Author's Note:
Yes. Two one-shots in one day. And (with any luck) more to come eventually. Hope this will tide you lot over for a little while.
Semi-AU situation where Killian is working at the school part-time, telling stories to the young children from his days at sea as a Naval officer. Ashley (Cinderella)'s daughter Alexandria has the chicken pox and manages to pass it onto Killian, whose immune system is quite ill-equipped to deal with such an assault. Thus leading to one very itchy (and whiny) pirate for Emma to take care of.
Might turn into a multi-chapter, but I'm not making any promises right now.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just enjoy writing about them.
"Swaaann…."
"Shh, hey, don't scratch at it."
"It itches!"
"I know, but that's just going to make it worse."
"I don't care."
"I do. I am not enabling an infection here." Emma slid the oven mitt onto the pirate's hand, taking full advantage of the fact that his fever was leaving him too sluggish to move away fast enough. She ripped up a long piece of surgical tape and bit it off with her teeth. Taking the man's hand in her lap, she wound the tape around his wrist, sealing off any attempts at escaping the soft, blunted prison. His other arm she didn't bother to cover, seeing as both brace and hook were far out of his reach for now.
Killian was miserable as he allowed his beloved to take away his last meager attempts at relief. He was exhausted and aching, too tired to fight both her and the Benadryl she had pumped into his system to try and alleviate the itch. His eyelids were heavy as his gaze followed her through the haze of fever, glancing down every so often at the angry red splotches decorating his bare chest, arms, and the rest of his uncomfortably hot and itchy body.
"There," she breathed, setting the tape on the bedside table. "That ought to do it. Try not to scratch, okay?" Killian blinked at her, slow.
"How in the bloody hell could I?" He asked. He sounded pathetic and miserable, voice hoarse and tone dripping with agony. She could have sworn she heard a whimper as he began to writhe, rubbing his back against the headboard like an itchy bear on a tree. It was that small noise that had her taking pity on him.
"Here, c'mere," she murmured, taking his arm and pulling him forward, easing him into a comfortable lean against her. Her hand reached once more to the bedside table, chaotic and piled high with supplies, fingers feeling around methodically until they wrapped around the smooth bottle of calamine lotion. She uncapped it behind his inflamed back and squeezed a small dose onto her fingers, dabbing gently at the individual blisters making up the infernal, weeping rash, and smoothing it in with soft fingertips. Killian rested his feverish forehead on her shoulder, unable to contain the soft moan of pleasure that bubbled out of his throat at the relief. Emma smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his sweaty head as she continued her soothing dab-and-rub technique. She cheated every so often when she found a particularly large pustule, indulging him with a few gentle scratches. He could have wept with relief.
"Swan, you're magic," he whimpered as she continued to soothe him, taking her time.
"So I've noticed," she teased easily. "But no magic today. Just a little over the counter anti-itch lotion." She was careful with him, and it brought him back to a time when his mother's loving touch had soothed away an infection long ago. Now it was his Emma, not running from his hideous, incapacitated state, but staying and comforting him. The thought made him tear slightly.
"Feels good," he sighed.
"Yeah? Good."
"That's the last time I ever volunteer to teach." He pressed his face into her skin, the coolness there leaching the heat of fever out of his. "Blasted children…."
"Shh," she murmured, finishing up on his back. She eased him back onto the pillow and wiped her fingers off on her pant leg before brushing his hair back. "You know you enjoyed it. And the kids loved you. Ashley didn't know Alexandra had chickenpox or she wouldn't have sent her to school. She didn't mean to get you sick." Emma stood for the moment, picking up the damp washcloth and going to the bathroom to soak it once more in lukewarm water.
"I feel sorry for the young princess," Killian confessed. "Suffering this at such a young age. It's miserable."
"I know," she cooed when she returned, taking her place next to him and sponging off his sweaty, feverish face with the compress. "But she's little. It's less severe in children. Less chance of complications." She set the cloth to rest on his brow and picked up the bottle again, starting to dab the ointment onto his torso and arms. "Just try to relax." Her touches calmed him, and he closed his eyes obligingly.
After a few moments of silence passed, he mumbled weakly, "Whatever it is you're doing, I'm begging you not to stop." Emma laughed softly, planting a playful kiss on his nose.
"My poor baby, reduced to begging. You must be feeling awful." He opened his bloodshot eyes to glare at her, then softened a little and curled up closer.
"How isn't this affecting you?" He inquired, discreetly lifting his oven-mitted hand to try and scratch at a particularly itchy spot on the side of his neck. She noticed, of course, and swatted his hand away gently, pushing it back down and holding it to the mattress with one hand while the other dabbed a large dollop of lotion onto the spot instead. He shivered, sweat-slicked body starting to feel the chill of the room in lieu of blankets.
"I got vaccinated. Standard group home procedure. They inject you with a weak strain of the virus, build up the immunity as a kid. But you've got the immune system of an infant here. It's no wonder this is a bad one." Killian groaned. "Just try to sleep it off, okay?"
He sighed and settled back in. The fire in his skin was dying with every dab of her fingers, cooling and calming so that he could fall into a blissful sleep.
When he woke several hours later, Emma had made a can of Campbell's chunky chicken noodle soup, and though he insisted he wasn't hungry, she managed to convince him to open his mouth for her to feed him a few spoonfuls. It soothed his throat and warmed him up from the inside. She took his temperature afterward, alarmed by the lethargic look in his eyes. It was starting to become severe – she could feel heat radiating off his body the moment she stepped near the bed. He began to scratch at his head, and a quick look between locks of hair confirmed that the rash had spread upward even further.
"Why don't we get you into the bath? Cool you off a little, clear up the itch?" His eyes were dull and glassy as they looked up at her, and he nodded languidly.
"Alright."
After a few moments of careful preparation (and a string of curses as she tried to measure the correct amount of sodium bicarbonate to add), she was helping him into the tepid water, biting her lip at the way he sighed in relief. He left his covered hand on the side of the tub so as not to soak the fabric of the oven mitt, and leaned back comfortably until he was submerged.
Emma sat on the edge of the slick porcelain tub and squeezed a silver-dollar-sized dollop of drugstore baby shampoo into her hands. She gently massaged it into his dark locks, paying special attention to his scalp where the rash had begun. Killian bit down on his lip to keep from moaning as her hands worked the lather carefully over his head.
"That's wonderful, lass," he groaned weakly as she continued to massage the shampoo in.
"Still itchy or better?"
"Better."
"Good." Emma cupped the water in her hands and began to rinse the suds from his hair.
She helped him bathe himself with water, avoiding soap for fear of irritating his skin further. He was in the water for a long while, nearly falling asleep there. Emma started to notice his shivering and dipped her hand in. The water had gone cold, and his skin was still abnormally hot. She shook him awake and eased him up and out, offering him a towel to wrap himself in and draining the water. He swayed unsteadily on his feet and had to sit down – hard – on the closed toilet seat. The look in his eyes was hazy and dull, the usual devilish sparkle gone and replaced by an unnatural, unhealthy brightness. Emma acted immediately, pumping more painkillers and antihistamines into his system and urging him to chase them down with water.
"Emma," he murmured, resting his head against her sleepily, as though his body was too drained from trying to fight off the virus to keep him upright any longer.
"Hey, hey," she soothed, dragging her fingers through his damp hair. "Come on… back to bed with you."
He coughed twice into his fist, a dry, chesty cough that left him looking dazed and unfocused. He didn't even register her patting his skin dry and helping him into a clean pair of pajama pants, or the fact that she basically dragged him to bed and tucked him back in. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he didn't remember a single other thing that happened.
He awoke around two in the morning, drenched in sweat and glancing around, panicky. Emma was there beside him, holding him and mopping the sweat away with a cool cloth. She hadn't slept well since he'd fallen ill. Instead of trying to urge him back to sleep when she could tell he was getting uncomfortable and frustrated, she turned on the television and searched through the Netflix catalogue, deciding on Friends. He rested his head on her chest, and she kept her arms around him loosely, gently pressing on some of the blisters to try and prevent itching.
Whale had said this would last for several weeks. Emma didn't know how long the pirate was going to be able to hold on. She had never seen someone so miserable, so pathetically ill, and it frightened her. He reached up with his injured hand to rub at the side of his neck desperately, and Emma sighed sympathetically, kissing his warm temple. It was going to be a long few weeks.