A/N: A glimpse into Fitz's world, the good and the bad. I hope you enjoy and reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading.

Song: Monster by Imagine Dragons

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

We took the SUV out to the VA, and I was glad Ben brought me some different clothes to change into. I was much more comfortable in my khaki shorts, Cowboys t-shirt, Vans, cap, and sunglasses. Ben had his badge and gun concealed, a Kosovo cap of mine on, and his usual pair of sunglasses.

I parked as close to the door as I could, and we got out and went inside to the front desk. Ben always wanted me to bring my handicap decal with me, but I never did in official capacity. I didn't want to risk more people knowing about Kosovo than the few that did. Since it was a special mission and I was a SEAL, information about it was rarely released publicity and only parts of it were released.

I signed in and the nurse directed me to the third floor in the opposite wing. We made it there unnoticed, and signed in there and took a seat. The blue waiting room was about half full of veterans of all ages, young and old. I knew they had done much greater things and served longer than I had. I felt like my effort had been worthless.

Why had I even joined the Navy, I don't even remember. I think a lot of it had to do with proving to my father I could do better and be a better man than him. That I didn't need his help to get into Yale, I didn't need his help to get into the SEALs, that his money, while nice, was worthless to me. I think just having the Grant name got me in on a lot of things, out of hope my father would donate to whatever the cause was.

But as I continued training and met Warren, I realized the real reason I was there. To help protect my country's freedom.

"Mr. Grant?"

I looked up through my tinted sunglasses and saw the woman at the desk shoving a clipboard through the window opening. I got up and walked over to it, and read over the papers.

"It's just about policy agreement changes, and the general stuff how you'll be responsible for paying out of pocket if the insurance doesn't cover anything," she explained. "Can I see your driver's license and insurance please?"

"Of course," I sighed, pulling my wallet out and handing her the cards, then signing the papers. I was tired of being in and out of hospitals and doctor's offices for the past few months, constantly signing more paperwork and paying more money. I knew it was all for a good cause and to keep me and Mels healthy, but after this insurance not covering much, I was beginning to feel the effects of it. The bills now totaled out to over $40,000, and I was just trying to keep Mellie as far away from our bank statements as possible as I tried to quickly replenish what was taken out of our savings. I was still receiving money from my father's life insurance policy, which will cover the bills and then some so far. I just...I just don't want her to have to worry. About anything, but especially money. She had to worry about that for far too long. I want to give her the world.

"Could you please take off your glasses, Mr. Grant?" She asked nicely. I sighed and removed my glasses and lifted up my hat so she could see it was me. Not that my being governor meant much to this desk clerk. I just wanted to stay on the down low until I got behind closed doors with my counselor.

"Thank you," she said, handing me my cards back after entering the information needed into the computer. I went and sat back down beside Ben and I closed my eyes, knowing it might be a while.

I felt a vibrating in my jeans pocket that woke me an hour and a half later, and I realized it was someone calling my phone. I pulled it out and saw it was Jackson. I immediately ignored it and sent him an email, knowing that he probably was just trying to clear a few more interviews.

Seconds later a nurse called me back and lead us to a relaxing room with three comfortable brown leather couches and refreshments. I handed Ben my phone and said to only answer to the guys or Mellie - no one else. He put it in his jeans pocket and got a cup of water, then sat on a couch next to mine.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, wishing for just a few minutes' sleep. As soon as I dozed off, I saw the man shooting at me again as I laid on the hot ground in Kosovo. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, tired of this. I was exhausted. Ben could feel it. I knew he could. All that went through my mind was Hailey. I wonder if seeing her would help with any of these feelings subside.

I was pulled back into reality when my counselor, Janice, came into the room and Ben and I stood up, giving me a look as she shook both of our hands. I was worried she wouldn't quite be the right fit as a therapist for me when we first met. Boy, was I wrong. She's been overseas four times and been through two bombings and four air raids, and more I can't even remember. She's been a great counselor.

"I'll be outside if you need me, sir," Ben said, nodding at both of us before stepping into the hall.

"It's been a while since I've seen you, Fitzgerald," she said softly, sitting down on the couch beside mine. I looked her over and she was wearing a beautiful netted white top and a gray shirt underneath. I wanted to ask her what brand it was so I could get one for Mellie, but I decided to wait until later.

"It's been what, almost a year?" I asked, getting up and pouring some water for us both, wishing it was whiskey. I handed her a glass and she smiled, thanking me.

"Just a little over a year. I understand you've had...a little bit of a rough time since then," she tells me, looking over my file and various official reports sent to her from the office, probably Jackson.

"Yeah," I sighed, rubbing my neck and sitting back down. "It's...been tough."

"Well, start wherever you'd like," she said, setting all the papers down on the table. I picked them up and skimmed through each official report, feeling anger build inside of me and tears in my eyes.

"I came here for PTSD, not all of this," I laughed softly, throwing them on the wooden coffee table in front of me. I was a wreck.

"You know you can talk to me about any of it, Fitz. That's what I'm here for. Just get comfortable."

I sighed deeply.

"I'm fine," I huffed.

"No, you're not. Get comfortable and then we'll talk," she said sternly, all business. She brushed her blonde hair out of her face and I took off my hat and set it on the table, along with my wallet and keys. I took off my shoes and prosthetic, which had been bothering me all morning for some reason. I leaned back and closed my eyes, propping my foot up on the coffee table.

"Now I'm comfortable, ok?" I shot back, trying to figure out where to begin.

"I know you've been briefed on most of my life for the past six months, but let me give you the run down. None of it was about drugs, disorders, alcohol, divorce, nothing. Jerry raped Mellie, simple as that," I said angrily.

"She has dreams about that night often. I stay stressed out about her. I want to help her heal. I always find her alone and upset after these dreams, and she doesn't let me help her. Maybe she doesn't want me to. Maybe neither of us knows how to help," I sighed, opening my eyes.

"And what do you dream about?"

"Everything. Everything from issues at work to law school to Mellie to our daughter to Kosovo," I said. "I've dreamed it all. But recently...it's been Kosovo and Jerry. Every time I dream about him, about his death...I feel this guilt. I don't know what it means or why I feel it. I guess maybe I feel guilty thinking his death could've been prevented? But I wanted him dead before he died," I admitted. "Mellie always wakes me up from the nightmares or I wake up in a panic, grabbing my pistol."

"Traumatic events or the people involved tend to appear again as dreams for many people. Sometimes it's for short periods, sometimes it's for an extended period of time. Continue," she told me.

"Anyway, a lot of these rumors started after we were seen going into a hospital a couple of months back. She had a relapse to that night after a dream, and she began bleeding. We thought it was a miscarriage, but it wasn't, thank God. But of course, the media said it was alcohol poisoning and had too much fun since she had been to The Queen earlier that night, or that she was on drugs, or that we were getting divorced because she cheated on me, the list of lies goes on forever and ever. She never did anything wrong, and this upsets us both that lies are being spread. I want to go on TV and announce to the world what really happened, but I don't want any more chaos in our lives," I sighed. "I just worry about how she's doing all the time, how this is all affecting her, what she might not be telling me. How to keep her safe," I said.

"Do you ever think that Mellie probably stresses out about you too?" Janice asked. "You can sense when she's upset and she knows when you are, too."

"Why would she worry about me? I wasn't the one who was raped," I said, looking her in the eyes. I was angry. I wanted answers.

"She worries about you for the same reason you worry about her. You love each other and want only the best, including happiness. No, you weren't raped, but you were severely injured years ago, just like she was hurt."

I let out a deep breath and my shoulders sunk back into the couch. I had never thought about it like that before.

"So maybe I should cut her some slack," I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. "You know, we're having a little girl. The other day I was ordering little pink balloons and decorations for the baby shower in six weeks. I hope she likes them. She's so worried about whether or not she'll be a good mother, but I know she will be. My only concern is, will our little girl like us? Will she be daddy's little girl or a total rebel? Time will tell, I guess."

"You'll be just fine," she smiled.

"I just feel like I'm wreck all the time. I'm worried about work and wish I could stay home with Mellie. But when I'm home, I'm worried about work sometimes. I just want to make this a better state, and that requires work. I worry about if she's safe enough, if she's happy, if she's happy with me. I'm trying too hard to be in two places at once. At home I'm worried about her and work and how I can get all this work done by the next day and how I can possibly help her, because it's different. Rape isn't like a cut you can just put a band-aid on and wait for it to get better. It's like...a knife digging deep into your back that left a huge scar and still hurts. That's what I've learned. I just want to help her, and I don't know how. I listen to her on the rare occasion she wants to talk and open up to me. I'm careful when we get close. I tell her to stop me if she gets uncomfortable. I just want her back to being her," I said, tears rolling down my cheeks. I was a mess.

"It sounds like you are doing a great job already trying to help Mellie. It takes patience when dealing with victims of sexual assault. You have to let them come to you, and it seems like she's doing that. You might not realize it right now, but your simply listening is doing wonders for her. It's baby steps. It might not ever be 'back to normal'. This could be the new normal. You also have to remember that you've been in office for a year and a half now, and this is when it's starting to get tough. You're also dealing with an assault and a death within a few months of each other. You are still working through this, Fitz. Both of you are. It will take time, but you are on the right path," Janice assured me. I set my foot on the floor and crossed my legs, taking it all in. I feel slightly better, but this guilt, guilt because of who knows what, is still gnawing at me.

"You said you had been having PTSD symptoms again recently?" She mentioned, staring at me. I was still deep in my thoughts, trying to figure out what the cause of this guilt is. I look at the wooden door from the corner of my eye, and then at the glass windows covered with blinds. I don't see Ben's feet at either window, so he must be directly at the door. I wonder if Mellie has tried to get in touch with me.

"Fitzgerald," she said again, and I jumped slightly, coming back to our session.

"Hmm?" I raised an eyebrow, focusing back on her.

"You mentioned PTSD?"

"Oh, right," I said, looking over at the door again. "I've been having dreams of the bombing again, of everything in Kosovo, actually...mainly things that happened with Warren. God, I miss him. Every single day, I miss him more and more. And I just..." I huffed angrily, putting my prosthetic back on in a hurry and began pacing the room. I stood by the window, looking out over the city. I looked down to the ground and wondered what jumping felt like from this height. I turned around and started back towards her.

"Sometimes I wonder if everything would've been better if that asshole had shot me in the head and ended it all," I growled, my heart racing. "Nothing would've gone wrong. I wouldn't miss my best friend, I wouldn't have gone back to Mellie. She never would've gotten within reach of my father, and she never would've been raped. She would've had a better life with some successful man who could give her the world. I never would've been governor, and you and I never would be sitting here, you listening to me complain about my life. This world would've been better off without me," I snapped, going over to the refreshments and leaning against the wooden cabinets, trying to catch my breath.

"And don't even start with any of this suicide crap, because that's not what I'm suggesting. I wouldn't kill myself," I sighed.

"Fitz, everything you just told me presented the symptoms. I am legally responsible for your well being and your state of health, and I have to report this," she said softly. "I-"

"No, you don't," I shot back, turning around and going back over to her. "You don't have to report one bit of this. All you're going to do is do whatever to stop these dreams and thoughts and tell me how to help Mellie and we'll go about our days," I said, calm coming back to my voice. "I'm fine."

She pursed her lips together and I could see the coldness in her eyes. She sighed and began writing furiously on her clipboard. When she spoke, her voice was suddenly cold.

"Just listen to her. Let her come to you. And as for you, here's a prescription for anxiety medication, and the times your therapy group meets. You are expected to show up to every meeting until further notice. I might even suggest couples' therapy for you and Mellie, because you need to work through this together. I'll check in on you every week. But just remember, I can't help those who don't want to be helped, Mr. Grant," she ripped the paper and handed it to me as she stood up. "It is my job to make sure you are safe and comfortable with your PTSD, but you won't let me help you by reporting this and getting you the help you really need. If you change your mind," she paused, "Let me know. I'll see you next week at the group meeting."

Janice walked out, shutting the door and starting down the hall, her heels clacking loudly against the tile floor. I sat down and sighed. She was right. I needed to chill out. Maybe the medicine would help the dreams.

Ben stepped inside and saw me putting my shoes back on and putting my belongings up. I never looked him in the eye as I put on my cap. I was ashamed of how I acted.

"Let's go," I said, starting for the door. He followed me downstairs and to the car, and we made it out unnoticed. I stopped at the drugstore and gave them my prescription, then went to the liquor store down the street. I looked over at Ben as I parked and sighed.

"Don't say anything," I warned, getting out and going in. I came back out ten minutes later with two bottles of whiskey, a bottle of vodka, and two cases of beer. I handed him a case of beer and started the car.

"For you and the guys," I said, anger evident in my voice, and drove away. He knew better than to try to intervene.

We came home around six and Ben opened the door, letting me in first. I carried all of the alcohol I had bought straight to my office, passing Mellie, who was working on dinner in the kitchen. I didn't even say hello before locking my office door, the click of the lock echoing in my head.

Mellie turned around and turned the boiling pots down and going over to Ben, who set their case of beer on the counter.

"What's wrong with Fitz?" She asked, concerned. She crossed her arms and gave him a look, and he knew he couldn't get this past her.

"The meeting with the counselor didn't end well, I believe," he sighed. "He wouldn't talk about it. She gave him a prescription for something that he took to the drugstore. I don't know what it was. He wouldn't let me see it."

She sighed angrily, hating when I got like this. I shut her out until I was satisfied, until the monster in me was satisfied.

"Looks like I'll be eating dinner alone then," she said, going back to the food on the stove.

"Do you need me to do anything?" Ben asked, knowing there would be trouble later. Any time Fitz drank excessively, there was always trouble to follow.

"Not now," she said softly. "I'll call you later when he comes out."

Ben nodded and headed out the door, and Mellie finished cooking dinner - fried rice with mixed vegetables. She ate alone at the dining room table, something she wasn't used to. She couldn't remember the last time she physically ate dinner without him. Some nights she wasn't there mentally, but she was always there physically.

I looked at my watch and it was nine thirty. I had finished off an entire bottle of whiskey and the vodka, and was working on the beer. I was feeling good. I was still preoccupied with my thoughts from earlier. Kosovo, Jerry, Mellie, everything. Seeing the counselor didn't help a bit. There was still this pain inside, this fear. Fear of what was to come. Fear of what from my past could come back and haunt me.

The more I drank, the more numb I became, both physically and mentally. Alcohol numbs the pain for me. It numbs everything in my world. I needed to be numb, at least for a little while. I hadn't drank this much since I got home from Kosovo, but I was holding my own. I felt strong, I felt like I was in control of my life again. I finished another beer and set the empty bottle by all the others on the bookshelf, then walked towards the door. I leaned against it, pressing my forehead to the cold wood, and unlocked the door. I opened it slowly and looked around, not seeing Mellie in the living room. I looked towards the back door and saw her out on the patio, reading on her iPad. I opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the warm concrete, the moon shining brightly over us.

"Hey," I said quietly, walking over to the wicker couch she was sitting on and sat beside her. I saw her type away on her iPad and lock it, looking over at me.

"Hey," she said coldly, looking away again.

"What are you reading?" I asked, stretching my arm across the back of the couch.

"Just some news articles right now," she said. "How was the meeting?"

"Let's not talk about that right now," I cut her off, moving closer to her. I took her hand into mine and stroked it, and she didn't even smile. But it felt good being with her. I tilted her chin up and looked into her blue eyes and kissed her softly, tugging on her bottom lip and holding on to her hips when she pushed me away.

"Fitz, please..." She said, sounding upset.

"Please what?" I smirked, kissing her neck a few times before she got up off the couch.

"Please stop. You're drunk."

I saw her look to the door and I turned around, seeing Ben standing inside, watching up.

"Why is he there?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"In case you get out of hand," she said sternly.

"When have I ever gotten 'out of hand'?" I mimicked her, standing up.

"How could you ever forget?" She raised her voice and took a step towards me. "The last time you were this drunk, you tried to hit me and got my arm instead of my jaw, only because I covered my face. Somehow whatever was wrong, it was all my fault," she said quietly.

"Mellie, I would never try to hurt you," I pleaded, trying to hug her, but she stepped back again, putting her hands in front of her to block me.

"Well you're doing a pretty good job of it right now."

"I haven't even touched you, how can you say that?" I growled, feeling my skin getting hot with anger.

"Because your drinking scares me! When you do drink, I always wonder if it'll turn out like this, with a fight. What was the cause this time, Fitz? Because you can't blame this one on your father now. So, please, enlighten me on why you have locked yourself up for three hours and drank your problems away," she shouted, clearly upset. She crossed her arms and I was furious now, trying to hold myself back. I knew what she was getting at; she was afraid I was becoming my father.

"Because all that's going on in my mind all the time is recurring dreams of being blown up in a foreign country, or my sick pervert of a father, or worrying about doing my job well, or worrying about you, my wife, and how I can protect you and give you everything you deserve, and how maybe, just maybe, it would've made more sense for me to have gotten killed over there. I wouldn't be here to hurt you. These past six months have been a living hell and you know it, so can't I have a little while to numb this pain, to escape?" I yelled, and I saw the tears fill her eyes. She wouldn't speak for a minute, then sighed and looked at me again.

"And you think I don't want to escape all of this every single day? I wish more than anything for things to be the way they were, but they can't. So I'm trying to make the best of the way they are now, because that won't change. And you couldn't find one good thing that happened within those six months? Let me remind you of a few. For starters, we're having a baby together, and second, we overcame a sudden death in the family. I'm a survivor of rape, you saw another year in office come and go-"

"There it is," I raised my voice, laughing loudly, throwing my hands up. "There. It. Is. When will you ever let Jerry go and cut this death and rape card crap out, for God's sake? He is gone. Leave it all in the past. Forget everything to do with him. He is worthless to us," I yelled.

"How can I let the man who raped me, who will always be attached to me and who carries a piece of my soul with him, how can I just let him go? You don't get it, Fitz. You know there are boundaries and you respect those and take care of me, but you will never understand how I feel about it," she growled angrily at me.

"And you'll never understand why I hate him so much, why I always want to escape everything that has to do with him-"

"There's that word again, escape. It is the most selfish word that has ever come out of your mouth. How will I know you won't try to escape this marriage, this family when we need you or when it gets a little rough? How will I ever know you haven't become your father, an angry, drunk, selfish man full of hatred?" She told me, her words cutting deep into my heart.

"Mellie-" I growled, going after her. She pushed me backwards and I grabbed her by the wrists, holding on tightly when I heard the back door slide open and the click of a pistol being loaded. I turned around and saw Ben taking his hand off his weapon. I let go of her wrists and turned fully towards him.

"Touch her one more time," he growled. "You're on thin ice, Fitz."

"Fuck off, Ben," I slurred, trying not to let the alcohol take over. "Stay out of this."

"I protect both of you, and I'm trying to protect her from you, so why don't you 'fuck off', sir?" He fired back, now standing beside me. I turned back to Mellie as I resisted the urge to hit him. I saw the hurt in her eyes as she looked into mine.

"Just answer this: do you feel numb about us?" She asked me, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Of course not," I said without hesitation. "I love you more than anything. I don't want us to fall apart."

"Good," she whispered. "Because you're all I have," she said, her voice breaking as she walked away and into the house with Ben following.

Despite my intoxication, my mind was clear enough to remember I hated her father almost as much as I hated my own.