Note: This is a fun digression and kind-of prequel to "Of Fruit Tarts and Sea Mammals." Total fluff, totally pointless and off-the-cuff, and yet I'm posting it anyway, because maybe someone else needs a little lightheartedness right now. raphlover2012 also drew an amazingly adorable picture based on the idea (on DA as www dot deviantart dot com / sonicfangirl321 / art / Secret-Outing-841156758 - thank you!)

Follows the plot of "Wisdom", but is set in the past, directly after the defeat of Dragaunus. No real need to know specifics, however. Wing is pretty much at a loss to what's going on, too...

Wildwing adjusted his pillow and sighed.

He was back in his room, at least, which was a vast improvement over the last four days. He'd woken up on the Medicom with the entire team staring at him, and had absolutely no idea what he was doing there, or why.

By no recollection of his own, he was told that Dragaunus blew himself up with a bomb and, by unfortunate proximity, had tried to take Wildwing with him.

He remembered infiltrating the Raptor. He remembered fighting Dragaunus blind, struggling to break the Saurian's controller for the invisibility cloak, and aiming to bring the Overlord down once and for all.

After that, however, was a blur of nothingness. The others filled him in, of course, telling him how he'd been on the Medicom for nearly two weeks, had had a brain bleed and seizure (what?!), and had essentially been placed in a coma while he healed.

Most of the tissue damage had been repaired, thankfully, but an inspection of his arm and stomach showed a severe lack of feathers and extremely sensitive skin. He had been instructed to keep the bandages dry and clean, and to change them every few days with help from someone in the infirmary.

On top of that, the ducks had hired an outside physical therapist to help Wildwing get back his range of motion. While two weeks didn't seem long, apparently the amount of damage he had sustained nearly bottomed out his stamina. Case in point, going to the bathroom by himself for the first time had him faceplanted on the floor from overexertion.

It was getting better, but it was slow. His coordination was sluggish and rough; his legs were like jelly; and his overall ability to focus had taken a hit to it, as well, because every time he tried to remember back about something, his brain would fizzle out like a bad connection, leaving him struggling to recall the moment.

In all honesty, it was terrifying.

But Tanya had assured him that the Medicom saw no long-term damage from the injuries. He had essentially been blown up, and it had only been two weeks, so it was inevitable that the healing process would take time.

Relying on anyone, however, was a new road for Wildwing, and one he really didn't care much for. Nosedive had been hovering over him endlessly, to the point of mother hen, and while the leader had the inkling of an idea that it would be worse if the roles had been reversed, it didn't necessarily mean he had to like it.

He didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise, however, as his little brother looked like he'd been through the wringer.

So, for four days, Wildwing agreed to stay on the Medicom in an awake state, so the machine could monitor his vitals and ensure that there were no lingering effects of his prolonged coma or brain bleed. The rest of the team still did shift rotations with him, at about eight hours a session, except for Nosedive, since he was pretty much there 24/7.

The physical therapist showed up on day three, and would be visiting him daily for the next few weeks, or until Wildwing felt like a normal duck again.

Today was the end of the fourth day. After his second session of physical therapy this afternoon, however, Wildwing had practically begged to be allowed to rest in his room. The Medicom's gurney wasn't exactly built for luxury, and after a grueling two hours of limb stretching, the thought of returning to that metal board of a mattress made him want to cry.

And now, four hours later, Wildwing was comfortably resting in his bedroom, unchaperoned for the first time since he had woken up. He refused to count the bathroom fallout as a moment alone, nor any other (more successful) bathroom breaks thereafter. Privacy was meant for more than just biological necessities, dang it.

Regardless, Nosedive had been reassured—multiple times and by multiple ducks—that his older brother was able to get up and move around just fine. Wildwing even added to that by promising he would actually rest, as instructed.

So, to reinforce that pledge of supine inactivity, a mound of books, a laptop, a glass of water, three bags of snacks, and a remote control for the television—which was now relocated to the foot of the bed—had all been left on the nightstand for easy access. At this point, Wildwing was surprised he didn't have one of those claw grippers he'd seen on late night television.

Nosedive had only contacted him twice through his COM to check up on him, and Wildwing nearly said, "Good night, Mom," at the end of the second conversation. Thankfully, he stopped himself.

His room was silent and dark, minus the floor lights that were installed in each bedroom. Without windows to bring in sunlight, they were a necessity. The leader of the Mighty Ducks did not have a solid sleep schedule yet, since he still required multiple naps throughout the day, and despite the late hour he was wide awake.

He looked at his COM and almost flipped it open, before stopping himself and looking at his door. Face-to-face seemed more appropriate, right? ...Did it matter?

The white drake mentally chastised himself and shoved the covers off his legs, standing up and slowly walking over to press a button on his console. The hatch slid open quietly, and Wildwing checked the hallway to ensure its emptiness before carefully walking three rooms down.

Using the code he'd been given months ago, Wildwing meticulously typed it in, a similar hiss coming from the new door that was opened. Inside it was equally dark, so Wildwing stepped in and pressed a button on the inner console, shutting the door behind him. He soundlessly walked up to the bed and saw the silhouette of a duck under the covers.

Her breathing was even, meaning she was asleep. Wildwing debated just letting her be and leaving—after all, she had looked as exhausted as Nosedive—but he had not had a chance to speak to her alone yet. He needed to know she was okay.

"Mal?" he whispered, taking the time to sit on the edge of the bed.

She shifted and, realizing another presence in her room, instinctively tensed before recognizing the voice. Sitting up, she groggily asked, "Wing? What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you."

There was a moment of silence, but Mallory did not let it linger long. She scooted across the mattress and hugged the white drake around the neck, an embrace that Wildwing returned readily.

"You shouldn't be up," Mallory gently berated.

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

"I'm sorry."

Mallory pulled away at that, but did not completely release the hug. "What? What for?"

"I … well, we haven't exactly had time to talk, since I've woken up."

Even with her own floor lights, Wildwing had a hard time making out Mallory's expression. She was silent, with her head tilted down slightly. Instead of responding, however, she pulled him back into a hug, her arms tight around his neck and her head resting in the crook below his beak.

They stayed that way for a while, but Wildwing eventually felt a wetness through his feathers, making him tighten his grip. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"It's fine," she replied, her voice raspy. "I'm just glad you're okay."

He bent down, gently nuzzling his beak with hers. She returned the kiss, Wildwing's hands moving down to her waist to bring her close against him. Their actions became more conscious, then, with hands gripping each other tighter—

—before Wildwing's COM buzzed.

They stopped, Mallory letting out a shaky exhale. Wildwing sighed and moved away, opening his wrist unit. "Sup, Dive?" he asked, barely masking his annoyance.

"Sorry to bug ya, bro. I was just heading to bed and thought I'd make sure there wasn't anything you needed."

Despite the interruption, Wildwing's aggravation deflated pretty quickly at his brother's words. "Nah, Baby Bro, I've got everything I need."

"Sounds goo—oh!" There was shuffling on his side of the communication, followed by, "I forgot to give you my movies I wanted you to watch!"

Wildwing tensed. "What? I don't need those right—"

"I know you've been a night owl lately," Nosedive interrupted, thumps and clacks muffling his words somewhat, "so I want to give these to you now, so you got them if you're like, awake at three in the morning and need some comedy gold!"

The white drake instinctively stood back up, off of Mallory's bed. "Dive—"

"Over in a flash!" Click went the COM, ending the communication.

He glanced down at Mallory, who was still sitting and leaning on her hands, a small smirk forming on her beak.

Wildwing didn't have time to respond. He made a beeline out of her room and into the hallway, and managed to get three steps with the redhead's door hissing shut before Nosedive's own door whooshed open.

The teenager had his hands full with about a dozen disc containers, his own pace determined as he turned the corner and saw Wildwing standing in the middle of the hallway.

"Bro, what the heck are you doing up?!" Nosedive admonished, closing the distance between them.

Wildwing was a deer in headlights for a second, the proverbial cogs turning in his head. Eventually he relaxed his stance and shrugged. "Uh, I thought you meant I needed to get the movies."

Nosedive rolled his eyes. "Uh, dude, no, I'm not going to make the invalid—"

"Hey!"

"—get up and retrieve movies for him to watch while he rests, which is what he's supposed to be doing now." With each emphasized word, Nosedive gently shoved his brother back towards his room.

Wildwing relented, trying his hardest to mask how out of breath he felt just from that run out of Mallory's quarters. "All right, all right, I get it Baby Bro."

When they neared his room, the older drake typed in his passcode and entered, Nosedive following.

Nosedive wasted no time in unceremoniously dumping the DVDs onto Wildwing's bed, followed by careful restacking in purposeful piles. "All right Wing, I've got four distinct categories here, with order of watchability. First, we're starting with our slapstick comedies—"

As the door to his room hissed shut, Wildwing let out a long, tired, "Mm-hmm."