#NorriHook

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James watched as Killian moved with an almost effortless swagger, pulling out a bottle of brandy and corking it with his hook like it was the most natural thing in the world. His usual instinct might have been to scoff, to roll his eyes at the flamboyance, but the memory of Killian remembering his favorite drink softened him. It was such a simple detail, yet it spoke volumes.

Taking the offered glass, he swirled the dark liquid briefly before lifting it to his nose, inhaling the rich, fruity aroma. He glanced up at Killian, who was already lounging in his makeshift throne like he owned not just the ship, but the entire sea itself. James couldn’t help but shake his head, a reluctant chuckle escaping him.

"You remembered that?" he asked softly, his voice losing its usual edge. He blinked down at the glass, the rich amber liquid catching the dim light. A faint blush crept over his cheeks as he raised the glass again, taking a deliberate sip to occupy himself and mask his reaction.

Why it touched him so, he couldn’t fully understand. Perhaps it was the way Killian had said it so easily, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to remember such a detail about someone he’d parted ways with years ago. Or maybe it was that Killian’s acknowledgment of something so personal felt… kind, in a way James wasn’t used to.

James found himself watching Killian again, his sharp eyes softening as he took in the pirate’s effortless charm. The way he moved about the cabin, his confidence, his grin that was somehow both infuriating and disarming at the same time.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to break the lingering silence . “You’ve certainly come a long way from the boy who couldn’t tie a proper knot without getting it tangled.” He raised the glass in a small toast before taking a sip. The brandy was smooth, with a subtle sweetness that lingered on his tongue. He hated to admit it, but it was rather good.

Then nearly choked on it when he was offered the position. “ You’d trust me with your precious Jolly Roger?” His tone was dry but teasing, the edges of his words softened by the warmth of the brandy. “ I.. suppose that would be preferable. Than deckhand.. I mean. Thank you.“ He pauses a beat and… removes his hat and wig. Being comfortable meant shedding those constrictive hot layers. Letting longish but still well groomed hair loose. He wasn’t a Commodore right now-- or.. anymore. "But I don't believe I well ever grow accustomed to piracy. Or condone it"

James’s lips quirked into a dry smile as he swirled the brandy in his glass, the amber liquid catching the light. “Fate does have a peculiar sense of humor,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of irony and resignation. “I suppose I’ve no one to blame but myself for ending up in this... position.”

He glanced at Killian, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he added, “Though I imagine you’re finding this turn of events endlessly amusing.”

James leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the situation settle in the room. He raised his glass in a small, half-hearted toast. “To fate, then. And to the pirate who’s found himself, inexplicably, in charge of a commodore.”

"Back to judging are we?" Killian asked with a roll of his eyes. Even though they were alone once again old habits died hard, they had their moment of understanding but that wasn't going to change the mindset of a man who had hated pirates all his life. The young man understood it would take some time and some things James might never come to terms with.

He stepped away from James and kicked some of his treasure out of the way as he crossed the room to his liquor cabinet to look through it. "Brandy still your favorite? Lets see... Ooh~ I think you'll like this black cherry brandy." Killian grabbed a bottle and tucked it under his arm to hold and snagged two crystal glasses to bring over to the desk. He set them down then grabbed the bottle he used his hook to tug out the cork.

"I'm sure this'll all be a shock for you and needing some time to adjust..." Killian began as he filled the glasses for them. "You don't have to participate in any of our raiding. Just be a deckhand, or maybe my navigator! I usually do that myself but it would be nice to have some help with that." He said with some cheer as he moved around his desk to sit down in his throne. The bottle set down the pirate captain reached out to take his glass and bring it to his lips.

"I never would've thought I'd ever be in charge of you. Kinda funny how the fate works sometimes." Killian said with a chuckle. He was purposefully trying to keep the mood light because in reality he knew his former mentor's world had just been crushed. The life he had in the royal navy effectively over and all he knew was turned upside down. "Enjoy your drink, get comfortable. You can stay in here tonight and tomorrow get you a spot set up in the crews quarters."

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@pyramultimuse from Killian 'Captain Hook': "This is a waste of everyone's time. I'm going to tell you the same thing I told the last people who tried to hang me: I can't die." He tried to explain as the noose was placed around his neck. "Are you really going to let me hang here for hours choking or can we work something out?"

Commodore Norrington stared at the notorious pirate, Captain Hook, as the noose was being placed around his neck. He couldn't help but feel skeptical of the man's claims that he couldn't die. Though he does grant a momentary reprieve from the executioner, holding up a hand.

"Can't die?" Norrington raised an eyebrow, "That's as likely as I being pirate." sarcasm thick. His men gave few snickers and good natured laugh at his ribbing of their captive.

" Tell me, why should I believe you, Pirate? Sounds rather farfetched to me. No man is immortal" @pyramultimuse

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Unlike the Commodore, Hook had seen the island before and been in this land for many a year - it was nothing new and therefore, he was not distracted.

He waited for his opening and when the Commodore was caught off balance, the Captain took his chance and lunged.

His blade expertly wafted through the air, making an audible whipping noise as it went forward, catching the man's hand to disarm him and as the blade fell, the pirate caught it with his foot and kicked it away, pointing his own sword at the Commodore throat, a victorious smile on his face.

"Now then," he breathed heavily, still riding the high from the battle. "Call off your men and perhaps we may sit down and speak like CIVILISED gentlemen?"

The air whistled as Hook’s blade cut through it, striking true. Norrington felt the searing pain before he saw the blood, his grip weakening as the pirate’s sword sliced across his wrist. His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the deck with a hollow ring. Norrington instinctively reached to stanch the flow of blood, but before he could react further, Hook’s boot caught the fallen blade and sent it skidding out of reach.

The Commodore staggered back, his breath catching as the cold steel of Hook’s sword pressed against his throat. He looked up into the pirate’s victorious grin, his mind racing even as the adrenaline surged through his veins. Despite the pain and the sting of defeat, there was a part of him—however small—that couldn’t help but admire the pirate’s skill.

The Commodore winced, his hand slick with blood as it stained the cuff of his once-pristine uniform. The fabric fluttered in the light breeze, the crimson staining the white. He was cornered, disarmed, and at the mercy of a man who clearly knew this strange land far better than he did.

Norrington’s eyes flicked to his men, still locked in a desperate struggle against Hook’s crew. They were fighting bravely, but the odds were against them. His pride screamed at him to resist, to fight until the end, but the rational part of him—the part that valued the lives of his men—knew that this battle was lost. Their lives meant more to him than his pride.

"s-Stand down!" Norrington called out, his voice slightly shaken, given the situation. "Lower your weapons!"

His men hesitated, clearly unwilling to surrender, but the sight of their Commodore at sword point, weaponless and wounded quelled their defiance. "Commodore!" One by one, they lowered their weapons, the sounds of battle dying down as the pirates closed in, collecting the surrendered arms.

"I…. will speak with you, Captain," The young Commodore utters, trying to keep his voice steady despite the pain and humiliation. " I only ask that you.. give my men quarter. "

Commodore Norrington's breath came in controlled bursts as he matched Captain Hook strike for strike. and despite the chaotic circumstances, he couldn't deny the thrill of the duel. Hook's footwork was nimble, his movements almost like a dance, and his blade was quick, yet Norrington kept pace, his own precision and discipline honed over years of service in His Majesty’s Navy.

But Hook’s words, spoken with that unnerving sing-song lilt, echoed in Norrington’s mind. “We shall see how you will be faring once you realize the proper of your situation!” The taunt grated on him, not for its content, but because, in the midst of this battle, Norrington began to wonder—what was their situation? "The.. devil are you talking about??"

His focus wavered for just a moment as Hook’s laughter filled the air. Around them, the storm that had initially brought them to this strange place was beginning to clear. The fog lifted, revealing an archipelago of islands surrounded by an endless, alien sea. The atmosphere felt different, charged with something unfamiliar—something magical.

One of Norrington’s men, still standing amidst the chaos, suddenly shouted over the noise of the battle. "Commodore! The land—it isn’t right, sir! We’re not where we’re supposed to be!"

Norrington’s eyes flicked to the sailor, his heart skipping a beat as the words sank in. His grip on his sword tightened, the realization dawning on him that they were not just lost at sea—they were somewhere entirely else.

The distraction was enough. In that split second, Hook’s sword came at him with renewed ferocity, the blade nearly striking true as Norrington barely managed to parry in time. The force of the blow sent a jolt through his arm, and for the first time, he felt truly off balance. Stumbling back with an "Ah!" Now was the pirate's chance.

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@sonofirishseas​ @firstlove-thesea​ @secondbcrnpiracy​

my esteemed rival,

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James listened to Killian's words, his expression growing solemn. The pirate's accusations struck a chord within him, reminding him of the complexities and compromises inherent in his role as a naval officer. While he believed in his duty to protect innocent lives, he couldn't deny the inherent flaws and injustices within the system he served.

"You're right," James admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and determination. "The path I've chosen may not always align with my ideals. But I strive to make a difference where I can, to uphold justice in a flawed world."

He sighed heavily, realizing that further conversation might not yield the results he desired. "I understand that you seek leverage and information in exchange. While I cannot promise immediate action, I will make inquiries and examine the naval ship logs as you suggest. If it can shed light on the truth and potentially help us find a resolution, I will pursue it."

He paused, looking at Killian intently. "We are both prisoners in our own ways, Hook. Perhaps there is a way for us to find common ground and work towards a mutual understanding. But that will require trust and a willingness to communicate. The choice is yours."

James turned to leave, . "Remember, though, that true power lies not in what you withhold, but in what you choose to share. We may yet find a way to resolve this situation without further bloodshed."

"You are not judge or jury, only executioner. Only thing you're achieving is hurting innocent lives, there are people who count on me. Who I protect. They will die thinking I abandoned them." The pirate said and pointed to James with his hook. "You don't care about innocent lives, you only care about about your king's people. Rulers are all the same, they convince you to serve them but once you are of no more use they toss you away. You're expendable, just like I was."

Killian went back to the far wall of his cell to sit back down on the floor. His demeanor reflected he wasn't interested in talking to James any more. "Just because you have morals doesn't mean those you tell will have the same." The pirate crossed his arms and stared over at his captor. "I'm not giving any more information for free. You want to know more you got to give something. Maybe go look at the naval ship logs of those I've 'attacked'? I've hardly sunk any so I'm sure they're somewhere. Might be surprised by what you read."

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Groves blinked at the pirate’s audacious wink, his confusion plain as his brow furrowed. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Gillette, muttering under his breath, "What on earth was that supposed to mean?" Groves was no stranger to odd behaviors from pirates, but the casual confidence of Hook unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Meanwhile, James tested the ropes discreetly as he was guided aboard the Jolly Roger, his fingers brushing against the coarse bindings. A flicker of something unexpected stirred within him—the roughness of the rope, the firm way it constrained him, the undeniable sense of being at someone else’s mercy. It was… stimulating. He suppressed the thought immediately, willing himself to focus on the situation at hand.

As his boots hit the polished cherry wood deck, his gaze roamed over the ship’s intricate carvings and grand craftsmanship. He was forced to admit, if only internally, that it was stunning. Out loud, however, his tone was more biting. “I’m surprised she hasn’t sunk under the weight of all this stolen gold. I suppose it’s fitting for pirates to have such a flamboyant vessel. Subtlety clearly isn’t your strong suit,” he said, his sarcasm sharpened by a need to mask his awe.

James managed to pull free of his bonds when Killian removed them and rubbed at his wrists, glancing around the room once more. “A mess? That’s putting it mildly,” he muttered, though his voice lacked the usual venom.

The (former) Commodore’s gaze drifted toward the cabin door, then to the window, his expression clearly concerned. He could almost feel his crew’s judgment from afar, even without seeing them. Were they standing stoically on the deck of the Interceptor, murmuring their discontent? Perhaps Gillette and Groves were trying to maintain order, but the doubt would be there. The disappointment. He’d surrendered them to pirates, no matter his reasoning. What were they thinking of him now?

He needed a good distraction and maybe a drink , despite the fact he only drank brandy on social occasions.

The sword offered had been tucked in his belt beside his holstered one. James effort to compose himself was amusing. Was that a blush he caught? He wouldn't have guessed James had a fancy for men, or maybe it was the situation that was exciting. He might have to test those waters later. For now though he had some work to do.

Killian pretended not to pay attention to the men murmuring but when Groves said that he'd get James back the pirate shot him a wink. A subtle hint that James would be safe in his care. Continued on to the deck of the pirate ship, Jolly was something beautiful. Made of mostly cherry wood and had stunning carvings, it was more like a ship out of a fairy tale then one belonging to pirates.

"I'll give you a tour once we start sailing." He said as he brought James into his cabin that was a treasure hoard. There was gold from a hundred ships laying about, chests overflowing and jewelry hung about as decorations. Closest to them when they enter was his charting desk littered with many maps of the world and some unknown, the chair behind it looking like a throne with blush red velvet seats. There was display cabinets of trinkets from around the world and expensive alcohol, a shelf of books and a wardrobe stuffed with fine clothing. At the far back of the room was a large four post bed covered in an array of blankets, silk sheets and many pillows. Beside that in the corner a folding wall where there was a tub and some sort metal tank with part of a coal burning stove.

It was an incredible amount to take in, so while James looked on dumbfounded Killian removed the ropes. "Sorry about the mess, wasn't expecting company. I'm a bit of a pack rat when it comes to treasure. When you grew up with not a shilling to your name you tend to want to hold onto any wealth you get your hands on."

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“If we’re doing this,” he muttered, “then you’ll need this.” He drew his sword slowly, the blade gleaming in the cabin’s light, and handed it over to Killian. James gritted his teeth as Killian wrapped the rope around him, his sense of dignity bristling against the indignity of it all. His cheeks, however, betrayed him, flushing a faint pink. He wanted to believe it was out of humiliation of defeat.. perhaps some of it was. But.. as Killian's grin lingered in his peripheral vision.. he clears his throat and glances back down at the ropes bound around him.

When Killian made his quip about putting him to good use, James huffed sharply, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, I bet you will,” he replied dryly, trying not to let the fluster show as he fought to maintain his composure. Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture, forcing himself to lift his head high and set his jaw in that familiar steely determination. Despite the heat and weight of the ropes burning him. Whatever humiliation he felt, his men would see their commodore as strong, unbroken—if only for their sake.

As they stepped back out onto the deck, Killian’s declaration rang out, and James felt the eyes of his crew on him, burning with a mix of anger, betrayal, and confusion. Still, he held himself tall, even as the rope bit into his wrists.

Gillette , his most loyal officer, spoke over even Hook, being rather forward, his expression torn. “He surrendered… for US,” Gillette said, his voice steady but low, clearly meant for the crew. Groves was the next to speak “To ensure our safety. That’s not the action of a coward. That’s the action of a man willing to sacrifice everything for his duty.”

The murmurs began to shift among the crew, anger softening into grudging respect, though the tension was far from gone. James caught his two most loyal officer's gaze and gave them the faintest nod, a silent acknowledgment of their attempts to hold the crew together. Whatever happened next, James told himself, his choice had been the right one—his only choice to keep some dignity.

"Do you not see what that means? The Commodore has always carried the weight of our survival on his shoulders. Today is no different.” Groves paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. He then turned to James, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. “We’ll see you returned safely, sir. Whatever it takes.”

Killian arched a brow at the hesitance in James. "Duty to what? A king you've never met? A crew that wants to see you hung? Your duty is to yourself, mate." The younger man pointed out as he waited for James to come to terms with how fate was leading him. There wasn't much to choose from and the safest bet was with Killian.

When called insufferable he snickered, this was feeling like the old days. James being all uptight and Killian being a little trickster in good fun. To his delight the other agreed. "Splendid! I will put you to good use Commodore." The pirate said and he moved about the cabin and grabbed some rope toss around the taller man to wrap him up like a prisoner. Just for show when they went back out, and it wasn't like he could tie a not all that well with just one hand but he did the best he could.

"Put that serious face back on as we head over to Jolly. I'm a no good dirty pirate taking you hostage." Killian said with a smirk and brought James back out of the cabin.

"We've come to terms, men! The Commodore has surrendered himself to me to ensure your safely brought back to Port Royal. Take your cut of the loot guys then lash the Interceptor to the ship, I have my cut of the treasure right here." He nodded to James and the pirates laugh before they began plundering the ship with some still keeping watch of the captives. Killian tugged James along by the rope and they made their way onto the Jolly Roger.

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James stiffened at Killian’s suggestion, his brow furrowing deeply. “No, I couldn't,” he said sharply, his voice edged with the iron of years of discipline and duty. “Abandoning my ship, my men— I have a duty to—” But the words faltered, his voice cracking slightly as he thought about the truth of his situation. He glanced away, trying to maintain the rigid composure drilled into him by years of naval service. Faltering as the truth of the situation sank in. His crew was furious, their respect for him shattered, and while Groves and Gillette were loyal, even they couldn’t quell an outright mutiny if the anger grew. And if they did somehow make it to port, he’d face a court-martial at best, the noose at worst.

His chest tightened, the weight of humiliation and fear bearing down on him. He couldn’t abandon his men to such chaos, but Killian’s offer—absurd as it sounded—might be their only salvation. He could negotiate their release in exchange for his “capture,” and perhaps, in time, he could find a way to make amends.

James’s green eyes met Killian’s ocean-blue ones, and there it was again—that maddening twinkle of mischief and excitement. The pirate looked so sure of himself, so utterly pleased by his plan. And James, much to his own frustration, couldn’t deny that Killian’s unorthodox idea held merit.

“You truly are insufferable,” James muttered, his voice tinged with reluctant resignation. “But damn it all, you’re right.” He let out a weary sigh and straightened his shoulders, trying to summon the last remnants of his dignity. “I’ll do it. I’ll negotiate my capture for their freedom.”

James swallowed hard, his voice was low but steady, carrying the authority that had not yet fully deserted him despite his battered pride. “Get my crew to safety, Captain Hook,” he manages to lift his head , not so 'defeated'. “And I am yours to do with as you… see fit.” Careful James that can mean a lot of things..

Killian hadn't caught his former mentor staring, as he was too busy focusing on eavesdropping. If he had he would've been quite smug and teased James for it. Best that he didn't or they'd have a whole different sort of mess on their hands. The matter with the crew of the Interceptor, they were not happy to be surrendering to pirates and seemed to all have lost respect for their commodore.

"I'm worried about what they might do to you James." He said with a sigh as he pulled away from the door and paced the room for a moment. Hook tapping his chin with his brows knitting in thought, he sensed mutiny among this crew. It wasn't safe for James here. But it would be on the Jolly Roger.

With a grin he looked to James. "Come with me!" He said plainly with an excited twinkle in his ocean blue eyes. "I'll tell them you're my hostage while we tow them to port but then just cut them loose and steal you away." Killian chuckled at the fun idea of kidnapping James. "Think about it, this is the best option. With how your crew is acting they're either going to mutiny for this or they could report you to your superior officers and have you hung for treason. If you don't come with me you might not live much longer..."

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James wiped his face hastily, the motion quick and almost aggressive, as though scrubbing away not just the tears but the vulnerability they represented. His father's voice echoed in his mind—a cold, biting reprimand from years ago. "Norringtons do not cry. Emotions are weakness, boy. You must learn to be a man of stone if you are to command respect." Yet here he was, breaking every tenet of that stern upbringing, his walls crumbled by someone he never expected to see again.

The humiliation lingered, clawing at him, but there was another feeling too—one he couldn’t quite define. Relief? Gratitude? Maybe even something warmer. He’d been braced for hatred, yet Killian had offered forgiveness and care instead, a kindness James wasn’t accustomed to, especially in a moment like this.

Straightening himself, James forced a deep breath, his hands smoothing his uniform in an effort to reclaim some sense of composure. But his voice, when he spoke, was softer than before, tinged with the weight of everything unsaid. "Your initial plan… yes, that will suffice." His tone was measured, but the edge of defeat was still there. "Towing us to the nearest port is the… wisest course. My men… they'll need the time to recover, and I fear morale has already been pushed to its limits." They had already lost respect for their Commodore.

His gaze lingered on Killian for a moment, taking in the man he’d become—the fierce pirate captain who still somehow held a gentleness that James himself had been trained to bury. A captain whose loyalty is to his crew, not a crown, James thought, the realization cutting deep. Killian’s strength came from something James had longed for but never allowed himself to hope for: genuine connection.

As James stood there, his composure still fragile and his thoughts in turmoil, he found his gaze drifting back to Killian. The younger man had turned away slightly, his ear pressed to the cabin door, his shoulders still tense from the weight of their shared past. But it wasn’t just the sharp lines of Killian’s jaw or the strength in his stance that caught James’s attention. It was the gentleness beneath it all—the man who had just forgiven him, who had shown kindness when James expected scorn. Who HELD him. Something no one had ever dared. That spark of warmth, that rare and unexpected tenderness, made something stir in his chest.

James swallowed hard, his training screaming at him to suppress such feelings, to bury them deep where no one—not even he—could find them. Yet, the realization settled over him like a quiet revelation. More than just admiration for the man Killian had become. It was faint, but it was there, a flicker of something James didn't dare admit to himself. A crush, unwelcome yet undeniably present, tugging at his already fragile resolve. Damn you, Killian Jones, he thought with a mix of frustration and bemusement. You’ve managed to become even more infuriatingly captivating.

The hardships with training in the navy they teach you to be hard as steel, not to show emotion and be set in stone. That was not how his crew were, Killian never felt he had to ever hide his emotions or afraid to show weakness as his men supported him when he felt low and he did the same for them. Being a pirate their loyalty was not to a crown but to each other. So he was not afraid to show his emotions now, weeping into the arms of someone he never thought he'd see again.

He was held tight, feeling comforted and safe in the other man's embrace. More apologies spoken and Killian felt a relief over his heart that James hadn't meant he wanted him dead for being a pirate. Killian could forgive him, he already had. They stood there holding each other tightly for what felt like ages until the tears had stopped flowing and their hearts stopped pounding. It was Killian that pulled back and stood straight, taking a moment to fix James' uniform.

"We need to think of a plan, your men are going to get suspicious." the younger man said and cleared his throat as he regained his composure. "My men know your name, I've told plenty of stories of my time in training. They'll go along with whatever I decide..." He said as he stepped away to to door to place his ear to the wood to check if he could hear anything from the brits. "Do you want to stick with my initial idea about towing your ship or do you have something else in mind?"

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James stood frozen at first, his mind struggling to catch up with the sudden warmth and closeness. The feel of Killian's arms around him was both foreign and comforting. His eyes widened in surprise as he felt the younger man’s body press against his, the overwhelming tension of the past moments finally easing, replaced by an unexpected tenderness.

Killian’s voice was soft, forgiving, and it shattered the walls James had built around himself. Forgive you... not a monster... The words hit him like a wave, knocking the breath from his chest, and before he could stop it, the raw, aching emotion that he’d buried for so long started to surface.

No one had ever hugged him like this. Not once in all his years in the Navy had anyone offered him such an unguarded moment of warmth. He had been raised to be cold, distant—always controlled, always distant. Affection, kindness... he never let himself seek it out.

But now, with Killian's arms around him, James felt like he was drowning in everything he’d been starving for. The apology he had always wanted to hear, the acceptance he had longed for, was now here, from someone he never would have imagined.

A choked sob escaped James before he could stop it, and his body trembled slightly as he clung to Killian, the tears welling faster than he could stop them. "I—I’m sorry," he gasped, his voice breaking as he pressed Killian's face against his shoulder, the shame and guilt mixing with the relief he felt for this brief, fleeting moment of kindness. "I’m so sorry, Killian... for everything. I—" He paused, his grip tightening. "I never meant to hurt you... I never meant any of it."

He hadn’t even realized how badly he needed this until now—this simple gesture, this brief escape from the weight of everything. James’s hands shook slightly as he wrapped them around Killian, not wanting to let go. Caught up in the moment.

Killian's heart was racing with the onslaught of emotions he was going though. Overwhelming rage and grief among many others, but as the truth settled in on the taller man's expression the tenseness in the young pirate's shoulders relaxed. Relief came next that his words got through to James as he had feared that the man wouldn't believe him. "They never would've let you know. Being the only one that supported Liam and I, they would've feared retaliation from you." He responded and sighed.

Their gaze met as James voiced his guilt for ordering the attack on the Jolly Roger with the intent of killing everyone. It was no different than Killian intending to kill every brit on this ship. He shook his when when James wished he had been the one to die. "No James..." Killian closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around the taller man's waist. He hugged him tight and buried his face against James' shoulder.

"It's okay, I forgive you." His voice cracked softly, squeezing at the man he held. "You're not a monster. You could never be a monster to me... I'm sorry I didn't become a man you could be proud of."

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The words hit James like cannon fire, each revelation a new blow that shattered the walls of pride he’d tried so desperately to keep standing. He stared at Killian, at the raw fury and anguish etched across his once-youthful features. The man he thought he knew—thought he’d lost—was here, but changed beyond recognition, a product of the cruelty and corruption James had long chosen to ignore in service of his duty. The image of the British Navy as a noble institution cracked in his mind like glass, each detail of Killian’s story making the fractures run deeper. The British Navy he had served faithfully—his entire purpose—was suddenly stained in his mind with the blood of innocent men who had simply tried to rise above their station.

As Killian's hook pressed against his chest, James didn’t flinch. He only stared back, his expression crumbling from anger to something far softer, tinged with sorrow. The rawness in Killian’s voice, the pain in his eyes—it was undeniable. And for the first time, James saw his own reflection in the horrors of the system he had blindly served.

“I…” James’s voice faltered, choked by the weight of what he had just learned. “I had no idea, Killian,” he managed, his tone no longer cold but laden with something far heavier—guilt. “I thought you were lost at sea. I never imagined…” His words trailed off, struggling to grasp the right thing to say, but everything felt inadequate.

James lowered his gaze, the weight of Killian’s glare pressing down on him. “You’re right. I judged you without understanding. I—” His voice broke again, but he forced himself to continue, knowing Killian deserved the truth. “I failed you. I was blind to the rot within the ranks I so loyally served. And for that I am truly, deeply sorry.”

He took a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping with the crushing weight of his own guilt. “But that doesn’t absolve me of my… own sins,” he confessed, the bitterness of those words stinging more than any blade. “I don't deserve your mercy. I was the one who ordered the attack on your ship. I intended to kill every last pirate aboard who did not surrender. I was ready to stain the deck red in the name of duty.”

James finally looked up, his green eyes meeting Killian’s. There was no more pride, no more pretense—just a broken man trying to face the consequences of his own actions. “So, perhaps, it is I who should have died long ago, rather than becoming the monster I swore to fight.” Just.. like his father. The Norrington apple didn't fall far from the tree. He detested his father.. for how cruel that man was to him, to his mother.

Those words did wound deeply. That a man he once called friend wished him dead. That hurt more than anything, James could've stabbed him and Killian wouldn't have felt this bad. But he took it, he took all the insults, the disdain, anger and frustration James threw at him. Rightfully deserved from what James was feeling right now. Betrayal. That's what this was, becoming a pirate after what they had tried to achieve.

"Do you want to know why I didn't come back when I survived?" Killian asked softly. "The East India Trading ship we were escorting back to England attacked our ship. They chased us into a storm and we wrecked. Lord Beckett was sent to assassinate us." He said with a coldness as biting as the arctic winds.

"You believed in us, but no one else wanted two bastard sons of an irish maid! God fucking forbid a poor fatherless child gained rank! We came from nothing, no title and no money. Liam atleast earned his spot, when he got recruited I stowed away on the ship that would bring us to Port Royal! When we succeeded that threatened their way of life, showed that two street rats could become something! They couldn't have that, they couldn't have the lower class thinking they could rise up. So they killed us. I was the only fucking survivor, James! I watched my brother die because of that pompous git Beckett! So don't you fucking judge me for being a pirate when the people you work for will kill their own men so they can stay in power!"

The young man's anger boiled over as he went on a tirade about the tragedy that had happened to him. The rage but also the pain showed in his tone and his eyes as he stormed up to the other man and lifted his hook to the commadore's chest as he ranted on.

"You were the best man I knew. You were kind to Liam and I, when everyone treated us like dogs. That is why I'm sparing you and I hope your superior officers doesn't condemn you they way they did me." Killian stepped back and took a deep breath to calm down. "This is not all black and white or good and evil. There are many shades of grey with light and darkness on all sides."

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James stood in the dimly lit cabin, fists clenched at his sides, trying desperately to keep his composure. Every fiber of his being screamed with humiliation—he, Commodore James Norrington, reduced to this. His gaze burned holes into the floor, refusing to meet Killian’s eyes, because if he did… well, he feared what might break inside him. The shame of being at the mercy of pirates—no, of this pirate—was almost too much to bear.

Yet the soft, broken apology that fell from Killian’s lips cut through James like a knife. The raw, almost childlike regret in the pirate’s voice was a sound he hadn't expected to hear, not here, not now. His teeth ground together, jaw tight, as he slowly lifted his head to finally meet Killian’s gaze. Seeing the guilt swimming in those blue eyes he once knew so well—a younger, more innocent version of the man before him—only made his fury flare brighter.

“Yes,” James hissed, his voice like ice. “I would have preferred that. I would have mourned you, yes, but at least I could have honored the man you were. The naval officer who once fought with honor, who had a chance at a respectable life. Instead, I stand here, looking at a wretched pirate who preys upon his own kind.” He spat the words, hoping to wound, to lash out, anything to regain some semblance of power in this crushingly humiliating moment.

But then, that satisfaction withered as he took in the slump of the other man’s shoulders, the way his eyes refused to meet his. And damn him, damn him—Killian Jones had grown into an infuriatingly handsome rogue over the years, the sort of man whose charm and intensity made people follow him, whether they were pirates or otherwise. The same dark, tousled hair, that sharp, chiseled jaw, but now there was an edge to him—a dangerous, magnetic aura that made James’s stomach churn for reasons he wished he could deny.

God, what a wretched fool he was, even now, to find some twisted flicker of attraction to this treacherous man. Just like with that blasted Jack Sparrow, whose infuriating grin and boundless swagger had also stirred something in James he refused to acknowledge. But this—this was far worse. Because this was Killian, the man he had once respected, admired, even… perhaps cared for more than he ever admitted.

James swallowed hard, trying to douse those thoughts with the cold water of anger. “So, this is your grand mercy, then?” he said bitterly, his voice low and tense. “Looting my ship, branding my men as captives, then towing us to port like some charitable rogue? How noble of you, Captain Hook.” He practically spat the name.

But beneath his biting tone, there was a flicker of something else. The reluctant gratitude that Killian’s words stirred—offering aid, sparing his men. It was so unlike what he expected from a pirate. James’s heart twisted painfully, hating that he had to rely on the mercy of a man who should have been an enemy.

In the quiet that followed, James found himself softening, if only slightly, against his will. “Do what you will, Captain, this is .. my fault regardless” he said, the fight drained from his voice, leaving behind only a hollow weakness. "I-- I am.. at your mercy. "

He could feel the shame of the man he once held in such high regards. Killian still did, even in these years as a pirate he often thought back on James and hoped that he had succeeded and living a good life. It seems he had, having gotten to a high ranking but now it seemed he had fucked that all up with this random encounter. He kept his smug look on the way into the cabin where they could talk privately, but as soon as the door closed that all dropped.

Killian's shoulders slumped and he stared at the commodore with crushing guilt. He hated the british royal navy, he hated the king and all of the men that wanted Liam and him to fail, but he didn't hate James. Now he's hurt the man he once looked up to, humiliated him and essentially destroyed his reputation. He felt so awful that it looked like he might shed some tears. Something that hasn't changed, Killian had always been emotionally driven.

"I'm so sorry James." He said softly, his voice cracking a bit. "I hoped that we'd never meet like this. I'm sure you wish I had actually died in that voyage then standing here now as a pirate..." Killian took a deep breath trying to compose himself, looking anywhere other than the man before him. "We'll just take what we need, tow your ship to the closest port to get some help so you aren't stranded out here in the middle of the ocean."

Killian wouldn't loot them then leave them dead in the water to starve to death. This was an exception he was willing to make for James and his men. "Heh. This'll mark Jolly as a pirate ship and you now know who Captain Hook really is. Not leaving witnesses I've managed to stay under the radar in most ports as a trader ship." He leaned back against the closest wall and sighed. This was bound to happen, running into someone he previously known. Why'd it have to be James of all people?

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James watched with hollow eyes as Killian turned his attention to the remaining crew, the young pirate captain’s cocky smile and boastful words ringing hollow in his ears. The cheers of the pirates echoed around him, but to James, they were distant, muffled by the voice of his father in his mind chiding him for his surrender.

His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, as he tried to suppress the sickening churn in his stomach. He, the Commodore, who had sworn an oath to uphold the honor of the Crown and protect his men, had been brought low. The thought of it all—the taunting sneers, the disbelief in his own crew’s eyes—felt like salt in an open wound. And yet, amidst the shame, there was a small thread of relief: his men, at least, would live to see another day.

“Commodore, how could you—” a voice erupted behind him. One of his officers, wild-eyed with rage, broke free from his captor and lunged at Killian, his face twisted with fury. “You’re no leader! You’re a coward!” the man snarled, thrusting his sword toward the pirate captain.

“Stop!” James called out, his voice breaking, but the words seemed to fall on deaf ears. "Belay that!" He tried again, his tone desperate, but there was no command in it, only a hollow plea. His throat tightened as Killian, quick and efficient, parried the blow with his hook and struck back with a vicious kick. The officer crumpled to the deck, doubled over in agony, and James flinched, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. The defiance of his own men cut deeper than Killian’s blade ever could; it was a confirmation of the whispers he feared would soon spread through every port. His once-loyal officers no longer saw him as the man he had once been—a Commodore worth following.

With his remaining crew subdued, James’s defeat was complete. He raised his head, forcing himself to meet Killian’s gaze, feeling the weight of his humiliation. “Enough,” he said quietly, though it was clear that he no longer commanded anything here. The pirates herded the surviving sailors to the center of the deck, and as James watched, his expression grew more haunted with each passing moment.

At Killian’s command, James hesitated for only a second before meekly turning to lead the way. His steps were heavy, every stride an effort to mask the deep-seated shame gnawing at him. He kept his eyes trained on the wooden deck, not daring to meet the eyes of his men, feeling the sting of their contempt like lashes against his back.

The cabin door creaked as he opened it, the familiar scent of seawater and gunpowder filling the enclosed space. Once inside, with the door closing behind them, James kept his back to Killian for a moment, his head still bowed, hands shaking slightly at his sides. He inhaled sharply, trying to steel himself, before finally turning to face his captor.

“Thank you,” he said, the words barely a whisper. “For- for sparing them.” There was no defiance left in his voice, only a hollow gratitude, spoken through clenched teeth as if the admission itself was a dagger in his pride.

He watched as James surrendered in order to save what remained of his crew. Around him the pirates cheered in their victory and normally Killian would be hollering with them, instead stood silent with almost a melancholy look upon his face. This victory was not sweet, it stung like a needle piercing his heart.

The pirate captain turned from James to look to the captured crew, putting on a charming yet cocky smile. He had a reputation to uphold. "You have been defeated by the great Captain Hook! Be honored that you get to live and tell the tale that you faced me and survived. Make sure to thank dear James Norrington here for every breath you draw from henceforth because he values your lives over treasure and glory. As a captain whose crew is my beloved family, I deeply respect that." Killian bolstered as well as voicing this was an honorable surrender to try and lessen this blow to the man's pride and reputation.

As most reluctantly took this defeat and one by one drop their weapons or allowed the pirates to disarm them, one man did not accept this and lunged at Killian. The pirate was ready, quickly parrying with his hook then kicking him in the groin to instantly make him drop to the ground and sob like a child in the fetal position. "Anyone else? No? Good." Killian nodded as he looked around to make sure this defeat was secure. "Gather the living and injured in the center of the deck and line up the dead for them to see off when we're done." He ordered his crew and turned his attention back to James. "Lets talk in your cabin Mr. Norrington. Lead on."

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

The sound of his name cut through the haze of battle, piercing James’s focus. He looked up, startled, his mind reeling as he recognized the man standing before him.

“Killian?” he whispered, disbelief plain in his voice. The hardened yet handsome pirate, his gaze fierce and unyielding, was so far removed from the young man he’d once known, the man who had served alongside him, full of loyalty and spirit. How could it be?

In that moment of distraction, Killian took advantage, twisting his blade and ramming his shoulder into James’s chest. The force of the impact drove the air from James’s lungs, and before he could recover, Killian’s sword hilt cracked down hard on his wrist, the jolt of pain forcing him to release his own weapon. His sword clattered to the deck, and Killian shoved him back, sending him stumbling to the ground.

James’s vision spun as he fell, but the pain of his friend’s betrayal—of this twisted reunion—cut deeper than any wound. He stared up in shock, the realization settling coldly in his bones. This wasn’t a nightmare, nor some twisted jest; his former ally, the friend he had trusted, now stood before him as an enemy.

Change of plan: I want them alive, men! Killian barked to his crew, throwing him a bone. The pirates slowed, eyeing the remaining sailors as potential hostages, grins twisted with anticipation.

Struggling to his feet, James’s gaze shifted from Killian to his men. Bruised and bloodied, the remaining crew looked to him with a mixture of fear and hope, and he felt the weight of their lives settle on his shoulders.

With a resigned breath, he met Killian’s eyes, pushing down the bitterness in his chest. “Very well, Captain,” he said, voice low and steely. “If it will save my men, I’ll surrender. You’ve…won. Parley.. Men, drop your weapons. "

He dropped to one knee, hands raised in reluctant submission, his gaze locked on Killian’s as he awaited whatever terms the pirate captain would demand.

The crew of the Interceptor could scarcely believe what they were witnessing. Commodore James Norrington, the stalwart, fearless leader known for his unyielding loyalty to the Crown, and his principles, had surrendered. The men who had sailed with him through storm and strife, who had seen him face even the deadliest threats with a steady gaze and iron will, now looked on with expressions of shock and disbelief. Murmurs of confusion rippled through the ranks, some gripping their weapons tighter as if bracing for an order that never came. They had always known Norrington to be a man who would die before yielding to a pirate—yet here he knelt, hands raised in submission.

His hook blocked by another's blade he turned his attention to the Commodore. Blue eyes as deep of the sea widened in recognition of a man he once called his mentor, that had spoke favor his brother Liam to be promoted to lieutenant, a friend.

"James?" Killian asked in a softer tone in his bewilderment, but it only lasted a moment as he was reminded of the battle that raged on. With his hooked locked with the other's blade he twisted and shoved his shoulder into the man's chest then lifting his blade up to smack the hilt of his sword on James' wrist to attempt to force him to drop his weapon. Then shoving him again to try and knock him to the ground.

"Change of plan: I want them alive men! These sods will be valuable hostages!" Killian called out. A little late as nearly half have been slain or severely wounded already. He turned his attention back to James. "Do you want to parley or do you want to see the remainder of your crew die?" He asked in a firm tone but not as cruel as he had been moments ago. No longer as eager to kill with this new knowledge.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

The crew of the Jolly Roger were wise experienced sailors, they were aged salted men with experience to boot, just what one would expect when thinking of battle worn pirates as they jumped into the fight. What was unexpected was a young man no more than thirty leading these pirates. Just like in the times of old a good leader is the first into battle and the last to leave, as was what Killian did. Swinging over the railing he kicked a rifle out of one of the sailor's hands and as he dropped down stabbed him at the base of their neck with his hook and tore at the man.

"Lay down your weapons or I'll send you to meet your god!" The young pirate shouted out viciously but the crew of the Interceptor wouldn't surrender to a filthy pirate. "Then die by the blade of Captain Hook!" Killian drew his sword and commenced fighting as his men joined him on the ship.

The young captain fought mercilessly but with the skill of one that was professionally trained with a blade. He knew how these men fought because he was taught the very same when he was in the navy. This knowledge he used to his advantage to take fight multiple men at once with easy, fighting with both hook and sword in a dance of death. Perrying and slashing, using his hook to snag the handguard of one man and shifting the attack to make him impale another. Then with a quickness he ducked and grabbed another to yank him close and use as a shield to take the bullet of a rifle, then slitting his neck to make sure he was dead before shoving the sailor to the ground and continue the assault.

Commodore Norrington cut through the chaos, blade flashing as he felled one pirate after another with swift, practiced strikes. His gaze was fierce, his every move precise and deadly as he led his men, determined to defend his ship even in the face of the brutal assault. His officers fought valiantly beside him, and the Interceptor’s deck became a storm of blood and steel as pirates clashed with loyal sailors.

"Stand your ground!” Norrington commanded, rallying his men as they braced against the fierce pirate assault. He slashed through the arm of a pirate lunging toward him, barely pausing before dispatching another who tried to charge him from the side. But as he turned to protect one of his crew, he caught sight of the pirate captain himself—a young, dark-haired man, wild-eyed and merciless, cutting down his men with practiced ease.

So this was Captain Hook. The name, notorious even to Norrington, felt strangely hollow as he watched the captain move with a familiarity that unsettled him.

As one of his sailors stumbled back, scrambling to reload his rifle, Norrington saw Captain Hook close in with a deadly strike. Acting instinctively, he lunged forward, intercepting the blow with his own blade just as Hook’s hook swiped down. The clash of steel rang out as he caught the pirate's hook with his sword, locking the two in place.

“Not so fast, Captain,” Norrington growled, his voice cold and filled with unyielding fury.

The Jolly Roger was a beautiful ship, she could pass as a normal ship but was currently flying the skull and crossbones proudly. As if to draw attention purposefully. That was just the Captain's plans. Captain Hook, a pirate that has only been around for a few years, four or five at the most but had been a deadly foe. He has attacked dozens of british ships and killed even more men, even rumored to clear a fleet of five ships within the dead of night before they could even return fire.

"Cap'n! The Interceptor is pursuing us from the west!" The man in the crow's nest shouts down to alert the captain and crew.

Killian grins as he looks to the horizon to see the grand ship, a pirate hunter with speed unmatched. He would be praised by every pirate for sinking this one. "Ready the cannons! Prepare the mortar!" The young captain commanded as his crew followed orders. This 30-gun frigate had very special cannons, long range that was nearly double what most had. Jolly could devastate any ship before a single shot could reach her. That was what was about to happen.

These pirates would not run, the ship turned so the 16 port side long cannons could be aimed at the Interceptor. Killian stood by the helm to navigate the helmsman. "FIRE!" He bellowed to his crew and instantly the cannons blasted out, the balls whooshing through the air of the great distance. The ship would then steer forward and turn so the starport cannons could be aimed while the other side was being reloaded. "FIRE!" Killian called out again when they felt to be in the right position to hit the ship chasing them.

He would continue this strategy, sailing in a serpentine pattern while blasting away at the Interceptor. Causing major damage to the navy vessel as it tried to catch up with three more rounds of cannon fire. When the Interceptor did catch up that when the mortar was fired. A fiery blast shot up from the Jolly Roger going straight up into the air then lobing back down, crashing into the Interceptor's deck like a blazing meteor taking out the the main mast and setting a portion of the ship on fire.

"Look at them scramble, men! Like a bunch of rats when their nest gets destroyed. Lets go drown them like the vermin they are!" Killian shouted to his pirate crew who cheers as they sailed directly for the now incapacitated ship. Once alongside they threw over the grappling hooks to pull the ships together for boarding so the real fun could begin.

Commodore Norrington's eyes darkened as the first distant cannon blasts echoed across the waves. The Jolly Roger was firing before they had even closed the gap. His jaw clenched, recognizing the deadly precision of their opponent. Whoever commanded that ship knew exactly what they were doing—and was aiming to cripple the Interceptor before she could engage.

“Helmsman! Hard to port!” Norrington barked, gripping the railing as the ship veered sharply, narrowly avoiding the first volley. "We need to outmaneuver them, not play into their range!"

The crew scrambled, adjusting sails to make the ship lighter, swifter, and more agile, but another round of cannon fire roared toward them. Norrington braced himself as the cannonballs struck with brutal force, splintering part of the ship’s starboard side. He felt the shudder beneath his feet as the Interceptor took the hit, but she wasn’t down yet.

“Damage report!” he shouted as smoke filled the air, the acrid scent of burning wood mixing with the salty sea breeze.

“Starboard hull’s been hit, sir!” one of his officers shouted back. “But we’re still seaworthy.”

"Good." Norrington’s eyes never left the pirate ship. It was sleek, dangerous, and fast—a worthy adversary. "Ready the forward guns!" he ordered. "Let’s give them something to think about!"

The crew moved swiftly, loading the bow cannons as the Interceptor surged forward, angling for a clear shot. But the Jolly Roger was relentless, twisting in a serpentine pattern, blasting away with precise timing. Cannon fire roared again, smashing into the Interceptor's hull, sending debris flying as sailors rushed to patch the damage.

“Port guns ready, sir!” a crewman shouted.

“Return fire!” Norrington roared, and the Interceptor's cannons thundered in response. But as the smoke cleared, Norrington could see that their shots had missed. The Jolly Roger was just too fast.

Before he could issue another command, the sky above them lit up with a fiery blaze—a mortar, launched high into the air from the Jolly Roger, arcing toward the Interceptor like a falling star.

"Brace!" Norrington shouted, barely giving the crew time to take cover as the fiery blast crashed into the deck. The explosion rocked the ship, sending men tumbling across the burning timbers. The main mast splintered and fell with a deafening crack, flames licking at the wreckage.

Norrington's heart pounded as he surveyed the chaos. His ship, his crew—crippled in mere minutes. But there was no time to dwell. He could see the Jolly Roger closing in for the kill, its crew already preparing to board.

"Helmsman, keep us steady!" he commanded, rallying the sailors. "Boarding party! Swords and pistols at the ready!"

Norrington’s voice cut through the panic like a knife, reigniting the discipline of his men. They armed themselves, determined to defend their ship to the last.

As grappling hooks clanged against the rails and pirates began swinging aboard, Norrington drew his blade gleaming in the firelight. He steeled himself for the inevitable fight.

“Hold the line!” Norrington shouted, his eyes fixed on the chaos ahead as the pirates swarmed across the deck.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

The Jolly Roger was a beautiful ship, she could pass as a normal ship but was currently flying the skull and crossbones proudly. As if to draw attention purposefully. That was just the Captain's plans. Captain Hook, a pirate that has only been around for a few years, four or five at the most but had been a deadly foe. He has attacked dozens of british ships and killed even more men, even rumored to clear a fleet of five ships within the dead of night before they could even return fire.

"Cap'n! The Interceptor is pursuing us from the west!" The man in the crow's nest shouts down to alert the captain and crew.

Killian grins as he looks to the horizon to see the grand ship, a pirate hunter with speed unmatched. He would be praised by every pirate for sinking this one. "Ready the cannons! Prepare the mortar!" The young captain commanded as his crew followed orders. This 30-gun frigate had very special cannons, long range that was nearly double what most had. Jolly could devastate any ship before a single shot could reach her. That was what was about to happen.

These pirates would not run, the ship turned so the 16 port side long cannons could be aimed at the Interceptor. Killian stood by the helm to navigate the helmsman. "FIRE!" He bellowed to his crew and instantly the cannons blasted out, the balls whooshing through the air of the great distance. The ship would then steer forward and turn so the starport cannons could be aimed while the other side was being reloaded. "FIRE!" Killian called out again when they felt to be in the right position to hit the ship chasing them.

He would continue this strategy, sailing in a serpentine pattern while blasting away at the Interceptor. Causing major damage to the navy vessel as it tried to catch up with three more rounds of cannon fire. When the Interceptor did catch up that when the mortar was fired. A fiery blast shot up from the Jolly Roger going straight up into the air then lobing back down, crashing into the Interceptor's deck like a blazing meteor taking out the the main mast and setting a portion of the ship on fire.

"Look at them scramble, men! Like a bunch of rats when their nest gets destroyed. Lets go drown them like the vermin they are!" Killian shouted to his pirate crew who cheers as they sailed directly for the now incapacitated ship. Once alongside they threw over the grappling hooks to pull the ships together for boarding so the real fun could begin.

Commodore Norrington's eyes darkened as the first distant cannon blasts echoed across the waves. The Jolly Roger was firing before they had even closed the gap. His jaw clenched, recognizing the deadly precision of their opponent. Whoever commanded that ship knew exactly what they were doing—and was aiming to cripple the Interceptor before she could engage.

“Helmsman! Hard to port!” Norrington barked, gripping the railing as the ship veered sharply, narrowly avoiding the first volley. "We need to outmaneuver them, not play into their range!"

The crew scrambled, adjusting sails to make the ship lighter, swifter, and more agile, but another round of cannon fire roared toward them. Norrington braced himself as the cannonballs struck with brutal force, splintering part of the ship’s starboard side. He felt the shudder beneath his feet as the Interceptor took the hit, but she wasn’t down yet.

“Damage report!” he shouted as smoke filled the air, the acrid scent of burning wood mixing with the salty sea breeze.

“Starboard hull’s been hit, sir!” one of his officers shouted back. “But we’re still seaworthy.”

"Good." Norrington’s eyes never left the pirate ship. It was sleek, dangerous, and fast—a worthy adversary. "Ready the forward guns!" he ordered. "Let’s give them something to think about!"

The crew moved swiftly, loading the bow cannons as the Interceptor surged forward, angling for a clear shot. But the Jolly Roger was relentless, twisting in a serpentine pattern, blasting away with precise timing. Cannon fire roared again, smashing into the Interceptor's hull, sending debris flying as sailors rushed to patch the damage.

“Port guns ready, sir!” a crewman shouted.

“Return fire!” Norrington roared, and the Interceptor's cannons thundered in response. But as the smoke cleared, Norrington could see that their shots had missed. The Jolly Roger was just too fast.

Before he could issue another command, the sky above them lit up with a fiery blaze—a mortar, launched high into the air from the Jolly Roger, arcing toward the Interceptor like a falling star.

"Brace!" Norrington shouted, barely giving the crew time to take cover as the fiery blast crashed into the deck. The explosion rocked the ship, sending men tumbling across the burning timbers. The main mast splintered and fell with a deafening crack, flames licking at the wreckage.

Norrington's heart pounded as he surveyed the chaos. His ship, his crew—crippled in mere minutes. But there was no time to dwell. He could see the Jolly Roger closing in for the kill, its crew already preparing to board.

"Helmsman, keep us steady!" he commanded, rallying the sailors. "Boarding party! Swords and pistols at the ready!"

Norrington’s voice cut through the panic like a knife, reigniting the discipline of his men. They armed themselves, determined to defend their ship to the last.

As grappling hooks clanged against the rails and pirates began swinging aboard, Norrington drew his blade gleaming in the firelight. He steeled himself for the inevitable fight.

“Hold the line!” Norrington shouted, his eyes fixed on the chaos ahead as the pirates swarmed across the deck.

The wind tugged at Commodore James Norrington’s coat as he stood at the helm of his ship, eyes narrowing against the sun's glare on the horizon. He had spotted the unmistakable silhouette of a ship—a pirate ship. The sails fluttered ominously in the breeze, sending a jolt of anticipation through him.

"That ship…" he muttered, something odd prickling at the back of his mind, though he pushed it aside. There was no time to dwell on it, it was clearly a pirate vessel. "Raise the colors and make ready to pursue!"

His voice cut through the sea air, clear and commanding. His crew sprang into action, following orders without hesitation. Norrington’s gaze remained fixed on the pirate vessel ahead, not yet realizing the man steering it was once his ally.

"Prepare the cannons!" he barked. The Jolly Roger was fast, but not fast enough to outrun the Interceptor. No ship could match her speed

As his ship surged forward, closing the distance, he allowed a rare moment of personal satisfaction. Pirates were his sworn enemies, after all.

Unaware the very man he once called a comrade, back when they were both wide-eyed young men, learning the ropes of the sea together was at the helm.

@heartthrobhook