Mike stood up and entered the Extreme Arena; The GUTS episode was already over, but he just had to vent.
"UUUUUGH! A MONTH ALREADY! IT'S BEEN AN ENTIRE F'N MONTH! WHY, MO, WHY?!"
He knew it wasn't Mo's fault, nor his. She didn't see it coming in the first place. How would she have known of the drunk-driving accident that would have taken her life? How?
Mike had a flashback while he glanced at Mo's soapbox she had to stand on to give rules/stats of the events.
It was midnight on the night of March 23rd, 1995. Mike was about to doze off into a deep sleep on the livingroom couch, due to the fact he was way to lazy to go to his bedroom upstairs (duh), when the phone rang. It was Marc Summers from Double Dare. Why was he calling at this hour?"Mike, I just heard from the hospital that..."
"Yes, Marc?"
"Mo's dead. She was involved in a hit run with an intoxicated driver, who crashed her car's driver side into a Jersey barrier. As soon as she got to the hospital, we were too late. She lost too much blood to be revived, and...well."
"I never got to say goodbye to her," Mike choked out.
"On the contrary, her very last words at the hospital were: Marc, tell Mike I'll be ok. I'm going to be better. I'm...better now.' She is better now, Mike." Marc said.
Mike straight bawled at what he said next, because he knew it was true.
"Somewhere, in this starry, clear night sky, she's watching over you. You have nothing to worry about."
"Thank you, Marc. I'll miss her."
"As will I. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
PRESENT DAY
OhMo Mike chuckled. "You were just, the best."
Then, he wept.
Lying next to the soapbox was the ref dress she wore. Like a child with their blanket, Mike took the garment and drove back to his house.
"Could you come back, Mo?"
His warm, salty tears dampened the striped fabric.
"Please?"
He fell asleep once again, only to wake up at midnight once again.
"Uh, Mo!"
He tasted the salty fabric that once held his tears a matter of hours ago.
"Oh, I forgot. There is no Mo."
Mike went back to sleep, awoke in the morning, and got his black suit and tie he wore for the funeral and burial.
When he got there, he fought the cold and drizzly rain to find a black granite marker that had the word "Quirk", carved in grey, as plain as day.
"Here you go, Mo." Mike laid the ref dress on the headstone, along with her own crag-piece trophy.
"Love you.", Mike wept. Then, he got in his car and drove off.