Title: eye of the needle
Author: ladybee (d_r_o_n_e)
E-mail: d_r_o_n_e @ livejournal . com
Fandom: PotC
Rating/Classification: PG--sexual overtones about Jack
Disclaimer: Disney's characters, i make no money from this crap.
Archive: Feel free to comment and ask, the answer will probably be "yes."
Summary: Crossposted to pirates500, written for their "Unfulfilled Longing" challenge. 500 words exactly. Where *did* Jack get that compass, and what made it work?



It began ten years past, it had, when her dashing beloved mad Captain Jack Sparrow took a piece of her away.

He’d been kind, he’d been gentle...hadn’t hurt her. She hadn’t bled; indeed she didn’t know if she was capable of bleeding--she presumed not since she hadn’t by now. He’d whispered to her softly, firm, with a sure hand, murmuring his love for her and how it would never die. He swore to her he’d take her to the edges of the earth and back again, across every sea to every land he could find, as his deft fingers brushed against her softly, shudderingly... He didn’t want to hurt her, he said, but it was just that he needed to do this this and do it he did, and good lord it was all just a dull ache now yet somehow still as fresh as yesterday’s wound.

And later, she didn’t understand why but he was gone. Gone and taken that piece of her that would always be his, because she’d given it to him freely, because there’d been no other choice and it had been hers to give and his to take. And now she felt it, every white hot second of every scorching Caribbean day and every aching black hour of every sultry tropical night--the piece he’d taken called to her, drove her mad with yearning, not sure if she wanted him to return to her or just give the piece of herself back he’d taken. She had a dull suspicion they were one and the same.

And after ten years of thirst for the heady rare liquor that was her dashing beloved mad Captain Jack Sparrow, she felt a stirring. A low primal sense of reunion. Could it be he was returning, coming back to her to make good on his promises, to slake her parched depths with the liquid rolling flow of his body on her, in her, beside her, astride her...? The more she considered, the more she felt it must be true. The pull of her severed self was so strong it screamed to her on the headwinds of the storm that blew him from wherever he was back to her side. And suddenly...he was there.

Oh, he was back, and ready to fight for her, Jack was. And he brought with him all the madness and pain and wounds and glory and lust and hatred and screaming beautiful glorious delirium she knew from ten years past. And when it was over, he was back where he belonged, his hands so sure and loving and the piece of her he’d taken away returned and so near that it didn’t matter if it weren’t put right back where he got it. His familiar rugged hand slid along the arch of her wheel as he murmured, “Now bring me that horizon.”

He was hers, this man, this skin and bones and blood and hair--that was what a man meant...but her Jack, what he really was...was freedom.