Author's Note: Hi there! This has been sitting on my computer for a long time and now, I'm ready to post it. So, spoilers for the finale but this story will have nothing really to do with Elsa. Enjoy!

"For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home."

―Stephanie Perkins

She smiles at him.

She does so often. It seems that whenever he enters a room, there she is, beaming at him, shining like a lighthouse on a foggy night. Ever since their return from the past—their "Back to the Future" moment as Emma fondly calls it, though he has no idea what that means—the two of them have been inseparable. Things, for once, are peaceful and life is good. He wakes up and feels fulfilled. The pain that he used to carry in his heart, the burden on his shoulders—it's all gone.

And deep down, he knows her smile has something to do with it.

"What?" She questions, eyeing him curiously as she places her fork down. He's been invited to a family dinner and Henry sits on his left, happily devouring his meal. In the booth behind them, Mary Margaret and David coo over their newborn.

It's odd.

Hook never believed that he would end up here in his life. To be sitting in a diner, eating dinner and being so damn domestic—his past self would've died of shame.

"Killian?" Emma's brow furrows in concern and he chuckles dryly, waving it off.

"It's nothing, love." He tells her, reaching for her hand and holding it securely within his own. "Just admiring the view." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and she laughs, snatching her hand away.

"Knock it off." She mutters half heartedly, though a smile is still plastered on her face.

"As you wish." He bows his head and extends his hands out dramatically, in submission to her. At this, she laughs even harder and even Henry joins in on the fun.

This moment, this new life he's managed carve out for himself with her—it's all her could ever want and more.

This is what he spent his nights out on the sea searching for.

She's sniffling.

The temperature in the town has been dropping steadily now, a sudden cold snap that sprung up as soon as they returned back from the past. It's weird for this time of year, but he'll take it instead of another crisis.

She sneezes.

"Bless you, love."

"Thanks." She replies as she turns on the stove.

She tries to hide it, but he can hear her sniffling as she goes about her kitchen, making Henry some pancakes.

"Swan?"

"Hmmm?" She glances up from the frying pan, meeting his gaze.

"You feeling alright?" He asks quietly, gaze drawn.

"Fine." She answers quickly, somewhat taken aback by his concern. She isn't used to this—used to someone caring about her, asking about her health—and he can tell how uncomfortable it makes her. "Totally fine."

"Right." He mutters, not buying it, but there's no point in pressing it. He knows Emma too well, knows that she will never admit that she's feeling ill.

"Killian?" Henry glances at him and then his mother, seemingly perplexed as to what's going on. "You going to have a pancake?"

"Yeah." He smirks. "Of course."

And breakfast goes on.

Snow begins to fall that night.

Emma bundles herself up in blankets and assures him that yes, she's fine and no, he shouldn't need to worry about it.

"It's just a cold, Killian." She finally relents the next morning, admitting that she has fallen ill. "A day of resting and I'll be fine."

"But I could—" He wants to stay by her side and take care of her. He knows too well what it feels like to suffer alone, to know that there was no out there that cared about you and that you had to rely on your own wits to survive. Now that he and Emma are together, he never wants her to experience that again.

"What?" She interjects, eyebrow raised. "Get sick with me?" She shakes her head. "I'll be alright." She assures him. "If you want to be helpful, why don't you take Henry for the day?"

"Of course." He gives in, knowing that she's made up her mind and she won't change it. Perhaps her son could give him some insight on how to deal with her when she got like this. Surely, this couldn't be her first cold, now could it?

"Thanks." She shoots him a grin before calling to Henry.

"Hey, Killian." Henry greets, a small smile on his lips.

"Morning, lad."

"You two have fun." Emma tells them, practically pushing them out of the doorway before shutting the door behind them.

Henry just laughs.

"She always does that when she's sick." He explains softly.

"Aye, I'm beginning to see that."

And then they're off.

"You and my mom," Henry begins, taking a sip of his hot cocoa. "You two seem closer."

The two of them returned to the diner, due to the cold and the inches of snow that covers the ground, making moving around difficult. No one can explain why the cold suddenly came on, especially considering it wasn't even winter yet.

"We are . . ." Killian hesitates, unsure of how to explain his relationship with Emma. The two of them were dating? Well, they hadn't gone on any dates yet, but their intention was to go on a few dates. So, that made them . . . he sighs. "I don't know exactly what we are."

"But you care about her." Henry points out, placing his mug down on the table.

"Aye, that I do."

Henry smiles, like that's the simplest thing in the world.

"And she likes you." Emma's son tells him. "So, you two can figure it out together."

Killian just laughs because Henry makes it sound so simple and maybe it is that simple, maybe he's overcomplicating things, but he can't help it. After Milah, he'd been so sure that he would never feel love again, never have the privilege of caring for someone again.

Yet, the moment he'd met Emma, that had all changed.

Henry's phone beeps and he pulls it out, frowning somewhat.

"Your mother?" Killian asks and Henry nods.

"She wants me to spend the night at Regina's." He enters a reply back—Killian isn't exactly sure how—and then the boy meets his gaze. "Look, Mom likes to take care of herself."

"But she doesn't have to anymore." The pirate sighs and Henry chuckles.

"Sure, but she's going to." The boy rises from the booth. "My advice? Leave her alone. She knows you're there and if she needs you, she'll let you know."

He waves as Regina appears in the doorway and the two of them head off, leaving Killian to reflect on the child's wise words.

Perhaps, he would just have to give her some space.

He was never going to give her space again.

"Swan?" He knocks on her door and receives no response. It's been two days and aside from one more text she sent to Henry, no one has talked to her. "Emma? Let me in."

There's no reply; no sound of movement from the other side of the door.

"Damn it all." He may have considered the idea of giving her space, but he knows this horrible feeling resting in his gut, knows that something is wrong and that he has to see Emma in order for it to go away. Maybe she'll yell at him, but hey, at least he'll know that she's healthy enough to do so.

"Emma, this is your last chance, love." He can get the lock open on this door in no time at all—old habits die hard—but he'd rather not resort to that unless it was absolutely necessary.

Silence.

"Very well then." He picks the lock in a few seconds and then pushes the door open. The room is incredibly warm and he realizes that she must've set the heater to maintain this incredibly hot environment. "Swan?" He steps further into the room and sees no sign of her in the kitchen. Cursing under his breath, he heads towards her bedroom and flips on the light.

"Emma!"

She's on the floor; sweat beading her forehead, pale and breathing shallowly.

"Emma!" He rushes to her, forcing himself to be gentle as he pulls her into his arms. He takes off his gloves and places his hand to her forehead, wincing at the heat radiating from her. She's got a fever, an incredibly high one at that, and he's got no choice but to call for help.

"Hang on, love." He tries to comfort her, though he knows she can't hear him. The illness has her too far in its grip now and if he hadn't shown up—no, there was no point in thinking about that. He's here now and he will get her help.

He spies her cellphone and tries to remember Henry's lessons on how to operate the device. He spies David's name and starts the call. Placing the phone to his ear, he waits.

"Emma?" David's voice appears on the other line and Killian can't help but feel relieved. He's not used on relying on others for help, but he's a newcomer in this world and he won't let his pride get in the way of helping Emma. "We were starting to—"

"This is Hook." He interrupts quickly. "Emma's collapsed and has a high fever." Then, softly, he adds. "I need help."

Without a moment of hesitation, David replies:

"I'm on my way."

And Killian can finally breathe again.

The steady beeping of the numerous monitors plugged into her doesn't give Killian any reassurance. It's odd to see Emma like this—so small and fragile—and he wishes she would wake up and complain or something like that.

David is consulting with the doctor and left Killian here, with strict orders to get him if anything changes, and the pirate isn't sure if he should be grateful to him or upset that he left him.

He won't deny that he's out of his element here. He doesn't handle bedside vigils well, but he forces himself to stay because it's Emma and though he's scared, there's no place he would rather be.

"Emma?" Her hand is cooler within his, thanks to the medicine the doctors were able to give her through her the needle they've placed in her arm. She seems more peaceful as she sleeps and thanks to the oxygen mask, she's breathing easier.

Still, he's on edge.

He wants her to wake up and say something—anything—because this limp form that he's watching over terrifies him. He's seen people like this before—watched them die right before his eyes—and he refuses to lose Emma like that.

"Emma, wake up."

She sleeps on.

"Hook." He turns his head to see David standing in the doorway. The father is exhausted, though whether that's due to having a newborn at home or the adrenaline crashing, the pirate isn't sure.

"What did the physician say?" He asks quickly and David comes to stand on the other side of Emma's bed. With a tenderness he's never seen before, Emma's father brushes a strand of her hair out of her face.

"It's bad case of the flu." David answers softly. "She got dehydrated and probably didn't take any medicine."

Killian smirks, because yes, that sounds like his stubborn Emma.

"And her prognosis?" He presses.

"They've given her fluids and fever reducer." Her father takes her other hand and squeezes it. "We just have to wait and see."

Killian nods.

He'll wait as long as it takes.

"Killian?" A soft voice murmurs and he jolts back to complete awareness. He blinks a few times and then meets her gaze and can't help but beam at her.

"Emma." He greets, relief surging through him.

"S'okay?" She asks, voice slurring due to the medication and he can tell that sleep is quickly calling her back.

"It's okay." He assures her. "Just rest now. We'll talk when you're better."

That seems enough for her and within seconds, she's back to sleep.

And Killian feels like he can breathe again.

"Take your medicine."

Emma glances at the pill in his outstretched hand with distrust.

"I can take it myself." She pouts, reminding him of a scolded child.

"Of course you can, love." Killian mutters. "But let me tell you, after finding you unconscious on the floor—"

"I just got too tired to sleep on the bed!" She protests half-heartedly.

"—and giving me and your father a heart attack, I must insist that you take your medicine when I can see you."

She snatches the pill out of his hand and dry swallows it.

"Happy?" She asks and he grins.

"Yes."

It's day three out of the hospital and though Emma is almost back to perfect health, Killian can't help but hover. He can tell that she hates it, but he feels like he's entitled. For a brief second, he had thought he'd lost her and his heart had shattered into a million pieces. He knew, in that moment, that there was no going back if he lost her.

He'd never recover.

"What?" Emma interrupts his thoughts and she regards him curiously. "You're staring at me."

"I'm just glad you've recovered." He admits and she offers him a small smile.

"I'm sorry." She apologizes. "For scaring you."

"Why didn't you ask for help?" He questions, that one thought plaguing his mind ever since she'd been admitted to the hospital.

"I just . . ." She sighs wistfully. "I'm just used to doing these things alone." She grabs his hand and holds it tightly. "I'm not used to asking for help."

He knows the feeling too well.

"And now?" He presses.

"Now, I'll ask if I need it."

He grins.

It's progress for both of them.

"Hey, Killian?"

"Hmmm?"

She presses a kiss to his lips.

"Thanks." She whispers and he grins.

"Anytime, Swan."

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!