{Kurt}

When they pulled up in front of the White family home that evening, the multi-coloured exterior lights glowed in the snowy bushes and a Christmas tree shone out of the front window. Jon smiled. "Christmas has finally landed at the White's."

Bea met them in the front entry way, lips pressed and eyes bright like she had a secret. "Hey," she said breathlessly. "Everyone's in the dining room." And she shoved Jon and Kurt forward down the hall, making a soft 'squeeee' of excitement.

The minute they stepped in the dining room, there was a tootle of paper horns, which Pete and Mel followed up with cries of, "Congratulations!"

Bea bounced into the room, clapping. "Congratulations on your en-GAY-gement!"

Tabitha held up her phone, her eyebrows quirked ironically while the Wedding March played out of her phone speaker.

Pete tossed his paper horn aside to pop the champagne and the cork hit the rhinestone chandelier with a 'tinkle.'

"Rings, rings!" Mel said, waving her fingers at them. "I want to see them in person!"

Kurt ate up all the attention like it was the main course, retelling the drama of the whole proposal over dinner, with some of his own flourishes. Possibly the Japanese tourists on the SkyTram after did not throw confetti and congratulate them--he and Jon had been too busy making out on the way down to pay them much notice. What Kurt's version of the story lacked in accuracy it made up for with it's 'G' rating. Even Jon was laughing, colour high in his cheeks from all the attention.

There was a chicken and potato casserole with a side of roasted brussels sprouts and Kurt was pleased to note that everything on the table was safe for Jon. His partner had two helpings of the green things, which is to say he ate Kurt's off his plate when Kurt wouldn't finish them.

"So are you doing anything special for your holidays this week?" Mel asked.

Jon grinned, pulling out his phone. "We partied like sober people last night at a place called the Wonderlounge. Look what Kurt did."

Kurt froze, looking at him, all the happy energy he'd felt a second ago snuffing like a candle. Was Jon seriously...?

Jon swiped open his phone and held it out to his mom. "Honey Angel Baby Face. Isn't she gorgeous?"

Mel gasped. "Oh, I love her!" She pulled the phone closer, her face alight. "You both look amazing, oh my goodness."

She leaned over to Jon's dad to show him the phone and Kurt pushed his feet hard into the floor, reminding himself to breathe. It was like watching a car crash and knowing exactly how the hood was going to crumple just the second before it hit. Pete reached for his reading glasses and set them on his face. His eyes went wide. "Son, is that you?" he asked.

Jon laughed merrily. "Yes it's me. Kurt is magic with a make up brush. We had so much fun and my feet hurt so much from dancing in heels."

Kurt blinked and blinked again, watching Jon rub tears of laughter from his eyes.

Pete was laughing too, his bearded face astonished. "You look incredible. Kurt, you've captured something about Jon here that I never could have imagined--but she's perfect."

Kurt ducked his head before Jon's dad could catch his eye, tucking his hair behind his burning ears, trying to hang on to the right now. He was at Jon's family dinner table. He was done crying for today.

"That's actually really talented." Tabitha's voice said, sounding a little far away. "You both look like you could be on Ru Paul's Drag Race."

"You watch Ru Paul's Drag Race?" Jon asked, a little edge in his voice.

"I see it sometimes on YouTube," Tabitha May said defensively.

Kurt just needed a second to figure out how to breathe again--he got up from the table quickly, ducking down the hall into Jon's old room.

Huddling beside the door, Kurt hugged his chest and counted his breaths in and out. He'd told himself years ago he was done crying about this--he'd shed all the tears those people deserved. If he hadn't already been so fragile today this would have been a nothing. He could have watched Jon's dad admire his son's face in drag and preened.

The brightly coloured photos of Jon in high school framed Kurt's white, strained face in the mirror and he turned his head away, shutting his eyes.

In the mirror of his mind, he saw his own face looking back at him from the night dark window of the ER, layers of artful make-up smeared with blood and tears below his short, sweaty, dark-blond hair. He had huddled next to Nicky in the waiting room, the older man's coat thrown over his bare shoulders and slinky gown, nauseous from a stomach full of alcohol and blinking black slides away from his eyes from the pain in his arm which X-rays would later inform them was broken.

There was a soft 'tap' on the open door and Kurt cleared his throat. "I'm just cryin'." He was not crying. He was over it. "It's fine." He opened his eyes, expecting to see Jon in the hall.

Jon's dad was standing there in his flannel shirt and jeans, looking abruptly concerned. "We were just..." He gestured to the dining room where Kurt guessed from the noise they were serving coffee and desert. Pete paused without completing that sentence, while Kurt shoved his shoulders into the wall, pressing his lips hard.

"Are you all right, son?" Pete asked softly.

Kurt rubbed his ear, turning aside. His head was ringing with the memory of that word son in Rob Klassen's voice and the blow that had followed. "I didn't mean to spoil family dinner," he said low. "I'm just...having a moment."

Tears had slipped out in spite of his determination not to cry, like Pete had pressed them out of his body standing there with his fucking wholesome dad-shirt. Making a short, angry noise, Kurt swiped his fingers quick over his eyes. At least he'd worn waterproof mascara.

Pete didn't come any closer--he didn't block the doorway, he just stayed with his hand spread on the open door, his bearded face creased with concern. "I'm sorry Kurt. Did we say something to hurt you? We didn't mean--"

Kurt shook his head. "No. Nope. You didn't." He shook his hair out of his face, folding his arms against himself. Pete's expression said he was listening; Kurt could read him better than he used to.

The words came out sharp. "I was Jon's age. When Pa Klassen caught me. Coming home from the Wonderlounge." He pushed his arms against his chest where his heart felt like it had been battered to pieces and painstakingly re-glued.

Kurt blinked, half caught by the memory of coming home, his stilettos in his hands, the cold, gritty tile of their side-entrance under his bare feet, stumbling drunk and exhilarated. "I spent hours getting ready and my face--my everything--was just--perfect." He flicked his hand dismissively. "My dad did not say I looked incredible. He did not--in any way--appreciate his son in a fucking gorgeous dress and heels."

Kurt made a tight noise, lifting his chin. "I love Jon, Pastor White. With every queer cell in my body. And he's eating casserole with his family today. And showing off pictures of himself in drag an' I--" He snapped his teeth closed, sorting through the feelings surging in his chest while he tried to hold them all in. "I'm glad," he said roughly. "The day I came out to my dad I ended up in the emergency room. And Jon--never had that." Taking a big breath, he pulled himself up tall. "And that's right. That's how it should be for us. That's as good as Jon deserves."

Pete's mouth flattened. "I'm so grieved to hear that happened to you, Kurt," he said quietly.

Kurt's sharp laugh shook him. Grieved. Trust Jon's dad to use that old Biblical word.

"Can I--?" Pete gestured over the doorway and Kurt shrugged, rubbing his shoulder up to his burning ear.

Pete came in, tucking his hands into his pockets as he looked around at the posters in his son's room. "Jon came out to us when he was fifteen. I'm sure he's told you this."

Kurt shrugged, nodding.

Pete's eyes were over-bright, touching his face with a glance. "When my son said the words Dad I'm gay--I felt like I saw Jon for the first time. Clearly. The man he was becoming. I didn't--even know what being gay meant, really. Except that Jon was--different than me. And what I thought, looking at him then, was...how beautiful." The words were so tender they stroked over Kurt's skin, raising the colour back into his cheeks. "How beautiful the person was, that my son was becoming."

Pete's face creased deeply. "I don't understand why your father couldn't see that, Kurt, looking at you. When it's been so obvious to me, from the first day Jon brought you to meet us."

Kurt went still, feeling those words coaxing his heart to soften and open again, in spite of everything they'd been through.

"And I'm sorry." Pete's chest lifted with a breath and his eyes filled with tears. "Would you take my apology? I was a pastor--I was your parents' pastor--and I can't help wondering if I could have used my influence...for a better outcome. I feel responsible in some way."

Eyes hot, Kurt shook his head. For the first time he wanted to defend Pete to himself. "They never would've listened. They would've run you out on a rail."

Pete lifted his shoulders, his hands still firmly in his pockets. "Someone might have listened. Before the tar and feathers came out." He shook the tears out of his eyes, straightening his shoulders. Kurt blinked--for a moment, Pete had looked exactly like his son.

"I took my child and left to keep him safe," Pete said. "I gave a good piece of my mind to the denominational higher ups. But I didn't make waves here, locally. I didn't allow myself to consider that it wasn't just us, that maybe someone like you was still hiding in the pews. And for that, I'm sorry, Kurt." Pete's face rippled with emotion again. "Genuinely."

"Well." Kurt jerked a nod. "Apology accepted." He was barely keeping the pieces together here, and his ears were hot as bricks from the kiln. "I coulda used a lifeline. And that's the truth."

Pete's face lifted in a smile. "I love having you here at our table," he said simply, like that was an easy thing for him to say. "I love you for Jon. And I'm so glad for the beautiful person you are in the world, Kurt Visser."

The potency of those words hit Kurt like 100-proof whisky, knocking him back. His hands flew over his face and he tucked his elbows tight against his shaking body. "Christ." His breath caught and his voice cracked. "I wanted to be done cryin' today."

"You look like you need a hug," Pete said, worried. "Can I give you a hug?"

"Mm-hm," Kurt managed, opening his arms. Pete gathered Kurt into his embrace and Kurt buried his face in Pete's flannel dad-shirt, shaking as he cried it all out. Kurt Visser sucked at not crying.

Another pair of arms joined their hug, Jon's familiar body leaning against them both. As Kurt's crying eased, he sniffed hard, turning his hot face to lean his forehead against his partner's.

"There's cake," Jon said softly.

Pete's laugh was a little unsteady as they untangled their arms, clasping his son's shoulder an extra moment. "It's even gluten free. I'll just go help your mother serve the girls."

Kurt swiped his face with his bare wrist, unwilling to stain his beautiful blouse with his tears. Jon dug in his pocket and offered him a tissue to blow his nose. His full lips were tucked in at the corner, his eyes narrowed in a small smile. "Pete's 'dad hugs' are pretty good, huh."

Kurt took a big breath, smiling back at him. "Yup they are."

There was a question in Jon's face and Kurt sighed and put an arm around Jon's shoulders to press his lips against his hair. "I'll tell you at home."

*

They lingered over coffee, moving onto the squishy couches in the living room, where Cary and Bea were adding a few finishing touches to the Christmas tree. The White family tree was a little stumpy and the tip was crooked; the evergreen branches were cluttered with an unmatched assortment of ornaments, from Pearler bead and Popsicle stick crafts to tiny intricate woodcuts of the holy nativity. Content to let Jon carry the conversation with his parents, Kurt let his eyes wander over the tree branches.

Kurt's mother made sure that every ornament on the Klassen family tree matched--not in the sense that they were identical, but each precious hand-blown glass ball or crystal snowflake spoke of wealth and good taste. The White family tree told a messy story of their family in different seasons and Kurt found himself hungry to hear what had been happening each year an ornament was added. Was that yellow teddy bear from the year Bea was born? Did Jon make that Popsicle stick Christmas tree and colour it green with marker?

Beside him, Jon squeezed his hand and sighed. "I think we need to head home," he said to his parents. "And go to bed by a responsible time tonight."

In the entryway, there was a flurry of good-bye hugs, and Jon's dad leaned in put his arms around Kurt's shoulders again, his beard brushing Kurt's cheek. He smiled into Kurt's face as he let him go. "See you next week, son."

Kurt snorted a laugh, the oddity of that word in the mouth of Jon's dad still tickling his fancy. "I'll be there with bells on, Pete." He did enjoy the dig of calling this respectable pastor-man by his first name. And the funny thing was, Pete's face lit up when he did it, like he loved to hear Kurt say it.

In the truck on the way home, Kurt slumped against Jon, laying his head on his shoulder. "Oh my god all the tears today." He heaved a sigh, closing his eyes. "I'm such a drama queen; I'm sorry."

Jon took Kurt's hand, chafing it like he might be cold. "You're not a drama queen, Kurt."

"Stop being such a drama queen about being a drama queen," Cary added gruffly.

Kurt laughed, straightening up but keeping hold of Jon's hand. "I see how it is."

"Maybe your tears have just been bottled up," Jon said softly. "And now they're all coming out."

Kurt turned his face to his, eyebrows lifting, remembering his own words, ages ago.

"Once you cry them out, maybe then you can heal. Is that how it works?" Jon checked with Cary and then looked back at Kurt.

"Yeah kinda," Cary said slowly. "It's like the twelve steps. You keep going around and around them, deeper each time. You don't do the same surface work over and over. You get down into a new layer. Cry new tears. Maybe about the same old shit but from another depth."

Jon groaned. "Oh. I'm gonna have to keep crying. I was hoping if I started I could get it over with and be done eventually."

Kurt laughed and pulled Jon close to kiss his cheek, chilly with cold. "You're cute. Probably the opposite. Once you start you can't stop."

"Well, shit," Jon said, annoyed. "I'm going to have to start packing tissues permanently."

"I'll buy you a man-bag for your tissues," Kurt offered, brightening. "And lip gloss--now that you're out you can wear lip gloss. Oh my god you're going to love it."

Laughing softly, Jon leaned his body against Kurt's, weaving their fingers together. As Kurt watched the night city pass, the wisdom of what Cary had said sunk in for Kurt. There wasn't something wrong with him, and he wasn't losing the progress he'd made. He was in a new, deeper layer with work to do because of all his months sober and his growing relationship with Jon. Some of the same shit. New depth. Everything he'd learned before would help him here.

2677 words.

*Some of you have been waiting for this hug since chapter one of FOR US--it's finally here! Kurt's had the time and seen enough of Pete to trust him with his big, battered heart.

How did Pete do? Was the apology needed?*