Disclaimer: I own nothing. Like, literally, I think I have $4 in my bank account. I'm pretty sure if I owned Kurt/Blaine/Glee, that number would be a tad more substantial, but I don't, Ryan Murphy & Co. do.

A/N: First off, the title/inspiration for this fic came from the song "Left and Leaving" by The Weakerthans, which is one of the most poetic set of lyrics I've heard in ages - check it out, it's good stuff. Also - I was really hesitant to post this, because I haven't written fanfiction in over three years (different fandom and different account), and I'm terrified of messing up something as beloved as Klaine. So, if you have any comments for me whatsoever - praise or critique with the latter DEFINITELY welcome - I would so, so appreciate your reviews. Thank you for reading!

Kurt Hummel's flight had been delayed. Damn winter weather, it always did this. He was just trying to get back to Ohio in time for Carole's Christmas Eve dinner, a plan that seemed highly unlikely now. He checked his watch, pulling his Coach carry-on bag higher on his shoulder. Thank God La Guardia had a decent bar.

He plopped down on a bar stool, ordering a martini to a gruff bartender who eyed him suspiciously. "I.D.?" the man asked.

Kurt sighed. He should be used to this by now – he'd been carded nearly every time he'd ever bought alcohol – but as he was only days away from being 30 years old, he would appreciate for one day if someone believed he was older than 12. Grudgingly, he threw his New York driver's license on the bar, which the bartender thoroughly inspected before handing it back.

He took a quick sip before his phone on the bar started vibrating. It was Carole. "Hello?" he answered.

"Hi honey." She had the friendliest voice of anyone Kurt had ever met in his life. "I saw on the Weather Channel that some flights out of New York have been delayed by a few hours – is yours one of them?"

"Yeah. It's probably going to be midnight or so by the time I get there. I'm so sorry, Carole – I know you wanted the whole family there tonight."

"It's not your fault, sweetheart! I'm sorry to hear it, though. We'll be sure to save you plenty to eat for when you get here. I was wondering, though – so I can figure out sleeping arrangements – will you be bringing anybody with you?"

The question was not a new one. For the past eight years, Carole had been asking him the same thing – it started more subtly, slipped carefully into the conversation, but now it was just part of the holiday ritual. "No, just me."

If there was any disappointment, she hid it well. "Well, you're plenty for us. Finn and Rachel got here about half an hour ago, and the twins have already knocked over the Christmas tree once." So that was the noise in the background. "They'll all be sorry to hear you won't make it for dinner."

"Well, send them my love – " Kurt stopped abruptly. A girl, probably seven or eight, had slipped into the bar and was looking around frantically, tears streaming down her light olive skin. She locked eyes with Kurt, silently imploring for his aid as her little chin creased, her bottom lip stuck out miserably. "I've got to go – I'll see you soon, okay?" He hung up the phone quickly and tossed a few bills on the bar.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly when he approached her.

The little girl took his hand, gripping it tightly. "Can you help me find Daddy?"

"I – " He was going to ask her a few questions, try to do this rationally, but obviously she had other plans. She pulled him behind her out of the bar and onto an escalator.

"This is where I saw him last time," she said, dragging Kurt to an Auntie Anne's counter. "A bunch of people got in between us." The tears started welling in her eyes – dark eyes, pretty, familiar.

"It's going to be okay," he said soothingly. He'd never really liked kids, but this girl, with her messy black curls and her tight grip on his hand and the dimple in her chin that appeared when she stuck that lip out, broke his heart. "What's your name?"

"Elizabeth," she answered softly.

He knelt on one knee beside her so he was at eye level with her. "Hi Elizabeth," he said, extending a hand to her. "It's nice to meet you. My name's Kurt."

She threw her arms around his neck in a sudden embrace before pulling away, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "Daddy's gonna be sad if I don't find him."

"We'll find him," he promised. "Let's go page him, okay?"

She nodded, taking his hand again and following him to a map, looking for some sort of information desk. It looked like they were fairly close to one.

"Lizzie!"

Kurt and Elizabeth both whirled around to find the voice. She dropped his hand and ran, and Kurt kept looking, not seeing either of them. He took off after her, heading to the voice.

He couldn't be surprised by it. He'd known who she was, he realized now, since he first saw her standing in that bar with the hair and the eyes and the wrinkled chin. They were all his, all features that Kurt had stared at for years.

It didn't matter how much he should have seen it coming. The sight of Blaine holding the child to him, his eyes closed in relief, looking as though he could cry at any second, was enough to knock Kurt breathless.

"…I don't care how nice he was, young lady," Blaine was saying, still gripping her tightly, "you are not to talk to strangers, you hear me? God, I'm so glad you're safe…"

She wiggled out of his arms quickly, frowning up at him. "He's not a stranger, Daddy," she insisted, crossing her arms. "You know Kurt."

Blaine followed her gaze until their eyes locked. Kurt waved shortly, a stiff smile on his face. They stood staring at each other, the hustle of the New York airport seeming to blur around them. Blaine looked as though he was physically frozen.

"Can we maybe get coffee?" Kurt asked.