James Norrington was never one to be afraid of the ocean. Yes, it was more powerful than him, contained all manner of deadly creatures and was tamed by no man, but he always felt safe on his ships.

That was, until the fateful hurricane.

He'd never been in such a violent maelstrom in all his years. Never before had the power of the water been so mighty, enough to toss the HMS Dauntless around like a toy. Never before had he seen planks picked apart like twigs by the waves and sails ripped to ribbons by the wind. The ocean didn't just drag good men into the depths; it swallowed them by the dozen. No order that James could have given would have been able to save them.

After all the violence, James wondered why he of all people was spared, clinging to splinters of the once magnificent flagship, surrounded by the how eerie calmness of the merciless sea. His muscles cried in fatigue, wanting to just let go. Why would he let go? He had nothing left. He couldn't return to Port Royal after such a monstrous failure brought on by his terrible judgment. So many lives lost, while he remained alive. He felt cowardly to be a survivor.

The sun beat down on him unceasingly. James's muscles spasmed from hours of tension, clinging onto the planks with all he had left. He felt his eyes slipping shut as the seconds ticked by. The rolling of the waves underneath him beckoned him into eternal rest, to join the rest of the men who died so much more valiantly. Please deliver me from this hell…

"Man overboard!" At those two words, the captain turned to inspect the waves. He hadn't seen a ship or shore for days. Any man in the water would have to be dead. He was shocked when there was not only a man in the endless water, but one that still had some fight left in him. "Bring him up," he said lowly. The crew immediately scrambled to their feet to raise the man onto the deck.

The captain cocked a brow at the man dropped before him. He'd been fighting so long that he barely had the strength to pick his head up, and it was obvious that he'd been through some sort of struggle, but judging by his overall condition, he hadn't been in the sea all that long. Where had he come from? His clothing reflected somewhere foreign.

"On your feet," he ordered. Just how strong was he? James didn't know if he could manage, but his man and his crew had just saved him from the sea, so he would have to try. Plus it would give him a chance to see just whose ship he had stumbled upon in his last moments of life. He had to draw upon all of his will and strength to grab at nearby objects, ropes, crates, anything to stand up, but he was just too exhausted. He had to settle for learning against the mast.

Even he could immediately deduce that he was aboard a pirate vessel. Unshaven, patchy ragamuffins surrounded James and looked at him as if he were a piece of meat. The ship was clearly treasured, well kept, but not to Navy or privateer standards. For all he knew, the ship was a prize. Jack Sparrow showed him that even pirates could come to command Navy ships with the right amount of cunning, and the stubbled man in the dark, rather luxurious coat standing in front of him looked as if he had enough to go around.

"What's your name?" the man asked, authority ringing in every word.

"Commodore…James Norrington," he breathed. With each word he could feel energy leaving him.

"Where do you come from, Commodore?" The captain took a few calculated steps toward him.

"There was that hurricane. My ship was destroyed. My entire crew was lost. I don't know how I survived…" The crew started to murmur among themselves and the captain took a surprised step back.

"There hasn't been any weather bringing more than a breeze for a month, with no rain at all." James picked his head up as much as he could manage, but his legs could no longer hold his weight. He slid to the ground at the base of the mast. "Where are you from?" the captain asked with more urgency. James took in a breath to answer, but his stomach, still full of sea water, wretched and expelled any contents onto James's shirtfront. The captain looked away with disgust and turned back to his crew. "Take him and lock him up. Perhaps after rest he will be more apt to…cooperate." Once he turned his back, two members of the crew hauled James up by his underarms. He was deadweight, not even conscious long enough to see his cell.

When James opened his eyes again, he found his cheek pressed against the moderately damp floor board of his cell. He could hardly see at first, as the room was scarcely lit and the moon replaced the sun. His stomach growled and tightened in hunger and his lips cried for water, real drinkable water, wine, anything to rid himself of such incredible thirst. Perhaps there is something in the cell he thought as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. When he picked his head up, he noticed a man in a red knit hat, peculiar pirate dress, sleeping just outside his quarters with a dim lamp at his feet.

"Excuse me, sir," James forced out, needing to clear his throat in the process. The man jerked awake immediately and turned his attention toward his prisoner.

"Ah, you're awake. The captain requested an audience with you once you came to, in his quarters." James sat up in shock. Already?

"I'm hardly presentable, and I was actually wondering if you would have anything that I could eat or drink…"

"The captain has all that, Commodore. No need to worry about appearances with him." James became more than aware of his tangled brown locks, vomit stained shirt, and tattered breeches and coat. The man stood and took out a ring of keys, juggling one around in James's lock until he was free. "He won't want to be kept waiting any longer." James couldn't help but stare at the open door. "Come on. Tick tock." He pushed himself carefully onto his two feet, judging just how strong his legs would be after the rest. "I'm not carrying you again. Let's go." James stepped forward, holding onto the bars to keep balanced.

The captain's cabin definitely reflected past ownership of a wealthier patron. Enough candles lit the entire space, provided a comfortable amount of warmth and caused James to worry about the ship catching fire. The most treasured pieces from past pillages graced nearly every possible surface, reminding James of his own home in Port Royal, just more dramatic. The windows, the furnishings, all unscathed, glistened in the candlelight.

"I was starting to think that you'd died down there and everyone failed to tell me." James hadn't even noticed the captain sitting at the head of the table among all the riches, food and wine. "That would have been unfortunate. Please, sit. I don't bite." James cautiously stepped toward the empty seat near the captain as he poured a glass of wine. "You've been asleep a little more than a day. Some drink will do you good."

"I don't usually accept drinks from pirates or strangers, in which case, you are both."

"Ah, where are my manners. Killian Jones, but most people around here know me as Hook." James was about to open his mouth to inquire, but "Hook" already seemed to know his next move. He reached over to grab some cold meat, revealing not a hand, but a curved piece of shining silver metal that stabbed the meat as if it were still alive and gave it no chance of escape.

"Battle scar?" Hook chuckled and placed the limp meat on James's plate.

"I suppose you could call it that." He settled back into his seat. "So what do you have against pirates?" James gingerly took a drink of the wine. It tasted sweet, like nothing else he'd tasted before. His heart skipped a beat when the word 'poison' floated through his mind, and he set the goblet down. This man, pirate or not, provided him with some sort of strange hospitality. Who was he to say his true views on piracy?

"I've been a victim of pillaging. I lost my fiancé to a pirate." I lost everything in pursuit of a pirate.

"Well, we are a charming lot." James nearly glared over at the snarky captain. "Sorry for your loss, mate, but women long for the thrill and the adventure." Yes, the sea promised adventure, but it also promised peril, loss, death, nothing that a woman should have to experience.

"I take it you've helped women realize that, yes? Why else would your cabin be so clean when the rest of your ship is slapdash at best?" Hook put down his wine and smirked. James was beginning to think it was one of the few expressions he knew.

"You have the nerve to insult my ship while yours has been ripped to pieces by an alleged 'hurricane'? I believe you are lying to me. So tell me, where was this 'storm'?"

James took a piece of bread before answering. "Off the coast of Tripoli." Now it was Hook's turn to be surprised.

"Well, if what you say is true, you are much more foreign than I originally believed. A hurricane so powerful that it crossed boundaries is not impossible if the right magic is used."

James spat the drink he had back into his cup. Even if it was poison, what did he have to lose? "Magic?" Then again, hadn't he just won a battle against skeletal, cursed pirates? He'd taken one step into a world he thought only existed in stories and lore. He certainly had no grounds to say that the prospect of magic was completely false. "What kind of magic? I'm not terribly familiar with the concept."

"But you seem to believe well enough. That's interesting." Hook circled the lip of his wine glass with his middle finger.

"I had my town attacked by a group of pirates who could be killed and turned into walking bones in the moonlight. I have no reason to not believe that there isn't more out there." He went back to nursing his drink, almost gone.

"Well, there is magic that can transport people between worlds, but it is very complicated and rare these days, probably some of the hardest magic to get a hold of. I hope you don't have any plans on going back." James paused mid-sip. Yes, he had nothing to return to, but his world was what he knew and was comfortable with. He certainly wanted the option to go back if he so wished. "So since you are, in essence, stuck here, we might as well put you to good use, Commodore."

"My name is James, not Commodore," James interjected with bite in his tone. Hook paused and pondered a moment, tapping his hook absentmindedly against the table.

"I like Commodore better." James sighed and turned his attention back toward his most likely spoiled meat. "So I assume that you know a bit about sailing, seeing as you claimed to have lost your ship and your crew. I presume you are a captain."

"Commodore." Hook raised a brow. "Commodore is…was my rank. I was a captain until recently. Now…I used to have control over several ships." Hook chuckled in a way that nearly gave James shivers. He felt as if all pirates had the same laugh. The captain poured his guest another class of wine.

"Well rather unfortunate for you then that I find your lost rank so much more fitting than your first name."

"What are you going to make me do here?" James asked, looking away from Hook and down into his wine goblet.

"Well you had to start somewhere, ya? Consider this a refresher of your basic experience. Most of it will be scrubbing the deck, after all, you did say this ship was what, 'slapdash at best'?" James immediately regretted his wording. "You can use that dead animal skin you had when you came aboard."

"Excuse me?"

"The drowned rat you had under your hat."

"My…wig?" Hook only leered at his new recruit.

"Drink up and get a good night's sleep, Commodore. You have rough seas ahead of you."