Killian Jones didn't get sick. At least, that's what he was trying to tell himself as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and took stock of his beleaguered appearance. He'd woken far earlier than he cared to and lay in bed trying not to wake Emma with his tossing and turning, willing the growing stuffiness in his nose and the worsening scratchy throat to go away. With a sigh he brushed his teeth and made his way to the kitchen, sliding unceremoniously into a chair. Emma was busy in the kitchen making breakfast.
"Morning," she said cheerily, without looking up from the stove.
Killian made to reply, but was interrupted by a series of loud sneezes. He suppressed a grumble.
"Bless you," Emma said, raising an eyebrow in concern as she slid him a plate of bacon and eggs. "Are you getting sick?"
"I don't get 'sick'," he replied, surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. He reached for the mug of tea that had been placed in front of him, hoping it would help ease the soreness in his throat.
"Mmmhmm," Emma rolled her eyes, reaching out to rest the back of her hand on his forehead. "You've got a bit of a fever, I think." She sighed giving him a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder. "Why don't you go back to bed and I'll bring you something to make you feel better."
Killian remained steadfast in his chair, glaring at her and still refusing to accept that he just might very well be sick.
"Go on," she urged, chuckling a bit and giving him a bit of a prod. "You'll feel better if you lay down."
Reluctantly he stood from his chair and started for the bedroom, turning around to give her one final glare. "I'm not bloody sick though," he grumbled, which only made him cough.
When Emma entered the bedroom a short time later, Killian was sitting in the middle of the bed. She watched him from the door for a moment. His facial expressions seemed to be running the gambit between 'Captain Hook who never gets sick' and 'Killian Jones who most definitely does get sick'.
"It helps if you get under the blankets," she finally spoke, crossing the room.
Killian glanced up, looking at her in a way she wasn't sure she'd from him before. It was the look of someone who often claimed he had the constitution of an ox, and had been betrayed. Defeated was the best way to describe it.
"Emma," he sighed. "I think I'm ill."
Emma couldn't help but laugh a little bit, earning her a chastising scowl from Killian. "What changed in 15 minutes, Mr. I-don't-get-sick?"
"It's bad form to make light of a man in my condition," he rasped, sliding under the blankets as she pulled them down far enough for him to climb under despite his sitting on top of them.
"Decided to stop being macho about it, I see," she replied, sitting down next to him and brushing a wisp of hair off his brow.
Killian turned away from her to sneeze and she gently handed him a box of tissues. He blew his nose loudly, tossing the used tissue in the trash and settling back into bed with groan. "I feel awful," he sighed.
"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically and pressed a small cup of green liquid into his hand. "But this might make you feel a little bit better. It will at least help you get a little sleep."
Killian eyed her suspiciously.
"Medicine," she answered his silent question.
Staring warily at the cup, he finally relented and downed it in one swig, wincing at the taste.
Emma laughed a bit, patting where she thought his leg was under the blanket. "Take a nap, you'll feel better." She stood and made to leave but a hand snaked out and grasped her wrist. She turned back, looking down at the poor sick pirate laying in bed.
"Thank you," he whispered and let his eyes closed. "It's nice having someone to care for you."
"Get some rest," Emma said softly, leaving a light kiss on his forehead before leaving the bedroom.
It had been about two hours since she had left Killian to rest. After a quick call to her father letting him know she wouldn't be in to work today, she busied herself cleaning up from breakfast and settled to read when she heard footsteps upstairs. She traced them as they moved from the bedroom to the bathroom and back. Pulling herself out of the chair she went into the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. When it was finished, she loaded it with honey and headed upstairs.
"Knock knock," she said softly and peeked around the door.
Killian was settling himself back into the bed and trying to get comfortable. "Hello, love."
Emma entered the room and came to sit on the bed. "I come with gifts. Are you feeling any better?"
"I think it's possible I feel worse," he rasped, reaching up to massage his throat. He smiled gratefully when she pressed the warm mug into his hands. "Should you not be at work?"
"I called in today. Told David you weren't feeling well," she replied, reaching out to rest her hand on his forehead and frowning when noticed his fever seemed to have gone up.
"You didn't need to stay home on my account," he sniffled and reached for a tissue.
"I'll be right back," she told him, leaving the room and returning with the digital thermometer. "I'll wait until you've finished your tea before I take your temperature."
They sat in relative silence, the only sounds in the room being Killian's sniffling and coughing and soft sipping as he nursed the tea.
"I wish there was more I could do to help you feel better," Emma sighed. It was a bit unnerving seeing him so utterly miserable.
"You just being here is all I need," Killian replied, forcing a smile.
Emma smiled back, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone. Killian finished his tea and set the mug aside. They waited a few more minutes to be sure the hot beverage wouldn't affect getting an accurate reading, and then Emma instructed him to open his mouth so she could slip the thermometer under his tongue. When the instrument beeped a few moments later, Emma removed it and examined it with a sigh.
"102.3," she told him, showing him the display. "You, my friend, are most definitely sick."
Grumbling, Killian tried to bury himself back under the blankets. A few moments later he poked his head out and flopped onto his back. "Is it possible to be too ill to sleep?"
"Yeah, it is," Emma chuckled. "I'm guessing everything hurts?"
Killian nodded, wincing at the pain the motion caused in his head. Emma got up and climbed into her side of the bed. "I know just the thing," she said, turning on the TV and navigating through the Netflix menu for a movie. When she found something suitable, she made sure Killian was propped up enough to hopefully be able to breathe a bit better and wiggled herself in so he was resting in the crook of her arm. He lay his head against her shoulder and she absentmindedly started gently running her fingers through his hair. Emma smiled when she realized halfway through the movie, he had fallen asleep.
Killian spent the next two days being on what he referred to as "death's door," while Emma merely rolled her eyes and assured him he was most certainly not dying. Despite the fact that her normally stoic and macho pirate had been relegated to a giant man-baby, Emma did her best to nurse him through his illness. She made sure he was medicated at regular intervals, and when his fever spiked, she sat with him and made sure he had cool compresses for his forehead. When the sinus congestion got so bad he thought his head would explode, she sat with him in the steamy bathroom and told made-up stories to pass the time. She dug out the vaporizer and slathered his chest with Vicks. So on the third day, when Killian woke up and feeling more human than he had in days, he finally thought he was nearing the end of his illness. Glancing over and finding Emma still curled up on her side of the bed, he smiled. He knew she hadn't had much sleep herself the past few days, so he silently slipped out of bed hoping to avoid waking her and padded to the kitchen for tea. When he returned to the bedroom a few moments later, he stopped short in the doorway. Emma was sitting up in bed now, her hair utterly wrecked and hanging in her face. She managed to push chunks of it out of the way and glared at Killian.
"Oh love," he chuckled, an air of sympathy in his voice. "You've caught my cold, haven't you?"
Emma sniffled, coughed and slowly nodded. "This sucks."
He crossed the room, handing her the mug of tea he'd made for himself. Then he tucked her into bed and put the box of tissues on her nightstand. Over the next few days he tended to her, just as she had for him. He made sure she was warm enough, and had medicine, and when her fever spiked he sat with her and made sure she had cool compresses for her forehead. They sat in the steamy bathroom together, and he told her tales from his times on the sea. When she was too uncomfortable, he pulled her close and they watched movies on the TV until her breathing evened out and she fell asleep with her head on his chest. Sniffling, sneezing and misery aside, Killian Jones had never felt love any stronger than he did, right at this very moment, with his Swan curled up in his arms.