Sansa checked the time. 7:15 pm. She slid the apple pie into the oven while the pizza cooled on the counter. She was singing along to Bruno Mars and cleaning the baking sheet when the lights flickered, dimmed, and went out.

Not this again.

Sansa loved her vintage walk-up apartment in Milwaukee. The building was from the 1920s, and the bathroom had subway tile and a claw-foot tub. Never mind that the "galley" kitchen was only wide enough for one person. She was in the city for the winter, finishing one of her clinics for her physical therapy degree, and she'd been charmed the minute she walked in to the one-bedroom unit.

Now, looking out the window at the sleet icing the sidewalks, she sighed. Burt's number was on a pink Post-it note on the fridge, but she knew the landlord wouldn't come out for at least a day.

Do I even have candles? That's what people use in blackouts, right? Sansa threw a grey sweatshirt on over her blue fleece pajama pants and tank top and started hunting through her drawers in the waning light. Nothing. Not even matches. The battery on her phone would run out soon.

I'm going to have to ask him.

Sansa knocked on the door of the apartment on the first floor. "Hey, I'm sorry to bother you, but the power went out, and I was wondering if you had any candles?"

Jon Snow was in a white t shirt and black jeans. He looked like he'd just woken up, but then again he almost always looked that way when they passed each other in the hallway, sorting through mail. He'd been nice enough to sign for some packages for her when she'd been out of town for Marg's wedding, and that was the extent of their relationship.

"Yeah. Come in." Jon's apartment was neat, clean, almost spartan. He opened up a gray metal box and took out four candles. Sansa spotted a flashlight and a first-aid kit. "What are you, a boy scout?"

"Ex-military."

"Oh." Sansa was at a loss. "Well, thanks very much. Good thing we have radiator heat, right?" She wasn't a total damsel in distress. She knew the radiators were gas powered.

Jon rubbed the back of his head, which did distracting things to his shirt. "They are, but the circulator needs electricity to run. Do you know if your stove has a pilot light?"

"…No?"

"You should check. Actually, it might be safer to turn off the gas to the stove."

Sansa nodded sagely. "Sure. Good idea." Marg's voice popped into her head. Don't be stubborn, Sansa, you don't know where the valve is, and he's cute. Ask for help. It won't kill you.

Jon looked at her uncertainly. "Do you need help?"

"That would be great, actually. I was going to try to bluff my way through it, but a gas leak sounds serious."

Sansa lit the candles and put them in glasses. "Please, stay and have some dinner."

"I'm fine, thanks, I should…."

Sansa raised an eyebrow at him. "Go back to your dark apartment, and not eat pizza? It's fresh, I made the dough myself."

Jon smiled. "It does smell good."

They ended up sitting on her old blue stuffed couch, the spinach and mushroom pizza between them. The sleet hitting the windows made the apartment feel almost cozy.

"Where were you in the military?" Sansa licked cheese off her fingers.

Jon seemed more relaxed and at ease with the dark and the quiet. "Afghanistan. I've been back for a few months. It was sort of like this."

"Eating pizza on a couch?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "No power. We used to read paperback books with flashlights when the generator went out. A whole lot of waiting. I read the same ones six or seven times."

"What did you read the most of?" Sansa pulled her knees up to her chin.

"Stephen King. I even got desperate and read some Danielle Steele novels."

"Wow. That is some hard-core romance right there." Sansa made a mental note to donate the rest of her paperbacks. "I guess I'll have to reschedule tonight's movie date. I was going to go over to my friend's house to watch 'Guardians of the Galaxy.'"

"I've actually seen that movie."

Sansa tilted her head. Jon didn't strike her as a Peter Quill kind of guy. "Let me guess. Groot's your favorite character."

Jon looked surprised. "How did you know?"

"One, you're both chatterboxes." Jon smirked. "Two, you both like to help people, and you don't ask for a lot of attention. Three –"

The room suddenly roared back to life. Sansa heard the lights click on. "Uptown Funk" blasted through her speakers. Jon flinched as she turned the volume down on her Chromecast. Sansa saw Jon's chest rise and fall. "Sorry. Noises do that to me sometimes," Jon muttered.

"You must hate the guy in apartment 312."

"I could definitely live without the drumming."

They cleaned up the pizza and Jon helped her tidy up the kitchen. Sansa re-started the pie in the oven. "My family's huge. I have to kick off cooking for Thanksgiving at the beginning of November or I'll never get through it. Thanks again for your help, Jon."

"It was no trouble." Jon had his hand on the doorknob. "Goodnight, Sansa."

Sansa was already planning the pizza she'd talk him into sharing next week. "Good night, tree man."

2 months later

Jon 5:46 pm: Can I bug you for a minute?

Sansa zipped her boots over her skinny jeans. She had some more cleaning to do before Jon's friends came by for a belated Thanksgiving, but Jon was cooking, and it looked like he needed help.

"Jon? Hello?"

Sansa heard clanging and a variety of swear words from the kitchen of her downstairs neighbor. Jon looked dazed, surrounded by a haze of smoke, an oven mitt on his hand. She smelled scorched turkey. The fire alarm wailed.

"Jon!" The alarm was too high for her to reach. He switched it off.

Sansa uncovered her ears. "What happened?"

"I don't know, I have the recipe here, I thought it would be done right now but I'm running out of time and it's…"

Sansa touched the bird. "Half-burnt and half frozen."

Jon ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wide. He hadn't told her much about his childhood, but she knew his parents had died when he was young, and he'd grown up with an aunt who didn't treat him well. As he stood in front of the oven, lost, she saw a glimpse of the scared boy he must have been.

"Jon, they're your friends, they won't care." Jon's army friends were stopping by in a few hours. Sansa wasn't quite sure how they'd all squeeze into her apartment, but she figured they'd make do. Besides, she was excited to meet people who might give her a little more insight into Jon.

He sighed. "I wanted you to think I was a good cook."

"I already know you aren't, Jon. Remember when you tried to make roasted garlic pizza?" Jon had been shy and sweet when he'd offered to bring the pizza to their once-a-week get-together. He'd come over every Tuesday since they'd gotten to know each other during the blackout two months ago. The smell of burnt garlic had permeated her small living room, but they'd laughed about it, and ordered out.

Time for the same approach now. "We're going to get fried chicken, and they're going to love it. I've heard your stories about army food. They'll be blown away."

In the end, Sam, Edd, Pyp, Jon and Sansa sat on the floor in Sansa's apartment. She'd passed out beers, and seen Jon glance at her in surprise when she drank straight from the bottle. She giggled as Edd told a funny story about how Jon had pouted when he had to cut his hair in basic training. "All that lustrous black hair on the ground. I swear I saw tears in his eyes." Jon mumbled something about getting more napkins and headed downstairs to grab some.

"So, Sansa, what is Thanksgiving like at your house?" Sam seemed like the most accomplished conversationalist of the group.

Sansa told him about the Stark family "gratitude" tradition as Jon joined them again. "We had a tradition in my family, we'd write what we were grateful for on slips of paper and pick them out of a bowl. We'd take turns reading them. and try to guess whose was whose." She smiled at the memory of Bran reading Robb's slip out loud - he'd been grateful that Jeyne agreed to marry him. Her mother had shrieked and hugged Robb and Jeyne tight.

"Sounds like you all were close." Pyp fiddled with the label on his beer bottle. She had been lucky, growing up, she realized, having her family under one roof.

After they'd finished eating, Jon's friends insisted on cleaning up. Sansa overheard a snatch of conversation as Jon and Sam washed dishes in the galley kitchen. "You two, you know, a thing?" Sam asked casually as he dried a glass.

Jon's ears turned red. "She's my neighbor."

"Yes, I gathered, you living in the same building and all. I think she might like you, Jon." Sansa turned a bit red herself. Was she that obvious about it?

Jon stacked plates in the cabinet. "You don't know that."

"Seeing as I'm not a mind-reader, no, I don't. But you talk, and smile, when she's around, and that's practically a world record for you. You know, we were worried you actually couldn't smile around girls. That maybe your muscles didn't work right, or something."

"Shut up, Sam." Jon's voice was warm.

Jon had one thing left to do that night, and he knew it would take guts. But Sam had insisted. He took a deep breath and made his way down to the lobby. Sam, you'd better be right about this, he thought. Task finished, he turned off the light.

Jon woke up the next morning to find a neatly folded piece of paper under his door.

+ I'm grateful for you, Jon. I'm glad you're my neighbor and I'm glad we're becoming friends. - Sansa

A warm feeling spread through his chest. He smiled to himself and creased the corners of the page. He knew Sansa would read the message he'd finally screwed up the courage to put in her mailbox.

Sansa woke to snow drifting down from the sky. She wrapped herself in her fluffy blue robe and padded downstairs to get the mail. She was puzzled by the envelope with no address, but smiled when she read the letter.

+ I'm grateful for you, Sansa. You're funny and kind and you saved Thanksgiving dinner and my mates like you. Thanks for telling me about your family. I hope we can be friends. - Jon