Glee 1. Chapter 1

**I don't own anything.**

* * *

><p>America was a greedy place.<p>

That's what Mercedes had determined at the age of 13 while in her Social Studies class. She remembered learning how Americans did everything based on money and power. Mercedes could still picture sitting in class gaining the information of the Mexican-American war, how they wanted territory and would stop at nothing to get it. Mercedes remembered at the age of 16 learning about Americans forcing Natives to learn their culture, their ways of life, only doing so by killing off their buffalo, just to sell their skin and make money. The Natives had used buffalo for their _resources_ but Americans took that away from them.

America was power hungry.

But then she had also learned about slavery. Maybe it was the most shocking of all; then again, by that time during the later months of being 16, she couldn't say she was surprised at all. She was however, exasperated that the school system had failed to teach her theses things earlier on in life. As if it weren't enough that blacks had to bow down to whites, as if it weren't enough that even after they were freed, they were still slaves to the world of America. She remembered hearing about the system of Sharecropping, how former slaves were _still_ cheated out of their money, out of their _freedom_.

As if it weren't enough.

But then, Mercedes remembered being a junior in high school, she would give a little smile to other races such as Hispanics, and a few whites in her school. She was a friendly person, always tried to make conversation until—until one day, she overheard some Hispanics talking about the African Americans, calling them ghetto, and maybe something else she couldn't remember or rather chose not too for their sake.

"Alex was right," some guy had said while looking towards a group of African Americans laughing loudly—having fun in Mercedes' eyes, "Prom is going to be so ghetto if it's a lot of them." But then he had looked towards her, because she had just so happened to be sitting at the same table as him, "No offense." He had said with a smile.

And that night when she had gotten home, Mercedes grabbed a dictionary,

Ghetto_: __a__ section of a city, especially a thickly populated slum area, __inhabited__predominantly__ by members of an ethnic or other minority __group,__often__ as a result of social or __economic__ restrictions, __pressures,__ or hardships. _

The definition of ghetto hadn't defined any one _particular_ race. But then again the dictionary also put a shadow over a lot words real meaning. So why had he thought of ghetto, and automatically thought of black people? Was it not possible for him and his group of friends to do the same that he thought her race would? Since that day, Mercedes had decided that she would no longer try to pretend that there wasn't racism going around in her school. Sure, they had been long past the slave days but it was obvious a lot of things needed to be taught.

Yet again, as if it weren't enough, Mercedes had one day given a personal lesson of African American history to a Hispanic girl she had grown too actually like.

"_What did Martin Luther King Jr. do? she had asked, _

"_Who was Ruby Bridges?" _

"_What did the Freedom Riders do?"_

"_Who was Emmet Till? What happened to him? _

Mercedes had responded to all of the questions gracefully, all the while wondering, "_Shouldn't she have been taught these things already?"_

Because as Mercedes remembered, she had been taught about African American history in _Kindergarten. _

Maybe it was because she went to a mostly black school, or maybe it was because of the school she just went to in general, but when she had asked the girl about her experience concerning African Americans, she replied,

"_Oh, we got taught about it all the time. It was actually one of our main subjects." _

So that might have been a lie or it could have actually been true. It was probably just _what_ the young lady was taught right? Or maybe who she was taught by? Hispanic teacher, white teacher, black teacher—

The girl had wanted to know stuff that she should have already known while Mercedes was pursuing to learn _more. _But of course she couldn't at the time, no—not unless she went out to learn the information on her own because according to her English teacher, children were only taught what the government wanted them to know.

America getting attacked on 9/11? The whole world shall know and continue to know. America doing something similar to another country years before? American students will never know—unless they learned on their _own_.

As Mercedes had been sitting in class one day, she noticed something; the teacher had been paraphrasing Martin Luther King's "I Have A Dream" speech. Mercedes had noticed how since grammar school, they had been learning about the _same_ speech the same_ people_, never analyzing other speeches, not evening getting a mention of another one, or what about other famous African Americans? Ones that aren't talked about at all.

Wasn't it enough yet?

America stole, they lied, they cheated, and they did what they wanted.

And yet, America was nearly broke.

Not enough jobs, no way to pay the people, college costing thousands of dollars with no grantee you would even be able to pursue your career path. Taxes going up nearly every year, gas prices 6 dollars, barely enough money to pay for a few meals at the grocery store. Hell, even little kids complained about a bag of chips being 35 cents at a corner store. Mercedes herself had gone to college with a plan but came out lost. She'd majored in fashion designing because it was her passion, she wanted to make clothes for the little kids in places like Africa, maybe some celebrities here and there, but money was tight and she could barely get enough fabric to make two dresses.

To say she hated America may have been a little extreme; the place was beautiful in certain areas. Some of the people could be great when they wanted to be, but it was the lack of common sense and education that bothered her. Mercedes wanted to help people in any way she could, really.

But—she really did not like some things about America.

Which is why she had to give another thought as to why she was sitting inside of an office in the White House.

Mercedes did not like America—but money was tight.

"So let me get this straight," the head of security asked who had introduced himself as Noah Puckerman, "You're a fashion designer, but you're here to become assistant to the _president_?"

To this Mercedes had even tilted her head to the side, "Yes." She simply responded

"That makes no sense," he said while shaking his head and going over her application.

"A lot of things in this world don't make sense, but I fail to see how filing the presidents' paperwork, getting his coffee, and making sure he gets to every meeting on time can be difficult. I mean he _is _the president, yet something as waking yourself up in the morning shouldn't be so difficult, but again a lot of things don't make sense."

Noah only smiled.

He had been working with the president from the start and knew how much of a handful he could be, the job was something hell of stressful and sometimes the man tended to take his anger out on the staff. Chills ran up his arm just thinking of how he had yelled at his last assistant making her cry, to which he had fired her for. And then there was the time when an assistant was so nervous around him that she had spilled steaming hot coffee on him, to which he had yelled at her, calling her stupid—to which she ran out of his office making sure to quit before she left.

"Wait here a moment," Noah said before leaving out.

Mercedes nodded her head before looked around the huge office. She wasn't sure she would get the job; she didn't have much backing her up dealing with government except for her knowledge of a few things. But she wouldn't be upset either, there would be more opportunities. She had only heard about the job at chance of overhearing some woman complain of how much a dickhead the president was, Mercedes had snorted.

And Noah just so happened to be down the hall with an angered president hitting his head repeatedly on his desk,

"Is it _that_ hard to get descent help around here? Who in the hell was that girl you sent in here Puckerman? The lady knew absolutely nothing; I would be surprised if she could locate her own ass."

Puckerman sighed, "Well maybe if you would stop shouting at them for making simple mistakes man. You're the president, how do you expect them to feel in your presence when you can have the whole military on their ass with a snap of your fingers?"

"I expect them to be able to do their damn job even if I were the devil himself!"

"Accurate comparison, sir."

"What do you even want? I have things I need to do."

"I've found you a new assistant and she's smart!" Puck stated before clapping his hands together.

"No, now that I think about, there's no way we could even pay for a new assistant. Especially one that's just going to quit on me after a week, I'm trying to _save_ the United States money, not waste it anymore."

"I think she'll be worth it,"

"What makes her so different?" he sighed

"She looks tougher than any of your other assistants—I have a feeling she'll be good under pressure. Just start her off slow—then let the big stuff roll in—if she can handle then she stays—if she can't, we give her the boot."

"I like where that's going Puckerman, bring her here. Let's see if she even has the balls to be in the same room as me."

Noah nodded with a smile before making his way back to Mercedes. He had found her scanning a bookshelf; he smiled again before clearing his throat,

"He would like to meet you,"

"So that means I have the job?"

"That's what we're about to determine Miss Jones."

Mercedes stood straight, smoothing out her skirt and curls. She couldn't say that she didn't like the president, even though she didn't vote for him but he didn't have to know that. She made sure to role her shoulders before following him down the hall, Mercedes didn't fail to see over presidents lining the walls to which she figured that this had to be the main hallway. She had stopped briefly to look at President Obama's, proud that she had gotten the chance to see him alongside the wall with other presidents.

"So he determines if I'm hired or not Mr. Puckerman?" she asked

"Please, call me Puck. And yes, well you determine it actually."

Mercedes looked towards him confused, "What does that mean?"

"If you can take the heat so to say." He said before stopping at the entrance of two large double doors, Mercedes didn't need to ask if it was his office or not. But when Puck opened the door, her eyes scanned around from what she could see, what she didn't see was the president. But as Puck gently pushed her inside, she walked a bit further and that's when she was able to see him. His dirty blond bang covering his eyes as he held his head down, his back hunched over his desk writing ferociously. He hadn't seemed to notice her or Puck. Mercedes looked towards him, wondering what she was supposed to do, Puck only nodded in her direction.

Mercedes sighed before clearing her throat—to which the president didn't hear her, or he ignored her, she was thinking the latter. So, she tried again—and again until she had to roll her eyes,

"Excuse me Mr. President,"

"Ah, so she speaks." He stated while lowering his pen, "I was wondering when you'd stop making that obnoxious noise."

Mercedes shot her eyes to Puck, who only held his hands up in defense.

"Oh I'm sorry sir; I didn't realize I was trying to get the attention of small child by actually having to raise my voice at him. But if I get the job, I'll make sure to verbally gain your attention every time."

His head finally snapped up to Mercedes' satisfaction, he sent a glare towards Puck who had snickered before turning his gaze onto her, she stood her ground. Mercedes watched as his eyes went up and then down again,

"What's your name?" he asked,

"Mercedes Jones," she replied smoothly as if she hadn't just called him a child.

"Nice—I'm,"

"Sam Evans, President of the United States. Really sir, I would hope to know your name, and for you to give me more credit."

"I'm sorry Miss Jones, I wasn't aware that I didn't need to politely introduce myself because of it being the right thing to do despite how many people already know my name. But I'll be sure not to assume anything else."

For a moment Mercedes forgot that she was speaking to the president and that she was trying to get a job.

"Well I would have thought the president would know how to greet anyone that walks into his office instead of them having to pull a bullhorn out their ass just to get his attention. But I'm sorry again, as you said—no more assuming."

"Miss Jones, I'm not entirely sure you're aware of who I am."

"I actually am entirely sure, _sir_."

Noah looked between the two as they looked into one another eyes glaring. He had been in Mercedes' presence for about half an hour, and he was sure that she was the right person for this job, this was what Sam needed—someone just as determined and head strong as him. Maybe Sam saw it too, because Puck watched as his lips twitched into the slightest smile.

Sam nodded towards Puck before looking over Mercedes once more, which caused her to let out a little huff while placing her hands on her hips. After seeing that he was no longer going to speak, she turned to Puck who offered his hand out to her.

"Our president is an asshole," was the first thing she said once they'd left his office.

Puck chuckled, "He has his moments, but he's good at what he does,"

"So I'm guessing I didn't get the job? Sometimes my mouth gets me in trouble but I refused to take that kind of mess from anyone, president or not."

"Actually, I was just about to tell you that the job is yours."

"You're shitting me; did you _not_ see what just happened?"

"Yes I did, which is why you're hired. Right now I'd like for you to go home and pack some things, I'll be sending a limo back to pick you up in the morning. Then you can meet the rest of the staff."

"Seriously?"

"Yes!" he laughed, "Now go, I've arranged for a limo to take you home as well. I've got good feelings about you Miss Jones."

Mercedes was still confused as Puck walked her to the front doors, making sure she got into the limo safely. So this was going to be her life for the next few months until she found away to pick up her business? Most people would have asked the president himself, but she wasn't that type of person, she wasn't like the rest of them—using anyone to get what she wanted, she may _suggest _things but never unloaded anything on anyone. She sighed; she would have to call Kurt, her best friend, about today's events.

"I do as well," Puck heard Sam say as he took a place beside him in the door, watching the limo drive off.

Sam whistled, "Hopefully her mouth won't get her fired,"

"I doubt it," Puck smirked before walking away.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own anything dealing with Glee or issues dealing with the U.S.**

* * *

><p>"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."<p>

That quote seemed to be going around quite a bit these days. Mercedes didn't understand at first, was this something that people of America were teaching each other? Teaching their _children_? In a world filled with violence, torture, racism, sexism, and poverty—weight had somehow become the main focus. Little girls went around believing that no one would love them if they weren't a size two some even going as far as _starving_ themselves just to have the 'perfect body', little boys went around believing that plus size girls weren't attractive.

That was the picture painted for girls and boys—women and men.

If you're a size fourteen and up, you don't get any respect, any love, or any acknowledgement.

"Those are not curves." Mercedes muttered as she looked over the cover of _People Magazine_.

The new issue featured Taylor Swift in Sydney strolling along the beach in a black and white striped bikini. Mercedes scuffed as it read,

"_Taylor Swift shows off her curves!" _

Now, Mercedes didn't hate the girl and she didn't love her, but the girl did not have curves. And it was annoying how this image was shoved down little girl's throats as being the perfect body. Was there even such a thing as a perfect body? It was all just a damn shame.

The American people were judgmental. Girls should have been taught-

"I still can't believe you're going to be working side by side with the president!" Kurt—her best friend screamed, interrupting her thoughts.

Mercedes sighed before chunking the magazine into the garbage, "Oh, it's not that big of a deal."

"Mercedes are you mad? It's the freaking president! Do you know how much stuff you can get out of this?"

"By that do you mean sitting behind a desk filing the presidents' paperwork while running around the White House getting his coffee every day? Why yes Kurt, I do know."

"Your sarcasm will be the death of you."

"Or the death of _you_."

Kurt huffed before throwing one of her shirts into a suitcase, "Seriously Mercy, you need to do all you can to get into his good graces."

"And why in the hell would I do that? Unlike _some_ people I'm not scared he'll use his power against me."

Kurt shook his head, "That's not what I mean; I'm saying that you can be the voice for all us poor unfortunate souls. You know better than anyone about the problems we're facing. Tell him about them, get him to _do_ something."

Mercedes continued to pack her clothes. It wasn't like she hadn't already thought about that, but she was going to be his assistant, her voice wasn't meant to play a part. If was truly the type of person that he displayed the other day, Mercedes was sure that he would only wave her opinions-facts about the country off. Noah had stated that Mr. Evans was good at what he did, Mercedes didn't know if it were true or not since he had only recently started his presidency, but from the ways other presidents handled things, the things such as weight and racism were not the main factors to be concerned about.

"I already told myself I wouldn't use this position like that,"

"But Mercedes, if you don't do it while you have this chance, then who will? Most of the people in office know nothing about what's going on, and if they do, then they ignore it. You can say something, be that voice for little kids that need new books, for the college students that can barely pay for it, and for everyone else. I know you understand where I'm coming from."

"Of course I understand, but if I do that—I mean, it's like I'm _using_ the president—that has to be some bold shit and I'm not that kind of person."

Kurt raised his eyebrows while sending her a smile.

"But it is for a good cause, a _very_ good cause." She smirked

Kurt clapped his hands excitedly before carefully packing her sewing machine into a box, along with her fabric. Mercedes proceeded to pack clothing she had made into separate boxes.

"It's going to take time though," she said while looking out the window, "I don't like him very much, he's pretty rude and you know how much I have a low tolerance for bullshit. Now I'll have to practically kiss his ass in order for him to at least listen to me, much less _consider_ what I say. Not to mention the _pressure_ of doing something like this will have on me."

"As if you don't like a challenge, and who knows, our president is mighty fine. Maybe you can give him something to release all of that _tension_."

"I heard the human hand works wonders."

Kurt rolled his eyes before zipping her bag, only a moment later did the doorbell ring. Mercedes answered it to reveal a man in a tux and bright smile on his face,

"Good morning Miss Jones, I'm Blaine—your personal driver. I've been assigned to take you to any place needed or run any errands. Is Miss ready?" he asked politely.

Mercedes raised her eyebrows shocked, "I get my own personal driver?"

"Yes ma'am, Mr. Puckerman said so himself. I hope it's not a problem?"

"No it's not. But I wish he would have informed me, I am perfectly capable of driving myself around though."

Just as Blaine was about to reply, Kurt bumped Mercedes pushing her out the way, "Oh darling don't be such a stick in the mud—use it to your advantage. You'll be working for the president, I think you need to get used to the special treatment."

In response, she huffed, "We'll see about that."

"Hello there, I'm Kurt and you are?"

"I'm Blaine, nice to meet you sir." He said extending his hand for Kurt to shake,

"Yes, yes nice indeed."

Mercedes rolled her eyes before bumping Kurt out of her way, "Um, can you help me with my bags? They're in the living room."

"No problem ma'am."

"Please, call me Mercedes. Ma'am makes me sound older than I am." She smiled

"Alright ma'—Mer-cedes? Mercedes."

Blaine blushed before stepping inside to grab some of her bags along with Kurt. The boys left her alone for a few moments to look around her house; she was going to miss the place, having the comfort of her own home, personal items, and bed. She should have been excited to be doing this, how many people would be able to say they were the presidents' assistant by day and fashion designer by night? Not many.

"Make sure to take care of my home," Mercedes said as she handed a set of her house keys to Kurt.

"You have nothing to worry about," he smiled

Mercedes stared at him for a moment before shaking her head.

"Your bags are all in the car, are you ready?" Blaine asked at the doorstep.

Mercedes looked down at herself, comfortable in her white tank top, black slacks, brown flats and cardigan. It wasn't the most professional thing to wear, but she didn't know if she would need to wear a skirt and blazer every day nor did she think it _was_ needed. Before answering, she turned to take a quick look around the living room scanning through items in her head to make sure she had everything.

Nodding her head, she turned to Kurt giving him a strong hug, "We'll meet up as soon as I get the chance,"

"Of course we will. Love and miss you already."

"Liar," she smiled, "Love you too."

Mercedes gave Blaine a small smile before walking to the car; she instantly rolled her eyes at it being all black with tented windows. It wasn't like she was the president _herself_.

"Later Blaine!" she heard Kurt yell, she watched as Blaine smiled and gave him a small wave before opening the car door for her.

"Thank you," she smiled.

As Blaine started the car, Mercedes looked out the window; it didn't take long to get to the White House from her home—a little over an hour and a half, depending on traffic. She sighed looking down into her lap before smiling. Her little black book of quotes had to be one of the dearest things close to her heart. She had various quotes from people, such as Maya Angelou, quotes from television shows like One Tree Hill. It basically contained any and every quote that touched her in any way, most of them were to lift her spirits—words of encouragement. Mercedes flipped through the pages, one page landed on Booker T. Washington's quote,

"_I have begun everything with the idea that I could succeed, and I never had much patience with the multitudes of people who are always ready to explain why one cannot succeed."_

It took years for her to figure out who she was, which was normal. Of course at times life was an insane battle but in the end Mercedes always found herself coming out stronger—exactly what she wanted.

"So, how are you feeling about working side by side with him?" Blaine asked

Mercedes shrugged, "I feel like I'm going to do my job, and I'll treat him like the human he is. How long have you been a driver?"

"For a few months," he replied "I've met a few good people—but others barely acknowledge me you know? But I still love the job—great way to find out all the gossip in the White House." He laughed

She raised her eyebrows, "You could be useful,"

Blaine only nodded and smiled, he liked her already.

Before Mercedes knew it they had arrived, she took a deep breath as Puck walked to the car, opening the door for her,

"Nice to see you again," he smiled

"Hello,"

"Hey Blaine, how's it going?"

"Nice, I'm just dropping Miss Jones off though. As soon as I'm done unloading your bags, I'll be off, but you can call me anytime you need something," he said before handing her a card with his number.

Mercedes nodded before placing the card into her purse, she bit down on her bottom lip as Puck began leading her inside. She took a moment to glance around the front lawn—it wasn't much but the water fountain in the middle of the drive was very beautiful. She could spot the cameras on certain points of the building—they made her slightly uncomfortable knowing that someone was watching her every move even when walking down certain hallways. She reminded herself that one of the cameras would be getting the finger in the future—for fun of course.

"So, I'll be taking you to meet everyone day—those who work closest to the president. I'm warning you now—some people aren't the most pleasant to be around but I believe you will be able to manage."

"If you don't mind me asking, what does it matter that I meet them? I'm the presidents' assistant, no one else's."

"Well more than likely—you will be in various meetings and other occasions with the president along with these people. So you probably need to know who you'll be surrounded by during your time here."

"Alright then, who's first?"

Puck smiled while leading her down a hallway, they passed a variety of doors before stopping at one with a plaque with the name _Quinn Fabray. _

Mercedes hadn't realized they'd stood there for a moment before turning to Puck—he looked nervous, his cheeks were slightly pink.

"Puck?" she asked

"Yes, right." He said quickly before knocking on the door.

It was only seconds later when they were greeted by a smiling blond beauty.

"Hello," she greeted while stepping aside, Mercedes took it as a sign to step inside before noticing that Puck hadn't moved. She furrowed her eyebrows and then pulled him gently inside with her. It didn't seem like he was going to introduce her, so Mercedes took it upon herself.

"Hello, I'm Mercedes Jones. I'll be President Evans' personal assistant."

"It's lovely to meet you Mercedes, I'm Quinn Fabray. I'm also Head of the department of Education, and I welcome you here."

_Education, _Mercedes thought. Her mind was working around her mission already.

"I must warn you of how head strong Sam is," she laughed, "I wish you luck with that,"

Mercedes smiled—although it came out as more of a smirk, "Thank you, I hope that you and I will get a better chance to talk in the future."

Puck hadn't said anything through the whole exchange, and when Mercedes practically had to drag him out of Quinn's office, she noticed that he had finally started to breathe again. She only shook her head, not even questioning him—there would be time for that later.

"Okay well, that was great. Um next is Artie. Right this way Mercedes."

She rolled her eyes as he led her to another door—the plaque saying _Artie Abrams_.

"I should probably warn you—"Puck said as he knocked,

"Yes?"

"Artie is-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the door swung open to reveal a man in a wheelchair. Mercedes didn't even blink; this is what he probably just tried to warn her about. It was obvious he didn't know her—she wasn't going to judge or ask questions.

"Hi, I'm Mercedes Jones; I'll be President Evans' personal assistant."

She watched as Artie looked her up and down similar to what their president had done. His face held no expression as he rolled backwards to let them in,

"Hi. I'm Artie Abrams. I'm Head of the Defense department."

"It's nice to meet you Mr. Abrams."

"Call me Artie," he said waving his hand, "And before you ask or judge like most people do—"

"I hope that you'll come to find that I'm not like most people while I am here. Nor do I doubt anyone's ability to do their job by appearance."

"Um damn—thank you."

Mercedes smiled when she saw a blush take place on his cheeks, she turned to see Puck who had a gentle smile on his face.

"We gotta get going man; I'll check you later though."

Once they were outside of Artie's door, Puck turned to her—that gentle smile still in place.

"That was a good thing you did there, many people do actually question his abilities. They're usually too blind to see that he's able to do a kick-ass job for this country."

"_I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it."_

"Those are true words for a lot of people," he nodded

"Maya Angelou said them, and yes they are true for a lot of people, including myself. Anyways, who is next?"

"We have Brittany; her office is right down the hall."

Mercedes nodded slowly as they made their way to her door—the day was already becoming too much and it was only 11am.

"Hi!" Brittany greeted

"Hello, I'm Mercedes Jones, personal assistant to the president."

How many more times would she have to repeat those words?

"I'm Brittany S. Pierce, Head of Department of the Interior, which protects our resources and things such as wildlife."

"It's very nice to meet you, looking forward to getting to know you better."

"Yeah, Brit, just a quick meet and greet, we have keep moving."

Brittany smiled, "Nice to meet you Mercedes."

* * *

><p>"I apologize for expecting you to remember all of their names with only meeting them for a short moment, but once you're here a while, they become like a second family."<p>

"No it's quite alright, I'm sure I'll be able to manage."

"I'm sorry that you won't be able to meet Tina right now. She writes the president's speeches and is actually doing some research as we speak, but you'll be able to see her soon. She has mad skills when it comes to math and money, I call her Monopoly." He smiled, "But you'll learn that a few people here are more than what they have a title for. Speaking of which, Santana is next."

She looked on a little confused by what he'd meant, maybe he'd explain later.

"Okay so Santana Lopez. She's a bit—evil but her heart is in the right place if that makes sense." He said as he began leading her downstairs, they made plenty of twists and turns before Mercedes noticed they were in the kitchen.

"What does she do?"

"She's the chef, top chef actually but—"

"Only because of a hobbit named Rachel Berry, she pisses me off. Didn't anyone tell her to never piss off the person cooking your food?"

"What do you mean by that?" Mercedes asked,

"I'm saying that I'm only in this position _because _of her. I could be doing so much more and she knows it! I'm Santana by the way, who are you?"

"No wait, you're Mercedes right? Ah."

"How did you know?" Puck asked surprised

"News travels fast." She smirked.

"Oh," she trailed off, "Who's Rachel and why do you hate her?"

Santana snorted before taking a seat on a stool at the countertop, "Simple, she's a kiss ass to the president. Rachel is like a stepmom that thinks she can control you whenever your real mother isn't around. In other words, whenever the Presz leaves to take care of other matters, the White House becomes Rachel Berry's House."

Mercedes bowed her head listening to Santana; she did not like people like that. But she was going to have to decide for herself once she met Rachel.

"What does she do?"

"She's the Head of Treasury. I blame her for the country making no progress. She probably spends the money on her obsession with shopping. Her clothes are hideous all the same; I believe she dresses herself in the dark."

No one got a word in as Puck's Bluetooth headset beeped,

"Ah, speaking of the devil. They've just arrived back. Let's go greet them, shall we?" he asked while offering his arms to them both.

As the three of them walked back towards the main door, Mercedes started to think about her time while she'd be working, she had plans—of course they weren't all put together but she knew she'd need Quinn already. Education was a big issue and Mercedes wanted to make it equal for all the races, some people might have thought that it already was, they're probably say that the children get the same amount of learning but that would be a lie. Once you looked at other children's school books, their amount of hours in school, the people who taught them and test scores—you'd be able to see a big difference.

Mercedes was momentarily blinded when they reached the front doors, cameras were flashing, and reporters were yelling before someone actually decided to close the door. Blinking a few times, she focused her eyes to see that Artie, Quinn, and Brittany were near.

"Do we all have to greet him every time he comes through the door?" she whispered into Puck's ear,

"Yes, but only when he comes back from something like a long business trip, Rachel felt that it was appropriate to do so and you'll get accustomed to the cameras soon enough."

"Okay so is that Rachel standing next to him with the poncho on?"

Santana snickered from the other side of Puck, "Looks like it'll come to life and choke her doesn't it? Here's hoping."

Mercedes held in her laughter as Rachel, Mr. Evans, and the vice president began walking towards them. Both of the men looked handsome and very professional in their suits, however, their facial expressions were bored as they listened to Rachel talking about they seemed not to care about doing the moment. The men's hands were in their pockets, nodding their heads absentmindedly. They actually seemed to not be paying much attention to the girl, with their eyes focused towards Santana, Puck and her. Mercedes didn't actually know that their eyes were actually on _her_ until the vice president stepped right in front of her with the president right by his side.

"Hello," the vice president greeted—his voice low, Mercedes raised an eyebrow.

"I've heard you go by the name Mercedes?" he asked,

"Yes, Mercedes Jones."

"Ah," he said grabbing her hand, placing a gentle kiss against it, "Beautiful. I'm Vice President or right hand man as most would call me. Mike Chang. "

"Nice to meet you," she smiled politely before slipping her hand out of his grasp.

Mike smiled as well.

"Yes, well I do hope you're done flirting with _my _assistant Mike."

"I wasn't flirting Sam, merely introducing myself."

Sam's raised an eyebrow, "Your introductions have entirely too much touching, and I suggest you work on that, no need to have sexual harassment filed against you is there?"

"Ah Sam, Mike, how was the trip?" Quinn asked, rushing to stop the argument about to take place.

"It was fabulous!" Rachel clapped, "Oh and I'm Rachel, lovely to meet you Mercedes. I'm Head of Treasury. And I'll also be helping you learn your way around the White House and on how to please our beloved President. So if you were scared, which I'm sure you were-then there is absolutely no need to be, I'm here to answer any questions and provide you with help as best I can."

"Actually—"she started but was cut off by Rachel, "Have you been shown to your room? Oh dear have you even gotten a chance to settle in? Come, come. You'll need to prepare things as quickly as possible. So much to do and so little time. Santana have someone bring me a salad—light on the dressing-in my office while I show Mercedes to her room."

Mercedes looked around to Artie, Brittany, Quinn, Santana, Puck, Mike, and Sam trying to see their reactions because she would have bet that Rachel hadn't even taken a breath through her talking but as she saw their faces, they showed no expressions. This must have been something normal which was odd because that was _not_ normal.

"Rachel, I will show Miss Jones to her room seeing as how I'm heading to my own at the moment. You may show her whatever needed at a later time."

Mercedes tilted her head when Mr. Evans nodded before walking past her. She supposed she were to follow?

She sighed, frustration from the day slowly coming through.

"So do you and Mike fight like that all the time?" she asked when they were far enough away from everyone else.

She suddenly stopped when he turned to face her, his tall frame towering over her own,

"He is the Vice President; you will be professional and refer to him as that or Mr. Chang."

"I'm sorry Sir, you're completely right about being professional. It won't happen again,"

Sam continued to stare down at Mercedes. He began to wonder if he should apologize, he didn't expect her or anyone else to understand how much stress came along with being President of the United States. Constantly having people watch your every move—looking for any mistake, just waiting for you to slip up. Sam was a young president at only 35, which meant that the country was _really_ watching him. Half the time he didn't mean to be a pain in the ass to his staff but Sam had a problem. The American people were fed up with the government; having countless wars over the years had finally caught up to them all and they wanted their money back—they wanted to be able to finally live their lives the way they were supposed to. But that was a problem; the United States just didn't have the money. And on top of that—Sam just didn't know who he could trust these days.

Puck, Mike and himself had stayed up late many nights trying to figure out a plan, one conclusion that they'd come to was to fire a little over half the staff in the White House—they were just meaningless jobs but they had to go, he was hoping they would be able to save as much money as they could. Sam had felt bad about having to let them go but some things just had to be sacrificed—including some peoples' jobs. He looked down to Mercedes, watching as her brown eyes flickered back and forth between his green ones, she tightened her cardigan around herself, her lips slightly open,

"Mike was right," he said

"Sir?" he heard Mercedes ask.

"Nothing." He mumbled while shaking his head, without saying another word he began walking down the long hallway once again.

Mercedes walked silently behind him, his hands were once again stuffed in his pockets—his head was down and she could hear him mumbling under his breath. Maybe being the president had him on the edge of his sanity?

"We're best friends." He suddenly said when he stopped in front of a large door.

Sam turned his head slightly to Mercedes, "Mike and I—we've been best friends since high school."

"Oh. It must be nice to have someone familiar around you." She smiled,

Sam sighed, "Yeah, it is. Anyways, this is your room. I trust your things have been placed inside. Take your time to adjust."

She was confused with his change of mood, but decided not to say anything at the moment.

"Yes, well. I'll be seeing you later—Miss Jones."

Mercedes nodded before turning to open her bedroom door, but stopped when she watched him open a door across the hall, only a few feet away from her own,

"What room is that?" she asked, her voice slightly echoing in the hall,

Sam looked towards the door, a small smirk playing on his lips before turning back to her,

"Mine." He said before stepping inside.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for any mistakes. I don't really like reading over my own writing, probably gonna get a beta reader soon. <strong>

**And I know Santana having that job sort of doesn't make sense, but there's a reason behind it all. **


	3. Hello White America

**Nothing belongs to me.**

* * *

><p>The White House was eerily quiet during the early hours of the morning.<p>

Besides the sound of the birds chirping outside of her balcony window, the place was deadly silent.

Mercedes was also surprised that she hadn't had much trouble sleeping last night; she probably should have known that the house would have some of the most comfortable furniture to exist. The bed had felt like heaven after the hours it had taken her to unpack her things during the night. Mercedes was so happy to have had finally unpacked that she hadn't taken a notice to the bedroom that had been provided for her. But now as she lay in bed covered in the silk sheets, she was able to see the beauty that the room held. The bed being a wood post was a beauty in itself with white curtains pushed to the sides.

Mercedes was in love with the combination of soft brown colors of the room. The place gave her a feeling of content—something Mercedes found herself only having when not in the domain of other people, and she felt that she only missed her own room a little less. This would surely be the place she'd come to whenever having had enough of the fuckery that came with the job—and she was sure there would be some.

The bathroom was even more breathtaking once Mercedes had seen both the shower _and_ tub. She would defiantly be using them both in the future, and speaking of showers—Mercedes looked to the digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed to see that it read 5:00am. With a sigh, she pushed herself to get up knowing she would be officially starting her job today. Puck had promised he'd get her a schedule of things she was to do along with events that were to take place. He had also promised her he would show her around to the many rooms that The White House provided.

Before Mercedes could start her job as an assistant, she had to make sure her passion as a fashion designer wasn't left behind. With a white fluffy towel wrapped around her from the relaxing shower she'd had, Mercedes walked to her closet door—which happened to be huge, it could have been a whole other room if wanted. Mercedes bit her lip when she found the item of clothing she had been working on for months; the material of the dress was very rare and felt remarkable on her hands. She was so fond of the dress because it had been the last thing she'd been working on before she found out how the prices of the materials she needed to make her clothes had skyrocketed. With determination, she vowed that the dress would be the greatest thing she'd ever make. The dress was a beautiful strapless cream color that came down to your feet but would flow with your every move, Mercedes wasn't quite finished but she planned to added a layer of crystal rhinestones that would blend into the top half of the dress.

Maybe it could get her noticed when after she'd leave here—something to fall back on. That was, after all what her fashion design major had been.

Now as stated before, Mercedes had determined that she didn't agree with more than half the ways America handled things, she had plenty of reasons, plenty of personal experiences and so on, but that didn't mean she couldn't change anything, right? That was the reason she decided on a double major of both fashion _and_ a Politics major. But after a harsh wakeup call, Mercedes had soon realized that barely anyone would even _listen_ to a plus sized black woman's voice dealing with as most people would call it—a man's world or even better—a white man's world.

As Mercedes decided on simple black slacks and a one shoulder ruffled lavender blouse to wear for the day, she also pulled out her book of quotes, _Mercedes Jones, _was engraved across the cover, she turned to a quote—one she had tried to keep in mind, it was very much true to her.

_"Part of me has always been interested in politics-that's the part of me that wants to save the world. I believe that some of the most daunting challenges in the world today-poverty, disease, war-can be solved if people can put aside their petty differences and preconceived notions and do what they know to be right. I'm not saying that a B.A. in politics from college will immediately lead to the end of world hunger, but for me to do my part in improving the lives of my brothers and sisters, I have to understand the causes of our problems and the institutions involved in developing any possible solutions. I think of my education as a framework for changing the planet-in ways both big and small." __- Alexander Justice Moore _

But she hadn't given up completely, now that she had this opportunity. And maybe that was part of the reason she had wanted to do this—because she would secretly be able to speak with a white person's voice. It was wrong of course, it probably didn't make her any better than other people, but it was something she was willing to do and she wouldn't even have to show her face unless it was absolutely necessary. Everything would fall into place soon, she hoped.

Before Mercedes started her job, she walked to her bedroom's balcony, which gave her the perfect view of one of the many gardens; it was simply beautiful as the morning sun began to rise, with a deep breath Mercedes smiled,

"Good morning white America."

At 6:15am, Mercedes found that it was still too quiet for her liking. It wasn't like she was much of a morning person herself, anyone with a happy-go-lucky complex in the mornings would surely find themselves getting a slap to the face, but this was the _White House, _where exactly was everyone? When she closed her bedroom door, she had walked across the hall to Mr. Evan's room, placing her ear gently against the door, she couldn't hear anything, and she thought maybe even _he _was still asleep.

As she walked downstairs to the kitchen, she was slightly relieved to find someone besides herself up. Mercedes folded her arms while leaning onto the counter top, watching as Santana prepared breakfast,

"Hi Santana,"

"Hey, girl. I'll have some more food ready in a minute. How was your first night?"

"It was fine, but I'm wondering why no one else is up and you're already cooking. Doesn't everyone eat together?"

As Santana stirred the pancake mix, she turned to Mercedes, "No," she said shaking her head, "We haven't eaten together in a long time."

"Why? If you don't mind me asking."

"This place—this—business has a terrible way of tearing people apart."

When Santana didn't continue, Mercedes chose not to ask any further. In a way, the words she'd spoke were enough for Mercedes to get the message.

"Hey, how about I take Mr. Evan's his breakfast? Save you some trouble."

"Oh, well I usually just lay everything out in one of the dining halls upstairs, that way they can come and go as they please, but I'd appreciate you doing that."

She smiled before grabbing the tray Santana handed to her, looking at some of the food she had already cooked, Mercedes decided to place pancakes and bacon onto his plate, along with pouring him some orange juice and coffee.

"I guess I'll come back later for myself." She smiled while trying to balance the tray.

"Just come straight here, I'll have some food saved for you only…I think I may start to like you better than anyone else here in due time."

Mercedes slightly cocked her head, "That could be either a terribly good idea or a terribly bad one."

"Either way it'd still be terrible?"

"Exactly." She smiled

* * *

><p>She stood at his door trying to catch her breath; she would make sure to learn the short cuts of this place while she was here because trying to balance a stack of pancakes, orange juice and steaming hot coffee was not easy. Mercedes couldn't even knock on door, afraid she'd drop everything in her hands, so she did the only thing she could think of—she lifted her foot into the air and kicked the door twice. It wasn't all <em>that<em> hard, but it was enough for Sam to swing the door open with a death glare awaiting Mercedes.

She _would_ have smiled if not only did he open the door with a glare but also opened the door _shirtless_. And wet—water dripping down his very muscular, his very toned and very _very_ wet chest. Mercedes slowly let her eyes connect back to his own eyes—his facial expression hadn't changed. Mr. Evans didn't even blink as water droplets from his hair fell down into his eyes and lips—which he decided at that moment—he would lick.

"Breakfast," she said while holding up the tray, a smile now plastered on her face.

Sam only stood there for a moment, not saying anything, his green eyes looking into her own intently. When he finally moved out of the way, he still didn't say anything. Mercedes shrugged before stepping inside. His room was just as beautiful as her own, which shouldn't have been a surprise but she didn't even have much time to look around when she heard the door close. She spun around on her heal, narrowing her eyes at him but only caught the sight of his back as he walked into another room—she guessed it to be his closet because when he walked back out, he had on a white long sleeved shirt with a tank top underneath, which had water soaking through from his body, starting to button it close. Mercedes poked her tongue out to the corner of her mouth as she counted. _One, two, three, four, five, six—hot fucking damn. _

Seeing him half naked on her first day of the job was _not_ supposed to happen.

"So," she said looking away, "You're not a morning person I take it?"

"I am actually," Sam said while fixing his shirt collar, "I go either swimming or jogging in the mornings. And although that may be, you've already failed to wake me this morning. I shall hope you aren't as useless when things _really_ get hectic."

So her president was basically sex on legs, but he was _such_ a damn asshole.

"Sorry, sir. I'm still learning the ropes around here."

Sam walked towards her noticing that she still held his tray of food, letting his hands graze her own in an innocent move before taking the tray. He placed it onto the nightstand beside his bed before going to his dresser drawer, pulling out two ties.

"I do hope you're a fast learner Miss Jones. Excuses like that simply won't do."

Mercedes cursed under her breath when she actually _felt_ her face heat up. She quickly composed herself, reminding herself that she wasn't some ninth grader dealing with their first high school crush. Especially sense she was dealing more with something along the lines of the high school ass.

"Mr. Puckerman is going to give me a schedule; I'll be the best assistant you've ever seen."

Mercedes made sure to call him Mr. Puckerman and _not_ Puck in front of him.

"Yes, yes. Black or red?" he asked holding up the ties,

"Red,"

"Black it is."

Sam threw the red tie onto the bed before handing the black one to her; Mercedes arched her eyebrow wondering why the hell he was handing the tie to her,

"Sorry sir, but are your hands broken?"

"No," he said shaking his head, "But it's a start at being useful," he smirked

She mumbled something that he was sure he wouldn't have cared to heard, but took the tie anyways. Sam watched as she placed her full attention onto the tie, making sure to loop and pull during the right moments, he found it fascinating—how she concentrated on something so small, and still made sure it came out perfect. Mercedes rolled her eyes before patting his chest—a little too roughly-and then walking to the door, "Well, as lovely as it's been, I have to go now but I probably won't be too far from your own presence so—just let me know if you need anything."

Kurt's word rang through her ears,_ "Get into his good graces."_

Sam gave her a wave of his hand, sending her a signal to leave, which she gladly accepted. It probably wouldn't have been a good thing to have the president's murder on your hands, even if he _was_ a wanker.

"Mercedes?"

She spun around to see Puck, Quinn, and another guy standing outside of Mr. Evan's door. She didn't recognize the guy but had to crane her neck in order to look into his face—he was freakishly tall but there was something adorable about his facial features, he looked awkward but sweet and gullible.

"Yes?" she asked innocently

"What-" Puck began to ask, but shook his head, "I know that I promised to show you around today and give you your schedule and everything but I have other matters that need to be taken care of."

"Oh, nothing serious is it?"

"No, no. I just need to train Finn here; he's just recently been hired to work under me in security. I hope you don't mind but I've arranged for Quinn to show you the things you need to know."

Mercedes eyed Quinn, "Absolutely perfect."

* * *

><p>"So are you excited to officially start today?" Quinn asked as they walked down the hall.<p>

Mercedes tucked her hair behind her ear, looking straight ahead, "Excitement isn't really the word—more like-determined, yes."

"I know that feeling," she said smiling, "Anyways, how about I tell and show you some of the rooms here? That way you'll be able to make your way around."

She nearly rolled her eyes but managed to control herself, with a small smile playing on her lips, she answered back, "I actually know many of the rooms that The White House holds,"

"Oh really? Do enlighten me because many of his recent assistants didn't know shit—excuse my language."

"Alright," Mercedes challenged, "There are one hundred and thirty two rooms here, eight staircases—including The Grand Staircase. And then there are also the entertainment facilities such as the swimming pool, workout room, a movie theater and various other things."

At the look of Quinn's surprised face, she continued on with a smiled, "There are only two wings of The White House. The West Wing which is where we're heading towards now—is for the business that takes place, also where the Oval Office is. The East Wing is for guests—such as events, balls, and also where everyone sleeps."

"Wow," Quinn said shaking her head, "I don't know how many people would have actually taken the time to look up information on their own, you're something."

Just as Mercedes was about to reply, she noticed Quinn slightly lose her balance, quickly, she grabbed onto her elbow,

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm just a little stressed out—speaking of which, we should be getting to the meeting."

Mercedes didn't really believe her but didn't know her well enough to suggest she'd go rest. Biting onto her bottom lip, she walked hurriedly beside her,

"So what is the meeting about?

"It's something that we have daily to discuss possible ideas and solutions."

Quinn then stopped at her own office before telling Mercedes to wait outside while she ran in; she wasn't gone long but did come back with a notebook and pen,

"You should probably take important notes."

* * *

><p>"As you all know, we need to find new ways to gain money for the United States. We need ideas—we need just about anything that will help us out of this shithole."<p>

Mercedes had already came to the solution that it was inevitable for her not to learn something new almost every day while working here. And during this moment, she learned that whenever anyone entered this room—everything seemed to change about them. No one smiled, they barely looked into one another's eyes, much less the presidents'—his eyes were like death—dark, commanding—intimidating.

With his hands tucked inside his pockets, Sam looked to Quinn, she seemed to squirm in her seat under his gaze and Mercedes couldn't even blame her,

"Well, sir" she started, "I've looked into everything I could possibly think of in my department—reducing here, adding there—but nothing seems that it would help enough."

"Rachel?" Sam asked, eyeing her just as hard,

"Mr. President, I've looked thoroughly at all of my paperwork, facts, details and everything else—I've come to the conclusion that we need to simply raise things at _least_ five percent more in order to make some type of progress."

"So that's it then? The people want their money _back_ Rachel!"

Mercedes bit onto her tongue, trying to hold in what she wanted to say—what she needed to say. She looked to Quinn, who held her head now—they all did.

"Well—"Mercedes decided to say, watching as all of their heads snapped towards her, "If I may suggest something-"

"You certainly may not Miss Jones."

"Sam, how about we see what she has to say, I think everyone here agrees that any idea has the right to at least be _heard_." Mike chimed in, gesturing with his hand for her to speak.

She looked towards Sam again, watching as his eyes focused on her. She could tell that he was biting on the inside of his cheeks, probably to keep him from jumping across the table at any of them. Mercedes could have given him the finger if she hadn't realized that she might actually be getting a chance to tell them about her idea. And of course—if he weren't the president.

"Spend money to make money." She said before taking a deep breath and rising to her feet.

Mercedes walked towards the front of the room, making sure she had all of their attention; this was what she was good at,

"I say we put money towards education. As you stated Mr. President, the people want their money back, so then what better way to put their money into something as important as education? As Marian Wright Edelman once said, "Education is for improving the lives of others and for leaving your community and world better than you found it." College students, young children—they are the future, and I think we need to do everything possible to make sure each and every child has the full benefit of an education in _every_ way."

"Miss Jones," Rachel spoke, raising her hand signaling for her to stop speaking, Mercedes slowly turned her head towards her, "I see no reason to fund education anymore than what we already are, it may not be the best—but it is enough, and while we are always looking for ways to improve—that is not our top priority. "

"So when does it become your top priority? When a child can barely afford to pay for it? But wait Miss Berry, that's already the case!"

"Miss Jones," another voice said, Mercedes looked and saw that it was the president himself. He was now seated at the head of the table, his hands folded, but his eyes looked straight ahead, not at her, "Everyone in this room can admit that education is one of the most important things that needs to be tackled, but if we want progress, then we need time—and that is something we will be running out of before we know it. So please, the idea of spending money to make money is just absurd. However, I must ask that from now on you stay in your place—as my assistant and nothing more. Thank you for your input."

"_My place?_ With all due _respect _sir, you may be the President of the United States, but that don't mean I won't shove my foot up your ass."

Mercedes thought she heard Rachel gasp, and maybe thought she heard a few snickers—but her ears were heated and ringing, she wouldn't have really heard shit at the moment.

Sam's head snapped towards Mercedes, his left eye slightly twitching, he would have been damn right amused if she hadn't said that in front of the people that worked for him. But she was good entertainment, one of the only few people in the damned place that could even make him slightly smile or laugh, and it was barely her first day on the job. Damn woman.

"That's enough Miss Jones; I think you should go have a walk around the garden to calm your nerves. Please leave."

He was taking her as a joke—must have been, because Mercedes was deadly serious and she wanted to whip the fucking small smirk off his face. She took a deep breath before calmly—or as close as she could get, left out of the room, the door slamming behind her.

"He wanted him as the president anyways?" she mumbled

She was so busy trying to get her head straight again that she hadn't heard the door she'd previously vacated open and shut,

"Merce—Miss Jones,"

Mercedes quickly turned around—not really knowing who to expect, maybe Mr. Evans was going to fire her now—she probably would have fired herself. "Get into his good graces." Kurt had said. But she didn't know if she should have been shocked or relieved to see that it was Quinn,

"I want to hear more about your idea."

* * *

><p><strong>Nothing to say, really. Hope you enjoyed!<strong>


	4. Triplets

**I don't own anything.**

* * *

><p>Mercedes made a mental note to <em>always<em> lock her bedroom door at night.

Now, it was something she had already been doing but last night she had forgotten, and it was a mistake she would surely not make again. She had a reason for not locking her door and it was a good one too—she'd fell asleep face down on the desk in her room. And that was how she woke up, a book beneath her head with drool covering page 394. And there wasn't many times when she woke up baffled except for when she'd go to bed late, and that was very much so the case.

She had stayed up all night researching and annotating anything she could about education. Mercedes already knew many things about the system, many of its faults and its highlights but it wasn't the highlights she was looking for—which brought on frustration because that was just about _all_ the books were preaching. But Mercedes could only take the praise for so long before she had grabbed her laptop to look up the information she was yearning for. She had thought about going to the library because for her—books were sometimes a more reliable source, and she felt that it was a sad thing that people were forgetting about them.

Mercedes could remember when she was younger, she remembered when books were sometimes _all_ she had. And she had found herself being alright with that—today, during this time, her judgment hadn't changed.

At the age of 15, Mercedes' mother had finally broken and gotten internet and cable for the household. She had been more than excited—she was finally going to see television shows and movies the people at school had always talked about, and Mercedes had to admit that she had felt left out sometimes, which was where her books had come in, but it wasn't her fault that Lady Jones was a bit skeptical of using new technology.

But then Mercedes got a hold of those social networking sites, a few were fine—she was able to talk to people around the world and of _course_ she was careful about it but then she was introduced to internet bullying. It was never aimed towards her and if it ever were, Mercedes had always risen above that because she was more than certain that people who talked that way through a computer screen would be less likely to match their words with their fists if face to face. During her hours she had found herself online, she had also found herself less in tuned with people and activities _outside_ of the web, she had begun reading books less, finding it hard to make time for friends from school-all in all, her time on the internet had gotten a little out of hand but as she got older, she managed, or rather had no choice but to make time for things such as school, friends, and her cherished books. Everything had changed but there was also something she picked up.

Mercedes felt that every person should have had those days where they should turn off their computer, their cell phones, and any other device and just—grab a book, food, a blanket, go into your room—lock the door and just _have a break_.

Take a deep breath from the world.

She didn't exactly know when or if she'd have time to do that here, but for the sake of herself and others, she would make time.

Mercedes had been up more than half the night making a presentation to show Quinn, and she couldn't complain—really, Quinn was giving her one of the many chances she had come here for. So _that_ was her very good reason for forgetting to lock her door-but something she did _not_ have an explanation for—was the voice that distantly whispered,

"Fresh meat!" followed by a clap of the hands.

Now, Mercedes wasn't accustomed to everyone's voices in the White House just yet, but she was certain that none of them sounded like the one who'd just spoke those words. With her head still resting on the book, Mercedes closed her eyes to make sure that whoever was in her room didn't know she was awake—yet.

"I don't know," she heard another voice say—female, she noted, "Sam will kill us if we're caught pranking another assistant _again_."

"I would be scared if I weren't so sure that he finds it almost as amusing as we do."

"You are such an idiot."

"And yet, you're caught by my side every time. Who's the bigger idiot?"

"Piss off, you still are."

"Language young lady, now, let's see what we have here."

Mercedes felt a small gush of wind—the male had gotten closer to her, "Heavy sleeper, excellent. Also pretty—shame."

"Don't touch her!" the female hissed,

"Stop worrying, I said she was a heavy sleeper by account of the drool covering her face,"

Maybe he should have listened, because if he had—he would have never taken his hand to pull back Mercedes' hair, giving him a clearer view of her face, and maybe in that moment—Mercedes wouldn't have sprung from her chair, accidently scratching her hand in the process, to quickly grab and twist his arm behind his back,

"Shit!" he yelled as Mercedes held onto him painfully.

She looked towards the girl seeing that they were both just some teens. The girl, who held her own hands up in surrender, took a few steps back.

"Who are you two?"

"Hey, about you help me out over here?" the guy yelled towards his companion.

"I wouldn't try anything little girl."

"We're really sorry Miss; it's just harmless fun—well for us anyway. Please don't tell Sam."

"Again, who are you?"

Before she could answer, Mercedes heard a knock on her door before it opened, this time it was Tina. They really hadn't gotten a chance to talk to one another, but Mercedes had observed that she was a quiet person, from the times they had seen each other, Mercedes saw that she mostly kept to herself.

"Sorry to barge in Miss Jones but I heard someone shout, but now I see that it's only Stacy and Stevie, what kind of trouble are you two causing now?" she asked while folding her arms with a gentle smile, "And I'm sorry Mercedes for whatever they've done and will do in the future,"

"Do you think you can let me go now?" the boy asked but Mercedes only held him tighter, making him wince.

"Who do these kids belong too?"

"Well as of now, they're apart of the Evan's family—that is, until I disown them in the near future."

None of them had been paying attention enough to notice when Sam walked into her room-in a black wife beater and grey pajama bottoms. Maybe if her room hadn't just been invaded, she would have noticed that Mr. Prez was packing in more ways than _one_, but instead she groaned, it was only about 6:30 in the morning and the day was already starting off wrong, it couldn't get any worse could it?

"This beautiful young woman here is my little sister Stacy," he said gesturing to the now blushing girl, Mercedes couldn't help but let a small smile come to her face, "And that one—would be Stevie."

"Hey!"

"They also have a knack for pranking my assistants."

She had been so set on not panicking and holding onto Stevie—as he was called—that she hadn't taken the time to notice that him, the young lady, and the president were basically _triplets_. Mercedes could barely handle one Mister Evans, now she had to worry about an extra two trying to play tricks on her on what could possibly be a daily _basis_? No wonder his past assistants ditched his ass. While Mercedes was pondering on what could happen, she hadn't noticed her grip tighten on the young man's arm until he once again winced, snapping her out of thought,

"Oh, sorry," she mumbled before pushing him out of her hold, she, along with Tina, Stacy, and Mr. Evans chuckled as they watched Stevie stumble before falling face first onto her bed,

"Where did you get _this_ one from?" Stevie asked while rubbing his wrist, "She has a grip like she's been trained in the _Army_." He then turned his angry and embarrassed face towards her; Mercedes placed her hands on her hips, "Yeah, something like that. But it serves you right, sneaking into my room. Be lucky, mister, I could have done much worse."

"Like what?" Stacy asked, while standing slightly behind her big brother with a smile.

"Let's just say he probably wouldn't have been able to have children."

Stevie gasped dramatically, "Sam do you see this? Your assistant is practically threatening my beloved jewels and the life of my future children! You're fired."

Sam shook his head in pure amusement, "No, you're not Miss Jones,"

Mercedes rolled her eyes before forcing herself to look away-but not before taking note that Mr. Evans smile had been the first she'd really seen since being there—it was odd and frankly a little uncomfortable right now, also something that would rarely appear in public, much less her own presence.

"Tina, will you please take these two and make sure they're prepared for school?"

"Yes, Mr. President. Come on you two,"

Stacy waved goodbye to Mercedes in which she returned, while Stevie mumbled something about it not being the last time she'd see him. Mercedes could only let out a small laugh, maybe she would get a chance to talk to them sometime.

"I'll be to see you two off in twenty minutes," Mr. Evans added before Tina led them out of her room.

Mercedes lifted her eyes toward him, now remembering that she had on the same clothes from yesterday and that her hair was more than likely all over the place. Now, it wasn't like she cared about him specifically seeing how awful she looked in the mornings, but she'd rather not have the President or anyone else to witness the mess, plus him being here was unprofessional in itself,

"It may have slipped my mind before, which is greatly foolish of me," she said while pulling her cardigan closer to her, "but it is not appropriate even in this day and age for a young woman and man to be alone in a bedroom together, especially with a man of your status sir, and also in the sense that you and I do not know one another in the form of companionship at the very least."

Sam bit onto the inside of his cheek, "You're entirely right, we wouldn't want a Bill Clinton case on our hands would we?"

"Sir!" Mercedes yelled while trying to contain her laughter.

He might have been a jerk but she had to admit that he was beginning to have his good moments.

Mercedes covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud until she noticed that he had already stopped. She watched as the amusement left his eyes, watched as they narrowed—his pinky finger twitched, she had to take a step back. He had hoped she was a fast learner, and she actually was when it came to certain people or things. Mercedes was now starting to learn that he could change his moods very quickly, just as he'd done in the meeting room—he had just done it again. It was something she would have to get used to, but Mercedes had to confess, that would not be easy.

"You're bleeding Miss Jones," and Mercedes had to pretend that his voice _hadn't_ dropped an octave.

"Oh," she said as she lifted her hand, he was right; the back of her left hand had a cut going from her middle finger to her wrist. It wasn't very deep but it was still bleeding none the less. Mercedes snapped her eyes to Sam when he gently took her hand into his own—she hadn't even noticed he had moved closer to her.

"It's nothing," she said while removing her hand from his,

"Yes, but the incident was perhaps caused by my siblings, I should take responsibility for it as they are no longer present."

"That's your job in general." She said, her voice suddenly changing from soft and innocent to fierce and bold. Mercedes remembered who he was, what she was doing there.

"Miss Jones?"

"Your job as the President—is to rebuild after former ones fail to do so. That's not only your responsibility to your family—that's your responsibility to_ America_."

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry again about Stevie and Stacy," Tina smiled as she and Mercedes walked towards the West Wing.<p>

"Its fine, but may I ask—how often are they here?"

Tina had come back to Mercedes to check on her once she'd left Stevie and Stacy to Mr. Evans. Like Mercedes said before—they hadn't spent much time together but Mercedes was willing to get to know her,

"Every other day, sometimes more," she said,

"Their parents are alright with that? I mean, do they spend time at home with their friends and stuff?"

Tina stopped walking—she turned to Mercedes with a sad look on her face. Placing her hand onto Mercedes arm, she sighed before saying, "Miss Jones—if there is one thing you should remember while you're here—remember that no one has an easy life—not even Sam and his family—President or not,"

"I'll do my best to keep that in mind," she smiled before changing the subject—she wanted to know more about the secrets of the White House, but now was not the time,

"So, how is your job?" Mercedes asked,

Once again, Tina sighed, "Could be worse—or extremely better. I just have to remember to do what I have to in order to get by."

"What you _have_ to do? What about what you _want_ to do?"

"You don't always get what you want—especially if someone else does the job better."

* * *

><p>Mercedes had determination written all over her face as she searched for Quinn. With her laptop placed under her left arm and briefcase in her right hand, heels clicking along the marble floors—she was ready to face just about anything. But her heels suddenly came to a stop when she was near Quinn's office, she could hear voices and surely one of them had to be Quinn—and then she heard the other voice—Mercedes held in her breath,<p>

"How is she?" Mercedes heard Puck ask, and then someone—no doubt Quinn-sigh before saying, "She's fine, still getting over that cold but otherwise fine, and I think you'd know that if you even thought to check on her more often."

"Quinn don't give me that, you know my job takes a toll on me."

"And mine doesn't?" another sigh, "I don't care what this job does to me, I still make time to see my child,"

"Our child,"

"You could have fooled me." She heard Quinn say, she then heard footsteps, telling her that either Quinn or Puck was coming, she quickly turned the corner—hiding herself from their view, but making sure to not stand too close near the edge of the wall as she peeked her head around only slightly, she was able to spot Puck now leaning against Quinn's door with a hand pressed against his forehead.

Mercedes pondered on the information she'd just found out—there had been no news in the media of Quinn Fabray and Noah Puckerman having a child together.

She decided to wait until Puck left before knocking onto Quinn's door.

"What?" Quinn asked as she swung the door open, it was clear that she had been crying, Mercedes only held up her laptop with a small smile on her face,

"Project remember? Or is it a bad time?"

"Oh Mercedes—I thought you were—no come on in, it's fine. I'm excited to hear what you have to say," she said as she stepped away from the door, quickly going to the other side of the room, probably to gain control of her emotions.

"What's her name?" Mercedes asked, acting as if she were bored already, but not failing to hear Quinn gasp before silence took over the room. For a moment Mercedes thought she would not answer, and she would be fine with it either way—really.

Her voice was soft, nearly innocent, "Who?" she asked without facing her.

"I didn't mean to pry; I just overheard you and Mr. Puckerman talking."

Quinn liked Mercedes, she really did—but this was government—how many people could actually be trusted?

"I'll do my absolute best to prompt this idea to him Mercedes—I promise."

Mercedes titled her head to the side as she watched Quinn bite her lip—panic flashing in her eyes.

"I won't tell anyone if that's what you're worried about. I'm nothing like the people you're usually around Quinn—I work _hard_ for everything I want and need, sometimes I may have to go through hardships such as now—but I will not hold _anything_ over _anyone's _head just to get through."

She closed her eyes for a second—drawing in a yawning breath.

_"Think like a queen. A queen is not afraid to fail. Failure is another steppingstone to greatness."_

"This isn't just about me, I hope you're able to see that Miss Fabray."

Her eyes widened, "Miss Jones—Mercedes, I'm sorry, you have to—have to understand that there aren't many people you can have faith—"

"Please save that. I know about it all too well and if I wanted a memory flash I'd simply look into a History textbook."

"Her name is Beth," she practically whispered,

Mercedes nodded her head, before grabbing her laptop and briefcase…going back to business. She pulled out a few papers, handing them to Quinn,

"I would like to start with elementary and secondary schools." She stated before standing, she decided that she couldn't sit for this, while Quinn sat behind her desk, Mercedes hoped she'd watch her closely.

"There is just about fourteen thousand public high school and elementary schools in the United States as you know. In some states, the schools are funded by property taxes and—depending on those taxes and wealth of the community, a school can have a beautiful building with brand new books and computers or a school can have outdated equipment. As many people believe in the quote "First come first served." But many people fail to see that it is not that term, but the term of only the best will be served first, while the rest shall have what's left over.

Miss Fabray, are you aware that the majority of them are African American and Hispanic? Those students have less access to resources such as internet and quality libraries in their neighborhoods. As well as those, these schools are more likely to hire teachers that simply do not care, teachers that use "I still get paid if you pass or fail," above a child's head. On top of that, the teachers hired can barely connect with their students on a personal level rather choosing to simply teach straight from a textbook, hopes the child understands enough, give a quiz, and move on from the subject the next week, sometimes the next_ day. _

How can they grasp anything like that? Yes, it's either they get it or they don't. Sadly, a thing such as that has lead to at least sixty percent of 8th graders not being able to read proficiently. And yes, of course parents should have some sort of blame, correct, but—when a parent sends their child off to school, everyday that parent is putting their trust into teachers to teach their children what they need to be taught. There are so many problems Miss Fabray, so many things that need to be taken care of, and I understand that it takes time—but how much time will it take until someone realizes that every child does not have an equal education? Equal opportunities?"

* * *

><p>"Thank you for your presentation Quinn."<p>

She looked briefly toward Mercedes before saying, "I do hope you and the rest of the people in the room take this into consideration, sir. It is a problem that I've only recently discovered myself and with this being my department—I was appalled, this could happen to any of our—future children, and their children, and so on. I believe it is time to do something about it."

Mercedes stayed quiet, watching as everyone's heads turned towards one another, some of them were shocked; some looked like they could care less.

The Vice President spoke up, "Sam, I think Quinn is going in the right direction with her idea. As it's been said, what better way is there to help the people of the United States?"

"I still don't know," Rachel said, writing down something unknown to everyone else, but before she could speak again, Mr. Evan's voice took over the room, everyone's attention turning to him,

"I shall think critically along with a few others on this during the next few days Miss Fabray, I believe you have something worth going for here-but you will have your answer in due time."

From that point, everyone began to exit the room but Mercedes remained seated,

"Miss Jones, please bring coffee to my office—make sure it's a strong one."

"Yes, Mister President."

When everyone left the room, leaving only Mercedes behind, she back in her chair for only a moment,

"Meeting adjourned."

* * *

><p><strong>Excuse any mistakes please.<strong>


	5. Agreed

**I don't own anything.**

* * *

><p>Rachel Berry stood on the outside of Mercedes' door with a tray of food and a smile so bright that she could have out done the sun. Mercedes only pulled her robes tighter against her frame as she eyed the small sized girl,<p>

"Good morning Mercedes, I brought you some breakfast." she said cheerily while holding up the tray.

"I usually eat downstairs with Santana,"

"Oh," she shrugged before taking a step forward, "I'm sure she'll pull through."

"However nice your gesture is Miss Berry, I'm not quite dressed yet and must attend to my duties in about an hour or so."

"Don't worry!" she said while pushing her way through the door. Mercedes roughly bit down on her bottom lip, "We're girls, you and I have the same things," she winked, but it came off as an awkward attempt, "And you'll have plenty of time to get ready."

Mercedes scanned what Rachel brought to her for breakfast before wearily picking off a slice of toast while making sure to watch out the corner of her eye as Rachel looked around her room—which she found a bit ridiculous already knowing that she had more than likely seen the room, since she had been the one who offered to escort her to it when Mercedes first arrived.

"You have such a lovely room,"

Mercedes could hardly hold herself back from rolling her eyes, "Thank you,"

"Oh!" Rachel clapped loudly, "I see they've placed the new radio into your room as well,"

"Yes," Mercedes said as she eyed the small radio on her nightstand. It had one speaker with various numbered buttons underneath, "I've been wondering what it was,"

She gave Mercedes another eye blinding smile, "Well it's simply fantastic, it's connected to nearly every room in the house. All you have to do is punch in the number nine before punching in the room number you wish to connect too. "

"Like a hotel phone?"

"Yes, my own idea, you're able to have private conversations as well as dial into every room at once if needed. It'll make things a bit easier around here. And of course all Mr. Evans has to do is ring up your room in case he needs—something—straight away," she smiled,

"How grand," Mercedes muttered, "Now he can disturb me in my sleep if he pleases."

Once Mercedes noticed how the room grew silent, she turned her gaze toward Rachel only to find that she was looking at her—no smile, just with a serious expression,

"Miss Berry?" she asked,

"Yes, well I suppose I should get to my reason for being here Miss Jones, no more of your time needs to be wasted I suppose."

Mercedes sat on her bed, now waiting for her to explain what she _really_ wanted.

"That would be fine by me—I encourage it in fact,"

"I've noticed you and Miss Fabray have been spending a lot of time together lately,"

Mercedes raised her eyebrows, "Does that concern you Miss Berry?"

"Actually," she said, "It does."

She choose not to say anything just yet, instead letting her continue on, "We had been having meetings for months Miss Jones, arguing back and forth on what we should do to help the country—on what sacrifices we should make, we were never able to come to a decision—and then you got here a few weeks ago-and now suddenly Miss Fabray comes up with a completely unnecessary action to help the United States—and for the past few weeks we've continued to argue back and forth Miss Jones, but do you know what was different about it this time? They _actually _agreed on sometime."

Mercedes titled her head to the right, "I'm trying to see how this deals with me?"

"You get here," Rachel said while stepping closer, which led Mercedes to stand from her bed, "You get here and—you preach an idea about education—and then suddenly Quinn comes up with that bazaar idea that they actually _agreed_ on. This has _everything_ to do with you Miss Jones,"

"You know Miss Berry—jumping to conclusions isn't a very smart thing to do—all it means is that you haven't considered any other possibilities, such as Miss Fabray coming up with the idea on her own—or even realizing that the topic of education is something that needs to be addressed."

"Miss Jones I—_we_ are working hard to solve the issues of America, detours of insignificant things simply won't do."

"In your eyes maybe—but the idea was obviously worth it if they've agreed to act on it,"

"People like you should be careful about what you get into Miss Jones,"

Mercedes stood to her full height from the words; Rachel's voice had dropped to a tone that she didn't like when she spoke those words,

"Is that a threat?" she whispered, but knew it was loud enough for her to hear,

"You shouldn't assume Miss Jones—only makes me think you haven't considered any other possibilities. But what I _am_ saying,"

Rachel stepped closer to her, raising her hand to lightly touch Mercedes' arm, "is that I know exactly how much someone like you puts out," she said while trailing her fingers up her arm—barely touching, but just enough to let her know that she _was_ touching, "to get in," she whispered while sliding her fingers back down,

Mercedes narrowed her eyes before shoving her hand away, "And do you know from mere observations Miss Berry, or personal experiences?"

Rachel's lips once again formed into that sweet innocent smile, "Like I said, just be careful about who you're making friends with around here and who you're voicing your—opinions too, I hope you have a nice day Miss Jones."

Mercedes' hands were balled into fists at her sides as she watched her walk out the door. She probably should have known to not let her in, and she probably should have known that she wasn't going to like her from the very start—but Mercedes was always willing to give people a _chance_. Now she saw how Rachel Berry really was, the type of woman to act innocent in _public_ but was a brand new person behind closed doors.

Before she realized her hand had even touched the breakfast plate, Mercedes had already watched as the pieces shattered against the wall on the other side of the room.

For a moment she stood there, waiting to see if anyone had heard-if anyone would come.

She probably wouldn't have noticed either way—her ears were ringing, she was upset that she'd let Rachel get to her, she was upset at what she'd implied.

People such as Rachel Berry would never understand what people such as Mercedes stood for, but eventually—that would be alright. Mercedes was only responsible for what she said to people; she however, was not responsible for what they were able to understand.

Once she was certain that no one had heard the nose, she looked at the clock to find that it far past the time she should have been ready. With a sigh she began to change her clothes—deciding that she would clean up the plate later.

* * *

><p>"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Mercedes rushed as she offered Sam his coffee,<p>

"Late as usual Miss Jones," he said as turned the page of what looked to be a very old book,

"I'm sorry, sir, really—I just had a small run in this morning."

"Miss Jones—"

"No excuses, understood."

Mercedes held her hands behind her back as she looked around the Oval Office, during the few weeks she'd already been there, she had never took notice to how elegant it was. The three windows behind the desk gave plenty of access to the sun as it brightly shinned through them, giving off a great prosperity of light in the room. It seemed to be the perfect setting with the two couches facing one another with a coffee table in between.

That would also be the area where Mercedes would be sitting with her laptop to both be in reach and do whatever was needed seeing as how she did not have her own office. She couldn't say that she was exactly excited to work so close to him. Mercedes could only imagine either awkward silences or no work getting done from arguing about various topics. All she would be able to do for now was to wait and see.

"May I ask what are you reading, sir?"

"Death of a Salesman,"

Sam looked up just in time to see a bright smile come over Mercedes' face, he quickly looked back down at the book,

"I love that book, sir."

"Really?" he asked, looking back up, "I do not see why, every character just seems to irk my nerves. The man is shooting for a life he will never have and he's trying to do it with his personality and lies alone, it's foolish."

Mercedes shook her head with a small smile on her face, "That is not the message Mr. President; it's entirely different from what you are analyzing."

"Well as much as I would love to gain your interpretation of the book, we do not have time. A meeting will be held in an hour. I expect you to arrive on time Miss Jones—ready to take notes,"

Mercedes sighed before making her way to the door, "Will do." She said as she walked out but not before seeing him throw the book across his desk.

She shook her head.

* * *

><p>Mercedes had decided she would try to get a little work done on her dress before the meeting took place until had Quinn come running through her room. Mercedes looked to her with raised eyebrows, eyes full of amusement,<p>

"They agreed Mercedes!" Quinn yelled excitedly as she jumped onto her bed, Mercedes looked at her smiling face,

"That's wonderful Quinn,"

"After all this time, "That's wonderful," is all you have to say?" she yelled before walking to the desk and grabbing Mercedes' hands.

She couldn't help but laugh as Quinn danced her around the room,

"Yes," she said when they finally sat on the bed, "This is only the first step—there is so much more that needs to be taken care of,"

"Yes but this _huge _and just wait when they find out that it was your idea all along!"

"No!" she slightly yelled—startling Quinn,"Sorry, I just want to be the one do announce it, and on my own time. I do wish thank you though."

Quinn squeezed her hands, "If you wish,"

"So why is there glass on the floor?" Quinn asked as she pointed toward the wall,

"My breakfast plate slipped." She smiled,

Quinn raised her eyebrow, "And landed on the other side of the room?"

"I know right? Just the damndest thing, total freak accident."

* * *

><p>"As you all know," Sam started as he began rolling up his sleeves, "There was a recent agreement on steps to take in order to help the country. With the help of Miss Fabray, we have decided that education is something that truly does need to be focused on—"<p>

Mercedes along with the rest of the room shot their eyes toward Rachel as she let out snort,

"Is there a problem Miss Berry?" Sam asked.

He placed both his hands onto the table, leaning on them—watching Rachel closely almost as if he were daring her to comment,

"No sir, please continue."

She turned her eyes to Mercedes for a brief moment before looking away.

"As I was saying, the numbers and facts Miss Fabray showed us were staggering, and with great effort, I plan on doing something about these issues. As you all know, money is the main factor with everything—and it's something we need. I've planned various meetings in the next few weeks, one of which being with Jesse St. James who is widely known for his endorsements. However grand either one or all of these meetings may go; we still need to pull our own weight. Therefore I want ideas on how we can raise money on our own. Anything should help."

"If I may, sir?" Mercedes asked, raising her hand

"I do not believe there is a way of stopping you Miss Jones,"

She would have probably been offended if she hadn't spotted the smirk he flashed her. She wanted to whip it off his face all the same,

"How about tours in the White House during the weekends, or even the weekday?"

"And have someone steal precious antics? No. Too many people have sticky hands Miss Jones, next idea." Rachel cut in,

Mercedes looked to the president, "Go on,"

Almost failing to hold in her smile, she continued, "We could show them around, maybe we could even give your siblings a chance to tour a few groups. We could throw a ball, maybe have a human auction, someone could possibly win a day with the president," she said, this time letting her smile show through,

Sam clicked his pen back and forth, "Very well Miss Jones, I am placing you in charge of those fundraisers and any other that you may come up with. My approval will be needed on each, and you may choose a staff member to work alongside you if you wish but only if it does not affect their job and duties to me."

"Really, sir?"

"Yes, really Mr. President? I don't think she's worked out for this,"

"Luckily I did not ask for your thoughts Miss Berry."

"Of course," Mercedes cut in before anything else could be said, "Thank you Mr. President,"

"Very well, this meeting is over. Miss Jones, please meet me in my office. Good work everyone,"

She annoyed the pointed look Rachel gave her at the president asking her to meet him in his office before looking to Quinn and Tina with a smile on her face, they returned it,

"Let us know if you need anything," Tina said as they were walking out the door,

"Will do,"

She waited until no one was in site before clapping her hands together excitedly. She quickly composed herself a minute later, walking toward the Oval Office as if nothing had happened.

* * *

><p>"Miss Jones, you are assigned to go pick up Stevie and Stacy from school this afternoon,"<p>

Mercedes placed a hand on her hip, "Sir, isn't that why you have drivers?"

Sam shook his head, his hair slightly falling into his eyes as he continued to type, "Always the one for questions Miss Jones, never doing what is told. I surely wish that a habit such as that will not be your downfall."

"Ah but sir, those who ask a question is only a fool for five minutes whereas to those who do not remain fools forever."

"Not asking a question does not always make someone a fool, sometimes you just need to take the risk," he spoke as he finally looked up to meet her eyes.

"Risk?" she asked, "No, a risk requires someone to not think before leaping—requires them not to know anything for certain, I for one could never be that type of person Mr. Evans. I always need to know every little thing that may or may not happen, I need to be prepared."

Sam sat back in his seat, "Very well. Although your idea about the tours and other fundraisers were satisfactory, I still have to make sure you earn your keep in other ways around here Miss Jones,"

Mercedes could barely hold the hiss that was threatening to escape her lips. Without saying a word to him, she simply turned around and walked out the door. She would make sure he knew just how much she had _already_ earned her keep.

* * *

><p>"Hello Blaine," Mercedes smiled as he opened the door for her,<p>

"It's lovely to see you again Mercedes,"

Once he got into the car himself, she continued their conversation, "I'm sorry to not have contacted you yet, there just doesn't seem to be anything I need at the moment,"

"Don't worry about it, just know that I'm here whenever you think of something you do need,"

"I will keep that in mind,"

They drove for a while until Mercedes began to notice Blaine had been looking back at in her the mirror a few times before she finally got tired of it, "Is there something the matter?"

"No, well—"he trailed off,

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you've possibly—talked to your friend Kurt?"

"Are you blushing?" she teased

"No! I was just wondering,"

"Sadly, I have not. How about I get the okay from him to give you his number?"

Blaine cleared his throat, making sure to keep his eyes on the road, "I would like that, if you don't mind asking,"

"I don't think he'd mind," she smiled.

* * *

><p>"What are <em>you <em>doing here?" Stevie asked as he glared at her, Mercedes rolled her eyes looking around the crowd of teenagers as they rushed out of the school,

"I'm here to pick you two up,"

"What, did our brother hire you as our babysitter?" he asked,

"Look child, I'm just doing my job, whatever issues you have with it you'll have to talk to him,"

"Do you think Randy and Amanda can come over?" Stacy asked, and for the first time Mercedes managed to notice to two other kids standing with Stevie and Stacy.

Stevie had his arm around the girl while the Randy kid had his around Stacy. Mercedes bit down onto her bottom lip, the two of them looked liked models with their blond hair, high cheek bones, and stylish clothes.

"I don't know," she said slightly shaking her head,

"Oh come on doll, boss man doesn't mind us coming over; we've been there a few times already,"

Randy winked at Mercedes; she wrinkled her nose at him, "My name isn't doll, its Miss Jones to you, and you will do well to mind that that is the only name you speak when addressing me young man,"

"Yes, Miss Jones," he said, now biting onto his bottom lip, Mercedes ignored him,

"Please Miss Jones?" Stacy asked, practically pleading for her and her brother because it seemed that Stevie was not going to stoop that low as he only picked at his nails, "They're our friends"

She sighed, "I suppose it's alright,"

Mercedes hoped bringing Amanda and Randy would be alright, things with her job were _just_ starting to turn a little brighter.

She'd be damned if she got fired over Barbie and some kid whose name meant 'horny' in the UK.

* * *

><p><strong>This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I suppose that's alright. I've already begun working on chapter six.<strong>

**Thank you guys for the reviews, and I've also seen a few posts on Tumblr mentioning the story. **


	6. As Requested

**I don't own anything.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Sometimes it takes a natural disaster to reveal a social disaster.<em>_"-_ _Jim Wallis_

* * *

><p>"So there are these two guys on an interview," Santana started as she prepared lunch, "Guy one has been living in a shelter for the past six months, now-he's well educated but every since his kid got sick, those medical bills have been paling in on him and he really is a good man, however, guy two is fresh out of college and has plenty of cash in the bank from his dad, he could always go into the family business. So," she said while eating a slice of turkey, "They both have thorough interviews, questions are asked. Both of these mean are well educated, can go pretty far if given the chance, but there's just one tiny thing one has that the other doesn't. Who do you think gets the job?"<p>

"Whichever one can do the most for the company,"

"Ah, bingo."

"The rich will remain rich while the poor remain poor."

"So you think it could have been prevented?" Santana asked,

Mercedes took a small bite out of her sandwich—thinking.

When the United States or any other country prepares for a war, they have a checklist. Everything must be in order—they must have enough men and women willing to fight, they must have a backup plan when they run out of those men and women that are willing—they must have enough guns, enough equipment, enough medical treatment, and so on. Everything is double checked—triple checked, maybe even more, because in the United States, they must _always_ be prepared when going into battle.

Mercedes remembered being in her Contemporary United States History class while in high school. Their topic had been on natural disasters, and during that week, she'd been told that there were exactly nine known natural disasters in the U.S. Of course she thought there might have been more, but the ones given were-avalanches, earthquakes, flooding, lightening, wildfires, tornados, volcanoes, tsunami's, heat waves, and hurricanes.

In the year of 1906, an earthquake hit San Francisco, California—a 7.9 earthquake, and from that forty to sixty second earthquake, a fire started due to fallen gas lines and stoves that had fallen. Most of the water mains had broken leaving people feeling helpless. With so many buildings and homes destroyed, seven hundred to three thousand people had died, some may even say that all of the deaths were not reported—for government officials had feared the toll would hurt efforts to rebuild the city.

The country hadn't really been _prepared_ for that.

In the year of 1995 during the week of July 14th through July 20th, the temperature in Chicago hit 106 degrees, later on in the week, temperatures rose above 120 degrees. Now, during that time, few people in the less fortunate neighborhoods had air conditioners, for those that didn't-resorted to open windows and fans which only made the hot air circulate more. When people realized that opening windows weren't helping, they began to open fire hydrants around the Chicago area, decreasing the water source. Later into the week, people began to develop illnesses from the heat. When city hospitals became too crowded, it resulted in hundreds of patients not making it to the hospitals. About 465 heat related deaths were reported for the week but 521 for the whole month of July. The total of deaths were never truly determined due to (at the time), Mayor Richard M. Daley stating that people died every day of natural causes and that all of the deaths should have not been blamed on the heat alone.

The country wasn't so prepared for _that_ as well.

In the year of 2005, one of the most dangerous and powerful hurricanes hit the United States. Over a thousand people deceased, five hundred missing, and at least eighty John and Jane Does. There were more than two hundred thousand homes destroyed—others marked off because no one was certain if bodies were in them or not. There were jobs lost, families separated, diseases spread—that was Hurricane Katrina and then some.

Some may have said that there was no way Katrina could have been avoided; the storm had been too powerful. All people could have done was evacuated—that's what they were told, and for those who didn't—they were told that they would not be helped if they stayed.

When there is a war—everything is double checked—triple checked.

But as for the levee's that should have prevented such things like a hurricane—well.

Mercedes slowly sipped her coffee, remembering when the class had watched a video about the disaster, she remembered a man in the video—he had stated President Hoover's quote—word for word,

"_The great liability of the engineer compared to men of other professions is that his works are out in the open where all can see them. His acts, step by step, are in hard substance. He cannot bury his mistakes in the grave like the doctors. He cannot argue them into thin air or blame the judge like the lawyers. He cannot, like the architects, cover his failures with trees and vines. He cannot, like the politicians, screen his shortcomings by blaming his opponents and hope the people will forget. The engineer simply cannot deny he did it. If his works do not work, he is damned..."_

If it were another area, could the levee have been checked? Could the people have been helped faster?

Mercedes looked up to Santana, "We'll probably never know,"

Santana sighed, "Probably not, it's ridiculous,"

"How do you know about all of that?"

"I've always found it interesting how something such as disasters are taken care of, I mean—it took them nearly a _week_ to get the victims of hurricane Katrina food and water, and even then—nothing turned out to be enough,"

Mercedes sat her cup down, suddenly coming up with an idea, "How about you help me out with the fundraising? We can also try to raise money for victims who've been through something like that, how about it? You help me out?"

Santana smiled, "Of course Mercedes,"

* * *

><p>"Here," Sam said as he lifted the book toward her,<p>

Mercedes stood from the couch, walking to his outreached hand, "What is this for?" she asked, taking the book,

_Death of a Salesman_

"Yes, well," Sam spoke, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, "I figured since you loved it so much, that it'd be of better use to you than me, I simply cannot stand it."

Mercedes traced the edges of the book before looking at Sam, a genuine smile on her face,

"Thank you, Sir"

"Whatever keeps you out my hair Miss Jones," he said while waving her off,

Mercedes refused to let his comment get to her, the smile didn't leave her face. She loved books,

"May I go ask Stevie and Stacy about being tour guides?"

"You may,"

As Mercedes walked out, she missed the chance of seeing the president's own smile playing upon his lips.

* * *

><p>Figuring that Stevie, Stacy and possibly their friends had arrived by now, Mercedes made her way toward the east wing in hopes of them helping her out as tour guides. Mr. Evans had been perfectly alright with it, figuring that it would give them a chance to socialize. Just as she were about to knock on the door that Stacy resided, she stopped when she heard Amanda talking,<p>

"You can kiss joining the cheerleading team goodbye, and after that I'm positive my brother will no longer want you. Come on Stacy, you need to learn how to be popular if you want to get there—this is a job, and you constantly _need_ to be on your game. I mean look at you! Where's the Stacy that knew how to at least _dress_? Your clothes look like you got them from a flea market. You're the President's sister! Seriously surprised he hasn't sent you on a shopping spree. Just—I'm doing this as your friend Stacy, if you want to be on top, you need to fight to be there. If you want to keep Randy and me in you and Stevie's lives, you both need to make some adjustments."

Mercedes didn't try to run when the door swung open, revealing Amanda. She looked to Mercedes, her eyebrows raised,

"Good afternoon Miss Jones," she said as she walked past, not waiting for a response.

Mercedes watched as she walked away—blond hair bouncing with each step,

"Don't mind her Miss Jones," Stacy said as she came to the door, "She's just having a bad day, would you like to come in?"

"Yes, I would like to ask you something, along with your brother but maybe you can pass the message along. Recently, the president gave me permission to supervise fundraisers, an idea that I've already come up with is tours around the White House, and I was wondering if you and Stevie would be interested in being guides?"

"Are we getting paid?" Stacy asked as she sat on the bed, "Yes of course, and you'd also get the chance to entertain people your age possibly,"

"I'm in, I'll try to get Stevie to do it too," she smiled

"Thanks," Mercedes said, heading toward the door, she sighed before stopping—she couldn't leave just yet,

"Hey Stacy? Have you ever read a book called Death of a Salesman?"

"Nope, I don't read much at all, but what's it about?"

Mercedes looked at the book that was clutched to her chest, "Here, do me a favor and read it?"

Stacy looked at the book closely, a frown now on her face, "Ah, looks a little boring, but thanks anyways,"

"It's just," Mercedes started as moved closer to the bed, "books can often send a powerful message,"

"And you think this book can do the same for me?"

"Yes, in a way. May I ask—what motivates you? What keeps you going every day?"

Mercedes bit down onto her bottom lip really wanting to know her answer. Stacy shrugged her shoulders, "My friends do," she stated proudly, "Randy, Amanda and my friends from school. Amanda is such an amazing friend, she isn't afraid to tell me how it is and she's always been there for me, we've been friends since sixth grade you know? And Randy—he loves me Miss Jones, sometimes my family does as well but—it's really never enough. Other than that, I don't know what I'd do without any of them."

Mercedes looked at the book once again before looking to her, "Read it, you'll enjoy it. I promise, the characters are so much like you," she said while giving her a small smile.

Once she left out the room, she took a deep breath, "Their motivations are what hold them back as well,"

* * *

><p>"How much do you know about Stacy and Stevie's friends?" Mercedes asked, looking up to Sam from her laptop, the conversation of Amanda and his sister brewing in her head,<p>

Sam sat back in his chair, shrugging his shoulders, "I can't say that I know much with my given schedule, but I've always trusted my brother and sister to make the right choices, including those that deal with friendships,"

Mercedes bit onto her bottom lip, something she did when she was a bit worried—Sam noted,

"But—Well I know that eventually people learn right from wrong on their own, but that's usually done when they've experienced something that doesn't feel right—doesn't fit into their morals. But with your brother and sister—I don't think they're confident enough in themselves to figure out what they believe is right or wrong just yet."

Sam folded his hands, now sitting back up, "And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"I just think you should probably spend some time with them, or even your parents—just, pay close attention to them, maybe you'll see it."

"Miss Jones, I hope allowing you to oversee the fundraising has not gone to your head. That is one thing, but you trying oversee my personal life with my family is another,"

"Mr. President—"she said, now walking to his desk, "I didn't mean to intrude, it's just that—"

He raised his hand, stopping her from speaking, "I don't want to hear it Miss Jones. I let you move forward one step and you take ten. As I've so kindly stated before, you are my assistant, you do what I request of you—and that does _not _include your input on my family and I."

Sam's cheeks were flushed; he was desperately trying to keep himself intact.

"God," Mercedes said, placing her hands onto his desk, "If you could just get your head out of your ass long enough to see what's going on around you—that would be grand Mr. President."

Sam clinched his fists, "You are out of line Miss Jones,"

"Well maybe _someone _needs to be! Do you not see what's going on? With your sister? Your _staff_?"

"I see plenty!" He yelled, rising from his chair, his hair falling into his eyes as he shot daggers through Mercedes, "I see all that I need too! And I don't need you of all people stepping out of their place to ensure that I do,"

"And here we go again with you telling me about my 'place', tell me, did you mind it when Miss Fabray was giving you facts and details about my idea's on education? Did you mind my damn _place _when I was the only person to come up with the ideas of the fundraisers?"

"Your idea?" he asked in confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Every fact, every statistic, every word—_I_ did that, not Quinn." She fumed,

"You're lying," he stated boldly,

"No, _sir_, I'm not. I tried to tell you in the meeting room, but you don't seem to let anyone get a word in unless they're kissing your _ass_ like Rachel Berry."

Sam's wide eyes searched her own, trying to catch something—a hint that maybe she was lying, but there was nothing—nothing but confidence and anger in her eyes,

"I can't believe this,"

"Well do try your best to do so Mr. Evans; you can go ask Quinn herself if you want,"

Mercedes smoothened out her blouse before grabbing her bag and laptop and walking to the door,

"I'll be in my room—staying in my _place_, and only worrying about the _fundraisers_ as requested, _sir_,"

Sam watched as she left and continued to let his eyes remain at the door even when she was no longer there,

"Miss Jones!" Sam yelled, but knew that Mercedes wouldn't have heard him,

* * *

><p>"He really is a good man," Tina said as she watched Mercedes work on her dress.<p>

After her confrontation with Mr. Evans, she had originally come to her room in hopes of working on more ideas—she had thought that being out of his presence would help her but that plan had failed when she realized that she could not accurately work. After a while she gave up, deciding that working on her clothes would calm her down.

"He certainly has a funny way of showing it," she mumbled,

"You have to understand Mercedes; he's the _President, _that title alone says stress. He has so many people watching him—waiting for him to make a mistake."

"Come on Tina, I do understand that—but being the president is not a welcome mat for him to be an ass to people that are _trying_ to help. We all have someone watching over us—waiting for us to mess up."

"Mercedes," Tina said with a sad smile, "He doesn't know who to relay on,"

"Well maybe it's time he stopped treating people like that and find out,"

Tina only let out small laugh before falling back onto Mercedes' bed, while she just rolled her eyes, the anger still there.

* * *

><p>"So I heard that he knows," Quinn spoke as her and Mercedes walked through the garden,<p>

Mercedes scuffed while gently grazing the flowers along the way, she looked around the garden, releasing her frustration for a moment to see how beautiful the place was, it was located in the back of the White House with various flowers. There were benches placed throughout it as well in case anyone wanted to sit and take in its beauty. Along with that, there was a water fountain in the center just like the one in the front of the house. Mercedes could imagine herself staying here for hours.

"Yes, he didn't believe me you know? He called me a liar right to my face."

"Oh Mercedes," Quinn said laying her hand on her shoulder, "just give it some time,"

"And then what?" she asked,

"Then you'll see that there's a reason for everything, in the meanwhile, don't let this job stress you out more than it has too,"

"I won't, I mean—he has these small moments where he seems like a decent human being and then he blows up in my face, I'm not here for that Quinn,"

Mercedes lightly touched a white lily; they were some of her favorite flowers before looking back to Quinn. However, her eyes strayed to the house when she caught a glimpse of dirty blonde hair—speak of the devil. The president was standing there leaning over his balcony, when he sent them a wave once he'd spotted them, Mercedes rolled her eyes before turning back around as Quinn waved back,

"I'm surprised he hasn't fired me yet," Mercedes said as she walked a little ahead of Quinn,

Quinn watched before looking up to Sam's balcony window once more, his eyes—they were not on Quinn,

"I think he has his reasons," she said softly before catching up to her.

* * *

><p>Later in the night when Mercedes' returned to her room from dinner, she happily got into the shower, hoping it would release the stress she was starting to feel. When she had stormed out of the Oval Office earlier that day, she didn't run into the president nor did he call on her. She knew something would have to give because it wouldn't be long before another intense debate started. Tomorrow would be a new day and Mercedes honestly wasn't certain on how it would go, would their exchange be awkward, forced?<p>

"Just do what you have too," she told herself as she stepped out of the tub,

Slipping on a rob, she walked back into her bedroom, and only then had she noticed the single white lily laying on her pillow, she eyed the flower for a moment, and then realizing that she should keep her promise on always locking her door.

Mercedes gathered the flower into her hand before placing it onto her desk until she could get a proper vase,

"Sweet gesture, sir." She said, shaking her head.

When Mercedes had finally lied down, she only found herself tossing and turning. Biting her lip, she knew that it was going to be one of those nights, every time she'd close her eyes, memories she did not wish to dream upon entered her mind, she took a deep breath,

"Miss Jones?"

"Oh my God," she said sitting up in her bed, quickly looking around the room,

"Miss Jones, it's—Mr. Evans, I'm on this radio, are you asleep?"

Mercedes sighed in relief before looking at the clock; it was two in the morning.

"It certainly wouldn't matter if I were," she said to herself before pressing the button to respond,

"Mr. President?" she asked as she placed her head back onto her pillow,

Sam let out a chuckle, "It took me a while to figure this thing out,"

Mercedes let her eyes wander to the moonlight coming through her curtains, "Is there something you needed sir?"

There was a long pause and Mercedes thought he'd decided to stop talking before she once again heard him—he cleared his throat,

"I apologize," he said softly

Mercedes took a moment to respond before connecting back to his room,

"Good night Mr. President," she said into the speaker,

"Good night Miss Jones."

* * *

><p><strong>Excuse any mistakes. I'll love to know what you guys thought :)<strong>


	7. We Are Family

**I don't own anything. **

* * *

><p>That was the person you didn't really talk to while in school.<p>

The person you probably could not see yourself being friends with, but then one day that person invited you to an outing—maybe their birthday party-but from there, that person turned into someone you might've talked too occasionally but then occasionally turned into talking over the phone every other weekend once all of your schoolwork was done. And those every other weekend's of phone calls turned into going to the movies or dinner, sometimes both if you had the money. From there, you guys turned into friends and after the step of friends you two somehow turned into best friends.

You were inseparable, talked almost every day in school, then came home and talked on the phone, your best friend was that person that could make you laugh and talk too, no matter what. The type of best friends that went to the mall to spot out hot guys but still came home single—yet those smiles and memories were still there.

But then one day—something changed, somebody might've moved, went to a different high school, college, maybe just got a job or a new boo. You might have been the only one to realize it but—you realized nonetheless that those outings to the mall came around less and less, and phone calls of every weekend turned into only occasional phone calls. _Then_ meeting up only became a thing of…if you weren't too busy. Of course it was no one's fault but maybe you felt—just a bit—like you were giving more to the friendship than what your _best friend _was.

You did your best to make time for them while they probably began to blow you off—maybe it seemed that way but from there that best friend ultimately turned back into just a friend, and maybe you tried to reevaluate your life—figuring out who your real friends were, but yet—you gave your friend another chance—but came up empty handed –again-so eventually that friend—became a stranger.

That was how it worked sometimes.

The person that you thought you'd be friends with forever suddenly changed or maybe you changed and saw that that friend—was never really a friend all along.

But that's the thing about friends, you lose some—you gain some and by the grace of God—keep them—the real ones at least. But here's the thing—with family, it's a bit different...

Mercedes hadn't realized how much she loved her family until she went away to college. All she had heard and dreamed about in high school was going to a college that was away from home, away from everyone and everything she knew. Once she had got there though, the first thing she did after about three months was cry—because she had gotten exactly what she wanted—she was away from home and her family. That what was college life was supposed to be about, right? Venturing away, meeting new people, finding yourself—all of that.

Of course after a while, she got accustomed to the life—but there were still those times when she needed someone—her mother more than anything. After tragedy struck during her college experience, Mercedes had come to except that the words, _"The great gift of family life is to be intimately acquainted with people you might never even introduce yourself to, had life not done it for you,"_ would mean more to her than almost anything else.

She'd learned that family was not always determined by blood, but determined by the people who wanted you in their life, who wanted you to be happy—the people that always wished to see you smile.

As Mercedes sniffed the freshly picked lily flower, she looked to the blue skies before giving a smile to the gardener, "Thank you,"

* * *

><p>Mercedes trailed off as she said "Good morning—"to the president to find him with <em>only<em> pajama pants on, yet _again_, with water dripping down his chest and a white towel in hand, she had to bit her lip to hold back a groan, Mercedes didn't know what it was about him always seeming to be half naked around her and he might've had his moments but that didn't mean it stopped Mercedes from noticing that he had one _hell_ of a body. This time she couldn't help _but_ notice as the grey pajama bottoms were a shade darker in certain areas as water began to soak through them _or_ that they hung low on his hips exposing a view of his Apollo's belt.

She cleared her throat, "Morning swim?"

"No, I've just gotten out of the shower,"

"Well I've brought you breakfast, hope you're hungry," she said as she placed the tray onto his desk.

"Miss Jones, the first tour is today, correct?"

"Yes, sir" she said before turning around to face him, Sam looked at her for a moment before running the towel through his hair,

"Is everything prepared?"

"Yes, everything is taken care of,"

"It's a shame I won't be here for the first tour," he said as he began dabbing his chest,

"Right, you have an overnight meeting to attend. No worries sir, I will inform you on how everything went when you return,"

Sam smiled, "Very well,"

Mercedes began making her way to the door before she suddenly turned to him, "…Sir, may I ask of a request?"

"You may," he answered softly,

"When you return, can you as well as the staff all have dinner—together?"

Sam eyed Mercedes while continuing to dab the towel across his chest and arms, "We haven't eaten together in months Miss Jones, nothing good has ever come out of it,"

"I just thought—"she spoke while slowly taking the towel from his hands, "I just thought that maybe that is one of the problems here, miscommunication with one another,"

"I really don't know—it has always been best that we spend only the time required together. "

"Well, there is never a use for a fight if no one is willing to listen," she said as she looked into his eyes, now gently dabbing his chest with the towel,

"Oh?" Sam asked making sure to keep his eyes on hers,

"Yes, but I do believe I read somewhere that fighting is sometimes a good thing—it's when the fighting stops that you should be worried, probably means that people no longer think there's something worth fighting for,"

"And why do you suppose we all fight with one another?"

"Because while in the White House, you're each other's family, while here, you're all each other have. You're fighting because you're all trying to make this world better for the people you love most, and others may have personal reasons but that's not something everyone can understand."

Sam sighed, "Alright Miss Jones, I shall make the request when I return tomorrow, but if any fights break out, you will be the blame," he said as he placed her arms to her sides,

"Understood,"

"I believe you should keep the memory of you telling me that a man of my status should not be in the bedroom alone with a woman," he said as he gently tugged a strand of her hair,

Mercedes nodded, "Very well, sir. I'll see you on your way out,"

Sam shook his head as he watched her leave before turning to his breakfast, he raised an eyebrow once he saw the single white lily in a small vase with water, he gently ran his fingertips over its petals before eating his meal.

* * *

><p>"What's the matter?" Mercedes asked Quinn once she noticed that she was extremely quiet.<p>

Quinn sighed while scanning through Mercedes' dresses in her closet, "It's Noah, he's proposed that we get back together for the sake of Beth,"

"And—you don't feel that that is the right thing to do?"

"Nope. Him and I don't love one another—well I'll always love and have a connection with him through our child but I'm not in love with him, and I don't feel that getting back together for the 'sake' of Beth would be a good thing. I wouldn't want us to resent one another in the future because we thought that we'd be doing the right thing. Beth is his daughter and I her mother, nothing can ever change that."

"I understand,"

And she really did.

* * *

><p>"Two people are here a bit early Miss Jones; shall I inform them to come back when the tours begin?" Finn asked,<p>

Mercedes furrowed her eyebrows while looking at the clock, "It's only ten o'clock, tours don't start until noon. Were they _that_ eager?"

"They do seem a bit eager."

"Very well, let them in."

As Mercedes adjusted her skirt, her head snapped up when she heard, "Well look at my best friend, commanding other people,"

"Yes, I believe my auntie does seem to be living the good life,"

With a grin, Mercedes turned to see Kurt and her niece Nia standing there, she immediately hugged them both,

"What are you two doing here?" she asked excitedly

"I heard about the tours, and decided to bring missy here with me," Kurt said gesturing to her niece,

"It feels like forever since I've seen you guys,"

"Hmm, you weren't missing too much," Kurt whispered as he saw the President walking down the hall,

"This isn't a family reunion Miss Jones," Sam bellowed as he struggled to fix his tie.

She only huffed before stepping in front of him, "I'm really surprised you haven't choked yourself to death by now," she said before swatting his hands away.

"Are you disappointed?"

"Entirely," she smiled before patting his chest and ignoring his fierce gaze.

"Come Mr. President," Rachel's voice sounded, "We must be leaving now,"

Sam took a deep breath, "I'll arrive back tomorrow morning, do not let me come here and find you or anyone else slacking in their work Miss Jones,"

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

Once he walked out, Mercedes turned to find Kurt smiling at her "Looks like you've gotten acquainted with that special treatment?"

* * *

><p>"We will be in separate cars today Rachel," Mike said as he nodded his head toward the second car.<p>

Both the President and Head of Security looked toward him in confusion,

Rachel narrowed her eyes at the Vice President, "And why is that? We've always rode in the same cars to discuss business along the way,"

"And us three," he said gesturing toward Sam and Puck, "will still be discussing business—but this business does not concern you,"

Rachel looked toward Sam who only nodded his head toward the second car. With a huff, Miss Berry stomped—gracefully as could be—to the second car,

Puck chuckled watching as she left, "What was that about?" he asked Mike,

"Besides me never really liking her? We really do need to talk about business,"

Sam raised his eyebrows toward his best friend, "With you it's never all about business,"

"Fine," he smirked, "you know me too well,"

* * *

><p>Before Kurt walked out behind Nia, he turned to Mercedes with a smirk, "Keep up with what you're doing Mercedes, and don't hesitate to invite Nia and I to any of those formals you're planning. And remember <em>every<em> man has a soft spot—including our beloved President, but you just have to touch him right," he winked

"Out!" she laughed,

"I don't even want to know," Finn chuckled before him and Mercedes decided to walk to the kitchen once they'd finally saw to the last of the tourists,

"So why did you decide to do this job?" Mercedes asked

"Well," he said rubbing the back of his neck, "I sort of decided on this whole security thing in high school. I had always been picked on for my height and their words sometimes really got to me—then one day, some guy tried to jump me in the locker room—it got that bad. I had never been in a fight before, but that day—my fists and legs just seemed to work on their own. That power—of protecting myself, there was nothing better in that moment. I figured I could protect myself as well as others. And there's no one like the President, right?"

"That's a very good thing, Finn."

He nodded in thanks, "So I think today went pretty well for the first tours,"

"Yes, it was, I hope other days will be as successful as this, I think Stacy and Stevie enjoyed it as well,"

As they continued to walk, Finn suddenly stopped, putting his hand onto Mercedes' shoulder, "Do you hear that?" he whispered

"Hear what?"

He grabbed her by the elbow and began walking slowly down the hall, once there, Mercedes was able to hear it—someone was moaning—only then did she look up to the door finding that it was coming from Stacy's bedroom.

* * *

><p>"Come on man, if Quinn no longer wants you then there's nothing you can do about it," Mike answered.<p>

"But I love her," he protested,

"I think you just love the _idea, _you know, the whole 'American Dream Family' concept. Things aren't perfect like that, and they aren't supposed to be," he replied

"Says the man who's been on the quest for love since his high school years," Sam said

Mike raised his hands in surrender, "Yes, but at least I'm looking for someone that will _return _my affections. There is nothing wrong with wanting to love and be loved—in fact, it's the problem of the world-,"

"Yeah," Sam said cutting him off, _"Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired."_

"I'm sorry; did we leave your balls back at the house?" Puck laughed

"We'll see who's laughing when Quinn rejects you in front of everyone, besides, don't you know you're talking to the guy that absolutely refuses to let anyone in?"

Sam chuckled, "Well getting your heart broken _twice_ can do that to some people. I'm may be the President of the U.S, but that doesn't mean I'm made of steel."

"You see Puckerman," Mike spoke as he looked out the window—suddenly becoming serious, "you have a choice to find someone that can really love you. But Sam and I—Vice and President-,"

Sam decided to speak, "Right now, with our power—we don't have choices, maybe if we'd come into office already married yeah—but we didn't. Any relationship right now would be closely watched and judged. The media would be more involved than us."

"Maybe in a few years, you know what they say-third time's a charm," Mike winked

* * *

><p>"Finn, please escort this young man out," Mercedes said in a low voice, all the while keeping her eyes on Stacy. Once Finn roughly took Randy by the arm and lead him out the door, Mercedes immediately spoke,<p>

"Stacy, what was that about?" she asked frantically,

"You told me to read that book and I did," She said while adjusting her blouse, "I realized that I didn't want to waste my time like Willy Loman knowing that I had someone who loved me and was too stupid to see it—well I saw it in Randy,"

"Stacy," Mercedes said while biting her bottom lip,

"No wait, I realized that—well I thought I did. The moment he said, "If you really love me, you'll let me make you happy—let me make you feel good" I thought—in that moment that I didn't love him _that_ much," she said, giving off a humorless laugh, "I thought that if I let him kept going that I'd start to like it, but he began biting on my neck and lips—and it didn't feel good at all—I tried pushing him away, but he just kept edging me on, I was honestly about to cry until you came in,"

Stacy wasn't prepared for the bone crushing hug Mercedes gave her but she didn't protest. After a moment, Stacy lifted her head when she heard Mercedes sniff,

"Why are you crying?" she asked when she noticed the tears coming down her eyes,

"Because your story sounds too familiar-and I'm so relieved that we came here before something more could happen,"

"Are you going to tell my brother?"

"Yes, I think you two need to talk about this,"

* * *

><p>"I'm going to<em> kill<em> him," Sam raged as he began pacing back and forth, "And then I'm going to kill her! Really, what the _hell_ was she thinking?"

"Sir, you need to calm down before you do or say something you'll regret." Mercedes said taking a step toward him,

"I'll allow the regrets to come later—right now, I need to talk to my sister,"

Mercedes quickly walked to the door, making sure to block him, "Miss Jones, get _out_ of the way,"

She shook her head, "She knows what she did wasn't the smartest thing, and you yelling at her won't make the situation any easier—please, just—calm down," she replied, placing her hands onto his chest, she could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. It was fast.

"Alright, bring her—"

Sam was cut off as he heard Stevie's voice on the other side of the door, "Stacy Evans, what the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"Bring _them_ in, Miss Jones,"

Mercedes nodded before opening the door to find Puck holding Stevie back by the arms while Tina held onto Stacy, both teens were red in the face with looks of rage directed at one another.

* * *

><p>Mercedes, Puck, and Tina each watched in anxiety as the three siblings stood facing one another, breathing hard—fists clenched, eyes dangerous.<p>

"What were you thinking Stacy?" Stevie spat, taking a step closer to her, "Are you really that _thick?"_

Puck grabbed onto the young man's arm while Mercedes stood beside Stacy—a hand holding onto her wrist.

"Don't you know that bastard will just use you? How could you do that to yourself?" he yelled,

Stacy struggled to free herself from Mercedes as she yelled spiteful words back at him, "I didn't hear you talking that way when you were telling guys at school how well Amanda sucked you off! How could you do that to yourself?" she mocked

"_Jesus!"_ Sam exclaimed,

"Don't pretend as if Dad wouldn't be proud," Stacy said,

Sam looked to her, "Don't bring him into this—for something you did,"

"Why are you two ganging up on her?"

"Miss Jones," Sam warned in a dangerous voice,

"No! You two are acting like she was the only one involved! What about Randy? The boy who couldn't seem to have taken the hint? Do you_ know_ what would have possibly happened if Finn hadn't heard them?" she yelled while holding Stacy's hand, "What would your parents think?"

The room filled with an uncomfortable silence, the three siblings looking to one another.

"No, she's right," Stevie said angrily, "Nothing would make our dad happier than proving to us why you're claimed as his only child Sam."

"Guys, don't say something you'll regret," Tina spoke.

Sam's eyes softened at his little brother, "Stevie, you know that isn't true,"

"So you tell us why they're getting a _divorce_, Sam?" Stacy asked, her voice strained,

"Tell us why dad can't even find the time to give us driving lessons, or come to my baseball games,"

"Why mom can no longer help me when I have a problem,"

"Or why dad constantly asks me, "Why can't you be more like your brother! The President! Do something useful!" Stevie screamed,

"I—I'm sorry, I had no idea—I," Sam started, struggling to find the right words, and in that moment, Mercedes saw that he was vulnerable along with his brother and sister—it was such a different look-_every man has a soft spot. _

He called out to them, allowing Mercedes and Puck to release them. They both hesitated, the anger still burning in their eyes as they walked toward their big brother. Sam wasted no time pulling them both into a hug,

"I am your brother, I am your family—no matter what happens with mom and dad, I will always be here for you two. I promise to make more time for you guys. Please—_please, _do not listen to a word dad says Stevie. You are the best brother someone could ask for, and the best son—I'm sorry our father doesn't realize that. And Stacy—whenever you have a problem and mom can't be there-come to me, come to Stevie. We will always protect our little sister, okay? I want to talk to you two more a little later but just know and believe that I love you both so much,"

Sam nodded his head toward Tina, Puck and herself indicating them to leave the room. As Mercedes walked out, she looked back to see Sam holding them even tighter—as if he were afraid they'd drift away.

* * *

><p>"I brought you some lunch," Mercedes said as she gave Sam a small smile, instantly noticing how tired he looked,<p>

"Thank you Miss Jones,"

She could feel his eyes on her as she placed his food onto his desk, only as she were leaning down did she hold her head up to see his eyes—they seemed as if they were a shade darker than the usual green, Mercedes gathered that it was possibly from lack of sleep,

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked while placing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"How can you care so much?"

"Pardon me?"

"Stacy, you don't know her, you haven't been around that long—and yet you were in this room defending her,"

Mercedes held her hands behind her back, "I know she is a confused seventeen year old girl who's battling between reality and what she dreams about having—they both are. She's like many other young girls and boys in the world—even I was like that and sometimes still am, sir. I believe that right now—with what's going on with your parents-those two need you more than ever,"

* * *

><p>Sam looked around the table as everyone held hands, "I've witnessed and felt things in the past few days that I never really thought I would. I've realized how important my family truly is to me, and while I've promised my brother and sister that I'll spend more time with them—I would also like to make that promise to you all as well. It is not easy having the jobs that we do," he said as he looked into all their faces, "but while we are away from the people we love most, while we are here—<em>we<em> are a family. And I believe it is time we started acting like one. Dinners shall be held together at _least_ every other night—if you have other duties to attend too then that is fine."

"_Other things my change us, but we start and end with family," _

"That was excellent sir," Mercedes whispered as everyone began eating their food, Sam looked to her with a spark in his green eyes, "Yes," he said squeezing her hand before letting go, "It's definitely the beginning of something,"

* * *

><p>Later that night Mercedes paced back and forth in her room, she was having another one of those nights, and the latest events hadn't helped with her tossing and turning.<p>

She looked at the bottle of pills in her hands—, with a shaky sigh, she called her mother,

"Hello stranger," her Mrs. Jones spoke into the phone, Mercedes could only imagine the smile on her face,

"Mommy," Mercedes cried, feeling her tears coming as memories played through her mind,

It was going to be a long night-her demons were near.

* * *

><p><strong>Excuse any mistakes. This chapter was <em>better<em> in my head...it happens. But I hope _you_ enjoyed it.**

**Feel free to leave constructive criticism and suggestions. **


	8. Meet Alia

**I don't own anything. **

* * *

><p>"<em>Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows." -John Betjeman <em>

There's something about the innocence of children, isn't there? The fact that all they need to worry about is what crayon they must choose for their coloring book and doing their best not to make a mess of their clothes. Unlike adults, what could a child possibly know of fear, or pain? Only an adult would be able experience the tragedy of war and poverty. Yes, a child can live their lives running free in the backyards with their mother and father watching over them fondly.

While young, children do not know of fear, pain, poverty, war, or depression. And while that may be the case for some children—it is not for all.

There are over 153 million orphaned children around the _world_. In places such as Asia, Africa, and India most children are placed into foster care due to their parents abandoning them or passing away. Each year it becomes increasingly difficult to find families for children due a child having a disease such as HIV in which it was transferred from mother to child. Nearly twenty thousand children will never leave the foster care system until they age out—meaning that once they become of a certain age, they'll most likely be on their own.

Another problem with the children is the fact that most parents are looking for newborns—not children that have already developed their own mindset with life and ideas. Most children only stay in the system for three years before they're either adopted or returned to their families if stable enough. Some kids can be moved in and out of foster homes more than ten times which is always upsetting when that child may think they've finally found a family to only be returned a few months later.

The innocence of a child is one of the most purest things in the world—but what is left if even that can be taken away in the blink of an eye?

Mercedes smiled sadly remembering whom she'd learned the information from—her niece, Nia was very passionate about helping people any way she could, which was the main reason she volunteered at the orphanage every summer. While there, Nia usually entertained the children by reading to them and doing varies activities. Mercedes had always been proud of her niece while watching her grow up, she'd made sure to be there for her when her mother—Mercedes' sister-in-law had passed away shortly after giving birth to her. She knew it would be hard on both her brother and Nia, but she made it her responsibility to be there whenever needed.

"I can't believe he actually agreed that I could stay for a little while," Nia beamed while gripping onto her suitcase,

"Yeah," her aunt smiled, "Since you and Stacy are the same age, I thought that you two could get to know one another, you both need people your own age to be around,"

"No offense to them auntie—but I have enough friends,"

Mercedes continued to laugh ever as she spotted Mr. Evans coming toward them,

"Hello little Jones," Sam greeted walking from his office.

"Hi, Mr. President, it's nice to meet you," Nia smiled

"You must be nothing like your aunt here," he teased, "Our introductions have already started out better."

Whether Nia's personality was like her aunties or not—her looks weren't far off. With a bang partially covering her dark brown eyes and the rest of her black hair resting just above her shoulders, she and Mercedes had the same nose, full lips, and bright smiles.

Nia laughed quietly as Stevie and Stacy entered the house, "What are you two doing here so early?" Sam asked, his arms folded across his chest, he also noticed Stevie wearing a pair of sunglasses—something he had not been wearing that morning,

"Probably relating to the fight _little Evans_ got into at school, I heard about it when my aunt was giving me an early dismissal," Nia stated boldly,

Stacy gasped, while Stevie's mouth fell open. Mercedes immediately went to Stevie, removing the glasses, and gasped once she saw his eye beginning to swell. She touched it gently,

"What happened?" Sam asked while rubbing the bridge of his nose,

"Wait," Stevie said, looking at Nia, "Who the hell are you and how do you know about the fight?"

"Excuse you," Mercedes said, slapping him on the shoulder only causing him to wince,

"It's alright auntie," Nia replied before placing a hand on her hip, "I'm Nia Jones, and I know about your fight because we go to the same school,"

"I've never seen you in classes or the halls," Stacy said,

Nia scrunched her nose at Stacy, "That's because I try to stay away from you and your little 'crew' as much as possible."

Sam tried to hide his smile, "Well then, you're more like your aunt here than I thought little Jones,"

"Proud of it," she smiled

"Now you two," he said pointing to his siblings, "explain what happened,"

"Well…" Stacy started,

"You see what happened was-"Stevie tried,

"If I may," Nia asked stated, raising her hand in question,

Stacy bit onto her bottom lip before shaking her head no. If anyone was going to tell their brother about the fight at school, it would have to be them. When something such as a fight happened, Sam would either find out by the media or by them—whichever got to him first,

"It's not really Stevie's fault," she said nervously

"Oh?" Sam asked,

"Right, it's not—really bro—you see Randy—"

"That good for nothing excuse of a man," Nia interrupted—hands on her hips. Mercedes smiled at her niece before placing an arm around her shoulder,

"Randy was taunting me today in school," Stacy continued, "And Stevie sorta snapped—and may have possibly broken his nose in the process,"

Sam looked to the ceiling for a moment—hoping he had enough strength to deal with his siblings,

"I'm sure your principle has called either mom or dad by now," he said sternly, "And while I do not condone fighting unless absolutely necessary—I am proud of you for looking out for your sister, Stevie,"

"Really?" he asked in surprise,

Sam smiled before patting him gently on the shoulder, "Yes, really—now go take care of yourself,"

Stacy wrapped his arm around her shoulders, "I'll help,"

"Just because you punched him in the face, I'll help as well before heading off to the orphanage," Nia smiled grabbing his other arm,

Stevie winced before grinning, "Thanks,"

As Sam and Mercedes watched them slowly guide Stevie down the hall, Mercedes turned to Sam with a look of interest on her face, "You're not dressed in the usual suit and tie," she observed, he was wearing a pair of dark jeans with a white shirt along with a black leather jacket—he reminded her of a police officer—no matter what clothes they wore—they still walked, talked, and looked like a cop.

Sam pulled out his palm pilot, scrolling through, "Yes, apparently even President's get days off,"

"And when were you going to inform me?" she asked in a hard tone,

"I wasn't, seeing as how you're not the President, Miss Jones—_I _get the day off—not you,"

"Well I don't find that the least bit fair, I'm your assistant—I do things that you need me too during the day, when you have days off, what exactly am I supposed to do?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders, "There are some files that need to be taken care of I do believe,"

Mercedes huffed, "Like hell I will, I'm going to the orphanage today with Nia—I was actually going to ask if it was alright but seeing as even President's get days off—I won't be needed today,"

Sam glared at her, "You have work to do,"

"Nothing that can't be taken care of tomorrow Mr. President—don't you have more faith in me?" she smiled before walking away,

"Miss Jones!" he shouted after her, "You are not to go to that orphanage today!"

Sam bit down onto his bottom lip watching her walk down the hall, confidence in every step as she waved him off without a care.

He really did not like that woman.

* * *

><p>"Are you alright?" Quinn asked as she watched Mercedes work on her dress; she hadn't failed to notice how tired Mercedes had begun to look during the last few weeks.<p>

"Yes, I started planning one of the many dinners a few days ago and Rachel has been grilling it into my head on how perfect it has to be,"

"Don't pay any attention to her, Sam gave the job to _you_—Rachel's say means nothing."

"I won't, I'm also just thinking about when Nia told me the kids are in need of books, so I'm going to help." Mercedes told Quinn as she placed the dress she'd been working on away,

"But I thought the point of you working here was so you can buy fabric? How are you going to give those kids books?"

"It is. And I have emergency money—I've sold a few of my dresses over the past few years,

"But you just said it's emergency money,"

"A child not having access to something as simple as a book _is_ an emergency Quinn," she sighed, "And buying fabric for my dresses can wait,"

"But your dresses are fabulous Mercedes; do you know what girls around the world would give to own something as beautiful as one of your designs?"

Mercedes shook her head, "Thank you, and as fabulous as they may be—I'd still have to find a buyer even willing to give me a chance. The fashion business is not a joke—especially with me having a plus size line,"

"What about Lauren Zizes? She's a world known buyer for plus size clothing, always looking for the next big thing."

She snorted, "And she's also impossible to impress. I wouldn't stand a chance,"

"Mercedes—"

"Quinn it's fine, if the money is going toward something for those kids then I'm more than willing to hold off my dresses for a little while longer,"

Quinn remained silent—only wondering how many other times Mercedes had held her own dreams off for someone else.

* * *

><p>Sam began pacing back and forth in his office, "She's the most infuriating woman I've ever met," he shouted while running a hand through his hair, "How dare she disobey me in such a way! I have half the mind to fire her!"<p>

Quinn folded her arms, "Then why haven't you?"

He stopped—a look of indifference coming over his face, "Because despite how much I can't stand her during ninety-eight percent of the time, she is sharp, independent, and she fights for what she truly wants—I've learned that firsthand." He chuckled,

"Anything else?" Quinn asked, amused.

"What else would there be?" he replied in confusion,

"Well despite how infuriating she may be, you are intrigued by her and want to know more even though you're secretly telling yourself how wrong it is,"

Sam looked at Quinn strangely before he started chuckling, "You couldn't be more wrong, I stand by what I said and I would also like to add that you should seek treatment for your head."

"Alright," she said dismissing his claim and rolling her eyes.

"Where are you going?" he asked as Quinn slipped on a jacket,

"It's my day off as well—I'm going to spend it with Be—I'm going to take care of some business and then I'll be joining Mercedes at the orphanage, maybe I'll see you there," she smiled innocently,

"Yes, maybe in the next century," he grumbled.

* * *

><p>Mercedes clutched onto her purse as she looked around the room full of children no more than fifteen years old. Their faces were of different races, their eyes each held different stories—some more tragic than others, but yet—there was one thing they all had—they each wore smiles and that alone made Mercedes want to cry because no matter what had been taken away from them—their smiles were something they hadn't allowed anyone to take.<p>

Mercedes had never thought she'd admire children so much but after she'd talked to Denise—the owner of the center, she'd learned about some of the kid's pasts—such as how little Kayla was abused by her step-father, or how twelve year old Eric had been locked in a basement for days until a neighbor found him. But not all of the children had come from abusive homes—some of them, such as Alia—the four year old girl Mercedes had fallen in love with the moment she saw her, was small, light skinned and with her curly black hair, had big hazel eyes, and a beautiful smile with two of her bottom teeth missing—her parents had died in a car crash on their way home in a storm, and the only other family little Alia had had was her grandmother Mable which they felt was not able to fully take care of herself, let alone her granddaughter.

It was children like her that people wanted to adopt most; even Mercedes had to stop herself from simply kidnapping the little angel.

"Thank you for coming here today," Denise said while carrying a small boy on her hip,

"Well my niece," she said gesturing to Nia playing with a toddler, "loves this place and I wanted to come myself, maybe help out for the day if you'll have me,"

"Oh the more the merrier," she smiled, "I love working here but they do sometimes get a little out of hand." She laughed,

Mercedes stroked the little boy's hair fondly, "She also told me about the kids here loving to read but not having up to date books,"

"Yeah," Denise exclaimed with a sad smile, "I suppose they provide as much money as they can but something like new books would have to come out of my own pocket, and that kind of money or resources is something I really don't have, but I do my best with them."

Denise gestured for Mercedes to walk with her, she lead them to a closed door, and once she opened it—Mercedes eyes widened in wonder. The room wasn't very large but it was designed nicely with shelves standing in rows one after the other but most—if not all, were empty or had books that were worn and ripped at the seams. Mercedes stepped inside the room to give it a closer look; she could see that the carpet where the kids could sit and read wasn't the cleanest. In another part of the room, she could see outdated computers that seemed to not have been used in years.

"What would you say if I told you my intentions for coming here were to help more than just playing with the kids for a few hours?"

"I'm sorry?" she asked placing the boy onto his feet, Mercedes watched him wobble out of the room before speaking again,

"I want to help buy books for the kids,"

"And how are you going to do that?" Denise asked skeptically,

"Well before resulting to my own money—I plan on contacting the headquarters of Barnes and Noble along with various Borders that are going out of business. But if they do not approve of my proposal then I will go into my own pockets, which I have no problem in doing for something like this,"

"Well I do believe that's a fine plan Miss Jones,"

Mercedes squared her shoulders as if preparing for a fight while, Denise had already turned around to see who'd voiced their opinion before she slowly turned herself. She looked at his amused eyes that could only give her the urge to either punch him or smile herself,

"Mr. President,"

* * *

><p>Mercedes couldn't help but laugh when she saw one of the kids practically tackle Puck trying to get to his sunglasses hanging on his shirt. She smiled softly when she turned to see Mr. Evans playing action figures with a little boy, and in all honesty, the President looked to be having more fun than the child, she giggled causing his attention to snap to her, he quickly stood up placing his hands inside his pockets while clearing his throat,<p>

"This stays between us," he said sternly, but Mercedes didn't dare take him serious as she rolled her eyes before turning to Alia.

The little girl was extremely adorable and really liked to draw, Mercedes had learned that after receiving her third picture as a gift. She didn't want to get too attached to her, but she was finding it more difficult with each passing moment—the little angel had her heart.

"She really likes you," Nia said coming up beside her,

Mercedes softly hugged Alia, "Yeah, I really like her too,"

"Ever think about becoming a mother, auntie?"

"Girl please," she laughed, "With all that I have going on right now—I don't think motherhood will happen anytime soon, but if I could take this one home, I definitely would,"

"Denise watches over Alia closely, she was actually friends with her parents,"

Mercedes shook her head sadly.

"Come on Alia," Nia said grabbing her hand, "It's time for lunch."

"How does the public not know about your parents getting a divorce?" Mercedes asked after taking a seat next to Sam, they both watched as the kids began their meals.

"I asked them not to mention it to anyone, a family friend whose a lawyer will be taking care of matters as quietly and as quickly as possible." He said looking straight ahead,

"Why?" she asked curiously

Sam sighed, folding his arms, "You and your questions Miss Jones," was all he said before taking a few moments to speak again, "My parents getting a divorce can quite possibly reflect badly on me in the public eye,"

Mercedes angled her head in confusion, "But it has nothing to do with you, does it? Sometimes people just grow apart," she said softly,

He shook his head, "No it doesn't but once the media finds out—questions about my ability to lead the country while having family problems will raise, and I can't have that. It's not something I exactly have time to be worrying over. It may seem like I'm being selfish—"

"A bit," she cut in,

Sam chuckled, "However, I'm doing this to protect them as well—along with Stevie and Stacy. They're my brother and sister—already treated differently, and if the media found out about our parents—who knows how people would treat them. I want my family to have as much of a normal life as possible without my title as president looming over their heads,"

"So your family's personal lives will always reflect on you along with relationships you may develop with anyone else?" she asked, "I understand you wanting to protect people close to you but is there at least _one_ benefit of being president that gives you a _personal_ gain? Has anything so far while being the president made you smile? Made you go—wow moments like these remind me of why I love this job?"

"Well—knowing that I'm doing my best to make the country a better place and I possibly still have another four years to discover some things,"

"Yes, but with something as big as that comes many wars—physical, mental, and emotional, Mr. President. A lot of times when someone puts their heart and soul into something they really care about—they end up losing their minds in the process."

"I'm still learning, but I do know that a person's mind is often times their only sanctuary, I do believe that I read somewhere, _"Great madness cannot be achieved without significant intelligence." _Do you not believe that this world alone is a place filled with madness?_"_

She nodded, "I do at times."

Sam gave her a small smile taking it that she saw his reasoning, "But I'll make you a deal Miss Jones,"

Mercedes leaned in, "I'm listening,"

"I promise you that when I find that advantage to this crazy life—you'll be the first to know."

She held out her hand, "Deal,"

Sam nodded with her hand still in his grasp—it was soft against his own, forgetting where they were and who _she_ was, he gently stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Wow," Quinn said stepping into the room causing Sam to quickly withdraw his hand, while Mercedes looked at him oddly, "Reporters are storming the place outside, nearly impossible to get in,"

"I'm sorry," Sam said looking over to Denise where most of the kids were seated, "Word gets out fast, I'll step out to tell them that I won't be taking questions at the moment—it's my day off and I'd rather just enjoy the company of the children,"

"Well if it gets this place noticed just a little bit more—do what you can," she smiled,

Sam nodded before calling to Puck—both making their way toward the reporters outside.

"Hey Denise," Mercedes addressed, "I would love for you to bring the kids for a free tour of the White House sometime,"

Denise beamed, "I honestly don't know how to thank you for your interest in the children, I'll be happy to bring them along for a tour. I think they will enjoy it,"

"Good, we'll enjoy having them,"

* * *

><p>"Hey Mercedes," Quinn said walking up to her later that night, "We're having a movie night in the theater, everything superhero! Let's go," she smiled grabbing onto her arm, Mercedes was tired from the day—still in her heels and clothes-but didn't protest as she was dragged to the movie room.<p>

She smiled seeing the Evans family sitting side by side watching The Avengers, she couldn't help but notice that everyone in the room currently seemed happy and at peace. She had to wonder how many more moments like these they would be able to have together.

As much as she was trying to watch the movie, her eyes continued to betray her by sliding shut. Her body suddenly felt drained and the next time her eyes decided to close—she gave in and let to remain that way.

"Mercedes," Quinn whispered an hour later, gently shaking her arm,

"Don't," Sam spoke, looking down at the brown skinned beauty, "I'll take her,"

Quinn smiled to herself before nodding and moving out of his way.

"Stevie, take Little Jones to her room," he said nodding toward her sleeping form. He bent down grabbing Mercedes arm, placing it around his neck before taking his own and placing it under her legs, the other supporting her upper back.

As he gradually walked to her bedroom, the few lights remaining on around the house gave him the chance to see her sleeping form. She slept oddly with her eyelids not fully shut—making it seem as if she were still slightly awake, watching as he carried her to her room,

"Miss Jones?" he whispered but only gained no response. Only then was he sure that she was in the state of unconsciousness.

Once he reached her room, Sam leisurely began taking off her heels before going back around to remove her blazer as gently as he could without waking her, she groaned lowly as he settled her back onto the bed,

"Good night Sam." she whispered sleepily just as he was making his way out of the room,

Sam stopped for a moment—the sound of her saying his first name more remarkable than what it should have been,

His eyes searched her face in the dimly lit room, her lips were slightly parted, a few strands of her hair sticking to them, he knew that she would not remember in the morning, but Sam still held his breath before he gently removed the strands—his fingers faintly touching her warm cheek—he would kick himself later for knowing that he should have left her be, but all the while Sam let his fingers linger for a moment, making sure to only leave his feathered touches behind—he walked to the door before whispering,

"Good night—Mercedes."

* * *

><p><strong>Excuse any mistakes please. <strong>

**Feel free to leave suggestions and constructive criticism.**

**Question...Sam and Mercedes are not moving too fast, are they? **

**Also...if anyone is confused about anything just let me know :)**

**Lastly, one of my readers is actually named Nia, I didn't know and I think we may or may not follow one another on Tumblr. But I think it's cool, Nia is a pretty name to me. **


	9. Berry's Mission

**I don't own anything. **

* * *

><p>It had been two o'clock in the morning when Mercedes officially declared herself to be ungrateful. Well maybe ungrateful wasn't really the word—<em>blind<em> more or less fit the description of what she had been for the past few months while working for the President.

The problem had hit Mercedes like a ton of bricks while watching episodes of _A Different World_. The show had started as a spinoff from _The Cosby Show_ with Denise Huxtable entering Hillman College, but soon afterwards took on its own path to become one of the most remembered African American sitcoms. Mercedes had loved watching the show during her teenage years—remembering how it focused on black college students and their struggle with family, friends, love, money, ethnicity, and education.

She had been watching an episode entitled _'Love Thy Neighbor,' _in which one of the characters named Ron believed it was as simple as snapping your fingers for a homeless person to turn their life around. Mercedes had watched the episode many times before but his argument of _"The bottom line is this is America. Anyone can go to Social Services and get food stamps, a place to stay—whatever they need," _got to her more than what it usually did any other time she watched the episode.

Replying to his statement, another character by the name of Kim said, _"You can't get federal aid without an address, Ron."_ When the professor asked him if he'd ever spoken to a homeless person, he jokingly answered, "_Yeah—I told them to get a_ job."

To that, Mercedes had winced remembering the conversation she'd had with Santana months before. But as the episode progressed, Ron soon met a homeless man—to his surprise, one he'd once known. The man had went by the name Ray—once owner of the most famous barbeque restaurants around. Ray had been living his dream; people from all around had loved his cooking and famous sauce but years later let go of his business and moved to Florida with his mother. Everything in his life drastically changed when his mom passed away. From there on—Ray had been struggling to pay the doctor bills.

Faced with the embarrassment of what his life had become, Ray chose not to contact his daughter for help. When Mercedes was younger, she'd wondered why he couldn't have just gotten a job if he was so good of a cook but later figured it out when he stated,

"_Not many people are willing to hire a seventy year old man."_

And now in this day and age and to her realization—not many people were willing to hire _at all._

How many Americans did not have jobs? How many were barely able to put food on their table? How many of them struggled to pay the bills? How many were homeless?

_Too many. _

Ray's cooking skills on A Different World were one of a kind—but no one would hire him because of his age. Businesses wanted _young_, _fresh _faces that could do something for them. Only way for people to really get jobs these days were if they _knew_ someone on the inside.

"The bottom line is that this is America," she said to herself, repeating Ron's words, "But it would take a miracle for someone to get even a half decent job."

Thousands of people did not have jobs.

Mercedes had always referred to the quote, "_And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have."_

But in this case—she couldn't see no other way than to declare herself blind as to what she actually _did _have.

So at nine o'clock that morning she found herself holding a Starbucks bag in one hand and a vanilla latte in the other. She didn't exactly know how long she had been standing outside of the meeting room but she knew that she'd have to go in soon if she wanted this conversation to be private and take place now. Over the years she had become a woman with a lot of pride but even she knew when some of it had to be let go—especially if she was in the wrong.

She didn't know what to expect once she'd say all that she needed too—but with a deep sigh, she made her way into the conference room. She was relieved to only see Mr. Evans in the room at the head of the table,

"Good morning," she said quietly—still trying to form the right words in her head.

"Morning, Miss Jones, is everything prepared for today's daily briefing?"

"Yes, sir." She replied looking toward her laptop and paperwork—already in the room. She had recently taken up to working in the conference room during times when she was not needed; Mr. Evans had understood and had also given her his permission.

Mercedes held up the drink and bag that contained a chocolate chip muffin inside, "I bought this for you."

"Starbucks?" he asked raising his eyebrows before slowly taking the items, "Is there a special occasion? The breakfast you usually bring is just fine."

She nervously rubbed her arm, "Well this may certainly seem like one," she mumbled

"Excuse me?" he asked,

"Mr. President," she said louder.

Sam stood, making his way around the table to her, "Are you alright Miss Jones?" he asked before resting one leg onto the table.

"Yes, I really don't know why I'm making this harder than what it is,"

Sam sighed, now getting a little impatient, "Well please say whatever you need too, I don't have all day to sit here and watch you babble."

Mercedes clinched her fists before taking another deep breath, "I just—wanted to thank you for coming to the orphanage a few days ago, that really meant a lot to the center and also—me. And," she said pausing for a moment, "I want to—apologize."

As Sam was about to speak, she quickly raised her hand, "Please, let me talk. Just let me say all that I need too and then you're free to say what you wish."

Sam nodded reluctantly but remained sitting on the table.

"Right, as I was saying—I want to apologize. I can't believe it's taken me this long to realize it but I now know that I haven't been the best assistant. And I've more than likely frustrated you more times than you can count. There are so many more people that qualify for this job—so many more people that _need_ this job and I've been acting awful—and I'll try to do better—"

"Hey," Sam said grabbing hold of her shoulders a gentle smile playing on his lips, "Don't go soft on me now Jones,"

Mercedes had started talking so fast to get her words out; she had nearly forgotten to breathe. She looked up into his eyes, her face slightly heated.

"Stop smiling!"She said scrunching her nose, "I honestly don't know why you haven't fired me yet. It really is beyond me, sir."

"You're absolutely right about everything you've said. I've even asked myself a few times why I haven't had you kicked off the property,"

"Should I go pack my bags?" she asked quietly, pointing her thumb toward the door,

Sam chuckled, "No, I won't be getting rid of you just yet. You know whenever I ask myself why I haven't let you go—I look back on the day you told me the truth about what you and Quinn did—I remember nothing but confidence set in your eyes," he said squeezing her shoulder, "And then I remember the moment I set you in charge of the fundraisers—that moment of happiness may have not been noticed by everyone, but I saw it, Miss Jones." He said laughing lowly; not believing that he was saying these things to her.

She bit onto her bottom lip; her cheeks were definitely heated now, she lowered her head, "Sir," she mumbled.

"But I think it's the time you defended Stacy while in my office that gets me the most. I don't know how many assistants or even _people_ would do that for my sister or someone else they hardly knew. There was so much _emotion_ in your voice."

Sam slowly titled her head so that they were once again looking into one another's eyes, running his thumb across her chin, he sighed, "I really don't know if I've ever met a woman as maddening as you Miss Jones, most assistants would have either quit or been fired—but you—you give me a run for my money."

"I'm not sure if I should apologize for that as well?"

He shook his head, "No, instead I'd like you to tell me how you're going to do your job from now on."

"I'm going to—I'm going do what my President asks of me, I'm going to appreciate a position that plenty of other people would give anything to be in. I'm going to do everything that I should have been doing from the start. But" she said with a smile, "I can't promise him that he won't always hear what I have to say—but he will hear it much less."

"Well I don't want that fury in you to _completely_ leave, Jones." He spoke before giving her shoulder a final squeeze and moving away.

"But oh God," she said placing her hand on her forehead, "I threatened to shove my foot up your ass."

"I believe that was the highlight of your career, Miss Jones."

Mercedes laughed as she began gathering her papers for that day's meeting, "Thank you—for what you said and I really am sorry,"

"I've learned that I'm not the easiest person to work with, and for that—I apologize." he replied before sitting down, "Now, are you ready to get started?"

Mercedes nodded in appreciation, feeling that the day was the start of something new between them.

* * *

><p>"Good morning everyone," Sam greeted as they settled into their seats, "I will only be speaking for a short moment before I let Miss Jones take the floor. Firstly, I would like to say that we've had dinners together for some time now, and I've noticed everyone putting in the effort to tolerate and get to know one another more. I know that there are many things that separate us as individuals but I am aware of the fact of what it takes for your differences can be pushed aside every night. I just want to say that <em>whenever<em> you put fort one hundred percent of effort, I'll always give one hundred and ten percent back. Miss Jones," he said glancing at her, "you may now take the floor."

Mercedes cleared her throat before standing, "Thank you sir. So far, the tours have been doing us a great deal of help but of course that alone will not be enough, which is why in the coming months I along with the help of some staff members will be hosting a dance formal. Our very own Miss Lopez will be providing food in which I'm hoping to be sold for at least one hundred and fifty dollars per plate. However, the cost can be rearranged if too high or low."

"Good luck with her not poisoning everyone." Rachel spoke with a roll of her eyes,

"Oh Berry," Mike chuckled from the other end of the table, "I only believe there is _one_ person she'd love to poison."

As Rachel gasped—as if it were new knowledge—Mercedes continued, "As thanks to Mr. Evans and the _lovely_ Rachel Berry—Jessie St. James _will_ be in attendance. Not to put pressure on anyone but—everything that night will need to be perfect if we want to seal the deal."

"I have confidence in you all," Sam spoke, "Including you Miss Jones, I'm sure you'll do everything to the best of your abilities."

Quinn looked toward her, "And then some," she smiled

Mercedes nodded with a grin before speaking, "I do want to take each fundraising event one step at a time. And whether St. James decides to help us or not—our President's birthday will also be in the next following months,"

"Don't remind me about becoming an old man," he laughed

She smiled softly, "Well Mark Twain once said, "_Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter." _

"What would we do without your knowledge Miss Jones?"

"You'd be lost," she laughed, "Now as I was saying, with his birthday coming in a few months, I'll also be planning something for him as well. There will be food, entertainment and whatever else he may desire." She finished.

"Thank you, Miss Jones, will that be all?" Sam asked,

"Yes sir,"

"Alright—thank you all." He said now addressing the staff, "Let's be sure to help Miss Jones as much as we can—this meeting is over, have a good day everyone."

Mercedes felt herself smile—so far the day was going a lot better than most.

* * *

><p>Leaning against her headboard, Mercedes scanned through the pages of "<em>Their Eyes Were Watching God"<em> as Tina, Santana, and Quinn looked through her closet full of dresses.

Holding one of Mercedes' gowns against her frame, Tina looked up smiling, "I told you he was a good man,"

Mercedes rolled her eyes but a smile was still on her face as they continued to ask questions about her and Mr. Evans conversation that morning.

"I'm not disagreeing nor am I agreeing to that. I need more evidence." She laughed

"Gee, I don't know Mercedes," Quinn said, "How many bosses notice when their employees have a moment of happiness?" she mocked while falling onto her bed giggling.

She rolled her eyes about to respond when Santana cut in, "Yeah, yeah enough about the forbidden sexual tension between boss man and his sexy assistant. What is this about Mr. Vice defending me against the hobbit?"

While Mercedes gasped, Tina explained what Mike had said to Rachel in the meeting room.

"I do know where to locate some Nightshade," she smirked, "But as if I would waste my time trying to poison her—I'll just have someone else attempt that."

"You're a mess," Quinn laughed

"Speaking of messes," Mercedes whispered, "How are things with you and Puck?"

Quinn sighed, "He's still hoping for us—but it's not going to happen. I really need to sit down and talk to him about it—but it's hard."

"Just take it one step at a time." She said as she watched Santana twirl around her room while holding one of her dresses.

Santana looked to her, "I wish you made gowns for us smaller gals."

"Us smaller gals have plenty already," Tina pointed out.

"But Mercedes' designs are really something—I've never seen dresses so _beautiful_. And if it were any other person, they would _not_ be getting this much props from me." She stated.

Quinn nodded her head in agreement, "I've watched her work on the current dress she's doing—I don't know how many designers put so much love and passion into their work. I think she should contact Lauren Zizes—she could go far."

"They aren't _that_ great," Mercedes mumbled

"Yes they are," Santana protested, "And you should wear one to the ball,"

She blinked her eyes in recognition, "I've never worn one of my own designs,"

Tina smiled while putting the dress back into the closet, "Well I think you should reconsider—if you wear one to the event, all eyes will be on you for sure and word can get out to Zizes."

"Just think about it?" Quinn pleaded

"Fine, I will but no promises. Hey Santana, let's go discuss possible food selections."

"Alright, just let me go grab some recipes and cook books, I'll meet you in the kitchen."

Mercedes nodded—about to close the book until something caught her eye, silently she read,

"_Janie saw her life like a great tree in leaf with the things suffered, things enjoyed, things done and undone. Dawn and doom was in the branches." _

She closed her eyes suddenly feeling weary—she had always found it a little funny how small words could contain so much power when they banded together. Like Janie, Mercedes felt that her life was filled with suffering and happiness—and often times—like any other human—found herself trying not to let the suffering take over.

"Are you alright?" Quinn asked eyeing Mercedes with worry, "You tuned out for a minute there."

"Yeah," Mercedes smiled putting the book away, "Just a bit of a headache coming on. I'll just grab something to eat while in the kitchen."

Quinn nodded not really believing her answer but took it anyways. For now.

* * *

><p>Rachel's folders and paperwork all had fallen to the floor when Quinn decided to accidently run into her as they were coming out of Mercedes' room.<p>

"Well thank you Miss Fabray, now I'm going to be late for my meeting with the President. Just splendid." She huffed bending down to collect her work.

Quinn sighed bending down as well to help her not failing to notice '_Mercedes Jones'_ neatly written onto one of the folders, her eyes instantly narrowed in distrust.

"Secret meetings with Mr. Evans?" Santana asked while folding her arms, "I hope you're not plotting to become First Lady, because that would be cliché for even you Berry."

Rachel titled her head, an innocent smile playing on her lips, "Plotting to become First Lady for Mr. Evans? I would not hope that upon _myself_," she beamed, "There are more important things I can be doing Miss Lopez—but I apologize—someone of your status would not know that with you residing in the kitchen and all."

"Let's not get started on that shall we? You and I both know where _you_ reside during the wee hours of the night. I just never know which one it is—him or his son? Or are you guys into threesomes? A bit wanky for even you Berry." Santana snapped.

Tine along with Mercedes and Quinn looked on confused, "What are you talking about Santana?"

"Nothing," Rachel voiced, "Nothing at all." She replied, her eyes remaining on Santana, "If you ladies will excuse me—I must be on my way."

"People like her crave nothing but power ladies," Santana said over her shoulder as she made her way down the hall, "Remember that."

As Quinn continued to watch Rachel walk down the hall she turned briefly to Tine and Mercedes, "I'll catch up with you all in the kitchen—there's something I have to check."

Mercedes nodded in understanding—thinking she was going to possibly check in on her daughter.

* * *

><p>Rachel gleefully folded her hands across her lap, "Thank you for meeting me on such a short notice sir, I know more than anyone that you're a very busy man."<p>

"Yes Miss Berry you're welcome but if you can move along with your concerns—that would be grand, I do have another meeting in a few hours."

"Of course sir, of course. But I must say—this will be dealing with _your_ concerns more than mine." She smiled,

Sam sighed, "Miss Berry—please."

"Alright," she grinned, opening a folder onto her lap, "To my understanding—being the President is not the easiest job in the world. It challenges a man's strength, faith—and trust."

"I have fine people around that are more than willing to do their job," he stated,

"Yes but do you really know what they're willing to do if _they_ were getting something out of it? How many people—beside me of course—can you _really_ turn to if you were at your lowest?"

Sam sighed in frustration; Rachel Berry knew how to accurately do her job at certain times but one thing she seemed not to know were boundaries.

"That—nor does anything else dealing with my staff—concern you Miss Berry. If you are here to waste my time—please leave now."

"Oh but I'm not sir!" she jumped, placing the folder onto his desk, "Do you really know who you're working with? Look here—what about Miss Mercedes Jones? How much do you really know about her? Her background, sir?"

Sam felt his face flush with slight anger at the mention of Mercedes, "I do not know what differences you may have with Miss Jones or anyone else," he said lowly, "But you will do well to leave those differences at the door. I expect nothing from anyone but them doing their job to the best of their abilities."

Rachel slowly sat back in her chair, putting a little space between them, the frantic beating of her heart was now warning her to stop what she was doing—what she had been _planning_.

"Did you—"she hesitated, "Did you know her and your Head of Security went to the same high school such as Mr. Chang and yourself?"

"Rachel," he warned, rising from his seat.

"Did you know that they dated for a short period of time?"

"Stop!" he hissed causing her to jump, "I will not have you making false accusations. Get out of here Miss Berry; I believe you need to sort some things out."

"I have proof," she stated boldly, but stood—heading to the door, "Just think Mr. Evans, how well do you really know her? I can help you figure it out if you'd like, _sir_."

"And do tell _Rachel_," he yelled walking toward her, "Will you tell me about yourself as _well?_ Because it is to my understanding that we _all_ have a past."

"I have nothing to hide—but that's more that I can say for other people." She answered before quickly leaving out.

Sam slammed the door after her before walking furiously back to his desk violently pulling out the bottom drawer and then placing a bottle of Scotch onto his desk along with a glass. It was that moment he realized that he might have lied to Mercedes that morning—Rachel Berry was possibly even _more_ maddening than her, however, definitely _not_ in the good way.

"Miss Fabray," he slightly yelled, "It doesn't do well to eavesdrop on other people's conversations."

Only a moment later he heard the small click of his door, Quinn quietly walked in—her face emotionless.

"You're not going to go through with Rachel's ridiculous plan, are you?" she asked quietly

Sam ran a hand roughly through his hair, "Of course not," he huffed, "What kind of President—of _man _do you take me for Quinn?"

"Good," Quinn nodded, relief flowing through her body, "Good because," she continued with a hint of hesitation, "Because her past is her own."

* * *

><p><strong>Excuse any mistakes please. <strong>

**As always please feel free to leave reviews, suggestions, concerns, etc. **

**Also, I don't know what happened with this story but it went from 83 reviews to 100+ in only a few days. **

**Thank you, every review makes me smile and gives me a boost of confidence in this story. **


	10. The Wind

**I don't own anything.**

* * *

><p>Quinn Fabray had often compared her life to the night sky.<p>

To her, the stars would represent the people, places, and objects in her life. Of course it was silly to anyone that didn't understand but as she walked through the garden during the late hours of the day, Quinn couldn't help but notice how stars—like some people—shined brighter than others or how some of them were so dim—she would never really know if they were truly there. And then there were those days when the clouds would be so thick that they'd block those stars—block their light and guidance.

And it was those days—when she compared herself to feeling alone.

Quinn also had those times when someone or something would leave her life and whenever she looked to the sky, she swore she could imagine a star burning out. Like stated before it was silly—but as she looked up, she could just spot out the star that seemed to be the brightest in her eyes—that star represented her daughter Beth. Whenever she looked to the brightest star she would always smile but, she could not help but to feel sad as well.

There had been a time when Quinn had come to regret bringing her own daughter into the world.

It hadn't always been that way, when she'd first had Beth, Quinn looked at her little girl with a new found love but as the months had passed—she had slowly found herself looking at her with eyes of resentment.

After her birth, Quinn had found herself never having any free time and always feeling overwhelmed. Whenever she would look into the mirror, she saw someone that she didn't know, less attractive, more bags under her eyes, paler skin. She could just barely remember who she had been before Beth; she had _never_ doubted her own abilities to do anything before _she _came.

It had been those days when she had both loved and hated the night—because the night left her thinking of thoughts that were sometimes incapable of being reached, it left her yearning, left her with questions of what tomorrow would and wouldn't bring—and sometimes—like past moments in her life—it left Quinn wondering if she wanted to _live _for tomorrow. What would always pain her the most were the times when she had gone without purposely feeding or bathing Beth, leaving Puckerman to come in days later to take care of her—and having hopes that he'd take care of _her_ as well. But that never happened—not really. Her parents had barely—if anything—been of help, disappointed that their only daughter had gotten pregnant in college.

Those moments were what had pushed her over the edge.

Quinn however, was a very smart girl and she knew that what she had been feeling wasn't normal or at least—shouldn't have been.

So when Quinn had been diagnosed with depression, her doctor sat her down in a quiet office surrounded with various pictures of smiling children, families, and posters that spoke of "Be the happiness you deserve." She didn't know how long she had stared at those posters before someone placed a lap top in her face and stacks of paper onto a table. After a more in dept interrogation of her mental state, the doctor placed their attention onto the papers and computer,

"There many reasons as to why you're feeling this way, Miss Fabray." He'd stated, "Now, do you know how depression works or—occurs?"

Before Quinn had the chance to shake her head, he had already begun to explain, "It's what we call a chemical imbalance in the brain," he explained before proceeding to show her images and examples, "This is an image of someone not suffering from your state of depression,"

She had looked at the picture closely before the screen flashed to another, "And this is how a brain looks dealing with an imbalance—currently what you may be going through. I'd like to ask a few more questions and possibly run some tests but I believe you may be suffering from Postpartum Depression. But I assure you, there is medication that can help treat you if that is your choice." he spoke as he placed a comforting hand on her arm, "Many mothers such as yourself have been through this and I'd like you to know that you _can_ be stronger than this however,—it will take time."

"What are you doing out here so late at night?" she heard a soft voice ask, interrupting her from thoughts of the past,

Mercedes sat down beside Quinn on the bench, pulling her robe closer to her body, "Are you alright?"

Quinn smiled at nothing in particular, "I'm fine, what about you?"

Before taking a quick look over of Quinn to make sure that she was really fine, Mercedes settled onto the bench, "I couldn't sleep, I suppose we both had the same idea with coming out here."

"The gardens are calming," she agreed

"Denise and the children will be here tomorrow—or rather in some hours," she said glancing down at her watch, it read twelve A.M.

"That's nice," was her reply, grateful for the silence that followed. But it wasn't long until Quinn's nerves were coming on, she fondled with the hems of her robe, sighing while looking at Mercedes out of the corner of her eye. She looked peaceful; her eyes closed, head toward the sky,

"What are you doing Mercedes?"

"Listening." She whispered,

Quinn took a look around the garden, "To what? Do you hear something?"

Mercedes shook her head, "I'm listening to the wind, and I think it shouldn't be possible to be jealous of nature."

"You're jealous of the wind?" she asked in astonishment.

"Yes, aren't you? The wind can travel as far as it wants, it can cross mountains and valleys, sore over oceans—it is strong enough to sweep you off your feet and yet can be soft enough to make you rejoice. It is strong in both the worst and best of times—and it is free. Possibly the only thing a man cannot grasp with his fingers long enough to destroy. I sometimes wish I were like that."

Quinn's face fell, understanding taking over, "Oh, I suppose anyone would be when you put it that way."

Mercedes raised her eyebrow, now turning to face her, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Mercedes, how did you—"she hesitated, "how did you get this job?"

"I believe I did an interview like everyone else," she chuckled.

She twirled a strand of her hair, now turning to face her, "How long—have you known Noah Puckerman?"

"Oh, I see now," she replied with a smile, "Puck and I have known one another since our high school years; we briefly dated but later decided we were better off as friends."

"Why did you keep that from me?"

Mercedes rubbed her hands against her thighs, "Did_ he_ tell you, or are you just confronting me?"

"No," she exclaimed, "I consider you to be a friend, and I'm not attacking you or anything, I swear. I just want to know why you didn't mention anything."

"I didn't think it was of importance to tell you, does this change anything between us, or you and Noah?"

"No," she answered quickly shaking her head, "I just—"

"If you really want to know then I'll tell you, you don't have to be nervous. I only keep what should not be told."

"You don't have too," she protested, now feeling bad for the way she approached Mercedes with the situation. It had only been days ago when she'd told Sam that a person's past belonged to them alone, and she hated that she was going back on her own words but she wanted to know the truth—because Mercedes Jones was becoming someone she would always want in her life. She more than likely already _was _that person.

"Its fine Quinn," she gave her hand a gentle pat before starting, "We dated for a few months during the 11th grade, he was able to make me laugh, and I could always go to him when I needed to scream about other students or teachers." She laughed, "He would always ask me if I wanted him to do some damage such as spray paint their cars or lockers. And while things between us were alright—we didn't truly like one another in that way and I felt that I might have been holding him back from finding someone he could really love and be loved in return."

Quinn smiled, "You broke up with him?"

"Yes, we remained friends or at least tried too but at the start of our final year—he had changed, he was no longer the guy that could make you laugh just by pulling a silly face—"

Quinn shook her head sadly, "His little brother Jamie,"

"I take it he told you then?"

She nodded remembering the night she'd caught Noah crying alone in the library, she'd found out that his little brother Jamie had been only 15 when he had been trying to break up a fight between his friends and some school bullies—things had gotten out of hand, someone pulled out a knife—and a life had been lost. Noah had been crying on the day his little brother was killed.

"Yeah well, his grades began slipping; he started skipping classes, staying out late, doing all kinds of crazy stuff. I tried to help him but at the time he didn't want it. His parents didn't know how to help him; I suppose they couldn't find the strength to be strong for one son while grieving over another."

"So how did he and you end up here in D.C?"

"Well about time he decided that he needed to keep on living his life—it was too late for him to graduate with the rest of us, he'd came to my house the night before graduation trying to act strong but I knew he was having a hard time. I told him to take it as an opportunity to start over and become something he and his family could be proud of. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone, left me with a letter. It'd said that he'd be selling his car, getting as much money as he could and buying a one way bus ticket."

"So he ran away." Quinn stated.

"No he didn't—believe me, your past is not an easy thing to run away from."

For a moment they once again sat in silence, Quinn's eyes to the stars while Mercedes' rested on the garden,

"Thank you." Quinn spoke with gratitude, "For telling me, but Mercedes, you didn't tell me how _you_ ended up here."

Mercedes looked to her, her brown eyes shining from the moonlight,

"I attempted to be like the wind."

* * *

><p>The President walked into his office in the late morning <em>very<em> irritated with his assistant. And he didn't know how much longer she would have that title from the looks of it.

He had barely opened his eyes to start a new day as she'd come barging into his room with breakfast before opening his closet door and then _roughly _throwing his clothes for that day onto the bed and of _course_ most to all of the items had hit him in the face. And before he could dig his sock out of his orange juice, she had been on her way out the door.

"Denise and the kids are coming today!" she'd yelled on her way out.

Sam hadn't been upset at that particular time—he understood that she was excited to see the children along with giving the news on the books and prepare things for them during the day. But what he _was_ upset with was the fact that she had practically_ disappeared_. Each time he or someone else had asked if anyone had seen her, they'd point in a different direction. Apparently she hadn't stayed in anyone's sight for more than ten minutes. And so what if he was a little upset that she was paying more attention to the kids rather than him but—wasn't _he_ supposed to come first?

And what happened to her performing her job to the best of her _abilities_?

He grumbled walking straight to the windows behind his desk to look outside. During the last few days he had been trying not to let his head get too clouded when it came to Miss Jones. But the words that Rachel had spoken kept ringing in his ears. Of course he didn't believe she was right but how much did he _really_ know about Mercedes?

Well he knew she was highly intelligent, headstrong, and hardworking—that should have been enough.

She had so far not given him any reasons to doubt her, even though she spoke in riddles sometimes, but that only added to her intelligence for him—and added on to her beauty on both the inside and out. He really didn't know how many people he'd met or would meet like her.

When he finally thought he was calm enough to do a little work he turned to take a seat before doing a double take toward the two sofas in his office. There—resting on one of them was Miss Jones—fast asleep with her laptop on the table and her arm hanging off the couch.

Sam slowly approached her, her head was resting on the arm of the sofa and he knew she'd wake up with an ache in her neck and he probably should have woken her—probably should have shouted and raged about her sleeping at an inappropriate time but as he looked down to see the dark circles under her eyes and how heavily she was sleeping—Sam instead removed his blazer and placed it over her before walking back to his desk, gathering his work and taking a seat on the opposite sofa.

About an hour later Quinn rushed into his office panting, "I seriously don't know where she—"

Sam placed a finger to his lips indicating her to be quiet before pointing to the still sleeping Mercedes.

"Oh!" she smiled before lowering her voice, "I see she's been found."

"Hmm not surprised she'd been in here sleeping seeing as how you two were in the gardens during all hours of the night."

She took a seat next to him, "How do you even know that? Know what?" she paused, before he could speak she said, "Don't answer that."

Sam suddenly cleared his throat; he had been watching Mercedes half the time he'd been doing work, placing the papers onto the table, he began speaking—while never taking his eyes on Mercedes. He spoke quietly but clearly,

"I have no reason to believe that Miss Jones is hiding anything but that is simply me—so I'm asking you Quinn, do you think there is something I need to know about her? You and her have been spending more time together than anyone else, so tell me is there a reason she cannot be trusted?"

"You just said that you don't have any reasons. And I don't think you should be letting Rachel cloud your judgment, Mercedes has been nothing but hardworking." She replied quickly, "So I don't believe so, sir."

Quinn let the thoughts of Mercedes not telling her why she ended up where she was, thought about the times when she zoned out, or the times when she looked so tired she looked like she was going to pass out any moment, and she thought about the words she spoke—each giving off a different message—each giving hints to her past.

Sam eyed her skeptically, "Fine, then mind telling me why she's been so tired lately? Not including you and her late night talks."

"Well she's been working on the formal nonstop, that's a big event and can take a lot of someone, even with the amount of people she has supporting her."

Sam decided he wouldn't force her to talk, but Quinn's hesitation and nervousness had both been noted, "Very well Quinn. I have to go take care of something, please wake her. The children will be here soon and I doubt she would want to miss seeing them—especially her little friend Alia."

"You noticed how they interacted too?"

He nodded with a timid smile while making his way around the coffee table. Removing Mercedes' hair from her face, he chuckled,

"How could anyone not? It was such a lovely sight."

"…Sam." Quinn whispered with her eyes slightly widened.

"Yes, I have to go. I shall be back to greet Denise and the children." He hurriedly said before stepping out.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe I fell asleep in his office!" Mercedes panicked while trying to reapply her lip gloss.<p>

Quinn tried to reassure her, "Its fine Mercedes—it happens."

"And how many times have _you_ fallen asleep in the President's office when you were supposed to be working?" she exclaimed,

She held her hands up in surrender, "Mercedes—calm down,"

"I'm sorry," she sighed, "I'm just a little nervous about everything that needs to be done with today and the dance and—I'll be alright."

Quinn looked on, worry taking over her own nerves, "Are you sure you're up for them coming today? We can always rearrange this."

"I _said_ I'll be alright."

She watched in astonishment as Mercedes walked away smoothening out her skirt.

Only moments later did she walk to the front doors to greet the children along with everyone else to see Mercedes with a bright smile on her face as she bent down to hug the children. Sam also stood with her as promised, a smile on his face.

"Mercy!" Alia greeted with a toothy grin while holding a sheet of colored paper in her hands, "I made this for you!"

Mercedes hugged the little girl with a bright smile on her face, "I'm going to keep this forever and ever. I hope you don't mind."

Alia giggled while shaking her head, her curls bouncing as she did so.

"Hello Mercedes," Denise greeted

Mercedes voice held excitement as she greeted her, "Oh Denise! I have great news about the books."

Denise stood still, "Please tell me."

"I was able to contact both Barnes and Noble and Borders cooperation's. I'm surprised myself, but a meeting was conducted—I stated my business and again—surprisingly they agreed to help out."

Denise couldn't believe it either but when she took a glance toward the President behind Mercedes, she was greeted with a brief nod and smile before he returned his attention to Alia. It seemed as if he were taken with the little girl just as much as Miss Jones,

"That's wonderful!" she cheered giving Mercedes a hug, "I can't imagine how happy this will make them."

Mercedes sighed glad that she could give them something, something that they all loved and enjoyed. She talked to Denise for a few minutes before Stevie, Stacy, and Nia began to walk them around the house, the three had promised they'd make the tour as fun as they could and knowing Stevie—she'd be lucky if there was no property damage when he was done with them.

"But I'm not _that _great with kids," Stevie whined looking into their little faces, "Some of them are evil little things, I'm telling you."

Stacy patted his shoulder, "Nice going bro—saying that in a room full of them."

"You don't have anything to worry about," Nia claimed, "They're all innocent angels."

Stevie looked down at one of the little boys that had been holding on to his pants leg—he didn't look all that innocent with the mean face he was wearing, "Right." Stevie huffed, eyeing the little boy suspiciously.

Nia squeezed his arm, "We'll be here to help, no need to worry."

"Like that makes me feel any better."

Stacy punched him as hard as she could in which she earned a laugh from the kids.

"I was just kidding!" he cried, "You two know you're my favorite ladies."

Nia rolled her eyes, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Evans."

"We'll see about that," he smiled already turning to the kids, "Right! Let's get this show on the road!"

* * *

><p>Quinn was happy that Sam had given the kids permission to eat lunch in the gardens for a picnic. They were all well mannered and seemed to be having a good time thanks to Stevie, Stacy and Nia and she had more than once wished that she could have brought Beth to play with the children—she would have made many friends today. But when she spotted Mercedes with her hand over her forehead standing near the garden's entrance, she turned her attention on her. Quinn had been silently watching her since she'd suddenly snapped at her when she asked if she were alright. That was something that Mercedes wouldn't have normally done, and of course Quinn understood that everyone had their bad days but with Mercedes—Quinn was noticing something different,<p>

"Hey Tina," she said touching her shoulder, "I'll be right back."

"Is everything alright?"

Quinn nodded watching as Mercedes walked into the house. Once she made sure Tina wasn't too worried or that no one else had noticed Mercedes, Quinn walked in after her catching a glimpse of her turning down the hall toward the bedrooms.

"Mercedes," she said before she could close her bedroom door, "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered quietly, "I just—I just have a headache."

Quinn closed the door after taking a step in, she slowly lowered herself onto the bed beside her,

She sighed before taking a deep breath, "You've been getting headaches a lot lately, you're either working nonstop or you're passed out in your room—or someplace else. You snapped at me earlier when I was just trying to make sure you were alright—something you wouldn't normally do. When the kids first arrived, you seemed nervous—although you said it was because of the upcoming events—I know for a fact that you have confidence in everything you're doing. These signs are so familiar to me—but I'm not going to assume anything until you decide to tell me—if you will. I've noticed all these things during the past few months."

Mercedes shook her head standing to her feet, she removed her jacket and placed her hair into a bun, "You know, there's this dream that I have every once in a while."

Quinn nodded her head, deciding speaking would not be best if Mercedes was about to open up to her.

"I always feel so weighed down in the dream and it's always cold, but then somehow I find the courage to open my eyes, I find myself submerged under water. I'm a good swimmer you know," she whispered making her way back to the bed, "So I try to swim to safety but every time I'm _almost _there, I hear this voice telling me to turn around, and each time I do—I see someone only to realize that it's me—she's drowning. It always comes down to the choice to either go save that part of me—or continue to swim to safety."

"What do you do?" Quinn asked

Mercedes looked her in the eyes, "I save her—instead of moving forward, I save her."

"Have you ever gone to see someone about your dreams? Maybe someone to talk too—I know that talking to a complete stranger can sometimes be better than someone you know personally."

She laughed humorlessly, "When I was diagnosed with depression, they sat me down in a room surround by posters of smiling, happy families. The doctor pulled out a blank sheet of paper before drawing a straight line, "This is how it looks when your brain is functioning properly," she'd said before scribbling another line through the straight one, "And this is how it looks when there's a chemical imbalance."

Quinn let her hand cover her mouth—their experiences had been similar yet so different.

"Do you know what I absolutely hated when they diagnosed me?" she said, her anger rising, "Suddenly everyone starts surrounding you going all, "_You're stronger than this, you can make it through, just fight it the best you can._" God that always made me want to punch them in the face. _"You have so much to live for—don't let this break you."_ They said.

Now she was confused, those had been nearly the exact words people had told her throughout her state, "Why would people encouraging you make you angry?"

"Because," she breathed, "It was like they were implying that I was _weak_, as if a person who's own _mind_ is fighting against them can _ever_ consider them to be weak. You know—" she sighed, tears now streaming down her cheeks, "I find it funny that the so called doctors that are there to help don't realize that the hardest thing about depression or anything else is finding the strength to get up every morning—a person like that is never weak. Quinn," she sobbed, "That is not what I call encouragement—that is like a slap to the face. I _know_ that I am strong—but that doesn't stop the dreams or the memories."

Quinn didn't hide the tears that came down, "What happened? When did this start?"

* * *

><p>"But sir," Rachel uttered, "She left <em>The University of Chicago<em>! That school is ranked number _eleven_! You don't find that odd? That she went from there all the way _here_? Or the fact that she dropped her major to come here and pick another that was _completely_ different? I mean it certainly is surprising that she could get in there in the _first_ place but she left!"

Sam took another shot of whiskey, trying to calm his frustration. Denise and the kids had only left moments ago before they'd realized Miss Jones had disappeared yet _again. _When he'd come to check his office in search of her, he had only been greeted by Rachel yet again trying to give him information he didn't want or found true on Mercedes.

"What are you motives toward her Miss Berry? I've never seen anyone so eager to learn of another's life."

"Sir," she said seriously, "I'm your most loyal worker—and friend. I only want the best for you and that includes others that will be just as loyal. And from what I've seen—she is clearly running away from something—or someone."

"Sam!" Quinn shouted rushing into his office startling them both,

"What is it?" he asked running to her.

"It's Mercedes—we need to call a doctor."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm sorry for any mistakes. <strong>

**And for taking so long to post, I don't see how some people do it, it takes them like two days for chapters and takes me weeks. I hope it's always worth the wait?**

**And sorry for the possibly deep chapter?**

**If there are any concerns or suggestions just let me know, everything said is always taken into consideration. **


	11. The Simple Things

**I don't own anything. **

* * *

><p>Mercedes had always found it interesting how many times simple things could either <em>change<em> a life or be taken for _granted_.

The wind had only been _one_ of the many things she thought people didn't appreciate, and maybe it was just her way of thinking—how she viewed, understood, and then embraced, but wasn't it ridiculous how something such as a sheet of paper could make all the difference in a person's life? But Mercedes had always saw it that money—a thin sheet of paper that could be ripped, tapped back together, and used again and again—held so much power over people. It was absolutely mad, wasn't it? And maybe it wasn't exactly the power that she was wary of—but the fact that that one small piece of paper was able to touch the world like poetry, how it could speak volumes around. She was sometimes disturbed of how a sheet of paper could make someone's world, but also how it could _destroy_ someone.

Mercedes also found it a little strange how something such as a—kiss on the lips could change two people's worlds forever. No matter if that kiss was on the cheek, the forehead or the lips, no matter if it lasted for two seconds or two minutes—if that kiss happened between the right people—something as simple as that kiss could become something like the start of love.

Mercedes knew that people—including herself—didn't mean to take the small things for granted but it seemed too natural to forget the small things that mattered most. She would sometimes compare simple things to butterflies, because Maya Angelou had once said,

"_We __delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.__"_

And to her, she saw it as people always forgetting the changes—both big _and_ small that that butterfly went through in order to become the breathtaking creature that it was meant to be. Sometimes it was just about remembering to open the door for a lady, remembering someone's favorite food, or remembering how they liked their coffee or tea, their favorite quote, or song.

Things that _seemed_ like they did not matter, were sometimes the things that mattered most, and could change someone's views in an instant.

Mercedes' eyes fluttered open to the dimly lit room; once they were able to adjust she could see vases of lily flowers placed around, and a chair beside her bed. She frowned before blinking to clear her head allowing the memories of the day before to come back to her. She had gotten herself so worked up talking to Quinn only resulting in her passing out. It had been so long she had talked to anyone like that—let what she had felt go. There weren't many moments when she was able to just _talk_ and actually feel relieved.

"So that's it?" Sam asked on the other side of her bedroom door while holding a hand to his chin, "It's just a case of exhaustion?"

One of the White House's personal doctors—Dr. Figgins nodded tersely, "Yes, but this is a serious concern, Miss Jones will need plenty of rest, food, and water to get her energy up. I understand that she is your personal assistant but you must understand that the human body has its limits, and we don't want Miss Jones' body to shut down on her again, recovery from that is not always easy Mr. President. I'm sure you'll agree?"

Sam nodded quickly remembering his own personal experiences with exhaustion, "Yes of course, thank you for coming. She'll be in good hands."

Dr. Figgins took Sam's hand into his own before giving him a brief nod and making his way down the hall.

He hurriedly walked to the dining room where he'd placed Mercedes' tea and sandwiches that he had prepared for her, hoping that she would be able to wake for at least a few minutes to put something in her system. Sam had a lot of experience in playing doctor due to him having a little brother and sister and knew just the right things that could have someone feeling better. It wasn't often that he was able to go down to the kitchens but whenever he could find the time, he made sure to prepare himself a small meal, he always felt just a little more relaxed down there. Many people hadn't expected it and still didn't _believe_ it, but President Sam Evans actually loved to cook. Of course—there wasn't much he could make but what he could, he made sure to put everything he had into the meal every time. And he didn't want to sound too smug, but he was pretty damn good if he said so himself.

Mercedes turned her head and couldn't help but squint her eyes at the light coming from the opening door as she watched Mr. Evans walk in with a tray,

"Good you're awake," he said softly, "I brought you some tea and mini sandwiches, thought you might be hungry."

Her throat felt scratchy as she replied "You didn't have to do that Sir,"

Sam waved it off, "Nonsense. I may be the President but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of fetching tea."

She gave him a tired smiled, "You didn't get lost on your way to the kitchens did you?"

Sam scuffed jokingly, "Of course not—okay so a few people may have pointed me there, at least I was trying to do a good deed."

"That you were," she nodded, before asking "Alright, so I believe I fainted, correct?"

He whistled placing the tray onto her dresser, "A case of exhaustion, give you a few days with plenty of rest and you'll be as good as new if I have anything to do with it."

Mercedes once again looked around her room as he made his way to the chair beside her bed. There were vases of all sizes surrounding her, some containing at least a dozen flowers but only on the nightstand beside her bed was there a small vase that contained a single Lily, it made her smile as she looked up to the President.

"What's with the flowers?" she asked, struggling to sit herself against her headboard, "I wasn't on my deathbed,"

He chuckled, gently wrapping an arm around her waist for aid, "It may have gotten a little out of hand, but people were pretty worried about you Jones, including myself. I didn't know I worked you so hard."

She waved it off, "It's partly my fault for not listening to my body when it begged me to take a break. I should know my limits by now."

Her skin warm from the slight fever she'd taken on, but Sam squeezed her hand, reassuring her, "This happens to everyone and however much you may blame yourself, I should know that everyone is not made of steel, myself included."

Mercedes watched him get up from the chair, walking to her dresser where he'd placed the tray, she let out a steady breath, "Then maybe one day we'll switch roles, and I'll be able to work you just as hard as you do me and everyone else."

Sam watched her through the mirror as he began preparing her tea, adding two lumps of sugar and a splash of milk before teasing her in a low voice, "Do tell, in what ways Miss Jones?"

Mercedes titled her head, "Let's just say you'd be aching in placing you'd never thought possible—Mr. President."

"Sounds like a challenge, something I'd look forward too. You have definitely awoken my curiosity."

Mercedes chose not to respond with a small smirk on her face as he carefully handed her the tea and the small plate of sandwiches, the room had become warm and the easy atmosphere between the President and his tired assistant had now been replaced with a heavy tension between the two, which seemed to carry on forever until Mercedes hummed in satisfaction after taking a sip of her tea.

"This is perfect." She mumbled.

Sam bit down onto his bottom lip, nearly failing to hold in his groan as he watched her. Her hair was in a ponytail but strands had fallen around her shoulders and face, other pieces sticking up in mid-air, the spaghetti strapped purple cotton nightgown that she had been changed into offered him a view of her toned arms—something he'd rarely seen due to her often wearing blazers or cardigans. The bow that rested upon the curve of her breast had his hands itching to untie it. He was only able to watch her plump lips close around the tea cup so many times before he had to clear his throat—and head. Sam could feel his face on fire from thinking such thoughts about her. Sam Evans could be considered many things; however, one thing he was not—was blind. He watched fondly as her brown eyes seemed to come to life for a moment in the dimly lit room.

Mercedes laughed, shaking her head, "Inappropriate."

Sam relaxed into the chair, composing himself, "Yes, _definitely" _he muttered, "I apologize."

"I do as well, Mr. Evans." She smiled, understandingly.

Letting the words sink in, Mercedes took it upon herself to change the subject, "You know if you weren't the President, you could've gone into the tea making business."

"Probably a whole lot less stressful than this job, eh?" he asked tiredly, leaning back in the chair to rest a hand across his now closed eyes.

"You'll find it soon," she stated.

Sam uncovered one of his eyes to look at her, "Find what?"

"The thing that allows you to keep going—the thing you're looking for, the one that pushes you to get out of bed in the mornings to do this job instead of just easily giving up. It'll give you confidence for everything you put forth—you'll find it soon."

"I think you really are unbelievable," he replied, eyeing her.

"Oh? In a good or bad way?"

Sam sat up in the chair, "Well maybe you can help me out with that. I've realized that I don't know much about you Miss Jones, and would like to take this opportunity to change that—would you mind answering some questions?"

"I suppose," she answered hesitantly.

Folding his hands into his lap, he asked, "So are you originally from here?"

"No," she answered shaking her head, "I'm originally from Chicago."

At that, he raised his eyebrows, "Really? How long have you been living here? Why did you move in the first place?"

Mercedes pursed her lips before speaking, "I've been living here for a few years," she said slowly, "And my brother lives here, so I didn't think it was a bad idea to come and experience new places." She added.

The President's eyes narrowed but he chided himself to remain focused, "Alright then—what college did you attend while in Chicago?"

It took her a moment to answer until she finally said, "Is this an interrogation or you actually trying to get to know me?" she asked, placing the tea and plate of uneaten sandwiches on the nightstand.

"An interrogation only suggests that a person has something to hide Miss Jones, that is not the case with you, is it? Surely you don't have a problem with answering something as harmless as that?" Sam resorted.

"Although I have nothing to hide," she replied, taking on the professional tone just as he had, "I don't feel comfortable answering those questions at this time, Sir. Maybe at a later date."

And suddenly, Rachel's voice rang through his head, _"She left The University of Chicago! That school is ranked number eleven! You don't find that odd? That she went from there all the way here?"_

Mercedes watched as his eyes began searching around the room, she knew that look. She had saw it many times while in his office , meeting room, or anytime he chose to write his own speeches. When that look came on his face, it meant he was thinking. Ideas, words, and images would all race through his mind, she could tell by the way his eyes would slightly brighten when he thought of something good or how they would nearly shut when a bad thought came to him and right now—Sam's eyes were half shut before he widened them,

"Tell me." Sam ground out, "Are you hiding something from me? Why did you leave The University of Chicago, and I know you attended that school so do not lie, but why did you leave? One of the best schools nationwide? "

Mercedes shook her head, "You cannot force me to say what I do not wish to say, Sir. Although you are the President, you will not be forcing that title onto me and my past life."

Mercedes used what little strength she had to move to the other side of the bed, she stood allowing her bedpost to hold her weight so she could put much needed distant between the two. The room was now filled with tension again but it was a different kind this time and she could visibly see as Mr. Evans began getting angry while she tried to remain calm.

"That's your damn problem. You keep forgetting that I am the _President_." he shouted, jumping up from the chair, his voice then took on a softer tone, Sam hoped to get through to her, "But I thought—just for one second that you and I—were more than that—yes, the relationship we have is mostly based on you irritating me and in return I aggravating you—but damn it Miss Jones, you won't answer these _simple_ questions! What the hell am I supposed to think of that?"

"Simple questions?" she breathed, "It may seem so—but they're anything but, and that's something you seem to have forgotten—you and I? We are not friends Mr. President. Don't ask me questions that you really have no interest in knowing _yourself_ rather than you believing you have a right to know just because of your _title_!"

Sam reeled back feeling as though someone had punched him in the gut, he ran an angry hand through his blonde hair, "You're right," he said folding his arms over his chest, "Only a _friend_ would get away with half the things you do. So you know what Miss Jones?" he asked in a hard tone, "You no longer have to worry about me or anyone else questioning about you because of our titles—you're fired."

Mercedes' face fell in confusion, had he really just—_fired_ her?

"What?" she whispered to his already retreating back.

Sam turned, only looking into her brown eyes for a moment—they were shining from all of the emotions she'd just experienced during their time together—they were sad, confused, but all the same—they were beautiful and he _had_ to look away,

"Please have your things packed by noon tomorrow—you may ask some of the maids to help you."

As he stood at the door she had been making her way around the bed, but before she could utter another word or grab onto his arm, he'd closed the door,

"You bastard." She said grabbing onto the vase that contained the one lily, with the little strength she had, she hurled it to the door, watching as the glass broke and the water slide down the door before falling onto her bed.

* * *

><p>Sam's shoulders tensed when he heard the sound of angry footsteps coming down the hall, he had been in his office all morning trying to avoid everyone, he was doing it for them—really, because if anyone happened to cross his path, he was sure he would explode and take his anger and stress out on them. He had to be a considerate President <em>sometimes.<em>

He decided not to look up when his door slammed, or when hands slammed down onto his desk, or when Quinn snatched the ink pen out of his hand instead choosing to get another, but then she hit the whole cup making them fall to the ground and even then he did not look up into her sure to be angry eyes, but instead opened his desk to retrieve another pen.

"I don't have many pens left." He grumbled as she took that one out his hand.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Quinn seethed.

And then Sam thought from the sound of her voice—maybe it wasn't a good idea to have sharp objects around anyway.

"No idea what you're talking about." He answered wearily.

"How could you fire her?" she screamed.

Sam sighed, "I did what I had too, I'm sorry if you do not agree but when a decision like that is made, you have no say. So don't bother to question it."

"She is my friend! She is _your_ friend! She is a loyal assistant that has done nothing but good for _all_ of us!"

"Actually Miss Fabray," he drawled, "Miss Jones made it perfectly clear that we are not—in fact friends. And I'd suggest you check if you two are on the same page before you try and defend her honor."

Quinn frowned at his words and uncaring voice, "This isn't you," she said softly, "This isn't the President you're supposed to be—the _man_ people know and love—don't make this mistake Sam."

Sam shook his head, "When it comes to this country—when it comes to people I care about—you have no idea what kind of President or man I can become, do not underestimate me Quinn. I will no longer hold back for no one—including you, if it means doing what I believe is best."

Quinn straightened up, his words hitting her hard, with a nod of her head she walked to the front door, "Then I hope you'll be able to live with your friends becoming your enemies—and they'll be the worst ones."

He took another pen out of his desk drawer and tried to continue his work before realizing that it had actually run out of ink.

So he threw it across the room.

* * *

><p>"Here's your blazer," Mercedes said as she entered his room, "From um—when I fell asleep in your office. I somehow ended up bringing to my room." She laughed but it quickly died off.<p>

Sam sat at his desk, not once looking in her direction; he gave her a small grunt of acknowledgement.

Mercedes placed it the item of clothing onto his bed before turning to head out the door but she knew she couldn't leave like that, "Am I really fired?" she spoke lowly, her eyebrows furrowed,

Only then did Sam stop what he'd been doing, he looked up at her, meeting her gaze from across the room,

"Yes, I can't allow you or anyone else to put what I've worked for in jeopardy. I am sorry it has to be this way, but it does."

"But I just don't understand—I haven't caused any harm." She protested,

Sam sighed, "You have secrets about your past that you're refusing to tell me and eventually they always come back and bite you in the ass, and now that you're working here—as my personal assistant—it comes back to me as well. I don't know what happened, but Miss Jones—unless you're willing to compromise or tell me as least a _fraction_ of it—you can't be here. Nia may visit whenever she pleases; Stacy and Stevie have taken a liking to her. I just—"he trailed off, shaking his head.

Mercedes could feel herself draining by the minute, his voice was nothing but professional and she couldn't help but feel that they progress they'd made had all gone at once. She shook her head sadly while wrapping her arms around her body, she felt cold and just tired in the moment,

"Did you ask about anyone else's past?" she asked quietly, "Did you yell at Miss Berry or Miss Fabray? What about Miss Chang? Or even your best friend Mr. Chang?" she huffed, her voice slowly rising, "How many other people have been questioned and fired?"

"Miss Jones—" he stated walking toward her.

"No," she shot out, holding up her hand, "You must understand that my business will not do anything to harm your position, or anyone else's, it will not reflect badly onto you or anyone else. It will not put your decisions as to who you have working under your roof into question. You may think that what everyone does here has something to do with you, but _Sam_, you need to believe me when I say that my past has _nothing_ to do with you. Why I left Chicago and that school has nothing—nothing to do with you. There is a huge difference between having a secret and it just plainly being none of your business—President or not."

Sam stared at her for one minute—two—three—four—five.

There they were again, those emotions flickering in her eyes, that determination, the confidence. But as Mercedes looked into his own eyes, she saw the flicker of uncertainty, saw the battle of giving in, apologizing, and that made her wonder—what happened to him to make him question if everyone around him should have been deemed trustworthy?

"Do you want this job?" he murmured,

"Yes." She answered

Sam ran a hand over his face before looking to her, "Then it is once again yours."

Mercedes looked at him wide eyed before suddenly throwing her arms around his neck,

"Thank you!" she beamed.

As she began pulling away with a smile still planted on her face—time stopped, or maybe things just moved in slow motion, but that was what it felt like when Mercedes leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

The kiss lasted three seconds—just three, and Sam would probably later wonder how he even remembered to count it at the time, but he'd also try to figure out how he remembered that her lips were soft and how he had unconsciously placed his hands on her hips, and that sound—as she pulled away, a loud smack, he would be able to replay that exact sound—he would wonder how he remembered all of that from a three second kiss.

And Mercedes had frozen, part from the shock of kissing him and part from not knowing what would happen. It had been a simple kiss, she had just been so_ happy_ about him changing his mind. And she just somehow _knew_ that this was not good.

"Aw shit," she exclaimed backing away slowly from his shocked expression, "What did I just do?"

Mercedes watched as Sam stood there just staring at her, his eyes widening as he began to realize what had just happened, his lips parted and she could see that his ears had taken on a bright shade of red,

"Um—well," he stumbled, at loss for words,

Mercedes panicked, "I'm so sorry—"

"Don't be." Sam blurted knowing that his ears were turning redder by the second, "I mean—"

"I was just glad you gave me my job back—it was a spur of the moment thing! Honestly—oh my God—what did I just do?" she asked hitting a hand against her forehead, "Please believe me when I say that I was just happy. If your security guards were in here they would have tackled me to the floor—"

Sam smiled before he touched a finger gently to her lips, shushing her, "It's fine, I understand. " he reassured, composing himself, it wasn't like he'd never been kissed before, "But of course I cannot allow you to ever do that again—but there is no need to panic Miss Jones."

Sam could have laughed out loud at her embarrassment with her eyes downcast toward the carpet but quickly remembered he had been rendered speechless from surprise himself at the sudden kiss.

Mercedes nodded her head shyly before making her way to the door, "Miss Jones," Sam called to her retreating back, she turned and suddenly pushed herself against his bedroom door, he was standing right in front of her, and she hadn't even heard his footsteps.

"Yes, Mr. Evans?" she asked hesitantly

Sam was close enough as to where his clothing was grazing her own, if he wanted to touch her, all he'd have to do was lift his hand.

"I owe you a kiss," he smirked,

Her mouth fell open, "What? But you said it would never—"

"Yes," he replied cutting her off, "You can never kiss me again but _I_ will be the one doing all the kissing, and it won't be a spur of the moment thing." he muttered running the tip of his nose across her cheek.

Mercedes tried to back away from him but the door was blocking her way, his words were repeating in her head and she didn't know how to react to them. He was crazy! Absolutely mad!

"Hey Miss Jones?" he said in her ear, "The look on your face is pretty priceless."

Sam laughed, Mercedes shoved him away from her and snickered as fell onto the floor, "You deserve that."

"Oh come on!" he laughed, "Even President's have a sense of humor."

She rolled her eyes, "You're the only one laughing, and I knew you were kidding anyway, you jerk."

Mercedes opened the door as he rose to his feet, "Miss Jones," he called again and she slowly turned this time much to Sam's amusement, "You have the week off, I expect you to be well rested when you return Monday morning and ready to continue your duties."

"Yes, Sir."

"And Jones?"

"_Yes_, Mr. President?"

"I still don't like you." He said with a serious face almost failing to hold his smile,

Mercedes grinned, "I still don't like you either, Sir."

* * *

><p>Sam sat in his room wide awake, the moonlight coming from his balcony window relaxed him but only a little as he thought about the events of the past days, he was already tired of the questions that concerned him when thinking about who to trust, and it would only lead him into making horrible mistakes with innocent people much like he had done with Mercedes—but he still wasn't sure—about her, and after that kiss today—he was no longer sure about anything. They had barely kissed for ten seconds, and maybe their lips hadn't even touched, but he felt it, felt her lips against his, could still taste her lip gloss, and he could imagine it—happening again and again—longer, more powerful, more heat and—he needed to stop because there were still people that could turn on him at any moment, and he still wasn't sure if Mercedes should have been taken off the list.<p>

It was all insane—Quinn, Tina, Mike, Puck, Mercedes, and even Santana—they were all more than just associates and deep down he knew that—he _felt_ that. But how many people had _friends_ in Government rather than business partners? How many had true, loyal, hardworking, non-backstabbing friends?

Sam pushed all guilt aside as he sat up in his bed; he remained there for a moment. Mercedes, her lips remained lingering upon his own even though the kiss had taken place hours ago was something he forced out of his head as he turned to the radio on his nightstand. He quickly punched in the correct numbers and didn't give her a chance to speak before he demanded in an angry voice,

"Come to my office and do_ not_ keep me waiting."

An hour later, Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder as she sat down at her desk, logging onto her computer, she could barely contain her squeal of excitement when she double clicked onto the _Skype_ icon and saw that_ he_ was online,

She purred seductively into the camera as soon as his face appeared on screen, "Hello handsome,"

"Evening," he smirked, "I trust you have good news,"

"Oh yes, everything is going exactly how you said it would—he agreed to have me run the check on her tonight—and even a few others that he has his suspicions of, everything is falling into place and she'll be out of our hair."

"Good," he praised, "He's been giving her too much power—she's merely an assistant," he chuckled shaking his head, "And that's all she should be—if that, and he must have taken quite a liking to her to allow any of this—she's obviously messing with his head. But once she is gone, all of these silly events will stop—and we'll slowly begin working on the others. President Evans is going to be so torn about who to trust and turn too—he won't even _think_ about running for the next election, from there I'll step in."

Rachel giggled delightfully, "You'll be the greatest President this country has ever seen."

"And you'll be right beside me as First Lady, correct?"

"Oh, yes." She grinned.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello! A few things, this chapter was inspired by the song Art of Love by Guy Sebastian ft. Jordin Sparks. <strong>

**I'm saying sorry in advance cos this won't always go to plan  
>Though we don't mean to take our love for granted<br>It's in our nature to forget what matters**

**Which is a part of the song. **

**And I'm sorry to those of you who thought Mercedes was pregnant, she's not but thank you for your thoughts!**

**I guess that's it, so just leave your reviews, questions, and suggestions! **

**Also excuse the mistakes please. **


	12. Ordinary People

**I don't own anything.**

* * *

><p>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.<p>

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.

* * *

><p>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?<p>

"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.

* * *

><p>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,<p>

"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.

* * *

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

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."

* * *

><p>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,<p>

"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.

* * *

><p><strong>I know it's been some time...<strong>

**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. **


End file.

Glee, Romance