Killian had to admit, the visit to the doctor's office hadn't been as dire as he'd expected. They'd led Swan and him to a room filled with strange instruments he'd never seen before, but at least Dr. Whale had shown no inclination to bleed him or give him a purgative of any sort. In point of fact, the visit itself had been rather painless.

An annoyingly perky nurse had been the first to enter the examination room. She'd instructed him to step upon a scale after which she'd dutifully noted down his weight. Afterwards, she'd instructed him to sit upon an examination table covered with paper—for sanitary purposes, Swan had stated—where she'd taken note of the rest of his vitals. She'd noted his respiration and pulse, and then used an odd cuff called a sphygmomanometer, which evidently was used to measure the pressure of his blood. That test had concerned him a bit, he must admit. What purpose would the nurse have to know the pressure of his blood other than to determine whether or not some of it would need to be spilt in order to restore him to health?

He'd voiced his concerns to Swan, but she'd merely rolled her eyes. "Killian, let the nurse take your damn blood pressure and stop being a baby!"

He'd complied, but when the woman had attempted to put a thermometer in his mouth, he'd flat out refused. "I will not put such a strange object under my tongue, Swan! What manner of person would even ask such a thing in a civilized society?"

Unfortunately for him, Dr. Whale walked in just as he'd hit his stride with his complaints against the thermometer.

"Come on, Captain Jones," Whale said, as he slid into a chair and glanced over a chart where the nurse had noted his information. "We need to know your temperature so that we can get a good idea of what's going on and treat you appropriately. If you refuse the use of the oral thermometer, I'm sure I can hunt down a rectal one."

Swan had barked out a laugh.

"And just what the bloody hell is a 'rectal thermometer'?" he'd asked.

By the time the doctor had finished explaining the use of a rectal thermometer—and particularly where it was placed—Killian regretted having asked.

"That's positively barbaric," he'd muttered in disgust.

"So, you gonna let the nurse take your temperature the normal way, then, so we can avoid that bit of barbarity?" Whale had asked.

"Aye," Killian muttered finally, dutifully opening his mouth for the offending instrument, which evidently told the doctor he had a slight fever.

The rest of the visit had gone far more smoothly. Dr. Whale had peered into his ears and throat, then he'd used a strange device (a stethoscope, he believed Swan called it) to listen to Killian's breathing, after which the brunt of the examination was over.

"I definitely hear some bronchitis in there, Captain," Whale stated, scribbling in his file, "but the good news is I hear no evidence of pneumonia."

Was Killian supposed to know what those strange terms meant?

Dr. Whale prescribed something called an antibiotic and a tonic to combat his cough. He'd suggested rest and plenty of fluids ("Does rum count?" he'd asked hopefully) and then sent Killian and Emma on their merry way.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Over the course of the next couple of days, Killian followed the doctor's orders to a T. He remained abed. He drank plenty of fluids (sadly, Emma vetoed rum). He dutifully took his medicine. As he swallowed the antibiotics, he liked to imagine the capsules would open and thousands of tiny soldiers, dressed in the uniform of the royal navy would come spilling out to do battle. He imagined the antibiotic soldiers all looked much like Liam or like Emma, while the germs…well, they bore a distinct likeness to the Crocodile.

Emma was bloody brilliant through it all. She cared for and nurtured him in such a way that he felt truly loved and cherished. He'd feared it would overtax her in her condition, but she'd waved his concerns aside, insisting she was in the "sweet spot" of her pregnancy—far enough along that the morning sickness had ended but not far enough along that she'd become uncomfortably large.

She'd even gone so far as to bring him chicken soup the other night. He'd received the offering somewhat warily, well remembering some of Swan's less than successful culinary attempts. She'd laughed and assured him he didn't need to worry. She hadn't prepared the soup; she'd merely picked it up from Granny's.

Yes, all things considered, in the two days since visiting the doctor, Killian had been amazingly docile and obedient.

Now, on the morning of the third day, a change was in order.

Killian was bored. One could only take enforced rest for so long before he began to go mad. Besides, he was beginning to feel better. True, he was a long sight from "well", but he was better. That ought to serve as sufficient reason to break his way free from his house arrest.

He'd been away from his job for far too long; it was time he returned.

Decision made, Killian stepped from the apartment into the blistering July heat and headed for the station. Emma might be surprised to see him, but all things considered, she'd be pleased. Killian could see it. She'd welcome him to the office with a "what are you doing here?" and a big smile.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"What are you doing here?" Emma asked with a scowl. "You know full well you should still be home resting and getting better!"

"But Swan," he said, "I am better!"

Cough! Cough!

"Um-hm," she said, taking his arm and propelling him toward the door. "I can see that. Much, much better."

"Come now, Love," he'd protested Sneeze! Cough! "I am much improved. The tiny antibiotic soldiers have clearly taken the advantage on the battlefield."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, they'll have a lot bigger advantage if that 'battlefield' stays lying down and resting than if he's overtaxing himself. Go home and get some rest."

Killian scowled. "You have need of me. There may be criminals afoot and I intend to be of assistance in bringing them to justice."

"How? By coughing on them?"

The scowl deepened. Emma sighed. Once again he was being as stubborn as her two-year-old brother. What was she going to do with him?

And then an idea formed. A brilliant idea. He wanted to act like a two-year-old? Fine. Emma knew just the person who could handle stubborn two-year-olds in her sleep.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

"Thanks again Mom for taking care of him for me," Emma called as she breezed out of the door of her parents' flat.

Killian was not amused. Swan had arranged for him to stay with a baby sitter. He was to while away the remainder of the day with the Lady Snow and young master Neal. Oh the indignity! Should his former crew see him now they would laugh him to scorn!

Snow patted his arm in a truly motherly fashion, and led him toward the couch in the living room.

"I put Neal down for his nap in our room, but once he wakes up, you can have the bed. Now relax; let me make you a hot drink, soothe that cough a little."

Killian complied, seeing no real choice in the matter. He would go along with Swan's demands…for now. Perhaps it was best to play along for the time being; lull Snow into a false sense of security. And once she was sufficiently distracted with Neal…well, he was a pirate; he was quite adept at escape.

The keys to a successful escape were patience and planning. As Killian drank the hot cocoa Snow brought him, he employed both. After some careful consideration, he decided that his best bet was to convince the Lady Snow that he was perfectly willing to be docile. At present she was eyeing him as closely as a dog afraid someone wished to steal his bone. Swan had been careful to warn her mother that he would likely try to make a run for it, and Snow seemed to be taking her responsibility as the pirate's baby sitter quite seriously.

After drinking the cocoa—which Killian must admit did feel quite soothing—he let the subterfuge begin. Giving an exaggerated yawn, Killian lay down and curled up on the couch. Closing his eyes, he let his breathing even in a credible semblance of sleep.

He heard his mother-in-law step into the room to check on him, and a moment later a blanket covered him from neck to toes. "Sleep well, Killian," she murmured.

It was kind of nice, truth be told, having a motherly presence around to care for him. His own mother had passed when he was too small to remember her, but he'd wager she'd be like this; a calming presence in the midst of the storm. Were it not for the fact that he'd had more than his fill of enforced rest, Killian might enjoy his time spent here with Swan's mother. As it was, come hell or high water, he would break free.

Killian heard Snow make her way up the stairs. Now was his chance. He'd silently slip outside, and once he was free he'd…well, he didn't know what he'd do given Swan's insistance he not return to work, but he'd find something.

He made it to the door and silently began turning the knob. He was going to make it! Freedom was in sight….

"Unca Killy! Unca Killy!"

Killian cursed silently and then slowly turned around. Foiled by a two year old!

Neal Nolan was, of course, Killian's brother-in-law and not his nephew, but the tyke had taken to calling him Uncle Killy and Emma Aunt Em. It was rather endearing, as was the near hero-worship the lad seemed to have for him. Perhaps he could have slipped out while Snow was still occupied elsewhere, but he was loath to break Neal's little heart by simply ignoring him.

"Well, hello there, lad," he said, walking forward to greet the toddler. Neal raised his hands up to him, and Killian obliged by picking him up.

"I thought I heard my little guy!" Snow said, stopping to drop a basket of clean laundry next to the couch. Neal squealed in delight as soon as he saw his mother and squirmed to get out of Killian's arms. Killian set the boy down and grinned as he ran to Snow and threw his arms exuberantly around her legs.

Snow settled her son on her hip and then gave Killian a suspicious look. "Just why are you up? You should be resting."

Killian scratched behind his ear. "Why the lad awoke and wanted his Uncle Killy, of course."

"Um-hm," she said, obviously unconvinced.

Did she realize the mutiny he'd been planning? Perhaps it was best to lie low for a while longer and develop a new plan. "The lad's energy has quite depleted my strength. Perhaps I'd best retire to the bed for a while."

She continued to look at him skeptically for long moments, and finally nodded, gesturing to the bed she shared with the prince. "Neal," she said, never taking her eyes off Killian, "Uncle Killy's sick so we're going to take care of him. We need to make sure he stays here and gets lots of good rest."

Half an hour later Killian thought he had his chance. Snow disappeared upstairs in search of something while Neal happily played with his blocks on the far side of the living room. Killian would need to be quick; he had mere moments, but it was now or never. If he ever hoped to escape Swan's mother's motherly clutches, this was it.

Killian removed his shoes and crept silently to the door. He was going to make it this time. He knew it. Just a few more inches…

"No, no, Unca Killy!" came the admonishing little voice from the far side of the room. "You stay! Mama said!"

Killian's shoulders sagged in defeat. How was he to prevail with the bronchitis, his wife, his mother-in-law, his miniature brother-in-law, and seemingly all the forces of the universe aligned against him?

"Right you are, lad," he said on a sigh that gradually turned into a cough. "It would be most unwise to cross Mama."

Shaking his head, he crept back to bed.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

In the end, the foe slunk away like a craven coward. It had been gradually retreating for some days, but it wasn't until Saturday morning, a good week and a half since he'd fallen ill, that Killian realized the enemy had turned tail and run. He finally felt the very picture of health. His antibiotic army was victorious at last!

Killian looked over at Emma, still fast asleep on her side of the bed, and smiled tenderly. She'd done so much for him during his convalescence, he wished to return the favor. Careful not to disturb her, he slipped from the bed and padded out to the kitchen. Perhaps breakfast in bed was in order.

As he scrambled eggs and buttered toast and diced fruit, Killian hummed under his breath, grateful beyond words that his formidable foe had finally been defeated.

He was putting the final touches on the tray he meant to bring to his love when he felt her slim arms wrap around him from behind. "Morning, Killian."

And then she moved forward, tugging his head down to her, kissing him as though the world was coming to an end. After a moment of surprise, Killian wrapped his arms around her and returned the embrace with interest. He'd missed this! He'd missed her!

Finally, the need for oxygen won out, and Killian pulled back, devilish grin firmly in place. "Well good morning to you, too, love. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She reached up and caressed his cheek. "You're better. I can tell."

"Aye, darling, that I am. I suppose your enthusiastic greeting means we need no longer fear I will pass the germs to you?"

"Seems that way," she said. "So, I was thinking..."

He raised an eyebrow. From the grin on her lips and the slight pink hue to her cheeks he suspected he was going to quite like the direction her thoughts were taking her. "Aye?"

"You know, Henry's staying with Regina for the weekend, so it's just the two of us."

"Aye."

Emma caressed her belly "And we only have a few months until this little one decides to greet the world."

"Aye, true enough."

"You know how it is with a baby. Our free time, our alone time will be much harder to come by. So I thought we should take advantage of it while we can."

Killian grinned, then leaned down and kissed her long and deep. "And just what did you have in mind for our free time today love?"

"I did promise I'd take that long hot bath with you if you agreed to see the doctor."

Killian settled his hands—real and prosthetic on her hips, and his grin widened. "It would be quite bad form to renege on your promise."

"Yeah," she agreed with a smile. "So I thought we could start with that bath and then see how things go from there."

Killian rather liked the way his wife's mind worked.

Notes:

-So now this really is finished. I'm hoping Killian's victory over his formidable foe will scare my own formidable foe into surrendering as well!

-Killian's doctor's appointment was very similar to my own—except, of course, I didn't put up a fuss when the nurse took my blood pressure, and the doctor didn't have to threaten me with a rectal thermometer! Also, I have next to no medical knowledge, but I did take note of the official term for the blood pressure cuff thing while I was waiting for the doctor to show up, so I figured I'd bring it in to make myself look smart. :-p

-I really like Captain Charming interaction, but I'd also like Killian to spend some time with Snow. I feel like those two didn't really hit it off at the start, but now Snow sees how happy he makes her daughter. I think they could have a really nice dynamic as well. I also see Snow as becoming even more motherly now that she has a baby she can actually raise, so I thought it would be nice to give her a chance to mother Killian while he was sick.

-Between Mama Snow and two-year-old Neal, Killian didn't have a chance! There was no way he was making it out of the Charming flat that day!