Playing the Part Epilogue: Superboy and the Invisible Girl (Reprise)
Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 Ch. 16 Ch. 17 Ch. 18
A/N: We made it, guys! Thanks for sticking with me through the slowest slow burn ever. I like to think it paid off.
Title taken from “Next to Normal”. Full disclosure, there is not a reprise of “Superboy and the Invisible Girl” in the musical. However, a reprise oftentimes takes the original song and builds upon it, adding extra verses to show development in plot. It seemed appropriate for this chapter, which has echoes of Chapter 13 (Also called Superboy and the Invisible Girl).
One last round of thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta services, and an extra thank you to everyone who’s reblogged, liked, commented, or messaged me about this!
Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this sappy conclusion!
Four years later
“Welcome back to Sign Off, everybody!”
Emma knows that Killian will do his ear scratch when he finds her watching his segment, but she wouldn’t miss this for the world. It’s like reliving a little bit of their history. Plus, it’s not every day that your spouse is on national television; skipping this would earn her “Bad Wife” points, or something.
He’s still bashful as he walks out, still kind of ducks his head when he waves and acts like he’s embarrassed to be there. You’d think after several years of magazine interviews and newspaper profiles and talk show appearances he’d lose some of that shyness and uncertainty, or at least get used to it, but some things never change. It’s a damn good thing she finds it cute.
Archie is as charming as ever, shaking Killian’s hand with an enthusiasm usually reserved for inside jokes. That’s just who the host is, though. “So, it’s been a while since we saw you last. I hear a few things have happened.”
“Oh, just a few.”
Hopper starts pulling out photos. “Pride and Prejudice was a hit.”
“Yes, a great group effort. They just closed a few months ago, congrats to everyone involved.”
The host shows a picture from his Tony speech. “You won a Tony for playing Mr. Darcy.”
“So they tell me. My brother kidnapped the statue.”
(That’s only halfway true. Yes, Liam had taken the statue for a while, setting up a popular Instagram account to display all the places he took the golden figure. One of those places had been Henry’s 6th grade English class, turning her son into a middle school celebrity for a couple of months. Though bringing Liam and Killian along with the award probably had something to do with that, too.)
Emma can just spot the Tony now from where she sits, bookending a cluster of novels on the top shelf of the bookshelf in her and Killian’s apartment. It had been a little bittersweet, leaving her old apartment where she and Henry had both grown and flourished, but she and Killian had both agreed that they would need more space. It’s worth it, anyways, to wake up next to Killian every day in a place that’s theirs. Emma misses living next door to Elsa some days, but now that Henry’s fifteen her supervision isn’t quite so needed anymore anyways. It would have come to an end regardless when Elsa had moved in with Liam in his fancy apartment. Emma instead contents herself with the knowledge that Elsa’s job at the Met - her dream job, really - means she and Liam will be based in New York for the foreseeable future, even if the latter occasionally does have to leave for filming in other locations. Killian likes to joke about his brother and Elsa “living in sin”, like they hadn’t done the same thing, but it does mean they still get to see Liam and Elsa fairly often.
Her real Killian walks back into the living room at that point. “Oh Christ, not this drivel. Emma, I’m embarrassed enough as it is, let’s find something else to watch.” He may gripe and groan, but he still collapses onto the couch beside her, letting out an appreciative and exhausted sigh.
“Oh, I’m watching this, babe,” she replies, smiling over at Killian before burrowing her head into his side. She knows by this point that he’s all bark; he’s a pushover, really, especially where his family is concerned.
She must have missed the introduction of his latest movie project – an interesting project portraying Pan as the villain of Neverland with Killian playing Captain Hook as a misunderstood rogue – because there’s publicity stills up on the screen when she redirects her attention back that way.
“My stepson’s a little upset, really, because he had the idea first,” the Killian on the screen explains. “Which, trust me, was not the reaction I was hoping for.”
“Hey, that was almost funny,” Emma comments, nudging him in the side as the audience laughs.
“It’s embarrassing, is what it is,” Killian grouses. It must be that thing where actors don’t like seeing their own work - Emma’s read about that before. It’s not going to stop her from affectionately picking at him, though, and it’s not going to keep her from watching the whole thing.
“And on a personal note, does everyone remember this moment from last time?” Archie asks, cutting to the clip of Killian talking about a certain prickly and dedicated stage manager. When the camera cuts back, she knows what’s coming, and smiles when she feels Killian press a kiss to her head as the host pulls out a copy of their wedding photo. “Well good news to all those shipping that on the internet, because you two tied the knot!” The audience cheers, and as Emma watches televised Killian grin widely, she thinks that’s the most comfortable she’s ever seen him in an interview. “Now, how long have you two been married now?”
“Coming up on two years, three months from now.”
He’d proposed one evening when Emma had least expected it. They’d talked about marriage before - considering that they were living together and in a committed relationship, having that conversation seemed like the responsible thing to do - but it had been a lovely surprise all the same. Killian had been waiting with the ring when she got home from work on a Wednesday, on bended knee and everything in their little foyer with Henry filming just around the corner. Killian had explained later, after the yes and the ring and an awful lot of kissing, that it had seemed important to make his proposal a family affair and include Henry. He loves her son, just as much as he loves her (albeit in a different way); Emma knows that, but it still means a lot that he’d included her son in their major life moment in that way. Henry had been a part of their love story, after all.
(Emma suspects that there may have been a conversation between Killian and Henry before the proposal as well where Killian had asked her son for her hand, but neither of them has ever fessed up to it, and she’s okay with leaving that as a man-to-man moment if they prefer it.)
The wedding had been a low-key affair, much to Mary Margaret’s dismay - just a little courthouse ceremony. Emma had never been the big white wedding type, though, had never had those dreams as a child. Now that she’s faced with the opportunity for all that, she finds that she doesn’t really want or need it. At the end of the day, they just want to be married; they love each other, almost to distraction, and waiting any longer than absolutely necessary feels like too great a burden.
Still, they’d done it up as much as the quick circumstances allowed. Emma had bought a clearance wedding dress that swished around her calves, and Killian had taken Henry to get a nice suit - his first, the sleeves and legs given extra length to be let out as the growth spurt from hell inevitably continued so they could get more than one use out of the damn thing. They had even arranged for a bouquet and boutonnières, even if Emma doesn’t know anything about flowers. As soon as Liam had arrived back in the city from filming in Atlanta, they had gathered all their friends and family on a dark Monday and made it official.
Henry stood as Best Man. Mary Margaret cried. Ruby wolf-whistled. And Emma had never been happier as Killian dipped her into a dramatic kiss.
“Are you happy, my love?” he’d whispered into her ear later at Granny’s. The older woman had gladly donated her diner for the reception, closing for the occasion so they could all eat cake and dance to jukebox hits.
“What do you think?” she’d quipped right back, before laughing and drawing him down into a kiss. It feels like they’ve come full circle; it feels like home.
(She may still be Emma Swan professionally, but there’s a certain thrill to hearing Mrs. Jones.)
“And one more thing…” Archie continues on the TV, drawing Emma’s attention back to the screen. If possible, televised Killian grins even wider: if what she thinks is about to happen is actually about to happen, she doesn’t blame him in the least. “… You two had a little girl.” The photo on the screen is a sweet one of her little fingers curled around Killian’s thumb. Emma knows it well; it hangs in the nursery, right next to the rocker where Emma’s lately been spending what feels like half her nights.
“We did. She just turned five months old last week.”
“And her name? If you guys are ok to announce it.”
“Hazel Elizabeth Jones.” The audience aws, which the tiny baby propped in her Papa’s arms here in their living room seems to find objectionable as she starts squirming and snuffling. “Emma and I thought it would be appropriate to pay homage to the show where we met.”
They’d had it in mind from the start, ever since they’d found out they were having a girl. There’d been a good bit of debate and waffling back and forth about the first name, but they’d always agreed on Elizabeth for the middle. Hazel hadn’t actually been on the shortlist, just something that’d they’d discussed and put aside, but then she’d arrived - six pounds four ounces, dark hair, loud cry, perfect, and it had just… fit. If there’s one thing Emma’s learned since Killian, it’s not to question a good thing.
Parenting now, 15 years after her first child, is both easier and harder. There’s an exhaustion that comes with age that’s only compounded by caring for an infant. It helps though, more than she can ever describe, to have a partner in this, not to mention a secure housing and financial situation. Killian’s a great dad - to both her children, really - and it’s a particular joy to watch him with their baby.
“You’re okay, lass, you’re okay,” he murmurs now, bouncing their daughter against his chest to attempt to calm her down. It works, thank God; Henry’s been great about all the changes in their lives and is lucky enough to sleep through almost everything, but Emma still doesn’t like taking that chance on a school night.
“Little drama queen,” Emma murmurs affectionately, tweaking a little sock-clad foot. She’d forgotten just how tiny everything about babies is somewhere in the decade and a half between Henry and Hazel, but has loved rediscovering it.
“Maybe she’ll be an actor like Papa one day,” Killian suggests, quirking a teasing eyebrow in Emma’s direction.
She snorts. “Not if Mom has any say in it.”
“What, you don’t think we need more actors in this family?” His tone conveys mock-insult, but Emma can see that twinkle in his eye that means he’s joking.
“Nah, she’s gonna be a techie. I can feel it.”
Emma can faintly hear Archie offerings his congratulations and asking about Killian’s upcoming turn as Harold Hill in a televised performance of The Music Man, but she’s not really paying attention anymore, too preoccupied with this moment with her little family. Maybe that was Killian’s devious plan all along - distract her from his talk show appearance with their very cute baby. She can’t really complain about that.
“Ah, well, I suppose I can’t argue that,” he concedes. “Not when her mother’s so brilliant at it.”
Even after all this time, a compliment from Killian can still make her blush. He knows it, too, which only makes him do it more. She loves that about him, though. Suddenly, it seems very important that she express that very fact.
“I love you, Killian.” She’s said it hundreds, thousands of times before, but it still strikes her with wonder every time, just how much she loves the man sitting next to her.
“I love you too, my Swan,” he replies, placing a careful kiss on her lips while trying not to jostle the baby.
Though Emma knew accepting that stage managing job almost five years ago now would change her life, she never imagined in a million years that she’d end up here, with a husband and baby and her son sleeping just down the hall in a life better than she ever could have fathomed.
Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 Ch. 16 Ch. 17
A/N: Thanks for your patience, waiting for this one! I ran out of my stash of already-prepared chapters. I think this one is worth the wait though! After this, there’s just an epilogue and we’re finished.
Chapter title from “Once Upon a Mattress”. My beta, @snidgetsafan, and I would both like you to know this was almost named “A Night We’ll Never Forget” after “Carrie: the Musical”, but thought that might be a joke too far. We’re trying to keep you guys from questioning our sanity.
Let me know what you think - I promise next week will be up much more promptly!
Somehow, Emma’s hand doesn’t leave Killian’s for the rest of the night. Well, that’s not strictly true; they separate their palms to clap, as is required by an awards show, but their hands keep wandering back together afterwards. It’s becoming an unconscious gesture, but truthfully, Emma doesn’t really have a problem with that. It’s… comfortable isn’t quite the word - that’s somehow too small to describe it. It’s natural, she supposes, like something they were always meant to do. Maybe they were; maybe her resistance was the only thing holding them back. Regardless, she appreciates the comfort and support the gentle pressure of his hand provides.
She needs the support, too, as the surprises keep on coming. Somehow, in all the emotions involved with Killian’s win, she’d forgotten that the production was up for Best Musical until there’s a call for everyone to return to their seats for that award after a break for commercials. Emma’s already seated; that’s not the problem. The problem is a sudden flash of awareness that with two acting wins and a series of technical awards, they’ve really got a chance. And God only knows what will happen then.
“Buck up, Swan,” Killian whispers in her ear as the announcer begins speaking. That phrase has always kind of grated on Emma’s nerves, truth be told, but when she turns to glare at him, Killian’s already grinning and waggling his eyebrows in that way she knows means he’s teasing. Maybe he already knows that about her too; the things he remembers about her always surprise Emma. Regardless, though she rolls her eyes at his antics, some of the tension eases out of her shoulders while the corners of her mouth tease at a smile. That last part wasn’t intentional, but that seems to just be the effect Killian has on her lately.
(She’s already half in love with him, Emma knows, and that might be part of it too. God, there’s so much she needs to say to him once this is over, so much she wants to do to him.)
Still, it’s a good thing she’s got a good grip on Killian, because she needs that grounding when Pride & Prejudice is announced as the winner. She hears the words, knows what they mean, but that doesn’t help her brain process the declaration at all. The applause is so loud and this means - well this means everything to Emma: professionally, emotionally, possibly spiritually if the actualizing of all of Mary Margaret’s hope speeches can be counted as Emma’s religion. It’s hard in the moment for her mind to wrap itself around the fact that they’ve won, that she’s part of the team responsible for a Tony Award winning show.
Emma’s on autopilot when she stands up to let Mary Margaret and David through to reach the stage, but Killian tugs her out into the aisle instead.
“Aren’t you coming, Swan?” he grins, his intent obvious.
“Oh, I don’t know —” Emma demurs, but Killian is already tugging her up the aisle.
“It’s your baby too,” he whispers as they reach the stairs up to the stage, carefully handing her onto the first steps so she doesn’t trip. He has a point. After his lovely speech, too, it seems stupid not to just get up there and bask in the applause for a few moments.
Merlin gives the acceptance speech, but honestly, Emma doesn’t hear most of it. The lights are so bright and the ambient noise of the crowd so much louder than she anticipated that it’s overwhelming. Emma’s never been more glad that her job is in the shadows and the corners of the theater most people will never see, if only to avoid the hundreds of intense stares in her direction. It feels that way, at least, even if Emma consciously knows they’re just looking at the stage in general, and most likely at Merlin at the microphone. Still, it’s mildly terrifying, and Emma’s grateful for the gentle pressure of Killian’s hand on her back.
The real benefit of winning the last award of the night - besides the obvious perk of, you know, winning - is that all those gathered on stage for the acceptance speech get ushered off into the wings and towards the press, avoiding the masses all trying to file out down Radio City’s aisles. Merlin’s speech may have been one of the shortest of the night or one of the longest - Emma doesn’t really know for sure, far too preoccupied with trying to process the significance of the moment - but the crowd roars its applause again as the play-off music swells and Killian starts to gently steer her offstage. Emma doesn’t mind, she’s fine to go; there’s so much going on that it’s kind of nice to have someone else to direct her.
They’re barely clear of exiting cast, crew and producers before Killian’s excitement bubbles over and he sweeps Emma off her feet, whooping and twirling around in a circle. It must look very dramatic, well suited to the venue. His Best Actor trophy digs a little into her back, and Emma knows he’d be deeply apologetic if she complained, but truthfully, she’s too caught up in the joy of the moment to care overly much.
“Can you believe it, Swan?” he asks with a smile stretching from ear to ear, before continuing without waiting for an answer. “God, this is all just… Gods.”
“I know!” Emma laughs. Maybe to anyone else his sentence wouldn’t have made sense, but she hears enough of the surprise and pride and pure elation to know that she shares the sentiment, even if neither one of them can quite put it into words.
“We couldn’t have done it without you, you know,” he says, purposefully making eye contact to drive home his point, though he still smiles like a happy maniac. “I wasn’t kidding, this is your baby too. No one deserved to be on that stage more than you.”
Emma’s stomach suddenly flips. She’s wanted to talk to Killian since his touching speech, but now she’s struck with nerves. This is the moment though, even if there are still people milling about. Looking at his joy, however, restores some of her calm. It’s miraculous how much his smile can achieve.
“Speaking of,” she starts, “I just wanted to say — ”
Before she can get any further, her phone starts buzzing insistently in her handbag. It’s undoubtedly Henry; God, she loves her kid, but his timing really needs work. Groaning, she retrieves the device from her purse, noting that it is indeed her son. “Sorry, I’ve just got — ” she starts to explain.
“Not to worry, love,” Killian replies genially, his face settling into a fond expression. Emma’s not sure whether it’s affection for herself or for Henry or for both, but she loves that expression regardless, and all that it signifies.
She’s barely connected the call before Henry begins shrieking on the other end, so loud that she has to keep the phone pulled back from her ear and Killian laughs. “You won! You won, you won, you won!” Henry cheers. Emma can practically picture him in her mind’s eye, bouncing around Elsa’s living room in his excitement.
“Yeah, we did, kid,” Emma laughs right back once she can finally get the phone safely near her ear. “How do you feel about that? I can’t tell,” she teases. Killian’s being directed towards where the press awaits by an insistent theater employee as she talks, the moment she thought she’d grasped slipping even further away. I’ll be back, he mouths, quickly tossing up a hand in a little wave.
Meanwhile, Henry continues on the other end of the phone call. “This is so cool!” he gushes. “Did you touch the statue? Can you bring it home so I can show all my friends? Is there, like, a certificate too or something?”
“Slow down, kid,” Emma says, but it’s probably a lost cause. Emma doesn’t blame him; this is a big moment, and she’d probably be doing the same thing in his shoes. “Killian let me hold his earlier, but I haven’t touched the show award yet. I don’t know what will happen with the show statue, but I bet it will be at the theater for your friends to come see. Otherwise maybe Robin or Killian will let us borrow theirs. I don’t actually know if there’s a certificate, but I can probably find out.”
“Is Killian there? Can I talk to him? Liam wants to talk to him too.” Emma can’t help but smile fondly as she remembers Henry’s starstruck reaction to Liam Jones only a few months ago; now, you’d never know. That’s her son, though, ready and determined to make friends with everyone that crosses his path.
“Killian is actually doing press stuff right now, but I’ll make sure he calls his brother later. Now in the meantime… don’t you have your last Monday of school tomorrow? I think it’s time for bed.”
“Mom,” Henry whines, but Emma won’t be swayed. It is approaching 11:30 pm after all; he’s only been allowed to stay up this long because it’s a special occasion.
“Nope, none of that,” she chides back. “Go get ready for bed, we’ll do the full recap tomorrow. I bet you’ll realize how tired you are when you crawl under the covers.”
“Fine,” he huffs. “But you’d better tell me everything.”
“I promise. Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you too, Mom. I’m happy you won.”
“Thanks, Henry. I am too.”
———
Killian’s probably less chatty in his interviews than the red carpet reporters would prefer - not to mention the show’s publicity department - but he’s too anxious to find Emma again to bother with more. She’d had a look on her face right before Henry called, one that said she was about to say something significant, and he’s itching to know what it was. He’d bet money it was about his speech, but he’s got less of a guess about what she’d have to say on the subject. He hopes it would be a thank you - not because he did it for the gratitude, but because that would mean she has accepted that her own role deserves thanking and attention and recognition, accepted that she plays an integral role not just anyone could fill. If her initial reluctance to join everyone onstage to accept the award for Best New Musical is any indication, though, he’s afraid that might not be the case.
By the time he makes it through press, she’s already waiting for the cars with the rest of their group except Belle, who must still be making her way through the crowds herself. It seems slightly ridiculous to Killian that they’re driving the few blocks instead of just walking ten minutes to the Plaza for the official afterparty, but then again, he’s not the one wearing high heels. They would have looked a little absurd walking down the messy streets of New York in their formal wear anyways.
“Hey, you survived the masses,” Emma teases. He wants to know what she was going to say, demand she continue right now, but Killian knows it’s not the right moment; not here, in front of all their friends.
“I did,” he replies instead, smiling at Emma. With those lovely heels she’s got on, it’s less of a downwards motion tonight; they’re almost level in height, though he’s still got an inch or two on her. “Not to jinx myself, but I think I may actually be getting the hang of this public speaking thing.”
Emma snorts at that. “Yeah, that’s what the statue says,” she replies dryly, though the smile creases around her eyes and mouth say that she knew he meant the interviews, not the acting. “You should call your brother, by the way.”
“I will once we get into the car,” he promises. “Less noise that way.”
As if summoned by magic, the first of the SUVs appears just then, pulling up to the curb. The idea of getting out of this mass of people - or at least getting to the next mass of people who will inevitably be waiting in front of the Plaza for pictures before they enter the afterparty - is appealing, but Killian also doesn’t want to leave the rest of their party behind. Belle’s still working her way through the press line, the bright flowers of her yellow dress only just visible when Killian turns back to look, and God only knows how long it will take for her to break free. It feels rude to abandon Will, Mary Margaret, and David, just because his own ride is here and waiting.
He should have counted on Mary Margaret having other ideas though. “Go,” she smiles, “I can tell you’re ready to get out of here.”
“We’re fine waiting, it’s really not a big deal,” Killian tries to protest - albeit weakly - but Mary Margaret just waves him off in a little shooing motion.
“We’ll be fine, I promise,” she assures him.
“It’s really best not to argue with her,” Emma sighs, though there’s obvious affection in her voice. “Mary Margaret may look sweet, but she gets her way in the end.”
And really, who is he to argue with that? Especially if it would be pointless anyways.
Killian gladly hands Emma up into the interior of the SUV, clambering up after her and trying not to step on her dress as they squeeze into the very back row, Regina and Robin climbing in right after. Emma slips out of those lovely heels as soon as she’s seated, letting out a borderline inappropriate groan of relief as her toes and arches are freed from the contortions they’ve been forced into. Killian doesn’t blame her for that - even if they’ll be in the car for less than ten minutes, he’s sure every one of them feels heavenly.
(It’s a little hard to concentrate when she makes those noises, though.)
“God, that feels good,” she sighs. It doesn’t help matters in the least. His face must make quite the picture, as Emma huffs a little laugh in the back of her throat when she looks in his direction, her mouth quirking up at the corners in a poorly-suppressed smile. “Are you going to call Liam?”
It takes an embarrassing moment for the words to process, and Killian has to actually shake his head to settle his thoughts back into order. Well done, Killian. “Yes, yes, of course. Thank you. I’ll do that now.”
Liam picks up on the first ring, which makes Killian think he was just waiting for the call. “Congratulations, brother!”
“Thanks, Liam,” he replies bashfully. It’ll take some getting used to, hearing all the congratulations for his work, but it’s something Killian thinks that he could get used to. Not that there’s much of a choice there - as long as he’s got this statue, there will now be people applauding his having received it. “Were you able to see everything on TV?” It’s admittedly a stupid question, but it will hopefully turn the conversation back away from him. In the adjacent seat, Emma rolls her eyes like she knows exactly what he’s doing. She probably does, frankly.
So does Liam, unfortunately. “Yes we were, but this isn’t about me, Killy,” his older brother reminds him. “Now tell me, how does it feel to have won?”
“It feels pretty damn fantastic,” Killian admits. It’s the first time he’s said that and really meant it; with the press, it was just convenient words to say, and the ones they wanted to hear anyways. No one wants to hear a celebrity try to work through their muddled feelings on the red carpet when anyone else would be immediately thrilled.
“It’s well deserved, Brother, I promise. How’d Emma react to that speech?”
Killian has to force himself not to look in Emma’s direction at the question, needlessly paranoid it would give something away. “Don’t know.”
“She’s sitting right there, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Well get back to her, get back to her!” Liam urges. “If that speech didn’t impress her, she’s crazy, and Emma Swan doesn’t strike me as crazy.”
“Oh my God, shut up, Liam,” Killian hisses into the phone. Emma’s quietly chuckling next to him; at least someone is enjoying this. “Go back to your date or whatever, I’ll talk to you later.”
“It is not a date — ” his brother starts to protest, but Killian disconnects the call before Liam can take the excuse any further.
“Liam pulling your pigtails?” Emma asks.
“He’s a piece of work,” Killian grumbles right back, much to Emma’s amusement as she lets out another peal of laughter. That gets him to smile at least; she’s always been able to do it, like a special superpower.
“He loves you,” she points out, and well, that’s true too.
“Yeah. I know he does.”
As if on cue, Killian’s phone buzzes inside his jacket’s breast pocket.
I’m proud of you, Kil. Have a great time with your girl.
Any lingering annoyance with Liam melts away immediately. That’s all he’s ever wanted, after all, ever since he was a little kid: to make his brother proud. Liam’s always been his hero, so that’s the highest compliment that can be paid to him.
Killian tucks his phone away with a new sense of peace and happiness about him, conveniently just as the car pulls up to the hotel.
“You ready for more?” Emma asks, bending nearly in half to secure her stilettos once again.
He’d rather have that conversation with Emma, but it’s still not the moment for that, not with a crowd of people waiting for him to make an appearance. For now, they’re just here for a celebration. As such, there’s really only one answer to her question.
“Lead on, Swan.”
———
She probably should have figured that the afterparty would be boring. After all, the executives aren’t exactly known for being a rolicking good time. That’s the actors.
It’s not awful, it’s just kind of… bland. The music is perfectly acceptable, but no one wants to dance. The food is fine, but not exceptional. It honestly seems like most of the money has been spent on decorations, and whatever trendy vibe they were going for manages to clash spectacularly with the staid, old money aesthetic that exemplifies the Plaza Hotel.
There are highlights too, of course - namely the way Killian sticks by her side like glue all night, one hand always tangled in her fingers or wrapped around her waist. Whenever their eyes meet, Killian seems on guard, like he’s waiting for her to tell him to stop, but Emma never does. She never wants to. So instead, she just smiles, and turns back to the party.
The people make up for it, somewhat. Her own little crew keeps her smiling and laughing, and at a party like this, there’s plenty of famous faces around who all seem to want to congratulate Killian. It starts feeling like a bizarre fever dream, meeting all these celebrities she usually only sees in magazines. Everyone is perfectly nice, of course - Emma’s particularly happy to discover that Lin-Manuel Miranda really is the friendliest man alive, and tries not to geek out too much when Matthew Broderick comes up to graciously congratulate the man who beat him and ends up shaking her hand like it’s a totally normal thing to do and not one of the highlights of Emma’s life.
Killian’s off getting them drinks when Merlin sidles up beside Emma. “Hey, congratulations!” she says as soon as she notices him; in addition to accepting the award for Best Musical on their behalf, he’d also been recognized for his directing.
“And you as well!” he wishes her in return with a wide smile on his face. This just might be the happiest Emma has ever seen him. It’s a little odd to see her director in such a celebratory mood - though Merlin is certainly enthusiastic and generally happy, this is something else altogether.
Still, Emma’s not sure she deserves his congratulations. “I don’t know about that,” she hedges with a smile on her face, not outright rejecting the sentiment but not fully embracing it either.
That visibly perturbs Merlin, a little serious frown etching itself onto his mouth. “I’m not sure you’re aware of exactly how indispensable a role you’ve played, Emma. It takes a certain kind of person to not just do your job, but do it well. And with the way you anticipate problems, you’re possibly the best I’ve worked with,” he states confidently, heedless of the blush spreading across her cheeks. “Anyhow, what’s the saying? It takes a village? I think that could be applied to a show as well. And you’ve done a lot to keep the villagers from running around in circles like madmen,” Merlin confides, chuckling a little at his own joke.
Emma’s never been good at accepting praise, probably due to lack of opportunity in her youth, but it still means something to hear that from her director, her boss. “Thanks. That, uh… that means a lot,” she finally settles on.
“I speak only the truth,” Merlin replies. “Now, I know this is a ways out - several years, most likely - but a friend of mine is working on a new musical, a madcap murder caper. I don’t suppose you’d be interested? Availability permitting, of course, and we’d discuss it further once things became definite, but I think we’ve made a good team.”
Emma remembers Robin’s words from all those months ago, about how directors like to work with an established team. Now that it seems like that may actually be developing, she’ll have to thank him for his wisdom and encouragement. “I’d love that. Keep me in the loop.”
“Excellent. I’ll let you get back to your date,” he excuses as Killian returns with a pair of champagne flutes, “but really, congratulations. It’s been such a pleasure working together.”
Emma flushes an even deeper pink as Merlin walks away, but there’s a grin there too.
“Good news?” Killian asks as he hands her a drink.
Emma laughs a little, mostly to herself, before quipping, “I think I might have made it, kid.”
“I never had a doubt.”
———
They somehow end up in Granny’s diner at the end of the night. It’d probably been inevitable, really; it seems like so many of his and Emma’s milestones along the way to where they are now - wherever they are - have happened in that restaurant. It doesn’t hurt either that the food at the official afterparty is boring buffet fare, and Granny’s is open 24 hours. The lady herself has long since gone to bed - it is one in the morning - but the kitchen is more than happy to send out a variety of burgers and fries and grilled cheeses with onion rings. Emma has seemed slightly on edge all night, though happy; Killian is eternally grateful that she was able to accompany him and witness their win herself, but he knows the awards weren’t quite her scene. Here, in Granny’s corner booth with a dollop of whipped cream on her nose from her oreo shake, she’s more in her element, laughing with their friends and sticking her tongue out at him when he swipes the whipped cream off.
(God, he loves her.)
His heart does a happy little jig when Emma rests her head on his shoulder as hot drinks and slices of pie are distributed, though he does his best to play it cool. Still, Killian can’t resist the urge to wrap his arm around her waist, both to support her and to tug her just a little bit closer. If the little sigh Emma exhales onto his shoulder is any indication, she’s not opposed either.
She wasn’t supposed to fall asleep, though; that was never something Killian had anticipated happening. Part of him doesn’t want to wake her back up. Emma looks so peaceful in sleep, her features fully relaxed and serene, and it seems like such a shame to disturb that. They’re closing in on three in the morning, however, and as much joy as Killian takes from having Emma Swan nestled against him, her own bed must be so much more comfortable than this booth and his bony shoulder.
“Swan,” he whispers at first. That’s not particularly successful; Emma hums a little half-asleep sound, but makes no attempt to make her way back to wakefulness. Indeed, she tries to burrow her face further into his flesh. It’s endearing, certainly, and cute beyond words, but not particularly helpful. “Swan,” he repeats, “you’ve got to wake up.” A little nudgey shrug is more successful, causing Emma to finally lift her head with bleary eyes and her brows furrowed in confusion.
“What time is it?” she slurs, stretching in a way that does not accentuate her bust in the least.
“Nearly 3 am. Can I walk you home?”
“Yeah, that’d be nice,” she yawns.
“I think it’s about time we were all heading home,” Mary Margaret cuts in, sliding out of the vinyl booth seat. Will and Belle already departed almost an hour ago, off to their own celebrations that Killian would rather not know more about, and Robin had left immediate after they were done eating to pick Roland up, but Ruby, Regina, Mary Margaret, and David had all stuck it out - though David looks like he’s about to fall asleep on the tabletop as well. There’s hugs all around as everyone piles into various cabs, but finally, it’s just Killian and Emma - just the way he’s wanted all night. They’ve both got things to say, Emma especially, and Killian’s ready to listen to all of it.
———
The night is peaceful, just the two of them - at least as far as that’s possible in a busy city of millions. The more Emma thinks about it, the more she thinks that the peace she feels is less due to the time or location, and more due to some inner serenity. It sounds ridiculous to think of it like that, but that seems to make the most sense. She’s happy; that’s what matters.
Her apartment is only a few blocks away, so without any verbal agreement or further discussion, Killian and Emma both set out walking in that direction instead of hailing a cab. She doesn’t need escorting home, not really, but she’d happily accepted all the same for the chance to spend a little more time in Killian’s company. It will give them a chance to talk uninterruptedly, anyways, if Emma can bring herself to upset their current harmony. She’s not nervous about it anymore, far from it; still, in the midst of such a perfect moment, it’s hard to bring herself to interrupt it with something so silly as talking.
Emma’s just preparing to break the silence herself when Killian jumps in first. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” he asks softly, a gentle smile playing across his lips as he looks towards the skyline.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Emma’s not talking about the weather. She thinks Killian might not be either. Quickly, she plows ahead with her intended speech before they both get lost in another moment again. “Listen, I just wanted to thank you, Killian. For tonight, and the speech - God, especially that speech - and… everything. Thank you.”
“Oh, Swan, that’s nothing you need to thank me for,” he replies, blushing red and letting his hand steal away to that nervous spot on his neck again.
“Yeah, there is,” she insists right back. “You didn’t have to do that.”
That catches Killian’s attention, his body suddenly snapping back upright from the bashful position it had curled into. “Of course I did,” he says. There’s a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before, that Emma usually only sees at the theater when he’s passionate about what he’s doing. “I know you don’t do this for the thanks, but I see all the work you put in every day. Hell, some days you hold this entire thing together through sheer force of will. All without any thanks.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “I didn’t do it for your thanks. I did it because you deserve to be thanked. I think we all know I’m not exactly an unbiased source,” he chuckles wryly, “but what you do, day in and day out, is amazing. You’re amazing, and brilliant, and… I just wanted everyone to know that. Yourself included.”
It amazes Emma, most days, the fierceness of what Killian feels for her. To hear him speak, you’d think she was an angel sent to earth, a powerful goddess walking amongst mortals, the most amazing thing he’s ever encountered. It’s even more awe-inspiring to realize that that’s exactly how he sees her.
The thing is, the way Emma sees Killian isn’t much different. Maybe she wouldn’t get so melodramatic in her descriptions the way he might - she’s never been one to use the word “angel” anyways - but she’d readily call him one of the kindest, most thoughtful men she knows, and more than deserving of all the good things that have come his way.
“Now, I don’t mean - please don’t take what I’m about to say as a demand for thanks, because it’s not, I didn’t say all those things for the thanks,” he continues, fully babbling now, “but I was just wondering - well, you see, I like you, Emma, really like you, rather halfway in love if I’m placing all my cards on the table - and I know I’ve asked before, but so much has changed, and… well, to borrow the quote, my affections and wishes are unchanged,” he grins a little at his joke, albeit somewhat nervously. The silly man. “I suppose what I’m getting at, what I’m wondering — ”
Emma doesn’t wait to find out what he’s wondering, however, even if she’s pretty sure she knows what’s coming. Too impatient to wait any longer for him to collect his thoughts - can that boy ever ramble - she surges up suddenly to pull his face down to hers and mash their lips together, one hand sliding into his hair to tug and caress the strands the way she’s wanted to for longer than she’s willing to admit. Weeks, for sure; probably months. Whatever the case, the moment is now, and she’s going to revel in every bit of it.
Though Killian is initially caught off guard, emitting a little shocked grunt (Emma would kill for photographic evidence of it, imagining cartoonish popped eyes and pinwheeling arms), he relaxes into the kiss almost immediately. Maybe if Killian was initiating, their kiss would be a gentle, deliberate thing; that’s the way she’s always imagined it, at least. Emma’s the one in charge though, so this kiss is fierce, hungry, almost desperate. She wants to learn all of it, all at once - the way he sounds when she nips at his lip or sucks at his tongue, whether he likes it when she pulls on the hair at the nape of his neck (and oh, if those groans and moans are indication, he does, he absolutely does), all of it. Killian seems much of the same mind as his hands settle possessively at her hips, thumbs tracing along the sheer panel at her midriff as his head tilts and readjusts in a quest for the perfect angle at which to explore her mouth. It’s the realization of months and months of longing and repressed feelings and they slam together, pressed tight against each other’s fronts as their mouths practically meld into one, and it’s perfect.
They finally break apart when more than the quickest gulps of air become necessary, but Emma’s hand slips down to grip Killian’s lapel - for stability or comfort or whatever else she doesn’t know, but it somehow feels necessary for her continued existence. “That was…”
“Yeah, it was,” he replies, before letting out a laugh - a joyful, winded sound. “God, what was that? You didn’t even let me get out the question,” he teases gently.
Even his ribbing can’t wipe the smile off her face, though. “You were taking too long,” she shrugs, mindlessly nosing at his neck. It’s a new frontier, one she looks forward to kissing and nibbling once she gets a second wind.
“Ah, well, forgive me. This seems a little redundant now, but I don’t suppose you’d want to get a cup of coffee sometime?” He’s obviously aware of the sense of deja vu from his first attempt at this, grinning madly with a twinkle in his eye.
“What do you think?” Emma whispers in reply, drawing him back down for another round of kissing.
As if there was any other answer now, after all they’ve done and all they’ve been through, but the most enthusiastic yes.
Playing the Part ch. 14: What Did I Ever See In Him?
Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13
A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this chapter with you guys! It’s rough in the moment, but really sets things in motion. We’re closing in on the end, guys!
Chapter title taken from “Bye Bye Birdie”.
Thanks as ever to @snidgetsafan, the world’s best beta, who’s basically dragging me through these last couple of chapters. Thanks babe, I’ll give you new stuff eventually.
Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happen.
Enjoy - and let me know what you think!
It’s that fucking principle again - that everything falls apart just when things are going great. It’s official; Emma’s commissioning a study. Or maybe it’s just an inevitability in a more mundane way, that things can only go up or down and the downs will always be more noticeable. Whatever the case, Emma just hopes it doesn’t come in threes.
This crash feels so much harsher too because it’s much more personal, and it comes at the worst possible moment. The week had started with their Sign-Off performance, of course, and Emma had been flying high on Henry’s residual excitement over their appearance in the days immediately following. If she had hoped that her kid would let the Killian debacle slide, she’s sadly disappointed. Clearly, he’s spent too much time around Ruby and Mary Margaret growing up, as he’s determined to both interrogate and tease Emma about what this means for her love life. Smart alec.
“He’s got a cruuuush on you,” Henry singsongs, laughing uproariously as Emma’s cheeks flush. “Oh! Does that mean you do too?”
“It does not!” Emma insists, even as her blush insists otherwise. Traitor.
“Uh huh,” Henry nods, grinning deviously. Some kid she’s got.
(The best kid, always the best kid, even when he’s teasing her like this.)
“Killian is my colleague and my friend and a complete professional,” Emma lists patiently. Her tone is probably veering more towards long-suffering than patient, if she’s being honest, but it’s warranted in her opinion. “Which is, you know, why he said that in the interview.”
“Sure,” Henry replies, clearly unimpressed. Emma’s going to need to have words with Ruby, because Henry definitely did not get that side-eye from her. “Whatever you say, Mom.”
(The sass, though - he definitely got that from her.)
Know-it-all children aside, Emma’s having a good week - good weather, good mood, great shows… it seems that things are flying along, never better, practically unsinkable. Until Thursday, that is.
Thursday is the day everything goes to hell.
Ashley, the young woman who plays Kitty in their production, calls out sick, requiring an early call time for everyone to run through the show with the understudy and make sure she’s comfortable with the choreography and her handful of lines, or at least comfortable enough with them to make it through a performance. Not the way Emma wants to start her day, but it doesn’t necessarily spell disaster. They can work with that.
What’s worse, though, is getting to the theater to discover that a power surge the evening before has tripped several breakers and screwed with their lights, necessitating changing bulbs and a full check of the theater’s electrical systems. The headset system they’ve got to work with is better than most Emma’s dealt with in her time, but it’s still prone to more interference than Emma would prefer, and a short in their system won’t do Emma and Kristoff any favors. The whole thing is going to be a major stressor in the crew’s afternoon, but there’s no way around it.
Dealing with both of those situations is enough - more than enough, really, if Emma’s being honest.
However, apparently some higher power has it out for Emma, because the joy doesn’t stop there. Instead, that same Thursday, three days after the show’s Sign-Off appearance, Neal shows up in town - at Emma’s theater, no less! - because of mother-fucking course he does.
Honestly, she has no idea how Neal got into the theater in the first place - you’d think someone would have kicked him out between the stage door and the stage. Then again, her ex has always had a way of bluffing his way into places - fake it ‘til you make it and all that. He acts like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and for whatever reason, people believe him.
Emma doesn’t even notice him sauntering around the stage at first, too busy discussing what replacements they’ll need to order with Robin in the booth to pay attention to what’s going on below and leaving Kristoff to be the unfortunate messenger. The unwitting harbinger of doom, if you will.
“There’s some guy asking for you?” her usually even-keeled sound tech cuts in when a break in the conversation allows, voice betraying an uncharacteristic irritation. “Made it sound like you’d know him. I don’t know, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming.” If Emma didn’t know better, she’d almost say there was a hint of disdain in Kristoff’s tone, but that’s silly. Kristoff gets along with everyone, mostly by barely talking to anyone. He’s got that Nordic, Midwestern implacability too where Emma can never tell what he’s thinking, and especially can never tell when he’s flustered.
It’s all explained, though, when she looks through the window to see her ex impatiently checking his phone. He’s not tapping his foot yet but Emma can sense the urge from this distance. Typical - Neal always seems to believe that his time is more valuable than everyone else’s.
“Fuck,” she curses loudly. “It’s my ex. Henry’s dad,” she elaborates when Robin lifts a curious eyebrow at her outburst. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” Blood pressure no doubt shooting through the roof, she turns on her heel and storms out of the booth to confront Neal and find out why the hell he’s here.
By the time she makes it down to the orchestra level, Neal’s officially progressed to foot-tapping stage, glancing around impatiently. Like he’s the one being inconvenienced here.
“What do you want, Neal?” she demands as soon as she gets close enough. There’s a small amount of pleasure to be taken in watching Neal jerk his head up in response and then down again rapidly to meet Emma’s eyes where she stands in the audience, knowing that it will likely result in a nasty knot in his neck from all the drastic movements. Only a small amount, though.
“Well hello to you too, Ems,” he replies easily, like all of this is some light-hearted social call instead of him barging into her place of employment.
“I’m not kidding around, Neal. What the hell are you doing here?” She doesn’t have time for this, but if she has to deal with it, she’s cutting straight to the point and skipping past the useless pleasantries.
“Well I was in town for a meeting and thought I’d drop by,” he replies.
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” Neal reacts, playing up his faux offense. It’s all an act, Emma knows; she doesn’t even need a superpower to see that.
“Bullshit. You have never once in your life just ‘dropped by’, and you think theatre is a frivolous waste of time.”
“Can’t a man come see his son, maybe take him to dinner?” he tries instead, changing tactics.
“You certainly can, but it’s 3pm, Neal. Henry won’t be by after school for another hour. And, again, you have never ‘dropped by’ for a surprise visit just because you were in town for some meeting. In fact, you usually have to cancel on dinner with Henry when your meetings run over.”
“Oh c’mon Ems, that’s not fair,” Neal complains, but who the fuck cares what he has to say on the subject? Emma is about to tell him as such when Scarlet interrupts with better timing than she would have credited him with, though his tone is too annoyed to actually write off the interruption as being for her benefit.
“Oi, not that this isn’t fascinating, but would you clear the bleedin’ stage? I’ve been trying to bring this light bar in for the past five minutes but some people,” he glares pointedly at Neal, “won’t get out of the way.”
The nuisance himself looks like he’s about to bite back, but Emma cuts in before he gets the chance. “You gotta move, Neal, I don’t care where. Go hang out backstage or in the house or something. I’ve gotta take care of some stuff, I can’t keep an eye on you.” If she’s secretly hoping he gets whacked in the head with the light bar, well, that’s her business, and entirely understandable to boot.
“We need to talk, Emma,” he insists, apparently finally cutting to his point.
“Yeah, well, I need to do my job. You showed up at a bad time, and I’ve got people waiting on me. We’ll talk later.” She hopes her voice is firm enough - ideally, the one she uses to keep everyone in line when everything is going to shit - but ultimately, it doesn’t much matter as she whirls around and stalks back to the booth.
She’s got a terrible feeling she knows exactly what this is about. It seems like an awfully big coincidence that Neal just happens to unexpectedly show up at her theater, a place he’s never showed interest in, only a couple days after a male coworker said nice things about her on national television. Whatever the case, she so doesn’t have time to deal with it now.
Neal is just going to have to wait.
———
Word travels fast throughout the ranks, and the shocking news that their beloved stage manager’s ex-boyfriend and father to Henry has unexpectedly showed up on their stage is no exception. Killian hears it from Belle, who was told by Scarlet, who relates as much of the situation as he knows with plenty of added commentary about how the man’s a nuisance and possibly an imbecile and honestly, who the bloody hell doesn’t hear a man hollering about a heavy bleedin’ light bar about to be flown in? Fuckin’ idiots, that’s who, if you ask a very irritated Will Scarlet. And then somewhere along the line David Nolan catches wind of it and tells Mary Margaret, and when you tell Mary Margaret anything, suddenly the entire cast knows. It’s just a fact of their little cohort.
Now, Killian considers himself to be an open minded man, a tolerant man, a man who does not make decisions about people before he knows them. Liam raised him to be kind and polite and to listen to people and not make premature judgements, and usually, Killian does his best to live up to that example.
But, God help him, he Does Not Like Emma’s ex.
(Well, part of that might have been related to the holiday party incident and not their encounter today, but his point still stands)
He’s prepared to swear that even were Neal not the former lover of the woman he’s slowly becoming devoted to, he still wouldn’t like the man. There’s something about the other’s man attitude – that he can do what he pleases, and everyone else’s opinion be damned. Killian hates it.
Currently, “whatever he pleases” is wandering around backstage semi-aimlessly, sticking his nose into corners and getting underfoot and generally driving everyone slowly mad.
“Can I help you, mate?” Killian asks in a perfectly civil tone - or at least what he thinks is a perfectly civil tone - when he runs down to grab a prop only to find the other man peeking into thankfully empty dressing rooms.
“Nope, just looking around,” the ex had replied about as absently as humanly possible, not bothering to even make more than glancing eye contact.
Alright then.
The only marginally redeeming factor of that man is how purely delighted Henry is to see him when the lad comes by after school. Killian may be many things - a very judgemental and petty man at the moment, for one - but he’s not a monster, and he’s willing to put up with a lot if it makes that wonderful boy happy. Still. Doesn’t mean he has to become best friends with the man, or even be happy about his presence. In fact, Killian thinks he’ll keep an eye out from a short distance, just to make sure the lad stays happy; he doesn’t quite trust the other man’s motives here, even if he is Henry’s father.
“Dad!” Henry exclaims as soon as he spots the man in question, a wide and brilliant smile stretching his cheeks as his eyes visibly light up. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” Just as quickly though, his features shift to confusion. “I didn’t miss a call, did I?”
“Oh no, of course not, buddy,” Neal reassures. “I just thought I’d surprise you.”
Though this appearance could certainly be described as a surprise very easily, Killian still thinks that’s not the whole story. Henry is less fazed though, or at least willing to take the excuse at face value in his excitement over his dad’s presence.
“You’ve got to come meet everyone!” Henry exclaims, practically bouncing on his feet as he tugs Neal over towards Killian.
Lord help me, Killian can’t help but think, this will be fun. If the other man’s face is anything to go by, he seems to be thinking the same thing.
“Killian!” Henry calls, managing to pull an almost genuine smile out of him. “You’ll never guess who’s here! This is my dad!”
“Aye, we met briefly earlier,” Killian replies, thinking of their dressing room encounter (if it can even really be called that). In the name of civility, he sticks a hand out to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr…?” Technically, he already knows the other man’s name, but it feels rude to admit that the whole production knows who he is through the gossip train.
“Cassidy. Neal Cassidy,” he supplies with a smile that looks strained at best, pointedly not shaking the offered hand. “So, you’re the actor or whatever?”
“Aye, that’s me,” Killian agrees, trying hard not to be put out. “I play the male lead in this show, Mr. Darcy.”
“So you and Ems… work together a lot, then?”
So that’s what this is about. Killian almost feels stupid for not putting it together earlier, but it’s hard to miss the strategic emphasis in that sentence that suggests Neal is certain something more is happening. Self-important arse.
“Swan works closely with the entire cast, crew, and production team,” he replies carefully. “She’s perhaps the best stage manager I’ve ever seen, and very dedicated to the job at hand. We’re incredibly lucky to have her steering our little ship.”
“Sure.” Neal is obviously skeptical, if his posture and crossed arms are anything to go by. It takes everything Killian has not to roll his eyes at the bastard’s ridiculous posturing. Even Henry is picking up on the tension, looking back and forth between the two men with that same furrowed brow Emma gets when faced with a problem she’s trying to dissect.
“And I bet that’s all it is. Just a professional relationship,” Neal intones, continuing his interrogation. Killian truly questions the man’s judgement; to him, at least, this seems like an inappropriate avenue to be walking down with Henry right there, but then again, he may be biased as the target of the questioning.
“I believe that’s what I already said,” Killian replies. He’s tried to keep civil this whole time, but he can’t help the irritation from creeping into his tone. “We’re colleagues who interact on friendly but professional terms.” Is there a problem with that? the argumentative side of Killian is itching to demand, but he refrains for Henry’s sake
“Maybe we should go meet other people,” Henry blessedly cuts in before anything comes to blows or Killian says something he regrets (strangely enough, Neal doesn’t seem to have the same qualms that he does). “I’ll see you later, Killian!” he calls back over his shoulder as he practically drags his father away by the arm.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Killian hears Henry chastise from around the corner; he somehow doubts that the lad intended his voice to carry so far. Serves the man right, to be scolded by his own son, though Killian would be shocked if Neal suddenly came to regret his actions. A man that comes into town specifically to get on his ex for mostly platonic words said on a television program doesn’t seem the type to suddenly see how ridiculous his actions are.
He knows that Emma is the last person to want any pity, but she has Killian’s all the same. The man seems to be an insufferable prick, or is at least intent on acting like one; as bad as Killian’s interaction with Neal was, he’d be willing to bet that Emma’s in for something even more infuriating. He sure hopes that this dickery is a recent development, because at the moment, he has no idea what Emma ever saw in that man.
It’s none of Killian’s business, not really, but he can’t help but feel angry on Emma’s behalf that she’ll have to deal with whatever bullshit that bastard chooses to spew at her. Whatever interrogation he just had to suffer, she’ll undoubtedly have to deal with even worse. The more he thinks about it, the more frustrated he gets, until there’s nothing else to do about the matter - he calls Liam. It was either that or go hunt down Neal to ask a bunch of uncalled-for questions in a petty form of revenge.
“Make it quick, brother,” Liam immediately says when he answers, “the filming break is ending in seven minutes.”
“Emma’s ex is the most insufferable man alive,” Killian declares, launching right in.
“Good to know. And how exactly do you know this?” Liam asks in return.
“The arse showed up at the theater today - which was not expected, let me tell you, Henry was shocked to see his father. He obviously has never set foot in a theater, looking around everywhere and getting underfoot. And from everything I hear from Henry, he doesn’t exactly see his dad often, no other spontaneous visits like he was trying to claim this is. And this only a few days after that blasted interview aired! What a wild coincidence!” Killian says sarcastically. “So here he is, showing up to ask me a bunch of questions about whether Emma and I are really just colleagues. Funny, that.”
“Sounds frustrating,” Liam replies, making all the right noises even if he’s a little lost as to what’s going on.
“God, he’s such a pretentious arse. Waltzing right on in here like he gets a say in Swan’s work life. Or her personal life. Hell, the man’s barely around enough to earn the right to an opinion in Henry’s life. Try telling him that, though.”
“Speaking of which, do you plan on telling Emma all this?” Liam poses a good question, but Killian’s a bit conflicted on how to answer.
“I don’t know. She’ll be dealing with enough from him, you know? Not to mention everything else that’s going on around here - it’s a rough tech day to boot, as if she needs more on her plate. I don’t want to add any more stress. But at the same time… it feels deceptive, not telling her? Like I’m not supplying her with all the pieces of a problem.”
Liam hums. “So what are you going to do then?”
“I don’t know,” Killian whines back. “I’m just frustrated.”
“And that’s completely understandable,” Liam soothes. “Someone’s showed up to make trouble for a friend - someone you care for. It makes sense that you’d be angry on her behalf.”
“But what do I do, Liam?” he demands.
“Well, how about this for a compromise: if you see her before he leaves, you keep mum so as not to create more stress or be the cause of any conflict, but if you next see her afterwards, you do mention it. I’m quite firmly on the side of letting her know eventually, just so she can take whatever steps need taking to keep this kind of thing from happening again,” Liam suggests.
“I think I can manage that.” Venting to Liam hasn’t truly solved any problems, but he still feels better, like a dark cloud has been lifted from over his head. “Thanks, Liam. I know you’re busy, but I needed that. I’ll let you go, but really, thank you for being a listening ear.”
“Aye, I’ve got to be getting back,” Liam agrees. “Anytime though, Kil, I’m always here to listen. Hang in there - you and your lady both. Love you, little brother.” And before Killian can respond, even with a correction, the call disconnects.
Huffing a sigh, Killian attempts to release some of the remaining tension, before finally returning his attention to… whatever he came down here for in the first place. Thanks to certain unpleasant visitors, he’s having trouble remembering.
Really, damn the man and all the chaos he’s causing in his wake.
———
There’d been half a hope in the back of Emma’s mind that maybe she’d wrap up everything that needed immediately taking care of before Neal got bored and wandered back again, if only to avoid her ex pulling that “how dare you inconvenience me, my time is more valuable than yours” act again, charming though it is. Sadly, the universe is not on her side in that wish, and Neal and Henry are already waiting at the front, the former already reprising his impatient scanning from earlier as Henry happily chatters away about God knows what.
“Does she always leave you waiting like this?” Emma hears Neal ask, his voice carrying despite the distance.
Henry shrugs nonchalantly in response. “I go talk to everyone. Sometimes Mom lets me help out around here too.”
“Oh, so she’s putting you to work?” Neal’s voice is scandalized - that’s the only word for it. Now that she’s almost to where the two stand, she can see the shock on his face too.
Emma will stand for a lot of things from Neal, but that’s an implication too far. “Yes, I make him lug fifty pound fly weights all over the place. Builds character,” she replies, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Neal rolls his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, Em, you know I wasn’t suggesting that —” he tries to protest, but Emma cuts him off.
“Yeah, you kinda were. Henry, go get your stuff so you and your dad can get something to eat.” Henry scampers off at her suggestion, seemingly all too glad to escape the tension boiling between his parents, a tension that’s about to burst into something worse.
“C’mon, what was that about, Emma?” Neal whines, but Emma’s having none of it.
“Cut the crap, Neal. You wanted to talk, so talk. Starting with the real reason you’re here.”
“Well,” he states, “I saw the Sign-Off interview Monday night.”
Emma groans. She should have seen this coming, but that doesn’t make it any less stupid. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’m serious! I’m laying in bed watching some… stuck-up actor talk about how dedicated you are to the show —”
“And what, you took that as code for ‘child neglect’? Because someone I work with said I’m good at my job?”
Neal’s silence is telling.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, you really thought that, didn’t you?” Emma manages to spit out. “Jesus Christ, Neal.”
“Look, I just know what I saw, ok?” he tries to defend as Emma rolls her eyes. “Don’t I have the right to come make sure you’re not neglecting my son, actually taking care of him instead of spending all your time at work or with some… some pretty boy?”
“That is fucking rich coming from you, Neal. Always so busy with your fancy job and your fancy house and your pretty little wife that you can’t even remember to call your son half the time. Fucking rich. I am doing everything I can to give that kid the best life,” she hisses, stabbing a finger into his chest, “and that’s a hell of a lot more than you’ve done. I’m the one that helps him with his homework, and takes care of him when he’s sick, and listens to all his worries. I’m the one who knows the names of all his friends and which takeout places are his favorite and how to best comfort him when he’s sad. Meanwhile, you couldn’t even be bothered to admit he was yours for five fucking years!” She’s practically shouting by the end, and only hopes Henry is too far away to hear. Neal just stands there glowering as Emma picks up steam. At least he seems to have picked up on the fact that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.
“And for the record?” she finishes, trying to lower the volume of her voice and probably failing. “I’m not dating Jones, or anyone else. But even if I was, that would be none of your goddamn business. Just like your marriage is none of mine.” Neal finally opens up his mouth to speak, but Emma throws up a hand to stop him before he even starts. “No. We’re done here. You and Henry can leave out the stage door. Have him home by 8, it’s a school night and he has homework.” Emma’s shaking with rage by the end of her tirade, but stands her ground, and with a final huff, her ex stalks off to find their son. Good riddance.
As Neal makes his disgraced departure, still shooting dirty looks over his shoulder, Emma finally relaxes, practically collapsing in on herself. Yes, there are still problems to come in her day, but those are normal problems, the kind that she knows to account for when going to work in the morning. Neal’s presence was a different kind of stressor, one she can’t prepare for, and when shoved at her on top of her work-related stress, it sets a tension into her shoulders that’s unmatched by anything else. Honestly, based off the bullshit Neal was tossing her way, you would have thought Killian has said she was making Henry work sixty hour weeks, not that she was good at her job. For fuck’s sake.
Dropping her head back, Emma takes a moment just to re-center herself before straightening again to return to the booth, only to turn around to spot Robin with a less than pleased look on his face. In fact, she’d go far as to say that she’s never seen him look so furious. Abruptly, Emma’s stomach plummets. God, he must have seen or heard the confrontation with Neal; in the heat of it all, they probably weren’t as quiet as quiet as they should have been. It wasn’t fair of Emma to bring that kind of drama into their workplace, and Robin has every right to be angry about it, but still, it feels like a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach to see that look directed at her.
Quickly, she hurries to meet her colleague at the back of the aisle where he stands, stumbling over apologies the whole while. “Robin, I’m so sorry, you should never have heard - it won’t happen again -” she tries to tell him, but Robin throws up a hand to halt her words in their tracks.
“Stop,” he tells Emma. “Just… stop.” Oh god, he must be really mad. All Emma wants to do is apologize profusely and try to make this right, but she can’t do that if he’s not receptive to hearing it. The stone grows heavier and heavier in her stomach.
Robin exhales a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself down, and Emma braces herself for whatever he’s about to say. He must see or sense that somehow - probably a benefit of spending hours together every day in a space that always seems too small and crowded - because some of the anger recedes from his face, a small amount of tension easing from his frame as he reaches to grasp Emma by the shoulders.
“I’m not mad at you,” he tells her in a voice that’s somehow simultaneously both firm and gentle. Emma imagines it’s the same voice he uses with Roland from time to time. If not, he should - it’s effective.
“You’re not?” she replies in a voice that’s smaller than she’d prefer. Oh well; Robin won’t judge her for that.
“Gods above, no. I’m mad, yes, but not at you,” he explains solemnly, “Emma, darling, please believe me when I tell you this: no one could watch the display that absolute bastard was making of himself and be mad at you. None of this is on you. All of my anger is on your behalf, that he had the very nerve to stand there and say such things.”
“You don’t have to say that,” Emma mumbles. Still, her cheeks flush at the gesture and the care behind those words.
Robin just shrugs. “Maybe I don’t have to, but I’m going to anyways. You’re my friend, Emma,” he explains, “and I see what you do every day. I know exactly how much you give this job, and I know you give Henry even more, as much as a human being can. It’s… preposterous, to even suggest the two are mutually exclusive. Look, I know our situations aren’t exactly the same,” he prefaces, “but I know how easy it is to lose a lot of yourself in being a parent, just by virtue of trying to ensure that your kid has everything. You may not be dating Jones, or anyone else, but so what if you were? You’re allowed to try and find that kind of happiness for yourself, on top of the happiness you get from Henry. The fact that Neal - ” he spits out the name with unexpected derision - “thinks that he gets a say in that, just because he’s Henry’s father, is laughable. Absurd. Especially since he’s one step above an absentee parent.”
Emma can’t help but feel a rush of platonic affection at his words, though she’s mortified to feel those feelings welling into tears of relief and gratitude. It’s true that Mary Margaret and Ruby and Elsa have been agreeing with her about how much of an ass Neal is for years, but they’re practically family; there’s always kind of been that feeling that they have to say that because of their long and close connection to Emma. There’s something meaningful and vindicating about hearing Robin, a coworker of significantly less acquaintance, say the same thing - that her ex is a jerk who has no right to have any opinions about her personal life.
Robin doesn’t know that they’re good tears, however, and his leftover fury quickly morph into a confused concern. “Are you crying?” he asks, not waiting for an explanation. “Oh, please, Emma, don’t cry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that, I didn’t mean to upset you — ”
“It’s alright, Robin,” Emma cuts in with a teary chuckle. “It just means a lot to hear you say that. Thank you.”
“Ah, well, we’ve got to stick together, don’t we?” Robin smiles. “Single parents banding together and all that. Though, for the record, every one of us in here is rooting for you, not just me. Kristoff is as mad as I’ve ever seen him, and I thought Scarlet was about to bash his nose in.”
“Yeah, well, Scarlet just wanted the stage cleared so he could get his work done. Any opportunity to brain Neal with the light bar was just an added bonus,” Emma replies, snorting less than gracefully, happy to see a path out of the emotional bog she’d inadvertently waded into.
“You’re not wrong there,” Robin admits, breaking into his own bout of laughter. At the end of it, the mood is lighter for both of them, and while Emma is still irritated with her stupid-ass ex - a permanent thing, really, even if it’s a bit more than usual at the moment - the blind panic their argument had spawned about what everyone else is going to think of her has abated, thank god.
“Hang in there, darling,” Robin concludes with a collegial pat to her back. “We’re all here for you if you need to vent or plot a murder. Though, I should tell you,” he continues more seriously, “rumor has it that Neal was giving Killian the third degree earlier.”
“Of course he was,” Emma groans, dropping her head back melodramatically before setting her shoulders once again. “Sounds about par for the course today.”
Robin chuckles. “Nothing you can’t handle, o fearsome leader,” he teases. “Now go be a badass, prove him wrong.”
And you know what? Emma’s going to do just that. After one last stop, that is.
———
Killian doesn’t expect Emma to show up in the doorway of his dressing room as he runs through his pre-show prep - in fact, for one irritated moment, he’s convinced it’s Cassidy come back to grill him some more.
“You scared me there,” he comments, tossing a grin towards where Emma leans against the door frame. “I thought you were our charming visitor.”
Emma winces at the words. “Yeah, about that…”
“Oh god, he’s not coming back, is he?” Killian groans. It would be just his luck if the man was standing right behind Swan, but at this point, they’re already on poor enough terms that he’s willing to risk it. It’s not like things can disintegrate any further.
Thankfully, Swan emphatically shakes her head to that. “No, no, he and Henry are off getting dinner somewhere. But I did hear that you guys had the pleasure of meeting.”
Belatedly, Killian realizes that as awful as he thinks Emma’s ex is, she maybe doesn’t want to hear that from others. She’s the one who has to deal with him for the foreseeable future; his conversation with Liam aside, it seems bad form to complain about the man to Emma’s face and potentially make her feel worse, both about the prospect of dealing with Neal and about the fact that he’s here in the first place. The latter is most certainly not her fault.
“Yes, he’s, uh… it was interesting, meeting the man,” Killian finally says, as diplomatically as he can manage.
Swan, thank God, is having none of that however. “Oh please. He’s an ass. A real piece of work. No use beating around the bush, it’s not going to hurt my feelings or anything. I’ve got thicker skin than he does.”
“Ah, well, as long as you said it first,” he laughs. Suddenly, he remembers an earlier part of their conversation - the bit about how she heard Neal and he had talked - and something clicks. “Wait, you’re not here to apologize for his utter lack of manners, are you Swan?”
Her face contorts into a sheepish smile. “Maybe?”
“Well save your breath, love,” Killian insists. “There’s no need. His actions and his words are in no way your fault. You know that, right?” It feels crucial that she knows that.
“Yeah, Robin told me pretty much the same thing,” she replies. “Still. I feel bad that you had to deal with him at all.”
“Put it out of you mind, love, I beg you. I’ll admit that he wasn’t a particularly pleasant part of my day, but I’ll put him out of my mind soon enough. He’ll be a footnote, at best. Don’t worry yourself about it, please.”
“I mean, if you’re sure…” she trails off uncertainly, that guilty look still darkening her face.
“I insist,” he says with finality. He can still see Emma’s doubts lingering though, so he quickly shifts to teasing. “I do have to ask, though,” he says, noting the trace of caution that appears in the crease between her brows, “what did you ever see in him?”
At his teasing smile, Emma releases the tension she’s holding again, going so far as to roll her eyes at the question, and they’re able to resume their banter again, continuing on as if Neal and his nonsense never happened.
(His line that evening about Collins being a pompous, prattling fool seems a little more pointed than it ever has before, but the audience doesn’t need to know that. Killian is confident that Emma hears it all the same.)
If you guys liked this chapter, please please please reblog (or even just like!) it. I’m a desperate woman who’s not about pleading. Thanks for reading!
Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10
A/N: Here we are: the fallout from the holiday party. Sorry?
Chapter title from “The Phantom of the Opera” and suggested by my fantastic beta, @snidgetsafan. Thanks for that, for your beta services, and for reassuring me about what I did this chapter.
I did a count this morning, and if all goes to plan - or to outline, rather - then this story will have 19 parts. That’s 6 more chapters and an epilogue, so you can all breathe a sigh of relief that we’re halfway through this nonsense. Thanks for sticking with me.
Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happen.
Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
Emma wakes up in her bed the day after the holiday party with a headache, dry mouth, and regret. Plenty of regret.
At first, it’s just a vague regret, one she attributes to the knowledge she drank too much and an all-too-keen awareness of how her brain is pounding in her head, attempting to forcibly squeeze out through her ears. As she readjusts to the waking world, however, it all comes rushing back. The holiday party. Drinking on the balcony. Killian.
Fuck.
Images of the night before flash behind her eyelids and Emma groans, and not just from the physical pain. God, she was a mess. Mortification courses through her veins, leaving Emma tempted to just crawl underneath the covers again and never come back out. She just might have done it, too, if the bedroom door hadn’t squealed open at that exact moment. I really need to get some Pam on those hinges, Emma idly thinks as she flops her head over to face the door and is met by Mary Margaret’s head, cautiously peeking through the crack. That hesitance doesn’t last long, though, as once her friend ascertains that Emma is indeed awake, she fully walks through the door with a perky smile on her face and cups of what Emma can only hope is very strong coffee in her hands.
“I thought I heard you!” she chirps, pulling an apologetic face when Emma winces at the pitch. Honestly, fuck this hangover. “Sorry,” she says in a much mellower tone of voice. “Here, have some coffee.”
“Oh thank god,” Emma responds, hastily reaching for the offered cup. “You’re a living saint, Mary Margaret.”
“There’s bagels in the kitchen, too, if you feel up to getting out of bed. Oh! And,” she chirps, sending another stab of pain through Emma’s skull as she starts fishing through her pockets, finally coming up with a small plastic tube, “I found Advil. Just my little travel size, but it’ll work, right?”
Emma nods as best she can when attempting to inhale her coffee, motioning with her free hand to hand over one of the capsules. “Thanks,” she rasps when Mary Margaret hands the little salmon-colored tablets over to her. A thought strikes her suddenly, a drunken half-memory creeping through, and Emma groans again. “Don’t tell me you slept on the couch last night.”
“I didn’t sleep on the couch last night,” Mary Margaret reassures, before pausing. Somehow, there’s a sense of a ‘but’ coming, though there really shouldn’t be. Sure enough, though, Mary Margaret continues. “I slept in Henry’s room.”
“Oh, M’s…” Emma groans. “You didn’t have to do that!”
“Oh, I think I did,” she argues right back. “You were very insistent last night that you didn’t want to be left alone.”
“Of fucking course I was,” Emma mutters to herself.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mary Margaret offers kindly, ever the mother.
Easy answer, that. “Nope,” Emma answers curtly. Fueled by embarrassment and a desire to get as far away as possible from this conversation, she manages to swing her legs out from under the covers and haul herself out of bed to make her way to the bathroom, though she regrets it all the while. Cold air and nausea-inducing movement are much less pleasant than the cozy warmth of the many layers of blankets on her bed.
Brushing her teeth and taking a moment to look marginally less gross helps, but Emma’s still not quite ready to dissect the whole thing with Mary Margaret. Unfortunately, her friend isn’t quite on the same page. Emma had anticipated as such, and is already braced and ready when she walks back in to find some clothes.
Sure enough, Mary Margaret tries to jump in as soon as she walks back into the room. “If you want to talk about last night, Emma — ”
“Don’t you have that appointment this morning?” Emma quickly interrupts, the words already waiting on her tongue. “Miss Blue really won’t be pleased if you’re late, and it’s already almost nine. You’ve got to get going if you want to stop at your place before the theater.” There may or may not have been an incident Tuesday evening where a seam in one of Mary Margaret’s gowns was ripped while she and David were playing tonsil hockey (or whatever the kids say these days). Ruby had quickly tacked it for Wednesday’s matinee, but the production’s petite yet intimidating costume designer had wanted to supervise the permanent repair, supposedly to ensure the fit was correct. Personally, Emma suspects that Mary Margaret is in for a talking-to. If her friend’s blanched face upon initially receiving word of her appointment was any indication, Mary Margaret thinks the same. It’s a low, dirty move of a distraction, but Emma knows M’s won’t risk being late to a professional obligation - both for her own sake and for Emma’s, knowing that these kind of snafus directly increase the amount of stress Emma has to deal with.
The look Mary Margaret gives her is unimpressed - the look of a woman who knows exactly what Emma’s attempting and is not fooled in the least. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this,” she warns. “I’m just about to leave because you just happen to be correct about the time, not because I’m letting you drop this subject. We will pick this up later, and you’ll feel better for it afterwards. Promise?”
Emma hums noncommittally. She’d much prefer to drop the whole thing and pretend it never happened until the end of time. That doesn’t fly with her friend however, as Mary Margaret’s unimpressed look only sharpens.
“I’m serious, Emma. Promise me we’ll talk about it later?”
“Yes, fine, Mom, I promise,” Emma sighs in exasperation, rolling her eyes. The latter was probably a bad idea; it doesn’t help the headache in the least. “Now for the love of God, get out of here before you’re late.”
“Alright,” Mary Margaret agrees, somewhat hesitantly. “But call me if you need anything, ok? And make sure you eat that bagel, the bread and the protein in the cream cheese will do you good.”
“I will, ok?” Emma all but snaps. Subconsciously, she knows that she’s only reacting in this way due to embarrassment, but for the moment she just wants Mary Margaret out of her apartment, good intentions aside, so that she can wallow in her mortification in peace.
A flash of guilt streaks through Emma as her friend fixes her with a disapproving stare, but Mary Margaret still gathers her coat and heads for the door. “I’m just trying to help, Emma,” she says quietly, disappointment coloring her voice and turning the flash of guilt into a deeply stabbing knife.
Emma sighs, deflating. “I know. I’m sorry,” she says. “Blame it on the hangover. I’ll be better once I get some food into my system. I’ll see you tonight, alright?”
“Alright,” Mary Margaret agrees, before stepping forward to envelop Emma in a tight hug. “Feel better,” she whispers. With a last squeeze she departs, leaving Emma to the silence of her empty apartment.
(Somehow, even though it’s exactly what she wanted mere minutes ago, she hates every silent second of it.)
———
She’s an absolute child, is the thing, between the clinginess last night and her outburst this morning. Might as well go for the hat trick of immaturity and react to her embarrassment by avoiding all witnesses to the event that’s warranted it. Mary Margaret she’s avoiding for obvious reasons - Emma has no intention to discuss the matter, but knows her traitor mouth might betray her anyways when faced with her friend’s gentle insistence. Killian though… she knows he isn’t judging her for her behavior, can see it in the gentle smiles he offers her, and doubts he’d make her discuss the matter, but Emma avoids him all the same out of shame. Merely being in his presence makes her burn with embarrassment at the memory of that evening, and she seeks to evade any reminders of that whenever possible. He doesn’t deserve this treatment, which makes Emma feel slightly guilty - Killian’s a genuinely good guy, kind and charming and (dare she say it?) handsome, someone who she’d want to know more intimately under different circumstances - but she’s compelled to act on a self-preservational instinct.
New Year’s passes with Emma ducking around corners and passing secondhand messages. Henry eventually returns from his vacation with his dad, less enchanted with skiing than before he left - “It’s hard, Mom, and who wants to be out in the cold all day?” - Emma’s good mood returning with him, but another Wednesday comes and goes with her avoidance tactics still in full force. Seeing Emma cheery again, Mary Margaret seems inclined to let go of her determined attempts to dissect the incident now that a week has passed, and Emma can almost put the whole thing behind her. Still, though, the memory persists, and with it, Emma’s avoidance of Killian.
It won’t last forever - at least, she doesn’t think so - but for now, a mere week and some change later, the tactic is here to stay.
———
Emma is avoiding him. Again.
It feels a bit like two months ago again, except this time, Killian can’t figure out what he did wrong. All he knows is that Emma is avoiding him at all costs, ducking around corners when she sees him coming and relaying messages through intermediaries when necessary. And it hurts.
Thinking back, the closest he can figure is that all this started right after the Christmas party, when he watched over Emma in her intoxicated state. Though he meant well, he must have overstepped her boundaries that evening. With growing sadness, Killian realizes he likely blew any chance he might have had of even remaining friends with Emma with what must have been a blatant disregard of her understandable restrictions and concerns. Even if he just meant to make sure she was alright, he must have come off as a real arse. Eventually, he’ll be kicking himself over the whole thing, but for the moment he just feels sad.
He misses her, is the thing, even though he feels like he doesn’t deserve to, not since this is all his fault. He’d thought they were making such good progress too; a simple conversation with Emma can brighten his whole day, and without that to look forward to, everything seems dimmer. He misses her sarcasm, and her dry sense of humor, the way she doesn’t mince her words and snorts when she laughs, the way her smiles may not be easy to earn (except for where her boy is concerned), but so worth it when they make an appearance. He’s fully aware that he’s a pathetic bastard, but ultimately, he can’t help it.
Though Killian is sure everyone has noticed by now how desperate Emma is to avoid him, and how morose he is in turn, it’s Robin of all people who broaches the subject and stops tiptoeing around the matter.
“How are you doing, Killian?” he asks, voice filled with more concern that Killian really deserves. He’d come up to the booth for a meeting they should never have needed to have about finding his spot, Killian frustratingly distracted by his emotional turmoil and nearly missing his marks two days in a row. Ostensibly, they’d met to review where Killian needed to stand each time and whether Robin needed to adjust anything, but it seems more like an excuse for Robin to prod him about the source of the distraction rather than the side effects it creates.
Killian initially just shrugs, humming noncommittally at the other man’s inquiry. It feels a bit weird getting into this with Robin - though they get along well enough, he doesn’t actually know Robin that well, and the lighting designer is definitely more Emma’s friend than Killian’s. There’s a bad joke about losing friends in the platonic divorce bubbling at the back of his throat, but his persistent melancholy keeps it from finding a voice. Ironic, this - he and Emma have switched places emotionally from the circumstances that started all this.
“Really, now,” the other man persists, “I know something’s the matter. Emma’s been acting odd all week, and you’ve seemed down ever since. Now, I may not be some rocket scientist or statistics whiz,” he jokes, “but I’m sensing a correlation. So: how are you doing, Killian?”
Faced with that gentle opposition, Killian cracks. Perhaps it’s a sign that he’s wanted to talk about this all along with someone who knows all the players. “I don’t even know what’s the matter, not really,” he confides. “I just know that for some reason, Emma is avoiding me.” Privately, he suspects it’s a direct result of the events of the other night, but he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing the details without Emma’s knowledge or permission. It hurts, knowing that despite his best efforts to assist Emma as best he can while still respecting her boundaries - her reasonable boundaries, which he agrees with - she still feels avoidance to be necessary. “I think we all know how I feel about Emma,” he chuckles, the words eliciting a snort from Robin in return, “but I’m starting to wonder if maybe I should just… let it go. Find a way to move past my feelings. Not because I want to,” he hastens to add, “but because she seems to want me to. I’m willing to be persistent, but after a certain point… it all seems like a hint to go away. And maybe it’s about time I took that hint.”
Robin just stares back, more skeptical than Killian expected. Granted, he hadn’t expected skepticism at all, so any amount is rather unexpected. “Seriously?”
“... Yes?”
Robin lets out a snort. “Oh lord. Killian, my good man, let me tell you a secret.” He leans in conspiratorially, Killian meeting him halfway out of some bizarre sense of courtesy. Robin, the absolute bastard, lets the moment dramatically sit a moment longer before whispering melodramatically, “Emma’s got a thing for you too.”
Killian rears back, face suddenly twisting into an expression of annoyed disbelief as Robin raises his eyebrows knowingly. “Really?” he deadpans. “Now that’s just mean. Childish, even, taunting a man like that.”
“I’m serious!” Robin protests. “She absolutely, one-hundred-percent has a thing for you. If you want to get truly childish, really embrace this middle-school mentality you’re accusing me of,” he smirks, “then I’d say she likes you. Likes likes you. Please, trust the man shut into a woefully small space with her every day on this one.”
Still, Killian scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve seen absolutely no proof of that.”
“Yes, well, you’re not the one witnessing the banter and the little blushing smiles and the way she stares at your arse in that costume. Seriously, mate, it’s almost nauseating. Not quite as bad as Nolan and Blanchard, but…” he trails off, his point clear.
“She never said anything!” Killian weakly protests. Like that’s a thing people actually do - walk up and tell the object of their affections how they feel.
“Yes, well, that would require Emma actually being willing to admit to herself that she fancies you, and that’s proven to be a stretch too far,” Robin parries, voice dry but sage, before softening. “Look, if you want my advice, don’t give up on her yet. I know from experience - the best ones will lead you on a merry chase,” he tells Killian somewhat wistfully. Killian almost cracks a jab about the other man’s own enamorment of Regina Mills, but restrains himself upon seeing the melancholy-tinged reminiscence gracing Robin’s face, instead waiting for the man to reveal his train of thought in his own time.
Shortly, Robin seems to remember Killian’s presence, smiling sheepishly. “My wife - Marian, her name was - was an opera singer, part of the chorus at the Met, back when I was just some young upstart, full of confidence and no real chance to prove it yet. It was love at first sight on my part, as cliche as that sounds, and she had approximately no time or patience for me, some young puppy following at her heels,” he laughs, eyes crinkling in a way that Killian knows is caused by warm memories. “But whether out of hope or determination or pure obliviousness, I held out hope, and look what it got me. Five of the happiest years of my life and a wonderful son.” He smiles, face flooded with the look of a truly content man. “Look, you have to do whatever is best for you, I understand and support that one hundred percent. I just want to encourage you not to throw in the towel just yet - not while I still think there’s hope.”
The words are comforting, and even if Killian was feeling somewhat despondent just minutes before, he’s suddenly reinvigorated with a new sense of just what Robin urged him to have - hope. “Thank you,” he replies softly, a small smile starting to form on his face. “That’s, uh…” he pauses, not sure how to continue, how to express the bolstering impact Robin’s had with his words, and settles for simple gratitude instead. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Robin smiles back, offering a comforting and companionable pat on the shoulder before turning back to the task at hand. “Now, let me show you again exactly where the spot is gonna hit, even if you really ought to know this by now, and I’ll have you go mark it, okay?”
———
She should have known she wouldn’t be able to avoid all interactions forever, or at least not those with Mary Margaret. Emma could swear the petite brunette has magic, what with the way she always seems to appear just when Emma is hoping to avoid her. Who knows, maybe the name of that pixie cut denotes more than just a style, and is instead a hint that Mary Margaret is actually a devious fairy. Stranger things have happened, surely.
Regardless of whether or not Mary Margaret possesses magical teleportation powers, that doesn’t change the fact that she eventually catches up to Emma, her face displaying that awful combination of half hurt and half disappointment usually only displayed by parents (or so Emma’s heard).
“Are we ever going to talk about the Christmas party?” she asks in a tone that suggests she thinks it’s been more than long enough of a wait.
“Not if I can help it,” Emma mumbles back under her breath, but Mary Margaret’s keen ears catch the words all the same.
“Emma, you can’t run from this conversation forever,” she scolds. “I know you don’t want to rehash it, but I really think you’ll feel better once you do. It’ll let you stop lingering on it.”
“I’m not lingering on anything,” Emma argues. “Henry’s home again, so everything’s fine. And, not to gloat or anything, but he didn’t have nearly as much fun as he expected. I’m still my kid’s favorite, all’s right with the world, no need to talk through whatever last Wednesday was. I’m good, really.”
Mary Margaret stares back skeptically, that disapproving frown still dominating her face. “Really, you’re good?” she demands. “You sure you’re not lingering? Because avoiding — ” she interrupts herself to peer around, seemingly checking that no one is listening — “avoiding Killian doesn’t seem like something a person who’s completely past the matter would do.”
“I’m not avoiding Killian,” Emma insists stubbornly. “I can’t help if we haven’t run into each other this week. It happens.”
“Oh, please,” Mary Margaret shoots back. “I’m optimistic, not stupid. You’ve practically run in the other direction whenever you see him coming. It’s a damn good thing there haven’t been any major issues you were both involved in the past few days, or God only knows how that would have been resolved.”
Well, she’s got Emma there. “So what if I am? Seems like that’s my business. What does it matter to you?”
“I just want you to be happy, Emma,” Mary Margaret wheedles in that way of hers. The pure cloying sentiment of her words and intent nearly make Emma gag. “And this hasn’t been a happy week for you. I can only imagine this self-imposed separation from Killian - usually one of your greatest supporters - is part of that. What happened?” She gasps suddenly. “Oh god, he didn’t do anything before I picked you up, did he?”
“No, no, God no,” Emma rushes to reassure.
“What then? I can’t understand it.”
“Look, I’m embarrassed, ok?” Emma snaps. “I was not at my best that night, and I don’t really want to face what Jones - one of my coworkers - thinks of me after that display, pity or disgust or whatever else. I don’t want to deal with it, so I haven’t.”
There’s an unexpected snort from behind the women, and Emma whirls to see Regina, standing there looking deeply amused. “You’re aware that Jones thinks the sun shines out of your ass, right?”
Mary Margaret gasps next to Emma, though it’s more likely that she’s less shocked over Regina’s presence than about her use of language. Figures.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Regina clarifies somewhat haughtily, “it’s just that neither of you are particularly good at watching your volume. But I say again: you do know that Jones thinks you personally are responsible for the sun coming up each morning? Thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread? That you hung the stars? Etcetera, etcetera, must I continue?”
“She’s got a point, Emma,” Mary Margaret contributes, her tone vaguely apologetic.
Regina smiles smugly at that, before continuing. “Look, I’m just saying, I don’t think there’s much that would change his mind, and that probably includes whatever you did the other night that you’re so embarrassed about. Did you hit him?”
“No,” Emma replies, rolling her eyes.
“Insult his mother?”
“No.”
“Run down the street buck-ass naked declaring your allegiance to some space alien dictatorship?”
“Christ Almighty, no!” God, where did Regina even come up with that?
“Ok, then I’m sure he doesn’t blame you for anything. And anyone with two eyes can see that you don’t need or want pity, which is pretty effective at keeping it away. So what are you worrying about?” Her tone softens somewhat at the stubborn set of Emma’s jaw (a stubborn expression that hides her insecurity about the whole matter, but Regina doesn’t need to know that). “Look, you can do whatever you want, Miss Swan. Lord knows we certainly can’t stop you,” she declares with a knowing look to Mary Margaret, “but what I can tell you - and I’m sure Miss Blanchard can as well - Jones has seemed sad and confused and even hurt ever since you began your little avoidance game. The way I see it, you’re protecting yourself from something that isn’t going to happen anyways, and we’re all witnessing the fallout. If you don’t want anything to do with Jones, that’s fine, that’s your prerogative, but you can’t keep up this ridiculous ducking around corners and speaking through the ASMs. Let it go on long enough, and it’s going to undermine your power - which I’m sure is the last thing you want.”
Emma hadn’t thought of it like that, far too caught up in her immediate mortification to truly think through its consequences. Hell, the entire reason she gave for turning Killian down in the first place was fear of a relationship affecting things at work; according to Regina, Emma’s brought exactly what she feared to come to pass, without even the benefit of a relationship as an excuse. Fan-fucking-tastic. She groans in realization.
“Yes, I think that about sums it up,” Regina comments drily. Emma shoots her a glare in response - entirely warranted, in her opinion, especially since Regina’s opinion is so unasked for.
“We don’t want to guilt you, Emma,” Mary Margaret puts in more gently, shooting her own look in Regina’s direction as the latter sounds a dissenting hum. “Like I said: we just want you to be happy, and this? This isn’t making you - or Killian, for that matter - happy.”
(Emma think that statement is effectively the same thing as guilting her, but she doesn’t have the energy right now to argue that.)
“Look, I’ll think about everything you both said. Happy?” Even if Mary Margaret and Regina are correct, Emma’s not really in the mood to admit it right now.
Mary Margaret nods, though the movement seems reluctant. It’s the best she’s going to get right now, though, so she’ll have to be happy with it. “But about the thing with Neal and Henry - ”
“Honestly, I haven’t even thought about that since Henry returned. Funny how that solved the issue. Really, Mary Margaret, can we just drop it? I’ll admit to ‘lingering’ or whatever, but honestly, the Henry and Neal thing that started it all has been the furthest thing from my mind. Which means no need to to talk about it or… whatever.”
“If you’re sure…” Mary Margaret finally agrees hesitantly.
“God, yes, I’m sure. It’s my one real dream to drop this. Please. Immediately. Like, yesterday.” That, at least, draws a laugh out of even Regina, Mary Margaret shaking her head with affection. “Now, I think we all have things to do or places we’d rather be, so can we, you know, get to it instead of standing around doing whatever this is?”
By some miracle, both women comply, even if Mary Margaret is hesitant. Eventually, Emma will probably appreciate the conversation they’ve all just suffered through, but for now, she just wants to be alone.
After all, she’s got an awful lot to think about.
———
In the end, things go back to normal out of Emma’s own volition - no more pestering friends and, unlike last time, no need for Killian to come convince her. The insecure part of Emma whispers that the fact that he wasn’t fighting for her and their… whatever dynamic this time is a sign that his affections have changed, that he’s no longer interested in her in any way, romantic or otherwise, but his near-palpable relief when Emma breaks her silence to ask him if he’s seen Belle dispels that notion.
“Missed you, Swan!” he calls with a wink (well, his facsimile of a wink) as she wanders off in the indicated direction.
(And if she blushes at the return of his casual affection, well, that’s her business - as is the acknowledgement that she maybe missed him too.)
Summary: As a stage manager who's clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.
A/N: It’s finally here - the Broadway AU I’ve been threatening to write for ages! I’m excited to finally post this, and I hope you’re excited to read it. I’ve got a bunch of these saved up - 7 completed chapters and significant chunks of 4 more - so I should be able to post these every Monday.
I had a lot of help getting this to its final state, so special thanks to @katie-dub for coming up with the title, @kmomof4 for proofing my outline, and @snidgetsafan for her ever-exceptional beta skills. Y’all are the best.
Each chapter title will be pulled from musical songs. The overture is traditionally the music that plays after the lights dim but before the show starts, and oftentimes sets the stage for the show to come by combining snippets of the musical numbers to come.
Overarching disclaimer: my theater experience is purely on the community theater level and only on the techie side, not the acting side. I strive for accuracy, but pull on my own experience and as such may not achieve it.
Tagging those who have expressed interest or I think will like this: @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, @revanmeetra87, @onceuponaprincessworld, @courtorderedcake, @snowbellewells, @branlovesouat, @aerica13, @searchingwardrobes, @teamhook, @awkwardnessandbaseball. Send me a message if you want me to keep tagging you or to be added to this list!
Without further ado: enjoy!
Emma Swan falls into working theater crew somewhat on accident.
That’s the story of her life, really – unexpectedly pregnant at 18, moved to New York on a whim (the reasoning being roughly “if not now, when?”), ended up with a job at Granny’s Diner because it happened to be next to what must be the only free parking in the city, and with a roommate because the owner’s granddaughter just happened to be looking for an apartment and a roommate at that very time.
In the same vein, while it was less of an accident that she became friends with Mary Margaret Blanchard (NYU theater major and friend of Ruby’s who liked to study at the diner), it was entirely by chance that Mary Margaret got her working crew. The truth of the matter is that Emma had a 4-month-old and very little cash, and the NYU theater department needed someone to do some scenery painting. While she may not have been the most artistic of people, Emma was pretty sure that she could handle putting paint on the wall. She could come in whenever she wasn’t working at Granny’s, and best of all, she could bring Henry with her in his carrier. It’s a perfect convergence of circumstances. The powers that be must have been pleased, because come show week, they’d asked her to stay and help move sets. And after that, well… things just spiraled from there.
The funny thing is that Emma had never considered herself a theater fan. When she had started working NYU shows, it had just been a job, not some great passion. Granted, she had only seen a terrible high school production of Fiddler on the Roof and a nearly worse community theater production of Ragtime – and both only because they were free and through her school at the time. There just wasn’t really a chance to see any quality theater as a foster kid. Ruby, when she found that out, naturally decided to fix the situation immediately by taking Emma and Mary Margaret to see Chicago for her own birthday. And as soon as Emma heard “All That Jazz”… she was gone. There was no going back.
Emma somehow found herself an unofficial member of the NYU theater family, especially when visiting lecturers and special events used the auditorium – events that still needed staffing but that the theater majors were reluctant to assist with. From there, she followed Mary Margaret and Ruby (their own aspiring costume designer) through their own smaller roles and shows. Ruby took extra classes in hair and makeup at a local cosmetology school, hoping to expand her portfolio of talents. Mary Margaret kept adding to her resume any way she could, working on any show that would cast her. And Emma somehow continued working her way up the ranks, recommended by word of mouth, towing a toddler (and later a child) along with her. Somehow, all those fortunate accidents brought her here, to this moment – an adult with her own place, a great kid, a support system of friends she views as family, and an ever-rising positive reputation in a decently paid profession. For someone who thought, ten years ago, that her life would be a series of dead end jobs and tiny apartments shared with roommates she’d despise, every day is like she’s living a dream.
This feels like the pinnacle of her achievements, however. She’s certainly worked as a stage manager before – in fact, it’s become her own niche, calling the shots. Her unconventional education has resulted in a working knowledge of nearly all the aspects of technical theater, which has proved incredibly helpful in dealing with her various colleagues. It’s like speaking another language - people are more willing to fill her in on the more complicated terminology when she shows she knows the basics. But this… this is a whole different thing. This isn’t one of her Off-Broadway shows, or one of her limited runs, but a major production. It wasn’t supposed to be – when she signed on as stage manager, set to work with a young director she came up with at NYU, it was still Off-Broadway, an adaptation of Pride & Prejudice they already knew would either be a huge hit or sink into obscurity. But then, some investor who loved the original work caught wind of Merlin’s vision, and suddenly, they had a significantly higher budget, a theater right in the heart of the theater district, and likely a lengthy run – if all goes well. Oh, and one more thing had significantly increased – the pressure on everyone involved.
Of course, just to complicate things, the change in venue isn’t the only thing weighing on Emma’s mind. Initially, Emma had been asked to serve as one of the assistant stage managers, to work backstage the way she prefers and relaying the stage manager’s orders, helping the entire show run smoothly. However, even that plan had changed. The intended production stage manager, finding herself pregnant with twins and violently ill as a result, chose not to participate in the show. Emma can’t blame her – she remembers how tired she was with Henry, and he was only one baby. But Merlin had then asked Emma to step up into an expanded role, saying that he trusted her for this position more than anyone else.
Emma’s flattered, she really is, but the truth is that she’s never run a show at this level. Call the cues for a show, check the equipment, coordinate everything that needs to happen? Yes, sure, of course. She can do that in her sleep now (somewhat literally, sadly – she’s developed an unconscious habit of dreaming the various light cues). She’s stage managed her smaller shows without any issues. But with a budget this large and stakes this high? Feeling like she personally is the linchpin that could make this show soar or crash in spectacular fashion? On a show they’re all aware could make their careers? That’s new, and terrifying, and Emma privately wonders if she’s the right woman for the job.
But she takes the promotion for that very reason - it’s new, and an incredible opportunity to get her name out there if the production succeeds. She’d be an idiot to turn this down, but that doesn’t make her any less nervous.
Really, at the end of the day, this latest promotion is representative of how she’s made her way through most of her career – a bunch of happy accidents and an unwillingness to say no to any opportunity, now having lead her to a cold room and a crowd of men who all want to be Mr. Darcy.
Nice.
Honestly, this part of the job leaves her as basically a glorified secretary, recording everyone’s contact information so that she and Merlin can handle callbacks later. He asks for her opinion every so often, but honestly, what is he expecting her to say? She can’t carry a tune, and her opinions are usually “yeah, he seems like he won’t be a complete pain in my ass”. They’ve already pre-cast their Elizabeth – a lovely woman named Belle French, who had been an up-and-coming TV actress before an ugly scandal with a prominent producer – but Merlin had wanted someone new for Mr. Darcy. Emma can’t help but understand and agree with that decision – Mr. Darcy is somewhat of an unknown factor for so much of the source material, it seems appropriate that their actor also be something of an unknown quantity, someone the public doesn’t know how to define yet. Unfortunately, they must have overly emphasized the arrogant side of Darcy in the casting call, not the shy romantic, which seems to have brought out every egotistical actor in the city - all convinced that they would be perfect for the role. Don’t get her wrong, the arrogant façade Darcy presents is certainly important (and definitely present in this room, good lord), but Pride & Prejudice was one of the few books in high school Emma actually enjoyed – she knows there needs to be more than that. Whoever they choose needs to also be able to pull off a certain amount of vulnerability, a certain level of discomfort and awkwardness. So many of these would-be Darcys are just too… suave for her taste.
That’s why she’s particularly hopeful about this next prospect. He had swaggered in, as confident as the rest, but as she’d watched him interact with the others, there had been a certain amount of nerves that the rest weren’t letting show. He aces the choreography audition (perhaps because he throws himself into rehearsing in a way the others don’t, like it’ll ruin their persona if they’re shown practicing the steps), has a singing voice that will work well for Darcy (while looking adorable, scratching behind his ear when they ask about his relatively small experience on the stage). What really sells things for Emma, however, is how, when introduced to Belle for a test of how they’ll act together, he stutters over all his words and turns bright red after finally blurting out a “oh, I’ve heard so much about you!”. He’s an awkward mess behind that swagger and false confidence, and it’s a little perfect.
(It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes, and one of the more polite Darcys she’s dealt with today.)
So when, after a very long day, she’s asked her opinion about the variety of men who auditioned that day, Emma doesn’t hesitate to put her personal vote in for Killian Jones.
God, she just hopes she doesn’t come to regret that decision.
Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5
A/N: We’ve got some great surprises in store for this chapter! Plus, a bunch of feelings - because, you know, me.
Chapter title taken from 9 to 5, of all things. Yes, it was made into a musical, and yes, Dolly Parton was still involved.
Super extra thanks to @snidgetsafan, my fantastic beta, who had to remind me of a lot of my own backstory this time. It goes without saying that she makes things better and more readable - but I’ll say it anyways.
Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happen.
Enjoy!
Honestly, it’s hard to focus on whether or not things are actually better with Killian because she’s so damn busy. It feels like they’ve hit some proverbial “point of no return” in the production, the show barreling ahead like a runaway train, everyone involved simply hanging on as tight as they can as the date moves closer and closer to previews and, inevitably, opening night.
It overwhelms Emma, some days, just how much there is left to do. They’re permanently moved into the theater now that the set is done - no more of this “back to the rehearsal space every other day” nonsense - but Emma can’t help but wonder some days if that wasn’t a mistake. She’s still feeding David Nolan lines and the choreography for the Pemberley scene still looks only two steps above sloppy and God, their projected timetable was such a mistake. And sure, there’s time to clean it up - previews are still three weeks away, starting November 19th - but there’s still so many notes every day of stuff they need to fix, not to mention the sheer stress of it all.
Emma loves every moment of it.
She’s operating in the midst of barely controlled chaos and honestly, she’s in her element. There’s a rush unlike any other to doing this part of her job, and Emma thrives on the variety and unpredictability. Every day is something new and exciting, even if it is stressful.
Of course, the flying hormones don’t help her stress level in the least. Mary Margaret and David are bad enough, with their are-they-aren’t-they romance - seriously, at a certain point someone’s going to have to tell them to knock it off, before audiences get confused about whether Bingley is supposed to seem so attracted to Charlotte Lucas - but Will Scarlet doesn’t help matters either. Belle is on stage nearly constantly, but the rare moments she’s not, Emma’s has to watch Scarlet like a hawk to make sure he’s not showing off to Belle at the expense of his own concentration and duties.
“Sorry, Boss,” he always grins when Emma has to storm backstage to find out exactly why he’s not adjusting the positioning of the backdrop when she clearly asked it of him, Belle suppressing her own smile at a distance much more reasonable than Emma suspects she occupied only seconds before. Honestly, Emma’s tempted to just fire him, but the truth is that Scarlet’s an exceptional stagehand, just as Robin promised - a real jack of all trades, able to find unconventional solutions to the ridiculous problems inevitably created as a side effect of live theatre.
(And really, the side of Emma that’s not the boss has to admit that the whole spectacle is kind of cute, how earnest and eager Scarlet - usually such a smartass - acts around Belle. She deserves that kind of devotion, anyways.)
What’s worse is that the hormones seem to be catching, as insane as that sounds. Or at least it seems like they are. Robin stutters through all mic checks with Regina and turns a vaguely adorable shade of pink anytime she comes up to the booth to verify something with Emma, and Kristoff must have met Elsa’s sister at Emma’s party, because he won’t stop asking if she’s seen Anna lately in a casual tone of voice completely ruined by the frequency of his questions. And you know, it’s not like Emma’s some sort of anti-love Grinch. She can be on board with happily-ever-afters or whatever. But they are trying to do a major job here, and honestly, she’d really appreciate it if they’d ignore the call of their dicks for like five minutes, thank you very much.
Not that she can talk. She’s not nearly as God-awful lovestruck as some of the guys - looking at you, Scarlet - but she’s not nearly as detached as she’s trying to pretend. While there’s still some work to do in the costuming department, the main cast has complete costumes now, and it’s… a lot. A lot in a good way, but a lot. And yes, Emma does have words to spare for the delicate gauzy ballgowns Ms. Blue fashioned for the Bennet girls, and even for the absurd amber concoction Regina’s been dressed in, but truthfully, Emma’s distracted by a different costume piece altogether. Because as much as she admires the construction of the rest of the costumes… those breeches are something else.
Even that statement is a little bit deceptive; it’s not all the breeches that Emma is enthralled by. Staring at David’s or August’s lower halves feels a little bit like ogling her brothers. No, she’s specifically distracted by the breeches adorning the very shapely legs of one Killian Jones.
It’s not like she’s blind, and she’d have to be not to notice that Killian is a remarkably handsome specimen of a man. But the period dress is something else altogether. Part of it is the whole fairy tale thing, Emma thinks, and in his formal coat and cravat, Killian certainly looks the part. And paired with his manners, that almost over-the-top gallantry? He’s the very picture of a storybook prince. But the other, greater factor here is absolutely undeniable: Killian Jones looks hot in that costume, in all the best ways. There’s something about the way the fabric so perfectly molds to his ass and muscular thighs that never fails to send a jolt of want right through her, no matter how much she tries to deny it.
She does try to deny it, for the record; deny it and ignore it and try to justify it as just appreciating the excellent work of the costuming team. Emma turned him down, after all. It’d be absolutely ridiculous to be checking him out after that.
Still, sometimes Emma finds herself watching him with a sense of longing; a sense of what if?
What if she was wrong? What if she had said yes?
Those thoughts are dismissed as out of hand just as quickly, however. Emma turned him down to protect her career and her credibility in the face of temptation; there’s absolutely nothing in her decision to regret. It was the right decision, and she absolutely stands by it. Emma Swan absolutely, definitely did not make a mistake in turning down Killian Jones’ proposition, no matter how fantastic his ass looks in those pants.
(She’s totally checking him out.)
———
Killian can tell that Swan is ogling him. She’s not particularly subtle about it, no matter what she’s no doubt telling herself; the little shake of her head, like she’s trying to settle her mind or dislodge an unwanted thought, is a dead giveaway. He’d mention how adorable it is, if he wasn’t absolutely certain of the glare he’d inevitably receive in response.
He’s not much better, honestly; only marginally more subtle. He’s always been impressed by Emma Swan, but this… this is something else altogether. He sounds like a broken record, repeating the same words over and over, but Emma is truly a marvel in motion. There’s an intensity to her movements that Killian would almost call single-minded if he didn’t know exactly how much she’s juggling at once. Not that she ever lets it show. Emma’s a perpetual face of calm despite the chaos around her and everyone’s best efforts to make her life even harder. In fact, Killian thinks Emma might even enjoy it, holding the reins in her hands and attempting to forcibly pull them back into line. She’s a force of nature, and it’s wildly attractive.
“That’s not too weird, right?” he asks Liam on the phone one night. “Being so attracted to the way she’s whipping us all into shape?”
“Let’s try to avoid the word whipping in this sentence,” Liam teases, “but I don’t think it’s that weird. She’s a confident, attractive woman, and her authority I’m sure is part of that attraction.”
“She just makes it look so easy, you know?” Killian elaborates enthusiastically. “There’s so much going on, and she’s handling it all at once, without breaking a sweat. And she’s so confident about it! I know I’d be a frenzied mess, but she’s so effortless about it, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Which she does, she so absolutely does. You can just tell she’s in her element.” Killian pauses for breath. Realizing how he sounds, positively gushing over a girl, he smiles sheepishly. “I know I must sound ridiculous, but there’s something… something alluring about that confidence. I can’t explain it properly.”
Technically, he does have the words to describe it, but not without sounding like a loon. There’s almost a glow about Emma, a visible aura of certainty that envelops her as she breezes through the theatre. And she’s breathtaking, cloaked in that absolute assurance of her capability.
“Ah, but you’re certainly making a valiant effort all the same, babbling away like a lunatic,” Liam teases.
“Shut up,” Killian grumbles back. “I don’t mean to annoy you, blathering on like this, but she’s just — ”
“ — a marvel?” Liam cuts in. “Aye, you’ve mentioned it.”
“Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” Killian concedes. “We can move on. How have you been?”
“Can’t complain. I’ve been keeping busy, and the weather has finally gotten more pleasant. I can’t tell you anything about work, but…”
“I didn’t particularly expect it anyways.” The latest installment of Liam’s superhero series, The Cavalry, is currently filming and famously tight-lipped about any details. Killian grew quite used to not discussing his brother’s work during the last films, and this one has proved no different.
“You know the drill. But hey, keep an eye out the next few days, would you? There’s something headed your way.”
“Something headed my way?” Killian can’t imagine why. It’s not his birthday, and Christmas is still weeks away, when Liam plans to fly into New York. If all goes well with the show, Liam’s schedule will be more flexible than Killian’s for the foreseeable future, filming commitments notwithstanding.
“A surprise. You’ll like it, I promise,” Liam assures.
“Alright, I’ll watch for a package then. I’ll let you know when it arrives.”
Liam chuckles, though Killian can’t imagine why. If there’s a secret reason, it’s probably nothing good. “Oh yes, you do that.”
The rest of the call is much more mundane, though in the best of ways. Even when they’re not talking about anything of import, Killian cherishes phone calls with his brother.
“Remember - keep an eye out,” Liam says to close the call. “It should reach you on Thursday. Love you, Killy, I’ve got to go.”
“Love you too.”
Apparently, he’s keeping an eye out.
———
“You’re aware there’s some guy here, right?” Robin asks her during rehearsals Thursday afternoon, and Emma whips her head around so fast she’s a little worried about whiplash.
“No! Who? Where?” she demands, frantically searching the dimmed theater.
“I don’t know who, that’s kinda why I was asking. He’s in the back by the stairs, center section. Not filming or making trouble, just watching. Figured that was more your pay grade to address.”
“You’re paid more than me.”
“Ah, well, this industry isn’t exactly on top of the gender pay gap. Not to mention paying people based on how much they’re doing instead of whether their title can be nominated for a Tony,” Robin concedes. “What I mean to say is that you’re more of an authority figure here, and if you were being paid properly, this would be more your pay grade.”
“Yeah, thanks for that,” Emma mutters as she extricates herself from the mass of wires associated with the temporarily balcony bound sound and light board, trying not to trip over Kristoff’s boxes of mic batteries.
“Oh, my pleasure.”
Sure enough, Emma easily spots the interloper as she steps off the narrow staircase, his broad frame hard to miss less than ten feet away. Squaring her own shoulders, Emma approaches him, ready for a confrontation.
“Can I help you?” she asks sternly - not demands, Emma does have some control over her tone. It must still somehow convey, however, as the man turns with a smile that can only be described as placating.
“Sorry not to announce myself, lass,” he says, “but I didn’t want to interrupt the rehearsal. It’s looking lovely, by the way.” Something about the voice is familiar, but with so many British accents flying around this production - genuine and affected - she can’t quite place it.
“Thanks,” Emma replies, mostly on automatic, before catching herself. “This is a closed rehearsal, which means no strangers just waltzing in off the street, so I am going to have to ask you —”
“Oh, I know, and I’m so sorry to intrude,” he interrupts. As Robin brings the lights back up, Emma starts to see what her intruder looks like, and oddly, that’s familiar too - sandy curls and a charming smile that she knows she’s never met but look weirdly familiar all the same. “I was in town rather unexpectedly and just thought I’d drop by to see my brother —”
“Liam?” a shocked voice calls from across the auditorium, as if on cue. Killian comes rushing down the aisle, still fully in costume, only moments later. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“I did tell you something was headed your way on Thursday,” the man - Liam - teases, and suddenly it all clicks into place in Emma’s head. “There was a slight delay in filming, so I thought I’d come see my little brother before I’m due back on set.”
“Liam Jones?” she demands, astonished, brain still spinning frantically, trying to process this.
“Aye, you knew I had a brother,” Killian responds, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“Yeah, well, you forgot to mention that I might recognize him from the movies.”
“Ah.” Killian’s hand goes behind his ear as if on instinct, a move Emma’s learned means that he’s feeling embarrassed. “Well, it’s an odd thing to bring up in casual conversation. Plus, I didn’t want anyone thinking I got this job based on familial connections or some nonsense.”
“I take it you’re the much talked about Miss Swan?” Liam asks, having the decency to interrupt what seems set to turn into an uncomfortable conversation. Or perhaps interrogation. Emma’s got questions, and she’s not picky.
“Uh… yeah,” she manages to choke out. “That’s me. Stage Manager. It’s nice to meet you - Killian talks about you all the time. Plus, you know, my kid loves those superhero movies. I think he’s got a countdown calendar somewhere for the next Cavalry.”
“Well, that’s always nice to hear,” Liam responds graciously, though whether about the Killian comment or that her kid is a fan is unclear. “I trust that Killian’s been behaving himself?” he winks. It’s possible the man is just as charming offscreen as on.
“Liam…” the man in question whines, eliciting a loud guffaw from his older brother. Because that’s absolutely what he is; Emma can see the older sibling/younger sibling dynamic clear as day.
“He is, don’t worry,” she laughs, watching her lead actor turn progressively redder with embarrassment.
“Ah, well, he’s a good lad at heart,” Liam chuckles. Emma somehow gets the feeling he’s saying it with the solitary goal of embarrassing Killian. “Would I be able to borrow him for lunch, by any chance?”
“Yeah, of course, I think we’re about to break anyways,” Emma replies warmly. “I’ll talk to my director too, see if you can hang around this afternoon. Technically it’s closed rehearsals, but I think we can probably make an exception, since you’re not in town regularly.”
“I’d appreciate that, actually, thank you,” Liam smiles, before turning back to his brother. “Are you going to change out of your costume, Killy, or are we having lunch in full Regency dress?”
“I’m going, I’m going,” he grumbles in return. “Just… Stay here, okay? Try not to make more of a fool of me than you already have?”
Liam makes no promises, but he waves his hand in a resigned acceptance that manages to convince Killian to leave for his dressing room, albeit warily looking over his shoulder the whole walk back.
“I do love embarrassing him sometimes,” Liam smirks as he and Emma watch the younger Jones’ progress.
“Well, I think you’ve accomplished that,” Emma replies, laughing. “I gotta go wrangle the crew, but let me know if you need anything?”
“Aye, of course.”
———
Killian missed out on a lot of the traditional cliches of being a teenager, mother gone too soon and father drunk too often to be the presence he needed. Still, he recognizes the stereotypical conventions when he sees them, and Liam is definitely trying to make up for some of the parental humiliation Killian thought himself lucky to have missed out on, complete with a pretty girl present to witness his complete and total mortification. True, Liam is just where Killian left him when he returns from changing into street clothes, but his brother looks far too smug for Killian’s taste. Thankfully, most have already left for lunch or are holed up in their dressing rooms, so there’s no one to witness any further embarrassment on his part.
“Are you pleased with yourself?” Killian grumbles, but Liam only grins wider. Figures.
“I won’t pretend to know what you’re talking about,” he replies. Of course he doesn’t - what’s the point of interference if you admit to it? The tension quickly eases as Liam laughs, slinging an arm affectionately around Killian’s shoulders to pull him close and ruffle his hair. “Oh, but it was hilarious to see the way you blushed.”
“Stuff it,” Killian replies, but it’s half-hearted at best. Despite any teasing, Killian really is pleased to see his brother. “As long as no one’s here, do you want to poke around backstage for a bit? Give you the behind the scenes tour?”
“I’d be delighted,” Liam replies, smiling more genuinely. “Lead on.”
Truthfully, if Liam’s able to stick around for the rest of rehearsals today like Emma suggested, he’ll probably see most of this anyways, but there’s a pride in taking his brother around anyways, showing Liam his dressing room and all the little corners backstage. Liam is good enough to nod along, making the appropriate exclamations over Killian’s costumes and asking questions.
Somehow, they end up concluding the little tour at the center of the stage, offering a clear view of all the various pieces around them. Really, the only thing missing is the actors.
“I know it’s hard to get the full picture when we’re still putting it all together, but God, Liam, I think it’s going to be amazing,” Killian declares. He’s probably gushing, but can’t truly bring himself to care. “I’m sure you still think there’s a lot that needs to be done, but really — ”
“I don’t think that at all,” Liam interrupts. “In fact, I’m incredibly proud of you.”
Killian can feel his ears begin to burn, but he clutches onto those words all the same. “Yeah?” he asks, needlessly seeking confirmation.
“Yeah,” Liam agrees with a gentle smile. “I was watching you earlier, and you’re undeniably talented. And I don’t just say that as your brother, mind you,” he clarifies, “but as someone who’s worked with an awful lot of actors, and knows something special when he sees it. It’s so easy to see how passionate you are about this, Killian, and the rest of the cast along with you. The crew too, if Miss Swan is any indication.”
“She is,” Killian confirms. “We all want so badly for this to work. It means… well, frankly, it means everything to me that you can see it. Thank you.”
“It’s only the truth, Killy. And even if this whole thing was a mess, and bound to close after the first night - which I don’t, for the record - I’d still be proud of you. You’re my brother,” he states simply. “I’m always going to be proud of you.”
“Thanks, Liam.” Killian’s throat is suddenly suspiciously tight with feelings, but it’s more than worth it to hear those words of validation from Liam. On impulse, he pulls his older brother into a hug, one that’s willingly returned even as Liam chuckles. As the two men pull apart, Killian discreetly attempts to clear the lump in his throat. If his brother’s barely suppressed smirk is anything to go by, that effort at subtlety wasn’t particularly successful, but at least he has the decency not to highlight that particular detail.
“Speaking of your lady, though...” Liam instead comments slyly, all but nudging Killian conspiratorially in the side to break the emotional moment as the younger man stifles a groan, “she really is something, isn’t she?”
“I think calling her ‘my lady’ is a little far,” Killian hedges, but Liam’s clearly on a roll, seemingly not even processing his younger brother’s qualifier.
“I know I teased you earlier in the week, but you’re right, there’s something about that air of authority,” Liam continues, waggling his eyebrows. “Something alluring.”
“God, I so don’t want to hear this from you. Especially not that imitation. Cripes, is that really what you think I sound like?”
“Yes, obviously. And we talk about your crush on the phone all the time, you ninny!” Liam points out, tone affectionate despite his words. “Isn’t this the same thing?”
“Yeah, but when we do this on the phone, I’m just talking to a voice. Talking about my love life, and lack thereof, to your face just feels… weird.”
“Alright, fine,” Liam concedes with a laugh. “But don’t think I’m dropping this permanently.”
“Oh, God forbid that.”
“Watch it, little brother,” Liam warns, though his wide smile betrays any pretense of scolding. “If you won’t talk about your love life, is there at least some decent pizza nearby?”
“Aye, I think we could manage that,” Killian smiles back.
“Well then don’t keep a man waiting, Killy, lead on!”
———
As Emma suspected, Merlin doesn’t have any issue with Liam Jones staying to watch rehearsals. In fact, he seems excited about it, to the point that Emma wonders if he might be a secret fanboy.
(“It’ll be great publicity!” he claims. “Hopefully he’ll be willing to vouch for the show when we open, and if any of the papers catch wind of him being here, that’ll get our name out there. From a marketing standpoint, it’s absolutely advantageous.”)
(Emma doesn’t buy those excuses for a second.)
Killian seems to throw himself into his role that afternoon with a new intensity Emma’s never seen before. Maybe it’s born from a desire to impress his older brother, who he so clearly looks up to from everything she’s seen and heard; who really knows. The point is, the show comes to life that afternoon in a way Emma’s been waiting for, the rest of the cast feeding off the prospect of a fresh-eyed audience and the sheer energy of their lead. It’s amazing, and Emma is suddenly surrounded with a new confidence that this show will more than just proverbially “go on”; it’s going to be a hit, at least if she and Killian have anything to say about it.
The real highlight of the afternoon, however, is seeing Henry’s eyes just about bug out of his head when Emma brings him down after rehearsals to meet a real live action hero.
“Henry, this is Liam Jones,” Emma introduces solemnly, even as she suppresses a wide smile. “And Liam, this is my son Henry. He’s a bit of a fan,” she concludes, whispering conspiratorially.
“Mom,” Henry hisses in embarrassment, but it does snap him out of his slack-jawed shock and awe. He can thank her later.
Liam has the grace to pretend he doesn’t notice Henry’s flushed cheeks, making the introductions slightly easier. Emma sends a mental thank you, hoping the older man can maybe sense it anyways. “It’s very nice to meet you, Henry,” he replies, smiling genially at her pre-teen.
Somehow, Henry manages to pull himself together enough to offer his hand. That’s her polite kid. “It’s great to meet you too, Mr. Jones,” he beams. “And, uh… well, yeah, I kind of am a fan. My best friend and I watch the Cavalry movies all the time, they’re great.”
“Liam’s just fine, lad,” the man in question corrects gently, “but I’m always delighted to hear when people like my movies. Thank you.”
“Can you tell me anything about the next movie?” Henry all but demands in his excitement, but plows forward before Liam even gets a chance to respond. “Oh, I bet you can’t. That’s fine. Can you tell me about the first one then? How many of the stunts did you do? My friend Avery and I tried to act out the office fight scene one time - did you have to have a stunt double for any of that? Oh! I’ve got a folder with all the characters on it, you’ve got to come see!”
“You’re not trying to steal my friends, are you, Liam?” Killian calls jovially, causing the heads of both man and boy to whip in his direction. It’s kind of cute, really, to see broad grins on both their faces as they locate Killian making his way towards them.
“You never told me your brother was Liam Jones!” Henry accuses as Killian reaches their little cluster. Killian rolls his eyes affectionately as he slings an arm around the boy’s shoulders.
“Don’t worry, lad, I’ve already heard from your mother about how I shouldn’t have withheld that particular piece of information.”
“Hey, don’t drag me into this,” she jokes, holding up her hands up in surrender.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare, Swan,” he shoots right back. She’d almost call it flirtatious - isn’t sure that she shouldn’t still, despite the fact that they’ve agreed not to take this anywhere. Emma can’t say that she minds it that much.
The moment passes, though, as Henry interrupts excitedly. “I was about to show Liam my Cavalry folder!”
“Oh, well, that’s serious business, don’t let me stand in your way,” Killian replies, his tone deadly serious even as his eyes twinkle with a smile. Henry must take that as a kind of dismissal, as a moment later he’s dragging Liam Jones towards the back stairs by the hand, seemingly uncaring of whether the older man intended to go that way or not.
“Oh you have no idea,” Emma replies. “You should have seen his face when I introduced them. Full-on slack-jawed awe.”
“I’m sorry to have missed it,” he smiles. With Killian, Emma always feels like he actually means the words - like he’s never just saying them just because he’s supposed to - and this is no different. She likes that about him. “I wanted to thank you,” he continues, “for arranging for Liam to watch today. We don’t think he’ll be able to make opening night, so this really means a lot. To the both of us.”
“No need to thank me, it wasn’t a big deal.” Really, it wasn’t; in this case, it’s not a case of Emma being uncomfortable with compliments. It was genuinely no trouble.
“Ah, well, still. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Emma’s phone vibrates - nothing important, just the monthly calendar reminder about rent - but by the time she looks back up, Henry and Liam are navigating back down the stairs, just as Elsa walks in the door to pick the former up. Liam visibly straightens as Henry drags him over to meet their neighbor, but Emma just writes it off as courtesy, or adjusting after the climb down the stairs. Until, that is, Killian groans at the same sight.
“Look at that idiot,” he mutters, much to Emma’s confusion. At the sight of Emma’s face, scrunched up in confusion, he elaborates. “The git, he’s flirting.”
“Are you sure?” Emma doesn’t see it yet, but then again, she only met Liam Jones a few hours ago, unlike Killian, who may as well have devoted his life to studying the other man’s behavior. That’s the way brothers are, she imagines.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Killian all but groans. “Look at him. The smile, the little swagger… I mean, for God’s sake, he practically snapped to attention when she walked in. There’s no doubting it.”
“If it makes you feel better, Elsa’s not some easy target for that sort of flirting,” Emma consoles. “She has very little patience for this kind of thing. I think her freeze-out is famous across the city.”
However, as the two bystanders continue watching, that’s seemingly not the case. Elsa’s not exuberant by any means - Emma doubts she ever will be, the very idea running contrary to her friend’s nature - but Emma can see spots of pink coloring Elsa’s cheeks as Liam continues his flirting, even as she keeps her reserve by not returning any flirtatious comments.
“Is this what ‘very little patience’ looks, like, Swan?”
“Shut it, this is not normal.”
After watching for a moment longer, Killian breaks. “Alright, this is enough.” It’s easy enough to stride over and catch Liam’s attention, as Emma hangs back for a final laugh at his expense. Honestly, he’s like a little kid who doesn’t want to share his toy.
“Are you ready to go, Liam?” he asks, tone just short of a demand.
“I suppose so,” Liam answers genially enough, though he does shoot his younger brother a confused look. “It was lovely meeting you, Elsa,” he says more genuinely in farewell.
“It was nice to meet you too, Liam,” she replies in her usual soft and polished tone, though again, Emma can spot a hint of a blush. Curiouser and curiouser. Before Emma can analyze it any further, Killian all but pushes his brother out the door, with barely more than a wave to a very confused Henry.
“What was that about?” she asks Elsa, mostly for the reaction, but her neighbor is hiding back behind the icy facade again, leaving Emma disappointed on several fronts.
“He was merely being friendly,” she replies, leaving Emma with a long list of questions and very few answers.
She’s going to have to keep an eye on this, see if it develops further - if she can weasel any information out of Elsa, that is.
———
It’s great to see his brother, even better to hear his feedback, but all good things must come to an end, and Killian has to accompany Liam to the airport on Sunday to see him off. Even after such a short visit, it’s painful to say goodbye, no matter how much Killian tries to prepare himself.
“I know I said it before, Killy, but I’m so proud of you, no matter what,” Liam tells him, drawing Killian into a tight hug. “Don’t get too into your head about it. You’re going to do so well. Try to remember that for me, alright?”
Killian nods, chin digging into his brother’s shoulder. “Aye, I’ll do my best, Liam.”
“Thank you.” They finally pull away, Liam collecting his bag to pass through security. “I’ll call you when I land, ok? Thanks for hosting me the past few days.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” It’s easier just to dismiss the words out of hand than to dwell on how rarely the two are together, how short this visit was. “I love you, brother.”
Liam smiles. “I love you too.” He begins walking towards security, but before he gets lost in the masses of JFK, he turns back one more time. “And remember what I said!”
“I promise!”
Even in the sadness of separation, Killian revels a little bit in his brother’s words as he makes his way back to the subway station. Liam’s proud of him, and proud of the work Killian’s creating.
He fully plans to hold those words and that promise close to his heart to carry him through the next weeks. With previews just around the corner, he’s going to need all the reassurance he can get.
Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3
Title pulled from High School Musical, because my excellent beta @snidgetsafan (thanks as always!) suggested it and it was a little too perfect to pass up. It's performed by schools across the nation every year, so I say it still counts.
I haven't done so lately, so I think this is a good time to remind people that my theater experience is all on the community theater level, not the professional level. Things that happen in this chapter or in this fic may or may not be realistic, leaning towards the latter. I hope you enjoy it anyways as a lovingly crafted piece of fiction.
Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happen.
Enjoy!
Tuesday starts alright (at least as much as Tuesday mornings ever do). As everyone involved in the production has fallen into a new routine at the theater, Emma’s stress level has dropped significantly. The creases are slowly being ironed out on the tech side, the cast is fully off-book, the choreography looks fantastic, and she had even managed to get home in time to hang out with Henry for a little bit before his bedtime. Not bad for a Monday - and hopefully a pattern that sets the tone of the rest of the week.
Henry does trip her up a little at breakfast. It’s early still, but Emma had wanted to make breakfast for once - sort of as a “thanks for being a great and patient kid” gesture, since she knows it’s been a hectic few weeks and not likely to get any better. Nothing special, but Henry really loves the pancakes from the box, and she cooks up a few slices of bacon to go with. Unsurprisingly for a boy his age, Henry falls upon the meal like he hasn’t eaten in a week. Emma’s not complaining; it means he’ll be sent off to school with a hearty breakfast instead of the usual Pop-Tarts or toaster waffles, and they’ve never been much for leftovers.
Breakfast conversation (or at least what passes for it with a halfway awake ten-year-old) is happy, if predictable - talk about upcoming tests and projects, how his friends are doing and the like - before Henry turns the conversation back around on her.
“So, is it going better?” he asks. The words are seemingly normal, even casual, but something is setting off Emma’s mom alarms all the same.
“Yeah, we’re all settling into a routine. Still on schedule,” she replies. “Any particular reason you’re asking?”
“No, no, just… making conversation,” Henry hurries to answer. After a pause to shovel more pancakes into his mouth, he continues his inquiries in a almost painfully casual tone of voice. “So… have you seen a lot of Killian lately?”
Emma casts her son a suspicious look, grabbing the plate of bacon before answering his question. “I see him every day at rehearsals, but not any more than the rest of the cast. Why, should I have?”
Ok, that last part isn’t strictly true. Killian has a way of showing up when she least expects him to, often to offer his assistance on things he doesn’t strictly need to concern himself with. But Henry doesn’t need to know that. Hell, Emma doesn’t know how she feels about that - no need to drag her kid into that.
“Oh, no, definitely not,” Henry hurries to add in a move directly stolen from Mary Margaret. “Just, you know, I had a great time hanging out with him the past couple of days. He’s a really nice guy.”
It’s the emphasis that really drives home Henry’s intentions, and Emma groans loudly when she realizes. “Aw, kid, not you too.”
“I’m just saying!” Henry protests, loudly and enthusiastically. “He’s super nice, and he totally has a thing for you.”
“How do you even know that?” Emma demands.
Henry just shrugs in return. “Robin says so.”
That elicits another groan from Emma. God, this is not the conversation she wanted to be having with her kid this morning. “When were you even hanging out with Robin? And don’t get me started about how you two are apparently gossiping like a pair of sorority girls.”
“We were not!” Henry tosses back, affronted at the mere suggestion. “And you were doing something else. Talking with Scarlet, maybe? I don’t know. Robin’s a cool guy, he’s teaching me about the light board. And he says Jones is totally smitten with you.”
“Well Robin needs to watch his fat mouth,” Emma grumbles petulantly.
“Would it be so bad?” Henry says, switching gears to that pouting routine Emma is usually weak for. “I’m a big kid now, you know, you don’t need to drop everything for me anymore.”
“I’ll always drop everything for you,” Emma promises solemnly, choosing to ignore Henry’s point.
In return, her son just rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I know. Super-Mom or whatever. I’m just saying… if you wanted to go out and have a life… I’d be fine with it.”
That’s her kid - trying to look out for his mom, even when she doesn’t ask for it. “I’ll keep that in mind, kid.”
Emma thinks the subject has been exhausted, but with a mischievous smirk, Henry lobs one more verbal missile. “And if you are going to get out there on the dating scene… I do really like Killian.”
Emma affectionately sticks her tongue out at her son in retaliation before shoving the bacon plate back under his nose. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Eat your breakfast.”
The thing is, early morning heart-to-hearts over pancakes have a way of lingering, and even if Emma had brushed off Henry’s prodding at the time, she finds herself still thinking about those words when she arrives at rehearsal. Her son is a great kid to be so concerned about her and her social life, but it’s not like she’s lonely or something. Honestly, she doesn’t have the time; she’s got great working relationships and a great kid and some pretty great friends (even if Mary Margaret is concerningly optimistic and Ruby can sometimes drive her nuts). Sure, she hasn’t really been in a relationship since Henry was born - a few flings on the weekends Henry was with Neal, a smattering of dates that never went further - but she’s not desperate for a man in her life. Emma’s got everything she needs, just the way things are now.
Of course, that doesn’t stop her from thinking dangerous and romantic things when Jones shows up with her daily hot chocolate and a smile. She may not need anyone, it’s true, but maybe Henry has a point. It could be nice, to actually be involved in an adult relationship. Killian really is a nice guy, handsome to boot, and, as pointed out by far too many people in her life, clearly besotted with Emma. When Killian grins at her as she takes that first marvelous sip from the cheap to-go cup, Emma finds herself thinking: would it really be that bad?
The answer, of course, is yes. The fact still remains that they work together. If Emma has one hard and fast rule for her non-existent love life, it’s not to mix business with pleasure - regardless of Jones’ feelings, regardless of Henry and Robin’s less-than-subtle hints (and God forbid Ruby or Mary Margaret catch wind of those conversations), and definitely regardless of any attraction Emma may or may not feel towards the man (because honestly, the more time she spends in his company, the more she’s moving away from no and towards yes, absolutely yes). So, despite everyone’s wishful thinking on that matter, the answer is still that it would be an awful idea.
(It won’t stop her from thinking about it, though.)
Thanks to that breakfast conversation with Henry, the morning isn’t going at all the way Emma had planned. But still, it’s got all the potential to be a good one all the same.
Of course, that all goes to shit by noon. Zelena has remained a problem, one Emma has known for a couple of weeks now that they’ll have to deal with, but Emma had been hoping she’d restrain herself to the status of a nuisance instead of actively working against the interests of the production. However, luck seems to have deserted them in that regard. Emma is consistently confused by the amount of criticism that Zelena is able to offer, considering the size of her part. Caroline Bingley is certainly an important role, but it’s not a sizable one - really only a few scenes and portions of two songs. And yet, the redhead has something negative to say about seemingly every moment of it. The best Emma can figure is that Zelena must have greatly inflated the role in her head, to the point that she’s decided that she knows best, and everyone else will think the same way.
“She’s a large character, darling,” Zelena is telling Merlin in that condescending voice she’s perfected. “I’m only doing what best suits the script.”
“Actually, I’ve got the same script as you do, and there’s hardly any direction for Caroline,” Merlin tells her yet again, a tired argument by this point. “Miss Bingley, while we all think her efforts and motives are a bit cartoonish, is all about the subtle dig, hiding her bite behind impeccable manners and passive aggression. Like I’ve told you before, I need you to tone all of your reactions down unless I specifically direct you otherwise. You’re wildly overacting.”
It’s only then that things become more heated, Zelena huffing dramatically as her voice reaches new piercing pitches. “Well any director worth his salt, one with a little more experience, would clearly understand my acting decisions, and see that they’re superior choices for the good of the production.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Merlin replies agreeably enough, apparently still trying not to engage beyond what is strictly necessary or stoop to her level of unprofessionalism. “However, as long as you’re part of this production, we’ll be doing things my way.”
The rest of the room is dead quiet as Zelena makes more and more of a scene. Most expressions vary from shocked to irritated to slightly scared on some of the younger cast members, though Emma spots an amused glint in Killian’s eye as their gazes meet. Honestly, he probably has the right idea; view this whole display as the ridiculous spectacle it is, instead of turning it into an even larger drama. Back at the proverbial center stage of the unfolding drama, Emma can see Zelena drawing herself up to a haughty stance, clearly preparing to deliver what she thinks will be a damning blow.
“Any other inexperienced director would appreciate my generous contributions. Frankly, your blatant disregard for my superior understanding of the character you hired me to inhabit makes me think you want this production to fail. Well, I won’t be around to see it.” Zelena dramatically flings her prop into the wings, a well-made ladies’ fan that Emma is concerned won’t stand up to being thrown. Hopefully Scarlet is around to catch it. “You can consider this my resignation! Rest assured, everyone will know about how poorly you’re directing this.” Zelena begins to stalk off the stage to her (now former) dressing room, before dramatically turning back to add a last word. “You’ll never find anyone to replace me with even a quarter of my raw talent!”
And in a final twirl of fabric, Zelena Mills exits their stage forever. Good fucking riddance.
Of course, that relief lasts for less than a minute before Emma remembers that holy shit, they’re weeks out from previews and one of their major cast members just quit.
Faintly through the blood rushing in her ears she can hear Merlin dismissing everyone for an early and extended lunch break, but Emma’s far too focused on the quickly intruding panic to process much else. As everyone else disperses, Emma all but collapses into one of the velvet-covered theatre seats. God, this could be the end of it all. Zelena is undeniably a pain in the ass, but she wasn’t underselling how difficult it would be to replace her on such short notice. Not to mention, the publicity… if Emma knows anything about Zelena, it’s that she won’t be making a quiet exit. No, Miss Mills’ style tends more towards the dramatic, towards making the biggest splash, and Emma won’t be at all surprised if she sees their production’s misfortune plastered across several websites and magazines by the end of the week. Not to mention how opening night creeps closer and closer, and their Thanksgiving Parade appearance before that… The more Emma thinks about any facet of this fiasco, the more she realizes that this is an absolute nightmare from every angle - in terms of time, publicity, practicality, and everything else.
Oh god, what are they going to do?
———
This morning’s rehearsal has certainly been… eventful, Killian reflects, watching Zelena make her dramatic exit. He can’t honestly say that he’s sorry to see the woman leave; in fact, he thinks it’s about time. Every day spent dealing with that woman was a Production in its own right, one that distracted from the hard work necessary to put together the real production they were all hired to create. Sure, Zelena’s departure might create some stress and possibly some delays in the short term, but Killian is confident that Merlin and Emma will lead them through it. Especially Emma.
The thing is, he’s not sure that Emma is quite as confident in that as he is. It takes a few minutes to find her after Zelena’s dramatic exit, distracted by the event and the ensuing rumble of brewing gossip, but when he does, Emma’s face is white as a sheet and she’s collapsed into a seat on a side aisle, panic written plainly across her face. At this point, crossing the room to join her is an irrepressible compulsion. Since admitting to himself his feelings for Emma, Killian hasn’t even tried to curb his impulse to assist her in any way she allows.
She clearly hasn’t noticed him, eyes glazed over with a million racing thoughts. She does, though, when Killian less-than-subtly throws himself into the neighboring chair, effectively shaking half the row and snapping Emma out of her reverie. He means to say something clever, something witty and funny, but seeing her still-anxious expression, Killian takes slight pity on her, offering a reassurance instead.
“It’s going to be alright, you know,” he tells her, injecting his voice with every ounce of confidence he feels.
Emma snaps her head around to meet his eyes, her incredulity apparent for all to see. “Is it? ‘Cus it sure doesn’t feel that way.”
“Of course,” he shrugs, calm as a quiet sea. “I’ve yet to see you fail.”
It’s meant to be reassuring, to give Swan her own boost of confidence, but instead it only seems to discourage her further. “Yeah, well, stick around,” she mutters gloomily.
“Oh come on Swan, we’ll manage. It’s not so bad.” That’s not strictly true, but Killian really doesn’t think this roadblock will be a death knell to the entire enterprise. At this point, he’s willing to say just about anything to pull Emma out of her bleak outlook on the whole affair.
Though he certainly achieves his goal of dispelling Emma’s blind panic, she instead whirls towards him in sudden anger over his latest words. “Yeah? Well, I’m stuck having to find a way to solve a major problem in a matter of days before it seriously sets us back, so I’m sorry if I don’t share your weird laissez-faire attitude about the whole thing. You might not be affected, but I sure as hell am, and I’m going to have to deal with the fallout!”
It’s quite the reaction - more of an explosion, really. Killian is just glad most people have already filed back to their dressing rooms or out to lunch, minimizing the witnesses to Emma’s outburst and the embarrassment she’ll likely feel later. He can’t resist raising a questioning eyebrow at her comments, however; Emma’s suggestion that Killian wouldn’t be affected by the sudden cast upheaval is especially ridiculous, considering his status as a major actor in the production.
Emma seems to process her words at the same time, letting forth a loud groan and dropping her head into her hands. “And now I’m an asshole too, on top of the stress.” Turning her head to look at him, she props her face on one hand, features squashed and distorted by the pressure of her palm. “Do you ever get so caught up in your own problems that you stop thinking about anyone else?”
Killian chuckles drily. “I think that’s just a human thing, love.” He probably shouldn’t have added the endearment, but Emma’s far too distracted by the present circumstances to notice or care.
“Yeah, probably. Still, sorry. I know you have to deal with this too.”
“It’s quite alright, Swan, you’re already forgiven. I understand, anyways - we’re all going to have to deal with this, but you’re the one that takes much of the logistical burden of replacing her.”
“God, don’t remind me,” she groans, face again hidden by her hands. “I just need two minutes to just… not think about this. Ok? Just… don’t remind me for two minutes, and then I will haul myself out of this deceptively uncomfortable chair and go talk to Merlin and attempt not to show the meltdown that’s happening inside. Or, at least, make it a very professional-looking external meltdown.”
Conversation dissolves into a long silence, but Killian can still hear Emma’s rapid breaths. Despite any claims she might make to the contrary, mere avoidance of the topic isn’t doing much to calm her down - just allowing her to retreat into her brain, where he’s sure a full replay of the incident is lurking with a million imagined potential outcomes. Quickly, he searches for something - anything - to distract her with, before settling on an unexpected sight happening just inside the wings, barely visible from their vantage point down in the audience.
“I think I’m hallucinating, Swan. I must be. The stress of it all has finally gotten to me and I’m having a mental breakdown,” he declares, trying to be as deadpan as possible in an attempt to make his blonde companion laugh.
“What the hell are you talking about, Jones?” Emma impatiently sighs. Oops. It seems his phrasing may have backfired a bit. Nothing to do but plow on, now.
“Tell me - is that, or is that not, Will Scarlet attempting to put the moves on poor Belle?”
That certainly catches Emma’s attention, her head snapping up and frantically searching her surroundings. “Where? I don’t see anything.”
“Unless I’m facing the previously discussed hallucination option, right over there. Center wing, stage left,” Killian replies, pointing. When you know where to look, it’s easy to see Scarlet’s cocky stance as he chats with Belle with a smile he must think is charming plastered on his face. The lady, interestingly, doesn’t seem opposed to his attentions; the look on her face is a little skeptical, if amused, but she’s made no move to send Scarlet on his way - a feat she’s more than capable of, regardless of her sweet demeanor.
“Well shit, you’re right,” mutters Emma as she witnesses the interaction. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“Well, we can’t be certain that anything will come out of this.” Killian had intended his words to be hedging, but they come out more snappish than he intended. Swan, of course, notices his tone, shooting him a concerned look.
“I’m not sure why you’re getting adversarial with me about this,” she remarks, causing a small flash of shame to shoot through Killian.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just… I worry about Belle, you know? We’ve gotten close these past weeks. I don’t want her to get hurt.” The word again remains unspoken, but hovers implied over the conversation all the same. They all know what poor Belle has already been through.
Emma smiles in a reassuring manner, absent-mindedly patting his knee in a comforting gesture that still manages to set his heart thumping wildly. Gods above, he’s got it bad for this woman. “If it makes you feel better, Scarlet’s a good guy. I know he’s a little goofy and mouthy, but he’s got a good heart under there.”
“That does help, actually, thank you Swan.”
They watch the possibly budding romance for a few moments longer before they spot Merlin heading over to their little corner, sporting his own worried look. Quickly, Emma recollects all her assorted paraphernalia, preparing for the inevitable meeting addressing how to proceed, but Killian is relieved to see that her face is slightly less panicked, the set of her shoulders marginally less stressed.
It feels even better when Emma turns back to Killian before she leaves, the most tentative of smiles on her face. “Hey, thanks for talking me down or whatever back there. It, uh…” she falters. “It means a lot that you have that confidence in me. Thanks.”
“Anytime, Swan,” he replies, smiling gently. “As I said, I’ve yet to see you fail.”
———
Regardless of Killian’s fantastic pep talk and his seemingly unending faith in her, it’s still a rough, stressful day, any hopes Emma might have for a nice, easy week absolutely shattered. Henry senses her rough day as soon as she gets home, having been directed back to the apartment instead of meeting at the theater after school, and drags her to Granny’s for dinner in a valiant attempt to cheer her up.
(Of course, having to pay for your own cheering-up dinner kind of defeats the purpose, but Henry’s a good kid to try. Not to mention, Granny gives them significant discounts anyways, to the point where Henry probably could have paid out of his allowance if Emma had let him.)
Thankfully, salvation arrives sooner than expected in a pencil skirt and fabulous high-heeled boots, asking in an authoritative voice to speak with Mr. LeMage, please.
As it turns out, salvation is named Regina Mills. Mills, as in the sister of the source of all their problems.
“I’m sure I don’t have to pretend about where I heard about this vacancy from,” Miss Mills the Younger explains. “For what it’s worth, you aren’t the first director she’s caused a fuss with, and you won’t be the last.”
It’s a hollow reassurance. Thankfully, Regina is already passing out resumes, offering them a proposal. “With your permission, I’d like to audition for the role she left. Frankly, I would have auditioned previously, and saved you all this mess, but I was committed to another show that was shuttered due to financial difficulties.”
Merlin raises his brows in surprise before replying. “That’s an awful lot of confidence. How do I know that that… shall we say, excess of confidence won’t result in the same problems that have led us to this conversation?”
Regina scoffs. She’s got presence and attitude, Emma will give her that. “Please. Unlike my sister, I’ve inherited a self-preservational gene that keeps me from actively sabotaging my employment. Not to mention an ounce of common sense.”
“And what are you getting out of this?” Emma thinks to ask. “Even you can’t deny this is unusual, one sister resigning and the other one showing up to make a run at the role.”
“Besides the steady job and a promising script?” Regina asks, her very eyebrows somehow regal as they lift into an elegant arch. “A healthy helping of sibling rivalry. Call me petty, but she’s been bragging about how the role was practically made for her for months. It’s been a bit hard to stomach. I like to think I could do just as good a job, if not better - though ultimately, that’s your decision,” she defers.
Emma hates to admit it, but she’s inclined to believe the regal brunette. She may have strutted in here, but she’s demonstrated an understanding that her sister is a nightmare and gone through the normal steps of seeking a role - providing a detailed resume of her past roles and asking to audition, instead of just assuming she’ll be given the part. Granted, she has effectively jumped the line by coming to see the director before the role was even advertised, but Emma’s willing to overlook that for the moment. They’re in a serious pickle at the moment, and Regina Mills offers a way out; Emma, for one, is willing to give her a chance to try.
Of course, watching Regina audition, she’s perfect - deliciously haughty in that same way her sister was, but with a hint of humanity underneath that makes Caroline Bingley into a real woman - albeit, a selfish one - instead of a cartoon villain.
Merlin’s still a little nervous, but Emma’s got a good feeling about Regina Mills. She’s got the job; now, time will only tell what she does with it.
———
The entire production breathes a sigh of relief with the arrival of their new Caroline - Emma particularly. Killian is himself intensely relieved, though that has less to do with the casting change and more to do with the fact that it removes a heavy weight from Emma’s shoulders.
He likes comforting her, likes being able to relieve her stress in any small way, Killian realizes after that fateful day Zelena stormed out and the even more ground shaking - at least emotionally - conversation that followed. If he’s honest, he wants to play that role on a more permanent basis. Of course, Emma Swan is a tough lass, a damsel who can resolve her own distress, but she shouldn’t have to shoulder that on her own. It’d be a lucky man who could be her emotional support, her shoulder to cry or scream on, and Killian not-so-secretly dreams of filling that role.
Killian wrestles with himself all week over the idea of asking Emma out on some kind of date, weighing Liam’s words of caution and his own common sense against the fanciful wish of his traitorous heart. He’ll admit that it’s likely still a terrible idea, but ultimately, the heart wants what the heart wants.
He’s not fully confident in his suit (though that’s likely more a matter of temperament on his part), but it seems like Emma isn’t necessarily opposed to his attentions. Sure, he probably hasn’t made his interest quite as blatantly obvious as he could have, erring more towards the side of light flirtation in a valiant attempt not to undercut in any way the respect she’s earned in her position, the authority it’s crucial for her to wield. Still, she always seems genuinely happy to see him, pleased by the hot chocolate he brings her whenever he has time, welcoming of his attempts at conversation and lighthearted teasing. Ultimately, that’s enough to encourage him to act, hesitance (and, if you ask Liam, common sense) be damned.
Still, it’s with no small amount of nerves that Killian resolves to ask Emma Friday afternoon after rehearsal wraps up. Things have gotten better as the week has gone on, Regina’s hiring and subsequent excellent work ethic doing much to ease Emma’s stress about the situation from Tuesday.
Gathering his courage, he approaches her as she’s loading up her supply box for the day. Emma seems happy to see him, though not surprised - a sign, perhaps, that his attentions have not gone unnoticed.
“What’s up, Jones?” she asks, curiously but not unkindly.
“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, scratching behind his ear - his own personal nervous tic. Does Emma know it’s a nervous tic? God, he hopes not, he’d love not to seem like a nervous wreck for this.
He doesn’t know if its his words or his tic that causes it, but her eyebrows are furrowed in a distinctly concerned way, Swan clearly thinking something is wrong. “Yeah, of course, what’s the matter?”
Quickly, Killian waves a hand as if to physically swat away her worry. “Oh, no, nothing’s the matter. At least I don’t think it is? Maybe you’ll think so, but I’m not intending it that way —”
“What is it, Killian?” Emma interrupts his rambling, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone.
Taking a deep breath, Killian takes a last moment to muster up his courage. “Well, I was wondering if you’d want to get dinner sometime. Or coffee. Or whatever would work for you, really, I know Henry takes up a lot of your free time, as he should —”
Killian quickly stops his rambling (again? Gods, this really is becoming a pattern, isn’t it) at the sight of Emma’s face. At best, it’s an uncomfortable expression, at worst an irritated one. Regardless, it makes Killian think that he perhaps misjudged his chances and how much Emma enjoyed their time together.
“That’s very… flattering, Killian,” Emma replies in a much nicer voice than he expected, “but I don’t date coworkers. Ever. It just doesn’t work. You’re a great guy, and I am flattered, but let’s just… keep things professional, ok?”
Red-faced, Killian nods, trying to retain what dignity he can. “Of course, Swan.”
“Great.” Emma gives a sharp nod as if to settle the subject before jerking a thumb towards the doors. “Then I’m just… gonna go. Have a nice weekend.”
“You as well,” he says softly as she retreats, impossibly lovely even in awkwardness.
Now it’s time for him to go and sink into the ground forever and definitely not tell Liam.
———
Emma is flattered; she really is. Under other circumstances, she might have even accepted. But honestly, what the hell was he thinking? Honestly, this week has gone from bad to worse, with barely any bright spots.
Partially, she blames herself; she should never have been so permissive of his attentions. But she had enjoyed being treated like an adult for once, like the attractive woman she still believes herself to be underneath all the stress and overworking and being 24/7 Supermom. He hadn’t been trying to distract her from her job, either, or compromise her authority - just helping in little ways, not to mention providing that welcome distraction the other morning during the Zelena debacle.
Still, she can’t. She’s a professional, one with a quasi-authority over Jones; she can’t risk undermining her career in what would appear to be a blatant show of favoritism.
Emma hates to do it, but she thinks it’s necessary to abruptly sever all but the most professional of connections to Jones; she can’t afford to do otherwise.
Summary: Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2
A/N: Still with me after last week? Good. You’ve got some Captain Cobra to look forward to this chapter, as well as more Emma & Robin friendship moments (is there a name for that?), which is basically my new favorite thing. Chapter title taken from “Big Fish: the Musical”, which is a thing, if you didn’t know that.
Thanks as always to @snidgetsafan, the best beta ever, who manages to squeeze in time for me despite her very busy school schedule. Honestly, A Champ.
Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happened.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
Killian couldn’t tell you when, or why, or how it happens - it just somehow does over the month of September. He hadn’t started helping Emma because he fancied her, or because he was looking for some reward or professional favor; he just happens to think Swan is a lovely, impressive woman who deserves to have her life made a little easier. There’s something about seeing an irritated woman at the bar that just does something to his heart, apparently, something that makes him gallant and gentlemanly. So he brings her cups of her favorite hot chocolate and does all he can to keep rehearsals moving so she can go home and see her son. Lately, this means distracting the ever-complaining and unpleasant Zelena Mills, the production’s Caroline Bingley. It’s the least Killian can do, especially if it means making things smoother for Emma. But somewhere between “fancy meeting you here” and now, his desire to make her life easier evolves into a desire to know everything about her life and just maybe share it. Killian Jones is left to suddenly face the facts.
He likes Emma Swan. Like, like likes her, to borrow that juvenile mindset sometimes encouraged by the theater environment.
Really, it’d be hard not to develop a crush on her - Swan, in his humble opinion, is a wonder of a woman. She’s got a talent of exuding an undeniable authority when she needs to while still blending into the background and directing attention elsewhere. Beyond that, she’s possibly the most capable person he knows - seemingly everywhere she’s needed all at once, her head a well-organized file system of every detail of the show, ready to be whipped out to answer questions from the most obvious to the most obscure at any moment. Swan is amazing, and more often than not, Killian finds himself just watching her in her element with her mysterious system of legal pads.
(Even if it is entirely reasonable to be impressed by such a woman, as Killian dissects those thoughts, it only becomes more starkly apparent that oh, he’s got it bad.)
Liam laughs and laughs at him, of course, when Killian calls in a mild panic to dissect his emotional crisis.
“It’s such a mess,” Killian all but moans in consternation.
“Oh, you’re telling me,” his brother chuckles, apparently deeply amused by the pickle Killian has found himself in. Which is not helpful. Not in the least.
“Why didn’t you stop me?” he whines, eliciting yet another bark of laughter from Liam.
“I did try to warn you. Unless, of course, you were too drunk to remember that conversation.”
“I wasn’t that drunk,” Killian mutters somewhat petulantly. He remembers that conversation perfectly well, thank you very much, and does remember how Liam advised against him pursuing the Lady Swan. And Killian hears that - agrees, really, that it would be a terrible idea to romantically pursue a coworker - but the heart wants what it wants, and he reserves the right to gripe and whine and play the pitiful victim if he so pleases. “But what am I supposed to do, Liam? I can’t ask her out, right?”
“Far be it from me to tell you what to do, little brother,” Liam replies, continuing before Killian even has a chance to muster the prerequisite correction that’s it’s actually younger, “but I’d certainly caution against it. I know that right now you’re in the midst of a fresh new crush, but stop and think about what could happen if you did pursue a relationship with this woman, and it ended badly. You’re the one who’s carried on and on about how important cast dynamics are in a live theatre show; you’ll have to consider the worst case scenario and how that dynamic could be affected in that case.” After a pause for thought, Liam chuckles, some new amusement apparently striking. “You know, you haven’t even told me if the lady in question feels the same. For all I know, this conversation is entirely pointless and she’s only been standing the sight of you out of some professional civility.”
“Oh, lay off, you arse,” Killian all but snaps. “I’m trying to get some advice - something you’ve always claimed to be your job as ‘big brother’, mind you - and you’re treating this all like some big joke. I don’t even know why I called —”
“Calm down, Killy,” Liam interrupts in a more soothing tone. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with my teasing. Honestly, I’m not sure what advice I can give, except to make sure you know exactly what you’re contemplating before you jump right in. Only your own heart can tell you whether this is a risk worth taking.”
It’s not the advice Killian was hoping for, if he’s being very honest. When all is said and done, he knows his brother is right - this is a matter only he can decide upon. But Killian is stumped, and he had really truly hoped that Liam would swoop in with words of wisdom to make everything make sense and tell Killian what would be the smart thing to do - what he should do.
“I know,” he eventually sighs in mild defeat. “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t try to get you to fix it.”
“Ah, well, it was an excellent effort. After all, I do know everything, as you’re well aware.”
“Alright, that’s quite enough,” Killian affectionately grumbles. “I’ll talk to you later, you old bastard.”
“Aye, talk later. And let me know what happens with the lady!”
———
Walking into the theater feels like coming home, regardless of the fact that Emma’s never worked from this location before. She always gets this feeling whenever she walks into a new space - that feeling of belonging, of rightness that she’s only ever felt with Henry.
Emma’s not alone in the space by any means, faint shouts and harsh noises of tools echoing through the space, but the cast isn’t here, which provides its own kind of peace. She loves her cast, she really does - well, for the most part, certain supporting actresses being a notable exception- but actors bring their own variety of chaos, one born of high-strung emotions and everyone giving everything all the time. It’s easier to appreciate the way the show is physically coming together without them present, see the beauty of the set’s construction for what it is without the distraction of loud voices and louder personalities. It’s still a bit of a scattered mess right now - a grand staircase she knows will be used in the Netherfield and Pemberley sets contrasting sharply with a pair of fake hedges in the process of being painted to created the illusion of receding depth - but Emma’s been around this process long enough on all sides to see the potential, to know that even if things still look rough, in truth, they’re down to just the details.
“I really think it’s going to be something,” comes a soft-spoken voice from her side, and Emma startles out of her thoughts, turning to see Merlin to her right. “Sorry,” he chuckles, “I suppose I should have recognized the look of someone who’s taking all of this in.”
Emma waves his apology off. In truth, she had been a bit lost in the visions in her head of how the show would look opening night with everything perfected, but she’ll have time for daydreaming later. There’s more important things to think about - namely, the production meeting she’d been called to the theatre for. Things have been going well on the techie front - Emma’s been in contact with everyone often enough to know that everything is on track - like with the set, the framework and bulk of the major work is done, everything now down to details.
“I love this part,” she says quietly, flashing a quick smile at Merlin. “Right now, when you can see everything really start to come together… I don’t know, it’s like I can really start to put the pieces together in my mind and see all the potential.” It’s not exactly what she means - she can see the potential everyday, watching her cast - but seeing things now makes it feel real and impending and inevitable.
“I know what you mean,” the director murmurs back, eyes fixed on the half-completed set, before turning back to Emma with a grin. “Make sure you enjoy it while it lasts, the peace ends next week.”
Next week, Emma contemplates as Merlin walks away to set up their meeting on what remains of the stage. Consciously, she knows that the cast is moving out of the rehearsal space and into the theater next Wednesday, but the reality of that slams into her all of a sudden. The steamroller that is this show keeps rolling forward, gathering momentum, and even through Emma knows they’re perfectly on schedule, it’s still surprising, how fast time is moving. It’ll be opening night before she knows it.
It’s a nice change, being able to devote her entire attention to the technical crew. All the designers have been around, stopping by rehearsals at various points in the process to see what they’ve got to work with and around, with Emma acting as a communication hub of sorts between them all. However, at rehearsals, there’s always twenty other things she needs to worry about, most of those caused by her cast. It’s a welcome change to be able to focus on the production crew without any interruption.
Things go as well as anticipated - everyone’s on track, as Emma already knew, so this is more of a check in, a chance to double check in person that their coordination has been followed and paid off. As always, the meeting only creates more for Emma to do - Robin had presented her with a list of all kinds of bulbs and gels that still need ordering that she’ll need to double check the budget for, and she needs to schedule time for Kristoff and the orchestra to meet next month and confirm when Robin, Ms. Blue, and select cast members can meet next week to check how the costumes will look under the lights - but that’s not unexpected. Emma’s sitting in the audience, creating yet another list of things that need doing and checking - the top of which is confirming her stage crew - when the seat next to her creaks and shifts. A quick glance reveals the culprit to be Robin, clearly making himself comfortable as he props his feet on the row in front of them.
“Don’t get used to that,” Emma mutters, absent-mindedly nodding towards the man’s boots where they’re propped on blue velvet. When it’s just the two of them, she can let it slide, but she really doesn’t need the house manager on her ass - or worse, cast members seeing him at a later date and getting ideas.
Robin only chuckles in response, leaning over to see what Emma’s currently meticulously listing out. “‘Finalize crew’?” he reads off. “Who are you thinking of?”
“I’ve already got Dorothy Gale and Mulan Fa for deputy stage managers, and they’ve given me a shortlist of people they’ve worked with before and recommend. Still looking for a deck captain, though, if you’ve got any recommendations. Had a guy lined up, but he took another job.”
Robin crosses his arms and furrows his brow in thought, considering the question. “It’s been a few years, and I don’t know what he’s up to now,” he cautions, “but first guy that comes to mind is Will Scarlet. He can be kind of an ass, but he’s good at thinking on his feet and finding unconventional solutions when you need them. Back in the day, I’d trust him to do just about any errand or favor I needed, because I knew that one way or another, he’d get it done.”
Emma’s never worked with the man before - or heard of him, for that matter - but Robin’s opinion means a lot, both personally and in this business in general. Plus, it sounds like Will Scarlet might have the mindset she’s looking for in her deck captain - not afraid to do whatever is needed to keep the show moving forward, no matter how outside the box those methods are.
“His background actually reminds me of yours a bit,” Robin is saying, which sounds like only another reason to give the man a call. “He’s done a little bit of everything just for the sake of learning it, though he was mostly doing stage crew when I knew him. I could give him a call tonight, if you like, see if he’s interested. I know I’ve got his number around here somewhere.”
“I’d appreciate that, thanks. If he seems interested, let me know, and I’ll give him a call myself tomorrow.” That’s one thing off her list at least. “Do you have any lighting guys I need to talk with and get contracts for?”
Sighing heavily, Robin nods. “Yeah, you’ll have to talk to the followspot operator, if I ever find one.” He chuckles before continuing. “I might need to borrow one of those legal pads and make my own to-do list.”
“And mess up my careful system? Never,” Emma teases right back. “Do you have a short list of candidates, at least?”
“No,” groans Robin, dropping his head back. “I mean, my four year old has decided that he’s the man for the job, but that won’t work for obvious reasons. Labor laws and whatnot.”
Emma chuckles in response, flashes of Henry at that age flitting through her mind. “Oh, I remember that stage. Have fun with that.”
“Yeah, I know. The thing is, he’s got the right instincts and reflexes for it, courtesy of the nature/nurture thing, he’s just not tall enough or strong enough to operate the lantern yet.” He grins roguishly before standing up, as if to leave. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plans for him yet.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Emma laughs in return.
“Anything I can grab for you before I head out? I need to make a couple calls about supplies before I pick Roland up from pre-K.”
“Go,” she waves him off. “I just want to walk a few things here, nothing I can’t do on my own. Let me know about Will Scarlet if you talk to him later.”
“Will do.” Robin waves a jaunty farewell, and then Emma’s left to her own thoughts again.
Fresh off the production meeting, she can picture in vibrant technicolor how everything is going to look. Merlin had been right, earlier; this production was really going to be something. Climbing over set pieces, examining the booth, hunting down each dressing room to assign space to everyone, Emma feels a routine beginning to form, one in which this theatre is her domain, and where she’s responsible for everything that happens in it.
An hour and a half later, Emma finally leaves to return home, where undoubtedly Henry is waiting (and hopefully working on his homework), having made excellent progress on her to-do list and with a new confidence in the feat they’re all trying to undertake.
It’s going to be something.
———
Of course, that confidence can only last so long. By the time rehearsals finally permanently shift to the theater a week later, a wide variety of problems have arisen, all of which Emma’s left to deal with and all of which leave her with a god-awful headache.
It had been with no small amount of relief that Emma had offered employment as deck captain to one Will Scarlet on Robin’s recommendation, but she’s not sure after meeting him that the man isn’t contributing to the headache. Will Scarlet has proved to be quick on the uptake and certainly skilled at his job, but he’s a chatterbox, too, with a deep love for sarcasm that Emma doesn’t always have the time, energy, or brainpower to process. Thankfully, whatever past history he and Robin share seems to make the former defer to the latter, and a well-placed look of disapproval from the older lighting designer does wonders to shut Scarlet up and preserve Emma’s peace of mind.
Of course, the odd hours aren’t helping either. The standard 9:30 to 4:30 rehearsal schedule is still in place, granting Emma one facet of much-needed routine. There’s still so much work to be done, however, much of which can’t be done with the cast still milling about, so Emma ends up staying late most evenings with Scarlet and her deputy stage managers, Mulan and Dorothy, setting positions for each set piece, usually only to adjust them the very next day. The file box is carrying a lot more now: five colors of spike tape and a roll of glow tape and more small tab post-its than any other person who doesn’t need to mark individual light cues should ever need, as well as all the myriad other things the cast need and somehow never remember to bring for themselves. The worst part of all of this is that Emma barely sees her kid anymore - sure, she sees him off to school in the morning, and sure, he comes by after school for a few hours before Elsa takes him home, but that’s so little time in the day, and Emma worries about how much she’s missing. While right now Henry is ecstatic to come to the theater and see everything that’s going on, seeming to take his mother’s weird schedule in stride, will he one day come to resent the time she spent at the theater instead of helping him with his homework or spending time with him? It’s a massive burden placed on her shoulders, only alleviated by hugging her kid as tightly as she can when they do see one another.
The greatest stress, however, comes from dealing with the actors. As always. God, when isn’t that the biggest stress in her life? In reality, she should just say actor, singular. Most of her cast, while constantly creating or stumbling across new problems like it’s some kind of competition, are generally pleasant and respectful and enthusiastic about the production they’re undertaking. It’s just one actor that’s the problem - Zelena Mills. Always Zelena Mills. While Miss Mills was hired for embodying exactly the traits they were seeking for their envisioned Caroline Bingley, she’s proved to be a constant pain in everyone’s neck. Emma prides herself on being a consummate professional, regardless of her personal feelings about her cast and their inevitable drama, but there’s just something about that woman that sets her teeth on edge and tests her patience more than usual. Zelena’s latest kick has been fancying herself some kind of genius director, questioning Merlin’s direction at every turn and playing Caroline larger and larger, despite specific instructions to the contrary. She’s already been talked to, both by Emma and by Merlin, but those conversations brought only temporary improvement. Personally, Emma thinks Merlin is being too nice; left up to her, Zelena would be long gone. The headache of dealing with her is not nearly worth the results she’s displaying. Emma has a hard time believing there isn’t anyone else out there who could do the job, even if they are creeping closer and closer to previews and then opening night. But Merlin keeps carrying on about potential, and how he thinks she can really add something to their interpretation of the work. It’s his show, but God, Emma wishes he would just say enough is enough.
Jones’ efforts to ease her load don’t go unnoticed, a gesture Emma appreciates. Unfortunately, there’s only so much he can do, most of which involves attempting to direct people’s questions elsewhere or answer them himself when he can. He even attempts to engage Zelena sometimes, though those efforts are even less successful - every time he tries to calmly remind the redhead of why Merlin’s direction makes sense or why particular decisions are made, she just fixes him with an impatient, condescending look, as if he’s the most simple creature Zelena has ever had the displeasure of interacting with. Frankly, Emma isn’t sure how Killian can stand it - she’s about ready to throttle Zelena just witnessing that glare, and she’s sure it’s infinitely worse on the receiving end. Despite the fact that his efforts aren’t particularly working, Emma’s still touched that he’s trying to lighten her load - something she’s not remotely used to.
In the meantime, Emma’s left with the headache from hell, running around like a madwoman trying to address questions from the cast (most of them inane) while trying to fix the positioning of the set, all the while trying to keep an eye out for Henry. He’s supposed to arrive from school at any minute now, and Emma vainly hopes she’ll be able to carve out a few minutes with her son before Elsa comes to pick him up.
At this rate, though, with all the things she’s having to address? To borrow a phrase from Jones, not bloody likely.
———-
Technically, Killian could go home. It’s just past five now, and rehearsal had let out for the day at 4:30. He could leave, go back to his apartment for a beer and a slice, have a relaxing night in.
But he’s not. Killian could play dumb about why he’s still here at the theater, but honestly, what would it accomplish? Emma’s still here, still trying to put out various proverbial fires, so Killian stays too, in a vain hope that he can help in some way.
God, he’s got it bad.
It was probably inevitable that she’d spot him, even through her many distractions - he’s not exactly subtle, hanging out where he has no need to be. Still, it’s a little comical, the way she stops abruptly upon noticing his unexpected presence, brow crinkled in confusion.
“What are you still doing here?” she asks, her tone brisk but puzzled.
That’s an excellent question, because Killian knows damn well he doesn’t have any real excuse for sticking around. “Uh, well, you know, just… getting a feel for the space,” he stumbles out, barely resisting the urge to tack on “or something” to the end of his sentence. It’s such a blatant, obvious lie, and Emma knows it too, if the unimpressed look on her face is anything to go by.
“Sure, of course,” she deadpans. “Well, I’m having Scarlet fly in one of the suspended pieces in a bit, so maybe try to avoid the stage while you’re getting a feel for the space.” Emma doesn’t make finger quotes around her last words, but Killian can sense them there all the same.
“Aye, I think I can manage that,” he responds, starting to beat a sheepish retreat. He’s made enough of a fool of himself for one day, most likely. “Let me know if you need anything else of me,” he adds at the last minute, more on instinct than logic.
Oddly, however, it seems to be those thrown-away words that most capture her attention. “I don’t suppose you’d want to keep my kid company,” Emma tosses back, tone teasing but eyes serious.
It’s the last thing Killian expects her to say, and his face must show it, because she hurries to backtrack and brush her previous words away. “You don’t have to, obviously, I was mostly kidding —”
“I’d be happy to, Swan,” Killian interrupts, stopping her stream of unnecessary protests. “Anything to help you. That is, of course, if you’re sure.” He carefully offers an out at the end. Emma needn’t worry about retracting her request on account of his own non-existent hesitance, but he imagines it must be a nerve-wracking thing to entrust your child into someone else’s care - especially someone you don’t know particularly well outside of a professional setting - and it would be bad form not to offer her the opportunity to change her mind.
Emma studies him carefully for a few moments, that adorable little crease in her brow deepening as she seemingly sizes him up, before her body abruptly releases its tension and she nods. “Yeah. I mean, he’s ten, so it’s not like you need to watch him too closely or anything, but he’s been hanging out waiting for me to get a break for the last forty minutes, and I figure you’ll be more entertaining than just sitting around twiddling his thumbs or - god forbid - homework. C’mon, I’ll take you over there now.”
Killian is left to mutely follow behind as Emma sets off for the other side of the theater at a brisk pace, presumedly to wherever her son is camped out. Sure enough, there in the back corner of the back row is a dark haired boy (Harry? Henry? Harrison? Killian really is terrible at names), staring at his gaming device with eyebrows furrowed in exactly the way Emma’s do. In Killian’s limited experience, interrupting kids from their video games never ends well, and he almost tells Emma to just forget it, there’s no need to bother the boy, but his head has already popped up like a prairie dog at the sound of their approach.
“Hey, kid,” Emma says warmly, ruffling the boy’s hair as he pulls a face and half-heartedly tries to dodge her hand. “How’s it going? What are you up to?”
“Nothing much,” the lad shrugs, “just waiting for you and playing Knight Quest. Are we going to get dinner soon?”
“I hope so, kid,” she replies ruefully. “There’s a lot more to get done than I’d like, but I’m hoping I can take a break soon. In the meantime, I brought a friend over for you to meet. This is Killian Jones, he’s playing Darcy. Killian, this is my son Henry.”
Ignoring the passing feeling of victory at halfway remembering the boy’s name, Killian sticks out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, lad.”
Henry, for his part, looks more excited about this introduction than Killian had anticipated of a pre-teen with electronic distractions. “That’s so cool!” he enthuses, shaking Killian’s hand with all the enthusiasm a ten-year-old can muster. “So that means you’re the male lead, right? Is there a lot you have to memorize? I mean, I know usually the leads have a ton of lines, but Mr. Darcy never talks a lot in the movies. Oh! Do you have costumes yet? I always come in at the end of rehearsals so I never get to see much. I mean, we’re coming up on previews pretty quick, so I hope you have costumes, but I don’t know, maybe everything’s coming together at the last minute.” Henry pauses for breath finally, leaving Killian to try and stifle his smile at the boy’s extreme enthusiasm.
“Jeez, kid, calm down for a moment, give Killian a chance to respond,” Emma mutters in a vain attempt to rein in her son.
“It’s fine, Swan,” Killian tries to reassure her. There’s nothing wrong with the boy’s curiosity, even if it is taking a bit of brainpower to remember everything Henry asked. “You’re right, there’s a bit less talking than there might usually be for a leading male role, but I’ve got a lot of great singing parts, which kind of makes up for it. And I do have several costumes already, you’re right. Maybe I could show you those, if your mum is ok with it?”
The last words are directed at Emma, accompanied by a questioning raise of his eyebrow. Killian suspects she won’t take any issue with his proposed plan; it’ll keep the lad occupied, and they’ll still be in the theater when she’s finished with her work and ready to take Henry to dinner. It doesn’t hurt, either, that Henry is currently fixing his mother with a pleading puppy-eyed look.
“Sure, why not,” Emma laughs. “I’ll come find you when I’m ready to go. Be good, alright? Try not to overwhelm the poor man with questions, I still need him for the show.”
“Thanks, Mom!” Henry chirps, already practically skipping across the aisles and towards the door that leads backstage, leaving Killian to try and catch up. Tossing a last reassuring smile Emma’s way, he turns and jogs after Henry, only catching up at the backstage door, where Henry is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation.
“Calm down, lad,” Killian laughs. “I promise, the costumes are hanging up in my dressing room, they’re not going anywhere.”
Henry calms a bit at his words, muttering a quick “Sorry” that strongly reminds Killian of the boy’s mother. “I just get really excited about this stuff,” he tries to explain. “I’ll try not to ask so many questions.”
Compared to Henry’s previously overflowing enthusiasm, this doesn’t sit well with Killian. The lad is just excited, and he truly doesn’t mind fielding any questions Henry may have. “It’s really alright, lad,” he tries to explain. “I don’t mind answering them.”
To Killian’s relief, that permission perks Henry right back up again as they slip through the backstage door and into the maze of hallways, dressing rooms and storage. “Oh good. I want to know everything,” Henry tells Killian very seriously. “Mom shows me a lot, but I mostly get the techie side from her, and I want to know everything about the acting side too.”
“Do you want to be an actor then?” Henry doesn’t seem the type, but then again, Killian never did either, and here he is.
Henry scoffs. “No, of course not. No offense,” he offers in consolation. Killian good naturedly waves off Henry’s words, smiling warmly in a way he hopes encourages the boy to continue. “No, I’m going to be a playwright when I grow up. That’s why I was asking about your part, I want to know what makes for a good role.”
It’s not at all what Killian was expecting to hear, but he nods seriously, all the same. “That makes sense. I take it you like to write then?” They’re nearly to his dressing room now, the door just up ahead, but Killian wants to learn all he can about the lad before his attention is inevitably seized by the distraction of costumes.
Henry nods excitedly. “Yeah! I mean, I don’t think I’m that good yet, but I keep doing it. Mom says the most important part is practicing anyways. And I’ve got lots of ideas! Like I want to write a show with Captain Hook as the hero. I think it would be interesting. Do you think so?”
“I think that sounds like a great idea. You’ll have to let me know when you finish, maybe I’ll try out for a part.” And, considering how much Henry is like his mother, Killian has no doubt he’ll do it one day. With his determination, it’s just a matter of time.
“Thanks,” Henry says, turning a bit pink. Luckily, they’ve reached Killian’s dressing room, so there’s plenty to distract. “Oh cool! This is all yours? Oh! Are those the costumes?” And just like that, Killian is swept back into answering Henry’s questions - a pattern he’d be happy to continue for as long as Swan allows.
There are worse ways to spend an evening.
———
Robin looks like he’s barely holding in his laughter when she returns back to where they’d camped out, lips pressed together in an attempt to smother the smile that stubbornly turns up the corners of his mouth.
“Don’t you even start,” Emma warns. “You think the four year old questions are bad, wait until he moves past the ‘why?’ phase and into demanding to know how everything works.”
“Oh, I’m not laughing about that,” Robin chuckles, “though Henry is very enthusiastic on that front. No, I was laughing at you and Jones.” After another moment, he quickly amends his statement. “Well, mostly Jones.”
Emma thinks she knows where this is going, and groans at the very prospect. “Don’t even start on that either.”
“Too late!” Robin cheerfully replies, reminding Emma more of Ruby than she’s really comfortable with. “You know he’s absolutely smitten with you.”
“I don’t know that,” Emma tries to hedge, but Robin only fixes her with an amused look.
“Ok, you don’t know that, but the rest of us do,” he replies. “Are you going to do anything about it?”
“No,” Emma scoffs. It’s clearly not the answer Robin wants, based on the look he gives her. “We work together!” she tries to protest. “It’d be a terrible idea!”
“Maybe that’s the case, but anyone can tell that Jones has feelings for you, just watching you two interact. You should probably figure out what you want to do about that.”
It’s sage advice. But the problem is that Emma doesn’t really know what she wants to do about it. Killian is a great guy, and under different circumstances, she might be more open to his feelings. But the way things are, Emma has a lot riding on this show. It could be a make-or-break moment in her career, depending on how the production comes together, and she’s not willing to risk that in any way - especially not by becoming involved with a coworker. Her own feelings - whatever they might be - don’t matter.
She just hopes, for all their sakes, that Killian doesn’t do anything to alter their status quo.
