Author's Note: You may thank my shitty internet connection last night for this chapter. If it happens again tonight, I may just have to start the next chapter of Dogs Don't Know It's Not Bacon. Sam is so clumsy in this, by the way. Bless his heart. Also, Mercedes shall attend Ohio State in just about every fic I write because my school is glorious and eff a Cleveland State. –DMH
oO0Oo
The first time Sam had ever heard her cry in the shower was when he was nineteen years old.
It had been a warm night in Ohio, rare and fleeting. The semester was nearing its end, but finals were not yet upon them, so Ohio State's campus was full of laughter and fun times. Couples strolled across the Oval, groups of frat boys trudged up and down High Street and a house party bloomed on every corner. Mercedes insisted on taking him to one of the parties with a group of her friends. They laughed, they played and they drank.
And for whatever stupid reason, Sam's intoxicated mind had decided to pick a fight about a male friend of Mercedes' that had been a smidgen too familiar with his girlfriend. The resulting argument was epic, made long and dragged out because they had to walk home together. Jose Cuervo kept whispering in his ear, telling him that he needed to have the last word, so when they slammed into his apartment, uncaring if they woke up either of his roommates, he got it by asking, "Do you have any idea of how embarrassing it is to have other guys see my girlfriend hanging all over another dude like that? You made me look stupid!"
"So now you're embarrassed to be with me?" she snapped back, kicking her shoes off so hard that they hit the far wall with a violent thud.
"Yeah! I am!"
Sam would always remember the look she gave him. Her tiredness darkened her eyes, her humiliation tightened her jaw, disappointment birthed a shake in her fisted hands and her chest rose and fell heavily because of the sensation of being overwhelmed. Her eyes were only on him for a second – two at the most – just enough to make something in the pit of his stomach clench and shiver ice cold, and then she announced she was going to take a shower.
"Well… I'm going to bed!" Jose insisted he say. The next half an hour was the longest of his life. His bedroom was next to the bathroom, an unfortunate arrangement up to this point because the flushing toilet had often woke him, but that night it was sheer torture. He was an idiot. As he lay in his bed, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling and growing more sober by the minute, he could hear her through the thin walls, turning on the water and trying not to let her sobs get any louder than the shower spray. He was an idiot. He could only imagine what she looked like; standing under the harsh rush of water – the apartment's plumbing sucked – her arms wrapped around her middle, her feelings streaming down her cheeks and into the drain where they could pretend that they had come out of the showerhead, too, and weren't just the result of a fool's idiotic words. He was an idiot. With a final sniffle, the water shut off and he had to quickly wipe his cheeks dry before she entered the room, one of his large gray towels wrapped around her.
"You're so beautiful, baby," he remembered whispering weakly after her eyes met his and widened upon seeing him still awake. "I'm an idiot."
Even after a long conversation with her about why implying your girlfriend was a slut was just as bad as calling her a slut – even as she sat in his lap, curled up, wet and only wearing a towel while they exchanged kisses that tasted faintly of tequila and generously of regret – even when she told him that she forgave him and he promised never to be so stupid, he knew he was still an idiot. It took weeks for her to forgive him for that night, months for him to forgive himself.
And as he now lay in this Charleston Embassy Suites, staring at the ceiling, listening to her sobs attempt to hide themselves behind water again, he still felt like an idiot. To his knowledge, he had not been the source of her shower tears since the first night he learned of them, but he was sure that many a petty fight and many a stupid comment of his had disappeared down a drain. He wiped his cheeks dry and sat up when the water stopped.
All he had wanted was for her to take his hand – and his whole life, too – anything to help her, but just his hand as a start. She couldn't even do that as they walked into their hotel room earlier that night. She had spent the better half an hour in the cradle of her grandmother's arms in that little church. Sam sat beside her, awkwardly trying to find something, anything to do for her and failing incredibly. The most he was able to do was wrap an arm around her waist and guide her back to the rental car when she told Mamma that she was too exhausted to go over the matriarch's house for a late dinner. So, once he made it off the mountain safely, he stopped at a McDonald's, convinced her to eat something and took them back to the hotel; each event sprinkled with interjections of "You okay, babe?" and "You alright, honey?" and "Do you need anything, sugar?"
He was tired of seeing her tired smile or hearing that soft, "I'm fine," muttered as she stared out the window or down at the fingers twisting in her lap. As soon as they got into their room, she set her barely touched chicken sandwich on a table and prepared herself for a shower. He was an idiot.
But he had to fix this. His future father-in-law's words were floating through his mind, practically screaming to be acknowledged and heeded. He loved Mercedes and she deserved someone who could be there when she needed him. He was going to be that man, now and for the rest of their lives.
He watched her carefully as she walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that she criticized the size of and dug around her suitcase, humming softly.
"You're so beautiful, baby," he said suddenly and had to stop from laughing at her when jolted straight up and dropped a corner of the towel. She didn't look at him as she gather the little towel around herself again, didn't even recognize what he said with a nod or a smile, so he repeated, "You're so beautiful, baby. I'm an idiot."
He knew, he just knew what those words did to her, what memories it resurrected. He just wanted to give her a little reminder; he never forgot that horrible half an hour when he was nineteen and, years later, he was not going to let her forget the half an hour that passed just now. "We're going to talk about this."
She shook her head and slipped her nightdress over her head. "I'm tired."
"I don't care. We need to talk and we won't have the time to tomorrow morning."
"You can't make me talk, Sam," she informed him as she sat on the end of the bed and rubbed lotion on her legs and arms with her back to him.
"Well, unless you go downstairs and get yourself another room, I can make you listen to me." She turned to frown at him, but he only smiled cockily from where he sat, leaning on the headboard. Anger scrunched her nose and creased her forehead.
"What, Sam? What do you have to say? My grandfather just died – what could you possibly say that will make me feel better or make me stop mourning?"
He sighed and moved to crawl to the end of the bed, but she abruptly stood and moved back to her suitcase. "That. That right there," he snapped, waving his hand at her as she glared at him, bewildered. "I'm not asking you to stop mourning, I'm asking you to let me comfort you."
Her frown grew deeper, an incredible sight to him because he had no idea it could get any worse. "I don't need y –"
"If you complete that sentence, 'Cedes, I don't know what I'm going to do," he admitted. He set his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Without looking at her, despite the heat of her stare, he continued, "I'm going to be your husband. I'm your man. Please respect me as such."
The look of furious shock that erupted over her features almost scared him enough to jump out the window – the only reason he didn't was because he was too sure that he would survive the drop from the second floor. Instead, he stilled himself at the edge of the bed as his fiancé marched towards him with her arms crossed over her chest. Her scowl barely moved as she asked, "Excuse me? I don't respect you as a man now?"
He wanted to stand, but he stopped himself so she wouldn't think he was trying to intimidate her with his height. Mercedes, however, had no qualms of using her slight height advantage, even if she was only a little taller than him when he was sitting. If he wasn't scared to death, it would have been cute.
"I didn't say that. I know good and well that you know I'm a man." He took a deep breath and shook the thought of 'I know you know I'm a man? I'm stupid,' out of his head. "I meant… I feel disrespected by you – as your man, your future husband! – when you don't let me do what I'm supposed to do."
She crossed her arms and asked, tightly, "What don't I let you do?"
"You don't let me take care of you."
"I'm a big girl. I don't need you to take care of me," she said mechanically, as if she had stated the words a million times before. His heart clenched as the statement sunk in. They had been together since they were eighteen… He just shook his head.
"I know that you don't need… Dammit!" He threw his hands up in defeat when she rolled her eyes and turned back to her suitcase. He yanked his shirt off with a growl then crawled into bed, tossing the covers over his head with another growl.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked ten minutes later, after she had crawled into bed. Her chin was perched on his shoulder and she was looking at him with little puppy dog eyes. It almost took everything in him to shake her off and say, "No, I'm frustrated with you."
She sighed. "Why?"
He sat up again with a tired huff of air. "I… I understand that you don't need a man. I understand how important a woman's inde – Well, I guess I don't really understand it as a woman would, but I get that independence is important to women." He chanced a glance at her and blushed when she stared back at him blankly. "I'm rambling?" She nodded slowly. "Well… try to keep up, then." He flashed a smile at her after she snorted and continued, "When I say that you need me, I don't mean it to be a financial thing or a mental or… I guess it's emotional. We're in a relationship, right?" She nodded again. "So, no matter how independent we are, we still are together. There's still some kind of dependence – like a back and forth. I take care of you and you take care of me, emotionally."
Mercedes looked as if she was holding in a yawn, so he quickly asked, "Do you remember when my father died?"
"Yes," she mumbled, her hand automatically reaching out to thread its fingers with his own.
He squeezed her hand and grinned. "See, this right here. You're comforting me, just like you did when he died. You're taking care of me, making things feel better…"
"Sam…"
"Why won't you let me do this for you?" She tried to pull her hand away, but he followed her motion and pushed himself to her side of the bed. She pouted as he coiled his arms around her middle, but didn't try to wiggle out of them. "Do you have any idea how I feel when I hear you crying in the shower?"
Her silent breathing hitched loudly, so he tightened his grip on her.
"I feel like… I feel like why do I even have shoulders if she's just going to cry in the shower?"
"Oh God, Sam," she gasped, pushing her face against his chest. "I just don't wanna worry you. I'm sorry."
A few kisses passed from his lips to her forehead and he held one there as he attempted to calm his heart. Her tears always put his body in panic mode, but she didn't need to know that. "Baby… 'Cedes, look at me, baby." She turned her face up to his and he smiled into those chocolate eyes brimmed with tears. "I love you. I'm your fiancé… your man, right? If I see that you're carrying burdens and if I can do anything to lessen your load, I'm gonna do that, but you have to let me."
She shook her head, causing a few of her tears to splash against his bare skin. He reached up to wipe her cheek, but she flinched away. With a frown, he made a point of cupping her face and wiping the tears away with his thumbs as he looked straight into her eyes. Again, she said, "I don't want to worry you."
"What does that mean, baby? Did you feel like I was worrying you or being a bother when you took care of me in high school or college?" She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. "Then what?"
"S-Sam," she sniffled. "I d-don't wanna t-talk about this."
He only stroked her cheeks with his thumbs again. "I'm sorry, sugar, but we need to. Why won't you let me comfort you?"
"You know I k-keep to myself, m-mostly."
"Okay, then why was Mamma the one to hold you in the church?"
The affronted expression on her face made Sam felt like he was attacking her. "I… You held me!"
"For about two minutes and then your parents came and you ran into your mother's arms. Then you cried on your grandmother for a half hour!"
"Well, I'm sorry I wasn't distributing my grief equally, Sam!"
He gritted his teeth. "I'm not – Why can't you accept me consoling you – even at home – but the woman you haven't… Why can Mamma make you feel better, but I can't?"
"She's –" She gulped the rest of her words suddenly and looked up at him, a slight panic lighting her eyes.
"She's what? She's what, Mercedes?" He bit the inside of his mouth when she hid her eyes from him behind her hand. "She's family? Is that it? I'm not family? I'm in love with you and I'm going to marry you, but I'm not family?"
"No, Sammy…"
"Do you not trust me with your feelings?"
Her tears before were nothing compared to the raw sobs bursting from her now. "I'm sorry." He pulled her into his lap and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. Her hot tears burned a trail of shame down his chest. "I'm so sorry! I love you so much! I never meant to-to make you f-feel… I'm s-s-sorry!"
"No baby, I'm sorry. I shoulda… Shit." He was an idiot.
oO0Oo
It pained him that his pride had her waking up with red eyes the next morning.
They didn't say much to each other as they got ready that morning. The silence, for once, did not bother him; he was far more concerned with what could have been said rather than what was. She didn't even need to tell him how to get to the church because her father had told him the night before.
She was rustling through her purse for something when he parked the car, so he decided to get out and open her door for her. Suddenly she was hugged around his middle tight, her sweet cheek pressed against his chest, her fingers gliding along the nape of his neck.
"I love you, baby," she whispered, turning her face up for a kiss.
"I love you, too." The kiss was a slow and perfect press of lips that made him grateful to be in this woman's life. He was so lucky.
They walked into the church hand in hand and, much like at the wake, they queued up to see the casket.
"This is Sam, Granddaddy," she whispered when they reached the front of the church. Her tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe at them, couldn't because she was holding Sam's hand with each of hers. "I'm sorry you couldn't meet him… I'm so sorry, Granddaddy. I'm so sorry."
Once he got her to a pew, he wiped her cheeks dry with his handkerchief and pulled her into his arms, holding her throughout the entire service with a grimace on his face until Mamma turned in her seat and whispered, loudly, that Mercedes should get up and sing. So he let her go and he felt like an even bigger idiot for demanding so much of her the night before when she stood and sang her song. He felt like a selfish idiot for even thinking about last night as he sat in this chapel full of grieving people. This wasn't about him.
And when Mercedes finished her song and sat down in the pew next to her grandmother, he resigned himself to that.
Precious Lord, take my hand…
oO0Oo
A/N: Yeah, so this is a three-shot now. And no, I have no idea what I'm doing. Lol! Also, if y'all noticed, I changed the rating from M to T cuz there's enough sexy times going on in other stories of mine. But if you really need the smut, y'all can leave me prompts for oneshots if you want. Next chapter whenever. Promise that it will be happier and the family will be there. –DMH
