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Burt watches Puck, sitting opposite him in his small office at Hummel Tires and Lube. Gone is the arms-crossed, eyes-narrowed, ‘I’m too good for this shit’ expression he used to wear when he was just a juvenile delinquent punk. Back then, Burt hadn’t liked the look of him. What parent would? He hadn’t been too concerned though; he’d doubted Mohawk would be around for long.
That was eight years ago now. Noah Puckerman at twenty-five is mohawk-free, the cocky chip on his shoulder replaced with a quiet confidence. He is a man.
“I didn’t realize you were in town.” Burt says, “But it was nice of you to stop and say hello, especially since I’m sure you’d rather be spending time with your mom and your sister.”
Burt suspects that isn’t the case at all, but he wonders if Puck will correct him. He isn’t dumb. He recognises the nervous, skittish expression on Puck’s face. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly why his son’s boyfriend has shown up in the garage on the pretense of "just passing through".
“Yeah. About that. Our show is in Cleveland tonight. But we’re headed west and I won’t be back in the area until December probably, and that’s too late, so…” Puck runs a hand over his buzz cut, staring down at his knees.
Burt just waits. He probably could cut Puck some slack, tell him he knows why he’s here, but he’s been in his shoes. He remembers feeling like the words wanted to claw their way out of his chest, but not knowing the right order to put them in, even after practising countless times.
After a long few moments of silence, Puck raises his eyes from his shoes to meet Burt’s. “I’m going to ask Kurt to marry me.” Puck leans forward slightly in his chair.
“Are you asking my permission?” Burt can’t help teasing his future son-in-law, just a little. It’s in his job description to make him sweat, after all.
“No. I’m going to marry your son whether you like it or not. I’m just telling you because you’re the most important person in his life, and if we don’t have your blessing I know he won’t go through with it.”
Burt reaches into the neck of his shirt, pulling the chain that had been hanging there for seventeen years off over his head. His fingers fumble on the clasp, but he gets it open on the third try and slides the matching gold bands free. For a moment, they are heavy in his palm, before he leans forward and offers them to Puck.
“You don’t have to use them if you have others already picked out.” Burt’s voice is gruff. “But it might mean something to Kurt to have his mother’s ring.”
“Which one…?” Puck stares down at the rings in his hand, his voice catching in his throat.
“Lizzie’s was the narrower one. You might not even need to get it re-sized. She had pretty big hands.” Burt smiles fondly at this long-forgotten detail.
“So you wouldn’t mind if I wore your ring then?” Puck looks apprehensive, undoubtedly waiting for some kind of rejection. That doesn’t surprise Burt. Puck spent most of his childhood knowing people didn’t love him, rather than the way it should have been.
“Son,” Burt says, and Puck’s expression softens, “I’d be honoured.”
***
Burt fidgets a little in his tuxedo, used to worn-in denim and faded flannel. The wedding is a surprisingly small affair, and Burt still doesn’t know how Puck managed to convince Kurt they should get married in Lima instead of New York. He wonders if there was some form of guilt-trip from Puck’s grandmother as a catalyst, because Burt never imagined his son getting married in Ohio with a ceremony officiated by a rabbi. Although he probably shouldn’t have been so surprised. He’d known for a while now he'd eventually be gaining a Jewish son-in-law; there had always been something inevitable about Kurt and Noah.
Burt listens to the toasts given by the best men: Finn earnest and honest and bringing tears to Kurt’s eyes with his rambling but endearing speech; the drummer from Puck’s band making everyone laugh about how Puck had to marry Kurt because he’s a shitty musician without him.
Burt gets to dance with his son like they did at his own wedding, while Puck escorts his mother around the dance floor.
“Thank you for the rings,” Kurt says, and Burt suspects the tears in his eyes are for an entirely different reason this time around. “It means so much to Noah that you gave him yours. And having a piece of Mom…” Kurt shrugs his shoulders, but Burt understands.
Burt is grabbing a beer from the bar when Puck steps up next to him. It’s the first time they’d been alone since the day Puck came to the garage.
“Son,” Burt nods towards him and passes him his beer, the bartender handing him a second. Burt clinks his bottle against Puck’s. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Puck’s grin spreads slowly across his face, like he can’t quite believe this is happening.
Burt takes a pull on his beer, watching as Puck’s eyes follow Kurt around the dance floor, while he dances goofily with Mercedes, his head thrown back in laughter.
Burt chooses his words carefully, “The two of you have been taking care of each other for a long time.”
Puck tears his eyes away from his new husband to look at his father-in-law. “Yeah. We have.”
Burt nods, “Keep it up. There’s a tire iron with your name on it otherwise.”
Puck grins, because they both know how empty that threat really is. If Burt ever wanted to hurt Noah, he’d have to get through Kurt first, and Kurt has been protecting Puck over the years just as fiercely as Puck has been protecting Kurt.
“Welcome to the family, Mr. Hummel-Puckerman.” Burt smiles.
“Thanks…Dad.” Uncertainty is written all over Puck’s face. Burt nods, and claps Puck on the shoulder, squeezing tightly.
Burt hadn’t expected he’d meet the man who’d take his son away from him when Kurt was only seventeen, but watching Noah and Kurt on the dance floor, laughing and happy and as in love as they’d been eight years previous, Burt thinks he probably should have seen this coming from day one.