|The 28th Amendment
Author: Santiva Potter PM
While their fathers attempt to air out the other's dirty laundry on the congressional floor, high school seniors Sam and Mercedes find themselves stuck in a case of "fatal attraction" and end up bringing their closest friends and enemies along for the ride. Democrat!Mercedes and Republican!Sam. Prequel to Crossing the AisleRated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Drama - Sam E. & Mercedes J. - Chapters: 8 - Words: 51,939 - Reviews: 117 - Favs: 43 - Follows: 86 - Updated: 02-08-13 - Published: 07-06-12 - id: 8291327
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing of Glee
A/N: Can we all just pretend that this didn't take a ridiculously long time to post? *Sigh* As always I have to give a shout out to the lovely Jill for beta-reading!
The 28th Amendment
Chapter 6 – A Case of Mistaken Identity
Summary: While their fathers attempt to air out the other's dirty laundry on the congressional floor, high school seniors Sam and Mercedes find themselves stuck in a case of fatal attraction and end up bringing their closest friends and enemies along for the ride.
Kurt Hummel had never professed to be Superman, but somewhere along the way he was quite sure that someone was mistaking him for the caped crusader. It was honestly silly, especially since he would never be caught dead in those fireman red spandex pants. However, he may have been guilty of associating that dubious title with Blaine Anderson. It seemed that there would be no wrong that the Anderson heir couldn't fix and their brief moment of compassion that they shared at the Anderson's lake house caused a disgusting amount of perspiration on Kurt's pale hands as he walked through the rustic corridors of Dalton Academy on his first day.
Despite the school's classic sharp blazers that made virtual clones of all of its students, the future billionaire wasn't hard to find. The sea of students parted for him and he was bizarrely without any of the other 4 boys that usually kept him company. Also gone were the thick curls that he'd let hang loose in the privacy of his home. Everything was slicked back to perfection and the sleek look only added to the fact that even in the uniform blazer Blaine Anderson could not be missed.
Anyone who was not Blaine however, evidently could.
"Blaine! Blaine," Kurt hollered over the crowd. He could forgive pure innocence but Blaine looked right at him and kept walking, leaving Kurt to fight the blush as several of his new classmates stared bewilderedly at him. Perhaps at Dalton Academy Blaine Anderson was some kind of god—like Quinn Fabray at McKinley—and he had no time or patience for his lowly and slightly less rich classmates.
"Don't worry about that," one the blazer clones, a brunette who Kurt quickly recognized as Nick Mega, said as he approached. "No one's quite sure what crawled up Blaine's ass but if I were you, I'd just give him a bit of space."
"Trust us, no one wants to be around baby Blainers when he's suffering from PMS," Jeff Sterling added as he joined Kurt and Nick.
"Jeffrey," Kurt greeted. "Glad to see that your level of insensitivity hasn't changed."
"Good to see you too Kurt," Jeff replied. "Shame you couldn't bring Mercedes Jones over with you in that transfer. I thought you two were two peas in a pod."
"Was that your way of indirectly asking me if there was something behind the scenes with my transfer to Dalton Academy?" Kurt asked unimpressed.
"Oh God no," Jeff laughed. "I just wanted to see how easy it would be to crack you. And let's not play dumb here shall we? There is most definitely something behind the event with your transfer and I'm not the only one who wants to hear the tale. You're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. I'd be careful of who you trust here."
"Don't let Jeff get you too superstitious," Nick cut in. "We're not all political animals gunning for the highest seat on the totem pole. Some of us just like to relax, hang out, and maybe do a little singing..."
"Here we go," Jeff groaned. "Run while you still can Hummel. You're not his friend. Technically you don't have to do anything he says."
"Ignore Mr. Melodramatic over there," Nick continued. "The Warbles are like rock stars at Dalton."
"Only because they can get us out of class," Jeff muttered under his breath.
"And with competition season around the corner, we would love a new addition," Nick finished.
"A new addition from the same show choir who every year shuts you out of Sectionals… that doesn't sound suspicious or anything," Kurt replied.
"So he does think like a son of a politician," Jeff grinned.
"Jeffrey just because I don't make it my life's pleasure to cause others pain, doesn't mean that I'm completely inept in how to do so," Kurt replied.
"Oh I wasn't talking about you Hummel," Jeff teased. "I was referring to Nick."
"You ass," Nick threw back.
Aside from Blaine's complete disregard and some of the subtle questioning looks from a few of his classmates, Kurt's first weeks at Dalton had been easy; almost too easy. He couldn't remember the last time going to school had been so simple. Every day was much like the day before. There were never any surprises around the corner, and once Kurt was able to let himself accept this new truth he found himself flourishing in his new found love of monotony. His father was still overly suspicious of the entire transfer. It hadn't been easy convincing Burt Hummel that Jesse St James was truly enamored with Kurt's designs and wanted to mentor him, but the distance and the fact that it was nearly impossible to reach Jesse St. James did lend a helpful hand. In truth the fashion designer did like Kurt's designs, even if he'd never breathe a word of that in public.
In his first two weeks at Dalton, Kurt threw himself into his school work. Jesse's fashion club kept him three times a week and when he wasn't with the ladies of Leighmeister, Kurt stood amongst some of his new classmates as a Warbler. He hadn't been very interested in the offer at first, but Mercedes insisted that he at least give it a try, as to not alienate himself from his class and while it wasn't the same as The New Directions, Kurt found himself adjusting rather nicely. Nick and Jeff were regulars in the club, while David, Wes and Blaine were primarily spectators. The Warbler's leader, Sebastian Smythe had been apparently trying to recruit David and Wes for some time now, though Nick, who served as second in command, claimed that Sebastian wanted more of Blaine's friends among the Warbler ranks in hopes of luring Blaine into the group. The Anderson heir had once been a star member of the group during his freshman year, before Sebastian's arrival. Unfortunately, less than half way into Blaine's sophomore year, the same year that Symthe descended upon the school, Blaine unceremoniously left and never turned back.
"He seems rather…flamboyant," Kurt said to Jeff during one rehearsal.
"Sebastian? He's just one smug asshole," Jeff replied.
"So he's not gay?" Kurt asked.
"Honestly no one at Dalton really gives a fuck whether Sebastian is gay or not," Jeff replied. "He'll occasionally bed some Leighmiester girl but I'd wager he'd rather take it up the ass any day."
"Just please don't tell me that you're attracted to him," Jeff continued. "That would not only ruin our friendship but it would break my fragile heart. You know that you're the apple of my eye Hummel."
"Hush Sterling," Kurt replied rolling his eyes. Jeff was a good acquaintance. Kurt was hesitant to call him a friend solely because of the cloak of mischief that he constantly wore, but Jeff was a funny and brutally honest guy. Nick had quickly landed himself a spot as one of the nicest guys Kurt had ever met. In fact all of Blaine friends had turned out to be top notch guys—Kurt had found great study partners through Wes and David as they shared several classes—which made him wonder why any of them put up with Blaine, who since Kurt's time at Dalton had yet to be seen with them.
It was as Kurt was dwelling on this, that life brought him one of those surprises that he'd so sorely missed.
"Excuse the interruption gentleman," Wes walked in during a Warbler's Friday afternoon rehearsal.
"Wesley," Sebastian greeted. "As I'm sure you know our recruitment period ended last week but I'm sure we can always make an exception…"
"Maybe another time," Wes cut over him. "The Chancellor needs to see Kurt Hummel."
Confusion quickly marred Kurt's face. The Chancellor had only spoken with him once in an abbreviated new student's orientation. He'd been polite enough, but Chancellor Thomas wasn't the type of man who held an open door policy. He'd made it very clear that if Kurt was back in his office it would not be something to delight over.
Sebastian quickly dismissed Kurt, realizing he wouldn't be getting any closer to his own personal motives with this conversation. Wes led a swift pace from the hall where the Warblers were practicing and curiously enough down the winding staircases that led to the entrance of the school.
"We're not going to see Chancellor Thomas?" Kurt asked.
"No," Wes replied, "but Sebastian enjoys meddling into other's business. This is a matter that I figured that you'd want as little of an audience as possible."
Wes led Kurt to the senior parking lot, which was mostly instantly saved for David Makin Jr., who was leaning against Kurt's black Lincoln Navigator that was mauled with bright red spray paint. Realizing that someone had written "faggot" on every side of the car caused Kurt to freeze. He didn't drop his belongings or attempt to hold back any tears. He simply stood there trying to compute how foolish he could have been in thinking that transferring school would somehow create a permanent escape.
"Has anyone come out yet?" Wes asked David, eyeing Kurt carefully.
"Not yet," David replied, "but we should probably move the vehicle before someone notices."
"There's a lot not too far from here where you can park overnight for free, unless you'd prefer a more traditional course of action," David offered.
"No," Kurt replied, reaching for his keys.
"Here," Wes said, reaching for the set. "Let me drive."
Kurt paid little attention to his surroundings as Wesley drove to the lot. He couldn't keep his head from spinning and the more that he thought about his precious time at Dalton the sicker his stomach felt. None of this should have been so surprising. Just because Dalton provided room and board for its students didn't mean that Kurt had been cut off from the rest of the world and his old "friends". He should have seen this coming; he should have known that things were going too well.
When Wes parked the car, Kurt didn't take in the fact that they were parked at the top level of an almost empty parking garage but he instead blanched at the reason of why the parking lot was almost empty.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Kurt snapped as he exited his car.
"Kurt, Blaine was the one who found your car in the parking lot," Wes replied. "He wanted to make sure that the incident wouldn't spread around the entire school. He's here to drive us back."
David and Wes silently got into the back of Blaine's sleek convertible leaving the front seat open for Kurt. Blaine said nothing on the ride over to Dalton, not even taking the time to wordlessly acknowledge Kurt's presence but when the billionaire heir turned to speak to Wes, Kurt could feel his blood boiling.
"Stop the car," he demanded.
"Excuse me?" Blaine asked turning to him for the first time.
"I said stop the goddamn car," Kurt repeated.
"I think Kurt just needs some air," Wes added calmly as Blaine pulled over the side of the road.
"I don't need air," Kurt hissed slamming the door behind him as he left the car.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Blaine snapped, stepping out of the front seat.
"I'll walk back to Dalton or home or to my car. I don't know and I really don't care," Kurt snapped. "I just need to get the hell away from you."
"Are you on some sort of acid trip?" Blaine sneered. "We're trying to help you."
"So now you want to help me? That's just great because I live my life waiting for you to "help" me. Let's be clear here, I don't want help from anyone who enjoys moonlighting as a savior but can't show any inkling of respect towards others during the day," Kurt threw back. "If I was such a thorn in your side before Anderson, why did you even bother helping me? You know what you are? You are an asshole. You've treated me like shit, your friends, hell everyone in this damn school like shit because you think because of who your parents are you have some sort of authority over everyone who you encounter!"
"You don't know me Hummel," Blaine replied darkly, "which is why I'll ignore your little pissy rant because if you did, you'd know that I am the wrong person to cross."
"I'll take my chances," Kurt snapped back before turning his back on them.
Kurt easily walked down the side of the road for an hour. In his rage of course he'd left his satchel, which held his cellphone, in Blaine's car. With no one to call, Kurt tried to walk in the direction where he believed they'd parked his car. Just as his feet began to blister thanks to his rather fabulous, but no so practical shoes, a car slowed down beside him as the driver called out, "It's one thing to want someone out of your life, but it's another thing to serve them a wake-up cup full of liquid Drano."
Kurt stopped on the side of the road and fought a smile.
"Did you just quote Heathers?" he asked Jeff Sterling who sat in the front seat of a deep green Toyota MR2 Turbo. "Besides, I haven't poisoned Blaine, though the idea is tempting."
"That movie's a classic," Jeff shrugged. "I could see myself going steady with Veronica Sawyer."
"I'm sure she'd just kill you first," Kurt replied. "Look, if you're here to tell me that Blaine was "worried" don't bother."
"Fine, I won't tell you that Blaine was "worried"," Jeff replied, "but I will tell you that I don't give up as easily as Mr. Anderson. Blaine's an asshole, always has been and always will be. Let me drop you off back at the school so I can go formally kick his ass."
"I don't need a savior," Kurt snapped.
"Oh it's not for you," Jeff grinned. "It's almost 3:30 on a Friday, that's my normal time to kick Anderson's ass. Heaven forbid we get off schedule."
"C'mon Hummel, let me take you back," Jeff continued. "At the very least, I'm sure your feet will thank me."
When the two boys arrived back at Dalton, Kurt was quick to leave the sports car, though he did give Jeff a small nod of thanks. Jeff didn't hold anything against him. He could still remember the first time he went toe-to-toe with Blaine. His curly haired friend often meant well, but he was simply terrible with follow through. Blaine's actions would often emulate one ideal but when he opened his damn mouth…
"Took you long enough," Blaine frowned as Jeff joined his group of friends.
"Nice to see you too sunshine," Jeff replied. "You did a cute little number on Hummel earlier."
"We've already agreed to put that on temporary pause," Wes cut in. "Did you check the security tapes?"
"Yep," Jeff replied. "Whoever came in were smart enough to keep their faces concealed, but sometimes when you're in a rush to leave, some things get forgotten."
Jeff handed Nick, who stood closest to him a small slip of paper.
"Is this a license plate number?" Nick asked.
"Yep, whoever owns the car was the one who paid Kurt's car a visit last night."
"I already know who did it, I need proof that he did," Blaine said. "Is any chance that I can get you to run those numbers by the local car dealerships, Jeff? Preferably the ones that are more likely to supply under the radar to any of our fellow cops."
"Any chance I can get you to fess up to why Kurt Hummel transferred here in the first place?" Jeff threw back.
"I told you," Blaine replied. "Sam owed him a favor."
"While I'm going to call bullshit again," Nick cut in, "Jeff and I will handle the luxury car rentals. I imagine that you're going to talk to Sam?"
"Don't bother," Wes cut in taking the written license plate number away from Blaine. "Both of our families are going to the opera tonight. I'll talk to him then."
"I bet you hate that," Jeff grinned as he watched Blaine frown, "the fact that we're going to find out what you and Sam are hiding whether you like it or not."
"I told you Jeff," Blaine retorted, "there's nothing to hide."
"What about Kurt's car?" David asked.
"I'll take care of that," Blaine replied.
"And there you go," Nick sighed, "playing Superman again."
"I'm not Superman nor am I trying to be him," Blaine snapped as he walked away from his friends. "For one thing I wouldn't be caught dead in those damn spandex pants."
Friday for Mercedes was only going marginally better than Kurt's. The day had started with a rejection letter from NYADA. For the first few minutes she couldn't help but stare blankly at the paper that Bryan Ryan had hand delivered. It was one of her many tactics to keep the letter from failing into the hands of her father, but when Rachel Berry had entered the classroom shooting Mercedes a smug look, Mercedes nearly lost it. Thankfully, Tina and John Locke, a fellow Glee club member, had kept her from slapping the smug look off of Berry's face. Tina managed to get their English teacher's permission for the pair of them to get some air and while they walked down the hall, Tina dialed the admissions office for NYADA. Apparently the second part of her application never made it to their office and they were unwilling to re-evaluate the application without proof that there had been an error on behalf the postal service and/or NYADA themselves. They'd tried to get to the postal office where Mercedes had sent the application through as quickly as possible after school, but the manager had already left by the time they arrived. Mercedes returned to an empty home and sore heart despite Tina's insistence that they would get to the bottom of this. The Jones' home didn't stay empty for long. Santana Lopez, who was now moonlighting as cupid, arrived after her cheerleading practice to help get Mercedes out of her funk and ready for her date with college freshman Anthony Rashad.
"I still think this is a bad idea," Mercedes grumbled as Santana sorted through her closet. Apparently the outfit that Mercedes had originally chosen hadn't been "sexy" enough. "My break-up with Shane is still pretty fresh."
Santana almost paused from her hunt to shoot her a look that clearly said 'bullshit'.
"Which is why you were so eager to agree to the date a few days ago," Santana threw back.
"Because I wanted to get Shane out of my head," Mercedes defended.
"And you will once you go on this date with Anthony. He's a nice guy, a freshman in college, has a plan for himself. What more could you want?"
"I-I don't know," Mercedes sighed leaning against her pillows.
"You don't know or you don't want to know?" Santana clarified watching her new friend battle with herself. Santana didn't ask many questions about why Kurt Hummel had left McKinley but she couldn't help but feel a bit thankful for his absence. The last time she had a girlfriend that she could confide in had been elementary school. The dinner between the Jones and the Lopez families had opened the door for a potential friendship, but Kurt's absence sped up what could have easily been an awkward process for the two former enemies. While neither was anxious to admit, both girls needed a close ally and friend at McKinley.
"I don't know the answer to that either," Mercedes said softly.
"Well until you figure that out, put this dress on," Santana replied throwing a deep purple wrap dress at her.
If Mercedes were counting perks from Kurt's transfer—or better yet tutoring Sam Evans—she would count the budding friendship with Santana, though that admission would probably have to be balanced out with the fact that her date with Anthony, which had been Santana's brilliant idea, was quickly cementing itself as the second worse "first date" she'd ever had.
Not that this was entirely, or even partially Anthony's fault.
Mercedes was willing to swallow that she may have stretched the truth when she said that her break up with Shane was still fresh. In some ways it was as she couldn't avoid his heartbroken expression when she went to school and Mercedes knew that the "sudden" breakup was causing some light tension between their mothers. Mercedes had stayed completely mum about why she'd broken up with Shane but Irene Jones had naturally pieced together that it had something to do with Kurt Hummel leaving McKinley. She had decided to go to Shane to question him about it, who in turn went to his mother—though Shane profusely denied such an action—and now the two women weren't speaking with each other despite the best attempts from their husbands. If their mothers hadn't gotten into that little disagreement, Mercedes was sure that William Jones would be back playing the same tricks that he'd pulled out all summer long. This is why Mercedes couldn't help but wonder if there was a little surprise from her father waiting around some unlucky corner while dining with Anthony—that was her first problem.
The second problem was the same issue that had been plaguing Mercedes since she started dating Shane. Anthony was a nice guy, had a great smile and sense of humor and seemed to have everything together but everything seemed so practiced. She felt like she was on a date with Mr. Perfect instead of Anthony Rashad who probably a much more interesting guy, but maybe she was being too harsh…
Mercedes sat up straight in her chair and put more energy in being a part of the conversation that was happening right in front of her.
"But enough about me," Anthony said, "I want to hear more about you. Santana told me that you're an amazing singer."
"Singing is my passion," Mercedes replied offering a small smile. "I've applied to a few music schools."
"That's amazing," Anthony replied flashing another one of his brilliantly bright smiles. "I wish you the best of luck. I love the arts, but I don't have a single artist bone in my body. I bet your family is so proud of you. God, if my Dad thought I was interested in something other than being a business major, he'd probably skin me alive! Or do something crazy like call the admissions office to AU and have the change my—"
"Stop," Mercedes interrupted.
There was no way in hell.
"Is everything okay, Mercedes?" Anthony asked.
It was no secret that William Jones wasn't enthused over the idea of Mercedes pursuing music as a full time career, but he wouldn't dare go to those types of extremes. He was smarter than that, wasn't he?
"No," Mercedes answered weakly as the pit in the bottom of her stomach grew. It was probably all for naught, but Mercedes couldn't escape the idea until she had reasonable proof that she was wrong. "I-I need to go."
"Is it the food? I mean we can go somewhere else?" Anthony suggested.
"No! No, it's not you, it's—"
"Please don't finish that statement with 'me'," Anthony cut in.
"No," Mercedes replied, "I was actually going to finish it with my father. I really hate to do this, but I need to see him."
Friday night for Sam Evans was supposed to be a bit of a bore. His mother had arranged for his family to join the Leung family in attending an opera at the Kennedy Center, but of course since they were so close to his office Richard Evans couldn't resist the urge to stop inside of the Russell Office to finish "just a few things". Sam had bit back a groan when his father first announced the detour and Martha Evans had resorted to looking at her husband as if he had called her by the wrong name.
Upon entering the Russell Office, the Evans family made their way upstairs to Richard Evans' temporary office and encountered a slightly frazzled Mercedes Jones standing at her father's door.
"Attempting a breaking and entering, Ms. Jones?" Martha Evans asked coolly.
"Senator and Mrs. Evans," Mercedes greeted with a faux kindness that every child of a politiciankept handy. "I'm actually waiting for the janitor. I left my keys in my father's office."
"Well breaking the handle off of the door won't get in the office any faster Ms. Jones," Martha Evans continued. "Patience is a virtue, I'm sure your mother has told you that."
"Yes she has," Mercedes replied stiffly. She didn't dare glance towards Sam, whom she'd been successful in avoiding for the past two weeks.
Richard Evans was quick to continue to his office and his wife and son followed him, though both Sam's parents missed the last glance that Sam threw Mercedes' way. Once inside Richard Evans' office, Martha Evans made her clear disdain known.
"Richard if you make us late for this opera, I'll make certain that you won't have to worry about the up-coming midterm because there won't be a Senator Evans for anyone to vote for," she snapped.
"Martha, darling, why don't you just relax," Richard replied calmly already digging through his filling system. "This will only take just a minute."
"Is this the part where we wait here for three hours?" Sam muttered to his mother as they both took a seat on the couch in the lobby, while the Evans' patriarch disappeared in his office.
"Absolutely not," Martha Evans replied. "If you're not interested in spending the night watching your father work, do me a favor Samuel, and go wait by the car."
"Well because I don't think that you're interested in witnessing firsthand how you were conceived," Martha Evans replied frankly as she stood. Sam blushed instantly and made his way to the door. While Sam may not personally approve of all of her methods, his mother almost always got the job done and if Sam didn't have to witness the trickery—well they were all better because of it.
As Sam made his way back down the hall he realized that Mercedes was gone, but the door to Senator Jones' office was now open. Sam carefully stepped inside and found her standing in her father's private office in front of a tall filing cabinet clutching tightly onto a manila folder. She jumped when Sam called her name and he couldn't miss the tears that were staining her face.
"Mercedes, what happened?" Sam asked quickly crossing the room to her.
She shook her head, turning from him but when Sam reached her Mercedes loosened her grip on the manila folder and allowed Sam to take it from her.
"Is this your NYADA application?" Sam asked scanning the documents inside of the manila folder.
"Yep," Mercedes answered, "and it was due two weeks ago."
"Then what's it doing here?"
The pain in her eyes quickly answered that question for Sam and he couldn't help but ache for her.
"Are you sure it was him?" Sam asked softly.
"Who else could it be?" Mercedes snapped, letting herself vent. "Who else gives a damn that I don't want anything to do with politics?!"
She walked herself over the couch across from her father's desk and ran her hands through her hair. Sam took a seat next to her and gently said, "My father nearly killed me when he found out that I gave up the Cornell scholarship, so trust me when I say I know your pain. I know 'I'm sorry' doesn't really help, but for what it's worth, I am."
Mercedes didn't respond, but instead sat next to him trying to stop her own tears. The only person she could stand to cry in front of was Kurt. Sam shouldn't be here, they should even be alone like this.
"You can't give up," Sam continued softly. "If this is your dream, Mercedes you have to fight for it. You can't be his little girl forever and you can show him that by fighting your dream to sing. You have the voice of an angel and there's no reason that anyone should be trying to clip your wings, even if they mean well by it."
Sam carefully placed his left hand over her right and gently squeezed. Pleased that she hadn't pushed him away, Sam replaced his left hand with his right one and wrapped his left arm over her shoulders. Mercedes molded herself into his side and let the last of her tears fall on their own.
"How do we keep doing this?" she asked after a few moments of silence.
"Doing what?" Sam replied.
"This. Us. Alone. How does this keep happening?"
"Why do you keep questioning it?" Sam asked.
"Because you and I both know that nothing can come from it," Mercedes answered sitting up to face him.
"Don't you think you're jumping the gun a bit there Ms. Jones?" Sam teased. "I don't know the first thing about you."
"That's because you haven't asked," Mercedes replied.
"Favorite color," Sam shot off.
"Green, but this doesn't help my point," Mercedes argued.
"Who says I'm here to help your point?" Sam replied smugly. "I thought it was purple."
"Everyone does," Mercedes sighed. "My mother's favorite color is purple. I like green, emerald green specifically."
"Emerald green," Sam repeated smiling. Not that it was of any coincidence, but Sam happened to have emerald green eyes, beautiful emerald green eyes or so he'd been told. The opinion of others didn't seem to matter much in the moment and Sam couldn't help but wonder if she enjoyed his eyes as much as those who had commented on them in the past.
"If you couldn't sing in this world then what would you do?" Sam asked.
"I would reply with die, but I don't believe in the no win scenario," Mercedes answered.
"Wait a minute; did you just quote Wrath of Khan?" Sam grinned.
"I have two older brothers and parents who moonlight as leaders of Nichelle Nichols' harem," Mercedes replied, "of course I just quoted Wrath of Khan."
"Mm, the force is strong in this one," Sam grinned.
"I am not here for you to be mixing films, Evans," Mercedes replied cracking a small smile.
"I'm just glad that you know that they're from two different movies," Sam sighed. "You would not believe how uneducated some people are…"
Mercedes laughter danced in the room and Sam could help but feel a swell of pride as he watched her relax just a little bit more.
"Well then," she said after her laughter subdued, "maybe you should reconsider the company you keep."
"Maybe I should," Sam said softly. "Any other surprises worth noting, young one?"
"Nope. I haven't quite mastered Vulcan or Klingon, but when I do I'll let you know," Mercedes replied giggling. In her laughter she nearly missed Sam muttering something that was definitely not in English.
"Did you just speak Vulcan?" she asked him, poking him lightly as he blushed.
"Nope. Did not," he replied, despite the blush in his face betraying him.
"What did you say?" Mercedes pressed.
"That you're going to be a star one day," Sam admitted. Mercedes smiled softly at him, unable to quell the warm feeling from her stomach.
"This isn't friendship, Sam," Mercedes said. "I know friendship when I see and this—"
"You have to stop questioning it," Sam cut in. "Do you trust me?"
"Hell to the no," Mercedes replied, though unlike the first time, she was fighting a smile and Sam couldn't help but feel as if he'd just won a marathon. Neither was quite sure what they'd just both agreed to, but at least they were taking a step further. Albeit a small step, but one nonetheless.
Sam was ready to reply when he heard the clicking heels of his mother and deep chuckle of his father. Sam and Mercedes quietly and carefully left Senator Jones' private office, moving towards the lobby door to hear his parent's discussion.
"See Martha, I told you that I wouldn't be that long," Richard Evans was saying, "and we still have time to catch the show."
"That's because I told your son to wait by the car to help speed up the process," Martha replied smartly as they passed Senator Jones' door. "And we better not miss this show. My threat still stands Richard, besides it would be a real shame after all that hard work if you and your little friend had to spend the night alone of the couch."
Sam couldn't fight the shudder of disgust at the reference to his parent's sex life and he turned to see Mercedes leaning against the wall attempting to conceal her laughter. When the sound of his parents faded into silence, Mercedes was still shaking silently and Sam had a slightly goofy look on his face.
"No comment," he said aloud.
"You should get down there before they start looking for you," Mercedes said in between giggles.
"You're right," Sam said. "You'll be okay?"
Mercedes nodded. "I'm on my way out of here. I'll see you around school Sam and next week we're starting up your tutoring again okay?"
"Look forward to it," Sam replied.
"Live Long and Prosper, t'hai'la," Mercedes said softly.
He turned back quickly raising an eye brow. He'd believed her when she told him that she didn't know any Vulcan or Klingon. Though she did profess to knowing the series, surely that didn't mean that she knew he'd told a small fib earlier.
"You too, Mercy," Sam said weakly before racing to catch up with his parents.
On the other side of town Santana was enjoying her break from football games and high society demands the best way she knew how—at Lace. She didn't get out to the bar as often as she liked due to the fact that her family enjoyed spending their Friday nights together whenever all four of them were free, but with her father in California on business and her mother and older brother traveling to Florida to visit her Abuela, Santana was free to enjoy her night and maybe even take someone home.
Once she'd gotten inside, Santana let her short black leather number speak for itself as she roamed through the crowd of available women. What she hadn't been expected was to recognize any of the girls under the club lights.
Near the edge of the dance floor, with her own short and skin tight dress was Quinn Fabray grinding against an older brunette. Santana Lopez had known for some time now but had never imagined that'd she'd get to witness Princess Qunnie getting her mack on with another girl. Santana set her patented smirk as she approached the ice princess, ready to fry her ass in return for way Quinn had unceremoniously tried to bring her down when she returned to McKinley.
"Well what do we have here," Santana said pulling Quinn to face her. She'd waited months to have something to permanently put over her captain and in one brief second Quinn Fabray, in true fashion, ruined it.
"Sanny!" the blonde cheerleader cooed as she practically flung herself on Santana's shoulders.
"This is my friend Sanny," Quinn slurred to the brunette that she'd been dancing with.
"Have fun with her," the girl told Santana before disappearing into the crowd and leaving Santana with a very much drunk Quinn Fabray.
"You're drunk," Santana spat trying to get the blonde off of her.
"I know that silly," Quinn giggled. A drunken Quinn was also a handsy Quinn as Santana quickly realized that the blonde's hands were roaming dangerously close to her ass.
"That's enough," Santana grumbled. "You're not having sex with me Fabray."
"Why not?" Quinn cooed playfully. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it?"
"What? No!" Santana replied, fighting a light blush. "We're enemies, we hate each other."
"Doesn't mean that I've never thought about it," Quinn said as she leaned forward. "Your ass is almost as nice as Rachel Berry's."
"I'm sorry you're trying to get me into bed by telling me that Rachel Berry has a better ass than me?" Santana replied.
"If you're so upset, then maybe you should prove me wrong," Quinn giggled moving her hands to grab Santana's ass and press their bodies together.
Santana bit back a groan as Quinn copped a serious feel. It had been a really long time since she'd had sex, as in before school started and she was the type of girl that was used to getting it from boys whenever she wanted. Her summer had been filled with some lovely ladies but since school started Santana had been working double time to make sure that no one was looking over her shoulder, which created a serious drought. But that didn't mean that Quinn Fabray was allowed to fill that drought. Not even if she had the fingers of a magician and her breasts felt rather nice pressed up against hers. No. There was no way that she'd let the blonde indulge her into a few more drinks. She wouldn't keep an eye on her for the rest of the night and she sure as hell wouldn't share a cab home with Quinn Fabray, and grab a bottle of half empty vodka from her father's "secret" stash, before taking Quinn into her room.
No, because Santana Lopez was better than that. She hated Quinn Fabray; in fact, she'd hated her since grade school, almost as if she'd been programmed to do so. Because she knew in twenty, thirty years down the road they were bound to sit around at polite political events brag about their success in life, the success of their husbands, of their children. They would eventually become the catty old women who fondly look back at their "prime" days and try to impress upon their children and grandchildren the same ideals that suffocated them as youth.
Simply put, the idea of them being seen at the same bar, let alone Santana taking Quinn home with her was completely ludicrous. Which is why when Santana woke mid-morning on Saturday to the sight of seemingly naked Quinn Fabray, she couldn't help but to loudly yell, "Oh Fuck!"
I am genuinely sorry that this update took so long to post but I have entered a new semester in college and I probably won't be back on a semi-consistent update any time soon. Thank you so much for your reviews and continued support. Thank you for reading and don't forget to review!