Elliot fidgeted uncomfortably as he stood on the sidewalk, scrutinizing the face of each person who walked past his silent post. They’d been there, on the leafy corner of Fifth Avenue and Eighth Street, since eight thirty-seven – exactly sixteen minutes by Kurt’s count. Kurt shifted from one Converse-clad foot to the other, sending up a grateful sigh that the day had dawned unseasonably cool for June.

“What if she doesn’t come?” Elliot finally asked at eight fifty-six, his childish voice just rising over the din of taxis and passers-by.

“Well,” Kurt started slowly, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. “If she doesn’t come, then we’ll still have fun watching the parade, right? Like we always do?”

Kurt’s heart fell when Elliot looked up at him, his blue eyes an ocean of sadness. Kurt squeezed his hand for support before offering him a little smirk. “Okay. If she doesn’t come, then we can go eat cheesecake for lunch and talk about how much girls stink,” he whispered conspiratorially, earning the tiniest smile from his son.

“But I know she’ll show up,” Kurt continued as he glanced up and down the sidewalk. It was still early in the morning; their chosen spot was far down the parade path from its starting point near the Empire State Building. But a lively, rainbow-hued crowd was slowly, surely growing around them with each passing moment.

“You do?”

“Yup,” Kurt said with a firm nod. “How could anyone ever leave you waiting?” He smiled down at his son, soaking up all of Elliot’s childish hope and faith and clutching it tightly in his chest, just as he held Elliot’s small hand in his own. Kurt wouldn’t let the two of them feel lost, or lonely, or small – not today in this throng of people, not in their lives, not ever. He simply kept watching for a mystery man and his beautiful daughter to emerge from the masses and walk straight toward them, like flowers sprouting from the dirt and grime and hectic city bustle.

“You said Maya doesn’t have a mom, either?” Kurt asked, absently toying with the rainbow feather brooch pinned to the chest of his black vest.

Elliot shook his head. “Her mom left when she was a baby. She ran away to…um…” he trailed off, biting down on a single fingernail the way he did when he couldn’t recall something important. “I don’t remember where she said. But now she just has a dad.”

“Oh. I thought you meant her dad was…” Kurt shook his head, mentally cursing himself for letting his mind wander in such a silly direction. “Never mind.”

***

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

“Maya, don’t be rude!” Blaine called from behind, shooting apologetic looks through the dimly lit subway station at the people she’d shrilly shouted at. “You’re going to run into the wrong person one of these days and get us both killed, I swear to god,” he muttered to himself as he gripped her hand tighter.

“I said excuse me!” Maya retorted, pulling Blaine up the stairs to the sun-drenched world at street level. “They’re walkin’ too slow!”

Blaine rolled his eyes. Santana may have been completely absent from Maya’s life, but some days it wasn’t hard to guess who’d contributed the other half of his daughter’s genes.

There were people milling about everywhere on the sidewalks: tourists and locals alike, dressed in suits and Speedos, wedding gowns and itty bitty denim cutoffs and outfits Blaine couldn’t even begin to describe – quintessential New York, doused in a spectrum of sparkle and color. Maya wove them through the crowds, blind to every spectacle. “Fifth, Sixth, Seventh...” she counted aloud as they strode down city blocks until they finally reached their destination.

“That’s him, Daddy! There’s Elly!”

Blaine’s gaze followed the brown finger Maya pointed across the street until his eyes fell on a pale-skinned, expertly dressed boy standing solemnly on the opposite corner. Blaine stifled an amused chuckle when he noticed the boy’s towering top hat, shading part of his face from the bright summer sun.

Blaine let his eyes wander down to the boy’s hand, which was clasped tightly in a larger, equally milky-white hand. Hia gaze traveled up the length of a lean, muscled arm clad in a pale pink dress shirt, and finally settled on the face of a man who appeared about his age. Dark sunglasses hid the man’s inscrutable expression, but not the sharp, alabaster lines of his nose and chin as he turned to look–

“Elly!”

Maya’s sudden shriek tore Blaine’s rapt attention from the captivating man standing just across the way. “Christ, Maya, lower your v–”

But Maya was off; her hand slipped from Blaine’s grip and she darted into the blocked-off street like a young fawn, leaving Blaine grasping nothing but air. A swish of curly brown hair and pink sweater was the last thing he saw before she disappeared in the swarming sea of people.