A/N: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, perfection is in the eye of the observer...This fic ignores the events of Dead Man's Chest and At World's End. As usual, the characters of the Pirates of the Caribbean Trilogy do not belong to me but to their esteemed creator. ENJOY!

Perfect

He was like the wind, coming and going as he pleased, without any care for anything. Like the gentle summer breeze, his slender fingers danced in the hair of ladies, playfully drawing breathless giggles of delight, always loving and attentive but never claiming and always fleeting. Like the violent tornado, he buffeted his enemies, those who sought to end his life and the lives of those he loved, leaving destruction in his wake, more damaging than death, a bloodless intangible nightmare, unforgettable. And ever like the wind, he left nothing and nobody untouched, swaying and changing everyone who had the privilege of meeting him.

He was like the rock, steady, silent and strong, the foundation that guided those who were lost. Like the craggy rock buried amongst sand on the beach, he was surrounded by upper class noblemen that sifted and swayed to every new trend while he remained unmoved from his strict principles of morality. Like the iron ore, so common in most eyes yet so precious to those of the expert's, he was a man of many mysteries, a simple military officer bound by duty and justice in the eyes of the society, a man quite boring because of his unwavering obligation to his lover, the Law. Yet, to those who knew him, as a brother and a friend, his façade broke away to reveal his core of compassion, gentleness, self-sacrifice and a streak of mischievousness and adventure that struggled against the cage he had chosen. But ever like the rock, he remained in his station, duty coming before self.

To the wind, the rock was his one constant in his whirlwind travels, the one foundation that would never yield, never lose even in the stillest of days when the wind had seemingly vanished, traveling across far coasts and even farther horizons. The rock never attempted to catch the wind, like the eager hands of the children of society. The rock never questioned, never protested, never demanded but merely allowed the wind to remain as changing as he was. And the rock was rewarded for if there was one constant about the wind it would have been his love, always wrapping around the rock in a protective hold, blowing away the sands of time and for a short moment, the waves of duty. And, though the wind could not been bound, he would always willingly return.

To the rock, the wind was his one inconsistency in his firm foundation, his one excitement. The wind never attempted to budge him from his duty, never attempted to undermine the lady in his life called Law. The wind never gave the rock any ultimatums only giving him the key to unleash his adventurous spirit, carrying to his ears and into his heart whispered tales of exciting quests and dangerous conquests. The wind never attempted to drag him from his post but chose instead to return and caress him. And the wind was rewarded for if there was one thing that budged the rock, it was the hands of the wind. The wind would never meet resistance as he gently and gradually carved and shaped the rock, altering grounded beliefs and revealing new vulnerabilities. The rock never hid from the wind. Where everyone attacked the rock, seeking to steal his delicate core, so precious, so coveted, the rock gave it willingly to the wind. Nobody could move the rock but the rock could never resist the wind.

Captain Jack Sparrow was like the wind.

Commodore James Norrington was like the rock.

To most, they were perfect opposites.

To them, they were perfect together.