(OT: I enjoyed writing this chapter. Is started out as one from Elizabeth's point of view, intended to be short, and then it just expanded into Will's musings and all the way through the scene. Parts of the almost-end bit is actually from the final leaked AWE script. It actually was in the place of the "How long do we continue not talking" scene between Will and Elizabeth, but as you can tell, they replaced it with a much vaguer answer. I rearranged a few things and really wanted the resolution line so I squeezed it in here. So much frustration in the end! The next chapter will involve a cut scene that is also in the leaked script, in addition to the scene I just mentioned . Enjoy! And thank you thank you for the reviews. It really makes me want to update all the time and I wish I could. Fortunately, we had a snow day today!)
Elizabeth huddled on the steps at the bow of the ship, gripping her knees to her chest and repeatedly rubbing her freezing hands together. She lifted her palms to her mouth and blew gently, allowing her hands to absorb her hot breath. She massaged her thin yet muscular arms, suddenly wanting to praise Will for purchasing the new clothes. With a gust of arctic wind, her partially pinned up hair flew over her shoulders, exposing her neck and cheeks and making her quiver with a fresh chill. Miss Swann absentmindedly ducked her head, bringing her clenched fists between her chest and her knees as she tuned out Pintel and Ragetti's incessant gabbing about the excursion.
She began to rock with her forehead pressed against her kneecaps as she yearned for her warm old boots or even a full skirt like Tia Dalma's ragged gown. Oh, what beauty and warmth she could find in the bloomers and the stockings and the white layers of skirts right now! She had already attempted to remain below, but the quick foreign language tossed among the crew and the constant glares when she made the slightest peep made her retreat to the frosty deck of the Hai Peng. Elizabeth squeezed shut her eyes, tortured as another puff of wind whipped around her lean figure. Suddenly, a heavy and soft weight collapsed upon her, and large hands tucked in the object in every nook and cranny that was exposed to the icy weather.
"There is less of a breeze at the stern." the rumbled voice said as one of his arms stroked her back, still shifting the tan furry blanket into place.
Her forehead was a throbbing red as she lifted her head to look at the man, recognizing the voice immediately and guiltily savoring his touch. "Oh, okay." she murmured, eyeing his rosy cheeks and the bits of snow that had frozen over his eyebrows and chin.
Kneeling next to her, William nearly lifted Elizabeth to her feet as they rose in unison, his arm looping around her little waist. "You're so cold." he announced effortlessly, thinking the woman must be much more than just cold since she rose so weakly. Perhaps Elizabeth was sick. If she was, she shouldn't even be on deck. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Yes, I'm just frozen..." Elizabeth trailed off as she leaned against Mr. Turner's equally chilled body, realizing he was now swiveling her to the opposite side to thwart the wind from reaching her. He tenderly readjusted the blanket around her shoulders, hoping it would not chill her worse, and when her eyes met his, he saw her pretty face glowing and snowflakes clustering on her eyelashes. "Thank you, Will." she said softly as he guided her past Captain Barbossa and Mr. Gibbs and to the lower steps.
"Anytime." Will replied lightly, checking Elizabeth's condition one last time before turning to midship, where Tai Huang corralled around the unfurled charts. "May I?" he asked and the Chinese man immediately stepped aside, taking a seat nearby as William sat down, watching his breath puff in front of him as he leaned over the charts. He began to spin the rings, growing more and more confused as the messages collided and altered.
"Nothing here is set." Will hissed as he revolved the innermost ring again. How could you find out anything truthful from them? "These can't be as accurate as modern charts."
"No," Tai Huang answered confidently as Will looked to the man, "but it leads to more places."
"Over the edge, over again. Sunrise sets. Flash of green." Will narrated hoarsely from a lined up message, furrowing his eyebrows as he shook his head. Riddles. They were all damn riddles. After rolling up the charts, he marched toward the captain (with Tai Huang following closely behind), slightly agitated by the confusing message as he unfurled them once again and handed them to the aged captain. Will inquired with vehemence, "Do you care to interpret, Captain Barbossa?"
Elizabeth lifted her head from the formed burrow, only allowing her brown doe eyes to peek over the top of the blanket. Green flash? It sounded strikingly familiar, and then it struck her that a few sailors had shared their stories about the odd incidents when she lingered about the docks in her girlhood.
Barbossa was casually seated as he responded, tilting slightly toward the first mate. "Ever gazed upon the green flash, Master Gibbs?"
Curiously, Will listened while still believing the charts were utterly frustrating as Gibbs turned from the side of the ship, his beard coated, his shoulders dusted with a heavy layer of snow, and his tone proud, obliged to deliver a story.
"I reckon I seen my fair share," he replied, his eyes glimmering intensely as he gestured with a thrill. "Happens on rare occasions. The last glimpse of sunset, a flash of green shoots up into the sky."
Will's eyebrows furrowed for the second time, now puzzled by the insight and thoroughly disturbed. He wondered how this green flash connected with their journey, especially when it was so prominently noticeable. Over the edge, over again. He repeated to himself, imagining the descriptive tales of the end of the Earth and what lay on the other side.
"Some go their whole lives without ever seeing it." Gibbs continued in an even more animated tone. "Some claim to seen who ain't. And some say..."
"It signals when a soul comes back to this world from the dead!" Pintel interjected enthusiastically with Pintel hovering over his shoulder. The man turned when he felt Gibbs' furious glare upon him and he anxiously added, "Sorry."
The wheels began to turn and the gears began to crank. If this legend was true, as so many had been before them, then this green flash could rescue his father from his ill-fate. If Davy Jones' heart was pierced, Bootstrap could return to the living and no longer live a life in an eternity of suffering.
Back from the dead? Elizabeth's first instinct was to cry, "But that's impossible." But she resisted, realizing how completely foolish she would sound. She gazed at Barbossa surreptitiously. After all, right before her was living proof that humans can be revived, and soon, she prayed, Jack would be added to the list.
"Trust me, young Master Turner." Barbossa added in a self-assured manner as he passed the charts back to William. "It's not getting to the land of the dead that's the problem..." The lever creaked as he pulled it one side, and his eyes widened. "It's getting back."
Without a second glance, Will returned to his seat and unrolled the mystical charts, checking the patterns of the words once again, hoping to discover the key to saving his father. Tai Huang wandered past him with a gasp as they coasted between two gigantic icebergs that rose thousands of feet above water. In a gradual swell, the ship was abruptly suctioned into blackness like the hand of death, and Will fumbled to return the chart to its container. There was a shuffle of feet, a whimper of pain when the person struck the mast of the vessel, and then someone's hand rested on his shoulder.
"Look," Elizabeth's hand quivered as she patted his frigid shoulder, the blanket still swathing her figure, and then she glided past him, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She gazed into the water that had now eclipsed into a sea of dazzling stars, and she glanced up into the sky, realizing that it was now mirroring the waves with every quake. "It is beautiful." She announced as she grasped the railing with one hand, desiring to feel the enigmatic ocean in her hands.
"Yes, it's... Amazing." Will replied, taking a position beside her. "Elizabeth," he brought her fervent eyes to his face. "I apologize for being harsh with you about my father a few days ago." She tilted her head back toward the sea as she nodded solemnly. He tentatively announced, "I'm afraid that something troubles you more and more each day."
The cold melting away from her body, she allowed the blanket to slip off one shoulder as she responded, "My heart is troubled for the same reason that yours is, Will."
"This is a voyage of resolution then?" he asked boldly, adrenaline streamlining through his veins as the image of a union between Elizabeth and Jack Sparrow broiled over his exterior.
Elizabeth looked past the rigging, attempting to admire the stars blithely, but unable to remove the memory of Will's distressed countenance at Tia Dalma's shack. "Yes," she gently said with a concealed fiery conviction. "It is." She tapped her feet as she adjusted the furry blanket subconsciously and she spat, "Why do we always come back to this? Why can't-?" Every moment spent was wasted beneath this pressure! "Oh, this is my fault!" she shrieked, charging past Will and clambering below deck.
"Elizabeth!" he called after her, but she had already descended to the lower level. It was her fault. It was HER fault? What did that mean? Sometimes, it felt as though they were so near to revealing their secrets to one another and then, watching as if amused at their own misery, yet another bridge was incinerated. It wasn't even Elizabeth's fault that they had not reconnected as of late. Perhaps she started it, but they were both to blame for the tension and the shattered bonds. So then, what was her fault? He wondered if she had come to realize the extent of Davy Jones' sentence. Was she aware that if he, William Turner, willingly stabbed the heart, he would never see her again? Or, he wondered, did any of that matter to her? He wondered if blame played a role in Jack's death. If she felt responsible for not persuading him to come along... For not granting him more than a... than a... single kiss. He wondered how far she would have gone, if Jack and Elizabeth had a calm hour or two before his death. Would every sensation that had burned for Will in the past year erupt in that pirate's arms? Will shook his head at the thought. He didn't want Elizabeth to give her heart away to a man who would never give his full heartedly.
Avoiding another inconclusive confrontation with his loved one, Will returned to his station at the charts, still musing about her. He could not make her speak, and she would not force him to give up. Will had once thought that he never wished to hear Elizabeth say, "I love Jack. I'm leaving you for him. That is why I'm on this voyage." But now, it was what he needed to hear. He would wait an eternity for Elizabeth Swann if her heart belonged to him, but he would no longer wait for her if she did not want him back. It was wrong for her to drag him along and yet he loved that woman too damn much to tell her so. Time. That was what she needed. All she desired, wasn't it? Perhaps her time would be up once she saw Jack. Once she leapt into his arms and kissed his parched lips, pulling him from the punishment of Davy Jones' locker. Perhaps then, once she had someone to hold onto, she would tell Will without hesitation or regret. Perhaps she would apologize slightly, like she did with James Norrington, and then move on and become the person he wanted most it the world, but the one he could never have. He dared to hope that it would be different, but his delusional dreams about the pirate and the governor's daughter's reunion had haunted and influenced him. Regardless of her heart, Will wrenched his parent's knife from his belt and recollected his promise; he would rectify everything with his father by filching the Black Pearl beneath Jack and Barbossa and he would reach her, whether to say a final goodbye or to announce they could start anew. Furiously slamming the knife into the lightly snowy table, much like he did at the shack, Will sunk his head into his hands, brushing the fresh snowflakes from his face and then gripping his cheeks, unable to conjur another productive or even unproductive thought.