A/N: Just wanted to let you guys know that I'm going away for a week to a rural town as part of my course, and I won't have internet access (therefore no updating).

This story is just some rather silly Emma/Knightley fluff. Hope you enjoy – please tell me what you think!

You've Got Some Nerve

When Mr. Knightley awoke that morning, he smiled to see his dearest Emma's head pillowed against his arm, but then suddenly he winced at the sharp pain which radiated its way down that arm.

Earlier that night he had felt the beginnings of pain and numbness in that arm after she had rested her head there for a while, but he had said nothing, unwilling to wake her, for she had looked so peaceful and happy in her slumber.

Happy to be married to him. Indeed the first few weeks of their marriage had been blissful, and he had never been so wildly, gloriously happy in his life before. Surely that made up for the slight – he winced again as he tried to move his arm – discomfort in his arm from her chosen sleeping position.

However, that morning, after Emma had woken up, he was alarmed when the sensation did not come flooding back into his arm as it usually did within minutes of its being freed from beneath her head. There was a tingling sort of pain in his upper arm, but he could not feel anything on the back of his forearm or the back of his hand, and his movement was limited. Although he could flex his elbow, he had difficulty extending his arm, and his hand hung limply from his wrist.

He was still regarding his arm with horror when Emma returned from the dressing room, and her face fell as she took in his expression. 'George, whatever is the matter?'

'It's my arm,' he finally whispered. 'It seems to have lost most of its feeling.'

Dr. Perry was called to Hartfield that morning, although he had been instructed to act as if it were merely a courtesy call to Mr. Woodhouse. Neither Emma nor Mr. Knightley wished to worry her father, and his concerns had already been slightly excited by the instance of their opting to take breakfast in their own room instead of coming down to the dining room and joining him.

His fears had been that their trip to the seaside the week before had finally caught up with them and that they had taken ill, although their real intention had been to conceal the malady from him as long as possible, and by taking breakfast in their room, Emma could feed her husband without having to provide an explanation for why he could not do so himself.

Finally after Dr. Perry had talked to Mr. Woodhouse sufficiently long enough, he made an excuse about wanting to consult Mr. Knightley on a matter of magistrate's business, and retired to the room that gentleman had appropriated as his study in Hartfield. A worried Mr. Knightley, and his painfully anxious wife awaited him.

'So what seems to be the problem, sir?' he asked.

Wordlessly, Mr. Knightley extended his arm, and his hand hung limply at his wrist. Perry looked from Mr. Knightley to his wife, and shook his head slowly. 'Oh dear,' he said.

Emma did not retain much of the information that Dr. Perry related to her about a plexus of nerves at the top of his arm being compressed, resulting in injury to one of them which supplied movement and sensation to many of the muscles and much of the skin of his arm and forearm.

Two facts stood out in her mind: one, that Mr. Knightley, although almost certain to fully recover in time, would have limited sensation and movement in his arm for some months while the nerve regenerated, and would have to wear a sling; and two, that the compression had resulted from her sleeping with her head on his arm. It was all her fault. Her own beloved Mr. Knightley was injured and would be disabled for months at least, and it was all her own doing.

Dr. Perry had not said as much, but upon concluding his examination and explanations, had said that it was a malady he had observed before in the newly married. He had looked rather embarrassed and had not said any more, but comprehension immediately flooded the faces of both husband and wife, and her face drained of all colour.

It was her fault, all her fault.

Due to the visible presence of the sling it had been necessary to tell Mr. Woodhouse something. They had finally decided on explaining it as a sprain of the wrist from Mr. Knightley's having assisted in some physical labour at one of the Donwell farms as he had been on occasion known to do when it had to be done, as the true reason would no doubt strengthen his opinion that marriage was the root cause of all misery.

Mr. Woodhouse lamented his son-in-law's folly in risking himself in such activity and urged him to take some gruel; however, Mr. Knightley was not feeling anywhere near ill enough to actually do so. He would have to be at death's door to go that far, and even then he feared that the insipid taste of that sloppy mess would rather hasten his demise than otherwise.

That night after changing into her nightgown, Emma had hurried off to her own part of their adjoining bedchamber where she had never yet spent a night. There she collapsed onto the bed, with the same thoughts spiralling around her head.

She must stay away from Mr. Knightley at least until he had recovered; she must not risk making him worse by sharing a bed with him. For what if, during her sleep, she somehow positioned herself in her usual way with her head on his arm?

If Mr. Knightley had not married her, he would not now be injured; or if she had only given him some space, if she had not been all over him, then he would not now be suffering not only pain but also the loss of sensation and movement, which would be an impairment not only to simple daily tasks such as dressing, grooming and eating, but also to his business at Donwell. Thank goodness it had been his left arm, but it was still quite bad enough as it was.

And it was her fault. She tried to muffle her sobs into her pillow. It was all her fault.

Mr. Knightley, assuming Emma had gone to her chamber to fetch a brush or a book or something she had left there, waited for some minutes, but when she had not returned after a quarter of an hour, he grew worried. Had something happened to her? Had she fallen ill?

Or, if possible still more worrying, did she not wish to stay with him because he was not even strong enough to withstand injury from such a cause?

It did not bear thinking of, and the only way to stop the doubts and insecurities preying upon him was to seek her out and find out from her what the matter was. Without further delay he made his way to her chamber.

At the door, raising his uninjured hand he knocked, unwilling to invade her private space if she truly did not wish to see him. 'Come in,' she said, and he was alarmed to note that her voice trembled.

When he entered, the first thing he noticed was her red eyes and when she saw him, fresh sobs tore their way out of her throat, and he was instantly at her side. 'My dearest Emma, whatever is the matter?'

As he wrapped his uninjured arm around her, she sobbed into his shirt, her voice rather muffled. '...you're hurt... all my fault...'

He almost laughed in relief. 'Oh Emma,' he said gently, 'it is not your fault. If anything, it's mine – I have a voice; if I had used it, I could have asked you to move your head. I had enough warning from the pain and numbness.'

He waited until her breathing slowed and her sobs had gradually faded to the occasional small gasp. 'Will you come back to bed now?'

She looked up at him, but still she hesitated. 'But what if I accidentally hurt you by resting my head against your arm in my sleep?'

'I promise you that if you do so, I will immediately wake you – no matter how beautiful and peaceful you look – and ask you to move your head,' he said. 'Will you come now?'

She was looking more amenable than before and yet she still had doubts. 'Are you absolutely sure?'

Mr. Knightley smiled. 'My arm may have lost most of its feeling, my dear Emma, but I can assure you that I have not.'

A/N: Being a medical student is starting to take over my life, LOL... the condition Mr. Knightley has in this story is known colloquially as 'honeymooner's palsy', and it's an injury of the radial nerve of the brachial nerve plexus in the arm, due to a sleeping partner's head compressing it for a long time. It's also called 'Saturday night palsy' when the cause is due to falling into a deep (usually intoxicated) sleep with one's arm flung over a chair. The root cause is therefore either excessive love or excessive alcohol ;-)