Thank you for your continued support. And thank you to monni2215 and Pretty Little M.

I meant to post this with the prologue, but we're currently under a lightning and thunderstorm...and the power was knocked out for a few moments.

Anyway, here it is.

Standard disclaimer.

Put the chocolate in the bag, and no one gets hurt...

The lightning flashed bright, momentarily blinding Mercedes Jones, as she ran through the dark rainy night from her car, to the front door of the diner.

'One Mississippi.'

'Two Mississippi.'

On the the third Mississippi, thunder boomed and shook the ground and a vicious wind, nearly blew her off her feet.

She'd forgotten her umbrella that morning, which was just as well, or she would've taken off like Mary Poppins.

A second, brighter bolt of lightning, sent jagged light across the sky, and she gasped, as everything momentarily lit up like day...the pier behind the diner, the churning ocean, and the menacing sky.

Seconds later, all went dark again, and she burst breathlessly into the Eat Me Café, feeling like the hounds of hell, were on her very tired heels.

Except, she wasn't wearing heels...she was in fake Uggs.

Lucky Harbor tended to roll up its sidewalks after ten o'clock, and tonight was no exception.

The place was deserted, except, for a lone customer at the counter, and the waitress behind it.

Said waitress, was one of Mercedes' closest friends.

Smartass, cynical Santana Lopez, whose fairly tall, leggy body, was reminiscent of a slender Xena, the warrior princess.

This was convenient, since she had a kick-ass 'tude to life in general.

Her dark hair was a little tousled as always, and her even darker eyes, showed amusement at Mercedes' wild entrance.

"Hey," Mercedes said, fighting the wind to close the door behind her.

"Looking a little spooked," Santana said, wiping down the counter. "You reading Stephen King on the slow shifts again, Nurse Nightingale?"

Mercedes drew a deep, shuddery breath and shook off the icy rain the best she could.

Her day had started a million years ago, at the crack of dawn, when she'd left her house in her usual perpetual rush...without a jacket.

One incredibly long ER shift and seventeen hours later, she was still in her scrubs, with only a thin sweater over the top...everything now sticking to her, like a second skin.

She did not resemble a warrior princess. She resembled, a drowned lady-in-waiting.

"No Stephen," she said. "I had to give him up. Last month's reread of The Shining wrecked me."

Santana nodded.

"Emergency Dispatch, tired of taking your 'there's a shadow outside my window' calls?"

"Hey, that was one time." Giving up squeezing the water out of her hair, Mercedes ignored her knowing snicker. "And for your information, there really was a man outside my window."

"Yeah. Seventy-year-old Mr. Wollenski, who'd gotten turned around, on his walk around the block."

This was unfortunately true. And while Mercedes knew that Mr. Wollenski was a very nice man, he really did look a lot like Jack Nicholson had, in The Shining.

"That could have been a very bad situation," she said.

Santana shook her head, as she filled napkin dispensers.

"You live on Senior Drive. Your biggest 'situation' is if, Dial-A-Ride doesn't show up in time to pick everyone up, to take them to Bingo Night."

Also true.

Mercedes' tiny ranch house, was indeed surrounded by other tiny ranch houses, filled with mostly seniors.

But it wasn't that bad. They were a sweet bunch and always had a coffee cake to share. Or a story about a various ailment or two...or two hundred.

Mercedes had inherited her house from her grandma, complete with a mortgage, that she'd nearly had to give up her firstborn for...if she had a first born.

But for that, she'd like to be married, and to be married, she'd have to have a Mr. Right.

Except, she'd been dumped by her last two Mr. Rights.

Wind and something heavy, lashed at the windows of the diner. Mercedes looked out and couldn't believe it. It was snowing.

'Thundersnow.'

"Wow, the temp must have just dropped. That came on fast."

"It's spring," Santana said in disgust. "Why's it frigging snowing in spring? I've changed my winter tires already."

The lone customer at the counter turned and eyed the view.

"Crap! I don't have winter tires either."

She looked to be in her mid-twenties and spoke with clipped vowels, that said northeast.

If Santana was Xena, and Mercedes the lady-in-waiting, then, she was Blonde Barbie's younger, prettier, far more natural sister.

"I'm in a 1972 VW Bug," she said.

As Mercedes' own tires were threadbare, she gnawed on her lower lip and looked out the window. Maybe if she left immediately, she'd be okay.

"We should wait it out," Santana suggested. "It can't possibly last."

Mercedes knew better, and it was her own fault. She'd been ignoring the forecast ever since last week, when the weather guy had promised ninety-degree temps.

And the day hadn't gotten above fifty, leaving her to spend a very long day, frozen in the ER.

Her nipples still hadn't forgiven her.

"I don't have time to wait it out," Mercedes said. She had a date with eight solid hours of sleep.

The VW driver was in a flimsy summer-weight skirt and two thin camisoles, layered over each other.

So Mercedes hadn't been the only one caught by surprise. Though the woman didn't look too concerned, as she worked her way through a big, fat brownie, that made her mouth water.

"Sorry," Santana said, reading her mind. "That was the last one."

"Just as well," Mercedes muttered. She wasn't here for herself anyway. Dead on her feet, she'd only stopped, as a favor for her mother. "I just need to pick up Jace's cake."

Jace was her baby brother and turning twenty-four tomorrow. The last thing he wanted, was a family party, but work was slow for him at the welding shop, and flying to Vegas with his friends, hadn't panned out, since he had no money.

So their mother had gotten involved and tasked Mercedes with bringing a cake. Actually, she had been tasked with making a cake, but she had a hard time not burning water, so she was cheating.

"Please tell me, that no one from my crazy family has seen the cake, so I can pretend I made it."

Santana tsked.

"The good girl of Lucky Harbor, lying to her mother. Shame on you."

This was the ongoing town joke, 'good girl' Mercedes.

Okay, fine, so in all fairness, she played the part. But she had her reasons...good ones...not that she wanted to go there now. Or ever.

"Yeah, yeah. Hand it over. I have a date."

"You do not," Santana said. "I'd have heard about it if you did."

"It's a secret date."

Santana laughed, because, yeah, that had been a bit of a stretch. Lucky Harbor was a wonderful, small town, where people cared about each other. You could leave a pot of gold in your backseat, and it wouldn't get stolen.

But there were no such things as secrets.

"I do have a date...with my own bed," Mercedes admitted. "Happy?"

Santana wisely kept, whatever smart-ass remark she had to herself and turned to the kitchen, to go get the birthday cake.

As she did, lightning flashed, followed immediately by a thundering boom. Then the wind howled, and the entire building shuddered, caught in the throes.

It seemed to go on and on, and the three women scooted as close as they could to each other, with Santana still on the other side of the counter.

"Suddenly I can't stop thinking about The Shining," the blonde murmured.

"No worries," Santana said. "The whole horror flick thing, rarely happens here in Mayberry, Lucky Harbor."

They all let out a weak laugh, which died, when an ear-splitting crack sounded, followed immediately by shattering glass, as both the front window and door blew in.

In the shocking silence, a fallen tree limb waved obscenely at them, through the new opening.

Mercedes grabbed the woman next to her and scurried behind the counter to join Santana.

"Just in case more windows go," she managed. "We're safest right here, away from flying glass."

Santana swallowed audibly.

"I'll never laugh at you about Mr. Wollenski again."

"I'd like that in writing," Mercedes said, as she rose up on her knees, and took a peek over the counter, at the tree now blocking the front door.

"I can't reach my brownie from here," Blondie said shakily. "I really need my brownie."

"What we need," Santana said, "Is to blow this Popsicle stand."

Mercedes shook her head.

"It's coming down too hard and fast now. It's not safe to leave. And we should call someone about the downed tree."

Blondie pulled out her cell phone and eyed her screen.

"I forgot I'm in Podunk. No reception in half the town." She grimaced. "Sorry. I just got here today. I'm sure Lucky Harbor is a very nice Podunk."

"It has its moments." Mercedes slapped her pockets for her own cell, before remembering.

'Crap!'

"My phone's in the car."

"Mine's dead," Santana said. "But we have a landline in the kitchen, as long as we still have electricity."

Just then the lights flickered and went out.

Mercedes' stomach hit her toes.

"You had to say it," she said to Santana.

Blondie rustled around for a moment, and then a blue glow appeared.

"It's a cigarette lighter app," she said, holding up her phone, and the faux flame flickered over the screen, like a real Bic lighter. "Only problem, it drains my battery really fast, so I'll keep it off, until we have an emergency."

She hit the home button and everything went really, really dark.

Another hard gust of wind, sent more of the shattered window tinkling to the floor, and the Bic lighter immediately came back on.

"Emergency," Blondie said, as the three of them huddled together.

"Stupid cake," Mercedes said.

"Stupid storm," Santana said.

"Stupid life," Blondie said.

Pale, she looked at them.

"Now would be a great time, for one of you to tell me, that you have a big, strong guy who's going to come looking for you."

"Yeah, not likely," Santana said. "What's your name?"

"Quinn Fabray."

"Well, Quinn, you're new to Lucky Harbor, so let me fill you in. There are lots of big, strong guys in town. But I do my own heavy lifting."

Quinn and Mercedes, both took in Santana's short Army camo cargo skirt and her shit-kicking boots, topped with a snug tee, that revealed tanned, toned arms.

The entire sexy-tough ensemble, was topped by an incongruous Eat Me pink apron, which Santana had put her own spin to, by using red duct tape, to fashion a circle around the Eat Me logo, complete with a line through it.

"I can believe that about you," Quinn said to her.

"My name's Santana." She tossed her chin toward Mercedes. "And that's Mercedes, my polar opposite and the town's very own good girl."

"Stop," Mercedes said, tired of hearing 'good' and 'girl' in the same sentence, as it pertained to her.

But of course Santana didn't stop.

"If there's an old lady to help across the street, or a kid with a skinned knee, needing a Band-Aid and a kiss," she said, "Or a big, strong man, looking for a sweet, warm damsel to talk to, it's Mercedes to the rescue."

"So where is he then?" Quinn asked. "Her big, strong man?"

Santana shrugged.

"Ask her."

Mercedes grimaced and admitted the truth.

"As it turns out, I'm not so good at keeping any Mr. Rights."

"So date a Mr. Wrong," Santana said.

"Shh, you."

Not wanting to discuss her love life...or lack thereof...Mercedes rose up on her knees, to take another peek over the counter and outside, in the hopes the snow had lightened up.

It hadn't.

Gusts were blowing the heavy snow sideways, hitting the remaining windows and flying in through the ones that had broken.

She craned her neck and looked behind her into the kitchen. If she went out the back door, she'd have to go around the whole building to get to her car and her phone.

In the dark.

But it was the best way.

She got to her feet, just as the two windows over the kitchen sink shattered with a suddenness, that caused her heart to stop.

Quinn's Bic lighter came back on.

"Holy shit!" she gasped, and holding onto each other, they all stared at the offending tree branch, waving at them from the newest opening.

"Sue's going to blow a gasket," Santana said.

Sue was the owner of the diner. She was fifty-something, grumpy on the best of days, and hated spending a single dime of her hard-earned money, on anything other than her online poker habit.

The temperature in the kitchen dropped, as cold wind and snow blew in.

"Did I hear someone say cake?" Quinn asked, in a wobbly voice.

They did Rock-Paper-Scissors and Santana lost, so she had to crawl to the refrigerator to retrieve the cake.

"You okay with this?" she asked Mercedes, handing out forks.

Mercedes looked at the cake. About a month ago, her scrubs felt as though they were getting tight, so she'd given up chocolate.

But sometimes, there had to be exceptions.

"This is a cake emergency. Jace will live."

So instead of trying to get outside, and then on to the bad roads in the thundersnow, they all dug into the cake.

And there in the pitch black night, unnerved by the storm, but bolstered by sugar and chocolate, they talked.

Quinn told them, that when the economy had taken a nosedive, her hot career, as an investment banker, had vanished, along with her condo, her credit cards, and her stock portfolio.

There'd been a glimmer of a job possibility in Seattle, so she'd traveled across the country for it.

But when she'd gotten there, she found out, the job involved sleeping with the sleazeball company president. So she'd told him to stuff it, and now, she was thinking about, maybe hitting Los Angeles.

Tired, she'd stopped in Lucky Harbor earlier today, and after finding a coupon for the local B&B, she was going to stay for a few days and regroup.

"Or, until I run out of money and end up on the street," she said, clearly trying to sound chipper about her limited options.

Mercedes reached out for her hand and squeezed it.

"You'll find something. I know it."

"I hope you're right." Quinn let out a long, shaky breath. "Sorry to dump on you. Guess I've been holding on to that, all by myself for too long, and it just burst out of me."

"Don't be sorry." Santana licked frosting off her finger. "That's what dark, stormy nights are for. Confessions."

"Well, I'd feel better if you guys had one as well."

Mercedes wasn't big on confessions, so she glanced at Santana.

"Don't look at me," she said. "Mine isn't anything special."

Quinn leaned in expectantly.

"I'd love to hear it anyway."

Santana shrugged, looking as reluctant as Mercedes felt.

"It's just your average, run-of-the-mill riches-to-rags story."

"What?" Mercedes asked, surprised, her fork stopping in mid-air.

Santana had been in town for months now, and although she wasn't shy, she was extremely private. She never talked about her past.

"Well, rags to riches to rags, would be a better way of putting it," she corrected.

"Tell us," Quinn said, reaching for another piece of cake.

"Okay, but it's one big bad cliché. Trailer trash girl's mother, marries rich guy. Trailer trash girl, pisses new step-daddy off, gets rudely ousted out of her house at age sixteen, and disinherited from any trust fund.

Broke, with no skills whatsoever, she hitches her way across the country, hooking up with the wrong people and then more wrong people, until it comes down to two choices...straighten up or die. She decides straightening up is the better option and ends up in Lucky Harbor, because, her grandma spent one summer here, a million years ago and it changed her life."

Heart squeezing, Mercedes reached for Santana's hand, too.

"Oh, San."

"See?" Santana said to Quinn "The town sweetheart. She can't help herself."

"I can so," Mercedes said. But that was a lie. She liked to help people...which made Santana right...she really couldn't help herself.

"And don't think we didn't notice, that you avoided sharing any of your vulnerability with the class," Santana said.

"Maybe later," Mercedes replied, licking her fork. 'Or never.'

She shared just about every part of herself all the time. It was her work, and also her nature. So she held back, because, she had to have something that was hers alone.

"I'm having another piece," she declared.

"Denial is her BFF," Santana told Quinn, as Mercedes cut off a second hunk of cake. "I'd guess, that it has something to do with her notoriously wild and crazy siblings and being the only sane one in her family. She doesn't think that she deserves to be happy, because, that chocolate seems to be the substitute for something."

"Thanks, Dr. Phil," Mercedes said. But it was uncomfortably close to the truth.

Her family was wild and crazy, and she worked hard at keeping them together. And she did have a hard time, with letting herself be totally happy. It's been that way, ever since her sister Kamara's death.

Mercedes shivered.

"Is there a lost-and-found box around somewhere, with extra jackets or something?"

"Nope. Sue sells everything on eBay." Santana set her fork down and leaned back. "Look at us, sitting here stuffing ourselves with birthday cake, because, we have no better options on a Friday night."

"Hey, I have options," Quinn said. "There's just a big, fat, mean storm, blocking our exit strategies."

Santana gave her a droll look and she sagged.

"Okay, I don't have shit."

They both looked at Mercedes, and she sighed.

"Fine. I'm stalled too. I'm more than stalled, okay? I've got the equivalent of a dead battery, punctured tires, no gas, and no roadside assistance service. How's that for a confession?"

Quinn and Santana laughed softly, their exhales, little clouds of condensation, as they huddled close, trying to share body heat.

"You know," Santana said.

"If we live through this, I'm going to..."

"Hey." Mercedes straightened up in concern. "Of course we're going to live. Soon as the snow lets up, we'll push some branches out of the way and head out to my car and call for help, and..."

"Jeez," Santana said, annoyed. "Way to ruin my dramatic moment."

"Sorry. Do continue."

"Thank you. If we live," Santana repeated with mock gravity, "I'm going to keep a cake just like this in the freezer, just for us. And also..."

She shifted and when she spoke this time, her voice was softer.

"...I'd like to make improvements to my life...like living it, instead of letting it live me...growing roots and making real friends, because, I suck at that."

Mercedes squeezed her hand tight in hers.

"I'm a real friend," she whispered. "Especially, if you mean it about the cake."

Santana's mouth curved into a small smile.

"If we live," Quinn said. "I'm going to find more than a job. I want to stop chasing my own tail and go after some happiness for a change, instead of waiting for it to find me. I've waited long enough."

Once again, both Santana and Quinn looked expectantly at Mercedes, who blew out a sigh.

She knew what she wanted for herself, but it was complicated.

She wanted to let loose, do whatever she wanted, and stop worrying about being the glue at work, in her family, and for everyone.

Unable to say that, she wracked her brain and came up with something else.

"There's this big charity event, I'm organizing for the hospital next weekend...a formal dinner and auction. And I'm the only nurse on my floor without a date. If we live, a date would be really great."

"Well, if you're wishing, wish big," Santana said. "Wish for a little nookie too."

Quinn nodded her approval.

"Nookie," she murmured fondly. "Oh how I miss nookie."

"Nookie?" Mercedes repeated.

"Hot sex," Quinn translated.

And Santana nodded.

"And since you've already said Mr. Right never works out for you, you should get a Mr. Wrong."

"Sure," Mercedes said, secure in the knowledge, that one...there were no Mr. Wrongs anywhere close by, and two...even if there is, he wouldn't be interested in her.

Santana pulled her order pad from her apron pocket.

"You know what? I'm making you a list of some possible candidates. Since this is the only type of guy I know, it's right up my alley. Off the top of my head, I can think of two...Dr. Scott Ames from the hospital, and Andrews, the guy who runs the hardware store. I'm sure there's plenty of others. But promise me, that if a Mr. Wrong crosses your path, you're going for him. As long as he isn't a felon," she added responsibly.

'Good to know there are some boundaries,' Mercedes thought.

Santana thrust out her pinkie, for what she assumed, was to be a solemn pinkie swear.

With a sigh, Mercedes wrapped her littlest finger around Santana's, and said,

"I promise..." She broke off, when a thump sounded on one of the walls out front.

Each of the women went stock still, staring at each other.

"That wasn't a branch," Mercedes whispered. "That sounded like a fist."

"Could have been a rock," Quinn, the eternal optimist, said.

They all nodded, but not one of them believed it was a rock.

A bad feeling came over Mercedes. It was the same one she got sometimes in the ER, right before they got an incoming.

"May I?" Mercedes asked Quinn, gesturing to the smart phone.

Quinn handed it over and Mercedes rose to her knees and used the lighter app to look over the edge of the counter.

It wasn't good.

The opened doorway had become blocked by a snow drift.

It really was incredible for this late in the year, but big, fat, round snowflakes, the size of dinner plates, were falling from the sky, piling up quickly.

The thump came again, and through the vicious wind, Mercedes thought she also heard a moan...a pained moan.

She stood.

"Maybe someone's trying to get inside," she said. "Maybe they're hurt."

"Chica," Santana said. "Don't."

Quinn grabbed Mercedes' hand.

"It's too dangerous out there right now."

"Well, I can't just ignore it."

Tugging free, Mercedes wrapped her arms around herself and moved towards the opening. Someone was in trouble, and she was a sucker for that.

It was the eternal middle child syndrome and the nurse's curse.

Glass crunched beneath her feet, and she shivered, as snow blasted her in the face.

Amazingly, the aluminum frame of the front door, had withstood the impact, when the glass had shattered.

Shoving aside the thick branch, Mercedes, once again, held the phone out in front of her, using it to peer out into the dark.

Nothing but snow.

"Hello?" she called, taking a step outside, onto the concrete stoop. "Is anyone..."

Suddenly, a hand wrapped around her ankle, and she broke off with a startled scream, falling into the night.

Stay safe!