The stage was nothing but a blur. Red and blue lights flashed wildly through the windows as paramedics marched in, the stretcher in tow. The crowd of performers and stagehands huddled around him where he lay on the floor, whimpering amongst themselves about the accident, making it almost impossible for Emma to get through. Bunching her Juliet costume dress up in her fists, the velvet material thick in her shaking hands, she elbowed her way through, knowing she was close when she could make out the director's worried voice.
"Is he going to be okay? What is going to happen to him? Do I need to contact someone?" The director's incessant questions only earned a quick eye roll from the paramedics, who were doing their best to ignore the pacing male, keeping their full attention on the man wincing in pain on the floor.
"Dr. Hopper," one of the paramedic's addressed him, using his hand gestures to help calm him down. "He will be fine, but unfortunately he won't perform. I'm sorry, sir."
And as quickly as they came, they were gone, the injured actor being pushed out on the stretcher as he somehow managed to smile amidst the pain as he waved goodbye to the cast. Emma finally managed to reach the director just as he left.
"What's going on? What happened to Walsh?" Emma questioned, eying the door where he had disappeared.
"The stage hand didn't build Juliet's balcony properly and it fell on him. Seems that he has crushed his ankle. Shattered completely. We'll have to find an understudy," Dr. Hopper replied, a sad look plastered across his reddened face.
"But we didn't cast a replacement!" Emma exclaimed dramatically, arms flinging wildly in her outburst. "And our first performance is in two days! How are we going to find someone to play Romeo on such short notice?"
"Perhaps I could be of assistance."
Emma swung around to face the soft lilted voice from behind her. Out of the darkened shadows, his icy blue eyes shimmering in the night – vaguely obstructed by his black-framed glasses, stepped out Killian Jones, the shy stagehand. Killian was never one to call attention to himself. In fact, he and Emma had only ever spoken in passing. He tended to keep to himself and observe from a distance.
"You?" she snorted, crossing her arms unconsciously across her slightly exposed chest, the low dip of the costume pushing up her breast in period style.
Killian avoided her gaze, scratching nervously behind his ear as he continued. "I've been working props since the beginning. I've memorized the entire play."
Sensing the sincerity in his voice, Emma studied his form. In all the months they had been working here, she had never taken the time to even give Killian a second glance. But now that she had, Emma had to admit, she was impressed. Besides his glasses, which blocked a proper view of him, and the way his head dipped down low in embarrassment, Killian Jones was not bad looking.
Okay, so the man was hot and didn't know it.
His messy, dark locks looked as if he had just rolled out of bed (as if another woman had just enjoyed herself a little too much with him, her fingers running through his hair as he pleasured her) and there was a slight line of scruff along his sharp jaw. But the piercing blue eyes and heart-stopping accent just put him over the top. Emma could tell that he felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny as her eyes finally found his.
"Please let me help," he begged, more towards Emma than the frustrated director next to her. "It's the least I can do. After all, I am the one who didn't put the bloody thing together properly."
"You're hired!" Dr. Hopper exclaimed next to Emma (and as she had gotten lost in the sexiness that was Killian Jones, she had originally forgotten about the man standing next to her).
"Dr. Hopper, don't you think we should give him a proper audition first?" Emma questioned, a little uncertain of the ever-changing situation. It was as if the room was spinning and wouldn't stop, like she would never catch her breath – the dizziness all-consuming.
"We don't have time for that," the man exclaimed as he took Killian by the arm and began dragging him towards wardrobe, talking incessantly over his shoulder towards the stunned blonde. "He'll be dressed and ready in thirty minutes for a run through. Be ready, Miss Swan!"
Emma stood, mouth agape as Killian turned his head back toward her – Dr. Hopper talking nonstop about their new plans. A small smile formed across his face as he looked back at Emma, the glint in his blue eyes a little brighter than before.
With an angry stomp of her foot, she turned and walked away, never giving him a second glance.
"Alright, places everyone! We'll start from the top. Act I, Scene I."
The theatre was abuzz with chaos, mostly everyone trying to recover from the loss of their lead actor. Uncertainty was humming in the air as Emma listened to the whispers around her; the news hitting heard that Walsh would be unable to perform and that the shy unknown stagehand had stepped up to take his place as the Romeo to Emma's Juliet. Killian was relatively unknown, despite his presence everywhere in the building – building sets, painting, working the curtains – if there was anything backstage that needed to be done, Killian was there to lend a hand.
The rehearsal proceeded as normally, the director seeming to avoid every important scene that included both Romeo and Juliet alone. Although it was questionable, Emma didn't mind so much as she watched him from stage right. And much to Emma's surprise, he was good.
Really good.
Killian seemed to be a natural on the stage, the beautiful archaic words flowing freely from his mouth as he took his positions on the stage - going through a quick blocking rehearsal from the director so he knew exactly where to stand. She smiled at him, internally questioning why she felt so light all of a sudden, a new – and rather unwelcomed – feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she ignored them, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand: getting ready for the biggest performance of her life.
The night continued just the same, going off without a hitch. The cast moved from scene to scene as the director called them out, the excitement growing in the air the longer they rehearsed. As the hours ticked by, the director looked down at his watch before clapping his hands together loudly.
"Alright everyone. Great rehearsal! I think we're actually going to pull this off. Meet back here tomorrow morning at 10 for a complete run through," Dr. Hopper called, sliding out of his seat to motion to both Killian and Emma, at opposite sides of the stage. The two had barely rehearsed but a few scenes together tonight. And Emma was very eager to hear his reasoning.
"Yes, Dr. Hopper?" Emma questioned as she knotted her hands into the velvet of her costume skirt, Killian smoothing his hands over his puffy shirt, trying his best to ignore the itchy tights (they were almost enough to make him have second thoughts - almost).
"Given our current situation, I would like to try something new. If you two don't mind, I'd like to you stay a while longer and rehearse Act I, Scene 5," the director suggested as he grabbed his bags and began heading towards the exit
"Wait," Emma called out quickly, an arm reaching out towards him in questions as a crease formed on her forehead. "Aren't you going to stay?"
Dr. Hopper sighed, hitching the bag of scripts higher on his shoulder. "Romeo and Juliet are one of the most romantic and well known couples in all of literature. I feel like for this to work on such short notice, you are going to need to focus on each other solely to develop the proper chemistry. We'll see how things go tomorrow. Good luck you two."
With a quick nod, he was gone. The echo of the door slam vibrated throughout the room, the only noise emanating inside as the pair remained silent as they awkwardly stood next to each other. Emma could feel his eyes on her as she balled her fists against her side.
"Well, love, it looks like we should get started," Killian suggested in a quiet voice as he backed away, his hand going to gently rest on her forearm.
"Yeah, we should," she confirmed, pulling away from his touch and moving towards the center of the stage, motioning for him to join her. "From the top."
Killian stopped in front of her. Face to face they stood, blue eyes meeting green. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation, and began.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
Emma watched him as he spoke to her (Juliet, she quickly reminded herself), reciting the lines expertly from memory. The way he looked at her was a bit unnerving, as if she had placed the moon in the sky herself, a woman above all others. She remembered a moment only a few short hours ago when she had questioned his expertise (but god he was so good). Gathering her thoughts as he finished his piece, Emma quickly responded back in full character.
"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."
Towards the end of her lines, Emma felt his hands connect with hers, reaching down to interlace their fingers, leaving them palm-to-palm. Her heart rate sped up (hands growing embarrassingly sweaty) from the electricity of their touch. Killian took a step closer to her, the distance between them now minimal.
"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?" Killian whispered to her, breath hot against her face.
She responded as she unlaced their fingers to lay their palms flat against each others, her eyes darting up towards his once more. "Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."
Emma turned from him, her back now facing Killian. She felt his warm hands skim her shoulders, slowly leaving a trial to outline the place where the dress met her shoulder. Killian leaned his lips closely to her ear before continuing.
"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."
Turning around in his arms to face Killian, Emma coyly responded. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
Killian moved his hands from her shoulder to cup her cheeks, pulling her closer towards him. He watched her emerald eyes flutter shut as he spoke against her lips in a whisper, foreheads now resting against each other.
"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged."
Eyes shut. Breath mixed. Foreheads touch.
Emma waited. And waited. Then waited some more.
"This is the part where we are supposed to kiss," she reminded him as he untangled himself from her and took a step back. Emma arched her eyebrows at him, confusion (and something else that she just couldn't quite put her finger on) written all over his face.
"I know," Killian declared quietly, avoiding her gaze as best as possible while he flipped through the script to another scene, trying to change the subject. "I think we should try this scene instead."
She took a step forward towards him, the confidence now surging through her body – that high adrenaline pumping in her veins whenever a new scene was pulled off well. "Why won't you kiss me?"
"Well," he fiddled nervously with the hem of his puffy cream colored shirt, biting his bottom lip hard as he racked his brain for an excuse. "I think it would be best if we wait to kiss on stage during the performance for the first time. Perhaps it will seem more authentic?"
Her jaw clenched tightly as she watched him fumble over his words. And although she knew he was obviously lying, Emma ignored it. She just wanted this night to be over.
If she had thought the confusion that had erupted when Walsh was injured was bad, that was nothing compared to the chaos that always ensues on opening night. Stagehands darted from actor to actor, firmly attaching microphones to the costumes that wardrobe was still fiddling with.
Emma exhaled as the short man tried to attach the mic to the back of her dress, another woman, pulling tightly at her dress to ensure that it fit properly – taking her breath away in the process. The dress rehearsal the day before had run seamlessly (and once again without a kiss), "absolute perfection" as Dr. Hopper had exclaimed elatedly.
From her side of the stage, Emma eyed Killian – his glasses had now been exchanged for contacts, blue eyes piercing on the stage. It was enough to make her heart rate excel dramatically. And as frustrated as she was with him for not practicing their kiss beforehand, Emma felt nervous butterflies in anticipation of what his kiss might be like. Two days ago she had hardly known the man. And within 48 hours he had turned her life upside down and consumed almost every waking though (and even a naughty dream or two that she would never admit to).
"Places everyone! It's show time," Dr. Hopper called out, clapping his hands loudly together as the actors ran to take their places.
Emma ran through her breathing techniques, calming her body and putting her mindset into her role of Juliet. The first performance meant everything to her. It had to be flawless.
The first few scenes were perfect, flowing beautifully as the actors recited everything from memory, the ball and feast taking on the stage ideally. The play had moved so quickly that Emma had hardly realized when it was time for her scene – their scene.
Emma and Killian recited their lines as flawlessly as they did that first night, his hand touching hers, fingers interlacing, breath hot against each other.
She swallowed thickly before she recited her line, his forehead dipping down to hers as his hands cup her face, eyes focused solely on her.
"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged."
And then his lips were on hers.
It was sweet and tender, more than Emma had imagined it would be. And as much as tried to remind herself that this was only for their performance, she found herself hopelessly getting lost in him – falling too quickly. The freefall was happening too fast. It couldn't be stopped.
As quickly as it began, it had ended. He pulled back from her, thumb gently caressing her pink cheek, his blue eyes twinkling at her. Emma tried to catch her breath, eyes remaining shut as she heard him quietly whisper to her "your line".
Through her shaky breath, Emma responded. "Then have my lips the sin that they have took."
Killian removed a hand from her cheek to wrap around her waist, pulling her closer so that their hips collided perfectly. He chuckled softly when he heard her sharp intake of breath at the intimate contact before continuing his lines.
"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again."
Standing on her tiptoes and carding her fingers through his messy locks (oh how much she had wanted to do that the last few days), Emma firmly pressed her lips to his once more. He responded in earnest, moving his body against her with passion as his lips slanted against hers. She lost herself in him, letting out a low moan in pleasure, the feeling all too consuming, igniting a burning fire that had long been extinguished within.
When her tongue met his bottom lip to find his, a cough from stage right pulled them back to reality. He quickly pulled away, lips sloppily detaching leaving them both breathless. Emma tried her best to regain strength to finish her lines. As her eyes met his though, she knew that something had changed. The electricity was undeniable. The perfect Romeo and Juliet.
Her head was buzzing (light and full), the feel of his lips pressed steadily against hers constantly tingling her skin as the performance continued. She watched him move about the stage with grace and elegance – a true Shakespeare performer.
As the play drew to a close, Emma positioned herself on the table that doubled as her tomb for Romeo's death scene. Her skin was fair under the harsh stage lights, a stunning Sleeping Beauty. Lying down, she smoothed out her velvet dress, her curls forming around her like a golden halo.
Her eyes closed in "death", she swallowed thickly as she felt Killian approach her, nerves on edge. The roughness of his hand sent shivers up her spine as he caressed her forearm, sending the beautiful lines off perfectly.
"…For fear of that, I still will stay with thee;
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again: here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
Here's to my love!"
Emma took a deep breath, knowing this is the part where Romeo would drink the poison and die for her. After a few moments of silence, she slightly lifted her eye to peek at Killian, only to find him reverently staring at her, a small mischievous smile forming on his face.
"Perhaps I shall try to wake thee with a True Love's Kiss," he spoke. Emma went rigid, feeling him cup her cheek with one of his shaking hands.
"What are you doing?" she quietly hissed through her teeth so only he could hear her, the fist at her side balling up tightly.
With an eye open, she could see him give her a quick wink before whispering nonchalantly against her lips, "Rewriting Shakespeare."
Killian pressed his lips to hers once more, knowing full well that he was completely capable of getting drunk on her kiss alone. It was quicker than he wanted it to be, but with the audible gasps (and a few catcalls) coming from the audience, he knew he had made a grave mistake.
The problem? Killian didn't care.
Running a hand through her curls, Killian spoke with elegance, his own lines – his own words to the beautiful savior beneath him.
"Oh, my love, what wonder you are,
Beauty radiant and so fair divine.
Never again apart we shall be
For I am yours and you are mine,
Forevermore."
With the lines spoken, Emma felt one of his arms go under her knees, the other supporting her back as he lifted her off the table. Her arms flew around his neck on instinct as she let out a soft yelp in surprise. Smiling at her, Killian quickly carried her off the stage, ignoring the protest from the audience and the director's angry rant as he quickly made his way to the stage to apologize.
"Killian, what are you doing?" Emma questioned as he finally put her down against the back wall, far away from the confused actors scurrying about the set.
He took a step closer, toe-to-toe, brushing her erratic curls back into place carefully. "The other day when you asked why I wouldn't kiss you in rehearsal, I lied about my reason."
Emma could hear her heartbeat in her ears, the irregular thumping so loudly that she was afraid it might just burst. "I know."
"The real reason I didn't want to kiss you is because I knew that the moment your lips touched mine, I would never be able to stop," Killian explained, his hands rubbing at the velvet on her dress around the waist as he pulled her closer (with no protest from her either). "You see, Swan, I have admired you since day one, when you first took the stage as Juliet. And as nothing but a mere stagehand, I knew you would never notice me."
Emma raised an eyebrow as she finally allowed herself to give into to her inevitable feelings for the endearing man in front of her. She slipped her hands around his neck, her fingers pulling at the dark hair at the nape of his neck. With a giggle, she questioned, "You didn't make the prop fall on Walsh on purpose did you?"
"No! Absolutely not. Just a lucky accident, love," he shrugged, the mischievous smile making it's way back across his handsome face, the glint of happiness undeniable in his blue eyes. "But I'm not complaining about it. It got you to kiss me, didn't it?"
"Yeah, it did," she laughed before pulling him closer, resting her forehead against his lightly. "And, I'm about to do it again."
He smiled against her lips as they kissed once more, lips tugging in a tender kiss that neither wanted to end. Killian was grateful for this moment. He had finally found his Juliet. And nothing, not even death (or an angry director) would ever tear them apart.