Standard Disclaimer: None of this story originally Wild Night by Mari Carr or Glee situations and characters belong to me. Whew I have been holding off on editing this chapter, and I admit I forgot how the story ended, so uploading it and making it fit the Glee world was a pleasure for me because it was like reading the story for the very first time. I didn't even know what the ending of this chapter would be, but I left it as the original author did because it was fitting. One more chapter to go...It may be uploaded tonight or early tomorrow. Thanks again for all your kind words and continual support. I am about to enjoy my holiday.

Chapter Ten

"Well, look what the cat dragged in. Haven't seen you since Thanksgiving, my boy. Come have a pint with me."

Sam grinned as Pop Pop waved him over. He'd been in court all day and he was running on fumes. He had actually just planned to swing by to pick up some more clothes, then head over to Mercedes's.

But a pint with his grandfather was something he was never too busy to say no to.

His dad came out of the back and smiled when he saw him. "Hey, stranger. Where the hell have you been?"

Sam sank down on the stool next to Pop Pop. "Long day in court."

"That accounts for today, but you've been scarce since that Friendsgiving party you all throw every year. What's going on with you?" Dad asked.

Obviously, Steven hadn't filled Dad and Pop Pop in on Mercedes. He'd have to remember to thank his twin. Mercedes was right. It was fun to drop the bomb.

"Well…" he drawled, dragging out the word. It had the desired effect.

Pop Pop loved secrets, and he winked. "Oh yeah. Our boy's been up to something."

Sam grinned wickedly. "You think so?"

Of course, Pop Pop, the astute man, had been around the night of karaoke. The night the light went on, so Sam suspected his grandfather already had a guess about what was coming.

"Confession is good for the soul, Sam. Let's have it."

"You think I have something to confess?" he teased.

"Jesus. We don't have all day. The happy hour crowd is going to descend soon, Son. While I know the lawyer in you likes to plead the fifth—" Dad joked.

Sam grinned. "Neither confirm nor deny, Dad."

"Yeah. You made my life a living hell with that motto when you were a teenager. But I think you'll feel better if you just come out with it. Who is she?"

Sam laughed. "Mercedes."

"Mercedes who?" Dad asked, proving to Sam just how unlikely his feelings for the girl he'd known since he was five were.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Mercedes," he stressed.

"Steven's Mercedes?" It made sense that Dad considered Mercedes Steven's. The two of them had always been thick as thieves, while he and Mercedes had solely existed in a barely tolerant of each other realm for most of their lives. Even so…he was getting tired of hearing her referred to as his brother's.

"Yeah."

Dad rubbed his chin, not bothering to conceal his surprise. "Huh. Well how 'bout that? I got to admit that I didn't see that one coming."

Pop Pop clapped his hands together. "I can't tell you how happy this makes me, my boy. If I was thirty years younger, I would give you some competition. That girl is the cat's pajamas."

Sam took a sip of the beer his father had just set down in front of him. "Yeah. She is amazing." Then he looked at his dad. "And it took me by surprise too."

"When did this start up?" Dad asked.

"Halloween."

"Ahhhh." His father nodded. "And now I understand your gratefulness for blackouts. I'll have to tell your mom. She's been curious about it since Thanksgiving."

"Yeah. It's been a pretty awesome November. It's just…" Sam was happier than he'd been in a very long time, but even so, he was aware of the ax poised just over his head.

He needed advice, and he figured these two men were the perfect ones to give it to him. They'd both fought for and won the hearts of their true loves.

"You and Mom were friends before you fell in love, right?" Sam asked his dad.

Dad nodded. "Yeah. She was married to that abusive asshole, Cooter, when she first started coming to the pub every Wednesday. We talked about everything under the sun. Then she got divorced and we fell in love, got married."

"You're forgetting she left for a year, Dwight," Pop Pop added.

"I like to purposely forget that part, Pop. Killed me when she was gone. But I understand why she did it. She needed time to figure out how to stand on her own two feet."

"So you were in love with her before she left," Sam clarified.

"I'm Evans through and through, Sam. Which means I fell fast and hard and forever…way before she left. But you know all this. Why the questions?"

Pop Pop stared him down. "For a man who considers love a curse, your interest seems odd. Unless…"

"Unless?"

Pop Pop didn't push. Instead, he said, "I think it's time for you to explain the it's just part of your previous comment. What's going on, lad?"

"Mercedes has set something in motion as far as her future is concerned. Something she planned to do alone. Which means the timing of starting a relationship is…not great."

Dad frowned. "That's vague as hell."

"Her clock is ticking," Sam said. "She's sworn off the dating scene and made the decision to become a mother. On her own."

"I see," Dad said. "I have to admit that doesn't surprise me. Mercedes's never had much luck in love, though I can't figure out what's wrong with the single men in this city. She's definitely a catch."

"She doesn't suffer fools gladly," Sam said.

Dad chuckled. "That's true. She doesn't. She also doesn't make rash decisions, so if she's decided she can handle being a mother on her own, she can."

"Tell us the rest of it, my boy."

Pop Pop really didn't need Sam to say the words. He already knew what he was going to say. But the old guy was canny, which meant he also knew Sam needed to come clean about everything.

"I'm in love with her."

Dad blew out a long breath. "Oh hell. I was starting to worry we'd never see the day. You've changed girlfriends more than most people change underwear."

"Very funny," Sam replied, eyes narrowed, though there was no heat behind the phrase. "I think she's the one."

Pop Pop studied his face. "You don't think, Sam. You know."

"Yeah. I do know. But like I said, the timing on this…is tricky."

"This isn't a new relationship, Sam. I venture to guess you know Mercedes better than any woman you've ever dated," Dad said.

"I already know all the stuff about her that's going to drive me crazy, and she knows the same about me."

Dad laughed. "Well, that's one way to look at it."

"So you're right. This isn't the beginning, but…Mercedes doesn't consider this a beginning to anything. She thinks we're just—" Sam stopped when he remembered who he was talking to.

Pop Pop winked at him. "Your father and I have been around long enough to fill in the rest of that statement. So am I to understand you haven't spoken to her about wanting a commitment? A relationship?"

Sam shrugged. "It's only been a couple of weeks, and given the fact she's just sworn off men…that she's seriously pursuing this single motherhood thing…"

"Let's break it into pieces. She wants children, Sam," Pop Pop said. "That desire isn't going to go away. Having kids is a huge step, one that Mercedes is obviously ready to take. What about you?"

"I want kids." As soon as Sam said it, he realized he probably wanted them every bit as much as Mercedes. "I've always wanted kids."

"You'll be a great father, my boy," Pop Pop said, gripping his shoulder. "At heart, you're as peaceful and gentle as Steven is. Wonderful attributes for a man with children."

"Steven and I are nothing alike Pop Pop. I am not a fucking wuss."

Pop Pop winked, even as he jokingly said, "Language. There is no weakness in being gentle or the gentleman you are. I know your father and I have taught you that it actually takes more strength to be gentle than to be a roughneck."

Sam smiled appreciatively at his grandfather, touched by his genuine belief in him. "If I could be half the father you and Dad were, I'd be happy. Not sure how either one of you did it."

Pop Pop had lost Grandma Sunday when all of his kids were still living at home, Aunt Holly—the oldest, only eighteen at the time—all the way down to Uncle Sean, who'd still been in elementary school. Somehow he'd managed to run the pub and raise their seven kids on his own.

Pop Pop chuckled. "Well, I'm not going to say it was all sunshine and roses. The good Lord knows Riley and Sean tested me at times."

Sam glanced at his dad, grinning. "And I know Steven was such a handful."

Dad laughed. "Yeah. Steven. Let's go with that delusion. So, you've been dating Mercedes for a couple of weeks. That's early in any relationship to be thinking about kids."

"I know, but…" Sam didn't want to say what he was really thinking because he figured he'd sound like an idiot. Two weeks was too early.

"But it hasn't been two weeks," Pop Pop finished for him. "Not really."

"Seem to recall having a similar conversation like this with Steven," Dad added. "The day after he met De'Wanda."

Sam took a swig of beer, hoping it would dislodge the lump in his throat. "He was ready to marry her that day."

"He was. And he and De'Wanda had only known each other hours. Pop and I told him to slow his roll, to take some time to get to know her. I'm not sure…"

"Not sure?" Sam prodded.

His dad shrugged. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty. I probably would say the same thing to him today, but the fact remains, Steven was right. He knew she was meant to be his."

"Mercedes and I have known each other a long time. A lifetime."

"The heart knows what the heart wants, Sam. My heart beated for Mary from the first second she sat down at the end of this bar and we started talking. And my feelings for her continued to grow. They're still growing. Every day I look at her and can't believe she's mine. That she can still spend year after year with this grumpy, opinionated, getting-bigger-around-the-middle old man."

"You finally realized you and Mercedes are both walking in the same direction. That you have the same hopes and desires." Pop Pop had described his relationship with Grandma Sunday that way once. Said that love had snuck up on him, one look, one word, and then…

"Click," Sam whispered, recalling that conversation so many years ago.

Pop Pop smiled widely. "Just like Romeo and Juliet. But with a much better ending."

"So I'm not crazy?" Sam asked.

"No, my boy." Pop Pop squeezed his shoulder. "You're just in love. And it's about damn time."

Sam laughed. "Language, Pop Pop.

Eight Weeks After the Blackout

Mercedes sat on her couch, staring at the TV like a zombie. The shitty thing wasn't even on, but she didn't have the energy to lean forward to pick up the remote. Molly was curled next to her, yipping away, happy to have her home from work.

Kindergartners in the month of December, hopped up on Santa Claus and candy canes, were a blight on the planet. There were only two more school days until holiday break and she was not going to make it.

Her phone pinged, and she groaned. It was on the coffee table next to the remote. She considered ignoring it, until it pinged again.

She forced herself forward, reaching for the phone and the remote at the same time. Work smarter, not harder. Then she fell back against the couch once more.

She glanced at the screen and smiled. Then she caught herself.

She was smiling at a text from Sam Evans. Stevie would tease her endlessly after her years of bitching about Sam if he could see her now.

Did you eat yet?

Sam didn't even bother to wait for a reply before texting again.

On my way. Stopping for takeout.

He was bringing food.

Right to her house.

There were a lot of past sins she could forgive him for, simply for feeding her. The Barbie doll haircut incident in kindergarten; the Musty Mercy nickname; telling the entire third grade class she had cooties when she didn't; stealing her clothes one night senior year when she was skinny-dipping in a friend's pool, so she'd had to drive home wrapped in just a towel.

Maybe she didn't forgive him for that one. Her mother had been awake when she got home and still brought up "the naked incident" whenever she wanted to make a point about Mercedes being too wild and needing to settle down.

She texted him back.

Need wine too.

She could almost imagine him chuckling.

Bottle enough or should I go for a case?

Okay. He was forgiven for the naked incident too.

The man knew her well. Very well. That was proving to be very helpful. Endearing, even.

Is that a rhetorical question? It's Monday.

She half expected him to throw in her face the fact there were only two more days in the workweek before holiday break, but the wise man held his piece.

Mercedes glanced around the room and considered tidying up a bit. It was a brief lapse she recovered from quickly. Instead, she turned on the TV to watch the episode of "Dream" she'd recorded.

Sam let himself in just as the show ended. He'd always had a key to her place—or, she should say, she'd always kept an extra key at the Evans Dorm in case she ever locked herself out. She wasn't sure exactly when Sam had taken it from the tiny dish of "extra" keys that resided on a small table in their living room and added it to his keyring, but since it meant she didn't have to get up and let him in, she was cool with it.

Molly hopped up from the couch instantly, nipping around Sam's ankles. He'd stolen her dog, the capricious canine perfectly content with Mercedes until Sam showed up. Then it was like Mercedes was invisible.

His arms were laden down with Chinese take-out boxes, and she laughed when she saw him carrying an honest-to-God case of wine.

She placed her hand on her heart. "Sam. My hero."

He tilted his head and stared at her for a second like he was waiting for something.

"What?" she asked.

"Stevie gets a marriage proposal and all he ever does is bring you a glass of wine. I'm carrying a case here, Cedes. And juggling takeout."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll let you go down on me after dinner."

"You're a cruel, cruel woman."

"I've been called worse."

Sam carried the food and the wine into the kitchen, Molly hot on his heels. He bent down to pick up her dog, rubbing behind Molly's ears, cooing ridiculous—but sweet—words to the tiny creature.

"Molly...hey hey. Who's a good doggy? Who's the sweetest doggy in the world?" Molly rubbed her nose against Sam's hand, as big a fan of his beard as Mercedes was.

He put Molly down, opening a can of dog food to put in her bowl.

Mercedes considered standing up to help him dish their dinner out and pour the wine, but her body was rejecting all thoughts of movement. It really had been the day from hell. Usually she had more energy, but today had zapped every ounce of it. She heard him wash his hands and then go to her cabinets and retrieved her wineglasses.

He returned to the living room with two glasses of wine, setting them down on the coffee table. "You really did have a rough day."

"Look that good, do I? Personally, I blame the freaking Elf on the Shelf."

He grinned, though clearly confused. "What's that?"

"Parents put those things out in December with the threat that Santa has eyes and ears everywhere in the home. So the little bastards take their crappy behavior out with me, so they can look like angels at home. Next year, I'm putting an elf on the freaking bookshelf in the classroom in September and telling them my elf is the Head Elf and his word is law with Santa."

"A dastardly plan. I like it."

"Plus, today was the holiday open house, so all the parents showed up," she called out as Sam returned to the kitchen. The two rooms were connected with an open island separating them, so she could still see him, still talk to him as he rummaged around for plates, forks, and napkins.

"Do you know how exhausting it is to smile and be pleasant all freaking day?"

Sam was grinning when he returned with the food. Rather than claim one of the empty chairs, he plopped down right next to her on the couch, bending forward to give her a quick kiss.

"It sounds absolutely terrible," he said, commiserating just enough that she knew he was half serious, half teasing. Which for her was actually the right mix.

Somewhere along the line in the month of December, they'd fallen into a nightly routine where they ate dinner together in the living room after work, watching the local news or some repeat of a sitcom, like they were an old couple who'd been married for a hundred years. Then, they either went for a walk along the waterfront of the lake to ice skate or to they would go on drives in the country to just enjoy each other's company. Sometimes Sam would even bring her flowers and her favorite candies and snacks when they would stay in and watch movies on the weekend. They stopped jumping each other's bones like they had done initially, and if she didn't know better, she would think that Sam was courting her. If they went to her bedroom, it was because she initiated it. And when they were there, they spent hours tangled up together doing the naked mambo before falling asleep, only to wake up the next morning for a rinse and repeat of the previous day. Sam was pretty much living with her, and she didn't even know how he accomplished this feat.

If she was honest with herself, then she would know how Sam was able to woo her into shacking with him without even asking. She should be mad at him, but the truth was, she loved it. Loved not eating and sleeping alone. Loved having someone to bitch about her day with. Loved listening to him gripe and groan about his.

"Two more days. Just two more days," she said, picking up the plate of General Tso's chicken and shrimp fried rice he'd dished out for her. "And then I'm free for two whole weeks."

"Yeah. You are." Sam started eating his Beef and Broccoli, falling uncharacteristically quiet. Typically, he was talking her ear off about work or his current case or sharing the latest in Candace's morning sickness saga. The poor woman couldn't hold anything down until early afternoon. According to Sam, his cousin had discovered a completely new shade of green whenever he described Candace's complexion just before her mad dash to the office bathroom.

But today…nothing.

"You okay?" she asked, putting her plate down when it became obvious something was bothering him. He wasn't looking at her, but he wasn't watching TV either. Instead, he seemed very deep in thought.

Sam sighed. "What are we doing, Cedes?"

"Eating Chinese?"

He gave her a "really?" look that confused her even more than his question.

"What do you mean?"

"What is this? Between us?"

Oh hell. She was suddenly sorry she'd asked. It was easy to just roll with whatever this was as long as they didn't discuss it, or define it.

She'd sworn off men and dating back in October, and at the time, she'd meant that vow with every fiber of her being. She was tired of trying to find Mr. Right in a sea of Mr. Wrongs.

Then Halloween.

Then the blackout.

Then Sam.

Since then, she'd switched onto autopilot, riding this wave as long as she could, even though she knew that eventually it would crash into the shore.

Looked like they'd just face planted into the sand.

"Sam…I don't." She swallowed heavily, not wanting to say the rest. She cleared her throat and dug deep for them. "I don't think there can be an us."

"I beg to differ."

Sam was a lawyer. Which meant this conversation wasn't going to end easily. And, of course, he'd hit her with this on a day when she was weary straight to the bone after a freaking exhausting day at work.

"Do we really have to talk about this now?"

"Yeah. We do. Because we're out of time. Holiday break is here."

She blinked, trying to figure out why he'd drawn that line in the sand…

And then she realized he hadn't. She had. Her plans with Anthony had.

Although the good Lord above only knew if those were still in effect. She didn't have a clue if things between him and Penny had stuck. If they had…well, she knew from her point of view, she wouldn't like the idea of her new boyfriend donating sperm to an ex, no matter how innocent and platonic it was.

"I told you before this started that I was taking myself off the market."

"We're living together, Mercedes."

"No, we're not. We're just having sex. Friends with benefits." She was the queen of being contrary, and she knew it. She wasn't proud of it at the moment, but years of bickering with Sam had her working on instinct, used to saying white every single time he said black, right or not.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I've spent every night here for the last two weeks. I have two suits hanging in your closet, a toothbrush in your bathroom, a lot of my belongings strewn around this living room, and my beer is in your fridge. If we are not living together, then we are definitely dating."

She narrowed her eyes. "You insidious bastard." There was no heat behind her words. In fact, her tone probably told him she knew exactly what they were doing. She just didn't want to admit it.

"Every time I swing by the apartment for a change of clothes, some member of my family makes sure to ask how my girlfriend is." Apparently, Sam wasn't finished making his case. Typical.

She sighed. "I shouldn't have let things go this far."

Sam reached for her hand. "I know what you want, sweetheart. I know you're worried about losing more time, time you need to get what you want, but can't you give us just a little bit more time?"

"How much more, Sam? My chances of conceiving after my next birthday go down to something like twelve percent. Plus, the risk of birth defects and miscarriages increase. I don't have more time to give."

They hadn't talked about her desire to have a baby since Halloween. He'd mentioned it briefly after the football game a few weeks earlier, but she'd dismissed it out of hand. After that, they just let themselves fall into this relationship—keeping it all surface-y, easy, only paying attention to the fun and romantic stuff, while pushing reality away.

He reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I get it."

She shook her head. "No. I don't think you do. I was an only child, Sam, and it sucked. I always wanted what you and Stevie had. A sibling, someone to play with, fight with. This isn't going to be a one-time thing for me. I need enough time…"

"To do it twice."

She smiled sadly. "A family of my own. I want it so badly. I ache for it. And I'm not going to be an overbearing mom, like mine is. My kids are going to pick out their own clothes when they're little, even if they don't match. They can put all those ridiculous colors of extensions in their hair in high school. I'm not putting up a stupid daily chore chart or badgering their poor teachers when they don't get the solo in the competition or an A on an essay or—"

Sam tugged on her hand, pulling her close enough that he could wrap his arm around her shoulder and place a kiss on top of her head. "You're going to be an awesome mom. And I know Roz was a bit much…"

Mercedes lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. "A bit?"

"But you realize all that overprotectiveness was done out of love, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Although I do think you're right to dial it all back a notch or thirty. Remember that time she made Mr. Schue cry when you didn't get the solo in our regional show choir competition?"

"Oh my Lord. Poor Mr. Schue. Between Rachel, Coach Sylvester, and mom emasculating him on the regular, I felt so bad for him. NOT!"

She and Sam laughed at the memory.

Sam sobered up first. "So, more time is out of the question."

He hadn't posed that like a question, but she nodded just the same.

"Fine. Call Anthony and tell him no thanks. We'll stop using the condoms and—"

"Oh my Lord, no. Please stop right there, Sam. I can't…we can't…"

It was never a great idea to tell Sam he couldn't do something, and she realized her mistake the second she saw the set of his jaw. He was stubborn and tenacious when he got something in his head. It was why he was a great lawyer.

She needed to cut him off at the pass. "Think about it," she continued quickly. "We're at the beginning of this…"

"Relationship," he supplied.

She might not want to say it, but that didn't change what it was.

"Fine. Relationship," she conceded. "This is the honeymoon phase. All lust and fun. You and I have both been here about a million times."

"No, we haven't."

She considered that. Considered the last few weeks with Sam. He was right again. Neither of them had ever gotten quite this far. Their past relationships had never moved from dating and the occasional overnights to instant shacking up, which was definitely what this felt like.

"Okay," she said, trying to find her next argument. "Regardless of that, we both know lust fades. And the next phase is the one where someone walks away."

"I'm not walking away, Mercedes."

"Every man I date will walk away from me like my dad, Sam."

"Is that what you really think?"

Was it? Mercedes didn't know how to respond to that because until those words flew from her lips, so certain, so…

Oh Lord.

Bitter.

She'd sounded bitter.

A few thousand concrete bricks came crashing down on her head as she struggled to catch her breath, to think of some joke, some way to shove off the crushing weight on her chest before she suffocated.

It took a minute before she found her voice again. "I just don't think it's a good idea for you and I to…" Her words faded to nothingness…because she didn't know what else to say.

She wasn't sure what Sam saw in her face, but given how well he knew her, she figured he could tell she was silently freaking out.

And because he was a good man, he dropped that argument. Sort of.

"So use me as the sperm donor. Pretend I'm the dentist that Santana and Brittany used."

"You want to gift me with your sperm?" she asked incredulously.

"Why not?"

"You know why not. Sam, I didn't ask you originally for the same reason I didn't ask Stevie. Neither one of you would ever walk away from a kid you helped create. Besides, we live in the same city. I am like an unofficial member of your family because of Stevie. We see each other. All. The. Time. You're going to see my baby a lot because I want your family to be a part of his or her life."

"You keep talking about this relationship like it's already over. Like we're going to erase the last month and a half, rewind the clock, and go back to bickering and giving each other a hard time."

"If we were smart, that's exactly what we'd do."

She didn't miss the disappointment in his tone when he said, "You know better than that, Cedes."

He was right. She did.

"We're not those people anymore. We couldn't be those two again even if we tried."

"Sam—" she started.

"This is the new normal, Mercedes. This. Right here. Right now."

She shook her head, searching desperately for some way to counter his claim, to prove him wrong, but she couldn't come up with a single thing. Which scared her even more.

Why was her gut telling her this wouldn't work? Was she really that jaded? That convinced forever didn't exist?

"Why are you shaking your head?" he asked. "What part of this is so hard for you to accept?"

Mercedes wasn't sure if she was shaking her head at him or at herself, suddenly not liking all the hard facts hidden in shadow he was thrusting out into broad daylight. "Dammit, Sam. It's not even been two months. That's way too soon to—"

"To what?" Sam interjected, rising from the couch. He was frustrated, and that emotion, suddenly wafting off him in waves, fueled her own aggravation. She stood too, refusing to give him the power position. They were standing toe-to-toe, facing each other down.

This stance, between them, was as familiar to her as breathing.

Sam waved his hands in the air. "Why do we need months or years to know what this is? Jesus, Cedes! You know me. You know everything thing there is to know about me."

"You're not being practical," she countered.

"No. You're not thinking."

She narrowed her eyes, but before she could call him to task, he continued.

"What don't you know about me that you think is suddenly going to change this thing between us? Have you seen me in a bad mood in the past?"

"Of course I have. You were a complete pain in the ass all through puberty."

"Are my bad moods going to be a deal-breaker for you?"

"No. Of course not, but—"

"What about my temper?"

"What about it?" she asked.

"Is it too much? Do I ever scare you?"

She scowled. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course not. I have a way bigger temper."

He nodded. "You're right. You do. And it's not a deal-breaker for me. What about work? Do you think I'm a workaholic?"

"You work long hours sometimes, but no. You're not a workaholic."

"So my job isn't a problem for you?"

"No, but—"

"I'd ask you if you had any concerns about us in the bedroom, but we both know I'm more than capable of giving you mind-blowing orgasms every single night."

The old Mercedes was digging deep for some way to wipe the cocky grin off Sam's face, but the asshole was right. Again. Sex was never going to be an issue for them. Unless it was the fact neither of them seemed capable of getting enough.

"Do you think I'd be a good father?"

His question knocked the breath from her—because it wasn't even something that required thought. "You'd be…an amazing father."

He'd been gathering a pretty good head of steam until that response. Her answer seemed to calm him down a bit, and he smiled. A charming, sweet, wonderful smile.

"What don't you know about me, Mercedes, that you haven't learned in the last thirty years?"

The answer was simple.

Nothing.

And yet, she couldn't give it to him. Couldn't admit it.

"Can I…can you…give me some time?" Mercedes couldn't think with him standing so closely. And she desperately needed time to gather her thoughts, to come to grips with some issues—that bitterness; that unexplored fear of Sam leaving her just as her father had, which she hadn't realized was there—before she gave him an answer.

Sam studied her face for a moment, then nodded. "Sure. What do you need? Five? Ten minutes?"

She laughed, loudly, leaning forward until her forehead was pressed against his chest. "Good grief, you're a cocky son of a bitch," she said, between giggles. "A pain in the ass. A thorn in my side."

Sam wrapped his arms around her, his cheek pressed to the top of her head, swaying gently, until she managed to contain her mirth.

"I just need a little bit of time."

He sighed, the sound letting her know he didn't want to give it to her.

But…she did know him. Knew him well enough to know he'd give it to her anyway.

"Okay," he said at last. "But I'm telling you right now. I'm not staying away for long."

"I know that. I'll call you very soon. Honest."

He cupped her cheeks and kissed her, and she marveled over how he could pack so much into just one kiss.

One kiss.

Pleading.

Passion.

Possession.

And a promise that he was coming back.

Soon.