Coming Home

Kurt Hummel sat primly—legs crossed, back straight, hands folded in lap—on the hard, blue, plastic airport seat in the baggage claim area. His hair was immaculate as always, perfectly styled in his infamous coif. His outfit—only the very best from the latest Armani winter collection—consisted of black suede knee high boots, fitted white slacks, a white button down shirt and a navy blue trench coat. He gave off the impression of someone calmly waiting for the arrival of a friend and the only clue he gave as to his rising anxiousness was how his foot would spontaneously start jiggling furiously, the corner of his mouth would be suddenly attacked by his teeth and his hand would unconsciously find its way to one of his children's heads to brush back a non-existent loose strand of curly hair. His eight year-old children, twins, sat on either side of him, Jamison to his right and Natalia to his left.

"Dad, is it…?" his son began but Kurt cut him off with a slow firm shake of his head. The question of 'when' was not to be asked again that night and he knew the message had been received as both Natalia and Jamison entrenched themselves deeper in their books.

Kurt sighed and brought the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose, rubbing away the stress that'd been accumulating over the past two hours. The delayed plane had originally been expected to arrive at 7:15 p.m. so they'd gotten to the airport at 6:50, excited balls of energy eager to welcome the last member of their family. Two years it'd been; two years since Kurt said his goodbyes, two years since he'd kissed those lips, two years since his children saw their father. Yes, there were texts and phone calls and emails and skype conversations but, none of those came marginally close to the real thing. So it was here, on Christmas eve night, the hour nearing ten, that the tired family awaited the person that would make them complete.

The vibrations from Kurt's Blackberry startled him and he quickly slid the device from between his crossed thighs, eager to have something to busy himself with—he wouldn't care if it was a text from one of his frenzied interns, as long as it kept him from getting his hands slapped away by his children and from having to count another rotation of a lone suitcase on the conveyer belt.

Kurt looked at the text and his heart fluttered in his chest when he saw it was from him.

Just landed. Be there in 10

"Was that daddy, Dad?" Natalia asked looking up from her book, forgetting the unspoken rule.

"Shh, Natalia!" Jamison hissed, glaring at her and nervously chancing glances up at Kurt.

Kurt smiled him, or tried to at least. "It's alright, it was him." Kurt got up, stretched his arms above his head briefly and straightened out his clothing, nervously picking at non-existent lint on his coat. "Come on, let's go wait for him by the escalators."

"Yay! I'm tired of sitting; I think my butt got two inches flatter…" Natalia said, jumping up from her seat and twisting to look down behind herself. Jamison and Kurt stared at her with mock austerity before sharing a look and breaking out into peals of laughter, Natalia joining in seconds later. All were drunk on the night and their butterfly filled stomachs as they linked hands to walk the short distance.

There weren't as many people milling about as Kurt thought there'd be considering it was Christmas Eve, but it was in no way empty on the first floor; there was a constant flow of travelers coming in from the cold to buy their tickets and travelers rushing to greet loved ones or to get to their luggage on time. Kurt held onto the small hands firmly so as to not lose them.


Kurt looked down at his daughter as the three came to a stop, leaving a sizable gap between them and the escalators and stairs for people to walk, "What is it, sweetie?"

"Are you nervous to see daddy again?" Natalia, ever the curious, asked, looking up with her hazel green eyes.

Jamison sighed, annoyed. "Stop being so nosy, Nat. You're so annoying sometimes!"

Kurt pursed his lips and shifted his eyes to his son, giving him a hard look. "Stop." He gave the hand in his a firm shake before releasing it. "What did I say about being ugly?"

Jamison frowned, crossing arms. "It doesn't become me."

"And about frowning and making faces?" Kurt said, emphasizing the last part for his daughter who'd previously been sticking out her tongue.

"They should be avoided when possible to prevent pre-mature wrinkles." Natalia and Jamison replied in unison, sighing and discreetly rolling their eyes.

Kurt nodded in satisfaction and began fixing his appearance once more. "Now, let's be civil to each other and wait for your fa—"

And there he was.

Kurt's breath caught in his throat as he watched the tall man clad in a camouflage army uniform. Kurt's hearing suddenly was muffled as time seemed to slow; the olive skinned soldier smiled in their direction, laughing some as he skipped down the stairs, his duffle bag bouncing on his back. Kurt dimly heard his children yell and saw them break into a sprint towards the man.

He couldn't believe how much the man currently on one knee, giving huge bear hugs and millions of little kisses to each of his children, had changed. He seemed taller and more resplendent than the last time he'd saw him, two years ago. And yet, he couldn't believe how the man, now standing and walking towards him, letting the two children fight over who would carry his bag, hadn't changed. Those hazel eyes, that buzz cut hair, those large hands were all the same from two years ago.

The man smiled, reaching out and swiping his thumb across Kurt's cheeks. He nudged his chin up with a crooked knuckle. "You've been biting your lips haven't you babe?"

Kurt let out a short stuttered laugh and nodded, his actions hurried as he threw his arms around his husband's neck, sobbing. "Noah, oh my god, Noah! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!"

Noah Puckerman held the smaller man close, lifting him slightly off the floor. He kissed the temple beside his cheek and his voice was low and husky with tears as he said, "How you doing beautiful?"