DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to the Glee franchise and it's creators, but this story is all mine.

Author's Note: "You must find your way through darkness, before you can live in light." The TroubleTones are aptly named. You've been warned.

January 22, 2012 (Sunday)

The Sheraton Hotel

New York City, New York

4:11AM

Living in New York City wasn't at all what it was cracked up to be.

Sometimes, Mercedes even wondered how she ended up in this city full of tall buildings surrounded by smog, blinding billboard signs that shined through her curtains at night, and people with suffocating superiority complexes. It was bad enough living in an overrun and overly praised city as a woman, but living in a city like this as one of the twelve thousand ambitious women of color—well, life could be difficult.

And most days it didn't feel like her dream was worth the effort, because that's all it was; a dream.

In the three years she'd been in this city—she'd gotten nowhere. Some would count scoring a prestigious internship at one of the top design studios in the nation as something worthwhile, but having to pull two all-nighters a week just to have time for it had a way of removing the glamour of the situation.

Her dream was an image she'd created in her head as a child. The years when her days were full of laughter and annoying pranks from her brothers and lectures from her mother about getting into the shortbread cookies again.

Back then, life had been a dream—simple, fun, and Mercedes hadn't appreciated it like she should have.

Now that she was stuck in an itchy uniform and pushing a cart across a carpeted floor, she hated how tightly she'd held onto her dream. Why couldn't she have found a new dream? In the early days of her college career—when she had enough time to change things around and still be successful. There were moments when it felt like she'd wasted all of her talent on something so hopeless, but Mercedes knew quite well that there was nothing else left to fight for.

The reminder that a seemingly pointless dream was all she had seemed biting and cruel in the empty hallway, but she knew a long time ago that the bitterness would always be there.

It was moments like these that she loathed herself—moments of doubt, displeasure and negativity, and though she knew that hating herself wasn't exactly making the situation better—it wasn't easy to stop after every forward step in her life had caused more exhaustion than joy.

All she could do was keep the faith—despite the shambles and fractures that her faith had from years of misery. It was all she had—her dream, her faith, and herself.

Mercedes closed her eyes, sucking in a fortifying breath before she opened them to check her roster. She was scheduled to clean room 708 this morning, and it was the last thing she felt like doing. Usually, Mercedes was slotted to clean the lower four floors during the early bird shift, but with Alberta out with the flu—she had no choice but to take over the territory. At least she'd make overtime.

Trudging forward, Mercedes pushed her cart of cleaning supplies idly down the hall just daydreaming about being in her bed, sleeping. Though she knew that a pile of homework awaited her as soon as she stepped foot in her apartment.

The problem with being a full-time student, having an internship and working three jobs was that she never had any free tim—

Mercedes was pulled from her thoughts when she heard something that sounded like a loud thud.

Now, she wasn't a paranoid person by nature, but she sure as hell wasn't stupid either. She'd lived in New York City for far too long to not have a sharp sense of danger. She could smell a mugging a mile away and she avoided alleys like the plague.

Her money was always tucked into a small pocket on the in seam of her jacket. She never carried a purse anywhere and she always switched her heels out for a pair of running shoes before she left work. Mercedes had been witness to a murder before. She could still remember the woman's screams and how the blind panic had frozen her behind a bush.

She'd cried for days after that had happened and she could barely get the words out of her mouth to the police. Mercedes had never been the same—guarded and cold were two words that seemed fitting. She hated what fear had done to her.

She froze in the middle of the hallway—going completely silent and she focused her hearing. She could vaguely hear something that sounded like crying, before she heard a man yelling.

"—you're such a little bitch! I loved you and then you do this to me—"

Hands gripping the handles of her cart, Mercedes waited. She might be a woman, but she'd be damned if she let anyone slap some innocent girl around. She'd let fear stop her from helping two years ago, but it wasn't about to stop her this time.

But she could lose her job if this was just some one-off situation.

What if it was some kinky bondage shit?

Her face twisted into a grimace as she fully considered that possibility. She'd been working in housekeeping for almost two years now, and she'd both seen and heard some fucking weird-ass stuff.

Someone had even asked to borrow her uniform once and Mercedes had side-eyed the hell out of that man. Don't even get her started on the whole morning after bullshit when she had to clean the rooms. Mercedes had found everything from butt plugs and dildos to chains and a restraining jacket.

The staff had a running bet on who could find the freakiest stuff. So far, Alice was winning with a barbed dildo. Yeah, she didn't know what the hell that was all about either.

Once, Mercedes had walked in on a couple having sex in the closet of their room—yeah, the closet when there was a giant bed about five feet away.

She'd reached her assigned room and decided to ignore it. As she swiped her card, Mercedes heard another sound—but this one was clearly the sound of skin on skin and it didn't sound friendly or sexual. Biting her lip, Mercedes opened the door to her room and was about to walk inside when there was a legitimate scream from down the hall.

That scream of pain threw her two years into the past—to an alleyway where a ring of guys surrounded a young blonde woman and her screams tore at Mercedes' eardrums. Her stomach dropped. She felt dizzy at the sudden rush of apprehension and her heart was pounding erratically. Palms sweating and chest heaving, Mercedes leaned against the cracked door.

She couldn't just ignore this.

Mind fogged with everything but common sense, she propelled herself forward and pushed her cart down the hallway at a run. She couldn't think—hell she could barely breathe, but this couldn't happen again.

"No more death," she whispered, tears clogging her throat, "Please Lord, no more."

All the pain and hurt and heartache that she'd felt was stirring in her soul and she felt like she couldn't cry, but she couldn't stop—she couldn't let another unnamed girl be hurt.

As she got closer, she could hear the sounds of crying, no, not crying—but heart-wrenching sobs that stripped a person of their voice the next day. Her heart clawing its way into her throat and before she knew what she was doing, she'd banged on the door.

"Housekeeping!" she shouted and the yelling from inside went silent. The silence was entirely more frightening than the violence, because that meant that she could be too late. No, God, please, no.

"We're busy!" a gruff voice responded from behind the door.

Mercedes desperately tried to calm her breathing. She couldn't let him know that she'd heard anything or something worse might happen. Throat tight with anxiety and fear, she said, "Uh, sorry. Wrong room."

There was no response, but if she listened hard enough, she could hear muffled sobs from behind the door. Every survival instinct in her body was screaming at her to turn around and run away, but her soul was chained to that doorway. She couldn't just leave someone behind.

She pushed her cart forward with shaking hands and kept her hearing focused on the room. She hurried towards the next room and fiddled with the lock—making a lot of noise so he'd hear her.

She opened the room door and then let it slide closed with a loud snap. That was when his voice returned.

"—you need to shut the hell up, little girl—"

"—please, just let me go—"

It was the first time Mercedes heard the girl's voice outside of a scream and the sheer terror in her tone made her insides freeze. She was begging.

That was it for Mercedes. She quietly pulled her broom stick from the cart and the spray bottle of Clorox. Tiptoeing down the hall, she stopped mid-way at the sudden hush that fell over the room. Her heart was thumping loudly—blood rushing through her ears and then—"Someone help me—!"

The shrill scream was accompanied by sounds of a struggle and Mercedes flew into action. She raced back down the hallway and skid to a stop in front of the door as someone from farther down the hall burst out of their room.

Hair askew and wearing a frightened expression, the old lady asked, "What's going on?"

Mercedes wondered where the hell she was before now, but she didn't have time to address self-absorbed people.

"Call the police!" she yelled back as she stabbed her keycard into the lock, but she did it too hard and it wouldn't work. The woman paled before she whipped out her cell phone and started dialing 9-1-1. Mercedes heard her connect with an operator and then her attention was pulled away. There was another muffled scream from behind the door, before a loud curse was heard.

"How dare you bite me you little bitch?"

"Help me!"

There was a hard collision against the back of the door that startled a scream out of Mercedes as she leapt backwards. It was obvious that someone was grappling over the handle because there was scratching at the door. With a scream, there was another thud and the sound of someone being dragged—literally kicking and screaming.

Mercedes threw herself forward against the door and slid the keycard into the slot. It had barely turned green when she shoved the handle down and kicked the door open. She charged into the room and only got a glimpse of a half-shocked, half-enraged male face before she swung her broom like a baseball bat. There was a sickening crack as it made impact against the side of the man's face.

He let out a roar of pain as his body crashed sideways into the television and he toppled over the side of the entertainment center. The girl was stretched across the floor, her clothes a mess of blood and her bronze-colored hair clung to her face.

Mercedes dropped her Clorox bottle and knelt down beside the crying girl.

"Lord Jesus," she muttered under her breath as she gently touched the girl's shoulders. Red-rimmed brown eyes met hers and the look of terror on the girl's face would be burned into her brain forever. "Come on, we have to get out of her—"

The entire right side of Mercedes' face exploded with pain and she felt herself roll backwards into the entryway. Blinded by agony, she forced her disorientation away and her heart nearly stopped when she saw the guy stalking towards her—his head dripping blood.

She was looking for something—anything that she could use to defend herself when a small figure leapt onto the man's back and started beating and biting anywhere she could reach. The girl looked possessed, but Mercedes didn't waste time being surprised. She rolled to the side when the man stumbled and then she army-crawled her ass to her broomstick.

She saw the girl get thrown into the wall—a loud crash echoing in her ears—before she could reach it and she screamed when her ankle was grabbed. Mercedes reached out and grabbed the only thing she could reach—her Clorox bottle and she used her hands to flip her body over. She sprayed the man's face, slamming her eyes shut just in case and she felt vindictive pleasure when she heard him scream.

Using the distraction, she kicked him in the groin and then scrambled away on hands and knees. She'd never stood upright so quickly in her life. Turning to face her attacker, Mercedes picked up the broom and she stepped into her swing. Her broom splintered with the force that it slammed against his skull.

The man went down like a box of rocks—splaying out on the bed beside him and Mercedes stood there, chest heaving; her broom ready to attack again if he tried to resume the fight.

But he was down for the count.

She dropped her stance; feeling all of the adrenaline leave her body. Her legs wobbled and she slid to the floor—gasping for air, heart pounding and feeling light-headed. She couldn't believe what she had done.

Oh shit, what if she'd killed him?

Mercedes' eyes snapped to the man's chest—and she groaned at the pain she felt despite the relief that nearly overcame her at the sight of his moving chest. She'd never been sucker-punched before and she had no desire to repeat the experience.

Her face was puffy already and her forehead was bleeding.

That was when Mercedes remembered the girl. Her pain momentarily forgotten, she turned her gaze to the corner of the room where the girl had been thrown and was agonized to see the slumped form laying against the wall.

Still clutching the handle of her broom, Mercedes crawled over to the girl—tears in her eyes. Had she been too late to save her? She stopped not a foot away from the girl and didn't know what to do next.

Her clothes were splattered with blood—drying clumps of it in her straight bronze hair. Her fingernails were broken and bleeding and there were hand shaped bruises everywhere. The tears were an involuntary reaction and she nearly choked on her sob.

Why would anyone do this to another person?

Hands trembling, she softly brushed strands of hair out of the girl's face until she could see her features—the swelling of her eyes, the bloody nose and the split lip told a story that Mercedes couldn't stand to interpret.

The purpling bruises on the girl's neck were enough, but seeing the fading ones on her collarbone beneath her ripped shirt was enough to tear Mercedes' heart into pieces. She closed her eyes, bowed her head and prayed.

She didn't even know what she prayed for—was it the girl? The guy who'd done this to her? Or for her heart which she was sure would never recover—

Mercedes—vision blurred by her heartache—glanced at the girl's face again and recoiled with a gasp when two watery brown eyes stared back at her. The girl was alive—or at least her body was.

"I'm not going to leave you alone," Mercedes blurted. She didn't have a clue as to what to say, but her words were clearly the right thing because the girl started crying immediately. That was when Mercedes really noticed how small she was.

She was nothing but a baby—she couldn't be much older than eighteen and already her innocence had been stolen.

"I'm Mercedes," she whispered as she moved close to the girl. She wasn't surprised when the girl practically buried herself into Mercedes' body. Gingerly, she wrapped her into a hug as shuddering sobs wracked the girl's small frame. "What's your name?"

It took awhile for the girl to choke out words through her tears, but Mercedes clearly heard her say, "Sugar."

Review! And tell me what you think! Until next time. :D