Set in the 6 weeks between 4A and 4B

The booms of canon fire bounce around his skull, rapid, succinct, and bloody loud. Burrowing further beneath the covers he tries to drown out the echo, but cringes as the blankets hit his overwarm skin. His attempts to kick the offending fabric to the floor only manage to tangle his aching limbs. The battle with the blankets finally pulls him to the surface of his fevered dream as his actual surroundings coming slowly into bleary eyed focus. He is not on his ship. There is no chaos taking place overhead. And the canon fire is simply a soft knock on his door, growing more persistent by the second.

"Just a moment!"

There's a gravel to his voice to add to the pain in his throat, his own words too loud to his ears. Moving with as much speed as he can muster, he extricates himself from the bed, pausing for a moment as the room begins to spin. Reaching blindly, he finds his discarded shirt on a nearby chair and works it over his arms. Lacking the energy for more than that, he moves slowly towards the door, his hand attempting to tame his sweaty hair into something less wild than he imagines it must be.

Emma's boots come into view as he cracks the door and he takes a deep breath, hoping he can summon enough strength to get through this and be left alone to his misery.

"Swan, always a pleasure."

He watches as her eyes flick distractedly over his bared chest, the pink of her cheeks likely mirroring the fevered flush of his own. When she finally catches his eye he lifts a knowing eyebrow, even in sickness unwilling to let such a moment pass without reaction. Seeing Emma Swan flustered doesn't come along often and he wishes he was in a better state to enjoy it. Her fingers reach out for him briefly, but then pull back, finally settling on her waist as she smiles and shakes her head as if to clear her own thoughts. He moves to speak, but realizes he knows not what to say. Luckily, she spares them both from another second of uncomfortable silence.

"I've been knocking for a few minutes, are you okay?"

No. I'm dying actually.

"Sorry, love, you caught me sleeping."

"At one o'clock in the afternoon?"

"Aye…I just…"

His mind has gone completely blank, no excuse anywhere near the tip of his tongue. To top it off, a wave of dizziness chooses this very moment to make an arrival, causing him to sway slightly on his feet before ungracefully leaning his weight against the doorjamb. She notices. Of course she notices. Her eyes go almost comically wide as her hands finally leave her waist, settling gently on his forearm and his cheek.

"Hey, what's going on? You look…sick. Are you sick?"

Speaking is hard, especially with the cool skin of her hand feeling like a balm against his skin, genuine comfort and concern evident in her eyes and in her touch. He doesn't know what to do with this, with her. Conquering illness on his own the only way he's known for centuries, never even allowing his crew to see him in a state such as this. It's a weakness, one he isn't ready for Emma to witness, as much as part of him is aching to let her.

"Nothing to worry yourself over. Just a headache. I'll be right as rain tomorrow. I'll sleep it off and see you tomorrow at breakfast, Swan."

Moving her hand from his cheek, she gently brushes his hair from his forehead before dropping her hand back to her side. Her eyes tell him all he needs to know, that she's registered his lie, that knowledge twisting a knife deep in his gut. She loosens her grip on his forearm and he reaches for her hand, watching as her eyes move to their now interlaced fingers. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze before meeting his eyes again, her expression noticeably lighter as her lips curve into a small smile.

"Okay, I'll see you later."

"Aye."

He aches to kiss her, alleviate the tension, but he knows he can't. She parts with another smile, leaving him alone as he has wished, the reality of it feeling all wrong in the wake of her absence. Stripping his shirt once again, he collapses back onto the mattress, not even bothering to cover himself with the blankets as his fever pulls him back under.

He dreams of heat, the sun unrelenting as he struggles to navigate alone, the too dry wood beneath his feet groaning with each pass of his boots along the deck. Sweat soaked and lonely, he trudges ahead, the destination unknown and seemingly farther away as the hours pass on the open water. The relief of a summer squall comes suddenly, drenching him to the bone and cooling his sun chapped skin. Each soothing raindrop clearing the humid fog from his brain, relaxing his muscles as he lies flat on his back letting the rocking of the boat comfort his weary soul. The breeze ruffles his hair, gentle ministrations feeling much like the stroke of a lover, fingertips and a gentle palm. It's that touch that wakes him, too familiar, better than any dream he's ever known.

She's here. Emma is here, perched at his hip with her palm against his forehead keeping a cold cloth in place as her fingertips brush softly in his hair, the same soft smile she left him with still settled upon her lips. He's too shocked to speak, but tries to move and is stilled by the gentle pressure of her hand and the thick blankets he finds himself wrapped up in.

"Shhh, just rest and listen."

She speaks quietly, obviously aware now of how sensitive he is to sound, her words both tentative and strong (much like Emma herself). Without the energy or the will to argue, he relaxes back against the pillow and nods slightly for her to continue.

"So, over on the table there you've got some soup from Granny, books from Belle, a few of Henry's favorite X-Men comics, and a pot of Mary Margaret's miracle tea. David's watching the station to free me up to play nursemaid. I can leave you alone to deal with your headache and take all of this stuff with me, or you can ask me to stay and let me help you get better. It's completely up to you. I know how hard it is to let people in, but you're not alone anymore…if you don't want to be."

Somehow in the midst of her speech he found himself falling even more in love with her, which until this moment he wouldn't have deemed possible. She's more than he deserves and everything he will ever desire, including the extended family she's unabashedly welcoming him into. It takes considerable effort, but he manages to free one of his arms from his cocoon and reaches for her free hand fidgeting nervously on her knee. She releases a long breath when their palms meet, her fingertips moving softly over the marks left by his heavy rings. He waits until her eyes find his again, the open affection she's making no attempt to hide giving him the strength to find his voice through the pain in his throat and the ever fading loneliness in his heart.

"Stay."