Monday

Covering Mr. Harris' classes was hard enough, but Storybrooke's too small to have more than a few substitute teachers before they're pulling in anyone who can keep an eye on a classroom. It'll be combined classes in the gym if this keeps up. Snow hangs up the phone and sighs.

David looks up from the stove and dinner, his eyes full of sympathy. "Flu still going around?"

"You'd think the most recent curse could have included flu shots." Snow mutters, staring at the pile of homework she has to grade because literally everyone else at the middle school level is out sick.

"Maybe it had the wrong one." David stirs the pasta sauce then checks his watch. "Maybe the flu is part of the curse. When was Emma coming back from that budget meeting?"

"Whenever Regina ended it." Snow gives up, putting aside the red pen. "No one cares about their homework anyway."

"They understand," David assures her. "The kids know everyone's been sick." They look at the clock together and share the same thought.

"Emma's late," Snow says, reaching for her phone.

"She'll probably call," he says, sipping his wine before adding some more from the bottle to the sauce. "Or Regina's cooking and Emma's abandoned us for that."

Emma's phone rings for a long time, and Snow nearly hangs up because maybe the meeting is still happening, but then there's Emma.

"Hey Mom," she answers, and the phone fades, like she's juggling something. "Sorry, I meant to call." Someone coughs in the background, and that must be what Emma's doing, because she can hear Emma soothing someone, but the coughing continues and-

"Is that Henry? He didn't seem sick at school."

There's a pause, and then Emma's back. "Henry's fine, that's Regina," she says and her voice softens. "She insisted on toughing it out all meeting, but she's got it worse than Ruby."

"Are you staying?" That's not really a question, because Emma's already in Regina's house and Snow knows her daughter.

"Yeah," Whispers carry, of Regina protesting that she's fine and Emma, her wise Emma, sees right through that. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Even when she's cold, Regina never moves closer to her. Emma's the one who slips through the blankets towards her body, because her fever comes in bursts, making her near delirious until it fades back to a level Regina's body can cope with. She's quiet most of the time, not rambling or mumbling nonsense as Emma's sure she would if their positions were reversed. She doesn't get too close, not at first, because just because she's in Regina's bed doesn't mean that they, that this is anything more than practical. She knows illnesses like this, and how they creep until they have a hold. Emma's heard the stories in Granny's and how sick people have been. The traffic's dwindled on the streets because the flu's going around so vindictively this winter.

Emma didn't get the thermometer out of the closet when she found the painkillers. It's just after one when Regina wakes her the first time, not with noise or motion, but just with the heat of her. Somehow Emma got really close to her and Regina's skin is fire inside of paper, hot and dry. Yet, she trembles.

There's a foot of space between them, and Regina's mattress is expensive and very comfortable, and yet-

Emma can't sleep, can't just roll over and let Regina's mind race away with her. Fevers can be dark places, and Regina's had enough of those in her life. She shifts closer to her, then touches her arm, and Regina pulls away. She whimpers and mutters. There's something so painful in the way she curls up, pulls away, then holds herself so very still.

"Hey," Emma whispers for ears that won't hear her. "It's all right. You're safe. You're in your own bed, in your own house and no one's going to hurt you."

Her words get no response, and she expected that, but she touches Regina's arm again, wishing she could help. She's so warm, and how hot is a fever before Emma needs to do something more than worry? Is there really that much she can do in the middle of night? Once, one of her foster sisters had to be put into a bathtub to bring her fever down and Regina's not that heavy, but she can't drop her. She'd need help for that.

Emma brushes her hand over Regina's forehead and tears slip from her closed eyelids. She starts coughing, again and it's dry now, rattling. Emma turns her on her side because it's easier to cough that way, less painful. Regina's tight against her chest, and the heat of Emma's body does seem to stop the shaking. Her coughing slows, Emma holds her closer, her hands on her stomach and when Regina's hands settle they rest on Emma's arms.

Maybe it's too close. Regina's breathing relaxes, and the fever still burns through her clothing, and Emma's but there's no whimpering. It's quiet. She's quiet.

Does she hate this? Is Emma some other person in her dreams? Is she still because it wasn't safe to move away? She could be making this worse, but it doesn't feel worse. Regina's almost calm, so Emma stops worrying about it. She can't stay awake that much longer anyway.

Daylight hasn't started, but there's a greyness outside the window that suggests it's later now than the last time Emma woke. Regina's turned, and she's still in Emma's arms but her face lies against her chest. Emma's arm is beneath her, mostly asleep, and she shifts, just to start the painful process of circulation returning. Regina's eyes flutter, and they're so wet that tears slip down Regina's face and Emma only has her left hand and she can't really, but her shirt's there. Regina's almost nuzzling her chest, but her face dries a little.

"It's okay," Emma whispers again, because that's apparently her weapon against this. Constant reassurance that everything will be fine.

Regina mumbles something, then clears her throat. "You talk in your sleep."

"Sorry," Emma answers immediately.

Regina winces, and any painkillers she took must have worn off, which might explain why her fever's so high now. She should take more. Emma starts to move, but Regina holds her. They're not tangled, Regina's actually holding her.

"Don't."

Emma stills. Her arm tingles, coming back to life and she wraps it clumsily around Regina's shoulder. "What is it?"

"Cold."

"That's your fever, you should take more-"

Regina shuts her eyes, trying so hard to focus on Emma that her whole body stiffens. "You said you were cold."

"I'm not," Emma promises, smiling. Regina radiates enough heat that Emma's almost sweating. "I'm really warm."

"In your dream," she mutters. Her eyes search for Emma's face, but they stay unfocused as if she can't see her. "You were cold in your dream."

Running her hand over Regina's head, Emma tries to make sense. To find sense. It's possible that Regina has no idea what she's talking about. She's the one out of her mind, but Emma might talk in her sleep,and yeah, there are a lot of moments when she's been cold involving cheap blankets and long nights in cars.

"I'm okay. You need to take more painkillers and get your fever down." Her fingers run through her hair, making patterns on the back of her neck. She doesn't even know if Regina likes it, or if she's gone too far, but she's already in her bed.

Moving her head so it nudges Emma's hand, Regina's lips move and maybe she spoke. Perhaps she didn't. Emma leans closer. "I have a lot of bad dreams. You shouldn't worry about them."

"Don't want-" Regina opens her eyes finally but she might not even see Emma, "-you to be cold."

"You're really warm right now, so I'm good," Emma promises. "I'm good."

Regina might see her, because her expression changes for a moment, then she fades, vanishing again into sleep and exhaustion and whatever dreams her fevered brain supplies.

Tuesday

Emma doesn't come home that morning either. Snow heads to Regina's with some of Emma's clothes in a bag after school because David got a text asking him to cover for Emma at the station, and if she's not going to work. She'll need clean underwear, and socks, and Snow packed way more than she'd need for a few days, but she has a feeling that won't go away. Everyone else who's gotten this has been down, really down, like the old world where they're too weak to sit up and the internet says it's the worst flu virus in years, and maybe they're all just weak to it. Including Regina, whom she can't stop worrying about, because Regina doesn't get sick.

She texts Emma instead of knocking, because knocking seems almost rude. Henry's still at school for the fencing club and Emma answers the door in Regina's shirt. That's Henry's old soccer team.

"Mom, hi."

"I thought you might need some clothes, and some more cough syrup because Regina really hates cherry but it's what Henry likes-"

"Come on in," Emma says, tilting her head towards the kitchen. "There's hot water if you want coffee." There's soup heating up on the stove and already a cup of coffee on the island but no sign of Regina.

Henry's bowl from breakfast sits in the sink and there's already a line of mugs next to it. Snow leaves Emma's clothes near the stairs, because she apparently hasn't been sleeping on the couch. "Is she okay?"

"Didn't sleep much last night but isn't really awake today," Emma says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Kept coughing herself awake, so now she's exhausted, but still can't stay asleep for more than a half hour or so."

"And has a fever?"

Emma nods. The kettle whistles and she pours it over grounds for coffee. Snow accepts a mug and they sit there while Regina's tea steeps in between them. She's probably not awake, but Emma shrugs and says she can microwave it.

"She might be okay if I left, for a little while," Emma says, staring at her coffee before she looks up. "I just-"

"Your father can handle the town for a few days. Seems nearly half the town has this flu anyway," Snow says, trying to make it easier. "If you need anything else, call us, okay?"

Coughing echoes from upstairs and Emma's whole body tenses. She turns at the bottom of the stairs, smiling her thanks before she's gone, leaving Snow to finish her coffee alone or head upstairs and risk intruding.

She finishes her coffee and Emma still hasn't come back down. Putting Regina's tea in the microwave, Snow takes it up once it's warm and she hears them through the door. More Emma than Regina, because the latter can't seem to stop coughing.

Emma whispers and mutters. Regina's coughing hurts to listen to and she gasps to get her breath back, and the whole process vibrates with pain, even through the door. She's heard that cough. It would have killed people in their land. It ran through the kingdom like fire, burning and scorching and leaving death behind it. It's different here. Everyone's pretty sick but no one's been hospitalized. No one's dying. There's plenty of food and all the houses are warm.

Knocking once, she heads in with the tea. Regina's curled on her side, facing Emma. Snow can't see much of her face, but she doesn't sit up or complain that Snow's here.

Emma waves her over for the tea and she dabs tears from Regina's half-closed eyes. "Mom was worried about you," Emma whispers. Regina's face is too flushed, too pink and she seems barely aware of anything, but one of her hands holds tight to Emma's. The bottle of painkillers sits open on the bedside table and Emma has a half-empty box of tissues on the floor next to her.

"She was kind of okay, then her fever shot up in the morning and now she's pretty out of it. I'm pretty sure it's just the flu but she's-"

Snow kneels beside her. "It's good that you're taking care of her. Henry was starting to worry yesterday, and you wouldn't want-"

"Right," Emma interrupts to agree, and Snow's reassurances make her smile a little. "He shouldn't have to do that."

"Exactly," Snow says, patting Emma's shoulder. "Do you have books and Regina's laptop? Something to keep you busy?"

"Yeah," Emma points to the forgotten laptop on the other side of the bed. "There's some stuff we can watch."

"Remember to make sure she's hydrated," Snow says, because she ought to say something. Brushing Regina's forehead confirms that her fever's sky high and she can't help being grateful for this cursed place where the flu doesn't kill anyone and herbs and prayer are not the only thing they have to fight disease. She'll have to fight off the virus on her own, but if she gets worse, they can help her.

Nodding, Emma smiles at her. "Knew that one."

"Feel better," Snow whispers to Regina, who doesn't hear, she can't. She's so drowsy and disoriented that she might not even know Snow's there. She leaves Emma sitting there with her, watching over her because they're family. (is it more than that?) Emma has a good heart, she'd look after anyone who needed it. But she doesn't think she'd sleep in Ruby's bed, or be so gentle with tissues if it was Mulan who had the flu.

Wednesday

Snow arrives again on Regina's doorstep, but this time she just lets herself in.

Henry turned up at their apartment for dinner after school. He could cook for himself, but he doesn't want Emma to feel like she's failed to look after him and his mother, and the house is too quiet. Regina's fever won't let up and she's barely been out of bed. He knows she's going to be okay but it's weird for a teenager who's never seen his mom even have a cold. David brings him into the kitchen and they cook together, because Henry's very good with spices.

She leaves them to it and heads to Regina's with more soup and some tea. Emma's not downstairs, so she heads into the kitchen, taking the soup and different kinds of tea out of the paper grocery bag because Regina must be sick of peppermint by now. She checks the kitchen and the dishes have gone into the dishwasher, but there's still barely any sign of life. The house is silent, like the castle could be. She heads upstairs, and the door to the bedroom is just slightly open. Inside, they're both asleep. Emma's sitting up, the laptop gone to sleep down by her feet. Regina's head is in her lap, still, her eyes shut. Her dark hair spills over Emma's legs. Snow stands in the doorway, studying them both in the soft light. The bottle of painkillers has been left open, and three empty mugs sit by the door, waiting to go back down.

She only means to slip in and grab the mugs, maybe empty the little trash bin that's so full of tissues, but Regina moves, shifting on Emma's lap and she's caught.

"Snow?" Regina's voice is so raw that her throat could have been sandblasted.

"Go back to sleep," Snow whispers, as if she's been caught by a child.

"Snow," Regina repeats and she can't slip away. Grabbing the trash, she circles to the side of the bed where Regina can look at her.

"Feeling any better?"

Regina shuts her eyes and her tongue moves across her dry lips before she can speak again. "No."

Snow kneels down, so she can face her. "I'm sorry."

"I told-" she stops and even clearing her throat makes her wince. "I told Emma to go home."

Beaming at her, Snow reaches for her cheek. "I'm sure you did. You also can't stand up so I think it's good that she ignored you."

Regina blinks and somehow manages to look affronted, though Snow isn't sure how she does it. "I'd manage."

Snow brushes her hair back from her face and has to smile because Regina's skin is only warm, not blisteringly so. "And we'd all worry about you, especially Henry. This way, he knows you're okay."

Regina stops frowning and Snow will take that because it's almost a smile. "What day is it?"

Of course she doesn't know. The curtains are open a little but the street light could be any night of the week.

"Wednesday," Snow answers. She settles down, because Regina's eyes remain open and Emma's still fast asleep. "Henry's helping David make dinner, but he's a better cook, so it might be David helping him now."

"Henry?"

"Is fine. He hasn't gotten whatever this is, and he's been very helpful with the younger students at school because we're so short-staffed."

That pleases her, and Regina nods, only a little. Moving her head seems to be a herculean effort, and Snow can't blame her. "School?"

"We're lucky it's the weekend, we might start getting some of the teachers back Monday, if not, we'll do some combined classes, maybe watch a movie or two." Snow smiles, because that line between Regina's eyebrows is very familiar. "Educational standards will not be damaged if we let the kids watch Inside Out."

Regina's expression softens. "All right."

"You just focus on getting better," Snow suggests and at that, Regina's nose crinkles. "I know it's terrible, but it seems you're in good hands."

Regina studies the thighs beneath her head, then looks back at Snow. "I don't-"

Standing up, Snow kisses her forehead. "You don't have to understand," she finishes for her. "Just accept it, and get some sleep."

Plugging in the laptop before she leaves, Snow studies them both. Regina's hand moves slowly across Emma's knee and there's something. Maybe they don't see it. It's more likely that both of them have elected to ignore it. It's still sweet, and she smiles, heading downstairs.

Thursday

"You can't do anything, can you?" That voice is Emma's, soft over her head.

"No, non-magical illnesses shouldn't be cured with magic," Mal answers. She's not sure it's her at first, because why would Mal be in her bedroom, then Emma shifts, and the blanket moves. Someone puts it back over her shoulder and it's the blanket from the living room. The one that she keeps in the chest. "I could perhaps do a little to alleviate the symptoms, I can't take the cause away, and sometimes it's a toss up, what you eliminate with magic, just comes back."

"We think it might be because the flu is caused by a virus, rather than a bacterium, and Mal's had some luck destroying bacterial samples-" Someone's far too enthusiastic. Belle, that would be Belle.

"You did what?" Snow asks the question with the kind of surprise Regina would voice, if she had one.

"In petri dishes, as an experiment," Henry says. "Biology class. I wrote a paper on it. The teacher was impressed."

"Not as impressed as your classmates were with the demonstration," Mal adds, and that's a purr of pleasure Regina recognizes. This must be why they had a fire alarm in the biology lab two weeks ago. Henry said it had nothing to do with his project.

Regina half-opens her eyes but even that amount of light hurts and she can't remember why she would have ever agreed to have any of them over now. It's Thursday, her brain answers, slowly. Town meetings are on Thursdays. Having it in her house lets them make quorum, because they'd never make it otherwise. Emma wanted to reschedule. Regina argued for this herself. She must be sicker than she thought.

Henry's voice moves around the room as he passes out drinks. "Mal melted a set of glass beakers, to prove she could, and then we selectively removed bacteria from the samples while leaving the agar intact and unburnt, however, we had to conclude that dragon magic is a very broad spectrum antibiotic. Perhaps too broad spectrum for use in anything more complicated than a sample."

"Regina?" Emma nudges her shoulder and something shifts on the table in front of her. "Can you sign this?"

She should sit up. She makes that request of her body but it's so much harder and more painful than it should be to move, and her back hurts and even her arms, and Emma helps her up, and the hand that's so warm on her shoulder has to be Mal's. She doesn't start coughing though, and that's a blessing.

The paper on top of the book in her lap is very official, she knows the seal of the town, she designed it, but her head throbs and she can't read the words. Her left hand moves weakly over the paper, as if she can feel the words and that will help, but it doesn't.

"It's the official order recognizing the results of the special election for the vacant seat of City Tax Collector," Mal says. When did she start sounding like a politician?

"You voted," Emma reminds her. "I helped you with the form."

Did that happen? How many days has she been ill? They managed to conduct an entire special election and she's only vague aware of it. She's almost impressed.

"Town ordinance 102.1-4, 'in the event of a position on the city council is vacant more than seventy days before then next town meeting, a special election can be held, provided that the entire town can be given enough notice of the impending vote and all of the candidates are able to meet standard election criteria'," Mal says, again, and Regina stares at her over the form.

"How?"

"I'm a quick study," Mal says, infinitely smug. "I'm also a duly elected official of the town of Storybrooke, as of yesterday evening."

"As Town Clerk, I've certified the vote," Belle pipes up and she passes something and a second paper sits on Regina's lap. She can't get her eyes to focus on either of them.

"It's all legal," Emma promises. "It turns out the two of them are as good at following the rules as you are."

Emma hands her a pen and she can't hold it. Her fingers tremble, and even her wrist hurts, but she will make it through this meeting. She will do it. Mal's warm hand touches her wrist, then covers her fingers and she can move her hand now. It's not quite magic, just someone to steady her. She signs her name on the election confirmation paperwork, and Maleficent is a member of the town council, so when Granny arrives they'll be quorate. The agenda's only five items. She can stay awake and sitting up for this.

Her chest disagrees, and she misses Granny's arrival because this particular coughing fit is so bad that Emma and Mal both end up half-holding her. Her throat burns, and her chest doesn't even seem to be hers, but rather some angry creature that wants to devour her from the inside.

Her eyes water so much that Emma passes her another tissue and after she's wiped her eyes, she can see. Granny has a seat next to Belle, Snow stops hovering, and Henry sits on the floor, watching. He hasn't sat through one of these meetings without a coloring book in years. He's probably worried, and she sits up a little straighter, just in case.

"With five members present, I call this meeting of the town council to order." That's the first item, she only has four more. It doesn't matter how much her head throbs. She can do this.

At least, she thinks she can until Granny and Belle get in an argument about how to decide the order that the streets need to be plowed for emergency snow removal. Snow gets involved, she always does, and the sound of their voices echoes like breaking glass that slides through her skull. She turns towards Emma, just a little, and Emma rubs her shoulder. A hand only slightly cooler than her fevered skin rests on the back of her skull and her headache fades a little. She catches Mal's nod out of the corner of her eye and maybe she'll make it through the next thirty seconds, maybe not. Even her knees ache.

Snow somehow stops the argument, but they still haven't resolved the issue. Mal says something snarky, because she's gone a whole five minutes without saying anything of the kind, and Snow's almost offended and Belle has to break apart that one. Emma, dear Emma, brings them back on topic and they slowly work their way towards a resolution. She could move it until next week, but it's already snowed more than it did last December and they need a rough estimate of the cost of keeping the streets clear for Mal's budget.

Somehow they vote, somehow the streets will be plowed, and she misses the Enchanted Forest were none of this would even need to be discussed. Granny asks a point of order question, and Belle clarifies, and there's a discussion that she misses that manages to be somehow civil, but her chest tries to turn itself inside out and this time Henry's next to Emma and his voice is in the whispers telling her that she'll be okay.

She tries to find him, but her hands don't listen to her commands and Emma's the only face she can make appear through her watering eyes. They're still only on item three, because that's the budget and that's the really complicated one. Mal already has a draft and it goes around the room in a binder that's too heavy to hold because she just doesn't have any strength in her hands.

Henry brings her more tea, and she lifts it but her hand shakes. That's a dangerous concept and she sets it back down before anyone notices, but Emma's right next to her, and her hand steadies Regina's and it's probably incredibly obvious to everyone in the room that she can barely do anything by herself and she can only imagine what they'll say afterwards. She starts coughing again, even after the tea, and she doesn't care. It doesn't matter if Bashful ends up mayor after another special election. She'll resign immediately if she gets to breath properly.

In the lull after the attack she sways, just a little and her head ends up on Mal's shoulder, because she's tall. Emma rubs her back, slowly, her hand behind so it's not that obvious that she needs them both just to remain sitting up.

The questions aren't idiotic, and Mal's efficient at explaining her answers and how things work and she lets her attention drift, just a little, because this conversation doesn't require her direct involvement. Even though Regina may have been partially conscious when she agreed to the vote, it does seem to be legal, and it's so much easier not to have to think about the never ending spreadsheet of numbers that takes so much time to assemble.

She finally scratches a weary check mark next to item three and they move on.