I just wrote this in the last three hours. It's just a "small" one shot about Roy Walker and an OC named Annie. It's mostly just fluff, but I'm just trying to get back into the swing of things.

Los Angeles. 1928. I was 23 years old when I met Roy Walker.

He was quiet, as usual; he wouldn't even look at me. My hands moved with a hurried nervousness, stripping the hospital cot of its' off white cotton sheets. He just sat there in his chair, staring out the window at the sisters and medical personnel strolling aimlessly about the courtyard on the other side of his rehabilitative prison. He'd blink occasionally, slowly, and I watched him out of the corner of my eye, constantly wondering what he was thinking. He always held a look of resigned sadness, and I began to wonder if there had ever been a time when he hadn't looked so hopeless. The other nurses had gossiped frequently, and it had been hard to avoid the buzz about the broken hearted Hollywood star in the third block. He was certainly broken, and in every sense of the word.

It had become an unspoken agreement between us; we wouldn't speak when I came to administer his medication and swap his dirty sheets for fresh ones every three days. He would silently wait for me to wheel his chair up to the side of the bed, never once looking me in the eye. Whether it was out of resentment or embarrassment, I'd never know. I suppose his wounded pride left him ashamed of his situation; he never spoke of it – at least not to me. But I had heard the whispers of all those unfortunate events that had landed him in my care and so, I respected his silence.

Quickly tucking the edges of the bottom sheet beneath the cot's mattress, I let my mind wander momentarily to nothing in particular; I needed something to think on in the deafening silence, if only to keep me sane. I had no words of comfort to offer the shattered man in the chair so I found no use in wasting his time with pointless banter. He was deep in thought, and I wasn't about to be the one to disturb him.

"How are you?" His question had startled me as much as the very sound of his voice, my hands giving quick pause as I had gone to spread the other sheet across the cot. At first I hadn't been entirely sure that he was the one who had spoken, but we were the only two in the room. I had long imagined what his voice sounded like. Would it be deep and smoky, or would it be light and full of youth? And while I admit there was a soothing deepness to his voice, it held no light, not even a trace of happiness. It was a question asked simply to break the silence, not out of true curiosity for my well-being.

"I'm well." I mentally cringed at the quietness and shortness of my response, still not chancing a glance in his direction as I continued smoothing out the sheets. The crisp white cotton felt cool beneath my fingers, offering a small amount of calm as anxiousness surged through me. I had never done well in conversing with men; I was always so shy and never able to find the right words, only ever finding them once the conversation had long since ended.

"That's good to hear," he said, his voice trailing off into nowhere. There were a few moments of silence after that before he let out a heavy, tired sigh. "I'm doing pretty well myself, 'case you were wondering."

I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks, embarrassed with myself for not having had the momentary courtesy to ask about him in return. Instead of stumbling for a response that would surely do nothing to ease the now awkward silence between us, I turned to him, immediately catching my gaze in his own. He had eyes that could calm a storm; soft green eyes that stared back at me with a mix of amusement and an incurable sadness. Overall, there was no doubt he was an attractive man, and had the circumstances been different, I would have hoped beyond anything that he would ask to take me dancing. But we were in a hospital, and the heavy reality that we would never dance together hit me even harder as my eyes allowed themselves a quick glance at his chair. No, there would be no dancing with Mr. Roy Walker.

"You look at my chair an awful lot." His voice broke through my daytime dreaming, causing my cheeks to flush an even deeper scarlet as I quickly turned back to the bed sheets, smoothing out imaginary creases.

"I'm sorry," I quickly apologized, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn't bear to look at him out of pure shame and embarrassment. Not only had I failed to ask him how he was out of returned politeness, but he had caught me staring at his chair. I silently chided my foolish behavior, quickly rushing through redressing the cot before I had the opportunity to offend him even more so than I already had.

"Don't apologize; I'm just happy to have caught your attention." I didn't have to look at him to see the teasing smile on his face, for I could hear it in his voice.

"I'm your nurse, Mr. Walker-"

"Roy," he interrupted. I turned towards him then, a slight smile on my lips as I watched his eyes become light, a small smile of his own gracing usually sullen face.

"I'm your nurse, Roy. And as long as you are my patient, you will always have my attention." His face fell only slightly at my words; his eyes leaving mine to look at the now neatly made cot. He looked at the cot for a few moments, silent as the grave, before his eyes came back to me and a small smile reached the corners of his lips once more, his eyes shining with a certain gleam that I could not name.

"Well since I have your attention, can I tell you a story?"

"What kind of story?" I asked, straightening the contents of the small white table at the side of his cot. His morning coffee had been untouched, and the bible that had been left for his use had clearly never been opened.

"An epic story," he replied with a bright smile.

"Would this be the same epic story you told Alexandria by any chance?" I had been told the tales of the masked bandit and his fellow outlaws. It had been a wondrous story, of bravery and beautiful imaginative places and people, all retold from memory by the beautiful little girl with an imagination greater than any I had ever known. Her fall had been unfortunate, and there had been a moment where all of the doctors and nurses had held their breath, her survival unsure. It was then that Mr. Walker had come clean, confessing what he had done; the stories he had told simply to coax her into helping him end it all. But with Alexandria's recovery, it was not simply her own life that had been saved, but Roy's as well.

"Nah," he replied with a smirk, leaning his head back against his chair. "That's Alexandria's story - just for her," he teased quietly, his eyes watching me as I made to walk around the side of the cot, standing near the end of the bed.

I smiled at him, a small smirk of my own reaching my lips, "She's a lucky girl to have her own fairytale."

"I can give you a fairytale too, you know," he said, the smile still plastered to his face as his voice adopted a tone of mild excitement and just a little bit of joy. He seemed to be anxious to share a story with me, and whilst I would have listened out of pure politeness, a part of me wanted to listen out of true curiosity.

Without another moment of silence passing between us, he motioned for me to sit down on the cot, facing him as he still sat in his chair. I couldn't help but notice how the crisp whiteness of my nurses gown nearly matched the fresh sheets on the cot. I folded my hands politely in my lap as I waited for him to begin.

"Close your eyes," he commanded gently.

"What?" I looked at him, an incredulous look marring my face.

"Close your eyes," he repeated, laughing lightly at my clear confusion, "it doesn't work unless you close your eyes."

Sighing in defeat, I shot him a disbelieving look before letting my eyes slip closed, replacing everything with darkness.

"Now what?"

"Can you see the stars?" The sound of his deep, soothing voice amidst the darkness nearly made me shiver with a small amount of thrill and excitement.

I shook my head, " No. I can't see anything."

"Rub your eyes."

I reluctantly did as he told me to, rubbing my eyes lightly and carefully, in order to avoid smearing my lightly applied mascara and eyeliner. Sure enough, against the black backdrop of my closed eyes, small white stars began to appear in fast swirls of light and beauty. I smiled instantly at this childs-play trick and I listened carefully as Roy let out a small, quiet laugh at my reaction.

"How many stars do you see?" his voice asked from the darkness.

"Too many to count."

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" he asked.

I nodded, "Yes."

"It was a starry night," he started, and I could tell by the sudden drop in his voice, soft and soothing but deep as the ocean, that my fairytale had begun…

Over the course of the following six months, I had taken an extreme liking to the fairytale that Roy Walker had made just for me. It was a beautiful tale he had spun, of love and betrayal. The story was of a man, tall and strong; a soldier, who guarded the Queen with his very life, cutting down all those who made attempts upon her life. He had sworn his allegiance to her, promising no matter what, that he would always ensure her happiness. The Queen however, even in all of her innocent beauty, betrayed her faithful guard, for she had found another to protect her; stronger and taller than he. He was replaced, and by order of the Queen, cast out from the palace, into the desert. But in a final attempt to win back the heart of his Queen, he fell upon his own sword in her name. But still, the Queen preferred her new guard, and sent him away, bloody and defeated.

For months he had struggled in the desert, surviving only due to the kindness of the occasional merchants that would pass him along their journeys. The offered him money, and the opportunity to travel with them to their destinations, but he refused. For without the love of his Queen, he had lost his will to survive. He had given up.

But one day, as he stumbled across the desert in a haze of confusion and helplessness, he came upon a castle in the middle of a lake. He shouted, crying out for any inside who could hear him. Luckily, a knight, dressed in all white, with a kind face, who brandished no weapon, found him lying just outside of the castle gates. The kind knight pulled him inside the castle where he was tended to and looked after by a beautiful maiden, dressed in all white, who seemed to glow like the very stars in the night sky. She was the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen, yet she did not smile, nor did she frown. She simply watched over him, tending to his needs in silence. He did not speak, fearful that she would not care to hear the sorrows of a banished guard who had so foolishly fallen upon his own sword. Yet she continued to care for him, as the damage done had been great, and would take many days and nights to heal. But still, he did not speak to her. Nor did she speak to him.

Until one day, he could no longer bear her beauty or kindness in silence. He had to hear her voice. She had been shy, timid and quiet. For days he continued to attempt to coax words from her lips, eventually succeeding to a point where there was no silence left between them. And he discovered the very depths of her soul, her history, and above all else, the longing in her heart. His love for her grew so great that within mere days he had planned to swear his allegiance to her, to protect her from the dangers of the world that surrounded them and ensure her happiness, as he once had for the Queen who betrayed him. But he was worried…

The sun was scorching that day, with no wind to cause even the slightest relief of a cool summer breeze. I had been beyond grateful for my month's leave from work. It was simply too hot to bear the heavy white nurses gown and stockings. I opted instead for a beautiful lavender sun dress that seemed to hug my warm body in all the proper places without causing me to overheat. Los Angeles was almost unbearable in the summertime, and I suddenly wished that I was back in Seattle, visiting my Aunt Margaret and Uncle Sal where it had been nearly ten degrees cooler. But while I missed Seattle, I couldn't deny that my heart belonged in Los Angeles.

I smiled fondly at the sisters and varied medical personnel that recognized me with a simple nod of their heads. It felt good to be back, seeing familiar faces again, even though it had only been a month since I had left. Unfortunately, I had left with my fairytale unfinished. Roy, in the few weeks leading up to my departure, had become so tired from all of his medications and therapy. I had continued to visit him however, instead opting to tell him my own stories. They weren't as interesting or fantastically beautiful as his stories were, but I believe they gave him comfort in times where he felt tired and most undoubtedly alone. Alexandria had long since left the hospital and been reunited with her family, leaving Roy without her heartwarming visits. I could tell he missed her.

With an extra spring in my step, I quickly made my way to block three, where I knew Roy would be waiting for me in his cot, no doubt with the window open and an electrical fan on his bedside table, pointed directly towards his face. He hated the heat, and was constantly attempting to rid himself of his shirt. He claimed it was due to the heat. But I found that even in the cool spring nights, he was removing the article, though reportedly he didn't display this same behavior when any other doctors or nurses were present.

Our friendship had grown and flourished in those six months since I had become his head nurse. He had told me stories of his whirlwind stunts and spectacular pictures he had been part of. He spoke with such passion and enthusiasm, that I found it difficult to focus on menial tasks such as changing cot sheets. He kept me distracted, but delightedly so. And I certainly didn't mind.

Eventually our friendship had taken a turn, blossoming into feelings of mutual adoration and care. He was still a patient, however, and all romantic feelings had to be expressed through spoken word, instead of the lover's language of a kiss or soft caress. But we were okay with this, and were able to express our heart through the stories we told each other. My story had somehow fallen to the wayside. And when questioned as to whether my fairytale had a happy ending or not, he would simply shrug, a quick flash of sadness striking across his face before changing the subject. I had stopped asking after the second shrug.

Walking through the entrance of the third block, I could immediately feel a change. Something was off, but I couldn't place it. I continued through the second entrance, into the room where I was sure to find my beloved story-teller. My heart quickened at the anxiousness that surged through me. His face, his laughter, his constantly disheveled hair; these were all the things I had missed during my stay in Seattle, and I could feel myself beginning to form a dire need to see him once more. But as I entered the room, filled with empty cots, I froze in the doorway as my eyes fell upon the empty cot at the back right side of the room. The sheets were perfectly tucked, there was no cup of morning coffee sitting on the small bedside table, but most importantly, there was no Roy.

My heart instantly began to sink to the bottom of my stomach. I was too late.

I had expected Roy to make a full recovery; we all had. But with how tired and worn he had been after his therapy sessions, I hadn't been so sure that it would be a mere few months before he was able to walk again. And I certainly hadn't expected such a drastic change to happen during the one month I was away. At the same time however, my heart soared. There was nothing Roy had wanted more desperately than to be able to walk again. The empty cot at the back of the room was enough to tell me that his wish had come true. And in that aspect, I was happy for him.

With a resigned sigh I gave one last look towards the cot where my own fairytale had begun, and a small smile graced my lips.

"Looking for something?"

I froze. The voice was unmistakable; soft and smooth, but as deep as the ocean.

I couldn't help the enormous grin that nearly burst onto my face.

"Why yes actually, I'm looking for-"

As I turned around, all words fell silent on my tongue. Time itself seemed to stand still when I saw him.

There he was, in all of his glory, standing proud, and tall, and strong, like the man he once was all those months ago, long before he and I had ever met. The sickeningly white hospital clothes had been discarded and forgotten, replaced with a beautifully tailored suit black suit, a matching waistcoat underneath. His hair, usually standing up and sticking out in all different directions, had been combed back neatly, held in place by a small amount of product. His face was cleanly shaven and the light scent of his aftershave nearly sent my head spinning. He smelled divine; no longer did he smell of medicine and antiseptic. It was his face though, that I found to hold the most astonishing change. All traces of sadness and despair, of anger and hurt, were gone from his beautiful eyes. His lips curled upwards at the corner, and I could tell he was truly as happy to see me as I was to see him.

But to see him standing, and to see him walk through the doorway, towards me; there is no happiness that could ever compare to that. The sound of his footsteps brought tears to my eyes, for it was a sound I had only dreamt about, as small a thing as it was to dream. But it was his arms, strong and steady as they wrapped around me, that sent tears streaming down my face in steady waterfalls of joy.

For what seemed like hours we simply stood there in each others' embrace, happy enough to say we were able to do so. His finger eventually found its' way beneath my chin, lifting my head so my eyes were fixed on his before his lips descended onto mine. There was no fiery passion in our first kiss; for it was not fiery passion which we felt. No, this was a kiss of celebration, a kiss of pure happiness, a kiss of gratefulness and thankfulness; thankful that we were able to stand and kiss at all.

As we both pulled away his face broke into a wide grin, teeth and all, as he took my hands in his own.

"Close your eyes," he commanded softly.

"I don't want to hear any stories right now, I just want to –"

"Please, just this one last time," he pleaded, his grip on my hands tightening just slightly in encouragement. His eyes found mine, pleading and beautiful; there was no way I could resist. So I closed my eyes as he asked me to, though his hands never let go of mine.

"Can you see the stars?"

I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as possible, willing the bright swirls and speckles to appear against the backdrop of black. Sure enough they came swirling into the darkness like fireworks in the nights' sky.

"Yes," I whispered quietly.

I felt a shift in the way he held my hands, but he insisted I keep my eyes closed, and focused on the stars. I did as he told me whilst relishing in the warm feel of his large hands over mine.

"I once told you I could give you a fairytale," his voice was deep, calm, and yet there was a hint of anxiousness to it. I could tell this story would differ from all of its' predecessors. "Do you remember your fairytale? Where we left off?"

"He was planning to pledge his allegiance to the white maiden, I believe," I answered, not entirely sure as to what was happening.

"Right. He knew for a very long time that he wanted to protect her and make sure she was happy. But he was scared. He was so scared, Annie. He didn't know if he could trust another after the Queen betrayed him. And it took a long time for him to realize that the white maiden could never be as heartless as the Queen, because she..she had found him when he was nothing, Annie. She picked him up, and she made him strong again." By now I could hear the quivering and shaking in his voice and I could almost hear the tears streaming down his face. "So he asked her. He asked her if she would let him love her and protect her even though he had been so weak. He had been so close to giving up, so many times. But it was because he didn't have her, Annie. He hadn't ever had someone love him the way she did, and he knew he could never go back to being that sad, poor excuse of a man he was before her."

His hands were shaking as they held my own; my heart was nearly pounding out of my chest.

"So now it's your turn, Annie," he said, his voice still shaking as he momentarily let go of my left hand, "you have to tell me how your fairytale ends."

Opening my eyes, time stood still once more. Roy was before me, his left hand holding my right one as he kneel, down on one knee. In his right hand he held a small red velvet box and inside was a small diamond ring. My heart had officially stopped.

"I told you I could give you a fairytale," he began once more, "the question is, are you going to let me?"

There was silence as I gaze down at him and the beautiful diamond ring in his hand. For so many months, I had listened to his stories; stories that had always had spectacular endings, whether they be happy, or silly, or even romantic. He had told me once that he would never tell me a tragedy, he would never tell me stories of death, or despair, or loneliness. He told me his life was already so full of those kinds of stories and that he couldn't bear to hear them anymore. He wanted to tell stories about knights in shining armor, and damsels in distress. He wanted to tell stories about true love and the meaning of trust and loyalty; two things he had for so long been without. He needed me, just as much as I needed him. He had become this fantastical, beautiful person in my life, who could brighten my day with a smile, or make me laugh when all I wanted to do was jump from the highest cliff, down into the most jagged rocks. He was a source of strength, even during his times of greatest weakness.

But above all else…

"Yes"

… he was my fairytale.