a/n: So this is another angsty chapter... but I promise things will be better soon :) This chapter is also a little shorter than usual but it's where I wanted to end it, but I do have a lot of the next chapter written so I should be able to get that up soon! Also I've had quite a lot of people ask if Ruby is alive (poor Elsa, no one seems to ask about her) and all I'm going to say is that its not too long until you find out.

Thank you so much for reading! and reviews make me so so happy :)

Technically searching the spaceliner in the dead of night should be no different than searching it in the middle of the day. No matter the time, the flashlight is all Emma has as a source of light.

But somehow it is different. In the night the darkness seems more opaque, thicker almost. The blackness practically smothering her as it presses in at her from all sides. The stream of light from her flashlight cuts through it easily but causes sinister shadows to dance at the edge of her vision. They're never real though, disappearing as soon as she turns to look at them.

It doesn't help that ever since Killian woke in a fevered delirium she's had this choking feeling that's been trying to claw its way out of her chest. Fear and anxiety tear at her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

She's scared to leave Killian alone for too long, worried that too much time away from him could be deadly. So she creates a systematic way to balance searching for the medicine and going back to check on him.

Thirty doors. She opens thirty doors, and searches through thirty rooms before she turns around and goes back to make sure he's alive and trickle some water down his throat. Then in spite of how little sleep she's gotten or how heavy her body feels, she races to the spaceliner to do it all again.

Each time she makes a trip back Emma takes a quick detour into the kitchens and blindly shoves as much food as she can into the pack. She doesn't want to waste time not searching for medicine, but it's on the way out and she also doesn't want to waste the countless trips she's making into the spaceliner. So she rationalizes one minute worth of stocking up on supplies, telling herself that the food she's grabbing is going to help Killian regain his strength.

She loses track of how many trips she makes. The dark of the night fades to the light of the morning and before she knows it the sun has once again disappeared beneath the horizon.

Her flashlight begins to dim and so she turns it off, only using it when she needs to. She's been back and forth enough times to have the place memorized. These dark hallways have engrained themselves into her brain. She knows how far she needs to walk pass the laundry room until the hallway divides. She knows to take the path on the right because the left leads to a dead end, and she knows exactly where to locate the stairway because she knows that none of the doors on that level lead to the sick bay.

Emma gets increasingly frustrated with herself as time goes on. She's been on this ship throughout her life more times than she can count. Especially recently, with her parents shipping her off every chance they could, intent on keeping her safe. She should know where the sick bay is—but she can't remember ever needing it. She'd never been sick or injured during any of her trips.

No. She'd never needed it. But Ruby had, and that means she's been there at least once.

The memory tickles at the edge of her recollection—teasing her as it hides just out of reach. She remembers that the lights were bright and the room had the sharp smell of sanitizer, but she can't remember where it is.

She can't remember which level they were on or which hallway they walked down as Emma supported an ill Ruby to the sick bay.

Ruby.

Her eyes sting at the thought of her friend. It's been a while since she's let herself think of Ruby or Elsa, and oh how she misses them. It's a pain that knocks her breathless and leaves her gasping. She's lost them—and she can't help but feel like she's about to lose Killian. She's drowning in how helpless and terrified she feels, unsure how to reach the surface and breathe again.

Suddenly the darkness spins around her, dizziness stealing her balance. Placing a hand against the wall to catch herself she closes her eyes and waits for the light-headedness to end.

She's exhausted—physically and emotionally, and she doesn't think she's eaten anything since the broth she made Killian.

Sliding down the wall Emma brings her knees to her chest and lets her head fall back against the steel behind her. Ten seconds. That's all she gives herself. Ten seconds to be weak, to let the tears slip out and wallow in how hopeless she feels. Then she takes a steadying breath and reaches deep inside herself to find the strength she needs.

Killian is counting on her and she can't afford to think so hopelessly. She has five more rooms to look through before its time to go back and check on him. Emma forces herself to stand, drags her heavy limbs from the floor and keeps walking.

No matter how tired she is or how frayed her emotions are, she has to keep moving.

Just like he is every time, Killian is unconscious when she makes it back to camp. With a thud she lets the pack on her back fall to the ground and begins putting the food stores away with the other supplies she's gathered. The fire is almost completely out so she tosses in some more kindling and prods it back to life.

Crawling over to Killian she grabs the rag from the pot of water she has set up and begins bathing his skin, smoothing the cool cloth along his face, chest, and arms. Then, lifting his head she trickles some water into his mouth and waits for him to swallow weekly a few times.

He groans when she gently lays his head back down, and Emma runs her fingers through his hair to try and soothe him.

"Killian," she whispers, tracing the backs of her fingers against his cheeks. His skin is just so hot. The apples of his cheeks are flushed, a stark contrast to the otherwise paleness of his skin.

Emma's hands tremble as she reaches for his injured arm. Irritated red lines have begun sneaking their way from underneath the bandage and are traveling up the inside of his arm. She swallows thickly and traces her thumb along one of the angry lines.

Her insides feel as though they are crumbling, unraveling until there is nothing left but a gaping hole that fills her with a horror more intense than any she's ever experienced before. She tries to still her shaking and runs her hands gently across his brow and through his hair as though simply her touch could take away his illness.

Emma's eyes burn as she tries to hold in her tears. "Please," she breathes as she eases down to lie beside him, pressing her forehead to his temple and feeling the heat from his fever warm her skin. "Please, don't leave me," her words are just a whisper, a gentle caress of air against his skin.

She lets out a shaky breath before placing a gentle kiss against his cheek and settling back down to her previous position. Her eyes close as a few silent tears slip down her face, "Killian, come back to me."

But despite her desperate pleas he remains lost in unconsciousness.

Emma places her hand tenderly against his chest. The gentle rise and fall it takes with his every breath, and the steady rhythm of his heart, brings her the smallest bit of comfort.

She needs to keep searching the spaceliner, she needs to find him medicine. But she hasn't slept in over a day and she'll be no good to him if she ends up collapsing from exhaustion. Just an hour of rest and then she'll go back to searching, but even those few precious minutes feel like ones she cannot spare.

So Emma has to force herself to try and sleep, jolting awake every twenty minutes, her heart clenched in fear as she checks on Killian. Once she determines that his state has not worsened, she lets her eyes fall closed again and returns to a fitful state of rest.

By the time she gets up and begins making her way back to the spaceliner, she's hardly slept at all.