Note: My interpretation of the Greek mythology here has not been taken literally. In this story, sirens are shape-shifting sea creatures. Also, please note that the version of Killian written here is the young Lieutenant Jones so he does not have a hook. I know that there are some readers out there who prefer him to have the hook in CS fics so I wanted to make that clear if it is an issue for anyone.

The Siren

For as far back as she could remember, this craggy spit of sand at the southernmost end of a narrow isthmus had been hers and hers alone. She had a nearly unobstructed view of the rock strewn bay as it blended into the deep blue sea at the horizon. Each dawn, she watched the sun rise to the east, basking in its glow until it sank beneath the waves at sunset, rarely encountering others of her kind - which was fine with her.

She'd separated herself from them decades ago, no longer content with doing Poseidon's bidding. She'd tired of using her song as a weapon, enchanting unsuspecting sailors until they leapt to their watery deaths as their ships were crushed against the boulders, their spoils lost to the depths. She'd long been told that it was merely what she'd been created to do, her beautiful voice simply a tool to serve the god of the sea. Her duty to Poseidon to rid the seas of the scourge of humanity.

Some time ago, she'd grown weary of her meager existence, gradually distancing herself from the pack. Her solitude had been her own choice, the years of loneliness easing the conscience that she wasn't supposed to have. These turquoise waters surrounding her cove provided all she needed - all except the one thing her heart desired most.

This day had begun like so many before it, low grayish clouds hugging the glassy surface of the bay. With scarcely a breeze, she knew these clouds would linger until the early morning sun rose high enough into the sky for its rays to dissipate them.

The water calm and clear, she'd decided to take a sunrise swim, wading into the gentle surf until she was deep enough for her land legs to transform into her muscular tail. The metamorphosis began at her waist, shimmering scales replacing her ivory skin as she dove beneath the surface with a flick of her fins. She was grateful for the unique physiology of her species which allowed her to breathe as freely in the depths of the sea as she could on land as it had allowed her the freedom to explore the hidden caves and reefs below the land she called home. She'd become familiar with every detail. Every pebble. Every blade of kelp. Every colorful fish that lived here amongst the coral. These were her friends, her confidants. Today, however, she sensed something out of place.

As she skimmed above the reef, her gaze was drawn upward to the streams of light that filtered through the ocean's surface, discovering a sight that didn't belong - a dark void blocking the light. The anomaly seemed too large to be any sea life from this bay and the shape unlike any ocean creature she'd seen - oddly rectangular but with two shorter and narrower protrusions sticking out from one side. It was also remaining strangely close to the surface… Whatever might this mysterious thing be?

Curious, she gave her tail fin a powerful kick to propel herself upward, poking her head above the waves a safe distance from the floating object. It may have been eons since she'd last used her voice to scuttle a ship into its grave but she could still recognize the long wooden planks as having belonged to such a vessel. Such wreckage was commonplace along these shores but what drew her attention was the human engaged in a desperate struggle to retain his grip on those still-buoyant planks.

She'd witnessed many a man plunge willingly into the depths under the hypnotic spell of the siren song but never had she seen one this close - and never had she seen one fighting to stay alive! She was transfixed by the human's struggle. Such an unusual sight - the flailing and raw instinct to save itself. She found it fascinating to watch - at least until the human's eyes met hers.

In that fraction of a second, she saw the fear in his stare transform into a glimpse of hope and now she was the one who was terrified. No human had ever seen her before, her nature screaming at her to drown this human and put him out of his misery. The problem was, her intuition was telling her to do the opposite.

It was becoming obvious that the man's strength was failing. There was no telling how long he'd been in the water but as his eyes fell closed and his grip went slack, she sprang into motion. She twisted and twirled her body towards the mysterious human, her fins and tail separating into six lithe tentacles, one of which encircled his midsection, raising his torso above the surf as she maneuvered them both to the shore.

She lowered him gently onto the white sand then drew her tentacle back into the sea as she regained her humanlike legs. Splashing her way out of the shallows, she made her way up the beach and dropped to her knees beside him although she had absolutely no idea what to do next. Tentatively, she extended a hand to touch the strange creature, oddly fearful that it might surge to life and bite her fingers off. When her fingertips at last made contact with the human's arm, they brushed against the tattered remnants of the cloth garments the man wore. He made no movement at her touch, boosting her confidence to proceed.

The majority of her kind were female and although there were a few exceptions, she'd rarely had the opportunity to be in close proximity of a male. This one lacked the long flowing locks of the males of her species, sporting dark hair cropped close to his scalp. She traced her fingers along his hairline and down across the exposed side of his face, bristling at the prickly whiskers that lined his jaw. Save for Poseidon himself, facial hair was unheard of, as was body hair. This human possessed a broad patch of wiry, dark hair across the exposed sections of his torso and a similar, though lighter coating covered other sections of visible skin on the man's arms and legs.

There was little doubt that he was the strangest creature she'd ever laid eyes upon.

But there was so much more that she could also see. The man was obviously injured. A trickle of crimson spilled over his forehead from what appeared to be a deep laceration along his hairline and she noticed dark purplish splotches dotting his pallid skin, the most prominent extending from his brow to the hollow of his cheek. The bruises showed only traces of yellowing, indicating that they were recent. His wrists were ringed with angry abrasions and she held no doubts that invisible wounds lay unseen. Whatever had this man suffered?

She hopped backwards as the human lurched awake, curling onto his side while choking and spewing seawater and bile. She'd not intended to flinch, but his unexpected movement startled her. She remained perched just beyond his reach as his fit settled and he dropped listlessly back to the sand, all the while staring at her with his haunting, intense blue eyes. He uttered but a single word before fading back into unconsciousness.

"Angel."

The Sailor

He'd been a bloody, damned fool to allow himself to be captured. The mission plans had been perfect. Liam had drawn them up himself and yet they'd still failed. Most of his landing expedition had been lost in the battle and the rest who'd survived had been captured along with him. All because His Majesty, King George, had insisted that they scout and survey a previously uncharted island that he'd now coined Neverland. The island may have been uncharted but it had been far from undiscovered as his team had found it teeming with bloodthirsty pirates - pirates who had been using the land's numerous craggy coves to stash their treasures.

On their second day after landing the skiff on the deceptively calm shore, they'd run afoul of a band of rapscallions, ill-prepared for the skirmish that followed. That had been his fault. He should have done more reconnaissance. He should never have blindly trusted the vague map and initial scouting report provided, even if they had come with his brother's blessing. As their lieutenant, it was his mission. His to lead and his alone to fail, not that any of it mattered right now…

He believed it to have been a week since he'd been taken prisoner, but in truth, he'd lost track of time. He'd spent most of his captivity bound, beaten and locked away in a foul smelling hole adjacent to the ship's cargo hold. He'd not laid eyes on his remaining crew in days, wondering whether they were in a similar predicament, were they even still alive. His captors had kept him isolated, perhaps because he was an officer in His Majesty's Royal Navy. He might fetch a ransom, should the king show favor upon him. If not, he feared he'd be executed without a second thought.

As each day passed, he was slowly losing hope that he might be rescued. Surely Liam would have learned by now that the expedition team had not returned to the rendezvous point. Would they have dispatched a search team? Did anyone even know he'd been taken prisoner? His dreams of one day captaining a ship himself taunted him as he wallowed here in this dank prison.

But as he did each day, he clenched his jaw and swallowed back the pain as he struggled to wriggle free of the ropes binding his wrists behind his back. His skin might be raw and the hemp bindings soaked with his blood, but he was Killian Jones and he'd be damned if he didn't at least attempt an escape.

The crew of this vessel had clearly been ordered to keep him alive, as evidenced by the swill they brought him as sustenance. The mangy pirates would show up periodically with a bowl of slop, untying his hands only long enough to gag it down. They cackled as he drank it, the contents never identifiable but he didn't dare think about that. He focused solely on the sustaining water it contained, avoiding thoughts of contracting dysentery or whatever other foul disease might be present.

On this day, he'd barely a minute to swallow their putrid offerings before the bowl was snatched away and his arms were yanked behind his back once again. He'd expected them to bind his wrists tighter as they typically did yet for some reason, the ropes didn't feel quite as restrictive. He wasn't sure what may have transpired, whether his captors may have been distracted, but he was certain that he'd not heard them secure the hatch either.

If he could find a way to get free… Find a sword and perchance - a way off of this miserable vessel… There were so many ifs but he had little to lose. At least were he to die fighting, he'd die with honor.

He'd not expected the sudden lurch that came next, his aching body slammed into the chamber wall as the ship's forward motion abruptly ceased. A boom reminiscent of a loud thunder crack echoed through the hull followed by the gushing of water into the void.

They'd struck something.

Was this what had distracted the pirates? Had they run aground on a sandbar or veered into the shallows in error? Oddly, he heard no voices resounding on the decks above. No orders shouted. No fearful pleas for aid. All his ears could hear was the creaking of failing wood and the pounding of his own heart.

It was life or death now for certain. This ship was sinking; he could feel the list to port and there was absolutely no way he was going to be dragged down to Davy Jones' locker on this heap. He felt along the cell walls for anything he might use to free his hands - a protruding nail or even a splintering board would help. As luck would have it, he chanced upon a bent nail which provided just enough leverage to hold the rope taut while he wriggled and contorted his hands until he could pull them free.

He shook his arms out of the bindings, grimacing as his muscles protested but he couldn't spare a moment to dwell on aching bones. While it hadn't reached the cargo hold yet, it was only a matter of time before it filled with seawater so his first priority was to get to the upper deck. He leaned his hip into the hatch, whispering a silent prayer that he'd been correct and it hadn't been fully secured.

The hatch fortuitously swung open as another violent tremor shook the ship, knocking him off of his bare feet. He was certain that the hull was fully breached as he crawled on hands and knees through the tight confines of the cargo hold in search of the spiraling steps that would lead up to the crew deck. He'd remembered to count his paces when they'd led him blindfolded to the tiny chamber so even in the darkness of the hold, he knew they must be around here somewhere.

Killian scrambled to his feet as his hand found the staircase and he scurried upward to the seemingly vacant crew deck. It was strange not to encounter another soul as he ascended through the open hatch. It was eerily quiet but nevertheless, he pressed on toward the midship staircase that would open onto the main deck. At least this deck had lanterns to illuminate his way as he dodged empty hammocks and hurried past the unoccupied bunks to get topside.

The late afternoon sun assaulted his vision as he emerged onto the abandoned deck. There wasn't a single man visible as his eyes swept his surroundings. He spied no one manning the riggings, no one in the crow's nest and most disturbing - no one at the helm. So these cowardly pirates had all abandoned ship, including their captain? So much for the captain going down with his ship…

He crossed the deck and vaulted up the steps to the bow, trying to get his bearings and determine the ship's position. He was only vaguely familiar with this expanse of the sea but there seemed to be a landmass on the horizon off of the starboard side. It was likely where the pirates had set off for although he saw no dinghies in the water. Something didn't seem to add up here.

From the bow, he was able to get a glance of the rocky outcrop they'd struck. It extended well above the surface and in broad daylight, should have been quite visible to the navigator. Experienced sailors would have known to steer away. Everything about this situation was confounding his brain but he had to concern himself with escaping this ship.

The ship shuddered beneath him as it began to slide free of the rocks. He slipped, bare feet unable to find purchase on the slick teak planks as he fell, driven into the side rail as the vessel leaned more to port. He clung to the still-sturdy posts separating him from the sea as his mind went into overdrive. Even if the pirates had left a skiff behind, he doubted he could launch it himself. And then there would be the problem of encountering these deviants again should he reach land but it seemed preferable at this moment to take his chances with the pirates rather than ride this sinking ship into the depths.

He needed to locate something that would float, not daring to attempt swimming that far in his weakened state. Maybe there was an empty barrel? A hatch he could pry loose? And he'd need a way to debark… Where would they keep their rope ladder?

He forced himself back upright using the railing for support. On Liam's ship, the rope ladder was dispatched from the aft deck and as this ship was of similar design to the Royal Navy schooners, he knew he was on the wrong end of the ship - and his good fortune had run out.

Too much water had now entered the ship's hull and she was beginning to break apart. The weight of the water tore the ship free of the boulder that had ripped through the hull and as it slipped deeper into the waves, a crack split the deck apart. Killian grasped wildly to the closest rigging lines he could find as the stern broke loose. The time for plans was gone.

He swung out of control in the tangle of ropes and pulleys, teetering precariously above the deep blue ocean. Damnit, Jones - what the hell have you gotten yourself into? He'd trained for dangers like this - for how to survive a sinking ship… He'd just never figured he'd be without a crew…

And out of nowhere, his chances of survival took a turn for the worst. A steel pulley swinging in tandem with him smacked into his forehead and he lost his grip on the rope. Stunned from the blow, he couldn't coordinate his limbs to reach for anything that would stop his fall, splashing awkwardly into the sea.

That sudden impact jolted him back to consciousness as sheer instinct took over. He was a strong swimmer under normal circumstances, but this certainly was not and to make matters more complicated, the sun would soon set. He could tread water in the dark all night…

There! his weary brain called out to him. There's a board… It will serve as a raft. Get yourself to it! His gaze caught sight of the planks floating a short distance from him. Hampered by the sting of salt water in his wounds, angry muscles that had been abused for too long and a steady stream of blood pouring from the fresh cut above his brow, the swim was arduous. He was near ready to faint by the time he reached the panel of three boards still somehow holding together. He used every remaining bit of his strength to drag himself atop it and collapsed.

Killian was thankful for calm seas as he drifted through the night although less thankful that the current had carried him away from the land he'd hoped to reach. By the time the first golden rays of morning sun crested over the eastern horizon, he found himself enveloped amidst a thin layer of marine clouds. He could no longer see any traces of the ill-fated pirate ship nor any visible land masses.

He'd fought valiantly to remain alert throughout the evening, fearful of losing his perch on the narrow planks but fatigue and injury were taking their toll. He struggled to raise his head as he succumbed to the blissful call of unconsciousness. As a man of the sea, he'd always expected that his death would come at the mercy of the sea. Perhaps he hadn't thought it would come so soon…

I'm sorry, Liam… I've failed you yet again… was the last thought he remembered as he gave in to the blackness.

He wouldn't recall slipping from the planks or the momentary struggle to pull himself back atop of his makeshift raft. The next time his eyes opened, he was certain he'd crossed over into the afterlife. An expanse of azure sky loomed above him and he felt the security of land beneath his back. He wouldn't have expected the aches and pains of his life tragically cut short would have accompanied him into the next life, but he'd never died before…

Of course, this could be but a dream. Exhaustion still weighed heavily upon him so this could all be a mere hallucination of a dying man - more so when he saw her. Killian couldn't make out the details of her face but there she was, cutting a figure akin to a goddess with tresses like the sun tumbling over her porcelain shoulders and bared bosoms. Such beauty could only be…

The words formed in his head: Are you an… Only one would cross his lips - "Angel?"