Kurt dragged himself through the next day's rehearsal in a daze.

Ghosts were everywhere.

In his head he saw Adam complaining about his back hurting, and Kurt rolling his eyes because a whole slew of doctors said there was nothing wrong with his back, and Kurt was ready for Adam to get over it already. He relived the moment he flew back from a performance in Salt Lake City to find Adam collapsed under a desk in their San Francisco home, conscious, but unable to stand. He recalled sitting in the emergency room and hearing doctors throw out phrases like, “severe anemia,” and “myeloma,” and “incurable,” while he felt like he was outside of his body, watching the scene from afar. He pictured Adam lying in their bed, face as white as the sheets, breathing so shallowly that Kurt had the urge to lean in to see if he was still alive. His body recalled the feel of Adam, so frail and shaking uncontrollably in his arms, afraid to hold him too tightly in case he might break. And he recalled the anguish of no long having him, of alternating between feeling nothing and feeling too much.

He couldn't take it. Never again.

When he got back to his apartment he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Blaine.

I can't do this.

Then he stood in the shower and cried until the water ran cold.

The next day the newspapers announced that Blaine was out of the hospital. It was just a virus, and Blaine was right as rain after some IV fluids for dehydration. It didn't change how Kurt felt. It was nothing now, but some day it would be something, and Kurt had no heart left to break.

He felt guilty for not checking on Blaine personally, but he didn't have it in him to contact him. When Blaine sent texts to Kurt, Kurt deleted them without reading them. When Blaine resorted to calling, Kurt shut off his phone. When the landline phone in his apartment rang, he jerked it from the wall. He deleted all of Blaine's contact information from his phone, and then he spent the rest of the day in a foul mood, snapping at shop clerks and scowling at everyone he encountered.

When his computer dinged, he expected it to be Blaine, but as he reached to shut off his laptop, he saw that it was his dad. He connected to Skype.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, there, kiddo. How's Italy?”

“It's fine, Dad. It's nice to hear from you,” Kurt said in a soft voice.

“Dont tell me youre fine, Kurt, when you don't sound fine and you don't look fine. Are they working you too hard there?”

“No, nothing like that.” Kurt looked at his dad through the screen. His dad always looked the same to him. Always steady, always there.

“Dad, can I ask you a question?”

“You can always ask me anything, Kurt; you know that.”

“After Mom died, why didn't you date anyone? Why did you wait so long…”

“Oh, hey. Is that what this is about? Did you meet someone, because, Kurt, that's great. You shouldn't feel guilty about Adam. He's been gone more than a year, and you need to move on with your life. Adam would want that.”

“No, Dad. It's not like that. I mean, yes, I met someone, but I'm not feeling guilty.”

Burt paused to let that sink in.

“You're feeling scared, is that it?”

“Yeah.”

Burt crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “Kurt, when your mom died, I felt like I died, too. You were the only reason I could drag myself through the days. I had to be strong for you. But I used you as a shield, too. I didn't allow myself to look at other women—to think about other women—and I told everyone it was because of you—that I had too much on my plate being a single dad. But the truth, Kurt, is that I was scared. Losing your mother hurt so much, and I didn't think I could ever face that kind of pain again.”

“So you waited to date Carol until after the fear went away?”

“The fear never went away. Kurt, it never goes away. Carol's going to die, or I will. Maybe you will. Finn did, and that just about killed all of us. We don't know what's going to happen to us today or tomorrow, so we have to live our lives the best we can, and we have to take our joys where we find them.”

“I don't think I'm strong enough,” Kurt said quietly, eyes downcast.  

“Hey!  You're the strongest person I know, Kurt. You always have been. Sure, you're scared, but you know what? Fear is just an emotion, it's not an action.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It means, Kurt, that if something is worth doing and it scares you, then you do it scared. You do it scared. You remember the first time you auditioned for NYADA? Weren't you scared then?”

“I was terrified,” Kurt gave his dad a tremulous smile.

“Would anything have kept you from getting on that stage?”

“No.”

“You did it scared, Kurt. If this guy is worth it, then you have to go for it. Do it scared. You might just be surprised at how easy it is.”

“I'll think about it, Dad.”

“OK, well, let me know how it goes. And Kurt?”

"Yeah?"

"Hes a hell of a lucky guy."

The night of Kurt's last performance he tried to focus completely on the show. The talk with his dad had unsettled him. His dad's words sounded right, but he didn't think he could do it. No, he knew that he couldn't do it.

The audience was on their feet and Kurt and the other performers were taking their curtain calls amid a chorus of “Bravo!” and “Brava!” Roses rained down on the stage as the audience demonstrated their adulation in very opera-specific ways.

Kurt jolted when a large bouquet landed at his feet. He bent down to pick it up: white roses, lavender, and lilies of the valley. He buried his nose in its heady scent, then his eyes met Blaine's over the blooms, bright and shining, two rows behind the orchestra.

A vice squeezed Kurt's heart.

Panicking, he thrust the bouquet into the arms of his startled Poppea and bolted from the stage. Stripping as quickly as possible--much to the dismay of the scolding wardrobe mistress--he threw on his street clothes and ran from the Arena.

He heard feet pounding behind him in the street, then a hand wrapped around his upper arm and spun him around.

“Kurt, wait!”

“I can't do this, Blaine. I said I couldn't do this!”

“I know, Kurt. I know.” Blaine released Kurt's arm and put up a hand. “Can't we just talk?”

“We have nothing to talk about, Blaine. Nothing's happened between us, not really. I need…we can't…let's just keep it that way.”

Blaine nodded. “OK,” he paused for a moment, catching his breath. “But I am going to Sirmione. I'll be there all of August. Maybe I'll see you there…if you change your mind?”  He smiled hopefully.  

Kurt bit his lip. “I won't,” he whispered.

The next morning, Kurt stood on the train platform, waiting to board the local to Milan. His flight to the United States wasn't for nearly twelve hours, but Kurt couldn't stay in Verona. At least in Milan he could pace streets that weren't full of memories and recriminations and demons. Dragging around his luggage would be a pain, but pain seemed like a welcome respite from fear and sadness and longing.

Besides, the train trip would take forever, since the train would stop at nearly every town, big or small, between Verona and Milan. Kurt could have taken the express train, but he wanted to leave now.

When the train pulled in, Kurt chose a second-class seat on the right side of the car and rested his forehead against the window. For the first time in his life, he was glad to leave Italy. He was relieved to be returning to Atlanta where there were no ghosts, just the drudgery of day-to-day life.

As the train rumbled away from the station, however, he found he had nothing to stop the onslaught of memories that assaulted him. Blaine taking his hand for the first time on the plane. Blaine stroking his face. Blaine laughing as Kurt sang “Single Ladies.” Blaine's confession about his sexual limits. Blaine naked and warm in his bed.

He also heard voices. He heard Rachel saying, “You can burn your troubled bridges when you get to them.” He heard his dad saying, “You do it scared.” He heard Blaine saying “I just know that I don't want more of what I've had.”

The loudspeaker cut through his reverie. “Desenzano. Desenzano,” the conductor announced as the train slowed to pull into the station of the small resort town. Kurt sat frozen for a moment. Then he stood, grabbed his luggage, and dashed out of the train car.

Kurt figured he must look like a mad man, running down the streets of Desenzano dragging a large suitcase and a travel bag, with his laptop case flapping at this side. He only vaguely knew where he was going. He had traveled this route once before, but it was five years ago, and he hoped that his subconscious would guide his feet. He rationalized that the water of Lake Garda was down the hill, so if he just keep running down, he would eventually see it.

He was right. As he emerged from between two buildings, the town piazza spread out before him, bordered on one side by brilliant, emerald water. Mountains rose around the edges of the glacier lake, and he could see Sirmione jutting out like a small gem in the distance.

Kurt's eyes scanned the shoreline as he sought the ferry terminal. At last he spotted it and ran forward, suitcase wheels bump-bumping over the stone surface of the piazza. When he reached the front of the ferry queue, he purchased a ticket to Sirmione and was dismayed to discover that no boat was leaving for at least 45 minutes. He paced like a caged tiger, and he berated himself for the rash act that had prompted him not only to delete Blaine's contact information, but also to clear his memory, so he couldn't retrieve Blaine's number from his sent or received files. He was such an idiot.

When the ferry finally arrived, Kurt was one of the first to board, and he tapped his fingers nervously on his thighs. The twenty minute ferry ride seemed interminable, and Kurt was completely unable to lose himself in the breathtaking beauty of the scenery that had so enthralled him on his last trip here. He didn't even notice Maria Callas' yellow mansion, winking down at him from its hilltop.

He worried that the waiting time might lead him to change his mind, but it was just the opposite. From the moment that he got off the train, all he wanted to do was see Blaine. That had not changed.  If anything, he was more determined.  How he was going to find him, he didn't know, but he wasn't above knocking on every door on the peninsula, if that's what it took.

When the ferry finally landed, it was all Kurt could do to wait in line rather than push and shove his way to the front or—as briefly crossed his mind—jumping overboard.

However, once he got off the ferry, he was at a bit of a loss. He thought about Fate. She had been a bitch to him his whole life, starting with the death of his mother, then his step-brother, then his husband. Dammit, she owed him. This was not going to be Venice all over again.

He thought about how the town was laid out. Since it rested on a skinny peninsula, everything was just on a couple of roads. He would start with one, then the other, then the other, and he would trust to Fate—that harpy—to bring him his man.

If that didn't work, he'd camp out by the ferry terminal until Blaine decided to leave, because there was only one way off the peninsula, and he planned to use that to his advantage.  Hopefully it wouldnt come to that.

Once he devised a plan, he felt calmer.  He started on the eastern shore, following the sidewalk along the water, inhaling the fragrance of lemons and rosemary. Cliffs rose up on his left, where beautiful villas perched precariously, but Kurt was scanning the people on his right who were enjoying Lake Garda's only public beach, running in and out of the waves.

A voice called down from the cliffs, “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Kurt swiveled around and dragged his eyes up the bougainvillea-covered cliff until he spotted Blaine, smiling down at him from the veranda of a handsome pink villa.

“Blaine,” he breathed.

“I knew you would come,” Blaine shouted down.

“How did you know?” Kurt called up, laughing. “I didn't even know until an hour ago.”

“Because,” Blaine smiled, “I've been looking for you forever.”