"You've changed."

Archie looks carefully at Killian over the rim of his crooked glasses, fingers folded neat on the desk in front of him.

Killian cannot recall a time in his stay at the hospital he has enjoyed these meetings with his doctor. It had all come in a rush that rendered his general ability to charm his way out of anything absolutely useless; and by the time he'd found his bearings the daily meetings in the stuffy, cluttered office had been made a very solid part of his routine.

"'s probably the hair," he answers seriously, sinking deeper into his seat and settling a heavy foot onto the psychologists desk, "I tried mussing it up with water from a brand new sink today."

The doctor does not even flinch at his behavior, shaking his head and mirroring his movement of becoming more comfortable in his seat, eyes still trained steadily on him.

"I have heard from Miss Swan that the two of you have been spending quite a bit of time together?"

Killian shrugs.

But it is true. In spite of her flaws, Emma has proven to be a ray of light. He cannot argue that the time he has spent with her hasn't sent pinpricks of color creeping through his cracks.

She is eccentric, but not in the odd way he has come to find the other people in the hospital to be, the ones he avoids. She is a breath of fresh air; full of stories and daydreams and a nearly infuriating incessancy that everyone has a happy ending. The book she carries is her son's; he gave it to her to remind her to have hope, and she never failed to repeat the message to Killian again and again, hammering it into him, promising that hope was the best magic of all.

But his illness does not work in the same way as hers, and he knows that the fairytales she lives by are just that. It makes him ache a little, knowing she will never get the happy ending that she so covets. But she is so happy regardless that he nearly finds himself in envy.

"She talks a great deal about you Killian." Archie speaks carefully, forehead knotting, "And she does not talk a great deal about much."

The words pique his attention, and he cannot help it when a single brow twitches up in interest. Archie catches the movement of course, and continues.

"She likes to pick people to help. People she thinks need the most help."

He clenches his teeth at the words.

"I am no damsel in distress, mate." He mutters through a tense jaw.

Archie shakes his head, still cautious.

"No. But distress does not have much to do with it. She just…" He pauses, and Killian knows he is picking his words carefully, struggling to protect her from him without breaking her confidentiality.

And he knows it is he that Archie is trying to protect her from.

"I don't intend to fuck up whatever progress you've made," he says bitterly, leaning his head back as far as it will go to stare up at the ceiling, "You can bloody relax. I like her."

"She will only be content once you have found your 'happy ending,' Killian. Whatever that is."

And the penny drops.

He does not lift his head to remeet Archie's gaze, instead staring at the patterned cracks in the ceilings that he could probably draw out in his dreams.

"Well, she is in for a rough one, eh?" His futile attempt at humor falls flat, and the air around him is heavy. He traces the longest line with his eyes, printing it lightly on the arm of his chair with a finger as gives it a constellation in his mind.

He misses the stars.

"Have you been thinking about your brother?"

They have passed the formalities, and are back to the questions that he knows as well as the lines on the ceiling. A yes rises to his tongue—and then he stops, slowly tilting his head back towards Archie as the realization settles oddly in his mind. He drags his fingers from the arm of his chair to instead trace slowly along the scars where his hand used to be.

"…No."

Xxx

He goes straight to the rec room once Archie has let him go because it is where they have agreed to meet. Emma insists she has a surprise for him and he is tentative as he rounds the corner to the short hall that leads into the room he visits most rarely. It is meant to be the fun room. There is a small box television in a corner with a circle of chairs placed meticulously to cover the space the couch was (until it was discovered one of the addicts from the other end of the hospital was using it to store his loot). In the other corner there is a foosball table that Killian has learned it is best just to lose on. There is a small shelf of games and various tables scattered about.

Emma of course has gotten them prime seating in front of the television. She has brushed her hair—he can tell in how the ends of her waves fray, and it takes her a moment after he has sat beside her to turn his way.

"Hook." She greets with a reassured smile that he is finding he is becoming used to. She never expects him to show up.

"Swan," he greets in return, smiling back crookedly. "So what is this surprise I have been so anxiously awaiting?"

She rolls her eyes, but a tiny laugh bubbles out of her.

"Patience is a virtue."

She glances at the screen of the television, which is dark. It is an old TV but not old enough to have buttons, and the orderlies are the only ones with remote rights. But they have known to be bribable, and Killian suddenly grins, knowing exactly what she has planned.

"Movie night, then? Practically a date, isn't it?"

She shakes her head now, but her smile is wide as she hugs her book close.

"Insatiable." She muses, and a smirk cracks widely across his face. His eyes fall to her book, and her smile softens as she watches.

"Perhaps we can have reading night sometime, as well?"

Her arms tighten around the book, and she studies him softly.

"Depends."

He has gone and flattened the cheery mood and he knows it. He only contemplates a moment before slipping from his chair onto the floor, slipping his fingers around her wrist and tugging her down after him just as he hears the orderly walk up behind them and flip the television on. She settles in a neat heap beside him, and shoots him a look.

"Why are we on the floor?" She asks, eyeing the twitch in his lips warily.

"The chairs are nailed too bloody far apart," he answers in a whisper, and he lets out a low breath when she settles her head contently on his shoulder, soft hair curtaining and tickling soft against his arm.

"Don't raise a challenge you can't deliver on, Captain," she breathes as Peter Pan flickers onto the screen, and he sighs.

"Think this is funny, do you?"

She smirks.

Groans sound around them as the other members of the audience register that it is Disney (again, and everyone is just beginning to have had it with Emma's obsession). But it takes only one sideway glare about him to frighten every mouth shut.

They make quite a team, really.

They move to one of the unoccupied tables when the movie is finished, and he can tell in the way her eyelids flutter that she is exhausted. But she forces them open and plasters that smug smile to her lips as she makes herself comfortable in the chair across from him, lifting her book onto the table and flipping it open, to a page he can tell she spends the most time on because of the fold in the seam.

She gives it a soft push across the table towards him, and draws her arms back to cross over her chest.

It is the first time he has seen her not touching her book.

"You're the one who wanted storytime," she says, and rolls her eyes softly, "Stop staring at me and try actually looking at the book."

But he is reading; the lines in her face that are drawn tighter than usual and the cloud in her eyes keeping him just on the edge and the way the corner of her mouth twitches into the tiniest frown when it takes him a moment longer to glance down at the pages she has entrusted him with.

It is a familiar fairytale painted with beautiful intricacy. A lovely woman asleep in a tomb with a knightly man standing by, staring down at the coffin. The woman's skin is painted white and it does not take much for Killian to determine who the couple are.

"Snow White and Prince Charming?" He muses, and peers up from the page at her. She is watching him with clearly bated breath, and nods once. "Are they in here too, then?" He takes a quick glance around the room, eyes settling on one of the younger girls with jet-black hair and circles under her eyes, "It's her, isn't it?" he adds with sureness, nodding towards where she plays 'Trouble' alone.

Emma snorts, and he furrows his brow in challenge.

"I don't know who she is. She isn't in the book," She pulls it back to her and flips a few pages forward, before shoving it back at him, biting back a gleeful smile. "Snow White is special."

He glances down again, this time to see the same woman, awake—and extremely pregnant. He puzzles over it a moment but then shakes his head, looking to Emma for help.

"I don't understand."

Disappointment flashes through her eyes and she sighs at his (obvious) naivety.

"Snow White and Prince Charming are my parents." She explains slowly, watching for his reaction, and Gods, there is no end to her imagination.

He fakes a noise of understanding that she sees straight through, eyes hard and jaw clenching.

"You think I'm crazy, too." The words are stated dryly, no hint of question, and he can see her closing off to him, see her drifting away.

He clenches his jaw, shaking his head and searching his mind for something he can say, something to bring her back and follow through on his promise to Archie that no, he would not screw her up more than she already is.

He hates to think what might have happened to her that she has to rely of the fairytales and happy endings her son entrusted her with to make her world bright enough to survive.

And as much as her optimism irks him at times, he really cannot help but admire her for choosing the happiness, however fake, rather than crumbling weakly beneath the pressures in the way he did.

"No." He finally gets the words past his mouth as she stares at him bitterly, crossing her arms protectively around herself, "No, of course I don't think you're crazy, Swan. I think you might be yanking my chain, though. Snow White and Prince Charming? They are bloody iconic, love. I just… I can hardly believe they are your parents."

The enthusiasm behind his voice must be more believable this time because her expression softens minutely.

"Well they are," she says, and shrugs, "it kind of shocked me, too."

He smiles to hide the breath of relief he lets out.

"How did you go about learning they were your parents, then?"

These words change her expression fully, small wistful smile playing at her lips.

"Henry. He is such a goddamn sneak. He decided he wanted a family reunion. And he is stubborn as hell so he found them, and… yeah. We reunited. And it turned out they were royal. Every orphans dream, right?"

Her smile is so bright and open and he doesn't know how she does it. He is mystified by her.

"Right."

There is a pause and she is still smiling and he is still puzzling and finally, he knows he must break it.

"So which character is Henry?"

It is her turn to look puzzled, staring back at him with a knot in her brow for a beat before answering.

"He's not. He's just Henry." Her smile breaks wider, "My parents said he might come along next time they visit. Maybe if you actually behave Archie might let you meet them."

This time, when the smile cracks along his face, it is completely real.

"I'd like that."

"Good."

Xxx

He has later-nighttime privileges than she does on account of supposed progress, so her orderlies come and fetch her long before he is even thinking about his little white cell. But the rec room is slowing down and another movie is being put in, so he decides it is time to move location.

It is only as he gets up and makes to move towards the door that he notices her book is still laid out open on the table, forgotten behind.