Disclaimer: I don't own MD: TAS, but we all know that, duh.
Chapter 2
Mallory looked out at the sky, it was gray, just as somber today as it was 10 years ago, and again, the heavens seemed to mourn with her. She knew why the sky had turned such a darkened shade, Wildwing was dead, it by a drunk driver while going out for a run. It had been so long ago, since her four teammates had died, and now, the loss of her Wildwing was opening old wounds to accompany the new ones in her heart. Before she had felt as if she had lost a piece of her heart, but now she knew that she had lost her soul. Wildwing was absolutely everything to her, he was her world, her life, and now he was gone. Today, she stood in the same place as she had all those years ago, in the same black dress, for all the same reasons. As she looked at her surroundings, she could not believe her eyes. Not a single soul, besides herself and Phil had shown up for Wildwing's funeral, and Mallory doubted that the inhabitants of this planet were really all that grateful for their presence.
'O, wait' she thought, 'we're different, and therefore, inferior, human philosophy at it's best, or worst.'
As the ceremony came to a close, the sky began to pour down rain, crying for the loss of one of the purest angels on Earth. Mallory now let her tears flow freely, mixing in with the rain to hide her grief and anguish. She didn't stay for the burial of Wildwing's casket. She couldn't. Her broken heart and exhausted mind drained her of her will to even care. Mallory collapsed before the funeral had ended and had sobbed and cried out for her lost love. Phil had to drive her to her apartment, and help her get to her door without her collapsing. As Mallory entered her apartment, her tears seemed to dry, if only for an instant. Everything in this place seemed to remind her of Wildwing. As she gazed into their open living and dining area, she saw him, in the furniture he picked out, to his dirty coffee mug in the sink. She went into her bathroom, only to see him there too, in his masculine-scented soap, and his shampoo. She couldn't bring herself to take the warm shower she needed. She thought a nap might do her good, help her into a world where she didn't care, one where she was dead. But her bedroom was too much to bear as well, there were too many memories in the king sized bed that they had often made love in, and in his clothes that were strewn across the room.
'Lord Almighty, help me, I can't go on like this anymore. I just want to be free of my constant sorrow." she sighed.
She walked back out into her living room, eyeing the gun collection that she had kept in a display case. She remembered how Wildwing had let her keep it, even if he didn't approve of it. He knew that they may need to actually use a more lethal gun for protection purposes, sure, puck launchers hurt like hell, but they weren't fatal. However, Mallory's .22 caliber pistol was. She opened the case and picked up the gun, her mind now too stressed and taxed after all these years of her loss to even care if her thoughts turned into dangerous, self-destroying territory. Keeping the pistol firmly grasped in one hand, she closed the cabinet with the other, and then made her way into her bedroom to pick up a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote down something and then taped the note to the outside of her bedroom door. She shut it behind her, displaying a full length mirror attached to the back of it. Her reflection stared back at her guiltily, seeming to mock her for looking like a coward taking the easy way out. Mallory looked at herself one last time; she was still quite beautiful for a 33 year old duck. Many women her age were worrying about trying to get rid of wrinkles, or coloring their hair to cover their gray strands, but not Mallory. All of her beauty was still the work of Mother Nature, not chemicals in a box.
'Well', she thought 'if I am a coward than at least I'm a pretty one.'
She flipped off the light switch and pulled down the blinds on her window. She sat down on her bed, put the muzzle of the gun inside her mouth, put her finger on the trigger, and cried one last tear for her beloved friends, and the love that she shared with the most wonderful drake she knew. A loud bang reverberated around the room, and Mallory slumped down, dead.
The next morning Phil immediately sensed something was wrong, and he headed over to Mallory's apartment. He easily got inside, she had left her door unlocked, something that neither her nor Wildwing ever did. He called out her name, and got no response, so he began to search around her apartment for her. The last place he looked was her bedroom, and was devastated t find the note taped to the front of her closed door.
"I don't want to die, but I can't live with all of this pain. It's just too much. Tell Wing I'm sorry.
~Mal~"
Phil placed his head in his hand and shakily opened the door; the sight that greeted him was just too horrific for him to bear. There was Mallory, crumpled on her bed, with the back of her head blown off. There was blood and bits of brain matter covering the sheets on her bed and part of the wall behind her. Phil felt nauseous, but was able to tear his eyes away from this tragic sight and call 911. Several hours later, the coroner confirmed that Mallory's death was an accident, but also discovered that Mallory had taken not just one life, but two. She was three weeks pregnant with Wildwing's child. Phil shook his head in disgust, not only was Mallory dead, but she killed a child that she probably didn't even know she was carrying. He thought that it was all a horrible waste of life.
He arranged for her to be buried next to her friends and her love, and as he viewed the headstones all six friends together in death for the first time, he promised that he would never let anyone forget what the Mighty Ducks had done for mankind. As he made this promise to them, the heavens opened up and poured down rain, mourning the loss of yet another one of it's angels on Earth.
Final Note: Alright, so this fic was kind of up the depressing alley. But hey, angst is good, right? Like it? Hate it? Want more like these? Then let me know! I'll be glad to crank out a few more stories for y'all.
Chapter 2
Mallory looked out at the sky, it was gray, just as somber today as it was 10 years ago, and again, the heavens seemed to mourn with her. She knew why the sky had turned such a darkened shade, Wildwing was dead, it by a drunk driver while going out for a run. It had been so long ago, since her four teammates had died, and now, the loss of her Wildwing was opening old wounds to accompany the new ones in her heart. Before she had felt as if she had lost a piece of her heart, but now she knew that she had lost her soul. Wildwing was absolutely everything to her, he was her world, her life, and now he was gone. Today, she stood in the same place as she had all those years ago, in the same black dress, for all the same reasons. As she looked at her surroundings, she could not believe her eyes. Not a single soul, besides herself and Phil had shown up for Wildwing's funeral, and Mallory doubted that the inhabitants of this planet were really all that grateful for their presence.
'O, wait' she thought, 'we're different, and therefore, inferior, human philosophy at it's best, or worst.'
As the ceremony came to a close, the sky began to pour down rain, crying for the loss of one of the purest angels on Earth. Mallory now let her tears flow freely, mixing in with the rain to hide her grief and anguish. She didn't stay for the burial of Wildwing's casket. She couldn't. Her broken heart and exhausted mind drained her of her will to even care. Mallory collapsed before the funeral had ended and had sobbed and cried out for her lost love. Phil had to drive her to her apartment, and help her get to her door without her collapsing. As Mallory entered her apartment, her tears seemed to dry, if only for an instant. Everything in this place seemed to remind her of Wildwing. As she gazed into their open living and dining area, she saw him, in the furniture he picked out, to his dirty coffee mug in the sink. She went into her bathroom, only to see him there too, in his masculine-scented soap, and his shampoo. She couldn't bring herself to take the warm shower she needed. She thought a nap might do her good, help her into a world where she didn't care, one where she was dead. But her bedroom was too much to bear as well, there were too many memories in the king sized bed that they had often made love in, and in his clothes that were strewn across the room.
'Lord Almighty, help me, I can't go on like this anymore. I just want to be free of my constant sorrow." she sighed.
She walked back out into her living room, eyeing the gun collection that she had kept in a display case. She remembered how Wildwing had let her keep it, even if he didn't approve of it. He knew that they may need to actually use a more lethal gun for protection purposes, sure, puck launchers hurt like hell, but they weren't fatal. However, Mallory's .22 caliber pistol was. She opened the case and picked up the gun, her mind now too stressed and taxed after all these years of her loss to even care if her thoughts turned into dangerous, self-destroying territory. Keeping the pistol firmly grasped in one hand, she closed the cabinet with the other, and then made her way into her bedroom to pick up a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote down something and then taped the note to the outside of her bedroom door. She shut it behind her, displaying a full length mirror attached to the back of it. Her reflection stared back at her guiltily, seeming to mock her for looking like a coward taking the easy way out. Mallory looked at herself one last time; she was still quite beautiful for a 33 year old duck. Many women her age were worrying about trying to get rid of wrinkles, or coloring their hair to cover their gray strands, but not Mallory. All of her beauty was still the work of Mother Nature, not chemicals in a box.
'Well', she thought 'if I am a coward than at least I'm a pretty one.'
She flipped off the light switch and pulled down the blinds on her window. She sat down on her bed, put the muzzle of the gun inside her mouth, put her finger on the trigger, and cried one last tear for her beloved friends, and the love that she shared with the most wonderful drake she knew. A loud bang reverberated around the room, and Mallory slumped down, dead.
The next morning Phil immediately sensed something was wrong, and he headed over to Mallory's apartment. He easily got inside, she had left her door unlocked, something that neither her nor Wildwing ever did. He called out her name, and got no response, so he began to search around her apartment for her. The last place he looked was her bedroom, and was devastated t find the note taped to the front of her closed door.
"I don't want to die, but I can't live with all of this pain. It's just too much. Tell Wing I'm sorry.
~Mal~"
Phil placed his head in his hand and shakily opened the door; the sight that greeted him was just too horrific for him to bear. There was Mallory, crumpled on her bed, with the back of her head blown off. There was blood and bits of brain matter covering the sheets on her bed and part of the wall behind her. Phil felt nauseous, but was able to tear his eyes away from this tragic sight and call 911. Several hours later, the coroner confirmed that Mallory's death was an accident, but also discovered that Mallory had taken not just one life, but two. She was three weeks pregnant with Wildwing's child. Phil shook his head in disgust, not only was Mallory dead, but she killed a child that she probably didn't even know she was carrying. He thought that it was all a horrible waste of life.
He arranged for her to be buried next to her friends and her love, and as he viewed the headstones all six friends together in death for the first time, he promised that he would never let anyone forget what the Mighty Ducks had done for mankind. As he made this promise to them, the heavens opened up and poured down rain, mourning the loss of yet another one of it's angels on Earth.
Final Note: Alright, so this fic was kind of up the depressing alley. But hey, angst is good, right? Like it? Hate it? Want more like these? Then let me know! I'll be glad to crank out a few more stories for y'all.