Growing up as a proud Jew with a strong sense of her heritage, Chanukkah was a magical time - full of presents and her mom's latkes and family coming over to see her. But from the time she was little, so much of Christmas just seemed more...appealing. After all, while she had more days of presents, she knew that her parents loved her too much to limit themselves to just eight gifts for her so really, if they celebrated Christmas, she would have come out ahead. And Christmas came with beautiful decorations - trees with bright lights and glittery balls and baubles in so many festive colours, garland hung from every shelf and mantle, swirling velvet dresses and an excuse to take photographs wearing them? What wasn't to like?

And, perhaps more importantly, they got all the good songs.

To be honest, there really weren't any Chanukkah songs meant for anyone except an untalented-six-year-old to sing, and she surpassed that level when she was sixteen months. She liked dreidels just fine, and her pronunciation when singing in Hebrew impressed even her Rabbi, but even her exceptional rendition of Maoz Tzur couldn't compare to the majestic musical beauty of O Holy Night.

Her father understood. Of course, her father also celebrated Christmas now, at least a little - he and Leroy had a tree that they decorated, and she assumed if Leroy put on carols her father joined in. He understood that there were considerations beyond just heritage. Her mother always said she was just jealous of her friends who got more gifts than she did and wanted a leg up on the competition for leads in the Christmas pageants at school. And if she had been, so what? Were those such bad things? Shouldn't she stand a fair chance of getting the solos when she was the most talented student there, even though she didn't have the advantage of singing these songs from infancy? Shouldn't she be able to sing "Silent Night" as well as any other child at her school, which required knowing it inside and out so she could best show her talents to the biggest town event of the year?

She saw nothing wrong with celebrating both. Besides - Kurt celebrated Christmas, and it wouldn't be fair to make him give up something he looked forward to. Last year had been nothing short of amazing: their first holiday season in New York, with the lights and the window displays? To say nothing of the shopping; the Macys at Herald Square was bigger than even the largest mall Rachel had ever seen, and they had everything, with holly and wreaths everywhere and people bustling about...it was magical, the way the city of her dreams transformed into something even more dreamlike during the winter. On the way back it had started to snow, too, and she had stood on the corner and belted out "Let it Snow" while Kurt rolled his eyes at her and joined in begrudgingly.

This year was even better, too. They had more money, thanks to her role in her very first show, and she was finally starting to feel like this city was turning out to be everything she knew it had the potential to be for her. Cal had already promised to whisk her around to holiday parties of every sort and kind, which meant she was getting to spend a lot more time with Kurt to design dresses for her to wear that would best convey her obvious sophistication and class while also making people want to get to know her better, and now they had the entire afternoon to decorate the apartment the way she knew Kurt had always wanted to. Last year they hadn't been able to afford a proper tree, just a wreath and a few strands of tinsel, but this year... She sang along with the radio as she hung brand new metallic balls on their tree.

Rockin' around the Christmas tree
At the Christmas party hop
Mistletoe hung where you can see
Ev'ry couple tries to stop

She leaned in playfully to Kurt as she danced back toward where he was sorting the ornaments on the table. He seemed to think she couldn't be trusted to place them in the right places unless he pre-arranged them for her, as though she were a child or something. Sometimes he could be so patronizing - just because she had never done this before didn't mean she couldn't figure out how. She had been looking at pictures of them in magazines for the past decade with envy, and it wasn't exactly complicated. But she understood; this was just what he did. She did kind of encourage it, she guessed, because he was so visually-talented that she relied on him for it. He was always ready to offer a comment on her clothes (and he was less mean about them now than he used to be), and he enjoyed picking out furniture even more than she did, so she let him have that aspect of apartment life...even if she did wish he wouldn't look at her like she was a child. She knew not to hang all the red ones together, thank you very much.

Even if she did still think the green balls would have matched the tree better and didn't understand why Kurt had looked at her like she was out of her mind.

Kurt didn't dance back, not even that little shoulder shimmy he usually did if he tried to dance while he was sitting. He didn't even really look up at her, just flicked his eyebrows in her general direction and set the empty boxes aside before picking up the bowl of popcorn. It smelled amazing in their apartment, but he swore it was for stringing instead of for eating.

He had spent most of the morning rolling his eyes at her. Actually, he had spent most of the past few weeks rolling his eyes at her. He always had a little, but he was seeming more frustrated by the day - and she could understand that, but it didn't mean she had to accept it. Pasting on a big smile, she picked up several balls and danced her way back to the tree.

Rockin' around the Christmas tree
Let the Christmas spirit ring
Later we'll have some pumpkin pie
And do some caroling

He was probably just worried about his dad coming to town, Rachel told herself. That couldn't be helping matters. She knew if her mom were coming, even as much as she loved and missed her mom and their intense, loving rivalry, she would probably be nervous. And at least her mother knew that Kurt wasn't really her boyfriend. His dad didn't, and they hadn't needed to pretend to be dating in quite awhile. She had been practicing by herself all week to make sure she was prepared, looking at all the pictures of them from when they lived in Ohio to ensure she could give her best performance, but Kurt seemed so subdued about the whole thing.

Maybe he was worried about what Cal might think. But Cal was on-board and to be honest kind of amused by the whole thing, which made her feel a lot better about it. Otherwise she would have needed to not kiss Kurt and that might have put cracks in their carefully-crafted performance. She had read that couples who lived together were far more intimate with each other than ones who didn't, which was part of why they were so controversial as a pair, but that meant she couldn't fall back on how she had played their relationship while they still lived with their parents - she had to step it up a notch.

You will get a sentimental feeling when you hear
Voices singing "Let's be jolly -
Deck -

"Rachel." His voice cut her off in the rest before she could finish the line. Still, it was the first time he had bothered to really acknowledge her presence the entire song, as he looked up at her, fingers delicately holding a popcorn kernel. "You know I of all people can appreciate your talent and...enthusiasm." He wore a tight, pasted-on smile and said 'enthusiasm' like it wasn't what he really wanted to say. "But do you have to be so cheerful?"

They had exchanged their share of insults over the years, friendly barbs as one or the other would go out for a role the other person wanted or thought someone else might deserve more, but it was the first time in awhile he had so much as implied - let alone said - that she was too much. "What's bothering you?" she asked as she sat down across the table from him. She was sure he had a good reason, Kurt wasn't just cruel for nothing - at least not to her - so she was certain it was simply a matter of figuring it out.

She was fantastic at figuring out what was bothering the people she cared about. It was part of what made her such a good friend.

"Nothing," he replied, focusing intently on his popcorn garland.

"Kurt-" He rolled his eyes, which was- well, not so much new, she guessed, but it hadn't happened in quite awhile. "I know something's going on. You won't dance, you're not even bothering to check that I'm following your instructions about where to hang things, you're just sitting over here with a needle and some popcorn with your back to everything. You aren't even singing along, and I know you know this."

"Everyone knows this," he pointed out dryly, but he sounded more sad than irritated.

“You love Christmas.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Last year, you remember, we went around town looking at all the displays and laughing and singing carols on the sidewalk? And then it snowed and the flakes started coming down as we hit Seventh and it was completely magical?” There was a faint glimmer of recognition, of acknowledgement, on his face, the tiniest of sad smiles, and then both were gone again. “Then we came back here and you decorated the entire apartment for $10.”

“Seven,” he corrected quietly, staring at the table top.

“See?” she smiled, nudging him, and he offered a very small smile, casting a sideways glance in her direction for just a second. “We have more this year, because of course I’m making my debut soon, and I thought you would be excited – we have a real tree and everything, not just that wreath.” She waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t she prompted, “Why aren’t you even interested in any of it?”

He sighed quietly, his fingers working the needle slowly through each kernel as he began, “I guess I’m just worried-“

“About your dad coming,” she filled in with a sympathetic nod. “I thought so. But don’t worry – I’ve been reading up on what couples do in Manhattan and I have plenty of stories we can tell him about things we’ve done together as a perfectly normal boyfriend and girlfriend.” She was about to say that she was even prepared to convert her bedroom into a guest bedroom to avoid suspicion – a trick she had learned from her dad, even though it was kind of the opposite, and it did mean she would have to stay in his room for the weekend but she was sure he wouldn’t mind – when one of her alltime favourite Christmas songs came on. It was one her mom hadn’t minded, either, because it wasn’t really about Christmas, just the holiday party season.

The holiday party season she was finally going to get to experience firsthand thanks to her lovely new boyfriend, Cal, who – while not quite what she might have expected and not as much of a gentleman as most of the boys back home, certainly made up for it in charm and class. Plus his ability to recognize her obvious talent put him much higher on the list than the boys in Ohio who threw milkshakes at her every day. He had, after all, given her the lead role.

“I really can’t stay,” she sang, nudging Kurt again with a playful grin as she waited for him to sing the second half of the duet. He didn’t; instead, his neck went stiff, fingers tightening on the popcorn strand, and he stared straight ahead and the edge of the kitchen cabinet. “I’ve got to go ‘way… - Oh come on, you know this one, too. – This evening has been so very-“

He reached over and turned off the radio in a quick motion, then replied simply, “Just because you like half a duet, Rachel, doesn’t mean I’m going to join you for the other half.”

She didn’t understand what was wrong with him, why he was acting like this. Was it- “Do you only know the girl part?” she asked, because that had happened on a few musicals. Kurt sang so high and was used to singing that line, so sometimes he didn’t know and then felt bad. It had happened when they sang West Side Story, too – he only knew Maria. It was kind of cute, actually, but she didn’t think telling him that right now would go over very well. “We can switch if you want, if you don’t want to be the boy-“

“No,” he replied coldly. He placed the half-finished strand on the table in a messy coil, straightening it fussily for a few seconds with stiff fingers before standing. "I'm going to go clean the bathroom. He'll be here first thing in the morning." He picked up and nearly clutched a bottle of bleach as he strode across the apartment to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

...Well. Just because he was in a curiously-foul mood didn't mean she needed to be. It was the holiday season, after all, and she wasn't going to let anything - not even Kurt - bring her down. Glancing to be sure he had closed the door all the way and therefore couldn't hear her, she turned the radio back on and sang just a little more quietly, "The neighbours might think...say, what's in this drink?" She wondered how the inflection should go on that and made a mental note to rehearse it several ways later. It was a Christmas staple and she should know it flawlessly, just in case she was ever called-upon to fill in for someone at the last minute. Or if she might someday be asked to perform it even without someone else canceling.

She should have a partner lined up, just in case. She would give Kurt his musical and acting notes in the morning - hopefully by then, he would be in a better mood and they could squeeze in a rehearsal before his dad arrived.

* * * * *

Mercedes could barely contain herself as the car drove past the done-up windows of New York City. She barely noticed them, all a blur of lights and festivity that seemed far away - far beyond what really had her excited. She could actually hear the songs on the radio, which was highly unusual. The backseat was silent for once, and - even more novel - not because two of its occupants were adamantly refusing to speak to one another. In fact, as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure one of them hadn't surreptitiously strangled another, she couldn't help but be struck by the way that everyone actually looked pretty happy. Sure, Eva had on her face like she was too cool to care, and Shirley looked terrified, but everyone was just as thrilled as she was.

They should be; this was a big deal.

For months, Rocko had been talking about how they were close - this close, he always swore up and down - to a meeting with a label. He knew a guy who had an in, or he knew a guy who knew the guy who had signed some other group no one had ever heard of, or a rep would be coming to this tiny booking where no more than six people (none of them related in any way to a record label) showed up, and Mercedes' skepticism had been increasing slowly. Regina was more outspoken in her belief that this would never actually come to fruition, but she certainly seemed happy to be proven wrong.

They had only had a day's notice, and Mercedes swore she hadn't gotten more than about ten minutes' sleep at a time since then - they had spent hours rehearsing parts of different songs, whittling them down to only the strongest verse and chorus, because Rocko assured them that most groups barely got the time of day to get through more than a tiny fraction of song; then they had spent what felt like hours trying on clothes and attempting to figure out whether they should coordinate or not, look formal or not, look sweet or city-cool. It had taken nearly three hours for all four girls to get ready and look as perfect as they thought they should, but even the resident warriors couldn't make a fight stick today, because they were about to make it.

She couldn't stop grinning every time she thought about it. Who knew? Okay, fine, she had been saying she would be a star since she was old enough to know what one was, and she knew she was more than good enough, but who knew it would actually happen after so many months of being frustrated and dealing with groupmates who hated each other? It was within reach now; all she had to do was lead her group through a great meeting where they dazzled the guy with their talent, and everything she had wanted would finally be hers.

Fine; theirs.

She wondered if they would have news before Christmas in a couple days. She really wanted to be able to give her family good news. Her dad still didn't know what to say to her when she called; her mom had finally gotten past it enough to at least not drop it into every sentence, even though she made crystal clear what she thought of Mercedes' decision to leave school and pursue music, but her dad...

He got John, who loved school and loved being surrounded by people like them and maybe wanted to go into that organizing thing they were doing down South. She felt like that should be enough, you know, that they had one kid who did what they wanted. Some parents didn't even get that. But in a lot of ways that made it worse because how was she supposed to compete? How was she supposed to make them proud when her big brother did everything they wanted him to want to do, and she hated every second of it?

Her mom said it was about practicality because no one made it as a singer, no one could live off that. And Mercedes really, really wanted to prove her wrong...in part because she had no other choice. If this didn't work out, she would be even worse off than Rachel and her greaseball director or Kurt and his two-faced boss because at least they still had an apartment. Besides, what else would she do? The only thing she really loved out there was music, and if she had to take some secretary job or find a nice guy to marry and settle down and have kids with...

But this was going to work. They were so close now, and she knew if it were on her shoulders she could lead them through and get them this deal. They were good, and she had never wanted anything more in her life: a winning combination.

The car pulled up in front of a mid-town high-rise, so different from the run-down apartments that lined the streets on the south end of Harlem or the neat, identical ranch houses that sprung up daily around town in Lima. Wreaths hung from every window on the first floor, creating a border of green with red ribbons all the way across the front of the building that had to be two or three times as wide as even her building which was a lot bigger than most places in town. A thousand glittering windows ran from the base of the building to the top at least thirty-five stories up, interrupted only by narrow beams and short bands to mark each floor. She craned her neck up to try to see what people were doing, because with all that glass it should have been easy to watch people scurrying around the offices - or sitting around and doing nothing, like her parents thought about a lot of people with jobs in offices - but she couldn't see inside.

In that building was the man who was going to give her her shot. He was probably near the top, right? That's where they put the important people? Up there was a guy who was going to sign them and make her the star she was born to be. Up there was where her dreams were going to finally come true.

Rocko was waiting on the sidewalk as usual, but his bravado looked more forced today - like he was nervous and excited about this, too. That really did mean this was big, didn't it? She was almost impressed he gave a damn if they did well or not, because usually she figured he was too busy wheeling and dealing around town to care about them in particular instead of just as another part of his portfolio, but maybe this really was a big deal to him, too. Good; she was glad he cared. She was glad he wanted them to make it. That meant he might actually try to do something useful for a change, because sometimes she wasn't so sure.

"There's my girls," he said, his smile a little too wide as he held out his arms, checking his watch subtly. He looked each of them up and down as they got out, nodding approvingly at Regina, then Shirley; Eva got a glare as she held her gloves in her right hand, flicking them back and forth against her left palm as though she were too bored and above it all, and she grumbled and rolled her eyes but put them on.

She didn't even fight him on it. Another first.

He gave Mercedes a nod, but that wasn't a surprise. She knew how to dress. She didn't dress up all the time, not like Shirley, but her mother had made damned sure she knew how to put her best foot forward. She knew how to look nice, and even if she didn't she was sure Kurt would have insisted on "helping" until she did. Her best church dress fit the bill just fine, with her jacket and gloves and matching shoes - she looked a little overly sweet, maybe, but Rocko had told them to. He kept looking at her with an unreadable expression even as he said, "Let's go win them over. Sing your little hearts out." He gestured toward the door with a sweeping arm movement, and Regina led the way inside, but when Mercedes started to follow, Rocko caught her elbow. "What?" she demanded, not sure what was going on but not liking the feeling she got. Her excitement was starting to turn into nervousness, which - she had been told - became attitude. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she rolled her eyes. "What?" she asked again, a little less snotty this time.

"Behave in there," he stated.

She laughed. "That's all? I'm not the one you gotta worry about, Rocko, that'd be Eva the Diva over there. I'm fine."

"You talk too much."

The admonishment came out of nowhere, and she stared at him with confusion. She'd been told a lot of things in her life, been given a long list of things people didn't like about her attitude, but no one had ever told her that before - no one but teachers who wanted her to pay more attention in class. "What do you mean?"

"You take charge in these things, you're gonna go in there and answer all the questions yourself."

"I'm in charge. I'm the lead singer." Everyone knew it worked that way, and Mercedes didn't get why all of a sudden Rocko had a problem with that. Hell, he'd been the first one she'd heard say it out loud even though everyone who had ever watched a variety show where the host asked the musical groups questions knew that.

"You gotta back off, Mercedes. Let Shirley answer."

"Shirley?" she demanded. "The girl's too timid to stand up to Eva - to stand up to Regina. She can barely speak up enough to order dinner, and you think she's gonna get us signed?"

"Let her do the talking," Rocko stated again with a warning look, much more severe than the ones Eva got when she got a stern talking-to but no actual punishment, then walked over and pulled open the door for her with a pasted-on grin. Mercedes followed him into the lobby, blood boiling.

* * * * *
Kurt knew it was stupid to be nervous.

For one thing, it was just his father. His father, whom he had missed quite a bit over the past year and a half since moving to New York, who had never tried to tell him to abandon his dreams no matter how foolhardy they must have seemed in Ohio. His father, who had never seen New York and would probably want to spend the entire holiday seeing tourist sights Kurt had explored with Rachel his first month there, and again with Mercedes last June. He knew his way to Battery Park like the back of his hand, and he could point out every great shopping opportunity in the city practically with his eyes shut. It would be fine - they would catch up a little, he would pester his father about his diet, and then they would spend a few days looking at lights, letting his father be confounded and wowed by the big buildings that Kurt no longer thought looked so impressive. Then his father would return to Ohio, and his life would return to normal.

So it was stupid to be nervous.

Kurt rolled his eyes at himself as he sliced the strawberries. Everything would be fine. Better than fine, really - he had honestly missed his dad, it felt like it had been forever since he'd gotten to see him. Last year at Christmas, there had been too much work and not enough money to make the trip home, and-

It was strange. Awkward. He had called as he did almost every Saturday and told his dad the news, and his dad's first response had been to offer to pay for the bus fare. It had just been because they wanted to have a big family holiday - what they could, anyway - but Kurt hadn't felt right saying yes. He was an adult now, he was supposed to be living his dream in New York and that dream included having enough money to pay for things. Telling his dad that yes, the money was the reason he had said no but the offer of payment was great so he would arrive on Tuesday, would be admitting to the utterly broken imperfections of the city he had been dreaming of since he could remember. He was too proud for that.

Plus he didn't want his dad to worry. He and Carole had enough to fret over with Finn away. At least he was safe and sound with a roof over his head.

But this would be good - his father could see the slightly-less-austere version of his and Rachel's life, complete with a nice tree and a couch that, while still secondhand, didn't have clawmarks from the previous owner's cat (he had hated that couch so much; it was Rachel's first purchase toward the apartment and he had almost demanded she move out on the spot. Both she and the offending piece of furniture remained until he had finally found a suitable replacement in April). This was a version of things he could show his family without being ashamed.

It wasn't everything he'd ever dreamed of, but his dad wouldn't know the difference. He had been pretending things were fine when they weren't for most of his life.

So there was really no reason at all to be nervous. Besides, anxiety and cutlery were never a winning combination.

"So is everything ready?" Rachel sing-songed as she emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in an outfit he had approved the night before; Rachel's penchant for plaid was worse during the holidays, but at least this skirt was flattering enough.

"Just about," he replied, lifting the edge of the pancake with the spatula to check for done-ness. "He called from a rest stop in Hanover about an hour ago and said he would be here in an hour, breakfast is almost done, I have the maps of the city out in case he doesn't trust my sense of direction, the tree is up...I think everything's set."

"Great." She grinned. "And for my part, I've been rehearsing a few great anecdotes about being young lovers in the city, told Cal I can't see him quite as much the next few days - though I do have to meet with him after breakfast to start working on my monologue in Scene 7-" He shot her a look, but she ignored it, "-and I've moved all your necessities into my room."

Kurt stared at her. "I'm sorry, what?"

“Your alarm clock, your things for work, that book you were reading last week, and all your in-season clothes. They don’t really fit in my closet, since I did get the room with the smaller one, but I squeezed them a little to-“

The image of Rachel moving his clothes, let alone pressing them together as tightly as she could manage so she could jam them into her tiny closet alongside her polyester sweater sets almost made him ill and certainly ratcheted up his already simmering panic level. “Why?”

“Well, it would look really funny if we didn’t share a room, wouldn’t it? I mean, it’s a big enough deal at home that we’re living in sin, but if we’re living in sin but with separate bedrooms, that just seems-“

“Like we’re being economical but not actually doing anything?” Kurt asked with an irritated raise of his eyebrow.

“Is that the story we want to tell? Because I think any actual boyfriend of mine would be interested in doing at least a little, if I would let him.”

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the counter. “Rachel-“

“I mean, I am kind of a catch, and we did date for almost two years in Ohio before we came here- Most of the kids we went to school with had sex long before that point even if no one was supposed to know that part, so I just thought-“

“I’m not pretending to be intimate with you, Rachel.”

“You’re sure it won’t make your father suspicious?”

“I’m sure my father never wants to think about me…doing that…ever. With you or with anyone else.”

“But are you-“
“No,” he replied sharply with a pointed look that left no room for debate, and she drew back at the sudden icy tone. He felt like he should feel bad, but he just- why couldn’t she leave anything alone? It wasn’t enough that she spent all her time having sex with her actual boyfriend, she wanted to come pretend that with him now? And with his dad, of all people?

On another morning, his apology would have been quiet, but relatively quick and offered freely. Now, it was a begrudging look of contrition and handing her a plate of pancakes. He knew logically that she was trying to help in her own, Rachel-ish way, but he was tired of people trying to help. He was tired of her taking initiative and being aggressively upbeat all the time. He was tired of her singalongs to songs he never wanted to hear again. And he was tired of everything being an acting exercise with her, some opportunity to display her range.

He had reasons for dating her, and he had reasons for not telling his family the truth; she seemed to think it was a game, now that her reasons for dating him were gone. Although he guessed she wasn’t really acting too differently than when they had been in high school-

It was just that he had forgotten what that felt like. It was an entirely different level of hiding that made him ache to think about.

“Let’s just keep things simple this weekend,” he requested as he turned back to the skillet to start another batch of pancakes.

“So I should move your things back?”

He hesitated, about to say he would rather she watch breakfast than touch his treasured outfits again, but realized that maybe she had a point. Most boys would jump at the chance to share a room – and a bed – with their girlfriend. Most of them would never think to get a two-bedroom apartment if they didn’t have to, unless they wanted a spare room for some reason. Most boys without his secrets would wade past the Love’s Baby Soft and the ugly plaid and want to kiss Rachel if they were dating.

And she did have firsthand experience seeing what homosexuals had to do to cover this sort of thing up.

He shook his head and replied, “You can leave it. But I’ll sleep on the couch. You kick in your sleep.”

“I dream in music – that’s dancing,” Rachel stated with a proud smile as she started on breakfast. He bit back a reply about how he wished she would practice her sashays somewhere other than his shins and ladled the batter onto the crackling hot surface.

The buzzer sounded, and Kurt jumped at the irritating drone. “He’s here!” Rachel observed with a bright smile, and Kurt nodded, an odd and surreal calm settling over him as he walked to the intercom and said, “Come on up, Dad,” before buzzing him in. He moved back over to the stove, fiddling with the pancakes and straightening the plates on the counter until he heard the knock at the door.

“I’ll get it!” Before Kurt could say anything, Rachel was out of her seat and over to the door, unlocking the deadbolt and pulling it open. “Good morning, Mr. Hummel! Won’t you come in? Kurt’s just finishing the pancakes.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing that?” Kurt swallowed hard as he heard his dad’s voice, the calm dissipating quickly into a sort of anxious awkwardness as it suddenly occurred to him that even the things that had been normal for him when it was just the two of them (and Mrs. Jones) or the four of them (with Finn and Carole) weren’t necessarily normal now, not with a girlfriend and an apartment of his own.

Rachel responded quickly and with poise, and Kurt was suddenly very glad she had rehearsed. “We trade off. Kurt’s just such a good cook, I can’t resist.”

“He is,” Burt allowed with what Kurt could picture was a gruff but fond smile. He was used to hearing it over the phone, picturing his dad in the back room of the shop and talking to him while he did the inventory, but it sounded different from just around the corner.

There was no reason to be nervous.

"Hi, Dad." He poked his head around the corner and offered a smile, relaxing as his dad looked so genuinely happy to see him. He looked his father over - had he always looked so old, or was he aging faster in the past couple years? His face looked more tired under the bill of his baseball cap, his posture was more slumped-

Don't be silly, he chastised himself. The man just drove across the entire state of Pennsylvania, plus most of Ohio. He was allowed to be tired; it didn't mean he wasn't taking care of himself.

It was just strange not to be the one who kept an eye on him anymore. To have no idea if his dad was actually eating properly or not or if, with Carole working again, he was just grabbing burgers on the way home from work; Kurt knew he had been the only thing standing between his dad and a daily cheeseburger for most of his life, so he had no idea if his dad was keeping up with the healthy regimen Kurt had tried to get him to stick to.

He didn't know what business looked like these days, not the way he did when he lived there, and he didn't know if things looked different in the house now that he was gone. He didn't know if the drug store on Maple had ever been torn down to build that new grocery store like they were considering as he and Rachel left because it wasn't anything important enough to ask his dad about during their weekly phone calls, but it suddenly felt like the latest in a long list of things he would know if he were in Ohio but didn't know about now. One of the latest in a long list of things that made his home feel like a foreign land.

Funny; when he lived there it had never felt as much like home as it did now that his dad was standing here in his entryway.

In a way he wished he were doing Christmas there so he could catch up on everything - really catch up. In another, he knew it was probably better this way; going back and seeing everything different would just remind him how much time had passed...and how little he had to show for it.

"Lemme get a look at you, buddy." He stepped around the corner and his dad looked him up and down appraisingly. Bottom lip puffed out a little, jaw forward, his dad gave a nod that Kurt recognized as an approving one. "You eating okay? You look skinny."

"He's just gotten taller," Rachel said with an exaggerated fondness, like she was letting his dad in on a secret only she knew, and he fought the urge to glare at her - but only just. "We're eating well, don't worry."

His dad looked at Rachel, then back at him and asked, "Really?"

He forced a faint smile of acknowledgment and agreement. "Yes," he replied. Of all the things wrong in his life, all the things they had to do without sometimes when Rachel wasn't working, food was not generally one of them. Their wardrobes, yes - which some months felt worse than if he didn't buy food, because when he got stressed, when he felt like he had been lately, he didn't really want to eat but he desperately craved new clothes to help himself feel better and more confident...but ultimately groceries did win out.

He saw the same approving nod, then his dad pulled him into a tight hug. It felt like too much, like too much contact and not enough all at once. It took his body a moment to react, to return the hug and let his fingers curl just slightly into the back of his father's thick jacket. "I missed you, kid. It's been too long since we saw you."

Kurt forced a faint smile as he ducked back into the kitchen, not wanting his pancakes to burn. "I know. It's a shame Carole couldn't come, too." It was, though he was almost glad to have only one piece of home to deal with at a time. And while he loved Carole, when he missed home and his family it was always his dad first.

"Yeah, well." He leaned forward, resting his hand on the back of the dining chair as he watched Kurt cook. "She picked up a few extra shifts over the week before she knew I was gonna come out here, so."

There was a gruff sadness in his voice, and Kurt suspected things weren't quite as rose-tinted at home as he liked to remember. It felt familiar and foreign all at once, like a tone and an emotion he could understand but one it had been awhile since he'd heard coming from his father. Not since before Carole was in their lives at all, really. "How is she?" he asked quietly.

His dad shrugged. "It's been rough on her - Finn being away and everything. She worries a lot. Working helps, I think, makes her feel...you know, like she's not just sitting around waiting for letters. She can't get used to how long mail takes to get to the ship, keeps saying when it took this long to hear from Christopher something was wrong."

"How is he doing? Finn?" Rachel asked, seeming just a little too eager to know, a little too curious, and Kurt shot her a look as he carried the plate out and set it in front of his dad.

"It's the Navy. It takes more than a week for care packages to get here," he pointed out as he retrieved his own plate.

"That's what I tell her. When I used to write buddies during the War, it always took awhile to get there. But it's different when it's your kid - weeks you miss calling, I start to wonder. This city isn't exactly that safe. You'll see when you two have kids."

Kurt swallowed hard, his entire body stiffening, as he felt like he might choke. He had known this was something he would need to deal with while his dad was in town - going back to pretending in a way he hadn't in years, and he had resigned himself to just following Rachel's crazy lead. But now that the moment was here, he found himself almost unable to breathe. He could see an entire future suddenly: having to actually marry Rachel because there was only so long this charade could remain. At some point, after years of dating and living together and not marrying, they would need to either break up and find separate apartments, or get married - wouldn't they? Around here, people could get away with living a little less traditionally, but still not that nontraditionally. At some point they would need to take the plunge he had been avoiding thinking about for so long. And after that...the questions about children would start, wouldn't they?

He wasn't about to lie about who he was, and he knew at least initially the plan had been to just keep the facade up until they both got to New York, but for a moment Kurt could see it spiraling quickly out of control into an entire life - a life they at least both knew about, both consented to, unlike whatever poor girl Blaine was probably engaged to by now, but the opposite of what he wanted.

At some point he was going to have to either be honest or pretend to make an honest woman out of Rachel. Neither option was fair to anyone and, least of all, to him.

"I'm not ready for them just yet, but we have talked about it," Rachel said with an eager smile, one that Kurt knew was acting but his dad probably wouldn't. It was just this side of too exaggerated to be believed. "We want to be more established first - don't we sweetheart?" She crossed the room to wrap her arm through his and place her hand on his bicep, looking up at him with an adoring smile. When it took him a moment to play along, she winked her upstage eye, as if to say "Don't worry, I'm just acting."

The urge to roll his eyes was almost overpowering, but he forced a smile of his own - one that more accurately said "I would kill you right now if I could, but I won't with my father in the room." "Yes," he replied tightly, unable to stop the sarcasm from creeping into his voice completely. "Speaking of established - don't you have to go meet with your director...dear?"

"I can stay a few more-" Kurt shot her a look, and she quickly amended, "I should probably go. The 1 is so unpredictable this time of day." She leaned in to give him a quick kiss, but changed her mind at the last minute and kissed his cheek awkwardly, squeezing his arm before she grabbed her coat and left the two Hummels in awkward silence.