Fitz?

There's a voice somewhere in the distance but he can barely make out the words. Is it because he's too far or is it because it's in another language? He can't really tell.

And he doesn't care to tell just yet.

He feels light. He feels free. It feels like floating. Light is surrounding him. It's almost too bright. For the first time in what feels like forever there's no darkness, no dusty ground, no pebbles, no screams, no sirens going off in the distance, no choppers flying dangerously low. No feeling of doom. Just silence. Is this what peace feels like?

Why does he feel so damn relaxed? Why does he feel this way?

Fitz?

It feels like being stuck in a trance. Except this time around it feels so peaceful. A lullaby. Gnawing feelings forbidden. It feels like they can't get to him, for once. It's his turn to mock them. It feels like he can just be. The light is calling him, calling his name, inviting. For once, he almost feels the warmth up close. But he's unsure whether he really wants to take a chance. He's like a kid at the candy store with no money yet the owner isn't there if he wants to take a chance and bolt away. Temptation. He's not used to the white, blinding light. It feels like years have passed since he's been in the light. His ears are still ringing in the distance, his eyes feel dry but not painful. What is this place? How long has been gone for? Why can't he just run? Why doesn't he have any type of control? What has he become? Is this what death feels like? This level of peace isn't like anything he's used to.

Again, why can't he just run?

Yet, he could definitely get used to it. Catch what seems to be a real break.

No screams.

No battlefield.

Just peace.

"Fitz?," this time around his hand had a mind of its own as he moved away from the stranger's hand. He hated being touched now. Well, that was unless you were his wife or child. The light was gone, and with it, the feeling of peace. He looks around at the mirror reflecting the outside light and the doctor's office at the same time. He was at his therapy session. It was all coming back to him rather quickly. "Welcome back among us," the other man chuckles.

He smiles tightly. It's not that he doesn't like Henry, therapy itself is hard on him. He's never been a fan of the concept and if it wasn't for Liv and Ryan, he'd have refused it and stuck to popping pills and letting himself be. He knew he had to look at his situation for what it was and tackle it. That is if he wanted to move on, hopefully be a better person.

"You were telling me about the mall," Henry coaxes, "what happened then? what do you remember?"

That's when he misses the floating sensation.

As if on cue, his whole posture changes. He's sitting on the edge of his seat and his strong hands are absentmindedly griping the edge of the desk- hard, his right foot is tapping silently on the carpet. Of course, he remembers. He bows his head in shame. He remembers he let her down. He remembers that he lost it. She had to protect him when it was his designated mission to keep her safe.

"I failed her," he mumbles quietly. He looks around, not wanting to make eye contact with the therapist yet. Putting words into what he feels is sometimes almost impossible. Just when he thinks he can finally pinpoint the storm going on in his mind, something has to hit him knocking him down, "I could even see-"

"You couldn't see?"

He hesitated for a second, he didn't necessarily want to talk about it. Speaking up words in his mind was equal to reliving the moment, giving more power to his enemy so to speak. Also, he didn't want to scare anyone away. He had seen, up close and personal, what most couldn't even fathom. That was what he was dealing with every day, those were the sights that greeted him at night. Despite everything said to him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was damaged goods. Every day was a battle to prove he deserved to live. He deserved to breathe. He deserved to have his family back. His previous normal life. But it was everything but normal. He was the odd one out. It seemed so obvious. One look at the therapist in front of him told him he could go on. He knew he was a lucky son of a bitch they assigned him Henry for his therapy. Otherwise he probably wouldn't even have stepped foot at home let alone been able to tuck Ryan at night or make Liv her nightly popcorn.

"I was at the mall," he started, "then I just wasn't anymore. One second I had shopping bags and that green drink Liv wanted me to try, the next all I could see was rubble. My body- it was like," he paused for a minute, eyebrows frowning, "it was like I was rooted to the floor, I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, my eyes were burning, my ears," he shook his head, "I just couldn't do shit. I felt like I was going to get killed. All I could hear were screams and detonations and I couldn't move to save my life. And trust me all I wanted to do was fight for my life. I had promised her…"

"Fitz, we had talked about this. It's classic PTSD syndrome. You're dissociating. You're not failing, you're healing. You've seen worse than most, you usually forget to factor in that you went missing for quite some time and we had no idea whether you'd make it or not. Thankfully you're more willing than most to go through the actual healing process and I never sugarcoated it for you. This route is tough, it's going to take a lot from you and your family," when Fitz started to protest at the mention of his family, he rose his hand, signaling to wait until he was done talking, "don't forget, they've been through the ringer too. Again, not because of you, because of how the world is. You left a baby behind who's now grown to be a little boy. You need to account that also into consideration. As for Olivia and Ryan you best believe they're glowing up ever since you came back. I don't think you truly realize what you've accomplished. Just take it easy on yourself. You don't always need to be a hero, as long as you're human you're gonna fuck up, that's how life is. Do you still journal? Does that still help you?"

"Not as much as I used to," he sighed, his head hanging low, "like I said, it's still hard to write something that sounds true to what goes on here," he said, pointing to his head, "but every night before bed I take fifteen minutes as you said and I just scribble down"

"Do you still work out?"

"I try but it's hard to focus on something"

"I'd say try going on runs, if you don't feel like it the treadmill is just as fine, it does wonders if you want to clear your head, and maybe pick up swimming with Olivia? I remember she was quite the swimmer? It can help with isolating your thoughts. As for me, as your therapist not your friend, I'll see you next week. And I'll repeat it again, stop being so damn hard on yourself. Your thoughts are ultimately the reflection of yourself. How you view yourself. Your words have more impact on you than any meds I could prescribe."

Both finished up the session with a nod, Henry's words weighing in his mind.

A/N: I really didn't mean for this update to take this long. I've literally been writing this chapter as I was looking for a place and I'm now packing to move. I don't want to disappoint anyone since my updates will probably be (very) slow but I'm really trying to at least finish this story. I'll truly appreciate it if you stick around.