A/N: I hope you all enjoy this one and I did the topic matter justice. I hope it's not too jumpy and it has enough emotion to seem genuine. It's hard for me to tell sometimes. Let me know what you think about it! I've got five planned chapters left (any prompts given have been worked into the order) but if there's anything you would like to see let me know and if it's not already planned I'll include it! Thanks for all the support- this story, which is really special to me, just passed 100 followers and the reviews mean so much to me. They inspire me to write because they remind me that people want to read it. So I hope you guys feel the same about this one. Thanks! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: All aspects of Once Upon A Time belong to ABC and the show's creators.
The house was unusually quiet when Emma arrived home from work. It confused her. Killian didn't mention going out and he always did. While they were both straying farther from home alone now, a return to normalcy important for them, they still made sure the other always knew where they were. The thought of not knowing where Killian was and if he was okay sent shivers through Emma.
Those shivers were making the hair stand up on her arms as she pulled off her coat. Emma toed off her boots, ears straining to hear voices, the turning of a page, anything. She would have thought Henry had swooped in and pulled Killian away but her son was at Regina's for the night, babysitting Roland so Robin could take Regina out. Their relationship had strengthened since that nightmare talk, Henry going to Killian for advice, following him around when he left the house and taking it upon himself to teach Killian the ins and outs of twenty first century life. Emma had come home many times to find Killian up in Henry's room, arguing over who had exhibited bad form in their Mario Cart race.
Emma padded away from the door into the dim house. "Killian?" she shouted, thinking he might have been upstairs in the shower or having a nap.
"Swan?" a soft groan came from Emma's left. She turned, hurrying into the living room when she saw Killian stretched out on the sofa in the dark room. Emma flicked her wrist, turning on the light, as she came to kneel in front of a very uncomfortable looking pirate.
"What's wrong?" Emma asked, frantically looking over Killian. She half expected to see the old scars on his chest or neck to have opened up, Killian slowly bleeding to death. There was no blood though, even though he sounded as if there should have been.
"All my joints hurt, my head hurts, I'm cold but I'm hot and I can't breathe out of my nose. Is there a new witch in town because I think I've been cursed?" The sheer relief that coursed through Emma made her laugh. Killian shot her a wounded look and she fought to swallow down the noise.
"You've got a man cold."
"An illness that only hits men?"
Emma snorted again. Leave it to Captain Hook to turn into a total sook when he gets a common cold. "No, it's a cold, Killian. I get a big one at least once a year. You're going to feel shitty for a few days then you'll be back to buckling swash in no time." Emma reached over and ran her palm over Killian's forehead, shifting damp hair away from the pale skin. He was burning up. Emma pushed herself up. "Have you never had a cold before?"
Killian pursed his lips, looking as if it hurt to think. "I lived in Neverland for centuries. Not aging means not getting sick. If I did before I don't remember."
Emma nodded, the answer he'd given shifting around in her head. She'd address what that meant later. "I'm going to go get you some stuff to make you feel better. Be right back."
"Don't forget the Jell-O!" Killian croaked out at Emma's back. She rolled her eyes, lifting her hand to show she'd heard. Had she been told back when Killian had first been introduced to Jell-O that he'd be requesting it while moaning on their sofa she would have thrown the teller into jail for public intoxication.
Emma moved through the kitchen to the downstairs bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and pulling out a thermometer and some cold medicine. Emma had bought this medication when Henry had gotten sick but she'd never even thought about what Killian would prefer. Hell, she'd never even thought of her strong pirate who'd made it through everything even getting sick. The thought of it put an uneasy fluttering through her stomach.
Back in the kitchen she dampened a smaller dishcloth, folding it carefully into a rectangle, and filled a glass with water. From the fridge Emma grabbed a tub of green Jell-O. Killian had purchased the box of premade Jell-O when Henry had gotten sick, showing up from his day out with David with arms full of different colours of the stuff. Henry had humoured the concerned pirate, dutifully eating all the Jell-O Killian presented him with. Emma piled all her supplies and a spoon into her arms then moved back to where Killian lay, arm flung over his eyes.
"Do you want to sit up?" Emma asked softly, setting down her stuff at Killian's feet.
"No," Killian answered.
Emma nudged his leg. "Come on, you can lay down after I get you all set up."
"The things I do for you," Killian grumbled, making Emma smile.
"I love you too," she said, grabbing the thermometer. "Here, put this under your tongue and it will beep when it's done." Killian looked suspicious but opened his mouth. Emma shoved the thermometer under his tongue, then pushed his chin up, closing his lips to seal in the thermometer.
While the thermometer was doing its job, Emma ran upstairs to their room, grabbing the big quilt and Killian's pillow off their bed. With the shape Killian was in he probably wouldn't want to drag his sick as up the stairs.
"Swan! This infernal contraption is yelling at me!"
"That means it's done!" Emma yelled back, hurrying down the stairs and into the living room where Killian was looking at the thermometer as if it were a bomb about to explode. To be honest he probably thought it was. It certainly made a sound like the bombs on Henry's video games.
Emma grabbed the offensive item from his hand and glanced at the little screen- 102.7. "Shit, Killian," Emma cursed under her breath. Killian caught it and gave her a horrified look.
"What do the numbers mean? Am I going to die?"
"You're not going to die," Emma answered, slightly exasperated before she managed to shove the frustration away. There was a reason she wasn't a nurse- Henry could confirm that. But, in her defense, it wasn't as if she ever really had anyone to show her how. "It just means you're running a temperature, which we have to get down." Emma grabbed two cold pills and the glass of water, tipping the medicine into his palm. "Here, this will decrease your fever and help with the aches and pains."
Killian popped the meds into his mouth and took a long pull of the cold water. At least he'd been exposed to that modern medicine creation so it was one less thing to try to force on him. When he'd swallowed Killian made a face, coughing lightly.
Despite her exasperation, how uncomfortable Killian was pulled at her heart. She had to remember, that even though he was several centuries older than her, he really had no memory of being sick. Killian wasn't used to aging, to getting sick and feeling sore. Waking up like this must have scared him. Emma felt guilty for not coming back at lunch to check on him, especially when Henry had been away all day.
Emma grabbed Killian's pillow, propping it behind his head. Using one hand she guided him back against it and with her other she pulled the blanket around his long frame. Emma leaned down and kissed his sweaty brow, feeling the slight shake of Killian's fever chills under her lips before setting the cool cloth on his forehead.
"Why are you putting that cold cloth on when I feel like I was the one trapped in Elsa's ice cave?"
"Because," Emma answered, sitting at his feet. Killian put his legs over hers, an automatic response that made Emma feel wanted. "You're running a fever. That's why you feel so chilled. I know it doesn't make sense but the cloth will help bring down your temperature and stop the cold feeling." Killian seemed satisfied with her answer, pushing himself farther down into the couch cushions.
"Can I have my Jell-O?"
"If it will make you feel better, yes you can." Emma peeled open the blue substance, stuck the spoon in and handed it over. While Killian started eating Emma grabbed one of his feet and started massaging them. Killian groaned in appreciation, a much better sound that his sick groans. If she could bring those sounds from him instead of having him feel sick she'd rub his feet all day. Emma smiled to herself. That was real love.
Killian ate in relative silence, the only sounds in the room the occasional deep grunt as Emma worked a knot out from his arch or a cough. When he finished his snack he set the container onto the floor and shut his eyes. Soon the coughs were replaced by light snores. Emma set down the foot she'd been working on and reached over, tucking him in tighter.
After a while, when she was sure Killian was asleep, Emma extricated herself from his legs and moved to the kitchen. Emma had been able to make Killian feel better enough to get him to sleep but she doubted her nursing skills any further if Killian were to get worse or needed something more than blue Jell-O. But there was one person who Emma knew could nurture better than anyone else. Emma grabbed her phone and quickly dialed her mother.
Mary Margaret showed up ten minutes later, arms laden with brown bags full of supplies. Emma hurried to take them so Mary Margaret could get off her outdoor gear without making enough noise to wake Killian up. Mary Margaret glanced into the living room before following Emma into the kitchen.
"So it's a cold?" she asked in hushed tones as Emma set down the bags and started unloading them.
"Yeah, his first cold that he can remember. It's hit him pretty hard." Emma pulled out cans of chicken stock, a box of noodles, several kinds of vegetables and some chicken breast all out of one bag. In the other was Jell-O (bless her mother), a box of popsicles that went straight into the freezer and a carton of orange juice.
"His first cold?" Mary Margaret replied, obviously confused. She pulled another bag from her purse, this one from the pharmacy and holding fever patches for Killian's forehead and cough drops. In just ten minutes Mary Margaret had gotten enough to ward off the plague in Emma's opinion. She couldn't imagine what Mary Margaret would have done had she had more warning or Killian would have been more serious.
"You don't age in Neverland and I guess three centuries of magic has finally worn off."
Mary Margaret seemed to pick up on Emma's feelings. "It's alright to age, Emma. That's natural."
Emma moved to cut up the carrots, hesitating to answer as she gathered her thoughts and decided if she wanted to let her mother in on how scared this made her. "Killian always said I didn't have to worry about him because he was a survivor. But I never realized until now that that was because of the magic that stopped him from aging. And now I'm terrified he's going to leave me." The words all came out faster and louder than Emma had planned. She paused, clapping a hand over her mouth and praying that Killian hadn't woken up and heard. The last thing she needed was him thinking he was going to die from the cold.
"Emma, honey," Mary Margaret said soothingly, moving to pull Emma into a hug. Emma let herself go with it because now that it was in the open it felt crushing. "Killian's a survivor because he's stubborn and clever and very experienced in life. Pan could have killed him countless times on Neverland and there are times after when he was off the island it could have happened too-"
"You're not helping," Emma murmured, pulling away to get the soup going. And to put some space between her mother and her.
"That's because you interrupted me," her mother answered, the diplomatic queen showing through in her tone. "I was going to say that Killian made it through all of that and he was fine. He did that when he had nothing more to live for than revenge. Now he has you, and Henry, and this life you're building together. He isn't going to give up now. Killian promised he'd protect your heart and now half of it is beating in his very own chest. I think you're underestimating him."
What her mother was saying was true. It wasn't just the magic that had kept him alive. Hell, he could have started aging months before and Emma hadn't noticed. Emma was aging, she got sick and moved on. Why didn't it seem the same for Killian? The answer was simple. Emma didn't particularly care what happened to herself herself but if she lost Killian, well, she might as well lose everything. "I don't want to lose him," Emma whispered, voice still cracking despite the soft tone, vocalizing her deepest fear again.
"You won't lose him," Mary Margaret answered, tone firm, as she poured chicken stock into the pot and turned the stove on. "Killian is still young in body, not much older than yourself. You both have years left. I watch David grow older and I see a life well lived. Any grey hairs that show up, any wrinkles that will grace his face in the years to come, they're all memories, of the good in the laugh lines, of the stressful in the grey. It's a blessing. Many don't get to see their loved ones grow old with them. The same will happen with you and Killian. And don't tell David, but just think how handsome Killian will be as a silver fox?" That made Emma laugh. Things had been tense at times with her mother but she was glad she'd called her over. Her mother was nurturing and had that everlasting hope that Emma needed in this situation.
"He will be pretty hot," Emma answered will a small smile.
Emma had always dreamed, in her most vulnerable moments, of having someone to grow old with. She could picture Killian and herself bundled up in the bed quilt, faded from years of use, sitting on a porch swing and watching the water. Maybe Henry would bring home his own kids and play with them in the front yard, and upstairs would be a growth chart of the kids she would have with Killian, never painted over despite them being grown and living on their own. It was the kind of future the house deserved. It was the kind of future Emma was finally starting to believe she deserved.
"So don't worry, okay, Emma? Killian will get over his cold and you guys will continue on with life and be happy. Nothing is guaranteed but that makes everything more sweet. I know you've been left before Emma, and I'd give anything to change that, but I am certain that Killian won't leave you. Of all people, you're safe letting him in. So why don't you come over here and let me teach you how to make cold-curing soup?"
Sometimes her mother frustrated her because Emma was not of the same bent when it came to life outlooks but today was different. With this topic her mother was facing the same thing. She'd been frozen for nearly thirty years, separated unknowingly from David and then had nearly lost him to Dreamshade. And now she was faced with aging with her husband as well. Mary Margaret was infinitely better adjusted but maybe once Emma was more confident with everything she could feel that way too. Or maybe not, best not count her chicks before they hatch. But at least she could aim for not panicking every time Killian got the sniffles.
Emma spent the afternoon learning to make chicken noodle soup from her mother, filling the house with a smell far better that what would have happened had Emma warmed up a can of soup in the microwave. Mary Margaret tried to get some info about the wedding out of Emma but after answering a few quick questions about scheduling Emma managed to divert the conversations by running off to check on a still sleeping Killian or ask a redundant question about the process of soup making. Eventually Mary Margaret caught on and they stayed on less overwhelming topics like how Henry was doing in school and Neal's recent forays into the world of teething.
Around four in the afternoon Killian started making a bit of noise, murmuring to himself as he woke up. When that happened Mary Margaret discretely slipped out the door and Emma ran for Killian. He gave her a sleepy smile when she crouched next to his head.
"Hello, beautiful."
"Hey," Emma replied as she ran a hand across his forehead. She smiled when she felt the fever had lessened by a few degrees. "How are you feeling?"
"Like Pan keelhauled me?"
"So not great?"
Killian caught the little catch in her voice and grabbed the hand against his forehead, squeezing tightly. "I'll be fine, love. Don't you worry."
"Do you want some soup? I'll get you some soup," Emma babbled before pulling away and hurrying into the kitchen. She could share her fears about Killian aging and getting sick to her mother but it felt too much to talk about to the person in question.
Soft footsteps padded into the kitchen. Emma turned to see Killian approach, quilt wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Of course Killian wouldn't let that little interaction go. Emma gave a little exasperated sound before moving to Killian and guiding him to the breakfast nook and settling him there.
"What's wrong, Swan?"
"Nothing," Emma answered, turning back to the stove and giving the soup a stir.
"We both know nothing usually means Marian has ruined Regina's happy ending or we messed up your parents first meeting so forgive me for not believing you, love. So why don't you tell me?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Emma."
Emma sighed. Killian wouldn't rest until Emma talked to him and she didn't really want to stress him out when he was sick. Emma filled two bowls with the warmed soup and brought them to the nook, sitting across from Killian.
"So what's bothering you, love?" Killian asked. He took a sip of the soup. "The soup's delicious so I know it's not your cooking skills that have got upset."
Emma took her own bite of the soup. It really was good. Thank goodness for her mother. "You getting sick scared me."
Killian was quiet for a few moments, mulling her statement over as he chewed some noodles. "You're scared you're going to lose me." It wasn't a question.
"You're no longer invincible." Emma's voice was dull. Killian set down his spoon and reached across the table, grabbing Emma's free hand.
"Love, I'm stronger now than I was before."
"Neverland's magic is gone," Emma replied, confused as to how he could be stronger.
"Yes, but now I've got your heart in my chest," he answered. "I'm going to fight even harder now to survive because I won't have your gift wasted." The statement rang with familiarity, reminding Emma of her mother's statement. Did everyone see Killian's determination but her? "This is just a cold, Swan. Like you said, I'll be buckling swash again in no time." Killian gave her a wry smile.
"My mother said you'd be handsome with grey hair," Emma blurted, overwhelmed by everyone's conviction of Killian's strength. Emma should know how strong he was better than anyone. She just had such a protected heart that it seized up every time there was any risk of her getting hurt.
"Of course she did," Killian answered, with a grin that screamed future trouble. Her mother was going to kill her for telling Killian that by the look on his face. "I'll be so much more handsome than Dave. But for now love, don't worry. I've still got my youthful glow."
Emma rolled her eyes. "How does nothing harm your ego?"
"Because nothing will make me less dashing," Killian answered around a cough. "But seriously, Swan, I'm going to grow old with you. No matter how many colds I get, we're going to get old and crotchety together and chase the neighbourhood kids off our yards with swords and guns."
"You've been watching too many Clint Eastwood movies." Joking helped Emma process.
Killian shrugged in response. Emma would need to remember to tell Henry to censor the movies he showed Killian. Maybe Henry could keep it to Disney for now. She didn't really want to come home to find Killian asking the paper boy if he was feeling lucky.
"We'll be fine, Emma. I'm sick and you'll probably get sick eventually and we'll take care of each other. It's how it goes. Growing old together will be our biggest adventure. So don't be scared, Swan. I'm not."
"I won't lose you?"
"You won't," Killian answered vehemently.
"Promise?" If it wasn't so childish she would have made him pinkie promise.
"I promise."
In true Killian style, the tone was one of such conviction that she couldn't disagree. Killian was always so sure of them and his ability to stay with Emma. Even with a voice muffled by congestion it was enough to reassure Emma. They would be okay, even when they were so old they couldn't climb the stairs anymore.
Emma pulled Killian's empty soup bowl from him and got up to put them in the sink. "Okay, let's get you to bed." She grabbed a Popsicle for him and gestured out the kitchen door.
"Can't I stay on the sofa? I like being where I can hear you."
"Okay, sofa it is." Emma helped Killian back to the living room, tucking the quilt around him. Killian only got through half his Popsicle before it was dripping down his hand, his grip slackened by the sleep that swept over him. It made him look so young, the Killian that would be there for everything in their life.
And when she came back from the store the next morning to find a still sick Killian and a very excited Henry piled together on the sofa playing video games, Killian shouting with a croaky voice about the thermometer bomb they trying to diffuse she was once again reassured. They might be getting older but that didn't mean they were old.
