She is deep into the Brothers Grimm's version of Cinderella. Quiet moments have been less rare to the point where Emma actually has time to do some reading. For pleasure. Not the thousand-years-old, heavy-as-fuck, no-way-am-I-dragging-this-around-and-no-Killian-this-is-not-the-Kamasutra-on-my-nightstand-how-do-you-even-know-what-Kamasutra-is spellbooks, which Regina still lends her occasionally, more to torment her than to educate her Emma is sure.
So Emma decided to familiarize herself with any and all versions of the fairytales she now lives it. Needless to say that Henry was ecstatic. Needless to say that Henry finished Cinderella 2 weeks ago. Emma still hasn't. Which is probably why she is doing her damnest to focus on the story and totally misses the sound of the front door opening, boots hitting the ground and feet shuffling towards the bedroom.
It is, however, quite hard to miss the pirate who plops down on the bed next to her – face first and groaning as if he has just run a marathon. Which, yeah, okay, she guesses sailing is also taxing but that has never stopped Killian from coming home with a megawatt smile before. Especially when he has been out on the water with Henry.
"Hey," Emma reaches over, ruffling his hair and trying not to laugh at the pitiful grumbling that comes from the depths of the pillow he has his face stubbornly buried in. "Henry tire you out?"
Killian mumbles something she can't even begin to decipher.
"Huh?"
A somewhat similar and just as undecipherable mumbling makes Emma sigh heavily and pull lightly on the ends of his hair.
"Babe, you realize I don't get any of that, right?"
The long-suffering sigh though she hears quite well, as Killian lifts his head the barest amount and plops back down with one eye now focused on her.
"The lad was a valuable first mate as always, Swan. Water was calm, the horizon clear. Bloody hell, even Regina was nice when I dropped Henry off. She asked if I wanted pie."
Emma's eyebrows jump up, propelled by a combination of surprise and amusement, but then she takes another look at her pirate and frowns.
"Well, yeah. You look miserable enough that I wouldn't put it past Gold to offer you a cup of tea right now."
Killian gives her a heavy-lidded but clearly unimpressed look.
"Although, you should probably pass on the pie, if it's an apple one."
He snorts at that and Emma grins at her small victory.
"Now," she tosses her book to the side, sighing just a second later when she realizes she didn't even bother to mark her page, and slips lower on their bed, her hand leaving Killian's hair to travel down his stiff neck and to the tense muscles on his back. "What's up with you?"
"I honestly don't know, love," Killian sighs again, more resigned than anything else. "I feel like my every muscle has been stiff and aching since the crack of dawn."
Emma tries to keep any lewd comments to herself. If Killian is passing such a chance for innuendoes, things must be serious.
"I thought it would go away once I stretched and went about our day on the Jolly. But I'm afraid I miscalculated and the lad didn't have the most exciting of days."
"I'm sure Henry had a great time – you, the Jolly Roger, the open sea – sold, as he would say," Emma reassures him, shifting on her hands and knees and moving to straddle Killian's hips so she can properly kneed his tense muscles.
It earns her a groan of mixed pleasure and pain and Killian sinking even deeper into his pillow.
"Have I told you that you have magical hands, love?"
"Please tell me that pun was not intended," she says but her shoulders shake with silent laugher as she slips forward to rub at his shoulders and plant a kiss at the nape of his neck.
"I mean that in every way possible, Swan."
"I'm sure you do, Captain."
/
Emma scrunches her eyebrows, reaching blindly for her phone, the alarm piercing her eardrums like tiny arrows. Very annoying tiny arrows. She grabs the damn thing and opens one eye to witness the miracle that is her finger hitting the 'Snooze' button. And then she hears a groan beside her.
The hell?
Killian is never still in bed when she wakes up. Not unless he has snuck back in to wake her up in a way much more approved than the one her alarm provides. But sure enough, when Emma turns her head to the side, both eyes wide open now, she can see his form, huddled under the blankets and suspiciously far away from her.
"Killian?"
No reply.
"Hey, baby, are you okay?" Emma rolls over so she can wrap an arm around her boyfriend's waist and nuzzle her nose into the skin of his neck.
His very hot skin.
Emma props herself up on her elbow and wiggles a hand free from the confines of the blankets so that she can press it to his forehead.
"God, Killian, you're burning up."
The pirate finally rolls over, his body coming even closer and now she can almost feel the heat radiating from him.
"Swan, I believe I'm feeling a bit under the weather," he states with an adorable furrow of his eyebrows, in a tone that suggest that he is offering her brand new information.
It also suggests that his nose is already out of commission.
"No shit, Sherlock."
His frown deepens and she mentally scrolls down Henry's list of movies for Killian and decides that he will probably prefer the books anyway.
"I think I'll remain in bed awhile longer," he mutters and tries to roll away from her.
"Hey, hey, not so fast!" Emma grabs his shoulder to keep him in place and his attempts to resists her are tellingly weak. "Does anything hurt?"
"Same as yesterday."
Killian tips his head backwards in what looks suspiciously like an attempt to get some air in through his nose. An unsuccessful attempt.
"Anything else?" she asks, hand coming up to his face and thumb brushing over his bottom lip, already slightly cracked from dehydration.
"My accursed head in pounding, my throat hurts, I feel like I've spent a year in the bloody desert and I cannot breathe. Otherwise… how do you say it? Peachy?"
She snorts out a laugh, brushing his hair away from his slightly sweaty forehead and taking the opportunity to feel his temperature again.
"You're definitely running a fever. I'll go grab you some Tylenol, alright?"
"No, Swan, you don't ne-"
But she is already out of the door and all he can do is sigh and curse his bloody useless nose.
/
"I haven't been ill in 40 years," Killian grumbles as he swallows the pills and she goes to roll her eyes and quip back when she realizes it's quite possible that he is serious.
Emma is ready to bet that 40 sick-free years culminate in one hell of a man-flu.
"You're going to be late," he mutters as he puts the glass of water she brought him on his nightstand and slips back down in their bed with a groan.
"Late?" she frowns at him in confusion.
"Mm," Killian nods distractedly, his eyes already half-closed. "I'm afraid I won't be meeting you for lunch today, love."
"Meeting me for lunch?" she sounds dumb but what?
"Well, I could try, if you insists," Killian replies, his face scrunching up at the thought of getting out of bed. "But you'd have to show me how to set one of those alarms 'cause I will probably need it to wake up and come to Granny's."
Why would he- Oh. Oh, right, her boyfriend is an idiot. How does she keep forgetting that?
"Killian, you're sick, I'm not going to work and you're most certainly not going anywhere. I already texted David, I'm sure he can handle villain-less, little Storybrooke for a day," she goes to the wardrobe to get him a couple of extra pillows. "So no need for alarms."
"Why would you forgo work?" he asks in pure confusion and that adorable line forms between his eyebrows again and Emma would be amused if she wasn't feeling indignation rise up inside her.
"You're sick!"
"Aye, and I shall remain in bed for a few hours longer and feel better. I'm sure your healing pills will also aid me."
"Yeah, but-"
Emma waves at him and gives him a look that tells him he is supposed to get it but he is nothing if not flummoxed by her behaviour.
"Ugh, trust Captain Hook not to know how to utilize the man-flu," she sighs, climbing back into bed and arranging the extra pillows around him which earns her a grateful if still somewhat perplexed look.
"Man-flu? Is that some sort of decease that befalls only the men in your realm?"
Emma snorts in amusement, sitting beside him and letting her hand fall back to stroking his messy hair. Killian apparently isn't worried enough about her being late to not shift a little closer so his cheek is pressed to her thigh.
"You could say that. But not really. Everybody gets the flu, it's just that men seem to complain a lot more than women when they do."
"Well, I'd say that's rather ridiculous," he says somewhat indignantly even as his voice is low and growing more scratchy. "What's the use of complaining?"
"I don't know. It makes you feel better? I mean not better as in healthier but… better like when you yell at the table when you hit your toe on it."
He gives her an incredulous look and Emma thinks that she has never felt their age difference more acutely than in that moment of frustrating maturity on Killian Jones' part.
"I don't know, okay? Not like I've had anyone to complain to either."
His face softens at that and he turns to rub his nose against her thigh. Emma laughs softly, hand running through his slightly sweaty hair.
"I don't know if you're being all comforting and affectionate or just using me as a handkerchief."
Killian pulls back with an affronted look on his face. Which is totally ruined when he sneezes in the next moment. Emma loses it right then and there and the way the tips of his ears turn a slightly deeper shade of pink does not help her in the slightest.
"I'm sorry," she waves her hand in an attempt to stop the tears of laughter. "I'm gonna get you some tissues and make you some tea, okay?"
He seems busy with pouting until she is almost out of the door.
"Emma, truly, you don't have t-"
"My love," she points a threatening finger at him, mirth still dancing in her eyes but laughter tamed for the time being and he immediately grows silent, the way he always does when she calls him that, eyes filling with that special brand of awe that he reserves for her and her open displays of affection. "Hush and don't you dare get out of bed."
/
She won't go as far as to say that Killian takes well to being taken care of. But he tries and so does she.
He is grateful for the tea but annoyed at her refusal to add rum to it. He looks a bit gobsmacked when she brings him chicken soup that is more or less the product of an hour-long phone conversation with Snow. He eats all of it and then reaches for the water with something close to desperation and it's only when she tastes it that Emma realizes the thing is 50% salt.
He is rather unimpressed with the way she boops his reddening nose and calls him Rudolf (he gets that reference alright, Christmas movie fiends that Henry and Snow are) so she tries to resists doing it more than twice. Maybe three times.
It takes her 25 freaking minutes to convince him to use nose spray but only about 5 to talk him into letting her sneak back into bed with him when he starts shivering. He concedes to spooning because he claims that it reduces the chance of her catching whatever it is he is suffering from ("It's a common flu, Killian! People here don't get sick once a decade.") and she pushes her leg between his own and sneaks her arm around him so that she can lay her hand over his stump and feel the raised skin and buries her nose in the slightly damp hair at the nape of his neck and thinks that she enjoys being the big spoon quite a bit.
But apparently the place where Killian draws the line is the bathroom door.
"Swan, being sick is not a group activity," comes through said door only seconds before he seems to get rid of the rest of her soup-making attempt.
She stands outside, tapping her foot for 10 minutes before her patience runs out and she turns the handle.
Killian is sitting on the tiled floor, head leaned back on the wall and eyes closed. He is disturbingly pale and miserable as hell and Emma watches how his Adam apple bobs and he winces slightly upon swallowing. She moves around the bathroom, wetting a towel, filling a glass of water and taking out some throat lozenges from the cabinet above the sink.
She sinks on the floor beside him, feet tucked under her and knees pressed to his thigh and Killian gives her a dirty look but is obviously too exhausted to protest her overstepping 'the line'.
"Here," she hands him the glass and wipes his face with the cold towel once he is done drinking.
The pirate can protest all he wants, she is there when he sighs in relief at the cooling sensation and she is there when he leans his head on her shoulder. After a couple of minutes she takes a chance and sneaks an arm around him and he only huffs a little. Her luck runs out when she starts peppering his head with kisses - a torrent of mumbled protests and his nose digging into her collarbone, trying to evade her, and accusations of being 'bloody obnoxious' all the thanks she gets.
But she just laughs and tugs him closer and gives him a lozenge and eventually he is kissing said collarbone and murmuring about her being a 'bloody angel'.
"You suck on these," Emma clarifies with a small, teasing smile. "Don't swallow, keep it in your mouth."
"Such strict instructions, sheriff," he peaks up and waggles his eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes and knows he will be just fine.