Work Text:
“You’re such a grinch,” Bronn said. Sandor gripped the phone receiver harder than necessary.
“I am not a ‘grinch,’ I just don’t see why the season of Christmas has to be more cheery than the rest of the year,” he said flatly. It was an old argument, one they had had several years running. His brother laughed, as usual. Bronn really knew how to be a dick in most situations.
“You’re working on Christmas Eve, and are very likely going to run out tomorrow morning after presents and food and work some more.
“That makes me more of a Scrooge than a grinch. Again, it’s not like I have anyone waiting for me at home once we’re done at Mom’s house.”
“That’s because….YOU’RE A GRINCH.” The gleefulness in Bronn’s voice was a bit more than he could take right now.
“I’M NOT A FUCKING GRINCH!” he roared into the telephone. He heard a skitter of footsteps as his one and only customer of the day ran out of the shop, the bell above the door jingling woefully. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…maybe I am a grinch after all.” He dropped his head into his free hand.
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“Prove you’re not a grinch.”
“How am I supposed to do that? I just scared off a customer. If anything, that proves you right.”
“Next customer, just be nice, no matter how bad they might be. Do something nice for them, ok? Oh, and next pretty girl you meet, don’t let her leave without getting a date. Or at least her number. You know what… As long as you flirt. And say Merry Christmas to everyone.”
“I don’t flirt. I can’t.”
“Can’t flirt? Have you learned nothing from our time together?”
“Fine, whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow at Mom’s.” He hung up before Bronn could say anything more. The phone rang again almost instantly. He picked it up and growled, “For the last time, Bronn, I will--”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I was trying to reach Clegane Gun Shop and Antiquities,” a lyrical voice said.
“Oh...you’ve called the right number. Sorry, I was just on the phone with my brother, and… Can I help you?” he asked, wanting to smack his hand against his forehead yet again for the umpteenth time that day.
“I hope you can. I was told that your shop was the place to go for hard to find items. I’m looking for a Mikken Needle, circa 295 to 296 AC. I heard you might have one in stock.”
Sandor did a sharp intake of breath. Not as popular with collectors because the blacksmith worked outside of the old capital, the Mikken weaponry was some of the finest ever made, and there was only five made of the Needle blades. The woman knew the good stuff. “Uh, yeah, I have one, but it’s not in good condition. Just came in last week and I haven’t had time to work on it.”
“Oh, that’s fine. Better, actually. It’s a gift for my sister. She collects and restores all manner of antiques.” He could hear the pride in the woman’s voice. He chuckled.
“Sounds like a girl after my own heart,” he joked.
“Sorry, stud, she’s married. Guess you’ll have to settle for me.” Her laughter was like the gentle chiming of bells in his ear. He grinned. Maybe flirting wasn’t as hard as he had originally thought. “Are you willing to sell it as is?”
“I’ll have to take a look at it first. Give me your name and number and I’ll get back to you within the hour.”
“Sansa. My name is Sansa. My work number is--”
**********
It took him nearly the whole hour to locate the damn thing. Sandor pulled the Needle from the box it had been shipped in. Though rusted, and slightly bent, it was still in good condition. Easily worth five hundred gold dragons. He wondered if the woman, Sansa, would balk at the price. Remembering Bronn said to do a nice thing for his next customer, he decided he’d give it to her for three hundred dragons. He was still making a considerable profit. He turned to look out the window. Snow was beginning to fall and the shops he could see were bringing in their wares. The pretty redhead from the sewing and fabric shop across the street, "I Will Cut A Stitch", was dragging in a cart of clearance items, but she paused to wave at him when she saw him watching. He waved back. They had been neighbors for more than a year now. They had never spoken face to face, he didn’t even know her name, though he thought of her as “little bird”, and she didn’t know his, but she always had a friendly smile for him, and a wave, if her hands weren’t full. He often watched her when business was slow. She was always busy, flitting from one thing to another. She reminded him of one of those little birds in the park, hence the name. Her shop was busier than his, but her clientele ran more towards the female persuasion. The only time she seemed to find a quiet moment was in the early afternoon, the time between the older women who came by in the morning, and the young women and students who made up the afternoon crowd. Early afternoon was now his favorite time. He glanced at the chalkboard sitting behind the counter. It had been a month since they had started this.
He wasn’t sure if what they did was flirting, but it was probably the closest he had come to it. During her quiet time, one of them would pull out their respective board and start a conversation. He chuckled as he remembered the first time.
**********
He had had a particularly frustrating customer that day. Once the pompous ass had left, leaving behind the miasma of mint leaves, he started swearing up a storm. He must have been causing quite a scene, because when he looked up, he saw her in her window, holding up her board with the words, “Are you ok?” written in neat handwriting.
He didn’t know what possessed him, but he grabbed the chalkboard he normally used to write funny/obscene sayings and wrote out a response, “No. Fucking asshat customers,” in his somewhat messy script. He immediately regretted it. She looked like a prim and proper lady. One does not say “fucking asshat”, or in his case, write it, to a lady. He was surprised when he saw her laugh.
She erased her message and wrote again, “Is that all? Try dealing with stingy old ladies!” with a giant winky face at the bottom.
He had to smile about that, and wrote back, “Ok, you win.”
“Want to talk about it?” she wrote. She erased it quickly and wrote again, “Maybe over coffee?”
He was tempted. Damn, was he tempted. He reached for the piece of chalk and wrote, “Maybe another time.”
Her shop was far away enough, and his own shop had dim enough lighting, that she couldn’t see the scarred half of his face very well. He didn’t want her to be scared of him, so really, it was in his best interest to keep the distance. At least, that’s what he told himself.
“Ok. Let me know if you change your mind,” she wrote, before waving shyly and getting back to work. He thought that would be it.
The next day, a delivery man stopped by the shop with an order for Sandor. He had tried to refuse it, since he hadn’t ordered it, but the guy just left it on the table with a note.
Hey gun guy,
Sorry! I couldn’t wait for you to change your mind. Hope you like cafe mocha and lemon cakes. They’re my favorite.
--the Stitch across the street
He laughed at that, startling the young blond idiot who had been browsing. “Hey, what’s so funny?” the blond demanded.
“Nothing, kid,” he had said with a smile. The kid huffed and turned back to the case he had been looking at, a display of particular nasty looking Dothraki knives. Sandor looked out the window to see the redhead watching him. He grabbed the chalkboard and wrote, “Thanks for the coffee and treat. More talk after blondie leaves?”
She nodded with a big smile on her face and gave him a thumbs up.
They had been talking like that ever since.
**********
Sandor shook himself from the memory and looked at the clock. His promised hour was nearly up and he grabbed the phone, punching in the numbers from his notepad. It rang three times before she picked up.
“Good afternoon! I Will Cut A Stitch, this is Sansa speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi, this is Sandor from Clegan--. Did you just say, ‘I Will Cut A Stitch’?” he jumped up from his seat and stared out the window. She was standing in front of hers, the phone to her ear. There was a slight delay between the movement of her lips and the voice in his ear.
“I did.”
“You…” he fell silent, staring at her in disbelief. She gave him an amused smile and hung up the phone. He watched her as she grabbed her jacket and keys, and locked up her shop. She looked both ways before crossing the street and was soon opening the door to his shop. She grabbed the phone from his hand, which he still was holding to his ear, and tossed it onto the counter. She grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him down for a long, deep kiss.
When they broke apart, they were both breathing a bit heavier. “Gods, I’ve been wanting to do that for months now,” she whispered.
Befuddled, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Does this mean you don’t want to buy the Needle?” and immediately wanted to drive his head into the nearest concrete wall for being an idiot.
She blinked a few times before recovering, “Oh, gods, no, I...I mean, yes, I do! I really have been looking for one. I was also using it as an excuse to meet you face to face. A copy of your invoice was mailed to my shop and I opened it without reading it first...that’s how I knew you had it... You always run out of here before I can catch you, and I haven’t been able to close up shop early until today...was I wrong? Did I mistake the signals for...something else?” she asked hesitantly. Her arms had slipped around his neck, but were gently being pulled back. He quickly wrapped his arms around her waist.
“No...you didn’t. I just...you caught me off guard, is all,” he said with a sheepish grin.
“I noticed,” she whispered. “So, want to get that cup of coffee now? I know a great place right around the corner.”
“Yeah, sure. I’d really like that.”
“Oh, how much do I owe you for the Needle?” she asked.
“A hundred dragons.”
She looked at him in surprise, “Really? I was expecting five times that. At the very least!”
He shrugged his shoulders, “I just call it like I see it. I have a reputation for fair trades, you know.”
She looked at him dubiously. “If you say so, but if I find out you sold it to me cheaper than you were supposed to…”
“What? You’ll report me to the boss?” he snorted. She stuck her tongue out at him playfully.
“No, I’ll make sure you get thanked properly.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek, “One way,” a kiss on the other cheek, “or another.” A third kiss, soft and wanting, right on his lips.
“Ok, I might have knocked the price down. Just a little,” he said with a grin.
“That’s what I thought,” she replied, kissing him again.