Title: Down for the Count
Author: bana05
Rating: PG-15
Characters/Pairings: Mercedes Jones/Sam Evans
Spoilers: Up through Glee S5E15
Disclaimer: Glee ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem and Grammys already.
Summary: Mercedes decides her real world needs Sam Evans in it.
Author's notes: "Bash" was a doozy of an episode, tackling a lot of important issues to various degrees of success, but I think this is a discussion they had to have - a missing scene, if you will. Please forgive errors and I hope you enjoy.
Mercedes immediately went upstairs to her bedroom once she and Sam entered the brownstone. She heard him say he'd make two mugs of hot chocolate for them, and she trilled an affirmative reply before walking into her room and shutting the door behind her. Leaning against the wood, she let out a long breath, her stomach feeling queasy with the promise of dreams within her grasp and possibility on the horizon.
The prospect of going downstairs was scarier than going to LA.
Sam had indulged in her postponing this moment, although visiting Kurt at the hospital had always been her plan after leaving the recording studio and Sam had had to delay his trip there after receiving her text to stop by the studio, if he could. That Papa Burt had eyed them knowingly, yet with approval, when they'd crossed the threshold into Kurt's room even though she'd unlinked her arm from Sam once they'd entered the hospital stressed the urgency of this talk they needed to have. They couldn't give people the wrong impressions about them…or confirm right ones without talking first.
Mercedes changed with all deliberate speed, mumbling under her breath the points she wanted to raise with Sam as she slipped into an oversized jersey and yoga pants. She scrubbed her face clean of her makeup and moisturized, then wrapped up her hair. She didn't know how long the talk would take, but she knew she probably wouldn't have any energy to mess with her hair after it one way or the other.
She refused to give into the sly smirk flirting with her lips at that thought.
Sam was already in his corner of the couch when she returned downstairs, two steaming mugs of hot cocoa on the coffee table and whatever was left from their tin of weekly cookies that she baked. He stood when she entered the room and didn't sit again until she was settled, using his pinky to point to a large, purple mug.
"I added that hazelnut creamer that you liked," he told her.
"That's sweet, thank you."
He nodded. "No problem."
They reached for their mugs and took long, equilibrium-setting sips. Mercedes curled her legs onto the couch and hugged the mug to her chest. Sam stared at the tin, his thumb running over the rim of his blue mug and his teeth worrying his bottom lip. Her heart clenched at his obvious nervousness and she clucked her teeth that their situation had gotten to this point.
She set her mug down on the coffee table. "Sam."
He looked at her, his fingers tightening around the ceramic. "Yeah?"
"I don't want you to move out. That was rash of me, and I apologize for even demanding that of you."
He nodded, setting his mug down as well, right next to hers. "That's a relief. Blaine and I hadn't had time to look for a new place considering all that'd happened…"
She began to blink fast and hugged a pillow to her chest. How small did she feel right then? Kurt had dived in head-first to confront hate and bigotry, despite all the danger to himself, and she'd been set to cave underneath similar pressure for what? A few albums being sold? Not to be labeled a sellout by a bunch a people she'd never know? She wished someone would accuse her of being such a thing. She knew her history and took great pride in it, and looked forward to passing that history and pride to her own children one day. What their daddy could potentially look like would never change that fact; and frankly, if there were any black people out there—people period—who weren't about that life, they didn't deserve to hear her music anyway.
But those were the easy concerns, quick to latch onto; the deeper ones clogged her throat and made her breath rattle in her lungs.
Strong, warm fingers wrapped around her hand and she gripped them tightly, closing her eyes. Sam didn't speak, merely drifted his thumb across her knuckles and waited for her. Such a contrast to the verbal diarrhea he'd had during that disastrous dinner. Sometimes he was so damn extra when it wasn't necessary, but his earnestness was one of the things that endeared him to her. Her words still couldn't come, however. There was so much to say, so much to unpack, but she didn't even know where to begin. All she knew was she cared so much about the young man in front of her, as imperfect as he was, but he tried. He tried all the time, strove to make himself better, always attempted to be the best person he could be, even if he crashed and burned horribly on occasion. And Mercedes simply couldn't bear to tell him he'd tanked spectacularly this time.
"Come here, Mercedes."
She immediately shook her head. She didn't deserve his comfort, not right now, not when she was about to confess something she didn't want to voice. But he tugged on the hand he held, and she shifted closer, but not close enough if his frown was any indication.
"It's okay if you still don't want to be with me—"
"I want to be with you so badly it terrifies me," Mercedes interrupted in a rush. "I really just can't believe how deeply you matter to me, Sam, which is why that dinner the other day was so damn hurtful."
She'd stared at the mugs the entire time she'd spoken. Sam let go of her hand, bringing tears to her eyes, but she blinked them away and took a shoring breath.
"I'm sorry," he replied, sounding so much like a kicked puppy.
"But do you know why it was hurtful, though?" she asked, finally looking at him. He was wearing a pout, but not the endearing, exaggerated one so he could get his way. This was his "I done fucked up" one, and he usually went to doomsday scenarios when that one appeared. And this time she couldn't even blame him; she'd ended things before they'd started again and kicked him out in the process, after all.
"Because I embarrassed you and your friends and I was an ass."
"Not just that," Mercedes said, now scooting closer to him and picking up his hand again. She placed her palm against his before threading their fingers together. His hand was large, strongly boned, and solid. He'd never held her or touched her with tentative pressure; he'd always be so sure. Even now, his fingers tightened around hers, giving her strength to continue, and she had to grin slightly at that.
"I hurt for you too," she admitted, pressing their joined hands to her heart and closing her eyes again. "I hurt that you thought you had to try so hard with me and my friends. And that your tries went so damn far off the mark it was not just embarrassing, but insulting. It was like you forgot we were people and just saw the color of our skin first. Sam, seriously, it was like all of my worst nightmares about interracial dating coming true, for the both of us, and I was too stuck to do anything about it, to help you and ease your nerves."
She opened her eyes then to look at him. The pout was gone, replaced by a contemplative frown, and he gently untangled their hands so he could clasp his in his lap. The move left her bereft, but she grabbed the throw pillow she'd held previously and brought it to her chest again.
Sam sighed. "I talked to my dad the other night, because I was upset about…everything…and when I told him what had happened with us, he groaned so long and loudly he sounded like a volcano about to erupt." She laughed and he flashed a charming half-grin, then he continued. "He said I'd been an insensitive ass and that he and Mom had taught me better than that, which they had. He said he couldn't figure how I thought trotting out almost every black stereotype in the book was a good way to make your friends like me or you want to be with me."
Another relieved giggle burst from Mercedes and she shook her head again. "I mean, you know—do you remember what you said to me when we first met, like really met?"
His smile was certain now as he quoted himself. "'Hi, I just want to say I think your voice is incredible and I'm honored to be singing in glee club with you.'"
The words still made her blush, remembering the first time they'd ever spoken to each other after the glee club where she and Santana had sung "River Deep, Mountain High", and she hid her shy smile in the pillow for a moment. "And then you did that head-duck thing you do with that little half-smile, and then you left. Didn't even give me a chance to say thank you."
"Well, I'd used up all my courage to say that," Sam revealed, his own cheeks turning red.
"Courage?"
"I was a little star struck by you, Mercedes Jones," he explained. "Still am."
"But even then, you went to the substance of me, not to anything about my color," Mercedes said. "How would you have felt if I had approached you with something like, 'Do you have a red neck or nah?' or if I met your friends from Tennessee or Kentucky and asked them if they liked to dress up in white sheets on the weekends?"
The wide-eyed horror on his face had her scoffing, and his subsequent groan and face palm made her laugh softly despite herself.
"Oh, God, I really am an ass," he bemoaned.
"During that dinner, yes you were."
"I'm so sorry, Mercedes. I just wanted your friends to like me, so I tried to study up on black things so I wouldn't be lost and wow, that just sounds so offensive now that I said it out loud." He groaned again and dropped his head against the back of the couch repeatedly in self-chastisement.
"No, no, wanting to learn is good," Mercedes insisted scooting closer to him and slipping her hand between his head and the couch. When he dropped his head back once more, he kept it in her hand, turning sad, disappointed eyes to her.
"But seeing color is bad," he tested.
She shook her head, frowning now. "No, it's not bad, at least it's not to me. You wouldn't ignore the fact Kurt and Blaine are gay, would you? So don't ignore color in the same way. But also don't make that the starting point and end point of interaction, either, if that makes sense."
His half-smile returned. "I get it, mostly."
She carded her fingers through his hair. "And it's not like you've never been the only white person in a situation before. You have met my parents, remember."
"But that was different. We were a secret then…ding."
She laughed. "Ding?"
"No pressure when it was a secret; no spotlight. We could just be. So even when we met our parents, we operated as friends, so I was more relaxed, and maybe you were too?"
She nodded.
He turned to face her and cupped her cheek. "But you also didn't think we'd last, did you?"
She shrugged. "Well, we didn't."
"Not because of me, though."
He'd stated it as the fact it was, but Mercedes couldn't help bristling. "Sam—"
"Never once have I ever wanted to end things with you. Ever. Yeah, our timing has sucked and yeah, maybe I do fall quickly and easily; but I've never gotten up from you, Mercedes Jones." He brushed his thumb along the swell her cheek. "I think it's impossible for me to."
She hid her cheesy smile in his palm and he chuckled, shifting closer to her to wrap his other arm around her shoulders. She burrowed into his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"Well, I'm down there with you too," she murmured against his heart.
He placed his cheek on the crown of her head. "So…are you willing to be down there with me for all the world to see?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"Even if that might risk some album sales?"
She cringed. "Ugh, that was awful I said that, wasn't it?"
He squeezed her shoulders. "Yeah, but I knew there was something else, though. You're the same person who dumped your last record deal because they were making you compromise yourself for album sales. That's one of the things I really admire about you, Mercedes, your code of ethics and honor. You wouldn't decide not to be with me if it were just about me being white."
It heartened her to hear him say that. "I'm going to talk to Shaniece and Tesla about that at some point…I don't think they were being fully honest with me, either."
"Will they tell you to break up with me again?"
"Even if they did, it better be for a better reason than for some damn album sales."
He grunted. "Like I'm gonna give 'em one."
She pulled back to give him a stink eye. "Uh, forget about them. Better make sure you don't give me one!"
He laughed a little. "Yeah true." He let his knuckle graze her jaw. "But I guess it's a good thing we're establishing some ground rules, huh, now that I know you're down with me…"
He waggled his eyebrows, and she was so outdone by the adorable awfulness of the pun that she rolled her eyes. Moments later, his lips met hers and she was rolling them again for entirely different reasons.