Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Unfortunately. I just love this ship. A lot.
A/N: Yes, another Mad Swan fic! I hope you like it. Enjoy!
When Emma's yellow Bug pulls up in the driveway, Jefferson is waiting for her, perched on the wide stone steps with that perpetual dangerous smirk on his lips. That car is the most ridiculous-looking vehicle he's ever seen, but every time he hears it groaning and squeaking up the street and into the carport outside, he can't help but grin. There's a fluttering in his chest that he hasn't felt in years. The Bug comes to a rough halt, the engine quiets, and Jefferson waits for his first glimpse of her bright blonde hair. His sly grin melts away as he sees her leaning on the top of the driver's side door like her life depends upon it. As her knees appear to buckle and she drops back down into the seat, Jefferson's halfway off the stairs and running to her side. He knows something is wrong—this isn't the usual Emma-like behavior (all business at first and a little play, if he catches her on the right afternoon) he's used to once a week.
Emma is half in the car, legs dangling over the side. She has her arm on the steering wheel and her forehead pressed into her arm, other hand trying again to find purchase on the cushion to hoist herself into a standing position. Long tresses of sunshine blonde are falling into her face, and despite the situation, Jefferson thinks about how beautiful she looks. He eases himself into a crouch in front of her, one hand splayed against the car door to keep balance.
"Emma," he says gently. "What's wrong?"
It takes her a moment to respond. Her eyes are closed and she doesn't move. Jefferson notices the slight tremble throughout her entire body, like she's shivering.
"Dizzy," she explains. Her voice is rough and barely above a whisper. She sounds congested, tone slightly higher and more nasal as she works to push her words through. "My head's about to explode."
"Welcome to my world," he laughs. She punches him in the arm, or at least tries to, because the effort is too much. Her body feels heavier, every limb like a hundred pound weight, muscles aching and weak.
"Shut up," Emma tells him. Her face is still buried under tumbling curls of sunshine yellow and the crook of her arm, so her voice is softened. It makes the presumably sharp, yet playful statement seem less than threatening.
"All right, let's get you inside," Jefferson suggests.
"No, I'm fine," she insists.
"If this is your idea of fine, I'm a little worried," he quips.
"I'm waiting for the dizziness to pass," she explains through a series of wheezing, raspy coughs that rack her slender frame, "Then I'm outta here."
"Emma," Jefferson says with some degree of amusement, "I'm not going to let you drive like this. It's a damn miracle that you made it all the way out here without crashing your stupid car or…hacking up a lung."
"My car is not—" Emma sniffles and is subsequently thrown into another coughing fit that makes her entire body tense, "—stupid."
Jefferson chuckles. Typical. "Why are you even here? I haven't run off. I'm not going anywhere. I told you that when you insisted on putting this anklet on me. You should be home getting some rest."
Emma shrugs and doesn't see the pleased expression he's sporting. She groans and mumbles something that he can't quite make out. He shakes his head and brushes her blonde curls aside, palm pressed against her cheek. Her eyes, still closed, are rimmed with red and her complexion is pallid, lips devoid of color. Jefferson's brow knits together in concern—her skin is hot to the touch; based on past experience and nights next to the bedside of his daughter when she was sick, he knows her fever is dangerously high.
"What was that?" he encourages.
"I said," she answers sharply, "I might have grown fond of your stupid face."
Jefferson laughs loudly this time, thumb brushing across her cheek. "Oh, aren't you charming when you're sick."
Emma groans at him. He leans forward and hooks his arm around her back, pushing her arm over and across the back of his neck. He helps her out of the car and kicks the door shut before the two of them make their way slowly to the front steps.
"This is ridiculous," Emma complains.
Her head, too heavy for her to hold up on her own, rolls against Jefferson's shoulder and stays there. He can feel the heat of her raging fever through his own clothes but he keeps the worry from his face. Jefferson wonders how the hell she managed to get behind the wheel of a car, much less out of bed this morning.
"You should have stayed home," he repeats.
He has to guide her up the stairs and into the house carefully, all the while enduring the string of curses muttered under her breath. Once inside, Emma whispers something about resting against the wall for a moment, which makes no sense to him whatsoever, so instead he scoops her up into his arms. She lets out a small yelp in surprise and pushes against his chest, almost toppling out of his hold. He snakes one arm around her waist to keep her from falling.
"Jefferson!"
Her yelling throws her into a coughing fit once more and she moves her face into the crook of her elbow, over Jefferson's shoulder, until it passes. Jefferson brushes her hair out of her eyes and presses a palm to her cheek and then her forehead. He frowns. Emma leans into his cool touch without thinking about it, eyes closing.
"Got to do something about your fever," he says.
Finally, Emma relents and hooks her arms around his neck. She's too tired to protest; her head aches and her body is weak and all she really wants to do is lie down until further notice. Besides, she doesn't remember the last time anyone's taken care of her in this way and it feels nice. When Jefferson removes his hand from her forehead, she gives a tiny grunt of disapproval. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he places a kiss into her searing hot skin before starting up the staircase. Emma keeps her eyes closed against her raging headache and settles herself against his chest.
"I don't usually get sick like this," Emma explains.
"It's no wonder you are," Jefferson says. "You're wearing yourself down, you're stressed out…when was the last time you got a good night's sleep?"
Emma shakes her head. Jefferson turns a corner in the maze of upstairs hallways and to the second door on the left, one of the finished bedrooms. He elbows open the door and strides over to the bed, where he places Emma onto the down-filled comforter gently. He tugs the cord of the bedside lamp on and Emma squeezes her eyes tightly against it.
"You can stay here until your fever breaks," he tells her. "I'll give Mary Margaret a call so she doesn't worry."
"She'll love that," Emma retorts.
"Yeah, well, she's not exactly on my good side, either," he answers. "She did kick me out a window."
"That," she replies with a light cough, "was a well-deserved kick."
Jefferson helps Emma out of her jacket and drapes it over the chair in the corner. He unzips her boots and pulls them off her feet, letting them tumble onto the floor at the end of the bed. Emma slides underneath the covers, buries herself in them, one arm sliding underneath the pillows. Unconvinced that she has enough of them, Jefferson moves over to the closet and yanks out a few more. Before Emma can say anything against it, he's putting more pillows underneath her head and across the headboard.
He sits on the edge of the mattress, fussing over the comforter and hoping it will help her chills reside. Emma's face is flushed, and in the light, the blue of her eyes seems less vibrant. There's still perspiration on her brow, evidence of the fever that has her under a vice-like grip. Jefferson traces a thumb over her cheek.
"Get some rest," he whispers. Emma's already half-lidded eyes close ever so slowly.
When Jefferson reenters the room, she at least looks like she's asleep, and he places a damp washcloth across her forehead. She shivers ever so slightly and curls into the pillows, making the smallest of noises. He brushes his fingers over her knuckles, lightly, before turning out the bedside light.
He checks on her every hour, running the washcloth under cool water until her fever finally breaks sometime during the night. She tosses and turns sometimes, body wracking with coughing fits. He wakes her at around three in the morning and feels awful for it, but she takes some medicine at his encouragement, half-groggy. Emma's able to sleep easier after that, yet Jefferson doesn't let his guard down and falls asleep in the armchair with his head against Emma's jacket.
Jefferson wakes up before her to make tea, and by the time he brings it up to the room, Emma is awake and although she's still worse for wear, she looks better. She leans against the pillows piled at her back, sunshine hair unkempt and spilling across the pillowcases. He sets the tray with two tea cups onto the table and offers one to her.
Emma hesitates. "I'm okay," she asserts.
Jefferson pushes the porcelain cup into her hands, steam rising from the hot liquid. He gives her a knowing look. They've had tea several times after their first encounter, and she's always been reluctant.
"There's nothing in it that can hurt you," he says.
"You sure about that?" she asks. Her voice is stronger today.
"You have my word, Emma," Jefferson replies. "It's just peppermint tea. It'll help with your cough and congestion."
Emma lifts the cup to her lips and inhales the steam. "Thanks."
He settles onto the edge of the mattress with his tea cup and watches Emma as she drinks hers. There's a small amount of hesitance in her actions, but after a few sips of tea she's comfortable enough to meet his eyes again.
"Better?" he asks.
"Much," Emma answers. "And thank you…for taking care of me. I…appreciate it."
"Seemed like the right thing to do," Jefferson says. "Besides, I think I may have grown fond of your stupid face, too."
A sly grin makes its way onto Emma's face. "This still doesn't make up for drugging and kidnapping me, though. You're not off the hook that easy."
"Ah, I thought as much," Jefferson laughs. "Give it some time. You'll have a change of heart."