A/N: Hey guys, back again. This is our first official update from SweetIntoxication...I didn't exactly get her permission to post this but if I HAD asked she would have been like, "Whatevas, don't talk to my face," or something along those lines. This one is probably the first we (and by we I mean she) wrote so techinically it should have been one of the first up...well...without further ado.
Chapter Three: A Hidden Love
Cutler Beckett sat alone in his quarters, his only company the rocking waves and the compass beside him on the table. Glamorous as his position was, it was a lonely life. If only he had a companion, someone to accompany him on his long and hopeless voyage…(except Mr. Mercer, who wasn't very good company at all).
He lazily picked up his compass and opened it, watching it spin around and around as it always did. The needle never settled on anything for him, it seemed.
All of a sudden, however, the needle stopped, pointing right at him. It then proceeded to curl back in to itself, so that the needle was pointing straight to the middle of the compass.
"Damn defective compass," Beckett muttered, throwing the thing to the ground. It hit the floor with a resonating thump and spun back and fourth a bit before finally settling on the wooden planks.
Strangely enough, this seemed to have fixed the needle, as it uncurled itself and lay in its usual indefinite position.
Puzzled, Beckett picked up the device once again, holding at arm's length as if it might explode.
To his outrage, the compass did the exact same thing as it had done before, the needle bending in to itself to point right to the middle of the circular device.
"Blast!" He yelled as he hurled it to the ground again.
Why on earth would that infernal device be doing that? This compass was supposed to show you what you wanted most, your deepest desire. But how could his deepest desire be the compass itself? The idea was absurd.
Once more he picked it up, and it repeated its strange routine. He set it back on the table, more puzzled than ever, and nearly ran outside to get some fresh air and clear his head. This must be some form of extreme seasickness.
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That night, Beckett dreamed of the compass. He held the compass in his arms, smelling its lovely wooden smell, caressing its smooth surface.
Even when he awoke, he had to admit to an overwhelming feeling of disappointment. But the strangest part was, that the compass itself was sitting there on his beside table. He knew he hadn't left it there. Very odd. He felt a bit embarrassed looking at the compass now after the not-so-appropriate dream he'd been having about it, and turned over, avoiding it's human-like stare.
He could still feel it looking at him.
"Stop staring at me!" He shrieked at the compass, and tried to go back to sleep. The rest of his night was filled with fitful dreams where he and the compass were always separated.
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The next morning, Beckett awoke to the compass right next to his face on the pillow. His first reaction was to scream and swat the thing away, but it felt so comforting to have it here beside him. He gave in to his deepest urges, pulling the compass in to a hug and wrapping his arms around its small wooden frame as tightly as he could.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you last night," he whispered to it, stroking the side with his fingertip. "I hope you aren't mad."
The compass did nothing, which he took as forgiveness.
"Oh, I can't hide it any longer," he suddenly exclaimed, sitting up in bed and holding the compass at eye level. "I love you, compass, and I know you love me too."
The compass sat in his palm, unmoving.
He was just about to pull the compass in to a tender kiss when the door to his room swung open, revealing an outraged Mr. Mercer.
"You bastard!" He howled, his eyes full of hot, angry tears. "You told me I was the only one!"