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Chapter Text

Early December and fourteen-year-old Rickon Stark trails behind his siblings looking for a distraction from this dumb errand and the annoying Christmas tunes blaring over the store’s speaker system.  ‘It’s the holiday season so hoop-de-doo’ is right.  Who cares?  It’s never going to feel like Christmas again. 

“Ooh, look at all the candles!” he hears Sansa exclaim.  She hurries over to a display.  How can she sound so cheerful?  Is she really?   

Nevertheless, like grumbly little ducks, they follow her.  He doesn’t want to be here but he doesn’t like disappointing Sansa either. Bran and Arya are the same.  Used to, he wouldn’t have thought much about that.  Now, he does.  Or tries to.  

It’s been ten months since they died. They’ve dealt with it privately and together both.  At first, they’d looked to Robb, thinking their big brother could fix it all.  But Robb has a wife and baby on the other side of the country and this can’t be fixed anyway.  It can only be held together and the one thing that’s been constantly holding them together is Sansa. 

“Balsam Dreams?  Smells like mothballs,” Arya says with a scowl after Sansa’s stuck a green-colored votive under her nose. 

Sansa puts the green one back and picks up an orange one.  “You’ve never smelled mothballs in your life.” 

“Yes, I have!”

“Home, Sweet Home?  That’s a tall order for scented wax,” Bran says before sniffing the orange one. 

They all agree it doesn’t live up to the name.

“Apple Cinnamon?” Sansa offers. 

This one they got right at least.  They nod and Sansa places three of those in the shopping basket before checking out the Hazelnut and Sugar Cookie varieties. 

Mom did this every year at the holidays.  She’d buy a bunch of scented candles to enjoy.  She’d call them the ‘Scents of the Season’ and Dad would smile indulgently at her.  She’d light candles, sing songs, bake and get them all to pitch in and decorate.  Sansa’s trying to do the usual traditions but none of this will replace Mom or Dad. 

Rickon only thinks that bit. 

Arya says it.

He hates the way Sansa’s eyes get glassy when she says, “This isn’t about replacing anything.  It’s about…carrying on.”  Rickon hates when Sansa cries, not that she will here at the store.  She holds her tears in but sometimes he’s heard her at night. 

So, he loves Bran for picking up a brown candle that’s supposed to smell like s’mores, declaring it disgusting and forcing their sisters to both smell it.  They agree, Sansa’s eyes aren’t as glassy, Arya stops looking so stubborn and the tension eases.

After Sansa has a dozen new scented votives picked out, the Stark siblings head towards the baking aisle where Rickon sees someone unexpected, his history teacher.

“Mr. Snow!  What are you doing here?!” 

Doesn’t he live at Winterfell High?  Logically, he knows better but seeing one of his teachers out and about acting like normal people do always shocks him somehow.

Anyway, Mr. Snow is alright.  In fact, Rickon might even call him cool if he used the word much and history’s Rickon’s favorite subject this year because of this man.

The man in question turns his head, breaking into a smile when he recognizes someone who’s surely one of his favorite students.  “Rickon, nice to see you.”

How’s it nice to see him?  They weren’t expecting to see each other.  Grown-ups say weird stuff like that.  Rickon tries to draw on memories of his parents running into people they knew at places like this. 

“Yeah, it’s, uh…delightful.”  Ew, that sounded so dumb.  “This is my brother and sisters.”  There, that should do it.

“I had him for history his first year teaching, Rickon,” Bran says (kind of snarky-like) before shaking Mr. Snow’s hand like he’s so grown-up.  Show off.

“You don’t know my sisters.  This is Arya and that’s Sansa.”

Arya gives him a casual ‘hey’ but Sansa’s standing to the side with her eyes all big and cheeks getting a little flushed.  Is she alright? 

When she does speak, she’s talking like she’s out of breath or something.  “Hi, Mr. Snow!  I’m Sansa Stark.  Rickon talks about you and your class all the time and-”

“I do not!”  He may have mentioned Mr. Snow but he doesn’t talk about the dude all the time. 

Sansa’s rate of chatter increases.  “We’re so glad you’ve sparked such an interest in history for him what with…I mean, it’s lovely to meet you and I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the Open House at the start of the semester and…oh!  We’ll let you shop though if you’re busy and I hope you have a lovely-”

Jesus, this is embarrassing.  She gets like this when she feels like she’s expected to play the ‘parent role.’  Yeah, Sansa’s not only his big sister but she’s legally his guardian for the next three years, two months and some odd days. 

Aunt Lysa said Rickon would have to move to where she and Robin live and Rickon hadn’t wanted to change schools and be so far from home.  Same with Uncle Edmure.  Uncle Benjen looks out for them but his work takes him out of town a lot so he’s not around enough to fill all the guardianship roles.  Robb couldn’t drop Jeyne and the baby for him so Sansa had taken the responsibility.  But she gets all balled up over it around strangers for some reason like she’s worried they’ll think she can’t handle it.  She’s handling it. 

“We’re buying candles and baking stuff,” Rickon decides to interject, hoping to help his flailing/babbling sister.  “Sansa’s a teacher, too,” he adds for good measure. 

Actually, Mr. Snow doesn’t seem to be bothered by Sansa’s running on.  He seems kind of chill about it.  “It’s nice to meet you, Sansa.  You can call me Jon.”

Jon?  Wait, does that mean Rickon can call him Jon, too?  They met while shopping so maybe there’s been a change in relationship status or something.

“What do you teach?” Jon asks Sansa next.

“Music.  At Direwolf Primary,” she answers and why are her cheeks all pink?  “It’s my second year.” 

“That’s great.  My niece goes there actually.”

“Oh?”

“Ellie Targaryen.”

“Oh, Ellie!  She’s such a sweetie!” 

Why is Jon grinning so widely at her? Is it because Sansa complimented his niece?  Sansa wasn’t grinning like that just because Mr. Snow called Rickon the most amazing kid in his class ever, even better than that other Stark kid he taught a few years ago.  Wait.  Mr. Snow didn’t say that, did he? 

Rickon’s attention wanders some as they chat about his niece and then teaching and their ‘kids.’  He doesn’t know why they act like that’s something they’ve got in common exactly.  I mean, the little kids Sansa teaches compared to me and my friends?  Worlds apart. 

“Yeah, my kids do that, too,” Sansa says laughing over something Jon said.  And he’s looking at her all…what exactly?

“Holy shit, they’re into each other,” Bran snickers quietly from beside him.

Rickon turns to glare at Bran because that cannot be happening, can it?  He checks Arya next who is smirking and tries to draw Rickon’s attention away with the butterscotch chips.  Since when does she like cookies with the butterscotch chips?  He turns his attention back to Jon and Sansa.  He’s not into her.  She’s not into him.  Bran’s full of it.  Mr. Snow’s cool and Sansa’s…busy.  (Plus, Rickon needs Sansa even if he doesn’t like admitting it out loud.)

But is Sansa happy?  That guy she was dating when Mom and Dad died came to the funeral but spent most of it on the phone or chatting with a couple of Sansa’s coworkers.  He didn’t stick by her side and he didn’t stick around long afterwards, did he?  Had she been sad about that on top of everything else? 

Sansa and Arya are both looking at the baking chips now as Mr. Snow says a few words to Bran and then moves towards Rickon.  He asks Rickon about his score on ‘Dreadfort Night’ since he knows Rickon plays.  It’d been brought up during Rickon’s last paper.  He’d seen some parallels with the Spanish Inquisition and thought Mr. Snow might get it.  He had…after Rickon had done some explaining. 

“I beat it over Thanksgiving weekend actually.”

Wait, what?  “You…you mean YOU PLAYED IT?!”  He knew this guy was cool. 

Jon looks sheepishly over his shoulder at the baking chips.  “Yeah.  Had some time on my hands.”  Then, he says something unrelated to Rickon’s favorite game.  “You, uh...mentioned your sister being much older.”

“Yeah, she is.  She’s twenty-three.”

“But you said she was ‘way older.’”

Rickon shrugs.  Isn’t eight and half years ‘way older’?

“Fair enough,” Mr. Snow chuckles to himself after Rickon doesn’t elaborate.  “Sorry.  I’ve got an aunt who’s my age.  She’s more than twenty years younger than my father and I thought you meant…never mind.  Have a good day, Rickon, and I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yeah, see you Monday,” Rickon says, wondering why Jon needed to clarify all that. 

Funny enough, at home over dinner that night, Sansa is busy twirling pasta in Bolognese sauce with her fork as they’re surrounded by the scent of Apple Cinnamon (not an ideal mix of smells-maybe the peppermint one?) when she casually says she thought Mr. Snow would be older for some reason and then pointedly looks directly at him. 

Rickon slurps up a fistful of noodles.  “He is older…but young for a teacher, I guess.”  He’s not ancient like Mr. Luwin at least.   

Chapter Text

When they died, not only was Sansa heartbroken but her entire life was thrown off-kilter.  The world kept on spinning around them but so many things, big and small, had altered.   

Back in February, she was in her first year of teaching.  She’d had a boyfriend, a dog and a little apartment closer to town.  The dog and the job are still hers.  She’s back living in the house she grew up in with Rickon and Bran.  She does not resent it but that doesn’t mean it’s always easy.

And instead of a boyfriend, Sansa’s got new responsibilities…and a vibrator. 

Unlike Harry and Sansa, Gendry didn’t drop out on Arya when their parents died in that accident and she’s not dropped out on him either.  They live together above his uncle’s shop closer to campus.  Her sister comes home to help as often as her studies and work allows. 

She’s promised to be there for Christmas even if she doesn’t really understand Sansa’s desire to stick to their traditional plans considering the absence of the ones who made those things traditions to begin with.    

Robb’s had to take a lot of time off the past two years between the baby and then February.  They speak frequently but he can’t quit his job.  Sansa doesn’t expect him to uproot his family for his other family.  They’ll gather around the laptop Christmas Day to visit with him, Jeyne and Kitty. 

It’s fine.  She’s got this.  She’s managing. 

“I don’t know if I’ve got this,” she whispers to herself as she walks into Winterfell High two weeks before Christmas. 

The flurries that swirl around her, stinging her cheeks and clinging to her lashes, can’t reassure her, no matter how many childhood memories they bring to mind.

The call was not expected and yet not entirely unexpected.  It’s been a hard time for all of them and Rickon’s certainly no exception even trying as hard as she knows he is.  Still, he’s fourteen.  She made her share of mistakes at that age, too.  The big difference is, she had her parents to fall back on when she needed them and Rickon’s stuck with her. 

“You understand that we take fighting very seriously here, Miss Stark.  There are rules and disciplinary measures we must take and it’s necessary to have a parent…or legal guardian present for this,” the principal explains to her as if she’s the teenager. 

“Of course.”  That’s very true.  It’s wrong to be fighting especially at school.  She wishes she hadn’t eaten that chicken salad for lunch because it’s not agreeing with her nerves. 

The principal, vice principal and guidance counselor are all old enough to be her parents.  Whether it’s true or not, she feels like she’s already been sized up and found lacking as Rickon’s guardian.  She wonders if they’ll call Children’s Services.  She’s established a good relationship with Brienne but what if it’s someone else?  She cannot lose Rickon.  They’ve all lost enough. 

You’re letting your fears carry you away, a familiar voice says inside her head.  That voice is right. 

Rickon’s been keeping his head down except for a few covert glances her way.  The skin over his cheekbone is bright red.  There’s a small gash there, the blood still drying.  She passes her brother a tissue from her bag as the principal discusses options. 

The door opens and closes behind her signaling someone else has joined them…to judge the incapable sister. 

“Ah, Mr. Snow.  Thank you for joining us,” the principal says.

Sansa’s head whips ‘round, surprised to see him again.  She does not take note of the way his black button-down and grey sweater vest fit him perfectly or admire those intelligent, grey eyes behind wire frames.  (Alright, maybe she does a little bit.)

A friendly flash of acknowledgment when their eyes meet and he gives her a courteous nod before turning his attention to the principal.  “I’m sorry for the delay, Mr. Mormont.  I was monitoring an exam.”

The principal waves away his apology and asks Mr. Snow for his version of what he witnessed between her brother and the Frey boy and how the fight started. 

Fifteen minutes later, Rickon’s got some afterschool detentions to dread along with ‘a talk’ tonight with his sister but he’s sensible enough to know it could’ve been worse. 

Once he’s headed off to class, Sansa finds herself standing opposite Jon Snow in the hallway, all alone except for the half a dozen classrooms filled with students and instructors in the vicinity.  She’s still nervous but maybe that nervousness has shifted, morphed into something a little more intriguing and less daunting.    

“Thank you.  Thanks for speaking up for him.”

He gives her a vaguely embarrassed smile.  It is not adorable.  (Yeah, it is.)  “I just told them what I saw and heard.”

“Maybe so but I think your word made the difference between some detentions and a suspension.”

He nods, not contradicting her but not expecting praise for telling the truth either.  “I’m sorry you had to be called away from work.”

“It’s part of it.  It’s fine.”  There’s very, very little she thinks she wouldn’t do for Rickon’s sake. 

“Would you care for a cup of tea?”  The question and offer surprises her.  Maybe he surprised himself a little.  That adorably self-conscious smile has returned.  “Sorry.  You just look like you could use some tea.  I have my planning period now and nothing much planned.  We could talk…unless you need to get back to work.”

“It’s nearly dismissal time at the primary school and they understood why I needed to leave.”  This is true though she could return.  She will but not yet.  She realizes she wants to stay.  She likes this man.  “I could use some tea honestly.  I felt like I was the student who’d been called to the principal’s office until you walked in.”

A short bark of laughter from Jon has her grinning, feeling lighter.  Meanwhile, something inside curls up and twists in a needy but pleasant way.  It’s hard to verbalize.  Her vibrator might be calling out from its drawer to her later tonight though.   

He leads her down the hallway towards the social studies’ wing.  When Rickon had spoken of Mr. Snow, she’d pictured someone older, an experienced but ‘fun’ teacher who knew how to keep students engaged.  She’d not expected someone close in age to herself nor so handsome.  Sometimes, it’s nice having our expectations defied.   

They make it to Mr. Snow’s classroom and Sansa sees the familiar whiteboards, desks and chairs.  But the rest of the walls are covered with various maps, posters from museums and historical movies alike.  She’s taken quite a bit of care crafting her own classroom aesthetic to appeal to young minds so she knows Jon’s put thought into this.  It’s a far cry from the dusty, dry room she recalls from high school history with its single world map. 

Behind his desk, there’s a large bookshelf with all sorts of curious objects littering it.  Her eyes zero in on something familiar.  “Is that a toy from that Dreadfort game?”

He’s blushing a little under his beard.  “It’s a figurine with a fairly accurate representation of armor for the time period.” 

She raises an eyebrow as he’s hovering over a tea kettle and hot plate.  He catches her look and starts laughing. 

“Alright, yes.  It’s a toy from ‘Dreadfort Night.’  My students don’t believe me either when I give that excuse.”

She shares a laugh with him before accepting her cup of tea.  “Well, I’ll yield to your greater knowledge when it comes to the historical accuracy of armor in a video game but that looks like a miniature guillotine on your top shelf.” 

“Um, I’m not technically supposed to keep that here but we’ll cover the French Revolution next semester and I’ll thank you to pretend you didn’t see it, please.”

“Wait…does it actually work?  How sharp is that blade, Mr. Snow?” she asks him in her best Mother-Hen-Sansa-Is-Concerned voice. 

“Not sharp, I promise.”  It actually works goes unsaid.  He sips his tea and offers her the arm chair by his desk.  “Ellie told me she’s got a chorus recital coming up soon.”

“Oh yes!  Next Wednesday before term break begins.”

“And you’re in charge of it, I hear.” 

“I…yes.”  How does he know that? 

Her confused look has him explaining.  “Sorry, I asked my niece about music class and her teacher.  I got to hear all about the wonderfully sweet Ms. Stark who brought in lemon cookies last week.”

He asked about her class.  (And maybe about her in particular?)  Granted, he asked a six-year-old but it counts…for something.  Her face it getting hot but she doesn’t mind. 

“That’s lovely to hear.  I’m glad she enjoys music class.” 

They both take a long sip of tea.  He’s watching her and it makes those electric jolts of nerves flare again.  She notices a votive candle sitting on the other side of the hot plate.  Looks like he chose the Apple Cinnamon one.  She can almost catch a hint of its aroma. 

“Are you going to attend Ellie’s performance?” she asks as nonchalantly as she can manage.  Some aunts and uncles attend things like this.

His dark eyes flicker with promise, stoking hidden embers to life when he tells her yes.   

They continue to sip their tea companionably for a few minutes after that.  She does wonder why he’s asked her here.  He’s nice, he likes Rickon and could probably tell how on edge she was in the principal’s office.  That may be all there is to it. 

Or maybe he’s interested in more?  (She thinks she could be.)

That’s crazy though.  She’s probably reading too much into a simple offer of tea and some conversation.  And just because he’s not wearing a wedding band, doesn’t guarantee he’s single.  She’s got so much to stay on top of right now anyway.  She doesn’t have time for romance, does she? 

And a new romance?  It’s fantastic but it can be all consuming at times in her experience.  Harry gave her attention but expected it in return, too.  She can’t give a man her all when she’s got Rickon to think of, can she? 

Feeling flustered, she appraises the bookshelf behind Jon again, looking for something to distract her from her thoughts and the things she might like.  “Is that a menorah?”

He looks over his shoulder at the item in question.  “It is.  I brought it in for a lesson during Hannukah and haven’t taken it back home again yet.”

“Back home?  Are you Jewish?”

“No, but my step-father was.  I was seven when he married my mother and he brought the menorah out for the first time that year.  He explained the miracle of Hannukah to me but I mostly remember how much I loved helping to light the candles as a boy.” 

He smiles so sweetly and she can tell it’s a good memory for him.  And his smiles seem to wake a sweet ache inside her. 

“I’ve kept it in memory of him.” 

She hadn’t expected that.  She watches Jon blink once, twice, three heartbeats of vulnerability on display before he pushes it away and sips more tea.  She understands.  She kind of wishes he’d let it go and cry with her, too. 

“I’m sorry for you and your mother’s loss.”

“Thank you.  He passed four years ago.”

“It’s going to be a hard Christmas for us.” 

She hadn’t meant to say it but it slipped out so naturally.  She’s warm and cozy here in Jon’s classroom with her tea.  Even being attracted to him, she feels a level of comfort with him she hadn’t expected with this only being their second meeting.  She hopes she hasn’t made things awkward.  

His expression is one of sympathy.  It doesn’t feel awkward.  “I know it must be.  I’m very sorry for your loss, Sansa.  For all of you.  We were all very sorry to hear about it here.  Your mother in particular was well loved at Winterfell.”

“My mom?  Here at the high school, you mean?”

“Yeah.  She was an involved parent, always helping ‘round here in numerous ways, volunteering, leading, organizing, giving.  For a public school and its faculty, she was more valuable than a sack full of gold.”

He’s right though she’d never thought about it that way in relation to her mother.  From the time Robb had entered kindergarten until her death in February, Catelyn Stark was always volunteering at her kids’ schools.  She would say she was blessed to have the time and ability to do so.  Sansa, like her siblings, had mostly taken it for granted.  Her mom was just one of ‘those moms’ but, even being a teacher herself, she hadn’t fully appreciated what it must’ve meant to the countless teachers and administrators she’d assisted and maybe some of the other kids in their classes until now. 

“She loved Christmas.  I’m not trying to be her…but I want to make this Christmas a little more bearable for my siblings and me if I can.”

“I’m sure you will.  I always remember what my step-father said about why traditions like the menorah or lighted trees and candles at Christmas are deeply ingrained with meaning for us.”

“Why?”  She’d dearly love to know or have it confirmed.  She knows her siblings are wondering why she’s so determined to celebrate like always when nothing is like always. 

“He said it’s because these things are steeped in family and home which is where our candles burn the brightest.” 

Family and home.  That’s what she’s trying to give them.  It’s what she’s longing for, too. 

Dammit.  No, not here.  “I’m sorry. I just...”

Her teacup teeters ominously when she tries to set it down.  He’s moved from his seat before she realizes it, his hand lightly covering hers.  “It’s alright.  I’m sorry if I-”

“There’s the bell.”  Saved by the bell!  Time for classes to change and Jon’s planning period is over.  She shakes it off, pushes that grief back down to where it swims beneath the surface and gives him a bright smile which she hopes doesn’t look as fake as it feels. 

His grimace suggests her fake smile isn’t cutting it.  “Sansa…”

“I’m fine.  We’re fine.  Thank you for the tea and conversation, Jon.  Thanks for everything you do for Rickon and these kids.  I hope to see you at the chorus recital.”

She’s nearly sprinting for the door but still hears his answering, “I wouldn’t miss it.” 

A clear but bitterly cold night a week later prompted Jon to grab his pea coat on top of the sweater he was wearing.  The crowded, overheated primary school’s gymnasium has him regretting that choice.  All the same, he wouldn’t miss this.

“Uncle Jon!”

He can’t help grinning like a fool whenever that little voice is calling his name with so much enthusiasm.  Oh, to be the focal point of a small child’s joy.  Ellie, dressed in a red top and black skirt, is leaping into his arms and squeezing his neck as tightly as her little arms can manage while smelling like peppermint sticks.

“What have you got there?”

“Baby candy canes!  Miss Stark gave them to us but we’ve got to save it for afterwards.”

He looks down at her sticky hands and mouth.  “I don’t think it’s afterwards yet, sweetheart.” 

His niece gives him her best devious grin which is rendered hopelessly adorable by the gap of missing front teeth when she pulls a second mini candy cane from her pocket.  “Miss Stark lost count, I think.”

He’s been sworn to secrecy (and informed there’ll be cookies and cider after the show) by the time Rhae manages to weave through the crowd to join them at last. 

“You made it!  Ellie, you’ve got your sticky hands on your uncle’s nice coat.”

“Sorry, Uncle Jon.”

“I don’t mind.  I think I’ll take it off anyway.  And of course, I made it.  Wouldn’t miss this.”

His sister hugs him with more gentleness than Ellie. He wishes she wouldn’t look at him like that.  He doesn’t want her to worry so much.  He’s fine.  He’s here to enjoy his niece and her schoolmates singing, something sweet, pure and simple. 

And to see a very lovely music teacher again. 

He could chide himself over the thought but that wouldn’t make it any less true.  He’s spent a lot of time thinking about Sansa Stark since she fled his office last week on the verge of tears.  He hates that he made her sad.  It’s the last thing he wanted to do though he understands grief well enough by now. 

What he’d actually been longing to do over the course of tea was possibly ask her out but he hadn’t got that far before he was out of time and had bungled it totally.  But yeah, he’s thought about her a good deal since they met at the store a couple of weeks ago.  Has she thought about him at all?  He has no idea.  She seems to like him but he’s aware of the pressures she must face and she’s still coping with her own terrible grief. 

I could comfort you if you wanted.  I would wish to bring you peace.  Maybe you might bring me some, too.        

“Jon, are you sure you won’t come with us to-”

“I’m sure,” he says, cutting Rhae off and hoping Ellie hasn’t picked up on the offer.  “Thank you, Rhae, but I’m sure.” 

Rhae’s mother is kind and her brothers are alright but it doesn’t make things any less awkward feeling for Jon when he does agree to join Rhae and Ellie on trips south of here.  Besides, Jon, Aegon and his father have a weirdly strained relationship even at the best of times.  This year, Jon doesn’t think he can stand to be around them or endure their sympathies for his loss, no matter how well-meaning it would be.   

Unfortunately, Ellie didn’t miss her mother’s words entirely.  “I want Uncle Jon to come to Grandma’s with us, Mommy.  I want him to ride on the plane with me and make silly jokes so I won’t be scared and be with me when I find what Santa brought me and-”

The pleas run on, tearing him apart little by little, while Rhaenys attempts to shush her daughter and shoots him apologetic looks.  Ellie doesn’t understand why her beloved uncle would rather be alone than with her extended family on Christmas.

“I won’t be alone, Ellie.  I’ll have Ghost with me.  Ghost can’t fly away on an airplane.  It’s too hot where your grandma lives for him and his thick coat.  He needs to stay here.” 

Ellie loves his dog almost as much as Jon does.  It works, sort of, to distract her from talk of holiday plans and Ellie is all smiles again the next moment.  “Miss Stark!  My uncle came to see me sing!”

Her lovely auburn hair is loose and curly tonight as she joins them.  “I see, Ellie.  Hello again, Jon.”  Dear God, she is beautiful.  And wisely wearing something that’s lightweight in this sauna. 

“Hello.”  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rhae and knows he’s getting questioned later about his acquaintance with the music teacher.  “Ms. Stark’s younger brother is one of my students,” he says by way of explanation. 

“That’s marvelous.”

He can already tell Rhae thinks it’s marvelously full of potential.  His sister claims to have an eye for these things.  She may not be all wrong.

“We should probably find some seats,” he says when Sansa’s ushering her pupil up to the stage. 

“Mm-hmm.”

“What?”

“She’s lovely.”

“She’s a student’s sister.”

“So?  She’s not the student.”

“No.  No, she’s not.”  Thank God.  He leans over to whisper the rest. 

“Oh, that’s so horrible.  Poor woman. That poor family.” 

He nods in agreement and they take a seat.  He doesn’t think Rhae will bring Sansa up again. 

He’s wrong. 

“But Jon, even when we suffer losses, that doesn’t mean we have to stop living.” 

He got grounded for the fight which he supposes is fair enough even though everyone knows what a dick Little Walder is.  Dad and Mom would’ve done the same so he gets it.  He doesn’t want to mess things up for Sansa or with them.  He’s got a temper sometimes but that doesn’t mean it gets to control him. 

Anyway, Rickon’s here tonight to support Sansa and provide free labor in hopes that it might buy him some time off his sentence.  He’d quizzed Mr. Snow about the justice system some the other day and learned that’s really a thing and not just on TV.  (Do big sisters know that?) 

Currently, it’s his job to guard the post-concert cookies and apple cider.  The cookies are store-bought and a bit dry.  The cider does a good job of washing them down. 

He reaches for one more cookie as the little kids are finishing up their reindeer song, complete with construction paper antlers and red foam noses.  Someday, their parents are going to show off the video or pictures they’re taking tonight and ruin these kids’ lives.  Shame.

“Rickon, how are you?” 

He gulps down the last dry crumb of cookie and smiles at his teacher.  “I’m good, Jon.”

“Rickon…”

“Sorry.  I’m good, Mr. Snow.” 

Look, they’ve seen each other at the store, the man saved his ass last week with the Old Bear and now he’s here hanging out at Sansa’s concert with him.  They’re practically bros but whatever, pretenses and all. 

“Want a cookie?” 

“Did your sister make them?”

“No.  Hers are good.  These kind of suck but…”  He shrugs.  “Sugar.”

Chuckling, Jon nods and takes one.  He immediately makes a face.  “Yeah, they are very dry.”

Rickon passes him some cider. He looks all flushed in that sweater anyway.  

The final song ends and Jon’s applauding, heading back to the lady he was sitting with, probably his sister, as one of the little reindeers makes her way from the stage towards them.  She’s a cute little kid.  Rickon hopes her uncle doesn’t let her mom ruin her life with footage from tonight someday.

Sansa is busy being greeted and thanked by parents and teachers with random kids coming up for hugs from her.  Rickon can’t blame them.  When he was their age, he always wanted hugs from his big sister if he’d scraped his knee or something and their mom was busy.

“Rickon, what happened to the cookies?”  

He gulps.  Had he grabbed another one?  It’s sliding down his throat as he gives Beth Cassel a smile.  “Ummm…”

She just rolls her eyes at him but Beth’s okay.  He doesn’t think she’ll snitch on him for eating a cookie or two…or dozen while the concert was happening. 

I am hungry, okay?  I only had four pieces of pizza for dinner before we had to leave. 

Beth’s one of Sansa’s fellow teachers and friends but they’ve known each other for years which means she’s known Rickon for years, ever since he was no bigger than these little reindeers.   

“Who was that man talking to you a minute ago?”

“Oh, that’s Mister…that’s Jon.  Jon Snow.”

Beth kind of smirks and keeps her eyes on Jon.  “Well, hell-lo, Mr. Snow.”  She says odd stuff like that sometimes, all sing-songy.  It makes Sansa laugh.  It makes Rickon worry about what will happen to his sense of humor when he gets old like them. 

“Bran thinks he likes Sansa.”

“Really?!”  Beth isn’t smirking while looking at his teacher now.  She looks kind of happy and clasps her hands together.  Beth’s okay.   

He’s not sure why he’d blurted that out.  It’s just dropped into his head a time or two since they saw him at the store that day and Bran said that.  And after Sansa had mentioned having tea with Jon after she came to school for the fight, it’s made Rickon wonder.  There’s worse things than his teacher liking Sansa maybe.  Worse things…like Harry.

Sansa’s moved away from the stage enough to encounter Jon and his sister.  She looks happy talking to them.  Rickon likes when Sansa’s happy.

“Harry called her earlier,” Rickon says quietly next to Beth, who’s okay and gets his sister and how amazing she is and that she deserves to be happy.  

Beth’s back to rolling her eyes but not at Rickon really.  “What’d he want?”  Arya was the first one to label Harry a dickhead.  Beth had supported that statement. 

“I don’t know but he called her and she’s got plans tomorrow night now.  Arya’s coming over to make sure law and order are upheld.”

Beth laughs at that but she also puts an arm around him in a sisterly way.  He’ll allow that from Beth.  He puffs up a bit when he realizes he’s taller than her now.  Damn, he might be taller than Sansa someday soon. 

“I wouldn’t worry about Harry, Rickon.  Your sister’s a smart woman.” 

She is. 

But Rickon thinks she’s also lonely. 

He doesn’t want her to be lonely.  He just doesn’t want her to be un-lonely with Harry.  Jon might be okay though. 

Chapter Text

She had wanted that box. She wanted the memories that box held. She wanted it for her family and for their Christmas. She wanted it badly enough to agree to meet Harry.

She didn’t want to invite him to the house and there was no way she was going to his place. She knew Harry well enough to know better. So, she’d agreed to Manderly’s Seafood Grill & Bar.

The parking lot would’ve been sufficient for this exchange but he’d insisted on meeting her inside. He’d already been there waiting. He had a table set for them, complete with white linen tablecloth and rustic lantern burning. They only fixed up tables like this at Manderly’s upon request. The gesture is too little, too late and ridiculous considering everything.

“I ordered your favorite wine.”

“I have to drive home. Rickon will be waiting for me.”

“I thought we could talk through some stuff, Sansa. I’ve missed you.”

Maybe he has. She’s certainly no stranger to loneliness, the variety which siblings and dogs (and vibrators) can’t quite satisfy. But she can safely say she’s not this lonely.

“We were going to decorate the tree tomorrow night. I came for the box. I’m not here for this.” I’m not here for you.

“Look I know we sort of…fell apart.”

“Yes, we did.”

What they had was never strong enough to weather the real stuff, the hard times. Her mother had tried to teach her the difference between a romance that’s fun and light and the kind of love that binds you, heart and soul. Harry and her were never going to be heart and soul.

“Harry, do you have the box with my mother’s ornaments in them with you or not?”

He nods and she can see that lowering look in his eye, the one that tells her his temper is stirring. Was this why she didn’t want to invite him to the house?

A booming laugh from the bar area has her turning her head and ignoring Harry’s anger. She recognizes that man. That’s Tormund Giantsbane, Coach Tormund, the PE teacher from Winterfell High. High school gym class was years ago but Coach Tormund is not a man she’d ever likely forget.

There’s some other familiar faces with him. They’re all teachers from the high school, she thinks. That’s surely Mrs. Flint, Sansa’s old geometry teacher. Of course. Today was the last day of classes for the semester and they’re probably out together having a drink and…oh shit!

There’s Jon. Her heart starts pounding.

“Fine. Here’s your damn box then.”

She’s forced to look back at Harry as he lifts the box high in the air. “Harry, no!”

Her cry was loud and just enough to stop him from slamming it down on the table and possibly breaking what's inside.

Her cry was loud enough to draw attention, too.

She’s cradling the box like it’s a child, Harry’s throwing down money on the table for the drinks he’d ordered which haven’t even arrived and grumbling angrily under his breath when she feels the presence of another at her back. She knows it's him before he even speaks.

“Sansa? Are you alright?”

As naturally as she can manage, she turns to give him a brilliant smile.  “Hi, Jon.  I’m fine now, thanks.  Did you get us a table yet?  Harry brought my mother’s ornaments back but he’s leaving.”

For one second, she fears Jon will scowl and ask what the hell she’s talking about.  But he doesn’t.  He does actually scowl a bit but it’s fully aimed at Harry when he helps pull her chair back.  “Great.  Our table’s over there, honey.”  

He jerks his chin over her shoulder as if this has been the plan all evening, like him calling her honey is an everyday occurrence.  He’s good at this.  

She’s doesn’t feel terribly good at it.  She’s afraid Harry’s getting ready to call their bluff.  Why that would matter she’s not sure except she’s got her pride.  Her knees feel like jelly when she stands and that’s before Jon wraps one arm around her waist, smelling incredibly nice, and takes the precious box from her shaky hands.

He’s leading her towards his group because it’s not like he’s really got a table for them.  “May I ask-”

“Is he gone?”

Jon looks back for them both.  “Yeah, looks like it.”

“Thank you.  We broke up back in March and, when he came to pick up a couple of boxes of his things, he’d grabbed this one by mistake.  I didn’t realize it at the time but he called me yesterday afternoon.  Apparently, he was looking at it as an excuse to try again or something.”

“I see.” 

"So, thank you...again."

"No problem."  She expects him to drop his arm from around her waist. 

(She doesn’t want him to.  And he doesn’t.) 

“You step away for one minute and you come back with a pretty girl, huh?  Is that how it is?  So, who’s this, Snow?” Coach Tormund asks.  He looks like he’s had a good bit of cheer already but when Jon makes the introduction, naming her a friend, her old gym teacher remembers her and the rest of the table welcomes her with open arms.

The plan had been to ride home with Rykker from their little end of term celebration but he’d got a call from his wife and left earlier than expected.  Jon had been preoccupied (easy enough with Sansa by his side) and failed to ask anyone else to give him a lift.  By the time the group was heading towards the door, he realized his error.  Or was part of you wishing for this? 

“You really don’t have to, Sansa.  I can call for a ride.”  He doesn’t want to catch another ride but he hates feeling like he’s putting her out. 

“Don’t be silly.  It’s no trouble.” 

He helps her into her coat and, when she flicks her hair free of it, he catches an intoxicating whiff of her fragrance mixed with her shampoo.  Is he besotted by this point?  Oh yeah. 

She turns as he’s tugging his coat on and they are so close.  They’ve sat side by side the past ninety minutes with their knees touching under the table (though neither had made mention of it) and their hands brushing occasionally.  It feels…natural.  It’s been a long while since this sort of thing has felt so natural to Jon.  Does she feel that way at all?

Two beefy arms wrap around their shoulders, drawing them that much closer to each other.  “Mistletoe, har!” Tormund bellows with those wild eyebrows of his defying logic like some cartoon character’s. 

Sure enough, above them in the doorway of Manderly’s is a sprig of the stuff.  He watches Sansa’s cheeks turning pink and guesses his are doing the same.  Yeah, he wouldn’t mind giving her a kiss if she were willing. 

Before Jon can think it all through or even dream of acting though, he’s the one getting a kiss.  Unfortunately, it’s not from Sansa.

“Ugh! Tormund!  On the mouth, man?!  Bleh!” 

Roaring with laughter, Tormund musses his hair as Sansa’s giggles become uncontrollable.  Jon ineffectively wipes at his lips sputtering like Lucy might’ve after getting kissed by Snoopy.  Yes, he loves the big oaf but he didn’t want a kiss from him.   

Tormund’s still laughing as he lumbers away towards Beric’s truck since he’s the one giving him a lift home tonight.

“He seemed so scary as my gym teacher,” Sansa says, still giggling from beside him.  “I never saw this side of him.”

“I imagine not.  He’d have a hard time managing a classful of students if they all knew what he’s like outside of school.”

“True.  Thanks for…well, I suppose I sort of invited myself into your night in a sense but I had fun, Jon.  It was kind of needed.  I don’t get away from the house much without Rickon these days.”

He’d wondered about that.  He can’t imagine suddenly being in charge of a teenager full time.  He respects her taking care of her brother but doesn’t want her to suffer or deny herself because of it. 

“You were more than welcome.  I enjoyed your company very much.  I think my colleagues did, too.  Normally, I’d say I wouldn’t have mind Rickon’s company for that matter but tonight with that crowd…”

“Considering how shocked Rickon acted over seeing one of his teachers shopping at the store, I imagine seeing several of them out drinking and having a good time together at a restaurant would’ve blown his mind.”

Laughter as they head towards her vehicle.  He gives her directions to his house.  Turns out, he doesn’t live all that far from the Starks.  Convenient.

She texts her sister, murmuring under her breath that she’ll probably be relieved to know Sansa’s not been spending her whole evening with Harry. 

Meanwhile, Jon keeps thinking of that mistletoe and her rosy cheeks.  She’s just as lovely here under the florescent lights with their every breath visible before them.  Admittedly, he’s had a few beers over the course of the evening.  Not quite enough for him to kiss her breathless without some sort of sign or invitation but the thought crosses his mind more than once as they cross the lot watching for icy patches.

Instead of acting on impulses, he asks something instead.  “Hey Sansa, what’s in the box?” 

He’s wondered all evening.  Her desperate plea when Harry, the asshole she used to date, looked ready to smash it down on the table and the way she’d been holding it so carefully to her when he’d approached them.  Honestly, the scene had Jon bracing for a fight even not knowing exactly what the story was. 

She’s carefully loading it into the backseat and looks up at him.  “They’re some ornaments my mother gave me when I moved into my apartment.  Most of them were some from when my dad and her first got married.  They’re not pricy or anything special.  They’re just-”

“Special to you.”  That confirms Jon’s earlier opinion of Harry then, too.  He might enjoy punching that guy in his perfect teeth given the chance.  

“Yes, they are.” 

He understands that completely.  He understands the desire for something steadfast in the face of change, of uncertainty, of grief. 

She pulls one out.  “This one’s actually my favorite.” 

It’s a keepsake style ornament that looks like a snow globe but one you stick a picture in and no water.  The young married couple staring back at him through the white glitter look so happy and he can see why it means so much to their daughter.  “I’m glad you got it back.”

She nods and he touches her hand for a moment.  “Thanks, Jon.”  Quietly, she puts the ornament back in its nest of old newspaper and they get in the car. 

She’s got her radio on low when the car starts and the heat takes a bit to kick on.  It’s a very cold night but it doesn’t feel quite as cold with Sansa in the car beside him.  ‘The Christmas Song’ comes on and he can see her lip syncing the words when they’re at a stoplight.  He can remember how his mom would sing along to songs she liked in the car.  He’d like to hear Sansa sing.  Revive a memory and make a new one maybe. 

“You can sing if you want.  I won’t mind.”

Caught, she bites at her bottom lip, which is far too inviting for words, and then shoots him a grin.  “What if I’m a terrible singer?  You may wind up wishing you’d pretended not to notice me.”

“Nah, you’re a music teacher.  I’ll bet you’ve got a lovely voice.”  A pert look with one ginger brow raised.  “Besides, Ellie told me Ms. Stark has the most beautiful-est voice and I don’t doubt my niece.”

“The most beautiful-est voice, huh?”

He nods and gets what he’s hoping for when she smiles back at him and then softly joins Nat King Cole’s crooning.  Ellie was right.  She does have the most beautiful-est voice. 

Ten minutes later, they’re sitting outside his house and he doesn’t want to get out yet although he has no reason to delay.  No reason except a dozen things he’d like to say to her and one very big thing he’d like to do. 

He opts for one of those things he’d like to say.  Yes, his pulse is racing but he’s not Rickon’s age.  He can do this sort of smoothly by now. 

“Say, Sansa…I know I’m Rickon’s teacher and, if you consider that a conflict of interest or whatever, I understand but I was wondering…would you be interested in going out sometime?  With me, I mean.  On a date.  We could go eat or…whatever.  Not with a dozen of my coworkers this time.  Just us.  Umm…yeah.” 

Not smooth.  Fuuuuuuck, just shoot me.  

She’s smiling though so that’s promising.  “I’ve not been out on a date in…not since…”

Not since they died.  Me either. 

Is it too soon for her?  Should he tell her?  Share with her his own grief?  The reason he’ll be alone this Christmas, save Ghost. 

But that’s hard for him to just blurt it out.  He hates making things awkward because how would this lovely lady know?  She didn’t know him until she started hearing his name from Rickon this semester.  She has no idea what happened back in January. 

Jon doesn’t discuss his grief with many people, not even his sister who wants to help  It’s stupid perhaps but Lyanna wasn’t her mother. 

Regardless, Sansa has trailed off on her reply.  Maybe she doesn’t want to go out with him at all.  “There’s no pressure if-”

“No, I’d like to.  I’d like to go out with you, Jon.”  Whew!  He can breathe again.  “I’m just…it’s silly.”  It doesn’t look silly because her eyes are getting watery. 

“It’s what, honey?”  Yikes, that slipped out, didn’t it?  He’d called her that earlier but this time he doesn’t have the pretense of fooling Harry. 

He watches her blinking back tears like she did in his office that day.  There’s a smile playing at the corners of her mouth this time and he hopes she won’t bolt.  It is her car after all.  “I told myself the other day I didn’t have time for romance.  I have Rickon and my job and responsibilities.”

“You’re juggling a lot.  I-”

“Let me finish.”  He pretends to zip his lips which makes her laugh and that watery look in her eyes is completely gone.  “I am juggling a lot.  But you asked me and I want to.  I’m lonely for…well, for more than being a big sister.”  He didn’t imagine her eyes dropping to his mouth a sec there, did he?  “I’m twenty-three and I deserve a chance to live a little, don’t I?”

“Of course, you do.”  He knows for a fact his eyes dropped to her lips.  He also licked his. 

Her eyes settle on his mouth again as she brushes a bit of her hair back behind one ear.  “But if I were seeing someone, assuming he’d want to see me past a first date, he’d need to understand…” 

She ducks her chin and looks up at him from beneath her lashes and looks so damned sweet and vulnerable.  Does she imagine for one second he wouldn’t want a second date with her if she’d be willing to give him that chance? 

He moves a little closer, resting an arm on the center console, judging the distance, trying to gauge the potential reception.  “You’ve got priorities you can’t ignore.  I get that.”

She mirrors his movements, leaning towards him, ever-so-slowly.  “Exactly.” 

She’s agreed to go out with him.  He thinks they’re going to kiss.  God, he hopes so.  He’s so fucking giddy at the thought.  All he can focus on is her lips and those blue eyes and then he’s-

“Is…is there someone watching us from your house, Jon?”

“Huh?”  He whips his head around to look.  Yes, there is an enormous head in the window peering through the curtains with the lamp shining behind him illuminating two pointy ears.  “Uh yeah, that’s Ghost.  My dog.”

He turns back to face her, thinking their moment is probably spoiled by the curious canine even though she smiles at him still. 

On the contrary, Sansa grasps him by the lapel of his coat.  “Ghost, huh?”

“Yeah, Ghost,” he barely replies before she pulls him to her, kissing him fully on the lips.  

He places a hand at the back of her neck and gently draws her closer as he tilts his chin to deepen the kiss.  She’s even sweeter than he’d imagined.  A whimsical part of him feels like he’s dreaming.  It seems too good to be true in a way. 

He’s not dreaming.  He’s kissing Sansa, the beautiful music teacher he’s met a handful of times and can already picture falling in love with.  Is that crazy?  Maybe he likes a little crazy. 

They’re still kissing when her phone starts ringing.  She doesn’t keep it silenced with a teenager she’s responsible for.  But, for a lovely handful of seconds, Jon can tell she’d like to ignore her phone and keep on kissing him.  That alone makes him feel ten feet tall. 

“Sorry, I have to…”

“Sure.  Of course.”

He takes a second to collect himself when he hears the tinny sound of Rickon’s voice coming through her phone.  For a cold night, it feels steamy in Sansa’s car now and they’d barely got good and going on those kisses.  He cannot wait for their date. 

But he watches her face morph from ordinary interest into one of consternation.  Shit, what’s happening?

“Rickon!  What do you mean Shaggy knocked over the tree?!  We weren’t even putting it up until tomorrow night!”

Okay, Rickon didn’t know Sansa was with Jon tonight or he wouldn’t have bothered her with this.  Was anyone going to share that with me?  Ordinarily, if he screwed up, he’d be all about hiding the evidence if at all possible. 

But she’d gone to meet Harry as far as Rickon knew.  He thought she might still be with Harry hours later and figured she needed an excuse to come on home by now. 

No, he didn’t set Shaggy on the tree but Shaggy does have a knack for getting into mischief.  He’s got a track record of mistreating Christmas trees given access and half a chance.  And maybe he’d been given access and half a chance. 

(Also, Arya totally should’ve told Rickon that Sansa hasn’t been with Harry all this time so it’s technically her fault.)

Anyway, he’s delighted by these developments because Jon’s here now.  Wonder if he’d want to play a duo on Dreadfort Night with him?  Bran doesn’t get off work until ten.  There’s no school tomorrow.  They could definitely play a few matches. 

See, here’s the thing-

Jon’s a great teacher and all-around good guy. 

He beats the hell out of Harry.

And, he’s got Ghost and that tops all in Rickon’s opinion.

Ghost likes Lady and Shaggy and Summer already.  Thank goodness Sansa encouraged Jon to bring the dog along when Rickon had called her.  Those four can bond and be friends now.  He’s white and quiet and, therefore, Ghost is the coolest name a dog has ever been given. 

Look, Rickon loves his own dog a million times more than peanut butter and chocolate together or even his very favorite videos game but he’d been a baby, barely eight, when he’d named Shaggydog.  He’d definitely pick a cooler name given the chance now.

Anyway, Sansa has brought Jon to their house!  She went to meet Harry and brought back Jon.  Upgrade!

The only downside is he’s currently getting fussed at by Sansa.  Any time off his grounding he’d worked off while helping with the cookies and cider (and helping them disappear) at the recital last night is probably squashed by this.

“I said we’d put it up tomorrow night, Rickon!  Why did you even get it out?  Arya, why did you let him get it out?”

“Relax.  He knew what he was doing and I figured that’d be one less step tomorrow night for us.”

“But Shaggy…”

“Got excited like Shaggy always does.  It’s fine, Sans.  We’ll fix it.”  At least, Arya’s not mad at him. 

“It looks easily fixable to me,” Jon adds.

Sansa’s annoyed look fades when she looks at Jon.  Another plus for him being here!

She holds up some box she’d brought in from her car and says not to let Shaggy anywhere near it, gives Lady some scritches behind the ears and declares she’ll make some hot chocolate for everyone while they right the tree.   

Then, Rickon watches her walk over to Jon and lay a hand on his forearm.  “That is, if you don’t mind sticking around for a bit.  I can take you and Ghost back to your house whenever you like though.”

“I don’t mind,” he hears Jon answer though his voice is low, quiet and gruff. 

They smile at each other and Sansa’s heading off to the kitchen.

Hot chocolate and Jon’s staying? 

This night has turned out amazing! 

Chapter Text

Not to steal Rickon’s turn of phrase but that night had indeed turned out amazing in Sansa’s opinion. 

Just the time with Jon at the restaurant and afterwards had been lovely for Sansa.  Then, not only had Jon stayed to help with the tree disaster and for hot chocolate to be consumed but, once Bran had got home from work, the siblings and Jon had decorated the tree together.  The original plan had been for the following night but Sansa had wound up very glad of the change to the itinerary. 

Yes, it was the familiar tree and ornaments with the precious ones Sansa had got back from Harry earlier added, including the snow globe/photo one of a young Ned and Catelyn towards the top.  Yes, Sansa had the scented votives burning and some soft seasonal music playing like her mother always did.  And yes, the siblings did their share of bickering over little things like whether or not the star was straight but it was good-natured bickering. 

There was more laughter than she’d expected to be honest.  The horror on all their faces when an exuberant Shaggy had almost brought the finished product down again had them all in stitches once disaster was averted thanks to Ghost and Lady forming a wedge to herd him elsewhere. 

Sansa thinks the unusually late hour for the activity and the novelty of having Jon and Ghost there had added some lightness to the tradition that might’ve felt much heavier if they’d tried to do everything ‘like usual’ on their own in this year that is so far from usual for them.

“I think sometimes a blend of the traditional with new things or a reimagining, if you will, is needed as we grow and things change over the years,” Jon had said when she’d finally taken him and Ghost back home near one o’clock and mentioned it.  “But I’d guess Shaggy will happily knock your tree down every year if given the chance.” 

She thinks he’s on to something there in both cases. 

She’d also felt like she was floating as she’d headed back home that night after a few parting kisses and plans had been made for their first ‘official’ date. 

She’d not entirely forgotten it, this heady excitement you get when someone new comes into your life and there’s new promise filling every breath.  She just hadn’t realized she was missing it so much until now.  She’s excited for tonight.

Five days until Christmas and Jon is picking her up soon.  He’ll be coming to a crowded house when he does.  Arya and Gendry have come over to hang out, Bran’s off work tonight and Uncle Benjen is home for the holidays the next two weeks. 

There is that overly dutiful part of Sansa that tries to make her feel guilty for going out tonight on a date when her family is here but she’s setting that aside and doing something for herself.  Arya and Beth have both said she needs to do more of that.  She’s trying.  They’re gone and she misses them so much, hates that their lives were cut so short and what it’s cost them all.  But she’s still here and she knows they’d want her to enjoy her life, not bury herself in duty alone. 

“So, who’s this young man coming to pick you up tonight, sweets?” Benjen asks from the doorway of her bedroom. 

Sansa smirks at his teasing tone as she’s slipping on her shoes.  “He’s a hardcore gamer by night posing as a mild-mannered history teacher by day if you ask Rickon.” 

Both Rickon and Bran (and even Arya, though begrudgingly) had been impressed by Mr. Snow’s skills on that online survival game they like.  When she mentions Jon, this is all she hears about.  She doesn’t mind.  The fact that he gets on well with her siblings and is willing to spend time with and give attention to her younger brothers only makes her that much more likely to fall in love with him.    

“You’ll like him.  How do I look?”

“Beautiful and, of course, I’ll like him.  You like him and that’s good enough for me.”

She rolls her eyes, old doubts creeping in.  “Yeah but I liked Harry.”

“Meh, we all have a bad pick once in a while.  Your instincts are generally very good, Sansa.  Don’t forget that.  Plus, Rickon’s new interest in history tells me this guy’s doing something right.  What else do you want me to get from the store?”

It’s nice having Benjen here, a real grownup who gives her self-esteem these little boosts whenever she needs them.  Okay, she’s a real grownup, too.  But with Benjen here, she doesn’t feel like she’s constantly got to be the grownup.  He always thinks of things like what she might need at the store as well. 

After a family meeting upon his arrival last night, it’s been decided that Sansa will not be making the traditional huge Christmas dinner this year that her mother normally would.  She’d come to love cooking in the kitchen with her mom on Christmas from around the age of twelve but, this year, she’d feared she’d be alone in the kitchen.  Not now. 

“You are not spending the whole damn day in the kitchen, sweets.  Your cookies will be very welcome but, beyond that, we’re all pitching in to make this happen,” Uncle Benjen had said.

Rickon had looked horrified.  “But I don’t know how to cook anything!”

“Time to start learning then, kiddo.”

To borrow Jon’s term, some reimagining had happened and it was kind of wonderful.  Everyone had agreed they’d make a feast for Christmas Eve that could be enjoyed the following day but it wouldn’t be the traditional turkey or ham with all the fixings.  No, it’ll be Uncle Benjen’s hot wings and two varieties of holiday punch (one spiked, one not).  They’ll have Arya’s sausage balls and Gendry’s mashed potatoes.  Bran’s making a corn and kale salad and Jojen’s going to bring over hummus, pita chips and a veggie tray.  Sansa will bake the traditional cookies and make some non-traditional mac and cheese (Rickon’s particular request).  And Rickon…

“I could probably heat up some rolls without burning the house down.”

They’d all nodded and said that would be fine.  He’d also been assigned head of kitchen cleanup duties to pull his share of the load.

She’s reciting an item or two that she’s lacking to Benjen when the doorbell rings.  Her tummy feels like a pack of dormant butterflies have been let loose as she hurries down the stairs with an enormous grin blossoming across her face to greet him. 

Rickon’s beat her to the front door.  “Hi, Jon!  I mean, Mr. Snow.”

He looks so handsome standing there and his eyes are already eagerly taking in her dress with a look of appreciation when he tells Rickon, “Jon.  I’m at your house and taking your sister out on a date.  You can call me Jon.  But not-”

“Not at school.  Got it,” Rickon finishes for him, obviously pleased. 

Benjen’s followed her down the stairs and she makes the introduction.  The two men shake hands and, in between Rickon asking when they might be back and casually mentioning some ‘event’ happening tonight on Dreadfort Night and Arya bluntly telling Rickon to calm down and gaming might not be a priority for Jon tonight, she hears Benjen saying, “It’s nice to meet you, Jon.  I…I’m sorry to ask but I’m thinking I might’ve known your mother…”

She doesn’t catch the rest of what they say because Bran and the dogs have all come in to see her and Jon off.  The dogs want ear scritches and Bran casually mentions the aforementioned Dreadfort Night event again but something vaguely uneasy stirs in her tummy when they’re outside and walking to Jon’s car. 

He’d seemed a little ill at ease with her uncle and she catches him staring wistfully (and a little sadly) up at the stars for a moment.  She knows her uncle wouldn’t play the overbearing male relative/caveman with her date so maybe he reminds Jon of his stepfather or something? 

But then he opens the car door and gives her a grin that’s equally sweet and sexy.  “You’re absolutely gorgeous.  Do you know that?  It’s a good thing it’s not a school night, Ms. Stark.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow.  You look very handsome as well.  Shall we?” 

He nods and, from that point on, she can’t stop smiling.  She dismisses that earlier uneasiness as nothing more than those butterflies stirring around some more. 

“I’m sorry.  I knew her through work.  She was a lovely lady.  It’s such a shame…”

Jon has heard different versions of these words too many times to count the past year.  He truly appreciates hearing that his mother was admired and liked or even loved by others but it still hurts, especially when she’s brought up unexpectedly or he has to explain to someone who doesn’t know.  He’s not sure when it’ll ever stop hurting.  Maybe never.

Benjen Stark meant well, having made the connection between his uncommon last name and the resemblance between mother and son, but Jon had been anxious to get out the door before anyone else overheard his condolences.  It’s not a secret but he didn’t want to start off his night with Sansa explaining how his mother had passed after a long and wearing illness a month before her parents had been killed in an accident. 

True, they’re both grieving and finding comfort together might be something they need.  But his loss had been building for many months before the end.  Theirs was sudden, completely unexpected.  He’d had time to prepare himself for her absence from his life.  They hadn’t.  Everything for them had been a blindsided, put-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other sort of nightmare from the moment it happened whereas his mother had told him all her final wishes along with all her dear wishes for him well before her last breath.    

They’ve both had months to grieve and adapt.  There’s differences but there’s similarities, too.  He knows Sansa would get it, wouldn’t say his grief is less than hers or anything like that.  But now that he’s left off saying anything, he doesn’t know how to say it without making it seem like he’s been hiding the subject or avoiding it. 

Which maybe he is a bit.  Rhae keeps pushing him to open up more while he’s been stubbornly resisting.  The sparks of joy he’s felt this past year have been brought out around Ellie or Ghost or the kids he teaches at school.  Beyond that, he knows he’s been drifting along like a ghost sifting through the ashes for the most part.  He wants that to change but he’s not been sure how…not until Sansa came along maybe.

“Apple cinnamon.  Every year, I have a favorite scent of the season and, this year, it’s that one.”

He pushes away his worries and ashes, decides to focus on tonight when Sansa points towards the candle he’s just lit.  “Mine, too.” 

He’d seen the votives like this one in her basket that day at the store and grabbed a couple for himself.  His mother had always liked scented candles at Christmas and it reminded him of his late stepfather’s menorah as well.  A little piece of home and sweet memories from holidays passed. 

Sansa’s looking around and probably noticing the lack of anything else holiday-ish.  He hadn’t felt up to it this year or last year either.  But after helping the Starks with their tree the other night, he’d been tempted to drag out his little one.  The next morning though he’d told himself why bother this late in the game.  Maybe he should’ve.  Ghost is too well behaved to knock his over anyway. 

“You want a drink?” he offers to distract her some from the absence of holiday cheer.  “I don’t have hot chocolate.  I do have soda, water, beer and even a bottle of wine around here that’s never been opened.”    

Dinner had been pleasant, full of conversation and laughter.  It was nice.  More than nice.  It’s been a long time since Jon’s had anything like this, this effervescent sensation of falling.  Maybe nothing’s been quite like this for him.  It’s certainly the first time in a long while he’s had the energy for it or wanted to seriously contemplate being in a relationship again.  

They’d relived the perilous moment from the other night when the Stark Family tree had been completed to everyone’s satisfaction and Shaggy had nearly taken it down again.  He loves that their dogs got on well with his.  He loves that he’s getting on well with all of them even more.

Speaking of getting on well...

“No more wine for me tonight.  Come sit by me.” 

She pats the place beside her on his sofa with a look that fills him with happiness, anticipation and desire.  He could’ve taken her home after dinner but neither had wanted the night to end and, much as it was fun the other night, he wasn’t planning on spending his evening gaming with Rickon and Bran again when he could be alone with Sansa.  

She’d conveniently mentioned Ghost being lonely at his house and that the night was still young.  That could describe them both maybe as well.  Lonely and young.  She makes him feel young in a way he doesn’t think he has all year.  The last two years to be honest.  But it’s more than that he’s feeling when he lets himself drown in those blue eyes. 

He takes his seat and soon takes her by the waist.  “Sansa…” 

Her touch is gentle but hungry.  He breathes her in like a flower might crave the sun.  She feels so good in his arms.  Her lips mold perfectly against his.  And her body, God help him, her body under his on the sofa as they kiss and kiss and kiss makes his blood thrum with renewed vigor and his heart race with hope.  He’s alive and grateful to be so.  She’s perfect and she wants this, too. 

“Yes, Jon.  Yesssss…” 

Her cry when she comes for him is delicate and desperate and utterly glorious.  He could spend every waking moment wrapped up in Sansa like this.  He has no idea if he’ll be able to look Rickon or the others in the eye when he drives her back home later but, right now, he doesn’t care. 

Panting, clothes disheveled and brows dotted with sweat afterwards, they hold each other tightly and Jon knows without a doubt a bright new and undeniable flame has blazed forth from the ashes of his life.

Jon had not had his A game going the other night to be sure when he’d brought Sansa back from dinner and Bran had twisted his arm until he’d agreed to play a couple of matches with them.  (It was totally Bran.  Rickon barely whined and pouted one bit to get him to join them.)

Nevertheless, Jon had been in a great mood that night and Rickon was glad to have him there again even if he’d not stayed quite as late.  Maybe the Dreadfort Night’s New Year’s Eve event will see Jon back in form and they can kick ass together in the team battles.  Sansa had come back downstairs wearing her pajamas, telling her brothers not to keep Jon up all night.  That was before Rickon had accidently walked up on them passionately kissing goodnight by the door when Jon had left.  Scarred for life. 

Anyway, if Sansa’s happy to kiss Jon Snow, Rickon will just be happy for her and not think on that too much, especially during history class.  Like ever, if possible. 

Today is not kicking ass on Dreadfort Night time though nor is it history class.  It’s a very somber occasion on the 24^th of December as the Starks and Gendry head to the cemetery for a short visit before they try to jolly their holly with hot wings and such. 

Visiting a cemetery seems like such a weird phrase.  It’s not a real visit.  They can’t see them.  They can’t hold them.  They can’t-

“Rickon, sweetheart…” 

Arya and Sansa are hugging him and then Bran joins them.  He’d be embarrassed by his tears except they’re crying too and this is his family who he loves so much.  He may not say it often because he’s fourteen and just doesn’t say that kind of stuff a lot but it’s true. 

Uncle Benjen stands by his brother and sister-in-law’s graves watching the four of them and wiping at his eyes.  Gendry goes to fetch the gifts Sansa has made.  They aren’t gifts exactly.  They’re tiny Christmas wreaths placed around the base of battery-powered ‘candles’ with ribbons and star.  Sansa had seen it somewhere online and wanted to place those shiny lights in memory of them this holiday season to burn brightly for however long those batteries and bulbs will last.  Maybe into the new year.       

Will this become a new tradition for their family?  Or is it just this year?  He can’t say.  None of them can.  He lets himself hold and be held by his sisters and brother as they work through this unimaginably painful and yet keenly loving moment between family together.  (He’s going to ignore the bit of snot he got in Arya’s hair there.)

When their eyes are dry again, they place Sansa’s gifts and keep their silence, each lost in their own thoughts.  Then, they stroll over towards their grandparents’ graves. 

It’s there, while Uncle Benjen is telling them something about Ned Stark and their dad, that Rickon notices someone else in the cemetery paying a visit today.  He’s standing alone farther down the line of graves, a man who looks quite familiar even from the distance with a bouquet of blue roses in his hand. 

Recognition and there’s an uncomfortable lump swelling in Rickon’s throat when he hurries towards the figure and calls his name.  “Jon?” 

His history teacher-turned-gaming buddy-turned-sister’s possible boyfriend turns at the sound of his name.  Did he come here today for them?  Had Sansa told him what she was planning?  But he’s not in the right spot to visit them, is he? 

Rickon pauses when they’re still a few feet apart and he sees a marker for Lyanna where an older, dried-up bouquet of roses is ready to be replaced. 

Sansa was a few paces behind him but she passes Rickon and rushes right up to Jon.  “Oh, Jon…why didn’t you-”

“I’m sorry.  I don't know how to talk about it.  I'm sorry.”

Rickon watches Jon’s eyes close so tightly as Sansa shushes his apologies and puts her arms around him.  He hugs her back like his life depends on it, his quiet gasp making that lump in Rickon’s throat unbearable as he begins to understand why Jon is here.  He’s lost his mom, too. 

The others join them more tentatively but they come join them all the same.  Arya tells Jon, “You’re coming back home with us tonight…if you want.  We want you to come.  You’re invited for hot wings and heavily spiked punch and...shit, Jon.  I'm so sorry.”

They're all sorry.  They all know how inadequate those words are sometimes, too.  But of course, he’s invited and wanted. 

Nevertheless, Jon looks to Sansa because, like Rickon, her word is final around here as far as Jon’s concerned.

“Yes, Jon.  Please, come share Christmas Eve with us if you will.  We’d love for you to be with us tonight.  I want you with us, with me.  I want...stay with us.” 

She starts stroking his face, tears streaking her cheeks again.  Jon's looks like he's going to cry, too.  Rickon's never seen one of his teachers cry before but he's figuring out they've got lives like anyone else.  Sansa's a teacher after all. And Jon's...well, he's more than just Rickon's teacher now.  

He can’t say the words right away and Rickon knows what that’s like but he holds Sansa’s hand and gives them all a nod. 

Chapter Text

Jon doesn’t know it yet but this bit?  Right now?  This will be the hardest part of his entire night.  When you’ve been busily maintaining your walls for so long, finally laying them aside to really reach out is never as simple or easy as it sounds.  He’s going to do it anyway.    

He sits in his car outside the Starks’ house on Christmas Eve feeling unsure of himself in a way he hadn’t the other night when he’d been picking up Sansa for their date.  Yeah, he’d been nervous then but this is a different variety of nerves.

That night had meant a lot.  She means a lot to him.  He thinks he might already be in love with her.  And it’s not because they had sex that night, which was wholly unexpected on his end, but because of who she is, how she makes him feel, how he wants to make her feel, how they seem to click just so and a dozen other things.

They’ve invited him into their celebration with open hearts but he’s got to work past feeling like the third, fifth or whatever wheel, the intruder to their little family circle first.  He’s got to work past that feeling of being caught too from the cemetery earlier, when the Starks saw him as he truly was - alone, lost and needy. 

He will work through it though.  It won’t be instantaneous and he’ll carry his grief like he carries his memories of the ones he's lost for all of his days but healing will happen with the passing of time.  Tonight, he only has to step out of his car and walk to the front door.

“And you’ll be with me, won’t you, boy?” he asks Ghost. 

The dog pants happily in reply and waits as patiently as a dog who knows something’s up that isn’t a trip to the vet can wait. 

An unexpected knock on the driver’s side window of his vehicle makes him yelp and then laugh at himself for yelping.  It’s Bran and another young man. 

“Hey, Jon!” comes the muffled voice through the window.  “Sorry to give you a scare.  Glad you came.  This is Jojen, by the way.” 

And after that, Jon doesn’t have to do anything but pick up his large and hastily thrown-together duffle bag and get out of the car.  It’s not as hard as he’d thought it would be.

“You made it,” Sansa says, her words breathy and full of affection when she’s the first one to hug him. 

“Yeah, I did.” 

He did and he will.  He’s going to make it through this particular Christmas and so will they.

He greets the others and helps Ghost reacquaint himself with Summer, Lady and Shaggy.  Rickon’s already talking gaming but Jon ruffles his hair and tells him after they eat. 

A glance, a smile, some nonverbal communication and he’s following Sansa to the kitchen where they can be alone for a few minutes.  Another hug, this one longer, more intimate.  A kiss.  A heavy ache in his chest threatens.  “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jon.”

“I want to tell you, to talk about it, about her but not tonight.”

“We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”  That heaviness eases. 

Another kiss.  She sways against him, runs her fingers through his hair, lets her fingernails graze his scalp.  He shudders and wants more, maybe everything there is to have with her. 

But Gendry makes an appearance, arms laden with mashed potatoes and sausage balls.  He gets his instructions from Sansa and says Benjen’s coming in to check his wings in a minute.  Their time alone will be limited here in the busy kitchen tonight.

“Those cookies smell wonderful.”

“Thanks.  Chocolate chip, sugar and oatmeal raisin.”

“I’ll take all three.  I didn’t have time to cook anything but I picked up some things to add to the feast.”

A pleased grin from Sansa.  From his duffle, he pulls out mini candy canes, a couple of bottles of the Riesling she’d enjoyed at dinner the other night and little individual packs of gummy bears. 

“I was not aware they made festive little bags for gummy bears,” she comments, wryly. 

“You would be amazed at how eagerly high school students will apply themselves to my review quiz when these packs of gummy bears are given as a reward.  Rickon answered every question I threw his way correctly and was hoarding and trading gummy bears like you wouldn’t believe afterwards.”

She snickers at the image and lets him draw her into another embrace.  “I like gummy bears.  What else is in your bag there, Mr. Snow?”

She saw, he’s sure.  Her hopeful smirk stirs him, makes him wish her uncle wasn’t going to walk in any second.  “My toothbrush and some necessities for tonight if you wanted...I don’t have to stay over unless-”

“Stay over.”

“I wasn’t sure with Rickon how you or he might feel about it.”

“I want you to stay.  I don’t think Rickon will take you staying amiss.  Gendry and Arya will be staying in her old room together and he doesn’t care about that.”

“Gendry’s not Rickon’s history teacher.”

“Gendry doesn’t know how to play Dreadfort Night worth a damn either from what I’m told.”

Laughter and another kiss.  “Alright, I’ll stay.”

“Good.”

Food and drink, laughter and stories, teasing and bickering.  Family and home.  This is what the holidays can be at their brightest, the glaze-paned memories we hold on to or hope to find.  

Later that night, with everyone stuffed full of wings and cookies and various goodies, Jon sends a text and a picture to Rhae to share with Ellie: 

To my little peppermint stick thief - Ghost has made some new friends and we’re spending Christmas Eve with them.  Lady and Summer are in the picture.  We couldn’t get Shaggy to stay still long enough.  Ms. Stark says hello.  She’s going to teach me to sing the Reindeer song from your recital later and says we’ll make a video to send you.  I may have to break her phone before that happens.  Just kidding.  I love you so much and hope Santa Claus brings you everything you wished for this year -Love, Uncle Jon

Early on Christmas morning, Sansa wakes up in a house where not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse.  She stretches, sighs, pulls Jon’s arm around her a little tighter and breathes in deep.  There’s a faint hint of fresh-baked cookies and sausage balls still in the air, she’d swear, along with the lingering aroma of candles. 

They’d all stayed up late and then she’d crept back downstairs when she’d figured Rickon was finally asleep after his gaming fun had reached its limit.  Was it dumb or odd for her to take over that particular task?  She’s not their parents.  She’ll never take their place and doesn’t mean to try.

“It’s not dumb or odd or anything bad.  It’s sweet of you.  Also, it’s candy and I don’t think any of those three will say no to that.” 

Jon had helped her fill her siblings’ stockings and then helped her unwind once they were alone in her bedroom.  She rubs her hand over his, his strong hand that’s skilled at more things than playing video games.  And then there’s his mouth…

“Keep your eyes on me, honey.  Tell me what a good girl you’ve been all year.” 

A devilish grin spreads across her face and her cheeks grow warm recalling Jon’s husky voice asking, in between her quiet moans, what she might want for Christmas.  She won’t be asking for more batteries for her vibrator, that’s for certain.    

But, her amorous memories are pricked by a sliver of sadness when she thinks about the fact that this is Christmas Day and who’s not here to celebrate it.  They never will be again except in spirit, just like she’ll never know that childhood excitement of waking on this morning, bright-eyed and anxious to see what Santa brought again. 

Last year, Rickon had slept in for the first time ever on Christmas morning after staying up late playing Dragon Riders, last year’s video game obsession.  Like his siblings before him, he was well past the age of believing in Santa and had come to the conclusion that the presents and stockings would be there waiting whether he got up at 5AM or 10AM. 

When Sansa had found her parents in the kitchen sitting over their coffee alone last year, her mother had been teary and her father had looked more than a bit brittle.  “We’re fine, sweetheart.  We’ll just miss seeing that level of excitement from our babies on Christmas morning…and Rickon’s the last of you to outgrow it.”   

They had been fine and it had been a good day but their eldest daughter had still hugged them both tightly before putting on an apron to help prep for their meal later.  Sansa wishes more than anything she could hug them today, too.  Whether cancer like Jon's mother or a car crash like her parents, it's so damn unfair that they're missing so much and their children are missing them.  But since when was life ever fair?  

Wiping away a few tears, she considers waking Jon.  He’d be a lovely distraction from grief this morning or he’d understand and help her work through it, whichever she needed more.  She strokes his hand a little more thoughtfully.  Will he be here beside her next Christmas, too?  She hopes so.  If the fates allow and all.  He makes her happy and she wants to make him happy.  Let there be more joy in their world this coming year than sorrow. 

As she’s contemplating which she wants more this particular morning, his mouth or his comfort, she realizes the early morning’s silence has been broken.  There’s a creature stirring somewhere in the house.  It had better not be Shaggy going after the tree.

She leaves Jon to rest a little longer, lets the dogs outside to pee and finds her mouse in the living room.  “Rickon?”

“Hey, you’re supposed to be sleeping still.”  He’s standing at her stocking.  His is already in his hands.  “Figured I’d get a bunch of coal.”    

“No lumps of coal for you.”  A fight at school and some power struggles over bedtime and homework aside, he’s an amazing kid brother and she’s grateful to have him here with her.  “What are you doing with my stocking?”

“Santa told me to make sure you got this.”  He smiles so sweetly and holds out a cube-shaped box wrapped in pretty paper.  “I had to get Bran to help me wrap it and Arya drove me to the store but it’s from me…to you.” 

Sometimes, there are moments that words can’t reach.  She thinks this might be one of them.  She feels so much.  Wildflowers (weeds but she won’t say that) picked for her when he was little, a few works of ‘art’ from his primary school days, sure, but Rickon’s never bought her a present before or any of them.  No one’s ever expected it from the ‘baby of the family.’  He didn’t have to either but he did.  She didn’t expect it but she appreciates that he wanted to.   

She manages to clear the lump from her throat.  “Thank you.  When may I open it?”

“Now, I guess, since they’re here.”

She looks around at his gesture.  Arya and Bran have joined them without her realizing it.  “This is too early,” Arya groans but she shuffles over to grab her stocking and take a seat anyway. 

“I didn’t think we’d really do stockings,” Bran says around a mouthful of chocolate.  “Thanks, Sansa.  This is great.”   

“Of course, we’re doing stockings.  It’s Christmas,” she replies softly while opening her gift from Santa Rickon.  The tag reads: To My Big Sister – thanks for putting up with me.  “I love putting up with you,” she tells him earnestly.   

Inside, there’s a snow globe ornament like the one of her parents which is hanging on the tree.  The picture is from last Christmas, a candid Robb had caught of Rickon hugging Sansa so tightly. 

“You nearly squeezed the breath out of me.”

“You gave me that Unlimited Play Pass to Laser Dome.”  He loved doing that.  He’s not been since February. 

“I could get you another one.”

“Maybe…if you wanted to.  Think Jon likes to play laser tag?”

His inclusion in Rickon’s plans makes her heart glow just a little brighter.  “You can ask him over breakfast.”

“Well, I figured you like Christmas and ornaments and you could always stand to have more pictures of your handsomest, most amazing brother.”  His cheeky grin as he points to himself makes her laugh.  

“Robb will cry if he doesn’t get to be the handsomest brother, Rickon,” Bran says around another mouthful of candy. This is probably true. 

Sansa ruffles Rickon’s hair though he’s nearly as tall she is now and says, “I will always love having more pictures of you, sweetheart.”

A few hours later, everyone is up and presents are being opened.  Rickon has expressed his admiration for the t-shirt Jon is wearing (apparently, it’s from another video game they both like) and Jon’s mentioned that he didn’t know they made pajamas for Dreadfort Night until Rickon opens his gift from Arya. 

“I can get you a set of those if you want,” Sansa whispers teasingly in his ear.  Those are the gaudiest pajamas she’s ever laid eyes on but Rickon seems to love them so Arya chose well.    

“That’d be great,” Jon replies.  For several seconds, she’s afraid he’s not kidding.  Then, he gives her a sly grin and whispers back, “I don’t typically wear that much to bed anyway, honey.”   

He waggles his eyebrows and she’s got to hide her blush behind her hands as Uncle Benjen wearing his Santa hat comes over to pass her another gift to open. 

“I’m sorry you don’t have any presents to open,” she tells Jon a few minutes later.  It was a little too soon and sudden to plan for that.  Next year may be different. 

He places a discarded bow on her sweater above her heart.  “You’re my present.”

“You’re like that creepy old coffee commercial, guys,” Arya huffs, playfully. 

She would overhear them and interrupt with that kind of comment.  But Sansa’s eyeroll is good-natured.  So’s the pillow she tosses at her sister’s head for good measure.    

And, Jon’s right.  They don’t need gifts bought at a store or fancy wrapping paper.  They’ve found each other this holiday season and it’s absolutely wonderful so far. 

Most of the leftovers have been consumed by noon.  Bran and Jojen are talking about raiding the Reeds’ fridge later and making Chinese for everyone.  But first, it’s time to video chat with Robb.  Bran gets the feed hooked up to the largest monitor he has (yes, he’s got too many of them) and soon Robb, Jeyne and Kitty are grinning at them all. 

The room at large shouts a greeting and Shaggy barks excitedly.  She keeps hold of Jon’s hand, wanting to introduce him when they get around to individual conversations.    

“Oh my God, you guys, she’s getting so big,” Aunt Sansa whimpers, seeing her little niece who is thirteen months old today. 

“This is not allowed.  We have been denied baby time for too long.  Hand her over at once.”

Robb laughs at Arya’s demands and then wraps an arm around Jeyne before saying, “Well, about that…”

This could easily be the worst New Year’s Eve of Rickon’s life if he chose to look at it that way.  His parents died this past year.  Their lives were torn apart.  There’s no telling what the future might hold.  Nothing’s ever going to be the same as it was. 

But the thing is, some things are the same. 

Rickon’s safe tonight.  He’s loved.  He’s in his home.  Even at fourteen, he’s wise enough to know that’s more than a lot of folks have.  He’s got his trusty canine companion snoring by his side as he rips apart the Bolton Army in his game, too.

His siblings are all here along with his sister-in-law, niece and Uncle Benjen, just like last year.  How?  Jeyne’s dad gave them money for Christmas and, since Robb had an extra day off with New Year’s, they decided to use some of it to visit.  Plus, Robb’s been quietly looking for a transfer at work that could bring him back home.  Rickon overheard him saying to Sansa on the video call Christmas Day that he hates for her to have to manage everything alone and he wants to be closer to them.  It’s not a sure thing yet but Rickon wants Robb here.  He also thinks Sansa’s been doing an incredible job without their big brother around.  He’ll have words with anyone who suggests otherwise.

“You’ve got to do what’s best for your family, Robb,” Sansa had said.

“I know but you’re my family, too.” 

They are a family.  That hasn’t changed and never will, even when they lose someone or gain others.

Like tonight, when Jon and Ghost are not only here but so are his sister and niece.  A full house to ring in the new year.  It’s chaotic and loud at times.  Rickon wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Yes, there’s been a lot of changes to absorb this past year and a lot of pain to deal with but not all of the changes have been bad.

He likes history a lot more than he used to and his sister has a new boyfriend, a total upgrade from the previous one.  Bran was apparently right about them being into each other from that first run-in at the store.  Don’t tell him that though.  He likes thinking he’s all intuitive and shit and can get big-headed about it. 

Rickon suspects they might be falling in love with each other.  Which is kind of sweet and kind of weird to think about but whatever.  I’m probably going to call him Jon at school by mistake at least once…and then a dozen times more after that just to see how he handles it.  I’m bound by my sacred office as a teenager to test boundaries.      

“Is your headset working, Jon?”

“Yeah.  Snipe that guy with the bow.”

“Got him.  You gonna use your giant on those dudes?”

“Already on it.” 

“Uncle Jon, the bad ice man!” 

“Don’t worry.  I’ve got him, Ellie.”

Yeah, here they are, two bros (they are definitely, practically, undoubtably bros) playing Dreadfort Night with their nieces watching during the New Year’s Eve Event. 

“Ha, you missed him!” Arya cackles from her seat next to Gendry.

“He’s a hard kill,” Rickon says supportively while glaring at his sister.  Yes, she regularly takes out the Night King when he appears but Jon’s doing alright. 

At least, these little girls appreciate the finer art of gaming.  Okay, Kitty’s just gnawing on her fist and babbling a lot.  And Ellie insisted Jon and Rickon both wear the party hats her and Sansa made them out of construction paper and a shit ton of glitter while they play ‘for luck.’  There’s a bit of glue dripping on Rickon’s ear at the moment.  It’s fine.  So long as there’s no video evidence.  Poor Jon and that Reindeer song on Christmas Eve.  Rickon shudders from the memory of second-hand embarrassment.      

So, yeah, this year’s holidays have been different but still bright.  Kind of like the fancy candle holder Jon bought Sansa as a late Christmas gift. 

After the little ones have been tucked in, the grownups (and Rickon’s definitely getting counted as one of those tonight – he's fourteen!) get ready to quietly countdown to the new year. 

Sansa’s got her gift filled with scented candles already.  Jon passes her a glass of wine.  Rickon gets fizzy cider.  All good.  He needs to stay sharp for gaming later anyway and he is fourteen. 

When midnight strikes, Rickon figures he may as well hit up Bran and Jojen for the next ‘round because, from the way Jon’s kissing his sister right now, he’s afraid they’re not coming up for air again anytime soon.