Such a Funny Pair (Which One Is Yours?)
Series Title: Such a Funny Pair
Series Summary: A collection of moments from the eyes of Rachel Berry’s dads and Kurt Hummel’s dad.
Title: Which One Is Yours?
Author: niblettk
Rating: G
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Rachel Berry, Kurt Hummel, James Berry, Burt Hummel
Warning: none that I can think of.
Spoilers: Seen Preggers? You’re good.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort
Author’s Note: I started writing these sometime during season one and lost them on my computer. I found them recently, and at my sister’s apparent love of them, decided to keep writing them.
Summary: Burt's a man of few words, but it's enough for James.
Word Count: 656
Other Parts: They're Perfect | The Strong One | Cooties | Ballet
Burt hasn’t seen James Watson since he graduated from high school.
The man scowls when he recognizes him, but the park is crowded and he’ll seem rude if he stands when there’s an open space on the bench next to Burt Hummel, so he sits.
“Hummel.”
“James,” Burt starts, “I don’t think your name is still Watson.”
The other man’s eyes flicker to him, “It’s not.”
Burt doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares into the jumble of children at the swings. His son is pushing a beautiful brunette girl, who looks happy and undeniably Jewish.
“Which one is yours?”
He’s trying, he really is, and he knows he should probably apologize, but he can’t think of the words right now.
“The little brunette on the swings,” James bites out.
He knows the other man didn’t ask, but Burt continues, “She’s cute. Mine’s the-”
“Do you mind?” James’ head twitches towards him, like he’s fighting the urge to see Burt’s reaction, “I’d rather not talk to you, Hummel.”
Neither man says anything for a while, and then Burt clears his throat, “Listen, about all the stuff I did to you in high school...” James rolls his eyes and doesn’t look over, but he doesn’t tell Burt to stop. “I’m sorry. I was wrong-so wrong-and I know that now. So, uh... Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Finally, James’ head turns towards him, “That’s all you have to say to me?”
Burt meets his eyes calmly, and he shrugs, “I could go on for hours, but it doesn’t matter. If you forgive me, you forgive me. If you don’t, then that’s it, isn’t it?”
He sees James grind his teeth once, and then he pushes himself back against the bench, arms crossed, and sighs heavily, “You were never the worst.” Burt smiles faintly, and James realizes belatedly that it’s not at the unsaid forgiveness, but because he’s watching his child. “So, Hummel, which one is yours?”
“The little one pushing yours on the swing,” he points to accompany the words, but James doesn’t need help. He’s been watching this boy, this little boy in the bright pink shirt with black and white suspenders who he recognizes from Rachel's ballet class, wondering whose child he was and hoping he’s got the support he’s obviously going to need. He opens his mouth to say something, but Burt starts in again, seemingly to himself, “He dressed himself today. I don’t know what I’ll do when I can’t follow him everywhere, because he’s not ever going to stop dressing like him-being him. I love my son, Watson-or James, I guess, since I don’t know your partner’s name-and I’m going to do everything I can to protect him. I’m just so afraid that it won’t be enough to protect him from assholes like me.”
James is nearly in tears, because the honesty in this man’s love for his child stings, stings because James knows how hard it is to grow up out and proud in this town; the little boy they’re both watching calls out, “Daddy!”
He walks towards them, smooth and poised, and James thinks he might’ve been watching some fashion shows recently, and he stops in front of his dad, hands on his hips.
“I got dirt on my pants. We have to go home and fix them,” Burt smiles, nodding, and the boy huffs, “Now?”
So he stands, taking his son’s hand and nodding at James, who calls out as he’s walking away.
Burt turns, arching an eyebrow at him, and his son tugs impatiently on his hand, “Daddy, can we go?”
“Here,” James says, holding out a business card with his office, home, and cell number on it, “Take my card. If you ever have questions about... anything, give us a call.”
Burt stares at the card; his eyes scan the words, and when he looks up at James, he smiles, “Will do, Berry.”
Series Summary: A collection of moments from the eyes of Rachel Berry’s dads and Kurt Hummel’s dad.
Title: Which One Is Yours?
Author: niblettk
Rating: G
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Rachel Berry, Kurt Hummel, James Berry, Burt Hummel
Warning: none that I can think of.
Spoilers: Seen Preggers? You’re good.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort
Author’s Note: I started writing these sometime during season one and lost them on my computer. I found them recently, and at my sister’s apparent love of them, decided to keep writing them.
Summary: Burt's a man of few words, but it's enough for James.
Word Count: 656
Other Parts: They're Perfect | The Strong One | Cooties | Ballet
Burt hasn’t seen James Watson since he graduated from high school.
The man scowls when he recognizes him, but the park is crowded and he’ll seem rude if he stands when there’s an open space on the bench next to Burt Hummel, so he sits.
“Hummel.”
“James,” Burt starts, “I don’t think your name is still Watson.”
The other man’s eyes flicker to him, “It’s not.”
Burt doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares into the jumble of children at the swings. His son is pushing a beautiful brunette girl, who looks happy and undeniably Jewish.
“Which one is yours?”
He’s trying, he really is, and he knows he should probably apologize, but he can’t think of the words right now.
“The little brunette on the swings,” James bites out.
He knows the other man didn’t ask, but Burt continues, “She’s cute. Mine’s the-”
“Do you mind?” James’ head twitches towards him, like he’s fighting the urge to see Burt’s reaction, “I’d rather not talk to you, Hummel.”
Neither man says anything for a while, and then Burt clears his throat, “Listen, about all the stuff I did to you in high school...” James rolls his eyes and doesn’t look over, but he doesn’t tell Burt to stop. “I’m sorry. I was wrong-so wrong-and I know that now. So, uh... Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Finally, James’ head turns towards him, “That’s all you have to say to me?”
Burt meets his eyes calmly, and he shrugs, “I could go on for hours, but it doesn’t matter. If you forgive me, you forgive me. If you don’t, then that’s it, isn’t it?”
He sees James grind his teeth once, and then he pushes himself back against the bench, arms crossed, and sighs heavily, “You were never the worst.” Burt smiles faintly, and James realizes belatedly that it’s not at the unsaid forgiveness, but because he’s watching his child. “So, Hummel, which one is yours?”
“The little one pushing yours on the swing,” he points to accompany the words, but James doesn’t need help. He’s been watching this boy, this little boy in the bright pink shirt with black and white suspenders who he recognizes from Rachel's ballet class, wondering whose child he was and hoping he’s got the support he’s obviously going to need. He opens his mouth to say something, but Burt starts in again, seemingly to himself, “He dressed himself today. I don’t know what I’ll do when I can’t follow him everywhere, because he’s not ever going to stop dressing like him-being him. I love my son, Watson-or James, I guess, since I don’t know your partner’s name-and I’m going to do everything I can to protect him. I’m just so afraid that it won’t be enough to protect him from assholes like me.”
James is nearly in tears, because the honesty in this man’s love for his child stings, stings because James knows how hard it is to grow up out and proud in this town; the little boy they’re both watching calls out, “Daddy!”
He walks towards them, smooth and poised, and James thinks he might’ve been watching some fashion shows recently, and he stops in front of his dad, hands on his hips.
“I got dirt on my pants. We have to go home and fix them,” Burt smiles, nodding, and the boy huffs, “Now?”
So he stands, taking his son’s hand and nodding at James, who calls out as he’s walking away.
Burt turns, arching an eyebrow at him, and his son tugs impatiently on his hand, “Daddy, can we go?”
“Here,” James says, holding out a business card with his office, home, and cell number on it, “Take my card. If you ever have questions about... anything, give us a call.”
Burt stares at the card; his eyes scan the words, and when he looks up at James, he smiles, “Will do, Berry.”