Emma precariously balanced the grocery and take-out bags in one hand while she used the other to unlock the apartment door. It had been a slow day at the station. She'd dealt with only one call. An irate Tom Clark called her down to the Dark Star Pharmacy because a customer had refused to pay for her prescription after he'd sneezed on it. She'd shaken her head as she headed out, wondering what people expected when they had their doctors order prescriptions from a man who'd been named "Sneezy" in the Enchanted Forest.
As the afternoon wore on, she'd started to go stir crazy. She missed Killian. True, this was only the second day he'd been out sick with the plague, or whatever the hell it was that he had caught, but his absence at the station left a big void.
Finally her father had noticed.
"Look, Emma," he'd said, leaning over to give her a hug, "there's nothing going on around here. I'm good to man the desk for the rest of the afternoon. Go home and take care of your pirate."
"You sure Dad?" she'd asked, already heading for the coat rack. "I feel bad leaving you here by yourself."
"Don't be," he'd said with a smile. "Henry's coming over after school. If things don't pick up around here, maybe I'll take him out for another sword fighting lesson."
So she'd left, made a couple stops for medicines and juices and other assorted items she thought might help her nurse her husband back to health, and headed home.
It took a little fancy maneuvering, but she managed to open the door and shove her way through.
"Swan!" Killian called, rising quickly from the couch and taking the bags from her. "You should have called me with your talking phone. You oughtn't to be carrying such a load in your condition!"
Emma smiled as she followed him inside. Her husband was chivalrous to a fault. Even now when he felt like absolute crap, if his pale face, red nose and gravelly voice were any indication, he was determined to come to her aid. She was a strong woman and hardly needed a knight in shining armor (or maybe a knight in skin-tight leather might be more appropriate where her pirate was concerned) to save her, but she couldn't help but sigh in pleasure at the gesture—and the obvious love behind it.
"They weren't that heavy, Killian", she said following him into the kitchen, "just kind of awkward."
"Be that as it may," he said, "I'm always at your disposal should you need assistance carrying your burdens."
She took a good look at him as he set the last bag on the counter. He looked terrible. His eyes, usually so bright with love and mischief were dull and haggard. He looked as exhausted as he would if he'd pulled an all-nighter. There was even a slight tremor to his movements. There was no doubt about it; he was sicker than a dog.
Emma took his arm and gently led him back to the bedroom and tucked him into the bed. It was a testament to just how lousy he felt that he didn't even put up a protest. Once she had him settled in, she perched herself on the edge of the bed and smoothed her cool hand over his overly warm brow. "Looks like you aren't feeling any better yet."
He heaved a sigh—which promptly turned into a hacking cough—and then grimaced. "It would appear not, love. I wouldn't wish this affliction upon my worst enemy—well, perhaps upon the Crocodile, but he would be the only exception."
She chuckled. After what Rumplestiltskin had tried to do to Killian in order to fill that damn hat with magic, Emma was right there with her pirate. Things were…better…between her husband and Gold now that Gold had finally had his "come to Jesus" moment, but she doubted the tension between them would ever fully dissipate.
"Well," she said, reaching down to link her fingers with his, "things were slow at the station, so I decided to come home and take care of you. This stupid sickness doesn't know what it's up against, trying to take down the savior's true love."
He chuckled—and then coughed again. "Aligned against you, it doesn't have a chance. So what precisely do you have planned when it comes to caring for me? I've been told that a kiss can have marvelous curative properties."
The idiot tapped his lips and gave her a flirtatious look from beneath hooded eyes. She grinned, letting her mind wander to the first time he'd made such a move just before their first kiss in Neverland. He must not be on death's doorstep yet if he was still capable of such blatant flirting.
Emma leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Killian, I love you with all my heart, but until you get well, that's the most passionate kiss you can hope for."
His brow furrowed. "Why is that, love?"
"Because," she answered, "I have no interest letting you give me your germs."
The furrow deepened. "What the bloody hell is a 'germ' and what makes you believe I have one to give you?"
"You know, 'germs'," she said, "the little organisms that invade your body and make you sick."
He gave her a shocked look. "Swan, are you trying to tell me my illness is a result of an army of tiny creatures assaulting my body?"
"Well…pretty much," she said with a shrug. "You've seriously never heard of germs?"
"No I have not!" he said indignantly, "it was common knowledge in my land that illness was caused by the imbalance of the movement of fluids and fibers within the body."
"Well that's…different," she said. "I'm not sure I want to know what you did to, um, balance everything out again, but in this land, we fight germs."
"And how, precisely, does one go about doing that?"
Emma grabbed the bag of supplies she'd picked up at the pharmacy. "Through medicine, rest, drinking lots of liquids, long hot baths to break up the congestion. That sort of thing."
His eyes turned decidedly wicked. "If I must take a hot bath to dispatch the germs, that's what I shall do, darling. I am, however, decidedly weak and ill. It might be that I need my beautiful nurse to join me in the bathing process."
Emma grinned and rolled her eyes. "If you ever stop with the innuendos I'll know you're dead."
Killian shrugged. "One thing I've learned about formidable enemies, one does not allow them the power to destroy one's happiness. Should I fail to take advantage of, er, enjoyable activities with my lovely wife, the germs have won."
"Except, of course," Emma pointed out handing Killian a dose of cough syrup and a bottle of water, "the 'enjoyable activities' that would logically follow the two of us bathing together would probably spread the germs to me as effectively as a kiss would."
"Blast!" Killian said under his breath. "These germs are apparently far more formidable foes than I had known."
Emma laughed, leaning down to fluff his pillow and tuck the covers in more securely. Suddenly she looked away, feeling self-conscious. "Did…did you mean it?"
His brow furrowed again. "Did I mean what, love?"
"You know, when you called me lovely and beautiful and all of that," Emma gestured down to her swollen abdomen. "I'm starting to feel like a cow, as fat as I'm starting to get."
Killian's eyes softened and he reached down to caress her belly. "You're not fat, my love; you're pregnant."
"Really? It really doesn't, like, bother or repulse you?"
"Absolutely not," he said with a decisive shake of the head. "Emma, love, you're carrying my baby. How could you be anything but the most beautiful woman in the world to me?"
Emma felt the tears prick the back of her eyes. He always knew exactly what to say.
"And what about me?" he went on with a grin. "with my red nose and pale features, I'm hardly much to look at."
She rolled her eyes then. "Killian, you're kind of disgusting really. Any normal person would look like crap, feeling as bad as you do, but you! Even at your worst, you're still hot as hell."
He grinned. "That I am, darling, that I am. Now that we determined that I'm devilishly handsome and you're beautiful as an angel—an angel who would still be a vision no matter how much weight she gained, can we dispense with talk of being 'fat'?"
She smiled. "Yeah, guess we should."
They lapsed for a moment into silence—a silence that was only broken by further coughs and sneezes.
"That cough is really starting to sound bad," Emma observed.
"Aye," he agreed. "It's most unpleasant."
It was time to take some more direct action. "Okay, you go ahead and get some rest. I'll go call the doctor and set you up an appointment."
He sat up quickly, and the scowl he threw her was positively murderous. "No you bloody well will not!"
Um…okay? "Killian, you're sick; you don't seem to be getting better. The doctor can help you."
"I'll not let one of those butchers near my person!"
She gave him a smirk. "Whale may not always have the best bedside manner, but I'd hardly call him a butcher."
"Swan, I'm well aware of the treatment doctors give," he said angrily. "Bleeding and purging and the like. I'll not stand for it."
Bleeding and purging? "What kind of doctors did you have back in the Enchanted forest?"
"Bloody barbaric ones!"
Emma helped Killian lay back against his pillows and ran soothing hands down his arms. "Well, doctors here are different. All Whale will do is give you and examination, and then he'll probably give you some drugs to help you get well."
The scowl continued unabated. She knew that look; it was eerily similar to the stubborn, intractable one two year old Neal threw her parents on a regular basis. "Swan, the only person I wish to be examined by is you."
She rolled her eyes. Sometimes men were the biggest babies in the world. "Look, the doctor can help you get well! I'll stay with you in the exam room if you want and hold your hand."
No change in the scowl.
"Fine," she said on a sigh. "If you agree to be a good pirate and go to the doctor without complaint, I'll take that long hot bath with you tonight—but the further enjoyable activities will still have to wait until you're well."
His scowl dropped a fraction. "At the first sign of Whale bringing out the leeches for blood-letting, I will leave that examination room without a backward glance."
Emma grinned. "Killian, if Dr. Whale pulls out leeches, I'll be right there with you."
Finally his expression cleared. He held out his hand for her to shake. "Very well, love, we have an accord."
Notes:
-Okay, so I lied. I wasn't able to get this thing finished in 2 chapters. Looks like at least one more is in order.
-Given his vocabulary and manner of speaking and the naval uniform he wore before becoming a pirate, I'd put Killian somewhere in the 18th century, if I had to place him in a time period within our own world (although, his pirate wardrobe seems more 17th century, but whatever.) I decided, with that being the case, I'd make 18th century medical practices what he's most familiar with. After doing a little research, I can't blame Killian for being reluctant to go to the doctor! In particular, God help you if you were ever diagnosed with a mental illness of some kind!
-Up next (in what will probably be the conclusion): Killian takes a trip to visit Dr. Whale and is diagnosed with bronchitis, for which he's prescribed antibiotics. He proves to be a terrible patient, refusing to stay home and rest after the fourth day of being sick (side note: I feel you, Killian! I've been stuck home sick for a solid week now, and I'm about to go crazy!), and Emma has to resort to drastic measures—leaving him with a babysitter.