Hey, thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own It Had To Be You.
North Bend was a town of hearty souls, and they rose early, whether for work or play. Mercedes had always been one of those early risers too, but this morning, she tried to get up and could only groan in misery.
"Yeah. Thought you might be having trouble."
Along with Sam's dry tone came the scent of coffee.
She whimpered in gratitude and cracked open an eye.
"Why is the world spinning?" she asked.
"Because alcohol is a finicky bitch," Sam replied, as he set a cup of coffee on the nightstand. "You going to live?"
Not at all certain, she sat up, clutching the covers to herself, as it all came back.
Last night.
The Scotch.
Falling into the water...
Mercedes took a peek beneath the covers. She was wearing just a thong.
"Oh God, I'm naked."
"Not quite," Sam said. "And not for lack of trying either."
She stared up at him, remembering everything, but completely unable to get a read on his mood.
He was dressed for paddle-boarding, looking like a Greek god.
"You didn't want me," she said.
"Wrong. I just prefer my women conscious."
His board shorts were lifeguard red today, down to his knees and frayed at the hem.
"You were a lifeguard?" she asked.
"Yeah, with Jake and Mike. But only because we got to sit on the beach and look at girls in bikinis all day. It was a no-brainer."
He could still fit into a bathing suit from ten years ago, which was a good reason to hate him. That, and the fact that he didn't appear to be the slightest bit hungover.
Where was the justice in that?
"Who got the most girls?" Mercedes asked.
"Mike. He had his dad's truck and a black Lab pup named Timmy. Both Timmy and the truck were babe magnets."
"Maybe you should have gotten a dog."
He smiled sexily, as if the memories were that good.
"I did okay."
'I just bet,' she thought.
"I have news," he said.
"Uh-oh. Good or bad?"
"I wanted to tell you last night, but you fell asleep on me," he said, without answering her question. "There's nothing on the surveillance tapes."
Mercedes absorbed the hit of it and shook her head.
"I'm not going to get lucky today in bed or out of it, is that what you're saying?" she asked.
At the look of regret on his face, she blew out a breath.
"Forget it. I know...you're leaving and you don't want anyone to get hurt, blah, blah, blah. And anyway, I might be getting arrested today, so it doesn't matter. I hope Artie isn't in L.A."
Not wanting to face him, or the fact that her heart had tightened painfully, she plopped to her back and covered her head.
"Mercedes, we're going to figure this out."
She felt her heart squeeze at the 'we' and she knew he believed that, but she wasn't sure she did.
"Ali."
She closed her eyes. "I'd like to be alone," she said softly. She needed to get used to that.
"Mercedes..."
"Please, Sam..."
And whether it was the threat of tears in her voice or something else, she heard him go.
Then, she rolled over and fell back into a fitful sleep, and this time when she woke up, the sun was a little higher and she felt a little more human.
She was also alone.
She staggered out of bed, and as she got ready for work, there was only one call from a reporter.
'Progress.'
Mercedes drove to the flower shop.
It was locked up and dark, which was odd, since it'd been Kurt's one morning a week to open.
But he was still sitting in his car, sipping from a to-go coffee mug, staring pensively at the shop.
Mercedes slid into his passenger seat, making him jerk in startled surprise and spill his coffee.
"Crap!" he said, looking down at the stain spreading over his trousers.
"Go ahead." She handed him a napkin. "Just tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"That you're closing the shop."
Kurt let out a long breath.
"I'm sorry, Sweetkins. I should have told you, I know. But God, the thought of disappointing you..."
He'd done exactly that, by keeping it from her, but she didn't add to his burden by saying so.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked softly. "Really, really sure?"
He nodded solemnly, but his eyes were lit with excitement.
"I leave in a few days. Blaine is ecstatic, said he can't wait. He needs me."
Mercedes nodded her head.
Kurt needed out of this town.
She understood that. She really did.
But she stared with longing at the building, which was exuding quirky charm and ambiance, despite the dark windows that broke her heart.
She'd give just about anything to be in a position to take over the flower shop.
"Heard there's probably going to be an arrest soon," Kurt said quietly.
"Yeah."
"Want to talk about it?"
There was something in his voice, and Mercedes turned her head to his, a funny feeling in her stomach.
"I didn't do it," she said.
"Of course not, Kitten."
She swallowed the hurt, because that's what she did.
When she fell down, she picked herself up, without waiting for a helping hand. And though she now had the new panic of being unemployed, burning a hole in her esophagus, she eyed the notebook on the dash.
The. Notebook.
Kurt was a complete technophobe.
He had his entire client base in that notebook, not to mention, his bookkeeping records, handwritten in purple ink in his bold scrawl.
And it was all right there...
"Kurt, I have a question," Mercedes said.
He tensed a little.
"Okay."
He looked worried, like maybe she was going to ask him to help her hide the damn money. And she bit back the frustration and the urge to spill his coffee again.
"What if I wanted to buy the flower shop?" she asked.
"I don't own the actual store, you know that. I lease the spot. And I got out of the lease last night. I talked to the owner...Mr. Nelson...he was hard-ass about it, but…"
Mercedes stared at him.
"Mr. Nelson owns the building? My Mr. Nelson, from the senior center?"
"Honey, he owns half this street. He's also Andrea's great uncle. You didn't know?"
"No."
Mercedes' mind started racing.
"And I didn't mean I wanted to buy the physical space..." she started. But, if she could, she'd love to lease it. "...I meant your book."
Kurt sucked in a breath and put a hand to his chest as if Mercedes had shot him.
"My book?" he asked.
"Well, that and the rest of your records. The business. If I took it over…"
"Sweetkins, the shop is done. There's just no money in it."
Mercedes didn't want to hurt his feelings, so she picked her words carefully.
"I think I could make a go of it."
Kurt studied her for a long moment, then smiled.
"You know what? I think you're right."
"So how much?"
"I'll have to think about it. I need start-up money for the new salon Blaine and I want to run in Vegas."
Mercedes tried not to think too much on her way home. But it really started to hit her. She was thoroughly unemployed.
"But you haven't been arrested," she told herself in the rearview mirror.
Her reflection didn't smile.
It wasn't funny.
In fact, panic gnawed at her gut, but it was beaten back by the sight of a man in Sam's driveway.
He was aiming his phone at her as she parked, clearly trying to take a picture.
"Hey!" she yelled at him. "Stop that!"
But he didn't stop. He clicked a series of shots.
"I'm looking for Sam Evans," he said, as he kept snapping pictures. "I'd like to get him as well."
"You're trespassing," Mercedes told him, fresh out of patience, calm, or anything nice. "Go away!"
He didn't, so she put the truck in neutral and revved her engine, intending to intimidate. But her engine coughed like a weenie, and her gas gauge jerked towards empty.
'Dammit!'
Understanding the phrase 'going postal' she put the truck into gear, and this time the guy lowered his phone and took off running.
Satisfied, Mercedes put the truck into park, but before she could open her door, Sam was right there, offering her a hand, his mouth curved into a barely there smile.
"Nice job, Tex."
"He was looking for you," she said. "He wanted a picture. Not going to happen on my watch."
He cocked his head, his gaze running over her features, which she carefully schooled into a blank expression.
"Yeah, I'm getting that," he said slowly. "You okay?"
"One hundred percent."
"Were you really going to run him over?"
"I was going to flatten him like a pancake."
Sam nodded.
"You're fierce as hell, you know that? Remind me to never get on your bad side."
"Well, that's not a real worry, since you're leaving. Right?"
He looked at her for another long beat.
"Mercedes..."
"Nope." She shook her head and started inside the house. "Sorry, I've gotta..."
He caught her hand and pulled her back around.
"Look," she said, "You're the lone wolf. I get it. And also, I'm sorry if I hit on you last night." She grimaced. "And all the time. I know how awkward it must be, to have to constantly fight me off."
His sharp, green eyes never wavered from her face.
"That's not what I was going to say."
"No?" she asked.
"No. And I'm not fighting you off. What I'm fighting off, is the urge to toss you down to the grass right here and show you who wants who."
Right away, her girlie parts perked right up.
'Stupid girlie parts,' she thought.
Tightening his grip on her, Sam reeled her in.
"Now, tell me what's wrong."
Mercedes let out a shaky breath.
"Kurt closed the shop. I'm unemployed."
"Aw, hell!"
He gathered her against him, and she resisted for about two seconds, then caved like a cheap suitcase, because there was nothing better than a Sam Evans full-body hug.
"I'm sorry," he said, kissing her forehead.
Unable to respond, she closed her eyes, and just breathed him in.
As big a blow as the closing of the shop was, not to mention Kurt's moving away, having Sam exit her life, was going to be the biggest loss of all.
Sam walked Mercedes inside, wishing like hell he knew how to make this better for her.
He'd always been careful to go into any given situation knowing the rules...in his job, his dating life, everything.
But from the moment Mercedes had come into his life, he hadn't understood a damn thing.
Feeling helpless, he stood there in the center of the kitchen.
"You hungry?" he asked.
She gave him a small smile.
"You don't cook."
"No, but I'm an expert at take-out..."
A horn honked out front, at the same time that his phone rang.
He pulled it from his pocket and saw that it was Jake.
"Get your ass out here," Jake said. "Your grandpa's on his way to the ER. Chest pains. I'll drive."
Sam looked around for his keys but gave up. Then, he grabbed Mercedes' hand and pulled her with him out the front door.
"Come on."
"What's wrong?" she asked.
He was moving fast, forcing her to run to keep up.
"It's Grandpa..."
They both stopped short, at the sight of the Dial-A-Ride white van in the driveway, with the side door open.
Then Jake rolled down the window and waved for them to hurry.
"What the..." Sam said, as he stared at the other passengers. There were Mr. Nelson, Mr. Lester, and Mr. Sheldon.
"Everyone wanted to go," Jake said. "You coming today or tomorrow?"
Sam shook his head and gestured Mercedes in. He'd barely snapped his seatbelt on, when Jake hit the gas.
"How bad?" he asked.
"He was conscious and responsive when he was loaded at the senior center," Jake said.
"He'd just driven us back from bingo," Mr. Nelson said. "We were talking about the new rec center, and the ground-breaking ceremony tomorrow, and how nice it was to build new things. He was talking about Francine, and his son...your dad, of course...and also you kids. You and Stacie. He said something about, how old things need to be respected too. Old things like family ties. And then he clutched at his damn heart..."
Mr. Nelson's voice broke.
Tightening his lips, he turned his head and stared resolutely out the window.
Sam glanced at Mercedes, who stared back at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, as she reached out and clasped his hand.
He stared down at their entangled fingers and thought,
'If that old fart dies before I get there, I'll kill him.'
"I've got to call Stacie," he said.
"Done," Jake said.
"You called her first?" Sam asked.
"I like her better." Jake met Sam's eyes in the rearview mirror. "And I came for you in person. That has to count for something."
"You called her first," Sam repeated in disbelief.
Jake blew out a sigh.
"Okay, yeah. I called her first. A couple of years ago, she made me promise that if anything ever happened to him, I'd call her immediately."
"Before me."
"You didn't make me promise," he pointed out. "And anyway, everyone knows chicks are better at this shit, man. She's getting on a flight. We need her here. You need her."
They made it to the ER and sat in the waiting room, waiting on news.
Several hours later, Stacie ran in.
Tall, athletically lean, with her green eyes filled with worry, she walked right into Sam's arms.
"Nothing yet," he told her. "We're waiting on tests. They haven't let us see him."
Stacie nodded and sniffed, wiping her nose on his shirt.
He let that one go and introduced her to Mercedes.
"Sorry," Stacie said, swiping beneath her eyes. "I see Sam, and I always cry. It's a silly reaction, but I just always know, that when he's in charge, it's all going to be okay, you know?"
"It is going to be okay," Sam said.
Stacie gave Mercedes a soggy smile.
"See?"
A few minutes later, the doctor came out.
"Intestinal distress," he said.
They all just stared at him.
"I'm sorry," Sam said. "What?"
"He didn't have a heart attack," the doc said. "He ate two pastrami on rye sandwiches, three large dill pickles, and an entire bag of spicy Cheetos. He had indigestion."
Stacie grinned broadly.
"Sounds like grandpa."
The doctor shook his head.
"He has dangerously high cholesterol though, so we're setting him up with a dietician. But otherwise, he's as healthy as an ox."
Sam was the first to go in to see his grand father.
Mr. Winters was propped up on his hospital bed, eating Jell-O.
"You've got to be kidding me," Sam said.
His grandpa frowned.
"Don't take that tone with me. I could have died today."
"You had gas."
Mr. Winters pointed the spoon at him.
"But you didn't know that. Were you worried?"
"No."
Mr Winters gave him a small, knowing smile.
"Liar!"
And since Sam's legs were suddenly wobbling from relief, he sank to the side of his grandpa's bed and scrubbed his hands over his face.
"You scared the shit out of me," he said.
"Why, because you nearly let me die without fulfilling your promise to Stacie?"
Sam dropped his hands from his face.
"What promise?"
"To give me a hug."
"You want a hug?" Sam asked in disbelief.
"Are you deaf, boy?"
Sam stared at his grandpa.
"If I hug you, do you promise not to die on me?" he asked.
Mr. Winters' smirk faded, and he set the Jell-O down.
"I promise not to die today. How's that?"
"Good enough," Sam said, and hugged him tight.
Progress between Sam and his grandfather. I like it!
Stay safe friends!