His internal clock told him that dawn had arrived and he should get out of bed, but his head hurt and for once in his life, James Norrington decided to take advantage of being a Commodore in the British Navy. He'd arise when his head stopped throbbing and not a moment earlier.

He sighed as the voice of duty that always insistently nagged in the back of his head reminded him that officers had a responsibility to set an appropriate example for their men. Lollygagging in bed as the sun rose was not proper behavior.

But oh... the bed was quite comfortably warm, the temperature counteracting the pain in his head. Mrs. Worthy must have put on new sheets, as the material under his bare back was decadently silky feeling. He hadn't known any of his plain white cotton sheets felt so nice.

Wait a moment—bare back? Why did he go to bed without a nightshirt? His circumstances forced themselves through the throbbing in his head, and James began to realize other aspects of his environment were skewed.

The bed was rocking, signaling he was on a ship. But he hadn't been on a ship yesterday. He'd been at the fort and therefore should be sleeping in his house in town. And if he was on a ship, then he would be sleeping in a hammock, not a nice sturdy bed. The sheets meant a bed but the swaying meant a ship... and trying to reconcile those two facts aggravated the pain in his head.

Even more disconcerting, it appeared the heat originated from more than the silky sheets and the pile of blankets on top of him. A warm body was curled into his own, a head with odd feeling hair resting on his chest. Her hair must be matted from sleep and he could feel pieces of jewelry in it, digging into his chest.

Elizabeth? No, he hadn't married Elizabeth Swann, the woman he'd watched grow from a curious child to a beautiful charming adult. Will Turner, that earnest pup of a blacksmith, had that privilege, and had been the one to impregnate her, blessing her with the radiant glow of a happy future mother.

Damnation, had he bedded one of the town's whores? And then fallen asleep with her? James Norrington simply didn't commit such grievous indiscretions. Duty came first, always, and indiscriminate passion endangered both his career and the respect accorded to him as a naval officer. His few sexual couplings had been swift and perfunctory, performed to satisfy curiosity and bodily need. He hadn't indulged with any professionals after discovering that the act ultimately left him feeling empty and cold.

Never one to shirk from taking responsibility for his own follies—limited though they might be—James accepted that it was time to open his eyes, learn her identity, and cope with the embarrassment of escaping from wherever he'd fallen asleep.

Blearily, he opened his green eyes to see... Jack Sparrow's gleaming brown ones.

"Hello luv," the pirate said cheerily. "I wondered when y'were going to admit it's mornin'."

"Argh!" He yelped and leaped out of bed, realizing that not only was he indeed fully naked as the day he was born, but Sparrow was quite likely also completely undressed, as the covers slipped down to reveal Jack's body to his waist. "What are you doing here?"

"Havin' a nice mornin' cuddle." Sparrow patted the empty space by him. "C'mon back and join me."

"Join you?" Did Jack Sparrow seriously imagine that James Norrington would crawl into bed with him? Apparently there was no limit to the man's presumption, but James would make his position crystal clear. "I have no intention of joining you. You, Captain Sparrow, are under arrest."

"Under arrest, am I? Well, like that I do. Fine thanks for all I've done for you."

"All that you've done for me?"

"Last night and all." Sparrow stretched like a well-satisfied cat, arms over his head, the bend of one knee lifting the covers, causing them to slip further down his body, stopping perilously above his groin. James found himself staring at his skin, tanned to an even gold color and marked by more tattoos and wounds than he'd imagined. In response to James' visual inspection, the pirate asked, "Like what y'see? "T'was rather dark last night. Feel free to enjoy the view as it were."

"No I certainly do not like the view," James snapped, looking away toward his dresser. Only it wasn't there, because it wasn't his cabin. He'd never seen this cabin but from the extravagant collection of beautiful but mismatched furniture, it was not on a naval ship at all. Damnation, if only the throbbing in his brain would let him concentrate for a moment. Resolutely ignoring the very naked man in the bed, he focused on his immediate concern, getting dressed. The rest of this farce with Jack Sparrow could wait. Fortunately, his clothes were present, folded on a chair with his wig lying on top. He flipped the pile over to find the breeches underneath, stepping into the legs and pulling them up to his hips.

"Y'have a most lovely backside, James. All sleek and muscley."

Whatever had happened last night... whyever it had happened... not that anything truly had... comments like that weren't going to be allowed. In his driest voice, he stated, "I do not appreciate comments of that nature. And my name is Commodore Norrington to you."

"Don't appreciate comments of that nature? I never knew you could sound like an outraged lady of virtue, James."

Bare feet on the wooden deck made no noise, but James could tell from Jack's voice that he was approaching. Determined to get more of his body covered, he pulled the shirt from under his coat and put it on. Sparrow's hands were there before his, buttoning up the front. Refusing to appear intimidated by indulging in a childish display of slapping at the intruding hands, James straightened his spine and glared down his nose at the pirate. Sparrow flashed him a smile, lingering over each button. "I luv these fancy buttons, James. Had fun undoing them last night, I did." He looked different naked, the lack of bandana showing his forehead and hairline for once, the exposure of his skin making him appear more vulnerable than his normal swaggering self.

But no less cocky, James decided sourly, as Sparrow began tucking his shirt into his breeches. No—cocky was a bad word to think, very bad—don't think of looking down and seeing how very cocky Sparrow truly was— "Thank you, I can manage," he said brusquely, stepping away from Sparrow's insinuating hands to finish the job himself, willing to risk the appearance of petulance.

"I like the hair too. I fancied you'd wear it long under that wig, not all short. Feels nice in my hands, it does. Just enough to hold on but not enough t'get in the way."

For every battle there was a time to stand and fight, and a time to retreat. When Jack Sparrow made flattering comments and insinuations about bedtime activities, it was time for a strategic withdrawal. "Your opinion of my hair does not concern me in the least. And now if you will excuse me, I will take my leave of your company." He fled out the cabin door, without socks, shoes, hat or wig, willing to leave them behind because he had to escape Jack's presence and already had the dreadful sinking idea of where he was and that he wouldn't be needing those things in the immediate future anyway.

Stepping out onto the deck immediately confirmed his suspicions. He was on the Black Pearl, Captain Jack Sparrow's pirate ship. Surrounded by a pirate crew with a naked pirate captain in his cabin.

On the ocean.

With no land in sight.

James Norrington was a man who was almost always right in his life. He was sure of his purpose and his position. But once in a while, in extremely odd and unique circumstances, he wished he could be wrong.

This was one of those times.