Chapter 1
Ever wonder how Quinn went from prim and proper head Cheerio, to Skank, to Yale matriculant? Or how Sam went from sweet, innocent, sci-fi nerd to world weary stripper? Me too, RIB, me too. Well, if you think more than two minutes of screen time were necessary to play out these insane personality changes, this story is going to attempt to connect the dots for you.
Hey guys, thanks for being patient! Here's the first installment of my new story. It's not the story I planned on writing next, but I wanted to do something that's 95% happy. The angsty story can wait to be next in line. I want to give a quick warning that, in this story, Quinn will be much closer to canon Quinn than in my last story, meaning that I'll try to work through some of her, shall we say, "complexities." Sam will mostly be canon Sam, although probably a bit smarter, just because it's hard to tell a story from his point of view if he's not meant to have coherent thoughts. Although I guess they've technically given up on moron Sam, since season 3 Sam seems to be some great bearer of wisdom and truth. Anyway, I realize that Fabrevans people and Samcedes people will most likely both dislike this chapter, but try to hang on . . . it had to start somewhere.
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Sam stared out into the pitch black night, focusing desperately on the double yellow lines weaving ahead of him like eels through the an impenetrable sea. He clutched the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were turning white with the pressure. His hands shook, but he braced himself and battled the urge to allow himself to fall to pieces. At least until he wasn't operating a moving vehicle.
Arriving at the small, two bedroom bungalow he now called home, he eased the pickup to a stop along the curb. It was just past 1:00 in the morning, and his family would already be sleeping. On a normal day, he had a couple hours between football practice and work to get as much homework done as he could, but he usually needed the hour from 1:00 to 2:00 to finish up. He could then sleep from 2:00 to 6:30, when he'd get up, force down some coffee he didn't even like the taste of, and try to do it all again. There was no way he'd be doing that extra hour of work tonight, and he'd be lucky if he got the few hours of sleep.
Still sitting in the driver's seat, Sam leaned his head down against the wheel, running his hands through his short blond hair. He had been fine up until a few hours ago. Didn't have the time, the energy, or the desire to think about who or what he had become. Who was she to barge into his life again and question him? Who was he, really? And for that matter, who was she? When had it all gotten like this?
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Somebody, he couldn't quite remember who anymore, had called them Ken and Barbie once. It was probably just because they were both blonde, maybe because they were both attractive, or because they both smiled all the time. At the time, he remembered taking it as a compliment. Whoever had said it thought he and Quinn were perfect. Perfect to a fault, and perfect together. But now he saw the comment (was it Rachel who said it?) for the cruel insult it really was. And it was at least half true. He could see that now, and it broke his heart.
Sam watched her sway from across the room. In her ice blue gown, she looked like a fairy princess. Her blonde hair was pinned up in curls, and tiny diamond chips glittered on her ears when she turned her face into the light. Her eyes, framed by long, painted lashes, were dark and sparkling in the soft light. Her glossy pink lips were curved to reveal her bright, unwavering smile. And her arms were wrapped daintily around the neck of Finn Hudson, who was busy stealing glances across the room at Rachel Berry.
She must have noticed, Sam thought. It had been clear as day to everyone around them that, once the high of stealing kisses in the hallways and behind backs had passed away, Finn was back to being in love with Rachel. He was infatuated with Quinn, as was half the school. But he was in love with Rachel. If Quinn knew that, though, she wasn't going to let on that it bothered her. Or maybe it really didn't bother her, Sam thought. After all, Finn was really just a prop to her. Maybe that's all he ever was to her, too.
He had felt it happening sometime around Valentine's Day. He believed that Quinn was attracted to him, but eventually he had started to realize that Quinn was attracted to the fact that other people were attracted to him. He had once heard her say that she was doing everything she could to rehabilitate her image, including dating the hottest guy at school. He guessed that was what he had going for him. He wasn't terribly smart, and he was new to McKinley so he wasn't all that popular either, but he was pretty. Being pretty apparently put him at the very top of the social hierarchy, at least in Quinn's eyes. And that only lasted until Finn quarterbacked a district championship team. Then Finn was more popular than Sam was attractive, and all the sudden it was Finn who looked like the perfect candidate to provide Quinn with what she really wanted. And what she really wanted wasn't love, or companionship, or even friendship. It was popularity and a plastic crown. A plastic crown to go with her plastic smile.
Sam wondered if he hadn't gotten injured, if he had still been the quarterback and led the Titans to that championship himself, if Quinn would have ever given Finn a second glance. The two of them really could have been Ken and Barbie, with the prom king and queen titles to match. Sam shook his head, forcing himself to stop. Was that really what he wanted? Maybe this was all for the best. Maybe now he could find a girl who liked him for the things he actually did have to offer—thoughtfulness, attentiveness, and a gentle soul—instead of the fake image of a perfect, popular couple.
But what haunted him was that he knew there was a person in there, somewhere. A real person, and a good person. Sam tried to put aside the memories of how Quinn had treated him like a toy, an expendable toy, and how he saw her treat other people at school, her friends included. He tried to force away the image of her plastered on smile as she bounced around chanting "Vote Hudson/Fabray!" Instead, he tried to focus on the girl he saw playing with his little brother and sister.
Quinn didn't have to come over to the motel room. She didn't have to do any of that. He had begged her to keep his home life a secret, and she had for months, so it wasn't like she was showcasing her generosity to win over more votes for prom queen. They weren't dating anymore, so she wasn't doing it out of some sense of obligation to him as her boyfriend. Still, without any good reason, Quinn came over after church every Sunday to braid Stacy's hair and paint her nails and play dress up while Sam took Stevie to the park to play catch. She came over a few nights a week to help the kids with their homework while Sam was out delivering pizzas. And she did it all while staying a faithful girlfriend to Finn and a loyal friend to Sam.
That's why Sam couldn't buy it when people called Quinn Fabray a bitch. Or even when they called her Barbie. She didn't show herself to the world. She didn't show herself to Sam, to Finn, or even to her best girlfriends, but he knew she was in there. Maybe if he could get her to open up to him he could—
"No. No, not this time," Sam thought.
He had been through this so many times in his head since he found out she was cheating, too many times. And he wasn't going to let Quinn and the "what ifs" ruin prom. Rachel and Mercedes had been very generous in asking him to be their prom date, and even supplying him with the loan so that he could afford to take them. Since Jesse St. James had suddenly returned, Rachel was pretty preoccupied, but he still had another date he was supposed to be taking care of tonight.
He turned away from the sight of Quinn's perfect smile flickering slightly every time Finn stomped one of her feet and sought out Mercedes in the crowd. She was sitting at one of the tables, looking glum. She looked beautiful all dressed up with her hair in loose curls and her lip gloss shining in the light. He wondered if anyone ever told her how amazing she looked, or if those compliments were only reserved for girls like Quinn who commanded them. Well, his date deserved to feel special, and he was determined that she would get it from him.
Shuffling his way through the crowd, Sam came to a stop in front of her table. Her dark skin was soft in the glow of the candles occupying the center of the table. She was distracted, absentmindedly watching as the girl alongside of her tapped out a text.
"Mercedes?"
She looked up at him suddenly, caught of guard by his presence. He flashed her a giant smile. He knew he looked stupid in his dad's suit and his bolo tie with his too-long hair, but he knew he still had his smile to work with. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she waited for him to speak, and he knew he had won her over.
"I just wanted to tell you that you look beautiful tonight," he stretched out his hand to her. "Would you like to dance?"
She paused for a moment, inspecting his open hand as if he might be planning to trick her. Her brow furrowed slightly and her lips tensed. Was she really that jaded? Sam was starting to worry that she was going to say no when she slipped her small hand into his and nodded excitedly.
"I'd love to."
He smiled again and helped her from her seat, placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her out onto the floor. She looked up at him nervously as the speakers carried the opening strains of Rachel's ballad. Tentatively, she reached her hands up and laid them against his shoulders. Sam wasn't sure what to do. If it had been Quinn, or any other girl for that matter, he would have wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her close, and rocked her against him to the rhythm of the song. But Mercedes seemed so unsure of herself. So unsure of them. He wasn't sure if it was him specifically who made her so uncomfortable, or if it was the idea of being so close to a boy. He tried to think, and never recalled Mercedes really dating anyone. Had she ever been on a real date? Had she ever been kissed? Sam scolded himself for thinking such random, stupid thoughts. He held his hands up awkwardly.
"Is it ok, um, can I, um, put my hands here?" he asked, brushing his fingertips over the satin at Mercedes' waist.
Mercedes paused again, then nodded shyly. He moved his hands to rest on her waist, holding them stiffly so they wouldn't slip around her back, making her think he wasn't a gentleman. She, too, was stiff under his touch. They moved slowly and awkwardly, swaying to the music, looking anywhere but at each other. He couldn't tell if she was afraid he would hurt her and was guarding herself against him or if she was just nervous about his hands on her. He wanted her to have a good time. The last thing he wanted was to prevent her from enjoying the prom because he made her uncomfortable. He lowered his face to brush his nose into her soft curls in a gesture he hoped would calm her.
It seemed to work, because eventually, she softened, relaxing into his arms. Her arms encircled his neck, and her fingers played with the ends of his hair. Feeling her relax, Sam allowed himself to calm down too, unfreezing his arms and wrapping them gently around her. She leaned her body into him, resting her cheek against his chest as his chin found its way to the top of her head. She felt soft and full and substantial against him. So unlike Quinn. Not better or worse, just different. He kicked himself again for allowing Quinn to invade his thoughts and moved a hand up to Mercedes' hair, holding her gently against his chest. He looked down at her and smiled when he found her eyes closed. She really was beautiful, why didn't everyone tell her that? It wasn't fair, and Sam knew a little too much about life being unfair to let the opportunity to make someone feel good go to waste.
"You really are beautiful, ya know," he told her, giving voice to his thoughts, even if that voice was barely above a whisper.
She stiffened again, pausing, then looking up with him with wide eyes that looked like they were about to spill over.
"Don't lie to me, Sam Evans," she warned, her tone still and dead. In his confusion, Sam stopped moving altogether, but didn't relinquish his hold on her.
"Lie to you? I, I don't understand."
She, too, stopped moving and looked away, her arms like heavy chains around his neck.
"Nobody ever tells me that," she whispered. "I'm not anybody's idea of pretty. I'm not anybody's first choice. You dated Quinn, and you did whatever you did with Santana. Those girls are pretty. People tell them all the time, and they know they're beautiful," she paused.
"Look, I know I talk the talk of being a diva and being fierce, but it's hard to make myself feel that way when nobody ever says those things to me. I don't want you to say that to me because you're doing your Sam Evans nice guy schtick. I don't want you to say it if you don't mean it."
A frown tugged at the corners of Sam's lips. He understood insecurity. While Finn chowed down to the tune of two sloppy joes a day, Sam watched his diet, taking in only low-calorie, high nutrition staples, and worked out religiously. Some people thought he was vain when he constantly checked his abs for signs of developing fat, but really he was just tremendously critical of himself. Even now, when he couldn't really afford food, his biggest fear wasn't that he would starve, but that he would get fat from the pizza he was often forced to eat for lack of a better option. But then again, Sam had people constantly telling him that he was good looking to combat his insecurity. When he looked at himself in the mirror every morning, he knew that if he was feeling bad about the way he looked, there would be ten pairs of eyes at school to help him feel better. Deep down, Sam knew he wasn't as ugly as he often billed himself to be, and he cringed at the thought of what it would be like to have all those demons without the affirmation to fight them.
He looked down at Mercedes with her soft, round face and her chocolate eyes. His heart was breaking for her. Why were girls so hard on themselves? Or really, why was the world so hard on them? Did she really believe that the only qualities that counted as beauty were blonde hair, light colored eyes, and a slim figure? With the way the entire school worshipped Quinn, he guessed it wasn't hard to see why she believed that. Mercedes had a lot going for her. Her talent alone was mesmerizing and intimidating. But he knew what she meant by beautiful. She meant physically attractive. And she was that, even if she didn't look a thing like Barbie.
"Mercedes, you are beautiful. I don't lie to people, and I wouldn't lie to you about something like that. You deserve to feel beautiful just as much as Quinn and Santana do. They just get told more often because they put the fear of God in their boyfriends."
Mercedes smirked. "So you're saying I need to command more respect?"
"No," Sam stated, trying to hold back the forming grin, "It really is just fear."
A loud, quick booming followed by a screech cut through the room. Everyone stopped dancing and turned to the stage, where Figgins was trying to gather enough attention to announce prom king and queen. Sam was genuinely glad he wasn't up there. When he first moved to Ohio from Tennessee, he had wanted to be popular, but he was rapidly realizing the amount of stress it took to remain popular. Quinn was the perfect example; the cracks were beginning to show all over her façade. He realized that it wasn't popularity that he wanted, it was for people to like him. And that meant being a good person, not being the prom king.
From the stage, Figgins announced Dave Karofsky as prom king. Mercedes turned to him and raised her eyebrows. Given that Dave was one of the captains of the football team, it wasn't a completely shocking result, but still, Sam was a little surprised that it wasn't Finn accepting the crown. Apparently, Mercedes was too. Did that mean Santana was going to win prom queen? He wondered how Quinn would react.
"And your 2011 prom queen is," Figgins paused. If it was for effect, it was a little too long, because it was starting to make the entire room uncomfortable. Figgins looked back up to his captive audience from the tiny card he held in his hand, "Kurt Hummel."
Everyone froze. Mercedes' grip on Sam's hand tightened. A few people clapped. And just about the entire court that hadn't won, and even Kurt, who had won, sprinted out of the room. Blaine chased after Kurt, and Brittany ran off after Santana. Quinn sprinted off alone. Finn had already been removed from the dance for provoking a fight with Jesse (over Rachel, Sam couldn't help but add), but Sam wondered, if he had been around, if he would have bothered to catch up with Quinn anyway. Did he care about her enough to see how this would crush her?
Sam had to use all his will power to fight off the urge to run after her. She needed someone to comfort her and take care of her. She couldn't do what she was doing alone. Not for very much longer. But he looked down at Mercedes, who was biting her lip and fidgeting. Tonight, he was her date. And she deserved someone who was going to stick by her side instead of chasing after Quinn Fabray for once. So tonight, that someone he could tell Quinn needed so desperately was not going to be him.