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Calypso held the damaged heart in her hands, feeling the unsteady and faint beat it pulsed out. She had it close to her own, hoping it would pick up on the stronger heart and try to match its tempo. The mortal wound would never heal right, just like the wounds she faced when tortured and bound to that dreadful single form where she was left almost powerless. It was true that she would never look at him the same way ever again, but it was also true that her love for him was undying, and it appeared that his was the same way. He wasn’t the same man that he once was, and the lack of heart didn’t help matters any, but he was still a powerful presence that took her breath away and he wasn’t even a god. The anger she felt within this heart, the hurt, the painful guilt, the remorse, denial, self-loathing, pure utter hatred. A vortex of the ugliest and cruelest emotions a person could carry in their lifetime. It was horrific. No wonder he wanted to be rid of it.
She traced every single line, every single vein, felt every single bump and groove, caressing it gently and memorizing all the tiny details it had to offer. It was hers after all, she deserved it, it was one of the most precious gifts she had ever received. No one else in the entire world and universe had gone so far to prove their love for her and she could already predict no one else would come as close as he did. He didn’t deserve her, she knew that but it didn’t stop her from feeling compelled to come back to him time and time again. There was something about him that made her feel completely different.
What was that one story she had heard being told by one of her many lovers? The one with the young man with the wax wings that flew too close to the sun despite warnings from his father and fell to the earth below because the wings had begun to melt? Many might say that Davy Jones was just like that man, falling in love with a half goddess, but she felt she fit that role better, if not perfectly. She had come across a beacon of hope and had been tempted to stay, yet when warned that all men were the same in the end, she refused to heed it and she had paid a hefty price because of it.
One day she would be able to give him her heart in return and he would be able to feel her in the most intimate way possible like she was doing with him now. Know the extent of the damage he caused and be forbidden to try and run away from it like he had been doing all these years. He would be faced with a reality that was both foreign and incredibly familiar to him.
The cut was beginning to heal and her time was running out. As fresh scar tissue mended the tear, the beating became stronger, slowly but surely. Soon he would rise again to replace William Turner, resurrected because someone needed to take on the sacred duty since she was not going to go back to it when she had just been enjoying her new found freedom. Maybe in a couple hundred years or so, but Davy Jones was still the rightful captain of the Flying Dutchman for now and she was still confident that maybe, just maybe, he’d come back to her, properly.
Calypso held the damaged heart in her hands, feeling the steady beat it pulsed out so that she could match it with her own, and pleaded for his return. It didn’t have to be right away, it didn’t even have to come at all. It was the hope and faith in him that kept her believing that one day all men could change their ways.
She took one last look at it, committing all the details of it into memory and after giving it a kiss, she let it go.