Samantha woke at dawn. Any other morning, this would be reason enough for grumpiness of epic proportions. Sleeping in was vital for her emotional well-being.

That morning, however, the first thing she was aware of - instead of the ungodly hour - was an arm wrapped firmly around her body. Opening her eyes, she saw Michael was still merely inches away from her. His lips were pink and kiss-bruised, his forehead smoothed out with sleep. It was as calm and as blissful as Samantha had ever seen him.

Slowly, warmth spread to every inch of her body. She was aware of her shins pressing against Michael's; their chests rising and falling together; the way Michael's breath would pass gently across his lips. Everything was peaceful and warm, and Samantha let a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

Dexter stirred on the ground beside Michael, and a low whine sounded through the morning quiet. Moving as little as she could, Samantha very reluctantly pushed herself up from between the back of the couch and Michael's sleeping body. Seeing that she was awake, Dexter's tail began slapping against the ground happily.

Samantha quietly rummaged around Michael's kitchen as she searched for Dexter's food. She filled his dishes, watching with a strange sense of satisfaction as he ate the food greedily. She leaned against the counter, scratching her fingers through her hair (she was certain she had a bad case of bed-head) as she decided what to do next.

Her mind immediately went to those feverish kisses from last night. It wasn't even qualified as kissing - it was just tasting and melting and breathing into each other. It made Samantha's stomach curl with warmth and a blush rose to her face. But it had been midnight, everything seemed different in the fogginess of sleep and darkness.

However, Michael had been extremely vulnerable last night. Samantha wouldn't hold him to anything.

But she wasn't going to leave, either. So she pushed away from the counter and began to search through the cupboards, crossing her fingers that she could make Michael breakfast without ruining it.

xXx

Michael woke up when he realised he was cold. He didn't usually sleep without the reassuring protection of his comforter, so the empty space above and around him left him feeling exposed.

It wasn't just the blanket, though. Michael remembered the comforting weight of Samantha against him and he inhaled sharply when he realised it wasn't there anymore.

Pale morning light drifted through the living room window, and he could hear the sound of someone in the kitchen, the smell of slightly burnt toast reaching his nostrils.

Groaning a little, Michael sat up, setting his feet on the floor. He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the ends sticking up at odd angles. As he did, the memories of last night floated back to him. He remembered the sharp panic at the thought of Samantha leaving; how he just needed her, pressed close and breathing into him.

Michael thought of Samantha's hot mouth, how his hands felt holding her face, gently - as if she might break.

Suddenly Samantha walked in from the kitchen, her sleep-lined face and early morning sex-hair not doing anything good for Michael's current state of mind. He shifted awkwardly.

Samantha was holding a plate stacked with toast in one hand, while she gripped two mugs of coffee in the other. Dexter followed closely at her heels.

"I made breakfast." Her usually soft voice was replace with something a little bit more raspier in the early morning hours. "But you didn't have much to work with. Maybe it's for the best, I'm a terrible cook."

Michael smiled and averted his gaze as she place the coffee and toast on the table in front of them. The pieces of toast alternated between peanut butter and jam. Michael's coffee had sugar and milk in it, while Samantha's was plain black.

"Thanks, Sammy." Michael said. He reached forward and took a piece of toast with peanut butter on it, his stomach rumbled greedily. Was he always this hungry in the morning? "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to." Samantha replied, obvious affection colouring her tone. Michael didn't mind it. Samantha had a few sips of coffee as she idly scratched Dexter's head as Michael ate.

"Last night..." Samantha said after a while.

Michael glanced at her, a questioning look on his face. "Did you want that?"

"I wasn't sure if you wanted it." Samantha looked at him. "Yesterday morning...I thought you meant you never thought of me like that."

"I think of you like that." Michael sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

She tilted her head. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not," Michael said hurriedly, "It's not. I like you, Sammy. I like hanging out with you. It's just... It's taking me a while to wrap my head around this."

Samantha's eyes softened. "That's okay. I like hanging out with you too."

Michael smiled timidly, feeling his body relax. Hanging out wasn't nearly as scary as words like relationship or hook-up or even friends with benefits. It was simple. Harmless, even.

Samantha leaned forward, reaching one hand out to keep her balance on the couch. She pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Michael's lips. He tasted like fresh coffee and peanut butter and it was perfect.

After they pulled away, Michael just watched Samantha for a while. How she ran her hand through her dark hair; how her fingers sometimes got caught at the ends because it hadn't been brushed. He watched how her fingers absently trailed across Dexter's back and how her brown eyes would cast side long glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. Michael wondered how he managed to get someone like her in his life, then he decided maybe he shouldn't question it.

Before Michael knew what he was saying,

"I think one of my students is in trouble."

Samantha froze, her eyes searching Michael's face for a moment. Michael's heart hammered in his chest as he looked back at her.

Samantha's eyebrows knitted together, and a strange look of understanding dawned on her face. As if she realised that this, this is what had been screwing with Michael; this was information he wasn't going to offer to just anyone.

"Okay." She said, her voice was a forced level of calm. "What makes you think that?"

Michael scraped a hand across his mouth, stomach twisting with nausea. He was starting to regret that piece of toast. He couldn't look at Samantha when he answered.

"I saw bruises on his arm. In the shape of a hand."

Michael's own hand had subconsciously started to rub his arm. Samantha registered the movement.

"Did you say anything to him?" Samantha asked. Michael tried - and failed - not to feel guilty when he shook his head.

"I couldn't." He sighed. "I couldn't just ask him about it. He wouldn't have talked to me - it would've made it worse."

"Okay." Samantha nodded, her voice soothing. "Did you tell anyone?"

"I sort of, kinda, asked Hannah about it." Michael peaked up at Samantha and she nodded. "But I made it seem hypothetical. She didn't buy it, but I didn't mention a name."

Samantha looked at Michael intently, quiet for a moment as she thought.

"Michael," She said cautiously, "What's the worst that could happen if you told Hannah the truth?"

Fear and frustration shot through Michael's body. "What could happen? At the very least, it'll get a few concerned teachers involved. They'd make a house call, his old man would play Daddy Dearest and as soon as he closed that door..."

Michael stopped himself and squeezed his eyes shut.

He continued, "It could get the authorities involved. Child Protective Services would take the kid from his home, throw him into foster care. With a family, or other foster kids - people who don't give a rat's ass."

Michael looked at Samantha who was watching him with a sad, concerned expression.

"Maybe you're just overreacting-"

"But I'm not, Sammy!" Michael snapped. "D'you think I'm just pulling this information out of my ass?"

Samantha snapped her mouth shut, her brown eyes turning hard as she looked at Michael. Michael pushed himself up and off the couch.

"Has this happened with a student of yours before?"

"No." Michael's tone made the word biting and cold. He didn't look at Samantha, he began to pace, running his hands through his hair and linking them behind his neck.

After a few moments, Samantha stood up, manually stopping Michael from pacing. Michael huffed a breath as he let her un-pry his fingers and put his hands back down at his sides. She looked at him.

"I get that this is really hard." She said. "But keeping this bottled up and keeping this to yourself isn't going to help him or you - not to mention that not reporting this is illegal. If anything, talk to him yourself."

Michael's jaw flexed and he shook his head.

"I don't think he'd mind talking to you," she pressed on, "He will talk to you. Then you can figure it out from there."

Michael nodded, attempting to get his breathing under control. "What if you're wrong?"

"I rarely am." She retorted, allowing a cocky smile to play at her lips.

Michael rolled his eyes, huffing a short laugh. Samantha reached out, resting her hands on Michael's shoulders tentatively. Michael moved closer and leaned his forehead against hers, the small contact grounding him.

"Is this what's been bothering you?" Samantha asked. Michael swallowed and nodded.

"The day I saw his bruises I just...freaked out. It brought back too many bad memories. Ones I'd rather forget."

Michael went cold - he knew he'd revealed way, way too much, and it was too late to take it back.

Michael cleared his throat and moved away, not daring to look at her.

"I need to take him out or he's gonna wreck the place." Michael nearly cringed at the forced calm in his voice. "I can walk you back to your place, if you want."

Samantha nodded, recognising the dismissal for what it was. "Sure, that would be great."

xXx

Michael placed the nearly finished piece of chalk onto his desk and wiped his hands. He looked over the words he'd scrawled untidily on the board and nodded.

"These are your options." He turned to face his class. "Each of you has to pick a main character and follow them to the end of the book. Your final essay will be on your character's arc throughout the book."

Meg's hand shot up.

Michael looked at her and nodded. "Meg?"

"Why isn't Two-Bit on the list? He's a main character."

"He is, but he doesn't have a character arc."

"Debatable."

"Well, this isn't a debate class, Masters." Michael ran a hand through his hair. "It's English. Use these last five minutes to pick your character, then before you leave write it on this piece of paper." Michael held up a clip board, then placed it back on his desk.

Michael sat down behind his desk and his class bubbled up into a steady stream of conversation. Satisfaction ran through him. Michael usually taught things on a structure, but switching it up seemed to be working.

His phone buzzed quietly on his desk. The screen lit up with a picture of his mother. His stomach turned uncomfortably and he tapped the ignore button, convincing himself that he was doing this because he couldn't take calls in class.

He wasn't mad at his mother anymore. Just mad at himself, ashamed of what he said. He didn't answer because he was certain she would try and apologise, and Michael was certain he did not deserve that.

Students began lining up at his desk, scribbling their names and their characters down. Michael noticed that Dallas Winston was the most common choice and he tried his hardest not to roll his eyes.

When Ben came up to the table, Michael watched him out the corner of his eye as he scrawled "Johnny Cade" onto the paper.

"Good choice."

Ben blushed slightly. "Thanks."

Michael glanced around quickly, lowering his voice slightly.

"I'd like you to stick around for a few minutes after class. You're not in trouble or anything, don't worry."

Ben searched Michael's face for a moment, distrust written in every line, he nodded anyway.

"Okay."

The bell rang and the class flooded out. Michael closed the door gently behind them, feeling Ben's eyes on him the entire time.

Taking a steadying breath, Michael walked over and slipped into the desk beside Ben. He crossed his arms and attempted to control the way his stomach was turning, curling in on itself with nerves and nausea. Michael could feel the stress radiating off of Ben.

"Relax, you're not in trouble." Michael reiterated, his voice sounding much calmer than he felt. Ben nodded, but didn't look over at him.

"Ben, I've been teaching you for a while now." Michael said, his voice gentle. "You're a good kid. Got good grades, you stay out of trouble. If I'm honest, I'm a little worried about you."

Ben swallowed and turned to finally meet Michael's gaze. He didn't look surprised. Just scared.

Michael clenched his hands into fists, then released them, attempting to get them to stop shaking. "You just don't seem like yourself. You fall asleep in class; you always seem tired, or distracted. You're grades aren't bad, but they are not what I know you're capable of."

Ben began fidgeting, pulling at the sleeves of his shirt and bunching the fabric in his hands.

"I just want to make sure everything's alright. If something's bothering you. At school, at home..." Michael trailed off, giving Ben a chance to open up. However, he just shrugged stiffly.

"Nothing's bothering me. Everything's fine." His voice broke on the last word, giving him away. But he didn't say more.

"There's people you can talk to. Hannah is a fantastic guidance counsellor; a lot of kids like her. But if you'd prefer things off the record...my door is always open."

Ben nodded a few times and looked at Michael. "Is that it?"

Michael sighed, searching Ben's face before nodding. "That's it. If you're late, tell your teacher to call me."

Ben gave another nod before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and quickly exiting the room. Once the door was closed, Michael let out a gust of air.

Well... that went well.

xXx

Michael was halfway through his third period class when his phone buzzed. A text from Dean lit up the screen.

"You. Me. Lunch. We need to talk."

Michael's stomach turned uneasily, but despite his reluctance he found himself following Dean through a maze of people at a small café just off campus. Dean threw his jacket over the back of a chair and sat down. He popped open a plastic container that contained a large piece of pie, he grinned happily before prying the lid off his coffee cup.

"What is it, Dean?" Michael demanded, his own coffee and sandwich sitting neglected. "You wanted to talk to me. Spit it out."

"Jeez, calm down. Can I at least take a bite first? I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Fine." Michael scowled at him. "Who even calls a piece of pie lunch?"

Dean threw him a glance. "Um, lots of people. I can't help it, it's delicious."

Dean took a large bite of his pie while Michael rubbed his temples delicately. Sometimes dealing with Dean was more difficult than dealing with his students.

"Dean..."

"I'll talk," Dean said, his voice slightly muffled, "When you eat."

Michael rolled his eyes and picked up his sandwich, he didn't really remember what he ordered but upon tasting it he thought it was some kind of turkey club sort of deal. He chewed purposefully as he looked at Dean. It tasted like cardboard in his mouth.

"Satisfied?" He asked, swallowing. Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

"For now." Dean replied, brushing the crumbs off his fingers.

"Shoot." Michael prompted. Dean crossed his arms, his face was somber.

"I found-well, Charlie found something. About Samantha." He said. Michael went cold.

"Okay. And?"

Dean licked his lips. "Charlie started snooping around the government databases, she took a shot and started looking around requested name changes."

"And she changed her name?"

"Well, yeah." Dean turned and pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket. Michael leaned forward, pushing his sandwich aside. Dean did the same, glancing at Michael as he did so.

"Samantha Banner. Born February 24, 1987 in Buffalo, New York." Dean said this gravely, as if he was revealing a massive secret, but to Michael it was a little flat.

"So, what? She's in witness protection or something?" He frowned. Dean's eyes widened.

"Seriously? The name isn't ringing a bell?" Dean asked. Michael just looked at him mutely before shaking his head. Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Banner, Michael. Her parents are Mike and Lily Banner? Literally one of the biggest crime families in New York."

Michael blinked as the information buzzed in the air around them.

"I got her birth certificate, criminal record, school transcripts - everything up until she was about twenty-two. Then Samantha Banner goes away and Samantha Riggs pops into existence."

Michael shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. If she's trying to hide, why not change her whole name? She's not really hiding from anyone with her first name in tact."

"Exactly." Dean said. "So...we can only assume she's not hiding."

Michael was still frowning. "What else did you find out?"

"Aside from this, not much." Dean shrugged. "Criminal record shows breaking and entering, theft. Pretty standard for being part of a crime family."

Michael cocked an eyebrow. "Oh really, Gambino?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"Are we sure this is the same Samantha? I mean, we've got a pretty good feel for the girl. Does she seem like a felon to you?"

"She's not a felon now - that doesn't mean she never was." Dean pointed out.

Michael pursed his lips, he felt like someone had just dropped a stone on his stomach.

"I saw the ID photos." Dean's voice was hard and somber. "Even at sixteen. Same dark hair, same dark eyes. It was her, dude."

Michael's jaw tensed and he reached up to swipe his thumb across his lips. "Why are you only telling me this?"

Dean tilted his head and threw Michael a look. "Come on, seriously?"

Michael narrowed his eyes at him.

"I've seen the way you look at each other. And when you walked into the teacher's lounge this morning, she blushed so hard I thought she was gonna give herself a fever. You'd think something would've happened by now."

Michael had been taking a sip of his coffee, but now he spluttered, the drink getting caught in his throat.

"Oh my god." Dean's mouth dropped open slightly. "Something did happen. Didn't it?"

"No." Michael insisted. "Nothing happened." It was the truth, he told himself firmly. Nothing had happened. Samantha was just helping Michael out after a panic attack - that's it.

"Bullshit." Dean retorted and Michael grimaced. "Spill it."

"Nothing happened. We just hung out for a while on Saturday; watched TV, ordered some food. I was having a bad night and she just kept me company."

"How come your face is so red?"

"My face isn't red. Your face is red."

"Come on, Michael, just tell me-"

"And then we made out for a bit on my couch and she spent the night, okay? Happy?" Michael spit out, before casting a glance around the coffee shop. A young woman was glancing at him, obviously amused. Michael glared at her before turning back to Dean.

"You tell no one."

Dean pressed his lips together, holding back a laugh as he mimed zipping his lips. "But why? The school wouldn't care, as long as you report the relationship."

"I know...it's not that. It's-"

"I know, I know. You're Michael, you Don't Do Relationships." Dean said. "But I want to say I called this."

"You did not."

"I did." Dean said smugly. "Charlie said you wouldn't get together until Christmas, at least."

"She has that much faith in me, does she?" Michael covered up some of his embarrassment with the snarky comment.

"Even though I totally saw this coming," Dean said after a moment, "I'm not sure if it's a good idea."

"If what's not a good idea?"

"You and Sammy."

"There is no me and Sammy." Michael growled. "But why wouldn't it be a good idea?"

"She's a felon!" Dean's eyes went wide. "Obviously she's cleaned up a bit, but can you really ever walk away from that life? Plus, you don't need the drama, Michael."

Michael narrowed his eyes at him. "Getting a little overprotective, Winchester?"

"I'm always overprotective." Dean replied, Michael blinked as he considered it. Dean went on. "Doesn't this bother you at all?"

"What? That she's got a record?"

Dean nodded. Michael thought for a moment.

"Not really." Michael shrugged. "It kinda makes sense actually. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I can't blame her - my past isn't exactly squeaky clean. I was waiting for a sign that this was a bad idea. I guess I've got one now."