Sam grunts and then exhales noisily through her nose. She is vaguely aware that a light sheen of sweat has started to cover her. Her fingers are aching and she had been previously unaware that they could be bent and contorted in such ways.

She wonders, albeit briefly and with some kind of intoxicated distraction, if there is any feeling that can top the ones flowing through her at that moment. The feeling of sheer bliss and accomplished contentment.

Before this moment, Sam had thought herself doomed to continually reach for an achievement pushed too far out of her reach by her own hand. It wasn't for a lack of wanting. No, she had wanted this more than mere words could convey. It was her lack of skill and ability that had rocked her confidence, made her slip from the stool of self-assuredness on which she usually sat. She had bitten the bullet in two though, spitting its sour, powdery self-doubting contents to the floor. And she had been rewarded with the two words she had longed to hear for what now felt like an age.

"You win!"

How she has waited to see him, face hidden by a jaguar mask, dance his final victory. She has done it, has beaten the game, and she feels like she could take on the world. Joy and elation and satisfaction flow through her, carrying her high above all those she had felled. No, there was nothing that could compare to this.

"Hey, Sam." And just like that, she's proved wrong. Every last nerve in her body stops functioning, freezing her until they kick-start themselves into high gear, like they suddenly want to make up for lost time by overcompensating. And she's so abruptly hyper aware of everything that she's sure this is what people who trip out on acid feel like.

She's pretty sure she can see the molecules making up the air around her bump into one another. She takes a few seconds to try and draw them in before turning her head and glancing over her left shoulder. Brooke stands in the doorway, hazel eyes shining, smiling at Sam. And she's forgotten what joy and elation feel like.

Because this is somehow more.

Every time she sees Brooke, Sam ends up awestruck by one thing or another. How she's wearing her hair or what clothes she decided to "throw on" that morning. Sometimes she's struck embarrassingly dumb just by Brooke being Brooke and even though she knows she can't ever really understand it, she wonders why Brooke can't see what Sam sees. Why she ever felt like she had to starve herself, that had to fight to be perfect, is beyond Sam.

And there's a thought, lingering and cheesy, that's whispering how Brooke already is. And it's things like that, that throw her off her game now.

"What are you doing here?" Affects her in the weirdest ways; twists her words so that they come out entirely different to the way she'd intended. Her question wasn't meant to sound accusatory or mean, like she'd been hoping Brooke would avoid entering her personal space for the next year, but even she can hear that's the way it comes across. She sees the way that Brooke flinches, unable to get her guard up in time, and guilt eats at her. "Sorry." She scrunches her face into a grimace and then smiles apologetically. "That didn't come out right. Let me try again." She rolls her body around so that her knees are pressed into the couch cushions and her arms rest along its back, facing the blonde. "Hi Brooke!" She flashes a very obviously exaggerated grin. "How come you're home?" Brooke laughs a little at her efforts to avoid an argument, which have been caused by a lot less than snippy words before. The blonde shrugs her shoulders.

"Nicole and Mary Cherry decided a day of 'shop 'til you drop' therapy was in order. I didn't really feel like sitting back while they yell at shoe salesmen for not having the newest line of Jimmy Choo's. Last time, Nic had one strung up by his neck tie while Mary Cherry threatened to put a stiletto heel through his eye. Security finally had to come and pry them off." Sam notices the dull, sullen tone that had swallowed Brooke's voice.

"And what? That doesn't sound like fun to you?" She jests, hoping for and receiving another smile. Sam has found that the sight of smiling Brooke is not unlike a shot of cocaine. It can make you see the world in an entirely new light, make you see all kinds of colours you didn't know existed. And it always leaves you needing just one more hit. "I for one would pay good money to see Satan and her clinically insane partner in crime carted off like the crazies they are."

"Of course you would." Brooke is smiling again, and Sam can feel it swimming in her veins.

"Were there handcuffs? Please tell me there were handcuffs." Blonde hair shakes in amusement and hazel eyes roll. Brooke finally makes her way into the room and with each step she takes towards the couch, Sam's heart beats a little faster.

"Sorry to disappoint." Sam manages to look suitably upset by the news as Brooke takes a seat next to her, and then she settles herself in her previous cross-legged position.

"Way to ruin my fun." Brook pointedly glances at the TV, to find the main screen of a video game greeting her.

"Seems like you were having fun before I got here." Sam beams widely at her, unable to contain her excitement or feeling of pride over her stunning and unparalleled accomplishment.

"No big." She says, trying for nonchalance though with little to no effort behind the attempt. "I just kicked everyone's butt today and beat the game." Brooke stares at her for a moment, before raising her eyebrows and giving Sam an 'are you serious?' look.

"Wow, way to go, Sam. All hail the Queen of Time Wasting." Sam scoffs at this and slaps Brooke playfully on the arm, before pointing widely at the TV.

"Playing these games requires a level of skill and, and concentration that is severely underestimated. Sure, you can mash buttons until your fingers fall off, but the real skill lies in truly mastering the moves until you become unbeatable. Like me." And the grin she gives Brooke, the complete self-loving egotistical grin is enough to make the blonde laugh right in her face. It takes away some of Sam's bluster.

"Spare me. Video games? Require skill? The only skill needed to play these things," she indicates the television, "is the incredibly innate skill of remembering to eat once every four hours so you don't eventually pass out from lack of consumption. Which is something I have seen you forget to do on numerous occasions. Harrison too." And then Brooke dismisses the conversation with a wave of her hand. Outraged by the accusation, Sam refuses to let it drop.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I have more of an idea than you think I do." Brooke states firmly, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, fully prepared to allow the conversation to move onto something else. Sam's hand fly into the air and she practically squeals her response.

"Please!" Brooke sighs and turns her head back to the brunette. "What could you possibly know about video games? Unless there's a cheerleader version of 'Dance, Dance' I'm blissfully unaware of." Brooke stares at Sam in complete disbelief for a moment. Then a look that is distantly familiar to Sam now blankets Brooke's face. Darkened and determined, a challenge flaring to life in narrowed eyes. Competing has always been what they've done best, regardless of the subject, but it's been a while since Sam has had that look directed at her and seeing it now makes her swallow convulsively. And she's struck. Right between finding it terrifying and terrifyingly attractive.

She swallows again.

She watches as Brooke rises and moves to the cabinet where the system accessories are kept. Her eyes linger a lot longer than they should as Brooke bends to retrieve a controller and by the time the blonde has returned to the couch, Sam is having to put serious effort into keeping her breathing calm and even.

Sure she's nervous, but it isn't just that and the other reason makes her shift awkwardly in her spot.

"Well, o' mighty slayer of pixel images." Her voice is dripping with sarcasm and there's a look in her eyes that, if Sam weren't so sure of herself, might make her think twice about this. "Let's do it." Sam forces a laugh as she uses the power of player one to select the game mode and her character. Brooke smirks in satisfaction as she notices a slight nervous lilt woven through the melodic sound.

Being completely infatuated may mean less arguments, but Brooke has found that it doesn't necessarily have to mean no teasing. In fact, she thinks teasing Sam is an entirely new, fun way to spend her time. She enjoys it immensely. It can prove to be risky though. Her brain doesn't always stay on the safe side of teasing. Sometimes her balance slips and it edges its toe over the line and slips into the danger zone.

Brooke thinks that's fun too.

Beside Sam, the blonde lets out a snort. A loud, honest to goodness snort, which is more than enough to cause a dark eyebrow to raise in question.

"You're playing the cheetah thing? Oh, Sam." She sighed, like Sam was a toddler who had just done something they'd repeatedly been told they shouldn't. "This isn't helping your case against Nicole. She's on a mission to prove you aren't human, you know. Choosing such an animalistic representation of yourself is seriously detrimental to your cause." Sometimes, Brooke just can't help herself. "I mean, okay. As someone who has to deal with you and your mess twenty-four seven, I think it's an accurate portrayal but still." She makes a tutting noise while wagging her finger in the other girl's direction. "You are so totally not helping yourself." Sam just sits there, dumbfounded. Sputtering over words that she thinks might maybe, possibly, somehow defend her, but they just come out garbled. She is finally able to push something that makes sense out between clenched teeth though.

"Pick. Your. Person. Brooke."

"Ooh, retract those claws, Sammie." Brooke is positively gleeful. And Sam hates, hates that she finds it cute. Suddenly, her brown eyes widen and begin to shine with renewed hope, as she watches Brooke do as she's told.

"Nina Williams." And now Sam is laughing. Something about the situation, something that has escaped her house mate, is apparently priceless. So priceless in fact, it has actually reduced the reporter to tears.

"Oh my god, Brooke." Sam manages to get out between bouts of laughter. "Do you just see blonde hair and are drawn to it or something?" Brooke regards her with a slack jaw.

"I resent that."

"Resent it all you want, it doesn't stop it from being true." More giggles follow. "Add that to the fact that you pick the character that has an unstable relationship with her sister…. And I find this all really funny." Brooke just rolls her eyes and chooses not to pay attention for the moment.

The fight is on.

There is a flurry of motion on screen.

And it's over.

"Wha…. How…."

"Is the writer out of words? Really Sam, I'm shocked." Brooke is grinning again. If Sam weren't so distracted by her incredulity, she would probably be distracted by the slight crinkles that appear in the corners of Brooke's hazel eyes, like tiny smiles reflecting a bigger one. Instead, Sam's own eyes narrow.

"You're a total button masher!" Sam fumes, dramatically. "That's like… that's cheating! You need to be methodical, know the moves, otherwise-otherwise…. It's not fair!" Brooke chuckles and levels Sam with a look that, she is aware in the back of her mind, makes her skin tingle. It's smouldering and challenging and it kind of makes Sam feel as though she should look away. She doesn't.

"Gee, real mature, Samantha." A growl fills the space between them.

"It was a fluke. Round two is mine."

"Whatever you say, Tippy." Sam doesn't reply.

And it begins again.

Within seconds Sam has made the fatal mistake of getting her computer generated counterpart too close to Brooke's and suddenly the cheerleader is putting the one move she does know to effective use. There's a flash of purple sparks and 'King 2' is caught in a move he can't escape from.

"Hey! When did you learn to do that?!" Sam shouts, alarmed and with wide eyes. Not paying close enough attention, King has gotten back up and lethal assassin, Nina Williams, is on him in seconds. Purple sparks flash again. "Brooke! You can't keep doing that! You're cheating!"

"Oh, no? Could you pull out the rule book and point me to the chapter on not using moves that work because it's cheating? Because if we could clear this up, that would be great. You should really pay attention to what's happening."

"I am!"

"No, I think you're staring a little to the left and about six inches south of where you should be looking." Instantly, Sam's face is beet red and it feels as though the blood in her veins has been replaced with liquid fire, but she doesn't have any time to focus on that. She's been caught in the same move for a third time. With a sly check to the side, Brooke notes that Sam has apparently abandoned well mastered and calculated moves in favour of frantic button mashing. "You're so easy." It's to no avail. Seconds later she's greeted with now familiar words.

"Nina Williams wins!"

There's stunned silence for a long moment. Sam is still unable to believe that Brooke had said what she had and wishing her face would drain itself of its newly acquired colour. Brooke can't believe it either, insinuating cleavage staring of all things, but she's enjoying the reaction it has cause too much to really care.

"Yeah, you know, I don't know what I was thinking. I'll just leave you to it. I have a game of Dance, Dance Revolution the cheerleader expansion I need to get back to." Smirking, Brooke plops her controller into Sam's lap as she walks by.

"I beat the game." Is the mournful, miserable, pitiful statement Sam makes as she seems to awaken from her stupor, not even sure where to begin generating some kind of a comeback for Brooke's comment. She turns her head to look at the blonde. "How do you even know how to play this game?"

"Come on, Sam." Brooke's eyes seem to drift over her for a moment. It doesn't help the temperature in the room. Sam gets flustered and takes a second to look away and gather herself. "You're not always home for me to spar verbally with, so I turned to virtually punching and kicking computer generated images until they bleed to deal with my excess energy." Brooke makes some sort of swaying motion with her hips to emphasise her point. Sam thinks she's going to pass out. Much to her dismay, she has to clear her throat.

"You hustled me." Brooke sets an innocent half smile on Sam, who all but forgets what it is they're talking about.

"You kinda deserved it." Sam opens her mouth to protest, but can't think of anything to say. Instead, she and Brooke regard each other for a moment. "I'm sure next time you'll beat me." The condescending comment breaks the tense moment and Sam hurls a cushion from the sofa at her, smiling despite herself. Brooke ducks out into the hallway to avoid it.

"Go away!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" Sam settles herself back into position.

She shakes her head, smile still on her face. "Oof!" The cushion she had thrown comes flying back like a boomerang and hits her square in the back of her head. Sam stands up, snaps her body around and finds Brooke lingering in the doorway. The blonde is practically bouncing, with something that Sam can't quite put her finger on. There's a fire in her eyes that she used to only see when they argued and fought, but it's somehow different. Like everything is different between them lately. "Brooke, you are a total-" The rest of the sentence is drowned out by Brooke's shriek, because Sam has left her position in front of the couch and has taken after the blonde, who has broken out into a sprint. Laughter follows them as they thunder up the stairs. Continues after Brooke has locked herself behind the bathroom door and can be heard over the pounding of Sam's fist against the wood, and the empty threats she throws at it.

Brooke loves to tease. And Sam loves it when she does.