The End (One-Shots)

Bourbon, Rum, and Brandy

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."