Chapter Text
It’s five years later when their paths cross again. Running into her at Arya’s birthday outing was a surprise, for sure, but not too surprising. Not like right now, when Sansa’s just walked through the doors to the large new IKEA on the outskirts of Winterfell. She’s barely inside the sliding glass doors when she sees her, walking away from the daycare area, holding a boy about three years old on her hip, with a blue plastic IKEA bag slung over the opposite shoulder. It’s her, has to be her, but… a child? Sansa glances down then and realizes she looks similar, a baby-wearing sling wrapped across her chest as three month old Lyanna snores away. But you’re not mine, Sansa silently tells her niece, we’re just hanging out because Arya and Gendry are both working at the shop today.
Margaery must have felt Sansa’s eyes on her, because she looks up when she’s about ten feet away and stops dead in her tracks.
“Sansa Stark.”
“Margaery Tyrell,” Sansa parrots back as she closes the distance between them.
“It certainly is a change of scenery from the last place we ran into each other.”
A smile crosses Sansa face when she allows herself to think back to that time. “Lots of things change in five years. You’ve got a kid.”
“So do you.” Her eyes flit down to the sleeping baby across Sansa’s chest.
“Oh, no, no. This is Lyanna, she’s Arya and Gendry’s. I’m just playing the adoring Aunt Sansa today.”
“Well, Mason here is all mine,” she says, though it’s nothing in way of an explanation and just leaves Sansa terribly curious. She shifts him on her hip so that she’s facing him more directly. “Say, Mace, you wanna go back and play a bit more? This is a friend of Mommy’s and we’d like to get to have some boring grown-up talk time for a bit.” The young boy quickly agrees, and Sansa follows behind Margaery back to the SmäLand entrance as she drops him back off again. “Did you actually need to get anything?”
“Just browsing around,” Sansa replies as they get on the escalator.
“Good.” She holds out her hand to Sansa, who takes it in hers. She knows she probably shouldn’t, but she’s always been horrible at making the best decisions when Margaery Tyrell is involved.
XxXxX
“Life is strange,” Sansa remarks as she sits down at the long table, adjusting how Lyanna was laying against her. They'd made their way through the second level showroom floor and stopped at the cafeteria. “I haven’t seen you in five years, and all of a sudden, it's 1pm on a Tuesday and we're sitting in an IKEA eating meatballs and mashed potatoes, as if this is normal for us.”
“If we were doing what's normal for us we'd be fucking right now.” Sansa's lucky she's just swallowed the mouthful of coffee, or it'd have been all across the table, and most likely covering Margaery as well. Instead she was able to hold herself steady, letting out a deep breath, as Margaery continues. “We still can, if you'd like. Mason has a sleepover with a daycare friend later this evening and I've got no other plans.”
“No, Margaery.”
“Oh shit, I didn't even think.. are you seeing someone? Because if you are, that's great. Really.”
“I'm not seeing anyone, I just can't deal with this emerging pattern we have. It's exhausting and I'm past running into you every couple of years, fucking, and then going our separate ways.” She’s trying her hardest to seek firm in her resolve, and wonders if Margaery is able to see right through her. "I can't do that bullshit anymore."
"We don't have to. I've just relocated to Winterfell a few weeks ago."
"You'd come to Winterfell before, when we first met, and you left not two days later and said nothing."
“I've got Mason now, I'm not just flitting across Westeros like I was when I was nineteen.” Margaery glances down at the remaining food on her plate, pushing it around with her fork. “Will you come over tonight? For dinner, no expectations. I’ll even cook.”
“I just don't know if it's a great idea.”
“Please? If nothing happens and we just have dinner and play Uno or something that'll be enough.”
Sansa smiles, the idea of Maggy getting competitive over a kids' card game amuses her. She's curious, about a lot of things. What Maggy's life has been like in the past five years, what's made her leave Kings Landing and brought her back to Winterfell instead of summery Highgarden, if she still only listens to classic rock, if her touch will still set fire to Sansa's body like she knows it used to. She tries her best to ignore that last one.
They exchange cell phone numbers - the first time in almost a decade that they’ve agreed to continue communicating. She gets the address texted quickly from Margaery, agreeing to meet at her place at seven that evening. Margaery seems much more relaxed after that, once Sansa has agreed to come over, and the rest of their time at the store is spent browsing linens and kitchen goods, mispronouncing the Swedish names of dressers, as if there's no weird history between them. Admittedly, Sansa knows it’d be a bold-faced lie if she said she wasn't dying to know what exactly Margaery has done with herself all these years, but she also knows that it's not the kind of conversation to have while walking through bathroom hardware.
She stands with Margaery when they’re back at the exit and she collects her son from daycare, then pulls Sansa into her side for a hug, taking care to not squish baby Lyanna. It's quick and reminds her of how she hugs Arya or any of her friends goodbye. When they part, she notices Mason standing there with his arms up, like it's his turn now.
“Oh, you don't have to…” Margaery starts, but Sansa is already dropped down and kneeling to hug him before she can finish her sentence. She looks up at her over his shoulder and mouths, it's fine. They say their goodbyes and part ways in the gigantic parking lot, and Sansa looks at her phone, thankful there’s still more than plenty of time for her to finish a few more errands after leaving IKEA. Both Arya and Gendry are home to collect Lyanna when she finally gets back to their condo.
"Were you good for Aunty Sansa today, Lya?"
"She was, sweet and quiet," Sansa replies. She undoes the baby sling carefully and hands her over to Arya, then starts to unpack some of the groceries she picked up. "No idea where she got those traits from."
Arya snorts out a laugh. “Me neither,” she agrees. “Good day though?"
"Not bad, just interesting. I, um, I think I have a date tonight... You'll never guess who I ran into at IKEA."
Before Arya has a chance to guess, Gendry calls out from the other room, "Margaery Tyrell."
"Wait, what?" she almost yells in reply, but lowers her voice to avoid waking Lyanna. "How could you know?"
"We told you Gen was getting a new employee... guess who?" Arya answers, sheepishly. "She called him up a few weeks ago, asking if he's still got the shop up here and if he needed another mechanic."
Sansa nods, she knows they'd been looking for a new mechanic after the last one left a month or so ago, and Gendry's been there day and night trying to keep up with business. Even Arya had been helping out with oil changes and tire issues when she wasn't busy up front.
Arya continues when Sansa doesn't. "So, what's the plan tonight?"
"I told her I'm not doing... whatever it is we do with her any longer... and she said she's actually here for the long haul." She walks into the living room and plops down onto the oversized side chair she's claimed as hers for whenever she visits. "Gods, Arya, am I crazy for wanting to actually try this time?"
"Maybe, but you're my big sister, and I think you're crazy no matter what. However, from what Gendry says she's serious about settling down, bought a condo and picked out a daycare and everything. Probably no better time than now if you wanna give it a go."
“You think so?” She looks up at her sister, hovering over where she’s slumped over in the chair.
“Of course I do!” Arya grabs Sansa by the arms and pulls her upright, pushing her towards the door and handing her purse to her. “Now get out of here and go get ready… oh, and Sansa?”
“Hmm?” She turns back towards where Arya still stands in the condo doorway.
“I expect a full report tomorrow morning.”
XxXxX
She goes through her closet after showering, trying to figure out something that says “apprehensive but interested” and not “take me to bed now.” She decides on a teal sweater, oversized and slightly cropped in length, high waisted jeans, and brown leather ankle boots. Ever since she saw Maggy earlier, it seems silly, but she's been wondering what she thinks of her hair. It's short, cut bluntly at chin length in a bob. She'd showed up at her normal hair appointment and instead of getting just a trim, she pulled up a picture of Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction.
Maggy's condo is in the old town center, what used to be called Wintertown long ago, when Sansa's great grandparents lived there. The new downtown is a couple blocks away, with the trendy stores and diners that her friends always wanted to loiter at in high school, but she's always liked Wintertown better. When she was young, the roads were redone and the original cobblestones exposed, stores and cafes line the two roads of the single main intersection, and now that they're in the back end of October and the first snows are starting, there's strands of little white lights strung up in the trees that line the easement between the sidewalk and the road. The old romantic in her used to do homework in the Indigo Star cafe, seated by the window and getting distracted by couples walking hand-in-hand down the road, absentmindedly picking at the fruit-filled muffin she'd bought, wishing it was something she could have. It seems fitting now that she's walking down the same road towards the home of someone she could have that with.
She finds the outside entrance to the condos easily and presses the button for 3B. The loud noise of the buzzer unlocking the door startles her and she jumps. Get a fucking grip, Sansa. She climbs the two flights of stairs and Margaery is standing halfway in the hallway when she gets there.
At first glance, the condo is clean, but it's obvious that a young child lives there - she notices the big wheel near the door, and toys pushed into a corner, like Margaery had did some urgent cleaning before Sansa showed up. Whatever is cooking smells glorious, there's bread, garlic, and so many spices before it dawns on her: butter chicken, garlic naan. She decides even if this night goes to shit, she's going to get a good dinner out of it.
There’s music in the background, which doesn't surprise her, but she has to stop herself from audibly groaning. She recognizes it and wonders if Margaery is trying to send some sort of message her way, or if it was simply the next song in queue.
All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind
Would you stay if she promised to you heaven? Will you ever win?
“Can I take your things?” Sansa passes over her purse and light jacket. Maggy hangs them up and when she turns back towards Sansa, it's obvious she's coming in to hug her. She allows it for a few seconds before she pulls away, suddenly aware that she's got to get out the monologue she worked over on the drive there before she loses her nerve.
“Just… just wait.” Sansa holds on to Maggy’s biceps, holding her at arms’ length and then letting go. “There’s some things I need to say. I don't know you, Maggy and no, let me continue,” she adds, seeing her open her mouth to argue. “You don't know me either. So, here… Hi, I'm Sansa Stark. I'm 27 years old and I went to school in Oldtown for journalism. I just moved back home to Winterfell about a year ago, after working five years at the Oldtown Gazette, I'm a senior editor and local politics reporter at the Winterfell Herald.
“I like spicy food, I'm allergic to soy, and I run with the local running store’s club every Saturday morning. My favorite bands are Oasis and Mumford and Sons.” She takes a step forward, reaching out to take Maggy’s hand. “I listen to a lot of Joni Mitchell now, and it's completely your fault.”
Maggy’s introduction is similar, though Sansa is already aware of her love for old muscle cars and singer-songwriters of the 1960s. She gives a bit of her timeline: Winterfell when they first met, home to Highgarden after her brother's accident, Kings Landing once he'd recovered enough. “I suppose you're mostly curious about Mason though.”
“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't.”
“It’s actually not that interesting of a story. Just your usual girl has a drunken one night stand with a guy she meets at a bar. It'd been so long since I'd been with a guy and I guess I'd been a little lax on taking my birth control.”
“And you decided to keep it?”
She nods, letting out a bit of a laugh that sounds slightly self-deprecating. “More like Loras’ boyfriend Renly helped me decide. I'd been… floundering, fucking around… you know that. Our dad passed not long before I got pregnant and it just derailed my life even further. I needed something, Sansa, to ground me, and when I went to those two, they said they'd support me no matter what, but Renly mentioned that maybe this could be something good, something to help me turn things around.” She stops when an oven timer buzzes and nods at Sansa to follow her towards the kitchen. “I knew how much my dad wanted grandkids, and he'd have been over the moon with the news, no matter the circumstance. I know it's the Cliff Notes version, but that about catches you up.”
She joins her in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter, as Margaery takes the naan out of the oven. “Thank you for telling me, Maggy.”
“Of course.” She covers Sansa’s hand with hers quickly, then goes back to portioning out dinner. “Let’s eat, I said I'd make you dinner, didn't I?”
They stuff themselves silly with freshly baked naan and butter chicken, and Sansa realizes that Margaery Tyrell is actually quite the good cook. Instead of Uno, which Maggy admitted was a bit of a joke, they play two games of Scrabble, arguing over whether or not certain words are allowed, and Sansa maintains her job as an editor gives her an unfair advantage.
She doesn't stay the night since she actually does need to be in the office in the morning, and while she would love nothing more than to fall back into bed with Maggy, she's determined that this time around they'll do this properly, whatever the hell that means.
They both pull the other into a hug, and it feels almost desperate the way they cling to each other for longer than they should.
Sansa looks down at her when she extracts herself from Maggy’s tight arms, searching for some sort of answer on her face, but only notices the telling way her gaze is focused on her own mouth. She slides her hand up Maggy’s arm, cups her cheek, and asks, “May I?”
Maggy’s nod is practically imperceptible, but she breathes out a please that's so needy Sansa feels almost cruel when she bridges the gap and kisses her chastely. It's just a quick press of lips and then Sansa removes herself completely from Maggy, reaching over to grab her jacket and purse from her coat rack.
“Send me a text when you get home?”
“Of course,” Sansa agrees, nodding her head. She knows Maggy is watching her as she disappears down the hallway, a smile growing on her face as she descends the stairs and steps out into the chilly air of late September Winterfell.
XxXxX
Six months later
Margaery grudgingly joins her running group on Saturday mornings, she's in the slower pace group even though Sansa pushes Mace in the jogging stroller. He's getting a little too big for it, and they've talked about dropping him off at Arya’s those mornings instead. Lyanna has mastered crawling and is starting to pull herself up on chair legs or the coffee table, and Mace somehow thinks it's his job to get her walking.
Sansa’s job at the paper is such that she's able to take lunches with Maggy, eating at the breakroom table in the shop. Arya walks through every so often and picks something off her sister’s paper plate. They're complete opposites sometimes, Maggy in those blue coveralls that make her look like Rosie the Riveter and first caught Sansa’s attention so many years ago, and Sansa in a dark grey pencil skirt and forest green secretary blouse, the bow tied perfectly around her neck. It's easy to think back to the first time Maggy saw her like that, the fire behind her stare when she saw how perfectly the skirt hugged her ass, her breath hot against the shell of Sansa’s ear as she spoke. If we didn't have a waiting room full of customers, I'd already have you bent over this desk.
Though the subject has been brought up numerous times, they haven't moved in together yet. Soon though, Sansa tells herself. Soon she’ll agree and they can look for something a bit bigger, maybe rent a house so Mace can have a yard to run around in. She imagines planting a vegetable garden in the corner of the yard, and about how they'd have a garage so Maggy’s Firebird wouldn't need to live at the shop.
Sansa spends the night over at Maggy’s condo a couple nights a week, and they trade babysitting duties with Arya and Gendry every other Saturday night so the other couple can have a date night. She teases Arya about making a little sibling for Lyanna, but she knows that her sister’s pregnancy was not kind to her, so she doesn't push beyond teasing.
It's yet another Saturday date night for Sansa and Margaery - they grab dinner at the new Thai place in town and Margaery surprises her by taking her to see an acoustic Oasis cover band at the little indie venue downtown.
They take their time with each other that night; slow and deliberate, they map each other’s bodies out with purpose, savoring the details. Maggy comes first, she somehow always has an easier time getting there. Sansa feels her own climax approaching soon after Maggy turns her full attention to her, crashing over her in waves as she shudders and convulses in her girlfriend’s arms.
“Going somewhere?” The words come out of Margaery’s mouth mumbled as Sansa extracts herself from her embrace a few moments later.
“Just thirsty.” Sansa makes her way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, not bothering to turn the lights on. It's practiced walk that she's done in the dark plenty of times by now. A smile comes across her face as she stands in the kitchen, thinking back to when they'd hooked up in Kings Landing, the encounter so different from tonight.
She knows exactly where the glasses are.