Going straight was hard.

Remaining so – even harder.

Remembering why he was doing it? Now that was a piece of cake!

Awoken by the gentle whisper of raindrops falling against the roof and the gutters, Scott stretched lazily, his mind foggy with sleep. The room was filled with the grey light of dawn, and the world outside the window, streaked with the rivers and rivulets of rain, looked smudged and out of focus. Christmas time in San Francisco couldn't be more dreary even if it tried. Absently, he wondered if the city was laughing at them all and their festivities and colourful lights and miles and miles of tinsel hanging everywhere.

He cut it close this time, very close, barely making it back home on the night before Christmas Eve. Apparently, the bad guys had no notion of holidays and no respect for his desire to maybe not spend them being repeatedly punched and kicked and thrown around.

His body ached with every breath he took, his ribs – probably broken, most definitely cracked – protesting his every move, his muscles sore from the things he didn't want to remember and the fights he hoped were worth it. In the back of his mind, Scott remembered that he needed to get up and maybe fold the suit that was lying on the floor in a shapeless heap because he couldn't care less a few hours ago, too worn-out to bother.

By the time he walked through the door, it was nearing 2 in the morning, and Hope was already in bed, undoubtedly thinking he wasn't going to be back in time, and probably pissed about of that. He promised, after all. The sight of her curled under the covers echoed with a tug in his chest, and a wave of longing so strong it took his breath away. This was it, he thought. This was why he kept trying.

She rolled into him when he slipped under the blanket next to her, curling around him without waking up, warm and solid and real. He'd fallen asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, breathing her familiar scent.

Scott ran a tired hand over his face, feeling the scruff on his cheeks with his palm, his eyes still raw like someone took their sweet time to use them as punching bags. Although that probably was exactly what had happened, he thought sourly. Damn Avengers and their high moral ground. He could probably go back to hacking into bank accounts. That could still get him beaten up, but at least not by choice.

"You're staring," Hope murmured without opening her eyes.

Her head was resting on his bicep, using it as a pillow, and even though his arm had fallen asleep, Scott refused to move. Refused to so much as breathe lest she pull away and take that warmth with her.

He was, and without realizing it, too, his gaze roaming slowly around her features, taking in the elegant curve of her eyebrows, her thick, black eyelashes, the gentle bow of her lips, the sprinkling of freckles over her nose. He missed her, missed seeing her like that, soft around the edges, with her armour stripped down. No sharp suits or sharper heels, or holding back from saying and feeling everything that was real. Her hair was longer now, framing her face with soft waves, and his fingers itched to thread through it, feel its silkiness against his skin.

"How did you even know it was me?" Scott asked in a mock-appalled whisper. "It could've been anyone in your bed, and you'd just say You're staring?"

"Anyone?" She opened one eye, and he could see she was struggling to keep her smile at bay. "Really?" And there it was, brighter than the sun, tugging at the strings inside him he didn't even know were there. "You're the only one who can get past the goddamn security system without summoning a S.W.A.T. team here."

He considered her words for a moment. "Fair enough." After all, he set up the 'goddamn security system' himself. For all he knew, this place was basically something between Fort Knox and Pentagon. Hank was very proud.

She wiggled closer to him, until Scott was on his back and was half draped over him, her face tucked into the crook of his neck and her breath warm on his skin. "Besides, I know what you feel like," Hope murmured, sending a zap of electric current through his body and stealing his voice away.

He ran his hand through her hair, his chest rising and falling slowly until their breathing synced. He missed her voice, hearing it like this. She sounded different on the phone, the distance stripping it of everything that was really her – the husky notes, the smile he could hear between the words. He wanted to crawl into her head now and see what she was thinking. Wanted to crawl into her chest and find home in that warm space near her heart.

"So, you're not mad?" He asked, drawing slow, lazy circles on her back while Hope watched the raindrops chase one another down the windowpane.

"That you're three days late? A little."

"Wasn't my fault," he added quickly.

"I know. Hence the 'a little'." A pause. "I had to find a tree without you."

Yeah, he saw it in the living room. A dark shape against the pale square of the window. Because of course, she had to. Because she was Hope Van Dyne and she was organized to her core, and even if her shitty boyfriend had to skip the holiday (which he, thankfully, managed to avoid), she'd still have the tree. Because she cared.

"I'm sorry," Scott mumbled, kissing the crown of her head.

"And to buy the presents."

"Okay, that I'm not sorry about," he admitted, earning a poke in his ribs that made him gasp involuntarily because, Jesus Christ, that hurt. "Yeah, okay, maybe I deserved that."

Hope went still, then shifted gingerly to make sure she wasn't hurting him.

"Was it bad?" She asked quietly. They never talked about the missions, never talked about the possibility of him dying, but he wasn't stupid enough not to see it was bothering her. After all, she knew the price for trying to make a difference, and it frightened her.

"When is it ever good?" He snorted, keeping his voice light. She'd see the bruises anyway, probably count the broken bones, too. There was no need to make it darker than it already was. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't call." She propped herself up on the elbow, watching him closely for a few moments before reaching to touch a cut over his eyebrow gingerly, her fingers cool and soothing on his skin. "I'm sorry I almost missed Christmas," Scott breathed out. "And I'm sorry for what you'll see when I take off my shirt, although this one wasn't my fault. These guys... they don't fight by the rules."

"Really?" A small smile in her voice was back, and he couldn't help but reach over to touch her hair, tuck it around her ear, his thumb brushing over the dimple on her left cheek while his heart tripped over itself. "Why don't you take it off and we'll go from there?"

---

The rain only grew stronger by the afternoon, heavy clouds hanging over the roofs and grazing against the treetops, making 5 in the evening feel like midnight.

"This is just not normal," Scott mumbled, peeking outside, his face scrunched into a grimace at the sight of rainwater flowing down the street like a stream, carrying discarded coffee cups and candy wrappers. He glanced over his shoulder and into the living room lit with the fire and led-lights adorning the Christmas tree. "I bet it's some kind of Thor's shit," he told Hope who was sitting on the couch with her legs tucked under her body and a cup of hot chocolate clasped between her palms. In his old, oversized sweatshirt, she looked like everything he ever wanted, and more.

Smirking, she uncurled from her spot and put the cup down before crossing the room to join him by the bay window. She wrapped her arms around Scott's waist from behind and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder.

"So what if it is?"

She didn't know. Didn't want to know. And what did it matter anyway? He came back – battered and bruised, but alive. She'd take that over the bright sun in a blue sky.

His hands clasped around her wrists, his thumbs running absently over her skin, making soft, warm glow spread up her arms and over her body. At last, he turned around, leaning against the windowsill, and drew her closer, clasping his hands on the small of her back.

"Hank is expecting us for lunch tomorrow," she told him, running her finger absently along the neckline of his shirt.

His eyebrows hit his hairline. "Is he, now? I mean, it's cool that you guy are talking."

"There'll probably be a pop quiz," she warned him with just enough seriousness to make him wince a little – it most definitely wasn't a joke.

"Because I'm hanging out with the Avengers, or because I'm sleeping with his daughter?"

"Both. Maybe. Just don't put it that way when you talk to him."

"Got it."

Maggie and Paxton took Cassie to Hawaii for the holidays, and one didn't have to be a genius to know Scott missed his daughter like scary, especially during what was supposed to be the most magical time of the year. There was a pile pf presents waiting for her return that was bigger than their tree, and she knew he couldn't wait for his kid to see it. It was better, though, with the visitations and such, and that was something. That was everything, actually.

"What is it?" Hope asked, linking her hands at the nape of his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. He needed a cut. He hated to be reminded of it. It scared and thrilled her to know those things about him, small details about the world no one else could see.

Scoot pulled her closer until he could bury his face into her neck, and she felt him smile against her skin. "It's good to be home."