Disclaimer: Do I even need to say it?
A/N: Chapter four! Woot! Sorry about the wait for this. It took me longer than I expected to come up with the material for this chapter. In other words, I was besieged by a bad case of writer's block
I'll be going out of town next week, so I will try as hard as I can to get the last chapter of this up before I leave.
(sobs)
My little ficcy's all grown up.
An eerie calm had settled across the waters of the Caribbean.
The nonexistent waves left the turquoise waters glassy, moonlight reflecting off the mirror-like surface. Gulls and other seafaring birds had long since departed, leaving the skies above empty and devoid of life.
Even the air was still, weighed down with some unknown emotion.
Deep beneath the surface, however, there was a flurry of activity.
Various fish darted this way and that, flitting among the rocks and debris scattered along the ocean floor. Rays and other bottom dwellers combed the bottom of the ocean, stirring up mud and brine.
Even the waters themselves were restless; they flowed every which way, winding about each other, searching.
Calypso was all of these; she was a shark, cutting swiftly through the water, endlessly circling its prey. She was a piece of seaweed, mindlessly drifting with the tide.
She was the sea, and the sea was searching for something.
Finding it would only be a matter of time.
To bring her love back from the depths to which he had been condemned she needed all of him: his body, devoid of life though it was, and his heart, whole once again.
Suspended before her, protected from the crushing pressure at her command, was the body of Davy Jones. His lifeless eyes gazed at her from a now-human face, haunting her with their intensity.
She recalled those instances, in what seemed another time, when his eyes had looked at her lovingly, dancing with suppressed mirth.
Those times when he seemed a different man, when he would laugh and joke, when he would cry, would show pain; those times when they could simply be together, not worrying about eternity or betrayals.
But, of course, times had changed. She had charged him with the duty of ferrying souls to the next world, had given him that task so that they could be together. He would sail the Dutchman for ten years, and then they could have an eternity.
Calypso had let her fears and uncertainties take control of her. Before the ten years were up, she disappeared, following her nature instead of her heart. She turned her back on her on love.
He loved her for her unpredictable nature, and she presumed that, were she there to greet him when he returned, he would accuse her of not staying true to herself.
Instead, they were both faced with heartbreak and betrayals, with tragedy and pain. Theirs was a story of legend, and a thing of legend they became.
She was sealed and bound, confined to a fragile mortal shell and at the mercy of her captors. With the sea tamed, she sank into the stuff of legends and myths; she became a fairy tale.
He, on the other hand, became a living myth; he became the Devil of the Sea. A heartless monster, they claimed, one who would strike you where you stood just as soon as look at you.
He showed no mercy, and could not be killed.
Where she was forgotten, he became known.
Her mortality, however, had some unseen side effects. The time spent trapped in that body, among those she considered weak and fragile, had changed her considerably.
She had once been nearly as heartless as he, bestowing favor only on those she chose. The rest were at her mercy, for Calypso had no pity, no empathy. Those unlucky enough to fall prey to her anger were doomed souls.
Her time spent as a human had altered her, however; she was engulfed with human emotions. Love, she had already felt, and pain and anger as well, but she also became familiar with sorrow, pity, loneliness, hurt, sympathy, forgiveness...
Living among mortals for so long, she began to think like them. Her anger, when she learned of his betrayal, was no less than it would have been had she been living as a goddess. However, she had found herself forgiving him even in the midst of her fury.
Even as the storm of her anger raged, she found herself understanding why he had acted as he did, why he had betrayed her, and that scared her.
Free of her human confines, she could take any form she chose, or even all of them at once. She did not have to have substance; should she choose, she could merely exist, drifting along with the changing tides.
Without him, however, none of that had a point. Her freedom meant nothing if he were not there to share it with her.
She loved him, loved him more than anything in the world, and she was going to bring him back no matter what.
The only thing she needed now was his heart.
Something fluttered in the back of her mind, a location. A feeling of triumph and success welled up within her; she had finally found it. It was nestled in between two rocks, where it had landed when the death throes of her deluge had swept it off the Dutchman's deck.
Assuming the human form she favored, the one she had been trapped in, she retrieved the heart, cradling it in her arms.
His heart.
Her heart, her mind whispered.
It was hers. It had always belonged to her.
She examined it, carefully checking for external wounds. There was the tear where Sparrow's sword had punctured it; she healed it in seconds.
The other, deeper injuries were not visible for mending. Her power could do nothing for those, but her love, her determination, could triumph where power could not.
Calypso returned to the body—his body—and began to work. She allowed the currents to take them, followed them to Isla Cruces.
All night she labored, working endlessly to make heart and body whole. Thoughts and memories flashed through her mind; her hopes for the future, for Davy Jones, surfaced, brought out by her care and devotion.
She poured everything—her power, her knowledge, her love—into that act. She harnessed everything she had ever felt, everything that had ever happened to her, using that power to make her love complete.
Finally, it was done.
The sun was just beginning its daily foray into the sky when she sat back on the beach, looking at the result of her labor.
The body of Davy Jones, whole once more, was laid out on the beach of Isla Cruces, waiting for her command.
One word from her, and he could live again.
For a moment, she hesitated. What if it didn't work? What if, after all this effort, all of this heartbreak, her plan failed?
What if…
Her eyes hardened, stony in the light of the early morning sun. It would work.
It had to.
She raised her arms above her head and shouted, her words lost in the swell of power. Calypso poured all of her remaining energy into his body, willing him to live again, to fetch back his mind from its infinite prison.
She staggered, her power completely drained. She stared at her beloved, willing something, anything, to happen.
And then, on the horizon, there was a flash of green.
One chapter left! That makes me feel both sad and relieved. This has been one of the hardest stories I've written, and I both love it and hate it.
Anyway, reviews are always welcome, so push the pretty purple button: P