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I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own It Had To Be You.
Mercedes had a recurring nightmare that changed in details, but at the core it was always the same...she was alone.
Terrifyingly alone.
Sitting on a chair in some chilly room at the police station, her nightmare had gone live.
There'd been lots of questions.
Had she been angry when Brody had broken up with her?
Was she angry enough to want to frame him?
Because, apparently, her messages, both the voice mail and the sticky note, indicated a vengeful woman.
Did she know that if she turned the rest of the money in right now, that charges would be reduced, possibly dropped?
Because, apparently, she was holding it hostage somewhere.
Did she know that the sticky-note message could also be construed as an actual threat?
She didn't know how calling someone an ass...who was an actual ass...had become threatening, but okay.
Fine. Lesson learned.
She'd said, maybe she needed an attorney, and one of the cops brought her to a phone.
She stared at it in rare indecision. This was new, being on this side of the phone call.
She'd been on the other side, several times, the first being, when her mom had been arrested for property damage, after she'd taken that bat to her boyfriend's car.
What the cops hadn't known, was that her mother had been aiming for the guy's head.
The second time had been when her mother had set fire to a different boyfriend's wardrobe.
Her mistake had been in using the bonfire to have a party. She had tried to plead temporary insanity on that one, but no one bought it.
Because, there was nothing temporary about Maxine Jones' rage, whenever she got cheated on.
Both times, Mercedes and her sister Heather had bailed their mother out, using the secret cash stash, taped to the bottom of their couch, which was accumulated from her mom's tips.
Over the years, that stash had ebbed and flowed, depending on various needs..like Christmas, school field trips, their mother's breast augmentation. And then the second surgery to remove the implants after they'd begun to leak.
Then, Heather had taken her turn one year, and had gotten arrested for indecent exposure, after she'd pulled off to the side of the road to pee in the snow.
To this day, Mercedes still liked to tease her about that one.
She could call either of them...that she knew. And they'd be here in a blink, their tip stash in tow, on the chance that she did indeed get arrested.
But she wasn't going to call them. And she hadn't been arrested...yet. And even if she had, she wasn't going to have them spend their hard-earned money on her.
Besides, neither her mom nor her sister was qualified to offer legal advice, and then there was the embarrassment factor, which on a scale of one to ten, was at an eleven right now.
Mercedes should call Brody, because, boy did she have things to say to him.
She stared at the phone some more and Sam crossed her mind. She could call him. He'd probably know what she should do.
Except, she wasn't his problem.
And she needed an attorney, not a detective.
She knew exactly one attorney...Artie Abrams.
They'd gone to high school together, and skinny, geeky Artie, the PlayStation master of their neighborhood, had always been the smartest guy she knew, despite his huge crush on her sister.
He'd graduated from UNLV law school last year, but it'd been months since she'd talked to him, and she briefly wondered if he had passed the bar.
With those thoughts in mind, she called him and was so grateful to hear his soft, friendly "Yo" she nearly collapsed.
"Artie," she said. "Tell me you passed the bar."
"Okay, I passed the bar."
"No, really." She lowered her voice and crossed her fingers. "Did you?"
He huffed out a laugh.
"Barely, but don't tell anyone that part."
'Thank God.'
"So you're a real lawyer?" she asked, needing to be sure.
"Yep," he said. "A real, bonafide lawyer. I work for a hotel in Seattle in their legal department, though this week, I'm in their Los Angeles office. Mostly fact gathering, but they pay well, so..."
"Okay, that's great," she said quickly. "Listen, I have a side job for you. How fast can you get to North Bend?"
There was a beat of silence.
"North Bend?"
"Yes. I...sort of need some legal advice."
Artie might be a sweetheart, and he looked like a good wind could blow him over, but he was also sharp as a tack.
"I'm in L.A. until the day after tomorrow," he said. "I've got a late-night flight back into Seattle, and then I'm all yours. What do you need, Merce? Anything."
"I need you."
Mercedes was eventually released with the caveat that she not leave town. And a few minutes later, she was standing on the sidewalk in the bright sun, staring in surprise, at the tall, silent Sam, who'd been waiting for her.
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"Later. You've got other issues." He pointed at the two women holding up FREE MERCEDES signs in front of the courthouse.
Her mom and sister.
"Mercy!" they cried at the sight of her and rushed over.
Dropping her sign, Maxine Jones grabbed Mercedes in close and hugged her tight.
"Oh, Mercy-mine! Did they violate any of your rights? Because honey, you have rights, lots of them."
"I'm fine, mom. All my rights are still intact."
Maxine Jones was wearing white capri leggings and a sparkly gold lamé top. Her gold hoop earrings matched the wide strip of bangle bracelets up one arm and was the same color as her spiked sandals.
And her face was creased with worry, as she tried to pat down Mercedes' gone-wild hair.
Mercedes pulled free and turned to her sister, who was wearing Daisy Dukes and a halter top, her hair and makeup bar-ready.
She had to come straight from work and probably raced through the two-hour drive out here.
"Artie called us," Heather said. "Told us you might need moral support until he could get here."
"And moral support means picketing the courthouse?"
"Hey, it works on TV," their mother said. She smiled up at Sam. "My baby has no manners. I'm Maxine Jones, Mercedes' mama, and this here's her sister, Heather."
Sam reached out to shake her hand, then Heather's.
"Sam Evans."
Because her mother was looking at Sam with a speculative 'are-you-going-to-marry-my-daughter' gaze, Mercedes quickly said,
"Sam's helping me out with a place to stay."
"Aw!" her mother said and kissed him on the cheek. "Aren't you the sweet one?"
"Mom, I'm paying rent," Mercedes said.
Her mother cupped her cheek.
"Of course you are." She sent a look Sam's way. "She's stubborn. She can never accept a helping hand." She looked around. "Where's Brody? I swear, I don't care how hot he is, I'd like to castrate him. I've got a perfectly good pair of pliers in my purse to do it with too. Should've packed scissors, but the pliers'll be more painful. I'm thinking one slow twist and his doodle will snap right off..."
She mimed the motion.
"Mom!" Mercedes quickly looked around.
If a sticky note had constituted a threat, she couldn't imagine what packing pliers with the intent to twist off a guy's...doodle would mean.
"Just saying," Her mother murmured.
"Well stop just saying," Mercedes said. "And castration would mean cutting off his…other parts, not his…" She gestured vaguely, not daring to look at Sam. "Doodle."
"Honey, he deserves to be castrated for accusing you of stealing money. You wouldn't steal money. You wouldn't steal anything." Her mother lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned in close. "You don't still steal lip gloss, right?"
'Good Lord!'
"No! And no castrating. I've got this handled. I'm sorry you made the drive out here, and I appreciate the support, but you should both go back to work. I'm fine."
"We were going to wait until dark and TP Brody's new place," Heather said. "So, where's he living now?"
"I don't know," Mercedes said, her second lie of the day. "But no TPing!" She was in enough trouble as it is. "Everything's going to be fine."
"You promise?" her mother asked. "Do you swear by the tip jar, baby? Because we need you."
"Yes," she said, crossing her fingers behind her back. "I swear by the tip jar that everything's going to be fine."
Her mother hugged her again, and she smelled like her favorite body spritz and long-ago, sweet memories.
"Love you, Mercy-mine."
Mercedes held on for an extra minute and closed her eyes, enjoying the comfort of her mother's arms.
"Love you too, Mom."
Her mother kissed her cheek and then turned back to Sam.
"It was very nice to meet you, Sam."
"You too, Mrs. Jones."
"Oh, please. Call me Maxine. When are you coming home, baby?" she asked Mercedes.
As she'd been told not to leave town, she was pretty sure it wouldn't be any time soon.
"I'll let you know."
"Next weekend? 'Cuz they're filming a new reality show down the street. Something about men and their tools and the women who love them. You could help us get on TV."
"Would love to," Mercedes said. "But I'm working."
"The weekend after then. For my surprise birthday party."
"Mom," Heather said, exasperated. "You said you wanted it to be a surprise."
"I do. I want to be surprised by both my daughters throwing me a party with friends and flowers and balloons and lots of decorations."
"I don't think you're getting the concept of surprise," Heather said.
"And maybe a piñata," their mother went on, "But with good stuff in it. Too bad men can't fit into piñatas..."
"No men in piñatas," Heather said. "That's a different kind of party altogether."
"Fine," Mrs. Jones said. "But I still want the balloons and flowers. And Mercy-mine."
"I'll be there," Mercedes promised, and watched them get into Heather's car.
The engine coughed, emitted a bunch of smoke, and then leaped into gear. And in another couple of seconds, they were off.
"You crossed your fingers," Sam said.
"What?"
"When you promised your mother that everything was going to be fine."
Mercedes turned away.
"She needs to think that everything is going to be fine."
Sam pulled her back and looked at her for a long moment.
"Cell phone."
"What?"
"I need your cell phone."
She passed it over, watching as he programmed his number into it.
"For the next time you're faced with one phone call," he said, then looked into her eyes and let out a long breath. "Look, don't read more into this than it is. If you need me, call."
"That simple?" she asked.
He shrugged, which she took to mean that he really had no idea, but he'd still do it.
"I wasn't going to call you," she said. "You're on vacation."
"I'm also not getting involved, but neither is working out so well for me."
Her mind had been going one hundred miles per hour, since the cops had shown up at the door that morning.
But the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her exhausted and far too shaky and emotional to deal with this.
Horrifyingly close to the edge, she chewed on her lower lip and ordered herself not to lose it.
"Why did you come?" Mercedes asked.
"You needed a ride."
Her chest squeezed even tighter.
"You're not worried I'm going to steal something from you?"
"Stop," Sam said, his voice far too gentle for her fragile state of mind.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and told herself she was just tired.
This was out of control.
She was out of control.
It was just, that for once, she wanted her life to move in a direction that she directed.
With a sigh, she looked away.
Life around her appeared to be maintaining the status quo.
There was the usual early evening, low-level traffic. People were just getting off work and heading to the gym, the grocery store, the pier…home.
And she had no idea where that would be for her tonight.
All she wanted was a hot shower and then to go to bed and not wake up again, until this whole unbelievable situation had resolved itself.
Or until she was old and gray. Whichever came first.
Sam was looking her over.
She was still wearing her apron from earlier.
She had a streak of dried clay across one arm and on one foot. And given the look he aimed at her face, she had some there as well.
She lifted her chin in defiance.
And with a small twitch of his lips, Sam hitched his head in the direction of his truck.
He proceeded to open the passenger door for her, helped her in and waited until she pulled her seatbelt across her body, before he hit the lock and shut the door.
He walked around the front of the vehicle, his stride long-legged and easy.
When he slid behind the wheel, he put the key in the ignition but didn't start the engine.
There was a beat of silence, and then he turned to Mercedes, one hand on the back of her head rest, the other on the dash.
Mercedes did her best to appear, as though she hadn't just been sitting in an interrogation room for hours, being questioned about a crime she hadn't committed.
But as it turned out, the pretense was far too much for her overloaded emotions, and she closed her eyes, trying to disappear into the seat.
If she disappeared, then Sam couldn't see her fall apart.
"You okay?" he asked.
Her throat tightened further, and she shook her head.
Nope. Not okay. Not even close.
"Don't," she said.
"Don't what?" he asked.
"Don't be nice to me right now. I'll lose it."
With surprising gentleness, he pushed the hair from her face, then clicked open her seatbelt.
It was all the invitation she was going to get, and all the invitation she needed.
Turning to him, she burrowed in, as steady, strong arms closed around her. He stroked a hand down her back, and she pressed her face into his chest, soaking in the warm comfort he offered.
It was the safest and most secure she'd felt in far too long, and she wasn't sure she was going to be able to let go.
"Mercedes..."
Afraid he was going to pull away before she was done soaking him in, she squirmed a little closer.
"Please, not yet."
A rough sound escaped Sam, and he tightened his grip.
"It's okay. I've got you."
'Thank God,' she thought.
For just this one second, someone had her.
She didn't have to be strong all on her own.
She exhaled a long, shaky breath and concentrated on dragging more air in. And after a few beats, she realized he smelled amazing...guy amazing...and that her lips were pressed against his throat.
Suddenly, it wasn't just comfort she was feeling, but a whole boatload of other things too, with arousal leading the pack.
Extremely aware of the big, warm hand moving up and down on her back, she wondered...'Did he feel it too?'
And then she had a bigger problem.
Her face was still pressed up against his warm skin, and every time she moved, her mouth slid over him.
He hadn't shaved that morning, probably not yesterday either, and his skin was rough with stubble. Deliciously rough.
And then there was his scent…'Yum.'
She could no more have stopped herself from doing it again, as she could have stopped breathing.
In reaction, Sam let out a low, very male sound, that called to the most female part of her.
Which answered her question.
'Yeah, he felt it too.'
Sam said her name again, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, his fingers weaving their way into her hair, tightening, as if to draw her away from him.
But he didn't.
Shaken, Mercedes inhaled a deep, uneven breath, her breasts brushing his chest.
The first time was accidental.
But the second time was all her.
So was the third. And her entire body got all warm and tightened.
Then her brain slipped off to wonderland for a few seconds, wondering what it would be like to have such a man belong to her?
To belong to him?
To kiss that mouth, feel it open under hers, feel it on her?
The temptation was too much, and her lips slid over his throat yet again.
And it still wasn't enough...she needed to taste him.
'Don't do it,' her thoughts screamed.
But her day had been complete shit, and her brain was full...too full...and there was no room in it for logic.
So she did it.
She ran her tongue along the column of his throat, and then because that was so good, she let her teeth sink into him a little bit as well.
A rough groan escaped Sam.
Pulling her back, he searched her gaze for something, though Mercedes had no idea what.
Probably her sanity.
But it was too late, because she'd already lost it.
Whatever Sam saw, made him shook his head.
He was going to pull back, Mercedes thought.
She could feel it in the sudden tautness of his muscles. So she gave him her best sex kitten look, but the truth was, she wasn't exactly a sex kitten on the best of days, and this was definitely not one of those.
But something in his eyes warmed. And still half expecting him to push her back into the seat, she was surprised when he instead pulled her up against him.
"You're playing with fire," he murmured. "And one of us is going to get burned."
Mercedes managed a nod.
'Yes, and yes.'
And for the record, the person getting burned would be her.
She was already burning up, from the inside out. A full-blown inferno, and he'd barely touched her.
She hadn't even realized until now how badly she wanted him.
Moving slowly, clearly giving her plenty of time to stop him, Sam cupped the nape of her neck, gliding his thumb along the sensitive skin there.
Then, he slowly leaned in.
And she met him halfway...pathetically eager...but she couldn't help herself.
Sam let out a half groan, half low laugh, that seemed to be aimed more at himself than Mercedes.
He shook his head again and brushed his mouth across hers.
When she murmured for more...demanded really...he did it again, and then finally, he deepened the connection, parting her lips with his, kissing her deep and hot, banishing every worrisome, unhappy thought from her mind.
When they broke for air, he ran his tongue over her bottom lip, before gently sinking his teeth into it, just as she'd done to his neck.
Heat and desire licked through her like flames, and her fingers curled into his shirt.
She wasn't ready to stop, and she definitely wasn't ready to come back to reality.
Sam said her name in a silky, rough whisper, covered her mouth with his again, and as before, there was no more thinking.
Hell, there was no more air.
There was nothing but this, and she strained to get even closer, thwarted by the console between them.
She couldn't help it.
Whether merely walking into a room or picking her up from jail, he had a way of commanding her attention.
He was steady as a rock, steely, edgy and completely dangerous.
His kiss was all those things too.
And he was a master at it, his big hand still gently caressing her neck, liquefying her bones with each delicious stroke of his tongue to hers.
His other hand slid down her back, settling low on her spine, holding her still, as he plundered.
Completely caught up, Mercedes held on tight, working to get closer still.
Hell, she would've crawled inside him if she could.
He cupped her ass, and her hips arched to try to meet his in a movement as old as time, but she couldn't get to him.
And she heard her own soft mewl of frustration.
Then he began slowing them down, pausing to rest his forehead against hers.
"Damn," Sam said, stroking the pad of his finger over her wet lower lip. "Did not see that coming."
"Didn't see what coming?" she asked.
"You."
Stay safe!
