Yes, another update already! This fic is my therapy. (See Roxanne I can still surprise you. ;) )

"Your stitches look good," Nurse Jamie said, sliding the gown back over Vega's stomach. "Still feeling weak?"

"A little." She shifted her weight and winced. "I keep getting that leg cramp."

"Your muscles have been working hard," Jamie said. "Even though you aren't walking a lot, after as long as you went without walking at all...once your wound closes we can get you doing water exercises. That should help considerably." He smiled down at her. "You'll get there, Michelle. It just takes time, especially with an injury as severe as yours. Most of your major organs are within inches of the bullet's path."

She nodded.

"I hear you have permissions for a visitor."

Vega nodded again. "Someone I used to work with."

"The man who accompanied you to the hospital?"

Now she shook her head. "No. Another co – worker. Agent Cho was my boss. Agent Wylie was my friend."

Wylie was glad that he'd arrived at the facility – by his own car! – twenty minutes before six, because by the time he was patted down, scanned, and the bundle of flowers he'd brought pulled apart and examined (joke was on them, really, he'd already bugged their offices), it was almost six thirty.

Wylie sighed from the chair he was made to wait in, glancing at the clock, tapping his foot.

"You are the one here to see Michelle Vega?"

He looked up. "Yes?" It came out more like a question, after all, if they found a bug of the insect form in those flowers they'd probably send him away at this point.

The woman sat down next to him. "I'm Ford, one of her nurses."

"Oh. Nice to meet you."

"It will be good for Michelle that you are visiting," Ford told him. "She hasn't said anything to us, but her medical team can tell that she's been really lonely. The employees here, we try to not be impersonal, but we are very busy. Lots of patients, lots of meetings. And nothing really compares to people that knew them before whatever their trauma was."

"I hate the word trauma," Wylie said. "I just keep thinking of what she went through."

"She's a real fighter," Ford said. "We almost lost her the day of the incident, and it was touch and go for days. She has incredible resolve. Even with our methods, four out of five people with her exact injuries would have died anyway. I don't say this to upset you," she said when Wylie looked quickly away, "but to help you encourage her. Her perseverance is extraordinary, but in the past week or so her improvement has slowed. This happens with many of our patients, they get depressed. We can medicate them, but the most effective therapy is, unfortunately, support from loved ones, which for security reasons we cannot usually provide. Many of us admire Michelle, and it thrills us that you are going to be here for her. She deserves more than what the cards have dealt her thus far."

"Jason Wylie," came a sharp voice from the desk. "You may proceed."

Wylie smiled at Ford. "Thank you." He rose and a guard – the shorter one from the previous day – handed him back his flowers and motioned to follow him with a curt hand movement. Wylie was glad he would be escorted to Vega's room. He had no idea how to get there from the front entrance.

When they reached her room, the guard grunted and pointed at the door, then turned and walked halfway down the hallway to a chair, where he took up his post. Wylie pushed the door open and smiled. "Hey."

"You're late." There was a big grin on her face.

"Sorry. They had to make sure I wasn't bringing in weapons."

"Flowers!" she exclaimed. "Wylie, give them to me."

He held the bundle out and she took it, pulling them close and inhaling deeply. "God, this is so much better than hospital smell."

She looked adorable. But Wylie didn't say anything. Vega wasn't the type to be easily flattered by compliments to her appearance. She liked being told she had done a good job. "I was talking to one of the nurses," he said. "She said that you've been impressing them with your recovery."

Vega inhaled the smell of the flowers again. "Not much to do here but get better," she said. "Maybe you shouldn't be here," she said with a laugh, "I'll be spreading myself too thin."

"I can leave if you want..." Wylie said, pretending to consider it.

"No no, sit." She patted the bed, scooting herself over and laughing. "I'll take the risk."

Once Wylie had sat down, they looked at each other for a long time, realizing that neither was really sure of what to say. Their past topics of conversation had been mostly about work...or video games...or them just trying to one up the other on whatever else they managed to talk about. It had been easy, and it had been fun, but they suddenly felt disconnected.

"How are you feeling?" Wylie finally asked.

She shrugged. "One of the things that sucks about getting better is you become aware of just how incompetent you are. I can't get to the bathroom on my own – and it's literally right there." She pointed to a door in the corner of her room, not ten feet from her bed. "It hurts to cough. And I have nothing I can do. I'm done with surgeries, so I'm awake as often as a healthy person, but there's only so much golf you can watch on the little TV up there. So you just start thinking about all the people you want to see. And you can't. And all the things you want to do. That you can't. I want to be able to be my own person again, you know?" She pulled herself into a sitting position, propped up on her elbows. "How is everyone? You know, the team."

"We're okay. I mean, trying to adjust to life without you." Wylie looked down at her. "It's different. It's been really hard."

"How is Agent Cho?"

"He's..." Wylie hesitated, and Vega looked alarmed. "He wasn't hurt too, was he?"

"No. Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember where you were shot?"

"You know I do," Vega said, "but in case I'm ever feeling forgetful, I'm going to have a real nice scar on my stomach."

"No, I mean...do you remember what happened? Where you were, that sort of thing?" He realized that in his brief conversation with her the previous day, she'd been very vague about the day she was shot.

"It's hazy. We were in a diner, it smelled bad, like they used the same grease for everything. It's a blur. I remember earlier in the day...but once Cho and I get there..." She shrugged. "Some of them say its better I don't remember, but I hate...what does this have to do with Cho?" Her eyes were betraying her anxiety. "You said no one else got hurt."

"He is, he's fine," Wylie said quickly. It was too quick. Vega frowned. "Tell me."

"You guys were in a gunfight with these three men," Wylie said, standing up and walking in a small circle. "Cho found you..." he stopped and took a deep breath. It didn't matter that she was alive, this hurt. "He found you on the floor and held you until the ambulance came. You were barely conscious by that point, and since you didn't...well since we were told you didn't..." Wylie shook his head. "His reality is you died in his arms, Michelle."

She was silent for a long time. "Does he blame himself?" she finally asked, looking up at him. "Because if anyone messed up, it would have been me. I'm the rookie. I would have been..."

"No one messed up," Wylie said. "He said you were perfect."

A hint of a smile came over her face. "Really?"

"Yep."

"Perfect," Vega repeated, looking down, turning slightly pink.

Wylie nodded. "Yep."

Vega kept her head down for a long time. Cho said I was perfect. On one hand, she was absolutely thrilled...but hearing for the first time the details of the event that had put her here...she couldn't say it had jogged her memory, but her heart was beginning to race, and she looked back up at him, a tear leaking from her eye. Her eyes were locked with his, and though no sound came from her, the tears were coming, rolling down her cheeks, her lips pressed close together. She hated showing weakness. She always had. Wylie sank down on the bed again and she leaned toward him, using her left arm to support herself as she put her right hand against the side of his neck and tucked her head under his chin. He slid his arms around her. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you."

She shook her head. No, I'm glad you did. I hated knowing that there were things that happened to me that I don't remember. At least I know.

He shifted his weight to make it easier for her to lean on him, and she let out a loud, shaky sigh. "I wish I could do something," Wylie said, rubbing her back with one hand as her fingers curled around his other one.

She pulled away – but didn't let go of his hand – and lay back, their eyes locking. She gave him a small smile. "You are, Wylie," she said as he took her other hand with his free one. "Trust me, you are."

I am a person who cannot get blackout drunk, and am terrified of losing consciousness for whatever reason, because knowing there is a period of my life that I cannot recall would be absolutely terrifying for me. I get the sense that Vega would be the same way, needing to know about that day even if it upsets her.

There will be more to this story than just Wylie and Vega – there is a case in here that the FBI will need to solve!