AN: This was originally posted as a two-shot so the first half may be familiar to some of you. I decided to modify it and write it as a one-shot. Thank you for reading.

Red Sam

One-Shot

I answer my vibrating cell phone just before the ringtone is going to run out. I usually ignore it when I'm in the shower, but I have a feeling this call is too important to miss. I say my standard greeting, expecting to hear a voice. But I hear something else entirely. Sniffling, the kind that indicates someone is crying and having trouble controlling their breathing.

I pause and listen, cursing myself for not grabbing the phone early enough to peek at the caller ID. The person on the line obviously isn't in the proper condition for speech.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't know who this is. I want to help you, but could you please call me back in like two seconds so I have a chance to figure that out?"

I negotiate with them the best I can; hoping whoever it is can hear me over their own sobs. The line goes dead and the call ends. My reaction is to close my phone quickly, hoping the redial won't get sent to voicemail as if I'm still on the line. To my relief, the ringtone sounds again. But the name I see on the screen sends me straight back into worry and shock.

"Sam? Are you alright? Wait…that's a stupid question. If you can get over to the loft hang up. If you can't, stay on the line, and I'll try to figure something else out."

The call ends and I find myself pacing in the living room. Nearly ten minutes pass before a knock sounds on the door. There is no hesitation, I open it and immediately hug the person on the other side.

To my surprise, the person who I embraced struggles violently and backs up after escaping my arms. It turns out to be Freddie and I'm completely embarrassed.

"I'm sorry Freddie," I apologize immediately, "I'm expecting someone…family…and am so anxious I kinda didn't notice you weren't…them."

Freddie is backed against the wall across the hall still, not seeming completely relieved. I suddenly remember that I'm still in just a towel, not convincing attire for greeting a guest. I look down casually and laugh at myself.

"See? I'm so anxious I even forgot to get dressed. Anyway, Carly isn't home at the moment. I'll let her know you stopped by."

The scarred boy nods his head and quickly disappears into his apartment across the hall. I am about to return inside to put on my clothes when a figure rounds the corner. It's Sam. Suddenly, I feel glued to my spot. Her cheeks are stained, most of the skin of her face is colored, and she looks more vulnerable than I've ever seen anyone as tough as her break down to.

"This month's been hell," she whispers as she passes through the door beside me.

"You look like it," I reply without thinking, quickly regretting it.

I give her a pleading look, hoping she'll forgive my inconsiderate honesty. She plops down on the couch, seemingly unaffected by my harsh words. My instinct tells me to hop on the couch and hold her until she can forget whatever is causing her the pain, but the more appropriate thing to do is excuse myself to get dressed first. So I do, doubling my usual speed in case she does something irrational in my absence.

I return to the living room newly dressed and grab a seat on the edge of the couch. Sam is filling up the rest of it, curled up into a ball and staring into space. Finding her leg within closest reach, I begin stroking it in a comforting manner just below the patella.

"My ears are ready if you need a listener," I whisper softly, not sure why I choose not to speak in a regular voice.

I watch as she bites her lip and shifts away from my hand's position over her leg, sitting up slightly with her feet staying up on the sofa as she lets her arms rest against her knees. Our eyes lock when she looks up and I can feel myself taking advantage of this to plead with her silently.

"I don't wanna inflict violence on undeserving people anymore."

I'm tempted to make a joke, but I can't bring myself to do it when her gaze is so intense.

"That's a good goal to make," I reply, settling on words that sound encouraging.

She shakes her head.

"It can't just be a goal, Spence. Goals take time, effort, motivation. This is something that has to go cold turkey, gone," she explains while looking unusually determined.

And curiosity finally gets the best of me.

"What has made this change so important to you all of a sudden?"

"This one program I saw on TV three weeks ago. Nothing clicked right away. Then I went back to the same channel a couple more times, and tonight there was this movie on. Seeing someone hurting people their supposed to care about…I thought 'that person doesn't deserve to be loved'."

Sam's voice cracks during the last sentence and I pull her to me carefully. Rather than get lost in an embrace, I cave in and stroke her cheek that I'd say is likely to become victim to water works if I didn't know Sam would resist letting vulnerability win twice in the same lifetime, let alone in the same hour.

"You're not a bad person, Sam. We all have habits that we're not proud of. They only bring you down if you let them control you."

I drop my hand down by my side and smile weakly. Being motivational isn't my strong point, especially when I'm holding back something that I've tried to ignore for a long time.

"It's been eating away at me this whole time. I used to think stuff I did was funny. But one day something is gonna happen and nobody'll be laughin'."

I let my guard down completely and pull her into a hug like the one I accidentally bombarded Freddie with earlier except gentler.

"Sam, guilt is normal," I explain as she rests her head on my left shoulder.

"I'm not really used to the feeling."

Ironic, I feel it every time she's here and I catch myself thinking of her in ways I shouldn't. Like right now. Enjoying physical contact during a serious moment should be punishable by a flick to the forehead.

She starts to move her head back off of me and I release my hold so she can sit up on her own.

"You want me to make pancakes?" I ask her randomly, suddenly craving them as I look towards the kitchen.

"Pancakes for dinner? Anyway, what if I'm too depressed to eat?"

I look at her like 'yeah right'.

"Okay, fine, you make pancakes and I'll eat some," she caves in with a smile.

When I get up and walk to the kitchen she follows me mysteriously. I turn around after grabbing the batter from a cupboard.

"You wanna help or somethin'?"

"Nah, just wanna make sure you don't burn 'em," she counters smugly.

I hold my hand over my heart and feign hurt feelings.

"I thought you said you wanted to go cold turkey on causing pain?"

She frowns slightly.

"Sorry, I know it's a sensitive subject still," I apologize quickly.

"Nah, it's just the mention of meat making my stomach growl."

I'm not sure if it's a cover or not, but I'd have to admit it's a pretty clever comeback either way.

"There might be some lunch meat in the fridge if you can't wait for the pancakes."

No sooner are the words passed my lips than Sam's hands are on the fridge handle. I just shake my head as I begin to cook, a task that is filled in with a few glances in her direction from time to time. When they are done she joins me on the couch as we each sit back with a full plate. I click the TV on but don't really watch it, far more amused by the speed Sam is using to consume her food.

"You're going to choke on those if you're not careful," I warn before taking a small bite of my own.

"I just can't help it. I love food."

"Then you'll understand if I tell you…"

She ceases chewing what's in her mouth but keeps her fork up, prepared to stab at the next pancake.

"Tell me what?"

"I just can't help it. I love you."

And Sam's fork finally gets a break as I watch it drop into her lap.