It's been a while, hasn't it? I had to rewrite these next two chapters five times. Please excuse all the mistakes I may have missed.


It was taking Mercedes all she had to keep from throttling Sam in the middle of an empty karaoke-n-beer bar, during a freak thunder storm, in downtown LA. Mercedes felt like she was being tested, like she was one short answer from failing out of not murdering your employer...university.

Every time that she heard Sam breathe, the hair on the back of her neck would stand on end and goosebumps would erupt over her arms. Mercedes took that to mean one thing—that his very existence was bugging her. She didn't blame herself, she wouldn't blame herself for being wary of a guy who she knew didn't like her. And for no real reason to boot.

What's more was the fact that Sam not liking her did bug her. A lot. Mercedes had already done the mandatory soul searching when she moved from her small Ohio town to Los Angeles at 19. She made it a point of duty to leave of all her self-conscious habits back in high school. She did not appreciate the fact that around Sam, she was suddenly back to second guessing almost every decision she made.

Then there were the questions. Sam spent the first 20 minutes inside the bar, roaming around, running his hands along the velvet walls, diving over the drinks counter, and generally being restless. So when he threw a question Mercedes' way, she could feign ignorance and dismiss it. But when Sam got tired of throwing himself around the establishment, he went over to where Mercedes was, and pulled out a high chair. At less than five feet away, Mercedes couldn't exactly get away with pretending that he (and his incessant questioning) wasn't there.

Sam would drop the same three-set every few minutes. He followed it up with a sigh and, if Mercedes was interested enough to shoot him a look, he'd finish off with a pout. Mercedes pressed the pads of her thumbs to her temples, waiting.

"You think that storm's over?" Sam asked, for—by Mercedes' calculation—the one millionth time.

Mercedes sniffed."I don't know."

"You think it'll be over soon?"

"I don't know."

"You think the owner is coming back?"

Mercedes cleared her throat. "I don't know."

Sam sighed remembering the owner—a small Asian woman with blonde highlights and a fierce attitude—who, initially, had abandoned them at the front of her bar.

The owner had been so blatantly unwilling to let them in while she was busy closing up shop that it made Sam's head spin. Immediately after Sam and Mercedes shoved their way through the front door, she sequestered them in the bar's waiting room. They were forced to listen to a thunderous roar and shrink back from the rattling front doors for a full thirty minutes until Mercedes instructed Sam to force the door to the actualbar open. When he did (and after the owner threatened to call the cops), Mercedes promised three one-hour sets for the bar's open mic nights, for free. As if the woman hadn't laughed in their faces minutes before, the owner opened the doors wide, welcoming a frazzled Sam and a frenzied Mercedes in and "away from the bitter LA air."

After drafting a list of songs she'd love Mercedes to sing (she made sure to reinforce that the sets were to be performed without any money exchanging hands) the owner, slipped off to the backroom claiming that she had some paperwork to do. She smiled at them as she disappeared from view and said that she'd be back in five.

That was over an hour ago.

"Why would she just leave like that?" Sam attempted to get comfortable on a makeshift, three chair bed.

Mercedes didn't bother lifting her head up to look at him. "I don't know."

"I mean, it's not like she's got anywhere to go at...2 AM in the morning."

"I don't get it either."

"Is she trying to lock us up in here?"

"We can leave anytime we want."

"But, doesn't it seem...right."

"Look, can we talk about...anything else? She's busy. We're in her way, and I'm getting a headache." Mercedes lifted her head, resting her chin on her arm, and looked at Sam.

Sam looked back at her. He couldn't help it if he was antsy. He had too much to think about: the NexTech callbacks right around the corner,the fact that the X had been steadily loosing money for the past two months, his inability to send money back home and his self-imposed mission to find out the real reason why Mr. Chang Sr hired Mercedes.

Not to mention, Sam had never been a fan of waiting or sitting still so having to do both, at the same time was really taking a toll on his sanity.

"Listen, Sam." Mercedes broke through his thoughts with a wave of her hand. "I don't want to be here with you as much as you don't want to be here with me." She scowled at the innocent look Sam gave her. "—oh don't you look at me like that—so if you can think of anything we can do to make the time go faster...I'd really appreciate it."

Sam raised an eyebrow at Mercedes, a thoughtful expression on his face, and made a stroking motion on his chin.

"Well..." He said, kicking his legs up onto the table between them, "you could always...sing for me."

Mercedes winced. "No."

"What?"

"No."

"Amazon I—"

"No."

"Listen it's a good—"

"No."

Sam raised his hands up in surrender, "Will you just hold on a moment?"

Mercedes furrowed her eyebrows.

"You've already promised the owner three hours of material, you could totally use this time to practice. The storm's not going anywhere," he looked around, "if it hasn't gone somewhere already." Sam gave Mercedes a meaningful glance, lifting up the palms of his hands and shrugging at her. Mercedes sniffed.

"Hell to the no."

"But why?"

"Because I'm not a jukebox, I'm not here for your entertainment, or to be made fun of—"

"Whoa, who said anything about making fun?" Sam asked, slightly offended. "Is that what you think of me?"

"What else am I supposed to think?"

"That I'm a nice guy."

Mercedes squinted at him, "...why?"

"What d'you mean, why?"

Leaning in, and propping her chin up with her fist, Mercedes looked Sam up and down. Why was he doing this? What's the ulterior motive? At that particular moment, Mercedes couldn't find it but she knew that, with Sam, it had to be there. Because the alternate option was unfathomable of a guy who didn't even like her.

"Anyways," she fell back against her chair, "if you want to hear some music, make it yourself."

"But Amazon..."

"No buts."

"If we have to be trapped in here—"

"We don't have to be trapped in here—"

"There's a freak storm going on outside now—"

"Sam. If you wanna know what's going on, you could just peek outside and check."

"Or you could just peek outside and check."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"I don't take requests," Mercedes said, pushing back on her chair and turning towards the stage. While walking away she heard Sam call out to her.

"Hey Amazon, I know you don't usually take requests," he smirked. "But if you could take one from your boss...nothing too risque, alright?"

Mercedes squinted at Sam and pulled her lips down into a frown.

"Like I would ever for an audience of just you."

She would've just walked off right then and there except... she actually was itching to get up on the stage as soon as she saw it. When they first entered the bar, she found herself drawn to the singular light that bathed a lone mic stand in red district purple. She was impressed by the guitar that stood on the edge of stage right against a kickstand. She likedthe way an ocean of high tables and floorspace erupted from the center-most part of the stage.

It dawned on her that she hadn't felt—excited, jittery, the good kind of nervous—that wayin quite sometime.

The seats fanned outwards and back, sitting densely together in the front, sparsely in the rear and Mercedes closed her eyes, pretending that all the empty space in the bar was filled—first inch to last—with people who came to hear her sing. She blotted out Sam with the palm of her hand and imagined that a glare came from fictional second balcony floodlights. Mercedes didn't allow Sam's lopsided smile break through her daydream. Instead she began to lightly knock on the wood of the guitar, her head nodding to the beat, her frustrations towards Sam—and circumstances in general—taking on a mind of it's own as she trilled about.

La da da da da, I'm gonna bury you in the ground

La da da da da, I'm gonna bury you with my sound

I'm gonna drink the red from your pretty pink face

I'm gonna—

Whatever emotion that had convinced Mercedes to get up on stage in an empty bar on a Wednesday at two hours past midnight and...sing, began to drain out of her body the moment she saw Sam looking at her, his eyes weary.

"What?" She over-enunciated the word, but thought better of matching it with an eye-roll.

He stared at her. "It's just... if you can sing like that why are you even bothering with Chemical X?"

"I'm sorry?" Mercedes cocked her head to the side and blinked at Sam.

"I mean you should probably focus on singing, something you know you're actually good at." He shook his head at her. "It would definitely make my life easier," he added.

Mercedes hit a raw chord with her fingernails as she stopped abruptly to glare at Sam.

He raised his eyebrows at her, "what?"

"Nobody asked you, Sam."

"Relax, I was just saying that—"

"Nobody. Asked. You. Got it?"

Mercedes didn't want to admit that Sam's simple statement made her blood boil.

It was harmless, it should have meant less than nothing coming from a guy who couldn't even turn a profit in his own business. From the mouth of a guy who can't even remember to wear a watch, from a guy like Sam. And yet Mercedes was ready to punch herself in the face once she realized which emotions were coursing through her vein. Yes, there was anger, there was rage but above all—the one that things that made Mercedes the most upset—was hurt. Sam had actually managed to hurt... her feelings.

Taking a breath through her nose, Mercedes fanned herself with her left hand and closed her eyes. Adding Sam to the list of people who thought ill of her new gig as a professional comic book nerd was easy—there was only one other person on it. But Sam thinking that she wasn't even halfway decent at her job shouldn't mean anything to her. In the days that they had to work together he barely gave her a chance. Mike still believed in her and Mr. Chang Sr, well he was the one who hired her so he must've seen something promising...

Mercedes bit down on her bottom lip. If there was anything that could calm her now, it was the guitar in her hands. She strummed, cutting her eyes in Sam's direction.

Sorry I won't treat you like a goddess

Is that what you want me to do?

Sorry I won't treat you like you're perfect

Like all your little loyal subjects do

Sorry I'm not made of sugar

Am I not sweet enough for you?

Is that why you always ignore me,

It must be such an inconvenience to you

Well, I'm just your problem

I'm just your problem

It's like I'm not, even a person, am I?

I'm just your problem.

Sam leaned forward, folding his hands together as he watched Mercedes play. Anger oozed from the stage as she sung, curling down to the floor save an iota that settled just above Mercedes' eyebrows. Her hips swayed back and forth, her eyes squeezed shut, she leaned backward and took in a deep breath. Sam couldn't help but take notice. As soon as she started to sing, her whole demeanor changed. Her head was held higher, her body more fluid, but her stance rock solid. He couldn't honestly say that it was his style but, it was an entirely different performance from the theme songs she sang in front of the X.

Well, I-I-I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have to justify what I do
I-I-I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have to prove anything to you
I'm sorry that I exist.
I forget what landed me on your blacklist,

But I-I-I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have to be the one that impresses you,
So... why do I want to?
Why do I want to..

To...to...

"Ugh!"

Mercedes jumped back from the microphone, clumsily setting the guitar on its kickstand, and rushed off stage.

"You okay? What happened?" Sam was up out of his chair before he could realize it. He had the good sense to regret his concern when Mercedes shrugged and walked past him.

"I...just...nothing happened."

Sam returned to his seat. He was too exhausted to push it.

The two of them sat together at that high table, not speaking to each other—not looking at each other—for what seemed like forever. Mercedes had her head down, forehead pressed against the polished wood, while Sam sat, his legs propped up on two chairs that he brought together.

Mercedes wasn't afraid to admit to herself that her impromptu set practice was her way of venting. It was one of the things she cherished the most about music. It's unique ability to allow her to release stress and emotion that otherwise she'd have pent up inside was one of the many perks to singing. Like usual, while she was on stage, her emotions took over and she sang about the thing that was bothering her the most.

Mercedes glanced over at Sam who leaned back in his chair while raising a hand to pick at his fingernails. She didn't think that she had ever met anyone that dense. However, if he had actually paid attention to her song, they'd probably be fighting. So, against her better judgment, Mercedes decided to call his blockhead tendencies a blessing.

But, the part that confused Mercedes the most, the part that made her stop and rush off stage, was something she wasn't ready to think about. Because somewhere between the first verse and the next, the song stopped being about Sam. Yes, there was a part of her that wanted to impress her Chemical X bosses and yes it was a burdensome task but that wasn't what she was thinking about when she sang the final lines.

"So..." Sam cleared his throat, waiting until he had Mercedes' attention to continue, "you think the storm's—"

"We are not doing that again."

"What?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "What d'you mean what?" She asked, trying her best to mimic Sam.

He sneered at her. "That...was terrible. And I should know, I'm the absolute king at impressions." Sam paused, "wanna hear some?"

"Not particularly." Mercedes replied with a smile. But it was too late, Sam was off, starting with his complete set of 1985 Academy Award Winner's speeches, accompanied by a near perfect physical reenactment. Between each impression he'd glance over at Mercedes with a devious smirk. Almost as if he knew she was close to clawing her brains out.

She stared at him as he launched into an impassioned portrayal of Sally Field's best actress speech (footnoting it to include the fact that most times her speech is misquoted) and thought that if she had to sit through any more of Sam Evans she'd go stir-crazy.

In fact, she thought furrowing her eyebrows as Sam proceeded to segue into the next category, all of the crap she had to deal with in the past four hours was his fault to begin with! The only reason they got caught in the storm in the first place was because Sam had them working too late—reorganizing a tub full of complementary bookmarks. The only reason they were "trapped" inside the bar—the only reason Mercedes now had three hours of stage time to fill was because Sam suggested they hide out there. The only reason Mercedes had to waste precious sleeping with the most annoying person she's ever met—a person who didn't like her, didn't respect her work, was willing to do pretty much anything to get her out of his hair—was because...He. Forced. Her. To.

Suddenly everything was clear. It was as if a light bulb had gone off in Mercedes' head. She pushed off the high table, swinging her feet to the ground as she backed away from Sam. In a moment he noticed what she was doing and looked at her.

"What?" Sam asked.

Mercedes blinked, looking at him like he was a stranger, then stopped.

"I...don't have to stay here for this do I?" Mercedes paused for a moment, her hands raised, but didn't give Sam a chance to speak. "Right...I'm leaving."

Sam watched as Mercedes turned away from him, walking as fast as she could, to the exit. It was only when she cracked the front doors open, poked her head through, then disappeared behind them entirely, did Sam realize that she was serious.

"Oh come on! You can't be serious, Amazon. It's dangerous out there!" Sam yelled after her, rolling his eyes and reluctantly rising from his seat.

He followed Mercedes into the streets, pausing to allow his eyesight to adjust to the blue-black sky as he scanned the area. A gentle wind picked up and ruffled Sam's hair, alerting him to just how chilly it was. He lifted the hood of his hoodie over his head and pulled its drawstrings closed. Sam couldn't even imagine how Mercedes was fairing.

At least the storm that forced them to hide out in the bar in the first place was over.

Sam took a few steps forward, careful to side-step the remnants of a stop sign that lay bent down the middle on the sidewalk. The streets were littered with garbage: newspapers, take out cartons, broken beer bottles, the contents of which were seeping into the sidewalk's concrete. Sam was surprised that he could distinguish all of the litter considering that every streetlamp he saw was either broken, or inexplicably off. He looked up.

He supposed that the only thing lighting his way was the full moon. But..Sam furrowed his eyebrows, a full moon wasn't expected in LA for another three days wasn't it? He knew that his knowledge of astronomy was a little rusty—the last time he charted the stars was back in high school—but something as simple as the moon's phases he had a pretty good understand of. Something about the way the moon beamed down at him, the light it was giving of had a deep blue tint to it, was...unusual.

Sam shook his head, he had something to do. He didn't know if he'd be able to live with himself if something happened to Mercedes while he was moon-gazing. He walked forward, crossing the street at an intersection and continued on. He had no idea where Mercedes had gotten to, and in such a short amount of time. Maybe he had gone the wrong direction. Which way was Mercedes' apartment anyways?

After a few more moments, Sam was ready to admit that he had gone the wrong way when he heard someone grunting to his left. He looked over, his nerves shot to pieces, to see Mercedes bent over fussing with her shoes. She stood straighter and smoothed her hands over the front of her skirt, looking up at the moon then turning around. It was almost like she knew he was there and, when she saw him, she slapped a hand to her forehead, spinning on her heels as fast as possible.

Clicking his tongue when he spotted Mercedes trying to run away again, Sam lurched forward, jogging to catch up. When he did, grabbed her by the elbow.

"What the hell is your problem?" He asked bending lower to catch his breath.

Mercedes wrenched free from his grasp and cocked an eyebrow at him, "my problem?"

"Yes. Your problem," Sam sneered, "why are you so...unpleasant?"

Mercedes reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, "what?"

"You always act like it's some kind of burden to be around me. You're always so put out to even lookat me. What the hell did I do?"

"Me burdened by spending time withyou? This coming from the guy who practically begged Mr. Chang, Sr to fire me from the X after knowing me for all of...three minutes."

"Oh come on, you can't honestly believe—"

"What am I supposed to believe?" Mercedes threw her hands up.

"You know, when you're not forcing me to let you walk me home, you're trash talking me to Mike! When you're not insisting that I learn the origin of every fuckingpiece of useless equipment at the X, you're avoiding working with me at all costs. When you're not sidestepping anymention of anyof the ideas I've had ever, you're giving me backhanded compliments about my singing. It's so obvious that you don't like me so why are we even bothering? I've had it up to here with trying to get on your good side. That's it. I don't care anymore."

Mercedes stood on the curb of the sidewalk, fuming. She stared at Sam for a split second longer than she intended to, flicked her hair to the side with the back of her hand and stormed off.

Originally, Sam had been content to let her walk off, but that stare, the one that warned him to stay away, the one that dared him to push the issue further, pulled him. He ground his teeth together and walked after Mercedes, letting out a loud and dry laugh.

"Wait. You've been trying to get on my goodside? You mean to tell me," he started, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder, "that that, back there, was you being charming?"

He laughed again, this time genuinely amused at the sight of Mercedes speeding up—thinking her legs could take her farther and faster than his could, "well I hate to break it to you, Amazon but if that was your attempt at being nice, then I've lost all hope for humanity."

Mercedes whipped around on her heels so quickly that Sam—who by this point had completely caught up—almost walked into her. He sidestepped Mercedes' short frame, instinctively bringing his hands up to brace himself against Mercedes' shoulders. When he saw her recoil away from him, he scoffed. Sam took a deep breath, ready to address his list of grievances but stopped short when he saw Mercedes' left hand on her hip, her right in the air, her pointer finger wagging in front of him.

"What is your problem?"

The question that came from her was simple, in certain contexts it was guaranteed to sound innocent, but all Sam could see was a girl who clearly thought he was such a non-issue that it made his muscles tense and head throb. Before he had a chance to second guess himself,he was off, words tumbling out of his mouth faster—and angrier—than he intended.

"You wanna know what my problem is? It's you, your entire existence here! Like, what gives you the right to just show up at the X and get a job? We weren't even hiring! And Mr. Chang hasn't ever come to the store—I mean never, ever—but when he finally does the only thing he can think to do is hire you, a girl who he doesn't even know who could easily run the whole company into the ground? Who does that? And you! You say you're being friendly but in reality, you're cool to everyone butme. You're even close with the fed ex guy who types up all of his memos in fucking comic sans!And why the hell is it that everything I've done with Chemical X is something you want to change? You wanna rearrange the shelves, you wanna direct the comic book club—which I already thought before you even got here...and FYI, Chemical X is not, nor will it ever be, a fucking coffee shop. I mean, talk about being obvious Amazon! You hate everything I do to my own damn store.And I'm sure that has everything do with how stupid you think I am!"

Mercedes cocked her head to the side. Sam folded his arms over his chest, bracing himself against what she would say next.

Mercedes furrowed her eyebrows, and bit down on her bottom lip for a moment.

"Are you ill?"

She stepped closer to him and jabbed her pointer finger at his chest. "What in the world are you saying? I never said anything about thinking you're stupid, quit putting words in my mouth! And for the record, you'rethe one who's nice to everyone but—"

When Mercedes cut herself off to look past Sam, he frowned. He didn't appreciate being ignored and there was no way he was going to let Mercedes get away with having the last word. He pushed himself forward, intending to invade her personal space but was shocked when he found the palm of her hand pressed against his chest. She pushed off of him, causing Sam to stagger backwards as she side-stepped him.

"Amazon, what the—"

"HEY!" Mercedes leaned forward, bracing herself against the ground and screamed as loudly as she could.

With eyes wide, Sam jumped towards her, aiming to grab her elbow again, "what is wrong with you?" He tried to spin Mercedes around to face him but she wouldn't budge. Instead she twisted her arm out of his grasp and pointed down the street.

Sam squinted into the darkness. A few blocks away, he saw what he assumed to be a small woman—she was swathed head to toe in a murky colored scarf, wearing flat sandals, the only indication to her gender was the purse she currently trying to protect—backing away from two larger men. The two men closed the gap between the themselves and woman. They grabbed her by the elbows and pulled her around the corner and out of sight.

"Oh shit," Sam ran a hand through his hair, "Amazon, stay here and call the cops, I'll—Amazon?"

Sam looked around to find himself standing alone. "Amazon?" He stepped forward and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from a nearby lamppost that flickered on.

When he saw Mercedes, sprinting away from him, towards the direction he gesturing towards, he slapped his hand to his forehead.

"Seriously?" he yelled, chasing after her, "Amazon—ah—it's too dangerous!" He sucked his teeth and picked up speed, after noticing that she was no longer paying any attention to him at all.

"She's so fucking difficult."


The song is "I'm Just Your Problem" sung by Marceline the Vampire Queen on Adventure Time (what can I say, Mercedes is a nerd).

And yes this is still the same night as last chapter. I'm extremely long-winded. But I have it on good authority that Mercedes and Sam will be getting their powers next chapter, although it might not happen the way you expect it to.

Reviews are great, I'm particularly looking to see if my setting description is up to par. Next time I'll tell you why in the heck it took me so long to update. It's actually a funny story (no it's not -.-)

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters.