Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.
Chapter 10: What May Yet Be Proved
In which Sam is affected by his past, Mercedes suffers the effects of the present, and Finn is determined to effectively affect his future.
###
Sam lay on the stiff motel mattress, his arm tight around Mercedes' bare shoulder as his chin rubbed against the smooth satin of the scarf she'd thrown over her hair before drifting off to sleep. He stared at the ceiling. He focused on the patterns in the blown plaster, rings repeated from one corner of the small room to the other. He knew those rings well. They'd been his sky for the months they were in this motel. When it came to Lima, they were as much part of "home" as anything.
He sighed and pulled Mercedes closer. Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea after all. He'd just been desperate for some alone time with her-time away from her family, from Finn, their friends-and this was the quickest way to get it.
###
Mercedes had texted him around 6 Saturday morning. Change in plans. My parents are staying home this morning. They want to "talk".
He hadn't seen the message until about 6:45; Finn had had a nightmare, which really wouldn't have affected Sam, except he'd called out for him and Mercedes, something that had nagged at Sam throughout the night. If nothing else, Sam trusted Mercedes, and something told him that he could trust Finn as well. Besides-Finn had called out for the both of them, as though they were in danger or were the ones who could help him. Eventually Sam had convinced himself that it was the latter, that Finn was so wound up about losing his shot at Ohio State that in his nightmare he was grabbing hold of the nearest bit of comfort that he'd had. Unfortunately, it was about 2 a.m. when he came to that realization, so the alarm he'd set for 6:30 came much sooner than he would have liked.
The talk with her parents was another matter. When he arrived at Mercy's house at 7:30, the table was set for a serious breakfast: bacon, sausage, eggs, grits, fruit, biscuits, juice and coffee. Sam was ravenous, but suspicious, wondering if he was being fattened up only to be led to slaughter. Nothing could be closer-and further-from the truth. They'd eaten together, sitting around the table like family, with Quentin and Irene at the head and Sam and Mercedes seated opposite each other on the sides. Quentin had led them in a blessing, then food was passed around, and the mood in the room shifted quickly to something like ease. Sam shared some play by play of the previous night's football game with Quentin, and Mercedes filled Irene in on Finn's outburst. Sam began to think that this was the talk her parents wanted to have, and as he took the final bite of a heavenly buttered biscuit, placed his napkin next to his plate, and pushed back from the table, he looked over at his girl with a wide cocky grin.
The look she shot him back was like a bucket of ice water. It said "Why are you smiling? This isn't even close to over."
"Sam, will you help me with the dishes? I think Mercedes and her father are going to take a walk." Irene stood and started clearing away plates, deliberately not noticing the frantic and panicked glances Sam was sending her daughter's way. They worked silently, Sam carefully rinsing the plates in the sink while Irene loaded them into the dishwasher. Once it was loaded and the leftovers were in the fridge, Irene pored herself a fresh cup of coffee and motioned for Sam to join her as she sat at the table. She watched, dispassionate, as Sam poured his own cup, scalding his milk with the hot coffee before adding one cube of sugar.
As soon as he took his seat she started talking, her calm and measured tone piercing the silence in the room.
"Quentin is, no doubt, rambling on to Mercedes right now about being in the flower of her youth and waiting for her Prince Charming and a whole lot of pie-in-the-sky and unicorns. I love that about him; he appears to be all pragmatism on the surface, but underneath, he's a big dreamer." She took a sip of her coffee, then placed the mug on the table. "Now you, you look like a dreamer from the outside, but you've always struck me as being down to earth underneath it all, which is why you're having this talk with me instead of him. OK?"
Sam looked her in the eyes as he held the coffee mug close to his tightly closed lips. He nodded quickly, then took a sip of the hot drink, hoping it would give him a bit of courage.
Irene sat back in her chair, her hands cradling the mug of coffee, her perfectly manicured nails slightly taptaptapping at its sides. "As you are no doubt aware, Mercedes got a birth control implant about a year and a half ago." She looked at Sam, who turned beet red as he nodded and took a swig of his coffee. "You've dated Quinn, so you know why I insisted that she get one when she did."
Sam nodded again, and opened his mouth to say something, anything, that would stop what he could only see as a trainwreck of a conversation waiting to happen, when Irene held out her hand to silence him. "What happens between you and Mercy stays between you and Mercy until it's something that can no longer stay just between you and Mercy. She knows this-and now you do, too-and I want you to know that I see you, Sam Evans."
Sam dropped his eyes from Irene's, desperate to keep himself together in the face of the bomb she must be about to drop on him.
"When I look at you, I see a young man who works very hard to support himself and his family," at this Sam stared into his coffee mug, desperate to keep back the tears that were welling up out of relief and gratitude at the words Irene was saying. "I see a young man who couldn't wait two more weeks to see my daughter when I'm sure he has many easier options available in his new home four hours away. I see a young man who listens and wants to learn about what it's like to be Mercedes Jones in a world that doesn't usually want to know anything about the Mercedes Joneses of the world, and I see a young man who might one day want me to call him son."
Sam's heart was pounding and the tears were coming fast and hard and hot from his eyes. He bit at his lip to keep from opening his mouth. He couldn't look at Irene anymore, his eyes fixed on the contrast between the white mug, the brightly colored plaid placemat, and the honey-brown wood of the kitchen table.
Irene gripped his right hand in her left, then placed her right hand under his chin, lifting it so that she could see his eyes. She smiled sternly at him, then reached behind her to take a box of tissues from the buffet.
"You don't have to make any promises to me today about my daughter. Actions speak louder than words, and the day that I see you stop acting in a manner befitting someone who loves my child will be the last day I see you. I've got one rule for anyone loving my children," Irene pushed back her chair and stood, mug in hand, eyes firmly fixed on Sam's, "be grown or be gone." She walked over to the counter and refilled her mug, then returned with the pot to freshen Sam's cup. She sat back at the table. "Now, why don't you tell me what's up with your parents and your siblings."
###
Mercedes had returned from the walk with her father-who had bid Sam a hasty goodbye before finally heading in to the clinic-desperate to get away from the house. She'd run upstairs, grabbed her purse, and practically dragged Sam outside to his car. As they'd driven out of her subdivision, she kept starting sentences she couldn't finish, sputtering about the conversation she'd just had with her dad.
"Why did he think he needed to-"
"What the hell does he take me for-"
"You know, I have half a mind to-"
"I mean, I know he loves me, but-"
"Damnit, Sam, can we just go somewhere and get naked?"
This last was actually the first complete thought that had exited her mouth, and, eager to comply with his lady's wishes-and still mulling over the conversation he'd had with her mom-Sam wasted no time driving to the one place where he knew they could be guaranteed to be alone and naked for at least a few hours. He was 18 now, so there was no problem getting the room, and he made sure they gave him one facing away from the highway. They'd barely given the room a second glance, clothes falling away from their bodies quickly as they fell into each other. And now, in the moments afterward, when the room was still and quiet save for Mercedes' gentle breathing and the quiet hum of the window unit, Sam could only stare at the ceiling and think about it all.
Ms. Irene saw him, really saw him. Could she see exactly what lengths he would go to help his family? Sam felt his face and chest go flush at the thought of his work, of what discovering it would do to Mercedes' and her parents' opinion of him. He needed to tell her the truth; that was the grown up thing to do, wasn't it?
He looked around the room, his eyes taking in the worn carpet and curtains, the shabby furnishings of the sort of place he'd called home for half his time in Lima. What if this was it for them, the best he'd ever be able to give his girl? He had to do better, had to make sure that his future-and their future-was as secure as it could be. That meant college which meant money and if stripping was going to help provide that, then he'd do it.
"Mmmm. I love Saturdays." Mercedes was starting to wake up, the arm she'd draped across his torso slowly drifting upward till her fingers stroked his cheek. "Yep. You're really here." Sam could feel her smile, then see it as she raised herself to meet his lips with her own. At the look on his face, though, she paused. "What's wrong?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"This room. How long I lived in a room like this. How I never want to do that again." He stroked the smooth skin of her back. "How I'm sorry that we had to come here, you know, instead of a nicer place." He smiled apologetically at her.
Mercedes sat up, the sheet and bedspread falling away from her body as she shifted to face him. "You have nothing to apologize for, Sam. This room, this place-it's part of your history, our history." She leaned down to kiss him gently, then snuggled into his side, resting her head on his chest, and traced patterns on his belly as she continued speaking. "I babysat with you and sang Stacy and Stevie to sleep in a room like this. You put on that bolo tie and your dad's suit in a room like this the night you took me to the prom. A room like this"-she started kissing his skin, her fingers flittering along his sides as she made her way south-"was where you kissed me for the first time, remember?"
Sam groaned and nodded. Mercedes had reached his navel, her tongue swirling over his skin, her fingers now gently stroking his thighs.
"I've always wondered what it would have been like to do whatever I liked to you in a room like this." She moved her hand to his balls, gently massaging them as she took his cock in her other hand. She kissed the tip and looked up at him, smiling as he opened his eyes to look into hers. "Thanks to you, I've finally got my chance. Let's make some new memories for rooms like this."
She winked at him and then took him in her mouth.
They're like stars, Sam thought as his eyes focused for just a moment on the ceiling patterns before everything went hazy in the pleasure of Mercedes' love. Maybe this room wasn't so bad after all.
###
Mercedes flipped through the program in her lap. She quickly read the cast list, not quite letting herself really connect with what the piece of paper and the arrangement of letters on that piece of paper meant to her life.
"Maybe I should have left these in the car." Finn was fidgeting in the seat to her left; he had a big bouquet of flowers for Rachel on his lap, the cellophane crinkling as he tried to balance the program on its uneven surface. He stretched his long legs out into the aisle, causing the flowers to begin a slow and treacherous slide toward the ground. Mercedes bit her lip as she tried not to laugh at him.
Sam leaned toward Finn, nudging Mercedes arm with his elbow. "Dude, just put them on the floor under your seat. They're wrapped in plastic; they'll be OK." He sat back in his chair as Finn, seeing the sense in the suggestion, made a few final crinkly noises as he carefully slid the bouquet beneath his seat and settled back to read the program. Sam took Mercedes' hand in his and leaned his head toward hers. He whispered, Finn's proximity making him cautious. "You sure you're OK here, babe?"
Mercedes silently considered his question. He'd asked her this on the way to the school auditorium-and earlier as they lay in bed at the motel-and she hadn't really been able to give him an answer beyond "I have to be, don't I? I made a choice." She wished that he'd just stop asking, but knew that he was asking out of love and concern. She was honest. "I'm not sure, but I'll be OK." She squeezed his hand, tears pricking her eyes as he raised her hand to his lips to kiss it.
"I love you," he whispered as the lights went down in the auditorium. It was show time.
Mercedes was thankful that she hadn't watched the musical before the auditions or since. She'd seen it a couple of summers ago with her mother, and everyone had read Romeo and Juliet freshman year, so the story wasn't new, but its narrative and musical nuances still felt a bit fresh. She, Sam, and Finn quietly cheered for Kurt in his small role, marveled at Mike's vocal performance, and laughed at Rory's attempted Puerto Rican accent. She stored those little moments up against tougher ones, like Rachel and Blaine's performance of "Somewhere," a song she wasn't sure she'd be able to sing again, not anytime soon. By that time, Sam had slipped his arm around her shoulder, cursing a little under his breath that the "old school armrests were keeping him from his woman." Grateful for the gesture, she closed her eyes and listened to the voices of her two friends and tried to let them drown out the hurt and sacrifice they represented for both her and Kurt.
She hadn't really given herself a chance to dwell on her decision to turn down the double-casting; between school and work and Troubletones rehearsal-not to mention Sam and, increasingly, Finn taking up some of her alone time-she'd managed to block this out for two months, but sitting in the darkened auditorium, the show and all of its color and song and spectacle before her, she couldn't help but imagine what might have been, how her skirts would have twirled, what her Maria would have looked liked, sounded like, felt like.
Her cheek was cold and damp. Sam was gently stroking her arm, his cheek resting atop her head as he whispered "it's OK, Mercy. It's OK." She realized that she was quietly crying. She sat up slightly, moving her head from Sam's now tear-stained shirt to wipe at her eyes. To her left she noticed a hand offering her a handkerchief. Finn. She took it and closed her eyes as she turned slightly to smile at him in thanks. She didn't think she could look either of them, or anyone for that matter, in the eyes right now. Good thing it ends so badly, she thought. No one will wonder why I'm crying.
She dried her eyes and watched the final moments of the performance, schooling her expression to one of pride and delight at the accomplishments of her friends. She, Sam, and Finn stood and cheered with the crowd at the curtain call. She grimaced at Sam's piercing whistles. Things that boy could do with his mouth, she thought. Instrument of great good and great evil.
They waited eagerly for the cast's appearance at the backstage door, and she hugged everyone tightly, murmuring words of encouragement and praise to everyone-even Rachel. No matter what her hurts were, the show was amazing, and she knew how hard they'd all worked to pull it off. She wasn't about to take away one ounce of their shine.
Later, as she and Sam sat on her parents' couch, his hands gently rubbing her feet as they rested in his lap, she thought about the question he'd been asking her all day. Yes, she'd been hurt by all of it, but she couldn't say she was sorry; she had a place she could call her own now, after all, and while things weren't entirely repaired between her and her friends still in New Directions, she knew in her heart that this rift wasn't permanent, that somehow they'd find a way to bridge the gap caused by being in competition. She and Finn were proof of that, weren't they, friends who found each other in spite of it.
"I'm OK, babe."
Sam looked puzzled at her words. She chuckled to herself, loving how adorably he wore confusion. She swung her feet off his lap and shifted to snuggle next to him on the couch. They had about an hour remaining before Sam had to return to Finn's house, and since she and Sam were scheduled for brunch with their friends before he left to return to Kentucky, this was pretty much the last time they'd have mostly alone, and all she really wanted was to rest and recharge in Sam's strong arms.
###
Shannon Beiste stared incredulously at the matching bandages on Finn's hands. "What gives, Hudson? Were you punching things all weekend?"
Finn glanced at his hands, momentarily confused, then shook his head in response to his coach's question, shuffling nervously against the hall outside of Emma Pillsbury's office. "No, Coach, I cut it helping Sam with his car yesterday." A couple of lights on the dash had come on as Sam was preparing to leave, so Finn insisted that they use the equipment in the shop to check it out before he got on the road. They'd had a good chat about stuff-mostly Mercedes, as a matter of fact, with a little bit of sports on the side-and he'd gotten distracted when Sam had mentioned that they'd spent most of Saturday at the motel. Finn's hand had slipped on the wrench and scraped against the underside of the car as his mind filled with images from his dreams of the three of them naked in his bed.
But Coach didn't need to know that.
"Oh, you're here already." Emma Pillsbury quickly unlocked her office door and invited them in. She pulled Finn's file from the cabinet, then sat at her desk. "How can I help you?"
Finn took a deep breath. Whatever Coach Beiste had in mind, bringing the school counselor into Friday's events was sure to get him into some kind of trouble. At least she wasn't making him talk to Figgins. "I'm not getting a football scholarship," Finn began. "I was really upset when I found out, and I took it out on-"
Shannon placed a gentle, but firm, hand on Finn's arm to stop him. "Let me go first," she said quickly, and Finn quickly fell in line. "I want to see if we can help Finn find a way to play ball in college-maybe not at a big school, but one of the smaller ones? I have friends coaching all over the country, some of them doing great work in tiny places. Won't put him in contention for the NFL, but might help him pay for part of his schooling."
Finn was in shock. He looked at Shannon. "But I thought-Coach Cooter said..."
Shannon shook her head at Finn. "He gave you that plateau speech, didn't he?" Finn nodded, so she continued. "From his perspective, yeah, you have, but that doesn't mean you can't still play the game." She shifted in her seat to face Finn. "I don't know what you plan to do with your life when you graduate, Finn, but I think between me and Emma here we can find a place where you can pursue those dreams while playing a game you're darn good at and love." She turned toward Emma and leaning forward in her chair, pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. "I sent his tape around to some of my buddies this weekend," she said, her hands unfolding and smoothing the rough piece of paper before handing it to Emma. "Maybe you two can have a look at the schools on that list, see if any of them might be good fits."
Emma peered at the list on her desk, and Finn watched her expression as she read the names of the colleges and contacts. The last time they'd met, she'd told him he'd probably have to go to community college, and he wasn't holding out much hope for anything else. After all, his grades were average, his test scores-the ones he'd hastily registered for and taken in the last couple of months-were mediocre, and he didn't really have any other talents to exploit or set him apart. He stared at the carpet, then at the bandages on his hands, steeling himself against the letdown that was-
"I think we might be able to do something here," Emma said, her voice bright. Finn's head snapped up in amazement. "Don't get too excited," she said. "You're going to have to get out some applications really quickly, and you'll have to write an amazing admissions essay, but Coach Beiste has got a great point. If one of her contacts likes what they see of your football performance, with financial aid you might be able to start college in the fall."
The bell rang signaling the start of homeroom period. Emma placed the contact list in Finn's folder. "Come back during your study period today, and I'll have some information about these schools ready for you."
Finn felt more than heard what was happening around him. He sensed the shift to his right as Coach Beiste rose from her chair and prepared to leave the room. He felt the sun of Miss Pillsbury's smile as her fingers flew across her computer keyboard. All he could hear were Miss Pillsbury's words in his ears. "You might be able to start college in the fall."
"Hudson? You OK? You're gonna be late for class. Let's go."
Finn blinked and quickly rose. "Yeah, Coach. Sorry. Just-" He turned to face her and pulled her into a big hug. "Thanks."
Shannon hugged him back and nodded over his shoulder at Emma. "It's my job, Hudson, but you're welcome."
###
By the time he got home that night, Finn had a raging headache. Dinner didn't help; the appearance of Sue's new campaign ad during the 6 o'clock news made it a somber affair, and Burt had spent most of the meal on the phone with Will planning responses. Finn and Kurt had volunteered to do dishes so that Carole could help Burt, and they'd sped through the kitchen clean-up, eager to get to their respective rooms and away from the tension. Finn grabbed a couple of ibuprofen before he left the kitchen. His hands were still hurting a bit, and since he'd had a headache before the ad had aired, he definitely needed something to soothe the pain.
Once in his room, he undressed and took a shower. The steam and the hot water soothed him, and the walls and the sound of the water muffled the yelling coming upstairs from Burt's study. Everything felt like shit right now. The day had started off well. Why had everything gone wrong?
It began at glee club. Mr. Schue and Ms. Corcoran had gotten official word that New Directions and the Troubletones would be going head to head at Sectionals and thought it would be a good idea to have a mash-off between the teams. They'd called it "healthy competition," but Finn had a bad feeling it would be anything but. When they returned to the choir room, the realization of what it meant to compete against the Troubletones at Sectionals set off a renewed chorus of lamentations over the loss of Mercedes, Santana, and Brittany punctuated by snarky remarks about how they'd come crawling back to New Directions once they'd been beaten. Finn wasn't entirely sure who'd said what, but he was pretty sure that Rachel was speaking and hadn't been lamenting the loss of anything. Once Mr. Schue had gotten their attention and reminded them of this week's assignment, they'd half-heartedly started coming up with ideas until it was time to head home.
Then the real fun began.
He'd walked Rachel to her locker, half-listening as she went on about how ridiculous everyone was to be worried about their chances against the Troubletones. He thought about correcting her, about sharing what he'd seen of their rehearsal with Mr. Schue, but he decided to travel the path of least resistance and say nothing. He listened as she gathered her things and then kissed her goodbye before heading off to football practice.
As he passed Ms. Corcoran's classroom, he heard Santana's voice. "I love you, Britts, and I know that we all made nice during West Side Story, but that's over now and Berry is going down."
There was a sigh, then Mercedes' voice. "Santana, we're better than that. It's not about Rachel, it's about the team. Focus on the music."
He couldn't see it, but he could imagine Santana rolling her eyes at Mercedes' words. "'Retha, I'm officially ending your playtime privileges with Findoleeza Rice. Of course it's about Rachel. She's why you bounced, isn't she?"
Finn was still. I shouldn't be here, he thought. 'Cedes will kill me if she finds out I've been eavesdropping. Of course, there was nothing to listen to now; the room was silent save the sound of someone shoving items into a bag. He wanted to know what she was thinking and feeling about it; they never talked about glee club stuff at all, and Finn knew it hurt her. It had to, because the loss of Mercedes-of all of them-hurt him everyday he walked into the choir room and she wasn't there.
A voice. "You're wrong, Santana. I know it looked like it from the outside, but it was never about Rachel, and you, of all people, should know what I mean."
Finn heard a chair move across the floor and footsteps. Shit. They were coming. He started walking down the hall, wishing it were earlier in the day so there'd be more than four other students in the hallway. In the end it hadn't mattered; they'd gone the opposite direction, which meant they, not him, were headed toward the parking lots-and the locker rooms and football practice. By the time he realized what he'd done, he was really late for practice, and late meant wind sprints and a tongue lashing from Coach Beiste.
Finn shut off the shower tap. Placing his palms against the shower wall to brace himself, he stretched his body, watching as drops of water fell from his wet hair to the bathtub floor.
After he'd dried off and dressed, he half-heartedly attempted to do a history assignment before giving up entirely. He grabbed his phone. Two missed calls. He returned Rachel's call first; they had a brief discussion of mash-up ideas that would highlight her talents, but he found his knowledge of Barbra Streisand and Katy Perry songs wasn't really up to the task of achieving her vision. They said their goodnights and I love yous, and he hung up.
Mercedes was next. She hadn't said what she wanted to talk about, just that he needed to call her before Sam called at 11. He smiled when she answered.
"Hey, Finn."
"Hey, 'Cedes." He sat on the bed, adjusting the pillows against the headboard and leaning back into them. "Crazy day, yeah?"
She was silent for a moment, then, in a very quiet voice. "Yeah, really crazy. I'm sorry, Finn."
He sat up straighter in the bed. "What for, 'Cedes? You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I think-" she halted, and Finn felt a prickling rush of heat as he waited for what she was going to say. "I think we need to stop hanging out for a while." She was silent, then added "Just until after Sectionals."