Happy Wega Wednesday!
It surprised both Vega and Wylie that suddenly it was morning. "Did we just talk all night?" He asked.
She blinked. "Wow. I...I guess so." She rose to head to the bathroom, grabbing a change of clothes out of her suitcase, then looked guiltily back at Wylie. "Do...do you want to nap before we go?"
"No." He was smiling as he shook his head. "I didn't come out here to make you wait."
It wasn't a long drive to the cemetery, but on this day, it seemed to take longer to Vega. She figured it was because she wasn't alone; she still felt slightly awkward about having someone with her, and she was thankful that Wylie seemed to know she didn't want to be close to the grave until she was by herself.
Wylie stopped the car a couple hundred yards away from where Vega had directed him. "I'll let you out here," he said. "You can walk the rest of the way?"
Vega almost rolled her eyes – of course she was capable of walking – but..."I appreciate your concern," she said, smiling at him, "but I...I think I got this."
"Right, sorry," he cleared his throat. "I'll be right here."
"Thanks." Vega eased out of the car, letting out a shaky breath. She could see her father's grave – she wouldn't be able to point it out to Wylie, but she knew exactly which one it was. She hadn't been here in almost a year, a fact that she hated to remember, despite having a busy schedule that didn't really allow for trips to Miami.
As she neared his grave, she had to stop for a moment and wonder if her legs were shaking from physical weakness or from the emotions she was feeling. It felt like it had been yesterday, not two years ago, that she'd dropped to the floor, bruising both her knees in the process, and lost her stoic Army façade in front of a dozen people, sobbing loudly with her hands over her face. It didn't help that the grave, while not fresh, still looked much newer than most of the surrounding ones. She swallowed hard and blinked the tears from her eyes when she saw one a few dozen yards away that was fresh. Stay strong, Michelle.
She lowered herself to the ground, knowing what the tombstone said but reading it anyway. Badilón Vega, July 4th, 1954, February 21st, 2013. Then his achievements. Vega rested her hands on her knees, quiet for a long time before addressing the grave. "Hi Dad," she said. "Sorry it's been a little while." She looked around. She didn't feel weird talking to her father like this, but she was still a bit self-conscious sharing details of her life if someone else was nearby. But she was alone.
"I made it into the FBI. I'm assigned in Austin, Texas. It's...it's a lot different than what I'd expected. We use trickery to get confessions or to make arrests. I was really worried at first...that sort of thing isn't how you raised me at all, and the only thing I want to do is make you proud of me..." she trailed off, clearing her throat. "But we do good work. We do really good work. The team is incredible. I do think you would like them...our new boss was Army too. He works hard and is matter of fact like you were. I know you would like him. Then we have, and she actually used to be Cho's boss...Teresa Lisbon, she's a lot like I am, work focused for most of her life, but she knew how to let people in, eventually, to get close to the people she worked with and use them as a sort of surrogate family, which I've started to do myself. She's in a relationship with our consultant, he comes up with all the crazy tricks, he's a good guy, though. And our analyst is Wylie. He does 'all that gaming nonsense' like me." Vega smiled. Her father had never minded her interest at all, but he did like to tease her about it. "He's been a great friend, especially in the past few weeks." She shifted her weight, putting a hand on the grass over the grave. "I was shot, Dad. On a job. It was really bad, I almost joined you. But I'm back to work now...things are different, harder...I'm not used to being so reliant on other people. It's been really hard. But everyone has been great." Vega stopped. She wasn't sure how to articulate to her father just how much her FBI team had come to mean to her, both before and after her injury. "They're..." her voice cracked. "They're really special, Dad. I wish you could have met them." She sat in silence for several minutes, then cocked her head. "Actually...you can meet one of them."
She rose and walked back toward the car.
Wylie was surprised when Vega tapped on the window after only fifteen minutes. He'd watched her walk to the grave, in his usual weakness of not being able to take his eyes off her, but when her tiny frame - much smaller at the distance, knelt down, he suddenly felt as if he was violating her privacy by watching, and, uncomfortable, looked down at the little Miami tourism pamphlet he'd grabbed at the hotel for the sole purpose of distracting himself while she was with her father. He hadn't even gotten through it all when she was standing at his window. He rolled it - wow, this car is old - down. "Is something wrong?"
She shook her head. "No. I, uh..." she wrung her hands, then cleared her throat. "This is going to sound really stupid, but...I want Dad to meet you."