Disclaimer: still on nothing :)
A/N: this is chapter 2...should I continue? (hehehe that rhymed lol)
Tia Dalma hobbled around her "palace" trying to make her captive guests as comfortable as they could possible be. She gave blankets and beds to as many that would accept them. In addition, food, drink, and concoctions of many sorts were offered; another ill attempt to comfort the hurting souls. After an hour's time had passed Tia returned to talk to Barbossa, leaving the crew members, Will, and Elizabeth to do as they pleased.
Some did actually find sleep amongst the wooden stools and rotting mattresses, and the others, did almost nothing. Will had not moved from his stool, nor had he stopped driving his knife into the table. With a quick flick of his wrist, the knife was embedded in the molded wood. With a firm tug on the butt of the knife, it was out. Again, and again, Will did this. The sound echoed through the house, driving a few crew members mad and comforting others. His pain produced a daze even he didn't think he was capable of.
Since arriving at Tia Dalma's humble "suite" the blacksmith hadn't even made eye contact with his betrothed, let alone say a single word to her. Continually, Will stared at the deepening hole he made in that ancient hunk of wood. Every now and then he would take a sip from his tankard filled with a mixture Tia had concocted specially for him. It contained chamomile, a hint of passion flower, and (surprise, surprise) a heaping of rum. The mixture was heated, and despite the strangeness, tasted rather wonderful. The liquid was spicy, and sweet, yet somehow soothing, he never thanked Tia, but he guessed she had already known his reaction long before he had it. It was a little unnerving, but much didn't get to him anymore.
The blacksmith broke his stare for split second, and glanced at Elizabeth, quickly returning his hot gaze to it's previous resting place. She was curled up in a musty corner, fully awake. A moth-eaten blanket was drawn around her shoulders and draped over her slender legs. Ms. Swann's head hung between her knees, and her overall look was pitiful. Puffy eyes stared at the tankard at her feet. She'd downed the contents long ago, but didn't feel it necessary or proper to request a refill.
Unknown to Will, that constant table-stabbing was driving her madly insane. He didn't look at Elizabeth long enough to see her grinding her teeth, or digging her nails into the palm of her hand. The young blacksmith had only glanced long enough to know she was still there, still mourning over Jack, and still distanced from himself. A few more stabs, and Elizabeth broke. She stood up suddenly, casting the blanket to the floor.
"I cant take it anymore!" She yelled with tiny fists clenched.
All those awake, including Will, stared at her in disbelief, almost as if she'd broken an unwritten rule of silence. The governor's daughter approached Turner and jerked the knife right out of his hand. With a smirk she marched out of the house and onto the front porch. Leaning over the railing she threw the knife down as hard as she could. The gal hadn't realized how much anger she had pent up inside of her as the dagger fell fast to the ground. Anger at God, anger at Jack, anger at the world, anger at William, anger at Norington, anger at Beckett, and anger at herself.
At that she began sobbing, not because of the knife she threw to the ground, but because of everything that had happened within the last day or so. The full reality of things hit her, and it was almost too much to bear. Pent up anger and sadness flowed from her being, slowly tearing her heart to pieces.
Back in Tia's house, the stares that had followed Elizabeth out the door turned to Will, whose eyes shifted to glance at each pair fixated on himself. He gave each pair of eyes a few seconds and turned his stare to the floor. Mr. Gibbs sat up and began another little speech/saying to Will.
"It's bad luck to-" Gibbs began, soon cut off by the very one he was speaking to.
"Oh, shut-up, Gibbs! I don't need this right now." The blacksmith retorted, hastily rising to his feet. Turner made his way to the front porch, his boots sounding heavily on the rotting wood. Will clutched the tankard close to his chest and slammed the door as he exited the stuffy little place. As the door echoed Will's back was facing Elizabeth. He sighed heavily and took a breath so he could unleash a few nasty words to Elizabeth as well.
Turning, his shoulders sagged and breath expelled. The sight which beheld him was almost too much to bear. He couldn't take his anger out on her while she was so miserable herself. Will considered going back into the house, but with the big scene he'd just made, he quickly decided against it. The blacksmith took a few steps towards the form huddled against the banister. He tenderly placed his hand on her shoulder and stroked her with his thumb. He attempted a weak smile and moved closer to the banister.
Still, no words were spoken from Will. He couldn't bring himself to it just yet. A few minutes, give or take, and he'd be a chatterbox, but, as of now, he was still fuming. He wouldn't want to explode at Elizabeth and shred his heart even more.
His right arm hung loosely around Ms. Swann's shoulders, the other held his tankard firmly on the banister. Elizabeth's racked form turned to face Will. She smiled warmly as she caught contact with those deep brown eyes for the first time in many hours. The smile quickly faded as more gentle tears streamed forth. Breaking eye contact she grasped Will's dark green jacket and buried her head into his chest. Will slowly ran his fingers across her back, comforting her the best he could without words. Oh, bother, this wait was a rather trifling one indeed.