She was regenerating!

Or was it "he?" No, still a "she." There was something else too. What was it? Regenerating and... Ah, yes. Crashing. That was it. Regenerating and crashing.

She gripped the controls in her glowing palms and yanked back as hard as she could. The handles slammed back into her new chest. Whatever. It wasn't like she could get a bruise right now. But I could die, she thought. Then it would all be over. For real this time.

The interior of the craft grew hot, and the lights on the control panels around her began to explode. She must be passing through the atmosphere now. She had managed to get herself off of the moon, at least. If she could get herself down into that ocean there and survive, then she was home free. She was clever, like her dad. She would figure something out. The shell of the small vessel dampened the sound of the splash, but when she felt the sudden deceleration, she knew she had hit the water, and she breathed a sigh of relief before she looked herself over.

She wished she had a mirror as she ran her two hands over two legs, feminine hips, a little waist. She still wore her combat boots, black pants, and olive green shirt. The t-shirt fit a little tighter now across her chest. She rolled her eyes. That was going to be a burden. Curling down over her shoulder, was that–?

Yes it was! She had red hair! In excitement, she whipped the elastic from the back of her head, releasing her ponytail and watching the strands tumble down. She laughed out loud. She had been told that her that her father had always wanted to be a ginger. She hoped she could find him now – wouldn't he be jealous? She examined her bare arms, noticing a few of the trademark freckles.

She pressed her fingers to her face. Her brows were thick, and her cheekbones high. She felt a small, pointed chin, full lips, a tiny button nose, and wide-set eyes. She wondered what color her eyes were going to be when she finally got to see her reflection.

Her ship bobbed beneath the waves and began to ascend. Everyone who knew about him said that her father liked this planet. Earth they had called it. As soon as she'd gotten her greedy hands on a vortex manipulator, she'd strapped it to her wrist and was plugging in the coordinates. Maybe she should have tested it first. She'd missed her destination by almost 400,000 kilometers. She had no idea what time it was, either. She could be in any century.

The vortex manipulator was sparking and hissing. She tore it off her skin before it burned her. Clearly, it wasn't going to be taking her anywhere else. It was just useless junk now. Perhaps she could salvage some of its parts, but she had more pressing concerns at the moment. As soon as she felt the gentle rocking of the waves beneath her feet, she used her weight to rotate the spherical shuttle craft until the hatch was pointing up. Carefully, she opened it and poked her head outside.

There was nothing as far as she could see but wind and water and sky. The sun beat down on her through scant clouds and gleamed off the metal of her ship. She squinted, hoping that the glaring light was all that was preventing her from seeing the shore. Maybe she could swim for it. Her ship was made for piloting the vacuum of space. It wasn't a rowboat. If she had a ship like her father's, then she was sure she'd be able to find an oar somewhere, but she had never been lucky enough to encounter another TARDIS. She just had this tiny pod, which fit only her and some supplies.

"Bloody hell."

She had neglected to look behind her as she'd scanned her environment. She whipped around, nearly upsetting her ship. What she saw was a massive wooden beast, painted a dark but shining blue, broken up by bright yellow lines. It floated on top of the water, and had trees growing out of its back that were covered with cloth sheets. No, that wasn't it. She knew what this was. It was a sail boat. Those weren't trees, they were masts.

On the back of it stood a tall, dark-haired man wearing a long leather coat. She figured that's where the voice had come from. Ducking down, she found her blaster and aimed it at his chest, right at his one human heart, where the buttons of his shirt were undone. Her father may disapprove of guns, but once, they were all she had known, and her father wasn't here right now. "Who are you?" She demanded.

"I should ask you the same." He nodded toward her hand in gesture. "What is that you're holding?"

"It's-" She paused, looking down at her hand to make sure she'd grabbed the right object in her haste. "It's a gun. Don't you know what a gun is?"

"What? Like this?" His right arm reached across his hips and into a holster before she realized what he was doing. He pulled out something long and wooden with some metal bits on it. He cocked the weapon and pointed it at her face. It was shaped like a gun, but looked like a toy compared to her heavy technology.

To demonstrate her superior force, she located the smallest sail. Her arm flicked up to aim at it, and her shot left a hole roughly a meter wide. She smirked at the man as he lowered his arm. Other heads began to poke up over the railing to see what had happened, but he dropped his wooden gun and raised his hands at his sides as if in surrender. That's when she noticed his other hand, or lack thereof. Instead of fingers, at the end of the cuff on his left wrist was a shining metal hook. She watched his throat work as he swallowed.

She took a deep breath and remembered what her father had taught her. "Relax," she told the man, pointing her gun down, but not letting go of it. "I'm not going to hurt you. What year is this?"

Hesitantly, he lowered his arms. "Seventeen hundred and fifteen. I would ask how much you imbibed if I hadn't watched you fall from the sky with my own eyes. Who are you, lass?"

"I'm not really sure yet." She admitted. They had called her Jenny once, but all the best Time Lords she'd heard stories about had special names that they shared with the world, keeping their true names hidden. "They call me The Pirate." She tried. After all, she'd stolen a ship and swindled her way around the galaxy before she'd landed here.

He laughed. Apparently she wasn't a very good liar. "No," he told her. "I don't think they do. I know a pirate when I see one, but I've never seen anything quite like you."

She searched the horizon again, and realized that the men on this boat were the only help that she was likely to get. "Can you pull my ship up onto your boat? Or will that make it sink?" She asked. Maybe it could still be fixed, but she'd need to get it out of the water first. The deck he stood on seemed like a large enough surface for her to work on her shuttle craft.

He bristled. "I think if anyone has the ship, it's me, love. And aye, I believe we can haul you and your vessel aboard without risk." He called for the men around him to lower ropes. The men were skilled with them, and soon they were pulling her and her shuttle craft up with relative ease. Their muscles bulged, but they shouted out their rhythm and had her up in a matter of moments.

She fidgeted with the weapon at her side, surrounded and uncomfortable. "Now," she began, hoping that if she kept herself talking, a plan would form. "I'll need a screwdriver. You wouldn't have anything of a sonic variety, would you? No, of course you wouldn't."

The man's dark brows raised. "I'm Captain Hook." He told her. "What's your name?"

"Jenny," she conceded at last, getting a better look at him. His eyes were blue as ice. They were hypnotizing. She almost didn't see the circular tattoo on his neck – the snake that was swallowing the end of its own tail.

"And what are you doing in the middle of the ocean?"

She nibbled on her lower lip before deciding to give the simple explanation. "I'm looking for my father."