A/N: For those who asked for more Captain Swan, here you go! Reviews? Comments?

Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.

Chapter Eight

Killian woke to something cold and wet pressed against his cheek. He shivered and blinked open his eyes.

Emma sat beside him on the bed, wet rag in her hand. Sunlight streamed in through the window behind her, close to midday if he guessed correctly. He was still propped up on the ridiculously huge pile of pillows, but at least his breathing was much more even than before. It hurt on each inhale, right in the center of his chest, but he assumed that was normal residual pain from being stabbed in the back. Probably.

"Welcome back," she said softly, a light smile on her face.

He tugged the corner of his lips up into a one-sided grin. "Thanks," he mouthed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sore," he replied honestly, his voice little more than a whisper. "And cold."

She nodded, rag twisting in her fingers. "I can imagine," she said. "You've got a slight fever. I just wanted to cool you off a bit before I put the blanket back on. Whale managed to change the bandage while you slept, but he wants to clean the wound properly a bit later, if you're up for it."

Ouch, he thought, wincing inwardly. He just nodded.

"I'm, uh," she started, swallowing. "I'm sorry for earlier. I didn't realize you'd... I didn't mean to hurt you, Killian." She looked up at him, meeting his eyes.

"It's alright," he whispered, words coming slowly with each breath. "Just didn't think… I'd see you… again." He turned up his mouth in what he hoped looked like a smile.

She grinned softly. "Me neither." Her eyes still held a sadness he wished he understood, but he was just so tired. "Do you mind if I continue?" she said, holding up the wet cloth. He shook his head, and she replaced it on his neck, dabbing gently. The coolness of it felt good against his heated skin. He closed his eyes, resting on the pillows for a few minutes as she ran the rag along his chest.

"Emma," he breathed, looking at her. "What happened? The wedding…?"

She paused and swallowed hard, focusing much too hard on the rag she now held to his cheek.

"We found Regina," she started softly. "She, uh, she agreed to try and help us. When we got there, the wedding was already finishing. But we were ambushed. Gold-"

He shook his head, interrupting her. "The same...?" He lifted his eyebrows in a question.

She nodded. "The Gold who was working with the Author, yeah. Only here, he's called the Light One, some kind of magical do-gooder knight. Rumplestiltskin."

"Heard of him," he whispered. He remembered vague tales of a hero on a white horse, travelling the kingdom and using his magic to help others. He's the villain of this story?

"Gold, and the Author, came to stop us. We fought, but he was winning. He turned on Henry when Regina-" She broke off and looked into his eyes. "Regina stepped in front of him, and he ran her through with his blade before he disappeared. She didn't make it."

His eyes widened. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Yeah," she said, twisting the cloth again in her hands. "Me too." She cleared her throat. "We grabbed the Author's bag, but the pen won't work. And there's no more ink left anyway. Henry's pretty upset about all of it."

"Poor lad," he whispered. Now the half smile from the boy earlier made sense. He'd just watched someone close to him die to save him.

"Yeah." She smiled sadly. "He's pretty shaken up, but he's still Henry. When he believes something… " She shrugged. "I can't say I share his belief this time."

He was confused. "Belief?" he murmured, raising an eyebrow again.

"He believes the two of us can still break this curse," she said, looking slightly uncomfortable. "It's his… gift, he believes in people. And he thinks we can do it."

He was about to ask when it hit him. Henry believes in us to break the curse - the only way possible for two people without magic.

"The kiss," he whispered, eyes wide. She nodded and looked down.

Oh, Emma.

"I'm sorry… didn't work," he managed gently, hoping she understood just how much he meant those words.

"Killian, it's ok, there's no way you could have done anything differently." She dipped the rag into a small pail of water on the floor and squeezed out the excess.

It's not ok. I let you down.

Again.

She was looking down at the crumpled cloth in her fingers. He reached out his hand and held her arm lightly. She met his eyes, hers shining with unshed tears.

"It was… familiar… " he stammered quietly. "We've done that… before?"

She smiled sadly. "Yeah, Killian. We've done that before." Really? How often have I kissed you like that? he wondered.

He grinned then, recalling the term she had taught him just yesterday. "Muscle memory," he breathed.

This time she let out a short laugh. "Yeah, probably."

The smile slid from his face as he turned serious. "Emma… I don't know… if I can… be him..."

I don't know if I can love you like he must love you, or if you'll ever look at me the way you do when you're talking about him.

"Killian, you are him," she said, a confused look on her face.

He shook his head. "Not really," he murmured sadly. ...no matter how much I wish I were, not without any memories of us.

Her eyes filled with tears again as she looked away.

"I know," she said quietly.

He tightened his grasp on her arm, waiting for her to turn back to him.

"I'm willing… to try… " he managed haltingly. "If that's alright…"

He looked at her, really looked at her. She had believed so strongly that he could be her Killian, even after he'd proven himself to be far less competent, that she had tried the kiss with him immediately upon their reunion. He honestly didn't know if he even could love her as much as her Killian so obviously did, but she had been open to trying, and so would he, as long as she'd let him.

"Stay," he whispered. "Please."

She placed her other hand on top of his and squeezed his fingers gently. "I'm not going anywhere," she said quietly. "But you need to promise me something first."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"You need to survive. I can't-" she paused, swallowing hard. "Don't die on me again, ok?"

He nodded once against the pillows. "I'll do my best," he said solemnly.

"Ok," she said as she lifted the damp cloth to his forehead. He watched her for a few moments, struggling as his eyes demanded to close in exhaustion. He was about to give in when he heard her quiet question.

"How long have you been drawing swans, Killian?"

He thought back. He couldn't quite remember the first time he'd sketched one, it was almost second nature at this point. "Don't know exactly… as long as… I can remember," he breathed, blinking heavily. She was quiet.

He remembered her face when she found his drawings earlier, and forced his eyes to open.

"Why?"

"No reason," she replied. She was hiding something, and as much as he needed to sleep, he needed to know what that was.

"Emma," he said, tightening his fingers on her arm. "Why?"

She slowly met his eyes, a grin playing on the corners of her mouth.

"My name," she said softly, "is Emma."

He nodded. I know, but what does that have to do with…?

Her smile grew, almost shyly, before she continued.

"But my full name, is Emma Swan."

He stopped breathing for a moment, the entire world around him halting precariously as he tried to process what she just told him. Swan. No wonder she looked so started on the ship. Her name.

Even without his memories, even as a supposed character in a fairy tale story, he had always been drawn to swans. Their strength, their beauty, their protective qualities - all attributes of the woman who now sat beside him. Any doubts he'd had earlier disappeared the moment she said her name.

Maybe this plan could actually work.

The smile on his face matched hers as he slipped into sleep, his hold on her arm loosening.

"I'll wake you later, when Whale comes," he heard from the edges of consciousness, as he felt her tucking the warm blanket up around his neck.

He murmured back heavily. "As you wish, Emma Swan."

He was asleep before he could hear her soft laugh in response.

Emma woke him later that evening, a cup of foul-smelling, dark tea in her hand.

"Drink this," she said gently. "It'll help when the doc comes."

"What is it?" he mumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Something Whale made, he said it would numb the pain a bit, and it supposedly has some antibiotic properties." He considered it for a moment, regarding her skeptically as he wrinkled up his nose.

"Yeah, it smells gross," she agreed. She slipped her hand behind his head, lifting him from the pillows. "Just drink it."

She put the cup to his lips and he took a sip of the warm drink. He grimaced and pulled away as he swallowed. "I know, it's bad," she said, "but you need it." He just looked at her, lips pressed together tightly, feeling like a child but unwilling to have any more of the terrible tea.

"Please," she begged, nudging the cup forward.

He sighed and opened his mouth for another drink. The second gulp was just as bad as the first, but he managed to choke it down. Barely. The third, though…

He twisted his head away as he tried desperately to swallow the horrible concoction in his mouth. He gulped, clenching his jaw against the rising nausea from his stomach. He really, really wasn't prepared to throw up just now.

He heard her whisper from behind his closed eyes. "One more?"

He shook his head, breathing harder than he should have had to. He heard her put down the cup, but soon she tapped his lips again with the cool metal. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, trying to pull away.

"It's goat's milk, Killian," she urged. "It'll get rid of the taste."

He opened his eyes and looked down. Sure enough, the small tin cup was filled with white milk. He sipped a bit, grateful for the familiar flavor to chase away most of the lingering awfulness of the previous substance. She laid his head back against the pillows and ran her hand across his forehead, smoothing his hair.

"Rest now," she said. "He'll be here soon." She fixed the blanket around his shoulders.

He nodded and closed his eyes, throat still working hard to keep the nauseating effects of disgusting drink down, as he felt her get up from the bed, heard her footsteps as she left the room. He fell back asleep almost instantly.

She woke him again not long afterward.

"Whale's here," she said as he pulled open his eyes. Sure enough, standing beside her was the now-familiar white haired healer.

"I heard you had a boring day today," he said grinning widely. "In my profession, boring is good. Still feverish though, a little more than I'm happy with, but you seem to be perking up nicely. Emma said you drank some of the tea?"

Killian could only nod. He was feeling a better, generally, though he wasn't sure how much was a result of the horrible tea he had earlier. He shuddered at the memory. Or the cold, he couldn't tell which, the blanket that had been wrapped around his chest now pulled back to his knees. He was glad to see he was still wearing his trousers, something he hadn't even considered since he'd first woken up in the bed yesterday.

Whale nodded. "I know how bad it tastes, but it should help. You might feel a bit woozy for a few hours though. Are you ready?"

He nodded again and looked to Emma. Something was different, something-

"Your hair," he whispered to her. It had been pulled back since she had changed into fresh clothing on the ship, but now the long, golden strands hung loosely down her back, a gently wave rippling across it.

She laughed. "Yeah. I finally got a chance to wash it. Can't say I'd stay here for the bathing arrangements though." He must have looked confused because she just chuckled again and pulled her chair closer to the bed. "Just relax, Killian," she said as she bent toward him.

She slid her arm behind his neck, lifting him from the pillow as the healer went around to the other side of the bed. She wrapped her other arm around his knees and slowly turned him on the bed, careful to keep his upper body in line with his legs as she swung his bare feet off the side of the bed. He gasped, biting back a cry as he felt his back being pulled even with her gentle movements.

She pulled him close, laying his head on her shoulder. He panted breathlessly, allowing himself to fully relax against her body, already exhausted though he'd put in no effort of his own. Her hand came up to lay on his chest, just as before, and he could feel the racing of his heart beating beneath her fingers as her other hand ran up and down his left arm.

"I've got you, Killian," she whispered into his hair. He closed his eyes, waiting.

He felt the healer tugging off the bandages from his chest, unwinding them from around him. He heard him "Hmmm" quietly as he poked gently at the stab wound. Killian hissed sharply, tightening his fist around Emma's back as he fought to stay still.

"Your back looks much better than yesterday," Emma said softly above him. He nodded against her shoulder. He could only imagine what "better" looked like, not having seen it before or now, only seeing the resulting bloodied bandages, which seemed pretty bad. He felt a bit lightheaded, but he was sure it was an effect of the numbing tea from earlier and not from the way her hand was rubbing gentle circles on his upper arm, or her fingers pressed tightly against his bare chest.

He heard the man behind him opening a jar. "Try not to move too much, Hook," he said. "It might sting a bit, but it'll feel a whole lot better in a few minutes."

A second later, he felt the medicine man's fingers rubbing something cool and wet across his back. It didn't sting, it burned. He gasped, shifting his back away from the fiery sensation. He could hear Emma whispering quietly in his ear, but he couldn't help the soft groans that slipped out from his lips as he tried to escape the bloom of pain racing along his skin.

His arm wrapped around Emma's back tightly as he held onto her, his head turning toward her neck. He was wheezing now, fiercely hoping he would have another - what was it called? Panic attack? - before Whale was through. Emma's hand pushed against his ribs, her fingers curling in the hairs on his chest, as he focused on pulling in breath after breath, trying desperately to ignore the torment at his back. "Almost done," she whispered in his ear, her breath warm against his cheek. "You're doing great."

He didn't know if he could last much longer. Whatever medicinal properties the tea held, he was sure he still could feel every bit of what was the healer was doing to him. He was tired, he hurt, and he just wanted to sleep. Emma's hands on his fevered skin was the only thing keeping him from letting go and just slipping away with the pain, as he forced himself to keep breathing, keep holding onto her.

"Finished," he heard Whale say, his fingers lifting from his skin. In a few moments, the fire on his back had died down to a throbbing ache, his breaths evening out as he relaxed against her. She never let go as he listened to Whale closing up the jar of whatever salve he had finished spreading on him. She didn't move as Whale wrapped a fresh bandage around his middle. She held him as Whale gave her instructions for dealing with his fever, words he was just too tired to focus on. He just needed to sleep.

She tapped his cheek just then. "Killian, you ok?" she asked softly. He nodded, his nose bumping her neck as he did. He was covered in sweat, from exertion and fever combined, and he was so exhausted he felt like he could just sleep right where he was - resting against her shoulder. But he had to know, he just needed to see her face...

Slowly, tensing his muscles carefully not to pull anything, he sat back from her, supporting himself on the edge of the bed with his hand and blunted wrist. His head felt so heavy, but he forced himself to lift it, to look at her under his own strength. So beautiful, he thought, and not for the first time since he'd met her in this world.

He reached his hand up, balancing on his left arm as he touched the golden hair just behind her ear, his fingers running through the silken strands. His eyes locked on hers as she kept her hand on his chest, her other arm dropping to her lap as she sat frozen in place, her eyes wide as she watched him. He could feel his heart racing as he ran his hand along the smooth skin of her jaw, rubbing his thumb softly over the slight dimple in her chin. Her breath hitched, her eyes shining with a shimmering brightness as she sat before him, but she didn't look away, and neither could he.

He lowered his hand to her arm and held on tightly as he continued to stare at her. I should know this, he thought, suddenly overwhelmed with a fierce longing to remember. I should know her. His thumb stroked the delicate, soft skin at the inner part of her wrist as he desperately tried to pull up the memory. It was like a word at the tip of his tongue, slipping elusively out of his grasp every time he thought he was getting close.

Just who are you, Emma Swan? he wondered. Who are we?

He blinked heavily just then, breaking the spell. Sagging slightly, he leaned into her hand, energy spent. She understood, slipping her arm beneath his knees and lifting his legs back up on the bed. She lay him against the pillows, and this time, it didn't even hurt when his back touched the soft cushions. Deftly, she pulled the covers over him, tucking them around his shoulders at his neck.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, a tear he didn't even know he had slipping swiftly down his cheek. She looked at him, her deep green eyes filled with a sadness and longing he finally, finally understood. "I wish I knew you."

She reached for his hand and held it in her own.

"You will," she murmured as she sat back down on the chair beside him. "Give it time."

He nodded groggily, blinking back any more tears that might have been hiding. He clenched her hand tightly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Killian."

Her sad smile was the last thing he saw before he drifted off.