I always said I would one day write a sequel to "The Secret", but I simply could not and cannot find the inspiration to continue that story. Instead, this came to me a few days ago, and I can't seem to stop writing it. Please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own Scandal.

~ Prologue ~

Olivia watched as yet another hospital bed was wheeled past the large desk, through the wide hospital hallway, and into a room. Technically, her shift had not even begun yet, so she sat back and let her fellow nurses take care of their newest patient. Surrounded by the constant beeping sounds so typical for the intensive care unit, Olivia read over patient files and quickly familiarized herself with any new developments that might have occurred in the hours that she had not been here. There were two new patients now, and a quick check told her that one was an older gentleman that had suffered a major heart attack just hours before, while the other was a middle aged car crash victim who had just come out of hours of emergency surgery.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She looked around, trying to locate where this particular sound was coming from. It was impossible, though, in an ICU full of machines. Olivia took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for another long shift. Olivia preferred the nightshifts, even though they were often long and grueling. They kept her busy, though, during endless nights that she'd otherwise have to spend home, by herself.

Placing the files back on the desk, Olivia turned her chair, stood, and made her way to the small kitchenette to prepare a cup of tea to get her through the long night ahead. The chilly February wind still clung to her skin even though she had been insight for nearly thirty minutes now, and the steaming beverage was a welcome relief. Washington D.C. had been especially cold over the last few weeks, and icy roads and snow-filled storms had assured that there was never a shortage of car crash victims in the ICU of George Washington University Hospital. She returned to the desk shortly after, warming her small hands on the plastic cup filled with tea. Fellow nurses came and went, each passing on patient information to Olivia and the other nightshift colleagues that continued to arrive.

When her shift had officially begun, Olivia went to check on one of the patients that had been with them for several days now. The young girl – not quite a child anymore but not a teenager yet either – looked slightly better now that her facial bruises were beginning to lose their angry color, but she still seemed exceptionally frail. It was not much different than any other patient, really. They all came into the ICU looking rough, but this thin twelve year old with a mess of blonde curls and pale skin always appeared especially weak. Maybe it was the large tube that helped her breathe, or the bandages all over her body. But Olivia knew that was not the reason she felt the need to take such good care of the young accident victim. Instead, it was the fact that when they'd wake her from the artificial coma, someone was going to have to explain to her that while she would most likely be okay, her mother would not. The second victim of the Monday afternoon crash that involved a van and a garbage truck – 39 year old Elizabeth Whaley – had been pronounced dead at the scene. And her only daughter had no idea.

With a sigh, Olivia left the room, hoping she would not have to be around when they finally informed this little girl of the tragedy. She checked on several more patients before she finally reached the room of the most recently admitted car crash victim. She loathed winters like this, when badly injured men and women found their way into her hospital almost constantly. The patient's blood pressure and heart rate were good, so Olivia moved on to make sure all of his IVs were working properly. Only when all the routine checks were finished did she take a closer look at the patient himself. It was always difficult to tell someone's exact age when they were covered in tubes, needles, and bandages, so she consulted the patient file for more information. He was a 48 year old white male, injured in a single vehicle accident on what she assumed must have been his way home from work. Olivia looked up at his face again, before she continued reading the file.

His arm was broken, but the fracture was simple and would not cause any problems. His ribs were bruised, which was painful more than anything else, but that too would pass in time. The right side of his face was bruised only slightly from the impact of his car's airbag, but Olivia had seen damage much worse, and she suspected that those bruises would be gone within a few days. She shook her head sadly when she read the final part of his list of injuries. Lifting her head to look at the man in front of her once more, Olivia observed him silently.

He was tall and lean, the parts of his body that were uncovered clearly muscular. His shoulders were broad and his arms led her to believe that he worked out frequently. His exposed chest was well-defined, and Olivia assumed that the rest of his body would be as well. He looked like the kind of man that cared about his health and his body, and no matter how frail he looked at the moment, Olivia could easily imagine him in the gym, or running, or maybe even swimming like she often did herself.

But now his spine had been fractured, and the impact of his car sliding off the road and into the pillar of a bridge had caused tiny fragments of the bone to puncture his spinal cord. A team of doctors had performed emergency surgery immediately upon his arrival in the emergency room, but Olivia had enough experience to know that it was impossible to tell how severe the consequences would be until he opened his eyes. Maybe he'd wake up and with some patience and rehab he would walk again in no time. Maybe he'd be wheelchair bound for the rest of his life. The thought made her shudder, because she simply could not imagine such a cruel fate for this man she did not even know.

"Olivia?"

She turned and smiled at the young nurse standing in the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"Doctor Collins called and told us to make sure we up Mrs. Hillard's dosage. Whenever you have a minute, of course."

"You don't want to do it?", Olivia asked.

"Could I?"

Quinn had only just graduated, and although she was now a nurse, she did not quite have the confidence in herself and her abilities to make the decisions an experienced nurse like Olivia would make.

"Of course you can. You're a nurse, remember."

The younger woman smiled sheepishly and turned on her heels to go find the patient in question. She liked Olivia. She had become somewhat of a mentor to her, and she was slowly but surely learning to trust her abilities and the education she had received in the last few years.

Olivia shook her head with a grin as she watched her young colleague walk down the hallway in quick strides. Quinn was certainly still learning, but Olivia considered her a good nurse already, because she possessed just the right amount of compassion – something that would always be important in their line of work. The quickening sound of the familiar but always alarming beeping brought her out of her thoughts and she quickly turned to her patient.

His heart rate was just shy of alarming, but she did not panic, simply walked over to his bed and took his hand carefully into her own. His eyelids fluttered slowly at first, then more quickly, before he seemed to calm. Almost immediately his heart rate slowed and soon the numbers were at a healthy level once again.

Olivia watched him a little longer, making sure he was not waking up just yet. He needed rest desperately right now. She upped his pain meds slightly, hoping to make him more comfortable throughout the night. Finally, she walked out of his room.

When she had already stepped out into the hallway, she turned and looked back at the bruised and broken body of her newest patient.

She had a feeling Fitzgerald Grant would be here with them for a while.