Not Mommy
McRaider

Summary: Loosing a parent and spouse is never easy, Burt is rapidly realizing just how hard it's going to be.
Author's Note: I adore Burt as a character and Mike for playing him so damn well! But I'm positive, that like all parents, Burt gets frustrated with his children. I'm seriously considering making a longer story and or series that involves the beginning middle and grieving time for the boys after the death of their wife/mom

Fifteen days…twenty-one hours…and ten seconds…too short to be over the mourning stage and just long enough to be past the worst funeral ever. Burt had been to his fair share of funerals, his mother's, his best friends from high school, a couple other older buddies, friends from the Army when he'd served briefly, and even a few distant family members he could recall. But this one…it had been the worst funeral he could recall to date…because he'd lost his wife and Kurt had lost his mother.

There should be some sort of law that states parents should live to eighty so children can have their parents until they're parents. That same rule should've included an adendum that stated children shouldn't die before parents either. Burt just remembered standing at the edge of the grave, the heavens pouring down on them as though his wife were mourning her own loss-watching her child and husband go at life alone.

Now, fifteen days later they'd been forced to return to life as though nothing had ever happened. Kurt returned to the third grade, and Burt to work. It was the same thing every day. His sister had stayed with him for the first few nights, making sure that Kurt was fed and slept, but at some point she had to go back to her family as well. Kurt came to the shop after school, where he usually sat by watching Burt's friend and co-worker Carl Miles work on various cars. Meanwhile, Burt would autopilot through each car fix, desperately trying to make sure he was putting the right parts in the right cars.

The first time he heard those words, Burt hadn't thought much of it. Burt had withdrawn from his funk just enough to realize that his child would starve soon if he didn't at least try and make some form of a meal. Kurt refused to eat junky fatty foods, and Burt refused to cook, so somewhere between day eleven and day thriteen, Burt realized his child had grown skinny and that soon someone would suspect Burt was a terrible parent, so he decided it was time to step up and give up. He chose the former.

So he'd attempted dinner…To say it was a disaster was putting it mildly, the fire department had already arrived well after Burt had put out the small kitchen fire, glaring at the one macaroni and cheese now turned into charbroiled noodles. The smell was so intense Burt had to resist the urge to throw up at the clear recollection of fire.

"Burt, buddy you okay?" Hank, a firefighter, from the old football team questioned gently.

Burt glanced up, "Fine. Thanks Hank."

Hank waved him off, "It was a small fire, seriously not much damage done at all, call me tomorrow and we'll work out getting everything fixed up."

Burt nodded as he sighed, he'd never felt like more of a failure. Even in JC when he'd torn up his knee. "Come on Kurt, I saw some cold cuts in the fridge." He quickly put together a sandwhich and stuck it on a plate handing it to his son.

"That's not how mommy makes it," The eight year old whispered looking down at the sandwhich, mommy never put turkey AND ham on his sandwhich, and she always cut the crusts off for him.

Burt didn't reply he looked at his son, "Eat your dinner son." Without another word, Burt managed to stumble out of the kitchen and up to their room; where he proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes throwing up over the familiar smell of fire and burning. Tears coursed down the grown man's face as he leaned against the wall oppsite of the toilet and shook his head. "Mommy isn't here," He thought silently as he moaned and buried his face in his hands.

The next time it was said was less than three days later, Burt was showing his son how to tie his shoes, Kurt still had trouble with it, and despite their best attempts he'd never quite gotten it down. Burt showed his son one final time when the words easily slipped from his son's mouth, "That's not how mommy did it."

This time, he froze, torn between snapping that mommy wasn't there, and telling his son to be silent, or bursting into tears again. Burt was pretty sure it wasn't very manly to sob in front of your only child so he looked up at his son. "Mommy isn't the one showing you Kurt. Now tie the other shoe otherwise you're going to be late for school." His tone was short and clipped just enough that his son realized he was aggravated.

Kurt had immediately done as he was told, but he flat out refused to hold Burt's hand, to the point where Burt had to grab his son's wrist to make sure he didn't run out into traffic as they crossed the street once they'd arrived at the school.

Perhaps that should've been Burt's biggest hint that a storm was coming that night, his son refused to talk to him when he'd gotten to the shop from school. He looked exhausted, Burt took the moment to study his son he was pale and looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. But could only imagine he was the exact mirror image of his son's exhausted features.

"Come on kiddo, let's go home." Burt offered as he tried to lift his son off the counter top, instantly his son jerked from his grip, got down and headed to the car. Burt had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at the fragile child.

He sighed as they stepped into the house, and he looked down at his son, "Why don't you go take a shower and get into your pajamas while I make dinner."

Kurt's eyes grew wide, "Mommy always cooked first-"

He lost it, after having a long day of two exteremly rude customers, three cars that were practically unfixable and after being upset over his wife and his son for the past three days, Burt lost it. "Mommy isn't here! Now go downstairs and take a damn shower!" Instantly his mouth snapped shut when he realized not only had he yelled, but he'd cursed at his child too.

The eight year old stood rod straight, eyes wide and rapidly filling with tears. "I wish mommy were here and not you!" The child yelled as he turned on his heel and ran away, down to his sanctuary as fast as he could.

Burt felt his knees go weak at those hateful words that he was positive his son hadn't meant. He watched as Kurt slammed the basement door, before he collasped into a kitchen chair and buried his face in his hands, unable to stop the wave of tears that were rapidly taking him over. He was postive if he didn't cry he'd hit someone…or something. His fear was he'd hit his child and he couldn't do that.

He was exhausted and lonely. Burt wasn't sure he'd ever felt so lonely. He stood fifteen minutes later, washing his face off at the sink before he headed downstairs to see where his son was. The boy was sprawled out on his bed fast asleep-clearly he'd done as told because he was indeed dressed in his pajamas and his damp hair was sticking out in every direction.

Burt sighed, reaching down, he eased the blankets out from under his son's light form and wrapped him up in the blankets. He pressed a light kiss to his son's forehead. "I love you," He whispered before he stood and headed back upstairs. Burt opened the fridge debating the beer that sat on the second shelf. It would be far too easy to get drunk right now. He knew where all the alcohol was, but he refused. Instead he made a pot of coffee, and taking a mug of it out with him, he sat on their front porch swing. The sun had set long ago, leaving the October night a little on the chilly side. He sat there, sipping his coffee, his mind wandering.

What would life be like without his wife, he was faced with raising a child on his own…a child that was in no way shape or form like his father. He'd known Kurt was probably gay for the past five years, while he wasn't thrilled with it, he'd come to accept it shortly before his wife's passing.

He sighed as his mind wandered to his wife. Two weeks, he'd managed to survive two weeks without her, it meant he had to force himself to live the rest of it without her. It hurt to consider it, but he'd find a way, for their son. The car accident had been…horrific. The doctors weren't even sure how Burt had survived. An accident that had almost left Kurt completely orphaned still plagued Burt's every memory. Memory of waking up in a car that was on fire and seeing his wife already dead. He shook his head, forcing the memories away. Closing his eyes, Burt took an unsteady breath and opened them again, he jumped slightly when he saw his son, crying openly as he stood beside the porch swing.

Kurt had been sleeping downstairs, until the nightmare jerked him from his dreams, he jolted awake with a dying cry on his lips. He looked around frantically, before racing upstairs…only to find the house empty. "Daddy?" He called, his worst fears becoming more prevelent. He'd told daddy he didn't want him. That he wanted mommy instead. Daddy didn't really believe him did he! He raced upstairs, hoping his daddy was hiding in the bedroom like Kurt had taken to doing lately.

"Daddy?" He whimpered. Kurt's little legs forced him outside, unknowingly, where he found his daddy sitting on the porch swing his eyes closed. Tears that had been building up inside the boy immediately spilled over.

When Burt lifted his head and looked over at his son, he felt his heart break. "Hey," Burt offered, it sounded so stupid, but maybe it would help the boy open up. It did exactly that, more than Burt had expected, tears instantly began to fall as the child began to sob openly, flinging himself into his father's arms.

Burt grabbed the child by his waist and gently pulled him into his lap as his son sobbed openly in his arms, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," He sobbed.

He hugged his burly arms around the small frame, leaning his head down against the still damp hair, his own tears beginning to fall. "Me too," Burt murmured kissing the child's head.

"I miss mommy, but…" The child sobbed, "I don't wanna lose you either," He whimpered.

Burt held tight to his baby boy, realizing that they were both desperately clinging to the only thing they had left of Mary. "Son, I'll be here for you as long as I physically can be," He pressed a kiss to his son's soft hair again and sighed, taking a moment to compose himself, and let Kurt do the same.

"I had a bad dream."

"About mommy dying?" Burt was surprised when his son shook his head no. "Me?" A nod confirmed Burt's fears. "I'm not going anywhere, baby." He whispered. He sighed as his son relaxed a little in his arms, "Son, I know I'm not your mommy, but I'm going to try and take care of you, so I need you to trust me to do my best, okay?"

"I'm sorry daddy," The child whispered. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No…you shouldn't have. But it's okay."

Kurt looked up at his daddy's face, "I hurt your feelings…I'm sorry."

Burt sighed, kissing the boy's forehead. "I love you kid. We'll get through this."

The two sat in silent, Kurt on his father's lap, cuddling close to the man's chest. He sighed, feeling the strong heart beat beneath his ear. "Daddy?"

"Yeah buddy."

"Will you teach me 'bout cars?"

Burt smiled, "I'd love to son." Perhaps this would be the start of a beautiful friendship.