A Glee Christmas Carol (2/2)
Author: mothergoddamn & rebness
Pairing/characters: Kurt/Blaine, Santana, Brittany, Finn and Rachel.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Marley's in it. Sorry.
Summary: On the Eve of Christmas, Kurt is shown the error of his Christmas hating ways by some very familiar faces. And Marley. God, I know.
Previous: Part 1
A Glee Christmas Carol
Part II
Kurt awoke mid-snore and shook himself in disgust. He wiped at the drool on his bottom lip and hoped that the second spirit hadn't arrived early. God, second spirit? What was he talking about? It was just another dream! Rubbing at his eyes, he realised that his room was already light and yet the clock indicated it had just turned eleven, the chime began to follow its arrival at the hour and Kurt groaned heavily. Not again. A low glow began to rise and then settle over the room and Kurt could smell-- was that pizza? He crawled forward across his bed, towards the warm light. At his desk, he saw the frame of a tall man in a long cloak and what appeared to be a garland tied around his head.
'Finn? You, too?'
'Come in!' exclaimed he. 'Come in! and know me better, man.'
'What the hell are you talking about? You are in my room and if you get crumbs on this carpet, I swear I will make you a real ghost.'
'You're kind of killing the mood, bro.' Finn stood up, wiping his hands on his thighs. 'So, like, I'm here to show the present and stuff. You wanna come over here and grab my robe?'
Kurt peered out from under the covers dubiously. 'Are you even wearing anything under that?'
'Let's just say the boys are out in full force and loving it.' Finn moved across the room towards him. 'Come on, give my robe a little rub.'
Kurt flinched back. 'That never worked on Rachel and it isn't going to work on me!'
'Kurt, seriously. Come and touch my robe.'
'You know how I feel about nylon, Finn.'
'Dude, don't ruin it.' He grabbed at Kurt's hand. 'Touch it.'
'Fine! If it will shut--ahhh---' As soon as his fingertips touched the inferior material, the room and all that lay within it vanished and Kurt found himself standing in his own living room 'Seriously, Finn?' Kurt wiped his hand against his thigh. 'We couldn't just have walked downstairs!'
'Well, excuse me for adding a sense of drama!' Finn crossed his arms and indicated to the couch, where Burt and Carole sat wrapping up gifts. 'Dude, knew it.Call of Duty, Black Ops 2. See, and you told me putting hints on bits of paper and leaving them in the butter was unhygienic.'
'It is!'
'--worry about Kurt.' Kurt's head snapped up at the mention of his name from his father. 'He's always been strong, but lately-- I don't know. I think he's pushing people away.'
'He's been hurt, love. You know what that's like. The thought of letting people in again is terrifying.' Carole placed a hand on Burt's arm, stilling his motion. 'Kurt will find his way back, I know it. He's strong. But he's not hard. That boy is too full of love.'
'It's not a flaw,' said Burt defensively. 'He's just like his mother.' He cast an apologetic glance at Carole. 'That came out wrong.'
'No,' she said tenderly. 'It's fine to remember her.'
'Kurt takes care of that,' said his father. 'She lives through him. I have to tell you about the carrots! Some guy called Julian showed him how to do them like his mom did--'
FInn took hold of Kurt's hand and pulled him away. 'Boring! Let's go find out what's happening at The Blaines.'
Kurt scowled. 'The what?'
'It's a new thing I'm trying.'
*
'Wow, this place is fancy! It's like Downton Abbey.' said Finn, picking up a coaster and giving a small impressed whistle. 'You know, I never would have thought Blaine came from money since he's still wearing his outfits from the seventh grade but--whoa.' He grabbed Kurt's arm and dragged him over to the crowded table. 'Hey, look! There's me! And Quinn, and Santana, and Brittany, and Rach--'
'I can see, Finn!'
'I can see me, too! Isn't it trippy.' He paused, considering. 'Rachel's right, I do have an exquisite profile.'
Kurt rolled his eyes. 'Is it really essential we include this in our roller-coaster of horrors? I turned it down for a reason, Finn.' He tried not to dwell on how close Sebastian was sitting next to Blaine as he spoke. 'Let's go see what else dad and Carole got you for Christmas? I'm sure I saw a car shaped gift bag in the back just then.'
'Oh, my God, let's totally go-- wait! Man, you are wily!' Finn grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to watch the group. 'Listen.'
'--your voice would go much better with my range, anyway, Blaine.' slimed slimey Sebastian in a slimy fashion. 'It's much better suited.'
'What?' said Kurt, plopping down on the seat next to him, glaring daggers. 'Have you heard his voice? It sounds like when you aren't quite sure whether you left your iPod on in your bag or not.'
'Oh, I don't think-- no, I'm not going to sing. It just won't be the same without Kurt.' Blaine smiled sadly over at Rachel. 'Despite persistent offerings of replacement duet partners.'
'If you ask me, Hummel is being totally selfish,' said Santana, sitting back in her chair. 'It's one song. All he has to do is mince on up, hurt the hearing of those imprisoned in a nearby pound and then mince back off again. How hard is that?'
'I hate to agree with anything Lopez has to say but she's right, killer. Kurt let you down-- he let you all down.' Sebastian held up a spoon and check his bangs in the reflection. 'Probably thinks he is too good for you all now that he is in the city.'
'Hey, that's not true!' said Rachel and Finn in unison. They shot each other shy looks before turning their glares back to Sebastian. 'Kurt's one of the sweetest, kindest people that I know,' continued Rachel, 'and he has a lot on his plate, right now, and you know nothing about him.' Kurt felt his lips tugging into a smirk as Rachel leaned back in her seat and clenched her jaw.
'Oh, I'm sure it's hard for him with his sassy New York apartment, scholarship to Nyada and designer clothes,' said Quinn, 'but I suppose a pregnancy, going delinquent and being confined to a wheelchair are small beans compared to that.'
Hunter smirked. 'Designer clothes don't maketh the man.'
Blaine turned to him. 'No, they don't. But he doesn't need designer clothes to make him a good, moral and interesting person. He already is.'
Kurt grabbed Finn's arm. 'I never thought that--'
'Man, this is so boring. They're not even talking about me,' said Finn. 'Come on, let's go home.'
'No, wait! Waiiiiit---!'
*
Kurt could not help his moue of disappointment. He crossed his arms and glared at Finn. 'I was learning something then, and you just hauled me off to probably make you a sandwich or some cinnamon milk, you big lump!'
Finn began to unbutton his coat. 'It's a little hot in here, isn't it?' he asked.
Kurt pulled on his collar. 'It-- it is.'
'I'm just going to show you what's underneath this coat.'
Kurt's mouth went dry. 'If you insist,' he whispered hoarsely.
To his alarm - and disappointment - there beneath the coat were Joe and Rory, clutching at Finn's legs.
'Ta-dah!' said Finn.
'But they don't even wash,' said Kurt. 'I don't want them ruining my bedsheets.'
'What?'
Kurt flushed. 'What?'
'They represent two things you hide from, Kurt.'
'Washing?'
'Innocence and famine.'
'Why is the second one bad?' He considered. 'And I'm really a bit uncomfortable with this. Aren't jokes about Irish people starving to death a bit... a bit Dickensish?'
'Hey, you're the dick, right! Rory is innocence, dude. That hate crime's all on you.'
Kurt wrinkled his nose. 'And why is Joe famine? It doesn't make sense.'
'I'm famished,' said Joe. 'Famished for the Lord!'
Kurt tapped his lip. 'Wait, shouldn't it be ignorance and want?'
'Oh, my God.' Finn began to button up his coat, shaking his head in horror. 'What is it with you and the Irish prejudice?'
'No! I mean in the stor--'
Finn held up his hand. 'Imagine what will happen to these two without the ability to connect with others, without the chance to express themselves creatively. They will become these vile beasts that you see clinging unto me.' a muffled hey sang from beneath the clock, 'heed me, Kurt, for I see the word DOOM written upon their foreheads.'
'Come on, Rory wasn't that bad.'
'DOOM!' shouted Finn, flinging open his coat once more, the buttons flipping off Kurt's forehead. Rory and Joe were once more revealed, but now yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Like Puck. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, had monsters half so horrible and dread. Like Puck.
'But what can we do to save them?' gasped Kurt. 'There must be something.'
'Are there not social network sites? Are there not hipster photography apps?'
The clock struck twelve.
*
Cowering once more at the bottom of his bed, Kurt rose his face up from his hands. Christmas Present Finn was gone and in his place a dark spectre watched him quietly from the middle of the room. The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came, Kurt bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. But for this, it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded.
Kurt felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.
'Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?' said Kurt, his voice small. 'Ghost of the Future!' he exclaimed, 'I fear you the most of all, yet I know that your intentions are good- that you intend to save me from myself. Will you not speak to me?'
The Spirit answered not, but raised its hand to its head and pulled back the cloak to reveal the horrors within.
'Sweet Jesus, no,' sighed Kurt,hugging himself tightly.
'You know,' answered Mr. Schue, slipping the garment from his shoulders. 'I could choose to be very offended here. But I'm bigger than that. Come,' he jazz handed to the left.'We have much to see on our Journey.'
'I know you just spoke, but I could feel the capitalization in that word,' hissed Kurt.
'Don't stop,' whispered Mr. Schue, gathering him close. 'Believing.'
'I hate you,' said Kurt.
*
It was a dull winter's day, with a bitter wind. Kurt pulled his bathrobe closer around his shivering body and trudged through the frosty grass alongside Schue. They were in a cemetery. He glanced curiously at the gravestones as they passed, reading dates: 2014, 2021, 2043. He frowned. 'What year is this?'
''It matters not!' Schue intoned, looking impressed with himself. 'Nailed it!' He ushered Kurt towards where a group of people in
gaudy clothes were gathered around a grave.
Kurt grimaced. 'Shoulder pads?' he cried. 'Who would visit such horror on fashion?'
'This time around, it was you.'
'Come again?'
'They're your designs, Kurt. By this point in the future, you're a famous fashion designer.'
Kurt clapped his hands together. 'Ha! In your faces, Ghosts of Christmas Past! And, um, present.'
'Distracted, you are.'
'Yoda?'
Schue frowned. 'I was going for dramatic. Sorry, that we didn't all get to NYADA. Anyway, come with me. You have to see what's going on down at that grave.'
'Could you let go?' said Kurt, pulling his hand from Mr. Schue's grasp. 'Honestly, isn't there a register you should signing onto somewhere?' He glanced around him, scowl on his lips. 'Is this a funeral? Oh, my God, you actually have taken me to a funeral. No wonder you've only ever dated two women.'
'This isn't a date, Kurt.' He rubbed at the back of his neck. 'I mean-- unless you-- You're a very attractive young ma--'
'Stop! I refuse to allow this crazed delusion of mine to wander into that terrority.' Kurt shuddered. 'God, your mind wanders once in the shower and your conscience never lets you live it down.'
Mr. Schue nodded, a nostalgic smile on his face. 'You held that cartwheel for so long.'
'God, what a bore!' A loud voice boomed to Kurt's left. 'And honestly, where are the press? I should be having seizures from flashbulbs by now.' She was a tall woman with a pinched, unkind face. She pulled her mink coat closer around herself and readjusted the veil around her face. She gave a contemptuous sneer. 'If I'd known about the dearth of important people, I wouldn't have come to this troglodyte's funeral.'
'Well, please, are you surprised? Everyone hated the old coot.' Her partner lowered his shades and glanced around the small crowd. 'I'm pretty certain every single person here popped a cork on hearing he bit the big one.'
'Ergh, look at the pallbearers. Why are they all so good looking?' The woman laughed derisively. 'Oh, my Lord. Are they his models?'
'Oh, of course they are, darling. One- he didn't have any friends and two- look at the dated, unoriginal attire they are in. Double stitching? Puh-leeze, that is so 2012.' The man sniffed. 'Never had any vision, I have no idea how he was so successful.'
'Because he was a ruthless bastard, honey,' she answered, as Kurt and Schue followed her into the building. 'That's how you get anywhere in this business.'
'I heard he tried to donate his body to science. They didn't want it.'
'God,' said Kurt as the two laughed and went on ahead. 'This guy must have been a real charmer. I almost feel sorry-- wait, are those balloons?'
'Yes.' Schue nodded. 'It's one of those celebrate the life rather than mourn the death type of things. Oh! A buffet!'
'Really? Well, I guess that kind of sounds nice.' His eyes widened. 'That guy just let off a party popper!'
In the middle of the room there was a small coffin, next to a meagre collection of buttercups and daisies. If Kurt didn't know better, he would suspect they'd been nabbed from the park outside. A low hum spread throughout, and every which word seemed to rhyme with miser, bastard and something that sounded like runt. Hmm. Must have been a little guy.
He pulled away from Schue and wandered through the crowd. Funerals were so depressing. Even if this guy had been horrible, he shuddered to hear people bad-mouthing him. The man was dead, and yet they were criticising his sense of fashion and his terrible skin within earshot of the coffin. He let his gaze rest on the coffin and frowned. So why had Schue brought him here? Surely he knew the deceased? There were so many people in his life it could be - after all, terrible fashion sense applied to just about everyone he knew -- but God! He felt tears gather in his eyes to think of anyone he knew so reviled, spoken about so unkindly even in death.
'And I didn't even show up,' he murmured.
'Oh, but you did.' Mr. Schue placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.
'Good!' Kurt said firmly. 'I'd never-- why are you staring at me like that?'
'Like what?' asked Mr. Schue, gurning.
'Like I'm missing something.'
'Oh, well-- you could say that you are missing something. Something quite vital.'
Kurt scratched his ear.
'Like-- a vital sign.'
Kurt looked around him. Then shrugged.
'One might say that--' Schue clutched his throat and made a gargling noise.
'Are you okay? I think I might have some strepsils--'
'Do you remember that old Monty Python sketch?' Schue raised his eyebrows. 'You see where I'm going with this?'
Kurt tilted his head and then; 'Ohhhh!'
'Ah, phew. That was getting awkward!'
'I know, right.' Kurt laughed. 'No one expects the Spanish inquisition!'
'Yeah-- wait what? No! You're dead! Totally and totally dead. My God, and I always thought you were supposed to be one of the smarter ones.' Mr. Schue covered his mouth. 'Uh-- I mean, I'm so sorry for your loss. Of you. And the being alive thing. The loss of that. Ha! You're so dead, though.'
'No!' Kurt could feel the tears flooding his eyes, and pushing past Mr. Schue, he flung himself at the coffin. 'No, no-- anything but this,' he cried, smashing his fists down upon the lid. 'Anything but---argh!' He leapt back as the wood splintered towards him. 'How cheap is this-- you buried me in plywood? Oh, my god! You buried me in a sweater vest?'
Mr. Schue bristled. 'Well, actually, in the future people understand what a fashion statement I was making. Actually, I even had it passed into law! As President.'
'You're the President,' gasped Kurt. He glanced out to the limited congregation and realised that they all wore-- while respectively coloured black--sweater vests.
'Are you really that surprised? I'm on my fourth term!'
'But-- they only have two?'
Mr. Schue chuckled. 'Well, I got rid of that silly old thing in my first term!'
As bile fought its way through his throat, his eyes saw a familiar sight in the background. 'Blaine?' he whispered, relief flooding his heart. Oh, how it gladdened him that even in this dismal, cruel future that his first love had not forgo-- who the fuck was that bitch with his hands all over him?
'Taylor Lautner,' whispered Mr. Schue. 'Hasn't he aged well. Not like you.' He pointed into the cracked coffin. 'Check out those wrinkles from all that frowning.'
'No!' screamed Kurt, clutching at his perfect skin. 'No!' He peeked through his fingers. 'Wait. Is that Sebastian?'
'Yeah,' Schue nodded. 'They're poly.'
'Arghhhhhh!'
'Man, Christmas Present Finn told me you were prejudiced but whoa!'
Kurt, shakily, made his way down the aisle towards Blaine and the others. He needed to see some emotion on his face. Something to say that he had meant something to someone. That he was remembered as something other than the cruel miser with hindered fashion tastes that he had become. 'Blaine,' he whispered on reaching his row. 'Oh, Blaine.'
'He taught me a lot,' Blaine was saying to Taylor Lautner. 'Before him I was idealistic. I was obsessed with true love and charity and--' he shook his head. 'Oh, I was so young and foolish! Honestly, without him I would probably still be that way. But he showed me the way life could be. The way it should be.' He brought Taylor's knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. 'Without Kurt Hummel, I wouldn't be the man I am today. CEO of Fox News!'
'Are you fucking kidding me?' squeaked Kurt. Kurt moaned as Blaine began to regale Sebastian with just how many blood diamonds he used as paperweights. 'Can we just go? There's got to be someone who actually gives a crap that I'm--' he gasped as the funeral pyre disappeared and was replaced with a theatre hall. 'I know here! This is the Gershwin!'
'It is!' Schue motioned to the stage. 'And here's your someone.'
'Rachel!' Kurt began to move up the aisle. 'Rachel! I knew she'd make it! Is she huge? Was I her muse? Did she dedicate every performance to me?' Softly he could hear her humming Happy Days Are Here Again. 'She remembers me! She--' His smile faded on Rachel turning round to face him, broom in hand as she began to sweep the dust from the stage. 'Why is she doing that? Don't they have people for-- oh--' Kurt looked over at Schue. 'They have her for that, don't they?'
'You were one of her biggest supporters. Her fellow dreamer. When you began to grow colder and meaner-- she was in the firing line. She lost her confidante when her teachers or directors made her doubt herself.' Schue shrugged. 'She lost her best friend.'
'She never needed me to be a star,' whispered Kurt. 'She already was a star.'
'See?' Schue shook his head, and sat down in one of the theatre chairs. 'She lost that. She lost you.' He looked up at the stage and sighed. 'And then she lost herself.'
'This is insane! Are you seriously telling me that because I didn't take back my cheating ex-boyfriend immediately or go to his pity party ran by sociopathic would-be-blinders-- I made the world turn into this?' Kurt gaped. 'You are going to place the blame for all of this on me?'
'It's not about Blaine, Kurt. It's not about the Warblers,' said Schue sincerely. 'It's about you.' He sighed and motioned for Kurt to sit down next to him. 'You've been through so much in your life, Kurt. Year after year, you have taken whatever the world has decided to throw at you and it never stopped your stride. You just got back up and carried on, more determined than before. But you never let the world make your heart grow cold. You never let the world change who you were, Kurt. You kept faith and hope beside you every step of the way. And you're right, maybe Christmas is just another day-- but that's not what any of this is about. It's about what it represents. You've been the outsider, Kurt, and you know what glee club was to you when you needed it. It kept that light inside of you burning when everything tried its best to distinguish it. And now that could all go away. These kids need that outlet. They need to know that there is somewhere in the world where their differences don't make them weird, or unwanted but special. They need a place where they can be who they really are and get a glimpse of how it could be some day if they follow their dreams.' Schue tilted his head and looked at him, really looked at him. 'Christmas is about so many things, and yet only one thing.'
'Giving and charity,' said Kurt with a small smile.
'That's two things, dumb ass, but I'll let it slide.'
Kurt wrapped his arms round himself, watching Rachel quietly sing to herself in the shadows. 'Tell me, spirit--'
'Call me Will.'
'Spirit, answer me this. Are these the shadows of the things that will be, or are they shadows of things that may be, only?'
Schue shrugged.
'I can change this, can't I?' He nodded at his own words. 'I know I can.'
'You see, Kurt Hummel, you really had a wonderful life.'
'What?'
'Hmm, oh, sorry-- another appointment later. Ignore me.'
*
Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in! Kurt flung back the covers, and leapt from the bed. 'God! I feel so light! I feel so excited! I feel all Christmassy!' He ran across his room, bright grin spreading across his face. Reaching his window, he opened the window and leant out, delighted to find people passing below him. 'You there, boy! What day is this?'
Finn frowned back up at him. 'What the hell? You hit your head, Kurt?'
'What day is it?'
'Dude, it's Christmas Eve?'
'I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. Oh, what am I saying? They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can.'
Finn blinked. 'Okay. I'm going to the benefit and, you--uh-- you maybe should head down to the e.r or something.'
'The benefit! It's the benefit tonight?'
'Uh, yeah?'
'An intelligent boy!' said Kurt. 'A remarkable boy!'
'Well, if you are just going to be sarcastic, I'm going to go.'
'No! No! Wait for me! I'll get my shoes!' He looked down at his clothes. 'And change out of these pajamas oh, my God, I've been all over the time in these PJs!'
'Wait for you?' Finn wrinkled his brow. 'I thought you didn't want anything to do with this? You told me if I opened my big wazoo about it one more time you would shove your socks in there.'
'Against it? Against it? Finn! It's Christmas! And I have a duet to sing!'
'Alright, cool, calm down. No need to have a stroke.'
Kurt clapped his hands in delight and jumped back from the window. 'It's not too late! Okay, I can fix this!'
*
'Santana! Santana!' Kurt practically fell out of the moving car in his haste to reach her. 'Wait!'
She and Brittany turned on hearing his cry. 'What the hell? Are you being chased?'
'No, no! It's Christmas! Isn't it wonderful?'
'Meh. It's alright.'
'Here! Here's your Christmas present.' Kurt grabbed at her hand and closed her fist around it.
'You're-- this is a fifty?' She blinked down at the note, staring at him as he handed a used candle over to Brittany.
'I'm so sorry, I didn't have time to shop-- so I had to make do with what I could find in my room.'
'He gave me his duvet,' said Finn coming up behind them as they walked into the building. 'Which is kinda nice but I had my heart set on the carpet.'
'I told you, there was no time! Maybe next Christmas.' Kurt jolted in excitement. 'There's going to be a next Christmas! And another and another!'
'So,' said Santana. 'How much MDA did you slip him?'
'I like him like this,' said Brittany. She pulled Kurt close. 'I'm glad you're not The Grinch now,' she confessed. 'I was afraid that the green Santa poisoned you, so I burned him.'
Kurt's smile froze. 'Er, thanks.'
He extricated himself from her hold and picked up another present, handing it to Sebastian who had wandered over. The other boy raised an eyebrow. 'You got me a present?'
'Hey, said Kurt with a shrug. 'It's Christmas.'
Sebastian shook his hand. 'Yeah, it is. Thank you.' He reached into the little paper bag and pulled out an iPod cord. He checked the bag again, then the wire, then stared at Kurt. 'I don't know what to say.'
'Ah, it's nothing!' said Kurt. 'I have about 16 of them around my room.' He clapped his hands together and gazed around the room at his friends, feeling happiness crest within him. And of course, there was Blaine, looking handsome as ever.
It was hard not to embrace Blaine, and tell him of all the times he'd wept that they weren't together, that entering a new stage of his life without Blaine at his side was frightening. But it remained that next week, Christmas would be over. And soon it would be a new year, and maybe he would find another person to love, though God, would it ever be as intense as with Blaine?
He didn't know, but he hoped that no matter what happened, Blaine would be part of his life. He hoped that they could always share such a look and understand all that it meant.
Quinn was next, resplendent in Gucci. She gave his outfit an approving look. 'It's good to see you here, Kurt.'
'It's good to be here,' he said as she hugged him. 'Your perfume,' he whispered as she pulled away.
Quinn raised a hand to her throat. 'Oh, you like it? It's Knowing.'
'Estee Lauder.' He smiled.
'Yes.'
'My favourite.' A dreamy sadness overwhelmed him, cast everything in a tender light. He wouldn't cry, damn it. Christmas was not the right time for such things, but only love, and gratefulness, and the miraculous wonder that things were ever right at all.
'Merry Christmas,' whispered Kurt.
'God bless us, everyone!' cried Joe happily.
'Shut up, Joe.'
The End
&
Happy Holidays!
Like Christmas? Tolerate us? Have another- It's A Wonderful Life Without Finn Hudson.