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Otto shifted uncomfortably. This Santa suit was incredibly hot and the fake beard made his real beard itch. How did Cid talk him into this?
…Easily. Otto loved his family.
He and Cid were both swamped at work this year, working right up until Christmas Eve. And by the time they had a moment to take Midadol to the mall to see Santa, she had come down with chicken pox. It was weeks before the poor lass had finally stopped scratching and the mall Santas had departed for the year. Mid had been crushed.
Thus, here he was, standing in the living room waiting for Cid to bring their daughter to see her “special guest”.
It never failed to annoy the hell out of him whenever someone referred to Mid as “just his stepdaughter.” He and Cid had married when Midadol was two years old. Otto and Cid raised her. Her mother, Cid’s ex, had deigned to see her own child twice in her entire six years of life. Mid was his daughter. He would do anything for her, including losing ten pounds in sweat alone inside a sweltering Santa suit.
“We’re almost there…” Cid’s voice drifted from down the hall and Otto quickly fanned himself. It wouldn’t do to have Santa pass out in front of their daughter.
Cid sauntered into the living room, hands covering Mid’s eyes. Fframran, Otto’s son from his previous marriage, trailed reluctantly behind them. He was thirteen, well past the believing in Santa stage, but he also loved his little sister. He’d seen how miserable she was after missing out on seeing Santa.
“Okaaaay, stop,” Cid brought Midadol to a halt. “Ready to see your guest?”
The girl nodded enthusiastically and Cid removed his hands. For a single beat she froze and Otto felt a little pit of dread in his stomach. Did she recognize him? Then her small face lit up like the Christmas tree beside him.
“SANTA!”
“Ho ho ho!” Otto said as cheerfully as he could muster while feeling a little silly, cheeks turning red. His son’s lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. “My elves told me you were sick and missed out on visiting me, so I came to visit you!”
Mid bounded forward, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tight. Her gratitude was wordless, but it radiated from her in waves. She clutched at his coat like he might fly away if she let go.
“Would you like to tell me what you want for Christmas?”
She nodded; face still pressed to his middle.
“Midadol,” Cid chuckled. “You have to let Santa sit down. He’s an old man, you know.”
Otto shot his husband a look, but Midadol nodded again and released him. He sat in the plush green chair they had ready by the Christmas tree and patted his knee encouragingly. Mid approached, suddenly shy, and he lifted her up to sit on his knee. Big green eyes looked up at him with some anxiety and her small hands were clasped tightly in her lap.
“Something the matter, pumpkin?” He asked, immediately mentally kicking himself. Luckily, Mid didn’t question how Santa knew her Papa’s nickname for her.
Midadol shot a glance at her father and brother then leaned in close. He lowered his head so she could whisper into his ear.
“I wasn’t good all the time this year…”
Otto’s beard twitched in silent laughter at this very kid-like concern. “No matter,” he whispered back. “No one is perfect. What matters is if you’re a good person or not, and Santa knows that you, Midadol Telamon, are a good person.”
She brightened considerably, the anxiety melting out of her face. Otto couldn’t resist giving her a loving pat on the head.
“Now, let’s hear what you’d like for Christmas!”
“Captain Highwind’s Engineering Kit for Tykes!” She exclaimed immediately.
Oh, thank Greagor. Cid had managed to get the last one on his trip to the store a few days ago, fighting off who knows how many cranky grandparents all clamoring to get one for their grandkids. It was a good thing Midadol hadn’t changed her mind about what she wanted as well.
He nodded very seriously and made a show of pulling out a pad of paper and a fancy Christmas pen to jot down her “order”.
She gaped at him, “Santa, you don’t have a phone?”
The concern in her voice for poor ol’ Santa almost made him laugh again, “Reception is terrible when you’re flying around the world at the speed of light. Paper is more reliable.”
“…That is smart,” she said, nodding sagely.
Cid disguised a laugh as a cough.
“Ffam!” Mid exclaimed suddenly, looking over at her brother. “Take a picture! Papa will want to see Santa!”
They’d excused Otto’s absence by telling Mid he’d gone to the grocery store on a last-minute cookie run. Cid had a grocery bag of cookies stashed in the front hall closet for when Otto “returned from the store”.
Ffamran rolled his eyes and let out a very teenaged sigh, but he pulled out his phone, snapping a quick picture.
Midadol threw her arms around Otto’s neck, causing a little bit of panic to flare in Cid’s eyes when her sleeve caught on his fake beard. Thankfully, the beard stayed in place.
“Thank-you so, so, so much for visiting me, Santa!”
He patted her back, “You’re welcome, Mid. You’re a good kid.”
“Now,” Cid clapped his hands together. “Santa is a busy man and it’s almost your bedtime, young lady. Time to brush your teeth and get your PJs on.”
Mid pouted a little, but nodded, giving Otto one more squeeze before hopping off his lap. She was halfway across the room when she suddenly stopped, looking from Otto to her brother, brow puckered with uncertainty.
“What about Ffamran?” She asked. “Shouldn’t he tell Santa what he wants?”
Her brother froze, looking mortified at the very thought.
Cid had an evil glint in his eye, “Damn right he should.”
“Dad, I’m not—” He was interrupted by his sister planting her hands on his back, pushing him toward Otto.
“You’re a good brother, Ffam! And Santa wants to hear, right, Santa?”
He could not deny that Ffamran was a great kid and always a good brother to Midadol.
Otto smiled, “Of course I do, Mid.”
“I hate my life,” Ffamran groaned dramatically.
“Don’t be stupid, it’s Santa!” Midadol scolded him, herding him all the way across the living room.
Otto took a little bit of pity on his son, “You can sit on the arm rest if you like.”
Ffamran gave his father a look of gratitude and sat on the chair’s armrest, cheeks slowly turning red.
“And what would you like for Christmas, Ffamran?”
His son’s face was so red he matched the Santa suit perfectly, “…An Ultimastation 5.”
Again, Otto nodded very seriously and whipped out his pad of paper to write it down. He and Cid were two-for-two. They’d bought the popular gaming system for Fframran ages ago. No need to fight little old ladies for that one.
“Da!” Mid pulled at Cid’s arm. “Picture!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Otto whispered to his son as Cid got his phone out. “It’ll be blurry, there will be no evidence of this.”
Fframran snorted in soft laughter as Cid grumbled about the front-facing camera before taking what would indeed be a blurry picture.
“…Thanks, Santa.” Ffamran said stiffly, hopping off the armrest. “Dad, can I go back to my room now? Fran’s probably getting overrun by zombies, we were in the middle of a match.”
Cid nodded, “Yeah. Go. Blast zombies in the face.”
“Thanks,” He lovingly ruffled his sister’s hair. “Goodnight, twerp.”
“Goodnight, jerkface.”
Fframran disappeared down the hall. Midadol gave Otto another enthusiastic wave before following after her brother.
“Brush your teeth!” Cid called out in reminder. “I’m going to see Santa out then I’ll read you a story!”
“Okay!” Mid’s voice called back.
Otto groaned slightly as he got to his feet. He was sweaty and his knees ached. He was looking forward to a bath and then a cuddle on the couch with Cid before bed.
His husband grinned at him as he approached, “I knew an old bear like you would make a good Santa.”
Otto felt his cheeks turning red, “Please don’t call me that.”
“Father Christmas?” Cid continued, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Daddy?”
“Cid—”
The man gave a hearty laugh, “Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”
Otto lowered his voice, just in case Midadol decided to come back down the hallway. “Alright. I left my car at Clive and Gav’s place. I’ll leave the suit there and drive back. Should be about ten minutes.”
Cid smirked and swooped in to press a quick kiss to his lips, “Don’t forget the cookies.”