June 1962

Vauxhall Cross: MI6 Headquarters

London, England

Elizabeth Swann sat fidgeting with her skirt while she waited to be seen by Special Agent Norrington. It wasn't often analysts got called up to meet with any of the field agents, so it left her hopeful that this would be her opportunity to finally get out of the office and do some real intelligence work. Since her father expressly prohibited her from entering the field, the unexpected meeting also made her incredibly nervous. Director Swann had very specific feelings about women in the field, especially when it concerned his own daughter, so if this was in fact her chance, she didn't want to soil it in any way.

James Norrington was one of the agency's best, his record was spotless, he hadn't yet failed a mission, and was as dashing as he was debonair. Not that a good looking man was intimidating to Elizabeth in any capacity, but it certainly didn't help matters.

It was a half hour past their original meeting time when Agent Norrington finally showed up. He walked straight into his office, paying no mind to Elizabeth. She waited there in confusion wondering if she should enter his office or not.

"Are you coming?" He yelled from inside.

"Oh. Yes." She fumbled with her notepad and pencil as she stood and headed into the office.

Norrington sat behind a large mahogany desk, fumbling through a pile of file folders.

"How can I be of service to you, Agent Norrington?" She asked politely.

"You can drop the niceties, Miss Swann. You're going on assignment." He said, eyes never straying from the folders on the desk in front of him.

Elizabeth shifted excitedly in her seat trying to keep herself from squealing audibly. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd wanted to be a spy, no matter how her father tried to discourage her.

"Do try to contain yourself." He muttered, his focus still paying her no attention, but knowing full well she was as giddy as a little girl on Christmas. "Part of being a spy is having a certain amount of discretion."

"Yes, of course. Sorry, sir." She cleared her throat. "What is the assignment?"

"We believe there may be a double agent in the ranks siphoning sensitive information to the soviets and the KGB. We have reason to believe the Russians may be planning a nuclear strike. We have a few leads thus far, but we need two undercover agents to go in and figure out what exactly is going on."

"Two? I'll be working with someone else?" She asked confused.

"You didn't expect to go into the field on your own, being as green as you are? No, you'll be working with an agent who has already laid some of the ground work for the mission: Agent Sparrow."

"Jack Sparrow! You've got to be joking. His methods are unconventional, unorthodox, and reckless, not to mention his dubious reputation with the ladies. How on earth do you expect this mission to be a success?" She screeched.

"It's his unconventional ways that are necessary for this operation, Miss Swann. Now can you handle working with a man of questionable repute, or should we find someone else from the steno pool?"

Standing with a huff, she spoke tersely. "I can handle it."

"Good." He said handing her a file. "Your flight to Berlin leaves at nine."

"Did my father put you up to this?" She asked as she took the file from him. "Strap me alongside the worst imaginable partner to ensure I stay out of the field and in the office?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny such an accusation." He mused, chuckling slightly behind his eyes. None of the men in the agency took her seriously, but that wasn't going to stop her from taking this opportunity and running with it.

Elizabeth turned, folder in hand and stormed out of the office.

Kempinski Hotel Bristol

Berlin, Germany

Slowly sipping a scotch on the rocks in the hotel bar, Agent Jack Sparrow lay in wait for the agent he was unlucky enough to have thrust upon him by the agency. Elizabeth something or other. He told them time and time again that he could do this on his own, but they insisted someone come in to assist him, told him he needed a better cover.

He spotted a young woman, blonde hair pulled back tightly into a bun, wearing a navy blue pencil skirt and a sensible blazer walking toward the bar. Not a bad looking bird, if you asked him, but judging by the uncertainty with which she walked into the lounge, this woman was too tightly wound for his tastes. He turned back to his drink and noticed with some trepidation that the woman was quickly approaching him. Fantastic.

"Agent Sparrow?" She spoke, stepping next to him.

"Good god, they've sent me a bloody librarian." He laughed. "Elizabeth, I presume."

"Miss Swann, if you please." She corrected him while eyeing his unusual appearance. Most men of the Secret Intelligence Service dressed for the times; a sleek suit, skinny tie, and a clean shaven face. Jack Sparrow at one time looked every bit the company man, but since he'd been undercover had become ragged in his appearance. Suit jacket abandoned, he sat at the bar in just a vest and shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He'd let the stubble on his face grow slightly, but still managed to keep his hair slicked back. It was probably the only kept part of his entire being.

Rolling his eyes he turned back to the bartender, suddenly desperate for a refill. "Care for a drink, Miss Swann?" He put particular emphasis on her name.

"I don't drink, Mr. Sparrow." She said flatly.

"Of course you don't" He muttered. "So tell me, Miss Swann, why has Norrington chosen to send me someone so unbearably green?"

"One would argue that I have the best analytical mind in the bureau, and that you are lucky to have such an asset on this mission, but if I'm being honest, I believe that my father has assigned me to the wretched task of keeping you company in the hopes I'll stop applying for a position in the field."

"Your father?" he looked at her askance.

"Yes. Director W. Swann. So as you can see Mr. Sparrow, given your reputation, I'm not a woman to be trifled with."

"I'll bet not, but you've nothing to fear from me. I don't dip my pen in company ink as it were, so I'll not be ruffling up your feathers anytime soon. Though, I'd wager that beneath that very prim and proper disguise you've put on for Papa is a woman wild and aching for a bit of freedom and a gentleman's touch." He leered.

"Don't presume to know me, Agent Sparrow. And for your information, you would be the last man on earth I'd allow to ruffle my feathers, with or without your code. Now can we get to work, or would you like to sit there ogling me a bit longer?"

Jack didn't answer and very slowly raked his gaze from her feet to her head, taking in one last long look. Smirking with satisfaction, his eyes met the pointed stare of a woman who couldn't be less amused. "Is it me or did it just get abnormally chilly in here?" Jack turned to the bartender. "Very well, Miss Swann. Allow me to escort your to my room and we can get started."

A huff of great offense left the mouth of the obstinate woman in front of him and Jack had to admit he found her greatly amusing and rather easy to infuriate.

"Unless you wish to discuss confidential information in a very public place, I'm afraid we've few other options. Besides that, all of the materials I've collected for this case are currently locked in the safe of my suite."

"Fine." She said hesitantly. "Lead the way."

"You're going to have to learn to trust me, Lizzie." He said laughing softly.

"It's Miss Swann." She said resolutely and stalked ahead to the lobby elevators.

"Might need to pull the stick out of your ass as well." Jack grumbled, following after her.