The drive home took forever now.
At least, it seemed so. It was the start of week three where only one half of "Agents Wylie" were on a case. This was certainly less painful than the period of time where Vega wasn't working at the FBI because everyone thought she was dead and she was at the FWTC secretly clinging to life. But just because it could be worse – or had been worse – didn't mean that he couldn't think the situation sucked.
Agent Kemper was a good partner. For a multitude of reasons, she and Wylie didn't attack cases together in the same way that he and Vega did. But she was smart, and insightful, and solid on the job. And her sense of humor had developed to be quite like Jane, Lisbon, and Wylie's, so at least working closely with her was fun. He did, however, think on occasion about how when she had initially been hired, Cho had emphasized to Wylie that she was meant to replace Vega, but only professionally. He had said so to let Wylie know that it was okay that he was still grieving, and that Kemper's assignment to the team didn't mean he had to forget about her.
Of course this time, they all knew exactly where Michelle Vega was, and that she would be back. But Wylie still couldn't quite get past the realization that Kemper was replacing her yet again.
He supposed it was nice that he always would know who would be there as understudy. But at the same time, he missed getting to see her at work, to chat with her on the drive back to the house. Even though she was still in his life, the gaps he wasn't used to having in their contact felt astronomically large.
He pulled up to the house and hesitated slightly before opening the car door. It was chillier than forecasted, and while the car was lonely, it was at least a comfortable temperature. Despite his need to get into the house and put the work day behind him, he still lingered a moment.
When he finally darted to the house and slipped inside, no inviting smells reached his nostrils, giving him the indication that his wife hadn't been in a happy mood that day. She had her highs and lows, more lows since she was instructed to refrain from work, but usually she had some form of food ready when he got home. Wylie felt somewhat guilty about her doing that, but she assured him that she just liked being able to do something to contribute and she would probably feel worse if she didn't. He supposed he understood. He supposed if it made her feel better, it was the right thing to do even if he didn't understand.
What did meet his senses was faint music from down the hall, and as he headed toward the bedroom to change out of his work uniform, his assumption that it was coming from the bedroom was proven correct.
Will I lose my dignity?
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?
He recognized the song and bit his lip. It was his room as much as hers, but he lightly rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Michelle, can I come in?"
There was a pause. Then, "yeah."
He found her laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling fan. Her hands were resting on her belly and she didn't turn to look at him. Wylie felt a pang of sympathy, remembering all the magazines at the doctor's office of happy, smiling pregnant women. "Bad day, huh."
Will someone care?
She sighed. "Yeah. I just have no energy to do anything. Or I guess no motivation. Or maybe it is no energy. Is it weird that I can't even tell?" She tipped her head at him. "I just keep thinking about things that just don't do me any good to think about."
Wylie crossed the room and sat on the bed, looking down at her. "I'm sorry, Michelle."
She closed her eyes for a long moment. "It shouldn't matter right now that my stupid gunshot injuries are probably gonna kill me in a couple of decade's time. But my brain convinces me that I'm irresponsible for having a kid when I have these issues, and then my brain tells itself that it's no different than people with dangerous jobs having kids, and then I think about how frustrated I am that I can't work, and it's like one side of my brain is saying, like, how long are you going to fixate on this, just relax already, and the other half is like until the end of time, you dummy, come focus on it with me. She yawned. "I don't even know if I feel sad right now, just…out of it and stressed."
Will I lose my dignity?
Wylie rested a hand in her hair. "I'm sorry." He wanted to tell her that he wished he could help. But he knew that being there was enough. She'd told him that many times – usually just after rolling her eyes at his "foolish thought that you aren't doing a thing." He put his other hand on top of hers.
"I just hate unknowns, Jay," she said with a sigh. "And I hate that some days I can push all that to the back, some days they overwhelm me, and some days they just do enough to make me useless."
"I know," he said, lightly squeezing one of her hands. "I know it's hard."
"Tell me something," she said, looking up at him again.
"Tell you what?"
"Just something. Something good. Or funny. Just something that I'm missing that you think I really need to know."
Wylie saw her eyes light up, ever so slightly, when he grinned. "Actually, I do have something," he said. "Rigsby and Van Pelt are in town, and I guess while they were out with Jane, Lisbon, and Cho for lunch today, Summer was there. You know, our ultrasound technician."
"She like…came on the lunch with them?"
"No. No no." Wylie shook his head. "She was at the same place. And she came over and said hello, and she and Cho exchanged pleasantries, brief ones, very casual, and then she was headed back to the table where her friends were."
"Does this story get better?"
He saw a mischievous glint in Vega's eye. "Don't be hating on my story telling skills," he chided playfully. Then he cleared his throat. "Okay, but it does get better. After she headed back, our food arrived, and at one point Cho got up to take a phone call, and Jane just looked at all of us and said, 'they're absolutely sleeping together. It's so obvious.' And Rigsby thought he meant Cho and whatever FBI dude was on the phone. But no. He meant Cho and Summer."
