HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
DECEMBER 24TH, 1953 — in which Daisy and the kids head up to Philadelphia to celebrate Christmas with the Winters family, sans Ron, who couldn’t get away from Fort Bragg to celebrate the holiday.
WARNINGS: Nothing, except it gets suggestive at the end — but not extremely explicit. Calling Ron by his rank has consequences idk..
TAGS: @brassknucklespeirs who asked for the Christmas Special, AAAND @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @galaxialuz — some sweet DaisRon winter feels for this Christmas <3
“Oh, Dais, would you pass me that? Thank you.” Daisy grabs one of the pretty ceramic bowls, sliding it over the counter to Ginny, who takes it with a smile. Outside, she can hear their boys letting out “battle cries” as they try to knock Dick into the snow. Inside, Laura lays out on the floor, the two year old all tuckered out from playing all morning.
“Careful, I think Robbie might kill your husband,” Daisy snickers, watching through the window as her son latches onto Dick’s calf, fresh powder pluming around him with every step the man takes.
“Just like his dad,” Ginny responds with a bit of a chuckle, before going back to dumping spices into the ceramic bowl. She gives Daisy a glance. “How is Ron doing, by the way?”
Daisy’s smile becomes a little more sullen, glancing down at the countertop for a moment.
“Mad as all hell,” Daisy admits. “He kept apologizing on the phone, I told him to stop worrying about it.”
“I mean, if Dick pulled out a sexy red velvet number last Christmas for me to unwrap I’d be pretty upset to miss out too.” Daisy lightly slaps her friend’s arm, looking back at her daughter as Ginny continues to giggle to herself. Her own face flared up at the memory. It was, for all purposes, Rita’s idea — an early parcel last Christmas that had a little red dress that hardly covered anything, adored with pretty white fur at the top and bottom, and around the cuffs. She’d given Rita an earful about it, her face flushed but… still tried it on. Just to see.
Needless to say the festivities didn’t really stop after they put the kids to bed.
“He calls every night to talk to the kids. Tries to anyway.” Daisy goes to grab the eggs from Ginny’s fridge, and continues to observe as she makes her attempt at gingerbread cookies so the boys could decorate them.
“Are you mad?” Ginny asks with a raised brow.
“At his job? Yes. At him? No.” Daisy’s reply is immediate. They knew what they were getting into when they married — knew they’d be moving around a lot, that his work would take him away from her for extended periods of time. She’d been especially upset when he was deployed to Korea, but even then, they made it work. Now he was at Fort Bragg, she and the kids lived in Tennessee, and they still did their best to make it work.
A testament to that fact was that this is only the second time Ron ever missed a Christmas. He’d been adamant that Daisy still went up to Pennsylvania with the kids, to stay with Dick and Ginny and celebrate anyway, so at least she wasn’t doing the whole “Santa” thing by herself this year.
“You’re a lot stronger than I am, I’ll give you that.”
“He’s not dead Gin, he’s just working.”
“I know I just… well, how’s Robbie taking it?”
Daisy hums in thought, taking half of the dough to cut into little gingerbread men.
The first time Robbie could remember seeing Ron in uniform, he squealed in delight, begging Ron to let him wear his hat (and he did, marching around their living room and demanding that his father give him twenty push ups, which he did with the little boy on his back). Now that he was in kindergarten he liked to tell everyone Ron was a superhero and that he “punched bad guys in the face” for a job. When Robbie asked Ron why he wouldn’t be home — they told him he had to train future superheroes.
He took it well enough, and Ron calling so frequently seemed to help.
“I don’t think he gets it entirely just yet, we’ve been… explaining bit-by-bit what Daddy actually does.” Daisy admits with a bit of a shrug, twisting her silver wedding band for a few moments. Outside, she can hear Robbie holler, and next to her Ginny snickers.
“You sure Ron hasn’t been teaching him combat maneuvers in his free time? He nearly took out Dick’s ankles.”
“Yeah, he actually came out practicing his Foy run,” Daisy remarks sarcastically, and Ginny snorts at that, rolling her eyes.
“Have you met his mother? With all that crazy in him I wouldn’t doubt it.”
Daisy looks up for a moment, able to pinpoint her son’s bright red cap. Little Alan hangs off of his father’s shoulders with a toothy grin, and Dick picks Robbie up by the pits to lift him high in the air. He shrieks excitedly, kicking and squirming in Dick’s hold. She then looks at Ginny, who’s resting her chin on her palm to watch the man with a distant sort of smile. She looks down, and gently pokes her friend’s tummy.
“So do you think it’s gonna be a boy or a girl?” she asks. Ginny turns to look at Daisy again, rolling her eyes.
“Dick wants a girl since Al’s such a momma’s boy. I think it’s gonna be another boy, but what do I know? I’m just the one carrying it.”
“Careful, keep talking so sweetly and someone might think you like your husband.”
“Yeah, just don’t tell him that, it's supposed to be a secret.” Ginny responds with equal sarcasm, and Daisy laughs.
It’s then that they hear another shriek, but not the shrill sound of laughter, and a ‘Daddy!’ Daisy peers out the window and watches Robbie take off down the lawn, with Dick hot on his heels, Alan in his arms, towards—
“No way,” Daisy whispers, and Ginny practically pushes her to get her shoes on, scooping Laura into her arms as Daisy takes off out the door after the three men.
By the time she reaches the lawn, she’s already a bit misty-eyed.
Ron presses kisses to Robbie’s cheek, his hat lopsided on their son’s head. Robbie’s smiling from ear-to-ear, dimples prominent, prattling all about what they’ve done in the three days they’ve been in Philly — as if he didn’t tell Ron about all these things on the phone. His eyes find hers and he chuckles, walking forward with their son in his arms.
“I thought…” she whispers, her voice trembling.
“So did I, managed to pull a few strings. The people on base like me,” he leans down, kissing her sweetly and she can’t stop smiling. He bumps their noses as he pulls away. “Gonna catch a cold, out here in that sweater.” Ron warns. Daisy just smiles a little wider.
“I’ve got you here to keep me warm, don’t I?” As Ginny passes her their daughter and she reaches out to grab at Ron’s nose, he smiles wider.
“That you do.”
Ron can’t bake without the supervision of at least half of Daisy’s side of the family — but decorating cookies with Dick and the kids works just as well, Laura perched on his lap and grabbing fistfuls of candy. He keeps a watchful eye, ensuring it doesn’t all go into her mouth, wipes Robbie’s face of white frosting and all the while Daisy can’t stop smiling, pressing kisses to the top of his head and muttering quiet “I love you”s and “I miss you”s in his ear, which he returns.
They get the kids to bed eventually, all tuckered out from the day’s events and Ron’s surprise visit. Alan and Robbie share Al’s bed, and Laura has been using Al’s old toddler bed. After that, the four of them set up all the presents under the glittering tree in the living room, share the four gingerbread cookies laid out, and stay up for a little while longer until Daisy and Ron retreat to the guest bedroom.
Daisy keeps running her thumbs over Ron’s face, her cheeks hurt from smiling as she gazes down at him.
“So, remind me, when did you leave?”
“Three in the morning from Kentucky,” he responds simply, and her brows furrow for a moment. “I slept on the train, sweetness, don’t yell at me.”
“I can’t yell at you, the kids are sleeping.”
“You’d find a way,” he retorts, and she can’t help but smile, tucking her face into the crook of his neck for a moment. “Anyways, got on the train from Fort Bragg, we stopped in Maryland. That was when I called you.”
“That explains all the noise in the back,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his neck, his jaw, and then his cheek, enjoying the small, shuddering breath he takes, and the way his fingers dig into her hips a little tighter. “But I’m… glad you made it. Think one more day here and Robbie might’ve broken Dick’s leg.” Ron chuckles, a low noise rumbling through his chest and Daisy grins a little wider.
“That’s your son, Dais.” He insists with a slight hum to his voice, hands slipping under her shirt to rub circles into her hip bones, she shakes her head.
“He’s at least 50% you. I’d argue maybe even 60% since he’s got your eyes. Takes two to make a baby.” Ron’s grin turns somewhat wolfish as he looks her over, hands moving to press into her back.
“Does, doesn’t it?” he mutters, trailing off for a moment. “We’ve gotten pretty good at that. Rearing kids.” Daisy can’t help but giggle as Ron leans forward to press a few kisses to the column of her throat.
“You trying to raise an Army or something?” she mutters, letting out a quiet gasp when he nips a certain spot on her neck.
“Well I think they have a mighty fine CO, Lieutenant Speirs,” he mutters, and she can feel his grin against her neck. Daisy laughs again, carding her fingers through his hair.
“I’d have to agree, Major Speirs.” In time with the use of his rank, she gives a gentle tug to the hair at the base of his neck. Ron pulls his face from her throat to look at her with eyes blown wide, lips parted. All Daisy does is smile at him, and shift a little in his lap.
Even when Ron leans forward to press his lips to hers again in a heated kiss, and flip them over so he’s on top of her, she can’t stop the laugh that bubbles from her throat. Ron reaches for her hands and pins them above her head, pulling away for a moment to stare down at her — hair fanned across the mattress, eyes sparkly as she stares up at him. He takes a look over at the clock on the dresser, then back to her.
“Merry Christmas, Dais,” he murmurs. Wrapping her legs around his waist a little tighter, she nods.
“Merry Christmas, Ron,” and despite the hand pinning down her wrists, she reaches up to give him a kiss that’s a little softer, and he lets her wrists go to pull her impossibly closer to him.
Welcome home.
16 notes
·
View notes