Chapter Text
Mo Dhuine: finally on my way home
Mo Dhuine: dont wait up for me i wont be in until late
Mo Dhuine: tell the weans i love them and ill see them in the morning
Mo Dhuine: tha gaol agam ort hen
While it hadn’t been a blackout mission, where Johnny was unable to communicate with you and the kids, he had still been out of the country for two months. Was it hard for you? Yes. You missed Johnny fiercely, your heart aching every time you woke up in the morning to see his side of the bed still empty. But you got through it. You worked your ass off, keeping the house running and the kids happy. Some of the other parents you knew, Blair especially, always commented about how good you had it, being a stay-at-home mother. If only they knew how much shit you truly went though.
Johnny’s absence was harder for the kids. They still didn’t understand why their father wasn’t around all the time. Now that Rowan was in school, she had begun to realize that most parents weren’t gone for months at a time. The answers you gave her weren’t clicking in the five-year-old’s brain, causing Rowan to act out more and more the longer Johnny was gone.
Tonight had been a shitshow. Fillip had an ear infection, but hated getting the eardrops in. Rowan had gotten into a fight with a kid in the year above her, still managing to knock the other girl flat on her ass. Isla had hurt her knee last week, and while she was more stubborn than Johnny, she was willing to admit that she needed help.
Needless to say, you were beyond tired. Exhaustion pulled at your bones, your entire being craving the few hours of sleep you would get before one of the kids inevitably woke you up. Fillip’s earache had been keeping him up, and Rowan had recently started having nightmares about Johnny dying out in the field.
The messages that had popped up on your phone around four this afternoon, however, had eased some of the weight on your heart. Johnny’s texting style had never changed in the years you had known him, the quickfire messages reflecting the way his brain worked. There hadn’t been anything new since then, probably since Johnny was concentrating on driving home as fast as he could. Knowing the way he drove when you and the kids weren’t with him, he would probably make it home around two or three.
Without a second thought, you started a fresh pot of coffee, knowing your mind and heart wouldn’t let you rest until Johnny was home. Though you could do the process with your eyes closed, you still pulled out the recipe card for Johnny’s mother’s shortbread, and got to work. Keeping your hands busy would not only help to whittle away the hours, but it would help to lessen some of the stress of the day.
The movie playing on the television screen was one you had seen countless times with Johnny, the familiarity of it comforting. Time ticked by as the night wore on, the sound of rain pattering against the old farmhouse a constant. You were warm and cozy lying under a knitted blanket, the fireplace chasing away the chill. In spite of the cups of coffee you had drank, the atmosphere threatened to lull you to sleep. The anticipation of seeing Johnny soon, however, kept your eyes open.
The front door opened about half past two. Instantly, you shot up, rushing to the mudroom. There stood your Johnny, mohawk slicked down with rain, dark bags under his eyes. When he saw you, his thick brows scrunched together, shoulders slumping as he dropped his duffel bag to the floor.
“Och, Hen, I told ye tha’ ye didnae have to wait up fer me,” he murmured, closing the distance between you two. “But fookin’ hell, am I glad ye did. Yer the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Without another word, Johnny leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was filled with love and desperation, his hands wrapping around you to pull you as close as possible. Your own hands moved up his chest, wrapping around his neck. Johnny still smelled like gunpowder and sweat, body covered in a layer of grime. The combination of all this and the way he was kissing you made your head spin, the two of you only parting for milliseconds to breathe.
“You didn’t shower at base?” you mumbled against his lips.
“Couldnae wait to get home to my family,” he replied in a hoarse whisper, pulling away only to press his forehead against yours. Sky blue eyes bored down into your own, as though you were the only thing that mattered in this world. “Cho mòr ’s a chaill mi thu, a ghràidh. How are ye holdin’ up? How are the barras?”
Swallowing back a fresh wave of emotion, you cupped Johnny’s face with your hands, fingers running through the short beard Johnny had started growing while gone. “Oh, Johnny. I’ve missed you so much. We all have. I’m fine, the kids are fine,” you assured him, standing on your toes to kiss the scar on his chin, where no hair grew. “I’m more concerned about you right now. What do you need first, a shower or a meal?”
A smirk pulled at Johnny’s chapped lips, his head tilting to the side. “Oh, Hen. Ye ken what I need first,” he growled, eyes shining with mirth as he leaned down to steal another kiss. Then, his body betrayed him, Johnny’s stomach growling loudly. He winced, looking sheepish. “Actually, I’ll take the scran.”
After wolfing down leftovers from the dinner you made earlier, along with half a dozen cookies, Johnny let you lead him upstairs and into the shower. It was there, in between lazy kisses and gently washing away the layer of dirt and blood on Johnny’s skin that exhaustion began to catch up with you both. Johnny’s head began to droop, his forehead pressing into your shoulder as you rinsed the last of the soap off.
As soon as his head hit the pillow, Johnny was out. For a couple of minutes, you managed to stay awake, running your fingers over his face in the darkness. Now that he was home, your heart was whole again.
When you pulled yourself out of bed the next morning, Johnny was still dead asleep. Pressing a soft kiss to his temple, you headed downstairs to start the day. The sound that was akin to a herd of horses coming down the stairs alerted you to the fact that the kids were now awake.
Rowan barely glanced at you as she swiped a cookie and headed for the living room, still sore about being grounded. Fillip, meanwhile, immediately latched on to you. He mumbled something into your apron, little arms wrapping around your legs.
“Good morning, Fili. We’ve got to put the drops in,” you informed him gently, leaning down to hoist him in your arms.
The boy pouted, pulling at his ear. “But it doesnae hurt as much, Ma. I think it’s gettin’ better,” he whined.
“That means the drops are working. If we stop now, the infection will come back. Go lie down on the couch, and then you can have breakfast.”
Once Fillip was settled, you started to work on Rowan, sitting down next to her. She didn’t acknowledge you, eyes fixated on the cartoon she had turned on. Even when you began to braid her hair, Rowan refused to look up.
“Rowan Baird MacTavish, don’t you ignore me,” you tutted, tugging on the braid you just finished. “Good morning, my beautiful, wonderful, amazing daughter. I’m so glad to see you. What do you want for breakfast?”
Rowan glowered at you, crossing her arms over her chest. “Mornin’, Ma,” she grumbled. “Donnae wan’ breakfast. I wanna go to Gram’s. She wouldnae ground me fer gettin’ into a fight.”
“Are ye kiddin’? Yer gram grounded me fer gettin’ into fights jus’ aboot every damn week.”
The sudden sound of Johnny’s voice made all three of you jump. After a second of shock, Rowan and Fillip both shot off the couch, tackling Johnny to the ground. Telling them to go easy on Johnny, who was covered in bruises and aching from his time in the field, was futile. The kids would ignore you, and Johnny would tell you it was fine. He carried one kid in each arm, giving each a kiss on the cheek.
“Hello, my wee ones. I missed both," Johnny told them, walking them over to the couch. “I swear, ye’ve both sprouted up while I was gone. How old are ye now, Ro?”
All of her earlier annoyance melted away, and Rowan giggled, resting her head against Johnny’s shoulder. “Da, I’m still five!” she exclaimed. “And Fili is still three, but he cannae count tha’ high.”
“I can so! I can count all the way to five!” Fillip argued adamantly, trying to swat his sister. “One, two, three, seven-”
Johnny let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Yer both clever little shites. How’s aboot we go an’ eat brekkie? Food makes everythin’ better.”
Sitting around the kitchen table with your family, the world finally felt right again. Even as the kids bickered over who got more syrup on their pancakes, the joy that filled your heart nearly brought you to tears. From across the table, Johnny met your eyes, the smile on his face telling you that he felt exactly the same.