(Author's note: Okay, this chapter is still pretty angsty. One more regular chapter, then a 15k epilogue, and that's all, folks. -amy)

Kurt didn't bother to call the Puckerman house the next day. He drove by and, seeing Ruth's car in the driveway, parked and knocked on the side door. She looked, if not pleased to see him, willing to let him in.

"Here to watch some more videos?"

"No." He held up the envelope containing the printouts of the papers Chris had emailed to him. "I have news. About Bryce's will."

That was enough to forestall any further conversation. She led him into the kitchen and paused at the stove to stir the pot that was cooking, turn down the heat, and put a cover on it.

As Ruth took a seat at the kitchen table, Kurt sat next to her, sliding the papers out of the envelope. He knew by now she hated small talk, and he didn't force her to sit through any.

"Just so you know, I didn't figure all this stuff out. It was Bryce's summer intern, Chris Janssen, who found all of Bryce's papers after he died, with the help of Bryce's housekeeper, and took it upon himself to puzzle it out. He's kind of stuck in New York with no transportation, so I said I would help get the information to you."

Ruth nodded, her face impassive.

"When Bryce found out he was sick, he established a living trust. This meant a judge wouldn't have to get involved in distributing his assets after he died; it would just go to the successor trustee to manage it and hand out the benefits to the people and organizations he named to receive them. The successor trustee he named happens to be you."

"Me?"

"You're his oldest living relative." He handed her the top piece of paper. "This is the list of beneficiaries. All the other papers are for the estate planning attorney. Bryce hired one in New York, but there is no provision for a local attorney."

"Okay." Ruth was already looking over the papers. When her eyes landed on the name Noah Puckerman and the amount listed beside it, they widened. "For fuck's sake."

"The money is to be used for college," Kurt said quickly. "That's stated in his will, a copy of which is also included here. If Noah doesn't end up going to school, it reverts to the last beneficiary. There's a similar amount for Sarah and… for Beth."

Ruth had nothing to say to that, but she looked a little less angry and a little more confused after he said Beth's name.

"The last beneficiary," Kurt went on, "and by far the most substantial, is Usdan. The trust specifies these funds be allocated to three separate foundations. The first supplies money to expand funding for the scholarship program at Usdan, extending it to Bryce's previously informal theater internship program for new high school graduates. The second establishes a salaried full-time position to manage and administer the internships and scholarships. And the third pays for the position he had been volunteering to do for the last nineteen summers: directing the two plays at Usdan."

Ruth chuckled. "Sneaky bastard. He knew nobody would be able to keep doing this stuff without money, so he found a way to keep paying for it himself."

"Honestly, it seems like a pretty good plan to me."

"But this doesn't make sense." Ruth shook her head. "If Bryce hired an attorney, why didn't they just contact me directly?"

"Well… they did." Kurt pushed the papers to the center of the table. "Or at least they attempted to. Multiple attempts to deliver certified mail were made last year, and every time, they were turned away, no authorized recipient. According to the records uncovered by Chris, six different forms were left in your mailbox notifying you of the attempt."

Ruth went pale. "Shit."

"I would guess those were discarded when the house was cleaned."

She fidgeted in her seat, but eventually nodded. "Yeah. Probably."

"Anyway. Chris was able to uncover everything necessary to move forward, except for one thing: Noah's whereabouts." He gazed at her. "Unless you already know where he is."

Slowly, she shook her head. "Not exactly. Not enough to help. But Aaron does."

"I thought he might." Kurt decided not to say anything about Noah's upcoming role of Salieri in Amadeus. "But no matter if he's willing to talk to me or not, you have to be the one to handle arranging the disbursement, because you're the named trustee."

"Yeah. I'll take care of it." When Kurt clearly looked dubious, she sighed loudly. "I mean it, all right? I'm doing a lot better keeping track of everything."

He agreed, but he figured it wasn't his place to say that. "Chris gave me the phone number and email of the attorney in New York. They're on the back of the envelope." He stood up. "Noah was amazing at Bryce's memorial."

"Yeah, well… you didn't see him puking his guts out the night before."

Kurt was just about at the end of his patience. "Look, I know you have no respect for performers, and I guess I can understand why. But this is Noah's gift. You need to allow him to use it."

"No, I need to ensure he has enough other skills to survive," she snapped back, "in case he has a fucking stroke and can't pay the bills with his precious gift. And don't tell me that would never happen to Noah." She stabbed the table with her finger. "This is the real job of a parent. It has nothing to do with unconditional love or support. It's to make sure he can make enough money to afford his own goddamn therapy."

Kurt shook his head, feeling the anger subside into despair. "Why can't it be both of those things? Why can't it?"

Her face was stony. "I get it. You're eighteen; you think adults have enough capacity to do all the things we want to do. Well, you're wrong. Some days we can barely get out of bed in the morning and take our medication. You think I feel good that he got to sixteen and ended up in juvie?"

"I'm just pissed you seem to have missed all the other incredible things he did before and since then." He turned toward the door, fuming.

"Kurt." She made a pained noise. "Wait."

Ruth stood and walked past him, turning left into the room that had been Sarah and Noah's. She returned with a canvas bag full of DVDs.

"These are the things he watches when he needs some comfort," she said. "Maybe you can find a way to get them to him."

He nodded, taking the bag. "I'll try."

"And if you see him, tell him… I really do want him to be happy." She gestured at Kurt, a little defeated throw-away motion. "And there's only one thing that makes him happy."

"I know. Performing. He told me."

She gave him a scornful look. "No, Kurt. You."

They stood there staring at one another until Kurt recovered enough wherewithal to walk out the door and down the steps. He didn't quite make it to the car before he started crying, but at least no one was around to see him do it.

The next day at school, Kurt brought his lunch to Mrs. Wright's classroom and waited there until she returned from her own lunch break. She smiled at him, looking curious.

"How can I help you, Kurt?"

"Noah is performing Salieri in the Dayton Opera House production of Amadeus."

He guessed her surprise was genuine, although of course she was an actor too. "Is that right?"

"I think that means he either dropped out of school and is working at the opera house full time, or he's in school somewhere within driving distance of Dayton. The conversation I had with Ms. Pillsbury about Noah's improved grades and test scores would indicate the latter." He set his lunch down on the table beside her desk, and she gestured for him to sit. "I believe I've eliminated the possibility of the military."

"Well, thank goodness for that." She watched him unpack his spinach-feta wrap. "You're quite the detective."

"I'm not the only one." He provided her with a summary of Chris's discoveries regarding Bryce's estate as her eyes got wider and wider. "So after a conversation with his mother, I'm about to embark on a full-scale investigation of every school in the Dayton metro area. Which I really don't have time to do, seeing as how I did not drop AP Calculus like I should have." He sighed. "So I'm hoping you will just tell me where he is and save me the trouble."

"What makes you think I would have any idea where Noah is?"

"Because you and Mrs. Pillsbury and probably Mr. Tracy helped him with school. If he transferred to another school, you would know what it was."

She looked somewhat exasperated, but she said, "All right."

"Really?" He straightened up, watching her closely. "You'll tell me?"

"Noah enrolled," she stressed, "in the Baldwin School for the Arts in Dayton. He needed to be permanently living with his legal parent in Dayton for six months in order to attend, so Noah transferred his residence from Lima to Dayton in March. This meant he was not legally allowed to continue attending McKinley, which he did." She looked hard at him. "If anyone should investigate this further, Noah might not be able to graduate this year. Do you understand?"

Kurt gulped. "Yes—of course."

"Baldwin is a magnet school with a focus on performing arts. Noah's grades were not sufficient for him to be admitted to the performing arts component without a special ed certification. Which, certainly, I would never disclose to a student, because that would be illegal." She made a finalizing gesture. "I have nothing more to say."

"Thank you." He got to his feet, gathering up the remainder of his lunch, and hurried out.

By the end of math class, behind the cover of his notebook, Kurt had looked up Baldwin's web site and read the details about its program. He took math notes on autopilot, imagining what it might be like there, and how Noah was doing.

He's not going to be happy to see you, the voice inside whispered to him, but he ignored it.

After school, he got on the road and made the drive to Dayton, taking the exit that led to Aaron Puckerman's house. When no one answered the door, he returned to his car and moved it far enough down the block that it wasn't obvious, but remained within sight of both the front and side doors.

It took twenty minutes for Noah to appear, walking through the backyard, and to unlock the side door with his key. With a racing heart, Kurt got out of the car and hurried over to the house.

"Noah," he called.

Noah turned around like he'd been goosed. When he saw Kurt, he groaned and went into the house. Kurt followed him.

"What part of don't contact me do you not understand?" he muttered, discarding his hat and jacket in a heap on the floor.

Kurt set the bag of DVDs in the hallway. "Noah, it's not what you think. This isn't about—us."

Noah wheeled around to face him. "Yes, it is! It's always about us, Kurt. It can't help but be about us, because every time I see you, all I can think about is how I feel about you."

Kurt came to a halt at the other end of the hall. "And?"

"And I can't deal with it, okay? How many times do I have to tell you this?"

"Okay," said Kurt, holding up both hands, "okay, I'm really not here to try to get you to do anything other than what you're doing. Because I think it's great. And—" He sighed. "I promise, after this, I won't come looking for you again."

Noah furrowed his brow, more in what looked like pain than in anger.

"Kurt," he said, his voice breaking.

"Just listen. Your mother is going to call you. You have to pick up the phone. Bryce left you… a lot of money in his will for college." Noah's eyes flew open, and Kurt nodded. "Enough to pay for wherever you want to go. If you don't use it in—I forget how many years, it reverts to the Usdan scholarship fund. Okay?"

Noah nodded. After a long pause, he narrowed his eyes at Kurt. "And?"

"That's all. I didn't want you to miss out on something this important because of a stupid miscommunication." He laughed helplessly. "I mean, our whole lives don't have to be Romeo & Juliet, right?"

Noah snorted. "And who exactly is Balthazar in this?"

"I think it was originally your mom, but then it ended up being Chris." Even in the midst of their argument, Kurt drank in the sight of Noah, standing so close, every detail of him. "He's the one who found all the papers at Bryce's house and realized what he'd provided for you. I'll let your mom tell you the rest. How's Baldwin?"

Now he scowled. "Who told you where I was?"

"I mostly figured it out on my own." Kurt took a step forward as Noah moved to the side. "Congratulations on getting Salieri."

"Thanks," he said, with clear reluctance. "That's a part I never banked on. Figured I'd rate the whimsical genius, not the frustrated artist."

Noah wasn't moving out of the hallway. When Kurt leaned on the door, he relaxed his stance a little. "What classes are you taking?"

"Mostly voice and dancing. I've been coached to work on my weak areas."

"Smart," Kurt nodded. "I hear you convinced them to let you in. What sold them on you?" When he hesitated, Kurt added, "In return, I'll tell you what school I decided on."

"I can find that out from someone else."

"I haven't told anybody else yet. Not even my dad."

Noah chewed his lip for another few moments before sitting on the bench to untie his boots. Kurt unbuttoned his coat, hoping Noah wouldn't stop him, but he didn't say anything.

"You realized at some point that I wasn't spelling things wrong anymore in our texts. It wasn't because I suddenly got better at spelling, but because I got my phone to read and write for me without dealing with typing the stupid words. I just said things and it typed them for me, and it read all the typed things aloud, and—wham, I did better." Noah dropped his boot and started on the other one. "So I dictated a play."

"A—a play?" Kurt was taken aback. "Really?"

"A one-man play, about my own life. It's kind of crap, lots of fucking drama and yelling and shit. Anyway, you asked me what got me a second look, and it sure as hell wasn't my grades, so it was probably that."

"Or maybe it was that your great-uncle was Bryce Coleman."

Noah didn't take the bait, or possibly he agreed with Kurt. He just shrugged. "So where are you going?"

"NYADA," he said. "I got into Juilliard, too, but that costs more, and I still haven't written off the possibility of doing musical theater. It's a better choice."

Noah looked up at him and actually smiled. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. Your mom told me to bring your DVDs to you. They're in that bag in the hallway." He took a breath. "She also wanted me to tell you she wants you to be happy."

Noah's smile slid away. "Really."

"And so do I. I feel—"

"You feel." Noah sneered, cutting him off. "What good is that? Kurt, why did you let Blaine talk you into staying together last year? Because you don't trust your feelings. You didn't trust that what you felt was good enough. Well, Kurt, if that's true, why should I trust your feelings, either?"

"Noah," he protested.

"You're holding out for something instead of nothing." Now his smile was more like a grimace. "I can't really blame you for that. He's got a fucking ripping bod."

"Stop," Kurt pleaded. "We're not together. I broke up with him, for real."

"For real." He nodded without expression. "That's good, Kurt. Now you can move on."

"I'm trying. Believe me, I thought I was." Kurt clutched his coat to his chest. "But it turns out I was only fooling myself." He gestured to the house. "And what about you? Don't tell me you're going to stay here, in Dayton?"

"Somebody has to help my dad take care of the opera house. What, you think Felix is going to stick around forever?"

"But that's not what you want. You always told me you hated the idea of ending up like your dad."

Noah gritted his teeth, his voice rising to a shout. "I hate everything, okay? I hate school, I hate this fucking town. I hate how I feel when I look at you!"

Kurt felt the tears come, hot and too fast to stop. The words he spat back came out the same way. "You think everything's going to come to an end if you just stop and enjoy what you have for one moment. Your mother said I make you happy. That I'm the only thing that does. It's probably just as well you wouldn't want to rely on a relationship like that. It would be too much to risk losing. And instead, you just throw it away, like one of your fucking one-liners. So, okay, you get to be talented, Noah, and smart, and you get to be right, just like you always wanted. But you won't let yourself be happy. Well, I'm done watching you sabotage yourself. Enjoy your tragedy."

Kurt wrapped himself up in his coat, along with his dignity, and left.

On the way home, he had to stop several times along the highway and pull over to the side of the road to cry. It was very inconvenient, and that combined with rush hour meant he didn't get home until after eight. He received several texts, but he ignored them all.

Finn watched him stalk through the door. "There's a big envelope from NYADA on your bed."

"I honestly don't care at the moment," Kurt informed him, descending the stairs to the basement. He picked up the envelope, threw it on the floor and lay back onto the bed, glaring at everything.

Finn arrived a calculated number of minutes later. He sat on the side of Kurt's bed.

"You want me to open it?"

"Not right now." Kurt rolled to his side and wiped his eyes on his pillowcase.

"You want to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to guess?"

"You're starting to sound like my dad."

"He's kind of great at this sort of thing, so I think that's a win." Finn touched Kurt's ankle.

"I saw Puck. He's at a school in Dayton."

"Yeah?" Finn sounded not at all surprised.

Kurt shot him an outraged look, but it fizzled in seconds. "Did everybody know where he was except me?"

"Not everybody. You, and all the people who would have told you, they didn't know."

"Even after months apart, I couldn't even get through a single conversation with him without it ending in name-calling. I should have just… moved on."

"But you couldn't."

Kurt closed his swollen eyes. "But I couldn't."

Finn sighed. "Do you remember, when we did Rocky Horror, how Janet wanders around Frank's laboratory, saying all of the if-onlys? If only the car hadn't broken down." He recited the line in a terrible falsetto. "If only we hadn't come to this place. If only we were among friends, or sane persons." He switched back to his regular voice. "Except that's not how it went. Bad shit happened, things went south, the end."

Kurt let out a little useless sob. "Tragedy."

Finn moved his hand to his shoulder. "Only that's not how things end in real life. Right? Even in Rocky Horror, after the house blasts off into outer space and leaves behind chaos and mayhem, that wasn't the end either. There was a sequel."

He sniffed. "There was?"

"I only know because Rachel made me watch it. It was terrible, don't bother. I'm trying to say: you get to keep going. The ending is way, way far away. Who knows what might happen before then?" Finn smiled gently. "I'm still rooting for your happy ending, Kurt. With or without Puck."

Kurt sat up. "That's kind of what Asher said, too. That maybe, while I'm waiting to get to the end, I could just… do some other things. You know, to pass the time."

Finn chuckled. "Maybe open this envelope, anyway."

He handed it to Kurt, who fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose before ripping open the flap and sliding out the packet of papers inside. He skimmed the cover page and let out a squeak.

"Mr. Kurt Hummel," he read, with mounting excitement, "we want to congratulate you on the selection of your dramatic manuscript for the final round of judging. All final round manuscripts will be published in the New York Academy for the Dramatic Arts' annual anthology of student work. In addition, all student writers will receive a tuition stipend in the amount of—oh my god."

Finn took the packet from his hand, skimming to where Kurt stopped. He whistled. "That'll take care of a big chunk of your first year. And look, if it ends up winning the contest, that's an additional ten thousand." He looked amazed. "I had no idea you could make that much money by writing things."

"Well, that decides it. I'm going to NYADA." He smiled at Finn. "What about you?"

Finn shook his head. "I'm still not sure if I think it's worth the money, to be honest. Sure, I'm kind of stoked they think I'm good enough, but do I really want to spend that much money just to learn how to act better? That's your dream, but it's not mine. I'm still figuring out what mine is."

"That's okay." Kurt reached out and gave him the tightest hug he could manage. Finn hugged him back. "Just… if you get a sudden yen to—to join the Army or something, at least give me a heads up."

Finn laughed. "You'll be the first to know."

Kurt washed his face and gave his face in the mirror a stern talking to. He ate the dinner Carole had saved for him. Then he called Chris.

"I did what you asked," he said. "I showed Puck's mom the paperwork and told her what you told me. Then I made sure Puck wouldn't ignore her phone call. Well, I suppose he could still choose to ignore it, but I don't think he will."

Chris sounded impressed. "Do I want to know how you did that?"

"I went to his dad's house and waited for him to come home from school. He's attending an arts magnet school in Dayton."

He whistled. "I'm legitimately impressed with Puck. How did that conversation go?"

"About how you might imagine it would."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Kurt. I won't say I-told-you-so about how things were going to turn out with him. You know I would have gone after him myself, if he'd've let me."

Kurt willed himself not to start crying again. "So I have two questions. Are you in a good place to talk?"

"Hey, you've seen Oliver's house. I could walk for miles and not see another person. Ask away."

He walked halfway down the steps to the basement and sat on the stair. "All right. You said, when you told me about Bryce's living trust, that it was about Bryce and Usdan. I understand those parts. You also said it was about Puck's dad, and about you. But neither of you were named in the trust."

"I'd think it would be obvious? Puck's dad should take over for Bryce at Usdan in the summer."

"I hope he does. And you…?"

"I'm going to apply for the internship manager position."

"But…" Kurt shook his head, wondering if he'd misheard him. "But that's not what you want to do."

"Why not? I'm good at organizing information. I essentially did the job for free this year. And I love Usdan."

He wanted to reach through the phone, grab Chris's shoulders, and shake him. "Chris, you're a performer. A really good one."

"I need to step back from performing. Get some perspective."

He leaned his head on the wall. "Look, I don't know if this is some kind of—of post traumatic whatever, or you're getting cold feet about the realities of New York theater, but rChris, nobody should be on the stage more than you." He gritted his teeth. "God. Both you and Puck. It is a sorry world indeed when Finn has the best self-esteem of all of us."

He heard Chris sigh. "Kurt, you know I'm a bit of a control freak about… well, everything…"

"Yes, and I can't believe you would just give up on all the things you worked for because you think you need some perspective!"

There was a long pause. "No, you're right. That's my mom talking."

"And you're listening?"

"She makes a solid case."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning, they offered to pay for college if I don't go into performance. So—Kurt, hear me out—I do this job for a year while I apply to other programs. I make some money, but I also stay in the industry, maybe do theater in the evenings. I mean, I'd probably end up in business analytics like my dad. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing." Kurt rested his forehead in his hand. "Nothing's wrong with it, but… tell me, how much of your life would you waste, waiting for those three or four hours a week when you'd get to rehearse? For community theater?"

"How much of my time is spent waiting now, for callbacks I'm not going to get? I'm not in the same place I was six months ago, Kurt. I can't do the things I could do then, and I don't have the money to pay for studio time to get back to where I was. What if I just skipped college and got a job working for a small-town theater?"

"Chris."

He heard him sigh. "Yeah."

"Tell me you honestly want to grow up to be Noah Puckerman's father? Because I bet if you talked to Aaron, even he wouldn't advise you to do that."

Chris paused. "You think I hadn't thought about that? Well… okay, you might be right, I hadn't. And yikes, that does sound pretty terrible."

"You helped me so much this year, Chris. I want to help you. We can brainstorm ideas together about next year. I mean, you haven't even attempted to sell out yet."

"Commercials?" Chris gasped as Kurt giggled. "I am aghast."

"See, you can't even conduct a regular phone conversation without being theatrical. It's part of who you are. You might as well embrace it."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Kurt. We'll ballpark this and consider my options, and then we'll circle back to—"

"God, stop! You really want to have a job where you have to actually say those things?"

"—sharpen our pencils and think outside the box." He was laughing now. "I've got a million of them. What was the second thing?"

Kurt coughed. "Mmm. This might be enough for today."

"No, no, you're right here on the agenda, let's see… Kurt Hummel, question number two. Fire away."

"Well, I was thinking about what you said about moving on, and why I'm not dating anybody, and then I asked you why you aren't dating anybody, and…" He took a deep breath. "I was wondering when you were planning to tell me you're in love with me."

"Oh. That?" Chris chuckled nervously. "I think the answer was meant to be 'never.' Obviously that plan has been foiled."

"You could have talked to me."

"Who would that have helped? I already knew you didn't feel that way about me, and I sure as hell wasn't going to be Blaine and convince you to go out with me anyway. I know I talk a good game about no strings, but that doesn't mean I use my friends. Let me just maintain a shred of my self-respect, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt agreed, after a moment. "I don't really know what else to say."

"You'd better get used to saying thanks-but-no-thanks, because Kurt, you are a keeper. Especially if you're still bent on holding out for our friend Mr. Closet Case."

He sighed. "I'm, um. I'm working on that."

"Well, I'm willing to let you convince me to tell my mother to go to hell. Call me tomorrow. We'll touch base, focus on the big picture, and get down to business."

Kurt tucked his phone into his pocket and trudged back upstairs. Carole was watching the football game with his dad, but when she saw the expression on his face, she stood up and wandered over.

"You okay, Kurt?"

"I just… had a lot of hard conversations today." He tried smiling. "Tell me, what do you think makes one person mean so much more to you than another person?"

She appeared to give the question honest consideration. "Well… I suppose it's about what you need at the time you meet them."

"Noah always said I needed something a little surprising. Something to push me out of my comfort zone."

"Do you think he was right?"

"He certainly did that for me. Sometimes it was a little further out of that zone than I wanted to go, but… it was never so far that I felt like giving up on him." He swallowed. "Until now."

She nodded soberly. "Even though you still love him so much."

He looked at the floor. "I feel like I failed him."

"No, honey. You didn't. You gave him everything you could. Now it's up to him." Carole reached out and pulled him into a warm, comforting hug. "He's figuring it out. You think he can do that?"

Kurt nodded vigorously. "Yes, I really do."

"Well, that counts for a lot."

He leaned into the warmth of the circle of her arm. "For a while, I thought I was the only person left who believed in him, but I don't believe that anymore. His dad, and Felix, and Ms. Pillsbury and Mrs. Wright, they're all on his side. They believe in his dreams. Even his mom does, kind of."

"And so do your dad and I. That's a lot of people." She gave him a signature Hudson half-smile. "Now you have to do the hard work of standing back and not helping. Maybe someday you'll find a way to tell him you still believe in his dreams, too, even if you aren't there to fulfill them for him."

Kurt thought about standing back as he brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas. It wasn't all that late, but Finn and Michael were out, so he went to bed anyway. His head was full of Noah on the stage, Noah smirking, Noah arguing with him, Noah holding him in his arms. The image of Noah kneeling over him, his back arched and muscles straining, proved too much for him to deal with, and Kurt gave into his body's demands. After all, he'd been jerking off to thoughts of Noah Puckerman for four years; he couldn't imagine why he should stop now.

Eventually he opened the bottom drawer of his desk. The folded Henley shirt was inside, but he left it there, and instead dug out his copy of Ender in Exile and read the last third to himself. He could hear the voices he'd always used for the characters in his head, like old friends. He wondered if, when Noah had read it to himself, he'd heard the same voices.

When he was done with the book, he tucked the NYADA Young Playwrights letter into the inside back cover and slid it under his pillow before turning off the light.

Disclaimer: all the legal advice is based on my own research; I am not a lawyer.

Credits:

Part of Kurt's argument with Ruth was borrowed from Tina's conversation with Mike's dad in episode 3x03 Asian F.

Finn's speech (and most of this story) was based on this quote from Orson Welles' The Big Brass Ring: "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story."