Work Text:
International Donut Day
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Friday June 1, 2029
The flat sunlight of early June poured in through the Credenhill kitchen window, catching dust motes in the air. The house was humming, restless with the push-pull rhythm of a proper work-and-school morning. Everything was wood and warm colors and the sharp scent of fresh coffee that nearly overpowered the yeasty tang of oats toast waiting for the twins to make their appearance.
Simon stood at the stove, his black t-shirt stretched tight over the planes of his back, balaclava rolled up to his nose so he could taste the tea properly. There was order in the simple breakfast he made today. Toast crisping up just right, oats bubbling low in their pan with a dusting of cinnamon, juice glasses already poured and lined up like little soldiers along the counter. Every movement was practiced, economic. Domestic.
Johnny had slunk into the kitchen earlier than usual, still tucking his shirt into camo trousers and already fisting a heel of toast in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He’d gone straight for Simon, like a missile seeking its target, dropping a kiss to Simon’s cheek and then, when he thought no one was looking, brushing the line of Simon’s jaw with his thumb before leaning in for a taste of tea from Simon’s mug.
“You know the rules, MacTavish,” Simon murmured, pretending not to notice how Johnny was practically vibrating from lack of sleep or anticipation. “That’s my tea.”
“Rules are for new recruits, not husbands. Besides, ye kiss better than tea, anyway.” Johnny just grinned, sharp and bright, eyes flashing up at Simon.
He bit into his toast, butter smeared across his mouth, and set his mug on the counter with a practiced flick that made the spoon clink. He moved like he was already thinking about the next hour, the next four things he had to do, but his hand still settled on Simon’s hip for a second longer, grounding.
“You want more than toast?” Simon asked, low and careful, but Johnny shook his head.
“Got to get Elena to school.” He winked at her over the counter, blue eyes catching. “Doing classroom demos at the range today. Fun.” He made it sound like an insult and a punchline at the same time.
Elena appeared in the kitchen, quiet as ever. There was something about the way she moved, all silent steps and soft edges, like she was bracing herself for noise. Her mum’s grey cardigan was back over her t-shirt, even though the weather was too warm for it, and her hair was still damp from the shower, pulled back in a loose ponytail. She hovered, not quite at the table.
“You need to eat, love.” Simon’s head jerked toward the bowl of oats he’d left steaming for her. “Toast’s hot. Juice there too.”
She nodded, but her gaze flicked to Johnny, then the counter, then back to the floor. Simon could feel the tension in her, that little skittery thing she did some mornings before her own chemistry evened out.
Johnny took another bite of toast and wiped the crumbs from his lips. Then, quieter, gentler, “Right, lass. Here’s yer options: Ah’ve got to drop by the donut shop before base. Bringing donuts to the classroom. Sweeten up the recruits, ye kin?” He rolled his eyes, but the edge to his voice was all affection. “Ye fancy riding along? Or would ye rather let Simon take ye after?”
For a second, Elena blanked, uncertain. She looked at the food, then Johnny, then back at her hands. Her fingers were fidgeting with the bracelet on her wrist, twisting it in a nervous habit she probably didn’t even notice.
“Donuts?” she asked, lifting her gaze just enough to meet Johnny’s.
“International Donut Day, so Ah’m told. Figured it’d buy me a few minutes of their attention before they start trying to light things on fire. Always works.” he grinned, all teeth and trouble.
“Can I come with you?” Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile but getting there.
It came out small, careful, and Simon felt something in his chest give way a bit. God, the kid never asked for anything.
“Course ye ken,” Johnny declared, already moving to tap the side of her bowl. “But ye need to eat something first. Not letting Simon throttle me at the door for letting ye skip breakfast.”
“Ah’d never,” Simon said, voice dry, but he reached across the table to nudge the toast closer to Elena’s hand. His big knuckles brushed the edge of the blue plate, a gentle nudge. “Eat a bit. Don’t want to faint on the donuts.”
“Ye’re a menace when she’s not properly fed,” Johnny agreed, and caught Simon’s gaze with a look that said he was remembering every time Simon had fixed him breakfast before a long day. There was history there, woven in the casual banter.
Elena picked up her toast and took a bite, chewing deliberately. She wasn’t slow about it, but every motion was precise, mindful. Johnny watched her for a moment, then downed the rest of his toast, wiping his hands on his trousers before grabbing his coffee again.
Izzy appeared next, hair already coming loose from the plait Johnny had managed after her shower last night. She made a beeline for the juice, grabbing a glass before even saying hello.
“Izzy, manners,” Simon reminded, even though he was already setting her toast in front of her.
“Morning, Dad. Morning, Da. Ooh, oats.” She wrinkled her nose. “Do we have honey?”
“In the cupboard, top shelf. Don’t spill it.” Simon turned to fetch it, the cupboard groaning softly as he opened it.
Charlie rolled in behind her, already dressed, blue t-shirt and dark jeans and fresh trainers. His wheelchair moved smooth on the hardwood, his hands steady on the rims.
“Morning,” he said, voice not quite awake but getting there. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Oats, toast, and juice.” Simon set the honey down by Izzy. “You want toast, get it now. Warm still.”
Charlie helped himself to two pieces, layering them with jam and folding them like a sandwich. He maneuvered to the table, positioning himself carefully, legs tucked in tight beneath the edge.
Johnny finished his coffee, then bent to press another quick kiss to Simon’s cheek. Simon caught the brief flash of affection, bright and sweet, and even the twins must have noticed because they both rolled their eyes but didn’t comment.
“Right, we’re off,” Johnny announced. “Charlie, Izzy, be good for Dad. No fights before school. Simon, can Ah borrow your wallet? Want to grab extra, for the admin staff. Figure they’ll appreciate the bribe.”
Simon tossed the wallet to Johnny, who caught it one-handed and waggled his eyebrows at the twins.
“Ye see that? Still got it.” He took a couple of bills out and tossed it back to his partner with equal flare.
“Showoff,” Charlie muttered, but there was admiration in his gaze.
Izzy just grinned and waved, mouth full of honeyed oats.
Elena was already up from the table, her bowl mostly empty, juice untouched. She slung her bag over her shoulder, hair escaping its tie, and moved to the door. Johnny grabbed his keys, his bootsteps echoing down the hall.
“We’ll drop by Greggs,” Johnny called over his shoulder, “and then I’ll lob her at the school like a rugby ball.”
“Don’t throw her,” Simon said, but it was just to hear Johnny laugh again, bright and easy.
“Wouldnae dream of it,” Johnny promised, then turned to Elena. “C’mon, lass. Adventure awaits.”
She hesitated only a moment, then followed, steps light but purposeful. The door shut behind them, a soft click in the hum of the morning.
Simon watched the door for a few seconds longer, then turned back to the twins.
“Right. Eat up, both of ye. We’ve got thirty minutes before we leave.”
Izzy scooped the last of her oats, then started in on her toast, honey dripping onto the plate. She managed, somehow, to get it everywhere, her fingers, her cheeks, even a bit in her hair.
Charlie worked through his own meal, meticulous and methodical. When he finished, he poured himself another juice. The household grew quieter, the background noise shifting from voices to the soft scrape of cutlery and the buzz of the outside world seeping in through the open window. Birds calling, a lorry in the distance, and somewhere above it all, the promise of another long, humid summer day.
Ruby slunk into the kitchen, tail wagging softly. She nosed at Simon’s knee, pleading for a bit of toast. He obliged with a crust when he was certain no one was looking, watching her devour it like it was steak.
Above, the faint clatter of the Highlander starting, then fading down the drive.
Simon glanced at the clock. “Twenty-eight minutes. Go brush your teeth. Then check that you’ve got everything for school.”
Izzy bolted from the table, leaving her plate behind. She nearly knocked over her chair getting out, her voice echoing up the stairs. Charlie followed more slowly, wheeling himself toward his downstairs bathroom.
Simon loaded dirty dishes into the washer, wiped the counter, and poured himself a fresh tea. The ritual was grounding. Familiar. He let himself linger over the mug for a moment, breathing in the steam.
Christ, he had it good. The house, the kids, the ahold Johnny had on his every waking moment. It was nothing like the life he’d imagined for himself twenty, even ten years ago. Not a god damned thing like what he’d thought he deserved.
He finished the tea while Ruby circled his legs, patient and loyal. There was a run in their future. Ruby seemed to sense it, her body vibrating with anticipation.
Twenty minutes of some random cartoon that he couldn’t identify coming from the living room and Simon checked the clock again. Time to go.
He called the kids, helped Charlie get into the truck, double-checked Izzy’s bag, and locked up the house.
On the drive, Izzy peppered him with questions about donuts, which he deflected with skill born of years of special forces interrogation resistance. Her enthusiasm was infectious, though. By the time he dropped them at the school, the twins were laughing about something Izzy had said, and even Charlie was grinning, eyes dancing with secret amusement.
He watched them go until they disappeared into the crowd at the gate, then let Ruby hop into the front seat before heading towards the park to run.
--
In the Highlander, Johnny rolled his shoulders and tried not to look like he was dreading the range safety briefing more than he’d dreaded literal incoming mortars in Afghanistan. The drive through their neighborhood was easy, Elena silent beside him in the passenger seat. Johnny drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, letting the silence settle.
He glanced at Elena. She was watching the world drift by outside the window, expression shuttered but not unhappy. There was a comfort to her quiet, something that reminded him of Simon on the mornings when he’d stayed up all night running through old ghosts.
“Ye ever work a classroom with new recruits before?” Johnny asked, trying to bridge the silence.
“No.” Elena shook her head, the barest ghost of a smile curling on her lips. “I guess basic life science lab is as close as I’ve got.”
“Ye think Simon would survive being a range instructor?” he grinned.
“He’d terrify them,” she answered, voice so matter-of-fact that Johnny had to bark a laugh. She looked over, emboldened, a real smile flickering in her eyes. “No one would talk back.”
“Probably not,” Johnny admitted, picturing it. He could almost taste the terror. “Been told Ah’m too soft with the babies, actually. Guess it’s hard to be scared of me when Ah’m bribing them with donuts.”
“Donuts always help.” Elena looked at him for a second, then nodded once. “I thought Simon trained plenty of recruits.” she observed, considering what she’d heard in the past.
“Oh aye. Plenty of men out in the field. But this is sit down in a chair and be quiet while Ah lecture ye for an hour on how not to blow yer fingers off and what ta do if there’s a fire.” Johnny laughed. “His is run laps till ye drop.”
“That’s definitely a difference.” she observed.
“Agreed,” Johnny said, pulling into the Greggs carpark. The smell hit him before the door even opened, that heavy punch of sugar and fried dough. “Right. Ye help me pick out a proper selection, yeah?”
Inside, the place was packed, people queued for the special boxes decked out for International Donut Day. Johnny eyed the display case, mentally doing maths on how many boxes it would take to cover his own class and a few extras for the admin staff.
He glanced at Elena. “What’s your favorite?”
She hesitated, just for a moment. “Jam. Definitely jam,” Elena clarified, a ghost of something like mischief flickering in her eyes as the sugar-laden scent permeated every inch of the Greggs shop.
The place was a riot of banners, every spare inch decked out in clashing neons and pastel print: International Donut Day! The fonts blared across the ceiling, crisscrossing the space like they’d fired a confetti cannon at the interior designer and called it a success. Rows of paper streamers, some iridescent, some garish pink, looped over the displays. There were little balloons shaped like donuts, even a cardboard cutout in the far corner of a happy anthropomorphic ring with too many teeth. Proper chaos.
The display case was a fever dream. Double the usual size, boxes of donuts stacked behind the glass, shapes and toppings that looked engineered for shock value. Johnny stared, unashamedly delighted.
“Jesus, would ye look at this,” he breathed, leaning closer to the glass.
There were the standards. Pale, sugar-dusted jam rings, classic glazed, chocolate with rainbow sprinkles. But then there were the mad ones. Lemon meringue with actual little peaks of toasted fluff, caramel eclairs the size of his palm, ones dipped in lurid blue icing and crammed with popping candy. For Donut Day, they’d gone mental. There was a “Unicorn Sparkle” donut, swirled in pastel and topped with edible glitter, and a “Banoffee Bazooka” that looked as if it had been glued together by a hyperactive child with a piping bag.
They’d even labeled the best sellers, great little hand-drawn arrows pointing out the “Recruits’ Choice” (double chocolate with fudge and gold dust), “Donut Darling” (something suspiciously pink with hidden raspberry cream), and “Old Salt’s Favorite” (proper classic, plain, but the jam was imported, Johnny noted).
The queue was thick with office workers, students, and harried parents, all that early-morning tension buzzing. But Elena didn’t shrink from it. She stood her ground at his side, sunlight painting the streaks in her ponytail silver.
He waited till they edged closer to the counter, then nudged Elena with his elbow.
“Right, we need enough for the whole class. There’s sixty buggers in my lecture today. Figure five dozen gets a good spread for the greedy ones, and a dozen for the admin staff. Above and beyond, right?”
“You’re really bringing sixty donuts?” She eyed the selection, her mouth quirked into a sideways smile that made her look far younger.
“Sixty recruits, lass. Ye want to survive classroom training, ye bribe them. Oldest trick in the book.” He tapped his skull with two fingers. “Besides, they’ll need the sugar rush. Gonna be a long day.”
Elena scanned the riot of options, her eyes intent. “We should get half jam, half variety. Maybe some chocolate, some of the ‘unicorn’ ones for fun. I’d do at least one of everything in the special tray, just so no one complains.”
“Look at ye, thinking like a proper MacTavish. Ye aiming for a commission?” Johnny beamed at her, absolute pride in the lass’s tactical mind.
“Might as well save yourself a headache now.” She actually huffed out a laugh at that, a real one, before offering,
The girl at the counter had piercings in both eyebrows and a harried look, but when Johnny rattled off his order…
“Five dozen, mixed. Heavy on jam and chocolate, but we want at least a box of the Unicorn Sparkle for dramatic effect. And a dozen for admin, maybe mostly the plain and classic crew. And the lass gets her pick. A couple jam rings, if ye ken, please. Oh, and two of those massive iced coffees. The crazy sweet ones, with all the cream on top.”
It took her a minute to process it. Then the competitive glint of customer service went nuclear, and she snapped into action.
“Aye, Captain. We’ll fix you up. You want the International Donut Day box with the free balloon?”
“As many free balloons as you’ll let us out the door with.” Johnny grinned, elbow on the counter, utterly in his element.
Elena’s brows quirked up, but she nodded approvingly at his approach.
Behind the counter, it was all movement and the quick rustle of tissue paper and boxes being folded. Donuts loaded by the dozen, deft hands choosing from the rainbow wall. Johnny licked his lips, pretending he wasn’t contemplating running the class like a feeding frenzy just to see which flavor survived.
“You want to choose the rest of yours? Pick whatever catches your eye, yeah?” He looked sidelong at Elena.
She considered, then pointed with absolute certainty at the “Jam Supreme”. A donut so plump with filling it practically sweated sugar. “That one. And maybe a Banoffee Bazooka. For science.”
“Solid choices,” Johnny approved. “Though if ye start vibrating from sugar, Ah’ll have to explain to your headteacher why you’re climbing the walls.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile said she’d risk it.
Boxes started to pile up on the counter. Five massive, color-splattered boxes for the recruits, each covered in Donut Day slogans and little cartoon soldiers saluting with pastries in each hand. The admin dozen went in a sleeker, blue-and-white box, like it was the officer variant or something. Elena’s favorites were bagged up with a sticker that said, “You Deserve a Donut,” which Johnny pointed out with a snickering, “See that? Donut knows best.”
The drinks arrived, both in plastic cups that looked more like ice cream sundaes than coffees. They were layered with cream, syrup, and an unholy rain of chocolate shavings and rainbow sprinkles. The Greggs girl stuck in two straws each, for good measure.
Johnny held up his coffee, inspecting it for a long second, then took a sip. The sugar hit was immediate, landing like a right hook to the palate.
“Christ, that’ll put hair on your chest,” he said with a shudder, but he dove back in for more.
Elena took hers, examined the top, then delicately navigated the straw around the whipped cream to go for the espresso beneath. Her eyes widened.
“That’s sweet.”
“Wakes ye up, doesn’t it?” Johnny laughed, taking another enormous gulp. “Donuts and a sugar bomb for breakfast. Simon would have a fit.”
He could see the thought. His massive bastard of a husband, at home with his Earl Grey and mortal offense at anything not properly bitter. It made Johnny snort into his coffee.
“Imagine bringing one of these home,” he mused aloud. “Think Simon would pour it down the drain?”
“He’d taste it. Then he’d make a noise like a dying bear.” Elena shook her head, just shy of a grin.
Johnny barked laughter at that, nearly losing the straw.
They wrangled the boxes, Elena proving surprisingly efficient. With her bag on one shoulder and her coffee in the other, she balanced two donut boxes at a time, showing more organizational prowess than half his incoming class. Johnny grabbed the rest, leaving the balloons for last. A fistful of those pink and blue donut-shaped things, strings bunched together and bouncing as he moved.
They escaped the shop in a flurry of sugar, banners, and applause from the counter staff, who seemed genuinely impressed anyone could carry that much at once.
In the sunlight, Johnny packed the boxes into the back seat of the Highlander, stacking them carefully so nothing would get crushed. He caught Elena glancing over at him, her eyes bright and amused.
“How are you going to get all this inside?” she finally asked, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder.
He let out a snort, brushing a hand over his mohawk.
“Easy. Ah’m a captain. Ah’ll order a couple of the recruits to fetch the lot. Ye want a donut, ye do the legwork. Builds character.”
Elena laughed, a proper one, sharp and short and surprisingly lovely.
He watched her for a second, committing the sound to memory. God it was good to hear her starting to laugh regularly again. It had only been a couple of months since she’d lost both of her parents to tradgedy on the same bloody morning. She’d had a rough go of it. He’d take any smile he could get. Donuts, fancy coffee and all. Worth it. He gave her the grin, the big, MacTavish special, that always got a smile in return.
“Come on, lass. Secondary’s right across from the twins’ school, yeah?”
She nodded, flattening her palm over her bag to keep it steady as she climbed in.
“You lot start earlier,” Johnny noted, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Guess they’re getting a lie-in over there. But it means you get first pick of the donuts.”
She considered that, her expression thoughtful.
“Can I give one to the office lady? She always seems tired in the mornings.”
“Course you ken. That’s the difference between military and regular school. Sharing the wealth.”
The ride to the school was short, barely time for more than a few sips of dangerous sugar-espresso and some idle chatter about the various donut flavors he’d witnessed on the counter.
“Crazy to think about sixty recruits crammed into one room,” she mused, glancing out the window at the tidy rows of Credenhill’s houses speeding past.
Johnny groaned, the thought making him want to call in sick.
“Sixty. Like cattle. And all of them hopped up on sugar and just dumb enough to think they can outsmart the range rules. But Ah kin how to handle them. Ye set the tone early, make it sound like fun, and someone always volunteers to help. Usually the ones that want to curry favor.”
She looked like she was picturing it, and her mouth twitched in what might have been a smirk.
“So the donuts are a bribe?”
“Absolutely,” Johnny agreed, delighted she’d caught on. “Why else d’ye think Ah ordered five dozen? Could’ve brought in biscuits, but where’s the drama in that?”
They pulled up outside the school. Elena finished her coffee, a little more than half gone, and wiped the condensation from her fingers on her jeans before gathering her bag and her little sack of donut loot.
“Ye want a hand carrying it in?” Johnny asked, eyeing the enormous crowd of students swarming toward the door.
She shook her head, already vaulting out of the car with the athletic grace of a kid who’d learned to go unnoticed.
“I’m good. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Don’t mention it, especially ta Simon.” Johnny winked. “And remember, if anyone asks, ye fought a pirate king for that jam donut.”
The laugh that earned him was worth the trip alone.
He watched her thread her way through the crowd, shoulders squared, not a hint of hesitation as she moved. Proper brave, that one. Simon would be proud.
Once he confirmed she’d made it to the doors, he checked his watch, then eyed the five dozen donuts in the back seat.
Right. Next stop, the base.
He navigated the traffic, which was thickening as the morning wore on. Even with the extra time, he arrived at the training office with minutes to spare. The admin building was the usual bureaucratic brown, but today, Johnny livened it up. He slipped inside with the blue-and-white box for the admin staff, set it right at the center desk.
“You’re the best, Captain MacTavish,” one of the secretaries chirped, her voice already sticky with anticipation. “You spoil us.”
“Just keeping morale high,” Johnny demurred with a grin. “If anyone else asks, ye tell them it was range safety on the invoice.”
It only took a minute after that to intercept two of the actual recruits, already loitering around for the safety lecture. Johnny didn’t even have to ask. He just pointed at the Highlander and said, “Fetch the boxes, double time, and don’t ye dare drop them.”
The look on their faces was pure unfiltered joy, the kind only sugar could bring.
They stacked the boxes with military precision, one on each arm, and followed Johnny into the lecture hall. As he predicted, the scent of fresh donuts was enough to bring the rest of the class to heel. At least the first half of the morning should be good. He hoped.