Thank you for your continued support. You guys are super awesome...guest reviewers included. I will never be able to say how much your support or what your kind words mean to me. It's like having an extended family...not by blood...but nonetheless, people who will always encourage, support and put countless smiles on my face. I don't want to put names, in case I forget someone, but THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart.
Standard disclaimer: I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Lucky in Love.
Strength is the ability to break up a solid piece of chocolate...and only eat just one of the pieces.
Mercedes was shocked at how fast total chaos reigned.
It happened, almost instantaneously.
As the overhead sprinklers showered down icy water, people began yelling and screaming. Then, everyone started pushing and shoving each other to get out.
Adding to the insanity, the decorations hanging from the ceiling soaked up the water and came loose, pulling down ceiling tiles with them.
Poor Mercedes, she was struck on the head, with a papier-maché elephant, along with the attached ceiling tile.
For a brief moment, she saw stars, then panicked, as she thought of someone getting seriously hurt.
She tried to blink through the downpour, to check the crowd for anyone who needed help. But she could hardly see two feet in front of her. And to her horror, it appeared, that everyone needed help.
People were either running or down for the count.
Mercedes gulped some air and shoved her hair out of her face. And her hand came away bloody.
Her cheek was bleeding, but before she could dwell on that, someone grabbed her, tugged her up against their side, and began to steam-roll her towards the door.
It was Sam.
"Let me go," she said, banging on his chest, which was completely ineffective.
"No. I want you safe. Outside, now!"
"Forget me, get Mrs. Garland and Lucille!"
"You first, goddammit!"
Then, still holding her tightly against him, Sam scooped up Mrs. Garland, too. But Lucille was nowhere to be seen.
Through the sprinklers, Mercedes saw Mark grabbing Santana and Quinn, shoving them out the door.
In a flash, he was back inside, helping others to get to safety.
As for Sam, he dumped Mercedes close to Santana and Quinn and went back inside.
Seeing this as an opportunity to get back inside to help, Mercedes made an attempt to leap in after him. But he blocked her.
"I'm going in," she said adamantly. "People are hurt, Sam. I can help."
His jaw ticked, as he briefly regarded her, but he stepped aside and allowed her in.
The fire alarm blared, as water from the sprinklers continued to pour down.
And for all of Mercedes' efforts, she got several more people outside, before she ran into Sam again.
He had two of Lucille's posse by their hands, but he released one and stopped to stroke the wet hair out of Mercedes' face, ducking a little to look over her bloody cheek, then into her eyes...making sure she was okay.
A warmth stole through her, from knowing he cared. It was in every touch, and every look.
And he was going to leave.
He had a job...she got that.
She'd never want to hold him back from what fueled him...whatever that might be.
But she'd sort of...maybe...just a little bit...wished, that she could be what fueled him.
By the time the fire department came, Sam, Mark and Mercedes, had gotten everyone out.
Several people were injured, enough to require several ambulances, which arrived right behind the fire department.
Mercedes was helping those lined up on the sidewalk, and near her, Mark was assisting the paramedics. Sam, too, and he looked super comfortable, in a position of medical authority.
He had Ray seated on the curb, who'd somehow gotten a nasty-looking laceration down one arm.
Just then, Dr. Scott pulled up to the scene and hopped out of his car.
Ray was closest to him, with Sam crouched at his side, applying pressure to the wound, and looking quite capable, but Dr. Scott decided to see him first.
"He's in shock," Sam said quietly.
And he was right.
Ray was shaking, glassy-eyed, and disoriented.
"Yep, definitely in shock," the doctor concurred, then went back to his car and returned with an emergency kit.
Sam and Dr. Scott wrapped Ray in an emergency blanket to get him warm, then made sure he was breathing evenly and that his pulse wasn't too fast.
Mercedes took over then, sitting at Ray's side, holding his hand, as she watched Dr. Scott and Sam, work together in perfect sync on other victims.
When the paramedics were free, they took over Ray's care, so Mercedes moved towards Sam and the doctor.
"...the least you can do..." Dr. Scott was saying to Sam, "...now that you're cleared and still sitting on your ass...is hire on. There's a flight paramedic opening, out of Seattle General. That unit runs its ass off, so there's no shortage of adrenaline there. And hell, look at how exciting Lucky Harbor can be."
Sam ignored him and crouched at Lucille's feet.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Oh, sure, honey." She patted his arm. "You're a good boy."
Sam smiled, and automatically, Mercedes smiled too. Then, he straightened and turned to her.
She wasn't surprised that he'd known she was standing behind him. He always seemed to know where she was.
"Wow!" Mercedes said, with what she thought was remarkable calm. "Look at you."
Sam's eyes locked in on her cheek, and he touched the wound.
With a wince, she batted his hand away.
But he pulled her away from all the prying eyes and ears and said,
"You need that taken care of. Let me help..."
"No." She needed more help than he could possibly imagine. "It can wait."
She didn't know where to start, but she gave it the old college try and started at the beginning.
"How is it, that a mechanic knows how to treat trauma victims?"
His gaze never left hers.
"I was a medic in the SEALS."
"A medic...in the SEALS." She absorbed that and shook her head. "That's funny, because, I could have sworn you told me, you were a mechanic...a navy mechanic, who was doing similar work now."
"No," he said. "Well, yes. I work on cars. Sometimes. But that's for me...for fun."
"For fun." Mercedes paused, but it didn't compute. "I pictured you working on ships, maybe, even on helicopters and tanks. Not bodies. Why didn't you tell me?"
Sam responded with a question of his own.
"Why does it matter what I was?"
"Because, it's not what you were, Sam, it's who you are."
How could he not see that? Or hear her heart as it quietly cracked down the center? she thought.
"You're going back," she said. "You're only here waiting to be cleared..." She stared at him, as the doctor's words sank in. "Except, you already are cleared."
'Oh, God! He could leave now. Any second.'
"How long have you known? And why would you hide so much from me?" she asked, but she already knew the answer to that. It was because they were just fooling around.
Nothing more.
And she had no one to blame but herself.
Horrified at how close she was to breaking down, Mercedes took a step backward and bumped directly into Sheriff Sean Tucker.
He had strode up to the soggy group and now stood there, with his hands on hips.
"What the hell happened here?" he asked.
Everyone was still there, because, no one wanted to miss anything. Every able body, in the pathetic, ragtag-looking group, immediately gathered ranks around Mrs. Garland, the mean old biddy, who'd never done anything nice for a single one of them.
In fact, she'd made their life a living hell, in a hundred different ways.
But they all started talking at once, each giving their story of the drug theft, and how they'd ended up being dumped on, by the diner's sprinkler system.
Once again, they were protecting one of their own, but Mrs. Garland still wasn't having any of it.
She stood up, wobbled with her cane towards the sheriff and held out her wrists.
"Arrest me, Copper. But don't even think about a strip search. I have rights, you know."
Sheriff Tucker assured her, that he had no interest in arresting her, because then, he'd have to arrest everyone else who'd confessed as well.
Looking disgusted and frustrated, he started over, talking to one person at a time.
After a while, the crowd began to disperse. And Mercedes sank to the curb and dropped her head to her knees, exhausted to the bone and far too close to losing it.
Sam held so much back from her and it hurt...really hurt. She'd given him everything she'd had.
But he wasn't going to change now, and God help her, she was going to be okay with that...even if it killed her.
And it just might.
Two battered boots appeared in front of her, and she felt the owner crouch at her side.
It was Sam, of course, because, her heart only leapt for him.
He ran a big, warm hand down her back, and made a sound of annoyance, at finding her still drenched and shivering.
Then, she felt one of the emergency blankets from the firefighters come around her.
"I'm fine," she said.
"Okay." He sat at her side and pulled her in against his warmth. "Extremely fine. But that's not what's in question here."
"What's in question?"Mercedes asked.
"You tell me."
"Fine," she said, and lifted her head. "I don't get the big secret about being a paramedic."
"It wasn't a secret."
"It feels like a secret," she said. "That day you came to the hospital to get your stitches out, you could have done that yourself."
"I wanted to see you."
'Aww...dammit! No aww. Focus girl.'
"Okay, then what about what happened next?" she asked. "When that patient coded out? You got pale and shaky, as if you'd never seen anything like that before."
Sam lowered his head and studied his shoes for a moment, then looked Mercedes right in the eyes.
"Do you want to know the last thing I did as a SEAL trauma medic?" he asked, voice dangerously low.
She wasn't the only one pissed off and frustrated, she realized.
"I dragged my teammates out of a burning plane," he told her. "One was already dead, but the others..."
He closed his eyes.
"...I did everything I could, and they died anyway. Afterwards, I couldn't do it...I tried...but I couldn't go back to being a first line trauma responder."
Mercedes felt gut wrenched for him.
"Oh, Sam..."
"I was honorably discharged, and when I took work, it wasn't as a medic. I turned down anything like that for four years. Four years, Mercedes, where I didn't so much as give out a Band-Aid."
Until he'd come to Lucky Harbor.
"Santana's knife wound," she whispered.
He nodded grimly.
"That was the first time I'd opened a first-aid kit, in all that time."
And then today.
Again, a situation that fell right on him, and he'd stepped into the responsibility, as if it were a pair of comfortable old shoes.
She briefly wondered, if he'd even realized that.
"My turn," Sam said. "Did you lose your job?"
"No... I quit."
She took a moment to study her own shoes now, until he wrapped his fingers around her ponytail and tugged.
Mercedes lifted her head and met his gaze.
"Mercedes," he said softly and sounding a bit pained. "Why?"
'Why?'
A million reasons, none of which she wanted to say, because suddenly, it was all too much...the job, the HSC, the diner, knowing how she felt about him and realizing he was going to leave anyway.
Her head hurt, her cheek hurt. And her heart hurt, too.
When her eyes filled, he made a low sound. It was hard to tell if it was male horror or empathy. But then, he wrapped his arms around her, and she planted her face in the crook of his neck.
She should have known he wouldn't be uncomfortable with tears. He didn't seem to be uncomfortable with much, when it came right down to it.
Except, maybe his own emotions.
How had things gotten so out of control?
All she'd wanted was to stretch her wings. Live for herself, instead of for others. And to try new things. Well, she'd done that, and she'd loved it.
And she loved him.
And therein lay her mistake.
"The whole HSC drug fiasco is my fault," Mercedes said, into Sam's chest. "No one else's. I screwed up there."
She sucked in a breath, as once again her eyes filled.
"As for everything else, I always wanted to go a little crazy...it turns out...I'm not that good at it," she whispered.
Sam made a show of looking at the utter chaos of the diner.
"I don't know," he said. "I think you're better at it, than you give yourself credit for."
She choked out a laugh, realizing, that no matter what she did, he had her back...always.
He'd been there for her, one hundred percent. It was in his every look, touch and kiss.
"I just wanted something for myself," she said softly.
"And you deserve that," he said with absolute conviction, warming her from the inside out.
From the beginning, he'd treated her like someone special, even before they'd even known each other's names.
He'd shared his courage, his sense of adventure and his inner strength.
Once, she'd been a woman terribly out of balance with herself and her hopes and dreams. But that had all changed.
Because of him.
She was in balance now, but even that wasn't enough.
Loving him wasn't enough.
It wasn't going to get her what she wanted. Nothing was going to get her what she wanted...which was him.
She really needed to cut her losses now, before it got worse, but God...how could she?
"Sam..."
He pulled back to look into her eyes, his own going very serious at the look in hers.
Mercedes cupped his face.
"...I've screwed up. I'm falling for you." She gently kissed his gorgeous mouth, so that he couldn't say anything. "Don't worry, I know you won't let yourself do the same."
She kissed him again, when he went to speak, because it was in his eyes...sorrow, so much sorrow.
"I can't do this anymore," she whispered, her throat feeling like she'd swallowed cut glass. "I'm sorry."
"Are you dumping me?"
Was she?
He was the one that was going, and yet he hadn't. So she'd have to think about that later, but for now, what she had with him wasn't enough for her.
"You were never mine to dump," Mercedes said.
Something crossed Sam's normally stoic face, but he nodded and lifted a hand to her jaw, stroking his thumb over her lips in a gentle gesture, that made her ache.
She started to say something...she had no idea what...but someone tapped her on the shoulder.
"Mercedes Miranda Jones!"
Only one person calls her by her full name...her mom.
'Hell! Just what I need.'
She swiped at her eyes and turned, considering herself lucky to be so wet, that no one could possibly tell if she was crying or not.
"Mom, why are you here?"
"I heard about the diner. You're hurt?"
"Now's not a good time..." Mercedes started, brushing her mom's hand away. "Mom..."
"Don't you 'mom' me! You have a cut on your cheek. And you let Shelby fire you?"
"Okay, someone give me a microphone!" Mercedes said, as loud as she could. "Because I wasn't fired, I quit. There's a difference."
Her mother stared at her for a long beat, during which, Mercedes did her best, not to look as utterly heartbroken as she felt.
Finally, her mother nodded and said,
"Well, I hope to hell you took Shelby down a peg or two, while you were at it."
Shock had Mercedes gaping.
"You're not upset?" she asked.
"She's overworked you and taken advantage of your skills. The board's already banding together, to try to get you back. I suggest turning down their first offer. According to what I've overheard, their second offer will be a much better deal."
Mercedes choked out a shocked breath.
"Overheard?"
"Fine. I put a glass to the door of Biff's office and listened in. But I'm not proud of it." Her mom hesitated. "What I am proud of, is you. And the Sheriff sent me over here to get you. He needs one last quick word from you for his report."
Sheriff Sean was already headed for her.
He gave her a look of frustration.
"You okay?" he asked.
'No,' she thought, but said,
"Yes."
"Good, because so far, I've heard twenty different versions of what's going on. Tell me that you're going to come up with the right one."
Mercedes told him the entire story, the best that she could, then turned to look for Sam and found her mom talking to him.
Her mother was animated, her hands moving, her mouth flapping, and Mercedes' stomach sank.
Because, from the looks of things, she could be reading him the riot act, or... She couldn't even imagine.
"I've got to go," Mercedes said to the Sheriff, who nodded his accent.
Her mother saw her coming and met her halfway.
"He has a way of looking at you, honey. Like you mean something to him."
Mercedes shook her head.
"What did you two talk about?"
"Are you asking if I accused him of destroying your reputation?" Her mother looked over her shoulder and found Sam watching them.
She sent him a little finger wave.
He didn't wave back, but he almost smiled.
"You made it clear, what you thought of my way of thinking," Mrs. Jones said to Mercedes. "And you were right. I've been holding the reins too tight, depending on you to be the calm, in the storm of this crazy family. That was unfair, maybe even cruel, and I was wrong. I never should have done it. Just as I never should have allowed you, to blame yourself for Kamara. Or my divorce. Or the general insanity of our family."
"Mom..."
"Hush, honey. I told him I'd make him dinner," Mrs. Jones said casually, almost as a throwaway remark, and stroked Mercedes' wet hair back from her face.
"You what?"
"He's been good to you. I want to thank him. It's simple etiquette."
"You mean it's simple curiosity," Mercedes said.
"Okay, that too."
"Mom, we're just..." God. Her heart hurt. "...friends," she finished.
"Oh, please," Mrs. Jones said with a laugh. "I didn't fall for that with Tamara when she brought Jeff home, and I'm not going to fall for it with you. Anyway, he said yes."
"No, really," Mercedes started. "We're not what you think we are. He said yes?"
"Sweetheart, you're drenched and still shivering. You're going to catch your death out here. Go home and take a hot shower, and put something on that cut on your cheek."
Her mother hugged her tight, then pushed her towards her car.
Mercedes took a last look at the scene. Sam was back to helping. He was hauling things out of the wrecked diner with Mark. There were two extremely fine examples, of what the use of gorgeous male muscle could do.
"Mercedes..." Dr. Scott gestured to Mrs. Garland, huddled on the sidewalk. "She's refusing to go to the hospital, but mostly, she's just shaken up. If you're leaving, maybe you could drive her home."
Mercedes ended up driving the entire senior posse home, since Lucille was the only one of them still in possession of her license, and she was going into the hospital for X-rays.
It took nearly an hour, because, each of them took forever to say their good-byes and get out of the car.
When she'd finally gotten rid of them all, she told herself to go home, but herself didn't listen. And she drove to Sam's.
The garage was open, and Sam was beneath his precious Shelby.
Mercedes bet, he'd never walked away from a car in his life.
Still working on adrenaline, frustration, and a pain so real, it felt like maybe her heart had been split in two, she stormed up to the mechanic's creeper and nudged at his exposed calf.
Okay, maybe it was more of a kick.
"You told my mother she could cook you dinner?" she asked.
Sam rolled out from beneath the car, his arms still braced on the chassis above him.
He looked up at her and wisely didn't comment, on what was surely, a spectacularly bad hair day on her part.
She'd been hit with the sprinklers, and then dust from the ceiling tiles, and the whole mess had dried naturally, without any of her de-frizzing products, that never really worked anyway.
"Problem?" he finally asked.
"Oh my God!" She tossed up her hands. "You did. You said yes. Why?"
"She said she'd make meatloaf. I don't think I've ever had home-cooked meatloaf. I thought it was a suburban myth."
Mercedes had never wanted to both hug and strangle someone, so much before.
"I'll make you meatloaf!"
"You dumped me," Sam said reasonably. "And besides, you don't cook."
'Dammit! Dammit to hell!'
He was killing her.
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, but she couldn't rub away the ache.
Spinning on her heel, she walked out of the garage.
But Sam caught her at her car, pulling her back against him. She felt the shaking of his chest and realized he was laughing at her.
At least until he caught sight of her face.
His smile faded then.
With a frustrated growl, Mercedes shoved Sam away and got into her car, but before she could shut the door, he was squatted at her side, the muscles in his thighs flexing against the faded denim he wore.
He blocked her escape with one hand on the door and the other on the back of her seat. His expression unreadable now.
"This isn't about meatloaf," he said. "This isn't even about me. Tell me what the real problem is."
'I'm in love with you,' she thought.
"My problem..." Mercedes began. "...is that you're blocking me from shutting the door."
"And you're shutting me out."
"That's pretty funny," she managed, her throat inexplicably tight. "Coming from you. The King Of Shutting Me Out."
"I didn't shut you out intentionally," Sam argued.
"Ditto," she said, with no small amount of attitude.
Sam studied her for a long moment.
"Tell me about the night your sister died," he said.
Mercedes felt like he'd reached into her chest and closed his fist around her lungs. She couldn't breathe.
"She's not a part of this," she whispered.
"I think maybe she is. She took a walk on the dark side, and it didn't work out so well for her. She made you promise to be good, and you kept your word...until me."
"Someone has a big mouth."
"Many someones," Sam agreed. "But then again, you love it here. You love all those someones. And they all love you."
Mercedes dropped her head to the steering wheel.
"Look, I'm mad at you, okay? This isn't about me. I know my painful memories are relative. But my life is good. I'm lucky. This isn't about, how poor little Mercedes has had it so hard. I'm not falling apart or anything."
Sam stroked a hand down her back.
"Of course you're not. You're just holding the steering wheel up with your head for a minute, that's all."
Choking out a laugh, she closed her eyes.
"I'm okay."
"Yeah, you are. You're so much more okay than I've ever been. You're the strongest woman I've ever met, Mercedes. Do you know that?"
"But that's just it. I'm not strong at all. I always thought I could save everyone, and if I was good, I'd excel. If I was good, my family would stay together. If I was good, nothing bad could happen."
Sam's hand on her was calming. So was his voice. It was low and even...without judgment. And the dash of affection didn't hurt.
"How did that work out for you?" Sam asked. "All that...being good?"
Another laugh tore out of Mercedes, but it was completely mirthless.
"It didn't. All that work, all that time spent trying to please everyone...and it fell apart anyway. I failed."
"You know better than that."
"Do I?" she asked.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. It seemed to be her only anchor in a spinning world.
Nothing was working out for her, at the moment. Not her job. Not the way she wanted people to see her. And not her non-relationship with Sam.
"I don't want to talk about the past anymore. My sister made her choice. And my family each made their own choices after that. My parents handled everything the best they could, including their divorce."
"Maybe," Sam said. "But it still chewed you up and spit you out."
"I'm okay."
"You don't always have to be okay."
"Well, I know that."
"Then say it. Free that sixteen-year old, Mercedes. Say it wasn't her fault...not your parents' divorce...not Kamara...none of it."
"Sam..."
"Say it!"
Mercedes gulped in some air and let it out.
"It wasn't my fault."
Sam wrapped his hand around her hair and gently tugged, until she'd lifted her head and was looking at him.
"That's right," he said with terrifying gentleness. "It wasn't your fault. You did the best you could, with what you had. You made the decision to progress beyond that little girl, who lived to please. You stepped outside your comfort zone and went after what you wanted."
Heat hit her cheeks. They both knew what she'd gone after.
Him.
Naked.
And she'd gotten him.
"Stop carrying all the responsibility for everyone," Sam said quietly. "Let it go, let it all go and be whoever the hell you want to be."
Mercedes gave him a little smile.
"Are you going to take your own advice?"
"I'm working on it."
"You're pretty amazing, you know that?"
"Yeah," he said, and flashed his own small smile. "Too bad you dumped my sorry ass."
Mercedes looked at him for a long beat.
"I might have been too hasty on that," she whispered. "Twice now."
"Is that right?" Sam asked.
"Yeah. Because your ass is anything but sorry."
He gave her another smile.
"Come here," he said, and then without waiting for her to move, rose to his feet and pulled her from the car.
She curled into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To show you how much more amazing I can be, when we're horizontal."
Stay safe!