Title: Cooking and Compromising

Summary: Missing scene from Original Song. Blaine comes over for dinner and to formally meet Kurt's family. With Hummel/Hudson family time.

Location in the timeline: Sometime during Original Song (episode 2.16), a few days after the K+B kiss.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognize from Glee.

"I am here!" Kurt announced as he sauntered through the front door of his house. "Que la fête commence ([fr.] let the party begin)!" He hung his coat and school bag neatly on hooks by the door.

Burt poked his head out of the kitchen, a look of relief on his face. "Thank god! Carole called a few minutes ago. She has to work a little late and asked me to start dinner, but she didn't have time to explain how to do that. So far I've found a package of hamburger and a skillet."

Kurt frowned. "Well, keep looking, because we're having baked chicken cordon bleu tonight. Carole and I planned it out last night and bought everything we need." He stomped into the kitchen, shrugging off his blazer and rolling up his sleeves as he went; Burt wisely got out of his way. "And if Finn has managed to consume that entire two pounds of ham in the past twenty-one hours, I will insist that we get a lock for the refrigerator!"

Kurt rummaged in the fridge for a moment and popped back out, holding a container of raw chicken cutlets in one hand, with some cheese slices and a half-empty package of ham in the other.

Kurt nudged his father away from the cutting board, as he set to work preparing the chicken. "I got this, Dad."

"Are you sure, kid? It's a big dinner. Don't you need to go change your clothes or fuss with your hair, especially since you have that boy coming over?" Burt regretted the timing of his tease as Kurt spun towards him, flailing with a knife dangerously close to his stomach.

"Dad!" Kurt yelped. Burt backed away and waited for the follow-up to that, but for once Kurt seemed at a loss. In the end, Kurt just glared at his father briefly and returned his attention to preparing dinner.

Burt chuckled. "Well, as long as you're sure that you don't want help right now. I'll make up the salad later. But first I need to practice my Terrifying Father routine."

"Oh no, you are not going to terrorize my brand-new boyfriend tonight. Or any other night, unless I specifically request it. Nod your head if you understand."

Burt nodded his head for a moment, then shook it from side to side after an appeased Kurt had turned back to the chicken.

"I saw that," Kurt stated coolly.

"You were supposed to." Burt decided to make his escape. Now that dinner was well under control, he guessed that he could start reading the magazine that had just arrived in the mail.

Burt had barely made it halfway through the letters to the editor when Kurt banged the oven shut and headed to his room to change clothes before dinner. About fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang, and a blur of brown hair, bright blue shirt, black pinstriped vest, and fitted black pants raced to the foyer.

The blur solidified into his son, who admonished Burt, "Remember, behave," before smoothing his hair and calmly opening the door.

"Hey there!" Blaine exclaimed. The shorter boy appeared startled at the swift response and flushed self-consciously to have been caught bouncing on his toes. Like Kurt, he had also abandoned his uniform and was wearing dark-wash jeans and a lightweight green sweater that made his eyes gleam darker than usual.

"Hi Blaine."

The two boys smiled at each other for a few seconds too long, before Kurt collected himself, ushered his boyfriend into the house, and took his coat. Meanwhile, Burt rose to his feet and waited for his guest to be presented, mentally preparing his Terrifying Father routine.

Kurt hesitantly led Blaine over. "Dad, Blaine, you guys know each other, right? Great! Blaine, let's go up to my room and listen to some music for a while. Dinner is apparently going to be somewhat later than expected tonight."

"Hold up there, buddy. I haven't even had a chance to greet your guest. So, Blaine, how's it going?" Burt asked in a polite tone.

Blaine responded similarly, "I'm doing very well. How are you, Mr. Hummel?"

"I'm good, things are good. I understand that you both had a big math test today. I hope you weren't as stressed as Kurt about that."

Blaine relaxed at the small talk. "Kurt stresses over that stuff for no reason, I swear. We both got A's, but his score was two points higher than mine."

"I see. So, Blaine... You been to any good parties lately? Maybe do a little fooling around or something?" Burt asked less casually, locking gazes deliberately with Blaine and stepping just close enough to force him to look way up to maintain the eye contact.

Blaine floundered at the sudden attack, but Kurt valiantly jumped to his defense. "Dad! Seriously, just because he drank at Rachel's party that one time. Every person in this house has gotten drunk and acted stupidly. Well, perhaps not quite as stupidly as Blaine, but still..."

Burt shifted his stare of intimidation to his son, who matched it and raised him a grimace of annoyance.

Burt tried to return to the game plan. "I wasn't referring to the drinking—"

Kurt interrupted, "And yes, he stayed here, in my room. What did you want him to do, drive home like that? He passed out on my bed, and you know I can't sleep properly on the couch! Nothing happened. Let it go, please."

Blaine finally found his voice. "Kurt, actually I think that your dad is referring to the time I went to see him at his garage. To talk about, um, things. You know, that conversation that I told you about yesterday? I may have mentioned that... well, that maybe, sometime, when you were at a party, things might start to happen with some guy..."

"Oh god!" Kurt swore, then rallied. "Nothing happened between us at a party, either. Okay, Dad? It was all very proper and sweet and in full lighting. I thought that we discussed this, and you agreed to behave tonight." That last bit came out in a hiss, which Blaine assumed he should pretend not to have heard.

"Technically I didn't—" Burt began. Then he realized that his son was genuinely upset and decided to back off. "Why don't you two go ahead upstairs? Dinner won't be for at least another thirty minutes."

Finn strolled in, just in time to hear that statement. He dropped his bag, kicked his shoes at the wall, and nearly tripped over one that bounced back to land at his feet.

Finn straightened himself out and asked, "What was that about dinner? I'm staaarving."

"Your mother's still at work, so dinner will be a little late."

Finn pouted. "Oh. Well then, I need a snack. Kurt, come in the kitchen and show me what I'm allowed to eat." He latched onto his stepbrother's arm and started to haul him kitchen-ward.

Kurt tried in vain to break free. "Finn, eat whatever you want. I need to stay here. Just don't eat all the bread, or the tuna salad, that's for Dad, and for god's sake why are you dumping that entire bag of chips into the bowl…"

The stepbrothers disappeared around the corner into the kitchen, and their voices faded away, leaving an awkward silence between Blaine and Burt.

Blaine shuffled his feet, then mentally squared his shoulders. "Speaking of that day when I came to talk to you about Kurt, I know I went far beyond the bounds of propriety. And I know that the timing of that, what with us now dating, it probably all seems pretty suspect. But truly, sir, my only intention at that time was to try and help someone that I care about. To help my friend, I mean." Blaine stopped and searched for the words of the eloquent speech that he had rehearsed on the drive over, but they were fading quickly under Burt's inscrutable look.

Burt took pity on him. "I get that, I do. You seemed genuinely concerned about Kurt. Not like you just wanted me to give him... tips… or something." They both winced. "The way I see it, if you were willing to risk embarrassing yourself and pretty much everyone else involved in that way, you must care about my son quite a lot. And that's worth a massive number of brownie points with me."

"I do. Care about him, I mean. A lot," Blaine dithered, then remembered part of his speech. "I know now that I probably overreacted to the entire situation. I should have realized that Kurt wouldn't want to talk about that stuff with me."

"No, you were right. And it wasn't the first time the topic had come up. I had just been avoiding it. Kurt's pretty independent; you may have noticed. I guess I always assumed that, when sex became relevant, he'd work it out on his own somehow. Kinda like he did with the laundry when he was nine. Except he'd be grown and living far enough away that I could remain blissfully ignorant of his new hobby. I'm still clinging to my hope on that last part, by the way, if you catch my meaning." Burt eyed the teenager sternly.

"Right, ignorance is bliss, got it," Blaine nodded.

"Yeah, not exactly what I meant, pal," Burt muttered as the sounds of loud footsteps and bickering signaled Finn and Kurt's return.

Finn headed upstairs to his bedroom, clutching a small bowl of apple slices and a bottle of water. Kurt rejoined his father and boyfriend, his eyes flicking back and forth between them to assess the damage. Burt smiled innocently, while Blaine smiled in relief. In the end, Kurt was satisfied that nothing too catastrophic had occurred in his absence.

"Dad, I'm going to prepare the salad now, okay? I forgot that I also need to make a cream sauce to serve with the chicken."

Burt's eyes lit up. "You mean your mother's sauce, the one with the white wine and the actual cream? Not some healthy knock-off sauce with skim milk or something?"

Kurt quirked an eyebrow at his father's enthusiasm. "Yes, mom's recipe. Intact with fat and alcohol and all things bad for you. You can have a little bit, Dad, a little bit."

Burt grinned, "Wow, this must be a real special occasion. Come over for dinner anytime, Blaine, if we're gonna eat like this."

"One time offer, Dad. Enjoy it." Kurt touched Blaine's arm lightly and asked, "Do you want to come help with dinner?"

"Sure."

Burt watched the two boys disappear into the kitchen, then returned to his chair and magazine. This time, though, he couldn't seem to enjoy it. He found himself distracted by the banging of pans, thunking of drawers, hushed voices, laughter, and general sense of busyness emitting from the kitchen. Then he became even more distracted by an unexpected quiet that fell within the adjacent room.

Burt decided that the house was a bit warm, and he needed to adjust the thermostat. The thermostat which just so happened to be located in the dining room, near the hallway that led to the kitchen. The thermostat that happened to be located in a place that was close enough to hear clearly what was occurring in the kitchen but remain unseen behind a wall. The thermostat that was a little tricky to operate and might require an extended amount of time to ensure that it was set to the optimal temperature.

Proper house temperature management was vital, after all.

Blaine slowly stirred the sauce mixture as it heated on the stovetop. "Like this?" he asked Kurt.

Kurt threw a cursory glance in his direction and nodded, "Yes, that is some excellent stirring. Keep up the good work."

Blaine rolled his eyes at his boyfriend, who just smirked and began rinsing a variety of vegetables over the sink. The salad greens were already draining in a salad spinner on the counter. Kurt moved the vegetables to a clean cutting board and got to chopping.

Blaine stirred and marveled at his boyfriend's speed and skill with a knife. "Remind me never to make you mad when you're near kitchen utensils."

Kurt leveled him a look without ceasing his chopping. "I wouldn't recommend it in any location, actually," he said severely, then ruined the effect by laughing.

Blaine chuckled. "I'll make a note of it."

"Speaking of gruesome and horrifying torture, my dad didn't give you a hard time while Finn and I were in the kitchen, did he?" Kurt asked.

Blaine answered vaguely, "No, it was fine. We had a nice talk."

Kurt stopped in astonishment. "Seriously? What did you talk about?" he asked doubtfully.

"You. And me. And you and me."

Kurt gawked at him. "And it was nice?"

"He actually seemed kind of... approving," Blaine said musingly.

"You actually seem kind of disappointed," Kurt replied, resuming work on the vegetables.

"Well, it is fun to watch you fiercely defending me and our relationship. And you know that a part of you secretly enjoys telling people off," Blaine teased.

"Just doing my civic duty," Kurt deadpanned, then frowned uneasily. "Blaine, I'm not one of those sorts of people that will only date someone that their parents hate."

A mischievous look crossed Blaine's face. "Oh, that's a shame, because I only date those sorts of people."

The chopping slowed briefly. "I see. That is a shame."

"Yeah. I mean, I really liked you," Blaine whined.

"I liked you, too." Kurt considered the dilemma, then offered, "Maybe we can compromise. Can you live with mild parental disapproval?"

"I'm listening."

"Do you know any good Pittsburgh Steelers jokes? That's my dad's favorite football team, I think." Kurt paused to grab the salad bowl out of the cupboard. "…Yeah, football, I'm pretty sure. Anyway, maybe you can insult them a little, cast aspersions on their ability to win games or whatever. Just don't insult the guy with the hair; that'll get you banned from the house."

Blaine looked devastated. He heaved a sigh and spoke faintly, "Kurt. The Steelers are my favorite professional football team, too."

Kurt set down the knife with a clink. "I see... You really are my father's ideal boyfriend, aren't you?"

"I can't help it! I'd change if I could."

"No, no. You should be able to be who you are."

Blaine said wistfully, "Well, it was fantastic while it lasted. Both days. And what was that about our moment being very proper and sweet, huh? Did you tell him that I kissed your hand and wrote an elegant letter asking you to stroll in the gardens?"

"Close. What my dad doesn't know can't cause him another heart attack."

The boys fell silent for a moment, while Blaine stirred diligently and Kurt dumped the greens and vegetables into the salad bowl.

Kurt finished and leaned against the counter, contemplating. "Blaine, what's your favorite baseball team?"

"I don't watch much baseball. It moves too slowly for me. Why?" Blaine replied.

"Could you maybe not like the Cleveland Indians? At least, around my dad."

"Are you kidding? The Indians are awful! They're despicable! Their logo is lame! They haven't won a championship in I-don't-know-how-long! Seriously, I don't know how long, but I think it's been a while."

"We'll google it before dinner. You're the best. Thank you." Kurt pressed a kiss to Blaine's cheek.

"Anything for you."

Burt leaned against the dining room wall and shook his head, a small smile on his lips. He was torn between feeling reassured by the easy teasing and affectionate conversation he had overheard and feeling intensely curious about what courtship details he was unaware of due to concern for his weak heart. After reminding himself that his son was generally a smart, responsible young man (and that hopefully both he and Kurt had recently instilled a bit of fear in Blaine), he settled on feeling reassured.

Burt heard the sound of keys at the front door and stealthily leapt back into the living room, snatching up his magazine and trying to make it look like he had just gotten up from the chair.

Carole walked in and called out to him, "Hey honey, sorry I'm late. How's dinner coming?"

Burt played innocent. "I'm not sure, but I guess it's about ready. Kurt took over when he got home from school."

"Yeah, I figured," Carole said lightly; Burt tried not to be offended. "Are the boys in the kitchen? I saw Blaine's car in the driveway. I hope that you are behaving yourself and not embarrassing your son."

Burt scowled at her. "Kurt and Blaine are both in the kitchen; Finn's upstairs in his room. And I am not a child that needs to be reprimanded."

Carole folded her arms and calmly stated, "Sure you're not. And I didn't see you eavesdropping on the kitchen before I came in. There's a window in the front door, you know."

Burt turned away with a snort. "I was adjusting the thermostat, and you can't prove otherwise."

Carole laughed. "Sure thing, honey." She patted his arm and walked into the kitchen, Burt trailing behind her.

The two teenagers were inspecting the sauce and declaring it completed as the adults entered.

Carole greeted the boys and hugged Kurt in gratitude for preparing dinner. "Everything looks great and ready to go. I'm going to change clothes quickly. Burt, can you and Finn set the table?"

Kurt grabbed Blaine's arm and offered, "I'll send Finn down to help, Dad. We need to run to my room for a minute."

Burt nodded. "Okay. Door open, and no funny business."

Kurt smiled beatifically. "Of course. Full lighting activities only."

The two boys exited before Burt could formulate a reply.

A little later, as the five of them sat around the table, Blaine drizzled sauce over a piece of chicken and cheerfully asked, "So, Mr. Hummel, how about those Cleveland Indians? They sure do suck, don't they? Hey, did you know that they haven't won the World Series since 1948? That's just sad."

Burt struggled to contain a laugh and to portray a look of mild parental disapproval.

Anything to keep his kid happy.

AN: I cannot remember any mention of a RL sports team other than the Buckeyes, who didn't suit my purposes. If anyone knows Burt's NFL and MLB preferences from canon, please let me know and I'll revise this. Yeah, I'm that neurotic.