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Sansa walked in the front door, threw her backpack into her room, grabbed a drink and then headed to the lounge room.
She saw the back of Robb’s head first, one arm slung over the edge of the lounge, holding a textbook he was reading and then, when she got to the side of the lounge, saw that his other hand was resting on Theon’s chest, Theon’s head resting on his thighs, reading what was obviously notes from Uni.
Sansa picked up Theon’s feet and curled herself underneath them, so his calves rested in her lap, his feet dangling off the side of her thighs.
“I’m fairly certain you’re the Stark family cat now,” she said and Theon looked up her and smirked.
“Rowr,” he replied and she laughed.
He’d proven more resilient than anyone had expected since his experience with Ramsay; he was quieter and far more reserved than he had been, but between Yara’s fierce devotion and the boundless, noisy love of the Stark clan, Theon had managed to rebuild large portions of himself. The one thing he’d truly struggled with was trusting anyone to touch him again, and his therapist’s suggestion was finally to spend as much time as he could in physical contact with people he loved and trusted, when he could feel safe. The Starks, excluding Jon (and everyone who had dealt with Theon and Jon in the past had agreed that was for the best), had taken to the required task with the enthusiasm of people finally given something useful to do in a crisis. It was rare now to find Theon not in contact with at least one Stark and when the youngest ones were around him, it often ended in a puppy pile with them draped over him.
Sansa was about to ask them what they were both studying (she may or may not have enjoyed proving that she knew their subject matter nearly as well as they did) when the front door slammed as Jon made it home.
“Late lecture?” Sansa asked as he appeared in the doorway and he grunted agreement.
“Wednesday,” he replied. “Philosophy and Ethics.”
“Fuck Maester Qant,” said Robb and Theon raised a fist in solidarity.
“Yup,” replied Jon. He raised his hand, waved his car keys at Sansa. “You want a lift? I’m going over to Jeyne’s.”
Sansa rolled her eyes at him. “You think I want to watch the two of you make kissy faces at each other all evening? Tell her I’ll see her at school tomorrow. And to stop being gross with you where I can see her.”
Jon frowned at her. “Not as gross as you and Harry Hardyng,” he responded and Sansa turned her face away, a flush rising in her cheeks.
“Harry isn’t my boyfriend,” she said.
“But you want him to be your boyfriend,” said Jon and grinned suddenly. “You’ve got a crush. Sansa’s got a crush,” he sing-songed at her.
“Shut up, Jon,” said Sansa, her blush deepening.
“Yeah, shut up, Jon,” repeated Theon and smirked when Jon glared at him. “Go and be gross with Jeyne.”
“Fuck you,” replied Jon, without any heat.
“You’re gross,” said Theon.
“Idiot,” said Jon, as he disappeared out of the doorway.
“Doofus,” replied Theon and his smirk widened as Jon’s hand reappeared in the doorway to flip him the bird.
“You two,” said Sansa as the front door slammed behind Jon. “You shouldn’t tease him so much.”
“So I should tease you?” Theon asked, reaching down with his free hand and grabbing Sansa’s knee. “About your crush. On Harry Hardyng. I mean, I thought you had better taste at least. He’s far too pretty for you.”
“Pretty?” replied Sansa. “Harry’s not pretty. He’s…” she stopped suddenly, blushing again.
“Beautiful?” suggested Theon. “Gorgeous? Ruggedly handsome with the looks of a men’s knitwear catalogue model?” He grinned at Sansa, whose blush deepened.
“I’m starting to think you’ve got a crush on him,” observed Robb, and laughed at Theon’s outraged look up at him.
“That pretty boy?” huffed Theon. “Not my taste at all.” He raised an eyebrow, thought about it for a minute and then gave a sly smile at Sansa. “Nice arse, though.”
“Theon!” said Sansa, outraged and then tickled Theon’s foot until he begged mercy and promised to stop teasing her.
“If anyone’s going to tease anyone,” said Robb, “it should be me. And you.” He pointed at Theon. “I had another one today.”
Theon winced suddenly. “Kyra?” he asked, quietly.
“You gotta stop doing it, man,” said Robb. “There’s only so many tearful women accusing me of being gay I can manage in any one semester. I mean, Talisa’s going to start getting ideas about us if it keeps happening.”
“I don’t… I wish…” Theon ground to a halt, his voice on the edge of distress.
“I know you don’t mean it,” said Robb, softly. He put his book down on the arm of the lounge, ran his hand through Theon’s curls. “I think it’s the fact you don’t take your shirt off. And treat them so well. They all seem to think you’re some kind of mysterious, romantic pirate and they’d like to sail off into the sunset with you.”
“I want to…” said Theon, picking his words out carefully. “It’s not… I don’t think the same way I used to, you know. It’s such a gift they give me. And I try and each time I think I can manage to trust them with…” He stopped suddenly, his voice hitching and Sansa squeezed his legs sympathetically, Robb’s hand continuing to run soothingly through his hair. “With my scars,” Theon managed softly. “And then I can’t. And then I can’t… I can’t go back to them.”
Robb leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to Theon’s forehead. “I know,” he said. “You’ll get there. Just give yourself time.” He leaned back, picked his book up again. “I’m okay with them thinking I’m your wingman, Theon. Just could live without them all thinking I’m cockblocking them. What with our manly, touchy-feely bro-love and all.”
“Well, we all know you’re the great love of each other’s life,” said Sansa and grinned impishly as Robb reached over and pulled her hair.
“Like you and Harry,” said Theon. “Sitting in a tree…” and stopped with a yelp as Sansa hit him with a cushion.
“Idiot,” she said fondly, and then kicked his legs off hers and wandered off to her room, coming back with her homework and curling back up under Theon’s legs as they all settled down to study.
Sansa was just starting to think it might be time to get dinner when she heard a noise that stopped her in her tracks. It had been the softest thud, followed by the softest sound of an indrawn breath. She looked up and found herself exchanging startled glances with Robb and then both looked down and saw that Theon’s notebook had fallen to his chest, his eyes closed, his features relaxed in sleep.
“He’s sleeping,” mouthed Sansa in astonishment and Robb nodded, surprise written on his face.
“He never sleeps,” Robb said softly.
They both knew it; no matter how comfortable Theon had grown with physical contact, no matter how much he trusted the Starks, he never truly relaxed when he was in contact with someone else. Not enough to sleep. Not since Ramsay. His body, Theon had told Robb once, remembered. Remembered the worst of it. And if he grew close to sleep when someone else was in the room, his body reminded him that he wasn’t safe, was never safe, could never be safe and panic drove him far from sleep.
And he was sleeping.
“So,” said Sansa, somewhat helplessly, to Robb, “what do we do now?”
*****
Ned and Catelyn hadn’t bothered to open the door quietly, sure that the fact the lounge room lights were on meant that at least someone would be awake. When they looked in the door, though, they shushed Arya, Bran and Rickon quickly and sent them up the stairs to go to bed.
They looked at the tableau on the lounge, Robb slumped down, his head somewhat uncomfortably wedged in the back corner of the lounge, his arm draped across Theon’s chest. Sansa was curled up, her legs under Theon’s, her head tucked into the dip of his stomach above his hip, all of them deeply asleep.
“Should we wake them?” asked Catelyn. “That doesn’t look that comfortable. Robb’s going to have a heck of a crick in his neck when he wakes up.”
“He will,” said Ned. “He’ll get over it. Let them sleep, Cat.” He reached out his hand, gripped her fingers suddenly.
“Okay,” replied Catelyn, and leaned her head against Ned’s chest. “I haven’t seen… not since he came home…”
“I know,’ replied Ned.
She looked up at him, then, her eyes shining with pride. “We did good, didn’t we?” she said. “With our babies. We made good people.”
“That we did,” replied Ned and kissed her on the forehead. “Let’s hope they have sweet dreams,” he said, and turned off the light.