So I was asked if I was going to write any holiday Borra fics, and I couldn't not attempt a Christmas!Borra.

Merry Christmas, everyone! :D

Rated: K

The Greatest Gift of All

"All ready for bed, turtle ducks?"

I see Bolin poke his head into the kids' nursery where I'm helping the little one into his pajamas. Bolin is the one who usually tackles this job, but tonight I insisted. Even so, he can't resist coming to check on them, and I smile at the look on his face when he finds our daughter surrounded by a legion of stuffed animals on the floor.

"There you go, little man," I say, swatting the boy's rear as he waddles off toward his father. Pudgy arms rise into the air, and even though he's quite big for a three-year-old, Bolin hefts him up into his arms and lets him snuggle against his neck. Bolin gives a sigh and drops a kiss on the top of his head before laying him into the bottom bunk. He yawns sleepily and cuddles his plush fire ferret close. A thumb is in his mouth before his eyes are even closed.

"Okay, you," I say, narrowing my eyes at the other one. "Into bed."

Her eyes go wide, a pout materializing on her lips in zero-point-six seconds flat, and it's like I'm looking in a mirror. Oh spirits, I think, praying that she won't throw a fit now that it's too late to play with toys.

"You heard your mother."

She glances up at her father and heaves a loud, theatrical sigh, and I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. Unfortunately for the two of us, this kid is as dramatic as Bolin and every last bit as stubborn as me.

We lucked out with the little one. I almost can't believe he's one of mine.

Bolin crosses over to the bunk beds as she clambers up the ladder with a stuffed polar bear dog in tow and buries herself beneath the blankets. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he coos, planting a kiss in the general vicinity of her head. I bend down to tuck the little one in, pressing my lips to his forehead, but he's already fast asleep.

We switch places and I pull back the blankets, uncovering the brat in the top bunk. Her arms go around my neck in a quick, tight hug. "Goodnight, mommy," she says into my ear.

"Goodnight, my mini-me," I whisper back.

She giggles and sinks into her blankets. Bolin takes my hand as we move to the door and switch off the light, but before we can leave, a small voice calls to us.

"Is Santa real?" our daughter asks, Water-tribe-blue eyes peering out at us from the top bunk. "Is he really really real?"

"Of course he is, Dewdrop!" Bolin cries, his voice making the youngest flinch in his sleep. I smack Bolin's shoulder, gesturing at the lower bunk, and he gives me a sheepish smile. "Why do you ask?" he asks, his voice quieter this time.

"Uncle Mako said he wasn't."

Bolin frowns, awkwardly chewing his lip the way he does when he can't meet someone's eyes. "Yeah… Uncle Mako told me that once too."

I'd always thought the stories about a fat man with a red coat and white beard flying around on a sleigh pulled by reindeer goats and leaving presents for people was a little silly. But seeing the sad look on Bolin's face makes me want to punch Mako in the gut for ruining the magic and wonder of childhood for him. And for attempting to do the same to my children.

Idiot childless uncle.

"But!" Bolin cheers, recovering quickly from the memories of disappointing holidays past. "When you wake up tomorrow morning, you'll know Santa was here because there will be tons of presents under the tree for you and your brother."

"Really?" she asks, eyes growing wide. I can practically hear her salivating at the prospect of new toys. Even the ones that aren't hers.

"Yes!" Bolin says, grinning madly and making her giggle. "But he only comes when all the kids are fast asleep," he finishes mysteriously.

"What about mommies and daddies?"

"Them too," Bolin says, winking roguishly at me as he sweeps his thumb across the inside of my wrist.

"Then you'd better go to sleep right now!" she shouts, pointing at the doorway and blatantly dismissing us.

"Great idea!" I say as I stretch an arm over my head and pat my mouth through a fake yawn. Grasping Bolin by the arm, I start to direct him towards the door because he'd seriously spend all night with the kids if I didn't.

"Goodnight, sweetie!" Bolin whisper-shouts as we exit the room.

When we think both the kids are asleep we begin carting armfuls of wrapped presents to the living room where our tree is decked out in blinking, multi-colored lights and ribbons. I set down the bunch and relax on the couch, snacking on the plate of cookies Bolin and Auntie Asami made with the kids this afternoon as Bolin painstakingly arranges the loot under the tree.

"Mmm," I hum through bites of frosted cookie. "Mrs. Claus likes these. She hopes there'll be some next year."

"I'll let the Elves know," Bolin laughs. He sits back on his knees as he fixes the last of the presents with the same care he would to style his hair.

"Ready for bed, Mrs. Claus?" he finally asks, and I set the nearly empty cookie platter down on the coffee table.

"Just a sec," I say, downing nearly half a glass of milk in one go before setting the glass down beside the plate so that the kids will see the evidence that Santa was here.

Bolin captures my lips in a kiss before I have a chance to wipe the milk from my upper lip. "Ready for bed, Mrs. Claus?" he asks again, only this time with a growl.

I laugh and jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. He carries me all the way to our bedroom where we exchange gifts early…

In the morning we are awakened with excited shrieks and laughter, and the bouncing of children on our bed. I tug my robe on as the kids lead us into the living room, only now there's at least double the amount of gifts spilling out from under the tree than there were last night.

"Where did all these presents come from?" I ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow at Bolin. The kids are already tearing into the presents, their delighted squeals piercing our ears as bits of gift-wrap paper is strewn about the living room.

"It wasn't me!" Bolin frantically whispers, showing me his palms. He knew well not to get frivolous with the spending like he did last year.

"It was Santa!" our daughter screams joyously, and I catch the childlike innocence in Bolin's eyes when he starts to believe. It's that innocence I love about him, that fascinates me and keeps all the disappointing grownup stuff at bay. He may be a father now, but he's still such a kid inside, and it's that youthful innocence I want to always keep alive…

…which is why I woke up early this morning while Bolin slept and snuck a few more presents under the tree.