Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing of Glee.

A/N: This has not been beta'd, so please forgive any errors. And Lord knows I don't know where this update came from. Probably somewhere between my tumblr withdrawal (when is Easter again?), teases of the return of Samcedes (and some of my favorite fanfic writers-damn you RM + company), and my sheer unwillingness to be productive today.

Recap: The last time I updated, Sectionals was a thing, Sam and Nick tried to keep Jeff from discovering Dave Karofsky's interest in men, Shane and Sam tried to appeal to Mercedes at Winter Formal with little success for both of them, Quinn royally pissed off Santana, Kurt encouraged Blaine to be more open with his friends and Burt Hummel got his hands on security cameras that caught Kurt being jumped (from Chapter 5) and decided to enlist Carole Hummel for help. And now to pick up where are of that craziness left off...

The 28th Amendment

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.

Chapter 9 – An Inconvenient Truth

Sam could remember the first time he met David Makin Jr.'s mother. She was a sweet woman with a soft smile and seemed the most at ease amongst the party of politically charged adults and children. They had been gathered—Wes and his family, Nick and his parents, Jeff and his mother (as his father had been in another country), along with the Andersons at the Evans' estate so that the adults could become better acquainted with each other. Sam could easily recall Marseille and David Makin Sr. lounging so peacefully together that it seemed insulting to call it an act. Sam was well aware that his parents were not the happiest married couple. They had a specific demeanor that was meant to paint their marriage a bit stronger than what it seemed but Marseille and her husband were happy. Or perhaps in retrospect, better at performing than most of the adults that Sam knew.

"Blaine, I think David needs you to start from the beginning again," Jeff said softly as he and the rest of his friends stood atop their abandoned hill—the hill that they had found one drunken night three years ago, each wrapped in their own version of self-pity. Looking back there wasn't much for a bunch of thirteen and fourteen year olds to worry about—except for the future. The dreaded future that held expectations that they were either too scared to overcome or hell bent to avoid, not that their opinions mattered at the time. Or now.

They stood on the precipice of their next chapter, fragmented, and Sam was quite sure that the night would do little to save that, even if it was a definite step in the right direction.

"The night of Sam's party last semester, after the rivalry game, I went downstairs to get some air," Blaine began apprehensively watching David's frame shake. "I saw my father and decided to follow him. I got the room number from the concierge's desk and knocked on the door and your mother answered it. She was with him David. They've been sleeping together."

"No," David said slowly, stepping from their semi-circle. "My mother loves my father. And-and you just caught them in an awkward position because she wouldn't do that to him. To me. Family is everything to her."

"There are no innocent awkward positions when you're naked, David," Blaine replied. "That's who was sleeping with my Dad."

"Bullshit," David snapped. "We're talking about my mother. She's not a power hungry politician's wife like Sam's mom or yours. It's not like she's never around like Nick or Wes'. She's not—"

"—an alcoholic like mine," Jeff interrupted shortly.

"David, please just take a deep breath," Sam intervened.

"No fuck you, Evans. You would come in to try to save the day," David replied before turning back to Blaine. "You think this is funny, Anderson? Are you getting some sick pleasure out of this?"

"Why the hell would I lie about something like this?" Blaine snapped.

"Why would you keep it from him?" Nick retorted.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that our resident psychiatrist was in with all the answers," Blaine replied. "Excuse me for being hesitant to tell one of my best friends that his mother was screwing my father."

"It's January," Wes deadpanned.

"It doesn't matter," David interjected. "He's full of shit."

"He's not."

A pregnant pause hung over them before David responded to Sam's declaration.

"And how would you know?"

"Do you remember my freshman year?" Sam asked.

"Yeah Kurofsky used to beat the shit out of you every day," David answered. "You tried to get your Dad to let you transfer. He basically told you to grow a set and kept you at McKinley for your own good. What the hell does that have to do with my mother?"

"I was determined to find a smoking gun to keep Karofsky off my back. Well after freshman year, Nick and I found it," Sam said. "Karofsky's gay."

"Oh I think I know where this is going," Jeff frowned glaring at his friend.

"Can it Jeff," Wes snapped. "And Sam, get to the point."

"Well I was going to expose him, but we needed some hard proof. So Nick and I followed Karofsky to this club…it was a voyeuristic club."

"As much as I'd love to hear about your sexual awakening with Nick—"

"Your mother was there," Nick interrupted before David could continue. "Your mom was at the club watching different guys have sex with each other. Karofsky knew that we had been following him and he had pictures of her there before so in exchange for not exposing him, he agreed to not expose her."

"So let me get this straight," David chuckled bitterly, "you want me to believe that my mother is a whore and Anderson over there wants me buy that my mother is a cheating whore. And you've just now decided that it's a convenient time to tell me. Is there anything else that you assholes would like to inform me about my family? How about you Sterling? I know you're always digging shit on everyone. Got anything else to concur with the fact that apparently my mother—"

"David," Jeff interrupted, shaking his head.

"Well then," David sighed. "I hope you all rot in hell."

When he left the remaining five remained quiet until Wes finally broke the silence groaning, "Is it true? All of it?"

When both parties nodded Wes ran his hands through his hair. "I'm going to make sure he doesn't burn down half of DC tonight," he said. "When I get back, I'm going to kill the four of you."

"All things considered," Jeff said once Wes cleared the hill, "I think that went pretty well."

"Are you serious right now, Jeff?" Nick snapped. "David is pissed."

"And he has every right to be," Jeff replied. "Punctuality is apparently not a strong point for any of you, but he needed to know. Though I am curious Anderson, what convinced you to break?"

"It was time," Blaine shrugged.

"So it had nothing to do with you and Hummel getting all cozy before break last semester?" Jeff asked pleasantly.

"What the hell do you mean 'cozy'?" Blaine snapped. "We're just friends."

"Of course, my bad. Excuse me for mistaking the pair of you for Ellen DeGeneres and Anne Henche while you snuggle up beside the piano in the study room."

"I am not gay, Sterling," Blaine snipped. "Kurt is welcome to live as he pleases, but that lifestyle…it's not for me."

"Did you tell him?" Sam asked Blaine. "Did you tell Kurt Hummel about all of this before you told us?"

Blaine's silence was deafening.

"That is my cue to leave," Sam hissed.

"Sam, listen to me—"

"We've known each other since we've been in diapers," Sam snapped, "and you tell some guy that you haven't even known for six months some of our personal shit—David's personal shit. Are you crazy?"

"I didn't know how to tell you and Kurt—"

"No Blaine," Sam corrected, "you didn't want to tell us. And that's fine because the next time you have Daddy issues you can go to Kurt for that too."

Blaine didn't stop Sam, Nick or Jeff from leaving him on that hill. As the sounds of angry feet faded into the background, Blaine eased himself onto the ground with only the Grey Goose bottle to keep him company.

"Do you think the princess will be alright up there?" Jeff asked as he, Nick and Sam reached their respective rides.

"Honestly, right now I could care less," Sam snapped.

"Still, you should call Dr. Craine so that someone can check in on him," Nick suggested. "There's not enough vodka left in that bottle for alcohol poisoning but who knows what a drunk Blaine will get himself into."

"And since in a roundabout way, you ended up delivering Evans," Jeff began, "I suppose you want the answer to your Quinn problem."

"What the hell is he talking about?" Nick asked.

"She's cheating on you," Jeff announced, as he cranked the engine to his convertible.

"Quinn Fabray?" Nick scoffed. "Like hell she is. She needs Sam for her perfect little façade just as much as he needs her."

"How do you know that?" Sam demanded. "Who is it?"

"I have my ways," Jeff replied. "And I'm not telling. All you need to know is that her latest squeeze is missing some important anatomy in comparison."

Nick's jaw fell open as his eyebrows reached his hairline. "You're not suggesting…."

"How am I supposed to believe you?" Sam asked.

"When's the last time I was wrong about something like this?" Jeff countered.

"It's not like it matters, you can't really do anything without the other girl's name," Nick said.

"I'm not going to out her," Sam frowned.

"You don't have to," Jeff said. "But you're a smart guy. I'm sure you're figure out how to use this to your advantage. And if she doubts you, just tell her to see me."

Blaine Anderson managed to make his way down the hill without the beck and call of Dr. Craine, which was no small feat as the ground was spinning by the time he made it to his vehicle. He sat with his head against the steering wheel until his blurred vision cleared significantly before calling a cab to take him home. The residue of the vodka must have been stronger than he'd anticipated—as Blaine was sure that in his right mind he would have never asked to be driven back to the residence where he was raised. Astoria was still practicing her patience and not raising hell—getting Levi involved—in order to force Blaine to move out of the summer house.

Stepping into the chill January air, Blaine avoided the front door and made his way around the property, ducking under large windows to slip into the loose basement window that Blaine utilized any time he needed to go unseen in and out of his parent's estate. Blaine froze and aligned himself against the brick as he heard the chatter of his parents from the cracked kitchen window.

"So how much longer do have of this?" Astoria asked her estranged husband as Blaine etched as close as he could to the window without being seen.

"It shouldn't be much longer," Levi assured her. "Before we know it, Mariselle Makin will be writing over her share and we'll have the necessary stock to move forward with our investments."

"This has been going on for months now. I think you're starting to enjoy yourself a little too much," Astoria argued.

"Astoria, darling, this is about securing the future of Anderson Incorporated. It's simply business."

"I think this is a little more than just business," Astoria continued. "And what about Blaine? You know he's still friends with Makin Jr."

"He knows his place," Levi assured. "And his friendship with Makin's boy is fragile at best. He's graduating this semester and besides Blaine needs to start readying himself for his future. Have you spoken to him about returning to the house?"

"Not yet," Astoria replied. "I want him to come back on his own time."

"We can't baby him, Astoria. We need—" Levi was interrupted by the shrill ring of his phone and when he answered Blaine shuddered as he listened to his father's voice drop as he wooed the person on the other line.

"Marseille, I just beginning to think that you'd forgotten," Levi greeted. "I'm on my way to the Ritz now, same room as last time. Don't worry darling, I can't wait to see this surprise."

"Business?" Astoria mocked her voice reaching closer to the window.

"Business," Levi repeated. Blaine could hear the soft gasp as his father brought his mother closer to him. "The pleasure will begin six months from now when we have successfully destroyed all of our leading competitors and taken the European market by storm. Then my dear, I will give you a world of pleasure."

"I'm holding you to that," Blaine heard his mother whisper back. He waited for his father's footsteps to disappear and the kitchen lights to shut off before relaxing against the brick. Despite fumbling with his phone, Blaine managed to dial Sam's number, only for it to go straight to voicemail.

"Look I know that you're pissed, but we've got bigger issues than my lack of sensibility. I think I've figured out why my father went after Marseille Makin and I'm going to need your help to end this."

On the first day back at McKinley prep, Mercedes sat in the choir room with a content smile. Tina and Artie sat on the left of her chatting away about their break, Wade sat in front of her with Marley Rose, a freshman who was too sweet for her own good and Santana sat to Mercedes' right engrossed in her nails and pretending that she didn't care about the atmosphere around her. Mercedes herself couldn't keep her eyes off of the glass trophy case that sat in the right corner of the room; the trophy case that should have held their sectional win. While she didn't regret letting the Warbles have the physical piece of their win, there should have never been a tie in the first place.

"Well everyone, welcome back!" Bryan Ryan announced as he strutted into the room. "With the New Year comes sectional prep and naturally placing always has a way of bringing in a few new fresh faces."

"What the hell?" Mercedes exclaimed as the newest member strolled confidently into the choir room.

"That is not the way we welcome people here, Miss Jones," Bryan Ryan retorted placing a protective arm around Quinn Fabray's lithe frame.

"Captain Jones," Mercedes snipped her glare never wavering from Quinn's gaze. Santana sat likewise shocked. The blonde had never mentioned an interest in singing before but even more than that, Santana couldn't ignore the fact that a certain piece of jewelry had made it around Quinn's wrist.

"You'll have to excuse our leader," Rachel cut in, standing up to greet Quinn. "Let me be the first to welcome you to the Glee club."

"It's not a problem," Quinn said easily, holding her own against Mercedes' cold stance. "A queen recognizes a fellow queen."

"Excuse me?" Rachel scoffed.

"She didn't stutter," Tina snapped as Artie chuckled under his breath.

"Well perhaps you two queens can discuss this after class," Bryan Ryan interrupted. "Rachel, will you pass out the music on the piano, please? We have a set list to learn."

Mercedes let the issue drop for the remainder of class. It wasn't the time or the place, but she wasn't naïve enough to believe that Quinn Fabray didn't have an ulterior agenda. The static tension electrified the room once Bryan Ryan left after the end of the period, though many of the glee club members were slow to depart the choir room.

"This is not a show at the rodeo," Mercedes snapped as she strutted towards the piano. "I assume that most of you all have somewhere to be? And if not, I'm certain that you don't need me to help you find somewhere else to be."

The room quickly thinned until only Quinn, Artie, Tina, Santana, Mercedes and Rachel remained.

"Your attitude today has been severely out of line," Rachel began.

"Excuse you Ms. Berry, but a queen recognizes a fellow queen and you weren't included in that scenario," Mercedes snapped.

"In laymen's terms, that means you've been dismissed," Santana added.

Mercedes waited for the door to close behind Rachel before turning on Quinn. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I get it," Quinn said calmly. "This is your sphere and my presence here makes you uncomfortable."

"I'm not like half that little girls at this school vying to be your favorite lackey of the month," Mercedes warned. "I know you better than you think. And I know you want something."

"A queen recognizes a fellow queen, but she doesn't have to tell her shit," Quinn hissed.

"Well this queen runs a tight ship and if you don't like it you can move on to terrorize the next kingdom, like your own," Mercedes spat.

"No, I think I'm going to enjoy myself right here," Quinn smiled sweetly, "but don't worry Jones. This is your sphere and I'll abide by your rules—well most of them. Lopez! You're with me."

"Excuse you?" Mercedes snapped. "You're not going to sit around and order my friends."

"Watch it Jones, we're about to step into my sphere where I can do what I damn well please where Santana is my cheerleader first and your friend second."

"You haven't stepped into your sphere quite yet," Mercedes snapped.

"Either way, Santana can speak for herself," the Latina snapped, stepping between them. "I'm not some toy for you two to play tug-of-war over. And Fabray you can get one of your mindless lackeys to do whatever it is that you want."

"If you're not at the supplies office in fifteen minutes, I'll have Coach Sylvester move you to the bottom of the pyramid and personally assure that you carry the weight of Dumpster Debbie and her double D's on your back," Quinn replied sweetly before strutting out of the room and slamming the door behind her.

"What a bitch," Tina said. "What do you think she wants with Glee club?"

"No idea," Santana answered, "but I intend to find out."

"Santana," Mercedes began.

"Don't even Aretha. I'm the only one out of this group who can possibly come close."

"She could want nothing," Artie suggested.

"That is the daughter of one of the most power hungry Republicans I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. With genetics like that, there's no way in hell that she doesn't want something," Mercedes reasoned. "I'm just not looking forward to finding out what it is."

"Well I better figure out what the drama queen wants for now," Santana huffed gathering her bag, "because there's no way in hell I'm putting Debbie Davis on my back."

Quinn was alone, fidgeting with her bracelet in the supplies closet by the time Santana strutted in.

"What the hell do you want Fabray?" Santana snapped.

"Look, we got off on the wrong foot over break—"

"I wonder whose fault that was!" Santana interrupted.

"Well if you let me finish, you'd realize that I'm claiming it as mine," Quinn hissed.

"Is this how mommy and daddy taught you how to apologize?" Santana taunted.

"Listen Lopez, the fighting is pointless because we both know the dirt on the other and it's not going to get us anywhere. So I say you accept my apology and we go back to the way that things were."

"What you think you can wear that bracelet and I'm supposed to keel over and completely forget about you prancing into Glee club like you own the place?"

"I wasn't prancing. Jones overreacted. She had nothing to do with my decision to join."

"Then what the hell are you doing in Glee club?" Santana groaned.

"Well, it seemed like a commitment that would be more relaxing than cheerleading…I mean you seemed to—"

"Are you serious?" Santana asked dropping her voice. "Me? You joined Glee club for me?"

"Maybe," Quinn admitted.

"Maybe?" Santana scoffed heading towards the door. Quinn's hand latched to Santana's wrist pulling her back and pressed her lips against Santana's until she could feel the brunette relax.

"The bracelet was a lovely gift," Quinn began softly, "and the reason that I decided to join Glee club almost certainly had to do with the fact that I wanted to spend more time with a few people."

"A few people?"

"Well, one in particular," Quinn smiled leading Santana to the nearest hard surface. "How about this, I even promise to be nice to Mercedes Jones."

"Any chance that I can get that in writing?" Santana teased as Quinn boxed her into the back wall.

"Oh, I'm sure that we can negotiate something along those lines…"

Sam stood leaning against his locker watching the underclassmen congregate through the halls in their cliques forged by social, but mostly political allegiances. He remembered vividly the plight of a McKinley freshman: the anxiety to form social bonds that would test the storms of political weather. The armor to fend off any of the snakes, particularly those who were kept closest. And the undulating desire to believe that it was all worth something. That the formula set forth by their parents would not only work, but would allow them to find peace of mind without sacrificing who they believed themselves to be. Sam found the naivety of it all was almost humorous, but as he watched Quinn Fabray part the hallway as she strutted towards him, he remembered that the desperation of freshman year never quite leaves a member of his elite circle. That desperation united every politician's child and anyone who dared to question it was inviting treacherous consequences. But damnit wasn't Mercedes Jones worth that? Weren't his own aspirations worth those consequences?

"You're looking rather dashing," Quinn complimented as she ran her fingers over Sam's McKinley tie. Sam grimaced, pushing back his earlier thoughts of Mercedes to accept Quinn's arm.

"With Winter Formal behind us, we need to start focusing on the next big event," Quinn announced as she led Sam to the café.

"Valentine's Day?" Sam suggested to which Quinn laughed.

"No, I think you can handle one teeny holiday without royally screwing it up Evans. I was referring to Prom."

"Quinn," Sam sighed as they entered the cafe, "we need to talk."

"We do," Quinn agreed. "Prom is a much bigger deal than Formal. It'll take more time and planning; especially to make sure that Anderson doesn't go stag again and Sterling finds a suitable date." She launched herself into preparations that she'd discussed with her mother and Sam let her, his attention wavering and resolve waning. They took their seats in the large dining hall. Theirseats as no one would ever bother coming two tables near Quinn's favored spot. The student population in the café moved around them like a pulse point—cheerleaders would occasionally give their brief regards to their fearless leader as did the Republican political heirs and the aspiring jocks who wished to be on the great Sam Evans' good side.

"You could at least pretend that you're paying attention," Quinn sighed, pulling Sam out of his revere.

"Doesn't it ever bother you?" Sam asked.

"The fact that you seem incapable of listening to me for more than two minutes?" Quinn replied.

"The acts that everyone puts on here," Sam said. "The fact that we all have to pretend to like each other, to pretend that we're happy."

"Some of us are," Quinn countered.

"And some of us are Independents," Sam frowned. "It's exhausting pretending that any of this matters and frustrating that we're all stuck in this damned cycle doomed to spend our adulthood cheating each other out of happiness for our own personal gains. Doesn't it ever bother you?"

"No," Quinn answered. "It's a part of who we are. And while it may not be the best parts of us, we are experts in the trade. We're where we belong, Sam."

"I refuse to believe that."

"Why?" Quinn laughed. "Because you want to run away from DC and never come back? Do you think you're the first who's wanted that? Maybe the sooner you realize that truth the faster you'll understand that running away from DC is a fantasy. Politics is in our blood. We're bound to this city and no desires for farmlands and baseball dreams are going to change that. Those who do leave always come back and you know why? Because they know that the Hill is a better place for them. I may be cruel but at least my cruelty comes from experience. Why do you think I fought so hard to get back on top this year? Our families may be the bane of our existences but the privileges that they provide make this existence worth living."

"Not if that means I have to sacrifice my own aspirations and the chance to define who I am on my own terms," Sam argued. "I have to stop lying to myself that I'm okay with waiting until graduation to just run off. I need to stop lying to myself, you…"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm interested in seeing other people."

Sam said the words softly, but Quinn straightened as if he'd yelled the confession at her. For several seconds her blank gaze made Sam uneasy. Quinn eventually stood and offered her hand to him and led him out of the café to the empty halls.

"I know what you need Sam Evans," Quinn began. "You need a prim and proper girlfriend that Mommy and Daddy approve of so that you can continue to lollygag your way through McKinley and hopefully slip away to a non-Ivy league school to play baseball and major in Humanities. But you won't be able to pull that off if you don't distract your parents from the little plans that you're building for your future. Those distractions do not only include me, but are dependent on the good word that I pass on to my mother about you, who in turn gushes to Martha Evans about her lovely son. And I've put up with you because you are smarter than Finn Hudson, but your hearing isn't always quite as good as his, so I want those pretty ears to understand me when I say that you will end whatever fantasies that you have for any other girl—not for any silly pretense that I love you or you love me—but because you need me and I don't share."

"That's rich coming from the girl who's using me as her beard," Sam replied.

"What the hell are you talking about? First you practically admit to cheating; now I'm the actual cheater?"

"I know, Quinn," Sam said, checking the halls to ensure that they were alone. "I know about your preference for women."

"You are just a boy, just like Hudson, who knows absolutely nothing!"

"I'd like to see you try to pit that defense against Jeff Sterling."

Quinn didn't have a response but maintained her icy demeanor.

"I'm not interested in outing you Quinn," Sam said. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Not unless of course I out you first."

"Quinn, I think we both know who'd suffer more in the long run. I'm telling you this because I want a clean split. We both have secrets to hide, let's respect that and quietly move on with our lives."

"And if I decide that I'd rather do more digging into the identity of this mystery girl?" Quinn prompted.

"If you want to bet against me and Sterling that your business Quinn," Sam replied as he slowly put space between himself and his ex, "but don't be surprised when we make you live to regret that choice."

Turning his back on Quinn put Sam on a high that lasted until he turned the corner. News of their demise would reach the school population and his community at large within a matter of hours. Sam ran his hands through his hair as the consequences of his new freedom hung over him. While he didn't doubt Jeff, Quinn wasn't an enemy that Sam was interested in going to head to head with; particularly not with Blaine's suspicions about his father's motivations with David Makin's mother. But Sam wasn't in complete dismay. Quinn had been right about one thing: there'd been plenty children of politicians who'd wanted to run from DC; few had ever pulled it off. If this was something he truly wanted, he needed to start playing outside of the parameters that he originally set for himself. Abandoning those parameters meant the nearly certain fact that Sam would need to be prepared to pursue his college education on his own merit. And to pull that off, Sam knew he would need help.

Sam hustled into the library, passing past bookcases until he found her, hallway down one of the fiction aisles. Mercedes didn't hear him approach, but she nearly jumped into his arms when Sam gently rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Evans! What the hell is wrong with you?" Mercedes hissed.

"You were right," Sam began, "earlier in the year when you said that I couldn't just want the grade in Calculus, I had to need it and I do Mercedes, I really do."

"Sam, I don't understand…"

"I broke up with Quinn."

Mercedes stood, mouth agape, her books nearly slipping through her fingers.

"Dear God Almighty, please tell me that you didn't do this for me."

"I won't lie to you. I partially did. You were also right at sectionals. It isn't fair to ask you to be my other woman."

"God damnit Sam! Will you stop listening to me?"

"But more importantly, I did it for myself," Sam finished. "The thing I hate most about being a politician's son—more than the fake acquaintances, or the fact that I don't feel close to my immediate family—is the lying. I hate the fact that I've told lies that I've started to believe. If my parents are ever going to take me leaving the fold seriously, I have to start taking it seriously. That means admitting that I'm not happy with Quinn and letting the relationship go. It means that I need more than just a B in Calculus. I'm going to need As in all of my classes to get to college without my father's money. And I'll need your help for that. If it's alright with you, I could really use some extra tutoring sessions. English can be a bitch when you have—"

"Dyslexia," Mercedes interjected. "I sort of figured that part out."

"I need your help Mercy," Sam pleaded, "because I'm sick of talking about leaving without putting in the proper plans to make sure that it actually happens."

"Will we be just tutoring Sam or…" Mercedes let her words falter but Sam's smoldering gaze held hers.

"That's completely up to you," Sam said, wrapping her smaller hands into his warm grasp. "All of this is. If you want to forget this conversation ever happened we can do that. If you want to just have more study sessions and maybe be friends we can do that too. Personally, I wouldn't mind working towards something more than friendship, but if you never want to have another conversation with me again Mercedes, I can learn to live with that. Just think about it and meet me at the docks this Saturday."

"Sam?"

"My parents are away for the weekend and I was planning to take the yacht for a spin. If you have any feeling towards me, even if it's just platonic, we can ride it together. Go over a few subjects and if you're willing something more," Sam offered. "It's your call Mercedes."

Sam fingers lingered in their embrace for a few more moments before slipping away.

"Where are you going?" Mercedes asked.

"I don't think you'll be able to make this choice with me hovering over you Mercy," Sam replied. "Besides there's some things that I need to take care of with Blaine."

"Be careful," Mercedes sighed, rolling her eyes when she caught Sam's innocent look. "I may not immerse myself in the beat of the town, but I've heard enough whispers to know that nothing good is happening on the Anderson side of town. Be careful, Sam."

"I will."

Hours later, Mercedes Jones ran her conversation with Sam through her mind on a continual loop. She thought about him when she was alone in her bedroom, after contacting Santana and Kurt for an emergency meeting in her father's basement, and when the three of them were united with a large bottle of whiskey between them and three empty glasses.

"Do we need to stage an intervention?" Kurt asked quietly. Mercedes didn't answer but instead poured her father's whiskey into the glasses and raised hers for a toast. The trio quickly knocked back the drink and after the burn chased down her throat, Mercedes broke the air.

"I think I'm falling for Sam Evans."

"Was that supposed to be a secret?" Santana asked.

"Are you saying that it's that obvious?" Mercedes replied, panic spiking her voice.

"No," Kurt replied removing the bottle of whiskey from his friend. "The two of you do a good job of putting space between each other in public—"

"But when you are together, things become a bit suspicious," Santana finished.

"He wants me to be his girlfriend. Or his permanent private tutor. Or both. Or none of it," Mercedes rambled pouring another.

"You are not going to be Sam Evans' side hoe," Kurt snapped.

"He broke up with Quinn."

"Oh we're going to need the whole damn bottle," Santana announced. "That explains why the princess wasn't at practice today."

"She was probably on the hunt for a boy toy replacement," Kurt muttered.

Mercedes took another shot before adding, "Sam has invited me to go on his parent's yacht to talk about the possibility of an 'us'. And the worst part is that I'm actually considering going."

"Are you going to?" Santana asked as Kurt unceremoniously drank from the whiskey bottle.

"I have a crush on Blaine Anderson," he declared.

"Now that's just inhumane!" Santana objected, pulling the bottle from him and wiping it clean.

"We've been talking and hanging out more often," Kurt revealed. "And lately he's just been so open and one minute I was mentally calling him an asshole and the next he was the asshole with really nice hair…and eyes…Also I'm not even sure if he is gay!"

"What happened to us?" Mercedes asked. "We used to be smart people!"

"Well, since this has turned into confession hour," Santana sighed. "I suppose I should add to the wealth of seriously disturbing information but announcing the fact that I like girl. Exclusively."

Santana tipped her head back as she downed a larger portion of the whiskey than Kurt. When she sat the bottle back down, Mercedes sent an appraising look her way.

"I would have skinned you alive if you'd drunken the rest of that on your own!" Mercedes took the bottle from Santana and poured into each of their glasses. She raised her glass to her lips, teasing the rim of the glass.

"What are you going to do about Sam?" Kurt asked.

"What are you going to do about Blaine?" Santana threw at Kurt.

"Sam, and Blaine, and kissing girls…all of those things are a part of tomorrow," Mercedes said. "And tomorrow is…tomorrow. For now, we drink."

As always, thank you for reading!

Much Love,

Santiva Potter