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“Killian, darling, have I got a job for you!”
He pulled the phone away from his ear at his agent’s over enthusiastic semblance of a greeting. He had to admire her determination. Belle French was nothing if not determined to find her star client work, it was only too bad that the rest of the entertainment world had given up on him being able to make any sort of comeback.
“And what sort of job would that be, lass?” he was not overly enthusiastic, and he was afraid that it showed. He’d all but given up ever working in this town again, hence the pamphlets about community college lying on his dining room table. He needed to make something out of himself if acting wasn’t going to be a part of his life anymore.
“Santa Claus!”
“Pardon me?”
“Santa Claus! Jolly Old Saint Nick, you know the one that all the children love and adore? The one who brings presents to the good little boys and girls across the world in one night? Santa Claus and you would be perfect to play him!”
If he’d been concerned for her over the turmoil of her personal life over the last six months, now he was thoroughly positive that she had lost her mind. Killian Jones was nowhere near perfect to play Santa Claus, in any production… Anywhere.
“Do you care to share whatever wonderful libations you’ve been into this evening, lass?”
“Excuse me! What exactly are you suggesting, Jones?”
“That you’ve been dipping in to the egg nog a little earlier than usual, love. There is no way that I could play Santa Claus,” he sniggered.
It wasn’t really fair, but he knew that Belle only meant the best for him. She saw something in him that most people didn’t, and he wasn’t sure whether it was something of a likeness of spirit or if it was the fact that he had known her since their more formative years at school when they’d bonded over their mutual love of books that kept her in his life. She wasn’t always in his corner, and all but one time it had been with just cause. Belle Gold called him out on his shit – no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Every. Single. Time.
“Please, Killian, just who are you trying to fool? You are one of the most giving people I know, even if you’re a mite self-conscious about people acknowledging it,” he didn’t need to see her face to know that her brow was furrowed in frustration, he could hear it through the phone.
“I know I can’t fool you, lass, but perhaps the rest of the haggard masses can continue to believe the worst of me yet!”
“A friend of mine is running a production of Miracle on 34th Street in the South Side Theatre and he’s looking for a big name to draw the crowd. Me thinks the haggard masses may be pulled in by the chance to see the down-on-his-luck, former A list celebrity wash-up trying to get back in the game. Even if you only draw those wanting to see you fail, you know that you’ll prove them wrong. I believe in you Jones, despite my better judgement,” she huffed the last words in exasperation. He knew he could be kinder to her, she was one of his only friends who hadn’t ditched him when the world had fallen out from under him. She was always there, always hopeful for the best and looking out for him.
“Miracle on 34th Street? Shouldn’t I be Fred, wouldn’t that make more sense you know given my young age, lass?”
Belle’s laughter tinkled like bells across the line.
“They have a lovely young man in that role already – his name is William Scarlet, and you should remember that name because he’s going places I tell you – but you are the perfect person for the role of Santa and you know it Killian Jones! Do not test me. Be at the South Side Theatre at eight tomorrow morning, or else!”
“Is this an audition –“
“Just be there, the role is yours if you show up. Don’t make me regret this, Jones!”
Three beeps signaled the calls disconnect. Three beeps signaled change. Three beeps meant he best get ready to be his dashing self, or whatever semblance of his dashing self that he could manage in the morning. In the morning, Killian Jones had a date with the theatre…
The sun poured in through the curtains, the fine gauzy mesh aglow and seeming to pool on the tangle of limbs and sheets. Killian had tossed and turned all night long. Longing and anxiety did make for strange bedfellows, meaning he’d found himself neatly restrained by both sheets and blankets with his pillows strewn carelessly across the king size bed. He was aware of a buzzing sound, something rather like his phone…
His phone… The light through the window… Shit!
He was late, he had to be, that could be the only reason that his phone was sounding and the sun was so high in the sky. Killian stretched out to grab at where he thought the noise of the vibration was coming, realizing too late how deeply entangled he truly was in the bedding and how close his body had rolled to the edge of the bed as the motion through him off kilter and he felt his ass hit the floor followed by his head hitting the side of the bedside table.
“Bloody buggering…”
The vibration coming from the phone had ceased. He’d only just started to massage his aching head when it sounded like an air raid siren was going off in his bedroom. This noise caused him to jump, thus hitting the other side of his head against the edge of the table and a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush to flow out of his mouth. He swept the top of the table with his arm and grabbed the phone not a moment before he’d toppled the remainder of his glass of water over and it began to dribble down the wood and onto his lap. If he was much for signs, he would have thought the universe was trying to tell him this was a terrible idea.
Killian peered down at the phone as the water continued to drip onto him, soaking through the sheets to his bare skin. He was still in that haze of sleep that though the feeling of the water was uncomfortable, he was too shocked to move. The phone in his hand mocking him as the alarm clock app on his smartphone clearly displayed that he was not late, not by a long shot. He had risen with his alarm, realizing that the bright glow of the sun was still the warm, reddish glow of sunrise, and felt rather like an ass for all the dramatics he had gone through to shut off the alarm. There would be no sleeping in and missing this opportunity, no possible way that he would be missing this. None whatsoever.
Killian shook his head and began disentangle his limbs from the mess of wet sheets and blanket. He was normally a very clean being, but today there was a nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach and he couldn’t bear to clear the mess before this meeting. It would just have to wait until he returned home – either with a job or without. He used the sheet to at least clear the remaining water that had been dripping off the table and then let it fabric fall to the floor leaving his body exposed to the crisp air of morning. Even if he wasn’t going to completely clean it now, there was no sense in ruining the dark wood finish, especially considering he wasn’t going to have the money to do anything about it later. Better to clean up a mess of wet bedding than to lose a perfectly good table top.
Killian dropped the bedding onto the floor and sauntered off to the bathroom to ready himself for the day.
He’d cleaned himself up in record time, the hot water spray feeling like heaven on his aching body and with extra bumps and bruises of the morning he was having a hard time convincing his body to turn off the water and exit the shower. His phone was beeping again. It was a mix of vibration and the air raid siren on the counter of the vanity, making the bottles of cologne rattle and ring, that finally forced him to cut the shower short. If he wasn’t careful, he really would be late.
He’d stayed up last night, watching Miracle on 34th Street for the millionth time in his life and trying to figure out just how Belle could be so convinced that he could manage to pull off the role of Santa Claus. He certainly didn’t look the part – he was by no means fat, old, or balding. Nor did he have a long, curly white beard that hung from his chin. (Although his belly did sometimes shake when he laughed, though that was usually due to being much more well fed than well-toned and exercised as he was right now.) He simply did not look the part, no matter what kind of miracle worker the costume designer was he didn’t think they could disguise this from the audience at large. There’s magical realism in the theatre and then there’s the impossible, and this was looking pretty impossible.
He was poking and prodding at his skin, pulling it a little here and a little there. He did have soft lines about his eyes that twinkled when he laughed, and ok so he was getting a little older, but there wasn’t a trace of white, silver, or grey in his hair or his beard yet! He was getting older, and he knew that he was going to start being pegged in these older supporting roles, but really, he was only just barely in his thirties – this was insane! He debated shaving for a moment, but then realized that it would only make him look even younger and decided against it. The extra scruff gave him a sexy devil may care appearance, because he was handsome and he didn’t care who knew it, so the scruff would have to do.
Wait, should Santa Claus be sexy?
In the end, he wasn’t sure if it mattered, so after applying the finishing touch of cologne, Killian admired himself in the mirror. He wasn’t a Santa Claus, but maybe this part would help him get his career back on track after the set back of the last few years. The alarm started sounding again (he really should stop it instead of hitting snooze) and he tore his eyes away from the mirror and headed back into the bedroom. Nothing says ‘You want to hire me, I’m the most important thing to happen to your show EVER’ like a double breasted Tom Ford.
The South Side Theatre was kind of an off-off Broadway experience. It wasn’t a run down, grimy, old theatre that no one would set sights in – but it wasn’t like being on stage in the Winter Garden Theatre. Not that Killian had ever been on stage in the Winter Garden Theatre, but he had been in the Theatre once… The atmosphere was still that of classical theatre, but it wasn’t really the same. He’d entered through the stage door tailing behind the motley crew of stage hands and lighting grips, he was still a little early despite the mix up at the coffee shop and he wanted to get the lay of the land before he threw himself in with the rest of the madding crowd.
Killian wasn’t quite convinced that this was an actual production, at least not a serious one. This was supposed to restart his career – he wasn’t sure how that could possibly happen now, unless there were rave reviews of this version of the show. He also wasn’t sure how the bloody hell he was supposed to be a believable Kris Kringle. Beggars can’t be choosers though, and so he was prepared to swallow all the pride he had left in the world and take on whatever kind on production this was.
How could you make Miracle on 34th Street a play, really!
The logistics of translating the parade on to the stage was still lost on him, but he wasn’t about to make any assumptions about how that could possibly work. He hadn’t even read the script yet. Hell, he didn’t even know when opening night was or if it was even possible to learn this new material in time. He had a feeling that he was the Hail Mary play in the final moments of the big game. From the looks of the sets and the people at work on the stage, he would bet that there were no more than three weeks until opening night, though perhaps no fewer than two. This could be the biggest mistake of his life.
Killian stood out like a sore thumb as he wandered onto the stage. No one was really completely in costume, but he could see a woman with white blonde hair who had knelt down beside a man in an expensive suit and was fussing with the hem line. He held a script in one hand at arm’s length from him, as though he didn’t want to look at it and was spouting off dialogue without so much as a glance at it. This must be their Fred, one William Scarlet. Final fittings, he supposed meaning that two weeks was probably closer to right in his musings. He could learn his lines in two weeks, couldn’t he? Faster if need be?
“Scarlet you should be working on this with your leading lady, Miss Swan, not with our costume designer! And just where is the lovely Miss Swan?”
Killian’s head snapped at the voice. He knew that voice, and now he understood why he was being given a part in this play sight unseen. The producer was none other than Robert Gold, his lovely agent Belle’s on-again, off-again husband of whom Killian Jones was not a big fan. Brow furrowed in a scowl, Killian caught Gold’s eye and saw the same feeling reflected upon the older man’s face. Oh, this was going to be a problem…
“Ah, Mr. Jones, how nice of you to join us,” sarcasm dripped from each and every word, “I have to say I’m surprised that you’re here on time, in fact, you’re actually here early. Is this what happens when you crawl out from the inside of a bottle?”
“Low blow, Gold,” Killian spat. Could this job really be worth this torment?
“Well, that is what happened to your promising career now wasn’t it? Your brother died and then –“
“I don’t think you want to finish that sentence Gold, otherwise your precious production will be a thing of the past, don’t you think?”
“I need this show to happen, you need a way to get back to being a working thespian. It’s mutually beneficial, you know that Jones, that’s why you’re here.” He was tapping out a rhythm with his cane against his shoe, something familiar, something that Killian hadn’t heard in a very long time. “Come and get your script Jones, and sign your contract. Then we can get this show on the road.”
Killian felt every muscle in his jaw clench, his scowl almost feral. Gold had him, and Killian felt like he was stringing him up in a hangman’s noose. He was between a rock and a hard place, and Gold knew it, which made him wonder just how off-again he and Belle were right now after all. His hands balled in to fists at his side as Gold continued tapping out the syncopated rhythm with his cane. This was the last thing that he wanted, to be indebted to Robert Gold of all people. He didn’t know how he was going to make this work; couldn’t fathom how he would be able to work under these kinds of conditions.
“Come now, Jones, don’t test my patience.”
He felt his feet start moving, not of his own volition of course, because he needed this job. He needed something to get him back on to the main stage and back into the leading roles he had been born for. He would never be staring on Broadway without a chance to get back in the eyes of the theatre going public. He kept moving towards Gold, eyes on the prize and that prize was being back on the stage. No matter what the end cost to his pride.
Killian had reached the bottom step when the auditorium doors were flung open, hitting the wall with a metallic clang. Through the doors charged a woman, head down with golden blonde curls spilling down about her shoulders, with garment bags on her arm pulling a small boy along behind her of no more than seven with a mop of brown hair. Her eyes were on her feet and she seemed to be muttering something incoherent to the boy that she was tugging to a seat in the front row, her cheeks flushed from either exertion or frustration. He knew that look. This was the missing leading lady, Miss Swan, and she was late for the dress parade.
“Henry, please, just sit quietly for me and I promise there’s a lasagna with your name on it and some comic books too.”
Killian’s face softened at the sound of her voice. Miss Swan sounded like a frustrated mother of a young lad who was eager to be out having fun rather than stuck in a theatre while his Mum was working for the day. He reckoned that her sitter had cancelled, that could be the only reason the lad was here with her. He chanced a look at Gold’s face to notice his disdain at the lad’s presence, as though he didn’t want the boy to be witnessing what was going on behind the scenes. He wondered if everything was above board, or if Gold was in a manner of being as inappropriate with his leading ladies as he was with his book keeping.
“Mama?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“I love you, Mama, break a leg!”
It was the most adorable thing Killian had ever seen. The little lad’s eyes twinkled in the glow of the stage lights. His brown hair falling down into his eyes, a little on the shaggy side that seemed to be the current fad. He felt a pang as he watched mother ruffle son’s hair and place a kiss on his brow before slinging the garment bag back onto her arm and making her way to the stage. She pushed past Gold without looking at him, and the man made no attempts to stop her.
She brushed his arm as she passed him on the steps up on to the stage and the current that passed between them had him following her with his eyes. He’d thought for a moment that he’d imagined her sharp intake of breath when they’d touched, but when she’d reached the curtains stage right he saw that she’d turned to her head to look back at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her jade eyes wide and sparkling under the lights. The corners of her mouth turned up a little, a soft timid gesture as she turned and ducked her head as she raced off towards the dressing rooms. No… No, no, no, no, it wasn’t possible… Killian continued to stare after her.
“Come now, Jones, you know the rules! Now, let’s get this signed and the script in your hands. You have fittings today and pages of dialogue to learn if you’re going to be ready for opening day!”
There was something biting in Gold’s tone, something mocking that seemed to cut to his very core. She was the leading lady – absolutely off limits – not to mention that she already had a family of her own.
You know the rules, bloody hell!
When he took the last step down out into the auditorium, Killian knew that this could be serious trouble but he needed this job. He needed to get back on the stage. He just had to remember that no woman, not even one with an adorable ragamuffin child, could deter him from getting back into the limelight.
There was a well-known rule in the theatre, never sleep with your leading lady during the production. What did that say for bit players, though? Killian wasn’t a romantic lead, and it was a trifle odd that scenes between Doris and Kris Kringle were rife with palpable unresolved sexual tension. He was thinking that it was probably best if they explored whatever was between them, in the hopes of resolving said tension so that the tension would dissipate. Then again, it could just add fuel to the fire rather than douse the flames and that was what terrified him.
The first few days of rehearsals had been nothing short of magical. Elsa and her sister, Anna, were the most extraordinary team and simply worked magic when it came to theatrical costumes, make up and prosthetics. When they were through with him on that first day, even Killian believed that he could possibly be jolly old Saint Nick. It was a whole day being fitted for his prosthetic belly and padding. Then they had fitted him for his costumes – first the suit for the kindly old man Kris Kringle, which was something tweedy and not at all like the Tom Ford suits he preferred to wear as himself, but totally fitting as the lovely, jolly fat man he was pretending to be, and then the familiar red velvet and furry white accents of a Santa suit. All the actors who had come by to introduce themselves were lost in the magic that Anna and Elsa had created. Even Killian was getting lost in the magic of it all, especially when the leading lady, the “lovely Miss Swan” as Gold had called her, had graced him with her appearance. She was in full dress, a grey tweed skirt suit and her golden locks tamed with innumerable pins in victory curls and her lips a shock of red against her pale skin.
“Elsa, do you have time to – Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know we’d found a new Santa!”
“Killian Jones, but you may know me better as Kris Kringle. It’s a pleasure to meet you, lass.”
Her cheeks flushed, and Killian wondered when he had seen anything so beautiful as her flustered moment. She hadn’t been expecting anyone in wardrobe, he could tell, and the surprise and perhaps even a little thrill of happiness that it had been him wasn’t lost on Killian’s machismo. Although, it could also be that she’d recognized his name. This town wasn’t entirely kind to actors who had lost their way, but there had been a time when he had been the most promising actor on Broadway. The unfortunate incident that occurred after the accident, well… That was another story, but many young thespians may know of when he had been a shooting star. Too bad he had been destined to fall as he had.
“Emma Swan, and I would be Doris Walker,” she studied his face for a moment and he couldn’t help but wonder what she was seeing. “I was just looking for Elsa – but I can come back, you’re definitely more important than minor repairs on my costumes. They’re starting from scratch with you!”
“I thought they were doing a fabulous job, wouldn’t you say so, lass?”
Her eyes travelled across his body taking in the costume and the makeup, suspending her disbelief and letting her imagination take over. The wonder was evident on her face. He looked like Santa, he must, for smile on her face was radiant and her eyes sparkled as she nodded her head in approval. He must have passed the test, and to the mother of a small child who knew what it took to suspend their disbelief, that was saying something.
“You look more like Santa than I would have imagined, after seeing you before the makeup. Anna and Elsa are miracle workers though, trust me, my hair doesn’t do this without tons of intervention!”
She was fluffing the curls that lay about her shoulders with a demonstrative hand. He wondered what it would be like to pull those pins from her hair and to feel the golden tresses fall down around them, to run his fingers through her hair… His smile was a little sad as he tried to shake the thought from his head.
“Well I can’t believe that one bit! You mean, you don’t just wake up like that every day?” His playful teasing had the pleasing effect of causing her cheeks to flush to a rosy pink. It wasn’t that he was aiming to make her blush, but it was a nice side effect of his good natured ribbing.
You know the rules, Jones!
“Har har, well aren’t you the comedian,” her words were playful, but there was something strained in her tone, closed off from the world. He knew that tone all too well, as it was one that he brought out often himself. Never had one sentence made him want to do something more, made him want to bring her out of her shell more. He was sure that there was someone so beautiful inside, someone so tender that loved with every…
“Say, Swan, you wouldn’t feel like giving me a hand? I only have what, two weeks? I need to learn my lines and there have been several alterations from the film script to the stage script here…”
Her brow furrowed and while she didn’t frown, it wasn’t the most welcoming smile he’d seen from her that greeted him, as though she was trying to gauge just what he wanted from her. Perhaps he should try the conventional route, offering nothing more than a suitable working partner or a friend. Everyone needs friends, right? Surely she could use a friend too, he could use all the friends he could get…
“I, uh, yeah I’m sure I could find a few moments somewhere… Why, uh, why don’t you start with Elsa? She knows all the lines, she’s fabulous! She works with all of us, her brother-in-law wrote the script, after all.”
It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes either. He wasn’t quite sure how he could change her mind, or if he should really even try. She was making her aversion to closeness very clear to him, but he was nothing if not determined.
“Why, thank you Swan, I’ll be sure to ask her…” She had turned from him and was on her way out the door when he added, “But should you change your mind, you know where to find me, love.”
She gave him a wry smile over her shoulder, ducked her head and was out of the door so quickly he thought he’d imagined the flush to her cheeks.
You know the rules, Jones!
Gold’s voice played on repeat in his brain every time he entertained thoughts of Emma because he did know the rules. He knew that you didn’t dare pursue your leading lady during a production, but what did that mean for him? He was supporting cast, not the leading man, surely it couldn’t make a difference what he did, now could it?
It had only take a couple of words with Elsa, and a couple of practicing sessions where she was rather too busy to be able to truly help, to have the costume designer intervene and suggest that it was in the productions best interests if Emma Swan found time in her schedule to work with Killian Jones on learning his lines. During another fitting. One where Killian was mostly disrobed as he tried to push his body into the fat suit Anna had created for him and Emma was blushing furiously and trying to avert her eyes. Killian loved that look most of all, the rosy pink of her cheeks gave her a radiant glow. It wasn’t a look that he saw from her often, even when she was on stage. Oh sure, she seemed alight when she was acting and her eyes sparkled when she was in the spotlight, but the most radiant look she had was when rehearsals were over for the day and her son would appear with his sitter and she took on a youthful glow. She was suddenly rejuvenated even though their rehearsals had been extensive.
There was also a look of absolute determination and a raw anger that she reserved for those that wronged her most. This one was normally directed at one Robert Gold when he came bustling in with his cane and proceeded to debase her one evening on the delicateness of their relationship. It was a conversation that he was happy to step into and give her a hand.
“Miss Swan, I thought you would be more appreciative of my conditions. I gave you a part in this show under the understanding that you help facilitate a relationship with my grandson. If it wasn’t for young Henry I would have sacked you months ago! You are constantly late, you are rarely focused and you are hardly an actress of any kind.”
“A relationship with your grandson! A relationship means that you would want something to do with my son other than when it’s convenient for you! A relationship means that when he asks you to come to something, like his Christmas concert or his school play, you make an effort and you come! You know nothing of my talents, Mister Gold, don’t assume to know anything just because you don’t like that I know how to stand up to you!”
“Don’t test me, Miss Swan –“
“Don’t test me!”
She was handling herself just fine but Killian saw the doors to the auditorium opening and heard the sound of a young boy’s laughter and decided that this was a fight young Henry didn’t need to see. He wandered in to their midst, catching Emma’s eye to signal the arrival of young Henry, and placed himself between them in front of Gold. He needed this job, Gold needed a production, but Emma Swan did not need to be harassed by the miserly old curmudgeon.
“Gold, I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”
“I – ah, I mean,” the man spluttered.
“In private,” Killian admonished and gestured to lead the man off stage and into the wings. He didn’t want anyone to hear what he had to say, not a word of it. His fight with Gold was his own and he didn’t believe Emma nor young Henry should bear witness to it.
The boy was bounding into the auditorium laughing and using cardboard wrapping paper rolls to sword fight with his sitter, the dark haired girl with the wild red streaks in her hair. Emma had bolted from the stage, finding herself before her son and Killian watched over his shoulder as she picked up the lad and swung him in her arms laughing at something he had said to her. The look of relief on her face was enough for him, and he found himself lightened by her silently mouthed thanks as she cuddled the boy to her chest and he followed Gold into the wings.
“What is this all about, Jones? Don’t tell me that you’ve gone soft over the blonde waif? You’re out of your league with the frost queen,” Gold’s words were cutting. Emma had done her part and rilled him up, it was Killian’s turn to take him down.
“I think, Gold, that you know nothing about how to behave like a gentleman towards a lady. I believe that if Belle could bear witness to the disgraceful –“
“You leave Belle out of this, Jones!”
Gold poked his finger into Killian’s chest with more and more force on each word. Killian had never seen the man quite this angry before. He wondered just how much of this situation Belle had been privy to, and if any of this was what had finally moved her away from the man. He’d never understood what she had seen in the man.
“Keep your own failings out of your dealings with Miss Swan, Gold, if you ever hope to have any kind of relationship with your grandchild. As for Belle,” Killian drew in a breath and let the rumble of anger be heard in his voice, “You’d do best to treat others the way you would want to be treated. If you can’t do that, at least treat them the way Belle would want you to treat them.”
This left the older man blustering, and Killian hadn’t the reserve nor the patience to deal with him. He had to consider saving his job at the moment. He was furious and if he stayed in the vicinity of Gold for much longer, he couldn’t hope that he would still have that job come morning. Killian grabbed his jacket and was off like a shot.
He caught up with Emma not far from the theatre. She, the wild red streaked sitter, and young Master Henry were headed for the subway together. Henry and the sitter still on about their wrapping paper roller duel while Emma laughed at their antics. It was a sound like heaven, her happiness and the pure childlike joy on her face as she watched her son playing.
“Swan!”
It was pure impulse that had him calling out her name. When she turned, her stunned smile seemed to amplify and she waved to him. Her group continued along ahead, though she stopped and waited for Killian to catch up. They walked together in a companionable silence.
“I wanted to thank you, Killian,” Emma began in a soft but strained voice, “For –“
“It was nothing, Swan, honestly. I know Gold a little myself and his reputation, well,” Killian sucked in a breath before continuing, “Let’s just say that there is no honour there. Especially when it comes to those he considers family.”
She was blushing again, ducking her head she pushed her hair behind her ear and gave a soft smile. He let her know that he didn’t think highly of the man, he didn’t know her past and it didn’t really matter but obviously there was no father in the picture for Henry, and being that his father was the son of Robert Gold, well… He knew the story of Gold’s son from Belle – Neal had not been honourable either. Where his father was cowardly, the son was devious and criminal minded. He had heard that he had finally met his end in a robbery gone wrong, and it tugged at Killian’s heart to think that Emma had suffered any at his hand, nor that she and her son should suffer at the hands of his father.
“Well, will you let me repay you then, for all your help that you say was nothing?”
Killian smiled at the teasing tone of her voice. Emma Swan was letting him in, little by little, and damn did it feel good. He could feel the colour rising to his own cheeks, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“I believe you have already thanked me, Swan. No more needs to be said or done, I was happy to be of assistance.”
“I know what I can do – we have nine days left until opening night and you had asked me once about helping you learn your lines…”
“Now that is an offer I would most definitely accept!”
From that moment on, she was always there. When he had fittings she would be role playing the various other parts for him. When it was time to head home, the Swan family (plus Ruby the lovable sitter who also happened to be one of Emma’s dearest friends) would drag Killian home with them. They had become is partners in crime, even Henry got in on helping Killian learn his lines by playing the part of young Susan Walker. Killian was convinced that this would be a much more interesting play if Susan was now a seven-year-old boy named Henry – in fact he rather felt like that was the story that was unfolding before him. He had suddenly become Fred, not just Kris Kringle, in this real life adaptation.
There wasn’t a moment in the nine days leading up to opening night that he wasn’t a welcomed guest of the Swan family. During the walks home, he and Henry would talk while Ruby and Emma would work out the schedule for the next day. While they were busy rustling up dinner, they would run through scenes. Usually this would be down to Killian and Henry working through the scenes with Kris Kringle and young Susan, but sometimes it would be Emma and Killian working through scenes of Doris and Kris Kringle together. He was starting to feel like he was going to be ready for opening night. It was during one such evening, that Henry chose to corner him while they were running through a scene.
“Good Bye, Elmer. Be a good boy now… Merry Christmas! Well, young lady, what’s your name?”
“Susan Walker. What’s yours?”
“Mine? Why it’s Kris Kringle. I’m Santa Claus… Oh, you don’t believe that, do you?”
“My mother’s Mrs. Walker, the lady who hired you…”
“Oh…”
“But, I must say, you’re the best one I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
“Your beard doesn’t have those things over your ears like the other ones have.”
That’s because it’s real,” Killian added a wink and mimed tugging at the beard that would be in place come opening night, “Just like I am really Santa Claus. Oh go ahead, pull it.”
Henry mimed pulling the beard and laughed when Killian feigned pain and discomfort at the false tug. He was clearly enjoying his role in helping Killian learn. In fact, Henry had become able to read this particular scene by heart as well so it surprised Killian to no end when it derailed into something else entirely.
“Now, dear, what would you like me to bring you for Christmas?”
“Nothing, thank you very much.”
“Oh, come now, there must be something you want?”
“Do you like my mom?”
Killian spluttered. He hadn’t been expecting that, hadn’t been expecting anything but the next line in the show which definitely wasn’t ‘Do you like my mom?’ or anything near that line of inquiry. He’d been very careful, he’d thought, not to let his feelings show up until this point, but apparently his best hadn’t been good enough when it came to the notice of a seven-year-old boy.
“P-pardon?”
“Do you like my mom?”
“I – I like her very much, lad.”
“She’s not used to people caring about her, Killian, but if you keep trying… I mean, I hope that you stay around. You make her happier,” the boy smiled at him and it was incredibly disarming, “Less – lonely I think is the best word. I mean, she’s got me and Ruby but… You know there’s no one else, and I think sometimes she needs someone to share things with.”
It was at this moment that Emma popped her head around the doorframe.
“Alright boys, dinner time!”
All mentions of the conversation were lost, but Killian hadn’t been able to forget what had taken place between them. He felt as though he had been given the ultimate seal of approval – and felt very much like he had become Fred in his own real like Miracle on 34th Street indeed. He had always liked Fred – there were some damned honourable qualities about that man…
“Clear the stage!”
Opening night jitters had gotten to him. When he’d left the theatre for TV, thinking that he could make his way there easier than on the stage, Killian had thought that he would never feel opening night jitters ever again. There was no live audience when you were in front of a television camera. He’d forgotten what this felt like – he’d forgotten what it was like to be anticipating the applause of the crowd.
He was the first on stage, the first cast member any of the audience would see and that had him a little more than slightly on edge. He was rattling through his mantra, breathing deeply in through the nose and out through the mouth, when he felt a tug on his arm. Emma was at his side, sliding her arm about his waist in a conspiratorial manner.
“Well, Mr. Kringle, what say you?”
“It’s been quite the road Mrs. Walker, but I do think it has made believers of us all, wouldn’t you agree?”
Emma leaned up to kiss him tenderly on the lips, something that was not entirely new, but that was still treated with reverent kid gloves by Killian. Slowly, she had let him into her heart and taken this broken man into their lives all by agreeing to help him learn his lines. She pulled back from him, skimming away the red lipstick with her thumbs from his lips.
“I’d agree to that,” Emma smiled, something so glorious that Killian felt he would drown in its light. “Break a leg.”
He watched her walk away from him, head turned over his shoulder watching the way her hips swayed in the tweed skirt suit of Doris Walker and remembering the bright red lips and victory curls. When she turned her head back to him and winked he felt like his heart had stopped.
With a silent prayer of thanks for such good fortune, Killian walked out on stage to give the performance of a life time…