AN: I will finish it. AN

Something was on the tv. Visions of late night entertainment quietly flickering across the screen. Black strips embolden with bright white letters slicing off the lower half of the screen. Reese cocked her head at the rapid succession of words. Nothing really registered as anything more than an acknowledgment of existence, as well as the minor note that clearly the show was unwatchable with subtitles on. A deep-seated sigh rattled through her chest, as she continued to stare blankly at the repetitive colors on the screen. Shapes. Humans. Plot. Dramatic pauses to rival that of the Shatner. Who cared. A swollen burning sensation began to build behind her eyes.

"Miss?"

Reese's head turned from the black box perched upon the wall. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you ok?" Blurry pastel blues and yellows smeared together to form a mussed haired middle aged woman in a frilled off white apron.

"Um," Reese rubbed at the spot between her eyebrows. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, I've been standing here for a few minutes, and you haven't blinked in that time." The stiff pain in her eyes began to make sense. Reese blinked rapidly, as though the extra blinks would make up for the Clockwork Orange impression. Really it just made her eyes water.

"Sorry, I just heard some bad news."

"Oh?"

Reese stared up at the woman. A somewhat dulled nameplate sat neatly above the breast pocket of her shirt.

Mercy.

Well then.

"My mother died 3 years ago. I just found out a few hours ago." Mercy the waitress sat down across the table from her, blue eyes filled to the brim with an arguably sincere sympathy.

"I'm sorry, sweetie."

"I'm not." Reese bit her lip at the crass admission. "I mean. I am, but I'm not..." She looked from the cold cup of coffee in front of her to the woman who was reaching out to her, and surprisingly the honesty of her words didn't seem to repel the older woman.

"You don't know me, but the compassion you are showing me now is more than I ever got from her. And I don't know how to feel. She was my mother. She gave me life. Part of me loves her, and is sad that she's gone."

Mercy nodded slowly, "But it's hard to mourn someone who never showed you love or accepted love from you."

Reese nodded, "Yeah. She… I don't really know what to say. I lost her a long time ago, and I feel like I've already grieved. I don't really have tears left at this point. I want to say that it doesn't make me horrible, but I can't help feeling horrible."

"Did you hate her?"

A pregnant pause sat heavily in the air between the two women. Hate was such a strong word. Hate fueled violence and cruelty. Hate slowly strangled everyone within reach. Hate was the exact opposite feeling a daughter should have for her mother. She'd never said she'd hated her mother, but she couldn't help all the times she thought that she did.

"No," Reese answered softly. "I didn't hate her. I hated him, but not her. The only true feeling I had with her was regret." An invisible weight struck her chest and sunk low into her belly. Regret was the only feeling she'd ever feel when she thought of her mother now. She clasped her hands together tightly on the table, as though she had to hold herself together for fear of bursting apart. Staring down at her hands the years that had passed flew through her mind.

"I spent so much time," Reese whispered to her hands. "working towards getting out of here. Years living off of nothing, degrading myself, so that I could save up to leave. Put this place, the fear, and the memories behind me. But really, I could have left sooner. I didn't have to stay here."

Mercy's softly worn hand crept into view and laid gently on her own white knuckled fingers. "There is no shame in hope. You hoped things could be fixed. You hoped she'd be the mother you needed. Life floats across hopes and dreams. You were allowed to hope, sweetie."

She sniffed quietly. Despite her earlier admission, a tear managed to trickle down her cheek. The hand above hers squeezed lightly.

"But."

Reese looked up to see the woman staring encouragingly at her.

"Maybe it's a sign to move on." Reese took in Mercy the waitress/Mercy the psychologist/Mercy the good Samaritan. Her hair was a such a pale blonde that it almost hid the sparse streaks of white prematurely decorating her temples. Shallow curved lines hovered by the corners of her mouth. Her uniform was dulled no doubt by the years of use and washings, but it was clean. The faint scent of an ocean breeze wafted from her hand through the stench of grease. Nothing about this woman carried an air of sardonic scorn. No undertone of greedy intentions. She was just a woman reaching out to another woman in her hour of emotional need.

"Yes," Reese nodded slowly. The regret in her stomach being quietly devoured by a new sense of purpose. "It's time to go."

AN: Sorry if it's rough. I'm getting back into the swing of things. AN.