Happy?

No, that's too ordinary.

Delighted?

No, that sounds too much like a five year old playing with a new toy.

Sparkly?

No, that doesn't even make sense.

Vibrant?

Yes. Vibrant is a good word. Succinct, to the point, and with a specific mood attached.

Yes. This crowd is vibrant.

She, however, isn't. She's not sure why exactly - maybe it's that the overall hectic pace of the year has gotten to her. Maybe it's because she's alone in a sea of people.

Or maybe it's because she hasn't seen Sam in a while. Half an hour at least. But that's the nature of parties, isn't it? Mingling, mixing, having fun.

She should be doing those things. She shouldn't be looking for Sam in a crowd. She's not even sure *why* she's looking for him.

It's not like she's in love with him.

Because she's not. She's told herself that enough times, so she has to believe it.

Kinda.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's across the room, staring into his drink. It's ten, a couple of hours away from the main event, as it were. A new year, a time for resolutions, a time for making a new start.

A time to tell Donna how he feels about her. But then, of course, every day has been a time to confess. He always backs out at the last minute, though.

'It's the wrong time.'

'What if we screw up our friendship?'

'What if she doesn't feel the same way?'

"I'm a dumb ass," he mutters to himself.

"I've been saying that all along," Toby mutters right back. "Have you even been listening to me?"

"Yeah. You were talking about the stuff in the thing with the other thing," he replies, hoping the vagueness will sufficiently cover his butt.

He's wrong.

"You're a dumb ass all right," Toby grumbles.

"Can't we just talk about this tomorrow? We're at a party."

"I asked you if you wanted to talk about it now, and you nodded yes," he says accusatorily.

That may be true. He wasn't really paying attention to any of this conversation. "Just...later, okay?" he says, his voice almost pleading.

"Fine," Toby says with a sharp touch of irritation. He walks away, and Sam is alone with his thoughts.

And, somehow, they're all about Donna.

He's not sure when this happened. Somewhere, in the middle of late-night talks and friendly lunches, he began to feel something for her.

Not love. No, not love.

Although, it does kinda feel like love.

But it doesn't matter, because it's not love.

Kinda.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She takes a sip of champagne, letting the bubbly liquid slide down her throat. It's the fourth tall glass that she's swiped off a tray, but she doesn't feel drunk.

She feels perfectly sober, and perfectly hung up on a man who just wants to be her friend. She wonders why she always has to be attracted to men who are wrong for her in some way. Why she can't have a fairytale romance, one of those simple stories where she ends up swept off her feet.

Pining, unspoken feelings, dancing around the issue, acting like everything's normal when it's anything but.

This is not what she's envisioned for herself.

But this is what she has. So, she has to let it be enough.

And she starts to look for Sam in the crowd again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's been purposefully avoiding looking into the throng of people. Because he thinks he can avoid thinking about her if he avoids seeing her.

It's not working.

But, still, he persists. Staring into his drink, staring at his feet, staring at the tie of a miscellaneous stranger.

This is uniquely pathetic, he thinks. He will make the moron's hall of fame.

His eyes travel upward for a moment, and he sees her. She's looking in some other direction, so only one side of her face is visible.

But he knows how she looks. And he knows that she's beautiful.

He shakes his head and quickly turns to avoid their gazes meeting.

Turns so he's staring at a wall.

He will be a much-lauded member in the moron's hall of fame. That he's sure about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Donna," a voice behind her says. It's not the voice she'd been hoping for, but it's a familiar voice.

"Josh," she says, turning around to face him.

He smiles at her. "Having a nice time?"

"Yeah," she says distractedly.

Josh has grown to know her, and he knows that there's a reason for how she's acting. "You okay?" he asks.

"Of course," she replies. "Just a little light-headed."

"And I'm the one with the sensitive system?"

"Of course," she says matter-of-factly, her lips curving into a faint smile.

"Whatever you say." He's sure she's fine.

And he's right. She is fine. But she isn't vibrant.

She sighs as she runs her fingertips against the neck of her glass. "How much longer until twelve?"

"What are you asking me for? You never believe my watch anyway."

"That's right." She finds a clock on the wall - almost ten-thirty. In about ninety minutes, she's free to go home and pretend not to care that Sam's not with her.

Her life, she believes, is getting more delightful by the moment.

"Have you seen Sam?" she asks, and she doesn't even realize she's said the words until they're floating somewhere in the air between her and Josh.

"Yeah. Why?"

She tries to seem casual, and she thinks it's working. "Nothing. Just haven't seen him for a while. So, I was wondering. I like wondering about things."

"Okay," Josh says slowly. "I could take you to where I last saw him. I make no guarantees that he's still there, though."

"If you want," she shrugs. She tries not to seem too eager as she follows Josh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wall is an interesting color. A creamy eggshell with speckles of brown. Okay, so it's so much interesting as it is uninteresting.

But it keeps him stationary, keeps him from glancing at her.

It also makes him look insane, but that's the price that has to be paid sometimes.

"Sam!" a voice yells from behind him. "What exactly are you doing?"

Sam turns to face Josh. "Nothing," he says sheepishly. "Just...it's a great wall."

"Why is everyone acting weird tonight? First Donna, now you--"

"I'm not acting weird," she says in her own defense. "I'm perfectly normal."

It's then that Sam looks to the side of Josh, then that he sees Donna standing beside him. He looks at her, tries not to think of pressing his lips against hers.

It works.

Kinda.

"You've never been normal," Josh replies. "And may I remind the two of you that this is supposed to be a party."

"We know that," Donna says as she looks away. This is a party. Sam is her friend. Just her friend.

Yes.

An hour-and-a-half to midnight.

It'll probably end up being the longest night of her life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Josh is talking, talking about the true nature of the end of the year, talking about the pointlessness of resolutions. He's talking because they aren't, and he can't figure out why they're both so silent.

From time to time, Sam and Donna's eyes meet. And they both quickly look away.

Neither knows why the other is acting so strange. In truth, they barely even notice the other's strangeness in their unease about their own behavior.

It's an odd dance, one that keeps you fully inert. One that can't be mapped out in moves or predicted.

And neither of them knows the other is hearing the same tune.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's eighteen minutes after eleven when Josh is completely, utterly drunk. He does have a sensitive system, but at least he's not a sullen drunk. He's one of those drunks who declares how much he loves everybody.

He's already declared his love for Sam, CJ, Toby, a few women he didn't even know, and a potted plant. Now, he's finally gotten around to Donna.

"Really, man," Josh declares. "I love you, man."

"I'm not a man, Josh," Donna replies.

"Still, you's be one of the coolest dudes I know."

Josh is incoherent and acting completely weird. Somebody should take him home, she thinks. This, she realizes, is her out. Her graceful exit.

A way to get away from Sam.

"Why don't we get you home?" she says to Josh.

"That's so nice, dude, really," Josh says, patting her appreciatively on the shoulder.

That's the one good thing about inebriated Josh - he's free with the compliments. Granted, he probably doesn't have an idea who he's talking to. But it's the free compliments that count.

Sam notices Donna getting Josh ready to leave. And, even with all the time he spent avoiding her, he still can't imagine her leaving.

"Why don't I go with you?" Sam suggests to Donna.

"No, you don't have to," she stammers. "I can get him in okay. He's surprisingly light."

"Thanks, man," Josh says.

Donna ignores him. "I'm just going to call a cab. And then, you know, go." She feels nervous, and she shouldn't.

"It's no problem," Sam continues, not wanting her to leave without him. "I'd like to get out of here myself. And Josh can be a handful."

"Thanks, man," Josh says again.

She tries to come up with a good reason for him not to come, and comes up empty. So, she says, "Okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three of them scrunch together in the back of the cab. Josh is in the middle, and he's still talking, mumbling about something or other.

When they take him up to his apartment, he's still chuntering. When they put him in his bed, his comments are down to a vague murmur.

And when they both lean in to pull the covers over him, their heads almost touch. And they ignore their desire to kiss each other.

Downstairs, Donna suggests that she get her own cab.

"What for? We're going the same way."

She thinks, 'I can't stand being near you when I can't be with you.' But she says, "I don't want to worry about dividing the fare. You know how that stuff gets. It'll just be a black cloud over all of us."

He thinks, 'Why have I grown so repugnant to her that she can't stand to be near me? Maybe it's so obvious that I've grown freakish.' But he says, "Do you think I'm freakish or something?"

See, in this instance, words closely follow thoughts. That's a step up.

"Freakish?" Donna says. "What--"

"You just seem like you want to get rid of me."

She does, but not for the reason he thinks. "No, Sam, I don't think you're freakish. I like you quite a bit, in fact."

"Oh." Color slightly rises to his face, and he tries not to think about what it would be like if Donna liked him more than 'quite a bit.'

She agrees to share a cab with him the rest of the way home. Because Sam shouldn't feel like she doesn't like him.

That wouldn't be fair to either of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She wants to talk to him, but she feels awkward. She feels like she's obvious in what she feels. Like she's an open book, and Sam's not going to like what he reads.

"Donna," he begins.

She turns to him, and he can't help but notice how beautiful she is. "Yeah?" she asks.

"Nothing," he replies.

The moron hall of fame thing still stands.

The cab is stopped at a red light when the countdown begins.

*Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...*

He thinks that it's very possible that this is his chance. That New Year's resolutions will just keep him at where he is right now. That, if he waits any longer, he'll never gain any courage.

*Five...four...three...*

And, if he does kiss her now, he can just blame it on tradition. If he kisses her now, he can have a good reason. If he kisses her now, and she doesn't want it, he can keep their friendship intact.

*Two...*

Maybe he'll feel like a fool.

*One...*

But sometimes, you just have to take that chance.

*Happy New Year!*

He presses his lips against hers, and it's obvious from her initial reaction that she wasn't expecting it.

And it's obvious from how she warms up to the touch of his lips against her that she isn't averse to what's happening.

The kiss is soft and gentle, but passionate and hungry. It's like the kind of things she's seen in the movies.

The kind of things she's read in fairytales.

They pull apart, but their faces stay close together.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You just kissed me."

"Yeah."

"Was that a kiss or a *kiss*?"

"What did it seem like?"

"The second one."

"Then, maybe it was that."

She stares at him.

"Okay, it definitely was."

"Okay," she says, and she lets herself sound as happy as she feels.

She looks into Sam's eyes, and it occurs to her that this is a good thing. A very, very good thing. The thing the back of her mind has been waiting for.

Maybe, just maybe, this moment is going to get her year off to a good start.

"Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"If I asked you...I mean, if I wanted to...if, maybe," Sam rambles uncertainly. "You'd like to..."

"Sam, you're not asking me to marry you, are you?"

Sam stares at her like a deer in headlights. "Isn't that a little soon?"

Donna smiles. "Yeah. So, you're asking me for a date then?"

He smiles in return. "That's what I was going for."

"I say yes," she replies.

His takes her hand in his, their fingers interlacing.

And she's pretty sure that this is the beginning to a great year.