Disclaimer: I do not own anything familiar. Yes, this is a holiday fic after the holidays. Whoops.

I'm drawing inspiration for this world from the books, the show, and my own desires, so while it's set in a more modern day universe, it's not completely set in our time, their country, etc. If there's any confusion I apologize, but I hope it's written clearly enough for you to get the gist as it gets updated.

I'm not sure how mature I'll be taking this story, but I wanted to be safe. I will add tags and warnings as they are needed. Please let me know if there's anything you feel I should tag.

Arya I

It had been Sansa's idea, told first to Jon, then to Robb, then to the rest of their siblings in a group call, Sansa's eyes bright for the first time in months (years possibly, but Arya didn't know if they were bright in the time between sweet memories and the present, doesn't know much of her sister's story at all, truth be told), with Jon laughing and squeezing past her red hair in the tiny screen, with Robb's gaunt face getting more and more animated as they explained the details.

"Jon and I can go first, get it cleaned up and ready so that by the time Robb's leave comes up, he can just pick up the other boys and join us. And Bran's school lets out just a week before that, so there's not a conflict there. And provided there's not an issue with the paperwork, the timing is just right. It'll be perfect!"

Arya had listened silently, chiming in only when directly commented to. At the time, listening to the joy in her sister's voice and the big plans, to the hope in her little brothers' eyes and chatter, she had felt herself smile, and after their goodbyes, Robb's last echo of "This will be perfect" stayed with her long after they had hung up.

The light of her laptop was too harsh against her eyes, so she shut it, letting the darkness settle in her small studio apartment. She shifted, looking out the window. The rain obscured the harsh city lighting, small streaks of the water transforming streetlights and neon signs into something nearing magical.

Closing her eyes, Arya sifted through her thoughts. Trying to think about it made her stomach knot up more, and a hand jerkily ran through her shoulder length hair as she stood and gathered her keys and bag, leaving the silent apartment behind her.

Sansa was excited. Robb was excited. Jon was excited, Bran was excited, Rickon was EXCITED.

So why wasn't she?

Just under an hour later, she let herself into a slightly larger, just as dark apartment across town. Not bothering to turn the lights on, she locked the door behind her and passed through the small living room and into the single bedroom, shedding her wet jacket, shoes and socks before she dropped onto the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. Snuggling into the pillow, Arya closed her eyes.

The lamp was on.

Groggily, Arya opened her eyes. The small alarm clock near the bed showed that it was just past three in the morning. It was still raining outside, just as steady but noticeably louder than it hard been earlier. She pulled the blanket laying over her closer before she swung her feet down and stood, rubbing her eyes with one small fist. Yawning, she padded over to the figure in front of the lamp, sitting on a stool at his desk, pencil moving quickly over a notebook.

Reaching him, she lay her head against the top of his spine, hands wrapping around his waist. "I'm glad you were able to get back sooner than you thought." Her words were quiet, but she knew he heard them over the sound of the rain and the scritch scratch of the pencil. Arya closed her eyes again, letting the noises bring her the peace she'd wanted. She didn't care that he didn't stop writing; it was three am and he was busy. She pressed a kiss against his spine in thanks for the blanket-her favorite one for rainy days-that she held, and could almost see the small smile on his face. The hand not holding the pencil briefly touched hers as she pressed closer to him, his thumb smoothing over hers tenderly before his focus when back to his work.

It wasn't too much longer when he set the pencil down, and she drowsily loosened her grip for him to turn to her, stepping between his legs to give him a proper hug. He kissed the top of her hair, hands sliding behind her back, mirroring her actions as she pressed a kiss to his chest.

"What's wrong, Arya?" His voice was as clear and quiet as always, but she wasn't even surprised that he had been able to notice she had been upset.

"I'll tell you when we wake up. Promise." She yawned, and tangled their fingers, tugging him to the bed. He followed, dutifully, and only minutes later they lay curled together, sleeping through the rain.

Sansa I

She couldn't sleep. Her mind was still whirling with possibilities. And as those possibilities grew and mutated in her brain, the growing pile of scrap paper-the first papers she could find as the idea outgrew her head-turned into lists: groceries and to do and brainstorm maps and timelines.

The stars faded before Sansa did, finally sitting down to find a new paper and letting her eyes not open until the sun was well in the sky.

Stretching, the redhead changed her clothes and left her room. There was a note on the small fridge in Ygritte's kitchen: "Went to pick up groceries, will be back around 2". It was in Jon's handwriting, and she felt a fierce rush of affection for her cousin. After everything they had been through, he made sure to go the extra step to make sure nothing would worry her. She fingered the note thoughtfully and then grabbed a banana from the counter and munched on it as she went back to her room.

Eyeing the pile of papers, Sansa again felt the rush of excitement that had been building all week. Everything was coming together.

The courts had pushed through the red tape. It had taken way too long, the system was inefficient and repetitive, but after months of diligence, she and Jon (and Robb, despite his difficulties being stationed miles away) had finally gotten their home back.

Winterfell, Sansa thought, heart beating fast. And Robb would be home, soon, and then Rickon could get out of that damn system, and Bran wouldn't have to rely on the school, she would see Arya again for the first time since a bullet changed their lives and they could finally, finally, stop being afraid and hurt and heal.

Maybe she was already healing. The rage hadn't threatened to drown her, the anger wasn't choking her right now, it had been kept down by the sheer possibility of going home in time for the holidays.

From the moment the idea had surfaced, Sansa hadn't had to consciously hide her anger. And she was sure it wasn't a moment too soon. Sometimes, Ygritte would stare at her a few seconds too long, and Sansa knew that if anyone would piece together the story she wouldn't tell, it was the wild woman who had fallen in love with her cousin. Even Jon, who was oblivious to undercurrents, was starting to look at her with worry, more worry than when she had finally found him, half starved and bruised and exhausted.

Ygritte's home was small, a two bedroom house in the country, the nearest neighbor a mile away, bordering a state park. Despite Brienne Tarth and Podrick only staying a few days in the beginning, the house had been cramped and the inhabitants tripping over each other every day. Some part of Sansa was comforted by the influx of people, but the larger part of her was stressed, anxious over the touching and noise and sheer comfort.

It would be good to get home, to get to Winterfell, where there would be room for them to all gather, where there would be no one to hear her scream, where she could release her anger in private, where she could cry in private and not worry about Jon or Ygritte hearing her.

Winterfell was home, and Sansa wanted to be home, where she could be safe.

Looking at her lists, Sansa grinned and grabbed her notebook. It was time to plan.