AN: You guys are awesome with your reviews. You all collectively hate Quinn now. Not so sure about Puck but I guess that's going to change after this chapter. It's mostly Puckcedes so heads up there. O:

Chapter 5: Reality Check

xox

Mercedes moved the coffee stirrer around in circles, creating different patterns within the black. She could've sworn the cream formed Sam's profile for a moment…

"Ugh." She began to stir the coffee with aggression now, staring down into her cup darkly. "Die."

"Now what'd that cup of coffee ever do to you?" said Puck mildly as he sat down next to her.

"Fuck off, Puck."

"Jesus." Puck stared at her. "What's your problem today?"

"Right now you are my problem."

"Well at least it's not serious then."

She stared at him.

"I'm just kidding!" he said defensively.

"I'll just your kidding—"

"Geez, Mercedes, you need to grow up," he said, snatching up his lunch and rising from the table.

"And you need to get a grip on reality. You can't cheat on a girl and then expect things to be hunky-dory between you two." She regretted her words the moment they left her mouth. "No. I'm sorry. Puck—"

He clenched his jaw. "It's okay. I'll go eat somewhere else."

"No—Puck—" she caught the edge of his suit jacket. "Stay." She hesitated. "Please."

He stared down at her for a moment, and finally relented. "Fine." He sat down and began to eat his salad. "So," he said, between bites, "you gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

"Sam," she said bluntly. What was the point in pretense?

Puck choked a little, but recovered nicely. "Really. How's he done you wrong?"

"You don't even want to know," she said, letting her head fall into her hands. "A whole bunch of crap that's too complicated to explain."

"Nothing is too complicated for Puck," he declared. "Now tell the Wise One all your problems."

She smiled slightly. "I'm sure you don't want to hear them."

"Of course I do."

"You won't get all protective and defensive even though you have no right to?"

He scowled. "Fine."

"All right, then—my boyfriend's ex-girlfriend is pregnant and threatening to abort it if he doesn't marry her and he's actually thinking about doing it. The ex-girlfriend is also one of my … well, former good friends and yesterday I found out that his ex-ex-girlfriend, the one he dumped for his ex-girlfriend, is my editor and thinks that I should move on because my boyfriend is an asshole."

"Wow, that's rough." Puck took a bite of sandwich, chewed, and swallowed before continuing, "Unfortunately, that's also life."

"Not exactly what I wanted to hear."

"I know. But it's the truth. And looks like you can't really do anything right now but wait, am I right?"

She refrained from chucking her coffee mug at him. "Unfortunately, yes."

"So everything rests upon Sam's decision."

"Pretty much."

"Well, from my perspective, you can do one of two things: one, just wait, or two, throw yourself into seducing him."

"You know that's not me."

"Then I hope waiting doesn't bother you."

"Yeah, that'd be ideal."

They finished the rest of their meal in silence. When Puck had finished his food, he gathered up his trash and pushed back his chair. "Well… it was nice talking to you again, Mercedes."

"Always a pleasure," she said sarcastically.

"It is," he said seriously, which threw her off guard. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Sure, Puck." Anything to get him to leave. He was creeping her out.

"Bye."

He left.

Mercedes stared out the window for the remainder of lunch break, daydreaming. Something told her this day wasn't going to be very productive.

Stupid warships. They just didn't want to be blown up, did they? Well, she'd show them…

Mercedes furiously pounded away at her keyboard, determined to win the computer game. She'd muted the sound, so to anyone who passed by, it'd merely look like she was very, very angry at a report she was typing—

"Uh… is this a bad time, Mercedes?"

Mercedes jumped and guiltily spun around in her chair. "Oh—uh—Quinn. Hey. God, you scared me, I thought you were my boss or something."

The corners of Quinn's mouth tilted upward in a half-smile. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Uh, sure, but you better make it quick, 'cause if the boss sees us socializing—"

"He's in a conference. He won't be out anytime soon."

"Oh. Okay. Take a seat, then?"

"Thanks." Quinn settled herself in the chair opposite Mercedes' desk… and then fell silent.

Mercedes twirled a pen between her fingers. If she's going to force me to make small talk, I'm going to throw this pen at her. Because I don't do small talk. I hate it. Why did she come in here if she's not going to talk? I am NOT going to be the first one to talk, I won't I won't I—

"So, what's up?" she found herself saying.

Damn it.

"Quite a bit, actually," Quinn said evenly, surprising Mercedes with her bluntness. "I've never liked pretense, so if it's okay with you, can I just speak frankly?"

"Uh…sure…"

"I always hated those stories where two friends became enemies over a guy," she said. "I always thought that was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard—a man is not worth a friendship gone down the drain."

Oh really.

"But now that I'm living it…" Quinn faltered for a minute. "Mercedes, I really have no way to say this, but I am so, so sorry for this."

Mercedes blinked. "What are you sorry for?"

"For… being the other woman. I mean, this sounds awful, but I know how it feels. Seeing you and Sam together had me crying my eyes out for days on end and now I'm… I guess I'm doing the same thing to you…" Quinn broke off and stared glumly into space. "Yeah, this speech isn't going how I planned it. But I really am sorry and I know I wasn't the world's best friend when I found out about you and Sam, but I just wanted to say that if you can ever forgive me, I'm here."

Mercedes stared at Quinn, her heart sinking. What does she mean 'she's doing the same thing'? Then Mercedes noticed the diamond ring on Quinn's left hand.

No…

"Sam agreed to marry you?" she said flatly.

Quinn's eyes widened. "He… uh… didn't tell you… yet?"

"No, he hadn't," Mercedes said, her voice much to cheerful.

"Fuck," said Quinn softly.

"Well, never mind, I know now. This is good, really good, now it won't be such a shock when the bastard actually gets up his nerve to speak to me—oh wait, sorry, no offense to your fiancé."

"None taken. He is a bastard." A hint of a smile passed over Quinn's face. "But we still love him, hm?"

Get the hell out of my office. "Yeah. So I'll see you later, okay, Quinn? Take—" She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

Quinn didn't seem to notice. "Yeah, you take care too," she said hollowly, standing. "And, Mercedes—uh, I really am sorry."

"I know you are," Mercedes found herself saying.

Quinn exited her office.

Mercedes dropped her head into her hands. "Why me…?"

Might as well go home. It's not like I'll be getting anything else done here.

So she packed up her briefcase and walked out of the office, a full four hours early. She didn't even care what they'd do to her when they found out.

About halfway back to her apartment, her purposeful stride slowed and she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "What the hell am I doing?" she asked herself allowed. Here I am walking home, unable to continue my day because a man broke my heart. That is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. Why should I put my life on a standstill just because some indecisive bastard made a wrong choice?

A full fifteen minutes had gone by, so it was a little far-fetched to claim she'd gone to the bathroom. Maybe they'd believe her if she said she'd been feeling queasy and ran to the local drugstore to pick up some medication. Maybe she could claim extreme menstrual pains. Maybe she could claim temporary insanity, which was, surprisingly, the closest truth yet.

As it turned out, she needed none of her hastily-concocted excuses. The entire sixth floor of her office building was in a worried uproar because America's economy had just taken a pretty serious turn for the worse—something to do with the stock market and cowardly capitalists.

No one had noticed Mercedes' absence, but now that she was here, they swept her up into their mob of hyperventilating and nervous discussion.

The whole company left before five p.m. anyway.

Mercedes wearily trudged into her apartment, kicking off her shoes and leaving them in a pile by the floor, and letting her bag fall down beside them. She didn't even feel like cooking dinner. Those Pop-Tarts she'd stashed in her closet were sounding very appetizing.

"Welcome home," a voice said from the kitchen.

She froze in mid-step. "What are you doing here," she said tiredly.

"Coming up to check on you," Puck said, emerging into the hallway. "I see you've heard the news." His face was a mask of concern.

"How could I not?" she said, shuffling over to her comfy chair and collapsing into it. "The entire company was on pins and needles the rest of the afternoon. Good thing I hate the stock market—or don't understand it, really—otherwise I'd probably be drinking my worries away, like everyone else."

Puck looked faintly amused. "I was actually referring to Sam and Quinn's engagement."

Mercedes stared at him, her surprised gaze quickly turning into a glower. "Well aren't you just a little ray of sunshine," she said. "Thanks so much for reminding me of the unpleasant news that I had blissfully forgotten in light of the even more unpleasant news."

"My bad."

"You suck at acting, you know that?"

"I've been told once or twice." He took a seat on her couch and crossed his arms, regarding her thoughtfully. "How do you feel about this?"

"Feel about what, Dr. Freud?"

"The engagement."

"How do you think I feel about it? Oh, I'm so glad the love of my life is going to marry his ex-girlfriend!" she trilled in a falsetto.

"Thought so," he said.

"What's this all about, Puck?"

"Nothing! Nothing. Just…"

"Yes…?"

"I still love you, you know."

Mercedes looked at him, uncomprehending, as if he was a complicated calculus equation and staring at it would somehow make the problem more clear. "Say what?"

"You heard me."

"This is a funny time to confess your love, wouldn't you say?"

"I think you mean 'profess.'"

"No, I meant what I said."

"Do you still have feelings for me?"

She got to her feet. "Get out of my apartment."

"I'm asking a simple question."

"You've overstepped your boundaries."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Not you, that's for certain."

"So sit down and tell me how you feel about the situation."

"What are you playing at? Do you somehow take pleasure in my misery? Is this some kind of game you have? 'Make Mercedes Cry'?"

"No!"

She was startled at the honest outburst.

"Of course not," he said, regaining his composure. "I'm worried about you. I know you don't like to confide in people, so you just bottle your feelings up and—"

"What makes you think I'll confide in you?"

"Because," he said, rising to his feet, "believe it or not, we're still pretty comfortable around each other. And I'm the only person you can talk to at this point."

She looked away. "You are not."

"Yeah? Who else have you got?"

"I have…" She thought.

"Not Quinn," he said, ticking the names off on his fingers, "not Sam, not the old woman you used to live next to, not—"

"I get the picture. Thanks for reminding me how alone I am in this world."

"Mercedes, I'm not trying to make you more depressed." He was looking at her with those eyes of his. Those magic eyes. The magic eyes that saw everything. "But talking about it will make it better."

"It won't," she said belligerently, not letting herself meet the Magic Eyes in fear that they'd draw her in. Seduce her. Whatever. "And it's not like I have a say in the situation, anyway."

"Why not?" When she didn't answer, Puck pressed, "Shouldn't you, the one he truly loves, have the most say?"

"Don't mock me—"

"I'm not mocking you—I'm just curious."

"Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat," she said peevishly.

He moved closer to her. "I'm curious," he said again, "as to what he feels like right now. Throwing away his love to marry another."

"You have no right to judge. You, who probably don't even know what love is."

"You think I'm some robot devoid of feeling?" His face darkened. "I know what it's like to lose love—not on my own volition."

"Oh really? That girl dump you?"

"I was referring to you. And you left."

Mercedes struck out against him, hoping to knock him to the ground—only her bad aim and his quick reflexes combined sent him flying into the edge of the fireplace mantle. He winced; she didn't care.

"That's great, Puck," she said through clenched teeth. "That's just great. If this wasn't so hysterically serious, I'd be rolling on the floor laughing. I'm your true love? You lost me not of your own volition?"

"I never asked you to leave."

"Your actions told me to."

"You never bothered to inquire as to who the girl you found in bed with me was."

"I think that's a natural reaction, don't you?"

"She was my former girlfriend—the one right before I met you. Wed dated for three years before breaking up."

"Is this supposed to mean something to me?"

"Let's pretend that you and Sam were still a couple right now," he said, advancing towards her.

Mercedes flinched. You—

"What would he do if he saw us like this?" he continued.

"Probably get the wrong impression," she stressed. "Either that you have you arrested for harassment."

"It's not harassment—" he caught her face in his hands and rubbed his thumb alongside her chin, just like he used to—"if there's mutual consent."

"I'm not feeling any—"

"Yes you are," he said calmly. "I can tell."

She wanted to kill him. At that moment, she hated him more than she'd ever hated someone before—because he was right. She still had damned feelings for him. Sam had helped stifle the ache that used to plague her, but now that he was gone…

"How do you think I felt," Puck was saying, still stroking her face, "when my old girlfriend showed up at my apartment one day, apologizing for the break-up and wanting to know if there was still a chance for 'us'?"

"I'd have to say I didn't care." Her breathing was getting more shallow—and she was making no attempt to push him away. That was wrong. She should be pushing him away, she shouldn't be falling for his old tricks—

"It's not that easy to dismiss feelings for someone," he said. "I don't think you can ever really get over a person—it's not like a 'break-up' is some kind of medication that will instantly make all those irritating feelings go away."

He lowered his head; Mercedes made no move to stop him. His kiss was familiar, comforting, intoxicating…

"Do you understand now?" he asked, breathing hard as they came up for air. "How I felt? What would Sam think if he walked in right now? Would he really believe you when you told him that he's your true love—and I'm someone you're just trying to get over? I'm the one cigarette that couldn't be repelled by the nicotine patch?"

She was the one who started the kiss this time. She needed love, needed affection, just needed assurance that she wasn't undesirable or repulsive.

"I never stopped loving you, you know," Puck said. "I know you love Sam—and I know he loves you… but I also know that not everything is black and white." He paused, "No pun intended. But you two are in love—yet he's marrying Quinn. You love him, yet you still have feelings for me."

"Life sucks, doesn't it?" she said hoarsely.

He ran his fingers through her hair. "Marry me?"

She grabbed the hand playing with her hair. "Excuse me?"

"I never believe in the whole 'there's only one person for you in life' philosophy. Out of the entire 4 billion inhabitants, only one person is meant for you? What about all those happily divorced-and-remarried people? The widower who found another wife? Are these not justified loves? Is this love somehow worth less just because it happened to come second? Because the first couple just happen to meet before the other?

Mercedes, I'm not perfect. I will be tempted to cheat. But I do love you—and that's more than most couples can say."

"You're offering me the highest bid."

"It doesn't mean you'll be any less happy with the product."

They were speaking in code to protect themselves. It was like two lovers playing the roles of lovers on a movie set—the words didn't quite line up, but they still had meaning, in a roundabout way.

"I need time to think," she found herself saying.

"Okay," he said, giving her one last lingering kiss before disappearing out her door.

Mercedes sank back into her armchair and remained there for the rest of the night, lost in thought.

The next three days she went through the motions of living. It was like she'd been replaced with Mercedes the Robot—she performed all her daily tasks dutifully, but her mind was in the clouds.

She thought about her situation. She thought about other people's situations. She thought about life in general.

That girl I found Puck in bed with… I hated her guts, yet I didn't even know her. I just hated her because she took Puck away from me. I was the "other woman" to Quinn, but did it hurt her worse to realize it was her best friend that had stolen her boyfriend (sort of)?

She asked herself whether she'd rather be the Other Woman or the Wronged One. Would she rather be cheated on and be in the right, or destroy someone else's happiness by means to gain her own?

Why did happiness seem to be on par with mercantilism? There wasn't enough to go around, so if you wanted some, you'd better snatch it from someone else.

And how messed up was it that love seemed to resemble that stupid American reality TV show? Survival of the Fittest—if you want to be the Survivor, you'd better do anything and everything necessary. Including throwing away previous morals.

She didn't understand anymore.

Four days after the Big News (pick whichever shocking announcement you wish), Mercedes returned to her apartment one night to find the lights on. She faltered, unprepared to give Puck her answer yet. He always was impatient. Maybe she could sneak back out and stow away in the bar all night. She felt like getting some writing done away.

Quietly closing the door behind her, she tiptoed into her bedroom, planning to grab her yellow pad of paper and leave… only to find—not Puck—but Sam sitting contently on her bed.

Mercedes stopped short.

Why do all guys in my life have this penchant for showing up uninvited at my apartment?

Sam just looked at her for a while. "Hey."

"Hey." She willed her legs to move toward her desk, where her pad of paper was currently residing.

"How's it going?"

"Fine and dandy, thanks." She immediately regretted her words. Cut the guy some slack, Mercedes, he doesn't like this anymore than you do.

But he didn't miss a beat. "Great to hear." He shifted uncomfortably. "I've…uh… got some news for you."

"What kind of news?" she asked, picking up her pad and stuffing it into her tote bag.

"Bad news."

"Granted, Sam. The past week has been nothing but bad news. I was asking what kind of bad news. Political, philosophical, romantic?"

"I guess it could be philosophical, if you really want to think about it…" He rolled his eyes. "News that concerns us, Mercedes."

"Oh. I suppose you're not referring to the economy, then."

"No," he said seriously, not even offering her one of his usual comebacks.

She waited for him to announce the news. She was not going to help him do this.

"I'm going to marry Quinn," he finally blurted.

"I know."

They stood, looking at each other from opposite sides of the room, each trying to gauge the other's reaction.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"So am I," she replied.

More silence.

"This wasn't the way I imagined it," he said.

"Yeah, well, this is the way it's happening."

He stood and opened his arms, offering her one last embrace. Mercedes hesitated a moment too long—she moved forward just as his arms fell against his side. Then she just stood in mid-step, wavering, as if regaining her balance.

Sam walked to her and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I won't ask you to come to the wedding."

"I wouldn't have come anyway."

"I know."

Mercedes bit her lip. Damn you. Don't you know you're ripping my heart apart? That it's taking all my willpower not to beat you senseless? (Not that you had any sense to begin with.)

He heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. "I—" Still staring into her eyes, he choked off his words and left.

Just like that.

She flung her tote bag across the room, not even getting satisfaction from the loud crash it made as it struck her dresser and knocked off her tidy row of books. Abandoning all plans of going to the bar, she flopped on her bed and buried her face in a pillow, silently calling Sam every kind of curse word she knew.

Sam stared out the window of his bedroom for what seemed like an infinite amount of time after arriving back from Mercedes'. He missed her more than ever—missed the walks, the stargazing, the adventures they had on his roof, the laughter, the conversations…

Quinn came up behind him. "It's pretty outside tonight, isn't it?" she said, slipping an arm around his waist.

He wasn't quite sure how he answered, but she didn't repeat her question so he decided his response must have been acceptable.

"Would you like to take a walk?" she suggested.

"No!"

Quinn jumped.

"No, thank you," he hastily amended. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired tonight. Really drained. Hard day at work."

"I understand." Her eyes weighed him knowingly, telling him that she understood much, much more. Quinn wasn't stupid—she was one of the smartest people he knew. "It's okay," she soothed, laying her head on his shoulder, offering him her support.

She deserves better than me, he thought desperately. She's making a mistake.

But he owed it to her to make her happy.

And if this is what made her happy—

(I just wanted that last embrace. One last embrace. Why did she hesitate? I'm going to think about it all night now.)

He would set aside his own happiness for Quinn. He could be happy with her. He had been, once. Why couldn't he be happy with her again? She was sweet, intelligent, desirable—

Sam felt as if he were banging the gavel of his own death sentence.

Mercedes picked up her phone and dialed the numbers of Puck's cell… but hesitated before pushing the call button. She reached her thumb towards it—then pulled back. Reached again—and lost her courage.

This continued for half an hour before she realized she'd already made her decision, and delaying it further was pointless. She would like to sleep tonight.

Puck picked up after the first ring. "Hey."

"Hey," she said, feeling a wave of déjà vu. "What's up?"

"Not a lot. You're calling with my answer, right?"

"Yes."

He waited for a minute, then realized, "Oh, that was my answer?"

"Yeah," she said, unable to stop the small smile that was spreading across her face. He sounded so happy. And she really had missed him—

Puck burst out laughing. "I'll be there in a few."

"All right."

She hung up the phone, feeling elated and dismayed all at once.

What did I just do?

What's done is done.

Mercedes fleetingly wondered what Sam would think, but pushed the notion away with the familiar mantra: Don't think about it. Happiness was relative, anyway. If one convinced oneself that they were happy, it would be so.

It was a kind of anesthesia, and she did nothing to stop the flow.

Her doorbell rang, and she got up to answer it, pushing any further doubts out of her mind.

Soooo umm that's that =p review! O: Chapter 6 will be up soon, maybe sometime this weekend. =p