Title: Won't Let Go
Author: bana05
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Mercedes/Sam
Spoilers: Up through Glee S3E08.
Disclaimer: Glee ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.
Summary: In which Sam will hold on to sixteen and more.
Author's notes: If you're caught up with Glee, then you know Sam Evans is back! Oh, and he's gonna fight for Mercedes. Nbd...except it's quite a big deal. I'm very excited for what's in store for these two. These are just my takes on what we might not get to see. Please enjoy and forgive lingering errors!
Sam used a bathroom run as an excuse to get the hell out of the auditorium where New Directions was rehearsing. Sectionals were in two days, and there were still issues about choreography. Perhaps wisely, Mike, Tina, and Artie had taken over choreography duties, managing to meld his and Blaine's suggestions in a way that made everyone happy…enough. And though people seemed pleased, none of them were sure if it were good enough to beat the Troubletones.
"Are they really that good?" Sam had asked Puck during a brief break with Mr. Schuester focusing on the band.
"Dude, I'd wanted to hand them the damn Nationals trophy right then and there!" Puck had muttered around his bottled water. "And all of that just for a mash-off?" Puck had shuddered then. "Also, Mama was looking hot like fire too. Mr. Schue was definitely on some stuff when he'd said she'd needed booty camp…"
It was interesting how everyone else's recounts of Mercedes' defection differed so much from Rachel's and Finn's. They'd all agreed it'd been a temper tantrum, but Finn had made it sound as if it'd been from nowhere and jealousy over Rachel whereas the others had seen it as years of frustration finally reaching a tipping point. Regardless, the rehearsals still lacked that…fun…they'd used to have, between Mercedes' laughing with Kurt, Tina, and Artie or Brittany and Mike doing some insane choreography far too advanced for the rest of the mere mortals in the group or Santana playfully mocking Finn for looking like the Jolly White Giant having a seizure whenever he'd danced…especially since he definitely did now trying to work out their moves. Even an absent Rachel shrilly nitpicking every note of her solos to Mr. Schue despite he and everyone else thinking she sounded find was something Sam missed.
But he'd needed a moment to himself, which was why he was in the choir room fiddling with the piano keys while staring into nothing. He couldn't believe he was here, how quickly everything had come together—from the transfer from his school in Kentucky back to McKinley to walking the familiar haunts, yet everything seeming so strange. He'd let this dream die once and for all after being at his new school for a week and seeing that Jacob Ben Israel with Mercedes and her new guy, but then he'd held her hand in the hall and that dream had risen like a skyrocketing phoenix.
Mercedes must've forgotten he wasn't dyslexic when it came to her, and she sucked at poker. Sam had no doubt she'd convinced herself she'd moved on; but people said the eyes were the windows to the soul for a reason, and hers were saying everything her mouth refused to speak. They'd been soft, conveying slight exasperation to be sure, but drunk him in like he knew his had been drinking in her. And he'd felt the way her hand had squeezed his before jerking it out of his grasp, knew she'd felt that spark that had been there since the moment he'd taken her hand to dance at prom.
Oh, he was definitely fighting for her—for them. He hadn't been able to do that this summer, but he damn sure could now.
He played a minor chord unthinkingly and the smile that had been blossoming on his face shrank. Maybe she'd only sent him those signals because she hadn't known what he'd been doing in the meantime. Mercedes had a strong set of beliefs and morals, and he didn't think an ex-stripper would ever make the cut with her, let alone her family. The Joneses were good people, and Papa Jones in particular was protective over his baby girl…
"Ugh," Sam groaned, and proceeded to bang his head against the keys. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
"Sam?"
He jerked upright quickly, too quickly if the way the room spun were any indication. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head like a cartoon character coming-to; and when his eyes adjusted, they fixated on Mercedes standing next to the piano with concern in her eyes.
"Boy! What the hell?" she asked, cupping his chin and stroking a thumb over his forehead. He couldn't help closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. He wanted to curl his own hand around her waist, but he didn't have that right anymore; so instead, he curled his fingers against the piano keys and played another minor chord, this one more dissonant than the last.
It'd made her jump and snatch her hands away, and he immediately regretted reining in his impulse to hold her. Her concern morphed into irritation, and Sam rolled his eyes and started playing a minor-key tune again…bluesy, at that. While he wasn't as adept with the piano as he was with the guitar, he knew enough. He was from Memphis, then Lexington, Kentucky; he knew a little something about the blues. Country bluegrass blues…
"Rehearsal going that well?"
"Peachy keen," Sam said with an exaggerated Kentucky drawl. "Yours?"
Mercedes rolled her eyes but nodded and bit her lip to keep from smiling, which meant he gave her his most lopsided grin to tip the balance. She turned her head, but he saw her shoulders shake with her mirth.
Point for him!
Moments later, Mercedes had her (very poor) poker face back on and regarded him with an arched eyebrow. "I hope that means no fights have broken out this go 'round?"
Another dissonant chord. "How'd you find out?"
"Santana, by way of Brittany, by way of Rory," Mercedes said, then sighed. "What Blaine said to you was completely out of line."
Sam nodded once, scowling. "It was."
"And you shouldn't be ashamed for doing what you had to do to support your family, Sam. You're a man of integrity and honor—none of that changed just because you shook your groove thang for an audience."
He closed his eyes then, the sincerity of her words squeezing his heart. The lack of judgment and censure from her was something he knew he'd wanted from her, but he hadn't known how much he'd actually needed it until he'd had it.
He only opened his eyes again when her hand closed around his. She smiled softly at him, and he returned it. Her eyes darted about his face and her brows furrowed, but she bit her full bottom lip and shook her head almost imperceptibly.
"What?" he asked, sensing she wanted to say more. Even before they'd become romantic, he'd always valued her opinions and advice. That still didn't change even if they were no longer a couple.
"But 'White Chocolate', though?"
"Trying to channel you, Miss Chocolate Thunder," he admitted with another lopsided grin. "When I'd first auditioned, the owner said I had a nice body but I was too stiff; then I thought of you…how you're sexy without even trying to be because you're so confident and the way you move and everything…so I thought of you and how you made me feel and that's how I got the gig and the name."
She was hiding her "what am I going to do with you?" smile, though not very well, and sighed, staring at their clasped hands. "I'm just…remembering the boy who was concerned about 'showing nuttage' just a year and some change ago…and comparing him to the grown man he is now—the one who'd do anything to make sure his family was safe and supported, even if that meant setting aside his self-consciousness to do it. This man is a good man, and I'm proud to know this man. Everyone should be so blessed to do so."
She then flicked her eyes up to him shyly and squeezed his hand, standing. She started to walk away, but he held tight to her hand. She stopped, however, didn't turn back to face him.
"I'd do anything for you, too, Mercedes."
Her shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath she took and she squeezed his hand once more. "Then…you'll move on and let me go?"
He immediately shook his head even though she couldn't see it. "I can't go for that."
She scoffed but couldn't quite catch her giggle. "Sam!"
"You make my dreams come true!"
"Stop!" she said, even less successful at containing that laugh.
Sam smiled and stood. Finn and Rachel had sung the mashup for him as a way to refresh him on what the glee club had been working on thus far that semester. He'd thought it was corny, but catchy…and corny was right up his alley.
As well as Mercedes', even if she pretended otherwise.
He stopped just short of going flush against her back, but he'd become bold and linked their fingers together. Mercedes sighed but didn't stop him, her head bowed completely. This whole "boyfriend" business wasn't ideal, and he wouldn't ever want her to cheat on him; but Sam didn't want her to cheat on herself, either. The decision would always and forever be hers, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to use every opportunity to plead his case to be her man.
"Do you have any idea how much I want to hold you right now?" he asked lowly, stroking his thumb against her palm.
Mercedes looked over her shoulder then, her eyes wistful and yearning, before turning fully and wrapping her arms about his waist.
Sam enveloped her, his cheek against her temple, his arms tight about her shoulders, and released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding since the end of June. She nuzzled the space above his heart for a brief moment before pulling out of his arms and heading for the door.
She paused in the threshold. "Welcome back, Sam," she finally greeted, her smile kind and genuine, then disappeared from his view. Sam stood there staring at the door for a couple of moments, then returned to the piano, though he didn't sit on the bench again. He started the blues ditty he'd been tinkering with when Mercedes had entered the room, but ended it with a major chord and a hopeful smile before returning to the auditorium for more rehearsal.
