Vega

I find myself on the floor, unable to rise, trying hard to block out the pain from my middle. Don't know exactly how it happened. Did I black out? Did the third suspect... assailant... already get away? Oh, God, what if he went after Cho? And I couldn't even give him back-up?

More gunshots. It hurts to move. To breathe. All I can do is pray.

Pray for us... now and in the hour of our death...

There are people milling about; I look up at horrified faces. Some take one look and quickly disappear. Others seem unable to look away. At least it seems that I am the only major attraction in the room. Thankfully my escapee at least didn't target any of the witnesses. Nobody seems to know what to do. I try to raise my voice, tell them to call 911. But I can't seem to breathe right. Did I lose a lung? I'm terrified to probe my own body. It hurts too much to think, to feel exactly where I was hit.

Then I hear his voice. Firm, calm, authoritative. His sure footsteps approaching. Oh, thank God. He's okay. The sound of people moving out of the way. And then I see him. After a few months of working with him, I can recognize dismay on that impassive face. He tries to hide it. Doesn't want to scare me.

Too late. I was scared already. His stoicism is oddly comforting. But it might be already too late.

"Call 911. Tell them officer down." His brisk direction takes his attention from me for the briefest of moments. He always knows what to do. He'll be such a good team leader. God, I want to see that.

I should have called it in. There are probably a million things I should have done. I'm barely coherent as he approaches, lifts me (oh, God, it hurts) to his lap and reassures me that help is on the way. Tells me to keep breathing. It's harder than it should be. Following that basic instruction. He must know, because he keeps saying it.

"I need you to calm down. This is going to hurt." The pressure releases the strangled yell that I've been trying to hold back. Through my agonized squint, I see pain on his face too. It must be hard. He must feel helpless. I sure do.

His hand stays warm on my belly. Trying to staunch the blood. It isn't working. I can feel the ebb. I grit my teeth. He's trying to save my life. The least I can do is not show him how much it hurts.

"...I know..." he keeps up a steady stream of comforting nonsense, words like "you're okay." We both know I'm not. But I might survive. If I don't lose too much blood. If they get here quick enough. Meanwhile, his voice is so gentle. It keeps a steady flow, like the life bleeding out of me. I don't think I've ever heard him talk so much before.

I think of Wylie. Even if I do make it, we won't be doing dinner anytime soon. Maybe a rain check. Please, God, give me a rain check.

But there's something else. Something important. The men we were supposed to catch. Did they get away? "Where are they," I ask him.

"They're on their way." He thinks I mean the medics.

He doesn't understand.

"It hurts..." I can't tell how much is the physical pain. How much is the shame.

They got away. We didn't get our back-up. He's here with me. So they got away. We lost them. I wanted to make him proud. My Dad, too. I want to be a good agent. I do good work, don't I? Did I do my duty? Did I do it right?

I need to know. "Did I mess up?"

"No. No, you did good. Ok? You did good. Yeah..." His smile is almost a grimace of pain. He never smiles. I wanted to see that smile so many times. I wanted him to be glad that he worked with me. To tell me it was worth it, giving me a second chance. This isn't how I wanted it, but I'll take it. Even if he's just saying it to be kind. If I really had messed up, he wouldn't tell me that. Not now.

Right now he's happy with me if I just keep breathing. In. Out. It feels like even that is too hard.

"Michelle..." So gentle. Like my Dad. When I was a kid, my Dad could do anything. Then I watched him waste away. Hardest thing I ever did. Harder than dying myself.

I wonder if that's how it feels for Cho?

"Michelle! Hey! Just keep breathing..." The way he says it, I know he has raised his voice. It's a command. Firm. Authoritative. But I can hardly hear it. He's fading out. No matter how hard it is, I want to obey. I want to. Don't know if I can. Keep trying.

The world fades to black.