Please have Snow and Mistletoe
I had to escape, the city was sticky and cruel.
Maybe I should have called you first,
but I was dying to get to you ...
"Rob?" Jon paced the bus station platform, tugging his iphone from his ear to periodically hold above his head, searching desperately for a better signal.
"Snow? Hello? Are you there, man?" Robb's voice came in and out, sounding like a skipping record.
"Yes." Jon cleared his throat, his free hand reaching to massage his temples as he stuffed himself into the small corner of the station where he was able to get one bar of reception. Just barely. "Yes, I'm here, Robb. Where are you?"
"Yeah ...about that. I'm gonna be a bit late. I had a slight detour. Mother sent me to pick up Arya and her boyfriend, and we're stuck in traffic. There must've been an accident up ahead or something."
Jon sighed. This trip was a mistake —he'd known from the moment he'd asked his Staff Sergeant for holiday leave. Knew it before that, even —when one by one the Stark siblings began blowing up his phone and insisting he come home for Christmas. "You're still my brother," Robb had declared. "You were before, and you'll be long after."
And who the fuck was he kidding, anyway? He missed them —all of them, dearly. And the thought of spending another lonely holiday on base by himself, had Jon knocking on his commanding officer's door with the required paperwork before taking some time to think this all the way through. He'd never asked for leave —not once in the four years he'd been in the Corps. And although Master Sergeant Stannis had raised a quizzical brow, there were no uncomfortable questions as he stamped his approval, signed Jon's papers and sent him on his way. Merry fucking Christmas, Corporal Snow.
"Jon, just hang tight, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can." Robb's voice blaring in his ear pulled him from his wandering thoughts, as Jon stepped outside and grimaced against the cold winds. So many years spent in the hot and humid south was making him soft.
"No," Jon shook his head, absentmindedly rubbing at his temples once more, and adjusting his duffle bag more securely on his shoulder. "I'll take a cab or something. See you there."
I was dreaming while I drove the long straight road ahead ...
Jon shifted uncomfortably in the backseat of the yellow cab, as it made the left that took them to the outskirts of Winter Town. It had been such a long time since he'd seen this place, but somehow it managed to look exactly the same as the day he'd left. He supposed that was comforting in a way —the world moving on, but his home remaining unchanged. Honestly, he'd take comfort wherever he could find it ...
He leaned his head against the cold glass of the cab's window and watched the streetlights pass by in a blur. Would she be there? She was family too, after all —so why wouldn't she be? Did she know he was coming? Did she mind? Jon supposed it was entirely too late to be worrying about these things as the cab hung a left onto Winterfell Lane. But worry he did, as they finally pulled up in front of the Stark residence, and despite the soft intentional welcoming glow of the electric candles setting in every window, Jon felt anything but.
Shaking off his unease, he thanked the driver, slipping him his fare and a generous tip, nodding his head to the usual praise and the thanks he received for "serving" whenever he left base in any type of uniform. Stepping out of the car, Jon adjusted his cover and smoothed the imaginary wrinkles out of his dress blues, as he slung his duffel over his shoulder and kept his eyes straight ahead, making his way up the narrow shoveled path.
He paused only a moment, drawing a deep, calming breath into his lungs, before lifting his hand and rapping his knuckles against the front door. Oohrah. He was here ...half the battle had been won.
The door swung open, deflating Jon's lungs instantly, as he stared into the very face that had haunted his dreams every night for the last four years. The blue eyes that had once looked upon him with such warmth and love widened in surprised, but didn't regard him with cool indifference, as he'd expected.
So, there was that.
"Hello Sansa," Jon dipped his head, his gaze sweeping over her appreciatively, as he greeted her politely. She was even more lovely than he remembered, if that was possible —possessing the beauty that could bring a grown man to his knees. And he could attest to that personally.
"Jon," her voice was a breathy whisper that barely made it to his ears, as she glanced nervously behind her, then quickly stepped out onto the stoop and pulled the door closed behind her.