sansa/willas. eighties cop show
(WHOOPS I ACCIDENTALLY A2A AU WHOOPS)
His cane cracks against the bugger’s knees, taking him down, and Willas removes his sunglasses and tilts his head and looks down as if in surprise.
“You tripped, mate,” he says mildly, motioning for Humfrey and Renly to gather up their suspect. “Shame about that, looks as if you broke your nose when you fell.”
He’s blonde, the bastard, green eyes and good bone structure, but he’s got a sneery mouth and there’s something cruel about him, something arrogant even when Humfrey cuffs him and holds him by cuffs and hair so Willas can look at him properly.
“No I didn’t,” the idiot - name’s Joffrey, Sansa remembers that now - says, rolling his eyes. “I’m fine-”
Willas’ fist slams into his face while he’s still talking.
“Terribly hard, the ground,” he says, flexing his fingers and slipping his sunglasses back into place. “And every official report will say that, too, but just between you and me - you or any of your little pieces of shit ever lay a finger on my DI again, and I’ll have your bollocks stuffed and mounted on my office wall, understood?”
Sansa’s just about caught her breath when he turns to her, ridiculously good-looking and charasmatic and terrifyingly determined in the pursuit of his duties and, apparently, her defence.
“Are you well enough to continue, Detective Inspector Stark?” he asks, gesturing with his cane for her to lead the way to the car. “If so, please do.”
Sansa smiles slightly, cradling her arm to her chest (he tells Humfrey and Renly to get the bastard back to the nick, to leave the rest for uniform, tells them he’s bringing her to the hospital just to be sure), and she’s not sure that this whatever-it-is world that her brain’s cooked up for her is really as bad as she thought it would be.