A/N: Thanks for reading. It means a lot to me. I really do hope you are enjoying reading this. A sequel was never planned, but it's coming together.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing from ABC's Scandal or anyone/anything else.

It was probably seven hours later when I was awoken by the sounds of a nearby helicopter. It sounded like it was getting closer and closer. It sounded like a military helicopter. At least, I thought I heard a helicopter. It was probably just hallucinations from blood loss and drifting in and out of consciousness. But at this point, I had no hope. I was going to die here.

Not until I heard my guys kick in the front door and make their way through the dirty house, searching for me. Less than two minutes later, the door to the dark room was kicked in and Owen had found me, all bruised and broken. Our captain had actually come looking for Warren and me. He quickly radioed back to base that I had been found.

"Did you get Warren?" I asked weakly, the light spilling in from the hallway hurting my tired eyes.

"We did," he said softly, knowing I was upset. "You're going to be ok," he said, looking at how badly I was burned. "We got a plane waiting to take you to Berlin and take Warren for an autopsy. I'm going with you and Kevin is taking over the mission. We gotta get out of here," he said as another guy ran in. They picked me and my foot up and carried me out to the loud truck. I saw them arresting the father and he began shouting at me. He told me I deserved to fucking die.

I didn't care.

As soon as we got outside, I was surprised at how dark it was. Owen told me it was around 10 pm and we would get to Berlin around 1 a.m. I remember they put me on the truck, and past that, I don't remember anything until we were on the plane. They began an IV and a blood transfusion and I came to, seeing Owen sitting in a seat beside my stretcher.

"Hey," I whispered raspily, my throat sore. I wished I could have some water, but knew it wouldn't happen until my lungs and throat were cleaned from the smoke.

"Hey," he said, scooting a little closer to me. "They briefly had to put a tube in your throat, but they took it out pretty quickly. We're about thirty minutes away."

"I have to...get the letter to his wife," I explained, trying to make him understand. "It's in his bag. I promised him."

"I'll call the base and get them to send it-"

"I need to deliver it myself," I struggled to speak. "Please."

He saw the concern in my eyes and sighed, wiping his face.

"I'll get it shipped here," he sighed, knowing it's what Warren would've wanted. He gently took my now bandaged, burned hand and shook his head.

"What happened?" He asked, still in shock it had happened.

"We hit a street bomb, both barely made it out. He was way worse off than me. A kid ran out, I spoke to him in Albanian and told him we were good and to get help. He brought his dad back and he had a shotgun. I spoke only English, I was afraid. Turns out, he spoke English. Badly, but he spoke it. I told him we were there to help when he asked, and then he shot us. He dragged me away when I tried to comfort Warren. I had to leave him there," I said, a few tears streaming down my face. Both of my hands and arms were bandaged, as were my torso and legs. Owen wiped my eyes for me.

"Have you called home yet?" I asked quietly. I didn't want my dad to know. He didn't want me going away, especially not with Mom's death only eight months ago. He didn't think I could make it through SEAL training, but I proved him wrong. Now he didn't think I would last here. He was almost right.

"I had to call your dad. Protocol," he sighed, knowing we weren't on good terms. I looked down and still couldn't believe my foot was gone. I would have to learn how to walk all over again.

This officially sucked.

I wanted to tell Mellie I was ok. That I was sorry for stepping out of her life for three and a half years, that I should've kept in touch, that I still loved her.

But I didn't think it was right. I wanted to do it in person.

"What did he say?" I said uninterestedly, beginning to wonder how bad I looked. Everything was hurting, my ankle was aching, my shoulder sore, my heart broken.

"That he would meet us in D.C. He's really worried about you, Fitz," Captain Owen explained sincerely. "He was glad to know you're alive. I had to talk him out of coming all the way over here."

I sighed exhaustedly, really not caring one bit.

"How bad do I look, man? I've been wondering since we crawled out of the truck and I smelled us burning," I asked. Owen got up and looked around in his carry-on bag for a mirror. It was only the three of us, the medical personnel, and the pilots on this military plane. He brought all his stuff right on board. He pulled out a small mirror with a handle a few minutes later and looked away as he handed it to me.

"Oh my God," I whispered quietly upon seeing my own face. I had second-degree burns to my chest, neck, and face; apparently everything below my chest had splotchy third degree burns. I was hideous. I felt a tightening in my chest and the medical personnel came from the back, evaluated me, then put my oxygen mask back on.

"Fitz, you're a tough one. You're a SEAL, for crying out loud. You'll make it past this. It will all get better in time. I promise, man," Owen told me.

"When do you think I'll be back?"

"That depends on how long they do therapy on your foot and if it works or not," he said sadly. "If it doesn't or they don't clear you, you'll get an honorable discharge and get put on permanent disability."

Those words haunted me.

Honorable discharge.

Permanent disability.

What if I never walked again? What if I never got another job? What if I couldn't live alone?

She would never take me back.

Four days later I was out of the hospital. They properly amputated what was left of my foot, removed the bullet from my shoulder, and treated my burns as well. They shaved my head because my hair was so badly burned. My arm and leg hair had burned off. My eyes and nose still hurt.

They told me I would begin physical therapy and see a psychiatrist when I got home. I was going home in a wheelchair, but I could walk short lengths with crutches right now. I decided when I met Hailey I would walk to her. Owen said they all knew how much Warren and I meant to each other, and that was one of the only reasons I got to escort him home.

As soon as we left the hospital around seven that morning, Owen took us to our military base there to let me clean up and get our bags. Unfortunately we didn't get to do any sightseeing in Berlin because of our nine a.m. flight time. When we got to the base, I convinced him to let me walk with my crutches. I was slow, and it was painful, but it gave me hope.

Hope that everything would be normal again.

We met with the base captain and he showed us quickly to the bunk where our things were. He saluted us and showed us inside, trying to treat me as if nothing had happened. I appreciated it.

As soon as we got in the bunk, there were probably thirty soldiers in there, making their beds or writing letters. They all saw us come in and they stopped what they were doing, lined up along the aisle and saluted the three of us as we walked through. A few patted me on the back or shook Owen's hand as we walked past. Here I was, straight from the hospital in nothing but a white t-shirt and shorts, waiting to change into full dress. I was embarrassed. Before I changed, a few men stopped me and shook my hand. They wanted to thank me. Thank me for taking care of our fallen brother and to thank me for my service. That was the second time I had shed a tear in a week.

Damn it, I had to stop all this crying.

I was frustrated. I didn't feel like I had done any "service". I got blown up, for Pete's sake.

That's not a service.

I went in the large bathroom and washed off with a towel the best I could since I was not cleared to take a shower until my burns were healed. My charred face and sore hands were already looking better, which made me happy. I put my cold tags back on and slipped on my black pants and sat back down. It was weird rolling up my left pants leg and not having another shoe to put on. I tied my right one and continued getting dressed, putting on my black blazer and insignia carefully. I put on my solid white hat last, getting up and taking one last look in the mirror. Owen came back and looked me over once before saluting me. I took a deep breath and saluted him back, fighting tears.

I picked up my crutches and hobbled back out into the open bunks with Owen behind me, carrying our bags. The men were still lined up and I stopped, saluting them with my left hand the best I could. They all saluted back respectfully and I nodded, walking back outside. Owen put our bags in the car and we told the base captain goodbye with heavy hearts.

We got to the airport maybe twenty minutes later, driving out on the runway to our charter plane. Owen said we had been pre-cleared through customs as we pulled up. I was surprised, but not really - Owen got things done. It was the three of us and two Marines escorting four other Marines home.

I watched silently as Owen and the two Marines got our men settled and their flags situated. It was beautiful yet heartbreaking. These men were someone's husband, son, brother, nephew, uncle, boyfriend, grandson, father, best friend, the list goes on and on. And they had to be buried.

We quietly got onto the plane and sat down. I sat by a window and Owen sat behind me. I opened my bag and there it was, lying right on top, the letter Warren had written to Hailey.

I had to guard it with my life.

I quickly put it inside my interior coat pocket and dug around in my bag, looking for my black leather wallet. I pulled it out and felt behind my driver's license, pulling out some pictures. It was three of them, to be exact. The first one was of Mom and me the day I left for SEAL training; she was so sad. She didn't want to see "her baby boy" go. I assured her I would be back soon.

Little did I know, it would be for her funeral.

The second one was a family photo of us at my law school graduation. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a warm 70 degrees in New Haven that May morning when the Yale Law Class of 2002 was graduating. I was nervous because as soon as graduation was over, we were flying home and I was taking the bar exam in Texas a week later. We sat through the ceremony, I walked across the stage and got my diploma, and sat there in awe. I had just graduated Yale Law School.

As soon as graduation was over, I met my parents and Mellie in the crowd. She ran into my arms and I held her tightly, giving her a quick kiss. I hugged my parents and listened to my mother tell me how proud she was of me. She was the most excited. I was just happy to be with them and Mellie. She was the one to take the picture of me and my parents.

The last one was a picture of me and Mels at the Christmas formal earlier that year. She was wearing a beautiful silver gown with sequins down the side and jet-black heels, and I was in my suit with a matching silver tie. We were so young, so happy.

I had to get that back.