Sam

Sam clicks the front door closed behind her; the sound of silence. She sighs against it, watching Mike and Jess stride easily through the house as if they own the place. They practically do. A flicker of a smile is a memory on her lips. It feels like so long since they've all been together like this. Ever since Hannah and Beth...

Sam pushes herself from the door. Don't remind yourself of that, Sam. This is Christmas. You're supposed to be happy.

Decisively, Sam snaps her focus to just that; Christmas. Pulling it off the handle, she yanks the draw stringed sack closed and hoists it over her shoulder.

Well, she had the sack. Now she'd just have to find the Santa.


"I am not dressing up as a creepy, bearded old man who uses slave labour," Josh pouts decidedly, trying his best – in his obviously drunk state – to cross his arms tight over his chest. He half snarls at her, his eyes dark and glossy and very much glaring at her. To be fair, she had pretty much cornered him. When he had been at his weakest. Loitering in the kitchen with no beer can in his hand. Poor boy was unarmed.

"Come on," Sam pleads, pulling on her best puppy dog eyes. It wasn't hard. She'd had plenty of practice. Especially after Josh and Chris had decided to prank her by, unbeknownst to her, signing her up to useless, ridiculous email subscriptions. Amongst the "A Shed A Day" and "Martial Arts Facts" subscriptions that she'd had to grudgingly sift through and unsubscribe, was "Cute Puppies". Needless to say, she'd stayed subscribed to that one. Not that she'd ever told Chris. Or Josh.

They would never let her live it down.

"You're supposed to be the host here," she says commandingly.

"No," Josh aims to stab Sam in the shoulder with his index finger, but missing multiple times. He ends up settling with poking her straight in the cheek. "You're the host here. Hey, here's a wild idea," he adds dramatically, his drunk eyes flashing wildly with sarcasm. "Why don't you do it? Feminism and all that."

"That's not how feminism works, Josh."

And," Josh, completely missing Sam's words, adds pointedly, hiccuping in the middle of a phrase. A sloppy eyebrow rises further and further up his forehead, "Ashley probably still believes in Santa, Samantha." His smirk is clumsy on his lips. Sam cringes at his use of her full name. He notices. "Do you really want the responsibility of breaking her heart?"

Sam sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. It takes her a second to shrug and mutter under her breath; "It might actually be the kick up the butt Chris needs to make a move."

Josh grimaces, like he's battling with himself to come up with a good come back. Evidently, his drunk mind is not up to scratch. He huffs, puffing his cheeks up like a child.

Sam chuckles under her breath. She's got the upper hand. And, without losing her hold, she steps forward and shoves the sack against Josh's chest. His eyes widen in shock, his hands stumbling to grip it before it falls to the floor in a heap.

Sam eyes him carefully. "Just- please."

Josh puffs, air draining out of his mouth slow and long. "Only for you, Sam."

Sam smirks smugly; "I wouldn't expect anything less."