Disclaimer – All rights belong to the holders of the PotC copyright. No profit is being, has been nor will be made with the on-line publishing of this fanfiction.

Author's Note – This ficlet has been written as a gift of thanks to the very talented author, Hereswith. I have kept the rating at 'R' level to be safe, though I would personally consider it a very light 'R'.

This story takes place six years after the events in the movie and Elizabeth Swann Turner is now a widow. This is a one-shot.

Reflections of Grace

The lullaby of the tides could sing him to sleep, even here on the motionless land. He could make out the Pearl in the far distance, a tiny dark speck that slumbered and rocked on the water. A faint murmur echoed behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to admire the woman sleeping peacefully amidst a tangle of white sheets.

He was bound, heart and soul, to two mistresses; the one who rolled beneath his feet under a hot tropical sun, turning her sails to the wind as she cut the waves and blew salt spray in his face, the other, a fierce, wingless pen with the sea in her eyes and a promise in her smile. And all of them were tied to the Mother who encircled this small island in a watery, sometimes crushing embrace.

The murmurs died to silence as Elizabeth settled into a deeper sleep, lulled to rest again by the steady rhythm of the lapping waves. He turned back to his musings. Funny. She had never once asked him about his past, going so far as to tell him "Does it matter, Captain Sparrow? I get along well enough with the man you are now, though you should do something with that dreadful hair at some point."

He had laughed and kissed her soundly, tasting citrus on her lips from the orange they shared. She never asked him to stay, always certain that he would make his way back to her in a few weeks, a few months. And she was right. He always returned, drawn to her despite a port crawling with minions of the Royal Navy all ready and willing to have a go at him. It was a damned wonder he hadn't yet been caponed, shot or hung. But still, he returned. He fought it at first, somewhat, but soon gave in, sneaking up to this beachfront house to visit the lovely widow Turner.


The wind caught her question, spinning it through his hair with its myriad beads. He'd added more over the years. Just a few, and it had been a source of amusement for her, one that tied him more firmly to her when she bought two herself to give to him. He padded back into the bedroom, leaving the doors to the balcony open to the salt-laden breeze.

"I thought I might have tired you out enough, Mrs. Turner."

Slender arms wrapped around his shoulders as he slid into the bed, rolling on his back and setting her astride him in one smooth motion. Moonlight silvered her hair as she straddled his thighs and braced her hands on his chest.

"I have the endurance of youth on my side, Jack Sparrow." She smiled, rubbing her palms across the welted scars, down to the small nipples that stiffened against her touch.

He groaned, his hands resting heavy on her hips, dark against her pale skin. "Aye, you do, love. But not the experience that comes with a few seasons in the world."

She gasped as he lifted her, mimicking the sound as she slid downward, taking him slowly. He was lost then, as it always was. Lost within the enveloping heat of her body, the steady pulse of her affection for him. His eyes closed as she rocked against him. It was warmth and kneading hands and a lover's soft whispers; the sound of the ocean and the siren's call of a waiting ship.

Author's note - A "pen" is the name for a female swan. I thought it fitting for Elizabeth Swann Turner.