"Merry belated Christmas, Mrs. Hummel!"

Carol hugged David and pulled him into the house. "Hello, sweety! How was your Christmas?" The Hummel-Hudson house was warm and bright. Christmas lights were strung up both outside and in; little plastic icicles hung from the banister and over the doorways. Poinsettias were strategically placed throughout the room, along with wreaths and mistletoe. A Yule log sat on the floor in front of the television. On the coffee table was a red and green ceramic bowl with scented pinecones that had been sprinkled with glitter. The Christmas tree they had bought from the nursery sat proudly in the corner, unwrapped gifts still sat beneath it, waiting to be moved to their "forever homes".

"My Christmas was good: a bit boring, but whatever. Here, I got you this." David handed Carol a little wrapped box.

Knowing what she did about David, and seeing the size of the box, Carol correctly guessed that it was jewelry of some kind. She daintily pulled the two ends of the ribbons, undoing the tie, and slipped the lid off the box. "Oh David, it's beautiful!" Carol held up the little bracelet and let David help her fasten it on.

"Kurt told me your birthstone was opal. I think that's probably my favorite birthstone: opals can have such amazing colors. They have a kind of 'personality'."

"Oh, great, buy my wife jewelry and make me look bad, why don't you." Burt Hummel stood in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb and watching his wife and son's boyfriend. His look wasn't entirely menacing, but it wasn't entirely joking either.

"Here Mr. Hummel, I got you this." David handed Burt a slightly larger, slightly more rectangular box with a card taped to the lid. "Open the card later." He said this in a quiet voice, meant only for Burt; Carol and Kurt didn't even see his lips move.

An eyebrow raised, Burt pocketed the card and began tearing the wrapping from the box. "You didn't get me matching earrings did you?" Carol chuckled at her husband, while Kurt rolled his eyes at the lame joke. Burt frowned once he had gotten the paper off and looked the gift over.

"For your shotgun."

As he looked over the small box of shotgun shells, the corner of Burt's lip pulled up into a reluctant smile. "Just don't give me a reason to use 'em."

"No, sir. Now if you'll excuse me, I promised Kurt I'd kidnap him for the day." David hooked his elbow around Kurt's and led him back towards the front door.

"You two be careful on that bike! We're looking at frost later today." Kurt waved off his father's concern. David handed Kurt his helmet for the bike and put his own on before swinging his leg over the side. He felt Kurt climb up behind him. Once Kurt's arms were firmly latched around his midsection, David gunned the engine and took off.

xoxoxo

"How accurate is the portrayal? Did he really look like that?"

"Does he really look like that; Heracles is alive and well." Part of David's Christmas present to Kurt was a trip to the Louvre. It was night and no one was there aside from security, but it didn't really matter; David had made them invisible and silent. Homer was serving as tour guide, perched atop David's shoulder. Kurt was loath to admit it, but he rather liked the little rat. He was intelligent, kind, and occasionally humorous. They were in the Pavillon Richelieu, admiring statues, many of which had Grecian and Roman themes. Hercule combattant Achéloüs métamorphosé en serpent (Hercules fighting Achelous transformed into a snake) was the current object of Kurt's admiration. "But no, the representation is far from accurate. I hate to say it, but Heracles, in my opinion, bares a striking resemblance to Russell Crowe as he looked in Gladiator…though his hair was longer."

"So not a dirty blonde with chiseled features?"

Homer laughed. "No, he did not look like Kevin Sorbo."

"All right, here's my next question…every statue we've seen of a naked guy so far…well they've all been…I have no idea how to ask this." Kurt giggled nervously as he waved a hand in the direction of the statue, as though his question were obvious.

Even in the dim artificial light David had summoned to show their way, He could see Kurt blushing. "What is it, Kurt? Just ask."

"I believe he's talking about the 'endowment' of the statues. Greeks associated large…manhood…with beasts, heathens, and barbarians. It was a sign of mental inferiority. Generally, the smaller the… manhood…the more intelligent a man was seen as being. And no one gave two sniffs about women, so pleasing them wasn't high on anyone's list of priorities."

"So either it's all a load of bullshit or David's just special because he's a god of beasts?"

Now it was David's turn to blush. Yes, Homer had probably seen him naked over the years, but he really didn't need Kurt talking about his junk with his pet rat. "All right, moving on now…" David tugged Kurt away from the statue of Heracles, and led him down the shallow steps. "Where to now?"

"I know it's not Greek, but I'd like to see the Mona Lisa."

"That would be in the Denon Wing." Kurt was impressed with Homer's knowledge of each of the artists, sculptors, paintings, statues, the history of the museum itself, that's why he was bit disheartened to hear him mumble under his breath, "Prepare to be disappointed."

He pointed out various paintings on their way. One particular painting drew amusement from Kurt, David and Homer. There was a huge painting of a soldier on horseback entitled Joachim Murat. It was probably the ugliest thing Kurt had ever seen; everything was out of perspective, the lines were awful, and to top it all off, the subject of the painting was riding a hideously deformed horse with a saddle made out of a tiger. The tiger looked like it had been steamrolled in an old Wile E. Coyote cartoon. It was hilarious how horrible it was until Kurt remembered that it took up almost half a wall in what was possibly the most famous museum in the world. Kurt just shook his head, "I really hope it was the museum's idea of a joke."

"Come on, the Mona Lisa, or rather La Gioconda, is in this room here."

Kurt turned around and followed David and Homer to a moderately sized room behind them. Almost as soon as he entered, he turned around and came face to face with the Mona Lisa. Kurt cocked his head to the side. That was it? Homer was right; he was disappointed. "It's kind of…tiny and...blah." It was hard to find the right words to express his disappointment at seeing one of the most celebrated paintings in history.

"In my opinion," Homer intoned, "the Mona Lisa has become a victim of her own fame. Most people love her largely because she is famous, without understanding how she became famous to begin with. Take a look around for a minute; as you've noted, she's small, especially compared to the other paintings surrounding her. Not only that, but the vast majority of these paintings show their subjects in their entirety. The fact that Leonardo portrayed her only from the waist up was revolutionary at the time. Now look at her pose; it's natural and intimate, another rarity of the time; most other portraits were rigid and almost painfully posed, the others were intended to be candid and thus had little to no personal relationship with the painter and thus the observer. Finally, look at the background and the lighting; both work to highlight the subject. Most paintings of the time had a sharp focus on both the subject as well as the background, allowing the observer to choose where their eyes look. The Mona Lisa has a muddled background forcing the observer to focus on her; the lighting works in much the same way, drawing our eyes away from the minutiae and towards her face. It was all rather ingenious for Leonardo's time…and typical for ours. Leonardo fathered many of the practices we use in modern portraiture."

"She's still an ugly-ass broad." Kurt snorted and backhanded David's chest. "I'm serious; if you're going to revolutionize painting or whatever, at least pick a nice model."

"Like you would have any idea what a "hot" woman looks like. You still think women are 'icky'."

Homer continued to lead Kurt and David throughout the museum. There was so much to see, and so very little time; Paul's Christmas present to Kurt had to occur at a fixed time, or the opportunity would be missed.

The final stop on their tour of the museum was Antonio Canova's Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss. As with much of the works in the first section of the museum they had explored, this particular piece was a statue. "It's really quite beautiful. It's Aaron and Sarah, right?"

David nodded. "Yeah, back when they'd just hooked up and Aphrodite was still screwing with them."

"That kind of looks like Sarah. Does Aaron really have wings?" Kurt went up to the statue, examining it from all angles, up close and personal. He got far closer than security probably would have liked, but he was intent on seeing the finer details.

"If he so pleases." Was Homer's reply.

So far, it was Kurt's favorite piece from the tour, though it reminded him of another piece he'd heard of, "Your dad said there was a statue of him and your mom…The Rape of Persephone? Why would anyone make a statue showing rape? I understand that art is subjective, but that's just…" Kurt shuddered, rather than finish his thought.

"First of all, it's The Rape of Proserpina, Mom's Latin name. Second of all, traditionally, rape hasn't always meant…you know, forcing someone to have sex with you. Rape originally meant to take something by force. The statue is of my dad kidnapping my mom, not raping her."

"And that statue isn't here," Homer intoned. "It's in Italy. Now I believe we are approaching the time of a certain appointment Paul scheduled."

David nodded and a moment later they had rematerialized in a different section of Paris. Kurt wasn't certain where they were (or why they were there), but they stood in front of a door to what was likely someone's place of residence. David knocked loudly and a few moments later the door opened. Kurt looked at the man in the doorway, a sudden feeling of familiarity coming over him. He'd seen this man before. Kurt's mouth figured it out, purely out of instinct, before his brain did and he had just enough wherewithal to whisper three words – three names – before fainting: "Jean Paul Gaultier."

xoxoxo

He'd been so nervous seeing Kurt climb onto David's motorcycle that Burt had completely forgotten about the card until much later in the day. Sitting in the living room, he pulled it out and, slipping his thumb under the fold, tore it open. It was a hokey little Christmas card, nothing over the top or suspicious. Inside though was David's real Christmas present to his boyfriend's father:

Mr. Hummel,

I get why you hate me so much, but the time has come to stop hating yourself. You have no control over the dumb kid you were, but all the control in the world over the awesome dad you've become.

For once in my life, I'm grateful that this is such a small town and that everyone seems to know everyone else. It took only the tiniest bit of sleuthing, but I figured it out: his name is Jason Lee McIntire. His number is 1-650-555-8300. I told him I was going to give you his number; he'd like to talk to you, but he understands if you don't want to talk.

Sincerely,

David Karofsky

P.S. If I ever hurt Kurt, feel free to use your other Christmas present on me ;)

Burt stared at the letter. He somehow knew exactly, without any pause, doubt or question, who this Jason Lee McIntire was. But all he could do was stare.

There's a time in most people's lives, usually when they're teenagers, when they begin to feel emotions in such jumbled up messes that they can't even begin to describe them, let alone understand or control them. Burt felt that way now. Part of him wanted to cry; he felt he was on the verge of some great catharsis. Someone finally understood the pain he felt after all these years. Part of him wanted to hunt down David and beat the ever-loving snot out of him; he had no right, this wasn't his business! Part of him wanted to throw out the card, pretend he'd never seen it; he was a grown man, shouldn't he learn to put the past behind him and forget about it? The one emotion he genuinely recognized was one he hated ever having to admit to: fear. What would happen when he dialed that number? Did he really want to know the full extent to which he'd wrecked this kid's – no, he wasn't a kid anymore, he somehow hadn't aged in Burt's memories – this man's life. Even still, against any conscious will of Burt's, his hand reached for the telephone receiver, sitting in its cradle by the couch.

He had to dial the number out several times, the robotic operator telling him please dial one and then please do not dial one. Finally, he got through to a ringing phone, and then the click of someone picking up, and then the hiss of air as a voice spoke on the other end of the line, "Lee McIntire, network security, how can I help you?"

"Lee?" Burt couldn't trust his own voice; unsure whether he had spoken the name or merely thought it, he repeated himself, "This is Jason Lee McIntire?"

"It is."

"I don't know if you remember me or not," Of course he remembers me; he's expecting my call, "But we went to school together."

"Burt Hummel. I remember."

"I…I want to…t-to apologize. For everything." Burt squeezed at his temples with his thumb and middle finger. He felt slightly dizzy all of a sudden.

"I kind of assumed as much when that Dave kid talked to me about you. I was kind of confused about that; is he your son or is he dating your son, or what's the deal?" Lee didn't sound mad, or upset, or sad, or scared, or any of the other things Burt expected him to sound confronting his old bully.

"He's my kid's boyfriend. He's…he's a lot like me. My son, Kurt, he's…Kurt's a lot like you. When I realized he was like you…it tore me up inside. Knowing that there were people out there who would torture him the way I…the way I tortured you."

Lee cut Burt off. "I'm not gay, Burt. I'm not even bi. Not everyone who isn't a jock is gay." That took Burt back a bit; yes, he had told David he wasn't even sure if Lee was gay…but he'd still assumed; Lee was like Kurt in almost every way. "Look, I'm glad you've come to terms with your problems and your homophobia, but I'm still not gay. I just hate sports." Lee chuckled slightly, a bit awkwardly. "Thanks for calling and apologizing; it means a lot to me that you actually feel remorse for what you did…so many people out there don't even give a shit."

There was a long, drawn-out silence on the line; Lee had said what he wanted to say, while Burt had said what he needed to say. Every so often, Burt would open his mouth to speak but found his brain hadn't actually plotted out any words. Finally, it was Lee who broke the silence. "So…you still working at your dad's old shop?"

xoxoxo

Burt and Lee talked for a good hour; they had nothing in common, but they still found they had plenty to talk about. At the end of the hour, Burt felt like he'd made a new friend, a friend he'd probably never have a reason to talk to again, but a friend nonetheless. Burt was still awake, thinking about the conversation, when he heard David's motorcycle pull up into the driveway. It was a little before midnight. Burt opened the front door right as Kurt was putting his key into the knob. Burt barely even looked at his son, didn't see the new clothes he was wearing or the garment bag he had slung over his arm. Instead, he passed by Kurt and went up to David. The two men stared at each other for a minute, neither exactly sure what was going to happen next.

Neither expecting the hug Burt wrapped around David.