Disclaimer: I do not own Glee.

0

If Kurt knew about this, he'd kill her.

"Why do the lights have to be out every time you let me touch you underneath?"

And she'd still rather be having this conversation with him than Sam.

"It's just the way I was raised," she says, inwardly rolling her eyes at herself. She reaches over and kisses him, guiding his hand under her shirt and over her camisole, feeling the shiver of joy and slight fright that always happens when they kiss; it only intensifies when they touch one another.

He pulls away, withdrawing his hand, causing a groan of frustration in her. Mercedes isn't ready to go all the way, but there are a lot of things she's more than ready and willing to experience.

"Seriously," he says, looking intently at her. "You've seen me shirtless, but I've never seen you with yours off."

"Everyone has seen you shirtless," Mercedes points out. "You've just gotten over that sunburn you got that day two weeks ago you ran around outside all day long with no shirt on."

His expression concedes the point, but he reaches over, playing with her shirt. "Can I, though? I want to see you."

"No," she says, moving his hand. "I'm not ready for that."

Nodding, he gives her a sad, half-smile, and she has to resist the urge to bang her head against something. He's a gentleman, she'll give him that. Maybe this would be easier if he wasn't, if he only pretended to be a gentleman, and then, she saw his true colours. 'Cause, one way or another, she's going to get her heartbroken; maybe, it'd be better if she just let it happen now.

Kurt wouldn't even bother killing her. He'd just hand her a knife and glare until she turned it on herself.

"Do you want to work on water-colouring," he asks, awkwardly.

Mercedes guesses that this means there isn't going to be the make-out session she was hoping for. She and Sam both love painting, despite neither having a real talent for it, but at the moment, she couldn't care less about it.

"Sure," she answers, forcing a smile.

0

"Sam wants to see me without the shirt and cami," she confesses at the sleepover.

Kurt, Rachel, and Quinn all look up from the fabrics they're poring over.

"And," Kurt asks, first, "are you ready to go that far?"

If she lies, they will know. "I don't know," Mercedes answers. That's close enough to the truth, isn't it? "He's been a real gentleman about it, at least."

Quinn nods, and Mercedes feels a brief flash of guilt. She didn't steal Sam by any means, but unlike the Puck situation, she actually likes him, and he was once dating one of her best friends. As much as she's seen friends stay friends even after they start dating exes, it's still weird for her to be in that situation.

"Finn's seen my chest," Rachel says, glancing at Quinn.

"I've seen Blaine's chest," Kurt says. "But that was an accident, and I don't care if we're both boys. I'm not ready for him to see mine."

"Why not," Mercedes asks, curious.

He shrugs, face closed off. "I still have some insecurities I'm working through."

"What about you, Quinn," Rachel inquires.

The blonde shifts, uncomfortably. "No boy's ever seen that."

"Not even Puck," Mercedes asks, cocking her head.

Shaking her head, Quinn says, "That mistake happened in the dark, with my top on. Finn's seen me in a bikini. And Sam's hands were usually trying to get under my skirt instead of my top."

"Then, why does he seem so interested in my top," Mercedes wonders, aloud, forgetting the weirdness.

Giving her a sweet smile, Quinn suggests, "You have a lot more in that department than I do, Mercedes."

"It's okay if you want to wait," Rachel says, "but if you want to, you should go for it."

Unfortunately, wanting to or not wanting to isn't the whole issue. Still, she stays quiet and lets the conversation go to Blaine's next scheduled performance.

0

"And the spaceship took us to the Vatican," Stevie tells her as he sits in her lap, playing with her hair. She's been letting her natural hair grow out.

"Why the Vatican?"

"Cause I'm going to be a priest!"

Mercedes starts to open her mouth, and then, remembers she's talking to a little boy. He can be a Protestant and have dreams of being a priest, if he wants. "Cool," she says, smiling.

"And then, I can marry you and Sammy."

"Uh, back up, kiddo," she says, quickly. "I love your brother. But it's a bad idea for seventeen-year-olds to be talking about marriage."

"Why?"

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but your big brother sometimes does stupid things." At his nod, she says, "Don't tell him this, but I've done some dumb things, too. And when you get to be seventeen, you're going to, too. So, it's best to wait until you're all grown up and not as likely to do something stupid before you start talking about marrying somebody. I mean, before you start talking about getting married to somebody."

"Priests can't get married."

She thinks that some non-Catholic priests can, but she's not going say anything. "Did the aliens take you anywhere else?"

"We wanted to go to Pluto, but Dad woke us up," Stevie says, frowning in irritation.

"Your dreams are something else, kiddo," she says, kissing him on the forehead. He makes a face and hastily wipes it off, causing her to laugh.

The door opens, and her father leads Stacie out. "No cavities in this one," he says, as the little girl runs to Mercedes lap. Grinning, Stevie hops down and walks over.

"I want braces," Stacie says, snuggling against Mercedes.

"You might get some when you're older," Mercedes says, rubbing her arm. "You know, Quinn had braces when she was younger."

"Cool," Stacie says, yawning. "I want hair like yours."

"Sorry, baby," Mercedes says, smiling softly, "but the hair I'm growing out, it's usually something only black people have. But we can curl your hair if you want."

Stacie nods. "I'm going to have braces and curly hair and glasses," she declares.

Mercedes isn't sure if she should be worried or not over Stacie's desire for things that most girls absolutely dread. Thankfully, however, Sam appears before she can think too deeply about it.

"Sammy," Stacie says, suddenly full of energy. She jumps down and runs over, giggling as he picks her up and swings her around.

Carrying her over fireman style, Sam sits down next to Mercedes. "Thanks for watching them. And it's really cool of your dad to do this."

After the prom, when they were making small conversation, it'd somehow come to light that his dad had a toothache. The next day Mercedes had brought him forms so that his family could get free aid from her father. He'd protested at first, but she'd convinced him to give the forms to his parents. He'd been nice but firm in his refusal, and she'd tried kindness and reasonableness. When that hadn't worked, she'd explained exactly how much of a moron he was being, told him that everyone needed help occasionally and that people should accept help when they needed it, and had threatened to go to the motel and give the form to his parents herself if she had to.

Somehow, all that had worked much more effectively than she had thought it would, not that she was or is complaining.

Leaning over, she gives him chaste kiss on the lips. "It ain't no problem," she says, smiling.

He grins back. "Did Stevie tell you about the spaceship?"

"Spaceships are ugly," Stacie declares, making a face.

Laughing, Mercedes nods.

The three of them play Legos until Stevie, also cavity-free, is done.

When they go back to the motel, the kids rush inside, desperate to watch some cartoon that the VCR hopefully recorded.

Sam leans over and kisses her, long and slow, and she feels herself melting and turning warm in a good way. When his hands, on her lower-back, move upwards, resting between her shoulder-blades, though, she pulls back, feeling her cami pressed against the skin. "You better get in there before they decide to turn the VCR upside down, again," she says, grinning.

He shakes his head. "Yeah, I still have no idea what that was about." He leans over and steals a quick kiss. "Thanks, Mercedes. Call me later?"

Nodding, she walks away, feeling light as air.

0

"Ten-year-old or not, that kid had a lot of nerve," Sam grumbles.

As they walk, holding hands, Mercedes says, "I know. My parents don't even believe in spanking, but if I'd ever done anything like that, it'd've taken a tube of superglue to glue my head back on."

"Still," Sam says, "our painting did kind of suck."

"At least, ours wouldn't send a guidance counsellor running to the nearest police station, going on about how there's a future serial killer on the loose," Mercedes grumbles. "His paintings are worse than a Stephen King miniseries."

Looking over, he squeezes her hand. "Stevie's camping with his boy scout troop, and Stacie's at Quinn's. And my parents won't be back until eight. Want to come over?"

"Sure," she says, hoping that when she calls her mother she doesn't cave and inform her that the Evans aren't at the motel. If she just says she's hanging out there, her mom will probably assume that, at least, one of them is there. If her mom doesn't, though, and specifically asks, Mercedes knows she'll tell the truth; no boy is worth losing her parents' trust over.

"Cool," he says, grinning.

When they get there, he says, "Buy you a soda?"

Shaking her head, she withdraws a dollar from her purse and gives it to him. They've agreed that they'll mostly go Dutch; sometimes, she pays for both, but he's made her promise that once his family finances get better, he'll start paying for everything. "Cherry, please," she says, feeling a surge of happiness as he nods, already knowing she was going to say that.

He heads down to the vending machines, and she goes inside, automatically picking up the toys the Evans children have left on the floor. Mr and Mrs Evans have told her more than once that she's a guest and shouldn't clean up after the children, usually glaring at said children as they did, but Mercedes got into a habit when she was young of picking up her big brother's messes just so that she wouldn't have to hear the three hour screaming matches between him and their parents.

Sam reappears, setting the sodas down. "Hey," he says, reaching over to wrap his hand around her arm, "you don't need to do that, you know."

"I know," she says, leaning up to kiss him, feeling a mixture of thrill and embarrassment as she sees his eyes briefly glancing down her cleavage.

A knock at the door startles them, and they break apart. She straightens up.

Missy Clinton, a girl from New Mexico who's spending a week in Lima, is standing in the doorway. She looks a lot like Quinn but with brown hair and dark blue eyes; currently, she's wearing a two-piece swimsuit. Mercedes feels an ache in her stomach when Sam's eyes obviously rake over her, a smile appearing on his face. "Hey, Missy," he says.

"Hey," Missy says, holding up a map. "Sorry to bother y'all. I'm trying to find this place called Breadstix?"

"Oh, no problem," Sam says, walking over. "Is your grandma driving you, or are you taking the bus?"

As Missy answers, the two walk out. Sighing, Mercedes finishes picking up the toys. "What am I doing," she wonders aloud.

When Sam comes back, she forces a smile. "Listen, I need to get home," she says. "My dad might have to work late, and you know that my mom isn't allowed to go grocery shopping alone." Every time she does, she somehow manages to run into Mr Shue, and as awesome of a teacher he is, he just can't grasp the concept that he doesn't need to tell parents absolutely everything their child does.

"Okay," Sam says, visibly taken aback. "Do you want me to walk you?"

"Nah," she says, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. "I'm going to stop at the convenience store real quick and get some more floss; we're running low. I'll call you later."

0

"Honey, you need to eat more," her mom says that night.

Looking at her knowingly, her father asks, "Did you and Sam have a fight?"

Annoyed by the question, Mercedes barely manages to keep herself from snapping. Her mother is fine with her dating a white boy; her father is trying his best to be supportive. He really likes Sam, but he's always said that no child of his would date a white person. And then, one of his nieces had a commitment ceremony with a white woman, and he's been significantly more open-minded since. "No," she answers. "I'm just tired."

Her mother feels her head. "Just remember that you can always talk to us," she says. "At least finish your drink, baby."

Mercedes finishes her juice and manages to eat some more of her food. That night, she doesn't sleep much, tearing up a few times. Why did she ever say yes when Sam had asked her if she wanted to go on a date? God did give her common sense, and after the Kurt incident, she had vowed to always use it when it came to boys.

0

She manages to avoid him for two days.

When they go to the park to snap pictures of the fallen leaves so that they can play with her Photoshop, Mercedes waits until they take a break and sit down on a bench. Taking a deep breath, she says, "Listen, I- think we need to break up."

The look he gives her literally makes her heart hurt. "Wh- I-"

"You're amazing," she says, quickly, firmly ordering herself to not cry. "I love hanging out with you. But I don't think we're right for each other."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No," she assures him, reaching out to take his hand.

It feels a lot like a slap when he jerks his hand out of reach. "Tell me why you think we're not right for each other," he says, voice unnaturally flat. "'Cause, we have so much in common, and you don't have a problem with my being homeless. I make you laugh, and you help me with my dyslexia. I don't think it's your dad, because you'd be angry and willing to fight if it were. And my parents and Stevie and Stacie all love you."

Closing her eyes, Mercedes takes steady breaths and thinks of every happy thing she can imagine. Eventually, the tears dry up, and she reopens her eyes. Sam isn't looking at her, sitting up hunched up. "Look, I'm not denying that we have a lot in common or that we don't make each other's life better, but-" She pauses. "Stuff like that isn't a good reason for people to go out."

"Yeah," he says, looking at her. "And what about the kissing? The hand-holding? The touching? I'm not saying it's the only thing, because I like you for more than just that, but we like doing that. Or at least, I do. I don't know, Santana never seemed to really like kissing me," he muses, "and Quinn decided to go kiss Finn-"

"Okay, first of all, Santana can be a bitch," Mercedes interrupts. "The only reason she wanted to go out with you was because of Quinn. And Quinn- Quinn is my friend, and all I can say is: She was wrong to do that, but she had her issues. Cheating on you with Finn was all about those issues. You may be the first boy I've ever kissed, but that doesn't mean I can't tell for myself that you're damn talented."

"Then, why," he asks, quietly.

Mercedes realises that she doesn't really have a choice here.

"Because," she says, trying not to look away, "you dated girls like Quinn and Santana. You like looking at girls like Missy. And I know I'm beautiful, but I also know that it's rare to find a guy who's into my type of beauty. It's just the way the world works. I really like hanging out with you, Sam, and I know you like me. But a straight girl and boy can hang out a lot without there being a romance. As much as I like you, I need to wait until I find a boy who I make hot until I start dating."

"Mercedes-"

"I once thought that Kurt and I were dating," she blurts out. "We linked arms, went to the mall a lot, and hung out at his house. And I think some part of me had to know what the whole world knew because I was more interested in when he'd be ready to start telling people than I was in kissing or anything. But after that, I promised myself that I wouldn't do something so desperate again. And I think this is me doing something so desperate again, and you going along with it because of all your own issues."

He scoffs and mutters something in that blue alien language of his. "Fine," he says, shortly. Then, he gets up and walks away.

She tells herself to wait until she gets home but ends up breaking down right there.

0

Kurt is looking at her very suspiciously.

"You do understand that there is technically no law against citizens waterboarding citizens."

"Wouldn't that fall under torture," she inquires, hopefully.

"Not according to various U.S. government officials," he answers, tapping his fingers together. "I have a strong case for discrimination if anyone tries to argue otherwise."

Mercedes will take his word for it.

"I heard you and Sam broke up."

"Yes."

"I'm waiting."

"We just weren't right for one another," she says, squirming.

"I demand more details."

"I think he hates me, but it fell under the category of amicable."

"Ow!" She rubs her head, glaring at him as he banishes a pillow.

"Talk, or I dunk this pillow in the sink and have Lauren and Puck come over and hold you down," he threatens.

"Couldn't we just watch movies?"

"No," he answers, flatly. "Who broke up with whom?"

"I did," she mutters, realising that her friend will keep this up all night if he has to. "It just didn't feel right. Could you please just be my friend and watch movies with me?"

For a minute, it looks like he's going to keep going, but he looks at her, and then, sighs. Nodding, he hugs her, kissing her temple. "Sure, Mercedes."

"Thank you," she says, relaxing into him.

0

Unfortunately, not everyone is so supportive.

Quinn sits down across from her, giving her a look that's often reserved for Rachel.

"Hi," Mercedes says, weakly.

There's a long silence. "You made Stevie cry," she finally says. "He thinks him talking about marrying you and Sam made you decide to do this. Stacie has a stomach-ache from all the tension and stress, and Sam is eating cake."

"Look, I didn't-"

"Sam's a gentleman," Quinn continues, "and he hasn't given me any true details. I cheated on him, and Santana never really wanted him. You, though, you and he were so perfect for one another."

"Yeah," Mercedes says, sadly. "He has a six-pack, and I'm the fat chick. Those two things go together so well."

"You're Mercedes Jones," Quinn says, "and you're beautiful. Ever since I've known you, you've never let society tell you that you couldn't do something because of how you look. You quit the cheerios instead of letting Coach Sylvester destroy your self-esteem; you've challenged Rachel for solos." Taking a breath, she says, quietly, "And before I knew you, when I was horrible to you and the others, you never let us get to you. You wore what you wanted, ate properly, and kept reminding yourself that you deserved happiness."

"I still do all that," Mercedes protests.

"Every guy, no matter how loyal, is going to look occasionally," Quinn says. "Are you telling me you wouldn't look if a boy with a certain look came around? And look at Puck; he used to always date cheerios and chase after girls on the slim side, and then, Zizes came into the picture. Sam can be dim and a complete dork, but he's not shallow."

That's why he fell in love with you two seconds after meeting you, Mercedes thinks, bitterly.

She promptly opens her schedule to be water-boarded. That is a terrible thought. Quinn has a lot more going on than her looks, and Mercedes knows that Sam started making the moves after Quinn helped him when he first got slushied. Even Santana was more a case of she showed interest and was nice enough in her own twisted way to let him know that he was being cheated on rather than the fact she happens to be super-hot.

"So, I guess I messed up pretty badly," she notes, burying her face on the table. Great, she finally gets a boyfriend, and it takes her less than three months to ruin it.

Mercedes can feel Quinn's unsympathetic look on her. Quietly, the other girl gets up, and Mercedes hears her footsteps walking away.

And apparently, she might have just lost a friend, too. She hadn't even said the mean things she was thinking, and since when did girls take the side of boys over their girlfriends?

Since they make the little children they love cry and get stomach-aches, her mind supplies.

"Mercedes?"

She looks up.

"Could we go for a walk?"

0

They go to the park and sit down on a bench. She has a sinking suspicion it's the same one they broke up on.

"Look, everyone has different bodies, right?"

Dear God, she doesn't think she's going to like where this goes. Still, she nods.

"And I like having abs and usually eat a certain way. But other people aren't me, and when they're not trying to look like everyone thinks they should, they usually know how to take care of their body in the best way for them."

"Yeah, I know."

"I think you're really pretty, Mercedes," Sam says, giving her a sad grin. "And I've always thought that. It's just, until prom, we never talked. I don't want to just be your friend. You feel amazing when I touch you, and I know that you're going to take my breath away when, or I guess if, you ever let me see you. And I know we both have issues, my homelessness, the fact that you've gone to school with idiots who don't see how awesome you are, and the fact that neither of us have a good record of long-lasting healthy relationships. And there are probably more. Um, but I'd really like to be your boyfriend."

"Even though I broke up with you like a crazy, insecure person?"

"I get insecure sometimes, too," Sam says. "And we were in Glee; I think most of them are even crazier than we are."

Laughing, she leans over to kiss him.