Detective Megan Wheeler

“Good for her.”

Megan Wheeler had said it at least ten times to herself in the car, and she said it again as she let herself into her apartment.

Julianna deserved a nice guy, a gentleman who treated her right. Someone smart, funny, charming... and someone not serving fourteen years in a federal prison.

Okay, Megan admitted to herself as she closed her apartment door, maybe I'm a little bit jealous. Still, she reasoned with herself. It wasn't an angry kind of jealousy. Julianna really did deserve someone great. Megan just wished she'd had the same luck herself.

Margot was fast asleep, so Megan didn't wake her. She went back to the living room and sat on the couch.

It's not like she's going to just up and disappear. We'll still hang out. Megan nodded to herself and flipped on the news. Nothing has to change.

She knew they could— and would— still go for drinks, still laugh and talk. Sure, Julianna wouldn't have a ton of free time between dating and work, but she'd still have some.

Of course, if she were completely honest with herself, Megan would have to admit that she was a little jealous of this Jonathan fellow. He'd gotten himself an attractive woman, not to mention a really smart one. He got to hear details about a fascinating, out of the ordinary job. And Julianna knew how to have fun while still knowing when to be serious.

Megan couldn't say for sure who she thought had gotten the better catch, but... she was getting closer to being able to admit that she was a little jealous of them both.

Megan Wheeler looked at her caller ID. She knew the number-- Fairton Federal Prison.

She picked up the phone and promptly hung it up. Did Colin really think that she'd talk to him? Megan felt she'd made herself very clear in the letters she'd sent him. She'd told him Margot's name, sent a picture, but she'd made it very clear that he was not going to have any part in her life.

“Aw, did that wake you up, sweetheart?” she said to the little girl beside her on the couch. The infant, of course, didn't respond. She grasped her mother's finger, and Megan used her other arm to pick Margot up. “It was loud, huh? Well, Mommy's going to turn the ringer off so it won't happen again.”

Megan didn't, not right away. Instead, she carried her daughter across the apartment and into the bedroom they shared. The spare room (presently home to all the clutter Megan had accumulated throughout the years) would be cleared out later, when Margot was old enough to need her own room. For now, though, Megan liked being able to wake up and immediately see her daughter, know everything was okay.

Megan bounced Margot a little, smiling. “Uncle Danny's gonna come over tomorrow. Won't that be fun? And you'll show him what a good little girl you are, won't you?” She laughed. “Or are you going to make him glad he never had daughters?” Megan kissed Margot's forehead. “Aw, but you're too cute for anyone to ever think that, no matter how much Mommy doesn't like it when you don't let her sleep.” She laid Margot down in the crib and went back into the living room.

She picked up the phone and looked at it for a few moments. Maybe she should call the prison or go to visit Colin.

No.

She wasn't going to let her daughter grow up with a criminal father in her life.

Megan pressed the ringer button on the phone until it hit “silent” mode.

It was last minute, and, really, Megan Wheeler's hopes weren't high. Still, it never hurt to ask. Her sister was at dinner with her husband, a night out for two. Her mom... Well, Megan felt bad always asking her to watch Margot. 

Tonight, she dialed a different number. After all, Captain Ross had said to let her know if she ever needed help.

Father's Day. Another stupid commercial holiday. Of course, Megan Wheeler wouldn't acknowledge the discrepancy between dismissing Father's Day and celebrating Mother's Day. She told herself it was perfectly fair to participate in one and scoff at the other.

The Major Case detective leaned back in the booth at the diner. While restaurants were packed, this place was quiet, only its regulars sitting at their tables, all spread out. The little waitress had quite a walk, being the only person taking care of the tables. Wheeler made a mental note to tip the girl well. She looked like she needed it.

Megan watched the door of the diner, waiting for Julianna.

"If you ever need a hand with anything..."

"Even diaper duty?"

"Anything."

She smiled, rolled her eyes when Nichols pulled a chair out for her. When Danny offered her support, she made a joke, waved him off. She could handle anything this world threw at her. Her fiance was in prison. She had a new partner. She was pregnant.

Nothing could faze Megan Wheeler.

Or that's what she liked everyone to think.

Now, alone in her apartment, she shed her coat, threw it over the back of the couch. The fridge was a pathetic sight. She really needed to go grocery shopping. She opened a bottle of Sprite, trying to pretend it was beer in the plastic bottle. God, could she go for a beer right now.

Truth be told, she was terrified. What was she thinking? She was a cop. Not only that. She was a single cop. She had no fiance, barely enough room in this apartment for herself. She would not move back in with her mother.

But she might need her to babysit.

Megan groaned as she sat on the couch. She didn't know the first thing about taking care of a baby, not that she didn't have time to learn. Scheduling time for classes would be difficult. Her mother said that it came naturally, a sort of maternal instinct, but Megan worried. After all, how many cases had she heard about where mothers killed their babies?

She'd mentioned it once, venting her frustration. Her mother, naturally, argued. "How many mothers go day in and day out without ever doing a thing to their children?" Megan knew there were merits to that line of thinking. After all, her job just exposed her to the worst of the worst.

Still. Couldn't know until it happened, or at least until the warning signs started showing. But with no one around... would anyone notice if she did start showing the warning signs? The thought scared her more than she'd ever admit.

Before she could think about it too much longer, her cellphone rang. A welcome distraction.

"Wheeler," she answered.

"Megan," a man's voice came from the other end.

"Oh, Captain!" Megan got up, grabbing her coat. "Need me down at the squad? Case?"

"No, Megan, nothing like that."

"Oh." She sat back down.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine... How are you?"

"No. Really. How are you?" He waited, listened to her sigh. "Tell me everything."

This journal has changed owners.

Stay tuned for prompts/rps from the new player!

OOC: Since I haven't yet "recharged" Wheeler's verse as it were [see this post for more details], I'm going to say this is set for mid-Season 7, not long after her canon return to MCS. Also, other members of MCS are welcome to join in if they want.

Megan walked into the bar in lower Manhattan and looked around. The place was full, but not overly crowded, typical for the end of a week. The clientele was mixed – a handful of middle-aged, working class people, some hipsters and some others who just blended in with the background. They could be secretaries or lawyers or grocery store clerks, or, in Megan’s case, cops. She liked this bar – there were no tourists, the beer was decently priced and while she occasionally saw another cop or two, it was not a cop bar. Cop bars could be fun and they had a certain usefulness, but sometimes it was just nice to be somewhere without the job.

Taking off her scarf from around her neck, Megan slid into a booth, midway back. She shrugged her shoulders and looked at the menu. Buffalo wings sounded good at the moment. She’d had a brief lunch, sometime earlier in the day. She couldn’t quite remember. While Logan could easily eat several hotdogs or pizza slices or small countries in the five or ten minutes that usually ended up being their “lunch hour”, Megan usually wound up with indigestion if she ate greasy food too fast.

Buffalo wings and beer, however, was just perfect.

The bar wasn’t anything fancy – simple wood bar along one side, with barstools and a jukebox. There was a small area for dancing and both tables and booths lined the walls. She glanced over toward the door, wondering when Eames would arrive.

Obviously, I've been kind of behind with Wheeler. She's not really active anywhere at the moment, except for the occasional interaction on sixwordstories, or with individual characters upon request.

I need to catch up on Season 7, which hopefully I will have done by the time the first Wheeler/Nichols episode airs.

*takes a breath*

That being said, when this Wheeler does return in full, I'm going to be toying with her timeline a bit. Because she was gone for half of Season Seven, I had to make up a lot of stuff I didn't know for that time...but when she returned, we got filled in and I felt sort of weird with my RP canon and her show canon...

When she goes back to being active, I will be going from mid-season 7, purely canon.

Until then, as I said, she is available for individual RPs, either thread-based or AIM-based, and will pop up on sixwordstories when I feel like it.

Thank you.

What, is this like, bullshit Friday or something?

I need a drink.

Logan? Goren? Captain?? Eamesy? *hopeful*

...also, I have this damn song in my head.

Why, yes, I think I am the "mutha flippin'" as it were.

Is there a situation where it's appropriate to be unkind?

Sure. When someone’s being a jackass, for one thing. Like for instance, the other day I was taking the subway and I needed to recharge my Metro card. There were these two drunk women (and it was like three in the afternoon) who were taking forever to recharge their cards. Specifically, they were using nickels and dimes, which they barely had the mental capacity/sobriety to stick in the right slot. There was a huge line. One of them bent over to get a penny she dropped and the whole line got a lovely view of her ass because her Seven jeans were too big. I don’t care who you are or how cute you think your ass is (or how cute it may actually be), I don’t want to see it when I’m trying to fucking get home after a twelve-hour shift.

So some loud lady yelled, “Nice asscrack, bitches! Now hurry the fuck up!”

See that? Totally acceptable.

word count: 159

OMG Moments. Most interesting/memorable/horrible/etc experience with your partner/team/client, etc.

...you mean I can only pick just ONE? I mean, Logan and I have only been partners a couple of years (less than that, if you count the time I was gone) but we've had SO many memorable times.

I mean, there was the time he made me be the "face of the NYPD" and appeal to all of those bloggers during the fake kidnapping of Willow Tyler. What was it he said to the makeup lady? "Do what you can." Right. As if my face is the one that could use a lot of concealer and a bunch of Oil of Olay (or something. Hey, Logan, I hear hemmorhoid cream is great for bags around your eyes).

Or there was the time when he let me be used as target practice for that kid from Queens who we were trying to get a confession out of. Nothing like getting smacked around by an arrogant-as-fuck perp who was getting messages from God or whatever.

Not to mention (again) our encounter with the Albanian mob, who I'm pretty sure are planning to come get us one day.

I feel like I'm writing an essay. "In conclusion, Detective Logan and I have had many interesting/memorable/horrible experiences, too many to name them all here."

I should write a book. "Clowns to the Left of Me, Logan to the Right." I think I could sell that.

* Mood:

Mike Logan. And no, Logan, I don't want to get into your pants. This involves nothing at all sexual. It involves...hmm, what did we used to do to the first girl to fall asleep at sleepovers? It involved markers on her face, shaving cream on one hand and putting the other hand into a bowl of warm water. *shameless grin on her face* Right. That was it. And of course, a camera. Because nothing counts if it's not recorded for posterity/redistribution.

Why would I do this?...because it's funny? Also, because I've already seen Ross drunk and done terrible things to him while in said state (AGAIN, nothing sexual there!)? Oh, and because Goren drunk isn't funny so much as it is like watching a big giant teddy bear get really depressed and who likes depressed teddy bears?

...did I mention I may have had a few? Luckily, none of you are nowhere NEAR me. I'm not that stupid.

word count: 158

1. Karen getting her ass off of my couch. It better be in the near future or I’m liable to kill her. And yes *pointed look in Ross’s direction* I realize I should have thrown her out weeks ago. You try dealing with her.


2. Drinks with El Goren. Because…it’s fun to harass him.

3. Finishing this case. I blame Goren (speaking of). If he was here, he definitely would’ve gotten stuck with this art theft bull. Do Logan and I look like we give a crap about Manet and Monet?

word count: 91

Most of you have been hurt before on the job. Let's hear about a memorable one... or two or a dozen injuries you've had.

About a year and a half ago, my partner and I get this case involving a dead fireman who's been stabbed 22 times. The fireman also happens to be gay. We pretty strongly believe at the time that prejudices within the FDNY have something to do with his death and so we go to confront a particular fireman in his ladder. The guy, Charlie Hugo, refuses to cooperate. My partner, as you might know by now, is not one to take no for an answer, particularly from a potential suspect. He presses Charlie (who is now being backed up by a group of firemen, all of them fairly strapping and ominous looking).

Finally, Charlie (much to what I think is my partner's secret joy) clocks Logan hard, in the nose. Being the assaulted police officer, Logan strikes back and before I know it, the other firemen are throwing punches and kicks at him and at myself as well. The one time I'm seen as just a cop and not a female cop, I get kicked in the ribs, punched in the jaw and knocked to the ground by big, burly firemen.

Fortunately, I have the radio and manage to call in a 10-13 and request backup. When the address of the firehouse is broadcast over the radio, every cop in the vicinity, uniform and plainclothes alike, comes out.

...which wouldn't be so bad, but it turns into an all-out NYPD versus FDNY brawl...which leads to Logan and me getting a full-blown hearing in front of Internal Affairs and the brass. Fortunately, we're cleared, and thanks to the investigation that's launched, are able to find the actual killer.

But you know, not before the whole thing is broadcast numerous times on the front pages of various tabloids. Nothing like being front-page news when your face is all banged up and there's bold-face type announcing that you're one of a group of "out of control" cops.

[post-ep for Weeping Willow. detmike_logan used with permission.]

Megan continued to glare at the jumbo screen as Lisa “Willow” Tyler’s face jabbered away at Larry King and millions of Americans who would surely eat her story right up. She wasn’t a good actress, her story wasn’t sympathetic. She was a fraud, who had duped those same viewers and helped cause a murder. Megan’s disgust wasn’t just with the teenager. It was with herself, for buying the story in the beginning.

“She really had me fooled,” Megan shook her head.
“She had us all fooled,” Logan said, standing beside her, looking at her with slight concern. He’d seen a lot in his day and it hadn’t phased him that Willow had turned out to be what she was. Megan, on the other hand, was still a bit naïve and he could tell she was upset. “Let’s go grab a bite to eat.” As if to show he really did care, he added, “I’m buyin’.”

Megan nodded, and moved off the street with him, onto the sidewalk as they headed away from the tourist trap that was Times Square.

( 'So where're we eating?' Megan asked. )

word count: 598

Not that desperate -- I've got dignity.  

Megan walked into her apartment and turned on the living room light, only to be startled by the figure curled up on her couch under a pile of blankets.  Her hand went to her gun.

“Hey!” She barked. “What the hell?” It was more of a command for the intruder to get up or get shot than it was a question.

“Uhh?”  The redhead on the couch sat up, groggily. 

Realizing who it was, Megan glared.  “Karen!”

Karen Wheeler blinked at the light. “Don’t yell, why are you yelling?”

“Because it’s 2am and you’re in my apartment,” Megan’s words were deliberate.  “Sleeping in my living room on my couch.”

“I know,” Karen’s voice was tired and whiny, like a petulant child.  “And you woke me up.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Megan demanded.  “Where’s Kyle?”

“With his dad,” Karen muttered.  “Can you turn off the light?”

“You can’t just come here without an explanation,” Megan’s voice grew exasperated. 

“I got evicted,” Karen avoided her older sister’s look. 

“And so you decided to move in here? Why didn’t you go to Mom’s? Or I don’t know, somewhere not in my living room?”

“Come on, Meg,” Karen gave Megan her best pathetic puppy dog look.

“Rrrrrgh.”  Megan gave another glare as she stomped toward her bedroom.  “Fine. But you’re not staying here longer than a few days and you’re sleeping there on the couch. Keep your crap in the hall closet or whatever.”

Karen, as always, was unaffected by Megan’s tone.  “What were you doing slinking in at 2am?”

“I wasn’t slinking!” Megan hissed, doing a quarter-turn.  “I was dragging myself home after getting called out to a crime scene. Unlike some people, I don’t party till all hours of the morning for a living.  When I’m out after midnight it’s because some rich guy died or some politician’s kid went missing!”

“Well, which was it tonight?” Karen wanted to know.
“Homicidal sibling,” Megan shot back before slamming the door to her bedroom.

[word count: 333]