The hardest thing to face weren't the bruises on his face, or the dark circles beneath his eyes, or the way he cried out in the night. The hardest thing to face was the silence. Not only was it completely alien, a stark contrast to his usual babbling self, it was complete. It surrounded them, clouding his eyes and stifling his movements. It filled the space between them.

It had started the night they had returned from that place.

She led him up the stairs to the master bedroom, their room, in their house. It felt like anything but home. She guided him to the edge of the bed and as she changed he stared down at his hands in his lap, picking beneath his nails with his hook, unblinking. In her pajamas she crouched down in front of him and tried to catch his eye, he blinked away a tear and his eyes darted away from her gaze.

She sighed and reached up to his shirt, him flinching slightly as she began to unfasten the buttons. His chest was a myriad of bruises and she took care to be a gentle as she could. She moved to his left arm and started to slowly unbuckle the brace that encased it. Usually he would pull away, hide his defect from her, deal with it himself, but he sat still, silently, staring ahead as she continued with her gentle ministrations. She pulled the brace off slowly, watching his face carefully for any signs of discomfort. A silent tear slid down his cheek. She placed the thin comforter around him and reached down to slip off his boots, reaching up then to unbutton his jeans. Only then did his eyes catch hers. A break in his reverie. But where before there would have been a hint of mischief in his eyes, now there was only fear.

"I'll do it," he said, gripping her wrist with his good hand. He looked away and she stood, sighing as she fetched him some loose flannel pants from the drawer. She edged around the other side of the bed and placed them by his side before climbing on top of the covers behind him, the void between them seeming to stretch for miles. She sagged against the headboard and let the realities of the previous days truly hit her. She was exhausted. She allowed her eyes to slip closed until she felt the bed shift behind her, opening them to see Killian moving towards the bathroom. She watched his back retreat, trousers slung low on his too thin hips, and heard the bathroom door lock click as he closed the door behind him.

Then she allowed herself to cry. She shuddered with silent sobs as she climbed beneath the blankets alone in the cold bed that was supposed to be theirs, a symbol of their love and their unity. She cried for her love, the broken man, and she cried for herself as she listened to the anguished sobs, mirroring hers that came from behind a locked door. Behind a closed wall. Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep.