Summary: Annie and Auggie are in Allen's Tavern after work. Annie asks Auggie what it was like to lose his sight.

Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affairs, or Annie and Auggie.

I have talked to Auggie's alter ego, Christopher Gorham. Chris told me that the writers have NOT decided on the mechanism of the IED that took Auggie's sight. I put in my two cents and told him how shrapnel injury wouldn't work in my opinion. Auggie is too unscarred for that to have happened. We discussed Permanent Flash Blindness would work. I don't know if he'll mention ny concerns to the writers, but I have hope. ;)

How did I manage to talk to Christopher Gorham? I spent a boadload of cash in a celebtity auction and a personal phone call from Chris Gorham was part of my prize. To paraphrase a line from 'Fried Green Tomaotes', I'm older and have more resources.

The hour was late; well past midnight on what was now a Saturday morning. Auggie and Annie sat across from each other in the back booth of the familiar tavern. The surface of the wooden table was still littered with a forest of empty beer mugs. The normal loud bustle of the early hours in the bar had quieted to a dim drone. A few boisterous conversations from men three sheets, or more, to the wind were easily ignored.

They'd exhausted all of the safe topics of conversation. There were things that they simply could not discuss in a public place: missions, debriefings, strategies.

"Auggie," Annie said with a slightly more serious tone than her general conversational one. "I've been wondering something for some time now. Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Depends on how personal," he responded lightly. A broad grin graced his boyishly handsome features.

He heard her sigh slightly. "What was it like just after you lost your sight?"

There it was; the question that he'd been anticipating for some time. At some point they all asked a similar question. Usually it was out of morbid curiosity. But he didn't think that was Annie's reason; they'd known each other for over six months now and she was just getting around to asking 'THAT question'. He'd been wondering if she was ever going to ask how he'd lost the use of his eyes.

"Well, you, Annie Walker, are one of the few people that could ask that and get an honest answer," he replied solemnly; his words slurring ever so slightly. "First of all, I didn't lose my sight. To me that implies some sort of disease process; gradually going blind. My sight was traumatically ripped from me."

"Sorry." She said softly, sincerely. "Forget it."

"No. It's okay," he said, sliding his hand, palm up, across the table towards her. She placed her hand in his and gently closed her long, graceful fingers around it. "You asked. I want to answer you.

"My unit was tasked with clearing the way for another team who'd be going in later that night. We had to check everything on the side of the trail. Even what appeared to be just a dead animal. We stopped for what for all intents and purposes looked and smelled like a dead dog. I was a few yards behind Matt. Matthew Long. Nice kid from the Midwest – Indiana I think. Anyway, Matt was carefully checking around the carcass for signs of a trip wire or pressure plate. Don't know which it was, but the next thing I knew Matt was flying through the air and I saw the bright flash of detonation. Don't remember much after that." A brief grimace passed over Auggie's face as he remembered.

Annie firmly squeezed his hand. "You don't have to do this."

After taking a long drink of his beer, Auggie went on as if Annie hadn't said a thing. "I remember waking up sometime later in a foggy haze in the field hospital. Anyway, when I opened my eyes and there was nothing there I panicked. At first I thought that I'd been captured and was in a cave or cellar, but there was too much commotion around me. Then I cautiously began to explore my body. I had an IV, but that was about it. Well, my head hurt like hell, but otherwise I seemed physically okay, except for the not seeing thing." He located his beer mug and took another long drink.

"Then I heard the corpsman calling to someone that I was coming to. Next thing I knew someone was leaning over me, telling me that I'd be up and around in a day or so, I just had a concussion and possibly bruised ribs. I asked if the concussion was the reason that I couldn't see. The someone leaning over me asked if I could see this; then again with the same question. Same answer from me, 'NO!'" I was on the next MedEvac to Germany and then to the States and Walter Reed under sedation for my anxiety. Apparently no one was expecting me not to be able to see when I woke up.

"Once I got to Germany, I had a battery of tests, and scans. The concussive force of the IED's shockwave detached my retinas and damaged my optic nerves. There was nothing that could be done to salvage my sight.

"From the time that I'd regained consciousness in the MASH to the time I was officially told that I'd never see again, I'd had a few days of hope for a medical or surgical solution to my lack of sight. When the ophthalmologist gave me the bad news, a range of emotions hit me. Sadness. Desperation. Fear. Anger." He paused for a moment then continued. "I went through the 5 stages of grief, but it took a good deal of time to get to the acceptance part. I got stuck in the angry phase for a long time. I was my own worst enemy for a while. I was not a good patient. In the beginning, I resisted everything; after all, what was happening to me was just a huge nightmare that I'd soon wake up out of and everything would be okay. As time passed and the nightmare didn't end; I threw temper tantrums better than any two-year-old. I raged. I cursed. In spite of myself, I learned; the hard way, mostly. I had more than my fair share of bruised shins and banged up toes from bumping into things. Almost broke my nose when I ran into a door jamb. Then one day, one of the trainers must have had her fill of me. I was mid frustration tantrum when she verbally ripped me to shreds. Basically told me I'd stayed way too long in the angry stage and to buck up and face my reality; and try to make the best of it. She struck a nerve; one that needed a whap upside the head; the one that the psychiatrist hadn't been able to touch with all his psychobabble. First I embraced this," he picked up the folded white cane, "as a means to an end – something resembling independence, rather than as a symbol of dependence. Then I began to actually listen when the trainers tried to teach me basic things. It's amazing all the things that I had to relearn: locating the appropriate clothing and dressing myself fashionably; wielding a knife and fork and eating like an adult rather than a toddler. I learned to read and write Braille; not an easy thing for an adult I've been told. Slowly I began to adjust to not being able to see. It's not been easy, but I think that I've made myself a good life.

"Now, thanks to Joan and Arthur, I have a job that I love. Well, most of the time anyway. I have a life that's not always as easy as I try to make it seem, but is satisfying. I have a circle of familiar places where I am very comfortable and can function as well as anyone. But stick me somewhere unfamiliar and I'm a bit lost sometimes." Auggie raised his empty beer mug and loudly proclaimed, "Another round for this table." Then he added in a more normal tone, "I'm a bit parched after that gut spilling monologue."

"Thanks for sharing, Auggie; I appreciate your candor." He felt a quick squeeze then her hand withdraw from his. He felt relieved now that he'd told her of that part of his life. The part that he'd kept closed off from everyone else.

Auggie heard the sound of a mug being set down. "Two O'clock," the barmaid whispered.

"Is that the time or a location?" Auggie bantered lightly.

"Location, silly. It's only one-fifteen by the clock on the wall," the barmaid said as she slipped away.

Auggie flipped open the top of his watch; sensitive fingertips reading the time. "She's right," he said to no one in particular.

"Another question?" Once again he heard the tentativeness of the question in her voice.

"Yeah. What?" If Annie wanted to know, he'd tell her just about anything. Even though lying came easily to both of them, he'd be straight with her. Even in a place where knowledge was power, he knew that Annie would not willingly betray his trust.

"When you're not in a familiar place or don't have a sighted lead, how do you know where you are and if it's safe?"

"Good question," he stated. "Lots of times I don't really. Have to travel on faith. In familiar settings, I have sort of a 'feel' for where I am. Do you ever walk around your house with the lights off?"

"Yeah."

"How do you know where you are?" He continued without allowing her to answer. "It's the same for me. You just know. As long as things remain in the same place I'm fine. I subconsciously count off paces. I rely on the different feel of the surfaces under my feet and on sounds and echoes. Every spot has a different sound to it. A certain sound is louder or softer or its echo bounces off of a hard surface or is absorbed by a soft one. Most of the time it's an auditory thing; sometimes it's tactile; sometimes olfactory. The sound of my cane taps tell me more than just if the path before me is clear, or sloping up or down, or if there's a gaping chasm waiting to swallow me. If there are certain echoes I know that I'm in an area of buildings with hard surfaces. Open areas sound different.

"Now I'd like to ask you something."

"Depends on how personal," Annie deadpanned.

"Touché. Why all this interest in my world?"

"I'm just trying to figure you out. Understanding where you've come from and what it's like for you now puts you into perspective with everyone else there. We all have scars, some are just way more noticeable than others."

"That's for damn sure." He drained the last of his beer and sat it down with a resounding thud. "Are you going to take me home? Or do I have to call a cab?"

Silence but for the ambient tavern sounds.

"Annie?" He hadn't heard her leave, but his senses were a bit cloudy.

"Sorry. Just checking to see if I needed a cab, too. I'll take you home."

"Auggie," Annie's voice and gently shaking roused him from his alcohol induced nap. "Auggie. We're here at your place."

"Where are we?" he asked with a stifled yawn while stretching his arms over his head. His long fingers briefly traced the seam in the headliner.

"Your place."

"I heard that. Where did you stop in relation to my door?"

"Your door is half a block down in front of us and on the other side of the street."

Auggie turned his head in her direction. "Got a favor to ask."

"Yeah. What?"

"Escort me up to my door?" He didn't ask for assistance as a general rule. He didn't really need it now, but his beer fogged judgment wanted her. He might be making a big mistake, but he was willing to take the risk.

"Okay." She opened her door.

So did Auggie. He worked his way around the front of the car right arm loosely extended waist high before him. When his outstretched hand brushed against her, he took her right elbow with his left hand as they started towards his door.

With Annie in the lead, they crossed the deserted street. She paused for a second at the curb, but Auggie still managed to trip slightly over it and she giggled softly with him. They both faltered on the stairs to his door with another round of drunken sniggers.

After Annie had placed his hand on his door's handle, Auggie turned towards her. With the side of his hand barely brushing the side of her well-toned arm, he made his way up to her shoulder; then he traced the side of her neck to her chin. He leaned down to where he hoped her mouth would be and kissed her softly. At first he felt her tense and he waited for her to pull away. Of course he'd apologize and blame the beer for his lack of judgment. But he didn't need to. To his pleasant surprise she relaxed and kissed him back. Not a kiss between friends, but a kiss indicating that she was as willing as he.

Auggie woke and felt an arm across his chest, a head on his shoulder, and the soft, rhythmic breathing of a woman. He cradled the female form for a moment; then gently withdrew his arm from beneath her head. He heard her rouse slightly for a second as he tucked a pillow under her head. Her breaths returned to normal. He sat on the edge of the bed and shook the sleep from his mind. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he desperately tried to remember who was sharing his bed this morning. Recollection flooded over him. Annie. Oh, God, what had he done?

He rose and padded quietly first to the bathroom to splash some cool water onto his face and slip into a pair of sweatpants; then into the kitchen As he crossed from bed to bath he felt the hurriedly discarded garments under his bare feet.

Coffee. He needed a strong cup of coffee. He filled the carafe with water and poured it carefully into the coffee maker's reservoir. As he reached for the coffee canister he felt soft arms encircling his waist and gentle kisses on his back. His senses were overwhelmed with the smell of stale beer, ground coffee, and his cologne; and the rough texture of the shirt he'd been wearing yesterday.

"Good morning," he heard Annie's voice say.

It was her, and the greeting was not what he'd expected. "Good morning, Annie."

He turned in her embrace and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "How did you get here?" He couldn't believe that he said that. He was now perfectly aware of how she'd gotten there and of his actions earlier in the morning.

"In my car," she quipped. "You don't remember last night?"

"I think so," he replied with what he hoped would come across as tentativeness. "Was I at least a gentleman?"

"Yes, you were a gentle man." She said each word deliberately with emphasis on the gentle. "Are you asking if I was a willing participant in our extracurricular activity?"

"Something like that." He turned back to grab the coffee canister.

"I was. I was a very willing partner, Auggie. I've been waiting for you to make a move for some time now."