Title: Roots and Wings
Length: 3716 words
Prompt: Written for Glee Fic!Battle on Livejournal: Kurt/Rachel, Future!fic, cute, loud babies, Any
Pairing: Kurt and Rachel platonic; 99% gen
Other: I couldn't find Kurt's mom's name anywhere, so I named her Lila. This is relevant if you squint. Title from a quote by Hodding Carter: "There are two lasting bequests we can give our children. One is roots. The other is wings."

When Rachel came up with the idea, it was all Kurt could do to hold onto his sweater and gape at her. Because it was Rachel, she had pages of notes and statistics and-- did he see a pie graph tucked in there? She shoved all of them into his arms as if it hadn't been almost ten years since high school graduation and the last time he'd seen her, stepping past him into his apartment like she owned it.

"You want to what with me?" he repeated, in case her opening speech had came courtesy of the Cosmopolitan half-drank on his kitchen island and not from her actual mouth.

"Have a baby, Kurt, haven't you been watching my interviews?" she said, flouncing into his kitchen and regarding the brushed chrome with interest. He followed after her, leaving the papers on the island and draining the rest of his drink. Then he figured he could manage the proper confused stare.

She smiled at him. Kurt opened and shut his mouth. "No, Rachel, I haven't been," he answered finally.

"I guess you've been busy on Broadway," she said, waving a hand and grinning cheekily. "Understandable. My film career is taking off, of course, but I was just talking with Tyra last week about my biological clock ticking. Tick tock." She smiled even brighter, something he'd forgotten she could do, and lifted herself up to sit on the kitchen island, instead of one of the very chic barstools that surrounded it, as if they were still kids and not nearly thirty.

"You said you didn't want children until you were older," he managed, overwhelmed by her attack into his life and not entirely sure what to do about it. Rachel threw him off balance. It was one of the things he had never liked about her.

"Well, I was doing research, and it turns out that the longer a woman waits, the more chance there is of birth defects and problems during pregnancy."

She crossed her legs and looked at him. After a moment, Kurt threw up his hands, and then dug through the fridge for a bottle of water. He needed sobriety for this conversation. Not that he had been actually planning to get drunk. But anything that would make him more vulnerable to Rachel Berry and her insane ideas was definitely out.

"Give me a reason not to just throw you out," he said, untwisting the cap.

"Baby," she reminded, and he smacked himself in the forehead.

*

Kurt could understand the desire to have a child. A lot of people their age had car seats in their minivans. Mercedes had two boys, Quinn was due in spring with a little girl she was going to keep this time, and he'd gotten a birth announcement from Finn's wife in June. (He'd sent designer baby clothes, of course. He might not be in love with Finn Hudson anymore but that didn't mean that the big lug wasn't still special to him.)

What he couldn't quite grasp was the fact that Rachel wanted to have one with Kurt Hummel. Why him?

"Good genes," she said to start, when he'd coaxed her off of the island and onto his couch. He was settled into a wire-frame chair at what he considered a safe distance. The second she got up and started moving toward him, he decided, he was going to lock himself in his bedroom and not come out until she left.

"I did some research on your family history," she began, and while he was busy feeling violated about that, rambled on about the Hummels and the Browns (his mother's family) and German ancestors and, "your mother's disease isn't hereditary or anything--"

"Stop right there," Kurt said, getting up from his chair, dragging Rachel to her feet, and pushing her out the door. He slammed it, feeling the blood rush in his ears, and then he went into the kitchen, threw her research into the sink, and turned on the garbage disposal. By the time that was done, Rachel had given up shouting at the door and gone home.

*

The next day, Kurt didn't have practice until four and he spent all day watching Spanish soap operas and terrible talk shows. Due to a last-minute cancellation or maybe a network mixup, they re-aired Tyra's interview with the moderately-famous actress Rachel Berry. He wanted to shut it off, but couldn't make himself do it, scrutinizing her perfectly made-up face and trying to figure out what she was thinking.

"I just think I want to give back to the community," she said earnestly. Kurt didn't believe it.

"I considered adoption, yes, but it's difficult for single mothers to adopt. Brangelina had each other, even before they got married." Kurt didn't believe in that reasoning either. And he couldn't believe she was making pop culture references ten years out of date. She was in movies sometimes, and she was still this clueless?

"Parenting is supposed to be incredibly rewarding," Rachel said, eyes gleaming, "and I feel it is a challenge I can rise to, even if I have to do it alone."

Kurt was positive that wasn't true. But she believed it. He snorted and turned the TV off, deciding to go in and practice early. By the time that the actual rehearsal rolled around, his throat felt raw and he flubbed his high F. The director sent him home early with the warning that if it happened again, the understudy was taking his part. Kurt didn't think that was true, since the understudy had never even managed a high D, but he bowed and scraped because Broadway was Broadway and drove home without quite seeing the road.

Rachel was on his doorstep. He made a note to speak to the doorman about her.

"Please, Kurt, you're really the best person-- the only person I can ask--"

"You are only making my day worse," he told her, hearing his voice crack like it hadn't since he was a teen. She winced at the same time he did.

"Let me make you tea," she said insistently. "My dads had this special recipe, it always soothes my vocal chords..."

And he must have been crazy, he decided, because he let her in.

*

"I'm sorry," she said, hands curled around her own cup. "I wasn't thinking. It was really rude of me to bring up your mom."

"No," Kurt answered, his voice a little sharp, "it was rude of you to bring her up like that." He stared down into his cup of tea, and then took a tentative sip. It was good-- really good, actually. He could feel the warmth softening his tired vocal muscles. She hadn't been lying about the tea, at least.

"Right," she answered, too fast as if still embarrassed. "I never had a mom, but my dads are still alive, so I should be more sensitive to the pain of others."

He wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew she was sincere. It was just that the things she said rarely sounded that way.

"I shouldn't be here," she said suddenly, looking up at him with almost panic on her face. "You-- you never liked me in school, appreciated my talents, sure, but there was that time with the makeover--"

Kurt held up a hand. "Rachel, that was almost ten years ago."

She winced. "Aging gracefully is a trend in Hollywood but talking about how old we are--"

"I know how old you are," he pointed out. "We went to high school together."

"I know. I know. I'll go. Enjoy your tea." She got up from the couch and headed for the coat rack to grab her wrap, but Kurt squeezed his coffee mug and spoke up.

"I'm going to regret this," he said firmly, "but explain it to me. It can't just be the fabulous Hummel genes. I have cousins."

She sank back down, watching his face with a scary amount of hope, and said, "But none of them can sing like you do. Judaism is inherited through the mother, so that's important. And you're not married. I mean, I wouldn't dare ask Finn or anything, even if the Hudsons didn't have a history of heart disease in their family." She lifted her hands to her mouth, in something resembling a parody of horror. "Oh, you don't have a boyfriend, do you? All the tabloids say you keep your cards close to your chest, but there hasn't been any pictures of you out with anyone in several months."

Kurt was, in fact, between boyfriends. The last one had taken five years of his life and fifty-thousand dollars, near as Kurt could figure, in-between presents and apparent inability to pay rent and access to Kurt's credit cards. He wasn't going to be thinking about dating for a while. So he waved his hand wearily in a signal for her to go on.

"And, well, I figured that you'd make a good donor. It wouldn't be a mess, you wouldn't fall in love with me. You could just go to a clinic and get it done and never have to see me again, except on television," she finished.

"Don't you want to do this with someone who will stick around?" he blurted out, and in her always expressive gaze he saw the answer. No one would, would they? It would be lonely at the top, she'd always said. And here she was. Lonely. It was probably-- it was definitely-- no one's fault but her own, but for some reason that vapid expression tugged at his heartstrings. He scowled to cover up the sympathy.

"I don't have time for a relationship," she lied primly, the longing expression gone almost as swiftly as it had appeared.

Kurt finished his tea, staring down at the tea leaves in the bottom as if they'd give him some sort of answer, but the boyfriend who dabbled in divination had never given him lessons. And he'd never believed in it anyway.

"Let me think about it," he said, holding up a hand to stave her off. He knew without looking up that she was grinning, ready to bounce up and hug him, and he was not ready for that at all.

"All right. Shall I call you again in a month? Will that be enough time? Tick tock, you know." She couldn't help but let the relief seep into her voice, and that made him feel almost worse for considering this. What was he thinking? He'd thought about kids before, of course, because it was a thing you did, but never in any serious manner. He'd always thought he'd wait until he found the perfect man, and hoped that the perfect man would settle for a (non-shedding) dog instead.

"A month, sure," he said, to be saying something, and let her out of his apartment.

*

The conversation with his dad went like this.

"Hey, son, how are you doing? The Broadway thing, it's working out?"

Burt Hummel had been pretty supportive of his son's move out of Lima and into higher social circles, but he still wasn't quite sure about many things. Broadway was one of them. People sometimes came into the garage and said that they'd seen his son the last time they were in New York, and he was proud of that, but it was still weird to think about.

"It's going good, Dad," Kurt answered, inhaling slowly. He should have done this in person, not over the phone, but he had shows all week and he'd put the decision off too long. Rachel was coming back to visit him in a couple of days. The little star sticker on his calendar caught his eyes every time he wandered into the kitchen. So here he was.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Burt said mildly. "Are you coming back for Christmas?"

"Definitely, definitely," Kurt answered. Last year, his father had made the drive up to Kurt's apartment, and while the two of them had had a good time, it just wasn't the same. There weren't any memories there. At home, there were the stockings his mother had picked out, and the ornaments she'd bought for their tree, and all of his aunts and uncles and cousins. He'd go to Lima for Christmas.

"Actually, Dad, I wanted to talk to you about something," Kurt said. This time it was Burt who was momentarily silent.

"Do you need some help, Kurt? Is that boy harassing you again? What was his name-- we can file a report, you know."

"Jason moved to California six months ago," Kurt answered swiftly. It was a fact for which he was thankful, but only a distraction from the topic at hand.

"That's good, that's good," his father answered. "Well, what is it?"

Kurt breathed. "How would you feel about becoming a grandpa?"

The line was so quiet for a moment that Kurt pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure the connection hadn't dropped. Finally his father answered. "You're going to have a kid? I thought you--"

"No, I didn't... knock someone up or anything. I'm still gay. It's just... someone asked me if I would be a donor. I was thinking about saying yes, but only if I could see have visitation rights and everything."

Burt exhaled loudly into the phone. "That's a big step, son."

"Yeah, Dad. I know."

"But if it's what you want to do... then I don't mind being a Pop Pop. I never thought..."

"I know," Kurt answered when his father trailed off. He'd always felt a little guilty about that, even though he couldn't help who he was. He wondered if Rachel would insist on giving the child the Berry name. He wasn't even sure which father she'd taken it from, to be honest.

"I think you'd make a good dad, Kurt," his father said. A lump grew in Kurt's throat at that.

"Thanks, Dad," he said hoarsely.

"So... who's the lucky lady?" Burt asked. "Anyone I would know?"

*

Everyone knew Rachel Berry, and as soon as she made the announcement that they were going to be parents ("in a totally platonic and carefully thought-out arrangement," she'd said at the press conference, beaming, and he was glad he had refused to go to it, even for publicity's sake), people began calling Kurt. Most of them started off on the "I thought you were gay" theme, but the ones who knew Rachel had a little more to say.

"If you wanted a baby, why didn't you just say so? You know I'd do anything for you, Kurt," Mercedes said into the phone. "Deondre, get out of there! --What is it, you didn't want a little black baby? Is that the problem? I have more than one, you know, and I'd be willing to share."

"No, Mercedes, that's not it," he explained patiently. "This wasn't my idea, it was Rachel's--"

"She has you under a spell," Puck said to him, his tone so serious that Kurt wanted to snicker. "You'd better get out while you still can. Chick is crazy."

"I'm well aware of that," Kurt answered, wondering how Lima's First in Lawn Care got his phone number.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for you, man," Finn said earnestly. "But isn't that sort of... weird?"

"I'm positive it's mine," Kurt answered dryly.

And on down the line it went.

*

Rachel Berry was a diva. Kurt had known this in all practicality and possibility, but somehow over the years he had softened her memory from that girl who'd once quit Glee Club just because she didn't get the solo part on one song.

Being pregnant made her nearly unbearable. It was a good thing that Kurt was used to histrionics. She called him at odd hours, demanding ridiculous details from his medical history, and asking him what to do about cravings, and if it was safe to do ridiculous things like ride a bus or practice her high notes. Kurt began to learn things about pregnancy in defense, and often had the answers for her. Which just meant that she called him sooner the next time.

In the fifth month, he gave in and made her move in with him, as much as he hated to give up the back bedroom where he kept show memorabilia, because if she woke him up at two in the morning again, he wanted to be able to crawl back into his own bed as soon as possible. She was taking a hiatus from working until the baby was born, so giving up her own apartment was probably a good idea, anyway.

"Won't people think--?" she asked hesitantly. Kurt waved her off. He had dark circles under his eyes that required too much concealer today, and she'd rearranged everything in his kitchen cabinets so he couldn't find anything. Before he'd even offered to let her move in.

"I don't care what they think anymore," he said. It was the truth. He had no energy for it. Besides, there were more important things.

He had to get to rehearsal in a couple hours, so he started towards her and more importantly, the door to the master bathroom, but when he got close she made that face he was beginning to recognize, that surprised but happy face. The baby was kicking. He paused and reached out. He didn't have to ask; she took his hand gently and pressed it to her stomach.

"She's going to be a dancer," he said softly, his expression soft and sweet. They hadn't agreed on a name yet, except that it wouldn't be Drizzle. Mr. Schue never said so, but they knew his daughter had a rocky road ahead of her if anyone found out her middle name. Kurt wasn't adverse to naming the baby after a star, but the hard part was finding one that Rachel also liked.

"Definitely. Or maybe a football kicker," Rachel said with a laugh, and Kurt had to laugh too.

*

Okay, so sometimes she wasn't unbearable. Maybe he was getting used to her. Maybe it was the knowledge that she was going to have his baby. Traditionally conceived or not (definitely not, in their case), that knowledge did something to him. He found it easier to look protectively at her, to put up with her ideas, and to stand up for himself when necessary.

When Rachel had come back for his answer, one month probably to the very second, he thought, judging by how late she'd shown up, he'd opened the door and this time had shoved paperwork into her arms.

"If we're going to do this thing," and he breathed, because he still couldn't believe it himself, "then I want full rights to see the child. And I don't want to marry you, so we need to get this arranged through a lawyer."

She dropped the papers on the floor and then hugged him so tightly that he actually squeaked.

"Kurt, thank you so much! This means a lot to me, as I'm sure you know, and--"

"I can't breathe."

"Oh, right." She let him go, looking embarrassed for a second before reaching down and beginning to gather up all of the paper. He leaned down to help her, and for a moment their eyes met.

"I do appreciate it, Kurt."

Kurt shrugged. "This isn't just for you, Berry. It's for me too."

"Right," she said, nodding and getting back to her feet.

He took her hand to lead her elegantly to the couch. It was the gentleman act he played with most of the straight women he knew, but he'd never bothered doing it with Rachel. She was taller than him, for one thing, which made it look disproportionate, and Kurt hated that lack of symmetry.

But the second reason was because he decided that maybe he'd better learn to like her, at least as a friend, because he'd be seeing a lot of her for at least the next eighteen years.

And she'll probably be pretending to be 30 then, he thought, smirking to himself, and went to find her a pen to sign with.

*

Idina Lila Berry Hummel came screaming into the world with a volume that might be expected if one considered her parentage. Rachel's water broke in the middle of one of Kurt's performances, but she insisted that no one tell him until after he was done.

"The show must go on!" she declared dramatically. Her fathers, who had come up for a visit as her due date neared, just shook their heads and took her to the hospital. Giving birth for the first time usually meant a long labor, so they supposed they could humor their daughter. However, their granddaughter was very eager to meet the world, and when Kurt finally made it to the delivery room (informed by his stage manager as soon as the curtain fell, and hardly even pausing to change), her head was crowning. Kurt took one look and fell over in a dead faint.

Luckily, someone caught him so he didn't have to worry about a concussion, and when he woke up Rachel's dads took him down to the nursery to meet the baby. And he did think she was the most perfect girl in the world, even screaming.

Her first present from Uncle Finn was a pink tutu that she wore everywhere until she grew out of it. She had Kurt's eyes, Rachel's high-strung temperament, three grandpas, and two houses, because Rachel moved into her own space once the baby started sleeping through the night.

The arrangement worked, even if it was color-coded and written on scented paper. Kurt and Rachel would never be lovers, but they became good friends, and that was enough. Kurt learned to clean spit-up off of his sweaters. Rachel learned nursery rhymes. They both sang to their daughter all the time, songs from Glee and musicals and the radio, and Idina smiled and smiled and smiled. She was a sweet, brilliant little thing with a gorgeous voice.

Which was unsurprising, because as she would tell everyone, she had really good genes.