Windsor Knots and Old Spice
Sappy and sachharine, this is mainly Burt and Kurt, with some Puck/Kurt undertones. I hope you like it!
"Hey dad, I'm home," Kurt called as he walked in from the chilly December afternoon.
Burt grunted a greeting from somewhere further inside. Probably the living room, Kurt thought with a sigh as he brushed off his snow-peppered jacket. Maybe it was a Deadliest Catch marathon today. So much for catching up with Heroes.
The absolute last thing Kurt expected to walk in on was his father wrestling with a garishly striped tie. He almost dropped the can of seltzer in his hand from mind-numbing shock. "Dad?"
"Hey Kurt." His father muttered, nearly gagging himself as he attempted a Windsor knot. "Could you help me out here?"
"…" The last time Kurt saw his dad wear a tie (and polished shoes, no less) was-well, he'd rather not remember that day. When he walked closer, he could smell Old Spice. "Cologne? What's the special occasion?"
Burt tried one last time, in vain, to get the knot right. "I'm meeting someone tonight."
Kurt felt his chest tighten in anxiety. What? "With whom?" He asked, and he set his drink down on the coffee table when he realized the one holding his soda was freezing.
Burt glanced up from his handiwork at Kurt's tone and paused, frowning in concern. "With a friend. You okay? You're kinda pale-ish."
"Seems kind of fancy for an outing with a… friend. On Valentine's Day." He deadpanned, and Burt flushed slightly. Kurt felt his heart leaden.
"Well… Eva's-she-."
"Eva?" Kurt asked sharply, his hands on his hips in that sort of Chastising Female way.
"Yes." Burt squared his shoulders, standing as tall as he could. Kurt was vaguely reminded of his Aunt Mildred's Cockatoo whenever the bird got offended (there was no other word for it) and puffed-up. "Bill from the clinic, he introduced us at last week's Auto Swap Meet."
Kurt mentally rewound to that day, and the way his dad had swaggered into the living room now held far more meaning. "Dad, be honest." He said with a sneer on his face. "This is a date, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
Kurt felt like the floor had fallen from beneath his feet, and he scrambled for something to say for a few moments. His throat tightened and he felt his eyes water slightly. "A-are… are you serious? Dad," He screeched, "Tell me you're not serious!"
Burt glared levelly at his son. "I'm being completely honest, Kurt. I liked talking with Eva at the Swap, and I was the one who suggested dinner tonight."
"How could you?" They stared at each other in the very tense silence, and Kurt felt the tears falling from his eyes.
"How could I what, Kurt?" Burt yelled. "How could I want to date? How could I want to move on? Kurt," He quieted himself and his eyes flashed in nervous worry. "did you expect me to never want to find another woman to love? I loved your mom, Kurt, but she's…" Burt sighed in a bone-weary way. "Your mother's gone."
Kurt worked his mouth to say something, anything, but all he could manage was a choked, cut-off sob as he turned and hightailed it out of the living room.
Burt sighed and plopped into his recliner, feeling much like a deflated balloon. "Mary, I wish you could help me out here," He murmured to the empty room. He ignored the stinging of his eyes. "You'd know what to do right about now."
Kurt found himself curled up next to his mother's dresser, crying and choking like a baby on the strategically-placed Persian area rug. He felt like a pathetic little shit, but his tears wouldn't stem no matter how much he tried to.
A shaky hand reached out to trace the detailed Fleur-de-lis pattern carved into the weathered wood. Her smell was still here, it still lingered in the air, and it was a small comfort, a kiss on the cheek.
"Mom," Kurt whispered, "I wish you were still here, so this wouldn't even be happening." That floral perfume caressed his slightly stuffy nose, and his tears continued to spill forth onto the rug, and each drop felt like lifeblood maliciously squeezed right from his veins. "Mom, mom, mom…"
He spoke nonsensical worries and fears to his mother's dresser, clenched his hand around one of the furniture's legs, and curled around the base like a cat looking for warmth.
After a good half-hour, Kurt sat up and sniffed, and his cheeks reddened from embarrassment now. "I'm being pretty selfish, huh, mom?" The perfume tickled his nose. "It's just… I don't want dad to do this. What if he moves on and forgets you? What if he gets hurt? Oh God, mom, what if he goes and marries a woman with his fashion sense?"
He rubbed a hand over his face to wipe away the last vestiges of tears, leaned forward. "Thanks for your help, mom. I don't know what I'd do without you," He whispered, reverently kissing the brass knob of one of the drawers. "Now, I've got a wardrobe to plan out."
Kurt slowly made his way to the living room, where he could hear snippets of the five o'clock news playing. His father was slumped in his chair, that horrid tie lying in a poor, forgotten heap of silk on the coffee table next to his condensation-beaded seltzer. He was staring at the TV screen, but Kurt could tell that his mind was elsewhere when he didn't scoff or mutter obscenities as the anchorwoman-the one he hated-came on.
He bit his lip. What did he say? "Sorry for being a horrible, selfish son, I just didn't want you to get over mom"? "I just want you all to myself-isn't loving me enough"?
In the end, he settled for a bashful "Hey."
His dad stiffened slightly. "Kurt."
They stared at each other for a long, tense moment, before Burt sighed.
"Look, Kurt… I'll call Eva and tell her I've got to cancel if it makes you that upset."
"No!" He flushed-he didn't meant to sound so loud and squeaky. "I mean-don't do that, dad. It's fine. I'll be fine."
His dad gave him one of his Looks, the one where it's like he's looking past Kurt's perfectly moisturized skin, past the façades and smoke-and-mirror acts he set up for the world, to look at Kurt, his son. Kurt, the sometimes-insecure boy who just wanted to love and be loved. And maybe a pair of sensible heels, if he was lucky.
"Remember when you gave up that bitch-off thing for me? In glee?" He asked suddenly.
Kurt giggled a bit. "It was a diva-off, dad. And yeah, I remember that." How could he forget, was more like it.
"You told me it was because you loved me more than you loved being a star."
Kurt nodded slowly, because he remembered that time in the garage like it was yesterday. He loved his impeccable memory, not only because he could so memorize what he'd read in the latest fashion blogs, but because he was able to remember how his mother reacted to his obsession with Judy Garland. (She'd rewarded him for his good taste by buying him his very first tiara.) "I wasn't lying." He paused and cocked his head to the side. "No one threatened me, if that's what you're worried about, dad."
"No-that's not it. I…" He sighed and ran his hand over his hatless head. "I just wanted you to know I feel the same. I mean- I love you more than… more than I want to find someone."
Kurt knew the quiet confession was awkward enough for his dad without him bawling, but he couldn't help it when his eyes began to water. He grinned unevenly at his sheepish father, hit by waves of love so powerful they nearly knocked him off his feet.
"If you're taking this Eva out on a date, you'll need a real tie, not that silly Walmart rip-off." He pretended his sniff was more derisive than I'm-about-to-cry as he whipped out a few (dozen) ties he'd selected from his closet before. Kurt smirked when his dad's eyes widened-in surprise or fear, Kurt wasn't sure. "I'll need to know what kind of shirt you're wearing-because you're not going to be seen in that atrocious thing, dad-and if you planned on a full suit for tonight. And just where are you taking her? Formal attire, or fun and casual?"
Burt looked overwhelmed as he tried to decide which question to answer first. After a moment of floundering, he settled on a weary yet amused sigh. "Kurt, if you're playing dress-up, my only request is that pink will not be anywhere near my outfit." He pointedly looked at the five paisley ties in varying shades of magenta lying innocently in Kurt's hands. "And lacy ruffle-things are not allowed, no matter how 'in' they are. No offense Kurt, but I don't want to look girly."
Kurt smirked in an eerily shark-like way, and Burt had the sinking feeling that he didn't know what he just got himself into. "None taken, and deal. Now, I've got this pinstriped fedora that I think you'll just love…"
Burt stood proud and tall in front of the mirror as he adjusted his cuff-links. (The plain silver ones, because he'd refused the diamond-studded pair Kurt chose and Kurt didn't agree that Burt's Pittsburgh Steelers cuff-links were 'pretty swanky.')
He did a stiff little turn-around for his son, smiling slightly. "Well, how do I look?"
"You clean up well, dad." Kurt reached up and adjusted the Windsor knot he'd managed in less than fifteen seconds, much to his father's chagrin. "Make sure you eat more carefully than you usually do-for your clothes' sake, as well as Eva's. And if you get something on that tie-"
"Yeah, yeah, don't use water to clean it off because water is to silk as the Joker is to Batman. I heard you the first few times, son."
They looked at each other as Burt opened the front door, jacked on and keys in hand. His hat-the fedora Kurt talked him into-was cocked at a jaunty angle, and looking at the entire ensemble, Kurt felt a stab of pride. "You look fabulous; Eva's going to be speechless."
"Thanks, Kurt. For… you know, everything." The solemn look in those blue eyes say that he meant more than just Kurt being his fashion consultant today.
He debated with himself before muttering "Screw it!" and attacking his dad with into tight hug. "I love you dad." His father held him just as close.
"Love you too, Kurt."
Then Burt was out the door, getting into his truck and waving goodbye as he pulled out of the driveway. Kurt smiled and waved back as his dad drove down their street, only closing the door after he turned the corner. He just stood there for a few minutes, leaning against the wall as he let the reality of what he's done sink into his brain. He couldn't help the tiny twinge of regret, but the happy ultimately outweighed the sad.
Still, Kurt felt tears threaten to spill, and he trudged over to dial that familiar number.
Two rings, and then: "Hey, babe. What's up?"
Noah's voice was just what he wanted to hear, but… "Could you come over?" He asked softly.
Obviously his attempt at keeping the tears out of his voice hadn't worked at all, because Noah jumped right into interrogation mode, interrupting himself only to begin an angry, barely legible tirade about Karofsky, and "If he laid one hand on you, I swear-"
"Noah, it's not-no one hurt me," Kurt quickly reassured. "I just-. Come over, please. I need you here." He inhaled shakily. "I'll be downstairs, you know where the spare house key is."
When he heard a familiar pickup as it pulled into the driveway-because he wasn't able to wait in his bedroom like he'd said-he was out the door and running to the driver's side. Noah barely had enough time to jump out of his truck and hold out his arms to catch Kurt. He held Kurt tight to his chest, not saying anything as he rocked them back and forth, and they stayed like that for a good couple of minutes.
Once Kurt was calm enough to be dragged back inside and plopped onto the living room sofa, Noah cuddled him close. "What's wrong? You're never like this," He said nervously.
He scoffed. "What, like a PMSing female?" Kurt watched Noah's tan fingers trace his veins like lines on a roadmap, strangely soothed by the action. He told the other boy about his dad's date with Eva, how he'd flipped out at first but eventually caved and helped his fashion-naïve father. "I'm happy for him, I really am." Kurt said in a small, reedy voice as he wiped tears away with the back of his hand. "It's just… it's like another chapter's been closed on our lives, and mom's further back in the book now."
"Kurt." Noah tilted Kurt's chin up so they locked eyes. He smiled softly and placed a few butterfly kisses to a pink, tear-streaked cheek. "You did the right thing. I'm proud of you."
"Why're you proud of me? I was-am-so scared of what could happen."
"What was that you told me, before I came out to my mom?" Noah asked, gently carding his fingers through Kurt's hair.
Kurt smiled slightly. "'Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear-not absence of fear.' I'm surprised you remember."
Noah grinned back. "Twain knew what he was talking about."
They sat in the undemanding silence of the night, Noah's warm presence surrounding Kurt like a security blanket. "I miss her," He whispered brokenly, and Noah just held him tighter.
"I know."
Burt came home late that night, looking like a million bucks as he took his shoes off at the door. He froze when he got to the threshold of the living room. There, he saw his son sleeping on the sofa… wrapped in another snoring boy's arms.
He stared for a moment, completely wowed. But then he just shook his head, smiling slightly as he tossed an afghan over the two entangled, dreaming boys. There was always tomorrow for hot-seat interrogating (and getting hold of the stranger's personal information).
After he carefully hung up all of his clothes from that night, as per Kurt's strict instructions (the kid could be a Nazi when it came to fashion), he sat on the edge of his bed and stared at his late wife's dresser. "You're still here, aren't you Mary." It was a statement, not a question. He smirked slightly despite the stinging sorrow in his chest. "Good, because I don't think I could do this alone if I tried."
Burt stroked his finger down the scarred side of the dresser before turning in for the night. He fell asleep to the heart-achingly familiar smell of roses and lilacs intertwined with his Old Spice.