Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

January of 1994 (Twenty-four Weeks)

Burt leaned back in the front seat of his truck, waiting for his girlfriend to leave school.

Wife, he reminded himself. She's your wife.

It was hard to feel married when your wife was in high school. And lived in her parents' house. And no one could know they were married.

He sighed heavily. He wished with all his might that he could go back in time and do right by Mollie. She deserved to go to college and travel like she wanted. He could've stayed behind, saved money, waited for her. He could have given her a real wedding. Their first child could have been celebrated, instead of hidden.

But there was no going back now.

Burt tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and sat up straighter as he recognized Mollie amongst the students trickling out of the McKinley doors, her sky blue winter coat easy to spot in the crowd. He revved the engine and turned on the heat, waiting impatiently for her to cross the parking lot and reach his truck.

But she stopped on the sidewalk, talking to a cheerleader and some jock in a letterman's jacket. Even from his distance he could tell she was angry by the way she held herself- chin up and her fists at her sides. The jock looked like he was yelling at her.

"Like hell he is," Burt mumbled under his breath, jumping out of the truck and slamming the door behind him. He marched though the snow towards them. "Hey! You. Yeah, you. What the hell do you think you're doing?" The cheerleader took a step back. "She quit the Cheerios," she accused. "We've got Nationals in two months, and she quit."

"It was a personal decision," Mollie snapped.

"We have to redo all of our routines because of you," the cheerleader retorted.

"There are more important things in life than being a Cheerio," Mollie said.

"We're in high school, Melrose," the cheerleader argued. "There's nothing more important than being a cheerleader."

Burt put his hand on Mollie's arm. "Come on, Moll, let's go," he said gruffly.

"You know, it's been going around school that someone's got a bun in the oven," the jock jeered. "That true? You got her knocked up, Hummel?"

"Slut," the cheerleader sneered.

The color drained from Mollie's face. Without thinking Burt lunged for the jock, grabbing him by the collar and ramming him back against the fence, his forearm cutting into his neck. "You don't ever speak to my wife that way," he spat. "You understand?"

The jock spluttered under his arm, his face turning red. Burt let go, pushing him back, and took Mollie by the hand. She laced her gloved fingers through his, clutching tightly as he dragged her back to the truck.

He waited until they were both inside, the doors shut and locked. "You all right?" he asked.

Mollie pressed her fist to her mouth. "Oh my god," she whispered. "Oh my god, Burt…"

He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. "So you quit the Cheerios, huh?" he said.

"I didn't want…I didn't want to risk hurting the baby," she said, her breathing slightly labored. "And besides…I can't hide it much longer." She unbuttoned her coat and leaned back. "You can tell just by looking at me. And I am not stuffing myself into that tight uniform for vanity's sake."

Burt sighed and placed a hand on his wife's rounded belly. "It's gonna be okay," he said. "The baby's fine. You're fine. Let's just go home."

She leaned against the window, pressing her forehead to the glass. "You mean you'll take me to my house, and you'll go home to yours."

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "We don't have a choice, Moll," he said. "Your parents-"

"-are going to find out anyway," she said. She rubbed her temples. "God, we just keep arguing in circles."

He revved the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. "Buckle your seatbelt," he said.

She obeyed, her head still down. "You know you called me your wife in front of them," she said in a low voice.

"I didn't mean to," Burt said.

"It's going to spread over the school," she warned. "It's going to come back to my parents."

He took a deep breath. "We'll cross that bridge if we have to, all right?" he said.

He held out his hand. She reached over and took it, and he squeezed her fingers gently.

January of 1994 (Twenty-five Weeks)

Burt surveyed the labor and delivery ward warily. It was unsettling to know that in a few months he would be here again, not to visit somebody else's new kid but to have his own. He swallowed hard.

Mollie, however, was in her element. She gazed around the hall with wide eyes, smiling wistfully. For some reason she seemed especially young today, with her long waving hair drawn back softly at the nape of her neck and her pink dress clinging to her rounded baby bump.

"I can't believe Mary Elizabeth had her baby," Mollie sighed. "Ella is gorgeous."

Burt wanted to tell her that Ella seemed like a very ordinary baby, red and squooshy-faced and squalling, but now didn't seem to be a good time. "Do they always come out so small?" he said instead.

Mollie laughed. "Burt, Ella's big for a baby," she said. "Ten pounds is immense for a baby."

Burt frowned. "So how big is our kid gonna be?" he asked.

She linked her arm through his. "The average birth weight is usually around seven or eight pounds," she said.

"So like…a kid's bowling ball," Burt said.

"Yes…I suppose," she said. "Just…less round. And with arms and legs. And a head. That's very important."

Burt exhaled slowly. "God, I don't know what I'm gonna do with a baby," he said. "I mean, I held Ella for about three minutes and I thought I was going to drop her the whole time. I think Mary Elizabeth was about to kill me."

"You'll be fine," Mollie reassured him. She linked her fingers through his. "See, a mother feels like a mother while she's still carrying her baby. But a father…he doesn't feel quite like a daddy until his baby in his arms."

They walked down the hall and paused outside the wide glass picture window barricading them from the nursery. Without saying anything they stopped and gazed inside at the rows of plastic cribs, each one cradling a soft little pink or blue bundle.

"Oh, Burt," Mollie sighed. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "In a few months, our baby will be sleeping here."

Burt didn't have the heart to tell her that he didn't have the same sweet sentiments. He definitely didn't tell her that he had never felt so terrified in his life.

He couldn't imagine taking one of those tiny, innocent bundles home to keep. None of them should come home with him. He was twenty-two, clever with a car but clumsy with everything else. He didn't know anything, much less about a baby.

I don't think I was cut out to be a dad, he thought.

But he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he brushed a kiss on the top of Mollie's head. "C'mon, let's get you home," he said.

February of 1994 (Twenty-Eight weeks)

Burt was half asleep, staring at his ceiling and running through the different steps on how to change the oil in a Corvette in an effort to bore himself out of insomnia, when he got the phone call.

He grumbled under his breath and reached for the jangling phone on his nightstand. "H'llo, Hummels," he mumbled.

"Burt?"

He sat up. "Mollie?" he said, his heart skipping a beat. "Mollie, hon, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you in labor?"

"Burt, I…I need you to come get me," she whispered, her voice crackling in the receiver.

He pushed the covers back and grabbed at the clothes strewn over his floor. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "What the hell's going on?"

"My mother found my wedding ring."

He stopped, his jeans hanging around his hips. "Fuck," he swore softly. "Okay. Okay, I'm coming to get you. Where are you?"

"The pay phone down the street from my house," she said. "Burt, they kicked me out. They…oh my god, Burt, I can't do this."

"Then let me," he said. "Don't cry. I'll be right there. Stay where you are, okay?" He tucked the phone against his shoulder as he pulled on his flannel shirt. "I love you, Mollie."

"I love you too," she said. "Please…come soon."

He dropped the phone on his bed and ran down the stairs two at a time. In one quick move he grabbed his keys off the hook by the door and bolted out of the house, not bothering to lock up. The drive to the Melrose place usually took about fifteen minutes. Burt made it in eight.

He pulled up to the curb beside the pay phone at the corner, parking crookedly, and jumped out. "Mollie?" he called.

She peeked out from behind the phone booth, arms wrapped tightly around herself. "Shit," Burt whispered. "Shit, Mollie, where's your coat?"

She smiled at him, her lips crooked and white in the glare of the streetlights. "They didn't give me a chance to get it," she said.

His heart stopped beating. In two quick strides he crossed to her and pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms so tightly around her he lost feeling in his fingers. "It's okay," he whispered into her hair. "It's going to be okay. We'll talk this whole thing out tomorrow. Come home with me."

She twined her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest, her whole body shaking and her rounded belly pressing against him. "I'm scared," she sobbed. "Burt, I'm scared. I'm so scared."

He tangled his fingers in her hair. "I know," he said. "I am too." He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her slowly, tasting her tears on her soft lips. "But you're not Mollie Melrose anymore. You're Mollie Hummel. And nobody, not nobody, pushes the Hummels around." He kissed her again, then guided her to the front seat of his truck. "C'mon. Let's go home."

They drove home in silence, Mollie clutching his hand across the center gearshift as she shivered. When they got to his house he helped her out of the truck, neither of them speaking, and guided her into the house.

She followed him to his room, her steps careful on the stairs. He turned on the bedside lamp and pulled some of his clean clothes from his chest of drawers. She changed slowly from her snow-damp dress and slush-drenched shoes, keeping her eyes down. He tugged her long hair free from the collar of his tee shirt and led her to the bed, laying down beside her as she settled under the blankets.

Mollie huddled in his arms, and for the first time since their wedding two months earlier, Burt fell asleep with his wife beside him.

February of 1994 (Twenty-Nine Weeks)

"I wish my mother would stop making us run her errands for her," Burt grumbled.

"Oh, I don't know," Mollie said. "I don't mind it." She elbowed him playfully. "It'll be good practice for when we're on our own."

He sighed heavily, gripping the steering wheel and staring out at the road. As much as he wanted to move out to a real house and start his family off right, there was no way they could afford anything more than a crappy apartment, not with all the impending bills for the baby. So no, a home of their own would have to wait.

He cleared his throat. "So, what's next on my mother's list?" he asked.

Mollie pulled the folded paper out of her coat pocket. "She wants us to go to this address," she said, holding it up for him to see. "She wants us to pick something up."

He scowled. "Seriously? That's halfway across town from my parents' house," he said. "Fine."

He reached over and flipped on the radio to a country station. Mollie wrinkled her nose. "Oh my god, not this," she said. She opened up the glove compartment and rummaged around until she found a cassette tape. "Aha! I knew I made you a mix tape." She popped it in and smiled. "See? So much better."

"I like my music," he protested.

"The baby doesn't," she retorted. "You start playing that country stuff or whatever and he starts kicking." She patted her belly. "You're trying to tell Daddy to cut it out, aren't you, darlin'?"

Burt sighed. "Maybe he likes country and he's excited," he suggested.

Mollie scowled. "I think not," she said. She smoothed her hand over her immense baby bump. "You know, we really ought to come up with a name for this little guy."

"Yeah, at some point," Burt said.

He glanced over at her as she looked out the window and sang along to the tape, her hand patting her belly in time to the music. It's not fair, he thought angrily. She doesn't deserve this.

It had been two weeks since she moved in with him and his family. Two weeks since she started wearing her wedding band on her ring finger instead of hiding it under her shirt and started flaunting her baby bump instead of layering in oversized clothing. Two weeks since he and his father had driven to the Melrose house and silently packed up Mollie's belongings while her parents ignored them.

She doesn't deserve this, he thought again.

He drove to the address his mother had written down and pulled up to the curb of a pleasant little blue house with black shutters. "Who lives here?" Mollie asked, sliding out of the cab.

"Beats me," he shrugged. "But my mom's car's here, so who knows?"

They walked up the path leading to the front door and Burt knocked. In a moment his mother answered, grinning at him. "Hey, kids," she said. "Come on in."

Burt frowned. "Why'd you make us drive out here to pick something up if you're already here?" he said.

Kathy rummaged in the back pocket of her faded jeans and pulled out two gold keys. "Here you go, son," she said. "One for you, one for Mollie."

Burt stared at her, mouth agape. Mollie blinked. "What…what the hell…"

"Your dad and I started college funds for you and your brother, just in case," Kathy explained. "Neither of you went, and Andy's real settled out in Iowa, so…we put the money towards this house. It's a lease-to-own, so you've got to pay some money down each month, but your dad crunched the numbers. You're making good money at the garage, and as long as Mollie takes that job in the fall, you two should be just fine."

Mollie covered her mouth with her hands. Burt stared at the keys in his palm. "Mom, this is…"

"This is nothing," she said. "You two kids have gone through enough. Might as well have something go right for once." She hugged him tightly, then turned to kiss Mollie on the cheek. "There's a room upstairs that'll make a real good nursery."

Kathy patted them both on the shoulders and headed out of the house, humming tunelessly to herself. Mollie buried her face and burst into tears. "Oh my god, Burt, it's perfect," she sobbed.

He couldn't help but laugh as he tugged her close. "You haven't even looked at it past the living room," he chided gently.

"We have a home," she said. "We can bring our baby to a real home. Our own home."

Burt's throat tightened at that, and he held her even closer.

March of 1994: Thirty-One Weeks

Burt sank down on the couch and flipped on the television, an icy Coke can in his hands. "Long day at the garage?" Mollie asked from her oversized armchair.

"Yup," he sighed. "How was school?"

"You know, school," she said. "Glee went well, though."

"Oh, yeah, you're playing piano for their practices now," he said.

"Rehearsals," she corrected.

"Same thing," he shrugged.

She sighed. "I wanted to join glee when I was a freshman, but my parents wouldn't let me," she said. "My parents said cheerleading would look better on a college application. Ha." She turned a page in her book, scowling as she nibbled on the straw in her glass of water.

Burt frowned. "You're in a mood," he said.

"Well, I'm sorry, I'm as big as a house and filled with coursing hormones," she snapped. "Also, morning sickness comes back during the third trimester. And your son won't stop kicking me. So…I'm not necessarily in the best of moods. Thanks ever so much for rubbing it in."

Burt swallowed hard. "So…what are you reading?" he asked meekly.

She sighed. "A book of baby names," she said, holding it up. "He's going to be here in two months, and so far he'll have to be called Baby Boy Hummel for the rest of his life."

"Well, he could always be Burt Thomas Hummel Jr.," Burt suggested.

Mollie shot him a glare.

"Okay, no," he said. He cleared his throat. "What kind of names do you like?"

"Well," she said. "I like Gabriel."

"Isn't that a girl's name?" he said.

She huffed. "What about Theodore?"

"Seriously?"

"Fine. Riley."

"That's a-"

"No, Burt, it's not a girl's name."

"How about John?" he suggested. "Or David. Sensible names."

"Everyone names their sons nice sensible things," Mollie scoffed. "I bet he'll be in kindergarten with at least two other Davids."

"What about…William?" Burt suggested desperately.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't want to talk about names," she said. "I'm tired. Can I use the TV?"

"Are you going to watch the Sound of Music again?" he asked warily. Mollie stuck out her lower lip and he sighed. "Fine,"

He got up and popped in the first VHS tape before settling back on the couch with his Coke and an old Popular Mechanics magazine. Mollie curled up in the armchair, her hands resting on her immensely rounded belly and her blue-green eyes soft and dreamy as she watched the movie for the umpteenth time.

Burt didn't really pay attention until all of a sudden someone said his name. "Huh?" he said, glancing up.

"No one was talking to you," Mollie said absently, eyes glued to the screen.

"But I heard-"

"Sh."

He closed his mouth and watched the screen for a minute. The seven kids in their matching outfits were marching up and introducing themselves to Julie Andrews.

I'm Kurt. I'm incorrigible. What's incorrigible mean?

"What about that?" Burt said suddenly.

"What about what?" she asked, pausing the movie.

"Kurt," he said. "That'd be a great name for a kid, right? Sounds like my name, but it's not-"

"It's not Burt Hummel, Jr.," Mollie said. Her eyes lit up. "Kurt. I think I like it."

He grinned. "Did we actually agree on a name?" he said.

"Wait, wait, wait," Mollie said, flipping through the name book. "I have to see what it means. We can't name our son something that means 'river in a meadow' or something stupid like that." She opened to the K's and ran her finger down the page. "Kurt. It's German, and it means…courageous and courteous." She looked up and smiled. "I think we have a name."

"Kurt Hummel," Burt grinned. "I like it."

Mollie patted her belly. "Hi, Kurt," she cooed. "Hi, Kurt, it's Mommy." She looked up at Burt and grinned. "Now we just have to agree on his middle name."

"Thomas?" Burt offered.

Mollie threw a couch pillow in his face.

April of 1994 (Thirty-Three Weeks)

"Hummel! Phone's for you!"

Burt wiped his hands off on a stray rag and dropped it by his work station before taking the phone. "Burt Hummel," he said abruptly.

"Mr. Hummel? This is Suzanne from Good Samaritan. Your wife was brought in to the emergency room about twenty minutes ago."

The phone nearly slipped from his grip. "Is Mollie okay?" he demanded. "How's the baby? What happened?"

"She started having contractions while she was at school," the nurse said. "We were able to get her stabilized, but she'll need to take it easy till her due date."

"And the baby?"

"The baby's fine," the nurse reassured him. "Still in there. We're going to try to keep that baby safe for as long as we can, but there's no guarantee that your wife will make it to her due date."

He sagged against the wall. "Can I come get Mollie?" he begged.

"We're going to keep her for a few hours for observation, but I think she wants you here," the nurse said. "And don't worry, hon. She'll be fine. I'll let her know you're on your way."

He mumbled a goodbye and hung up, his heart racing as his mind replayed the conversation.

If something happened to her, I don't know what I'd do, he thought, snatching up his car keys and bolting from the garage without bothering to ask his boss if it was okay to leave.

Author's Notes:

Long time no update, eh?

But here I am! And very excited! BECAUSE KURT WILL BE BORN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER. HUZZAH.

I really love Mollie. She's so endearing to write. And Muchacha10 just drew a beautiful picture of Mollie and little Kurt, and asdkfjdsklfjklds, it's adorable.

My Google-fu led me to several different meanings to the name 'Kurt' so I just sort of pieced a meaning together. But it fits him, right?

And Kurt is about to be born. I am excited. SOON I WILL BE WRITING ABOUT TODDLER!KURT. SDKLJFDSLFJLKD. ADORABLE.

And feel free to suggest any ideas you'd like to see involving little Kurt and Burt and Mollie! I'll be writing up to Mollie's death, so anything between birth and his eighth birthday is fair game.