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A New Lease on Life	By : Ghost-of-a-Chance Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 3157 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, any of its characters or devices, or any songs/books/movies referenced. No money is made from this story. I DO own any & all OCs included in the story...and a Woozle.

Chapter List
- 50
- 51
- 52
Precautions: possible trigger for abuse, a death by vehicular accident. (Contains flashback to the day of Amber's funeral, including Mercy's death though it's not graphic.) This chapter includes Mercy's dying words at the end of the flashback, similar to the passage of Kimber's dying words at the end of the Raph and Kimber flashback. No translations for that passage - if anyone's confused I'll explain in the forums and share a link.
Suggested Listening: A-Ha "Crying in the rain," Sixx:A.M. "Goodbye My Friends," Elton John "Funeral for a Friend," Linkin Park "What I've Done"

50: The World We Left Behind
November 9th, around 8pm
In her previous life, Amber was torn between two worlds—caught between dreams of a love she couldn't hold and a reality that couldn't hold her. Now she has that love in real life, but still her dreams get in the way…dreams of pain, sorrow, grief, and if this last one is anything to go by, death. These dreams couldn't be real—she refused to accept that they could be real! But…but what if, by her denial, she was making it all worse, just as her refusal to admit there was something wrong with her tipped her from just 'traumatized' straight into Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?
Cold water dripping down her bare face, the other-worlder stared into the age-mottled slab mirror over the black-tiled trough sink—beyond the spare bathroom's mirror and the nauseating pink and black tiles surrounding her, and into the world she left behind. Like a man staring into the abyss, she instinctively dropped her eyes to the molded tile ledge over the sink, but before she could more than register the scuffed black tiles, she forced herself to look back up—to take in the face in the mirror.
Since waking up in this world, in this new and different body, she made a habit of examining and handling it as little as possible. As long as she didn't see her reflection, didn't think about it, and didn't consider the many differences between her old body and this one, she could somewhat forget that she was a body-snatcher—that the eyes that stared back were the eyes of a stranger. At first, some of the differences seemed improvements—she was taller, voluptuous but a healthier weight, and the many physical ailments and injuries that kept Amber down in her previous life were nonexistent. There was no chronic pain, no weakness and exhaustion, and more brown in her hair than grey.
Over time, though, Amber had no choice but to accept the truth…this wasn't her body, it was the body of a dead woman who had her own screwed up life and lost it in a tragic accident. Kimber's hair was warmer in color but her eyes were colder—her ass was smaller and her rack was bigger, but her mouth was bigger and her fuse was shorter. Worst of all, the body Amber now reluctantly called her own had a rather explicit history with Raphael…sure, Amber wasn't in the body at the time of Raph and Kimber's one night stand, but the previous occupant screwed Donnie's brother. This new life was more drama-soaked than the most atrocious fanfiction Amber read in her previous life—the only real improvement was that the people around her weren't fucking everything that wouldn't complain on every available surface while using words like pussy, cock, and moist.
"Y'okay?" Amber startled at the address, finally registering the second face in the mirror—Mercy, fresh from the shower with her hair piled up in an old tee shirt. "Ya look like ya seen a ghost." Amber sobered, turning to regard their reflection in the mirror.
"I'm seein' ghosts every day, now, Ross," Amber admitted. "I lookit you, I see a ghost—I look in a mirror, I see another…only times I don't see'em is when I'm lookin' at the guys or the Hardys, or…" She shuddered. "…or dreamin'. When I'm dreaming, I'm the ghost."
"Yeesh. Way to be a downer." Mercy unwound her hair and began digging through the storage bins for her comb, brush, and other weapons of mayhem. "It's a mind-fuck, yeah, but ya gotta get used to it—if ya don't, it'll drive ya crazy. Hell, I've been here longer'n you an' I still get queasy washin' Donna's ass." Tackling Donna Mays' aggravating hair with a grumbled oath, she tossed a sideways glance at the still ruminating brunette. "This ain't about bein' stuck in Kimber's body, is it?" Amber shrugged.
"You know me so well, Blundie." Amber slid down the wall to sit on the cold tile floor.
"I'm yer best friend, Scotch-Bright." Mercy pointed a hair-pick at Amber with a smirk. "I've got enough dirt on you to bury ya—it's my job to notice when yer fallin' an' to shove my boot up yer ass when ya won't pick yerself up. So spill it a'ready." She faltered at the almost-scowl aimed at her.
"No, Mercy," Amber countered, "you spill it. Ever since we met up again, you've told me the same things. My family's fine, Aaron's fine, everything in the world we left behind is fine…but I can't believe you." Mercy flinched, her hands falling away from the damp haystack atop her head. "You've never been able to lie to me or Aaron, not without us seein' right through it…every time you've told me everything's fine, you've been lyin' through yer teeth." Mercy's eyes watered, downcast and defeated. "I'm not angry," Amber amended softening her tone. "I know ya just wanted to help—ya didn't want me worryin' about those we left behind—but I need to know what's going on, I need to know if these dreams…if they're…"
"You've been dreaming about our world?" Mercy abandoned her tools to come sit by her friend.
"Every time I fall asleep, now," Amber admitted. "Mum's fallin' apart, Da's drinkin' too much, Gran'Da's sick and pushin'em away, Bart's tryin' to keep the family together an' losin' hope…an' Aaron's…he's…" She faltered, her throat clenching at the memory of the dream she just woke from. "He's depressed an' drinkin' too much…an' I think he means to do 'imself harm."
Mercy's lungs caught—she turned away from her lifelong friend, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. When she finally found her voice again, it cracked. "You deserve the truth, Amber…I just hope ya can handle that truth…an' that you can forgive me for hidin' it."
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Willis Residence, Glenville, Missouri, Saturday May 21st, 2011
If Mercy Ross had any choice in the matter, she wouldn't be here right now. She wouldn't be standing out on Ma Willis' front stoop in a grey sundress, being barked at by a neurotic Chihuahua; she wouldn't be hammering at the door for Aaron and she certainly wouldn't be driving him back to Willsdale today…not for a funeral. Mercy's wants, unfortunately, weren't enough to change the course of history. Thus, there she was, picking up the last remaining member of their awkward trio to attend the funeral of the one they lost. Any other funeral, Mercy would have worn black; this funeral, however, was for a friend—a friend who always loved grey most of all.
Amber's funeral…Mercy choked at the thought turning watering eyes to the peeling yellow siding along the double-wide. Amber was her best friend—really, her first friend—with her gone Mercy wasn't sure how she'd manage to keep going. Amber always stood up to Mercy's mother—she always stepped in when Clarity went too far and Ellis couldn't bring himself to confront his wife. Amber always sheltered Mercy when she showed up out of the blue and scared out of her wits…the brunette never pried for details or judged her younger friend for going back to that house, time and time again like a whipped dog…just the knowledge that she had somewhere to turn made it easier for Mercy to endure her mother's worst episodes, when even Ellis couldn't bring himself to step in.
Now…now Amber was gone…Ellis was gone…their homes were gone, and Mercy and her mother were living out of a slummish hotel in Glenville. Clarity always despised Amber—partly because the brassy half-Celt never pulled her punches when Mercy's well-being was at stake, and partly because she had a habit of calling Clarity a 'sadestic shite-breened caow-fud'• right to her face. Even knowing how much it meant to Mercy, Clarity forbade her from attending the funeral…and for once in her life, Mercy deliberately went against her mother's direct orders knowing Amber wouldn't be there to protect her when she went home.
Mercy went on the run, all to say goodbye to her first friend…her best friend. She waited all night until Clarity passed out drunk in their shared hotel room and stole Ellis' truck from the parking lot; she loitered at Denny's until dawn then burned rubber across town to Ma Willis' trailer court to pick up Aaron. Now, if she could just get the hopeless fluff-head to answer the door, she'd drag him to the funeral—kicking and screaming if necessary! Amber was his friend, too, and by God, he could drag himself from his drunken moping long enough to say goodbye to her!
Finally, the door creaked open—the face behind it, however, was not Aaron but the youngest of his four younger sisters, Tracey Willis. "Hey, Kiddo," Mercy greeted the sleep-rumpled blonde co-ed through the screen door. Already the stench of cheap alcohol, stale sweat, and old vomit curled her nose hairs. "Yer brother up?" Tracey shook her head, shooting a dirty glare at the unseen sofa pushed up against the front windows. Aaron still had a room at home, but Amber always slept on that lumpy old sofa when she and Aaron came to visit his family…now it seemed the grieving man claimed it as his own.
"Still passed out," Tracey grumbled. "He puked on his'self, too. Told the dumbass to stop drinkin'. He didn't listen. At least he didn't hit the couch." Just wonderful, Mercy considered with a silent snarl. Knowing Aaron lately, he wouldn't wake up unless someone bodily threw him into a freezing shower. At least the water would wash off the vomit.
The open road, just outside Glenville
"I'm not goin' through that again, Willis." Mercy clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip. The horrors she saw in Ma Willis' bathroom would stick with her for the rest of her life—heck, they might even haunt her after she died! "So help me, if I ever, and I do mean ever have to see your naked ass again, I'm'onna jam a shovel up it an' break it off!"
"Shut up, Ross," Aaron groused into his two liter of Mtn Dew. "No one told ya to come in the bathroom while I was showerin'."
"I heard a crash!" Mercy spat back at him, tempted to perform a sudden 'brake check' on him. "Fer all I knew, yer drunk ass was drownin' in there! God a'mighty, ya never wear clothes at home, inside or out, so how the hell's yer ass so fuckin' white?! It's practically fluorescent!"
"Fine! Next time ya wanna ogle my ass, I'll put on some pants. Happy?!" Maybe, both considered as they traded insults and threats, if they focused on being pissed at each other, they wouldn't notice who wasn't there to bullshit along with them.
Willsdale Cemetery, noon
The moment Mercy and Aaron stepped foot in the cemetery, they knew the funeral would be a disaster. All around the still-open grave and draped pine casket, Amber's closest family gathered in various states of disarray. Douglas O'Brien—Amber's acerbic father—slumped against a tree at a distance, reeking of booze even more strongly than Aaron that morning. Glen Devon, Amber's mutton-chopped Scot expat grandfather, refused to meet anyone's eyes, instead glaring silently across the cemetery where a news reporter filmed a piece about the town's recent struggles due to the storms. Ginny O'Brien sobbed and wailed at the top of her lungs, clinging to her much taller and leaner brother, Amber's "Uncle Bart." The white-haired man glanced around for assistance, cringing awkwardly at his older sibling's clinging and crying, but the redness around his dove grey eyes was proof he'd done his share of crying lately. The family was broken, pushing one another away instead of pulling closer to weather their loss…Amber would be heartbroken.
The pastor was from Ginny's church—the very church whose members habitually harassed Amber and Mercy back when they were roommatess. He said a few brief and solemn words, visibly biting his tongue. All through the ceremony, Ginny wept bitterly, Bart let her cry on him, and Douglas grumbled under his breath between shooting her disgusted glares.
As the pastor droned on, Mercy's hand shot out for Aaron's and latched on; perhaps he needed some comfort himself because he didn't shrug her off, instead squeezing her hand 'til she felt her joints creak. Her throat burned from holding back her tears but she wouldn't let herself cry—Amber always hated seeing her cry, and for her friends to cry at her funeral would have broken her heart. "It's alright," Aaron muttered to Mercy with another squeeze of her hand. "When this is all over, we'll do it right—she won't be there, but we'll hold'er a wake fit for a queen."
"She wasn't Irish, Willis," Mercy mumbled.
"No, but I am…at least by part." His brow furrowed, his good eye focused somewhere beyond the draped casket and mud-soggy ground. "O'Brien wanted people to be happy at her funeral, an' that's what a wake is. Instead of mourning death, ya celebrate life." Mercy thought it over a moment, contemplating the gravestone solemnly.
" I think she'd like that," she finally answered. "Just the two of us an' Amber…just like ol' times." Even as she spoke, Mercy knew there was a very real possibility such a thing would never happen—she did, in fact, steal her step-father's truck and go on the run to attend this funeral and her mother was on the far side of volatile. She always feared going back to Clarity Ross before, but now she feared for her life as well as her safety.
The clap of the pastor's book closing set off a horrific chain reaction. Ginny fell to her knees in the muddy grass, letting out an agonized wail. "M—My baby—she died on'er knees!" She shook with her tears, eyes streaming and throat creaking. "She died beggin' fer mercy—fer fergiveness—her whole life she strayed an' when she wiz—was called Home, all she could do was pray fer mercy!" At Mercy Ross' side, Aaron snarled and tensed to lunge for Ginny but the blonde latched onto his hand tighter, anchoring him at her side. He turned to snarl a protest; she shook her head, lips sealed, denim blue eyes pleading and streaming. "Please, fergive'er—forgive'er for dyin' on'er knees instead of livin' on'em! Live on yer knees—live a Godly life so you don't die out of God's graces!"
"Shut yer damn mouth, Gin!" Douglas bellowed. "Amber never did anythin' wrong—if anyone screwed up here, it's you!"
"Both'a ye shut yer fookin' gobs!" Glen bellowed at his daughter and her husband. "Yer a' yer dotter's funeral—cannae ye e'en once be civil wit' each other?! Cannae ye once make'er proud'a ye?!"•
Bart's eyes wandered from the three-way screaming match, peering through his white curls and scanning the cemetery. Something caught his eye—something in the region of a nearby Yellowood tree—and as it drifted further and further away in a slowly winding path, he followed without ever taking a step. Again and again, he turned to his family in hopes of answers—some sign that what he was seeing wasn’t just another hallucination—and every time, he came up empty. Every time, his face fell, and his eyes turned back to the mysterious unseen entity, wishing he had answers.
In the distance, Mercy noticed the reporter startle and turn to them, the camera man panning and zooming in on the fiasco. If she was caught on camera at Amber's funeral and her mother saw that video…she ducked nervously behind Aaron, carefully keeping her face turned from the reporters. To her dismay, though, he broke free and stormed over to Ginny and Douglas. "I've had it with ya!" Aaron shouted at the older woman brushing mud from her skirt. "Yer the reason Amber never stuck around on the weekends! Yer the reason she was so scared'a bein' around here an' leavin' her home—you an' yer church cronies!"
"Tha's rich comin' from you, Willis!" Ginny fired back, bottle green eyes sharp with censure. "Ye blame me for her struggles, but you're the reason she's dead!" Glen and Douglas both shouted at her—Aaron's face paled, his expression as pained as though the older woman tore his guts out with her bare hands—still she continued, intent on tearing him down a few notches. "You were there—you could have protected 'er, but you let my daughter die! You should've watched 'er, you should've—you should've stopped 'er!" Mercy scowled; enough was enough. Screw her mother finding out she was at Amber's funeral against orders—Amber always had her back in life, and like hell was Mercy going to let her down in death!
"Amber made her own choices, y'old hag!" she snapped at Ginny. "Aaron did everything he could to protect her, especially from you! He's not at fault for this—that's all on you!" She snatched Aaron's rumpled black shirt by the collar and stormed off toward the yawning grave, hauling him behind her protesting and sputtering. Behind them, the pastor washed his hands of the debacle and shuffled away; Amber's surviving family continued to lash out at one another while Bart tried to play peacekeeper. Upon reaching the gravestone, Mercy reached out to brush her fingertips over the mottled grey granite. "Fer the record," she murmured to her lost friend as Aaron deflated beside her, "I'm sorry…I'm sorry I went back to Mom an' left you in Glenville, an' that I wasn't with ya when this happened. Scotch-Bright, I love ya an' I won't forget ya." She glanced pleadingly up at Aaron. His lips a hard, razor-thin line, he sighed through his nose and reached out to lay his meaty hand on the stone marker, missing the first time but not the second.
"I'm sorry too, O'Brien," he confessed. "I miss ya…an' I…" Off-kilter blue eyes watering, he choked, but forced himself to finish his piece. "I love you, you crazy woman…ya didn't believe me but I really love you…I won't forget you." He dug through his pocket, retrieved an old, weathered piece of jewelry—a simple silver ring bearing a single triangular piece of warm brown amber—and gently set it atop stone. "Sorry I never got this to ya," he added, his voice cracking. "I've…had it since—since before Graduation…I just never found a way to tell ya. It's not much, but ya always liked silver…an' I always…liked Amber."
Mercy's throat clenched and her eyes burned—fate could be cruel but she never thought it cruel enough to make Aaron hold his tongue until Amber was out of his reach. She always wondered if Aaron cared for Amber more than he let on, but every passing year without any sign of a relationship between them convinced her she was mistaken. Now, the truth was out…he loved her all along, and that love made the loss even more impossible to accept.
"Let's get out'a here, Ross; this is just gonna get worse." Mercy nodded and turned to lead the way back to the truck to the sound of the bickering family behind them. As they reached the parking lot, she turned back to Aaron, sobering at the lines of saltwater trailing down his face and into his scruffy russet beard. "It's rainin'," he stated without any emotion whatsoever. The skies were clear and blue without a raindrop to be seen; though the air tasted of fog there was no scent of rain. Amber always hated rainstorms… "It's rainin'." Aaron refused to meet her eyes or blink away the tears. "She wouldn't want anyone cryin' over her, so it's rainin'." Her heart clenched, realizing the truth of the statement, and she reached up to brush away the 'raindrops' drying on her own cheeks.
"You call this rain?" she muttered climbing into the driver's seat. "Try gullywasher." When Mercy felt like giving up, Amber always said this rainy day, too, will pass, but this probably wasn't what she was talking about.
Aaron settled into the smelly seat of the truck as Mercy started the ignition; already he was dreading getting home. His trailer was mostly shielded by the grove of Black Locust trees between Amber's home and his, but there was a lot of work to be done…worst of all, though, only a splintered stand of trees away lurked the ruins of his best friend's home, untouched since the day they returned to find the town in ruins. How could he recover from her loss when every day, he'd be reminded of it? The answer was one he knew he wouldn't find anytime soon.
Outside the battered truck's open windows, the hills and hollers of rural Willsdale flew past in a blur. Inside the cab, salty rain poured unchecked down Mercy's already stained cheeks. She was alone again—after so long of having both Amber and Aaron at her back, she was completely alone and going back to her broken home all over again. Aaron's trailer was mostly livable and he offered her his couch but she declined. Her mother was already going to kill her—she didn't need to add gallivanting around with a man to her list of supposed sins.
Always with the fear—always dreading her mother's retribution, stuck hiding normal behaviors behind lies and bitten lips only to pay for crimes she never committed… She choked, her chest tight, and she shook her head at the thought. So many years ago, she finally got a taste of freedom. She escaped her abusive home and lived on her own for a few precious years—she even got to work toward an agricultural degree and hold a part-time job! Then she got overwhelmed, she panicked, and against everyone's pleas, she ran back to the very home she was running from to start with. Sure enough, her mother was livid…Mercy still carried scars from her first day back home, both mental and physical.
Amber was dead…her savior, her protector, her sister from another mister…Amber was gone, dead, and would never be there to protect her from her own flesh and blood again. Ellis was gone, too—he never did much to reign in Clarity's behavior but at least he tried…Mercy no longer had anyone in her corner, no one but herself. Even after apologizing on Amber's grave for having ever gone back to her mother in the first place, here she was doing the very same thing all over again.
That settled it. At the last moment, she swerved around a corner and changed course entirely, nearly skidding off the washed-out gravel road. She wouldn't go back to her mother this time—she would break that cycle! Amber always begged her to break it—she always tried to help Mercy realize she had the power to stop what was being done to her, but Mercy always caved and went back anyway. Her mother was in Glenville, now, and making plans to sell the ranch and its lands—Mercy just needed to stay away from Glenville and evade notice for a while. Maybe she could camp out in the old barn until she could find a better shelter, or maybe some part of Amber's home was still livable. Tears blurring her vision, foot grinding the gas pedal into the floor, she focused on her destination—a rusted corral gate at the end of the road and the empty pasture beyond it.
All her life, she struggled to break free from her mother's abuse; perhaps it was a little late, but she would break the cycle this time or die trying.
Mercy Ross's Dying Words
All my life, I struggled an' fought for ev'ry moment'a peace; it's a sick sorta irony 'at I only found lastin' peace in death. Even sicker, I died comin' home from the fun'ral of a friend. I almos' feel like some'un should'a been blarin' Elton John when the truck spun out.
Ain't gonna make excuses fer what happened—I was bein' reckless. If I'd'a been drivin' the speed limit, I'd'a seen that damn tree in time to brake. If I'd pulled over to dry my eyes, I'd'a seen there wa'n't no shoulder to swerve onto, an' I wouldn't'a wound up rollin' into the ditch. At the time I di'n't really care…I was hurt an' scared, an' I let my feelin's control me like always.
'T'ain't easy livin' with an abusive parent, but when ya add in shit like addiction an' Bipolar, it jus' gets worse. Emotions're my weakness—I drown in'em, ev'ry las' one, an' I can't handle stress. Maybe…nah, that's stupid. E'en if Ma was worried 'bout me 'cause'a my unstable moods, she had no excuse—ain't nothin' kin excuse hurtin' yer own kid…an' holy fuck did she hurt me.
I always wan'ed to break free of'er. I always wished I was strong enough to fight back, to make'er ree'lize jus' how bad she was screwin' me up. I wan'ed to get over it an' heal the scars she left…I wanted to b'come the person I should be. Now? I'm dead…i's too late ta change my past or decide my future…I have no future. If I did, I'd do everythin' diff'rent—I wouldn' let Ma rule me like she did. I'd finally let myself hate'er fer all I'm worth instead of fearin'er like I did. Maybe...maybe I'd even find love - real love, not the kind that hurts, the kind that heals. O'Brien always tol' me real love heals rather'n hurts, but I've never seen such a thing. Whether it's real or not, I'd'a loved ta've seen it someday...an' fuck me runnin, I'd deserve it, too!
It took death ta convince me I deserve to live a life free'a fear…if I was still alive, the irony alone'd kill me.

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November 9th, The Lair, back in the spare bathroom
"It was over almost instantly," Mercy croaked staring through Donna's bent knees. "I'm lucky in that, at least, 'cause I didn't feel any pain. I don't know anything past the accident, obviously, but your family…Aaron…" She shook her head, tearing up anew. "I didn't know how to tell ya…as much as you've been hurting, I couldn't stand seein' it get worse…an' knowin' all'a that, it would'a gotten worse."
Amber slumped back against the tile wall, struggling to process what she heard. It couldn't be possible—it was entirely impossible! Her…her dreams…they were true. Through the deafening static buzzing through her brain, she registered a familiar sound—Mercy's lungs seized and wheezed in half-smothered tears. "I'm s-sorry!" the blonde whimpered diving into her friend's side as she always had years back. "I'm sorry—fer—fer hidin' that—it was kill—killin' m-me—b-but—" She fell silent at the pair of arms hauling her closer—Amber held her like she'd never let go.
"I fergive ya," Amber rasped into Mercy's messy blonde hair. "I un'erstahnd—I'm not angry wi' ya…I'm sorry, Merse—sorry fer—fer puttin' ya in tha' position—fer givin' up like I did…"• A hoarse, choking cry ripped from her lungs and she buried her streaming eyes in Mercy's hair. How could anyone apologize enough? How could she ever apologize enough for completely giving up on her life, for leaving her best friends to fight their demons without her?
Outside the bathroom door, a tall, lanky eavesdropper stumbled back to the very wall the two women leaned on and slid down to the floor in a heap. Donatello could hear Amber and Mercy's conversation—and the tears and apologies that followed—with devastating clarity, and what it told him was heartbreaking.
Those 'freaky dreams' Amber told him about—dreams of her loved ones suffering and falling apart—they weren't entirely fictional after all. If they were as true, things back home were only getting worse…but what could be done about it? The dead don't rise again—there was nothing they could do to help their loved ones, not with worlds dividing them!
No. He steeled his nerves, his eyes narrowing in determination. 'Nothing' was unacceptable—if Baxter Stockman could open a wormhole, and if an alien warmonger could bring his battleship in from another dimension through that wormhole, there had to be a way to get the two women home! There absolutely had to be a way, and he wouldn't rest until he found it!
The sound of the door opening startled him; glancing up, his eyes met Mercy's watery denim blues. She seemed unsurprised to find him there, and he suspected she knew he heard every word. The genius stood, carefully unfolding himself, and hazarded a supportive hand on her shoulder. "Raph's in his room," he said softly, glancing pointedly down the hallway to the open doorway that once led to the Hashi and the Barracks. "Go on—I've got this." The blonde gave a defeated nod; eyes to the floor, she wandered away to find her other half.
The sight in the bathroom tore out Donnie's heart. Unlike Mercy, Amber wasn't actively crying—she slumped against the wall, staring blankly ahead, expressionless and visibly numb. Shock…that had to be what was going on. She didn't even notice him kneeling before her until he reached out for both of her shoulders, urging her into his arms. Sure enough, though, she latched on in desperation, her lungs starting to heave again with suppressed sobs.
"Shhh," he murmured carding his fingers through her loosened hair and rubbing her back. "It's alright…we'll figure this out, we'll find a way to fix this. Just leave it to me, alright?" Even as he whispered promises and she nodded in mute acceptance, he wasn't sure he could keep those promises. He was a genius but getting her home would require a miracle…and failure was not an option.

UP NEXT: Splinter's got some 'splainin' to do in Secrets, Solutions, Certainty

Glossary
• Sadestic shite-breened cow fud– Sadistic shit-brained cow cunt. Cow is supposedly an incredibly offensive insult when aimed at a woman and Fud can be used as a euphemism for vagina OR as a way of calling someone a 'dickhead' or a 'cunt.'
•Both'a ye shut yer fookin' gobs! Yer a' yer dotter's funeral—cannae ye e'en once be civil wit' each other?! Cannae ye once make'er proud'a ye?! - Both of you, shut your fucking mouths! You're at your daughter's funeral—can't you even once be civil with each other?! Can't you once make her proud of you?!
• I fergive ya. I un'erstahnd—I'm not angry wit'ya…I'm sorry, Merse—sorry fer—fer puttin' ya in tha' position—fer givin' up like I did. – I forgive you. I understand—I'm not angry with you…I'm sorry, Merse—sorry for—for putting you in that position—for giving up like I did.
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A New Lease on Life