Part Two – Age 8 – Burt

Kurt woke up one morning and his mother was dead.  It was arguably the most horrible thing a child could experience.

It was worse for Burt.

The pain of losing his wife seemed insurmountable, this was true, but the consequences of her death… they loomed with the promise of something even more unthinkable.

A single Fab was not allowed to raise a child.

Thirty days—the span of time he had to find someone else, a new Nat who would be willing to take him and his eight-year-old son.  Days as thin as paper, as intangible as the wind.  A task that seemed more impossible than locating the proverbial needle in a haystack.

But Burt would do it; he had to for Kurt.

He posted ads in every paper within a fifty mile radius.  He placed his profile on every claiming site, even went to a few auctions out of desperation in the final week.  In his thirties and saddled with a child—even with his clean record and successful business—it was unsurprising that not a single woman showed interest.

Two days to go and he doggedly headed to the local Registry office, fully prepared to beg.

And there she was.

Full-figured with her auburn hair twisted into a messy bun, there was something about the woman that Burt found striking, even with the fat tears rolling down her rosy face. 

He didn't speak as he approached, simply dug in his back pocket for the hanky he kept there out of habit and offered it up.  The woman peered up at him, her watery eyes large and glistening, and took it slowly, mopping up her face with a complete lack of decorum and then blowing loudly while Burt watched her in silence.

“Thank you,” she said once she had composed herself.

Burt nodded.  “Of course.”

“I—“she cut off in a broken laugh, hiccupping through it.  “I'm sorry.  I'm a mess; I know.  It's been that kind of day.”

“Well, we've all had ‘em,” Burt said.

“Yeah,” the woman agreed with another hiccup, pressing a hand flat to her chest and breathing deeply until her body seemed to regain some equilibrium.  “This one's been a doozy.  My Fab—they took him for the army.  I guess he's not coming home.”

Burt's heart leapt in sympathy.  “I'm sorry.”

The woman chuckled wryly.  “Yeah.  I suppose I'll be getting that a lot.”

A beat of silence.  “I lost my mate myself about a month back.  What with my boy and having to rush to find a new Nat and all… it's been rough.”

“You're a Fab,” the woman said in dead-pan, posture straightening in shock.  “You're so put-together and you were alone I… I wouldn't have guessed.”

This time, it was Burt who laughed nervously.

“I'm sorry,” the woman said immediately.  “That was rude.  I'm Carole Hudson.”

She stuck out her hand, and Burt shook it politely, their contact lingering.

“Burt.  Burt Hummel.”

Their eyes locked for a long moment, and then Carole finally, abruptly pulled her hand away.

“I better be getting to my business,” Burt said.

“Of course.”

She moved aside, allowing Burt to enter the building.  He was tempted to look back over his shoulder one last time, but he didn't.

*******

Burt's efforts at the registry office unsurprisingly came to naught.  That night he cried himself to sleep for the first time in his life while Kurt slept, oblivious, in the next room over.  When he woke in the morning, he forced all he felt aside.

If this was the last day he would ever spend with his son, then he was going to make it a damn good one.

The sun was barely risen when he crept into Kurt's room, watching him sleep for a good ten minutes before he grew too impatient and shook him awake.

“Hey buddy!  How do pancakes sound this morning?  You want to help your old man make ‘em?”

Kurt blinked bleary blue eyes and yawned, slowly sitting up.  “Blueberries?”

“Sure, if we've still got some of those frozen ones you always insist we buy.”

“Okay,” Kurt agreed, climbing out of bed and heading straight for the wardrobe.  “I'll be downstairs in a bit.”

“You need some help?” Burt asked as he watched Kurt sift through his clothing, all carefully hand-sewn and so different from what other boys his age wore.  He already knew the answer.

Kurt turned to him and rolled his eyes.  “No, Dad, not from you.”

“Alright then,” Burt said, smiling even though he felt the sudden threat of tears.  “I'll see you downstairs.”

******

They were halfway through stacks of blueberry pancakes, the kitchen still a disaster, when the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.

“Who could that be?” Burt said.  “You expecting friends?”

Kurt frowned at him.  Come to think of it, it had been a couple of years since his son had had any friends over to their house save for Mercedes, who always and only came after church on Sundays. 

“Guess not.  I'll go check it out.”

He pushed back from the table and made his way down the hall, feeling a little irritated when the bell chimed a second time.  When he swung open the door, however, all those feelings faded away into confused shock.

“Carole?”

The woman smiled at him.  She looked more composed today and actually quite pretty—blue jeans and a matching jacket with a floral print blouse underneath, her hair down and styled and framing her face.  “In the flesh.  Can I… can I come in?”

“Uh, sure,” Burt said, stepping aside and gesturing into the house.  “Kurt—that's my son—and I were just having pancakes, if you'd like some.”

“Pancakes sound great, actually.  Thank you.”

It was more than a little awkward leading Carole down the hall and into the kitchen, Kurt peering up at the stranger curiously as soon as they entered.  “Who's she?” he asked, with all the tact that could be expected of a child his age.

Burt ignored him momentarily and instead pulled out the only other chair at their small, round dining table—the chair that had belonged to Elizabeth.  “Have a seat,” he told Carole, heading to the cupboard to grab her a plate and loading it with pancakes.

“I'm Carole,” she told Kurt.  “I'm a… a friend, of your father's.”

Burt met her eyes and crooked an eyebrow at that, but said nothing, returning to the table and handing her the plate and a fork before resuming his own eating.

“How come I've never met you before?” Kurt asked.

Carole looked a bit stumped at that.  “Well, to be honest, your Dad and I just met yesterday.”

“Oh,” Kurt said.

“These pancakes are very good,” she said, directing the compliment at Kurt.  “Did you make them?”

Kurt finally cracked a smile.  “Dad and I both did.  He's not much of a cook on his own.”

“Hey!” Burt exclaimed.  “I represent that remark!”

Kurt giggled, then leaned closer to Carole.  “He says that a lot.  He thinks he's funny.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Burt said loudly.  “And you think it's funny too; you always laugh!”

Kurt stuck his tongue out, and Burt mockingly returned the gesture.  “Such manners,” Carole said.  But she was smiling.

After they finished eating, Burt gathered their plates and took them to the sink.  “So Carole, why the visit?”  He tried to sound casual, but he knew it must be something important because showing up at the home of someone you ran into once was not normal.  And how did she know where they lived, anyway?

“Kurt, will you excuse us?” she asked.

Burt looked over at his son.  He looked surprised.

“Umm, sure,” Kurt agreed, looking to Burt.  “I'll be in my room?”

“That's fine, Kurt, thank you.”  As soon as he was gone, Burt rounded on Carole.  “I don't appreciate you directing him like that.  How did you find us, anyways?”

“I went back the registry office a few hours later.  You were already gone.  I asked them about you.”

Burt scoffed.  “And they just told you everything?  That's illegal.”

“I told them I wanted to claim you.”

Silence.  Burt gripped the edge of the sink too-tight.

“Why would you do that?” he asked finally.  “That's insane.  You don't even know me.”

“I couldn't get you out of my mind after I left.  What you said.  I realized afterward about the laws and… and what they meant.  You seemed like a decent guy.  I couldn't let you lose your son.”

“I was a stranger,” Burt said, turning around to look at her.  “I… I am a stranger.”

“We'll get to know each other in time,” Carole said gently.  She had finished her pancakes and pushed the plate aside.  “I can… I can show you the papers.”

He watched as she fumbled through her purse, finally pulling out a thick, folded white stack and handing it over.  Burt smoothed it out and scanned over it. 

“Looks official,” he said, fumbling for better words.

“It is.”

“I…”

Carole stood, walking over to him.  “It's okay, Burt.  I know you'll both need time.”

“Thank you,” Burt managed.  He had never before felt so overwhelmed with emotion, relief and gratitude and panic and anger all warring within him.  “We… we have a guest room.  Unless you'd like us to…”

“This place is much nicer, and bigger, than mine.”

Burt nodded.  “I'll tell Kurt then.”

“Alright,” Carole said, offering him a soft smile.

*******

It took months—maybe years—before everything worked itself out.  Tantrums from Kurt, power struggles that turned into fights, hours of tentative negotiation that really needn't have happened.  Legally, Carole held all the power over their lives.  But Carole was a good woman, a fair woman, and somewhere along the way Burt fell in love again.

Somewhere along the way they became a family.