AN - An absolutely silly little piece of fluff. I'd say I'm sorry, but I needed fluff and this is what happened. Set in the 50s. Let's pretend Emma, MM, and David are emigrating from Ireland to the United States. Yes, the lock picking is straight out of Brooklyn.

Ireland no longer held any promise for Emma Swan. Orphaned, tarnished reputation, and no promise of any future, it was time for a change.

When her best friend, Mary Margaret Blanchard mentioned in passing how nice it would be to move to the United States, Emma decided that it was the necessary next step in life for them both. Mary Margaret needed to get out from under her step-mother's control now that her father had passed, and Emma just needed to run from everything she knew.

It took saving, borrowing, and begging for every cent, but they scraped enough together for the fare. Mary Margaret had managed to talk their parish priest into sponsoring visas for them both. That's one area Emma never could have managed without her friend's help. Mary Margaret was the model parishioner, while Emma was so very fallen in their eyes. Ultimately, that was what did it. Mary Margaret's impassioned plea that everyone deserved a second chance. No priest could turn down her angelic face and speeches of hope and redemption.

It wasn't long before he came to the girls with the news that not only had he secured visas, but that they would be heading to Brooklyn, New York, where jobs were waiting for them at a department store.

Maybe there was something to be said for hope.

Emma returned to their cabin to find her friend politely knocking on the door of their shared restroom.

"What's going on?"

"I really need to get in there, but it's locked. It has been since I came back from dinner. I don't know what to do." Despite her friend's calm exterior, Emma could see the agony creeping across her face.

"Oh hell no." Even in her discomfort Mary Margaret shot Emma a look of admonishment. She should have been used to Emma's lack of piety by now, really.

Emma crossed to her luggage and took out a nail file and returned to the door, deftly picking the lock. They had yet to meet the occupants of the cabin sharing their restroom, but had heard stories all over the ship of passengers locking the restrooms in order to monopolize them. Emma Swan was not about to let that happen. Not when lock picking was one of her special skills.

As soon as she heard the click, she flung the door open to find a dark haired man lying prostrate across the floor, clearly having passed out after emptying his stomach. His cabin mate came rushing in upon hearing the commotion, and all four soon occupied the already cramped space.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that anyone was actually in here. I thought it was locked just to keep us out."

The blonde man standing in the door frame apologized in return as well. "My friend's dinner did not agree with him. I'm sorry we were monopolizing the restroom. Let me see if I can wake him."

The man crouched down the floor and started to prod the dark haired man currently sleeping, face pressed against the tile.

"Killian! Killian! These nice ladies need to actually use the restroom. Time to move it."

He stirred and tried to sit, completely baffled to his surroundings. When he finally turned to Emma, she was not prepared. Even the pallor of sickness couldn't hide how handsome he was and the red rimming his eyes only made them bluer.

Emma had to shake herself.

The blonde had put his hand out to help up the man from the floor. "I'm David, this poor sod is Killian."

Killian barely nodded. He was trying to use the toilet to help foist himself up and failing miserably. Emma decided to take pity on him and put her hands out to grasp under his elbow and shoulder some of his weight. With her help, David was able to guide him into the men's cabin, and deposit him into the lower bunk. Emma was not surprised to hear the door close and click behind her. Mary Margaret could wait no longer.

"I'm Emma, and that's my best friend, Mary Margaret."

"Nice to make your acquaintance. Headed to New York?"

"Yes, Mary Margaret and I are to work at a department store. We both worked at shops back home, so other than new location it won't be too much of a change. You?"

"Very different. Shepherd. Going to work in a factory. Not exactly a dream, but it will be good to send money home to my mum."

Emma smiled. "And him?" She tried not to seem too curious.

"Him, no. Limey bastard." They both laughed. "He's a writer. Travels. Nomad. Not entirely sure what he writes. Met him at a pub a few years ago and he tends to just show up from time to time. Told him I was emigrating and he said he'd come along for the ride and introduce me to New York. Can't say that I mind the company." From all that David tried to downplay it, she could tell that he truly liked the man passed out in the bunk.

They heard the click of the door, and Mary Margaret stepped into the room.

David's eyes flashed up, and Emma looked to see Mary Margaret staring in return.

"Mary Margaret, this is David. David, Mary Margaret." He took her hand, and Emma smiled to notice he didn't let it go, holding it gently.

It was late. Goodnights were said. And agreements were made that the door to the bathroom was not to be locked unless it was in use.

Emma was not surprised when David found them immediately following breakfast the next morning. She and Mary Margaret were taking a walk around the deck, and heard David's voice calling to them.

"Mary Margaret. Emma."

They turned, to see him running towards them, with Killian in tow.

"Ladies, good morning."

"Good morning, David." Mary Margaret had bestowed him with her most radiant smile, and David almost fumbled over his words trying to respond. Emma could have laughed at the two as obvious as they were, if she weren't trying to simultaneously ignore and study Killian as he stood silently behind David.

Finally, after ascertaining that Mary Margaret had a perfectly wonderful breakfast, slept peacefully, and was doing remarkably well, he remembered his manners and introduced Killian.

"Killian, this is Mary Margaret and Emma. They already know you."

Killian turned bright red at this. "Ladies, I deeply apologize. Dave here has informed me that I kept you from our shared restroom, and that indeed is poor form. I blame it all on the mutton stew, and will avoid it for the rest of our journey, and advise you do the same."

Despite some bad weather and rough seas, Emma was enjoying the passage. Like so many aboard, this was the first time in her life that nothing was expected of her. As long as she didn't mind missing breakfast, she could sleep as late as she pleased. She would wake and take her book to some corner of the ship where she could remain undisturbed, and lose herself between the pages.

"Ahoy there, Swan. What's this?"

She looked up, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun.

"Killian. Hello. You've found me. I've been hiding to read. Mary Margaret would have wanted me to stroll with her and David around the deck, not wanting to seem improper spending time alone with a young man." She feigned grasping at invisible pearls and put her hand over her mouth in shock as Killian threw his head back in laughter.

He gestured, to confirm it would be alright to join her along the railing. and she nodded.

"No, I meant, what's this? What book is that there?"

"The Smuggler's Revenge by Peter James."

He nearly choked.

"Don't laugh. I love his books. This is the last one left that I haven't read."

He took it from her and flipped through the pages.

"Swan, this is a library book."

She turned red. "Look, I'm going to mail it back. Just I didn't have time to finish it before we sailed. Well, that and I needed something to read aboard the ship." Maybe that was partially a lie. She hadn't been planning on returning it, but now that she'd been caught it sounded like a good plan. She'd checked it out the day before they left, hoping that none of the librarians were aware that it was her last day in the country.

"Besides, what's it to you?"

"Well, I am a writer. I feel a brotherhood with my fellow scribe. How are we supposed to earn an honest living when young ladies such as yourself steal books from the library?"

She turned red, and he dropped the subject.

"Now, tell me, love, what is it about the works of Peter James that make him so special?"

Emma's face lit up as she recounted the tales of the protagonist, Captain Hook. His epic adventures across the globe as he tracked down the man who killed his love and righted wrongs along the way.

If he didn't know better, Killian Jones would have been very jealous of Peter James.

"And now you grow despondent. What seems to be the trouble?"

"This is the last one. I've read everything he's published. Now I have to wait for more."

"Well, from what I can tell you were miserable in Ireland. Correct?"

"Yes."

"So when you get to the states you're going to be busy with a new life, meeting new people. I have a feeling waiting around for the next James book won't seem like such a chore."

She thought about it, and realized he was right.

"Now, why don't you put away your book, and store up what little you have left for another day. You can come take a stroll around the deck with me. If we find David, we can rescue Mary Margaret's virtue."

She laughed, and as they both stood she linked her arm through the crook of his elbow.

The rest of the passage was uneventful. The foursome spent most of their time together. David and Killian taught Emma and Mary Margaret card games, much to Emma's delight and Mary Margaret's chagrin. They strolled around the deck in nice weather. Killian lent Emma a book, telling her to save the rest of her stolen book for some night after they arrived that home seemed a little too far away. The journey almost felt like it came to an end too soon for all four.

Killian made it through immigration easily. As a visitor he didn't have to go through the same process as David and the ladies. He waited outside, a little anxious until he was joined by all three. As the only one with any knowledge of the city, he acted as tour guide, steering them towards their respective boarding houses.

Bidding Emma farewell at her new home, he kissed her hand and assured her they would be meeting again.

"Emma, I've never crossed the ocean before so pleasantly, despite how we first became acquainted. I can't leave you with any concrete plan of my actions right now, but please be assured I will see you again as soon as humanly possible. I've a few things I need to square away presently." He kissed her hand again, and made his farewell to Mary Margaret.

Waiting for David at the curb, allowing the two to say their goodbyes in private, he stewed over his next course of action. He'd been plotting in his head the entire journey, but without means to do anything about it.

After guiding his friend to his boarding house, he hailed a taxi and made his way into Manhattan. Holing himself up in a hotel with nothing but a typewriter and room service, he began to write. He thought back to every conversation he had with Emma on the ship, recalling every word she'd said about why she loved Peter James' books, and he poured himself, and her, into to the words.

The resulting story was purely Emma. Orphan girl took to the high sea for adventure. Exploring the world. Righting wrongs. Finding love. That had never been part of any previous James adventure, but it had to be now. The Swan, her ship, encountered the Jolly Roger, Hook's ship, and the two captains could not contain their feelings.

Weeks passed. He wrote, and edited, and wrote. It had to be perfect. For her, nothing less was acceptable.

One day, as he put the last page down, he realized he was finished. There were no changes to make. It was complete.

He started at the beginning, typing out a second copy, and then boxed them both up.

One was wrapped in brown paper and twine and couriered over to his publisher.

The other was wrapped in white paper, tied with a red ribbon, and sent with a handwritten note to Emma's boarding house.

"Emma, there's mail for you."

That was a sentence she'd never heard. The other girls of the house were always going on about news from home, or what they'd gotten from their boyfriends., but not Emma.

Not to say she was unhappy. Not at all. Life in the States was exciting. No one judged her, and she was enjoying the clean slate. But there were some things that starting over hadn't fixed. She still felt lonely from time to time. Mary Margaret was the best friend anyone could ask for, but sometimes Emma still felt the sting of not having family.

She went to the hall table to find the thick square of white, tied with the red ribbon. Reading the note, she wasn't sure what to make of it.

Emma,

I didn't want you to have to wait. Please read. I'll be more anxious to know your thoughts than those of my publisher.

Killian

Confused, she untied the ribbon and paper, to find a typed manuscript. She took it to her room and started to read. Mary Margaret found her there, four hours later, engrossed in the pages.

"He wrote me a book."

"Who, Killian?"

Emma nodded. "But not just Killian. He's Peter James."

"From those books you read?"

Emma just nodded. "He wrote this for me. It's me. It's a book for me." Mary Margaret picked up a page and skimmed and smiled at Emma.

"I'll leave you to it."

Emma came down to breakfast the next morning completely exhausted. She'd finished the entire book, and hadn't slept at all.

"Mary Margaret, I need David's address. I need to go talk to him so I can find Killian."

Mary Margaret obliged, and she watched Emma run out the door.

The landlord was not too pleased to have a young lady, despite her reputable appearance, banging on the door so early in the morning, but fetched David to the door anyway.

"I don't know where he is Emma. I haven't seen him since the day we arrived. He said he had something to take care of, and then left. I'll let you know if I see him. And I'll tell him you're looking for him."

Emma left crestfallen, but not hopeless. Everything Killian had written led her to hope. Hope that he had the same feelings for her that she had developed for him. She just needed to wait. He would come for her.

She returned home and tied the ribbon from the manuscript around her wrist. She couldn't carry the story around with her, but the ribbon was a constant reminder. Every night after dinner she would return to her room, re-reading the pages until sleep claimed her.

She didn't have to wait too long.

Friday nights the young ladies of the boarding house typically attended a dance the church held for the youth. Emma dreaded the events, but Mary Margaret forced her attendance. Emma would much rather have been at home, with her pages. By now she almost knew it by heart.

But here she was tonight, in the church activity room sitting at a table sipping a soda, watching Mary Margaret and David dance away. She was happy for them, and smiled thinking how a chance room assignment on their crossing had ended up being so fateful.

She looked down at the ribbon on her wrist.

It was just then that a figure appeared towering over her at the table.

Her rote answer bubbled off her lips before the gentleman had even asked.

"I'm not dancing tonight."

"That's a shame." She heard the English accent reply. "I'm quite good. And you should always pick a partner who knows what he's doing."

Her head flew up and a smile spread across her face.

"Still not dancing, love?"

She was up and in his arms in a heartbeat, effortlessly gliding across the floor. He glanced at their joined hands.

"Is that the ribbon from the package?"

She blushed and nodded.

"So you got my book?"

Again, another nod.

"Swan, the suspense. Tell a man what you thought."

"It was perfect, Killian. Or wait, is it Peter?"

He laughed. "It's Killian. Peter James was an invention of my publisher. But let's go back to where you said it was perfect."

"It was perfect."

The song slowed, and he pulled her closer. She nestled her head on his shoulder, and the music called for them to do nothing more than sway in place.

"And the ending? Captain Swan meeting Captain Hook, and the promise of sequels with their merged crews and adventures. You aren't put off by their joint future?"

He felt her shake her head.

"I think I'd be very disappointed if they'd parted ways, never to meet again," she finally admitted.

"Good." It was all he could say then. But he didn't let her out of his arms for the remainder of the evening.

He waited until they left to kiss her, away from the gossiping eyes of the parish.

When the newest Peter James book finally hit the shelves, Emma Jones was first in line to buy one, despite already having her own, one of a kind copy. The now battered pages tied with the ribbon were kept in a drawer next to their bed. Those pages were her most precious possession.

"Hello, love. Where have you been?"

"Out shopping. Care to see what I bought?" She sidled up to him at his desk, and he pushed out his chair enough so that she could seat herself in his lap. She pulled his book out of her handbag, and handed it to him.

"Oh, Mr. James, would you autograph it for me. Please?" He laughed she she batted eyelashes coquettishly.

"Why Mrs. Jones, it would be my pleasure." He pulled out a pen, but noticed that the title page had already been taken up with handwritten notes.

To the man who has given me everything I give him our next great adventure. Can Captain Swan and Captain Hook handle a stowaway child? Are pirate ships fit places for a baby?

With shining eyes and a full heart, he enveloped his wife in his arms. "Now, that love, is a story I cannot wait to read."