A/N: Sometimes, I confuse people. A lot of time had not passed in the last chapters, at all. In fact, since Sam came to the store, by the end of the last chapter, he had only been in Mercedes' life now for a little over a week. I didn't intend to make it seem like they had fallen for each other in a week. I meant for it to seem like in a week's time, they both saw that there was something in the other worth caring about. Falling for people takes time, but being drawn to people sometimes happens quickly. I hope that cleared up any confusion…

The Rumors

Her smile absorbs the sunlight, then reflects it in a way that our mortal eyes can handle the beams of it…

Valentine's Day was right around the corner and Pieces of Mercy had been regularly swamped with special orders and walk-ins. Mercedes had not been able to leave the shop for lunch, because she was always helping with getting the store back in order after lovesick teenagers and first time V-day couples ransacked the place.

Sam spent most of his free time writing or drawing in his journal, and had to admit that it was a very great way to get things off of his chest and to occupy all of the free time that he had when he was not working. In the two months he had been living in the back room of the shop, he had been saving most of his paycheck, paying off Mercedes, in installments that were withdrawn before he received his pay, and handling a cell phone bill and his own food, sometimes. He got the cell phone after he received his first paycheck and had began making a habit of typing things into it, to make sure that they were spelled right by the time he wrote in his journal. When she first gave it to him, he skipped a couple of the first few pages and when he began writing, he began the list that she asked him to make. She helped, actually.

"When did you first start doing things that were hateful to people? Was it your entire life?" She'd asked, as they sat at the bar after the shop closed, while Sushine, Becky and Lauren finished closing up and cleaning up.

"No. It probably started in junior high, when I was about 12. There had always been undertones. I think that more Southerners are racist than will actually admit it or than are actually really aware of it. I think that my folks were, too, to a certain degree. But, junior high is when you start trying to fit in and form yourself, and you generally use whatever's around you and whatever is in style to make that happen."

"Well, think about junior high and try to remember the first time you did or said something that was fueled by hatred against someone different," she said. Sam reached for a napkin and began to scribble on it. The pages of his journal were still new and looked fresh and perfect and he didn't yet want to ruin them with his terrible handwriting and worse spelling. But, once he started his list, he began to fill napkins from end to end.

"Miss Jones, we're heading out," Lauren announced as the women made their exit.

"Good night!" Sam and Mercedes called out to her. She stood at the door, staring at Sam for a moment, and when he looked up, she held out her hands WTH? That was when Sam said to Mercedes, "Miss Fabray doesn't like for her to lock up without you already being in your apartment."

Mercedes smiled and said, "Miss Fabray works for me. Lauren, feel free to lock up and enjoy your night!" She called out towards the door.

"Yes, Miss Jones," Lauren said and did exactly that. Sam could hear the three ladies chatting on their way to their cars. They were the nicest ones there, to him. Especially Lauren. She was a real peach and he just adored her to pieces. She was a wrestler in school, and still sometimes entered the ring at different amateur events. She rode a motorcycle, like her parents and several other relatives and even though she was a total and complete professional – she had this insanely fun side that that Sam could hardly get enough of.

"I like her," Sam said to Mercedes. "I'm glad that she's here. She makes things more bearable when you aren't."

"She's good at what she does," Mercedes said.

"What happened to the other woman, Rachel that I always hear about?" Sam asked, tucking his napkins into his journal.

"She married Quinn's ex, who was in the military and now, she's moved on with him, because they're starting a family," Mercedes said.

"Miss Fabray and her… stuff," Sam said. Mercedes did not comment. "I keep hearing these things about her. It's baffling. Like, Santana was giving me trouble about the bathroom incident (she thought that maybe we'd actually did something in there), and she made some remark about Fabray retiring her "turbo slut badge." But, then – she wouldn't tell me what it meant. So, I asked Puck about it and he got pretty irate and defensive…"

"If you're fishing for information on Quinn, you're barking up the wrong tree," Mercedes said. Sam looked embarrassed, even though she couldn't see him. "I thought that you were past that."

"This isn't me wondering because I'm still interested in her. I'm just curious, I guess. I figured, you're the most honest person, here – that I might be able to ask you about it."

"You figured wrong. Honest, yes. About to tell you about the history of Quinn, no." She shrugged and changed the subject, "Are you done with your list?"

"I wrote on these napkins. I didn't want to mess up my journal by writing in it," he said. Her face was confused. "I mean, I want to try to make sure the words are right. It's hard to explain to people who can see, so it'd be pointless to try to explain it to you, but – I'm something called dyslexic." She sighed and shook her head.

"Sam, I know what dyslexia is, okay. We have to buy learning materials from some of the same places," she said, annoyed. "Just because I can't 'picture' how it affects you doesn't mean that I don't grasp the concept. Your words and letters don't go in order when you're trying to read or write. I can read and write, so I at least know that there is an order to it." He almost repeated 'You can write,' but fortunately caught himself. She had just said that she could, and he shouldn't be so impressed that just because she could not see that she could do something as basic as that. I mean, she has to sign packages and things…

"There are learning materials for dyslexic people?" He asked. Which, by the look on her face was probably an even dumber question, but she became thoughtful and crossed her hands over each other on the bar.

"How could you not know that?" She wondered. "No one ever tried to help you with your condition?" He realized that she was asking herself this, as she kept saying. "People are constantly trying to help me with mine, even when I don't need it. Did you want help?"

"I didn't realize that there was help," he admitted, "We just assumed that I was stupid. I got kept back in first grade and again in sixth. If I would have graduated, I would have been nineteen, by the time I did – and that's if I didn't get kept back again or quit by that time. Of course, I didn't give myself a chance to do either, because I decided that sixteen was a good age to go to prison and throw away my life."

"And now, seven years later, you've decided to dumpster dive, take your life back and make it new and improved." She touched his shoulder and he cupped his hand over hers, reflexively, to which she smiled. "But," she took her hand back and said, "I am concerned. If you got no help, then you have more trouble managing your condition. Maybe we could order some stuff." She slid off of the seat and said, "You can use the upstairs computer."

"Santana told me never to touch that computer," he said and when she suddenly turned on the balls of her feet with fury in her eyes, he said, "But, Santana works for you." She nodded her head once and they continued up the stairs. Sam had some literacy on a computer, because he had been allowed privileges a few times while inside. "I can't order anything, though, Mercedes. Isn't it bad enough that you feed me and shelter me, now you want to try to educate me, too?"

"Did you get your GED while you were in prison?" She asked.

"Actually, yes. Someone inside convinced me to do it and helped me out, a lot," he said and got misty eyed.

"One of your brotherhood friends?" She asked, not even being malicious or sarcastic.

"No, actually – my cell mate, Figgins. He was a really awesome dude and I learned a lot from him."

"Is he ever getting out?" She wondered.

"No. He died," Sam said and blinked himself out of prison memories. "I don't really want to try to do this, right now. I just want to focus on working hard enough to get on my feet. But, if I can use your computer, I'd like to use the spell check before I transfer these napkins into my journal."

"What napkins?" She asked.

"Oh, I wrote on them to not mess up my journal. They were still on the bar from lunch time…"

"Ok. I'm actually going to head up, and you can use this computer any time that you need to, as long as it isn't during store hours, because that's when Sunshine and Santana need it."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said. Mercedes put both of her hands on both of his shoulders and squeezed, and he stroked both of her hands and looked up to see her staring straight ahead. He wished that she could make eye contact. That would have been the perfect moment. She would have been able to see how he saw her. Instead, she smiled brightly, oblivious to anything, and wished him good night.

Now, he was drawing in his sketchbook, on lunch break, at the bar, with a cup of coffee next to him. Sunshine passed by him on her way out and he said, "Enjoy your lunch!"

"You too," she said, shyly. He tried to be extra polite to her, because he'd not only frightened her, in general, but offended her one day, when he asked her 'So what exactly are you?'

It led to a huge argument between himself and Santana and a talk from Lauren about the phrase "ethnic background," which he took notes on and reminded himself never to ask about it again, even if he used the proper words. And, she was from the Phillippines… wherever that was. At any rate, there was a rumor that she had a crush on him, and while she was a cute girl – she looked like a child to him (not that Sugar Motta had looked much more mature, and he had met up with her a time or two, until she insisted on trying to get him out of his shirt, and he left in frustration and never tried to talk to her again).

Quinn came to sit next to him, with a wide cup of soup and a magazine. "what are you and Puck doing for Valentine's Day?" He asked.

"The same thing that we always do… the same stuff that we do on any other day," she answered.

"What are you and Sugar doing? Or is this a season for Sunshine?" She asked back and took a sip of her soup.
"I think that I'm pretty much done with the whole "hookup with whoever's available" thing." He continued drawing and added, "What's your ex and his wife gonna do?"

"He's probably going to try to rip his eyeballs out while she's being sickeningly annoying and clingy," Quinn said without missing a beat. It made Sam laugh.

"What happened between the two of you, if I may ask?"

"Why would you want to know?" She asked back.

"I'm curious. And not in the corner you in the bathroom and try to kiss you way, but in a she seems okay, underneath it all and I just wanna see what she's really about kind of way." Sam said, nit even looking away from his sketch.

"I cheated on him and he found out, from Rachel." She nodded and said, "I'm not proud about it, but I'm not like that anymore, so I can talk about it." She took another sip of her soup.

"Was he a good guy?" He asked.

"Yes. He was a great guy," she said. "And before you ask me then why did I cheat, let me just tell you that it has more to do with flaws in the cheater than the person that was cheated on."

"I wasn't gonna say that. I was gonna say try to remember that when you start judging me for things that I've done."

She smirked and shrugged her shoulders. Mercedes had already given her that lecture. "I'm still bothered by the fact that the people that you do most of your socializing and trying to get to know are white. You and Artie have formed this little bromance, you and Lauren are the best of besties, and you're constantly trying to get me to forgive and forget whatever it is that you think I have against you."

"I talk to Mercedes, all of the time. Everyday. I spend more time with her than the rest of you, combined."

"I wonder why that is?" She said and rolled her eyes.

"What's that mean?" he asked, finally looking up from his sketch.

"It means that she's the one minority of the group that you don't have to look in the eyes," Quinn said. "You don't harp on finding out what Santana is all about, or Sunshine. You barely even look in Tina's direction when she comes around." Quinn began to imitate him, "Hi, Brittany!" she said cheerily, then curtly nodded once and said, "Tina." She raised an eyebrow at him and held out her hands.

"I've tried to talk to Santana, just like this and she told me that her plate was too full for white bread… whatever that even meant. Sunshine is terrified of me, and she's the one who won't make eye contact. Tina hates me. Plain and simple – and I don't see that changing, and I want to be able to look into Mercedes' eyes. When you catch her at just the right moment and they're still and she's staring at nothing… they're amazing." He took a hard swallow and returned to his book. Quinn watched him for a moment, then sipped her soup, again.

"Puck is never going to allow that to happen," she said. "Say what you want about him, he's selfish and he has run off every man that ever looked twice at her in the last five years."

"I'm not saying that I want her. I just meant, she's been a really great help and a wonderful friend…" He said, but she saw him hesitate before he continued drawing and he gave himself up when he asked, "And aren't they just really good friends?"

"They are what I call a default couple. Whenever the group does things, Santana has Brittany, Kurt has Blaine, Tina has Mike, but then there are default couples – Joe and I, not together, but if I need a dance partner or someone to squeal against in a horror movie, it's Joe. Artie and Becky? Not a couple, ever, not by a long shot. But same rules apply. Then there's Puck and Mercedes. Almost same rules, but the difference is that the two of them actually once had something, AND, unlike the rest of us, their default couple status never changes. No matter how the dynamic of our group changes, people added, people leave, etc. I would have though that after Finn and I broke up that the reasonable thing would have been for Mercedes and he to defect to each other, but he defected to Rachel."

"Wait… when you and Finn broke up, was it Puck that you cheated with? Were Puck and Merceded together at that time?" Sam didn't even realize that he shut his book. Quinn hadn't realized that she was saying so much, but her face answered his question, which seemed to put more questions in his head. "So, Puck cheated on her, but he's still holding on to her? I was thinking that their break up was due to outside circumstances or she couldn't deal with his drinking or he couldn't deal with her blindness…"

"That is what happened," Quinn said. "That's exactly what happened. She couldn't deal with his drinking and he couldn't deal with her blindness."

"So, he cheated," Sam said. He was trying really hard not to be like the rest of them. He didn't want to judge Puck. As far as he knew, Puck wasn't judging him. And people regarded Shane like he regarded Mercedes, so the character of the person harmed shouldn't play in role in this and he had no room to judge. No room, no room, no room… he told himself.

"Yes. So, he cheated. Sort of in his defense, he was drunk at the time and they'd had an argument."

"What about your defense?"

"There is none. I was a thirsty bitch and always liked him. I took what I wanted. My defense is about as valid as yours, and yes – I will keep that in mind, for future references."

"We're more alike than you thought," he said, jokingly. She threw him a look, The humor was lost on her. "Agree to disagree?" He asked and held his hand out to shake hers. She just looked at it.

"Have you ever hurt any people with Jewish backgrounds?" she asked.

"Yes. Not physically, well – I got in a fight with a guy at the mall, but it was a fair fight. Why?"

"My daughter is half Jewish. That makes it a little bit harder for me than some of the other whites around here to look at you and not see someone who would harm her. You don't have a child, so you can't really understand my hypocrisy. I don't want to judge anyone for anything, but I can't not judge you because your philosophy affects my child's safety and her joy… That Rutherford girl was only a couple of years older than Beth is right now." Quinn said, "So, even though I look like this, try to stop seeing me like this, because inside, I'm someone else."

Quinn picked up her soup and magazine and headed for upstairs. She would just have her lunch at the computer desk, instead. Sam watched her go, thinking about what she had said, then decided to scribble it down on a napkin and tucked the napkin into the front flap of his journal. Then, he returned to his project.

Her smile absorbs the sunlight, then reflects it in a way that our mortal eyes can handle the beams of it, and when she cries, darkness covers the face of the world. He sketched more on the picture and heard, "Whatcha up to?" from behind him. He jumped and covered his drawing, but then uncovered it. It was Mercedes.

"Just drawing," he said.

"You drawing me?" She teased and he was glad that she couldn't see him turn red as his voice refused to appear. She didn't even seem to notice as she moved towards the door to let in Kurt and Tina, who she obviously was expecting. He glanced at the drawing of her, smiling brightly, with the words scripted across the top and he shut his book.

"Hi Kurt," he said, happily, and looked at Tina with new enthusiasm, "and Tina! Hi – I like your outfit," he told her.

"That's good, considering that I dress people for a living," she said, giving him a suspicious look. "Why are you so enthused today?"

"He's in love," Kurt said. Sam jumped at the statement.

"Is he now?" Mercedes asked.

Kurt simply said, "That's what it looks like. Either that or he had really great sex that could be mistaken for love."

"Probably more accurate," Mercedes said, then, "Now, we have an appointment. Let's not waste time concerning ourselves with Sam and Quinn's personal business."

"Quinn?" Kurt said and looked at Sam, who simply shook his head. Kurt looked at Mercedes and shook his head, too. He wrapped an arm around her and said, "Alright my love, now let's see what we're going to do with this wardrobe of yours."

"I'm not in love with Quinn!" Sam called out, finally able to speak, and Mercedes laughed as they got onto the elevator.

Kurt immediately asked, "Why did you say that to him. Cedes? You know that he's falling for you."

Tina scoffed and asked, "When did you become his champion?"

"I'm not, but I can see what's happening to him," Kurt said.

"That he's another guy on a long list of strays gone slumming with the blind?" Mercedes asked.

"Cedes!" Kurt snapped. "As if you would ever be anyone's 'slum,' sighted or otherwise."

"I was being ironic when I said it," she said, "Partially. I heard him asking Quinn what she was doing for Valentines' Day. I left them to their conversation, came back through a little later, I heard her to tell him to stop seeing her like that, then I think she rushed upstairs. Sounded like she was going upstairs." She shrugged. "I'm glad that I wasn't paying any attention to any of you with that 'oh, if you could see how he looks at you' crap." They got off of the elevator in her apartment.

Sam sat at the computer, typing, slowly. Sometimes, it was easier for him to type something, print it then trace it onto his paper. When he heard the door of the shop being entered, he jumped up and rushed down the stairs to meet Mercedes… and Puck. It was raining and they were both rushing in, talking about some concert they had been to. Sam slowed down, but kept coming. "Thank you for a good time, Noah," he heard Mercedes say. Then, they hugged, then she kissed him. It was on the cheek, but it made Sam furious.

"Hey, you two!" He cheered, loudly, startling both of them. "How was your date?"

"Fun," Puck said, but Mercedes had said, "It wasn't a date," at the same time.

Sam said, "I got you something, whenever you get a chance. Is Puck sticking around, or…?"

Mercedes said, "Oh, he's just gonna wait for the rain to slack up," and waved a hand towards Puck, whose ears reddened. Sam tried not to smirk about that. "What do you mean that you got me something? Sam Evans, if you went into your savings to get me a present when I don't need anything…"

"You won't fire me, will you?" He asked in mock concern, then took her hand and led her to the backroom while calling over his shoulder, "Puck, could you make some coffee, maybe?" Puck took off his wet coat, hung it on the coat rack and folded his arms, annoyed.

Sam told Mercedes, "Close your eyes and open your hands."

"Why close my eyes?" She asked. He simply lifted his nose and looked down at her with pursed lips. When she received no answer, she sighed, laughed and closed her eyes. He placed something in her hand and she began to feel it with both hands. "Is this one of the three wise men?"

He laughed and said, "No. It's St. Valentine… okay, so it's one of the three wise men that I painted to look like St. Valentine. I have no idea how you do that."

Her eyes opened again and she told him, "I see with my hands. This isn't the first wise man that I've seen."

"It's the first one that you've seen painted like St. Valentine," he said.

She laughed and did and diagonal nod, "Yeah, it is. Thank you, Sam." She gave him a hug and told him, "Happy Valentines' Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day to you to."

"Where did you get paint?"

"Kurt," he said.

"And you painted it, even though I can't see it," she said, impressed and touched.

"Well, I would have done it, if you could. Why skimp on you because you can't? I mean – who would give somebody one of the three wise men NOT painted for Valentines' Day?"

"I don't know. But, then again, I don't know who would give somebody a painted one either."

"Sam Evans, that's who," he said. They laughed lightly.

"What did you give Quinn?"

"Not a damned thing," he said, simply and quickly. "I am not interested in Quinn. Not, like that. Not anymore," he said. She nodded and shrugged her shoulders. "Don't do that, Mercedes. I'm serious. I'm not into her."

"That's not my business."

"I needed you to know," he said. She took a swallow and felt his body coming closer to hers. What the hell was going on? He wasn't leaning towards her, was he? Those aren't his lips brushing against mine, are they?

"Coffee's ready!" Puck called from the doorway. Sam jumped and looked up at him. Puck's eyebrows were raised and his arms were holding the top of the threshold. Sam cussed in his mind. He had barely grazed her lips when Puck interrupted, and he knew that it wasn't accidental. Now, Mercedes was practically running out of the back room and he was assessing Puck. "You do want coffee, don't you?" Puck asked.

"Yeah. Thanks," Sam said and threw on a slick smile.

Puck smirked right back at him and told him, "My pleasure."

Mercedes rushed to her apartment and didn't look back. She didn't care what Puck was doing or Sam, or if they were worried, or confused. She just had to get out of that little backroom, and quickly. Puck was calling her cell phone, because his ringtone was "Set Me Free," by the Supremes. Sam's was the theme from Star Wars… She slapped herself and set her little Valentines man on the counter and dropped to the floor to sit. She'd left the dogs downstairs and everything. Then, she heard her elevator. She ran to lock the thing before it opened. When it dinged, it made a sound and she heard knocking. Puck. "Cedes, did something happen? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! I just need to get to bed. Good night," she called out.

"Did he do something to upset you?" Puck asked.

"I'm fine!" She yelled and stormed away from the elevator. But, she was already taking her phone out and calling Kurt. When he picked up, she said, "This is all your fault!"