Carley

John Brady:

Brady and Pregnancy Headcanons

Clair de Lune Baby Drabble

John Brady Dilf Drabble

JB w/a girlfriend who gets turned on by his strict attitude

Fights with John Brady + Makeups

Brady with a handsy lady

Brady dating a woman on base

Brady when he's injured

Brady with a woman easily turned on

Brady being involved in your hobbies

Jealous Brady

Brady w/a secret admirer

The Snow Stork

The Garden Stork

Car Sex With Brady

Domestic John Brady

John Brady & Serious Arguments

Brady Being Turned On by Angry S/O

How John Brady asks you to be his girl

Brady when his S/O gets injured

Brady and a religiously interested S/O

Going Dancing With John Brady

Brady and an out of wedlock pregnancy

Brady’s first time

When You Make the first Move

John Brady & Brat Taming

Brady w/DeMarco's Sister

Brady and a Breeding Kink

Gale Cleven:

Pregnancy and Domestic Headcanons with Gale

Kitchen Sex w/Gale

Being Gale's first

Domestic Gale Cleven

Gale Cleven & Spankings

Bucky Egan:

Bucky coming home to you wearing his jacket

Bucky being involved in your hobbies

Bucky w/an anxious SO

Bucky and a reader with a panic attack

Bucky and a physically insecure reader

Domestic Bucky Headcanons

Bucky as a brat tamer

Robert Rosenthal:

Rosie is Clearly Wendy Material

Rosie & Brat Taming

Rosie & Kisses/Affection

Rosie and a weekend away

Rosie and teasing

Being Rosie’s First

Domestic Rosie

Rosie and his authority kink

Rosie and massages

Rosie Being Teased

Rosie with a tipsy/giggly/touchy girl

Rosie's handsy lady

Rosie When He's Sick

Rosie & A Jazz Club Singer

Rosie & A English Girl

Rosie & Cuddling

Rosie after a long day

Rosie and a rough day

Ken Lemmons:

Ken Lemmons and his wife

Ken Lemmons and an S/O w/high libido

Jack Kidd:

General Relationship Headcanons

Everett Blakely:

General Relationship Headcanons

James Douglass:

General Relationship Headcanons

Douglass & Blakely:

Throuple Headcanons

Hambone Hamilton:

General Relationship Headcanons

Hambone and Dirty Talk

Harry Crosby:

General Relationship Headcanons

Bubbles:

General Headcanons

Charles Cruikshank:

General Headcanons

Curt Biddick:

Falling in Love With a Nurse

General MOTA Headcanons:

MOTA Men W/a Single Mom

MOTA men + hobbies

MOTA men w/ a shy and anxious S/O

MOTA Men when their S/O tries a new style

MOTA Men when their S/O tries a new style part 2

MOTA Men & The RAF Pilot Incident

MOTA Men & Spicy Letters

MOTA Men As Dads

Married Life W/Lemmons & Hambone

MOTA Men & Pregnancy

MOTA Men & Infertility

MOTA Men & Infertility Part 2

MOTA Men Taking Care of You When You're Sick

MOTA Men Taking Care of You When You're Sick Part 2

MOTA Men When Their S/O Has A Tattoo

MOTA Men w/a tomboy S/O

MOTA Headcanons in the Modern Age

MOTA Men w/Relationship Issues

MOTA Men w/A Girl Who Lost Her Eye

MOTA Men on the day of their child's birth

Chapter Text

In Evie’s first few days as a therapist, her schedule had been flooded with dozens of men waiting to talk to a proper therapist about what they had seen and what they had experienced.  As a whole, Evie realized rather quickly that there was a larger amount of men from the Pacific theater that desired her services rather than men in Europe. 

She attributed it to the fact that many men that had been in Europe probably didn’t want a dame with a familiar accent talking to them about their feelings—it was probably too close to the voices they had heard in civilian areas of the countries they had retaken and liberated. 

Her days were jam-packed and soon, there was a waiting list for men to meet with her.  Evie had gone over it a few times, wondering how she could possibly extend her hours to meet their needs.  The fact of the matter was that there was a greater need than there was people to fill the role that was needed.  

And that meant people suffering in silence. 

Still, Evie met with the men and did her best.  Rather quickly, she came to the conclusion that getting these men outside of their rooms, outside of bars, and outside of their beds, was the most important thing.  

They just needed some other people.  

Simple as that.  

But, Evie couldn’t deny that the thought of being around other people seemed just as daunting to her as it probably seemed to these men.  The only difference is that for these men, there was a high probability of any man that they came across in their lives being a former soldier and someone who had served during the war.  

Such was the nature of war. 

Whereas, for Evie?  Her role had been reduced down to secretary.  And as much as she could smile and pretend like she had been a civilized secretary, that hadn’t been what she had done at all.  She hadn’t even been allowed to write a single report from any of her group missions.  The only reports in the entire war that she had written had gone straight to Churchill himself—and then her name had been redacted.  No less than seven times. 

But still, group-therapy wasn’t something that Evie felt would be necessarily productive.  So she had recommended that the men get dogs, at least, if they weren’t married.  And even if they were, she still suggested it. 

Something about a dog being man’s best friend and being a comforting companion capable of pulling people out of panic when they needed it.  

Evie had no interest in getting a dog herself.  Dogs were slobbery and gross and loud and shed fur.  They caught all sorts of nasty little creatures and howled when there were loud sounds and needed constant care.  No, it would be like having a baby.  And Evie did not want to have a baby.  Couldn’t bear the thought. 

But then, as she sat across the room from a man explaining that the dog-park that was nearest to him wasn’t being kept up very well, Evie just felt her heart sink.  How could she in good faith recommend to men that they get a dog and take the dog to a dog park and be outside in the sunshine if the parks themselves were not in any good conditions to promote a healthy and organized mindset? 

So here she was. 

Evie Hughes had no business being in a dog-park.  None.  Absolutely none.  The entire thing was more than a little asinine in her opinion.  But so was the fact that multiple veterans had mentioned the same thing about the dog park.  It wasn’t being upkept very well and if she was damn well going to recommend to her veterans that they get a dog and go to the dog park to get outside, then she was going to ensure the very dog park that they were being referred to was in proper condition. 

Even if that meant being a bit of a public menace to city officials about cleaning up the parks.  

She was not, admittedly, dressed for the dog-park.  No, she was in a red sun-hat, wearing her red lipstick, large red sunglasses, and a light blue dress, accompanied by her delicate red sandals that just kept sinking into the dirt.  

Taking another step and sinking, Evie scowled.  “Damn this bloody dirt,” she murmured to herself.  Taking off her sunglasses for a moment, Evie determined that this was a decent enough spot to make her observations.  She surveyed the broken tree-branches, multitude of weeds, and the fact that someone had very unceremoniously dumped garbage (some of which looked suspiciously like human fecal matter, don’t ask how she knew what that looked like) on the grass.  

Evie tutted.  No, this definitely wouldn’t do. 

Before she could so much as write any of this down with a pen and take it to the city to demand maintenance at the park (she had brought a pen and paper with her), an abrupt and brutish dog had run up to her and was starting to hump itself against her leg. 

Wet.  Slimy.  Gross.  Hot breath.  Disgusting. 

“Oh that’s quite rude.  Shoo!” Evie hissed, giving a stern look at the dog. 

In response, the dog whined.  He batted his big eyes at her, backing up slightly.  He was a beautiful dog, with a husky-sort of look to him, and pristine white fur with splashes of grey near his ears and down his back.  Her parents hadn’t been sentimental about dogs, but they had owned hunting hounds—not quite as cute as this dog.  

Or as good at begging. 

“No, I mean it,” Evie retorted in a firm tone.  She felt as though she were a stern schoolmistress or something.  “Go on.” 

“Meatball!” 

Ah, the owner. 

Evie glanced up, finding a decently attractive man hurrying towards them.  He had dark hair, sported a leather jacket, and had aviators on.  Based off of the stature alone and that peacockish jacket, she knew two things off of the bat: 1, he was a pilot.  All pilots had the same slouching energy and wore those preening jackets.  But the second?  That posture was slightly sadder than most pilots that she had seen.  So her only inference was that he had been a Prisoner of War. 

She gave a slight grimacing smile.  “This is your dog?” Evie questioned, glancing down at the dog.  It seemed to come off as more accusatory than she meant, and she watched a flush go up the man’s neck. 

“I’m sorry about him, he’s been sniffin’ everything since we got back.” 

She gave a nod.  “It’s quite alright,” Evie reassured him.  “Meatball, was it?” 

“Yeah, that’s right.” 

“Well Meatball and I were just getting acquainted.  He’s rather….enthusiastic, you know,” she stated in a somewhat dry tone.  

“My apologies, ma’am.  I blame the shmucks that watched him for a year and a half.” 

“Fair enough.  I know a great deal of shmucks.  Men in the military tend to give bad habits to dogs.” 

“English?” 

“That obvious?” She asked, bringing her tone intentionally a pitch higher and flattening her syllables to sound American.  

“With the heels and the fancy hat and accent?  And the stern look on your face?  In the dog-park no less?  Yes, ma’am.” 

Evie supposed that was fair.  “I’m not a ma’am.  What I am is an Evie,” she stated, extending her hand. 

“DeMarco—Benny, I mean,” he amended, taking her hand and shaking it warmly.  

Slight tremors, warm and clammy palms—he was nervous.  

She hoped to goodness that she was not the first proper lady that this man had encountered since coming home to the states.  Paddy had joked that she could chew up and spit up any man and put the fear of God into them.  Probably true. 

And to be fair, she DID bite. 

“You come here often?” DeMarco questioned, glancing around the park anxiously. 

“To a veteran dog park?  In my gloves and heels?  No, admittedly.  I was just taking a look at some things that need to be tidied up so that the city can see to it.  You do believe in petitioning the government to better things, I believe I should take initiative like you Americans,” she explained, tapping on her purse.  

He surveyed her for a second.  “Oh.  That’s…uh…that’s nice of you.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she stated, taking a step to leave.  

“Hey, wait—” DeMarco breathed out, running a hand awkwardly through his hair. “I mean—have you been in New York long?” 

“No, I can’t say that I have.  Only a few days.” 

“So you haven’t been to Coney Island yet?” 

At that, she paused, shifting on her weight and appraising him.  “I haven’t, no,” she replied in a less rigid tone. 

“If you don’t have plans, would you wanna go?” 

“This very moment?” She asked with wide eyes. 

“I mean—yeah, sure,” DeMarco said, suddenly sounding much more sure of himself.  

Chapter Text

Christmas had never really been a happy affair in the Allen Household.  For one thing, gifts had never really been exchanged from Dalton to the children, and neither had Santa Clause ever visited the home a single time.  Winnie remembered one year where she had scrimped and saved to get candy for all of her brothers for that Christmas and when Dalton had discovered the candy, he had sold it for a pack of cigarettes. 

Winnie had only been nine at the time and had bawled like a baby, almost as loud as Charlie wailed through the night. 

So Christmas Eve consistently brought an odd sense of melancholy to Winnie that she could neither help nor begin to describe.  Still, the house was well-lit, warm, full of food and happy people, and Alex and Poppy had seen to ensure that there were presents for everyone. 

Ron, he was an entirely different story.  The fact of the matter was that he was actually quite a festive person, and it seemed that both Alex and Poppy had brought out a sort of boyishness in him that Winnie had rarely seen.  It had brought a grin to her face, watching him get excited over something as simple as eggnog and cocoa. 

When Winnie snuggled into bed that evening, she listened to the steady beat of his heart.  It was better than any Christmas carol or hymn that she had ever heard.  It was also the one thing in the world that could bring her back to herself this quickly. 

“You’re a furnace,” she mumbled, holding onto him. 

“You’re cold.” 

“I’m always cold.” 

He pressed a kiss to the top of her hair and pulled her more over him.  “You’ve been…well, I don’t want to use the word clingy.” 

“Good, I’m not clingy.” 

“Physically affectionate?” 

“That will suffice for description, yes.” 

“Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” he murmured into her hair, gently stroking through it.  

Winnie was silent for a really long time.  How to tell him what was going through her head?  That she could taste the ash and debris from being trapped under that building.  That she could viscerally feel the life leaving her and blood soaking her legs.  That Toccoa’s breathing was one of the few things in the room that kept her from bolting and crying in the tub like a basketcase.  

That if she closed her eyes long enough, she saw her life flash before her eyes and saw him in that snow, a guardian angel telling her that she was close to Easy Company.  That if she closed her eyes long enough, she saw what happened to Muck and Penkala and the mess it had left afterwards. 

That if she kept going, she could feel the tendons in Bill’s leg and could feel Liebgott holding his hands over her head, shielding her from the worst of it—

“Honey?” 

Winnie realized that she hadn’t spoken any of that aloud.  That it was all just in her head, and she just swallowed dryly, eyes looking up at the ceiling. 

“I didn’t know.  Last year.  That it happened on Christmas.” 

His hand didn’t stop gently stroking through her hair, but the soft and almost imperceptible breath that he let out said it all.  “You found out after?” 

“Yeah,” she murmured.  “The days all just blurred together.  I thought…well, I thought that I was a dead woman walking.  And I just kept…begging God…to let me live.  Because I hadn’t really lived yet.” 

“You made it through,” he murmured gently into her ear.  

“I did,” she agreed softly.  “I just didn’t—I didn’t think I’d feel this way.  Then again, I didn’t think I’d make it to this Christmas, so I don’t know that anything could have prepared me for feeling like…like I really lost something.  Which is strange.  Because now that I’m here, and I’m with you, I can’t imagine it otherwise.” 

“But?” 

“But,” she mumbled very softly.  “I don’t know, it felt like….like it was my only chance at motherhood.  Of a baby of my own, I mean.  I know I could’ve done it.  But now I’ve just got this pit sitting in my chest, or maybe it’s in my womb, and it just feels….heavy.  Like that was it.  God gave me one chance and that was it.” 

Silence for a long beat. 

He shifted down, gently turning to face her so they were both on their sides and looking at one another.  “Winnie,” he said very softly.  “You don’t know what you don’t know.” 

“Meaning?” 

“If, at some point, you want to have kids, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.  Hell, I’d give you a baby tonight, or try to, if that’s really what you wanted.  But it’s up to you.  I’m happy either way.  And I don’t think that sitting here and trying to predict whether God is going to allow you to carry a child is a useful thing, especially because it requires you and me.” 

She gave a small smile.  “Very true.” 

“I am not in any rush.  And my entire world is you.  If you are the only thing in my world, then it’s a perfect world.  If one day, five years from now, you come to me and say that you want to try having kids, we’ll have a conversation.  And then I’ll properly try to get you a child.  But it’s not going to be a risk to your health and it’s not going to be at a point where you’re so haunted that you can barely breathe.  Fair enough?”

She sniffled slightly.  “You really are a good man.” 

“You keep telling me that, honey.  I might just believe it.  Now rest.  You’re tired and I can tell your lower back hurts.  Want me to rub it?” 

“Yes please.” 

He pressed a kiss to her head.  “Just close your eyes,” he insisted warmly, moving his fingers to her lower back.  “We’re both still gonna be here in the morning.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christmas morning was a strange affair.  Though there was excitement palpable in the house, Winnie and Ron had exchanged some gifts in their room beforehand.  She had gotten him a new scarf, a proper man’s watch that she had bought brand-new, a pocket-knife, an orange, and a new suit.  

In return, he had gotten her some sheet-music that he simply insisted she try to play for the family downstairs on the violin.  He had gotten her some fresh roses, pearl pins for her hair, and a new locket—which, he revealed, had some of the dirt from that cemetery at the church where she had buried her necklace and let go of the baby. 

It had been heart-wrenchingly sweet, and Winnie had cried a fair bit before they went downstairs, all gathering around the tree and opening gifts from the others.  Winnie played some Christmas hymns, livening up the place. 

In the meantime, Ron had recruited Richie and Nate to help him with breakfast, citing that the ladies were to stay off of their feet for Christmas.  Winnie wasn’t quite sure what they were up to, but that meant that she, Alex, Poppy, Charlie, Joshua, and Robbie got to spend some quality time in the living room and enjoying one another’s company. 

“Holy moly!” Charlie exclaimed, looking out the window.  “It’s snowing!  We’re not gonna be able to go anywhere for days!” 

“Days?  Whatever do you mean?” Alex questioned, peering at him in confusion. 

“If it snows, it won’t stick.  But it melts and turns to black ice.  Then no one will be going anywhere.  The roads will be horrible,” Winnie explained to Alex.  “Unfortunately, the South hasn’t gotten the memo that the North has about snow and moving in it.” 

“Well that’s great, I want to have a snowball fight,” Poppy insisted.  She leaned over to Charlie.  “And don’t worry, I won’t tell Cassidy if you lose.” 

“Cassidy?” Almost immediately, everyone swiveled their heads to look at Poppy and Charlie. 

“Well yeah, he’s been real sweet on Cassidy Jenkins, one of the girls that lives near the base—” Poppy started. 

“SHUSH!” Charlie exclaimed, cheeks stained scarlet.  “Ain’t a man allowed to have a few secrets?” 

“Are you sending her love letters?” Alex immediately asked with bright eyes. 

“Why didn’t I hear about her?” Winnie added. 

“Ugh, you people are the worst,” Charlie declared.  “For your information, she started writing to me after I got home.  And they’re not love-letters, they’re just, you know, letters.” 

“Yeah, that’s what Speirs called his and now we’re married,” Winnie cackled. 

Just then, speaking of the rather handsome fellow, the door to the kitchen opened and Ron, Richie, and Nate brought out heaping piles of French Toast, bacon, and the delightfully spiked eggnog and cocoa.  

Richie was the first to Alex’s side, handing her a glass of the eggnog.  “For you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Without hesitation, Poppy plucked the glass from Alex’s hands and handed it back to Speirs.  Richie looked bewildered by the actions.  “That was rude,” he grumbled, then handed Alex his own mug of the spiked eggnog. 

Poppy repeated the actions, handing the glass to Speirs and Richie just scowled.  “What the hell?” He demanded, snatching the glass back from Ron. 

Ron snatched it back just as fast.  “Nope.” 

Winnie blinked.  Were they…acting like they were five?  

“Oh darling,” Alex said awkwardly, a smile on her face.  “Ron and Poppy just have my best interests in mind.  Mine and the baby’s, anyhow.” 

Silence fell across the room.   Then almost at once, the room exploded in a flurry of excitement and congratulations, Winnie shoving Nate so she could hug Alex first, and the others all trying to loudly congratulate her and Richie.  

Richie, meanwhile, just stared at her like she had grown another head.  “We’re—we…you and I—” 

“We’re having a baby, yes.  Merry Christmas.  Now do be a dear and fetch me some cocoa,” Alex beamed. 

Winnie watched as her brother turned tail and hurried to get the proper drink for his wife.  “Oh he’s absolutely doomed,” she breathed out. 

Chapter Text

Returning home, Winnie had a very distinct impression that they should, in fact, move. She watched out the window as they turned down the street, glancing over at Ron.  Their hands were entwined and he drove with his left hand.  “When you find out where you get stationed, I’m happy to go there,” Winnie decided very softly. 

“Yeah?  You sure?” 

“Well I’m pretty sure the cretins will follow us everywhere, so yeah,” Winnie gave a smile.  “And I’m ready to be done with Georgia.” 

“Alright honey,” he smiled warmly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

They pulled into the driveway of the house and Winnie just looked at the lights her brothers had managed to string on haphazardly.  “I knew I should have just decorated for Christmas before we left.  They’ve probably ruined the tree.” 

“Nothing’s unfixable,” Ron insisted, grabbing their bags and coming around to open her door. 

She grinned.  “Still, I—”

“SHE’S BACK, SHE’S BACK!!” 

Winnie could hear her brothers starting to shout and she nearly rolled her eyes.  “They’re such children.  How can they be such children and be grown men?” She grumbled, letting him help her out of the car.  

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let you get tackled.” 

“Much appreciated,” Winnie retorted as Nate sprinted down the stairs at full speed. “NATHAN ALLEN, SLOW DOWN! YOU’LL SLIP AND I AM NOT HELPING YOU WITH A BROKEN BACK!” Winnie exclaimed very firmly. 

He stuck out his tongue, reaching her and spinning her around before she could even finish her little tirade.  “Nah, I’m not gonna slip,” Nate replied cheekily, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek.  

She grimaced and wiped the slobber away.  “You’re just as bad as Toccoa.” 

“Toccoa’s napping. She’s a lazy thing.” 

“She went through the war, can you blame her?” 

“Not really, I guess,” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toccoa, was in fact, very lazy and lethargic when Winnie entered the home.  “What have you done to my sweet doggo?” Winnie demanded, giving a sour look at the brothers. Toccoa was lazing on the ground near the fireplace, but perked her head up as Winnie sank onto the ground, nuzzling against Toccoa warmly.  

“What, no hug?  No ‘hi, how you doing?’ No, ‘Wow, I missed you’?” Robbie deadpanned. 

Winnie stuck her tongue out.  “No, where’s that from you?”

“Oh,” Richie stated dryly. 

“Oh?” 

“Oh,” Richie echoed again.  “I see.  You went on a honeymoon and got married and now you’ve reverted.” 

“I’m relaxed, there’s a difference.” 

“Hey, we’re all glad that you’re happy!” Charlie chirped warmly. 

Winnie immediately leaned over and ruffled his hair.  “And if anyone doubts why you’re my favorite, let this be a lesson in why.” 

“Favortism is a dangerous thing,” Ron said in amusement, setting the bags down near his feet. 

“Well we all know that I prefer you and that is a dangerous thing,” Winnie grinned unabashedly.  

“Can we please decorate the tree?  When Alex and Poppy get back?” Nate whined, flopping down on the couch. 

“Dare I ask where they headed off to?” Ron piqued a brow. 

Richie sighed and wiped a hand over his face.  “Alex was upset that we never really had a proper Christmas, though I’m not sure what the proper equivalent is in her book.” 

“Poppy was equally upset and commandeered Richie’s vehicle to buy an exorbitant amount of food,” Joshua replied evenly. “Something about replenishing vitals after a honeymoon?  I don’t know, it was a lot of womanly talk.” 

At that, both Nate and Winnie smacked Josh with a pillow.  “It was Poppy talk, if we’re being so clear,” Winnie corrected with a sharp look.  

“Yeah, and like I said, I don’t know!” Josh retorted. 

Ron just glanced at Winnie.  “I’m gonna set our things down upstairs.  You—” 

“I’ll keep an eye on the little shits, yes.” 

Richie just raised a brow and flicked the back of her head.  “You know that we are fully grown men, yes?” 

“Some of the time, you look like fully grown men, yes.  Then the rest of them open their mouths and the image is ruined,” Winnie retorted as Ron headed up the stairs.  

Which, in all fairness, was entirely true.  When you had a room full of siblings all in one room and five of them were boys, they were grown men until they were around each other for more than five minutes and there was no one reigning them in, and then at that particular point, they were no better than a bunch of rowdy schoolchildren. 

Which, of course, made Winnie the cruel schoolmistress most of the time. 

Except for now, given her relaxed state and the fact that Winnie was enjoying getting to solely be a sister rather than a mother-figure. 

“So real question, were you meaner to the men in Easy Company, or are you meaner to us?” Robbie questioned in amusement, flashing a grin at her. 

“I think we all know the answer to that,” Winnie stated with a shrug.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alex and Poppy returned, they did in fact, have new decorations for the tree, bags of presents, and more food than Winnie remembered being in the mess-hall during mess-duty in Toccoa.  Upon their arrival back at the house, Winnie was warmly embraced by both women, and she discovered a ring on Poppy’s finger. 

That, of course, prompted smacking Nate upside the head for neglecting to mention that.  But to be fair, he had needed privacy to wait until people were gone for a bit before proposing.  Something about a romantic gesture?

Whatever the case, Winnie found him entirely too charming all of the time to fully believe that it was just a romantic gesture.  

So here they all were, the Allen siblings swatting one another’s hands as they all attempted to decorate the tree.  Ron had whisked Poppy and Alex away into the kitchen to make some cocoa and egg-nog, claiming that the three of them should get out of the way before the Allen Gladiatorial Games began and the siblings all began arguing over who should decorate what, and who should get to put the star on the tree. 

Alex leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching as Charlie smacked Nate’s hand away from one of the lower branches.  “They’re absolute menaces,” she determined, turning back into the kitchen. 

She found Ron chopping up chocolate and Poppy adding dark rum to the eggnog concoction on the stove.  “Oh absolutely,” Ron nodded solemnly.  “Another chocolate bar, you think?” 

Poppy grinned wickedly.  “I added too much rum, so I’d say yes.” 

“Oh, do a batch without rum,” Alex insisted, coming over to the stove. 

“I can do some with bourbon?” Poppy offered. 

Alex wrinkled her nose.  “Well I’m afraid I’m just not able to quite stomach alcohol at the moment.” 

For several seconds, no one said anything.  And then Poppy, who had been in the process of stirring the eggnog, just dropped the spoon.  “You—you’re—” Poppy started in a loud tone. 

Alex immediately covered her mouth.  “It’s a Christmas surprise, if you don’t mind.” 

“We won’t tell a soul,” Ron promised with a warm smile, pulling out another pot to make a fresh batch of alcohol-free eggnog.  “Scout’s honor.” 

“Oh you would be a scout,” Poppy retorted in amusement.  “Fine, I’ll keep it quiet.” 

The tension in Alex’s shoulders immediately dissipated and she just gave a weary smile of thanks.  “That would be much appreciated.  I didn’t mean to slip it quite to you two, but…I’m afraid I just couldn’t help it.” 

“Congratulations,” Ron replied warmly. “Really.  In fact, have some extra chocolate.” He immediately ceased in his efforts to cut up the chocolate, and handed her the rest of the bar. 

Alex just stared at him for a minute before grinning widely.  “I can see why Winnie likes you so much.  You’re very kind.” 

“Yeah well let’s keep that quiet too.  It’s sorta my secret,” Ron grinned. 

“I have a feeling the three of us are going to get up to all sorts of trouble,” Poppy grinned wickedly.  

“TOCCOA!!  NOT THE TREE!  DOWN!” Winnie shouted in the living room. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go wrangle the Mrs.’s dog,” Ron grinned, then disappeared through the kitchen doors. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Poppy had so kindly finished making her naughty concoction, and a safe-batch for Alex, she had rigged the entire house with mistletoe everywhere.  Ron had managed to get Toccoa off of the tree, though it still looked like a dog had run through it several times at top speed.  He had eventually gotten Toccoa to relax with a plate full of meat juices from some steaks that they were going to cook up the next day. 

Now, the group settled into the living room as the radio softly played Christmas music.  Winnie snuggled into Ron’s side, sipping on her cocoa.  “I didn’t know you could make good cocoa,” she said, glancing at him. 

“My mother makes it every year.  It’s my sister’s favorite,” Ron shrugged.  He leaned down and wiped the line of chocolate from above her lip in warm amusement.  

“Well maybe we should put you in the kitchen more.” 

“Maybe I will,” he grinned.  

Winnie just leaned her head onto his shoulder.  The atmosphere was easy and warm, full of laughter and bad stories from the boys.  Christmas would be here in a few days and Winnie couldn’t help the fact that last year’s Christmsa flashed through her mind. 

Toccoa. 

The falling church. 

Losing the baby. 

Trenches. 

Death. 

Cold. 

Losing her friends. 

Burying her necklace at the church. 

Ron seemed to realize that Winnie was lost in thought—he knew all too well the look in her eyes when she remembered things.  It was a solemn and lost little look that she would get on her face.  He just leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head. 

“Hey,” he murmured.  “We’re home.  You’re home,” he murmured to her in a low tone. 

She glanced up, and a half-smile graced her features.  “I know,” she murmured, gently tracing a hand over his cheek affectionately.  “You’re my home.” 

Yeah—

Chapter Text

Lady Evelyn Hughes, formerly Swinton, stepped off the boat to America and took it in with a deep and aching breath. Almost immediately, she regretted the decision.  The smell of sewage had hit her nose quite strongly and she grimaced, pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it over her nose. 

She may have smelled much worse, but that was during wartime.  She didn’t need to debase herself or subject herself to such horrors anymore. No more cutting brake-lines or rolling around in sand with a bunch of men, no more sharing trenches and cots, no more smell of gunpowder or sizzling flesh, and no more iron tang in her nose from too much blood.  

No, she was a refined lady.  Or at least, she used to be. Mostly, anyway. 

Evie had already made her way through the Immigration Process.  It had been speedlined by the British Government, who were all too happy to be rid of her after the war.  It had been a nasty business that she had been involved in. 

Nasty accidents.  Nasty secrets.  There was a whole wall of red tape that she’d never get through and that no one would ever be able to get to the bottom of—and her name had been redacted from any proper documents.  To everyone else, she was just a widow.  Lady Evelyn Hughes, widow of a soldier.  Widow of a regular man, the average man, Daniel Hughes.  

He had been no lord, he had held no title, no land, and had nothing really to his name.  But they had been incandescently happy in a way that Evie had never experienced before she had met him. 

Making her way through the city, Evie felt that her life was not in technicolor anymore.  Rather, it was entirely in black and white now.  Mourning black, though Evie would never be caught dead in it.  If she was, she’d have to wear it for the rest of her life, given all that she had lost.  

Evie had found a charming little apartment, and had already paid some people to get the entire place set up.  Unfortunately for her, the people had also taken the liberty of placing plants on the windowsill.  Upon seeing them, she just pinched her brow a bit.  Every plant that Evie had ever owned always ended up wilted and dead before she could even water it.  And if she had watered it, it was altogether likely that it would end up overwatered and still end up dead. 

She was too used to the desert.  

So it was no surprise when Evie turned off the fan in the apartment and just sank down on the couch for a moment.  

Tomorrow, her job.  The VA was in need of some wartime therapists.  Evie was not, in fact, a wartime secretary, as her resume so suggested.  But the VA administration had taken a look at her resume and stamped her through without much of an interview process.  She didn’t mind that. 

She would be excellent at her job.  

Men would wonder how she understood just what they were talking about.  The sensation of a buddy dying in your arms.  The grief that swallowed you whole like you were Jonah and it was the whale.  The panic that filled your chest when you thought about dirt filling your lungs in the damn trenches.  The way that the gun felt easier to hold in your hand than a baby did.  

And she’d smile and grit through her teeth and cite that she had talked to enough men to understand.  

She’d say that she had studied the effects of grief and trauma on the mind. 

Evie had lived with it firsthand.  It would all be a lie.  There were moments where she preferred to sweat through the heat of the night and wake up panting for water just like she had in the desert.  There were moments where she could only cling onto Paddy in the middle of the night, legs tangled together so tightly while they both raggedly breathed. 

But that was then. 

And she had left him behind. 

Without a word really. 

It had been cruel, but it had been the only thing that Evie could stomach.  She had gotten the sinking sense, after pushing that professor to the brink and beyond, that if she stayed with the men of the SAS, if she let herself be entirely consumed by the war, no one would be able to recognize her by the end, least of all her. 

And she had already lost herself so many times.  

She thought, though, that perhaps if there was ever someone who could understand why she had left, it would be Paddy.  Paddy had seen it all firsthand.  They had had to live together to even function during those godforsaken years.  The years had been awful.  They had been awful together, bringing out the best and the worst of each other in the simplest and smallest moments. 

Evie took out a cigarette and carefully lit it, her manicured red nails glinting in the dim light of the apartment.  She took a long breath of the smoke, inhaling deeply. 

Paddy wouldn’t write her.  She knew that he wouldn’t.  She couldn’t write him either. 

There were too many raw feelings that existed on the edge of her mind and on the tip of her tongue.  For both her and for him.  When violence was all that you could stomach and all that you had become, it takes someone really being able to see you to be able to get through it without giving up on yourself. 

But at the moment, Evie did not want to be herself. 

No, she wanted to be Evie Hughes.  Simply that.  Nothing more and nothing less.  A psychologist and therapist.  Not a wartime espionage agent.  Not someone written out of every report like she was the British Empire’s dirtiest secret.  And maybe she was, given everything that she had done for them.  

She’d get an ice cream, she’d take a smoke, she’d maybe even go on a date here or there.  She’d smile, and she’d look pretty.  And she’d try to forget the sounds of her husband’s death that lingered in her ears every single day like the toll of a funeral bell that was looming ever and ever closer.  She’d write down diagnoses and counsel and advise soldiers and ignore the advice that she was giving to soldiers. 

Evie would be a shooting star, burning so fast against the night sky that she burned right out. 

No one would be able to find her in America.  

She had seen to that. 

She had set up a PO Box so that any letters—and there were sure to be letters, letters from Johnny and Reg, Bill, and Jim, and Mike—and of course, David.  She’d be surprised if he hadn’t already written her a letter. 

See, she hadn’t been there when he had returned from the Prisoner of War Camp.  And it had gutted her to do it.  But she was not his Evie.  And she could not bear to show her face after the thing that she had become in his very absence. 

That part of her life now, it was all over. 

But then again, is anything really over?  

That same afternoon that Evie arrived in New York, Benny DeMarco arrived.  Tired out.  Determined for a fresh start.  And even more convinced, as he sat next to his trusty dog, Meatball, that he desperately needed a dame, a good time, and a good drink.  Not necessarily in that order. 

Chapter Text

There in the cemetery stood a woman in a black coat, holding a single red rose. 

“Ma’am, you ready to go?” Asked the cab driver, taking a step forward.  The woman turned, flashing dark sunglasses in his direction.  

“Just a moment, Joseph,” she stated, British-accent clear as day.  She turned back to the grave, considering the headstone in stone-cold smugness.  

Michael Paige—

Gracie’s professor that had so horribly ruined her.  He had died just a week earlier.  Tragic thing, that. 

Evelyn Hughes leaned forward, dropping the rose at the bare grave.  A moment later, she deposited the brake-lines, then pushed up her sunglasses.  All of her business in England was now concluded and she wanted to leave as soon as possible. 

“Joseph, I’m ready to go now.” 

“Where to, ma’am?” 

“The port.  I’m off to New York, at least for now.” 

“Business there, ma’am?” 

“Not quite.  A new start, I think.  I’m tired of Europe.  It’s taken enough of me as of late.  I don’t expect I’ll be back for a very long time.” 

“Very good, ma’am.  You need the break.” 

“I do.  Come on then.” 

And so Evelyn Hughes headed off to the United States, having concluded her bloody business in Europe.  She was done with things here.  But then again—

Is anything really over?

Chapter Text

Gracie was entirely and positively tickled pink and ecstatic about being married.  Mrs. Grace Brady.  Oh, the name itself, she could hear it thousands of times in a day and never get tired of hearing it.  She could stare at the ring on her finger all day long, admiring its sparkle and admiring its giver even more. 

She was even more excited to have Mr. John Brady in their little house and having him to herself.  

Johnny, on the other hand, was less than enthused about the damage sustained to various household furniture items in her quest to dedicate their marriage on every surface available.  But alas, he was very pleased with the honeymoon too. 

At the moment, Grace was sitting with a cool glass of sweetened lemonade, perched happily atop Johnny’s lap with a pen and pad in hand. 

“Honey, is it entirely necessary to already be plotting what we want to change about the house?” 

“Well I need a rose garden.  And I want hydrangeas,” Grace replied innocently.  

“And a pool.  And a sunroom.” 

“Yes,” she replied simply, batting her eyelashes at him.  “All for perfectly wicked reasons, I assure you.” 

He raised a brow.  “Dare I even ask?” 

“Well I’d sunbathe in the nude and swim in the nude if the rosebushes are tall enough that the neighbors can’t see.” 

His jaw slackened and his cheeks turned scarlet.  “Gracie—” He blurted out with wide eyes. 

“What?  I said only if the rosebushes are tall enough,” she said, patting his cheek affectionately.  “I’ll even go to Mass on Sunday and repent.” 

“You are incorrigible.” 

“You adore me.” 

“I do,” he mumbled out, then pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

She beamed and flung her arms around him in a fierce kiss.  “I know you’re not gonna make love to me on the porch, Johnny, but one day I am going to have my way.” 

“Heaven help the day you get your way.” 

Grace just gave a grin.  Just then, inside, the phone began ringing on the hook.  She just tilted Johnny’s face back towards her.  “Ignore it.  We’re makin’ out.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She kissed him again, gently running a hand through his hair and tugging on a few of the strands.  It had gotten longer since they had gotten home.  “I’m gonna have to give you a haircut soon,” she murmured, nipping on his lip gently.  He tasted of lemonade and raspberries, utterly tangy and sweet.  

Just then, the phone rang again and Grace huffed.  “Fine, okay, I get the message, God.” 

John gave a laugh and pressed another quick kiss to her cheek before gently moving her off of his lap. “I’ll grab it, honey.” 

With that, he exited inside to grab the phone. 

Grace doodled on the paper with a slight pout on her lips.  She hummed to herself as she waited for Johnny to return back to her.  It was silent in the house and he came outside a moment later, phone still attached to the line and in his hand.  “Honey, it’s for you.” 

“Me?” Grace furrowed her brow.  “Don’t people know that I’m on my honeymoon and I don’t wanna be bothered?” 

“I think you should take this.” 

Grace grumbled and went inside, taking the phone from him.  “Graciee Spaatz-Brady speaking, how can I help you?” 

“Grace,” Tatty said very gently.  “It’s about that professor.” 

Grace was very still for a moment. “What about him?” 

Chapter Text

Winnie’s first honeymoon had been from the comfort of a five-star hotel.  Truth be told, in that week, she hadn’t really left the bedroom of the hotel, except for the occasion where some of her ex’s friends came to meet her and she had been put on display for drinks and smiles.  The rest of the time, she had spent thoroughly pre-paying for her decision to have the boys come and live with them. 

So needless to say, Winnie’s second and final honeymoon was vastly different. 

The first thing that she and Ron had agreed upon when it came to their honeymoon that the beach was utterly off of the table.  Mostly because Winnie had surveyed enough men after D-Day and talked to enough nurses and medics that had been on the damn beaches—

The images haunted her still, even well over a year later. 

Nor did they want anywhere that would be cold—Winnie’s joints and hips could not take the stiffness of the cold and the last thing she wanted on a honeymoon was the inability to move. 

So between the two of them, they had talked it over and they had determined that they would spend the honeymoon down in Florida.  It was a drive for them, but once they were down in Florida, it was much warmer.  They were staying away from the beach and had rented a cabin where the two of them could enjoy some quality quiet time away from the city and from other people. 

The other thing that Winnie was desperately trying to avoid was any sort of trigger that would make either of them panic about a single thing. The less people and city they were around, the less likely they’d be to hear a backfiring car or anything else that would be similar to the war. 

It was quiet.  It was subtle.  

And it was utterly them. 

The cabin that they were staying in was a spacious little thing, with a porch and a lake-view. It was near one of the state parks, so Winnie was grateful to know that there were no alligators lurking in these waters—perfectly fresh for swimming and just the right temperature—lingering in the high 60s. 

Not too cold. Not too hot, just right. 

And for the first time in a long time, Winnie had utterly nothing going on.  Literally nothing.  No late-night shifts, no brothers to worry about them getting into mischief, no war or pressing matters that were taking up space in her brain. 

Just her. 

And just Ron. 

The drive took them most of the night and into the morning to get there, and Winnie soaked in the tub upon arrival for nearly an hour before exiting to the living area.  There was something cooking on the stove and fresh bread sat out that had been picked up on their way to the cabin.  

Ron was sitting on the couch, reading a book.  “Hi honey,” he said warmly, glancing up. 

Oh—OH

He was wearing glasses.  Reading glasses.  It was such a mundane and domestic thing for him to be doing, but he looked deliciously attractive.  Like, full on making her knees shake and wet—despite having just bathed and gotten clean. 

“Hi,” Winnie murmured, approaching him.  “Whatchya reading?” 

“The Little Prince,” he replied, gently tugging her down beside him.  He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her head as she relaxed in his arms.  “I never got around to reading it during the war.  Figured I should pick it up at some point.  Apparently it’s good.” 

“Read to me?” Winnie murmured, snuggling into him. 

“Of course,” he murmured warmly. 

She pressed a kiss to his knuckles and smiled softly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I used to swim in the summers,” Winnie murmured, floating on her back for a moment and just staring up at the sky.  The sky.  She had forgotten the precise shade of blue that the sky could be when things felt hopeful, and when life was not trying to sink her. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  I’d take the boys and we’d go to Lake Lanier,” Winnie murmured, turning around and smiling at Ron. 

He was lazily in the shallower part of the lake, shirtless and letting the sun wash over him in relaxation. “I have a hard time imagining you enjoying any time when you were younger.” 

Winnie nearly snorted.  “Fair enough.  Nate liked to splash a lot.” 

“That checks out.” 

“I meant before I started having to work all of the time.  I can’t tell you the last time that I swam like this,” Winnie admitted. 

“You should always have time to swim like this.” 

“You just like seeing me wet.” 

“Yes, and I’m happy to admit that, like any decent man obsessed with his wife,” He retorted, playfully splashing at her. 

She grinned and gave a look of offense.  “You’re obsessed with me, but you splash me?” 

“That’s just being a man, honey.” 

“Oh I know,” she grinned, then splashed him right back with a giggle.  

He tugged her close and she immediately let him, tugging him into a kiss.  The cool of the lake water and the sun beating down on them made for the perfect moment for these two newlyweds.  He tasted faintly of something smoky—they had barbecued earlier, and a hint of lemon. 

“Hmm, I like this,” she murmured. 

“Kissing me?” 

“Yeah.  You taste good, honey,” she murmured, then gently licked at his lower lip. 

He groaned lightly at the gesture.  “You’re gonna kill me, send me right over the edge, and you’ll have to resuscitate me.” 

“I know mouth to mouth.” 

“Oh I know,” he grinned wickedly.  He ducked his mouth down to her neck, peppering soft little kisses onto it.  “You’re pretty, baby.  I mean that.” 

“Charmer.” 

“Truth-teller, actually.” 

“Oh, ah huh.” 

“I’m gonna have to make sure you have somewhere good to swim.  Away from prying eyes.  I know you don’t like other people looking,” he murmured gently, tracing over one of the scars that peeked out from beneath her swimsuit top, just over her breast. 

“No, I don’t,” she murmured in agreement.  “But I like it when you look.” 

He grinned.  “Honey, the day I don’t look in appreciation, you are welcome to bash my brains in with a rock.” 

At that, she gave a laugh.  “As if.” 

“How the hell did I get so lucky?” He murmured, nuzzling his nose against her neck. 

“I don’t know.  But I’m thankin’ God for you every day, Ron,” she admitted softly, running a hand through his hair. 

“You and me both,” he murmured warmly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Their poor attempts at cooking had been subpar at best, most of the time. Mostly because Winnie was a decent cook at best, and while Ron was surprisingly good at it, he tended to get distracted with his newly appointed Mrs. at any given moment. 

Steaks burned.  Bread charred. 

But the two of them were hardly ever unsatisfied.  

So here they sat, in the living room, an attempt at pie on their plates, sneaking bites of each other’s pieces—and softly kissing as the fire died in the hearth.  Ron reached up and wiped at a stray smear of raspberry on Winnie’s lips. Then, just to make a point, he leaned forward and sucked on that exact spot. 

Winnie gave a giggle.  “You’re gonna make me spill pie on the couch, Ron,” she retorted in amusement. 

“That would be a shame,” he said with a solemn nod.  

“Are you not gonna finish yours?” 

“Nah, I’m in the mood for something sweeter,” he said.  “My kinda dessert, if you know what I mean,” he finished, raising his eyebrows in double-meaning. 

She grinned wickedly.  “I adore you.” 

“And I you.  Now come on, I’m a hungry man.” 

“You poor, depraved, starving thing,” she said, pushing him back on the couch with a grin.  “Whatever shall I do with you?” 

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” 

She leaned down and kissed him.  “I’m sure I will.” 

Chapter Text

Most unfortunately for Lewis Nixon, his car was in fact hijacked for thirty minutes in between the luncheon and the reception for grubby hormonal purposes. It hadn’t even been Winnie’s idea, but when she had mentioned the car to Ron during the lunch, he had gotten a wicked gleam in his eye and the next thing she knew? 

She was being whisked away and Ron had stolen the two of them away to a secluded portion near a wooded area in the car.  It was cold, but the car soon heated up as they got into the backseat, breaths being exchanged between the two of them.  

“We’re never gonna get to borrow a car again,” Winnie mumbled in amusement, pressing her lips to Ron’s. 

“Probably not,” he agreed, kissing her in between each word.  

Their breath had fogged up the windows and she gave a slight giggle as the car rocked under their shifting weight.  “Nix is gonna be mad,” she added. 

“Let him be,” he murmured, fingers gently stroking against her heat and making any protest dying in her throat. 

“Ohhhhkay,” Winnie whimpered out, eyes nearly fluttering shut.  “I’m gonna—I’m gonna shut up now,” she managed to breathed out, hips canting up into his fingers. 

He grinned, nosing down her neck.  She smelled sweet, the scent of peppermint and oranges clear near her neck and hair.  Maybe a new hair wash? He’d have to ask her later.  He liked that scent.  His lips left soft breathy kisses against her jaw and Winnie pulled him in closer.  

Horribly irresponsible of her. 

Horribly delicious of him. 

This sort of behavior was the sort of thing that teenagers got up to, not grown adults. 

Winnie gave another giggle and he nipped at her neck.  “Not exactly the reaction I’m going for, honey,” he murmured in amusement, fingers gently working her. 

“This is very irresponsible, Mr. Speirs.  We’re gonna be late to our reception,” she mumbled out, head feeling like it was spinning in pleasure.  

“It’s for us anyway, it can’t start without us.” 

“A fair point—” Her voice died in her throat as a wave of pleasure rocked through her gently, like a wave crashing on the shore.  

“I make lots of good points, Mrs. Speirs.” 

She beamed and fumbled with his belt.  “I like it when you call me that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I’ll prove it to you.” And then she flipped them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they arrived at the reception, a good 25 minutes late, needless to say that everyone knew exactly what they had been getting up to.  They had just entered the room and given the keys back to Nixon—who just stared at them as though they had committed several war crimes in his car (which they certainly might have)—when Winnie found herself getting tugged back into the bathroom by Poppy and Alex. 

Both of them were rather giggly.  “Oh you look debauched,” Poppy said gleefully. “But the hair and lipstick, we must fix.” 

“Naturally.” Winnie couldn’t even find it within her to look the littlest bit shameful about what she had been up to.  She was a married woman now, after all. 

Alex pulled out her clutch, giving a grin. “Well luckily, I happen to know that the Allen siblings are rather naughty—” 

“I didn’t want to know that!” Winnie exclaimed, eyes wide. 

“And I came prepared with a brush and lipstick for this exact scenario.  Nothing to be done about the hickey though,” Alex murmured, glancing at Winnie’s neck. 

Winnie’s face burned slightly and she glanced in the mirror, finding a hickey just above where her neckline started.  “Oh shit.” 

“Luckily, I came prepared for that particular issue because it’s an issue I have daily,” Poppy declared warmly, producing foundation and setting powder to hide the hickey. 

“Also not something I necessarily needed to know.” 

Poppy snorted.  “As if I’ve been subtle.” 

She really hadn’t.  

Winnie let the two of them fuss over her until her hair was somewhat presentable and her lipstick was reapplied and the hickey was skillfully hidden.  Poppy really was a goddess with foundation and setting powder.  It had to be some sort of special talent to be able to hide something that dark so seamlessly. 

With that successfully taken care of, she emerged at her reception, just in time to take her seat beside Ron at the head of the room.  The reception had some light dancing and music planned, but Liebgott had given her the heads up that several of the men were planning on giving speeches. 

She wasn’t sure whether to be worried or endeared by that particular fact, given the fact that most of the men could certainly embarrass her or make her cry easily.  But she had gotten her brothers to promise that they wouldn’t give any speeches so hopefully that would take care of the most potential for embarrassment.  

“What did I miss?” Winnie murmured, slipping into the seat beside Ron. 

“Nixon getting drunk over what we did to his car.” 

“To be fair, we did make a mess.” 

“I cleaned up after us.” 

“That doesn’t make it any better.” 

“No,” he grinned. “But he’ll get over it.” 

“Anything else?” 

“I’ve been told respectfully that I am not allowed to hog your dance card.” 

“This is neither the Ton nor is it London’s Victorian season, so I don’t have a dance card.” 

“And yet, they’re all acting like I’m not capable of sharing.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Well I’m not sharing my wife, I’d be sharing Doctor Allen.  There’s a difference.” 

“That’s some great compartmentalization, honey.” 

“Thank you,” he replied, warmly pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

Just then, Nate got up and tapped his glass.  Winnie almost immediately let out a sigh.  This was going to be more than interesting, and he was perhaps her only brother that could get away with such a betrayal of giving a speech. 

“If I can have everyone’s attention,” Nate said loudly and warmly, garnering everyone’s attention in the room. “I know I’m supposed to give the floor over to a few people for speeches, and I did, in fact, promise my saintly sister that I would not give any speeches. But I’m a dirty liar and I was crossing my fingers when I said that, and she loves me, so she’ll just have to forgive me for that.” 

“I have yet to decide,” Winnie mumbled under her breath. 

“But I have the unique position of being the one who saw Winnie in Europe, and got to catch up with her.  And I have the unique position of getting to witness the beginnings of a meddlesome Captain and his Doctor, before either of them really realized what they’d be.  And so when my sister decided to make out with a random man in our living room, I realized there’s a lot more to my sister than meets the eye.” 

Nate paused for a minute.  “Truth be told, us younger siblings have talked about it. And we don’t really remember what our mother looked like.  For as long as I can remember, the person who fills my head is my sister.  She’s the best person in the world.  And the person who’s taken the most shit out of anyone that I know.  So she deserves to be happy.  She deserves to have peace.  If nothing else, I can see that Speirs brings her that.  And for that, we’ll forever be grateful.  I’ll shut up for now, but I love you, Roo.  The floor is now open for anyone who wishes to give a speech.  But if you go a minute over 7:30, I’ll smack the hell outtya myself.  My sister gets to dance!” 

Winnie had to admit, having tears prickle in her eyes right off the bat wasn’t something she expected.  But she locked eyes with Nate and she mouthed ‘love you too, brat.’ To which, Nate stuck out his tongue. 

She supposed some habits never broke. 

Then, before anyone could stop him, Nixon was on his feet and at the mic.  “Sorry, Dick, I gotta beat you to the mic before I get any drunker and this is more pathetic.  And sorry boys, I know you’re sick to death of hearing me talk in front of crowds.” 

At that, Winnie grinned.  

“Well, I don’t think anyone in the whole world deserves Winnie,” Nixon stated, glancing at Ron with a flat look.  “And I’ll stand by that until my dying day.  But I gotta commend you, Speirs, this is the most relaxed and pleased I’ve ever seen the woman.  And she looked mighty pleased with herself after faking an appendectomy on a certain former Captain.” 

Winnie immediately hid her face in her hands in miserable embarrassment as half of the room looked towards her with jaws dropped. 

“YOU DIDN’T!” Luz exclaimed gleefully. 

“She did,” Roe and Spina chimed in at the same time. 

“I hate him so much,” Winnie mumbled and didn’t mean a word. 

Nixon just grinned.  “The good Doctor is maybe my best friend—” he immediately spun.  “Dick, just cover your ears if this offends you,” he stated, then turned back to face Winnie.  “And my only honest wish for the both of you is that 1-You never desecrate my car ever again.  And 2-That you live your lives to be the happiest and the fullest that you can be.  No more giving up on the future, okay, Win?” Nixon said warmly and honestly. 

He rapidly blinked.  “Right, I need a drink, somebody take this off of my hands,” he insisted. 

As if already knowing where this was heading, Dick appeared at his side, handing Nixon a flask and taking the microphone from Nixon.  Everyone sobered up.  This was Winters, after all—and everybody had missed him being the personal leader of Easy Company, however great Speirs had been and done. 

Dick tested the microphone first, giving a warm smile towards Winnie.  “I had the pleasure of working with you both.  And evidently being one of the most surprised by the turn of events, you two getting married.  But you two complement each other extraordinarily well.  And because I know you both, I wanted to give some advice.” 

Winnie didn’t mind advice.  In fact, she welcomed it. Especially from someone she trusted as much as Dick. 

“You’re both stubborn.  So listen to each other.  Trust each other.  More than you already do.  You both work hard.  So remember to take the time to enjoy one another’s company and play as hard as you work.  Believe the best in yourselves, because you already believe the best in each other.” 

At that, Winnie rested her head on Ron’s shoulder affectionately, lacing their fingers together.  

“And stick together.  God help everyone else when the two of you aren’t around each other,” Dick gave a wry smile.  “But I hope you both are very happy.  You deserve it.  You’re good people.” 

The person next to steal the microphone was George Luz, which came as a surprise to no one.  “Tonight, is the night of nights,” he drawled, echoing the letter they had all received on D-Day.  “Instead, it’s a wedding, why the hell is everyone so serious?” He asked with a grin.  “Now Winnie, Captain, you shoulda seen the scandal you caused us—springing a wedding on us.  I mean, no Captain even on the invitation, just the Doctor’s name—I almost shit myself, I kid you not.” 

Winnie was trying hard not to laugh. 

“And then I thought, she’s gotta be marrying someone from the company, right?  But everyone is here?  Except for the guys who went home injured, so half of us were convinced it had to be Toye or Compton or some shit, but none of that made any damn sense,” Luz continued.  “I mean, no offense, men, but she woulda eaten you alive.  Like truly, this woman is scarier than her attack dog.” 

Winnie grinned in a pleased manner. 

“And then to find out it’s Sparky, I mean, the war crimes you two are gonna get up to, SHEESH,” Luz shook his head at them.  “Point of fact being that you two are going to terrorize us for the rest of our lives and we are happy to let you.  Please, for the love of all that’s good and holy, don’t scar us for life though.  That’s all we ask.” 

Winnie had half a mind to throw a napkin at him as Guarnere limped up, taking over the microphone.  She grinned at him and he swatted Luz away from the microphone.  “We get it, you’re a yapper!” Guarnere said, slapping Luz lightly upside the head as he got the microphone.  “My turn now.” 

“These men,” Ron mumbled, pinching the brow of his nose. 

Guarnere sucked in a breath.  “Heyya Doc,” he grinned.  “I don’t really understand your choice in man, but you saved my life.  You saved most of our lives.  Wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, ya know?  So if this Sparky guy is who you’re gonna go with, then we’re all gonna be with you too.  Metaphorically speaking, of course.” 

“Of course,” she murmured. 

“We’re a family.  And you made sure I got to go home to mine.  Speirs, so help us God, this entire company will bury you if Winnie so much as claims unhappiness.” 

“Pretty sure I’d beat you there!” Nate yelled. 

Winnie just rubbed her temple.  “These men,” she echoed Ron. 

Soon though, there was dancing.  She got a dance with nearly half the company—led by Guarnere and Toye, who apparently had been the first to reserve a dance with her.  Which was fair, given the fact that they had first seen her in a dress and looking nice and hadn’t quite believed that she could, on occasion, look like a woman.  

Then she spent the rest of the night dancing away with her husband, before ultimately sneaking out to their car. 

“Well,” Ron said, opening her door and pressing a kiss to her lips gently.  “Here’s to the rest of our lives together.” 

She beamed.  “I love you.” 

And she did, she really did. 

Chapter Text

December 14th, 1945

Four years ago, Winnie’s life had been entirely focused on a divorce that was all-consuming.  The moment that it was done, her life turned entirely upside down because of a war that seemed larger than life.  And it had been.  It had consumed every bit of her waking time and thoughts since the moment that Pearl Harbor had been hit.  It had consumed her family, put them all through the ringer of training and out into the hellscape of war, and chewed them up and spit them back when it was done with them. 

Three years ago, Winnie had been in training and had been undergoing torments at the hands of her superiors.  Disliked by the men in her own Company.  Started a tentative friendship with Lewis Nixon and Dick Winters. Had Reba and Eileen by her side.  She had broken the nose of some man in D-Company, unaware that she had met the love of her life the same night. 

Two years ago, Winnie had been in England and had been able to see Nate and Charlie, and was able to keep track of her siblings.  Winnie had felt secure.  Felt ready for anything with the men of Easy Company at her side. And then D-Day.  

One year ago, Winnie had been dropped from the skies.  She had entered hell itself.  Met the devil without trying—seen him in the faces of enemy assailants and in every dead soldier that littered the ground.  She had been ravaged and survived it.  She had been trapped in a snowbank and had lost a life and a future that she thought that she had wanted. 

Nothing was light then.  It was all dark.  Any hope of the future had died in her chest the same day.  Wilted away like flowers.  

Less than a year ago, that darkness had threatened to swallow Winnie Allen completely whole and never let her up.  It was a tide in the ocean that would beat her against the rocks until she was dead and gone. 

And then, like a North Star, Ron Speirs had appeared.  

He had stood by her as she stitched herself back together, piece by bloody stitch and piece.  And for the first time in Winnie’s life, which seemed much shorter because of all she had lived through, Winnie had started to think about a future.  About her place in the world and where she wanted to be when all of this was over. 

So here she stood, in the dressing room.  Pearls on.  White dress tucked to perfection.  Hair down and around her face.  A veil in her hair.  A glittering ring that reminded her that he had been thinking about this for much longer than she had ever realized.  

For a moment, she thought she saw her mother’s face in the mirror.  

She almost didn’t recognize herself.  Because before—when she had married her first husband—and had been so young—Winnie hadn’t smiled a single time.  It had felt more like preparing for an execution or a surgery that you knew was going to fail. It had, simply put, been a transaction. Nothing more, nothing less. 

This?  Glowing face, a real smile that she hadn’t seen since the time she was a little girl, a lightness in her chest and shoulders, hickeys on the insides of her thighs—this was love. 

Winnie could have almost laughed.  

When she was a little girl, she had prayed and prayed and prayed to the Good Lord that He would send her someone that would love her.  That would cherish her.  That would want her and would choose her over and over and over again. 

She recalled the day that the dream died.  The day that she had lost all hope and felt like a lesser woman. 

But maybe, just maybe—

The day that she had pleaded with the Good Lord again, the day that she had laid in the debris and thought she would die, perhaps the Lord saw fit to give her this as penance.  To let her know that she was not forgotten.  That nothing had happened because she was being punished or because she somehow deserved it.  

A slight knock at the door stirred Winnie from her thoughts. 

She turned.  She blinked.  

“You’re sober,” she noted. 

“Well don’t look too surprised by that,” Nixon grumbled, giving her a dry look.  “I can pull myself together occasionally.” 

“I remember.  That’s also why the reception is stocked with Vat-69.” 

“I knew you loved me.” 

“Well I asked you to walk me down the aisle, you idiot.” 

He gave a grin.  He looked good, all things considering.  He had pulled himself together and was mostly clean-shaven, hair cut nicely, and was wearing a tidy suit.  “You want me to walk you down the aisle and you’re calling me an idiot?” 

“Do you expect anything less from me?” 

At that, Nixon snorted. “No.” 

“Didn’t think so,” she said, adjusting her skirts as she took a final glance in the mirror.  “All good out there?” 

“Well I put Bull on watching the door in case he shows up.” 

“Excellent,” Winnie replied. 

“Will ya’ stop fidgeting?” Nixon finally demanded, gently grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her to face him.  “You look fine.” 

“That’s a compliment.” 

“I can give them.” 

“You usually don’t.” 

Nixon gave her a sarcastic look.  “You look beautiful, Win.  Honestly.  You’ve got the whole angel thing working for you, especially since you saved so many of us.” 

She nearly rolled her eyes.  “If you make me cry, I shall never forgive you.” 

“If I make you cry, Speirs will kill me himself.” 

“True.” 

He leaned forward and adjusted her veil ever so slightly so it fell more evenly on the top of her head.  “You sure you don’t want someone else doing this?” 

“I’m sure,” she replied softly.  “Not to be sappy or anything, but you were my first real friend.” 

Silence for a beat.  “In Toccoa?” 

“I mean ever, Nix.” 

His eyes misted softly and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  “You really are the best woman in the world, you know that?” 

“You exaggerate.” 

“I tell nothing but the truth.” 

At that, she snorted.  “I’m sure.” 

“I’ve got a getaway car if you want it.” 

“I don’t.” 

“I know, but it’s there in case you do.” 

“Well Ron and I might steal it midway through the reception.” 

“You two need to keep your hormonally grubby hands to yourself,” Nixon grunted. 

“Do we actually?” She teased lightly. 

“No, you got laid and suddenly you’re funny.  I don’t like it,” he retorted.  He turned his attention to the door and then glanced back at her.  “Are you ready?” 

“I am.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Truth be told, the minute that Winnie entered the chapel and saw Ron, she wasn’t aware of anything else.  Literally nothing else.  Certainly not Toye smacking someone in the back of the head who needed to shut up.  Certainly not Babe and Guarnere giggling over something like little kids.  Literally nothing. 

She was only aware of him.  Unable to keep her eyes off of him.  

It was a good thing that Nixon was walking her down the aisle and ensuring she didn’t trip—she certainly would have for her lack of being able to comprehend her surroundings and nothing else at the time. 

Eventually, he got her to the end of the aisle and to Speirs. 

The moment that her veil was brushed back and Ron had her hands in his, Winnie just looked absolutely happy.  There they stood, surrounded by the Allen siblings, Speirs’s fmily, and all of Easy Company.  They didn’t have a best man or a maid of honor, but they had Toccoa—who Nate and Charlie had gotten to bring the rings in amusement. 

Then there were the vows.  

Ron just gave her a smile, tilting her chin a little so their eyes could meet more properly.  “I’ve got a lot to say.  Not all of it are things I can say in front of everyone else.  But what I can say is that you are the most precious thing in my life.  And I knew from the minute I met you that you were going to be the rest of my life.  That probably sounds cheesy as hell.” 

“It is,” she murmured softly. 

“But it’s true.  And I determined that if I could have you in my life, even as my friend, that it would be a life worth living.  My version of heaven is you and me.  Anywhere in the world.  As long as we’re together.  But…heaven and hell are just words to me.  Just words.  You’re the real thing.  And I’m gonna spend my entire life showing you that,” he murmured.  

“So,” he continued softly.  “I, Ronald Charles Speirs, do take thee, Winifred Allen, to be my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward—for the better that we’re going to have, for the worse days that come along with it, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, until death do us part—and even then.  With this ring, I thee wed,” he murmured, slipping the ring onto her finger. 

Winnie could have honestly burst just from his words.  And he said he wasn’t a romantic. 

“I’ve not lived a life that I’ve always been proud of,” Winnie said softly.  “But I survived.  And I used to think that surviving was my punishment for the things I’ve done.  That I was being punished by God or by some divine force.  But I don’t think so anymore,” she said very softly.  “I have been hollowed out.  Entirely given up on a future that has any sort of happiness in it.” 

She paused for a long second.  “And then you gave me flowers.  And you stitched my scarf together.  And a dozen other things that you thought I didn’t notice.  But I did.  I always noticed.  And for some reason, in the darkest time of my life, you became my North Star.  I could center myself and I could push through all of that shit and hell because you didn’t make me do it—you just knew that I could.  And you stood by me.  And that’s more—” she sucked in a sharp breath.  “That’s more than anyone has ever done for me.” 

“There are no goodbyes when it comes to you and me.  Just us.  You’re a good man.  You’re kind.  You scare the hell out of Easy Company.  You care.  You’re brave.  And I love you for it.  So, I Winifred Allen, do take thee, Ronald Charles Speirs, to be my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward—for the days of brightness that we have ahead, and the bad days too, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish—until death do us part and even then.  With this ring, I thee wed.” 

Winnie paused for just a second.  “I suppose then it’s my turn to kiss you,” she grinned—and before he could stop her or even let the minister speak, Winnie had tugged him down into a fierce kiss. 

Cheers and hollers broke out amongst Easy Company as the minister spluttered and tried to hastily pronounce them married, but Winnie didn’t give a single damn.  She just kissed Speirs and held him close.  Because for once in her life, it was her.  And it was him.  It was them. 

Chapter Text

In the end, Gracie was a tad impatient.  And by a tad impatient, she meant that even though the wedding was in three days, she could hardly be expected to actually fully wait until the wedding.  Beyond the fact that she desperately wanted to climb Johnny Brady like a full tree, Grace also just wanted a Mrs. Brady somewhere in her name.  And a Mr. Brady somewhere inside of her. 

So naturally, she cajoled John into going down to a courthouse and having a quiet civil marriage, just the two of them.  Then he couldn’t possibly complain about having pre-marital sex in any sort of way. 

It was a foolproof plan. 

Grace borrowed a dress from one of her sisters, wearing a nice pale pink dress and hat, with delicate gloves and a string of pearls.  They had pretended that they were going on a tour of Central Park and the rest of the city and Grace couldn’t resist wanting to look her best.  

Everyone had bought it. 

And then she and John were gone—slipped away to the courthouse in nice clothes.  

It only took an hour and a half of waiting, and then they had the marriage certificate that fully pronounced them legally Mr. and Mrs. Brady. 

Oh what was in a name? 

Well Brady, for one.  And it was the name of the love of her life.  And she just thought that Mrs. Grace Brady was the name of a star.  She had no such dreams of being a model or being an actress now.  Now she simply just wanted to be a wife for a little while, live in total marital bliss with John Brady, and then inevitably pick up some fun modeling on the side. 

Perhaps Vogue, if she tried hard enough. 

And oh, Grace could certainly try hard enough. 

At the moment though, she and John were sitting at a cafe, ice cream in hand as they passed the time.  “You know,” he murmured, taking a bite (the gasp that Gracie let out when he BIT his ice cream was nearly comical).  “I didn’t think I’d be eating ice cream after getting married by a judge in a courthouse right after the war.” 

“Well neither did I, but I’m impatient.” 

“Yes, honey.  I know.” 

“Good,” she retorted warmly, grinning at him brightly.  

“Your father isn’t gonna kill me, is he?” 

“No.  You’ve made an honest and virtuous woman out of me.  Mummy and Tatty are another story though.” 

“Damn,” John murmured, shaking his head. 

“And that’s without even mentioning my darling Evie.” 

“Evie?” 

“My most darling and bestest friend in the world.  She’s been a secretary all over for the war cabinet and Churchill during the war.  Had so much to do after the end of it, that she’s still trying to piece through the cleanup.  She’s going to be quite cross that she missed the wedding.” 

“We’ll send her an apology?” He offered. 

“No.  She’ll just send us an absurd amount of money and probably tell us to live lavishly.” 

John blinked.  “Is your friend rich?” 

“Her parents were a lord and a lady and she makes a modest income.” 

“A modest income that can afford to send us an absurd amount of money?” 

“Well,” Grace gave a shrug.  “She makes around 50,000 pounds a year.  And a small sum to her is likely the 10,000 she’ll want to send us.” 

John’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.  “That’s—” 

“I’m aware.  But she’s a widow and has no children and far too much money to know what to do with it.  I’m content to let her spoil me a bit.” 

“I’m sure.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The actual wedding came on a Sunday in a Cathedral in New York, surrounded by John Brady’s entire extended family and friends, and all of General Spaatz’s casual acquaintances.  Needless to say, it was a lavish affair.  

Once the ceremony was over—for Gracie had dealt with the entirety of a Catholic wedding very patiently and kindly—they had made their way to the reception.  

She was positively preening with happiness at the sight of it.  Pink flowers everywhere—pink drapings and curtains, soft warm lighting, and pretty shiny gold furnishings all over the venue.  John arrived with her on his arm, giving a low whistle at the sight of the entire venue. 

“That is a lot of pink.  You must’ve laid it on thick.” 

“Well my mascara ran and daddy panicked.” 

“Naturally.” 

The band was playing music and had struck up a lively tune and Grace just glanced down at her shoes cheekily.  “I’ll have you know, Mr. Brady, that I wore heels.  And they hurt my feet.  And I did not wear stockings,” she kindly informed him.  

He gave a wide grin. “You are shockingly consistent, even when you’re being wickedly surprising.” 

“Delightfully surprising,” she corrected, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  Some of her pink lipstick transferred over to his cheek and she gently wiped at it to make sure that he was still pristine.  After all, he was the groom, and it was important that they both look their best on their special day. 

“Well Mrs. Brady, I believe I owe you many dances.” 

-In my mind, James Douglass is the type of man who SCREAMS slut and man-whore energy, self-proclaimed ladies man, so that he looks cool with the bros

-But that is a monogamous SIMP who would never TRULY look at another person

-He despises cheating

-So when he has the chance to write to you, he does

-I fear that this is actually how he spends his time and he's a very big proponent of getting other men to write to their S/Os and their wives. We stan a good example.

-That being said, you mentioned the letters specifically

-It ranges from him being the softest of simps where he's just musing on the future that he wants to have with you

-To poetry that he's trying REAL hard to emulate. I had headcanoned that he is a well-read man and a romantic at heart, so I just know that he's out here reading all the romantic poetry and romance novels.

-To the dirtiest filthiest shit, like I fear this man has 0 filter when he gets going on a letter. He'll talk about how he's getting himself off to the thought of you, or discloses his wet dreams that he's had about you, or his sexual fantasies for the two of you once things are over

-But make no mistake, he writes about it in a classy way. It's not crass.

-And because he's a hands on man, he absolutely writes sometimes with the intent to help YOU get yourself off until you can be in his arms again

-I fear the rubbers in his locker are actually the communal shop where people can buy them from him at a discounted price so he can just keep sending you so many letters??

-Like, it LOOKS wrong, but it's for a good cause

-Contraband of the United States Air Force? Yeah.....just a little bit. But for a GOOD CAUSE. It's not a can of peaches, so how bad can it be?

-Would, in fact, partake in some spicy photography for you if the opportunity arises and hopes that you would do the same for him

-But also?? Those letters are grossly sweet and romantic

-Like I KNOW there's whole paragraphs about just your eyes or your hair or something like your smile and it's very sweet and has 0 sexual intention to it

-Either way, letters with this man are the best thing in the entire world