Thank you for continuing into the new year with me. I appreciate it.

I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own It Had to be You.

Please excuse any extreme mistakes. I'm severely distracted.

That night, Stacie stayed in town at Sam's house, and Mercedes made omelets, while watching brother and sister, fascinated by their relationship.

Stacie was currently at the table, flipping through one of their grandmother's old photo albums.

"Jeez," she said to Sam, "Here's one of you, up in a pine tree on the bluffs. What were you, Sam, ten? Grandma had just told you not to climb any, remember? So of course, Mike dared you, and you climbed a damn tree. You got up about forty feet and then froze. We had to call the fire department, remember? And Jake's dad had to come with his ladder truck and save you. You were such an idiot."

"Thanks," Sam said.

He'd been quiet, very quiet, and Mercedes knew that the worry about his grandfather had left him exhausted.

"Here's another one," Stacie said, pointing to the next page. "You tried to wind-glide from the roof, straight into the water, you freakazoid. Look, remember that? You broke an arm and a leg. You're lucky you didn't crack your skull." She paused. "Probably because, your head is too thick to break."

Sam gave a small, distracted shake of his 'thick' head, but didn't say anything.

Stacie turned to him and gave him a worried glance, before flipping through the pages some more, and it was at that moment, Mercedes realized, she wasn't trying to bait him for the hell of it, she was trying to coax him out of his mood.

Her heart melted for both of them, as she brought over two plates with omelets.

Gently, she stroked a hand over Sam's shoulders and felt the tight knot of taut muscles. So she stopped to rub his neck.

With a grateful sigh and his eyes closed, he dropped his head forward to give her room to work, and remained silent.

Stacie stood up and said,

"Be right back."

Two minutes later, she came back in with two stacks of files...one large, one small...and plopped them down onto the table.

"What's this?" Sam asked.

"I didn't want to tell you, but I stopped in to see Clark."

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"You stopped in to see my commander?"

"No, I stopped in to see my ex-boyfriend," she said. "I knew him first, if you'll remember, and he wasn't your commander back then. Anyway, I borrowed these from him."

She pointed to the first stack of files, which was a foot thicker than the other stack.

"Know what those are?" she asked.

"Your criminal records?"

"Funny. Ha-ha!" she said. "They're the cases you've closed...the cases you've solved. The cases filled with scores and scores of people, whose lives you've changed for the better."

She pointed to the much, much smaller stack.

"Those, you can pout about. Those are your supposed failures. Without that stack, without you being good at your job, this stack..." She tapped the big one, "...these people's lives would be destroyed. So take a good, hard look, Sammy, and tell me that you don't always do your absolute best. That you didn't give each and every one of your cases, a little piece of your heart and soul."

She paused, and when she spoke further, her voice was softer and very, very gentle.

"You didn't fail grandma, Sam. You've certainly never failed me. And you didn't kill Carolina Diaz. Say it. Say that you know you're a good man, the best man I know. That there's still enough heart and soul left inside you to go on. Because, if you've given up, Sammy, I don't know what I'll do. I'll..."

Her voice broke then.

Looking pained, Sam reached for her and she curled into him.

"Tell me, Sammy."

"I'm okay," he said gruffly.

Stacie lifted her head and searched his gaze.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay." She nodded and sniffed. Then she stood up and gathered the files quickly, but Sam caught her before she could run off.

"The files," he said. "They're not from Clark. He would've never given them to you."

"Of course not," she said.

He shook his head.

"What did you fill them with?"

She bit her lower lip.

"An empty ream of paper from your printer."

"You're a nut," he said and she gave him a winning smile.

And then they ate omelets.

The next day at the ground-breaking ceremony, Sam watched the crowd, wondering if the thief was also watching.

Just about everyone in the town was at the building site, and the early afternoon sun beat down on the empty lot and the masses, who were held back by a wide, yellow ribbon.

Mercedes was next to him, and they were off to one side, trying to lie low.

On the other side of the ribbon, up on a makeshift platform of plywood, stood Mayor Manny Reyes and his wife Bethany.

They were both holding shovels and smiling into the cameras.

Near them, were Brody Wesson and a handful of town council members, and Mrs. Reyes was telling one of them, about a show she'd recently seen.

Suddenly, Mercedes tensed.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

And she sneezed.

"That show," she whispered. "The one Bethany is talking about? I found two ticket stubs to it in the key pot, the night Brody moved out."

She sneezed again.

"Sorry, it's her perfume. It gets me every..." Another sneeze. "...time."

Sam squeezed Mercedes in close, pressing her face to his chest. And she breathed in deeply, then let out a soft, little "mmm," which shouldn't have done anything to him, but it completely did.

She was always trying to inhale him, as if the scent of him was the best thing she'd ever smelled.

And he felt the same about her.

"You okay?" he asked.

Mercedes set her head on his shoulder.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," she said.

"I'm fine."

She'd been incredibly gentle with him since yesterday, when they'd rushed to the hospital for his grandfather. So quiet and warm…a solid presence in his life.

And now, the clock was ticking down.

He knew he'd been quiet and withdrawn.

He also knew, she thought it was because of his grandfather.

And it was.

Some of it.

The rest was, because, he was trying to wrap his brain around the fact that he was leaving…and he didn't want to.

Sam scanned the crowd and then eyed the platform again, watching Brody wave at the crowd, charming everyone in his path.

Then, the mayor and his wife moved across the stage, both of them soaking up the crowd's attention.

And suddenly, his eyes locked in on a most interesting thing.

Unable to believe it, he turned to Mercedes, who tore her gaze off Bethany Reyes and met his, her own wide.

She'd seen it too.

Bethany was beautiful and always very carefully made-up, complete with designer clothes and torture devices on her feet, masquerading as high-heeled sandals.

Her toes were easily visible, as was the very clear tan line across her second right one.

She'd worn a ring there, recently, and long enough for it to leave a definite impression.

"Oh my God," Mercedes whispered. "It's her!"

"It's as circumstantial as the bill band being in your possession," Sam warned her.

But she was smiling.

"Yes, but…"

He smiled back.

"Yeah. But."

It was good. Really good.

Bethany was blonde and she would've had access to the back door the night of the auction. Also, she would've parked in the back, in employee parking, and not gone out the front door. And the coup de grace...she had clearly been wearing a toe ring...and wasn't now.

Sam and Mercedes escaped through the crowd and went back to the house. And straightaway, he went to his computer and started his magic search programs.

Mercedes leaned over his shoulder, her hand resting on his bicep, and it took everything within him, to fight the urge to flex like a caveman, toss her over his shoulder and drag her to his bedroom.

Instead, he typed in Bethany Reyes and stared at the screen.

"Well, hello."

"What?" Mercedes asked.

"She filed divorce papers two months ago."

"Divorce?"

"Yeah, and then…" He scrolled down. "She withdrew it. She withdrew the papers on…" He let out a slow whistle, just as Mercedes leaned in closer, and a strand of her hair caught on his jaw.

'Mmm...smell so great,' he thought.

"Wow," Mercedes said. "She withdrew the divorce papers, two days after the money went missing."

Turning her head, she stared at Sam.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Something made her want to leave the mayor," he said, "And then, something changed her mind. Maybe she thought she'd found someone better."

"Better than the mayor?" Mercedes asked.

"Manny Reyes a is good guy," Sam said, "But look at Bethany. She keeps herself up. She's forty-five and looks twenty-five. Manny's a balding, paunchy, fifty-year-old, who works twenty-four seven."

Sam met Mercedes' gaze and said,

"Maybe Bethany got lonely or bored. And then maybe, she also got distracted by a younger man...and took a walk on the wild side...someone who gave her something, her husband's money couldn't...the feeling of being young and alive."

'Like you do for me,' Mercedes thought and then said,

"You're thinking she was also fooled by Brody."

"You said Andrea thought she was Wesson's one and only," he said. "But what if Bethany thought so too? What if she thought it was the real deal? So she files for divorce, and then she discovers Wesson is screwing other women and gets ticked."

"And then tries to frame him for taking the money."

"It's a lot of maybes," Sam warned. "And I'm just thinking out loud here, but I bet I'm in the ballpark."

Mercedes was looking revved up and ready to kick some ass.

Loving that fight in her, Sam tugged her into his lap and nuzzled the sweet spot on her neck, the one that made her purr like a kitten.

"Mmm," she said in a soft, sexy moan, tilting her head to give him better access. Which he took, sucking on the soft skin just beneath her ear, before working his way south.

He loved the southlands.

Breathing heavily, she slid her fingers into his hair and arched into him.

"We weren't going to do this again..." she said, trailing off.

"I know."

Damn, he really did know. It'd been his idea. Stupidest idea he'd ever had.

"Mercedes..."

She squirmed off his lap, and he felt the disappointment in every inch of his body. Some inches more than others.

But then, she dropped to her knees between his sprawled legs and sent a slow smile up at him, stopping his heart.

"Sometimes," she murmured, opening his jeans and reaching inside, "Rules are made to be broken."

Much later, Mercedes lay on the kitchen table, a little sweaty and a whole lot delirious from pleasure.

It took her five full minutes to catch her breath and roll onto her side to eyeball Sam.

He was flat on his back on the table, too, eyes closed, his jeans still opened, and indecently low on his hips, sprawled out like a decadent dessert, the kind that was totally fattening, but was so good, that you couldn't regret the calories.

She ran a finger down the center of his chest to his abs, which contracted at her touch.

With his eyes still closed, he groaned.

"Okay, but you've got to feed me first. I'm a growing boy."

Mercedes stared at his erection.

"I can see that..." she playfully said.

Snorting, he moved unexpectedly, and as quick as lightning, he rolled onto her, pinning her to the table.

She pushed at his chest.

"Hold on a second," she said.

Pushing up to his elbow, Sam took his weight off of her and gave her a 'what's up?' gaze, from heavy-lidded eyes...his bedroom eyes.

"I've been thinking," she said. "I bet Bethany Reyes hid the money at Brody's place."

"You've been thinking? When? When could you have been thinking?" Sam asked.

"Earlier. But it makes sense, don't you think?" she pressed. "If her goal was to frame him, she'd want to..."

"Earlier? You mean earlier...when I was buried so deep inside you, that I could feel your tonsils as you screamed my name and..."

Mercedes covered his mouth and laughed.

"I did not scream. Exactly. And what? Is my mind supposed to turn off?"

Looking a little bit out of sorts, Sam rolled off of her, and it made her laugh again.

"Sorry," she said, "Women's brains are different."

"No shit!"

Both sat up, and she began pulling her clothes back on.

"At this point, all we have is circumstantial. I heard that tomorrow, Brody and some of the town council members, are going off for a team-bonding fishing overnighter. I'm going to wait until after I get back from my mom's birthday party and then go check out his place for the money."

"No," Sam said. "Hell, no! It's too dangerous. If you find the money there, everyone's going to think you planted it."

Mercedes warmed at his concern, but reminded herself not to get used to it.

He hadn't said word one about seeing her after he left, and hell if she'd beg for crumbs.

"I have nothing to lose. Everyone already thinks I stole the money. And I'll be careful, trust me." She shoved her feet into her sandals.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I want to talk to Andrea."

"Wait for me."

Sam pulled up his jeans and looked around, probably for his keys, which seemed to elude him daily, even though they were right there on the counter, in the new key bowl Mercedes had made.

"Can't wait," she said. "I'm on a tight schedule to stay out of jail."

He choked out a laugh.

"You weren't on a tight schedule a few minutes ago."

"Well that was different. I got distracted by an orgasm."

He let out a very male smile of satisfaction.

"Three orgasms. Pretty good for someone who was thinking." Leaning in, he kissed her. "You want to do this alone."

Indeed she did. She needed to get used to alone.

She met his gaze, wondering if he was going to even discuss it...his leaving...and what might happen between them after he did.

But he said nothing.

"Yes," Mercedes said, "I need to do this...alone."

"You don't have to," Sam reminded her.

"You're leaving, remember?"

His jaw tightened.

"I'm not likely to forget."

She let out a breath.

'Stay strong,' she internalized.

"Andrea will most likely to talk to me if I'm by myself."

Looking like he got it, but didn't necessarily like it, Sam nodded.

"Call Artie and tell him about Bethany. I'll call Sheriff Luke," he said.

"I will," she said, "Since jail doesn't work in my plans very well. It's hard to be a self-sufficient, well-rounded, contributing member of society from behind bars. Plus, I don't think I could learn how to paddleboard there either."

She was doing her best to sound positive and upbeat.

This was the trick to denial...sound positive and upbeat and maybe you'll buy it.

"Paddleboard?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. I've been watching you, and I've decided it's on my bucket list."

"A bucket list is for someone who's dying."

"Well," Mercedes said as lightly as she could, turning away from him, on the pretense of checking her reflection in the small mirror above the foyer table. "I don't see myself living through a prison sentence," she quipped.

Two hands gripped her by the shoulders and turned her back around.

Sam stared into her eyes, and she could tell by the grim set of his jaw, that he could see her fears.

"You're not going to jail," he ground out.

Mercedes nodded, but she must not have looked convinced, because he dipped down a little to look into her eyes, his own fierce.

"You're not."

Just then, someone knocked on the kitchen door, and she jumped.

She turned and peeked out the window over the sink and saw the broad-shouldered Jake standing there.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "If he'd shown up five minutes ago, he would've heard us!"

"Us?" Sam inquired, amused, giving her a look, that had her face heating like a furnace.

'Right. I was the noisy one,' she thought. But she couldn't help it, not with him.

At her embarrassment, Sam's eyes softened, filling with affection.

"I love the noises you make," he said huskily. "They're sexy as hell."

He pulled open the door.

"Hey," Jake said, "I'm not interrupting, am I?" And before they could answer, he pushed his way in. "I need to borrow a paddleboard."

"It's in the shed, not the house," Sam said.

"I need a wetsuit too."

"It's June," Sam said. "Only pussies need wetsuits in June."

"I've got a date later. Can't risk shrinkage."

Sam started to shove him out, but Jake planted his feet.

"I'm not going anywhere, until you give me your wetsuit. I can stand here all day. You know I can."

Sam muttered an oath and turned to the door himself.

"There's one in the garage somewhere. Hold on."

When he was gone, Jake turned to Mercedes and flashed her a smile.

"You can feel the love between me and him, right?"

She laughed.

He was absurdly handsome and even more absurdly charming.

"I can absolutely feel it."

"Sam is the son of two doctors," he said, "So it's probably not his fault that he's such an ass. Or that he thinks he's always right."

"Is he? Always right?"

"Yeah, but don't tell him that. It'll go straight to his head. He's got that classic hero complex thing going. It's why shit hits him so hard. He likes to blame himself."

"Thanks, Dr. Phil," Sam said dryly, coming back into the room, and tossing a wetsuit at him. "You can leave now."

"Sure. Oh," Jake said, turning back, "I'm supposed to tell you, Jonah Sheldon wants you to figure out, who's stealing the reclaimed lumber he has stacked on the side of his house. It's worth a fortune. He suspects it's his ex-wife's boyfriend's son, who's a carpenter, if that helps."

"If he knows who it is..." Sam started.

"The guy carries his nail gun on his hip like he's Dirty Harry," Jake said. "They need you and your badass attitude. And real gun."

Sam stared at him.

"So I'm what, the new geriatric private detective of this town?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who found Mr. Sawyer's GTO," Jake said. "On shift last night, I had to rescue Mrs. Morris' cat out of a tree, and she was telling her entire bridge club about you. Apparently, they all have various problems, that they need the local investigator stud muffin to solve...their words, by the way. Not that you're not a total stud muffin...you're just not my type."

Mercedes laughed.

And Sam manhandled Jake out the front door and then turned to her.

At his expression, her heart squeezed.

She'd watched him pretend not to care about anything, even as the opposite was true.

He'd helped his sister get on her feet and stay there. In his job, he did whatever was needed. He'd fixed up the house he'd neglected.

And then there was her.

He'd given her a place to stay, a friendship…and more.

They'd grown up so differently.

His parents had expected a lot out of him, looking to him to pretty much raise himself and his sister too. And as a result, he stood up for himself and others too weak to do so.

And she admired that, so much.

"About earlier..." Sam said.

Mercedes took in his expression.

"It's okay, San," she said softly. "You don't have to give me the speech."

"The speech?"

"The one where you rationalize how we got naked again, and how it's the last time, yadda, yadda."

A ghost of a smile curved his lips.

"I thought it was blah, blah, blah."

"Look, you're right to hold back with me," she said. "Historically, I've made some bad decisions, and..."

He snagged her and hauled her in close.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he said with quiet steel. "Not one thing. You're perfect."

"Well..."

"Say it," he said.

She softened and cupped his face.

"Sam, I..."

"Say it, Mercedes. Say you're fucking perfect."

She stared up at the fierce look of protectiveness in his features and felt her heart clench.

She needed to lighten this mood of his...and fast, or she wasn't going to be responsible for jumping him.

"I'm fucking perfect," she said.

It worked.

He flashed her a smile and said,

"I really like it when you say f-word."

Stay safe friends!