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Millicent pulled the cold brass handle of the gift shop door, its weight more than just metal, but heavy with so many memories. With a soft click of the key in the lock, she ended another long evening shift at the Titanic Exhibition Museum.
"Sorry, don't mind me. You all sound just lovely," she murmured with a polite smile, slipping past a cluster of carolers gathered outside. Their voices floated like ghosts in the winter air, sweet and wistful, wrapping around her as if trying to send her comfort for her lone walk home.
There hadn't been time to think about a new car.
Bills had been piling up a mountain high since she'd returned from "back then," and her Christmas to-do list now included thank-you quilts for Detective Malich, Sergeant Pierce, and half the NYPD. She still hadn't had time to think about setting money aside for picking out a new car.
Even boiling a fresh pot of Yorkshire-style tea couldn't make sorting through all the auto shop ads more bearable.
Somehow, it always felt a little like a betrayal.
Perhaps, deep down she knew that nothing could ever replace her old Honda, or bring it back from the depths of its watery grave, after accidentally crashing it at Bitter Tears Cross.
Or maybe, in a part of herself she rarely let speak, she wasn't ready to move on, and let go of the past yet.
Besides, there was something nostalgic and quietly romantic in the chilled December air brushing her face, as she walked to the subway. Where her world wasn't so small, predictable, and rational anymore, but colorful, vast, and open to any chance encounter awaiting her. As if at any moment, magic could happen, and the past would come find her again.
Or even, drag her back into it.
That 'the end of things' was still only an illusion of time lost, and at any moment, time might finally find a way to come back to her again.
But just as it should have always been, time was no longer at her side anymore.
In that one critical moment, after time had at last given her all that she could ever ask for...with him..Millie had chosen this predictable, time-worn, bitter chilly world in the end.
But she'd chosen predictable for a reason.
A reason that yet stood strong against the brutal test of time, in the heart of a shopgirl, bundled in a grey knit cardigan, taking yet another lonely walk back home.
Knowing that even if she could change her mind, and find the power to take back time, some things are final.
That's why when she passed the bus stop on her way out of the museum, she tried not to think about James.
She only laughed to herself softly, at how impossible it was that actually was, every time she passed this spot, where she and James had first met--again.
And, for heaven's sake, she worked at a bloody Titanic museum.
Everything in it reminded her of James.
The walls practically whispered his name.
'Somewhere in my memory, Christmas joys all around me...'
The carolers' song trailed behind her, only just a block away, when Millie's steps faltered. Her white converse scuffing to a halt just shy of a giggling couple taking a selfie under a lamppost.
They mashed up against each other's cheeks with excited ghosty breath in the cold air.
The girl holding up her phone camera, while her gent held up a tiny sprig of mistletoe above them, for their long-awaited Christmas Eve kiss.
Playful. Perfect. Nostalgic.
Millie stood frozen in place. Not just to avoid the photo, but because she couldn't make herself walk on anymore.
Not yet. Not with that memory rushing up to meet her like a forgotten scent of mistletoe in the air.
Christmas Eve in Scarborough, England, 1912.
All she could think about was how much she'd lost track of time.
Busy in a borrowed kitchen, sleeves rolled, apron dusted with flour, hands slick with goose fat and sausagemeat. She was so deeply focused on learning how to properly roast a goose Christmas dinner all by herself.
It was their first Christmas together, and Millie wanted everything to be perfect. Unforgettable.
Knowing this one Christmas would probably be the only lucky one in all the Christmases that was to come for her and James. The ones her sailor would inevitably miss being home with her for, due to the demands of being at sea.
At least this first Christmas would be one they'd reminisce about in letters they'd write to each other between ship ports. Wishing for another Christmas like it, to cuddle up with the other in one of his spare officer's greatcoats, and watch the snow from their bedroom window after an endless night of insatiable lovemaking between them.
The same way they'd always watched the rain together from her apartment balcony in New York, "100 years later-ago-now".
She hoped this Christmas would be the one to keep James warm on those nights out on a godforsaken sea, as he kept watch and charted his way by December stars from a shuttered wheelhouse against the chilling North Atlantic air, to ensure a safe passage of his ship during the night.
She hoped, in that moment when he ached for her warmth the way he'd enjoyed her on their very first Christmas, he would remember she loved him and that she was always waiting for him to pick up where they left off, spoiling each other with all the vows and pinky promises they had made to each other.
If this Christmas were to hold his heart, even in his darkest lonely hour at sea, Millie was determined to make it absolutely everything for him.
And being so busy making perfect happen in the Moodys' kitchen, chopping up onion and sausagemeat for stuffing, she stopped only a moment to wipe her hands on her apron, turning her eyes up to the crimson ribboned ivy, yew, laurel, handmade paper chains, and dried herbs hanging over the wood beams above her and the wood stove.
Only to discover that her sage had been quietly switched out for mistletoe without her knowing it.
James Moody leaned against the pantry door. His angelic halo for golden brown hair slicked with pomade, long white sleeves folded neatly above his elbows, with his arms crossed over his chocolate casual waistcoat. Casually whistling along with the gramophone playing 'Twelve Days of Christmas', as if it was all just the damnedest of coincidences that the mistletoe had appeared.
A man happy and completely at home.
Completely hers.
"Alright, Mrs. Moody?" he greeted her warmly. "I was only just asking myself why I was missing my wife so terribly, and here I find you, busy as a honeybee."
Then his soft blue forget-me-not eyes dragged up casually to the mistletoe that hung conveniently at just the right level for his towering height.
"Blimey, can't imagine how that blighter got way up there," he'd grinned cheekily at Millie, as he strolled over to her.
Wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and untangling the knife out of her busy hand to set it down on the table for her.
He snuggled his nose into her loosely braided bun, murmuring something about her smelling exactly like sponge cake in sherry, mingled with a hint of wood smoke. She could barely breathe for the ache of it, the love of it.
"You do Christmas right out of a storybook, you know. Though...it doesn't have to be Christmas at Downton, my love," he reminded her, as he sampled a few roasted almonds drizzled with melted chocolate on the counter. "It's only us two tonight. Should you 'appen to let dinner go to rack and ruin for coming to bed with me, no one will be any wiser for it."
"I will know," Millie said, slapping his hand away from the almond dessert basket. "And will you stop sneaking into the food when I'm not looking?"
"Oh? I thought these were for me."
"It's not even ready yet," she shooed him. "Out! Out of the kitchen."
"Have it your way then. Keep your delicious almonds covered in irresistible rich, mouth-watering, homemade chocolate sauce," James lamented, stealthily stealing one last almond from her basket, before she could whack him with her kitchen cloth again. "Hope you don't mind, I'm taking this bit of sweet with me."
And without warning, he scooped Millicent up into his arms, forcing her away from her rigorous chopping.
"James!"
"It's only fair."
"James, what are you--I'm never going to get anything done with you in here! Chris! Christopher! Come get James! He's being a brat!"
"He can't hear you, love. He and Mrs. Annie have gone off to deliver a gooseberry pie to the orphanage. It's just you and I here now."
"Only I'm working," Millie reminded him, wiggling out of his arms to be put safely back on her feet.
"Too bloody much, for my taste. I've done all the working for us both these last two months I was kept away from you at sea, and I'm afraid I must insist on stealing you from this kitchen, if you will not oblige us both by doing yourself the favor."
"Fine," Millie gave in, ripping off her apron and flinging it onto the kitchen table, pulling him into her by his starched collar and smothering him with a kiss. "I hope you like cold goose then, because a microwave hasn't been invented yet."
"Fine," James was more than willing to compromise. "The goose can manage well enough on his own. It's you I want to partake of more right now."
James stooped his head down to steal one more long, indulgent, chocolatey mistletoe kiss from her, before his lips moved up to lightly peck her nose, and then up further still, to spoil her with one last kiss on her sherry scented hair.
"Merry Christmas, my darling wife," he had whispered tenderly to her. " The first of many happy ones to come for us."
The camera phone flashed twice, and the kiss was over.
The couple moved on, arms locked around each other's elbow as they wobbled tweedle-dee-tweedle-dum up the sidewalk together, oblivious and happy for each other's warmth.
Time moving forward.
Millie lingering behind.
Standing in the breath of a distant memory, she tried not to well up for the ghost of mistletoe, or for the sailor who once kissed her so affectionately underneath it. Pressing her gloved fingers to her lips, as if the essence of James's kiss still lingered there, fragile as ice, and painfully bittersweet.