I was watching a rerun of "False Positive" last week and the idea for this story came to be. An early Christmas present for you all, I guess! This series will be about 5 or 6 vignettes in the life of Ted, and I'm very excited to write these. I hope you all enjoy.

Oh, and that last line isn't supposed to be morbid in the slightest—this series still falls into the same happily-ever-after universe I've already created in my other stories. It's simply a line from It's a Wonderful Life.

N.B.: All quotes from It's a Wonderful Life belong to the late Frank Capra.

2010

Ted walked into theatre alone, smiling to himself as his friends were off at his urging (well, his insistance) making the right choices in their lives. He was happy to help solve their problems; Ted was Mr. Fix-It, after all.

Good ol' reliable Ted Mosby.

He grabbed a seat in the semi-crowded theatre, his favourite: smackdab in the centre. He peeled off his coat and sat back with a happy sigh, kind of wishing he still had his movie snack.

As the movie began, he watched the familiar tale—a film he watched two or three times each holiday season—unfold, watching George Bailey sacrifice his own happiness for the benefit of others. Not that Ted was as selfless a man; but he thought back to the moment earlier outside, as he helped solve everyone's problems. He was happy to do so, but who was there to solve his problems?

Ted had good friends, he knew. They cared about him; they loved him; they were there for him. He truly couldn't ask for a better group of friends, whom he considered closer than his own family. "Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends."

But he couldn't help but think about his own life, his own growth, his desire to move forward. There was a void in his life; sure, he had his job, he had his pending building, he had his health... But the one thing he yearned for the most—love—was something that kept on eluding him. And it was depressing.

Not in a jump-off-a-bridge kind of way, of course. But in that I'm-going-to-die-alone fear, which hits him every once in a while, whenever a first date doesn't lead to a second, or when he hears of someone he knows getting married or having a baby. It's so easy to get despondent when he thinks of his happily-ever-after that may never come.

But there are good days, such as now. The holidays make him wistful, but still pretty happy and optimistic. There's something in the air—the cold, the glowing lights, the general feeling of joy and merriment—that gives him hope.

"What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down."

Ted smiled. He was still looking for that person he'd do something crazy for, like lasso the moon. He'd done the Blue French Horn, the two-minute date, the acts of a desperate, lovestruck man.

He now wanted to be crazy-in-love again; for good this time. He didn't know when she'd appear in his life or how, but watching It's a Wonderful Life is putting him in a good mood, allowing him to remain positive about what was ahead for him.

Because he knew what his world was like without his future Mrs. Ted Mosby, whoever she was. And life could only be a whole lot better with her by his side.

All he had to do was be patient. Like George Bailey, Ted Mosby would eventually get his due.

2014

"Remember the night we broke the windows in this old house? This is what I wished for."

Ted grinned as he reached down for his Christmas movie snack, snapping a piece of gingerbread off from the roof and shovelled it in his mouth. He loved this scene, Mary and George spending their wedding night in the old, run-down house on Sycamore Street. It made him think of his house in Westchester, the disaster it was before he got his hands on it. The dreams he had for it, all the work he put into it, now knowing it wasn't all in vain. But while watching the movie, he knows it takes more than just floorboards and new windows and running water to turn a house into a home.

In the darkened theatre, he peered over at Tracy sitting next to him. Her gaze was settled on the screen, and Ted looked down at her hands, which were protectively cupping her belly, her engagement ring sparkling. She was barely four months along in her pregnancy, and was only slightly showing. But the bump was there, at it was most discernible when she was naked, Ted running his fingers across her skin, tenderly rubbing the Palmer's oil on her stomach, which she hoped would prevent any stretch marks as the months went by.

It seemed she had sensed his eyes on her, and she turned around to look at him. She gave him a sweet grin and snuck a hand to the gingerbread house, peeling off a couple of gumdrops and popping them in her mouth, before the hand instinctively went back to her belly.

"You could've married Sam Wainright, or anybody else in town..."

"I didn't want to marry anybody else in town. I want my baby to look like you."

"You didn't even have a honeymoon. I promised you... your what?"

"My baby!"

"Your, your, your ba— Mary, you on the nest?"

"George Bailey Lassos Stork."

Ted was often amazed at where his life was at right now: an amazing fiancée and a baby on the way. Many years of missteps and heartbreak had left him vulnerable and insecure. He had often been hopeful, yes; his belief in destiny and true love sometimes wavered, but he had always bounced back.

And it was meeting Tracy, that moment under their yellow umbrella, which changed Ted's life in an instant. He couldn't quite believe it, that he was the guy that she chose to be with for the rest of her life. It was quite humbling.

"How could I not choose you?" she teased him once, as they lay in bed on a rainy Saturday afternoon, right after they had said "I love you" for the first time. And right after he had expressed his amazement that he got to be the lucky sonofabitch who got to be with her. "That adorable, hopeful look on your face right before I kissed you on our first date was hard to resist."

Ted smiled at the memory, at how that date could've gone a whole different way if Tracy had chosen to let him walk away that night. Happiness was a series of choices and risks: Ted made a choice to talk to her that night on the platform. Tracy made a choice to kiss him on their first date. And it was these choices in his life—both the wrong ones and the right ones— that led to the woman at his side.

He reached a hand over and placed it on her belly, her own hands moving to cover his, fingers now entwined. They continued to watch the movie happily.

They exited the theatre at round 9:30, a heavy snowfall descending down to earth, covering Tracy's hair like a beautiful white wig. She dusted the flakes off and put on her hat, pulling it down low to cover her ears.

Ted tightened his scarf and reached for Tracy's hand, gripping it tight. His fiancée laughed at the gesture. Yes, reaching for one another's hand was always habitual—like breathing or blinking—every time they were out for a stroll, but things had changed since Ted found out she was pregnant... and that her pregnancy would be taking place in the winter.

He had gotten increasingly protective, starting with the day the first snowfall hit earlier that month. He'd started hooking his arm protectively with hers every time they walked together, bought crampons for her boots, and requested she'd text him every time she safely made it to her destination. Ted had this irrational (Tracy's words—he thought he was being quite rational) fear that she'd slip and fall on a patch of ice.

Tracy, of course, would have none of that.

"Ted!" she had cried exasperatedly after he expressed his worries for the billionth time. "I've been walking for 29 years! I think I can manage getting from point A to point B all by myself!"

"Hey!" he countered, waving her new crampons in his hands. "You and the baby are precious cargo! I just want you both to be safe!"

Tracy smiled softly at his words, despite her annoyance. "Babe, it'll be fine. Many pregnant women have trudged through Manhattan's wintry streets before me, and have done it successfully. I'll be fine—nothing will happen. You just need to lay off a bit, huh?"

Ted sighed and moved towards her, pressing his chest to hers. "Sorry. First-time dad jitters," he admitted. "I'll ease off, I promise. But can you please at least wear the crampons? For me?"

She conceded.

"I spoil you, y'know," she said with an amused shake of her hand, taking the darned crampons from his hands and giving him a kiss.

He still worried, of course. When she's out shopping or on her way to work or out with the girls. Or, when she'd get bigger and her belly would become more cumbersome, would some asshole refuse to give his seat up for her on the subway? But he never underestimated her; she was tough. She was careful. And she always arrived safely to their apartment at the end of the day.

"So do you wanna grab a bite to eat?" she asked him now, looking up at him eagerly.

He stared at her. "We just devoured a whole gingerbread house between the two of us," he pointed out, amazed at the new relationship she had with food. "You're still hungry?"

"That gingerbread house hardly counts as dinner! Besides, I'm eating for two now."

Ted laughed. "I think "eating for two" doesn't mean what you think it means," he teased. "But sure: let's go eat."

"Yay!" she cried out excitedly, practically hopping in place. "Wanna go to that Scottish-Mexican fusion place? We never did end up trying it out."

"I thought those were two things that didn't quite fuse..."

"Hey, as someone who now finds pickles with peanut butter delightful, the thought of Scottish-Mexican is making my mouth water."

"Ok," Ted gave in. "But if the haggis enchiladas don't mix well with all this gingerbread and candy in my stomach, you'll have to be the one to rub my back while I'm hunched over the toilet bowl tonight."

She gave him a loving smile. "Anytime, pooh bear."

They continued to walk, enjoying the pre-Christmas atmosphere of the city. The lights were twinkling, the snow was falling, people were walking past them with shopping bags in their hands. It was their favourite December ritual, leisurely roaming the streets of Manhattan, as well as dreaming of their future that included a baby boy or girl to eventually experience the holiday with.

As they were walking, a patch of ice on the sidewalk lay hidden underneath the newly-fallen snow, and Ted felt Tracy slip on the ice. They were both quick to react, Tracy finding her footing and gripping on to his jacket, whereas Ted's hands were immediately at her waist.

He was holding her up, and she was dipped slightly backwards. It would've been quite romantic if it weren't for Ted's heart that was beating wildly from anxiety. He looked down into her eyes; she didn't want to admit it, but the near-fall kind of scared her, too.

"You didn't wear your crampons," he chided her playfully, his tone of voice gentle.

She offered him a sheepish smile. "My bad?"

He laughed. And she laughed. And Ted leaned down to kiss her passionately because the moment simply called for it. It was like a 1940s movie and the director had just called "Action!".

She was the Donna Reed to his Jimmy Stewart.

He lifted her up, back to a standing position. Tracy's hands were at his chest, smoothing down the material of his jacket that she had bunched up with her fists.

Ted looked at her now, their erratic breathing—both from the scary ice incident and their ardent embrace—slowing down back to normal. Her cheeks were flushed, snowflakes on her lashes were making them glisten in the night, and she was looking up at him with a smile, as if his goofy, dorky self was the reason for her happiness.

He felt like the richest guy in town.

"I love you," he told her simply, his hands wrapping fully around her waist.

She stood up on the tips of her toes, her hands moving to clutch at his forearms. Her mouth moved to his left ear, Ted feeling her lips tickling his lobe, her breath warm as she spoke, an incredible contrast to the cold that surrounded them.

"Ted Mosby, I'll love you 'til the day I die," she whispered.