I'm back, with more! Who saw that coming? ;) :)

Warning: Sam swears at Spencer in this chapter. Not my usual stuff, but it fit what I think her reaction would be in being trapped.

...

"Sam!"

"I don't know any Sam," Sam-in-denial grumbled in an artificially deep voice.

There was a light tapping on the table in front of her. Without moving her head upward to aid in positive identification of her ashamed being, she watched the bit of the visitor that she could see. Spencer's hands. They were lightly rapping against the bolted table top. The guards must have thought that stationary furniture would be a bonus with Sam's history of explosively violent reactions. That was what had gotten her here, locked away, in the first place.

"Yes, you do," Spencer said in a calmly, borderline playful way. Sam had heard him interact with Carly in that tone so many times, gently coaxing her out of a bad mood. "And I know you, Sam Puckett."

She doubted it, not after all this time. Not after this last month of hell. He did not know this Sam - the Sam who had finally given up.

But still, he had called her Sam instead of Samantha or just the hands-off, emotionless "Puckett" that she had been being conditioned to expect. She appreciated the divergence.

She focused in once again on Spencer's hands that were now resting still on the table - hands that had never hurt or even forcibly restrained her. Hands that had fed and cleaned up after and cared for her.

Hands from long ago. Hands she had never wanted to reach out to her behind these walls.

"Are you going to talk to me?"

She could see flecks of paint and stains from grease in the creases above his fingers. She idly noted that he must have been working on a sculpture lately. Focus on that - meaningless thoughts that were disconnected from her reality and soul.

"Can you at least look up at me?"

She clenched her hands into fists hidden against her body in her current crossed-arm stance. There was no way she was looking up. That would mean that he could see her. She did not want him to see her in her current state - possibly never again. To look up would be to risk eye contact. To make eye contact would be to risk being truly seen, and that would end in a rejection she could not risk. She could not fathom acceptance in this state. It would be better to pretend annoyance, ignorance, distance.

Just go!

"I didn't know you were here until two days ago. If I had known earlier, I swear I would have been here long ago. But I'm here now and I want to take you home."

Home! Ha!

The word that might elicit nostalgic home or deep yearning for others was different for her. There had been a house where she had slept and sometimes ate and often fought and was occasionally punished growing up. It was not a home, not the way that her friends spoke about their homes. Even some of the other juvie offenders had "homes" that they looked forward to returning to after their time was served. Sam had nowhere better to go. Maybe she should start calling this "home". Amusing, wasn't it?

She startled at the firm hold on her hands. She must have relaxed her arm-folding stance at some point, and She had drifted off too much into her thoughts. Had she learned nothing?! Her head snapped up and she struggled backward instinctively, jerking away from the touch that had been nothing but kind. But then, of course, Spencer had always been kindness. She was the one who had never been able to fully metabolize it to her worldview. Still, that kindness was now as scary as the violence that the knee-jerk reaction indicated she had expected.

As she breathed heavily, finally glaring at him, making full eye contact, she processed the shock in his face as he looked at her. She had seen her reflection earlier that morning. She knew she was disaster on the outside just as much as on the inside. There was the blackened eye nearly matched by the sleepless circle under the one that had somehow avoided being punched. There was a new scar along her hairline, jagged and bright against her pale, borderline-anemic skin. She had lost weight and gained wariness, and now-you've-done-it orange was not her colour although it was deserved. She had accepted her appearance helplessly, but it was easy to see that Spencer was struggling to equate this wreck of girlhood with the kid he had given a motorcycle not even a year ago.

She dropped back into the seat, the slump, the determined stare at the tabletop. Now he had seen. Now he could walk away.

So why was he coming forward?

He crouched next to her, looking up into her face.

"Please don't be angry at me, kid. It took me time to get ready once I did know you were here. I had to get the papers signed so I could, but then I was here as soon as possible. Please just talk to me. Just a few words?"

In rising panic, she shot off the first two words that came to mind. If Spencer could be kind, Sam was not. She saw him flinch a little at the "fuck you" she growled at him with the ferocity of a cornered rabid raccoon. He had never heard her like that, and in the past she could have never purposefully tried to hurt him.

But she had been here for six weeks. Six long, interminable weeks.

She had been accused of shoplifting falsely. As the salesperson kept loudly accusing her - bringing tears to her friend Cat's eyes as their day at the mall spiraled into a nightmare - Sam had felt something crack in her. She had been able to hold it together for so long, but suddenly it was like all the anger and hurt she had been holding back for months burst out. She had attacked the salesperson, and after two security guards got elbowed and outmatched trying to break up her assault, it had taken two police officers, a chase through the mall parking lot, and a taser to subdue her. She could still hear Cat's terrified screams and hysterical sobs as she watched her friend and sometimes guardian angel be taken away.

Sam had refused to be cooperative in court - besides, who could she actually name as a guardian if her mom had not ever once tried calling her since she left Seattle or answered any of the calls now? Sam had been sentenced to a large fine along with time. If the fine was not paid, the time would be longer.

She supposed that she was stuck forever in that case.

Her mom never answered her calls despite her weekly attempts, and there was no one else to call. At least, no adults. She had teen friends, but none of them would be able to fulfill the conditions that the court required for someone to release her to. Besides, the shame of her friends learning that she had messed up - again and so massively this time - had been a deterrent to reaching out at first, and as time went back she felt more trapped within that decision.

She had never once seriously considered calling Spencer. She did not want to sort through all the reasons why she had never considered it, especially now, but she could not help the feeling of relief that was mixing with the shame and fear. Someone knew she was here. Someone cared enough to come here.

Spencer did.

Her mother didn't, but he did.

He stood next to her for a while, then said more firmly, "Come on, Sam. I mean it. I'm taking you home."

Sam shrugged apathetically, but her words were tinged with a horrible longing. "Spencer, I don't think you get it. I'm stuck here. This isn't some thing I need a signature for. You can't pretend to be Pam and waltz me out of here. You're not my parent."

Strangely, these words did not seem to faze Spencer at all. He smiled confidently as he pulled papers out of his back pocket.

"Problem solved. I'm your legal guardian now. You've already served the base amount of time required, you can do community service in Seattle under the watch of your PO, I've already paid your fine, and they are ready to let you go ... I mean, come home."

...

Interested in what happens next? I am. :D