It had been a hard night. And he still couldn't get the damn image of her out of his mind. Milah. Moaning underneath another. In his own fucking bed.

Reaching around to finger the back pocket of his pants, Killian groaned on realizing that the packet of cigarettes he always carried with him were not there. Figures they were dropped somewhere on the pavement, trampled under passing wheels as he sped away into the night, anxious to drive himself into oblivion as fast and as madly as he could.

"Well, if it isn't the legendary Casanova himself." Oh, he'd know that dry chuckle from anywhere. Looking up, he met Dr. Whale's penetrating stare head-on, daring him to pry further into his affairs. The doctor gave up the fight rather quickly, to Killian's dismay. "What have you done this time, Jones?" he asked with a disapproving sigh.

"Just took my baby out for a run," he grinned sassily, cradling his left arm. "Is there a problem with that, Doc?"

The man rolled his eyes and put the chart he had been clutching down on the examining table. "From what my nurse told me ― don't run into her on your way out, by the way ― you seem to have fractured your shoulder, and you could have a break in your lower arm as well."

"Ah, that lovely lass Ruby?" Killian waggled his eyebrows. "Why don't you take her out on the town if you bloody fancy her so much?" He winced when Whale suddenly grabbed his injured hand and started to prod at it. "Bloody hell ― that hurts, you arse!"

The doctor only snorted and continued to poke at him, exposing tender flesh to the cool air. "Hmm...we'll take X-rays first before I decide if you need a whole cast or partial cast for this."

"A whole cast?" Killian gaped at him, growing anxious. "That means―"

"Yeah, yeah ― you wouldn't be able to run your motorcycle into another tree, I know. It strikes you to the core, doesn't it?" Whale retorted sarcastically. "Such limits for the local circus performer of the year."

"Eh, must be why it hurts when I laugh, mate..." he rejoined, scowling at his physician as he proceeded to scribble out instructions, muttering to himself before striding out the door without another word. In turn, Killian sulked, pulling his leather jacket tighter around him. Not only did Milah betray him, but now he would be bedridden for a month.

Thank God for television, takeout, and Jolly Roger rum.

He didn't feel like talking when Nurse Belle put the finishing touches on his cast, carefully lifting his fractured arm up and into the sling she had tied around his chest. But of course, the bookwork had loads to tell him, like some darn nanny. "Now, remember: no washing this area, no touching, and absolutely no scratching."

"But what if I have a terrible itch?" He pouted before grinning at her. "What to do, lass?"

Her blue eyes finally softening, she smiled a little at him. "It's only three to four weeks, Killian ― I think you'll make it." Then she paused, as if contemplating something else. "Why?"

His head snapped up. "Why what?"

"Why do you keep coming here?"

He placed his other hand over his heart after acknowledging that yes, his leftie was immobile. "Darling, I'm wounded. Perhaps this friendly institution feels like home to me."

Belle shook her head at him, scoffing. "I've heard talk about you, Jones ― your frequent visits to the ER have nothing to do with liking a hospital." She gave him a pitying frown. "Killian, it's been almost two years...since Liam. You need to move on, dear."

Swallowing a very large lump in his throat, Killian blinked hard, gritting his teeth together to hold back a wave of resentment and regret. "I don't bloody want to," he snapped, glaring at the wall. "I'm not going to just stand here and forget him while his killers live on, and he's...dead."

She sat down next to him. "It's a shame, really ― he got a Medal of Honor when the war ended, right? And then..."

"He came back and got himself bloody killed afterward!" His body started to shake. "He survived the entire goddamn war ― Nazis shooting at him right and left, bombs exploding...and then..." He didn't want to speak anymore.

Patting his back, Belle murmured in what was probably meant to be a soothing tone, "Accidents happen―"

"They were bloody drunk, and it wasn't a bloody accident!" Killian yelled, yanking himself away from her touch. "All they got was the locker for a few months, while Liam got a fucking heart attack because his arteries were ruined!"

For several moments, he brewed silently, sure she could see the virtual steam coming out of his ears as his anger vibrated off the walls.

But as always, Belle surprised him. "I think you need to come with me."

"Why?" She deserved his defiance, damn it to hell ― and he wasn't the least bit sorry.

"Because there's something you need to see." Her smile was filled with understanding, with bleeding hope. Killian huffed. It would be better to just do as she asked now, so she'd leave him alone later. She was one persistent lass ― he'd learned from denying her requests in the past.

Nurse Belle was not to be trifled with. So, trudging along behind her, cast arm swinging lightly, he stifled his pang of longing for his brother and decided that one more day to live was okay.

Life was all he had left, anyway. Everything else that had mattered was gone.

"How long has she been in the iron lung?" He pressed his face against the glass, awestruck. It didn't matter that her skin was sickly pale, that the hospital gown she wore was frayed and unattractive over a too thin body, that she was asleep and her breathing was still weak, her frail limbs still and limp.

The girl before him was, in a word, stunning. Blonde tresses strewn about her shoulders, full rose lips, dark eyelashes fluttering over sculpted cheeks. Couldn't be more than eighteen. Her face...that of a princess. Like straight out of a fairy tale.

Nurse Belle was glancing at her vitals, making sure all was well. "Since she was thirteen. Poor Emma has never been ordinary ― she was admitted when her foster parents found her suffocating on their living room floor. They thought it was seizures, but unfortunately...it wasn't."

His blood turned cold. "You can't be saying she'll have to live in this ― this ― metal cage until she―"

She didn't look at him when she replied, "Nothing is certain, Killian. She could recover...she could not." Her shoulders slumped. "Out of all of our adolescent patients, she never got to experience high school...her first kiss...her first dance...any of it. She never got to grow up like you did." When he opened his mouth to protest, she raised an eyebrow at him. "Just something to think about, mind you. At least, you had Liam, and you loved him...and he loved you. But Emma Swan here..." She sighed deeply. "She never has any visitors, any family who come to see her...hold her hand... I come sometimes, on my free time or during a break... And I wonder why." Biting her lip, she turned to leave.

"Wait." Killian dragged a chair across, positioning it by the iron lung. "Could I...sit awhile? With her?"

Belle nodded at him. "Let me know if anything changes."

When she was gone, the first thing Killian did was take off his leather jacket, drape it on the back of the chair, and get comfortable on the metal structure he loathed. But it was worth it.

He wanted to stay with his very own Sleeping Beauty, though this strange impulse puzzled him beyond measure. Or maybe it was simpler than he believed.

Everyone had abandoned her, like they had done him. But he wouldn't do that to her.

He would wait and watch. He was no prince, and no kiss would cure her, but still...he could be the person who prayed for her to get better. Talked to her. Listened to her, although she couldn't talk to him.

He had wanted something to live for. And now he had found it.

SIX MONTHS LATER

He awoke to someone frantically tugging on his arm, shaking him desperately. "Killian!"

Blearily, he opened his eyes, yawning widely. "Oh..." His vision cleared. "It's you, Belle. 'Morning, lass."

She pointed at the iron lung. "Dr. Whale just came in ― and he said...he can't understand it..."

His heart leapt into his stomach, and fearing the worst, he ran to the glass opening, peering inside. Green eyes stared back at him, sparkling and brilliant.

First, she smiled. The result was so breathtaking, he himself forgot how to inhale.

Then...Emma's lovely lips moved.

"Hello, Killian."