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christmas spirits; the west wing; josh/sam; pg; 100 words; for
slybrunette
They're standing next to the punch bowl, a singular quiet moment amidst the chaos of the President's private holiday party and some impending national crisis. Something in the way the Christmas lights cast a familiar glow against Sam's skin makes Josh's mind slip back to a long-past memory.
"Hey, do you 'member that time..." he says, not finishing. Not out loud anyway.
Sam looks at him, and for a brief second he seems ten years younger and every bit as vulnerable. Josh smiles, reverent, hopeful. Then, Sam's expression hardens, almost comically. "No," he says. "I don't. And neither do you."
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They're standing next to the punch bowl, a singular quiet moment amidst the chaos of the President's private holiday party and some impending national crisis. Something in the way the Christmas lights cast a familiar glow against Sam's skin makes Josh's mind slip back to a long-past memory.
"Hey, do you 'member that time..." he says, not finishing. Not out loud anyway.
Sam looks at him, and for a brief second he seems ten years younger and every bit as vulnerable. Josh smiles, reverent, hopeful. Then, Sam's expression hardens, almost comically. "No," he says. "I don't. And neither do you."