Title: Resigned Renegade
Author: bana05
Rating: PG-15
Characters/Pairings: Mercedes/Sam
Spoilers: Up through Glee S3E03.
Disclaimer: Glee ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.
Summary: Mercedes wasn't quite prepared to hear his voice, but it didn't make it any less needed.
Author's notes: So, there's to be a month-long hiatus that ended on one heck of a cliffhanger featuring Miss Mercedes Jones...of course, imagination runs wild. Enjoy and please forgive errors!

Pride cometh before the fall, her mother would always say, and this particular fall hurt way more than Mercedes had anticipated.

She popped the dosage in her mouth and grimaced as it slid down her throat despite flooding them down with nearly a full glass of water, but that didn't stop her mind from thinking of all that had happened the past week. Were there any regrets? Not yet, but it still hurt nevertheless, and it'd really hurt Artie had called her jump stupid. It wasn't stupid to stand up for one's self, even if the cause was as frivolous as a part in a school play or even delicious fried potatoes being taken away from her. Why shouldn't one fight for something that gave joy or demanded fairness where there'd never been before?

Rachel Berry got everything in glee club, and Mercedes had to leave before the resentment over that calcified into something ugly that would never go away even outside of glee.

And Mercedes supposed Rachel practiced all day every day—that was the girl's only drive, it seemed, and more power to her. But what did Rachel's constant practicing have to do with Mr. Schuester not giving everyone a proper shot to shine? Glee club was supposed to have been a family, not a dictatorship, and certainly not Vocal Adrenaline! And what about those who physically couldn't practice dancing like that even if they wanted to? And hell, if anyone were a damn "park and bark", it was one Ms. Rachel Berry—

Stupid Jesse St. James and his stupid "show choir" consulting. Mercedes hoped it failed.

God don't like ugly, Mercedes, her grandmother's voice floated in her head, and Mercedes bit her lip to stave off the tears. Maybe that was why Mercedes didn't feel much liked by anyone these days. Thank goodness for Shane…at least he still liked her even when she wasn't being her most likeable.

Beauty wasn't everything.

Taking a deep breath, Mercedes grabbed her cellphone and scrolled to his contact. Football practice should've ended by now; she hoped the guys in glee didn't badger him too much about her defection. If they even cared…

"'Cedes?"

Mercedes started. This was not the voice she'd expected and wrenched the phone from her ear to check the caller ID. Sam. Shit. Even Santana would've been a better misdial (though she was listed in her phone as "Satan". Only fair, since Mercedes knew for a fact she was "Wheezy" in Santana's cell).

Mercedes's lips quirked at that. Never in a million years had she thought she'd ever get into Santana's contact list at all.

"Mercedes?"

She didn't know what to do. Talk? Hang up? This was none of Sam's concern anymore. He wasn't in glee; he wasn't in Lima; he wasn't even in fucking Ohio! They weren't together anymore; and despite their initial conversation a few weeks ago about the JBI video, hadn't even spoken online.

"I heard."

"You heard what?" Mercedes asked sharply.

"Mike told me."

"Told you what?"

Sam huffed out a mirthless chuckle. "You quit glee."

He said it so matter-of-factly that the full weight of her decision finally hit her. The finality of it finally hit her. No more glee. No more family. Well, this wasn't the first loss she'd suffered this year. If she could find a new boyfriend, she could certainly find a new family in Ms. Corcoran's group. Besides, there was always her church family—yeah, she'd be fine, and she wouldn't let Sam guilt her back to New Directions.

"Yeah, well, I'm lazy, I'm bitchy, I'm mean—I figure I should leave so I don't poison the well with my diseased self!" Mercedes snapped, hoping he didn't hear how her voice hitched on the stressed word. "And I didn't 'quit glee', just the damn 'New Directions' that wasn't interested in going any kind of new direction at all. I quit the Rachel Berry show, and not even you are gonna make me feel bad about it!"

"I don't have to," Sam said placidly. "You obviously feel bad enough."

She wished he were with her so she could punch him in the nose for that, and maybe cry into his chest too. Sam had always given the best hugs, damn him—not that Shane's weren't nice, because they were. But there was a steadiness in Sam that soothed the fire inside of her when it needed to be. She always felt roiling around Shane, like there was a distinct churning inside her that never abated. Shane said that was she finally tapping into her inner drive, and Mercedes could admit she liked the feeling most of the time. Other times, though, she wanted peace.

Like now.

"Well, whatever, sorry to bother you—"

"You're not bothering me, Mercedes. In fact, I was fiddling with my phone trying to drum up the courage to talk to you."

"Why would you want to talk to me? I'm a lazy, mean, bitch."

"First off, I dated Santana, and you've got a lot of work to do before you reach my definition of 'mean' and 'bitch'—San set that bar pretty damn high."

Mercedes snickered. "Sam."

"And look at you, chastising me over that. Yeah, mean, bitchy move there, 'Cedes!"

"Still lazy, though," Mercedes muttered.

"Unless something drastically happened between June and now, I don't understand how anyone can call you that."

Something drastic had happened, but she wasn't going to say it. And judging by how quiet Sam had gotten, he figured it out one possibility too.

"Don't give me that much credit," he joked.

"Oh, my goodness, you're still a dork," Mercedes cracked.

"Well…"

"Besides, could blame it on Shane," Mercedes said primly.

"Could we?"

Mercedes immediately straightened her spine, not liking the accusatory undertone in Sam's voice. "No, we couldn't." At least not in a negative way.

"Okay," Sam said, going back to his equable voice. "Is he supportive of you?"

"The only one who is, quite frankly."

"Not even Kurt?"

Mercedes took a deep breath and looked down at her comforter, her eyes welling with tears. "We don't really talk anymore. He's busy with Rachel and Blaine and Broadway so he doesn't have time for me anymore. Whatever."

"Mercedes—"

"No," she said gruffly, blinking fast and clearing her throat. "Whatever. People grow apart. I'm not his friend anymore; life goes on. It's my senior year, I'm gonna own it; and if that means I'm the one who has to go in a 'new direction' then so be it!"

"Just don't forget who you are in the process, Mercedes. Remember who you are—"

"You did not just tell me that in Mufasa's voice!" Mercedes said on a garble, trying to mask the giggle wanting to burst forth.

"Just finished watching the DVD with Stacy and Stevie. Thought it was appropriate."

"And how are they?"

"Little terrors, but I love 'em. They still ask about you and Quinn."

"She's back in glee now," Mercedes said. "She went through a brief punk phase…I don't know about her, Sam; and it doesn't help Ms. Corcoran's back, which means Beth's back and I—"

"You're worried about her."

"Of course I am!"

"Even though she left you high and dry last year," Sam said.

"I was there for her when no one else was," Mercedes said. "I can't just forget that. I saw her bring a life into the world…I can't forget that, either."

"But you think you're that forgettable, that replaceable, that unimportant?"

A boulder lodged in her throat and no amount of swallowing could move it. She blinked rapidly and stared at the comforter again, and this time a few tears fell.

"They don't need me, Sam. Santana's back in the group; she can belt the notes Rachel can't reach and she's prettier than I am—they're all prettier than I am—"

"Mercedes, stop it—"

"What, Sam, it's the damn truth! I watch TV! I read magazines! I'm not blind or dumb! If I were eighty pounds lighter I'm sure I could get the lead every now and again."

"Is Shane telling you that?"

"Hell no!" Mercedes said, trembling a little at the very ice that had entered his voice. "No, he calls me beautiful all the time."

"Good, at least I don't have to worry about his vision."

Mercedes sniffled and grinned. "Samson Evans."

"Did he tell you to quit?" he asked.

Mercedes shook her head even though Sam couldn't see her. "I made that decision myself."

"And what if you're not the star of this group, Mercedes? Are you gonna quit it too?"

She winced and licked her lips, shrugging. "Probably not. I just want a fair shot, and I'm not staying in a group that doesn't give it, Sam. Two years, Sam, of me swaying in the background when you and everyone else I know have the chops to be featured! And then everyone with the chops but me being featured! You were brand new last year and got a solo—"

"We won the duets competition, Mercedes—"

"Rachel and Finn threw it so you'd be the twelfth member when Puck was out!" Mercedes said nastily, then closed her eyes and shook her head. "Jesus, I'm sorry…"

"You don't think I deserved it?" Sam asked, and Mercedes didn't miss the hurt. "Me and Quinn?"

"I love your voice, Sam, and clearly it wasn't a bad choice since we tied and moved on, but sit there and tell me Santana and I didn't kick ass with our duet, or that Santana should've gotten a lead before me—Santana, who one day is trying to sabotage the glee club and is its BFF the next!"

"You and Santana were amazing, and maybe Mr. Schue chose Santana for a competition lead to firm up her allegiance; I also liked Mike's and Tina's, too, and I know you did as well."

Mercedes huffed. "Maybe you're right about Santana, and yeah, I did like Tina and Mike—and they've both been featured too! You don't need to be front and center to belt out a glory note, Sam—ugh! Forget them, then! Forget Mr. Schue! Just because I'm not skinny and white and sound like Barbra Streisand doesn't mean my big, beautiful, black Aretha self can't bring the audience to its feet with applause!"

"You can. You did in glee all the time—"

"And only in glee."

Sam grew quiet. "Even your sophomore year?"

"Only time I was featured in front of a non-glee audience was when I was a Cheerio, Sam. Sue Sylvester, arch-enemy number one of glee, recognized my talent and did something about it before Mr. Schue. If I have to go elsewhere to grow, I will! I'm not going to stay stuck in the back to protect someone else's ego—not anymore!"

"And your ego is worth your friends?" Sam asked gently.

Mercedes' heart hurt and she had a headache, but she wasn't backing down from this—not even for Sam. "Yes. Right now, today, yes. And if you can't understand why, then we have nothing more to discuss."

Sam didn't immediately respond, and Mercedes worried she was being reckless with the bridges she was burning today. But she had Shane. Shane had her back…maybe she should find Lauren too. Out of everyone, they've been the only two who recognized she should have an equal shot at the spotlight—that she should have it, period. Everyone else seemed content to keep her in the shadows, but she was over that now. Over it.

"I…I'm concerned, Mercedes," Sam admitted. "You know romantic relationships don't necessarily last better than anyone. If you and Shane break up, who will you have now that you've pushed all of your friends away because of ego?"

"Rachel chooses ego over friends all the time and she manages to keep them," Mercedes mumbled.

"That's expected of Rachel; it's not expected of you, which is why mostly everyone, I imagine, feels very betrayed right now. It's like you flipped the script on how the friendship is supposed to go."

"I will not apologize for standing up for myself; nobody else will, and I shouldn't expect anyone else to. At the end of the day, all I got is me!"

"Yep," Sam said on a sigh, "sounds like it."

Mercedes bit back a sob and covered her eyes with her hands. Not once had Sam yelled at her, but this was the most chastising conversation she'd had all week.

"Sam…"

"I'm sorry it's come to this for you, Mercedes," Sam said sincerely. "I'm sorry you feel nobody cares about you or wants you to grow, and I'm sorry I'm not there to give you a hug because you sound like you really need one. But I care. I know Mike cares, because he sounded really upset you left. I'll admit nobody else has called me, but besides you and Mike, I haven't really been in the loop. But I'm here for you, Mercedes. You don't just have Shane in your corner, okay?"

"You're not mad at me?"

"Disappointed, yes, but not mad. I get it, but I hope this doesn't end up biting you on the butt later."

"That's a lot of butt to bite."

"Hush. Then again, anacondas don't want none—"

"You need to stop!" Mercedes said, managing to laugh lightly. "Between you and Shane—this fascination with my rear is concerning me! And Puck, Puck seemed to like it."

"He did. He stared a lot," Sam said on a snicker.

"Stop!"

"Best one we've ever seen," Sam teased.

Mercedes laughed as she wiped away her tears. "I miss you so much." And it didn't even occur to her she probably shouldn't have said that until he responded, just as guilelessly as she's spoken.

"I miss you too. I just want you happy, okay? I don't like you sad; and if New Directions is making you sad…maybe you do need to leave it. But don't forget they can still be your friends."

She grunted. "You said I betrayed them."

"I said they feel betrayed," Sam said firmly.

"Don't play the semantics game with me, Sam Evans."

"I'm not playin'—it's what I said and what I meant."

Mercedes rolled her eyes and breathed harshly through her nose, flopping against the mountain of pillows lining her headboard. "They're never gonna forgive me."

"Well, I'll pray that won't be the case, how about that?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, Mercedes. I pray for all of my friends. I still consider you one, remember? I still care about you."

Mercedes grabbed a pillow from behind her and squeezed it, but it was still a poor substitute for Sam. "I have to go now."

"All right; we'll talk later, okay? And you…they still care, Mercedes. It's like when Stevie and Stacy get on my nerves and I kick 'em out my room or somethin'. By the end of the day, we're all cuddled on the couch watching some cartoon or Star Wars. That's what a family does—blow up one minute and hug it out the next."

"Who does the crawling back?"

"Does it much matter?" Sam asked.

A long moment of silence filled the miles between them before Mercedes whispered goodnight and ended the call. She held the phone, its lingering warmth seeping into her palm from use, before texting Shane goodnight and setting it on her nightstand next to a mostly drained glass of water and a tightly sealed bottle of Hydrea.