This was my rebellion against Valentine's Day. It's not really SJR--it's more friendship than anything.
As always, all characters belong to CS, GG, S/MP, NBC and the wonderful and incredibly talented cast and crew of Profiler. I'm only borrowing them, promise to put them back where they belong when I'm done, and not profit off them financially while they're here. Feedback at betha@gwis2.circ.gwu.edu is always appreciated.
Holiday Spirit
by Beth Arritt
Copyright 1998
"Hey, Sam, wait up!" John hurried down the hall to catch up with her. "What's the rush?"
"Chloe has a sleep over tonight and I have to get her to her friend's house by five."
"Where's Angel?"
"She went away for the weekend."
"Oh." He held out a few file folders. "I have the files on the Texas cases--somebody said you were looking for them?"
She took the files and tucked them into her bag. "Thanks, now I don't have to come back to get them. They're my date tonight."
"Scintillating reading for Valentine's Day."
She smiled. "I'm sure your date is much more interesting, or at least warmer," she said as they reached the elevator, "but I'm not much in the Valentine's mood this year."
"Yeah... I, uh, heard about the roses."
Sam started rearranging the items in her bag. "A million women will get roses today, I'm sure there has to be at least one more out there who'll get them from a psychopath."
"You're probably right."
The elevator opened and she stepped inside. "Have a nice weekend--or what's left of it anyway."
"You too," he replied as the doors closed.
***
John took a deep breath as he walked up to the front door. For the hundredth time he reconsidered what he was about to do, but it was too late. He'd been spotted. The guards spoke to him, confirming that his voice actually matched his face, then let him through to ring the buzzer.
Two minutes later, Sam opened the door. "John? What are you doing here?"
He was suddenly very conscious of the audience of FBI guards nearby. *What the hell.* He held out a shopping bag. "Happy President's Day."
For a moment she just stared at him. Then she started laughing and opened the door wider. "Come in." He stepped inside and followed her to the elevator. "I thought you had a date."
"You said I had a date. I never agreed with you."
"Good point," she said as they got off the elevator. "Maybe I shouldn't believe all of my own assumptions."
"Well, you're usually right."
"But not always. I have to admit this is a complete surprise."
"If I'm intruding, I can go--"
"Not a chance. At least not until you tell me what's in the bag."
"This is a President's Day Party-in-a-box," he announced with a smile.
"President's Day is two days away. Besides, I've never heard of anyone actually celebrating it."
"Well, holidays are as important or unimportant as you make them." If she heard the double meaning in his statement, she didn't let on. He pulled two boxes out of the bag. "Here we have movies to go with the theme."
She crossed her arms and gave him a level stare. "They have President's Day movies?" He handed the boxes to her and she laughed. "All the President's Men and The Presidential Analyst. I see. Anything else?"
"Ah, yes. Red wine to toast the presidents, along with popcorn in a white and blue box."
"And exactly how does the popcorn fit in with the presidents?"
He looked offended. "It goes with the movies. You can't have movies without popcorn."
Sam shook her head. "Okay, but I don't think George Washington had a microwave."
"But he didn't have a VCR either, among other things, so unless you want to sit in candle light and read books on farming while we soak our wooden teeth in well-water, I think some historical inaccuracies are allowed."
She laughed and took the popcorn from him. "You win. Put a movie in. I'll be back with popcorn and a corkscrew in a few minutes.
"Drama or comedy?"
"Comedy. Suddenly I'm in the mood to laugh."
He put Robert Redford and company aside and popped The President's Analyst into the VCR. He had the movie ready to play she returned, juggling the bowl of popcorn, two wineglasses and a corkscrew. "Here." She handed him the bowl, then set the glasses on the coffee table. Within moments, they both had wine and were settled in to the couch, the large popcorn bowl between them, to watch the movie.
To John's surprise, Sam threw herself into the movie. They discussed the finer points of the parody, when they could find them, but they mostly laughed at it. Sam had even a few choice comments about some of the psychoanalysis. When it was finished, they lost themselves in All the President's Men, arguing afterward about the actual Watergate scandal and its relation to the current presidential problems.
Finally, John looked at his watch. "It's after one?"
"Really?" Sam stretched lazily. "I didn't even notice. No wonder I'm so tired."
"That's my cue," he said, gathering the glasses and the bowl as he stood up. He refused her help and took them to the kitchen himself before putting on his jacket.
"I don't know quite how to thank you," Sam said as she accompanied him to the elevator. "I was staring at an evening of not trying to think, and instead I had a really good time."
"Beats books on farming, huh?" he teased with a grin.
"Without a doubt. Thank you."
He stepped onto the elevator. "My pleasure. Sweet dreams."
"Night." As the elevator doors closed, the last thing he saw was her smile.