. So... I mean, not that Tyrells are interchangeable, but..."
"So when you and Renly were dating..."
"I was really just covering for him and my brother, yeah."
"So you never..." Sansa gestured vaguely.
"We never slept together, yeah."
"Not that that would matter," Sansa interjected quickly.
"Yeah," Margaery agreed. "But I know you were wondering," she added with a wink, looking down to stir her coffee. Sansa, who was visibly sweating, wished desperately that she had had the foresight to take her coat off. She fumbled with the buttons.
"What did you mean when you said you felt rejected?" Margaery asked again. Sansa froze with her coat halfway off.
"Uh..."
"I mean, how would I be rejecting you?"
Sansa swallowed hard. "Because I like you. And it felt like you were joking about it, like you thought the idea of us being anything was just so far-fetched it was funny to you, and it hurt so much because I really, really like you."
Margaery grinned. "Yeah? You really, really like me?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Well, that's so convenient, because I really, really like you too."