This was a hard chapter to write. Well, not hard in the beginning, but further research left me with a quandary. The flash of an IED is probably not strong enough to have caused PFB (Permanent Flash Blindness). Any other cause would mean an extensive re-write. It's fiction, so after much deliberation, I've decided to go with PFB. I don't like not being 100% accurate, but I'm also a tad lazy at times. I'm going with what I've written even if not accurate. Don't call me on it too much 'K?

My appreciation to Resourcess7 for her comments and corrections.

Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affairs, Auggie or Annie. I do like to play with the characters in my mind. I do own Alan, and Dr. Perkins and my story.

A/N - I've modified the cause of August's blindness. Finally found something real that works without extensive rewrite. Only needed a few words here and there.

First Lieutenant August David Anderson slowly became aware of his surroundings. He had the worst headache of his life. An involuntary groan escaped his lips. As if in a tunnel, he heard voices in the background; slowly they became louder and more distinct.

"Anderson's coming around," a voice to his left said as a firm hand touched his shoulder.

"Wh-where am I?" 1Lt. Anderson mumbled.

"Field hospital. You've been out for a couple of hours. How do you feel?"

1Lt. Anderson moved his arms and legs without pain; then took in a deep breath, noticing some discomfort in his ribs. He moved his hands to his face and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to chase away the grogginess. His skull seemed to scream at the pressure, and he groaned weakly at the pain.

Firm hands removed his hands from his face. "Anderson?"

"I've got the mother of all headaches," he said with a dawning awareness that his eyes weren't registering a thing.

"You've got a concussion, but you should be up and around in a few days, and back on duty in a week or so."

"Concussion. Had 'em before, but why is this one not letting me see?" An edge of panic had taken over. Now in fight-or-flight mode, he swung his legs over the edge of the cot and sat up in one quick motion. August immediately regretted that action; his stomach churned and he convulsed with the dry heaves. Two sets of firm hands laid him back down on the bed. His powerful grip latched onto the arms controlling his. For the first time in his military career, 1Lt August David Anderson knew terror—pure, unadulterated, ass-kicking terror – and despite his training, this time he was unable to harness his fear into razor-sharp mental focus. Panic took over, and he found himself taking quick, trembling breaths.

"Calm down, soldier; that's an order!" From somewhere above the firm voice of authority commanded him.

He relaxed his grip a bit, but his panic was not abated. "What happened?" His fingers were pried off the wrists they were clutching, and fell to his side.

"What do you remember?"

"Huh? … I remember getting out of the humvee with Specialist Long; we were going to check on a dead dog alongside the trail for a possible IED. Next thing was Long flying back at me and a bright flash." An involuntary shudder passed through August's body as he recounted the last thing he remembered. "How's Long?"

"He's on his way to Baghdad; then on to Germany and Stateside. His status is 'iffy'." There was a brief pause and a definite click from somewhere in front of August's face. "Do you see this?"

"NO!"

"How about this?"

August shook his head. "What's wrong with my eyes?" He asked with a demanding tone.

"We don't know, sir. We're going to give you a mild sedative to ease your anxiety; then you're heading off to Germany, too."

He felt a cold swipe to his upper arm and a sharp prick immediately after. Very soon thereafter he felt the tension ease from his body and mind.

The next day was an awkward blur of rising and falling levels of anxiety and frustrating attempts to care for himself. If a meal was more than a sandwich or other finger food, the meal tray, more often than not, wound up being unceremoniously swiped to the floor. Staff who tried to help were rewarded with resistance and, cursing and thrashing arms. His attempts to locate and use the latrine met with similar outcomes – frustrated curses. His one refuge from his anxiety was sleep, where he was shielded in a deep, medicated cocoon.

Once he arrived at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, 1Lt August Anderson promptly received an MRI of his head and a thorough eye exam. The next morning he met again with the attending ophthalmologist for more tests.

Shortly after August had shoved the remnants of his breakfast aside, but not to the floor – he'd been soundly reprimanded for sending his dinner crashing to the floor the evening before – he heard someone approaching.

"Anderson," a vaguely familiar voice said evenly. "Dr. Perkins here; I've got the results of your exams."

August mentally braced himself for the worst – that the nothingness before him would be permanent, all the while hoping that the news would tell him when his sight would return. "Let me have it, doc."

A gentle female hand touched his hand. He stiffened under her touch; this was not going to be good.

"The news is, unfortunately, not good. Your eyes are permanently damaged from the concussive wave of the exploding IED. The shockwave detached both retinas and damaged your optic nerves. They're not going to repair themselves and there is no surgery, or pill, that will fix them. You're permanently blind."

"NO!" The scream slipped from his lips in the form of a guttural cry of pain. He felt as if he'd been gut punched; an unfamiliar wetness welled up in his sightless eyes. After a few moments he managed to sputter out a timid, "What now?"

"We'll give you a few hours to compose yourself; then you'll get shipped back to the States. Walter Reed first; then where you go for rehabilitation is open. Once there you'll begin your training to learn to live as a blind person. You'll be taught how to move about safely and with confidence, and relearning how to do many things will come with time." Dr. Perkins patted his hand and a few moments later he heard the door close.

His fingers found the hospital bed's controls and laid back, then curled into the fetal position and sobbed into his pillow. On the one hand it felt very un-soldierly; on the other he could not stop the flow of emotions that washed over him – fear was primary, but waves of anger and despair lapped at him, too.

Sometime later, once his tears had ceased, August rubbed his eyes and heard the door latch click and tentative footsteps approaching. The footfalls were not the quick, sure ones of hospital staff. Uneasily August called out, "Who's there?" His fingers touched the controls and raised the head of the bed.

"It's me, Auggie," the familiar voice of his brother, Alan said.

"Alan? What the hell are you doing here?" Auggie asked, incredulity lacing his voice.

"Have you forgotten that I'm your Emergency Contact?" Alan Anderson said while pulling Auggie into a brotherly hug.

Auggie fingered the fabric of his brother's Marine shirt and absent-mindedly traced the insignia on the sleeve. "As a matter of fact I did, Alan. Or should I call you 'Gunny' now?" How did I know that? Auggie thought to himself.

Alan broke the hug and held his brother at arm's length. "They told me that you'd been in an IED explosion and were being sent here ASAP. They expedited my paperwork and I got leave from the unit and got here as fast as I could. I feared the worst, but you don't look anything like I expected. You don't look hurt at all."

"Looks can be deceiving," Auggie said sadly. Then barely above a whisper he added, "I'm blind, Alan. I'm permanently blind."

After he inhaled sharply in surprise, Alan once again pulled his brother into a bear hug. "How?"

"The doctor explained it to me a few hours ago, but I really didn't understand the details. She called it 'Purser's - Pusher's - P-something Retinopathy'.

"I'm calling Adam. Maybe he'll be able to explain it to us."

"NO!" Auggie lashed out with his arms and was rewarded with the sound of a cell phone skittering across the floor. The last thing that he wanted was his doctor brother flying halfway around the world to hold his hand. It was bad enough that Alan was here. Adam might have tormented him mercilessly when they were growing up, they might have fought like pit bulls, but when the times were tough they always had each other's backs.

"Auggie, what's gotten into you? Why don't you want to talk to Adam?" The sound of his voice retreated.

"I don't … I don't know." He lied crossly. "I don't want the rest of the family to know. Not right now anyway. Promise me you won't call Mom and Dad," he begged. "Or share this information with any of our brothers."

"I'm not sure that's the right thing to do," Alan replied from nearby.

"Promise!" August commanded his brother as he started to rise out of the hospital bed, intent on finding Alan and taking his phone from him. Alan might have been six years older than Auggie, but August out ranked his brother.

"Calm down, Auggie. Okay. I promise."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." He cocked his head towards his older brother. Part of him wanted to admit his fear and vulnerability to him, part wanted to simply catch up with what had been happening in his Marine world; catching up won out. "Did you get a promotion?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"I don't know," Auggie admitted awkwardly. "I think something different registered when I felt the patch on your sleeve."

"Got the promo a few weeks ago; just got the stripe sewn on a few days ago."

"Oh, hell, Alan. I'm scared." His carefully crafted CIA Special Forces demeanor suddenly fell away. Tears once again welled up, and flooded out. "I don't know how I'm going to … live like this. Don't know if I want to."

Firm hands grasped his upper arms and shook him angrily. "Auggie, don't say that."

"Get me out of here, take me to the street and push me in front of a bus or big truck!"

"I will do no such thing, August." His brother pulled him into another tight hug. "Stop it. I know you're scared. But you CAN do this. I'm here for a few days, we'll work some of it out. Find out what's next for you. I'm pretty damn sure you're not the first soldier to come back from combat like this."

Auggie broke free of his brother's firm embrace. "Like what? Blind? Or scared out of their freaking minds?"

A chair scrapped across the floor as Alan pulled it up to sit beside the hospital bed. "Both," he said decisively. He sat in silence for a few minutes; then said, "Remember that kid, Michael Forester, from high school?"

"The one with the white cane who was tormented endlessly?"'

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"He was blind."

"Are you trying to be helpful here, because it's not working. If I remember right he may have graduated top of his class, but I heard that he went into some sort of sheltered workshop to make brooms or something." The remembered sight of the tall, good-looking kid with an unruly mop of hair tapping his way down the hall, being deliberately bumped and taunted sickened Auggie as it had back then. That wasn't going to be him; but it was.

"I don't know what he might have done right after graduation, but the last time I was home I ran into him and his wife; Tony and Austin dragged me to some lawyer shindig. Remember Christy Brown?"

"The hot cheerleader?"

"Yeah, her. She's now Mrs. Forester."

"You've got to be kidding. She could have had anyone she wanted and she picked him?"

"Yeah. She did. They're both lawyers – part of a high priced law firm in Chicago, according to Austin."

"You're not kidding are you?"

"Nope. Despite his lack of sight he made life work for him. I don't see why you can't."

"He was born blind, he really didn't have much choice."

"And you do?"