"Alright, Damian, have your pick."
Damian's little hands press against the glass, his dark eyes wide with wonder.
"That's a lotta donuts," the four-year-old says.
"I know," Sara laughs.
"Khala says I can't have donuts."
"Khala's not here," Sara says, running her hands through his dark hair. "It's Christmas, D. You can have as many donuts as you want."
"Whoa." He looks up at her. "I like Christmas."
"I thought you might."
Damian picks out seven, mostly with very festively colored sprinkles, and Sara picks five more to make an even dozen to bring home. On second thought, she adds another dozen. Between herself, D, and Sin, that's a whole dozen right there. Laurel will have one or two, her dad a few more, Nyssa will object but have one, and there are always people stopping by. Yeah, two dozen would be best.
Sara plucks Damian off the ground and onto her hip as she goes to pay. He looks positively giddy at the prospect of all those donuts. His elf hat only adds to the silliness. It's his first Christmas in the States, and he's at a great age to enjoy it. She is committed to giving him the most outrageously Christmas-y Christmas ever, and she pouts if Nyssa objects. So far, it's going great.
Damian threads his arms around her neck and shakes his head, the bell on the tip of his hat jingling merrily.
"Can I have a donut now?"
Sara grins evilly.
"Let's wait 'til we get you in Aunt Laurel's car."
"You better be glad you're a cute little elf," Laurel tells Damian as she holds her arms out for him to jump into. He undoes his seatbelt like a pro and leaps from his booster seat into her arms. She looks at the carnage of red and green sprinkles he's left behind and shakes her head. She turns to Sara in her Santa cap. "Next time you're taking Sin's car."
"You're gonna make your nephew ride in that death trap?" Sara asks, faux-offended. Laurel shakes her head. "How many donuts did you get?!"
"Enough. For today."
"Can we go back tomorrow?" Damian asks excitedly as Laurel makes him hop down, taking his hand.
"We'll see," Sara says. "So, am I gonna get the usual tour?"
She gestures around the expansive complex that started as a soup kitchen.
"As our mysterious benefactor, I guess that's your right," Laurel teases. "I don't know if anything's changed since you were last here."
"I spot two whole new buildings."
"I guess it has been awhile."
Damian grabs Sara's hand as well, linking them together as Laurel updates them on the state of the true success story in cleaning up the Glades. Damian tags along happily, skipping between them on a sugar high and frequently using their joined hands for gymnastics.
"WHAT?! No one told me an elf was coming!"
Sin's overdramatic exclamation echoes through the wide hall of the cafeteria, and Damian immediately drops Sara and Laurel's hands and runs to Sin, clambering on top of a chair and launching himself into the air.
"D, be careful," Sara calls idly after him. She'd be more worried if he didn't basically live his life jumping on and off of things and expecting her and Nyssa to catch him.
Sin does catch him, with a bit of an "oof", and says:
"It's a ninja elf!"
"Aunt Sin, I'm not a ninja!"
"It's so easy," Sin grins. "You smell like donut. Did you bring me one?"
"Two boxes!" Damian exclaims.
"Oh man, you're my favorite."
"I could have told you this would happen."
"Notice that's why I didn't ask you," Sara shoots back, picking up the miserable little boy and handing him over to Nyssa. Then she turns her attention to the multi-colored stain on the carpet and keeping Rocket from eating the disgusting puddle.
"Moms, don't fight," Sin teases, gently.
"I puked," Damian moans in Arabic.
"I know, little one, I know," Sara soothes, reaching a hand back to soothe his brow. "I think maybe number five was one too many."
Nyssa has one hand rubbing softly at Damian's back. She opens her mouth but Sara gives her a stern look. Nyssa acquiesces, swallowing the snarky admonition and saying instead:
"I will go clean him up. Do you have any ginger tea, Sin?"
"We've got ginger ale?"
"It will have to do."
"I'm sorry, Habibti," Damian says pitifully.
"It's okay, D. It happens. I'll be up in a minute. Khala will make you feel better."
Damian grabs tighter to Nyssa's shoulder and nods.
"Hey Sin, can you take this little brat to the kitchen with you?" Sara asks, scooping Rocket up and passing her to Sin.
"Got it."
Sin brings back paper towels and carpet cleaner, Rocket in one hand, and then disappears upstairs with a can of Canada Dry.
The front door opens while Sara scrubs, and Laurel sighs:
"What did you do to my carpet?"
"Whose carpet, again?" Sara grins.
Laurel rolls her eyes as she comes into the living room.
"That's not blood, is it?"
"Sprinkles. I think I let Damian eat a few too many donuts."
Laurel smirks.
"I'm thinking sprinkle donuts are not something he eats a lot of in Nanda Parbat or Paradise Island."
"No," Sara chuckles.
"Poor thing. Is he gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, he'll bounce back in no time. I think the stain'll come up."
"Don't worry about it. Why do you think we rearranged the furniture?" Laurel gestures to one of the easy chairs. "Sin and Thea had a little too much fun for Thea's first single New Year's. We've never been able to get that unnatural electric blue out of the carpet."
"He fell straight to sleep," Nyssa says softly as soon as Sara enters the bedroom. She's in the armchair in the corner by the window, a lamp warmly lighting that part of the room while leaving the rest of the room dark, a book in her lap, Damian's air mattress untouched near her feet.
Sara looks to their bed and finds Damian passed out in reindeer pajamas, face scrubbed clean, arms held tightly around the Rockets teddy bear her dad got him three years ago, on his first Starling visit. She smiles that Nyssa remembered the seasonal pjs.
"I'm sorry. I guess I've been going a little overboard," Sara sighs, coming over to the armchair, collapsing into Nyssa's lap.
"Very," Nyssa adds, arms immediately around her waist, fingers softly rubbing at her hip, soothingly. "Very overboard, habibti."
"Well, can you blame me? It's his American Christmas!"
"His first American Christmas, Sara," Nyssa corrects, gently, annoyingly knowing. "It will not be his last."
"You don't know that. Who knows what the whims of his grandfather will be."
"Sara…" Nyssa tuts.
"I want him to love it here," Sara admits, leaning back against Nyssa, cheek pressing up into her. "I'm sorry. I don't even love it here anymore, not in the same way, but I want him to love it."
"He will. He does. You have nothing to apologize for; it is an understandable sentiment. I've shown him each of my favorite parts of Nanda Parbat."
"And I guess one too many donuts is as hazardous to his health as 'Hey look, D, if you climb out on this ledge, you can see our entire kingdom. Everything the sun touches is ours.'"
"That is a reference to that lion movie," Nyssa notes, a little sourly.
"You love 'that lion movie'."
"We are so far from the original point of this conversation."
"I know. I fed the baby too many donuts."
"He cannot enjoy Christmas with your family if he is vomiting the entire time."
"I know."
"Being here, with you, with his family, that will make him love it. Just… relax."
"I can't believe you just told me to relax."
Nyssa chuckles.
"If I do relax," Sara continues, "Will you wear those pjs on Christmas Eve?"
"We can discuss it."
Felicity looks plaintively over her shoulder at Oliver, who is relaxing, drink in hand and incredibly handsome smile in place, on the couch with Dig.
"The four-year-old kicked my ass." She freezes. "Uh. Butt. Sorry, D."
From her lap, the boy shakes his head, methodically stacking his gelt winnings on the coffee table. "That's okay, Aunt Felicity. I know that one; it's a Habibti word."
"Aren't you used to it?" Oliver asks fondly. "Baby Sara does it every year."
John and Lyla's seven-year-old sits shoulder to shoulder with Aunt Laurel across the coffee table from Felicity and Damian, counting her winnings and doing little math problems.
"Yeah but she doesn't also recite the Hanukkah prayers better than I do." Felicity runs fingers through little Damian's soft dark hair. "Where did you learn those, Damian?"
"Khala taught me," Damian says idly.
"Of course," Felicity grins back over her shoulder. "Khala taught him. It's only polite to learn the exact pronunciation of Hebrew prayers for a Hanukkah party. What's your excuse?"
She directs that last part to her fiancé, stomach warming at the grin he gives her.
"He's got an advantage. His first language is Arabic," Oliver defends. "Same language family."
Felicity rolls her eyes and turns back to her tiny little hoard of winnings, significantly smaller than either kid's. Intellectually, she knows that dreidel is a game of pure chance. Emotionally, she's a little sensitive that she keeps losing to a bunch of goyim.
Too-large ears over a thin snout pop up over the edge of the coffee table, dangerously close to the gold-wrapped chocolate.
"Sarookh, no!" Damian says firmly, then adds something in Arabic.
Rocket's feet hit the carpet again, and the dog lets out a huff that conveys annoyed disappointment in a single puff of air.
"What did you tell her?" Felicity asks him idly.
"Chocolate is bad for dogs. That's what Khala and Habibti say. But can I tell you a secret?"
"Of course."
"I've seen Sarookh eat a whole chocolate bar before. And she didn't even puke."
Felicity laughs, unsurprised.
"Rocket is a special little dog," Felicity says. "Thanks for coming to my Hanukkah party, D."
"Thanks for the chocolate!" Damian says in return, dark smears at the corners of his mouth.
He turns into more of a little person every time she sees him, and it's more drastic than Baby Sara's growth, since she only sees it in fits and starts.
"Why doesn't Oliver Queen play dreidel?" Damian asks.
Felicity smothers the smirk at his formal address of Oliver: he's clearly mimicked it from Nyssa.
"Because Oliver Queen is scared of losing," Felicity teases, loud enough for Oliver to hear.
"Okay," Damian accepts easily.
"Hey!"
"This is, frankly, absurd. I should join Dinah and Richard."
"But Khala what if you have to ice skate for a mission?"
Quentin laughs despite himself. What if. He feels better that Sara, holding Nyssa's hand and therefore closer to her wrath, laughs too.
Nyssa steels herself.
"I walk perfectly well on the ice, you know," Nyssa says through gritted teeth. "Strapping blades to my feet merely complicates things."
"But Khala," Damian repeats, hand clutched in Quentin's as the boy himself proceeds just a bit less shakily than Nyssa. "You like blades."
"He's got you there, babe," Sara teases, letting go of Nyssa's hand momentarily as she spins to skate backwards.
"Don't do that," Nyssa hisses, nearly losing her balance.
"Relax!" Sara admonishes. "Just go with the flow. The worst thing that can happen is you fall down."
Nyssa's snarky retort is in Arabic and lost on the eldest Lance.
It's perfect, Quentin thinks. It's pleasantly cool, so that they can be bundled up a little, but not freezing. The Christmas music playing at the rink is old classics, not new junk. His daughter is in town. His grandkid is learning to skate (pretty darn fast) beside him. His ex-wife and her husband are in town, and Quentin finds he kinda likes the guy. It's nice to have another man around in his family full of women and Damian.
Speaking of adding men to the family, the only thing that would be better about today would be if Laurel were here. She's in Central City with Cisco's family until late Christmas Eve, though, and if all goes well, he'll have a future son-in-law by the time they get back to Starling City.
His already (basically) daughter-in-law is still struggling on the ice.
"What about we go see Grandma and have a hot chocolate break on the next turn, D? Rest my old ankles."
"Okay! Can I have marshmallows?"
"If no one has any objections?" he directs to Sara and Nyssa. Sara gives him a thumbs up.
"A break sounds like an excellent idea."
"No, no, no," Sara grins, grabbing both of Nyssa's hands, still skating backwards. "You're staying here until you get the hang of it."
"But-"
"Nope. I'm the teacher now," Sara beams. "Don't like a taste of your own medicine, huh?"
Nyssa still looks pretty disgruntled, but she softens at Sara's excitement and shakes her head.
"Alright then, habibti."
Quentin leaves them to their flirtatious lessons, guiding Damian from the ice. He accepts that his girls have partners in their lives, but that doesn't mean he wants to watch. Damian trips a little on his toes, and Quentin grabs his shoulders keeping him upright.
"Thanks, Grandpa," the boy grins over his shoulder.
Quentin smiles back and scruffs the elf cap on D's head.
"Let's get that hot chocolate, little man."
The ring feels strange on her finger, but it also feels right. And it's not like it was a total surprise to her. Cisco has been annoyingly distracted and flustered for the whole week, and they'd already talked about forever.
"Do you think they're gonna be mad I didn't call as soon as it happened?" Laurel asks him as they make their way up to the Birds' Nest in the penthouse elevator. She leans against him, delighting in the warmth and scent of him, remembering the way he had somehow found the perfect balance of nervousness and confidence as he got down on one knee.
"Um, no."
She narrows her eyes at him.
"You told them already, didn't you?"
"Um, yes."
"Cisco Ramon, if you asked-"
"Hey, no! I just gave them a heads up. I wanted to make sure I did it while your sister was still here. I know better."
"How long have they known?"
"Sara and I were teaching Damian how to say tío at dinner the other night."
"That's pretty presumptuous."
"How could you say no to this pretty face?" he grins at her.
He's not wrong. She kisses that pretty face.
"So, don't take this the wrong way, but… I'm about to be related to Ra's al Ghul."
She laughs.
"It's not as fun as it sounds."
Cisco bounces a little on his toes, still excited, and she threads her hand through his.
"Now don't worry about me. We guys will stand to the side while you ladies have your girlish squealing," he teases.
She rolls her eyes and affectionately punches his shoulder with her free hand.
"Who was doing the squealing at your mom's house again?"
He beams at her. "You're right. I'm not afraid to embrace my inner girlish squealing. Especially not when I get to spend the rest of my life with you."
Laurel squeezes his hand warmly as their floor approaches. Cisco lets out a snort.
"What?"
"I just imagined Nyssa girlish squealing."
"Careful, babe. I think she can kill you with her mind."
Sara stretches out on the couch, resting her head on Nyssa's shoulder, wiggling her toes in the footies of her peppermint-striped onesie. Everyone else has already gone to bed.
"It's been twenty-four hours, you know."
"Yes. I hope you never doubt the depth of my love for you, because I have been wearing these pajamas for an entire day," Nyssa comments dryly, dropping a kiss to the top of Sara's head.
"I just wanted the picture!"
And boy did she get it. All four of them in matching footed, zip-up onesies with candy cane stripes, sitting on the steps of the Birds' Nest, Damian in Sara's lap, Rocket in Nyssa's. It's so hilariously cliché; she's keeping it forever.
"Plus," Sara adds, "I never doubt the depth of your love for me."
She can feel Nyssa's smile against the crown of her head.
"Don't be terribly offended if these end up in the fireplace during the packing process."
Sara chuckles.
"I'll look the other way. We're keeping Damian's and Rocket's."
"If we must."
They lapse into a comfortable, sleepy silence, brought on by a big Christmas dinner prepared by Quentin and Nyssa (in the pjs, god she loves this woman) and a long day of present-opening and present-admiring.
"It's been a good trip."
"Yeah," Sara hums. "Even when Damian used the ornaments as target practice."
"Thankfully his aim is not yet precise enough to do too much damage."
"Tell that to the poor angel on top!"
"A most excellent shot."
Sara grins at the pride in Nyssa's voice.
"I'm happy for Laurel," she says.
"Indeed. She and Cisco are a good match."
Sara reaches up and plays with the canary pendant resting near Nyssa's clavicle, remembering a very different Christmas, six years ago.
"Merry Christmas," she yawns.
"Merry Christmas, Sara."
Sara suddenly sits up, not tired.
"I totally forgot. This isn't just Damian's first American Christmas. This is yours."
"I've been in the States for Christmas before," Nyssa corrects, referencing the very holiday Sara was just thinking of. "And we honored the most important tradition of all, I am told."
"True. Muppet Christmas Carol," Sara grins, settling back against Nyssa. "Still. You got the full, two week experience this time. What do you think?"
"That I will never be hungry again."
Sara laughs.
"I love you."
"Mm. I'm still burning these pajamas."
fin