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She really didn’t mean to get out of bed.
Her Papa had read her a bedtime story about the grinch, her favorite, and then her Mama had given her a kiss goodnight. She tried to sleep, she really did, but she was just so excited.
When she finally managed to close her eyes she had a horrible twisty feeling in her stomach that the cookies she and Mama had made weren’t on the plate for Santa right, and that he wouldn’t find them.
All she had wanted to do was make sure the cookies were set out right, that they were in fact perched on the coffee table in the living room where Katya swears she left them.
She was so worried she got herself out of bed, bringing her teddy with her to help calm some of her nerves. She holds it to her chest as she quietly opens her door, peeking her head down the hallway to where the tree was in their living room.
Katya really just hoped Santa hadn’t come yet. If he did and didn’t have his cookies he might think she belongs on the naughty list - or worse… he might be sad.
She’s quiet as a mouse as she walks down the hallway, her feet barely making a noise thanks to her footie pajamas - her favorites, a present from her Baba last year, red with little snowmen on them. The light from the Christmas tree is her guide, and she’s nearly to the living room when she stops, wide eyed, before ducking around the corner.
Katya feels her heart race because he’s here, she was too late to get the cookies and now she was going to get caught by Santa himself.
She wonders if he’ll be mad at her.
There’s another noise of footsteps then, and Katya watches as her Mama walks next to Santa and sets a present down. She can’t believe Mama’s here! Doesn’t she know she’s supposed to be asleep?
“This is ridiculous,” her Mama murmurs.
Santa shushes her.
She can’t hear what he replies with, and her view is mostly obstructed by the tree to try and make out the words from his mouth, but all she catches is “Christmas spirit” and “Katya’s been so good.”
She tries not to squeal because she thought she has been good this year.
Her Mama just shakes her head in that way she usually does when her Papa does something silly. She’s starting to wonder where Papa is when Mama leans in and kisses Santa right on the mouth.
Katya watches her Mama pull away and give him a smile, complaining briefly about his white beard. She can’t bear to see anymore and quickly and quietly makes it back to her room, praying neither of them saw her.
The cookies are all but forgotten, and a word Zo-Zo says when she’s super mad at Uncle Nik sticks in Katya’s mind.
All she knows is she saw her Mama kissing Santa Claus.
And her Papa is gonna be pissed.
***
He wakes up to cold toes pressed into his calf, and his wife’s light snoring in his neck.
Aleksander squeezes her hip as he glances at the clock, frowning slightly.
Katya loved Christmas, he expected her to have barreled in here hours ago.
“Go back to sleep,” his wife murmurs.
“It’s late,” Aleksander replies, kissing the top of her head. “Katya should be up by now.”
“Maybe it’s a Christmas miracle,” Alina slurs, “Sleep more.”
He smiles when she burrows herself deeper against him, all warm and sleepy and absolutely perfect. It’s no wonder she’s so tired; they went a bit overboard with Katya’s gifts this year - plus he put that silly Santa costume to good use, feeding into his wife’s need for the occasional role play.
Aleksander knows the pregnancy isn’t helping her tiredness either and he rubs her stomach absently, barely even protruding yet.
Wanting to go check on Katya, he begins to extract himself from his wife, laughing when she groans, palming at the bed where his body once was.
“Rest, love,” he whispers, kissing her head and tucking the blanket up around her neck, “I’ll get you when breakfast is ready.”
She hums absently, eyes still closed and moving slightly so she can bury her nose into his pillow.
He smiles at her and shakes his head slightly, grabbing a t-shirt from the dresser to put on before he heads to Katya’s room.
He knocks on the door before he enters, peering inside.
“Katyusha, are you awake?”
“Oh Papa.”
She sits up in her bed when he enters fully, her teddy clutched to her chest with her eyebrows drawn together in what he thinks must be concern. He tries to school his own frown, making his way to her bed and kneeling at its side.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“Papa, please don’t be mad.”
He’s not sure she could ever do anything that would make him mad, but he nods, rubbing her back comfortingly.
“I thought I forgot the cookies for Santa and I wanted to make sure they were out and so I got out of bed even though you told me not to get out of bed—”
“Deep breath,” he interrupts gently. She inhales and exhales and he nods, trying not to smile when she mimics it.
“And-and well I saw Mama—”
Shit.
Shit.
She knows Santa isn’t real and they’ve completely ruined Christmas, haven't they?
“—And she was kissing Santa.”
Oh.
Oh, somehow this is even worse.
Aleksander keeps rubbing her back, trying to think of the right words to say to his baby girl. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears at the thought of her mother kissing someone that isn’t her father, but if he tells her it was him he risks destroying the Christmas magic.
“Papa?” she asks, her bottom lip wobbling, “You aren’t gonna leave again, right?”
“Oh, Katyusha,” he coos, “Darling, no, I’m staying right here.”
“Promise?”
Her little voice cracks and it makes Aleksander’s heart ache. He pulls her into a hug, whispering soothing things to her.
“Sweet girl, I promise,” he says, “Mama and Papa love each other very much, no one is leaving.”
He feels her tiny sigh of relief against his chest, her shoulders losing their tension. He hates that she still fears they’ll split up again and hopes one day soon she’ll never have that fear again.
“But what about Mama?” Katya mumbles, “Why would she kiss Santa? I thought she was supposed to only kiss you?”
“Maybe Mama was confused,” he tries, “I’ll talk to her. It’ll all be okay, I promise, milaya.”
“Okay,” she sniffs.
“How about you set the table so I can get started on breakfast, hm?” he says, “I’ll go get Mama and talk to her.”
She nods her head, lifting back from his chest to look up at him with wet eyes. He wipes away the stray crocodile tears, kissing her forehead.
The crisis seems to be averted, and the silliness of the situation makes him have to physically fight back his laughter.
He kisses the top of her head again, grateful his daughter had such a pure heart, something she got right from her mother.
“Papa?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think Santa found the cookies?”
***
“Wait, she said what?”
“She saw you kiss Santa,” he teases, “She was quite worked up about it.”
“Oh Christ,” Alina mutters, “I told you that costume was a stupid idea.”
“You seemed to like it last night.”
She hits him on the chest, squealing when he tugs her so he can kiss her on the mouth.
“Merry Christmas, Alinochka.”
She pulls away, eyes glinting happily.
“Merry Christmas, Santa.”
fin.