A Boy and His Tramps
In which Sam is chivalrous and feels the need to protect his divas in distress from the big bad… you'll see. Jonevansberry hijinks in New York. Friendship, maybe Samchel if you look for it, because I am biased to that pairing. I wrote this before New York aired-actually worked on it all day to keep myself distracted and ebb my growing anticipation. I literally finished the last line as the episode was starting, and I only edited it a little after watching the episode.
I seriously wrote this just to have Sam use a Princess Bride line and poke fun at Chord's haircut. Haha, I love my mind sometimes.
I hope you love it too!
As they piled into the photo booth, Sam admitted to himself, not for the first time and certainly not the last, how much he enjoyed being a part of Glee club. Only he hadn't figured out what had made this sentiment grow so strongly in the past few weeks. Maybe it was the excitement of going to New York. Maybe it was the intense camaraderie and appreciation for life that the members all felt after the funeral. Maybe it was the fact that his Glee family bought him back his guitar. But, probably, it was mainly because of these two women beside him; two really unexpected, really amazing friends.
When they held the photo strip between them, he saw that Rachel was smiling her big megawatt smile in the first frame, rivaling all the lights that guaranteed to glow alongside her in her Broadway dreams. Then he noticed in the last three pictures that she wasn't looking at the camera. She smiled and looked to him, and looked to Mercedes, before looking to the ground, biting her quirking lips while tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. It was such a true smile, he was wondering why she was biting it back. Maybe that much happiness felt irresponsible to unleash; he wasn't sure. But damn, was it happy. It was the epitome of gratefulness. It was like she'd gone through life alone and she finally had friends. Because that was true.
The realization kind of stunned Sam for a moment—and then, really for the first time, it felt like he did, too. It wasn't just Glee club because he could sing and his girlfriend was in the club so why not? It was Glee club because the people around him loved him, and he was starting to absorb how mutual that feeling really was. He handed over the second copy of the photos to her. He didn't need ink on paper; he was sure the imprints on his heart were pretty permanent at this point.
Then Rachel insisted on another round—"Jonevansberry for Prom Court 2012 Poses!" and the batch of pictures clearly illustrated the transition from confusion to bliss, much like the progression of their unlikely friendship. Rachel beamed in her over-the-left-shoulder pose, ever the instigator, with Mercedes and Sam on either side of her giving quizzical frowns. Then the camera captured a shared glance and matching smirks over the top of Rachel's head. Then Mercedes pretended to place a crown there, Rachel tried unsuccessfully to look modest and demure, and Sam enacted a slightly accurate but mostly hilarious portrayal of a winning beauty pageant contestant losing her shit. Lastly the tops of their heads were barely in the frame. They were too busy falling out of the booth laughing.
After this, what little restraint the three of them had maintained finally shattered the filters their well-to-do mothers (well, Daddy, in Rachel's case) had instilled in them, and the excitement of being in New York overwhelmed them. They dove into the city, the girls admittedly a little more so than Sam, but he rather enjoyed being pulled along for the ride, whiplash notwithstanding. He conceded that many of the places they visited would have probably earned more appreciation from Kurt, as far as stereotypical gender interests go, but he was enjoying the dynamic. Similar to the prom experience, it was kind of an ego boost when the men they passed turned their heads jealously when they saw two girls on his arms. Well. The keyword here being was. That ego of his kind of deflated into a relative amount of concern when he realized half of them weren't looking approvingly at his ladyfriends as much as they were checking out his ass. He had to wonder two things. a) Was this a pervy city? and b) Was there something about him that just constantly screwed with people's gaydars? He'd have to ask Santana about it later.
While he was scrutinizing his appearance in the reflection of the Tiffany's the girls were spending "just 10 minutes in" which was easily becoming half an hour, he got his answer: Three separate pinches and one awkward form of eye rape later confirmed that this city was kinda pervy. So Sam pretty much decided then and there that it was his duty as a man to protect his female companions (nevermind the fact that he was probably more in need of protection at the moment). If the girls noticed him instigating the arm-linking this time around, they didn't bring it up.
He especially kept a weary eye on Rachel. This was partly because he wondered if they should have considered a leash or a harness or something in order to reign her back in when she leapt toward a famous delicatessen ("Harry and Sally sat right there!") or a timetable to point out the bus route that could take them to a neighborhood he thought was a reality show challenge ("No, no, Sam, Hell's Kitchen is where West Side Story is set—What do you mean you've never seen it?"). But mostly he hovered so near because she kept giving cash to every homeless person who asked her. Cash that wasn't always hers (damn those pouty, melodramatically quivering lips). It's not like he didn't commiserate with them (and he actually thought it was sickening that she was able to convince a homeless person to give another homeless person money) or find it an incredibly endearing quality in a girl he hadn't quite figured out yet. But he was starting to legit wonder how they were going to afford the subway fare to get back to the hotel. And he quickly noticed how handsy some of them were.
"You're crazy," he said, after wrenching her out of a particularly 'enthusiastic' hug with a hobo who reeked of booze.
"Absolutely cray-cray," Mercedes agreed, distractedly. She was admiring her new earrings' reflection in her makeup compact while Sam was attempting to steer them out of the creepy alleys and back onto the path of their itinerary. Rachel huffed and crossed her arms, even though Sam was still holding onto one of them. He shifted his hand down to rest on her hip, supposing that dancing together had transformed physical contact between them from awkward into comforting. At least, that's how it worked on Rachel, because her rigid body, poised to snap back a retort, instantly relaxed. Truthfully she appreciated his big, strong hands; they could securely hold a lot of admittedly high-maintenance girls (or crazy, as Sam would call it).
So instead Rachel laughed, leaning against him instinctively, and it was she and Mercedes' turn to sharing understanding looks, right under his chin. Crazy, Rachel agreed to herself… even though she wanted to retort that the word they should have been looking for was compassionate. She settled on deciding to buy them a proper thesaurus when they got back to Lima.
Speaking of getting back to somewhere… she wondered where Sam had been leading them. The dingy gray walls suddenly seemed too incredibly close, and this variant of dampness in the New York air was depressing her. Everything just felt so dark, in such contrast to the glorious glow she felt earlier in the city. Sam's touch did little at this point to prevent Rachel from stiffening. She started looking nervously from side to side.
"I don't know if you two's senses have picked up on it, but this area is very unsettling to my psychic powers," Rachel whispered, as if the location would take offense and attack her for insulting its ability to appear welcoming. She stopped, causing a pileup with Sam (who was smiling down at her crookedly, maybe even a little adoringly) and Mercedes (who was frowning, still doubtful of Rachel's clairvoyance, and sanity). Rachel rummaged through her little cross-body bag to pull out about twenty brochures and maps.
"What if there are… pedophiles here? Are we in a red light district?" she dropped four pamphlets as she haphazardly twirled a map in a circle, even though it had already been right side up. Sam chuckled because, really? She just got out of the lecherous palms she was cheerfully placing her bucks and her buttocks into, and now she was worried about being violated? Mercedes glanced at him knowingly, and they shared a mixture of amusement and frustration at just how ingenuous their self-proclaimed ingénue could be sometimes.
"Well, nothing could be worse than those handsy hobos," Mercedes quipped.
"Mercedes!" Rachel said in an affronted tone, halting in her bend to pick up the papers and leaving them forgotten. "How could you accuse those poor old men of such a thing? They were so impressed and grateful! Perhaps their expression of those feelings was a little more… rigorous"—Sam snorted—"than to be expected, but surely you can understand their excitement at our contributions and willingness to soothe the pain of their terrible misfortune!"
"Oh, Rachel, whatever," Mercedes rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. "You're not stupid, girlfriend. You know what some of them really wanted to express. I'm surprised Sam let it go on as long as it did, though I'm pretty sure he just wanted to fulfill some action flick adventure film stored up in that blonde wig o' his. Wanting to save the damsels in distress, Biebs?" she laughed, then shrugged out of his arm and waved her finger sassily. "I ain't no damsel—I'm a diva and I'd rather not set back the women's liberation movement." Sam's brows were scrunched in a small frown but the right side of his mouth quirked up amusedly, while Rachel stomped her foot with an offended huff.
"You're a diva, too, Rach, but I think you just like being rescued too much," she raised her brows and inclined her head toward Sam pointedly, with a smirk.
At that, physical contact became awkward again. The two were embarrassedly starting to untangle from their side-embraces when suddenly a loud crash over in a group of trashcans startled all three of them. Rachel clung to Sam's ribcage with such velocity they would have fallen over if Mercedes hadn't apparently teleported right behind the boy and pressed herself against his back. How had he never noticed these girls had super powers before now?
"I carry a rape whistle!" Rachel shouted to the jiggling trashcans. She shook her map in a way she must've thought was menacingly at the trashcans and grabbed her bag with her other hand. She was barely aware of the stares from her friends.
"It's probably just some garbage falling over," Sam said, trying to sound assuring and nonchalant, so he was glad it went unacknowledged when he steadied his arms in front of them, just in case.
"I knew that," Mercedes was peeking around Sam's side and staring in the area, which had just fallen silent.
"What if it's a pimp? What if it's a drug dealer? What if it's a giant rat?" Rachel worried, with drama well suited to the big Broadway existing somewhere safely outside this myriad of alleyways.
"Rodents of unusual size? I don't think they exist." Sam couldn't help it; he smiled to himself. But then of course the trashcans had to go on rustling just at that moment, and he was easing the girls behind him and stepping forward but really freaking wishing he had a sword or those fire geysers or freaking anything other than a map at this point as a can crashed to the ground and revealed…
"…It's a dog," Rachel offered.
"Woof," it agreed.
"It's really big," Mercedes commented.
"Rrrooo," it said.
"Hopefully your rape whistle didn't piss it off," Sam jabbed. Rachel smacked his arm while Mercedes approached the dog slowly, putting out a tentative hand. The dog wagged its tail and skipped toward her and she greeted it just as eagerly.
"Oh, you beast. You large, drooling oaf," she said affectionately, while she started scratching its chin. Sam laughed at the sight, because he hardly thought it possible for this diva to go from adoring expensive fine jewelry to getting her hands dirty petting a mangy stray. Sam and Rachel shared a glance, with amused smiles.
"Look, Sam, he's got hair to match yours," she said as she ruffled the fur hiding the dog's eyes, and he felt his face fall. He grumbled while Rachel left his side.
"So which is the lady and which is the tramp?" Rachel asked Mercedes pointedly as she leant down to scratch the dog behind its ear. Sam was astounded and waited nervously for Mercedes to punch Rachel in the face, but that reaction never came. The girls just smiled at one another, sharing an intimate joke he was suddenly aware of, a little jealous of, and curious about.
When he finally managed to convince them to leave the dog, it followed them. They "awwww"d and asked if they could take him back to the hotel ("He can be our mascot!" Rachel suggested, while Mercedes joked, "He just wants to be with his shaggy-haired twin!"). When he chased it after that, it actually ended up leading them out of the alleys and back to recognizable sidewalks. He got suckered into buying it a hot dog as thanks. ("We understand your current situation so we'll gladly reimburse you, Sam!" Rachel said, and when he argued that they should charge it on their fancy credit cards they used to get the jewelry, Mercedes thumped him on the head and reasoned, "Not very gentlemanly of you. Besides, the vendor only takes cash.")
When they got to the hotel doors, Mercedes—whose arm was linked with Rachel's ahead of a grumbling-in-Na'vi Sam (though he really wasn't angry at all)—said, "I think he's still following us."
"What, seriously?" Sam turned around. As far as he could tell, the dog wasn't there.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she started, bringing a hand to her mouth, gasping in mock surprise. "Must've seen your moppy head out of the corner of my eye and made a mistake. The resemblance is striking." She was grinning and Rachel was biting her lip.
Sam narrowed his eyes. "If it's such a big deal, go take your get-Sam-a-haircut campaign to the Glee club and ask for donations. If they can buy a guitar, they can buy a haircut."
"Fabulous. I'll raise enough for a dye-job, too," she called over her shoulder with a wave, laughing as she went through the doors.
Rachel stayed behind. She looked up at the top of his hair seriously, visualizing, and he couldn't help the way the right side of his mouth slowly ticked upward.
"I'll consider it."
He looked down at her, and they shared a smile. He admired how it lit up her eyes, before he realized it was actually a mischievous glint. She lifted her hand and brushed his bangs out of his face. "Have you ever considered piracy? You'd make a wonderful Dread Pirate Roberts."
He smirked. "Perhaps. But why not a tramp? I do get around in alleys with cute ladies, eh Pidge?"
She scrunched her nose up playfully. "Sing me Bella Notte, and then maybe."