"Got a light, then?"

There's something he likes about her eyes, even when he can barely see them because she's only just peering out from behind a curtain of hair. He watches her shifting anxiously from foot to foot and wishes she'd just relax a little because she's making him feel nervous, too. Almost the second he thinks that, she's turning on her heel and rushing away. It occurs to him that he doesn't even know her name.

"Brigitte!"

He wouldn't have picked her as a Brigitte, but Sam can see it now. He likes the fact that she doesn't bounce over and chirp at him like a girl-sized squeaky toy. He likes her a lot, he thinks, even as she's snapping at him for turning up in the middle of her class. Her irritation stings a little more than he thought it would as he strides back towards his van.

"I don't think of you that way."

Sam does his best to ignore the helpful part of his brain trying to point out that he was just a little bit lying when he said that.

"Alright, I'm going."

He thinks maybe he should do something dramatic and appropriate for their situation, like kiss her. He considers it seriously for a heartbeat as he meets her glassy eyes, but then he's sliding towards the door because it's not like he was really into her or anything because that was so not appropriate and besides, she's all shaky and sweaty and werewolf-y and what if she bit him? Then they'd all be in deep shit. Well, deeper shit.

He cries out in pain and fear.

He doesn't even know how he's still alive. She's trembling all over as she crouches by his side. His limbs feel so, so heavy and he waits for her to pull him away or try to inject Ginger with the syringe, but she doesn't. She doesn't even look at him. Sam can see black splotches staining his field of vision, and one is blooming on her cheek like an inky flower. She dips her fingers in his blood and raises them to her mouth. The dark spots are growing larger, and he thinks he might have heard it rather than seen it when she throws up his blood on the floorboards.

She's screaming that she can't. That she won't. And then she's just plain screaming because there's something heavy and hard and sharp clamping down around his throat and Sam knows that he's really gone this time. The last thing he hears as the darkness finally washes over his eyes is the sound of her tears, and the last thing he thinks is that he wishes he'd gone for that kiss. He also really hopes that Brigitte is a fast runner.