Author's Note: Hey y'all. Thanks for being patient with me. Or at least SOME of you are... :P

J/k, I love you all. Cyber hugs! I know, I know, get on with the thing, right:D This one here will coincide with the one that follows. This one also kind of falls in line with "Two Hearts". This one and the next are rather serious and glum, but I promise I'll write you all a funny one! ---And then there will be more sad ones. Geez, I'm depressing.

Warnings: If you don't like the sight of blood, read with your eyes closed.

Pairings: J/T

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Jack Sparrow, I wish I owned Jack Sparrow, I wish I owned Jack Sparrow... nope. Didn't work. All yours, Mickey, you selfish little rat.

(Oh, and the intro thing is not all my wording. I improvised and paraphrased a bit, but I got it from... -very large grin- ... I'll never te-eh-elllllllll...)

.Fragile.

There was a time when the seas were unpredictable, angry. An ancient and beautiful goddess fell in love with a sailor, and granted him immortality. Also a ship, to rescue the souls of drowned sailors. But fickle, like the sea, she fell easily out of love, and left him. The man, in despair, cut his heart from his body, and locked it away in a chest, away from the world, having no more use for it.

When the deed had been done, the goddess was angry, and the seas stormed for many years. Many good men died, along with their families and comrades. So the Pirate Brethren came together and took counsel. The Brethren summoned the goddess and tricked her, casting a spell that trapped her in human form, meant to suffer humanity for eternity until One should seek to release her.

With Calypso tamed, the seas were tamed. And so began the Age of Piracy.

The air was tense. Enough to where a cannon shot would do little to penetrate the opaque stone quality. Four bodies occupied the room. A first mate, a governor's daughter, a voodoo priestess, and a pirate captain.

The latter was not a man whom anyone sought to converse with, nor to be in the general close range vicinity of. They were all cross, but Sparrow was furious. He appeared so uncharacteristically chaotic that everyone else had seemed to shy towards the other side of the room. Even so, every human had his or her own breaking point, and it looked as if he had reached his with a flourish.

However, the gypsy woman remained gently fearless of him and only sat a short distance away.

He was pacing, brow drawn below his trademark headscarf. His eyes were guarded with steel and he held a rum bottle in one hand. His coat only added to his height and the tails barely flapped in his wake.

His anger was not determined, though, by shouts or the slamming of doors. Jack Sparrow was stone-cold silent. And he hadn't touched a spot of rum. Elizabeth sat in an uncomfortable chair near his desk in the captain's cabin. Her knees were drawn up to her chin while her arms hugged them to her chest. Her eyes followed his movements through the maze of golden tresses that hung in her eyes and framed her features.

Joshamee Gibbs stood quietly with his arms folded across his chest, staring out the nearby window. His thick eyebrows were drawn and giving him a troubled frown.

Tia Dalma remained stoic, her chin raised slightly, calm and serene. She, too, resided in a slightly more comfortable seat, her hands resting lightly on her lap.

The sudden lack of pacing made them all wake slightly from their reveries. Sparrow had stilled in front of a side table, his hands pressed into the oak, while one hand still held the rum bottle by the throat. His head hung, black locks guarding his eyes in a secluded hollow. "How much time do we have?"

His voice broke the silence sounding mildly hoarse. Tia could sense that, even though his tone was quiet and calm, beneath their was a fracture. She could only commend him for his restraint. Without altering her steady gaze from a distant point, she replied. "Time slips. Only hours. De situation is out of your hands, Jack Sparrow. De Brethren will perish."

His grip tightened on the glass. "My father has entrusted their fate to me. I may just as well be killing them myself." The fracture was mounting.

"Some will escape. But deir hearts follow de war. Dey will fight."

"I spilled blood to safeguard their haven and survival; all my life. Two nights ago I swore to a second oath that I would carry out their bidding so they would not have to." His control was escaping, his voice raising only slightly.

"To kill the devil, you will need more dan a pirate's pledge." There was subtle venom in her words and hidden reference, and it did not go unnoticed by the captain.

Control clawed at freedom with violent aggression and shot out the window with disdain.

Sparrow lost all manner of stillness and spun, driving the bottle against the planks of the wall. The shattering of glass became an explosion of sharp reverberation that carried throughout the small confines of the room, dancing off the walls with angry malice.

Elizabeth jerked in her chair, startled, and Joshamee's eyes flew to his captain. The gypsy merely cast her eyes towards him, otherwise remaining in her previous position.

Heavy shards rained upon the decking and amber liquid now ran down the walls in steady streams, baring a recognizable tint of red. Sparrow had stilled again, and now looked at his hand which he held near waist level. The blood had seemed to calm him, and it appeared to have steadied his stressful nerves and return him back to truth. He splayed his fingers slightly, studying the shards in his flesh soberly.

The alcohol made the abrasions burn with fire, but he did not so much as wince. He only stared at what he had done.

Elizabeth hugged herself tighter, and Gibbs released a slow breath in somber deliberation. Tia Dalma watched the man before her with tender thought, thereupon closing her eyes and accepting the upcoming task with equal warmth.

Later, after all but two had departed from the cabin, a man and a woman sat alone at the table. It may have appeared that they were holding hands, but such was not the case. White cotton wraps rested nearby on the tabletop, as well as a new bottle of rum and a clean rag.

"Ouch," Sparrow complained softly, almost to himself, as Tia carefully removed another shard from his injured hand. He watched quietly as she set the glass off to the side with the other detached fragments.

"It hurts, I know," she spoke to him gently, not taking her concentration from her work. She did not remind him how he could have prevented the pain himself. There was no need to state such obvious matters where he was suffering.

He did not take to responsibility often, but now he carried more than his own share on his shoulders, with no one to aid him.

Only her.

But she could do nothing for him in such a state. This had been the reason of her words before. The Brethren feared her. And Sparrow had been torn between duty and a promise.

He did not flinch as she touched the rum-soaked rag to his palm. She worked as gently as she could, also taking the opportunity to have her touch on his skin. As she finished, she hesitated to admire his hand, one of her own holding his slightly while her other took time in gently tracing fingers over the recent incisions.

"You break so easily," she mused, her voice distant and saddened.

He said nothing, but his eyes looked to her thoughtfully. A smile graced her lips and she reached for the white cotton, gently smoothing it over his skin and beginning to wrap it around his hand.

"You must learn to quell your anger," she chided him almost playfully, succeeding in lightening the mood as she noticed the smile briefly on Sparrow's lips.

"I wasn't entirely aware that I had anger complications," he replied with light jesting.

Tia's eyes met his and she grinned before getting back to her task. "Only when you be angry."

A short laugh escaped him and he was relieved that she had attempted to make him smile. "Is not every man entitled to be human, love?"

She paused only for a short moment in her work, her eyes falling downcast. She felt a sinking in her chest as she struggled within. "Yes," she whispered finally.

His smile faded as he realized that she was not replying to his question, but rather to the hidden connotation within it.

Tia Dalma was impressive in regaining her graceful composure. She tied off a small knot in the fabric and gently patted the back of his hand, insinuating that she was finished.

Sparrow took a moment to inspect her handiwork before he grinned, hoping to aid her in the same way she had for him just moments before. "Much more better," he commented, then stuck up his chin slightly in an air of nobility. "Nothing would I be without thine Queen of Sea."

Her eyes sought his own, and she hoped he would realize the gravity behind her following words. "Only question remains, Jack Sparrow… will ye choose to be my king?"

He did not disappoint her. He seemed to deliberate over her words and bowed his head. He released a breath and played with the bandages on his hand in thought. "It remains yet to be seen," he replied quietly.

She fought with herself not to become frustrated with him. She touched her hand to his and he returned his attention to her. "You cannot face him as you are," she told him, her voice grave and forbidding. "You are too easily vulnerable. You may walk the line of myth, Jack Sparrow, but being a legend does not deny de blade from entering your heart." She hated to snap at him, but she could also not let him go and get himself killed out of stubborn pride and a sweltering ego.

He did not remove his gaze from her own, but rather watched her with contemplation.

Tia was not sure what she thought of the sudden look in his eyes. She couldn't recall such a look on Sparrow's face prior to the present moment. She was about to speak when he interrupted her thoughts.

"Perhaps it already has."

His muse startled her. She loathed being caught with her guards down. And she, at times previous, had always refused to tolerate being staggered. She was who all came to seek in times of peril. She held all journey's answers in the palm of her hand. So why was Jack Sparrow able to render her at such an inferior state with a simple sentence? She blamed her untrue nature. The humanity in her was what was surely causing her abilities to fail her.

It was the rarity of his being. It was the only possible motive she could dwell on. That free spirit that rapt her just as she had him. It was a never-ending battle between them, ever since one laid eyes on the other.

Suddenly then, it came to her. She knew the look in his eyes. It had been the one that the aforementioned nature of her had been secretly hoping for. A selfish longing and need of fulfillment, traits she'd inherited from her previous temperment. And yet, she didn't understand. Her enchanting hold was not presently calling to him. She was only herself.

Unless…

Could it be? Had he truly…? Tia, not the caged spirit, felt a sudden warmth well up inside her and it felt suspiciously like joy. Or, at least, what she had been told about such a feeling.

He had eased forward slightly in his seat, unsure of what he was to do. There was a moment of quiet stillness, and then the darker nature of the gypsy woman grew impatient. Her eyes encouraged him, eager.

He was hesitant at first, almost leery of the consequences. She would ease his mind. She would call to him.

Gently, she reached out to him, her fingers brushing tenderly at the side of his cheek, then coming to trace his jaw. Her black eyes seemed to take on a subtle shine, golden light reflecting off the pure orbs, caused by the low candlelight in the room. The act was rewarded with almost immediate results.

In a manner of moments, his lips came to meet hers. She could hear the breath catch in his throat, and she felt her own heart flutter within her chest. The embrace was slow and gentle at first, gradually becoming deeper as his lips parted beneath hers. She felt her superior side taking over, exploring and tasting him. She felt his hand come to wrap around the back of her neck, bringing her closer to him yet. She heard him sigh almost sadly in the back of his throat and she touched his injured hand on the table, willing it to heal.

She would teach him how to truly soar in due time. She would make certain he would live on for eternity; his name passed on and remembered by all who existed. She'd known him since he was barely an adolescent, and she'd been forced to watch him age over the years. He'd grown into a fine man, but freedom did not age, and so he had earned the rewards to come.

She reveled in the moment, knowing such time was limited.

He would accept her gifts and brave her fury. He would release her as he'd promised. She begged Fate to allow her to still love him in her post-release, to hold some manner of desire and warmth towards the man beside her. She knew she would lose a part of her heart that sought him, but she refused to lose every morsel. She would not forget him. But again, she lived the moment at hand, running her hands under his shirt, feeling his skin beneath and the many scars that riddled him. She would wipe them away. Old wounds were for mortals.

Humanity was a dangerous thing. Before, in her rage, she had refused to accept her fate. One man had changed the heart of a siren who was really a monster. In her imprisonment, he was her escape.

Freedom.

Because, really... that was all that it came down to in the end. The pirates would die before surrender, they would unite and battle those who meant their demise and captivity. A sparrow would brave the storm before seeking shelter indoors.

The gale of their time was just on the horizon.

It was a finality for them both, because soon, they would be equally of higher power. And in this moment, with his lips on hers, his hands on her, loving, she was just as fragile as he.

Please let me know if the ending sucked. I rewrote it, like, 9011 times. I still don't think I did a satisfactory job, but I'll leave it up to you. And I don't mean the last line, but the "ending". You know you want to press that little review button...

DOOOO IIIIIIIIIIIT...