I know, I know. I have too many fics on here for my own good. But the thing is, it's just so much fun to write for it! Even if none of my stories really have a plot...
Anyways, I figured that since I already (sort of) killed Mal, it was Natara's turn to be killed off. Please don't hate me. I have an overactive imagination. Plus I just really liked the idea for this.
Mal slowly raised the glass to his lips. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there, or how many drinks he'd already had for that matter. His vision was swimming, his head was spinning, and he doubted he could even walk in a straight line. In a way he sort of thought it was ironic; here he was, the best detective on the force, getting sloppy drunk at a bar on a work night. Still, he tipped his head back, ignoring the burning sensation from the liquor as it slid down his throat.
"More," he croaked, slamming the glass down on the bar. Eyeing him warily, the bartender obeyed wordlessly. The man had barely finished pouring his drink when Mal snatched the glass away and downed it. The images and memories circling his mind blurred and dimmed for a second, allowing him a moment of reprieve, before they came back as clear as ever.
"Mal, come on. It'll be fun, I promise." Natara grabbed his hand and managed to pull him a few steps towards the canoe. Mal dug his heels into the ground and glanced nervously at the boat.
"I don't know," he said. "I'm not that great with boats. You go by yourself, and I'll wait here for you." Natara frowned and tugged at his arm again.
"Mal, please? For me? I promise you'll have a great time." Mal glanced the canoe, and shook his head, and she clambered out of the boat, dragging him aside.
"Natara, I really don't feel comfortable with this," he protested. "I've heard so many stories of people dying in accidents from doing stunts like this. I just feel like it's too dangerous."
"And our jobs are totally the most safe you can get," she countered sarcastically. "Mal, can you please do this? For me? It's our honeymoon, and I want us to have fun." Mal sighed and rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be dragged into the canoe.
It was peaceful at first. Natara seemed to be enjoying herself, and Mal allowed himself to relax and try to enjoy canoeing down the Delaware River. The river was swollen and elevated from the recent rains, but Natara didn't think anything of it.
The canoe suddenly lurched forward. Natara spun, a surprised look on her face. "Did you do that?"
Mal shook his head. "No, did you?"
"No." It lurched again, the back of the canoe veering to the right. Mal clutched the side of the boat and hung on. There was a scraping sound from beneath the boat, and for the first time Mal realized with a sinking sensation that there were rocks everywhere- and that the current was much too strong.
"Natara, we need to-"
He was cut off as the scraping sound grew even louder and the canoe suddenly lurched to a stop, tossing both of them into the river.
Mal felt his fingers contract around the glass so tightly that it actually cracked. The bar tender glanced at him warily again but said nothing, and Mal simply ignored him. He forced himself to loosen his grip; the last thing he needed right now was glass shards embedded in his hand. He'd rather not have physical wounds in addition to the emotional ones.
In the end, it hadn't been her job that killed her. She wasn't killed in a shoot-out or subduing a dangerous criminal. He actually wasn't sure who he blamed more, the river or himself. Either way, she was gone and he was left to nurse his broken heart on his own.
The current swept him under, slamming his body against the rocks. The light kept getting farther and farther away. Mal flailed his arms and legs, pushing off of the riverbed, and the distance slowly began to close. His head broke the surface for a second before another wave crashed over his head. As he surfaced once more, he grabbed hold of a slick rock and held on tight.
"Natara!" he yelled, scanning the water for any sign of her. "NATARA!"
"Mal!" He spun towards the cry, inadvertently letting go of the rock as he did. He briefly caught sight of her before he was pulled under again. The current tossed him around like a ragdoll under the water. His head smashed against a rock, and he saw stars as his vision flickered. He managed to keep moving his arms and legs, and a second later he surfaced once more and held on to another rock. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of blue and realized it was the shirt Natara was wearing.
"Natara!" He pushed off of the rock, ignoring both the stabbing pain that shot through him as the waves slammed him against rock after rock and the shocked yells from the shore that informed him that there were people watching. He reached out towards her and swore when a wave swallowed her.
Why was the water turning red?
He sputtered as water splashed into his mouth, and managed to catch hold of her sleeve before the water swept her away. He searched the water frantically before catching sight of her a few feet away. Her temple was coated in blood, and more still gushed from the wound. His heart dropped to his toes as he realized that her eyes were closed. A wave broke over her head and she went under.
Unconscious people couldn't hold their breath.
He dove after her, sinking into the murky water. He couldn't see a thing as he searched for her; Natara's life depended solely on luck and his sense of touch. He came up for air briefly before plunging back down after her. His armssearched from side to side for anything, and his hand brushed up against a piece of fabric. He grasped it firmly and began tugging it up towards the surface. He gasped for breath as he grabbed hold of a rock, cradling Natara's body against his own.
"Call 911!" he shouted to the family on the shore. He struggled to keep her head above the water as the current tried to pull them further downstream. Sirens slowly filled the air, and he managed to get them closer to shore. The father standing on the riverbank rushed forward, taking Natara's limp form from him and laying her out on the ground. He began to perform CPR as Mal stumbled out of the water after him, reaching out for her.
Mal snatched the bottle away from the bartender, waving him away when he started to protest. He filled his glass once more, trying to forget what happened after that. Even after three more glasses, the memory of the tense ride to the hospital and the agonizing and nerve-wracking time in the waiting room lingered.
"Husband of Natara Fallon?" Mal shot to his feet and approached the doctor.
"How is she?" he demanded, barely restraining himself from shaking the doctor when he didn't respond. "Can I see her? Is she okay?"
"Sir, please follow me." He turned and began to walk away, and Mal had no choice but to follow him. The entire way he kept picturing her as they loaded her onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. She'd been so still... Mal ran a hand over his face as they came to a stop in front of a door. The doctor stepped to the side and gazed at him so sympathetically, it made his stomach churn. It was never good when doctors looked at you like that. Mal threw open the door, a cry escaping his lips when it fully opened, and nearly fell to his knees where he stood.
She was hooked up to so many machines and wires, and there was a tube feeding down her throat. Her head had a bandage wrapped around it, and the portion on her temple was dyed a deep crimson. Her eyes were still closed and she laid perfectly motionless besides her chest rising and falling as the machine breathed for her. He stumbled forward reaching for her hands as he came to a stop at her bedside.
"I'm so, so sorry, Mr. Fallon," the nurse apologized. "We did absolutely everything we could." He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers as a few tears streaked down his cheeks, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He willed her to open her eyes, to sit up and laugh at him and tell him that it was all just an elaborate prank.
"When you're ready, we're going to shut off her life support. We'll leave you alone to say your goodbyes." He nodded and took her hands once more as the doctors and nurses left the room. It was silent for a moment before her spoke to her.
"I love you so much," he choked out. "I will never, ever stop loving you. Ever. But it's okay. It's okay to let go. I want you to stay, more than anything, but I'm telling you that it's okay to stop fighting."
The doctor entered the room again, knocking quietly as he stepped in. Mal looked up and nodded at him. His kissed her forehead and her cheeks once more before gathering her body in his arms, allowing a few tears to slide down his cheeks and into her hair. He focused only on her face as the hum of the machines keeping her alive slowly faded away into silence, taking Natara with them.
Deciding enough was enough, Mal brushed the glass aside and raised the bottle to his mouth. The buzz in his head intensified and the memories blurred and faded a bit. This time they didn't come back. Finally. He moved to take another giant swallow when a hand reached around and snatched the bottle away.
Mal swung around, expecting to see some other drunkard holding his prize. He halted his insults as his wavering sight fell on Ken. He held the bottle by its neck, jerking it away when Mal made a swipe for it.
"Give it back!" Mal slurred, reaching for it again.
"Mal, what are you doing here?" There was no anger or disappointment in his friend's voice, only tired resignation. Mal lunged forward and managed to snatch the bottle back. He took a long swallow before answering.
"What does it look like?" Ken sighed and waved the bartender over. He wrestled the bottle from Mal's grip and handed it over. Taking his friend by one arm, he managed to pull Mal into a standing position. Mal wobbled on his feet, swaying from the alcohol.
"This isn't the way," Ken said. Mal hissed angrily, wrenching his arm from Ken's hand and losing his balance in the process. He fell heavily against the bar and collapsed back into the seat he'd previously occupied.
"There is no other way," he spat. He fiddled with the glass in front of him and glowered at Ken.
"Go home, Mal. I'll tell the Captain that you had a rough night; she'll understand. But go home and sleep it off. You know Natara-"
"Natara what, Ken?" The words were bitingly hard and bitter, tinged with anguish and fury at the memories he couldn't get rid of or even drink away. "She is dead. She's gone and she's never going to come home and nothing can change that."
"Yeah, and that includes sitting here and drinking yourself half-blind," Ken shot back. "Go home. I'll give you a lift, seeing as you're in no shape to even be walking."
"I can't go home!" Mal shouted, slamming the glass against the bar. "If I go home, I see her clothes and her purse and it just reminds me that I let her die!" People were starting to stare now.
"Mal..." But Mal wasn't focusing on Ken now; he was lost in his own bitter memories.
"I should have saved her. I could have saved her, but I didn't. It's my fault she's gone, and when I go home the first thing I see is our wedding photo and she just looks so damn happy and alive and all I want to do is smash it. We weren't even married for a month. A month! That's all I had with her before she- she-" He broke off with a cry of pain as the glass he hadn't realized he'd still been holding shattered in his fist. Ken moved forward to help him as mingled blood and drink dripped to the floor, the alcohol stinging Mal's hand.
"I just want her back," he sobbed brokenly.
Thank you for reading! Even if you want to hunt me down and stab me multiple times with flaming sporks, do you mind reviewing and telling me just how much you want to do that?