Rather than breaking and entering, John knocked on the door first, then tried the doorknob. Sam's apartment was open. He came in just in time to see her leap off of the couch.

His eyes widened in surprise. The wedding dress Sam wore rustled as she moved unsteadily off of the couch and across the floor toward him. It was floor length, with long sleeves, and parts of the fabric looked slightly yellowed with age. The veil was attached to a circlet of dried flowers that sat on her head. Sam brushed the veil out of her eyes when she approached him. "Oh, hey John," she said, her eyes glazed and her speech slurred. She patted him on the chest as she spoke. "Hang on a second, will you? I have to answer the door."

John watched, bewildered, as she went to the door and opened it.

"Hello?" she yelled through the doorway.

He left her there for the moment and moved to the couch where she had been sitting. Boxes were strewn all over the apartment. Most of them opened and rummaged through. On the couch sat a couple more boxes, spilling over with packing worms and crumpled up newspapers. Next to the boxes was a stack of photo albums. One sat open on the coffee table. John picked it up. Each page was filled of old pictures of Sam's family. The album John held must have been put together even before Sam was born. The pictures were yellowed and faded, and were of a young, happy looking couple just starting out.

"No one was there!" Sam yelled and slammed the door. "Freaking, whippersnapper teenagers!"

John lifted his eyes to the coffee table again. A bottle of red wine sat open next to an empty wine glass. Another bottle of what looked like bourbon sat next to those. John picked up the wine bottle. It was empty.

"Hey, John. I'm glad you're here. You have to see some of these," Sam staggered over to him, tripping on the hem of the dress twice, and took her place on the couch next to the boxes and albums.

"Is this all of your parents' stuff, Sam?" John asked.

"Yes, indeed, my good man," Sam said, and snorted with laughter. "Indeeeed," she said. "That's such a funny word, isn't it?"

"When you say it like that it is."

"Yeah it is," Sam agreed and took a swig from the bottle of bourbon. "Do you want a drink?"

"I've been trying to call you," John said seriously.

"You have?" Sam's dark eyes immediately moistened and she put her hand to her chest. "That is so sweet."

"Why didn't you answer?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember," Sam said, getting sluggishly to her feet again. "I tried to silence the damn thing. But, I couldn't figure out how to do that, so I threw it in the toilet. And that totally worked!" she poked him in the chest and snorted again. "Toilet. That's such a funny word, right? Possibly because it's associated with - well, you know," she waved her hand in the air as she sat back down. "Associated is good too. It has the word 'ass' in it." She squeaked and laughed some more.

John sighed. "What are you doing with all of these boxes?" He sat down on the coffee table in front of her, blocking the bourbon.

"I took them out of storage cause I wanted to see what was in them. I never looked through them before. I found so much stuff, John! Like this!" Sam stood up once more and twirled around for him, showing off the dress. She tripped again and waited to steady herself before she sat down. "This is my Mom's wedding dress. I can't believe it fits me. She was so freaking skinny when she got married!" She stroked the fabric of the skirt and her eyes fell on the open album next to John. She seized it as if it suddenly surprised her with its presence. "Look, John, look at these," she cleared off the couch by pushing the boxes onto the floor, spilling packing material everywhere.

John sat next to Sam and she flopped the album in his lap. "That's my Dad, James. And my Mom, Tabitha." She pointed at the man and the woman in each of the photos. "You never met them, but they would have loved you so much! Dad loved anybody who could shoot a gun.

"This one was taken after they met, but before they were married. I think Mom told me that was the weekend Dad proposed to her actually," Sam looked thoughtfully at the picture and went silent for a moment. She grabbed the bourbon, took another drink, and held the bottle in her lap.

"Sam," John said, sliding the album off of his lap and onto the coffee table. He turned to her. "It's been a year, hasn't it?" Frankly, he didn't remember the exact date. He knew it was close, but people were killed around him all the time. These people though, were different. A year ago, Sam's parents and her brother, Scott, were killed, murdered. That was the day her life, her world, turned inside out and upside down.

Sam's eyes were red, no doubt from a combination of crying and drinking. She looked at him with those sad eyes. "A year – yeah, yep. It was a year ago today." She nodded slowly.

Sam grabbed another album and opened it up at a random page. She laughed loudly. "That's Scottie when he was a Webelo," she pointed at a picture of a little boy in a scouting uniform. "Wow, that's an awful name for a cub scout. I was in girl scouts. We had normal names. I was a Brownie," she ticked it off on her finger, "and then I was…" Sam stared at nothing for a moment. "What comes after that? I don't remember. Maybe I'll Google it later."

John couldn't think of anything else to say to her. There was nothing that would comfort her because she'd already tried to numb it with alcohol. But that only made it worse, making her more vulnerable to every emotion that popped into her head. And the photo albums weren't helping.

"Scottie was probably eleven, I think," Sam said slowly, running her fingers over the photographs. "If he was eleven I was… I was fifteen maybe."

She took another drink and rested the bottle in her lap. "Fifteen?" she said, puzzled. "I was a freshman in high school… or almost a slothmore. A sloth – a solf – "

"A sophomore," John said helpfully.

"Yes," she pointed at him. "That's exactly it." She stood up again, carrying the bottle of bourbon with her. "John – John – Hey, John, did you know that I was never asked to prom?"

John stood with her, keeping close in case she fell down. "No, you never told me."

"Well, I didn't!" Sam swatted at his arm but missed and swung herself around one hundred and eighty degrees. She would have gone further if John hadn't stopped her. "No one ever asked me to the prom, even when I was a senior. That's when we're supposed to be a little more stable, and when I finally figured out how to do my hair. But nobody asked me."

"So you didn't go?"

Sam swung the bourbon bottle around with one hand and lifted up the skirt of the wedding dress with the other. "I did go. I went with some girlfriends. We had our pictures taken and everything, too. Lots of fun. But you know, John, I wish – I wish – I mean – it would have been cool if you were around there then. I could have asked you to go with me. Everyone would have been freaking impressed. But that's every girl's fantasy, you know – bringing a handsome stranger to the prom for the other girls to gawk at. Gawk." Sam grinned. "Gawk! Gawk! Gawk!" she continued with her impression of a drunken chicken.

"Prom is meant more for the girls anyway, I think," John said, putting his hand over Sam's mouth.

"Yep," she said as soon as he removed his hand. "All about the dresses and shoes and hair." Sam gestured with the hand that held the bottle of bourbon. "My dress was burgundy."

John caught the bottle, but she wouldn't release it. "You're going to get this dress dirty, Sam."

Sam looked down and slipped the bottle away from him. "Don't go anywhere, I be right back."

It was a studio apartment. John watched as Sam wandered over to the dresser, sitting the bottle down next to her bed, and looked for some pants. Once she found the clothes, she gyrated a bit, trying to reach the buttons on the back of the dress. John watched her spin completely around once. Then, she fell over.

She started laughing as John walked over to help her up.

"I – woo!" she slipped out of his grip and began to fall until he caught her again. "I think I need some help, John. Some John help," she snorted. "It's the best kind of help!"

"Turn around," John turned his finger in the air, and Sam obeyed.

John brushed her hair over her shoulder, and started on the buttons. There were dozens of them sewn tightly together down the center of the back of the dress. Each one took him at least thirty seconds to undo. He wondered fleetingly at how fast Sam's Dad was able to undo them on his wedding night.

"That's good, that's good," Sam stepped away from him once he got halfway down. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves and wriggled as she pushed the dress down over her hips and onto the floor.

Sam stepped out of the dress, picked it up, and gently set it on the bed. She still wore the veil and a knee length slip as she searched around for her pants. She found them after about a minute and pulled them on underneath her slip.

Once she was half dressed, Sam made for the bourbon again, taking another swig.

"Give me the bottle, Sam," John said, holding out his hand. "Come on, you've had enough."

Sam backed away from him, holding the bottle out behind her. "According to some people. I'm a grown up, John. I can drink as much as I want, with or without your help! I thank you very much!"

John took the veil off of her head and set it next to the dress on the bed. "Come on, Sam. Give it to me."

Sam scowled at him. "Candy never hurt anybody, Mr. Party Pooper. This is just like candy." She sidestepped him and walked back into the main part of the room, stepping onto the blue mat in the middle of the floor.

"Oh, I know, I know," Sam said. "I know what lets do," she scampered back over to John and took his hand, leading him onto the mat next to her. "You want the bottle?"

"I want to get it away from you, yes," John said patiently.

"Okay, then, take it," she held it out with both hands gripping the neck. "Take it from me, John. Let's see what you got!" She laughed sloppily. "Don't worry, I won't shoot you with it."

Sam stood, swaying slightly, wearing a slip and a pair of jeans, holding out a half empty bottle of bourbon. If John was a cruel person, he would have taken a picture and shown it to her once she was sober.

"This is hardly fair," John said, standing in front of her.

"Don't worry, you'll be gentle with me," Sam said.

John approached her, snatched at the bottle, and took her down in two moves. Sam landed on her back. John pinned her to the floor, the bottle in his other hand.

"Ow!" Sam said, grabbing the back of her head just before she burst out laughing.

She calmed down after a minute and grabbed a hold of John's hand that pinned her down. She began fiddling with his fingers, and pressed the back of his hand against her cheek.

"Mom said that it went well with my skin."

John settled down next to her. "What did?"

"Burgundy."

Sam's eyes moved dreamily over him and up to the ceiling. So far, the pain was numbed, but it wouldn't stay that way. It never stayed numb for ever. How hard had he tried to keep the pain at bay with a bottle of something constantly at his side? And yet he still felt it. Every day.

Sam still held his hand in both of hers, absently toying with it as her eyes wandered around the room. And suddenly, without warning, she began to sob.

Sam released John and cupped her hands over her face as she wept. The tears came fast, and began dripping off of her face and pooling onto the mat. Sam's breaths were sharp and labored, but she gave no sign of trying to calm down. She just cried and turned onto her side, facing away from him.

There was a tightness in his chest that he couldn't explain when he watched Sam dissolve in front of him. It spread through the rest of him as he watched her turn away, and cry harder.

John slid his hand underneath her and lifted her up until she sat in front of him. The tears still came, dropping into her lap, staining the slip. He pulled her close until she was in his arms, trembling and sobbing.

"She's gone, John," Sam said into his neck. She held onto him tightly as if he somehow kept her from falling further into despair. "I'll never see any of them again. They're just gone! How can they be gone?"

John held her tightly and hushed her. "All of those questions will never be answered, Sam. You can't try to find the answers because there aren't any."

Sam pushed away from him until she saw his face. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks stained. She was so vulnerable, which was why he couldn't believe the pull he felt towards her in that short, short moment.

Seeing her eyes so close, the droplets suspended on her eyelashes, and the freckles on her nose; he wanted them all. He wanted to pull her close, feel her lips, and hold her until dawn the next day.

If only that were possible. But, he knew that could never be, not for him. It didn't matter what he wanted, he didn't deserve such warmth.

She felt the same pull, it seemed. She came close and, because of the abundance of alcohol in her system, missed his mouth by a few centimeters, giving him a wet kiss on the cheek. Then, it was gone. As sudden as it was, time returned to its normal pace. Sam rested her head upon his shoulder, her breath moving steadily off and on his neck as he held her.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Will you let me keep you? Just for a little while. You can keep me too, if you want."

That had to be more of the booze talking. She'd never say that sober. "I will, Sam."