A/N: Yay, first update of 2017! Happy New Year! (May it suck less than 2016.)
2018
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…
The first lines of the classic poem wiggled their way, uninvited, into Grant's mind as he quietly closed the front door, peeled his coat off and looked around in the empty, silent hallway. With a heavy sigh, he tossed his duffel into the hallway closet–he'd deal with tomorrow–, then bent down to get rid of his shoes.
He'd been called in for what was supposed to be a flash op a couple of days ago, then, as these things usually go, the mission stretched on for days, which resulted in him only getting home in the middle of the night of Christmas Eve (or was it Christmas Day already? He wasn't even sure anymore). And it hit him harder than he'd thought it would–Haylie'd been talking about Santa and the elves and the reindeers basically non-stop since the beginning of December, and he'd only gotten to see the look of complete awe on Ada's face as she took in their Christmas tree on the picture Skye'd sent him. Staying away from his family during the holidays simply sucked.
(That time, only six years ago, when he'd spent Christmas deep undercover and he hadn't even cared seemed eons ago now.)
Bone weary and ready to drop where he stood, he dragged his feet towards the stairs–thankfully, he'd been able to shower and change on the plane en route back to HQ, so now only falling to bed and snuggle up to Skye remained on his agenda for the night. All of what sounded absolutely heavenly at the moment.
Reaching the stairs, Grant, almost absent-mindedly, turned his head towards the living room where the tree stood, and smiled. The lights were turned off, but the glass ornaments (carefully placed on the higher branches, where the girls couldn't reach them) still gleamed softly in the dim moonlight. The space under the tree was already fully packed with carefully wrapped gifts, and the stockings, goofy, colorful ones, were hanging from the fireplace, fully stuffed.
Forgetting the promise of his bed for a moment, he let go of the railing, and walked into the living room. Not even thinking about what he was doing, he turned on the fairy lights wrapped around the tree, then sat down on the couch and just watched as the tiny bulbs blinked with a smile on his face. He might have missed Christmas Eve, but at least he'd be there for the morning, and that was what really mattered–he'd get to see as his daughters tear away the wrapping paper, he'd get to hear their laughter, he'd get to share quick kisses with Skye, tasting like hot chocolate…
He stifled a yawn and let his eyes drop for a moment. He felt as if every ounce of strength had gone out of his limbs, as if he wouldn't be able to move from this one spot even if the world was ending. Yawning again, he lay down on the couch, resting his head on one of the cushions–I quick nap wouldn't hurt, he thought as he closed his eyes, just five minutes, and then he'd go upstairs, have proper rest… Just five minutes…
…He woke hours later, his neck stiff, to a loud chorus of "Daddy! Daddy!", opening his eyes only moments before two overexcited monkeys crawled all over him.