I know this chapter is short, but I wanted to get this thing updated one more time this month. I've missed the past several Wega Wednesdays but I didn't want to wait for the next one. Maybe I'll have an update then, too.


When Wylie awoke, his wife was still asleep , her head tipped toward his side. He smiled. She was in the oversized sweatpants he'd brought her when she got discharged and her black sports bra – she was the only person he'd ever spent a night with that actually slept in a bra – but although he raised his eyes at her initially, now it was part of what made him smile when he observed her like this. It was part of the style that made her Uniquely Michelle. And after the scare of the day before, seeing her so sound asleep, looking so like she usually did, and seeming so relaxed, made Wylie feel so, so much better.

He ran his hand over her, starting down between her hips, where the baby was at this stage, and all the way up to the spot right below her sternum where the bullet had entered. It was a bumpy path, traveling over all of her scars.

I have a body that will never be the same.

She was right, Wylie knew. He hadn't thought of it that way before, but although he was hardly blind to her scars, he had never really thought about them beyond the fact that they represented her long term fight for her life. Her abdomen had, at one point, been all smooth. Her abdomen, at one point, had all been one color. He'd never known it any way other than this. But she had. And of course, this all went, on both physical and mental levels, way deeper than some scars.

Wylie felt terrible that he hadn't thought of it that way before. She'd been right – he was so grateful, he thanked every deity he could think of every single day that she'd made it and although he thought in time the memory of how he'd felt during that awful six weeks might fade, it never had. Every single time he looked at her he was reminded of how lucky he was, how lucky she was, how lucky they were. He had to be better at remembering that the kind of frustration, fear, and pain he felt whenever she had to go back into the hospital for whatever reason, she probably felt on some level every single day.

"You have to understand though," he said softly, "that I will never stop being glad you're here, you're able to go back to work…I am sorry I haven't been more sensitive, but I will never apologize for being so happy you're right here." he bit his lip, then quietly began to sing. "Michelle, ma belle. These are words that go together well – my Michelle."

Vega stirred at the sound of his voice, rolling over onto her side against him. Wylie slid his arms around her and cuddled her close. "Yep," he whispered. "My Michelle."