A/N: Huge thanks to all the guests and other reviewers that I can't reply to for leaving some wonderful comments. I really appreciate each and every one :)

For fleurreads, my-life-as-a-bookworm and guest

007:"I'm cold. Come closer."

It was a complete mess.

Discarded magazines were strewn haphazardly across the large bed, one teetering precariously on the edge just waiting to slide off at the merest movement. Used tissues littered the floor surrounding the waste bin in the corner where'd they obviously been tossed but missed their mark. The lemon and honey drink he'd prepared earlier sat barely touched on the bedside table, its once hot contents now cold. The television kept replaying the same annoying title screen from the DVD that had finished a good while ago; not that it mattered because the person who'd been watching it was fast asleep.

His gaze softened as he moved closer to the bed and looked down upon his slumbering wife. Her nose was bright red, the colour a stark contrast to the pallor of her face. Her hair, usually so silky and shiny, looked lifeless and stringy from where she'd suffered from a ferocious fever.

He shook his head. That had been the start of her illness. She'd gone to bed a little earlier than usual and when he'd joined her she'd immediately cuddled up to him complaining of feeling cold and her need for him to get closer, closer, even though her body had felt as though she were on fire. Throughout the night she'd clung to him, one minute plastering herself against him, her body wracked by shivers, the next she'd be pushing him away saying she was too hot.

He'd made her take some medication but when it didn't appear to help, he'd finally called the doctor.

It had taken a couple of days before her temperature to returned to something resembling normal but while that was better, the rest of the malady that Whale had called influenza still had her in its untreatable clutches.

It didn't matter that she'd assured him she was fine. That she'd told him that 'flu' was quite common in this land. That she'd dismissed her fever as 'just a bit on the high side' and that, though it had knocked her off her feet, she'd be over it in no time.

It didn't matter because it didn't stop the sense of helplessness he'd felt ever since she'd been taken hostage by this virulent villain.

Dark magic, wicked witch's, evil imp's; at least he could fight those. Do something. But this...this he could only sit and wait for it to pass. He hated that he couldn't do more for her.

Emma gave a soft groan, drawing his attention but instead of waking as he'd supposed, she merely rolled onto her back and settled again.

Careful not to disturb her, he silently began to tidy up the magazines on the bed, neatly stacking them on her bedside cabinet. Next he collected all the tissues and threw them in the bin before turning off the television and picking up the drink to take it away to wash up.

"Hey," came her croaky voice just as he'd turned to leave, "You're home early."

"Aye. Since everything was quiet, your father decided that there was no need for me at the station. He said he'll call if anything comes up for which he might need my assistance," he replied, placing the mug back down as he settled on the edge of the bed beside her and took her hand. Gazing at her intently, he took in her pallid features and frowned slightly. "How are you feeling, love?"

She gripped his hand a little harder and pulled herself up to a sitting position, grimacing slightly at the mild aching in her joints. Thankfully, the pain wasn't anywhere near as bad as it had been.

"Better, actually," she told him with a small smile. "I am," she insisted off his faintly disbelieving look, "For a start, my head doesn't feel like its got someone trying to jackhammer their way out of my skull anymore."

He stared at her quizzically for a moment. While he had no idea what a jackhammer was, it was still heartening to learn that the pain in her head seemed to have ceased. It had been a constant source of discomfort for a few days now.

"That indeed is an improvement," he conceded with no little amount of relief. "It would seem that you're finally on the way to recovery, love."

"It's about time," she muttered meaningfully, hating feeling so weak and useless. As she spoke, she reached up to push some hair from her face and screwed her nose up in disgust at the feel if it. "Although I'm pretty sure I'd recover a lot quicker if I had a shower."

"How about I draw you a bath instead?" Killian suggested, getting to his feet in anticipation of her agreement. At least he could do that for her. "And then I'll make you something light to eat. An omelette perhaps? How does that sound?"

"That sounds like I have the perfect husband," she replied with smile.

"I'm hardly that, love," he refuted, scratching a little self consciously behind his ear.

"True," she conceded with a soft laugh. "If you were perfect, you would've kissed me by now."

Eyebrow raised, Killian gazed down at her intently, his lips curving up into a devilish smile.

"Now that is an oversight I'm more than willing to remedy," he told her huskily.

Reaching out, he gently cupped her cheek then slowly bent towards her.

Emma closed her eyes as he drew nearer, only to open them again in surprise when she felt Killian drop a casual kiss on top of her head.

"Hey!" she grumbled with a pout as he chuckled and stepped back. "That's not fair."

"Pirate," he countered with a wink and a grin before turning away and heading out of their bedroom.

"Tease more like," Emma muttered, aggrieved.

Moments later, she heard the sound of water running and slowly began to smile. 'Pirate indeed,' she thought, imagining him quite happily preparing her bath.

Perfect or not, she wouldn't have him any other way.