Title: Broken-Winged Bird
Summary: Wylie never imagined when Vega asked if he would be her emergency contact that he would be called upon to exercise that responsibility.
Author's Note: This continues my head canon in which Vega was injured, but did not die. It's set in the same universe as my other Wega fics, and I make reference to some events from those. So you either need to have read them – or if you come across something you don't remember from the show – it's probably from one of my other stories.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Mentalist. If I did, Vega would be having happy dreams snuggled in Wylie's arms. This story is for entertainment purposes only. I make no profit and no infringement of copyrights is intended.
Chapter 2 – Come and Passed
Summer has come and passed; The innocent can never last; Wake me up when September ends ~Green Day
"Wylie," she said again, sounding stronger. "Did we spend the night together?"
"No!" he sputtered, "I mean…yes but not…that is…"
"Easy, agent," Vega grinned, "this isn't an interrogation. I'm just pulling your chain."
Through his embarrassment, Wylie felt incredibly relieved that Michelle was still Michelle; full of mischief and quick to laugh. In fact, he realized, she was even more amazing than he ever thought. She'd been shot for crying out loud, less than two days ago; and here she was cracking jokes and laughing.
The woman in the bed suddenly switched from a light laugh to a strained cough. She lay one hand on her right side, just at the bottom of her rib cage where a lump under the thin cotton of her hospital gown betrayed the presence of a thick bandage. Wylie had no idea what to do. Patting her back was not only logistically impossible, but probably not the best thing to do for someone right after major surgery. He saw pain and a glimmer of fear cross her features. She was gesturing weakly and he realized she wanted him to do something with the bed controls. Since she was lying almost fully prone, he figured there was no where to go but up. He briefly studied the controls set into the railing and pushed the button that was embossed with a green triangle pointing up. The bed obligingly began to rise. Once her head was elevated about ten inches, she waved her hand again and he released the button. She grasped his hand in hers and gripped tightly as the last of the coughing fit subsided.
"Are you ok?" Wylie asked anxiously, belatedly realizing how stupid the question was. "Should I get a nurse?" he asked, hoping that question made more sense. Some small part of his brain registered the fact that Vega was gripping his hand like a vice. He wanted to be encouraged by that. He wanted to think that anyone with that much strength couldn't be in serious danger.
"Don't," she breathed, her voice sounding hoarse.
"Don't get the nurse?" he asked.
She shook her head. Incongruously, he could swear he saw her lips curve in a slight smile again.
"Don't…. make…. me laugh."
Wylie watched her struggle to slow her breathing and control the cough until she could speak again.
"It…only hurts… when I laugh," she said and allowed herself a tiny chuckle.
"Oh God!" Wylie exclaimed. Vega was still gripping his hand, or he would have backed up to sit down on the couch. He felt his knees go weak with relief and tightened his grip on the bed rail with his other hand to avoid collapsing to the floor. All the tension of the past two days crashed down on him. Resting his forehead on the metal rail, he allowed the tears to fall.
After a moment the hand gripping his relaxed.
"Hey?"
Her voice was still weak, but her concern came through loud and clear. Wylie realized he needed to get his act together. He should be helping Michelle deal with everything that happened, not the other way around. He lifted his head and turned to one side, doing his best to wipe the tears on his sleeve.
"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, sniffling to clear his nose. "I should go…go… clean up," he said gesturing towards the bathroom. "Will you be ok for a minute?"
She nodded, released his hand and waved him away. "I'm fine…I'll just hang out here while you go blow your nose."
"Get a grip, Jason," he berated himself in the mirror. "She's probably going to need physical therapy – hell, she'll probably have PTSD or something from this and she doesn't need you blubbering at her bedside."
Staring at his reflection, he noted that, in addition to having bags from the poor sleep he was getting on the make-shift couch, his eyes were now puffy and red-rimmed. He obviously wasn't cut out for this sort of drama in his life. He was determined to be supportive, though; and he intended to be there for her in whatever capacity she needed. So he would just have to find the strength in himself to do that.
He still wasn't quite sure what this thing between them was. Michelle called him last weekend and they'd agreed – at least he was pretty sure they'd agreed – that they were officially dating, but keeping it quiet. They'd been on one all-day outing that was sort of a date and they'd planned another day trip to Houston for the coming weekend; a trip he realized wasn't going to happen.
They'd shared two amazing kisses. Both of which, he realized, Michelle had initiated. He also realized it was probably going to be awhile before he could rectify that. She could barely breathe right now without starting a coughing fit. It really wasn't the time for tonsil-hockey.
He was stalling and he knew it. He was also going to be incredibly late for work, but that was something he couldn't dredge up much concern over. Wiping his puffy eyes once more with a wet cloth, he tossed it in the laundry bin and walked back out, hoping that Vega hadn't fallen asleep while he was pulling himself together. He really wanted a few more moments to talk with her and reassure himself that she really was ok before he had to leave for work.
As soon as the bathroom door shut behind him, something small and white whizzed past his head. He pivoted around in an effort to follow the object, but before he could locate it, he felt another bounce off his left shoulder. Turning back towards the occupant of the bed, he was hit directly on the nose. It was then that he noticed that Michelle had a line of objects set up on the table that stood beside her bed. She was deftly flicking her ammunition in his direction in a rapid fire succession that would have earned high points on the FBI firing range.
"Hey!" he protested, striding into the oncoming fire as yet another missile bounced off his right cheek and another grazed his shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Target practice!" she declared, still flicking madly.
As he drew closer, a projectile caught him square in the chest and he was able to catch it before it fell to the ground.
"Score!" she exclaimed, "right in the heart!"
Playing along, Wylie grinned and dramatically pressed one hand above his heart. As he reached the bedside, he looked at the object in his hand, then at the array of objects remaining on the table. Each was a tiny, but exquisite paper bird. They were not all alike, and he couldn't really identify most of them beyond the fact that they were definitely birds. There was one, however that looked distinctly like a turkey and a couple of others that appeared to be standing on one leg, so he supposed those were flamingos.
"Where did you get these?" he asked, amazed at how many of the tiny creatures she had collected.
"I've been making them," she answered. "There isn't much that they let me do here, other than watch television. I like to have something keeping my hands busy. When I first started with the team, Jane showed me how to make an origami frog; which is the cutest thing – it hops! I got hooked and found places online that show you how to make all kinds of critters. There's only a few that I've learned how to do by heart." She flicked another bird across the room. It hit a flower in the print that adorned the wall near the door.
Wylie shook his head. "You are just full of surprises, Michelle Vega. What other hidden talents do you possess?"
Michelle cocked her head and winked. "Wouldn't you like to know," she teased.
"Knock, knock!"
A young man dressed in the long white coat that was the universal symbol for Doctor stepped in.
"I'm glad to see you're awake, Ms. Vega," he began, flipping through the pages on a thick medical chart. He stepped on one of the fallen birds, which made a crackling noise as it was crushed under his shoe. Picking up his foot, he peered quizzically at the now unrecognizable wad of paper. He shrugged, and dismissed the anomalous object. "I'm sorry to interrupt you and your friend, but we do need to discuss where you go from here. You came through the surgery very well, but I'm afraid that bullet did a good deal of damage. You've got a lot of work ahead of you."
The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up. ~Paul Valery
March 4, 2015