With the final present wrapped, Natalie reached high over her head to stretch, easing her sore shoulders. After an hour at the table, her back ached with the tedious work of wrapping presents. She set the last parcel aside with its brethren and counted; six presents total, two for each of them, sat in a small pile at the end of the long, library table. In deep, blue snowflakes that glinted in the lamplight she had wrapped Elizabeth's boxes of ammo. Dean's legitimized subscriptions to HBO and Cinemax sat in small card boxes, both in Kelly green. His extra gift would come Christmas eve; a fresh pecan pie that she would make. And Sam's packages of much needed boxer briefs—she had snooped on her last laundry shift—had warranted her favored purple. With great care, she gathered them up and brought them to the Christmas tree that she had insisted they set up and placed them on the floor beneath the lowest boughs.
Other presents nestled there, hidden earlier by her friends—her family. She recognized Elizabeth's handiwork, muted red paper wrappings and twine string a signature of her long-time hunting partner. Dean's festive, metallic silver wrapping paper shimmered in the golden library light. And Sam's newspaper wrapping—the comics section—put a grin on her face so wide her cheeks stung.
From the presents, Natalie regarded the tree, a huge balsam fir that stood in all its ten-foot adorned glory. Carefully coordinated ornaments contrasted the mismatched, hand-made trinkets that dotted the pine. As Natalie admired it, thrilled to have a tree again after so many years on the road, memories bubbled up to the surface of a time she had left forgotten.
She picked up her mug from the table and sat in a nearby reading chair beside the tree. A sip of eggnog warmed her throat, bourbon, rum, and brandy settling in her stomach with familiar ease. Her favorite holiday past-time had been abandoned ages ago, the eggnog traded for straight Scotch after she had started hunting. But not this year. Not after eight months living in the Bunker, stable, rested, and safe. The drink, the presents, the scent of balsam, all of it brought back memories. Memories of virgin eggnog, of the first Christmas her parents had allowed her a sip of the spiked drink, of trading gifts, and of a loving family.
More than anything, it reminded her of a time before hunting. For the first time in twenty-five years, Natalie revisited those memories with a smile on her face.
"There you are!"
Natalie startled from her daydream as Sam hopped the steps into the library, an unusual spring in his long stride. Clad in a rather festive red and green plaid shirt and sipping from his own mug of eggnog, he appeared to be enjoying the holiday spirit as well. "Been looking all over for you," he said as he stopped at her feet.
"Oh?" Natalie started with a quirk of her brow. "And now that you've found me..."
He eyed her wool socks and his oversized sweater, and she noted the lingering pause at her bare legs. "Aren't you cold?"
She lifted the hem of his sweater. "I'm cheating," she said as she bared her runner's shorts, blue and dotted with little snowflakes.
Sam chuckled as he grasped her hand and tugged. "I wanna show you something."
She stood as he pulled her to her feet, his eggnog splashing over the rim. Natalie feigned offense with an exaggerated gasp as she breathed, "Alcohol abuse."
Sam laughed a short cackle she had never heard from him before. "C'mon," he repeated.
Though Natalie obliged, she eyed Sam closer and noticed a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. His nose, lips, cheeks, and eyelids had flushed a bright shade of pink as well. As she walked beside him, his arm around her shoulders, she asked, "Samwise, are you drunk?"
A vehement shake of his head loosened long locks of his hair from behind his ears. "Nah," he said, then sipped from his mug. "Just buzzed. And in a good mood. For once."
"Sure," Natalie jested. "Just how much eggnog have you had?"
He considered his mug as they passed through the war room. "Probably on my fourth now..." he mumbled into it, then took another swallow.
"Don't forget I can't carry you," Natalie said, and Sam laughed into his drink. When he led them down the steps to the main hall, she asked, "Where are you taking me?"
Sam said nothing for a step, then replied, "My room."
"Well, then," Natalie started, "I guess we'll get to the flirting and all that later."
Sam stopped in his tracks and Natalie lurched to a halt beside him. She craned her neck to look him in the eye and found a chastised frown on his face, lips pulled into a thin line. "I'm not... Talie, do you trust me?"
Her glare narrowed as Natalie said, "You know I do."
"Then come with me," he insisted. "It's... I wanted to watch a movie with you."
"A movie?" she asked as she took a step. "What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing," he said as he fell in step with her. He grasped her hand once more and laced his fingers with hers. "I thought we could watch a holiday movie together."
"I hate holiday movies," Natalie stated. "You know I do. Seriously, I'm never going to let Dean and Liz live it down. I can't stand The Christmas Cottage. Or A Cookie-Cutter Christmas. They're all the same story; uptight, career-focused woman goes back to her small hometown, some jackass negs her fifteen times and tells her to lighten up over the course of the movie. And then, surprise, she does, they fall in love, and it's a god damn Christmas miracle, holy shit, I'm going to vo—"
"Die Hard."
Natalie's teeth clicked as her mouth shut at Sam's interruption. "What?"
"We're going to watch Die Hard because," Sam paused as he opened the door to his room. "You've never seen it."
Natalie gaped as she took in the sight; he had rearranged his room, the television on a low table in front of what she could only call a pillow fort. Inside the small establishment sat several pillows, a giant flannel blanket, and a laptop on a tray displaying a crackling campfire video. Beside the laptop sat two fresh mugs of eggnog and a plate of Christmas cookies.
"Is this... a date?"
Sam's nose reddened as he shut the door and lead her into the room. "I guess so," he said with a coy smile. "I mean, only if that's okay with you. I should have asked..."
"We've been together for three years," she stated as she followed him to the fort. "And we've never really been on a date. I think I'm more than okay with this."
Sam held the sheet aside and ushered her into the fort. "Yeah, I realized that after about my third cup of eggnog. But I was already well into setting this up by then."
Natalie sat beside the tray nearest the cookies and reclined against the pillows. "Any reason for the..." she paused as she pointed but left her sentence unfinished.
Sam sat beside her, nestled close with an arm around here shoulder. "Copious consumption of eggnog? I have a sweet tooth..."
"Just a sweet tooth?" she asked as she handed him a cookie, then took one for herself.
"Okay, I also enjoy alcohol from time to time," he admitted as he took the cookie.
Natalie then traded his empty mug for a fresh drink. "You're not alone. Don't worry," she said as she turned to the television. "Why Die Hard?"
"Besides the fact that you've never seen it," Sam jested, "it's a Christmas movie. That you'll like."
"How do you know I'll like it?" Natalie retorted.
"Two reasons," he said with a confident smirk as he started the movie. With one finger raised he said, "Bruce Willis." He raised a second finger as he said, "And Alan Rickman."
Oh, hell. "I hate that you know that about me," Natalie grumbled. "It's not fair."
"I think it's adorable," Sam whispered in her ear.
Natalie shivered at the sudden closeness of his lips on her skin. "If you keep that up, I'm going to miss the movie."
Sam leaned back and pulled her into his lap. "I'm not doing anything," he protested as he gathered her hair and brushed it aside. "Watch, it's starting."
Great. Natalie huffed a sigh through her nose as she relented, easing into his embrace. Two hours in Sam's lap, with his massive arms wrapped around her, and she had to pay attention to a movie instead of him. But, as the movie started, she did her best to focus. Within the first five minutes, Sam had slipped his hands over one of hers, spreading her fingers and delving into the knots of her palms. Despite that attention, Natalie managed to keep her eyes on the movie.
And Sam had been right. Both Bruce Willis and the late Alan Rickman entertained in an action flick like few others. A pang of sadness found her then as she remembered the latter actor, an absolute favorite of hers. She wondered if Sam had ever seen Galaxy Quest. Better to ask him about that later.
While she did her best to watch the movie, Sam had migrated from Natalie's hands to her shoulders, his fingers working at the knots across her back. How many cronies did Hans have? Seemed like when one died at the hands of John McClane, a new one cropped up. Seriously, did he have like, fifteen henchmen?
A part of Natalie cringed at the thought of a ritzy office Christmas party, especially with creeps like Harry hitting on his coworker. At least Holly didn't bite. Definitely not your typical Christmas movie, but she was grateful that Sam seemed to be of the same mind as she. Maybe. That depended on his preferred version of A Christmas Carol. Because as far as she was concerned, seeing it in the theatre was the best.
As the end of the movie neared, Sam had eased on his diversionary tactics, and the movie had Natalie's entire focus. McClane was a lucky son of a bitch that the soldier shooting at him from the helicopter couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. And of course, in the final scene, one of Hans' men—Karl?—had survived the explosion. Good thing Powell got over the fear of using his revolver in that specific moment. At least Holly hadn't been a completely useless character. Her jab wasn't half bad, either.
As Holly and McClane walked away, the scene faded out to the credits and Sam renewed his embrace, squeezing her in a tight hug. Natalie curled in close, a deep breath filling her nose with his familiar scent of musty books, coconut, and whiskey. Minutes ticked by as she reclined in his arms and Sam toyed with a lock of her hair. Before long, sleep threatened to take her, but when she yawned, he spoke.
"Marry me?"
She blinked. Once. Twice. Then three times before she tilted her head up to look at Sam. His furious blush returned in a flash across his nose and cheeks, and his mouth gaped as if his own words had surprised him. Maybe they had, Natalie thought. Maybe he hadn't planned it at all and he had spoken in a fit of alcohol-induced anxiety.
But that wasn't Sam's way. Not at all. He planned everything, meticulous to a fault. Their date this evening was no exception. An event so serious as a proposal would receive every ounce of Sam's attention for weeks before execution. He would never treat such a pivotal moment in their lives with flippant carelessness. Never.
Right?
"Are you sure you only had four drinks?"
Thank Chuck for his sense of humor. Sam's inebriated cackle filled her with such warmth, Natalie needed to hear more. "Five, if you count this one," he replied as he hefted his mug. "But I promise, I'm very much aware of what I just asked."
He sat up and Natalie followed him as Sam reached into his jean pocket. He withdrew a small black box, so tiny in his large hand, and gave it to her. She took it and opened it to find an elaborate ring—two rings, in fact. They fit together in a swooping pattern, small white and black gems leading to a modest, central amethyst.
"How the fuck..."
"I snooped," Sam started. "And you mentioned once that you hate diamonds, they're 'over-priced bullshit'."
"They are..." Natalie started. "Sam, I said that years ago, how the fuck... no, forget that. How did you know I like amethysts?"
"It's your favorite color," he stated, but balked as he asked, "right?"
"Uh... yeah, it is..." she stuttered, then fell silent. When she said nothing, and instead, stared at the small ring, Sam cleared his throat with a raised brow.
"Please don't make me ask it again, seriously, you're killing me right now," he said.
For a second, Natalie froze, unsure of what he spoke. But the ring and the box and his hopeful eyes—that mesmerizing kaleidoscope of blue and green and gold—all combined to remind her of his question.
"Holy shit, yes!" she yelled as she flung herself into him, arms wrapped around his neck and thighs straddling his hips. "I'm so sorry, yes, a thousand times yes!"
When Natalie pulled back from him, Sam hauled her back in for a kiss that lasted an eternity. His lips met hers in a rush, but landed with such a tender touch, she melted in his embrace. The box clicked shut as she set it aside, Sam's lips far more than the jewelry. The smooth taste of bourbon, rum, and brandy overpowered the eggnog on his tongue, and she moaned into him. That, she felt, pushed him over the edge, for his hands smoothed along her back to grab her ass and his hips rolled against her.
Heated moments passed as she unbuttoned his shirt, tore away his t-shirt, and he rid her of his sweater. One of Sam's hands ran up the length of her spine while the other slipped into her shorts, pressing her flush to his chest and squeezing her ass. Before long, sweat slicked their skin as the tiny space Sam had crafted overheated with their devotion.
For a brief second, Sam parted from her as he asked, "Pillow fort sex?"
Natalie pried apart his belt apart, stripped it from him, and tossed it aside.
"You're god damn right."