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.


Sam waited until Artie had driven off, before turning to the house.

He noticed Mercedes was gone from the window.

The place stood as it always had, a little bit quirky, a lot worn, but just as steady as his grandma had been.

And it was his home away from home, for just about all his life.

His grandma had worked hard for many years, but in that last year, she'd finally retired.

Her hobby had been painting, and she'd used the garage as a studio. And he'd loved it there.

It had been one of his favorite places to be in the house...the scents of the oil paint and his grandma's candles, the huge beanbag chair that had been his to crawl into and watch her work...and of course the cookies she'd always had out...

Shaking his head at the memories, he punched in the code for the garage door and watched it open, before blinking in surprise.


Mercedes stood in the garage, with a paintbrush in hand and clearly seeing something in Sam's expression, she put down the brush.

There was a work table between them, and she made no move to go around it, leaving him to assume she needed the barrier.

He got that.

He needed a barrier from her too.

Only, he just didn't know what the hell kind of barrier, could possibly stand between her and his damn heart, since she was making dust of the walls he'd had in place, by just breathing.

It was her sweet courage, and the capacity she had for caring about everyone and everything.

It was the way she kissed him, as if she was desperately clinging to the fleeting pleasure before it vanished.

It was the fierceness with which she protected his privacy.

It was her smile.

It was everything about her.


"It's going to be okay, you know," she said.

"You mean your life?" he asked.

"And yours."

For months, Sam had been operating deep in negativity and bad shit. And there'd been no light at the end of the tunnel.

His glass was half empty.

There'd been no silver lining...

Not Mercedes.

Her world had fallen apart too, and yet she looked at things completely different.

It wasn't that she wore rose-colored glasses. No one who'd grown up as tough and fast as she had, could wear rose-colored glasses.

She simply chose not to live in the dark.

And he admired and respected the hell out of that.


He looked at the table and saw that she'd been painting a small ceramic bowl shaped like a canoe.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, gesturing to the table and her work. "We need a new key bowl."

Since she'd chucked the other one at his head.

He smiled at the memory.

"My grandma painted in here too."

He looked to the other side of the garage, where his grandmother's shelves still stood. He could almost see her, standing in front of her easel, the sun slanting in the window, casting her in a glow, as she created magic out of a blank canvas.

"I used to sit at her feet and watch." He pointed to the sheet-covered beanbag chair. "I even gave it a shot myself when she bugged me about it."

"Were you any good?"

"Not even a little bit." He lifted a shoulder, surprised to feel warm at the memories, and not regretful.


Mercedes came around the table.

"So you lived here with her?" she asked.

"Every summer of my life...until she died."

Mercedes' smile faded.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Yeah, me too." Sam stared at the garage wall. "She shouldn't have died like she did."

Mercedes touched his arm.

"What happened?" she asked.

He blew out a breath and ran a hand over the back of his neck, just before he said,

"Mornings weren't my grandma's thing. We all knew it. Stacie used to joke, that in order to wake her up, we ought to just stand in the doorway and throw a two-by-four at her and then run like hell."

Mercedes smiled.

"My mom's like that."

"I learned very early on, to leave her alone until she'd had her caffeine. Then, the summer of my sophomore year in college, I was here working for a lumber company, and one day I got her up too early. Jesus, she lit into me and we got into a big, old fight."

Sam felt that familiar clutch of guilt, but he went on nonetheless.

"I knew she needed me to move some boxes and furniture around for her, but I was a total dick about it. I left early for work and didn't come home for my lunch break like we'd planned. And after work, I went out on the water, and after that, I hit a bar with the guys. I didn't come back here until late."

He paused.

"I found her on the bathroom floor. She'd had a stroke."

"Oh, no," Mercedes said softly, her voice thick with pain for him. "Oh, Sam, how awful."

He'd never forget the horror and gut-wrenching fear that had taken over his body, at the sight of his grandmother laying motionless on the ground.

He'd dropped to his knees and tried to find a pulse, but she'd been cold and long gone.


"It had happened hours before. She was probably laying there, wondering where the hell I was and why I didn't help her," Sam spoke quietly.

Mercedes touched him, then ran her hand down his back, saying nothing for a long moment.

"How long until you were able to come back to the house?" she asked.

"Ten years."

She went still, clearly doing the math.

"This is your first time back?"

"Yeah."

Sam wished like hell that he could see his grandma standing there painting, smiling, and full of life, just one more time.

She'd always been so forgiving. So willing to love him, no matter what. And there'd been plenty to forgive, most notably, the incident two years prior to her death, when he'd screwed up in a different way.

By failing Stacie.

He'd failed them both, and he would give just about anything, to be able to tell his grandma how sorry he was...and that he never should have left her like he had.

He'd also tell her, that he'd regretted it every single day since. And that she was the reason he tried so damn hard these days, to make sure he had nothing else to regret.


"It was a long time ago," Sam said.

"You and I both know that doesn't matter," Mercedes said quietly.

He stared down into her face, which was creased into an expression of honest concern.

In the here and now, she had plenty to be worried about. Instead, she was worried about him and something he'd gone through ten years ago.

"True. But, I'm okay."

"You're probably ready to get back to San Francisco by now," she said softly.

"Actually," he said, "I love it here. I always have. But I need to get back. My commander's been calling."

Mercedes nodded in acceptance, which wasn't the same thing, as being indifferent to his imminent departure, because, she was the least indifferent person he'd ever met. She felt things to the bone. In fact, she had a capacity to feel things that he'd never had.

Or maybe, it'd been so long, he'd just forgotten how.

But, she could change that.

At the thought, Sam's chest tightened and burned with a need, that wasn't just physical, though there was that too.

He wanted to let her warmth wash over him. He wanted to feel things like she did.

Even if it was just for a moment...a single moment.

Or maybe two.


Hitting the touch pad on the wall to shut the garage door, Sam stepped closer to Mercedes, sliding his hands up her bare arms to cup her face.

And she met him halfway, winding her arms around his neck, her sweet kiss stealing the very air from his lungs.

When her tongue touched his, it sent a bolt of hunger through him so strong, he wasn't sure he'd survive it.

Pulling her up against himself, he enjoyed the feel of her, including the way her heart pounded hard into his.

When they broke apart, she stared up at him, breathing unsteadily.

He touched her jaw, and she took his hand, wordlessly turning and tugging him with her.

Into the house.

Through the kitchen.

And into her bedroom.


Inside Mercedes' room, the walls were sky blue, with sheer white drapes blowing gently in the breeze.

Sam didn't have to look, but just outside her window, was a magnificent view of the water.

It gave him a sense of...home, but by far, the more heart-stopping view was right in front of him.

"Mercedes..." he said, his voice low and gruff.

He wanted this. God, he wanted this...he wanted her.


Mercedes closed the bedroom door, leaning back against it, to smile at Sam.

"You look like you're facing some sort of forbidden fruit," she said.

Truer words were never spoken.

He knew damn well, that being with a man meant something to her.

Lots of things meant something to her.

And he admired that about her greatly...especially since, he wasn't feeling much for anyone or anything these days.

'But she could change that,' a small voice inside him said, 'If you let her.'

He opened his mouth with no idea what he was going to say, but she pushed off the door and came close, pressing a finger against his lips.

"Shh a minute," she whispered. "I just want to see something..."

And then, she went up on tiptoes and kissed him again.


Sam heard himself groan, and then his arms tightened around Mercedes, as he opened his mouth wider on hers, willing to let her lead...to let her take this wherever she wanted to go.

She kissed him back, deeper, and his heart started to pound, because, he knew exactly where she wanted this to go.

The same place he did.

Still, he shouldn't let it happen.

He shouldn't...

And yet he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

'Just one more taste,' he thought. 'One more touch.'

His hands skimmed up her back, bared by her halter dress, and she arched into him seeking more.

'Good God! She's so sweet,' Sam thought, as her lips clung to his, and her fingers dug into his arms like he was her anchor.

And when she moaned and rubbed up against him, he knew.

He was in trouble.

Deep trouble.


Sam had been fantasizing about Mercedes, just like this...melting in his arms, taking everything he gave her and wanting more still.

And the reality of it was even better than the fantasy.

She was warm and soft and eager.

And all his.

A ridiculous thought that didn't stop him from taking, from slanting his mouth over hers more fully and cupping her breasts, then sliding his thumbs over her pebbled nipples.

He wanted her in his mouth, every part of her, and was tugging on the tie at the back of her neck, heading towards that very goal, when someone rang the doorbell.

They broke apart and stared at each other.

"Wait here," Sam said, and gently nudged her aside to open the bedroom door.

He took his time walking through the house, so as to not open the door with a full-blown hard-on.

But looking through the peephole took care of that.

Because, Brody Wesson stood on his doorstep.


Stay safe!