AN: Flames and reviews welcome. This site needs more Sam/Six stories so here's me trying to rectify that.

One-shot

Sam/Six

Sam doesn't consider himself a jealous person.

His eyes a brown, not green.

Envy was not his favourite sin.

Sure, when he was young and he would see the other children playing on the jungle gym he would feel lonely, meloncoly even, but he would readjust his ant farm under one arm and look away, not the least bit envious.

After his father had disappeared, he'd get almost frustrated when he'd see happy families, so angry, so not jealous, after all, he didn't want their father's or happy moments, he wanted his own.

So when, for the first time, he felt boiling disquiet in his gut, a tightness in his shoulders and the inconceivable urge to glare irrevocably at Number Five. Sam didn't recognise the emotion for what it was.

Red, hot, flaming, all consuming jealousy.

Directed at Number Five.

Who was standing entirely too close to Number Six.

And making her smile.

As he unconsciously ignored John's fourth attempt to get his attention Sam tried to remember a single time he'd ever been able to make her smile, or at least, not grimace, at him.

Nothing.

Nada.

She'd rolled her eyes at him countless times, punched him in the arm so often he had permanent bruises, once she'd laughed at him, because when he'd fallen off her bike while it was in park, she certainly hadn't been laughing with him.

Once she'd given him a haircut to go with his new identity, but she hadn't been very neat and his head had ended up looking lopsided for a month.

She'd screamed at him plenty of times, once, when he was trying to be nice, he'd tried to clean her guns and ended up nearly shooting her in the foot. What followed was an hour long lecture on taking the ammunition out of deadly weapons and never, ever, in fear of death, touching her things again.

Now she was touching him.

Number Five and Number Six—God even mathametics was against him—were leaning over a map of southern California, their shoulders brushing against one another, reading over the content and planning their next move.

Only when Five reached over to tap his fingers on her side of the map and Sam had the savage desire to break said fingers did it finally occur to him that he might, just possibly, be feeling, ever so slightly, envious.

"Sam!" John clicked his didgets rapidly in front of the younger boys face.

"What!"

"Were you listening to me?"

"No."

"Well what were you doing?"

Envisioning the death of a certain alien, over and over…

"Nothing," He turned his back on Five and Sixes little love fest and faced his blonde headed beast friend, "What did you want?"

John stared at him bemused, cell phone in one hand, take-out menu in the other,"Mm'kay, whatever, now I know why they called you a freak at school."

"Nerd, John, I was called the NASA nerd. Get it right."

Number Four ignored him and instead called over to the others. "Five! Six! Chinese, you guys."

Sam was greatly relieved to see them separated, as Six strolled over and took the menu from John's hand, she scanned the paper and shook her head, "We'll have to go pickup." She announced, finally.

"Why?" John asked, "You're the one who said we should try to stay indoors."

"I also say we shouldn't just give out our address to a random waitress, who could be bought off for anything above six bucks an hour." She pushed the menu into John's chest, "You pick for me and I'll go get it."

John nods and turns to Five who rattles off a list so long Six stares at him in concern.

"Growing boy," He jokes at her and Sam is practically dieing, when she shakes her head with a smile he wishes he could spontaneously grown a few inches himself, maybe pack on some muscle as well.

"Sam?" John asks again, "Last chance."

"Uh, yeah, I'll have what he's having."

Six crosses her arms, of course she doesn't find it funny, "You're trying to make my life difficult aren't you."

"No!" He jumps, inspiration striking, "I'll come with you...to prove it." She looks at him suspiciously and he gulps, smiling at her it what he hopes is a butter-wouldn't-melt expression.

John starts dialling, oblivious to the game of wills going on before him, finally Six looks away, arms still crossed, "Fine," she says, with the air of someone who couldn't be bothered.

Sam sighs, deflated.

Five shrugged "'Kay, I'll be back with the map," He said, squeezing Six on the shoulder and turning away.

Smarmy, English, bastard.

Twenty-five to thirty minutes later Six and Sam were swerving through the streets, which were slicked from one of the rare summer rains. The steady thrum of wind past his ear drums and the knowledge that a superpowered alien was in control of the driving gave Sam a chance to bury back into his green-eyed thoughts.

Well, at least, he was currently the one with his arms wrapped around her waist, her blonde hair whipping him on the face, not much of a consolation prize he knew, but he'd take what he could get.

"Are you still mad at me!" He yelled, his words being torn away from him by the ferocious wind.

Her head jerked to the left, "What!"

"I said!"—Red light, Sam almost got whiplash—"Are you mad at me?" He finished in a whisper.

She let the bike slant slightly and rested her foot against the road, the leather of her outfit squeaking, finally after what seemed an age she answered, "You've been acting weird." She said.

"I'm always weird."

"More so than usual."

He didn't have an answer, so silence ruled for the rest of the trip, while Sam mentally added 'she thinks I'm weird' to the list of reasons he was jealous, as if he didn't know that already.

At least, he supposed, she had formed an opinion on him, that was something, as a genral rule, the girls back in Paradise had prefured to ignore his existence when possible. In fifth grade, it had taken weeks for him to work up the courage to deliver his valentine card to Becky Burkley only to have her ask her friend oddly, "Who's Sam Good?"

Sam winced as Six pulled the bike into the curb out the front of the small Chinese styled building, painted red and gold, she hadn't even got his name right.

As they stood, impatiently in Sixes case, just inside the unusually warm restaurant, Sam started to wonder if he could really explain to her why exactly he had been acting so weird lately.

It wasn't as if she didn't know about his silly little mortal crush on her, there was probably a guy in a coma down the street who knew about it, which could seriously be a security risk if they weren't careful. John had tried to nurse him through it, trying, sometimes forcefully to make Six be polite but if anything it seemed she liked to go out of her way to make his romantic life a living hell.

It had begun, with general teasing, than occasional innuendo, which sometime he confused with Australia slang. Sometime he would swear she stood so close to him just to make him sweat and then there were the times she got all protective, like she was trying to get his hopes up, that yes, she would actually care if he got hit by a bus, that the closest Mogadorian had just launched at their heads.

And then came along, about three weeks ago now, Number Five.

He probably couldn't blame her for that, she was trying to save the world, most likely not trying to get him to pick a fight with an extra-terrestial twice his size and ten times his power.

Even she wasn't that mean.

So maybe, if he could summon the courage, while standing in the small dinky take-out Chinese restaurant, on the bad side of town, he could explain to her about his newly developed irrational jealousy, to partner nicely with his irresponsible crush.

But then he looked over at her, leaning tersely against the door frame, leather jacket concealing two holstered guns and he thought better of it.

"Its about Number Five isn't it?" She spoke without warning and Sam had to promptly jump back into reality.

"What is?" He asked, quickly.

She dragged her eyes to him, "The increased weirdness, it's cause of Number Five."

"No!" Sam answered sharply, "Of course not, he's great, a little English and pale maybe, but none the less, great, terrific, wonderful, dreamy even."

There was an awkward beat, "Do you have a crush on him or something?"

Sam was mortified, "No, no, no….no, no. Why would you think that?" A bell dinged, their order was ready.

Six walked to the counter, in that annoyingly distracting way she often did, and picked up the stuffed plastic bags, she glanced over her shoulder at him, "You just called him dreamy." She mocked.

"Um…" He took the box of fortune cookies left behind on the counter and follwed her out. "That's not what I…you know, you're the one who said that it was about Number Five in the first place so I refuse to continue this ridiculous conversation."

She gave him a look, yeah right, like he'd refuse her anything, well maybe he'd put his footdown to walking her up the aisle to her future British husband.

The mental image made him scowl and Six huffed, as she swung her legs over the bike, and kicked up the stand, "See!" She growled, "You're doing it right now!"

Sam stayed standing, "I can't help it then, I guess I'm just weird." He grumbled.

"I know that," Six rolled her eyes, honestly? Why was she always doing that to him, "But I don't like this new weirdness, it gives me the creeps."

Did that mean that she liked the old weirdness? Taking pity on her and resigning himself to at least admitting some of his feelings, Sam slid on behind her, so that she couldn't see his face. "Well I'm sorry, but I can absolutely promise you that its got noting to do with Five."

At least not directly.

"I though maybe you might be jealous of him or something?"

Sam chocked, regrouping, he stuttered, "No, why would you think that?"

She shrugged, and started the bike, which roared loudly in response, "I don't know, he's the new guy around, he and John get along well I thought it might be a best-friend thing…eh, I don't know what I thought."

Sam had to stop himself from physically sagging with relief as she tuned the bike out from curb and back onto the street.

When they finally made it back to their little motel room, Six stopped just short of the door, keys in hand, Sam who was struggling with all the take-out bags looked at her despretly.

She seemed to be considering something and eventually after a long pause, she spoke, casually, "You shouldn't worry about John," She said. "Fives great, but I like you much better."

If he wasn't carrying their dinner he'd be doing hand-springs and dancing for joy, instead he had to settle for grinning at her like an idiot.

"Even when you being extra weird."

Sam was decidedly a lot nicer to Number Five that night, after all, what did he really have to be jealous about?

He wasn't a jealous person.

Not really.