A/N: One more chapter left after this one. This chapter jumps back eight years, as mentioned in the beginning. I apologize for waiting so long on updating, but school always comes first. I really hope you enjoy this and the last chapter because they are two of my favorites. Thank you for reading and please leave a review!

Song: A Quiet Darkness by Houses

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

Eight years ago

"Hello? Shot? Of course. Please keep me updated," Jerry said, and hung up, awake for the night.

It was the phone call he had worried about since I left for Kosovo. The call that I had been hurt, and possibly dying. It was Owen telling him me and another man had been hurt. Jerry immediately knew it was Warren, too.

That was the first time he had questioned my going overseas, and wondered if it was the right thing for me to do.

He was up all night, packing a bag, ready to travel wherever he needed to to get to me. He called his assistant and lieutenant governor the next morning and handed his duties over to them until further notice, and then got a call from London.

"Mr. Grant, I was just calling to tell you that we are transporting your son to London this afternoon by ambulance. He is not stable enough to fly to the U.S.; he had another seizure this morning. If you would like to meet us in London, feel free to do so," the nurse told Jerry the first day after I was rescued.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he told her, his voice shaky. He thanked her and hung up, going to pack a bag and get on the first flight to London. He didn't even remember what all had happened; he heard I was hurt and was on his way.

Jerry walked in the dreary room and dropped his bag in the chair by the wall, going to my side slowly, tears coming to his eyes. I could feel his presence. I was somewhat conscious. I wasn't awake, I couldn't understand everything that was said, I couldn't move my arms much, but I knew he was there.

A nurse walked in and Owen was right behind her, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the room.

"Mr. Grant," she said quietly, resting a petite hand on his shoulder. "He's been doing better since this morning. The swelling in his brain has gone down; his pupils aren't dilated, which is good. He hasn't had another seizure. We won't know anything else until he wakes up," she explained.

All I heard was swelling and seizure and wondered what had happened. All I remember was getting in the truck to go patrol with Warren and there was a loud boom and past that, nothing.

I wondered how Warren was.

Owen followed him to my side and sighed quietly as my father stroked my burned cheek. To feel human contact, someone else's skin on mine was so good. I wished I could give him a hug right then.

"What happened?" Jerry asked quietly as he sat down in a chair by my bed. It hurt him to look at me - I could feel it. I felt the tube in my throat, the needle in my arm, and a pulsing pain in my head.

"He was with another soldier doing their daily patrol when they drove over a bomb that was hidden in the road," Owen choked out. "We found them shortly after. The truck was engulfed in flames. They were unconscious, had second-degree burns. Fitz's foot was gone. They had both been shot twice, once in the chest, once in the head. The other man died in transport, and Fitz coded twice. He had surgery yesterday to remove the bullet from his brain and to open his skull to relieve pressure from the swelling. He hasn't been awake yet, and he had a seizure last night and this morning, but has been stable since then," he said, trying to keep himself together.

"I'm just thankful to see him still alive," Owen said quietly, wiping his eyes. "He means a lot to me and the guys. He's something special."

Jerry sighed and looked at the floor, not able to believe any of this was really happening.

"I'll be back to check on him in a little while," Owen said, leaving us alone as he walked out into the hallway. Jerry nodded and looked over at my mangled body, shedding a few tears.

"Fitz..." He whispered, holding my bandaged hand gently. He looked over my body, seeing most of it bandaged, including my head, seeing my foot gone, tubes and needles in my frail body.

"I'm so glad you're alive," he sobbed. "I knew when I got that call, it wasn't good. But you're alive," he whispered. "I love you."

He actually loved me. Or so he claimed.

Days went by, then a week, and I was doing better in some areas and worse in others. My burns were healing, and I would get to take a full shower next week. It took me a long time to find the words to say what I wanted to, and even then I could barely form a complete sentence. My arms were weak, they felt like jelly. I couldn't grasp anything tightly. My head always hurt, and the doctors kept telling me every day that I had been shot in the head. I don't know why I survived.

I sat in the boring London hospital bed, wishing I could be outside exploring the city. My mind kept drifting back to law school, different terms and cases we learned of. I couldn't focus on the news on the tiny TV mounted to the wall. My mind was everywhere, and I wanted to get these needles out of my arm. I wanted to be out of this bed. I wanted to be home.

I heard the door open and saw Jerry come in. I knew I knew him, but why was he here? How did he know me? Where did we know each other from?

"Hey, glad to see you're awake, son," he said, sitting on the couch by the window with a bottle of water in one hand and a newspaper in the other. The clock on the wall said 11:19 a.m. Had I really slept this long?

He's my father? I thought. He did call me 'son'. I didn't believe this.

"You're my dad?" I asked, shocked this man was related to me.

I was always confused, too.

"Of course I am, Fitz. I held you in my arms the day you were born," he said, sounding a little disappointed. He sighed, and I knew he remembered what the doctors said. They had said things would be different for me since I had been shot, but they didn't know how exactly. I could remember some things and not others. It could be positive and like nothing happened, or be a complete 180.

"Do you live with me?" I asked, my head starting to hurt.

"Yes, at the governor's mansion," he said, setting the paper down.

"Is it near here?" I questioned. "Where are we anyway?"

"We are in London, England. Our home is in Dallas, Texas, in the United States," he told me.

"Texas," I said quietly, messing with my ID bracelet. "Why are we here then?"

"Because you were shot," Jerry said, tears filling his eyes, hating seeing me so confused, so clueless.

"Oh," I said, vaguely remembering something bad happening to me. I knew something wasn't right with me, but I didn't know what, and it was frustrating. I could feel it, but couldn't put my finger on it.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

The next day was both better and worse. I remembered being shot, I remembered Warren, I remembered Jerry and things like that. He told me Warren was dead. I cried some more. My best friend was gone.

It got worse as the day went on. My legs were too weak to stand up, and I couldn't raise my right arm. I hoped it would pass, but it was so frustrating. I hated being in this bed, in this hospital, in a foreign country.

I fought the nurses over my medicine and ended up getting so worked up I had another seizure. I was exhausted that night, and I had a few more questions to ask him. But I couldn't form the right words, the right sentences. I could think of them, but not say them.

They would have to wait for a few days.

I couldn't remember much that fifth day. I was too weak to get up, and I was depressed. I got more and more frustrated not knowing anything about my life, nothing about who I am, or who I was.

I remembered one thing, and I had to have some answers.

My dad was sitting on the couch, looking out the window on this rainy, dreary day. It started storming last night and continued into the day. The TV was on MTV, mainly for the music. I didn't feel like watching. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to be out of here. I wanted to be wherever home was for me. I couldn't remember where he told me we lived.

"Hey," I said quietly, ready to ask my questions. I think I could finally ask him about it.

"Yeah, Fitz?" Jerry asked, turning towards me, seeming sad.

"Are you ok?" I asked, wondering about his feelings. They seemed different.

"I'm fine," he smiled, putting on a good face for me. He got up and sat in a wooden chair beside my bed and rested a hand on my arm. "How are you today?"

"Sad," I said, the only word I could think of to describe the way I felt. But it was more than sad.

"Anything I can do for you?" He asked sincerely.

"No," I whispered. "But I have a question."

"Ok," he said quietly. I pulled my blanket up closer to my chest the best I could and I sighed, hoping he could tell me more.

"How is Mellie? Is she coming here?"

I saw the confused, stressed look on his face as he rubbed his eyes, seeming unsure how to answer. I felt bad about bothering him, but I need to know about her. She was the only thing I always remembered.

"I...don't think so, Fitz. You and her haven't spoken in three years," he sighed. "Last I heard, she had a job in North Carolina."

I couldn't believe this. What did he mean we hadn't spoken in three years? She's my wife. We had a kid together. Did we get divorced or something?

"What- what do you mean?" I shook my head, very confused. "I just talked to her yesterday. She's taking care of Savannah."

"Who is Savannah?" He asked me, trying to piece it all together. I was so mad that he didn't remember anything. He knew me and Mellie are married. I'm not stupid.

"Our daughter," I said, hurt he didn't even remember his granddaughter. "She's only a few weeks old, don't you remember?"

He sighed and took my hand as he looked me in the eyes.

"Fitz, I... I don't know how to tell you this. But you and Mellie are not married. You don't have a daughter. I'm so sorry, son," he said, resting his head on the bed rail, crying. I could almost hear his tears hitting the cold tile floor, it was that quiet. He was upset that I couldn't remember anything.

But I knew he was wrong. This was the one time he was wrong and I was right.

He got up and showed himself out, and a few minutes later, came back with a few nurses. They checked me out and I fought them again. There was no need to check me because I was fine. I wanted to go home.

Ten minutes, a seizure, and a new mysterious bag of medicine in my IV later, I was out like a light.

I woke up two days later in the mental ward, "for my safety", they told me. Jerry was still allowed to sit with me, but I felt like a prisoner. I didn't know these people, or what day it was, or why I was here, and I barely knew Jerry, and they wouldn't let me out of this depressing place.

Today was the worst day. I felt worthless. They watched me like a hawk for no reason. I was going to die here, and Mellie would never know what happened to me.

I heard him on the phone earlier. He had called Owen and said something about me thinking I was married to Mellie and I was making up these crazy stories.

He's the crazy one because it's real. I know she is real.

He still doesn't seem to remember our wedding, or when I became governor and she threw a party to celebrate, or our trip to Vegas, or our daughter, nothing.

He doesn't even remember raping her. But I do.

Vividly.

My nurses came in early afternoon and I barely spoke ten words. I was so...I don't even know the word. It slips my mind. My heart beat fast as it sank into my stomach, and I wanted to punch Jerry every time I thought about him assaulting Mellie.

"How are you doing today, Fitz?" One nurse asked me, and I gave her a dirty look.

"Awful," I growled, staring at Jerry, reading the paper, as usual.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "We're going to give you some medicine that should help make things better-"

"How can things be better when he raped my wife?" I shouted, fighting their grips, their poking and prodding with needles, and I saw Jerry put the paper down and a nurse ask him to leave as two more nurses came in and held me down as they strapped me to the bed.

"Let me go!" I yelled, struggling to get free. "I have to see my wife and daughter! Please!"

But they wouldn't listen. The last thing I felt and saw before I was out was the needle in my neck and the room get dark.

The first thing I saw upon opening my eyes was the white ceiling. Then the white walls. The white floor. There was no window.

I was still in my bed and still had needles in my arm and monitors on. My head hurt worse than it had been, and I felt like I had been hit by a speeding car. I tried to lift my arm, but I couldn't. Whatever they had injected me with must still be in my system.

I wondered where Mellie was, why it was taking her so long to get here. I wondered if she was ok without me, if she had had any more dreams about Jerry, if I was still governor, if she had enough money to take care of her and Savannah.

A nurse came in around thirty minutes later and when the door was open, all I could see on a cart by the door was "Psych - Critical".

I was furious. I had no reason to be here. I was fine. Jerry was the one who needed to be here.

She checked my vital signs and started another round of fluids, but I didn't fight her. I heard a soft voice telling me to stay calm, and I did. I looked around and only saw the nurse, but her lips weren't moving.

It was only after the nurse left that I realized it was Mellie's voice.

I would do anything for her.