AN: The Christmas custom of kissing under the mistletoe can be traced back hundreds of years. The 18th century English celebrated the custom of the "kissing ball". Much like today, the custom dictated that a young woman standing beneath a bouquet of mistletoe could not refuse to be kissed. However, in order to keep things from getting too far out of hand, a certain rule was supposed to be applied to this custom: Every time a man stole a kiss under the mistletoe, one berry should be plucked from the bouquet. When all the berries were gone, the guilt-free kissing was also supposed to end, and standards of propriety were to be firmly back in place.

The Journey Home

◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊◊

Elizabeth stood at the ship's rail silently regarding the blanket of stars overhead, feeling insignificant in the midst of their wonder. It had been more than two months since they had set sail, marking the first time she had been out of the familiar Caribbean waters since she was a little girl. With everything that had happened in the months before, all that had occurred to bring her here on this night, it was easy to forget the simpler things, to lose track of time. She couldn't rightly say exactly what had brought it to her mind, but she had realized earlier that morning that today marked the eve of Christmas, and she had nearly forgotten - one more reason to chastise herself. As a soft breeze swept across her face, she smiled mirthlessly. By now it must be nigh onto midnight - Christmas day - yet no one else seemed to notice, either. Perhaps she shouldn't feel so badly. Then again, it was her adherement to those "simple" sentimental values that had set her apart from the iniquitous men she sailed with. Maybe she wasn't very different from them, after all. Hadn't she already proven that?

The sound of quiet footsteps behind her broke her reverie. She needn't turn around to know who they belonged to, and her heart betrayed her, already quickening at the knowledge. She wanted nothing more than to go to him and be held in his arms, tonight of all nights, but she knew she didn't deserve that; she didn't deserve him. Her heart, which had rejoiced at the very presence of his, sank once more as it remembered the unworthy wretch she had become. Still, her heart begged, it was Christmas. Couldn't she push the guilt aside? Couldn't she put off her punishment, if only for a little while? Surely it wouldn't be wrong to allow herself one night – one hour even – to forget, to pretend things were as before.

She turned towards Will and smiled warmly. He was surprised, but elated, by her reception and, with equal tenderness, readily returned her smile.

"You're thinking of home," he said gently, a statement, not a question.

Even now, he knew her so well – but not all of her, not the secret, ugly part she wished even she knew nothing of. He did not know the darkness she had been capable of, darkness which she daily lived in dread of him ever knowing. She would never be able to bear the look of shame and disappointment in his eyes whenever he looked at her.

She turned away from him, looking back out to sea, as a silence fell between them. At length, it was Elizabeth who broke it.

"We're so very far away from home, aren't we, Will?"

His heart ached at the anguish he heard in her voice, understanding she referred to so much more than Port Royal.

"Yes, we are. But the beauty of home is that, regardless of what's happened, you can always turn round and go back."

Her heart flooded with longing and she squeezed the railing tighter. If only it were that easy, she thought.

"But it's never the same, is it?" Elizabeth replied.

"Perhaps not, but those who truly love you will always welcome you back with open arms."

Elizabeth bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes, as she nodded. Will reached out and placed his hand over hers on the railing, encouraged when she did not move away from his touch. Another silence followed as he kept her hand firmly within his.

"What do you suppose my father is doing right now?" Elizabeth asked, still unable to bring herself to look at him.

"Missing you, as you are him."

"I don't know what's the matter with me," she continued. "I suppose it's just Christmas, my first spent away from him."

Will squeezed her hand tenderly. This was enough to cause her to turn back towards him. Doing so, she found herself nearly in his arms, and a tension fell between them as they fought the overwhelming desire to propel themselves at one another and seek refuge - the comfort only the other could provide.

After a moment, Will took a step backward, giving Elizabeth her space. A noise was heard across the ship, drawing their attention to a member of the ragtag crew they sailed with scuttling below deck. Taking it all in, Elizabeth couldn't help but smile.

"Do you think we're the only ones here who even remember the holiday?" she asked.

Will laughed, his face alight with that irresistible smile of his, the one borne only of pure amusement. At the sight, her heart yearned for him so much it was difficult to breathe.

Will registered pain – or was that longing – in her eyes.

"You look tired," he said softly, tentatively reaching up and brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face. "Are you still not sleeping well?"

Elizabeth attempted to laugh off his question, but something in her eyes gave him pause.

"Enough," she vaguely replied. Endeavoring to change the subject, she added, "More than I would have ten years ago at this time."

Again, Will smiled, and again her heart called out to him. She hastily looked away.

"Yes, as a young girl, you always loved Christmas. You would be nearly giddy with excitement….You were baffled that first year to discover that I didn't share your enthusiasm for the holiday."

Elizabeth's smile twisted into a frown, but it refused to reach her eyes, which continued to dance at the memories.

"No little boy should have to go without Christmas."

Will smiled lovingly. "And you saw to it that I never would again."

The softness in his voice overcame any remaining objections, and Elizabeth glanced up at him. Their eyes met and, in that instant, their two hearts were drawn together, entwined as much now as ever before, completely oblivious to the circumstances each believed had come between them, keeping them apart.

Will took a step towards her.

"Elizabeth, do you remember last Christmas?"

She smiled genuinely. "Yes." After a pause, in which Will could see she was struggling with herself, she said, "I seem to recall developing a rather large fondness for mistletoe." At the last word, she held his gaze and what she saw there - what she hadn't seen from him in a very long time - caused her to grow suddenly shy, and she averted her eyes from his.

In the midst of their estrangement, there was a selfish part of Will, one he refused to acknowledged in the daylight, that screamed he should have taken her, known her and loved her when he had the chance, when she was there before him willing, wanting, offering herself – heart, soul, and body. Now he would never taste the beauty of it, never live the memory that could have lasted him a lifetime. Yet, the greater part of him, the selfless part, concerned only with Elizabeth's wellbeing and happiness, knew that he had done right by her, and that was all that truly mattered.

Elizabeth disrupted these thoughts as she unexpectedly added, "I remember spending quite a bit of time beneath that mistletoe."

Despite his earlier resolve, Will could not resist stepping still closer.

"You insisted I hang a bunch in the smithy."

Her smile was his answer, as she blushed a delightful hue at the memory of the end result. He took the final step toward her, leaving them merely inches apart. Elizabeth was now suddenly aware of his closeness, her body reacting to him in ways she never had been able to control.

"Quite improperly," he said, "I refused to pluck a single berry."

"I wouldn't have allowed your lips away from mine long enough to do so."

Will couldn't say what had brought on this sudden boldness but, on this starry night, he could almost forget they were aboard a pirate ship. Tonight, they seemed nearly as they once had been, when there was no concern for Dead Man's Chests, cursed fathers, or leviathans – when she still loved him.

"I'm afraid there's no mistletoe here," Will whispered softly, closing the rest of the distance between them, carefully watching for her reaction. When she didn't shy away from him or hesitate in the least, he continued. "Still, it is Christmas."

His tone - the tone - was her final undoing.

"Elizabeth," he murmured, tenderly cupping her face and bringing his lips to hers for the first time in months.

She sighed against his lips, feeling truly alive again. A nagging corner of her mind persisted in shouting that she didn't deserve this, his tenderness, his love, but she silenced it. She loved him. She needed him. And tonight, even if it was wrong, she would take whatever he offered.

Elizabeth's arms made their way around Will's neck, her fingers entwining in his hair in ways she had banished to her dreams, forbidding herself such bliss in waking hours. Feeling her shy tongue tentatively seeking his, he deepened the kiss, moving a hand to her waist and holding her closely to him. His body longed for her - as much now as ever before - his desire heightened, in fact, by barren weeks without so much as an accidental brush of hands. He wanted her. He wanted her desperately, and he knew she felt his need. Even now, she was pressing herself further against him – teasing him, tempting him – as she had all those many secret nights in her garden, on their secluded beach, at his smithy.

Elizabeth gave forth a soft sigh, slipping her hand into his shirt. Feeling her fingernails trail across his bare chest, Will wanted nothing more than to take her below deck and live the wedding night that had been stolen from them….But it had been stolen. They were not man and wife, as they should have been. She was not his to take now any more than she had been all those nights before – even less so, for he now doubted how securely he held her heart, or if it was already lost to another. If he would not yield to his desire - to his love - for her before, he certainly could not do so now.

Regretfully, Will broke the kiss, not knowing when – or if – he would ever hold her so again. For a moment, they silently stood regarding one another, struggling to catch their breath. In spite of the awkward potential of the situation, Elizabeth did not look away from him. In her eyes, Will saw desire, affection….and sorrow, for what he could not – or was it would not? – say. His nagging fear was only heightened when, unlike those many other nights, she made no further efforts of seduction. Still, he gently pressed his forehead to hers, taking in her scent, remembering her softness, before slowly stepping away and releasing her.

Elizabeth sighed and averted her gaze. Whatever breakthrough Will had made seemed to be at an end, as her carefully placed guard fell back into position once more. For a moment, she returned her eyes to his, feeling tears stinging within them. If he only knew, her conscience tormented her. If he only knew what you have done, he would never kiss you so again. If he knew….If he knew….If he knew….Someday, he will know….Someday, he will find out.

Elizabeth shook her head, frantically trying to silence the sickening guilt.

"No!" she brokenly uttered.

Mistaking her meaning, Will nodded resignedly and turned away, beginning to head back below deck. Elizabeth reached out and took hold of his hand, stopping him. Surprised, he turned to face her. She looked at him with desperation evident in her eyes, wanting so much to tell him, yet at an utter loss as to what to say, how to make him understand.

With a sigh, she finally settled on, "Merry Christmas, Will."

"Merry Christmas, Elizabeth."

He smiled warmly at her, a smile full of love, one she could not help returning. If Will was right, if there was a way to go home again, Elizabeth was determined to find it. She was convinced, now more than ever, that finding Jack - righting the wrong she had done, silencing that torturous voice - was the first step on a journey she would see through to the very end of the Earth – the journey back home, to Will.