Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. I do own a Staples button, though!
Author's Notes: This is my first Glee story and I hope to get some feedback on whether or not to continue. Reviews motivate me, so even if you leave a single word I will be happy. Thanks in advance to everyone, and enjoy!
Burt Hummel burst through the door of his suburban Lima house with a sleeping, three-year-old Kurt cradled against his chest. The gentle scent of tangerine-mint mixed with machine oil drifted to his nose as if welcoming him home. It clashed oddly with the taste of rainwater that clung to his body, hot and humid from the summer storm. Against his brow and underarms, the droplets felt more like sweat than sky fallen moisture.
Burt walked past the entryway with Kurt suspended a little too far away from his chest; the young boy nestled closer to his father with one thumb tucked neatly into his cheek. He wore a black tutu in celebration of his birthday and Burt was careful to not touch a single frill as he brought his son into the bedroom.
Kurt mumbled, "Daddy," and twisted his head of fine brown hair, but did not wake up. He kept the strands perfectly swept to one side except for the rumpled cowlick rubbing against Burt's flannel shirt. The father laid his son carefully into bed, prying little fingers off his arm. A silhouette lingered in the doorway as Burt kissed Kurt's forehead and whispered good night.
The intensity of his squared shoulders was an easy clue for his wife to catch, standing at the doorway like she was. At that moment though, all Burt could hold onto were the badly scripted movie-memories running in his mind on fast forward. He couldn't smother them back as his legs moved mechanically back into the hallway.
He paced into the living room, vaguely observing the familiar décor while memories switched to a new channel; the party highlights now danced across his vision. They had taken Kurt to a clichéd celebratory restaurant, at someplace children loved to eat and romp around but Burt could not remember the name at all. It didn't matter, so long as the kid had fun. The few other children and parents in attendance had cooed amiably over Kurt's demanding need to wear a girl's outfit and the way he screamed when the sensible heels he asked for were never revealed in any present box.
Burt had stood stock-legged as his son pranced, twirled, and giggled with the other young girls. He had tried to push back the startling feeling of shame that built within him as he watched Kurt have fun in his own way. He had not understood at first, but now the truth was much too clear.
My head might explode, Burt thought bitterly, trying to take comfort in the subtle silver and black themes around him. From the black sofa and silver-spun lamps to the black-framed paintings and rugs with elegant loops, the entire living area seemed perfect. He might not have decent taste, but his wife was an expert at turning a neutral room into the warmest atmosphere. He could appreciate that in a time like this.
Burt heard movement behind him and relaxed a bit when a pair of slender arms wrapped around his torso. He shifted slightly to see his greatest support smiling at him across her slightly upturned nose.
"A penny for your thoughts?" Jenny asked as she massaged the tension from his arms.
"The party was great; Kurt had a blast. That's all that matters," he replied stiffly, still trying to dismiss the jeering voices in his mind. Jenny flipped her dirty blonde hair over one shoulder and moved to Burt's side. Her clear, blue eyes fixed him with a pleading look; the one Burt always recognized when she wanted him to share more with her. But he couldn't.
The twenty-seven year old mechanic jerked his collar loose and mumbled about changing in their bedroom. He moved heavily to the back of the house, pausing momentarily to view the family pictures on the right hand wall. Kurt's sweet baby face featured in all of them except his wedding frame. The boy's high cheekbones, full lips, and dazzling blue eyes penetrated every candid shot. God, he looks so much like his mother.
Burt shuffled to his closet, busily moving items to keep occupied. He stumbled over a small cardboard box tucked in the back. The front side had 'Kurt' scrawled sloppily in Sharpie marker—his own handwriting, of course—and he reached down to pull out a toddler-sized one-piece outfit. His hands tightened around the light blue cotton with the words, "Baby's First Ballgame" typed across the chest. The store tags were still attached.
A lump built in Burt's esophagus until he choked. Coughing in rough spasms, the man realized each sound developed more and more like a sob. Jenny's swift footsteps approached him until her hand grasped his shoulder, soft and strong.
"Burt? Please, honey. Don't shell up and shut me out. Seeing you suffer silently like this…it just kills me."
Burt shook his head as his shoulders trembled. Don't break down, not now, she can't see you like this… He chanted it like a mantra. Jenny bit her lip and pulled gently on her husband's arm until he stood. She coaxed him to the bed and they both sat.
Burt finally broke down, lashing out in his broken voice, "I can't deny it anymore! The truth of it all, of me and Kurt…he's different, Jen, and I'm just the kind of man to hate him for it."
"Burt, you don't mean that…" Jenny began, but he stopped her with a weary sigh.
"No, but this guilt and anguish, knowing what I've done in the past. I can't live it down," Burt could feel the angry burn engulfing his left eye. The wetness was intensifying with every moment.
He stood on the football field, his teammates ramming each other during practice. One of the linebackers, Fullman, had been on the hard end of a "multi-car pileup" as the jocks affectionately called it. He was struggling to stand straight while his left knee wobbled precariously.
"Shake it off, man!" the quarterback, Nibrowsky, yelled at him. "Don't tell us you've gone and become a fag!"
Burt laughed boisterously with the other high school boys and cried, "Faggy's gone and busted his knee!"
The memory faded, but others just like it were ready to jump up next. He rotated his neck and pounded on one ear, as if determined to let his terrible history fall out forever.
"If only he was just like any other kid. I could wrap my head around it, you know? Then he…"
"Wouldn't be our son," Jenny said softly. Burt wrung his fingers together, bouncing his leg in quick, irritated movements.
"Tell me you don't see it. How happy he is with girl stuff. How…flamboyant he was at that party. The parents were too polite to say anything, but they could tell, too. Our son is gay," Burt practically spat the last sentence, and he instantly regretted it after Jenny's jaw clenched and her stomach pushed out from a sharp intake of breath.
For a long moment they stared at one another, sitting half on and off the queen bed with satin rose sheets. As if on cue, the power went out—courtesy of the growing storm—and plunged them into complete darkness. Burt could only hear their steady breaths; he was afraid to move and break his sudden trance.
A strike of lightning burst outside their long window, illuminating the night sky with an unnaturally yellow hue for a split second before it fell back to blackness. The mechanic listened carefully as Jenny moved to fetch a flashlight, and thunder rumbled softly in the distance. She flicked on the funnel of light and returned to Burt's side. The cylinder rolled between her hands for a moment, and then she spoke.
"The wonderful thing about lightning is how unpredictable it can be. I've always had an appreciation for its raw, but misunderstood power."
She lifted her hands and guided Burt down to her lap. Jenny laid her arms across the length Burt's back, acting as his shield while the man relaxed his head against the groove of her knee. No matter what, her warmth and support always calmed him.
"Our son will be lightning," she said. The tone of her voice and the tangerine-mint smell of her perfume united in their assuredness.
"Kurt will be spectacular, powerful, and uncontainable. Nothing will be able to stop him—not even the narrow-minded jock you used to be." There was a chuckle in the way she phrased that last comment.
Burt lifted himself to hug her tightly, moving his lips against her shoulder. The gesture clearly asked, How can you be so sure?
"He's ours," Jenny stated. There was no room for argument. "That's the best trait of lightning; it never strikes in the same place or the same way. Kurt will use that—magnificently."
The fan bulbs above them flickered to life once again, and Burt could only wonder if Jenny's steadfast belief in their child was the real reason power was restored. Another bolt of lightning cracked in the distance and he heard Kurt whimper in the other room. Automatically he was on his feet and rushed into his son's room. Jenny followed closely behind, hovering in the doorway once more with a gentle smile.
"You okay, kid?" Burt asked softly, stroking Kurt's face with his calloused fingers. The boy's eyelids fluttered and he gripped his dad's arm like a life preserver.
"I'm scared," Kurt whispered. His body curled around like a cat's to snuggle against the kneeling Burt. Tucking the covers under Kurt's chin, the mechanic's faint wrinkles lifted skyward with renewed joy and love as he spoke.
"You're all right, son. Don't worry about the storm. One day, you'll learn to love lightning."
Author's Notes: Please review! Next chapter will be Kurt's point of view, so let me know what you think!