Chapter 11

It was still snowing. Will was lounging on a window seat in the living room, watching the soft, gleaming flakes carpet the ground. He had always loved snow. It was soothing and beautiful, and he had loved to play in it as a child. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool glass.

There were some memories of his childhood that he would have given almost anything to forget; there were certain others, though, that he wanted to remember for the rest of his life. The winter he had turned twelve, there had been a blizzard, bigger than any he had ever seen. School had been cancelled for a week and a half. It was five days before the snow even let up enough for him to walk the short distances to his friend's houses. During those first five days, he hadn't gone any farther than his own front yard.

His mother had already been sick then, he remembered, but snow had always had an effect on her. She had loved it even more than Will had, and every time it snowed, no matter how bitterly cold it was, she always seemed to feel just a little better. After four days of a solid whiteout, she had been all but floating around the house, practically glowing, looking healthier than she had in months. One morning, when Will was pulling on his coat, hat, gloves, and boots, she had joined him, going outside to play with him for the first time since she had gotten sick.

They had built a snowman together. Will was too small and his mother was too weak to lift the heavy balls of snow for the body and head, but they had found some old boards in the garage, and together they were able to roll the snowman's body into place. They had made a face for him out of the stones that bordered a long-neglected garden, and completed the scene with an old baseball cap and scarf. Will vaguely remembered that the hat had once belonged to his father. It had blown away in the wind the night after they built the snowman. His mother hadn't seemed to mind.

That was one of very few good memories Will had from that year. It was one of the best he had of his mother. It was the last winter they spent together, the last Christmas. By the end of that summer, she was dead. She was dead and buried, and before Will even knew it, his entire life was packed away in boxes to be shipped to London, to the father he barely knew, who hadn't even come to his mother's funeral.

But for that one day, she had smiled again, she had laughed, and Will would never forget the sound. He had heard it so few times throughout his childhood, but it had stayed with him. It always would, even though he would never hear it again.

Leaning against the window, his breath fogging the cold glass, Will felt a few tears spill down his cheek.

"Will?"

He looked around, saw that Elizabeth was awake on the couch. He quickly wiped his face, hoping she hadn't noticed anything. "Hey."

Elizabeth stood up, came over to stand next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Will said, a little too quickly. "I'm fine. I was just… remembering something." He smiled unconvincingly. "Come here." Reaching up, he pulled her onto the window seat next to him, feeling her curl up and snuggle into his arms.

"Remembering what?" she asked softly.

"My mother," Will answered quietly, wiping at the window with his sleeve. "The last winter before she died. It was a good one… well, there was one good day, at least."

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. "I miss my mom on Christmas, too."

Will smiled halfheartedly, said bluntly, "Look at us, talking about our dead parents on Christmas. Cheerful, isn't it?"

Elizabeth had to laugh. She pressed closer to him. "Merry Christmas, Will."

He kissed the top of her head. "Merry Christmas, love."

"Will…" Elizabeth said after a few minute's silence. "Your pocket is vibrating."

"So it is." He dug out his phone. "It's Jack."

"Where is he today?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"With Ana and her family," Will replied, smirking slightly. "Pretty sure they hate each other." He answered the phone. "Hey, Jack… No, I am not going to come "save" you. Especially not if you keep calling me Willy…"

Elizabeth let out a snort of laughter. Will poked her lightly, making her laugh even harder.

"Yeah, that's Elizabeth," Will said into the phone, apparently answering a question from Jack. "She's laughing 'cause she thinks you're an idiot… Damn, Jack, suck it up! Her parents are not that bad!... They do not hate you – well, per se…"

Bill came out into the living room. "Jack?" he questioned silently.

Will nodded, rolling his eyes. "Jack. Jack. Are you even listening to me? I've gotta go make breakfast… Because I make breakfast every Christmas… Because I like to cook, you sodding idiot!... Gimme a break… Jack, I'm going to hang up… Fine, I won't. But I'm handing you off to my dad."

"Oh no, you're not – " Bill said hurriedly.

Not taking no for an answer, Will shoved the phone into his hand. "Here he is, Jack!" He hastily escaped into the kitchen.

Bill sighed resignedly, raised the phone to his ear. "Hi, Jack… What do you mean 'is this Bill?' Don't you listen to anything anyone says?"

Elizabeth was giggling so hard she could barely catch her breath. "Does this usually happen?" she asked, joining Will in the kitchen.

He grinned, listening to his father's futile attempts to placate his friend. "Every year. It's practically tradition at this point. Jack's annual punishment for all the ridiculous things he does to me throughout the year."

Elizabeth laughed. "So, when we first met, and he told me you'd said you wanted to marry me…?"

"That was the year Ana told her parents that he'd talked her into getting a tattoo. She called me so I could listen in. I thought they were going to kill him. It was beautiful," he said cheerfully. "And you want to know what the best part was?"

"What?"

"Ana doesn't even have a tattoo. It was fake."

"That was a little harsh, wasn't it?" Elizabeth laughed. She leaned across the island counter toward Will. "I, for one, am quite glad that he told me you wanted to marry me."

Will kissed her, grinning. "Me, too. But he still deserved it."

"That was good."

"Thanks."

"Where did you learn to cook?"

"Taught myself."

"Oh, really?"

"Mm-hm. Because when I first moved in with Dad, he couldn't cook worth a damn," Will grinned.

Bill tousled his hair on his way past the couch. "My skill in the kitchen has since improved," he assured Elizabeth. He tossed a couple of packages into Will's lap. "Those are for you two."

Will reached over the back of the couch and pulled two boxes out of his duffel bag. "And these are for you – " He handed one to his dad. " – and you." He handed the other to Elizabeth.

"Hang on a minute…" Elizabeth got up and went to the closet where they'd stowed their bags the night before, returning with a soft package, which she handed to Will. "That's for you. Who's first?"

"You," Will and Bill answered in unison.

Elizabeth shook her head. "I swear you two are actually twins."

"We have a theory about that, actually," Will said with a grin. "I'll explain later."

Elizabeth tore the layers of paper and messy tape off of the gift Will had given her, reminding herself that she needed to teach him how to properly wrap things. He never could get it right, but his efforts were adorable nonetheless. She crumpled the shiny red paper, uncovering a long, thin box.

Inside was a sword. It was very elegant, entirely silver with two small sapphires set into the hilt. She lifted it carefully, delighted to find that it was the perfect fit for her hand. She laughed happily.

"So I finally get that sword I asked about two years ago." She wrapped one arm around Will's neck, kissed him softly. "It's beautiful. I love it."

Will grinned, obviously pleased. "It's not sharpened yet, by the way. I'm going to teach you how to use a sword before I hand you one that's razor sharp."

"That's fair," Elizabeth giggled. "All right, open yours now."

Will's gift from Elizabeth turned out to be a brand new, black leather jacket and gloves.

He let out a low whistle, grinned. "These probably cost more than my bike did!"

"Maybe, but your threadbare high school letterman's jacket was getting to be a bit of an eyesore, love," Elizabeth teased. "If you're going to be tearing around London on a motorcycle, I think you should at least look the part."

Will pulled her into a hug. "Thanks, love. But you know I'm still not actually getting rid of the letterman's jacket, right?"

"I know," Elizabeth answered, rolling her eyes with a smile. "But as long as you stop wearing it in public, I'll be happy."

Will kissed the top of her head, still grinning. "Fair enough. You're up, Dad."

Bill tore the paper off of his gift from Will, revealing a stack of four books.

"First editions," Will said proudly. "The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit." In response to Elizabeth's questioning look, he explained, "Dad collects antique books; first editions, when he can get them. That's what I get him for Christmas every year."

"These are in fantastic shape," Bill said, sounding impressed. "Where'd you find them?"

"A shop," Will said. "But I'm not telling you where, because knowing you, you'll buy their entire inventory, and I'll have to go back to spending hours on eBay to find your Christmas presents." As Bill continued to examine the books, Will added to Elizabeth, "Actually, those specific books are a bit of an inside joke. Dad thinks I look like that one guy from the movies – Dad, what's his name again? The elf guy with the arrows?"

"Legolas."

"Yeah, him. He thinks I look like him."

"That's because you do look like him," Bill said. "You look exactly like him."

Will made a face. "I don't see it. He has blond hair, doesn't he?"

"That's just a wig. The actor was brown hair like yours. Orlando something, I think."

"Orlando Bloom," Elizabeth supplied, grinning. "Now that you mention it, Will does look an awful lot like him."

"I do not!"

Elizabeth pulled up a picture on her phone, held it next to Will. "Identical," she giggled. "You two are identical."

Will stared at the picture critically. "He looks nothing like me. His hair's too short. And what's up with that mustache?"

"I think you would look sexy with a mustache."

"Are you about to ask me to grow a mustache?"

"Would you grow a mustache if I asked you to?"

"No."

"Please?" She looked up at him pleadingly.

"…Maybe."

She laughed. "You're so easy."

Will turned red, quickly dropped her gift from Bill into her lap. "Here."

"You're good at changing the subject," Elizabeth teased as she pulled the wrapping off.

He shot her a grin. "It's a practiced skill."

Elizabeth pulled the lid off of the small box, letting out a small exclamation of surprise. "Oh!"

Will peered curiously over her shoulder, and saw that the box contained a silver charm bracelet. It was surprisingly familiar.

"Is – is that – ?"

Bill nodded, said to Elizabeth, "That bracelet belonged to Will's mother, and his grandmother before her."

"Are you sure you want me to have this?" Elizabeth asked quietly.

"Absolutely. Especially now that you've decided that you're definitely getting married someday."

Will leaned over, looking closely at the bracelet, his fingertips brushing a few of the charms. "I didn't know you'd kept it…" he whispered softly, his voice sounding far away.

"Then you'll probably be even more surprised in a minute," Bill said wryly. "Open yours."

Will did, revealing a worn black photo album. It looked rather old, but he couldn't recall seeing it before. He opened it to the first page.

It was a cover page, and there was just one photo: a pretty young woman sat in a hospital bed, tired-looking, but smiling broadly. In her arms, wrapped in a blue blanket, was a tiny baby boy. And sitting next to the bed, looking exactly like Will himself, was Bill Turner.

"That's your mother?" Elizabeth whispered.

Will nodded silently, slowly turning the pages. The first few were all baby pictures: Will as an infant with wide brown eyes and wispy curls that hung down over his forehead. Gradually, he grew into a toddler, holding onto his parent's hands as he took his first steps, then finally walking on his own, back and forth between his mother and father. Then he grew a bit older, Elizabeth guessed about three years old, and suddenly Bill vanished from the photos – vanished from our lives, Will thought sadly, when I was barely old enough to remember him. He continued turning the pages, and Jack Sparrow began to appear here and there, building seven-year-old Will a toy boat, theatrically pretending to be dead while Will stood over him, happily brandishing a small wooden sword.

Elizabeth laughed. "How old was he then?"

"Sixteen," Will grinned. "He wasn't such a sore loser at that age."

The pictures continued until Will was twelve, and then the pages were suddenly blank. No more photos. No more memories. Will sat motionless, staring at the very last snapshot in the book. It showed himself and his mother, standing on either side of a huge snowman. They looked so happy.

Bill leaned forward, looking at the photo that had his son so transfixed. "She always did love the snow," he whispered softly.

Will nodded slowly. "Yeah… she did." He closed the book. "Where did this come from?"

"I found it in the things they sent with you after she died."

"Why didn't you show it to me then?" Will asked, confused.

"I mean I just found it," Bill clarified. "Some of those boxes I never even opened until just recently. I couldn't bring myself to do it for a long time." He shrugged. "I figured you would want it."

"Yeah." Will traced the pattern on the cover with his finger. "Thanks, Dad."

"Merry Christmas, kiddo," Bill said affectionately.

Will smiled slightly. "Merry Christmas."

Merry Christmas, everyone! (And remember, the best Christmas presents for authors are lots and lots of reviews!)