Disclaimer: I own nothing
Chapter Four: I Don't Ever Give Up
I'm no kid in a kid's game
I did what I did, I've got no one to blame
But I don't give up, no, I don't ever give up
It's all I've got, it's my claim to fame
I'm no fighter but I'm fighting
This whole world seems uninviting
But I don't give up, no, I don't ever give up
I fall down sometimes, sometimes I come back flying
Sam had only tried to communicate with Mercedes once in the months since he had left Lima. The images from the night he had left her crying on her front steps replayed in his mind on a continuous loop for weeks afterwards, and for her sake he kept his distance. He even went so far as to delete his Facebook profile so that he wouldn't be tempted to keep up with her life or torture himself by looking at her pictures. His first few days in Kentucky had been the worst. Sleepless and full of agony, it was as if a piece of him had been left behind, lost under his cot in that motel room he and his family had come to know as home. He'd managed to keep his head up and continue playing the role of the perfect son and brother, but it was clear to everyone that the Sam who had come to Kentucky was not the same Sam they had known for the past eighteen years. He had an excellent game face, but there was a vacancy in his eyes that had never been there before.
His mother, bless her heart, had always been an expert at reading her eldest son. Ever since he was a toddler, white-haired with eyes like little emerald saucers, he had been one to move at his own pace. Within the playgroup they went to every week he had been the last of the children to learn how to walk, but the first one who tried to climb the jungle gym; the most shy around the little girls, but the only boy who would pick them dandelions once he got to know them. From the beginning he had always marched to the beat of his own drum, and everyone else around just had to match his tempo and try to keep up. When his relationship with Quinn had dissolved quicker than anyone could have predicted, Mary Evans been right there to hold him as he spoke over and over again of his insecurities over not being good enough for the head cheerleader. With Santana, she had sat him down and gave him a stern lecture about how he needed to stop jumping in headfirst into relationships and start "respecting himself."
This time, however, it had been different. Everything about his relationship with Mercedes had been a completely new experience for him. The joys of being with her were so much greater than anything he'd felt before, and in turn the pain of their demise was nearly unbearable. Every other hurt paled in comparison, and it was clear that the usual remedies for a broken heart wouldn't be sufficient. Instead of setting this recovery to a tempo that had been previously used, his mother seemed to sense that what he needed was a slow, steady beat that was similar to a march. It may not have been exciting, but it was consistent and would eventually get him to where he needed to be. The progress would be slow, but it would be the best way for him to attempt to heal. With that in mind, she'd supported him in the best way that she knew how: lingering hugs, whispered words of encouragement, and lots of chocolate chip cookies. They never talked about Mercedes, or the bloodshot eyes he sported for weeks after the move, but her actions helped him more than any conversation ever could.
His father, though fully aware that his son was dealing with something devastating, had been too busy with his new construction job to make him sit down for a heart to heart. Other sons may have felt neglected, but this was something Sam had been grateful for. In some ways, he was exactly like his father. They shared similar physical features, which was to be expected, but also similar quirks. Dwight Evans had passed down a love for science fiction and fantasy as well as sports that both of his sons shared, and his tendencies to wear his heart on his sleeve and take on too much to Sam in particular. The most prominent similarity, though, was the fact that both of the older Evans men were dreamers. The recession had really kicked them all around. His dad had been especially wounded, but that never kept him from speaking of the future, of the plans for their family when they came through to the other side.
It was because of core trait they shared that Sam knew if they had sat down his father would have been able to get every last detail about what had happened with Mercedes out of him. In the same way that his mother was laid-back, his father was high-strung. Somehow he would have managed to sort through the pain and convince his son to make things right with Mercedes He would have insisted on it.
Not that it would have taken much to persuade Sam to reach out to her; he fought daily with himself, debating about whether or not he should just drive back to Lima and apologize to her for leaving the way he did, and beg her to wait for him. But he knew it wouldn't be fair to her if he asked. He couldn't expect her to have a long distance relationship with a homeless kid during her senior year. He couldn't bring himself to be that selfish. Not with her.
That was the logical part of him talking, but the other part? The part that was so dominating that it literally hurt to ignore? Ached to do exactly that and fight for them both.
Sam shook his head as he walked through the back door of Stallionz. It had been exactly a week to the day since Quinn had called him, and Mercedes had been on his mind as constantly as she was when he first moved. He'd even gone so far as to text Quinn and ask her to give him Mercedes' number, but deleted the text before he could send it. Nothing he could say would matter, because the simple fact was that she was still there and he was still here. Circumstances hadn't changed, so there was no point in opening up a line of communication that had no way of leading to where he wanted to be: back with her. By all accounts her life was going perfectly, and he wasn't about to open his mouth and ruin it for her by drawing himself into her life picture.
He snorted to himself as he walked inside and made his way to the dressing room. He didn't really have to worry about all that though, seeing as how the chances were great that Mercedes still hated him for what he had done to her that night. Who could blame her?
His one attempt at reaching out to her had resulted in two words that still haunted him. It had all started back in August, over a month after he'd left and shortly after he began working at the bar. The shows that night had wrapped up and he had been in the process of heading to the bathroom to change back into his street clothes when a leggy waitress who'd taken to undressing him with her eyes far more than he was comfortable with cornered him outside of the bathroom.
"Hey, White Chocolate," she purred softly, placing a well manicured hand on his chest. "Where are ya off too in such a hurry?" Her touch made him shiver. Her hands were ice cold and her fingers almost skeletal.
He averted his eyes from her predatory stare and cleared his throat. "Uh, just headed to the bathroom. To change." He shifted his weight awkwardly and clutched his clothes closer to his bare chest. The red shorts that he graced the stage with were one step up from the infamous gold ones from his McKinley days, but not by much. He was keenly aware of how little was left to the imagination, and apparently she was as well.
The blonde giggled throatily and ran a finger down his chest, scraping him lightly. "You know ... They call 'em dressing rooms for a reason. You don't have to be shy." His stomach lurched as she let her gaze travel down his body, stopping as her eyes settled on the bulge in the front of his shorts, a coy smirk playing across her blood red lips. "Not from what I can see."
He felt a rush of heat spread from his cheeks to the tops of his ears. "Uh, thanks. I think?" He had been working there nearly a three weeks and was starting to think he'd never get used to the leers. The fifteen year-old version of himself would have loved the prospect of female advances, but it only made the current version nauseous.
"You're very welcome." She licked her lips and continued running her finger down his body until it hit the waistband of his shorts. "Can I help you with anything? Anything at all?" It was clear by the tone of her voice that she intended to help him in a very specific way.
He flinched as he felt the finger dip underneath the fabric and took a step back, but she stepped with him. "That's very, um, nice of you to ask, but I don't think so." She snapped the elastic of his shorts and he took another step back, bumping against the wall, which caused him to drop his pile of clothes on the floor. Before he could move to pick them up, she'd beat him to it, making sure to bend just enough to give him an obvious view of her cleavage. He grimaced as she picked up his Batman print boxers and twirled them around on her finger.
"Batman huh?" She licked her lips and pressed herself against him, grinding slowly. Her other hand went to his hair as she brought her lips to his ear. Her breath was hot as she spoke. "Come on, White Chocolate. Let me show you what kind of tricks Cat Woman has up her sleeve ... I'll have you purring in no time." Her tongue flicked against his ear and it was then that he'd had enough. She was anything but Cat Woman.
Grunting, he snatched his boxers from her finger and moved away from her quickly. This had to stop. "Listen, I don't know what you've heard about me, but I'm not that guy." He bent down and grabbed the rest of his clothes.
"But White Chocolate, baby—"
His eyes flashed. It was one thing for Jimmy or the other guys to call him that. But no woman would ever do it again.
"Let's get a couple things straight here. One, my name is Sam. Not 'Baby' or 'White Chocolate' or any other demeaning pet name you want to call me. And two, I'm here to make money, and that's it. I'm not interested in being anyone's play-thing."
If he hadn't been so pissed off, he would have laughed at the way her mouth had become unhinged as she openly gaped at him.
"So take your daddy issues and get the hell outta my face." He brushed past her and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Asshole!"
Sam cringed at the memory. After the incident, the waitress (he couldn't even remember her name) had immediately spread a rumor that he was gay, but nothing ever came of it. She'd quit shortly thereafter, and he'd been relieved. He had never felt more ashamed to be working at Stallionz than he had that night. The rest of the waitresses actually weren't too bad, for the most part. Every so often a new one would try the same thing, and every time he'd turn them down. He was no saint; he had a couple of girls at school he made out with from time to time when he really needed to get his mind off things, but things never went any farther than kissing and they were never with anyone at work. He knew better than to do anything that could potentially jeopardize his paycheck and more than that, he knew that the dirty feeling that often plagued him would only get worse if he wasn't careful. He'd made that mistake last year with Santana, going further than he was comfortable with just because the opportunity had been presented, and he didn't feel like going back.
The memory of Santana made him again think of the leggy blonde and he grunted. He still got irritated every time he thought of her bringing up Cat Woman to him. That title belonged to one person and one person only, whether she wanted it or not.
It was that incident that had prompted his one and only attempt at making amends with Mercedes. Angered by the events of the night, he'd started sketching immediately after he'd gotten home from work. He'd played around with little doodles of himself as Batman and Mercedes as Cat Woman before, but that time he actually sketched them for real, down to the last details. By the time the sun had begun to peek over the horizon the next morning, he'd competed an entire comic strip of the two of them.
It hadn't been anything spectacular, at least not in his mind. And to anyone else it would have seemed ridiculous, but he had hoped Mercedes would see it and smile. The strip had consisted of them, in full costume, in various scenes that had taken place throughout their brief summer together: eating ice cream at the park, playing like kids with Stacy and Stevie at the playground near her house, playing frisbee on the beach, cuddling together on the tilt-a-whirl ... He knew it was silly, but maybe it could be the olive branch they could eventually rebuild a friendship with. He'd said that much in the note he'd mailed along with it.
Sam felt his heart clench at the memory of his phone call with Quinn the week after he'd sent it. It hurt her to tell him this, Quinn had said, but although Mercedes had appreciated the comic, she and Sam were "so June" and she thought it was time to them both to move forward, separately. Quinn had tried to convince him that she just needed a little more time to heal, but his decision was already made: he'd bow out graciously and no longer contact her. It was then that he'd laid the ground rules to Quinn regarding their conversations: Mercedes' name would only come up in their conversations if it absolutely had to.
Up until their last conversation, things had been fine. Now he was being forced to deal with a reality he hadn't fully prepared himself for.
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes as he walked into the dressing room and shoved his stuff into his usual corner. He had to get over this, or at least place it on the back burner for awhile. The first show of the afternoon would be starting in less than an hour and he had to keep his focus. There was nothing that killed the buzz of a horny middle-aged woman like a depressed stripper. It was like seeing a sad clown.
"Hey, Sam. Why the long face? We've got a packed house tonight!" A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see his favorite waitress Jeanie leaning again the doorframe, looking at him warmly, but with a touch of concern that made him think that she'd been watching him sulk for awhile.
He gave a small wave and half-smiled at her before turning back to his corner. "Hey, Jeanie. How are you?"
"I'm fine, thank you." There was a pause and Sam could feel her eyes staring at the back of his head. He didn't know if it was because she had been a teacher or because she was a mom, but the woman had a crazy way of being able to read him like a book. "Now answer the question, honey. I may not know you all that well, but I know you enough to realize when you're feeling down."
He turned back to her and smirked, quirking an eyebrow. "How do you figure? All I said was hi." Thanks to his father, he had never been very good at hiding his emotions, but it was still surprising that she could always sense when he was having a bad day.
"Oh please!" Jeanie chuckled and waved a hand at him. "First of all, I could hear the tires on that old truck of yours squealing when you raced into the lot. We both know that old thing isn't meant to move like that! And then you came stomping in the back door, and you only do that when you've had a rough day, and since today is Saturday, I know it isn't school related. Lastly, and most importantly, you didn't come to the kitchen and say hi. That has never happened before. So now I'm going to ask you again : why the long face?"
Well, damn. Clearly not much got by Jeanie unnoticed.
He chuckled. "I swear you are just as bad as my own mom sometimes." He smiled wryly at her and waited for her to laugh along with him, but instead she merely raised her eyebrows expectantly and motioned for him to get on with it.
"Honey, we've got a show in 40 minutes."
"Fine, fine ... It's been a rough day, I guess. A rough week, actually. I've just got a lot on my mind lately. My girl—well, ex-girlfriend—"
"Mercedes."
"Yeah. Mercedes." He'd almost forgotten that Jeanie had found a sketch he'd drawn of Mercedes that had fallen out of his notebook not that long ago. She'd been helping him with his history homework and picked up the scrap of paper before he could get to it. He hadn't gone into too much detail about Mercedes at the time, trying to avoid re-living their whole summer together, but clearly Jeanie had found what he had had to say important enough to remember her name. "Anyway, she has a boyfriend now, I guess, and I'm just ... Trying to work out the whole acceptance thing."
"Ahh. I see."
"I'd been making a lot of progress, but-"
"You still care about her."
Was it that obvious? "Well ... Yeah, but there's not really anything I can do. She's there and I'm here so ... I'm out of the equation."
"Well, why don't you make yourself a part of the equation? You used to live in Lima, right? That's not all that far from here. Four hours, maybe? Go take a drive." She said it as if her suggestion was the most logical action for him to take. "Go get her."
Sam chuckled and shook his head. "You're not the first person to tell me that, actually. But I can't. We both need to move on. This is for the best." Those last five words had become his mantra over the past seven days; yet once they left his mouth they still made him scrunch his nose as if he'd tasted something bitter.
Jeanie looked at him, amused, and smiled. "Keep telling yourself that, honey." She chuckled and straightened her apron. "I have to get back to the kitchen, but let me know if you ever want to borrow my car and take a road trip. Lord knows that truck of yours wouldn't make it to the border."
He laughed as she walked away. "Don't you have your own kids to pester?"
"My own kids know well enough to take my advice when I give it!"
Well then.
He groaned softly to himself and glanced at his backpack, once again fighting the urge to take his phone out and text Quinn. As he again reminded himself to focus, he quickly dropped to the floor to do his usual pre-show push-ups, hoping the familiar ache of sore muscles would clear his head.
"Face it Evans. It's gonna take a miracle to get her back."
Several Hours Later
"It's gonna take a miracle for us to win at sectionals, Sam. And you're it. We need you."
It was 6 o'clock that night; the first of early evening strip shows were over, and Sam found himself sitting in the dressing room with the last two people on earth he expected to show up unannounced at Stallionz. He'd done them the favor of getting re-dressed in his clothes from that afternoon, but that didn't stop them both from looking like they'd seen a ghost. Inwardly, he laughed to himself, because he was sure their confusion was mirrored on his own face.
"Look, Finn ... Rachel ... It's not that I'm not happy to see you guys, but I don't understand. How did you even know where to find me?"
Finn's look immediately changed to the same constipated one that Sam had seen a lot of last year during the time of the whole gumball fiasco. That meant that he wasn't going to like whatever answer he was about to give.
"Quinn."
He nearly spat out the water he'd been drinking and leaned forward in his chair. "What?"
That little traitor.
"Quinn. She told me that you worked at some restaurant with a horse name or something. And before you deleted your Facebook we all noticed that you'd changed your current location to Kentucky. So Rachel put two and two together and googled it, and here we are. We thought you were a waiter."
There was a smirk spreading across Finn's face, and Sam decided it would be best to ignore that last comment. "So Quinn sent you here to bring me back for sectionals, huh? What makes you think that I can help you?"
Rachel placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "We need you, Sam. We're falling apart. I know we all haven't done a good job at keeping in touch, but the fact is that glee club hasn't been the same since you left. We all miss you."
"Look, I appreciate you guys thinking of me, and if things were different maybe coming back would be an option, but not right now. Do you know how much I made tonight? 60 bucks." He grinned and pulled the dollar Rachel had handed him earlier out from under the waistband of his shorts that he still wore underneath his jeans. "61. In 15 minutes. And that's only one show. Am I ashamed to be working here? Yeah, I'm ashamed. But I'm good at this."
He thought he saw Rachel's lower lip tremble. "That's because you have that boy next door innocence that makes you approachable, okay? You're good at it for all the reasons you shouldn't be doing it."
"Come back to McKinley, Sam. We need you."
He opened his mouth to protest, but Finn cut him off, speaking again. "Tell me you don't want it. Dude, you're young. You've got so much potential. Working here is like throwing your life away."
Sam cringed. Like he didn't know that already. He appreciated their concern, but the facts remained the same. His family was still a long way from being financially secure, if he bailed on them now they were one broken water pipe away from being out on the street again.
"There isn't anything left in Lima for for me anymore." He was grasping for excuses now, trying to ignore the growing desire to take them up on their offer.
"C'mon dude. Real talk."
Groaning, his put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. "Okay! I want it. I do ... But I owe it to my family to stay."
He felt a small hand on his shoulder and knew it was Rachel. "But you owe it to yourself to fight for the life that you deserve to live. To fight for the person you want to live it with. You can't give up now."
What was with everyone telling him to fight for a girl who didn't love him? A girl who had a boyfriend and who, by all accounts, was doing just fine without him? Sam knew that he still loved Mercedes; he remembered the words he had said the night he left. But all the signs kept saying that this still wasn't the right time for them. Maybe messing with fate just wasn't a good idea.
He looked up and opened his mouth to tell Rachel exactly that, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the way that her eyes bore into him in a way that made him feel like she could see each and every thought running through his head. Or maybe it was the passion within those eyes; something that he remembered seeing rarely, only when she spoke about one of two things: Finn or her desire to become a star. Was it really possible that she felt just as strongly about his relationship with Mercedes as Quinn did? How the hell did she even know about them anyway?
Sam was at a loss for a worthwhile response. He shrugged his shoulders lamely. "My dad would never go for it." It was a bald-faced lie, but he still wasn't completely convinced that going back to Lima was a good idea. "And besides ... It's not really my place to get involved in certain peoples' lives anymore."
Finn's expression changed from one of apprehension to one of excitement, as if the light bulb had been turned on inside his head. "Quinn thought you'd be hesitant. She asked me to tell you something ..." He paused and looked down at the floor, shifting his weight awkwardly for a moment.
"Yeah ...?" Sam prompted. Of course Quinn had something to say. She'd been the one responsible for this entire sneak attack.
Finn smirked slightly. "She said to tell you that you're a skxawng if you don't realize that this might be the only opportunity you have to make things right. She also told me to remind you that Jake once said ..." he held up his hands to use air quotes. "'All I ever wanted was a single thing worth fighting for' and that 'sometimes your whole life boils down to one insane move' ... Does that mean anything to you? She said you'd make sense of it."
Sam's jaw dropped slightly, and his eyes widened upon hearing the words.
Somehow she'd managed to use Jake Sully against him.
Damn.
For someone who came across as being so sweet, Quinn Fabray was a certified ball buster. But he had to give it to her. Her plan was about to work.
"Oh, what the hell. Fine. We'll go talk to my dad."
Liars are lying, airplanes are flying
Love isn't here, love isn't here
But it's somewhere
Time to forget me, but something won't let me
Love isn't here, love isn't here
But it's somewhere
And I cleaned and I washed up
This dream I don't ever give up
I don't ever give up, I don't ever give up
No, I don't ever give up, no, I don't ever give up
No, I don't ever give up, I don't ever give up
Author's note: Once again, thank you to everyone for the comments/favorites/etc. I started writing this to get through the hiatus and get the story out of my head, so it is very encouraging to know that other people are enjoying something I never thought would get read. This is step one in moving (somewhat) away from the angst.
The song used in this chapter is "I Don't Ever Give Up" by Patty Griffin. Some of the dialogue used at the end comes directly from "Hold On To Sixteen" and belongs to Glee, and the Jake Sully quotes at the end are from Avatar and don't belong to me either. :)
Na'vi translation: Moron