It may have been Christmas Eve, but Robbie Queen would not stop pouting.
He pouted all throughout lunch, even though Raisa cooked his favorite mac and cheese. He pouted as he watched the staff decorate the manor. He pouted as he and his mother lit the first candle on the menorah. He even pouted when Uncle Digg and Aunt Lyla came by with Sara and JJ.
His pout carried into his bedtime routine, as his mother helped him into his Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas. She looked really pretty, in a sparkly red dress that went all the way down to the floor, and he could smell the perfume Dad got her for her birthday. Her attire just reminded him of why he was annoyed, and his scowl deepened.
"Robbie, sweetie," she murmured as she ran a hand over his smooth blonde hair. "What's wrong? I thought you were excited to spend the night with your friends."
He crossed his stubborn arms over his chest. "I want to go to the party! Why can't I go?"
She chuckled and sat down on the bed, bringing him onto her lap. "Because, you're going to be bored," she said soothingly as she pressed a kiss on his forehead. "It's just going to be a bunch of adults talking."
He shook his head hard. "But, Mom!" he protested. "What if Santa comes and he sees a bunch of people in the house and he doesn't leave my presents? I have to be there to convince him!"
"Don't worry," she reassured him with a knowing smile. "Santa won't skip our house. He knows how good you've been this year."
"But how do you know?" he demanded.
She shrugged. "I just know. Just like I know how you'll be bored at the party."
Robbie sighed and gave his mother a long-suffering look. What was it about parents thinking they knew everything? Sometimes there were things that they just didn't know.
At that moment, Robbie's dad walked into the bedroom. Weirdly enough, he wasn't dressed yet, still in the same sweater and jeans he had been wearing earlier.
"Hey, buddy," his dad grinned, taking the spot on the edge of the bed next to his wife. "You excited to spend the night with Sara and JJ?"
He pushed his way out of his mother's lap and climbed onto his dad's. His father had always been more reasonable than his mom when it came to these sort of things. Surely he'd let him go to the party.
"Dad, if I promise to be good and not let any food spill on my shirt, can I go to the party?" he asked eagerly.
His dad raised his eyebrows. "And what about Sara and JJ? They came over tonight so they could hang out with you."
"They can come too," Robbie said dismissively.
That made his dad laugh. "I don't think they want to go to the party, so it's probably just better if you hang out here with them."
Robbie's scowl darkened and he crossed his arms over his chest once he realized he wasn't going to get his dad to cave. "It's not fair!" he complained. "You guys keep acting like I'm a baby, but I'm not! I want to go to the party!"
His dad placed a big hand on Robbie's back and rubbed it in soothing circles. "Believe me, buddy, there will be plenty of parties for you to go to in the future. But for right now, it'll be a lot more fun for you if spend the time with your friends."
The little boy grumbled. It was clear he wasn't going to get anywhere with this tonight.
"Fine," he muttered.
With that, his mother snatched him up out of his father's lap and squeezed him tight. "Goodnight, sweetheart," she whispered as she pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Be good for the nanny, and go to sleep when she tells you."
Robbie allowed the affection as he breathed in the sweet smell of his mother's perfume. Once she released him, it was his father's turn for a hug and a kiss. Then, with a sigh that was far older than he was, he got off the bed and took the nanny's outstretched hand to be led to the playroom where Sara and JJ were waiting for him.
Felicity turned an amused glance toward her husband as they watched their son trudge toward the playroom. "Poor kid. He was so worried about Santa skipping our house because of the party."
Oliver chuckled. "Speaking of which, I need your help getting into the suit."
Her smile widened as they both stood from their son's bed and walked out toward the hall. "I can't believe you're actually committing to wearing that thing all night."
"I made a bet with Digg," he said solemnly. "I'm not about to back out of it now."
She rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind the expression.
Twenty minutes later, Oliver and Felicity descended the massive staircase of Queen mansion and walked toward the glittering ballroom, lit up with strands of lights and tinsel. The massive tree twinkled in the corner of the room, right next to Felicity's gigantic menorah sitting in the window with a single candle lit. Dozens of people milled about the room dressed in formal clothing, laughing and smiling to one another as they sipped on their champagne flutes.
Felicity tucked her hand into her husband's elbow and smiled at him. He returned her expression with a little wink, and then the two of the stepped forward into the ballroom.
"Ho, ho, ho!" Oliver announced in a booming voice. "Welcome to the annual Queen Holiday Party!"
Everyone in the room turned to stare at the two of them and laughed when they saw none other than Oliver Queen, mayor of Starling City, dressed as Santa Claus.
A group of people descended upon him to congratulate him for his suit or the party or whatever else they wanted to suck up to him for while Felicity slowly snuck away toward the refreshment table. While she was there, munching on a couple of meatballs and mini latkes, John and Lyla walked up to her bearing champagne flutes and wide smiles.
"Fancy party, Ms. Smoak," Lyla winked.
Felicity laughed and leaned forward to hug her friends. "Thank you very much."
"I especially like your husband's suit," John smirked.
That made Felicity roll her eyes. "You're the reason he's going to be sweating like a pig all night underneath that thing and dehydrate himself."
"Hey, not my fault the man is so damn competitive."
"Who's competitive?"
Felicity turned at the voice and a smile spread over her face. "Three guesses and the first two don't count," she teased as she reached forward to wrap her arms around his waist.
Oliver made a big show of rolling his eyes underneath his wig and hat. "I'm not that competitive."
This time, Lyla joined in on Felicity's chuckles. "Oh please. The two of you are the worst. Remember that time at the Labor Day party bags tournament?" she turned to her husband and poked him lovingly in the side. "You ended up spraining your ankle. In a bags tournament!"
"Set a great example for your sons, by the way," Felicity added.
John scoffed. "Whatever. The moral of this particular story is that Oliver shouldn't challenge me to a shooting contest."
"If it had been archery, I would have kicked your ass."
John opened his mouth to respond, but Lyla deftly stepped in. "All right, we are at a holiday party," she reminded the both of them. "I really don't want you to sprain your ankle again."
"Yeah, considering your joints are getting kinda creaky there, old man," Oliver smirked.
Felicity shook her head and grabbed a bottle of water off the refreshments table and shoved it into her husband's hands. "Here. Drink this before Digg tricks you into dressing up as Cupid for Valentine's Day."
As the night wore on, Oliver stayed in character the whole night, laughing heartily with his constituents and handing out presents to friends, and Felicity stood by his side, shaking her head indulgently.
The party came to an end close to midnight. Since Sara and JJ were already asleep upstairs, Digg and Lyla retired to one of the guest rooms while all the other guests waved one last goodbye.
Once the last guest had left, the catering company came out of the shadows and started cleaning up after the party while Oliver collapsed onto the giant throne next to the Christmas tree.
"Holy crap," he said with an exhausted sigh, pulling his beard off his face. "I completely underestimated how hard it is to wear this damn suit for an entire evening."
Felicity giggled as she walked up and draped herself over her husband's lap. "Well, you did it very well," she told him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "And you sure showed John."
He blew out a sigh. "Next year, he's going to wear this thing. See how he likes it."
"It'll be the start of a grand tradition."
Oliver grinned at her under his beard. "I just realized...everyone else got a turn with Santa, except for you. What would you like for Hanukkah, Felicity Smoak?"
"Have I been a good enough girl for a present, Santa?" she murmured with a smile.
"Hmm. I think you've been a very good girl. Except for certain instances."
She giggled again, then leaned forward to kiss him.
When she pulled away, she smiled deeply into her husband's beautiful blue eyes and he looked back at her with all the love in the world. "Merry Christmas, Oliver."
"Happy Hanukkah, Felicity."
Robbie turned over in his bed and stared at the digital clock on the table next to him. It was almost midnight. Almost Christmas.
"Go to sleep, Robbie," Sara said from across the room.
"I'm not making any noise!"
"I can hear you thinking," she answered. "If you don't fall asleep, Santa won't come and he won't leave our presents under the tree. Don't ruin it for JJ and me."
"You're not asleep either," he accused.
"Neither am I," JJ piped up. "You guys are loud."
A silence fell over the darkened room and Robbie stared at ceiling. The sounds of the party had died a little, meaning it was probably already over. If they snuck down there, he might be able to catch a glimpse of Santa leaving their presents.
With that thought, Robbie shot up in his bed.
"What are you doing?" Sara hissed.
"I'm going to see if Santa's here," he answered as he slid out of the bed.
"You can't do that! What if he sees you?"
"He won't," he reassured her. "I'll take a peek from upstairs. He won't know."
"He will! He's Santa, he knows everything!"
Robbie rolled his eyes. Leave it to Sara to be such a chicken.
"If you want to stay up here, fine," he shot back. "But I'm going."
JJ sat up from his sleeping bag. "I'm going with you," he said excitedly. "I want to see Santa!"
Robbie could practically hear Sara grinding her teeth in the dark. "Fine!" she growled. "I'll go with you. But if he catches us and leaves without putting our presents under the tree, I will break your arm, Robert Queen Jr."
Quietly, the three of them crept toward the door of Robbie's bedroom and pulled it open. Then they tiptoed down the hallway toward the staircase, peeking around the corner of the wall where they could see the ballroom.
Just as Robbie had suspected, the room had cleared out, signalling that the party had ended. His eyes scanned the scene, glancing over the messy refreshments table and the overflowing trash cans.
Then he spotted him. In the corner of the room, next to the massive Christmas tree, was the man himself.
He sat on a giant golden throne with a red velvet bag overflowing with boxes wrapped in gold paper at his feet. He wore a suit made of the same material as his bag, lined with fur and held together with a shiny black belt and a gigantic silver buckle.
But Santa's appearance wasn't what made Robbie's eyes widen in shock and awe.
No, it was the fact that his mother was sitting on Santa's lap. And she was kissing him.
His mother. His mother was kissing Santa Claus.
JJ let out a huge gasp next to him and Sara immediately reached over and clapped her hand over her brother's mouth.
"We have to get out of here," Sara hissed. She grabbed Robbie's hand and the back of JJ's pajamas and forcibly hauled them to their feet back toward his bedroom.
Once the door was shut behind them, Robbie scrambled into his bed while Sara and JJ jumped into their sleeping bags. A stunned silence hung over the three of them for a long time.
"I can't believe it," JJ whispered. "Your mom was kissing Santa."
"Shh!" Sara hissed. "He's still here! He can probably hear us!"
The three of them shut up quickly while Robbie turned over in his bed to stare at the wall.
He was right there with JJ. He couldn't believe it either, that his mother was kissing the man himself. He wondered briefly to himself if his father knew, but he pushed that thought aside.
Then he thought back to earlier in the evening when his mom gave him a smile and said that Santa wouldn't skip their house. She knew. She knew then, and she was right. She was right because she knew Santa personally.
"My mom knows Santa," he whispered to himself.
Maybe parents really did know everything after all.