The cold is what wakes him. It is utterly dark, utterly quiet, and he's shivering in his sleep. He opens his eyes and curls deeply into his blankets. He gathers them close to his body. He doesn't want to leave the meager protection of warmth offered to him by his bed, but he feels somehow compelled. There is something out there, in the world beyond his door, that calls his attention.

He bundles up and slips into his slippers. He turns the knob and braces himself.

As expected, there is a figure in his living room. Light filters in from the window, streetlight and moonlight, and the faint colored glow of Christmas lights across the way, but the room itself is dark. The figure is dark, too. He's draped in a hood that hides his face. He stands utterly still and silent. The cold seems to come from him.

"Hello?" calls Kurt, tentative, as he approaches.

The spirit says nothing.

"Who are you? I mean, you're the Ghost of Christmas Future, obviously, but who do you look like?"

Still nothing.

"Okay. Guess we're not talking, then. That rules out Rachel."

The spirit reaches out a black-gloved hand.

Kurt sighs.

"Fine. Let's get this over with."

The jump is sudden. There is no melting, no flying, just the blink of an eye between this place and the next.

It's Blaine's apartment. The furniture configuration has changed and the tree has new, multi-colored lights this year, but the room is otherwise the same.

Cooper is lounging in the armchair. His hair is starting to show signs of graying at the temples, and his handsomeness has turned rugged over the years, with sharper, deeper lines chiseling his face, but his eyes are just as blue.

Blaine is on the couch, leaning into someone's side. It takes Kurt just a moment to place him, even though he's only seen him once. It was very recent, after all.

Blaine is snug against the man's body, their dips and curves fitting together like puzzle pieces. He's looking at something in his lap, and the man is looking at him, just as adoring and quite a bit more knowing than he did when they first met.

"Don't you think you should wait until Mom gets back? You know she won't like you doing this without her." Cooper smirks, betraying the tease for what it is. Blaine shoots him a look.

"No. You do not get to enjoy this just because you've been through it already. You're supposed to be helping me."

"What do you think I'm doing? Do you really think I need a dozen eggs on Christmas Day? I made Katrina promise to give us an hour, at least. Devon's in on it, too."

Blaine's eyebrows lift.

"He is?"

"He's been instructed to feel a keen sense of longing for the swings as soon as they come across the playground."

"Did you coach him?"

Cooper waggles his eyebrows.

"Oh, I would expect to see some pointing."

Blaine laughs.

"Thanks, Coop. It means a lot that you'd do that for me."

"Hey, don't thank me. The boy needs practice if he's going to get into the biz like his old man."

The man, Blaine's boyfriend, presumably, smiles and rubs his hand over the bare skin of Blaine's arm.

"Let's address some wedding invitations, shall we?"

Blaine looks up at him with a soft, affectionate smile. He presses a kiss to his lips.

Kurt's stomach plummets. He turns to the spirit.

"Is that enough?"

The spirit - surprise, surprise - says nothing. He points one long, slender finger to the scene in front of them. There's an improbably large stack of completed invitations already on the table.

"How did - " Kurt cuts himself off. "Why bother?" he mutters. He turns his attention reluctantly back to the scene in front of him.

"Kurt Hummel?" he hears. He almost jumps out of his skin. Can they see him?

It's the fiancé, and he's looking at an invitation that Blaine has just added to the stack. His brow is furrowed and his head cocked in confusion.

"Who is that?"

Blaine looks up.

"An old friend."

"How come I've never heard of him?"

"Because he's a jackass."

That's from Cooper, and even though Kurt understands why Cooper of all people might say that, it still hurts. Blaine turns to glare at him.

"Cooper."

"Okay, fine. He's not a jackass. He's woefully misunderstood."

Blaine magnanimously ignores Cooper's sarcasm and turns back to his fiancé.

"I've known him since high school. We were best friends for a long time." Cooper is practically shooting lasers of skepticism out of his eyes. Blaine can't help but glance at him. "He was my first boyfriend, too. We went through a lot together, and I wouldn't feel right not inviting him to my wedding."

"They haven't seen each other in years."

"Coop." He turns his full attention to the fiancé, who's wearing the most neutral expression he can conjure. "He's a very busy person. We e-mail sometimes. It's really not a big deal."

"Okay," says the fiancé, rubbing a soothing hand down Blaine's thigh. "I just figured I should know who he is, if he's coming to our wedding."

"Oh, he won't be coming," puts in Cooper.

Blaine's smile is sad at best.

"No," he agrees. "He probably won't."

It isn't rare that Kurt has wished for the ability to jump into the scene he's witnessing and change it for the better, but this time is one of the strongest. He's never, ever wanted Blaine to look like that because of him. Not even when he was 18 and learning for the first time that love isn't a thing that can conquer all obstacles.

He'd reach out if he could, and touch. He'd tell Blaine how grateful he is that he hasn't given up and promise to be there from now on. He'd pull Blaine to him and feel the contours of his body as they lock into his as easy as a song.

But he can't.

The spirit's hand is cold, even through the leather of his glove. Still, he says nothing. In the next blink, they're somewhere new.

It's a different apartment, bigger - gigantic, actually, for New York standards - and probably brighter in the daytime. There's a picture window in the living room whose view of the skyline is so gorgeous that Kurt knows immediately how expensive the rent must be. Matilda, fully grown, is curled up on Blaine's old armchair. Two men are standing by the entrance, having just come in, taking off their outer layers and chatting comfortably. Kurt doesn't have to look to know who they are, but he does anyway.

"...and his face when Katrina brought out the flambé! He was literally seconds away from calling the fire department."

Blaine's face is open and shining with laughter that his fiancé (husband?) doesn't seem to share.

"Yeah, he's a pretty priceless kid."

"God, yeah. He takes after Cooper, don't you think? His little face is so...expressive." He snorts. "I thought he was going keel over with joy when he saw the mound of presents Santa brought him."

"I have a feeling that your brother may be spoiling him."

"Not to mention Mom and Dad. He is the only grandkid, after all."

His smile has a bitter twist this time. The probably-husband-by-now slips his hands around Blaine's waist to the small of his back and pulls him closer.

"Don't let them get to you. It's our life, not theirs."

Blaine looks away.

"I know that. I mean, it's practically my philosophy of life."

"Baby, listen." He waits for Blaine's eyes to come back to his. When they do, Kurt can see from where he's standing that the shutters have come down. "You're all the family I need."

He means it to be sweet and comforting. That's not the way Blaine takes it.

"Josh. We said we weren't going to do this today."

"I'm not doing anything."

Blaine's jaw tightens. He pulls away, moves to sit on the couch. He hugs his arms wearily to his stomach.

"Well, maybe we should. It's out, now. I'm tired of having this thing between us and always having to pretend it isn't there. It is, and we should talk about it like the rational adults that we are."

Josh sits cautiously, at the other end of the couch.

"I don't know what good you think is going to come out of this, Blaine. You know how I feel."

"Well, maybe you don't know how I feel."

The argument is unbearably familiar. Kurt can practically see the broken sharp shards of the past digging into Blaine as he tries desperately to navigate the two of them to safer waters.

Josh doesn't make Kurt's mistakes.

"Tell me, then."

"I want a family."

"You have one, don't you? I'm your family. I thought that was the point of this marriage."

"It is. You are. But I want to raise a child, Josh. I made that clear to you from the start."

"I thought - "

"You told me you wanted to wait, and I believed you. I let myself make all of these plans and dream all of these dreams, and then you drop this bombshell and tell me that you were lying? I really don't know what you want me to do here."

"I never lied to you. I wasn't ready. I'm still not ready."

"No, of course you're not, because you'll never be ready. You told me yourself - you hate kids, you've never wanted any for yourself, you always thought that being gay would make that okay."

"Blaine, I just want you - is that really so bad?"

Blaine sighs.

"No, it's not."

Josh moves closer, takes Blaine's hand in his. It stays limp.

He opens his mouth - Blaine cuts him off.

"But this isn't something that I'm willing to compromise on."

Josh gapes at him.

"What are you saying?"

Blaine starts to speak, then bites his lip.

"I'm saying we need to make some decisions. That's all."

"Decisions? Blaine, I made my decision the day I asked you to marry me - hell, the day I met you. I want you and everything that's yours for the rest of my life. That's it. I love you."

Blaine laughs, bitter and rough with scars.

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that love is rarely enough."

"What are you - " He stops. His face is written all over with panic. "Okay, you win. If a kid is something you need, then I'd be willing to talk about it."

Blaine reaches out a hand and cups his husband's jaw in his palm. He runs a soothing thumb over his cheek.

"No. You shouldn't have to compromise either, not when it comes to this."

"So where does that leave us?"

Small, raw, eyes wide and scared.

Blaine keeps his gaze steady.

"I don't know."

There's a beat, then two. Blaine opens his arms and Josh rushes to snuggle down against his chest, clutching into him like he's afraid Blaine will walk away at any moment.

"It's okay," says Blaine, softly. "I love you, I swear. Tonight, I'm still yours."

Kurt feels the hand at his elbow and flinches. He wasn't ready to go, but then, he's never really had a say in any of this.

They're outside this time. The snow underfoot is old and slushy, but, thank God, doesn't soak into Kurt's slippers. They're in front of a house that Kurt would be more inclined to call a mansion, with little white lights trimming the edges of the roof. There's a man trudging up to the front stoop. Even from the back, even in the dark, Kurt knows that it's Blaine. His hair is loose and curly, almost wild, as if the wind or someone's hand has been running through it.

He's rung the doorbell by the time Kurt catches up to him. It's been several years since the last Christmas, and Kurt can see them in the deepening laugh lines around Blaine's eyes. Tonight, he looks...sad.

It takes only moments for the door to open. On the other side is Rachel, beaming smile collapsing quickly to worry when she sees Blaine.

"Come in, come in," she says, stepping aside to allow him passage. "Have you eaten? I bet you haven't. I saved you a portion of lasagna just in case."

She takes his coat and his scarf and hangs them in the hall closet.

"That would be great, Rach. We were in the middle of breakfast when I got the call."

She nods and scurries to the kitchen, calling out, "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll be out in a sec."

Blaine walks into what appears to be a living room, littered with toys fit for a young child. Blaine picks up a well-worn stuffed cat and smiles fondly. He settles wearily into the couch cushions and closes his eyes, still holding the poor, pathetic cat.

Rachel is out only moments later, a steaming plate of lasagna and a glass of red wine in hand. She places them on the coffee table in front of Blaine. He opens his eyes and smiles, gratefully.

"Thanks. Is she down for the night?"

"In bed no later than 8, just like you said. I had to sing about five goodnight songs before she'd agree to sleep. It seems that I don't have your touch."

"It's tradition. I wouldn't take it personally."

She smiles. It quickly fades.

"So. What happened?"

Blaine sighs, deep and heavy, and closes his eyes briefly.

"Appendicitis. His appendix burst, about three days ago, they think. The police found him last night, when his neighbor called in a complaint about the noise coming from his bedroom. His alarm was apparently very loud."

"Oh, God."

Kurt has a horrible, sinking feeling that he knows exactly who they're talking about. He pushes it aside - he can't think about that. He watches in silence.

"Thanks for taking care of the calls, by the way. They got in this afternoon."

"Have...arrangements been made?"

"He wanted to be cremated. They're taking him back with them. So he can be with his parents."

Until now, his tone has managed to remain detached. His voice cracks. He closes his eyes tightly, but he can't stop the leak of tears out the corners.

"Oh, Blaine."

Rachel gathers him close in her small arms. She's blinking back her own tears.

"I just keep thinking. If I'd just tried harder..."

His voice is barely audible, muffled by Rachel's shoulder.

"No. It was his choice. You couldn't make it for him, or change it. We were the best friends to him we could be."

He sniffs, straightens a little.

"I know. It's just - he didn't have anyone else, Rachel. I was the one they called."

"I know."

"I just wish..." He trails off. She rubs his arm comfortingly.

"How was Carole? And..."

"She's the strongest person I know. And you know how Finn is - he's always been at his best during a crisis."

"We'll have to visit, soon. Are they having a service?"

"They decided to wait until after the holidays."

"Everyone will come. We'll make sure of it," she says, fiercely.

Blaine smiles.

"Yeah."

They lean into each other and sit in silence, Blaine's food going cold in front of them.

Kurt isn't sure how much time has passed. More, probably, than it seems. Finally, Rachel stirs.

"Will you stay here tonight?"

Blaine hesitates. He glances up, toward the second story. Rachel bites her lip.

"I'd rather not be alone," she admits. "This house always feels so big when the kids are with Mark."

Blaine's eyes soften.

"Of course I will. I'd rather not cart Maiah all the way home if I can help it, anyway."

Rachel smiles, relieved.

"I'll go make up the guest room for you."

Blaine nods.

"I think I'll go say goodnight. I promised she'd see me before Christmas was over."

The spirit's finger brushes slightly against Kurt's, and he jumps, startled anew at the chill. The next thing he knows, they're with Blaine in a room that can only be a child's. A mosaic of stars glows on the ceiling. A nightlight in the shape of a cartoon character that Kurt doesn't recognize gives the room a warm light.

Blaine kneels by the bed, where a head of dark hair is turned toward the wall. He brushes a strand of hair off of her cheek with one gentle finger.

She's a beautiful child, chubby-cheeked with long, dark lashes.

Blaine watches her for a few moments, expression full of love.

"Maiah," he whispers. "Wake up, sweetpea."

She stirs, blinking awake, a frown on her face until her eyes light on Blaine.

"Daddy!"

Suddenly awake, she throws her arms around his neck, dragging him down at an angle Kurt can tell must be hell on his back.

"Are we going home?"

"Not yet. We're going to stay until morning. Did you have a good Christmas with Auntie Rachel?"

She makes a face.

"She doesn't even have a Christmas tree, Daddy."

"That's true."

"And she doesn't know how to make Christmas bread."

"We'll do it tomorrow instead. Santa doesn't have to know."

She giggles, expression suddenly brighter.

"We played Princess and the Pea five times! Auntie Rachel is a really good princess."

"I bet."

"Mr. Calico was the Prince, because you weren't here."

"Uh-oh. I don't like the sound of that. Will I have to fight him to get my job back?"

"Maybe. But I think he likes being Queen better anyway."

Blaine smiles.

"That's good."

She yawns hugely, displaying all of her little teeth.

"I guess all that playing wore you out, huh?"

"Nuh-uh, I could stay up lots longer."

"Long enough for a goodnight song?"

She nods vigorously. Blaine laughs.

"Alright, then, which one do you want?"

"Can we do 'Frosty'? Auntie Rachel didn't know all of the words."

"'Frosty' it is. Ready?"

"Ready!"

He starts off softly, sweetly, eyebrows expressive and silly as he acts out the lyrics. Maiah joins in for the parts she knows and watches, grinning, for the parts she doesn't. She's settled back against her pillows by the end, eyes starting to droop.

"One more?" she murmurs when he's finished.

"Alright. Last song, then sleep."

It's "Jingle Bells" that he chooses. He sings it like a lullaby. She's asleep by the end of the first chorus.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, smooths a hand over her hair.

"Goodnight."

God, if only Kurt could soothe some of the sadness from his eyes. If he could just reach out...

The spirit grasps his shoulder, hard and unforgiving.

They're in a cemetery. Kurt knows this place. He used to visit every year. No part of him wants to be here now. He looks to the spirit for guidance. The spirit points.

Kurt looks, but he can't see anything of significance. He starts walking in that direction, winding through the gravestones, feet crunching the frozen-over snow. The light is already starting to fade.

Eventually, he hears it. Part of him knew he would. His pace quickens as he follows his ears and, finally, his eyes.

They're at a grave. It's fairly new, from the look of it, stone bright and fresh compared to the weathered markers that surround him. It's been placed under a tree, a big, old thing whose leaves have long-since fallen. When he gets closer, Kurt can see the flowers clutched tight in Blaine's hand. Yellow and red roses.

They're singing, of course, in a sweet, sad harmony that Kurt was never meant to hear.

...Take these broken wings and learn to fly...

...Blackbird, fly into the light of the dark black night...

The song ends too soon, echoing, almost, into the still air around them. They lean into each other, Rachel's mascara starting to run in rivulets down her face. Blaine breaks free. He places the flowers, gently, just in front of the gravestone. Kurt can see old tear tracks drying to his skin.

"Goodbye," he murmurs. "I hope Rachel is right. I hope you're all somewhere you can be together. I hope you're at peace."

He touches two fingers to his lips and presses them against the stone.

Rachel approaches, takes his hand. He rises.

They walk away.

"No," says Kurt. He turns to the spirit. He's done. "No, this isn't how it's supposed to be. None of this is how it's supposed to be. This can't - you've got to give me the chance to change things. I need that much. Why would you torture me like this if I couldn't change anything?"

The spirit remains impassive, still. His dark hood, almost shimmering in the low light, waves lightly in the breeze.

"Answer me!"

Nothing.

"Come on! Tell me the truth! Show me your face, at least."

Kurt doesn't think - he moves before he can. He lunges forward, grabs the spirit's hood. The spirit makes no effort to stop him. Kurt jerks it back, then stands, frozen, in shock.

It's his own face he sees staring back at him.

Eyes completely void of warmth, a mirthless smile pulling his lips tight. His skin, so pale as to be almost translucent, emanating cold that Kurt can feel in his lungs.

"Is this what you wanted?"

It's his own voice, and it makes his hair stand on end.

"No," he whispers.

He steps back in an instinctive attempt to escape, but he must have misjudged the distance, because he trips, stumbles, falls backwards over his own gravestone. He hits the cold, hard ground with an audible smack. He opens his eyes, tries to keep them open, but all he can see before the blackness takes him under is the red and yellow blur of Blaine's roses.