I don't own anything.

Sam had only been sixteen for a few months when he realized something about fairy tales. At age fifteen he learned that their absolutely had to be three elements in a fairy tale in order to make it work in most people's eyes. According to most Disney Princess movies he'd spent countless hours watching with Stacy, he learned—there had to be a Princess—a very beautiful Princess, she had to be carefree but still somehow managed to carry a weight on her shoulders, and somehow with everything—she could still manage to make a man drop to his knees if she desired to do so—but that was never her character, because all Princesses had pure hearts. And then Sam learned that there had to be a handsome Prince—a handsome Prince willing to drop to his knees if that said Princess desired it. Now—Sam found it odd how sometimes the Prince, but always the Princess got back stories but as for the evil person—the last main element to all fairy tales—never really got anything at all.

And as a fifteen year old guy, you'd think he had better things to ponder over—and during that time in his life—he really did, but still, he couldn't help but wonder, why didn't the so called evil characters get their back story? Why could people not be on their side? Well Sam personally thought that Disney or hell, just about any movie would have done well to let the big bad mean character win every once in awhile because frankly—everyone's lives did not always end happily.

And—the malevolent character's reasons were not always the reasons people made them out to be. Most times even, they went deeper than just pure rage. And Sam understood that.

Sam had never really been the greatest student in school, most times while in class his brain had still been resting at home. The teachers were boring half the time and refused to spare him time when he needed extra help in class. And for a reason like that, was why he was grateful for his best friend Mike. While in school Mike was one of the smartest guys he knew, always had top scores, the girls, participated in many sports, and was still somehow a down to earth guy.

They'd met in 5th period English, a class that Sam struggled with due to his dyslexia, but Mike had noticed when the teacher and other students hadn't, he noticed how he'd struggle to unscramble words and understand them whenever they had been partnered together in the class. And he knew how Sam had often got insecure because of it, but he didn't judge him, didn't pity him, and didn't baby him, but only helped him whenever he needed it without question, and while Sam had often times felt that there would be no way around his dyslexia, it never stopped him from doing his best.

So when doing an English assignment at home with the help of Mike, Sam had been more than excited when he was presented with an opportunity to finally learn the side of dark characters thoughts.

"A powerful monster," he had slowly read out loud, "living down in the darkness growled in pain,"

With that first line completely catching his attention, he continued to read openly with Mike sitting across from him,

"Grendel, who haunted the moors, the wild Marshes, and made his home in a hell Not hell but earth. He was spawned in that slime; Conceived by a pair of those monsters born Of Cain, murderous creatures banished By God, punished forever for the crime Of Abel's death. "

Mike, seeing what was clearly confusion written on Sam's face reminded him what their teacher had informed them early that school day, "Remember who he said Cain and Abel were, right?"

Sam hesitantly nodded, "They were brothers and—Abel—no Cain, he murdered Abel because he felt that God loved him more?"

"You got it," he smiled,

Sam gave him a quizzical look, "So this Grendel guy is Cain's son, right?"

When he nodded confirming his question, Sam then asked, "Grendel is Cain's son—and didn't do anything but yet, he was still banished for the crime of his father?"

"Pretty much,"

"How is that fair?" he wondered out loud, "Was it that promising that he would be like his father?"

"Keep reading," Mike encouraged,

Sam looked at him accusingly, "You've read this already haven't you?"

"Eighth grade, bro."

"By hell-forged hands, his misery leaped The seas, was told and sung in all Men's ears: how Grendel's hatred began, How the monster relished his savage war On the Danes, keeping the bloody feud Alive, seeking no peace, offering No truce, accepting no settlement, no price In gold or land, and paying the living For one crime only with another."

"Oh," Sam sighed, his mind still pondering on what he'd read, "But he really had no other choice did he?"

"Not really," Mike had replied, "But our assignment asks us to think about if things would have been different in this period of time. And—speaking as a son whose father is the CEO of a major corporation—I think people would have expected Grendel to follow in the footsteps of Cain. And in his case, you cannot deny that his father's blood and rage ran through him as well."

Sam had listened closely to his friend, knowing that he did understand how people held expectations for him. He had come to Sam many nights with the worries of his family prodding him that he would someday take over his dad's job; something he hadn't wanted at all.

"Today—" he continued, "You're always faced with a choice, there is no doubt that everyone has both good and bad inside of them—but it's the path you choose to take in the end. People are not just born with a mark indicating if they will be good or bad."

Those were words that Sam tried desperately to latch onto, and from there—he knew that Mike Chang was someone he would always need in his life.

Sam looked out of his balcony window watching the flowers below as the wind blew, the sun was shining, the sky was clear, and he knew it was a perfect day for baseball. That was the reason he was more than ready to attend Stevie's first game as coach. School would be out in about a month which led Stevie to sign up for a summer team that played about every two weeks or so, it was all mostly for fun, to give the kids something to do for the summer and to make sure they didn't lose any of their skill when baseball season was over. This year, Sam had been willing to be the team's coach, it was a sport he truly loved, even going as far as to have a room where he could play baseball whenever he was stressed within the White House, after having one of the rooms that'd barely been used demolished—no one would have missed it, right?

"Hey, big bro. Ready to coach your first game?" Stevie greeted as he made his way into Sam's bedroom.

Sam scuffed grabbing his baseball cap from his desk, "There's nothing to it; are you ready to win?"

"Don't know how we'll win with you as our coach but yes." He teased,

Sam rolled his eyes before looking at Stevie's uniform. It was red and black, with the cardinal bird resting on the shirt, he'd provided the team's uniforms his self, "Well if you lose, at least you guys will lose in style."

"You're a horrible coach already; really don't see how you're President with that kind of motivation speech."

He then placed his arm around Stevie's shoulder as they made their way to the front doors so they could head to the park where the game would be held.

"And why aren't any of you ladies dressed in cheerleader uniforms?" Stevie questioned folding his arms.

Nia scrunched her nose at Stevie before slapping him upside his head, "You must be out your mind."

Sam chuckled heartily as he watched his brother walk out the door mumbling to himself and rubbing his head.

"You could have at least worn a cheerleading uniform for the coach." Sam grinned as he turned toward his assistant.

Mercedes raised her eyebrows, "Not even in your dreams," she remarked before snatching his baseball cap and placing it on his head, making sure to give it a hard tug to cover his eyes.

"Let's go." She laughed, already making her way out the door with a pouting President to follow.

The day was going to be good.

The game would be ending pretty soon, and the teams were tied. Sam crossed his fingers as he watched Stevie step up to the plate. He watched as Stevie swung the bat twice, each resulting in strikes,

"Come on Stevie!" he cheered, his brother had one last time to swing before strike three would be called.

"Sam!" Stacy yelled running toward him from the bleachers, he quickly turned hearing the alarm in her voice,

"What? What is it, are you alright?"

He watched her nod slowly as she took in a large breath of air, "Look who's here," she pointed

Sam turned his head gradually in the direction her arm pointed, there, standing outside of the gates stood one of the last people Sam expected to see right now,

"Dad," he whispered, his good mood of the day instantly leaving, replaced by growing confusion and anger.

"Strike three!" in heard in the distance.

"What are you doing here dad?" Sam asked as he, Stevie, Stacy and their father made their way into his office.

Richard Evans looked to be the spitting image of his three children, especially his boys. With his dark green eyes, he would have still been able to charm any woman on her feet, his graying hair only adding to the charm, his smile gentle, and having the frame of a man who still worked out at his age.

"To spend time with my children of course—it's been so long." He replied while taking a glance around the Oval Office before taking a seat behind Sam's desk.

"You flew from New York?" Stevie asked,

Richard grinned, "Yep, heard your first game was today. I was able to watch you make a few hits, but some advice, son—put a little more force into those swings, you'll be sure to hit home runs every time." He replied while making the motion of hitting a baseball, he then turned his attention to Stacy, "Oh! How's my little princess? Look here—daddy's got a present for you,"

Stacy walked toward her father placing a pseudo-smile onto her face as he pulled out a silver heart-shaped necklace, "I love it dad," she said as he placed it around her neck,

Richard nodded, "Only the best for a princess,"

He looked toward Sam, not failing to notice that he'd been quiet through the whole exchange, he chuckled shaking his head, "Hello son—or would you prefer me to address you as Mr. President?"

Sam twisted his baseball cap between his hands, "Not sure if I prefer either one of those, really."

"Ouch," his father smiled before turning his features into a serious expression, "You're upset about your mother and I—you all are," he gestured to Stevie and Stacy, "And I understand—the three of you have every right to—"

"It's more than that and you know it," Sam seethed.

"Sam," Stacy whispered, taking a hold of his arm.

"I'm fine," he sighed,

"You two can go ahead and spend quality time with our father, I will be leaving now."

And without another word, he left his two siblings and father in his office.

"So much for a good day," he grumbled walking away as fast as he could.

"Has anyone seen the President?" Mercedes asked stepping into the kitchens.

Many of Santana's chefs shook their heads, not bothering to speak as they hurried around. She had been searching for him for hours, asking both Stevie and Stacy, and then moving on to ask people she bumped into in the halls. She didn't know if she should have been worried or not because well—losing the President wasn't a very good or normal thing to do.

"Where are you coming from with that?" she asked as she saw a maid enter with a tray of food. She looked at her closely, seeing that her eyes were watery.

"Mr. Evans, he's been in the batting room all day and hasn't eaten. I tried to give him this but he shouted threatening to fire me if I didn't leave him alone." She whimpered.

Mercedes gave the woman a reassuring smile, "Don't worry, you're not fired. Here, how about I take it to him."

The maid instantly panicked, "But he said—"

"Don't worry about what he said; I'll take care of it." She smiled while taking the tray of food.

It was only a few moments later when Mercedes heard his anger filled voice,

"Didn't I say that I wanted to be alone?" Sam shouted as he heard the room door open and then close.

"You should really try to be nicer to people that only want to help you."

"Miss Jones," Sam turned in surprise, "What are you doing in here?"

"I've been searching for you all day—only to be told by some poor woman that you were in here throwing a fit and wouldn't eat."

"I'm not in a mood to eat right now—so leave."

To his surprise, Mercedes nodded her head and turned around. Sam watched as took five steps before kicking off her heels and lowering herself to the floor,

"I'll wait," she replied with a smile.

Sam groaned as he started the machine up again, "Stupid infuriating woman," he grumbled as he swung as hard as he could.

"Are you not afraid that I have an audio recorder on me?" she asked once he joined her on the floor, taking it as a sign that he would maybe talk to her and tell why he was being more difficult than usual on the staff.

Sam shook his sweaty hair out before taking a glance in her direction, "Well since this talk is unexpected, I doubt you planned to put one on before coming, so I guess I should spill everything in my heart right now,"

Mercedes watched as Sam blinked repeatedly before speaking, his voice was calm and she imagined him trying to hide his emotions, but what his voice could do—his eyes could not, she watched how they shined as if he were going to cry from the thoughts running through his mind, he looked straight ahead, sometimes he looked toward the ceiling or the wall, and sometimes he took glances in her direction,

"We lived in a motel for about a year." He breathed, "I had been fifteen at the time, turning sixteen pretty soon. Things had been rough for a while with money—but then, both my parents lost their jobs. My dad was first—he'd been injured while working. And the doctors had said he'd be able to go back in maybe a few months, but his hand never really got better, so naturally he was replaced by someone that was younger, able to do more. My mom tried to do her best with her own job—trying to support us all until he could get better. But that was so much stress on her, she shouldn't have had to do it alone—so I searched for a job—eventually finding one at some pizza place—it wasn't much, but it was something."

"He left us," he said slowly, as if he still couldn't come to believe it, "He forced me to be man of the 'house' and I didn't know what to do. He'd come to the motel one night saying that there was a possibility he could get a job, said it could solve all of our money problems."

Mercedes didn't interrupt him, and whenever he paused to make sure his emotions were in somewhat of control, she still did not speak, only watched and waited,

"The job was somewhere in New York—and we didn't want him to go, we were supposed to do everything together in a situation like that—but all he kept saying was that we would never have to live like that again, but what he didn't realize was that as long as we were together as a family—we would have been okay.

Sometimes I would find my mom crying, and when Stevie would have trouble in school—I didn't always know how to help him, or when Stacy only wanted the touch of our father to comfort her from a nightmare—I couldn't help her. I was fifteen; I knew nothing about being a man. I knew nothing about helping my family besides going to the same job every damn day, there was nothing I could do for them—there—"

Mercedes pursed her lips as he choked back a sob.

Sam turned his eyes onto her, wanting to see her reaction; he wasn't sure what he had expected to see—maybe she would think he deserved what had happened to him and his family, or maybe she would pity him, but as he looked into her brown eyes—he was astonished seeing that her face held neither expression. As Mercedes lifted her hand toward his face, Sam waited patiently until her fingers came into contact with his flushed skin before asking,

"What do you see?" he whispered as he watched her slowly begin tracing the contours of his face. And maybe it was his imagination, but he found himself leaning in to her touch, allowing her fingers to roam freely.

"I never thought I'd see this side of you."

"What?" he scuffed, "Weak?"

She had a frown on her own face as she ran her thumb under his tired eyes that had began to water during his revelation, "No," she replied with a shake of her head, "I see that you're just as human as I am." She said softly.

Neither of them knew how it really happened, but suddenly meeting in that room—their private sanctuary had become something of a routine, Sam would spend maybe an hour or two of his free time swinging that bat, imagining them to be his worries and when he was exhausted, when he could feel his muscles start to ache, he would turn around to see Mercedes sitting on top a blanket with a tray of food for the both of them. Sometimes she would bring herself a book, sometimes she would just sit there and watch him—waiting until he could hardly lift his arms to swing.

Sam would wipe his forehead with a towel before silently joining her, and for a brief moment they would smile at one another and soon after, begin eating. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they ate in silence, and then she would place the plates back onto the tray before he stood, holding out his hands to help her up before bending down to retrieve the tray. They decided to switch places as to who would take the tray back into the kitchens, each night walking one another to their rooms, tonight it had been Sam's turn,

"Good night, Mr. Evans," Mercedes said lowly as she leaned against her door,

As Sam faced her, he found himself thankful that his hands were occupied preventing him from touching her like he found himself wanting too in that moment, "Good night Miss Jones, I'll see you in the morning."

The next morning he was not greeted by Miss Jones but rather his father who had once again seated himself behind Sam's desk. Sam felt his muscles tense seeing him, knowing that an argument was possibly about to take place—Sam walked behind his desk to retrieve his bottle of scotch,

"I think I'll have some of that as well," his father spoke reaching for a second glass.

"Let's get to the point," Sam stated sitting his glass down, "You know that I'm upset about much more than you and mom,"

"Please elaborate, Mr. President."

Sam scuffed, "That's your problem—you think that you have a say in what I do as the President, you've always thought you would and as soon as I get into office, I start thinking for myself—thinking how I wanted to run my country to all things in which you've disagreed."

"Well what can I say?" Richard remarked, "The jobs and other things you're trying to create just shouldn't be, son. There was no one to help us when we needed them most—we had to struggle and do everything on our own but it worked in the end didn't it? Hard work and determination, no one but us—"

"No, dad, you don't go from rags to riches and then forget where you came from! I've never done that and I never will! I will not be like you."

"You think that you would have any of this if I hadn't gone to New York?" Richard yelled, "Don't you understand that if I hadn't gone then we would be on the streets begging for change today! You wouldn't have anything if it were not for me, son. I did what I needed to do for you—for all of us."

Sam laughed humorlessly, "And then you come back thinking that all you had to do was buy those years back from us with expensive shit. I'll make sure to send you a special thank you note, official Presidential seal and all."

"Oh!" Sam heard, turning toward the door he saw Mercedes with a stack of folders in her arms, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Actually Miss Jones, my father and I were just finishing up."

Richard looked first to Mercedes, his mouth set, before looking back to Sam,

"Well—I know when I'm not wanted." He chuckled holding his hands up in surrender as he walked to the door.

Mercedes looked on as Sam flopped into the chair behind his desk, running his fingers along his temples.

"Please Miss Jones," Richard whispered turning to her at the door," I love my son—get him to see reason; I just want to do better with my children."

Mercedes shook her head slowly, "I—I don't know Mr. Evans, I'm sorry."

He smiled sadly, "If only you try—thank you Miss Jones, hopefully we'll see each other soon and on better circumstances."

She closed the door, Richard Evans sad smile being the last she saw until she turned to his son.

"What if I end up like that?" Sam asked gesturing to the door his father had previously exited. Mercedes watched as he flopped down into his chair, his shoulders slumped, "What if I end up hurting the people I care most about?"

"Hey," she said walking closer to his desk, "You are a great man Sam Evans." She said confidently, "I don't know what kind of man your father is or was, and I don't know what kind of man you were—but I do know what kind of man you are now, Mr. President." She said as she reached across the desk, turning his face toward her, "Look at me," her voice demanded, and Sam turned his eyes on her with little hesitation, "You're a man that is constantly looking for ways to make this country better. You're a man that decided to push education first even though some people thought it wasn't the most important thing. And how many Presidents' can say that they've actually been there? That they've actually had to use every single cent in their pocket to feed their families? The man you will become can only be better than the man you are now and he'll have his work cut out for him."

He removed her hand, taking it into his own, and then leaning across his desk to take the other.

"Please Miss Jones, your words have been very encouraging, and I will let them echo through my mind as much as it will allow me, but," Sam requested softly, "I need to be alone right now."

Mercedes thought about protesting but looked at the tired look on his face and decided that maybe he did need to be alone for a little while,

Hesitantly she spoke, "Alright—just call if you need me, Sir."

As she began walking away, she realized that he hadn't released his hold on her hands; she turned her head toward him with questioning eyes,

"Thank you Miss Jones," he said as he lifted her left hand to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss, "For everything."

Mercedes smiled shyly, "I haven't done much at all, Sir."

Sam ran his thumb across her knuckles, "You listened, and that was more than what you could have done."

"Alright," she said hesitantly, "I'll be leaving now—remember to just—call me if you need too."

The door closed softly before Mercedes leaned against it, listening as she heard nothing but silence from the other side of the door, and knowing that there was nothing she could do for him—she slid down the door and waited—continuing to listen.

I know it's been some time...

School has started back. So updates will take a while.

I'm sure everyone understands that.

And I hope this chapter was alright, I managed to write most of it while still on summer break. But the rest was doing school when all of my attention couldn't be on the story. So I know that there are things that should have been added (at least from my perspective) but I hope it turned out good anyway.

Thank you all for the reviews and guesses as to who Rachel was talking too in the last chapter!

Alright, please excuse any and all mistakes. Feel free to leave comments, suggestions and/or questions.