His Mothers' Son

by ForForever19

Years after the death of his mother, Luke Berry-Fabray finds a journal of letters written to him, detailing the highs and lows of Rachel and Quinn's journey into parenthood. 2-Part Future AU.

1. Restless

Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended.

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AN: I think, at this point, I'm going to have to write an actual story about Quinn being an FBI Agent, just to satisfy my headcanon. I'm sorry in advance.

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Part One

Restless

---

There's no sound of music.

It's the first thing he notices when he steps through the doors of the old new house, intent on officially calling it a day and curling up with his wife in front of the television.

But, there's no music.

There is always music.

Luke Berry-Fabray steps through the front door and gently shuts it behind him. As quietly as he can, he sets his shoulder bag on the ground and takes cautious steps forward, absently reaching for the baseball bat leaning against the wall beside the coat closet.

Silence is never a good sign in this particular Berry-Fabray household.

"Mia?" he calls out, gripping the bat tightly as he stalks through the entrance hall. "Mia? Honey, are you home?" Luke has to bypass several still-unpacked boxes as he moves further into the house. "Mia?"

"Up here."

Luke's eyes snaps upwards and he spots his wife at the top of the stairs. She's dressed in baggy sweatpants and a Juilliard sweatshirt. She's barefoot, with her strawberry blonde hair in a messy bun.

Really, he doesn't think she's ever looked more beautiful.

"Amelia May," Luke says, setting the bat back in position. "Crazy girl, what are you trying to do to my heart?"

"Come up here," she says, bouncing slightly.

Luke peels off his jacket and drops it onto a box marked for the kitchen. He isn't even going to question what it's still doing in the entrance hall. "Why is it so quiet in here?" he asks, as he makes his way towards the stairs. He climbs them two at a time, reaching her in less than five seconds.

"I didn't even notice," she just manages to say, before she's being lifted off the ground and spun around. "Luke!" she squeals, gripping his shoulders to keep herself steady.

He's quick to set her back on the ground, his grin contagious. He gives her a chaste 'Honey, I'm home' kiss before looking around. "What are you doing up here, anyway?"

Mia drops her gaze for a moment. "Well, you see, when I was speaking to your Mom earlier, she may have mentioned there were a few things in the attic she wanted to get from us."

Luke frowns. "The attic?"

"That's the room in the roof of a house," she teases.

Luke raises his eyebrows in amused indignation. "I know what an attic is," he says, clearly unimpressed. "What could possibly be up there?"

"My thought exactly," she says, removing herself from his embrace and starting down the corridor. "I've kind of been up there since I got off the phone with Quinn, and I found some pretty amazing things."

Luke has no choice but to follow her. At this point in his life, he would follow her just about anywhere. "What kinds of things?"

"Notes. Journals. Pictures," she informs him. "I even found some of your old artwork."

Luke groans. "Oh, God, please no."

"Oh, yes," she sing-songs.

"I'll burn them, you know?"

"You'll do no such thing," she shoots back, looking at him over her shoulder. "You'd break Quinn's heart."

"What heart?" he mutters under his breath.

At the sound of that, Mia stops walking immediately and spins to look at him, fire burning in her eyes as she fixes him with a hard look. "You take that back, right now," she practically growls at him.

He sighs, dropping his gaze guiltily. "Fine," he mumbles. "But, she's said nothing to me about the news," he says, trying to justify his comment. "I mean, other than giving us this house; it's like she doesn't even care."

Mia frowns at him, resisting the urge to swat the back of his head. Because, seriously, boys are idiots. "Of course, she cares," she says. "It's just hard for her."

"What? What is so hard, when it's happening to us?"

"But it's not just happening to us, Luke," she counters gently, because he's obviously struggling with something else entirely. "I'm sure Quinn didn't want to be a single mother, and it's probably even more daunting being a single grandmother."

Luke lets out a long breath. "It's about her, then?"

Mia lays a hand on his chest. "Isn't it always?"

He puts a hand over hers, pressing her fingers against him. "I'm not really mad," he admits. "I mean, I was, but I'm not anymore. I just wish she'd been more excited."

Mia almost rolls her eyes. "When has your mother ever been excited?"

"I don't know," he says, shrugging. "Right now, you know her better than I do."

She lets out a light laugh. "Maybe we should have her over for dinner before we throw our housewarming party next weekend," she suggests. "It could also be that she feels as if you're just growing up so fast, and she doesn't know how to handle it."

"You're making it sound as if I just left the house," he comments dryly.

"And, was Quinn excited about that?"

Luke doesn't need to think back. Even at the time, he knew his mother didn't wanted him to go on his year-long trip around the world after graduation from high school, but she put a smile on her face and gave her blessing regardless.

As she did when Luke told her he's about to become a father for the first time.

"Do you think she's worried for me?" Luke eventually asks, his voice coming out as barely a whisper. "Because, she's never really thought she was a good mom, but she was great. She still is."

"The two of you definitely have to talk about it," Mia concludes, before she grabs hold of his hand. "Now, come on, there are things I want to show you."

Luke allows her to pull him along, and he follows her up the ladder and into the large attic of the house in which he grew up. It spans the entirety of the house, and he can't even recall the last time he was up here. Probably when he was still a preteen.

It isn't as dusty in the attic as he imagines it would be, which is a pleasant surprise. Does that mean his mother has been in here recently? His eyes follow Mia as she heads towards one corner, where several boxes are now open.

"I found this box of old books," Mia informs him. "I thought they were your standard textbooks, but they're not. On the inside covers, they all say: Property of Rachel Berry."

Luke's breath catches in his throat. Even just hearing her name still affects him.

"They're all sorts of books," Mia goes on to explain, dropping to her knees and peering into the box. "All sorts of novels, old and new texts, and quite a few baby books, which actually say Rachel Berry-Fabray. She must have done a lot of reading during her pregnancy."

Luke just blinks, trying and failing to keep up with his wife.

"Are you even listening?" Mia asks, glancing at him.

Luke snaps out of his trance and looks down at her. It's been a long time since he's heard his other mother's actual name. Even Quinn doesn't use it.

When she's conscious, at least.

Or sober.

"Luke?"

He starts towards her, and kneels at her side. "You said something about journals?"

Mia points to a pile of notebooks to her right. "They're early ones," she says. "I didn't read anything; I just looked at the dates."

He places a gentle hand at the small of her back. "It's okay," he says softly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I know what she means to you," she says. "I've never wanted to overstep."

"It's okay," he says again, and he means it. He wants his wife to know the woman who gave birth to him.

Mia returns her attention to the box, while Luke shuffles around her to get to the small pile of journals. He already has several of his other mother's journals in his possession, though they were mainly from around the time she attended NYADA.

It's one of the only ways he's been able to learn of the life his other mother once lived.

Once he reaches the pile, he settles with his legs crossed and his back straight. Perfect posture is something that's been ingrained into him since he was a toddler, drilled into him by both his mothers.

Finally satisfied with his position, he reaches for a random journal, absently noting that this one was started in September of 2011, while his parents were still in school.

Luke can't stop his smile. He would know Rachel Berry-Fabray's handwriting just about anywhere and, as much as he's tempted, he doesn't actually start to read. He's resolved to locate the earliest journal first, and then begin to go through all of them from there.

"Oh," Mia says, getting his attention.

"Oh, what?" he asks, looking up.

She's staring at the first page of a foreign notebook; something he wouldn't recognise. "Umm, this one is from 2021."

He frowns. "What?"

"2021, Luke," she repeats. "This journal is from 2021."

"That's not possible," he says, shuffling back towards her. "Her journals stop when they got married. She even says so in her last journal. She said it was her last."

"Do you mind?" Mia asks, seeking permission to open the notebook.

"Go ahead," he says, moving so he's kneeling behind her, peering over her shoulder.

2nd November 2021

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

It's your mother here.

Today, this day, the second of November, is the day I found out you're going to exist. You are, in fact, the first one to know. I haven't even told either of my dads, let alone Quinn.

I suppose I'm still in a bit of shock. Don't misunderstand me; I'm thrilled. We've been trying for a while now - please be old enough to understand what that means by the time you read this - and so I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it's finally happening.

We're having a baby.

We're having you.

If I'm being honest - and I intend to be - I don't know why I've decided to write this letter to you. I haven't written for some time now, and I stand by the reasons I stopped. Sometimes, I felt as if I spent too much time writing my life down rather than living it, but I intend to write to you.

This won't be the last letter, that's for sure.

I do hope you won't find it too strange when you're older. I suppose I just want you to know I've loved you from the moment I found out about you; from the moment we decided we were ready to bring a baby into this world.

Luke stops reading with an actual gasp, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. "It's not a journal," he whispers. "It's a letter."

"To you."

"To me," he agrees, sitting back on his heels as if he's just had the wind knocked out of him.

Mia closes the notebook and turns to look at him. "Are you all right?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't speak.

"Oh, baby," Mia says, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'm sorry. Maybe we shouldn't have come up here."

"No," he says, offering her a small smile. "It's okay. I'm okay."

Mia shakes her own head, before she struggles to her feet. "Come on," she says. "Let's go make dinner. Baby Berry-Fabray is starving."

Luke blinks.

Baby Berry-Fabray.

Mia doesn't wait for a response from him as she pulls him to his feet and leads the way out of the attic. He makes sure she gets down the ladder safely before he follows her down, and then further down and into the kitchen.

Mia intends to keep him occupied, and cooking dinner together is one way of doing it. He's definitely distracted, but she makes no verbal comment on it.

He is, unfortunately, a lot like Quinn that way.

The silent type.

A brooder.

Mia knows he'll talk to her about it all only when he's good and ready.

---

After they eat dinner, Mia offers to do the dishes, and Luke disappears up the stairs.

She doesn't follow him when she finishes, choosing rather to put on some music and relax in the living room with a book. She knows he'll let her know if he needs her.

Luke, meanwhile, is back in the attic. He suspects Mia knows exactly where he is, but he also knows she's going to leave him be for now. It's the beauty of being married to someone who understands him in every way. His actual other half.

He heads straight towards the one journal.

If it even is a journal.

He sits with the notebook, bringing his knees up to his chest and starts to read from where he and Mia left off.

But a person is never really ready, are they? When Sam and Mercedes had Phillip, I remember them being overwhelmed by just how much work a baby actually is. The first night we babysat for them, I was exhausted. And it was for only a few hours.

I'm worried, and a little scared. I'm only twenty-seven after all. What do I know?

Okay, I know a lot, about obscure things mainly, but I don't know how to be a mother, and I've never really had someone show me. What if I'm bad at it? What if we're about to bring this baby into the world, only to ruin him or her? I wonder if this is what every new almost-parent feels.

Shall I tell you how I found out about you? It's a rather odd story, involving Finn and his favourite mashed potatoes. Oh, how he loves his mash.

I'm normally a fan as well.

Anyway, I was having lunch with him, Kurt and their mother, Carole, today. Quinn was still on her way from New York, and I was over at their house here in Lima for a quick meal before I had to drive to Columbus to pick her up from the airport. We make it a point to make it back to Lima at least once a month, just to see the family and unwind from the hustle and bustle of New York.

So, we were having mashed potatoes. I haven't been feeling that well this whole week, and then just THOSE potatoes. I felt so sick and ended up throwing up on Finn. God, it was awful.

If Baby Berry-Fabray ends up a girl; I'm terribly sorry. Life is hard as a girl. And, if you do end up a boy, please bear that in mind. Be kind to us.

(Prior to that, though, there was the laundry room. Can you believe it? The laundry detergent. I couldn't stomach it. Quinn told me it was just the normal one we always use, but it made me throw up.)

So, when I mentioned it all to Carole, she made a teasing comment that I might be pregnant.

We all laughed.

I'm still laughing.

On my way home, I couldn't stop thinking about what Carole said. I've never really been all that regular - if you know what that means - but I decided to take a test anyway. I just stopped at a gas station and I bought seven tests.

All of them were positive.

And, so, here we are. I'm going to be a mother, provided everything goes to plan. We're going to be parents. And, as frightening as that is, I'm so happy. I actually can't wait.

I can't wait for you to get here, so I can meet you.

But I should probably tell Quinn now, shouldn't I? Sometimes, I get the feeling she's almost forgotten we've been trying - it's been a few months. But, she asks me from time to time, how I'm feeling. I know she wants a family of her own, and I'm literally giddy that I get to give her one. Because of that, I'm thinking I want to announce it to her in a special way.

Any ideas? How would you want her to find out about you? I'll have to think about it. We'll have to get creative.

I'll keep you posted about her reaction. I'm excited for it. She might even cry.

But, don't you worry, Baby Berry-Fabray. You just enjoy your time in there, all right? I'll take care of you.

Love,
Your Mother

P.S. I'm your mother. Oh wow, I'm your mother. Pinch me.

Luke finishes with the letter and is surprised to find Mia sitting in the attic's hatch, her feet dangling down into the corridor.

"Hey, you," he says, blinking. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"You're crying, Luke," she says, ignoring his question.

His left hand flies up to his cheeks and, indeed, he feels the tears. "Oh."

"I think you should come downstairs now," she says, her tone gentle. "Mrs Berry-Fabray is missing her husband."

Luke waits a beat before he rises to his feet and makes his way towards her, the notebook carefully tucked under his arm.

"I love you, Lucas Berry-Fabray," she says, before she disappears through the hatch.

He follows her down and lifts the ladder, closing the hatch off to the rest of the house.

It's as if he's closing off the journals, as well.

Closing off the past; closing off the painful loss of the mother he can't even remember.

---

Luke doesn't get back to the notebook until much later.

Mia crawls into bed first, while Luke moves through the house, making sure everything is locked up and secure. They were robbed twice while they stayed in their one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, and Mia is still paranoid.

Luke knows they aren't in danger here; in the house his parents bought when they first decided they wanted a family, but he'll do anything he can to make sure his wife feels safe and comfortable.

Quinn was able to teach him that much without even having a wife to show him.

By the time Luke makes it to their new master bedroom, Mia is already asleep, her one leg encroaching on his side of the bed. She gets tired much easier these days, and he finds it utterly adorable that she can fall asleep anywhere, and actually does.

He stands over their bed, spying the now-famous journal on his nightstand. He wants to read more. He's almost desperate to find out what more she wrote.

Because, there is more in there.

If he knows anything about his other mother, it's that she loved her words.

The same way she loved music.

The same way he does, as well.

As silently as he can, Luke picks up the journal and leaves the room, making sure he doesn't close the door completely, in case Mia wakes. He makes his way down the corridor, until he comes to what was his bedroom when he was growing up.

It's exactly as he remembers it being when he left home for the final time the summer after he graduated from Juilliard. Sometimes, it feels like just yesterday, and, other times, it feels like a lifetime ago.

Luke enters the room and crosses to his bed, casually dropping down as if he never left. There are still football and baseball posters up on the walls, and sheets of music from his angsty teenage days pinned up on his noticeboards.

He eventually props himself up against his many pillows and, once again, brings his knees up to his chest. He rests the journal on his chest and knees, opens it up, and proceeds to read.

15th November 2021

I was right!

Special Agent (Extraordinaire) Lucy Quinn Berry-Fabray dropped to her knees and cried tears when I finally told her about you. As much as I tried to come up with a really clever way of letting her know, it ended up falling a bit flat.

See, today is our two-year wedding anniversary and, being who she is, Quinn decided to take me out for a romantic dinner.

After such a romantic day, actually. She's a bit of a romantic, that one. I mean, I woke up to breakfast in bed and roses upon roses.

As much as she tried to get me to skip work today, I couldn't. My audience needs me every day, and I'm sure she already knew her methods of trying to convince me wouldn't work. She did, however, turn up at the theatre to watch the show, and then proceeded to whisk me away as soon as I stepped out of my dressing room after the performance.

She barely gave me time to get changed at home before we went to the restaurant. Until that point, I managed to avoid all her questions about the throwing up and the laundry detergent.

But, then, there was the wine.

At home, I've been able to deflect and disguise my drinking, but, then, in the restaurant, I couldn't be conspicuous when it came to her - she's literally a trained investigator - and I was forced to tell her.

And, right there, in that restaurant, she practically fell off her chair, buried her face in her hands and sobbed. From happiness, mind you. She drew so much attention to us; it should have been embarrassing, but I honestly didn't care.

I anticipated her reaction, but it still surprised me. She was just so happy. It was as if her entire life built up to this very moment, and I was able to give it to her. I feel both privileged by and, well, afraid of it. I'm the one to give her everything she's ever wanted.

When you're in my position, you'll understand.

Though, you better be of age and completely secure emotionally, physically and financially before you even consider having children. Are we clear? Good.

Then she thanked me.

Repeatedly.

I told her I want at least three children, to which she says she would give me anything I ever wanted. I swear, Baby Berry-Fabray, I don't think we could have found a better wife and mother. We're definitely lucky.

We abandoned our meal after that. I'm sure, if you're old enough, you can guess why that was. She's asleep now, and I'm writing this letter at the little secretary desk we have in our bedroom.

It's this adorable thing we found in this neat little antique store on one of our lazy Sundays in Lower Manhattan, made of this wonderful, dark natural wood.

Quinn put the desk in here because she claims she likes to watch me work. When I asked her why she then didn't put our little piano in our bedroom; she had no response.

She's a bit of an odd one, this Quinn, but we love her. I suspect she just wanted to have me near her while I work, but she was too embarrassed to say so. Let's vow right now not to be afraid of our feelings, all right? (I can't help thinking about Finding Nemo at this moment, and I'm not sure why. Fish have feelings, huh? I can't wait to experience it with you.)

Quinn would blush scarlet if I ever asked her to talk about her feelings.

Anyway, I'm glad she knows. It's been difficult keeping it from her. We talked it out, and we've decided we're going to wait until you and I are past the first trimester before we break the news to the rest of the family.

It's apparently what people do, because many things can go wrong in the first few months.

I'm trying not to think about that too much. I already told you not to worry. I'll take care of you.

And, to do that, I should probably get to bed as well. I know I don't yet know you, but I do love you so, Baby Berry-Fabray. Without even being here, you're already bringing such joy to our lives. Don't worry about the tears. She cries when she's happy, otherwise you never know what she's feeling. The broody marshmallow.

Don't you worry. I'll make sure she stays that way.

Love,
Your Mother

This time around, Luke isn't surprised by the tears. This is his other mother, and it's as if she's talking to him. He can practically hear her voice in his head, as he's sometimes sure he remembers it, and as he hears in the many songs and videos and films and television episodes at his disposal.

She left behind a discography and filmography that has allowed him to know her in ways he otherwise wouldn't.

She left behind a legacy.

He leans his head back and lets out a long breath, suddenly not sure he wants to keep reading.

Even as he thinks it, he knows he won't be able to stop now. He craves for anything and everything to do with his other mother.

He always has.

He just wants to be close to her.

9th December 2021

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

We're officially past the first trimester. We made it. We did it.

And, as a result, I had brunch with my Dad this morning, and I told him he's going to be a grandfather. He didn't cry, though he did come quite close. It was wonderful. I don't think I'll ever forget today.

His face. His expression. I've accomplished numerous things in my life - I'm sure I'll LOVE to tell you, one day - but I've never seen that look of pride on his face before. I don't think I can explain it but maybe, one day, you'll be able to ask him. You're going to love him. He's great, though he can be terribly blunt.

Hiram Berry doesn't beat around the bush. It's both a blessing and a curse to have such a father, I think. We've had fights, as you can imagine. Many. I'm even embarrassed to tell you, but you should remember that Quinn and I had to deal with some very different and difficult circumstances in our lives. Dad's never liked that we had to come from that, to get to here.

God, I wouldn't even know what to do with myself if you ever do some of the things we did. I'd probably pull out my own hair. You better be well-behaved.

Who am I kidding? You'll be a Berry-Fabray. You don't stand a chance.

Speaking of, I also went to the doctor today with Dad here in Lima. I've been a little nervous about going into the Maternity Ward in New York, because, if people see me, the entire world is going to know there's a Baby Berry-Fabray on the way.

One of the drawbacks of being famous, you see.

One of the perks, though, is having the doctor come to you.

It's a relief to hear all is well, though, and we're both doing good. My baby is safe and healthy. It's still all I could have asked for.

Quinn is leaving on a case to Arizona tomorrow. It should take between a week and ten days, which is the norm. She promises she'll be back for my birthday, but I'm not holding my breath. I get worried when she goes. She can be rather reckless, you see, and she's ended up at Mount Sinai one too many times for my comfort.

I know I'll have to talk to her about being more careful, now that she's going to be a mother. I have no intention of raising you by myself. I'll probably end up ruining you if she wasn't around to curb my crazy.

God, imagine Quinn by herself. I'm sure she would do well, but I intend on sticking around for a very long time. I might even refrain from sending you to school, and actually tutoring you myself. Would that drive you mad? I think it might.

Luke stops reading.

It's as if she knew.

Of course, she probably thought about it.

Maybe this is why she started these letters in the first place.

Anything could happen.

Anything did.

I drove Quinn a little crazy after the first time she ended up in the hospital. It was a case early in her career, and she picked a fight with someone who didn't care she was a woman. Anyway, when she came home, I couldn't stand having her out of my sight, and we ended up having one of our worst fights to date.

When you meet her, I'm sure you'll understand why I constantly wanted her around.

It's something I always have to remind myself of. Quinn didn't necessarily choose this life - even I can admit it's kind of her calling to help people this way - but I chose her.

You, unfortunately, don't have that luxury, but you're just going to have to trust in my decision. There's nobody better for the two of us. If we're two. Dad might have mentioned his family has a knack of producing twins. I don't think I could handle two at once, at the first go.

So, you better be just one. Our doctor didn't mention anything, so I'm not too worried. Twins would be better than triplets, I suppose, but I still think I would end up pulling out my own hair.

So, please be one. I quite like my hair. Quinn does too.

I should get back to this song I'm in the middle of writing. It's about life and love (as is the usual) and I'm incredibly proud of what I have so far. I can't wait for you to hear it.

Love,
Your Mother

Luke's hand absently moves to run through his own hair. He can only imagine her anxiety at the possibility of more than one baby at the first go. He knows it's just the one for him and Mia, and even that is stressing him out.

When he was younger, he used to wish desperately for a sibling of his own. Sure, his mother's friends all had children, but he wanted one of his own, and he used to pout and throw fits about it constantly.

He never understood whenever his mother used to laugh at the idea that she could just make a baby like all the other Mommies and Daddies. Luke remembers laughing along right with her, even though the idea that you needed… something more was still foreign to him.

His mother always did try to make him laugh, though.

It was only later in life that Luke realised it was mainly because he had his other mother's laugh, and Quinn would do anything to hear it.

At the time, Luke wasn't sure what to make of it.

In the end, he decided it didn't matter to him.

It did no harm, and it resulted in a very happy childhood for him. If his own child can have even half as happy a childhood as he had; then he'll be doing something right.

As he got older, Luke eventually lost the laugh, but his mother never ceased making sure he was always laughing; always forgetting his other mother was gone and would never be coming back.

It still makes him catch his breath whenever he thinks about it.

There's this entire woman he can't remember, but holds such a dear and large part of his heart. It devastates him that he never grew to know her the way all the people around him had.

He's jealous of them.

For years, Luke researched, asked questions, read journals and followed in the footsteps of this stranger of a woman who dedicated so much of her life to entertaining others. He tried to learn all he could about Rachel Berry-Fabray in every way he possibly could. It helped that she wrote journals, and his mother gave him access to them; wanting to share as much of her as she could.

She was the reason he started playing piano in the first place.

She was the reason he did a lot of things, in fact. Whenever he was about to do something, she would pop into his head, and he would ask himself 'What would Rachel Berry-Fabray do?'

He's the successful man he is because of both his parents, even if one of them left his life when he was barely fifteen months old.

Luke turns the page of the journal.

19 December 2021

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

The clock on the wall says it's 02:23 in the morning. It's the day after my twenty-eighth birthday. I'm twenty-eight years old. It's scary. I've already lived so much life, but there's so much still to come.

Luke has to stop reading for a moment.

His heart hurts.

She should have lived such a long life. She had so much left to do; to give; to experience.

I woke up to breakfast in bed from Kurt (ordered by Quinn), and I burst out crying. I've been an emotional mess all week, and I'm embarrassed to admit it's because I missed Quinn.

I know. I know. Don't judge me. I spent a few nights with my parents because Quinn doesn't like it when I stay alone. As if I can't take care of myself.

After working on some writing, I stopped by my parents' house for some tea, and then the three of us headed to the Hudson-Hummel house. Carole decided she was hosting my birthday dinner, and nobody was about to argue with her.

It was odd, though, celebrating without Quinn.

It also didn't feel right telling them all about the baby without having her there, but I did it anyway. I didn't know how else to explain my not drinking.

Carole almost fell off her chair when I told her she was right when she joked about my being pregnant. You wouldn't be her first grandchild, so you'll have many cousins.

Quinn wasn't there because her trip to Arizona kept her there for longer than expected, which was annoying. She did send her gift to the house, which was two tickets to the opera in New York for when we get back after our self-imposed Winter Break to Lima.

She just knows what I like, and I love that she would be willing to sit through something she doesn't quite enjoy just for me.

So, I really didn't expect her to see her, and you can imagine my surprise when I came home from dinner at the Hudson-Hummel house to find none other than Special Agent (Berry-)Fabray waiting for me. I screamed and almost threw a punch, thinking she was an intruder.

Let's just say we both ended up in heaps of laughter. She came home just in time to wish me happy birthday in person. It turns out the tickets to the opera weren't the real present.

Well, besides her, it was actually a grand piano. Steinway. The most beautiful, perfect instrument I have ever seen. (As far as I can see in the picture, anyway, seeing as we're currently in Lima).

We're still in our Murray Hill apartment, which isn't that large, so the white beauty takes up majority of our living room. But I am NOT complaining. It could take the place of our bed, for all I care.

She asked me to play for her when we get back. You can't yet hear the music but I intend to play for you when you can. I love to play, and she loves to watch me. We make quite the pair.

And plus, playing piano is a lot safer than playing SPORT. You heard it here first, kid. Never forget.

Anyway, she may have mentioned that she went a little AWOL, leaving her fellow agents on the case, just to see me. She's probably going to get a warning or something, but she claimed it was well worth it. The little charmer.

She left ten minutes ago. I already miss her. Before you judge me - or possibly roll your eyes, which is a thing I love to do - you'll realise what I mean when you meet her. She's just one of those you miss.

Luke stops reading, once again.

She was right about that, at least. Luke does miss his mother. Something has been off between them ever since Luke informed Quinn she was going to become a grandmother, and Luke isn't sure why.

He definitely needs to talk to her about all of this.

She doesn't know when she's coming home, which annoys me. Several things annoy me these days. I've definitely got a shorter fuse than usual and, yes, I'm going to blame you. I'm hoping it's before Christmas, because I really don't want to spend that long in Lima without her. I love my dads, but I really just miss my wife and our shared life.

Anyway, clearly, as a result of all my crazy hormones, I'm turning into a basket case.

Who is dead tired. I promised I would help my Dad with his paperwork in the morning. At this rate, I'll get five hours of sleep, at best. It's bad form, I know. I definitely should take better care of myself, and you.

But it's my birthday. I should be forgiven.

Don't you worry, all right? I'll do much better.

Love,
Your Mother

Once he's done, Luke leans his head back again and closes his eyes, replaying all this day has revealed to him. His breathing slowly evens out and, as he drifts to sleep, he can practically hear his other mother repeatedly telling him what he needs to hear.

Don't you worry.

---

Luke wakes to a sound he's grown accustomed to, ever since he and Mia first moved in together. He recognises it as a cello Shostakovich concerto, and it's absolutely beautiful. Because of it, he's tempted to remain right where he is, basking in the music, but he eventually has to roll out of bed.

He isn't surprised to find he's in his old bedroom. His neck hurts, and he's still tired, but he does stand and stretch, his joints audibly complaining. The journal slipped to the ground during the night, and he bends to retrieve it, tucking it safely under his arm, and leaves the room.

Luke follows the sound of the music, heading down the stairs and into what Mia decided would be her own practice room. It has wonderful acoustics, apparently, and this house definitely has the space for it.

He stands in the doorway and watches her until she draws the piece to a close, the last notes echoing. She has her back to him, but she knows he's there.

She doesn't know what it is, but she's always been able to feel him.

"Good morning," Mia says, not even turning her head to look at him. "How did you sleep?"

Luke walks towards her and comes to a stop just behind her. He lifts his hands to massage her shoulders, gently kneading the muscles. "Good morning to you, too," he says softly, bending and kissing the top of her head. "Is that a new piece?" he asks.

She looks over her shoulder at him. "You're up."

"Sorry," he says, even though he's not entirely sure what he's apologising for.

Mia makes no comment as she rises to her feet. She allows him to take the cello from her and watches as he carefully sets it in its large case. "Are we going to talk about it?" she eventually asks.

Luke blinks. "I'll make breakfast," he says.

"I'm having brunch with Sarah," she reminds him. "Now that we're past the first trimester, I'm going to tell her. Is that all right?"

"Of course," he says easily. It's Mia's decision who she decides to tell. "I think I'm just going to stay home today. I have, umm - " he hesitates. "I have to read it, Mia."

"I know," she says, but there's a part of him that wonders if she actually does.

He smiles. "You're too good to me."

"I know that, too."

He draws her into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and burying his face in her hair. "I think I might also visit my Mom," he whispers.

"Oh?"

"I just want to see her," he says, pulling away so he can look at her face. "I, umm - " he pauses.

"You miss her, don't you?"

He laughs lightly. "She's just one of those you miss, apparently."

Mia kisses the underside of his chin, before she removes herself from his arms and leads the way out of the practice room.

They go about their morning as usual, except that Mia skips out on breakfast.

After he eats, Luke disappears into his own practice room, where his other mother's grand piano sits at the very centre.

Where she left it all those years ago.

Growing up, this room was like a mausoleum, because Quinn very rarely entered it, and she made sure to keep the door closed. He understands now that the memories were likely too painful for his mother.

Forcing the thoughts from his mind, he throws himself onto the black leather couch, pulls out the journal and starts to read.

26th December 2021

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

I just wanted to say Merry Christmas, and tell you a little bit about how your - super boring - parents spent the day.

We're in Lima for the holidays, so we had breakfast at home (I don't think I mentioned we actually have a house in Lima, but we do. Based on the number of times we manage to make it out here, it just seemed like the thing to do. Even if my dads pouted and grumbled about it.). Quinn cooked, as usual. I was craving fried chicken again, but she already made waffles, so I had them together and wow! Even with the maple syrup. It's to die for.

Luke can't help his gasp. No wonder his mother always looks amused whenever Luke wants fried chicken.

And the waffles.

All this time, Quinn knew, and said nothing about it.

I don't know if you know this, but I'm a vegan. Well, I was until the cravings started, and now I eat nearly everything I want. I'm sure I'll go back to my moral and ethical code once I've pushed you out of my body.

Anyway, after we ate, we went to visit my parents to help prepare for Christmas lunch. You and I wanted fried chicken AGAIN, but we managed to curb the craving. It's proving to be a problem, you know?

Control yourself.

My Daddy makes some of the best eggnog, but I wasn't allowed to have any (of the best kind). How awful. We spent majority of the afternoon with them, exchanging gifts and stories. I've been a bit of a hermit lately, so it was nice to see them.

I want you to know your family. We may be dwindled in numbers (not everybody is accepting of our lifestyle, as it were), but I never want to forget where I come from. Neither should you. Your mothers love each other dearly; please never be ashamed of it.

We went home for a little rest after that. I caught a nice long nap while Quinn visited Beth and Shelby. I would have gone with, but I was too tired. You're tiring me out, little one.

When I was finally up for it, we went to the Hudson-Hummel house. Now, going to their house on any day is already an event, but going on Christmas Day... Wow.

That's always an experience.

There were so many people, I can't even list them all for you. I did spend most of the evening sitting at the kitchen table with Brittany and Mercedes. We're regular old ladies now. Total Moms.

Well, they are.

Quinn and I are one of the last couples in our immediate friend circle to have our first child, and I suppose knowing what to expect is an advantage, right?

The thing is that Quinn and I have never really been in a rush to start our family, or get married for that matter. We were already forced to grow up too fast, I think, in our own ways, and we just wanted some time to live and be young.

Dinner was amazing, as usual. Carole Hudson-Hummel really pulled out all the stops for her family. All her growing boys were there to indulge. Including you (because, honestly, I just have this feeling you're boy. I just know it. even if I cn't explain it).

I can just imagine you several years from now, hanging around Quinn's legs while she teases Santana about how whipped she still is for Brittany.

Passing about presents was absolute chaos. I get anxiety just remembering it.

I'll have you know that you received quite a few presents. I'll keep them safe for you, and you'll get them when you get here. Clearly, Quinn and I aren't the only ones excited for your arrival. You already have an entire family who loves you.

But, don't you worry. Nobody loves you as much as Quinn and I do.

Love,
Your Mother

It's odd, he thinks, how everything can hurt all at the same time.

It's not just his heart. It's his entire body, and he wonders if this is what his mother has been feeling since the moment Rachel Berry-Fabray took her last breath.

3 January 2022

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

Happy New Year!

Quinn and I had a great New Year. You won't even believe what she had us do. She's adventurous and so spontaneous sometimes. It's proven to be a problem from time to time, which is something I'm sure you'll figure out for yourself.

Anyway, I don't know if it was her FBI connections, or if it's because she's Quinn Berry-Fabray, but she was able to get us a helicopter ride AT MIDNIGHT, and we were able to watch the ball drop from the sky.

It was as amazing as you can imagine.

Obviously, we didn't go down into the crowds because, well, anything can happen in those large crowds. It was still wonderful and spectacular, and I definitely recommend it.

If you haven't picked it up yet, we're back in New York. I enjoy going home to Lima, mainly because we get to see my dads, but there's also something very calming about the backwards town. I know it doesn't hold particularly pleasant memories for Quinn, but she does seem to relax a bit when she's there. I think, when she's out of the city, she's able to turn off the 'Agent Fabray.'

Here, she's constantly on alert, and that is why going home to Lima is important for her, and for US.

I want you to know where we're both from. Ohio is our home and, while you're probably going to be raised in New York, I don't want you to forget that.

Anyway, I was coming to New York because I have to get back onto the stage. And, Quinn, well, she's leaving again. Apparently, they weren't able to wrap up what they needed to in Arizona, and there's been some kind of break in whatever case they were working.

I don't know. I don't ask questions, and she's not really allowed to talk about it, anyway. All I know is she's leaving again, and I already miss her. I wonder if the pregnancy is making me more clingy, but I reason I've always been this way. Just something about that Quinn Berry-Fabray.

I hope this feeling never goes away.

Watch out. I might just pass it on to you.

Love,
Your Mother

Luke, for the most part, already knows his mother is spontaneous and somewhat extravagant. She's had her crazy moment in the past, randomly showing up at his school and whisking him away to some exotic destination.

His Uncle Kurt once called Quinn restless.

He sees it now, as clear as day.

She's always been.

17 January 2022

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

The piano is wonderful. It almost makes up for the fact that Quinn still isn't back from her case yet. I'm learning a new piece that I hope will be ready by the time she comes home.

My Dad might have mentioned it's probably time for us to move into the big house. It's the house we bought when we first decided we were ready to start our family. We bought it with you in mind.

The new house will be our new home. One in which we both want to raise our family. It has lots of character, and many, many rooms for the many, many babies we intend to have. I've already decided where the piano will go. That was the first thing I told Quinn when she presented it to me. It's the most important part, isn't it?

I hope you'll grow to love music. Hearing it, and playing it. I won't force you into anything, but I intend to expose you to all of it, in every genre (I hope you'll love show tunes, as well, but I know it's not for everyone).

My Daddy plays the saxophone. He started when he was very young, and it's because of him that I learned the wonder of classical music. We play together sometimes. You'll hear it one day.

Luke stops reading for a moment. If he ever heard his Grandpa LeRoy and other mother play; he can't remember.

There's so much he can't remember.

Quinn tried to play piano once. I attempted to teach her something simple, but it just didn't work. She's entirely useless at it. She has the sports gene, apparently. She should stick to chasing bad guys and interrogating suspects. Help me make sure to remind her every day, all right?

We get out of the city, sometimes. Not just back home to Lima, but out into the wilderness, as well. For Glee, we sometimes went on these camping trips. Mr Schuester was convinced it would help with team bonding and, as much as we all used to grumble about it, I'm convinced we actually enjoyed it. Let's just say I've SEEN some things, but those are stories for another day.

Just remind me to tell you, all right? Make sure I'm the one who tells you. Quinn will make herself sound like a villain in every one of them that the stories won't be accurate. She's never truly accepted that I've truly forgiven her for what happened between us in high school.

And, make sure Santana doesn't tell you the stories, either. She'll blow them way out of proportion. And Brittany will just confuse you. Goodness knows she still confuses me.

Trust me, I'm definitely your best bet.

Don't you worry, Baby Berry-Fabray. I always will be.

Love,

Your Mother

For a moment, Luke feels a flash of anger. She lied to him. She lied. She's not here. She's not around for him.

Who's supposed to be his 'best bet' now?

It takes another moment for him to calm. He's being ridiculous. It isn't as if she asked to die. He knows, without a doubt, she would have done everything in her power to stay with him.

He also knows that Quinn would have done everything she could as well and, he suspects, that she might have tried. From what Luke has read and been told, Quinn didn't handle her wife's death all that well, but she pulled herself together for her son.

For Luke.

Everything she's ever done has been for the benefit of her son. Luke isn't naïve enough to have missed that, now that he's old enough to see all of it. His other mother might have died, but Quinn more than made up for it.

The humble woman she is.

Luke feels like he's learning as much about Quinn as he is about his other mother with these letters.

He has to keep reading.

25 January 2022

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

She's home!

Forgive me. I'm just a little relieved to have Special Agent Extraordinaire (Berry-)Fabray in the same state as the both of us again. I really don't like it when she's gone. The work she does is so dangerous, and I've contemplated guilt-tripping her into pulling back, but I can't bring myself to do it. She's so passionate about her work.

But she's home! Which means she'll be here for our next checkup and, according to the books I've read; we should be able to know the gender of a baby at this stage.

So, I'm excited for that; I can't even explain it.

Even though I'm convinced you're a boy, I don't actually know if I want a girl or a boy. I think that we'd be better prepared for a girl, given our experience with Beth.

That relationship is a difficult one to explain, but I'm going to try. Quinn is Beth's birth mother, but she gave her up, and Beth was adopted by my birth mother, Shelby.

Believe me, it's been as awkward and weird as it sounds, but we make it work. Beth even visits us in the summer. She absolutely loves New York City.

But a little boy would be great as well. Sometimes, I imagine Quinn with our son, just listening as he babbles about nonsensical things. She's had plenty of practice with me. I have this image in my mind of her lying on the carpet in the den, and our son running his toy cars along her body while making all the appropriate sounds.

It's an image that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

She was surprised by how much my stomach's grown when she got home. I'm definitely showing, which means that people will start noticing; which means the entire entertainment world is going to know about you. I've tried to keep you hidden, but there's only so much I can do.

If I could have you and not let the world know, I would. Hmm. Maybe I should quit the theatre and just hide out at home as I get bigger. I can make my music at home. How does that sound?

Looks like we're back to that whole idea of home-schooling you. It keeps popping up.

Clearly, it's a sign.

I'm kidding. I think. I'll discuss it with Quinn, even though I'm already sure what she'll say. Or think. She's not like Santana in that she probably won't call me insane to my face anymore, but she'll definitely think it, and then call me brilliant instead.

Now that I'm pregnant, she's decided to give me everything I want. I don't even have to ask sometimes. She's a bit of a mind-reader these days.

She brought us presents back from Arizona. I'll have you know that I threw up the moment I smelt the dried Apache trout. Quinn, though, with her Special Agent (cheerleading) reflexes, was able to get out of the way in time.

I've never found throwing up all that funny, but I don't think I've laughed so hard in my entire life.

She brought us clothes as well. You've got a little babygrow that'll make you look like a little kangaroo. You're going to look adorable. I can just imagine it now.

I also got a onesie to match you AND Quinn. I cannot wait for us to be a family of kangaroos. Can you imagine? Quinn Berry-Fabray dressed in a kangaroo jumpsuit. It's funny just thinking about it. Those would be pictures the Bureau would definitely love to see. I'm sure they would pay good money for them.

Wow. Can you tell I'm glad she's home? Everything is better when she's around. Don't you worry. You'll see for yourself.

Love,
Your Mother

Luke, thankfully, is smiling this time around.

Sure, he feels the sadness, but this is obviously a happier letter. She sounds happy and light and carefree. She also sounds young and optimistic, and so in love.

Wow, he misses her, and the sheer incredulity of that gives him pause.

He's forced to wait several minutes as he tries to keep his heart rate steady.

"Luke?"

He straightens to see Mia poking her head through the open door. "Hey, you."

"I'm headed out," she says. "Do you need me to pick up anything?"

He shakes his head.

"Will you be all right?"

He nods, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

She regards him for a moment, trying to read him. "Okay."

"Say hi to Sarah for me," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "Tell her I haven't forgotten what she said about my football team."

Mia laughs. "You do remember my sister and I support the same team, right?"

"I remember," he mutters good-naturedly. "I don't know why I ever married you."

"It's because I'm so damn hot."

"This is true."

"I love you, Lucas Berry-Fabray."

He grins at her. "I love you too, Amelia Berry-Fabray."

"I'm stepping out into the world," she says teasingly, standing up straight. "I go by Amelia Loren, thank you very much."

Thinking back on his mothers, he frowns slightly. Professionally, Quinn remained a Fabray, and his other mother stayed Rachel Berry.

"What's wrong?" Mia asks.

"Hmm?"

"You're frowning."

He blinks. "Do you not use Berry-Fabray because you're ashamed of being married to me?" he finds himself asking, which is definitely not what he's actually thinking.

Mia's eyes widens. "What?"

Luke drops his gaze. "Sorry. Stupid question."

"We decided, the both of us, that I would keep my name professionally," she says, frowning slightly. "And, I was teasing."

"I know," he says, shaking his head at himself. "Sorry. I'm just, umm, working through, umm something."

"Okay," she says.

He takes a deep breath. "I love you, Mia. And little Baby Berry-Fabray."

She blows him an air-kiss. "See you later, Daddy Berry-Fabray."

And then she's gone, leaving Luke alone with his other mother and the memories he wishes he had of her.

Daddy.

Luke is going to be a Dad.

If that isn't enough to frighten him, he doesn't know what is. It helps that his other mother admitted to being a bit afraid of it as well.

4th February 2022

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

Today was supposed to be a good day. I was so excited about finding out your gender, so I can refer to you as something different until we decide on a name for you.

So, Quinn and I went to the doctor today, and we saw you on the sonogram. You're a whole actual baby. Inside me. It was amazing. We weren't able to tell what your gender is yet, because you just wouldn't cooperate, but I'll definitely keep you posted on those developments.

But, I think it freaked out Quinn.

I wasn't surprised by her reaction, given all she's been through in her life. As much as she's convinced herself she wants a family of her own; I think the reality of it has just hit her. Seeing you like that scared her.

She was worryingly quiet when we left the doctor's. I don't usually call her out on her broodiness, because she usually takes some time to thaw, but I started to think this isn't actually what she wants. I was worried she didn't want this and us anymore, and that frightened me. I can't imagine doing this alone.

So, I asked her about it, and we sort of fought. Don't be surprised. Married people do fight. Well, she was hurt I would think such a thing, and I realise why that would be so. She did acknowledge my doubts weren't unfounded. We're good at that, you know? Quinn and I, we tend to talk about things.

Well, eventually, because it's taken us years to get to this point in our relationship.

I hope you'll be the same. It's good to talk about things. Please never go to bed angry with anyone. When you've been through teenage pregnancies, almost teenage weddings, near-fatal car accidents, gay panic and all those other wonderful things; you tend to get over things really quickly. You tend to forgive the petty things.

But, never go to bed angry. We never know what can happen.

Well, isn't that morbid? I told you today was supposed to be a good day.

There are things you won't know about Quinn and, if she had her way, you wouldn't ever know, but there are reasons why she's so afraid of being a mother. Psychology says there are always chances of children from abusive homes perpetuating the cycle. She's always been worried about it, but I know her.

We know her, Baby Berry-Fabray. She's dedicated her entire life to helping people; to saving people. She's a great woman and it's up to us to make sure we tell her every day. She likes the blame-game a little too much, so we have to keep her in check. We have to look after her; we have to love her.

Can you help me with it? She's too pure and kind for the world to take advantage of, and it's up to us to keep her happy.

Because, she makes me so happy, Baby Berry-Fabray. Even when she's brooding, believe it or not. Even when she's convinced she's undeserving of the forgiveness and love in which I'm determined to shower her, she still makes me happy.

The fact that she's so worried tells me she'll be a great mother. Not perfect. Nobody is. But she'll beat herself up to make sure you live the kind of life she could only dream of when she was a child. You are already loved, Baby Berry-Fabray.

You may also end up being the most spoilt child in all of America.

I'll do my best to keep you grounded. I suspect Quinn will want to give you everything you want. Do try not to take advantage of her. Promise you'll at least try.

So, we talked it out. Well, I reckon I talked, and she listened. That's usually how it goes. Always has been.

Don't you worry. I doubt that'll ever change.

Love,

Your Mother

For a moment, Luke can't recall what he's just read. There's just so much in that letter that he feels particularly winded.

Of course, he does know things about his mother's childhood - he's never actually met any members of the Fabray family because of it - but it's never been something they talk about.

They will talk about this, though.

Making a decision, he shuts the journal and sets it aside.

There's only one thing to do now.

---

It doesn't take him long to shower and get dressed and, by noon, he's at Quinn's apartment with the intention of getting some answers for his questions.

Luke enters his mother's home with a little apprehension, using the key she gave him the day she moved in. There's always been something a little unsettling about the apartment itself, as if the air could never truly be happy, because it's never been able to witness the love his mothers obviously had for each other.

Quinn Berry-Fabray has even made her slight distaste for the place known on a few occasions, but she moved into it well before Luke even got married.

Almost twenty-seven years later, and Luke still doesn't understand her.

Though, he reasons, with the help of this journal, he's definitely learning.

Luke isn't surprised to find Quinn in her study, which is really a glorified library. It boasts a great collection of books, which he knows his parents both loved. She's hunched over some kind of textbook at her desk, studying it intensely.

Quinn, predictably, is surprised by the arrival of her son, and it shows on her face when she eventually looks up and spots the younger Berry-Fabray in the doorway.

"Luke?" Quinn says, immediately standing. "Everything all right? Is Amelia okay?"

Luke can't help his smile, because Quinn tends to worry far too much, and she just won't call his wife anything other than 'Amelia.' "Everything's fine, Mom," he says, moving into the room. "Mia's great. Didn't you speak to her yesterday?"

Quinn's cheeks tinge pink. "I did."

Luke shakes his head as he moves around the desk to hug her hello. If Quinn notices how hard he holds onto her, she doesn't say anything. "She wants you to come over for dinner some time this week," he says, releasing her.

"What day did you have in mind?"

Luke is a little thrown by the speed of his mother's response. "Umm, how's about Thursday?"

"Sounds good," Quinn says easily.

Luke frowns. "Don't you have to check some schedule or something?" he asks, absently waving at her desk.

Quinn's frown matches her son's. "No," she says slowly. "It doesn't matter what I may or may not have going on. I always have time for my son."

That is the truth.

Luke knows of the sacrifices his mother made when his other mother died, even though Quinn has never explicitly told him.

Quinn Berry-Fabray was once a rising star in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, working as part of an elite team of criminal profilers. But, when her wife died, she resigned almost immediately.

There would be no more cases to take her away from Luke.

"So, Thursday then?" Quinn clarifies.

Luke nods as he walks back around the desk. "I'll double check with Mia." Then, he grins. "Or, you could, I suppose. My Mom and wife seem to be getting pretty cosy, huh?"

The pinkness is back. "I needed some boxes from the attic."

Luke sinks onto the couch in the study and props his feet up on the low table. "Was there something specific you were looking for?" he asks, arching an eyebrow in a way that is eerily similar to his mother.

Quinn also retakes her seat, absently running a hand over her short hair. "Maybe."

Luke smiles knowingly. "Mia might have gone a little crazy," he says. "She spent the entire day up there. I didn't know how much you kept."

"I kept everything," Quinn confesses. "I couldn't bring myself to get rid of anything. She would have lectured me to within an inch of my life."

Once again, Luke notes that his mother doesn't refer to his other mother by name, though she's always made sure Luke knew he could talk and ask questions about the one and only Rachel Berry-Fabray.

"Well, you've now handed my wife some truly embarrassing ammunition," Luke says, chuckling. "I've spent years trying to convince her I'm cool."

"Luke, you don't need me to tell you you've failed miserably at that," she says, her smile matching her son's. "Mia already knows you're the furthest from cool."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom," he comments drily, rolling his eyes.

Quinn leans back in her desk chair and regards her son curiously. "Are you sure everything's all right?"

For a moment, Luke is tempted not to bring up the journal, but he has to know. "When you spoke to Mia about wanting something from the attic; you knew she would go looking, didn't you?"

Quinn's gaze meets his; hazel green eyes locking on light chestnut. "I didn't know," she confesses truthfully. "I had a suspicion, given what I already know about her, but I didn't expect her to find what I was looking for."

"And, what exactly were you looking for?"

Quinn remains silent.

Luke fishes the journal out of his messenger bag. "Is it this?"

Quinn's eyes drift towards the notebook in her son's hand, her breath catching at the sight of it. "What is that?"

"At first, I thought it was one of her journals," he says, his voice dropping in volume. "But her journals stop in 2019, and this one is from 2021."

Quinn cocks her head to the side, just waiting.

"It's not a journal, though," Luke continues. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Quinn doesn't respond to the question. "Have you read it?"

"Just the first few letters," he admits. "I have so many questions."

Quinn visibly stiffens, but she says nothing.

"Were you ever going to give it to me?"

"It's why I wanted it from the attic," she says, nodding once. "I was always going to give it to you when, you know, became a parent."

"So, you read it then?"

Quinn leans forward. "I did."

"But...?"

"I'm aware the letters are all addressed to you, but you have to understand you're not the only person who wants to hold onto her," she says calmly, unapologetically. "I went through every journal long before you did, and I'm not ashamed of it. They are her words, and I couldn't resist. I could just imagine her saying them."

Luke blinks. "It's like her voice is in my head."

"Hasn't it always been?"

Luke nods. "But, why now?"

"You already know the answer to that, Luke."

He takes a deep breath and relaxes into the couch. "But why?"

"Why did she write the letters? Or, why am I giving it to you now?"

"Both."

She clears her throat. "I don't know the answer to that first question," she admits. "Only she knows. But, I do know she would want you to read it now. I want you to read it now because parenthood is scary, and I don't think I'm enough to help you through it."

"Mom," he breathes, his chest tightening.

"She was a great mother," Quinn continues, as if he hasn't spoken. "I know we didn't get that long with her, but she was great, and I've thought a lot about this, and I know you would have had a better life if she were here instead of me."

Luke's eyes snaps towards his mother. "Don't say that," he says tensely.

"Can you honestly tell me you haven't had the same thought?" Quinn asks, thoughtfully. "That you would rather have her here instead of me?"

Luke hesitates, knowing he won't be able to lie to this human-lie-detector in front of him.

"It's all right, Luke," Quinn says gently.

Luke just stares at her with wide eyes, feeling an itch behind his eyes.

"Which is why I wanted you to have that journal," Quinn continues. "There are things only she can teach you about being a parent. This privilege, Luke, of being a husband and father, it's the greatest thing that will ever happen to you, and I want you to do it right."

Luke is still caught up on his mother's earlier words, and he can't bring himself to speak. Does she really think that? Does she think Luke thinks that?

Before their current one-sided conversation can continue, they're made aware there's another person in the apartment.

Immediately on alert, both Berry-Fabrays rise to their feet, and Quinn might have reached for her firearm if they didn't hear a familiar voice.

"It's just me," the person calls out, revealing her identity.

Both mother and son visibly relax.

"We're in here," Quinn calls back.

A few moments later, Beth Corcoran-Bay sticks her head through the door. "Everybody decent?" she asks, grinning.

"What an idiot," Luke comments as he clambers to his feet to embrace his… half-sister/half-aunt.

It's complicated, indeed.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Beth asks, picking up on the tension in the room.

Neither Berry-Fabray responds.

After greeting Luke, Beth moves on to Quinn, hugging her loosely.

"How is Mommy Berry-Fabray?" Beth asks Quinn.

"Good," she says. "How's Mommy Corcoran-Bay? How's Victor? The kids?"

"Everyone is good," Beth lets them both know, settling into an armchair, while Luke and Quinn return to their own seats. "I just got back from Boston."

Quinn already knows that, but Luke proceeds to ask Beth all sorts of questions about the seasoned head hunter's work, revelling in Beth's tales about her methods for scouting and securing the best talent.

Quinn just watches them converse, a certain warmth filling her chest. These are her children, no matter what anybody says.

"Quinn," Beth eventually says, getting her attention. "I actually have a favour to ask."

Quinn gives her, her full attention. "What's up, kiddo?"

"It's about Forrest," she says, referring to her young son. "They're having some kind of pageant thing, I suppose, at his school, and he's supposed to talk about one of his heroes, and he picked you."

Quinn glances at Luke for a moment before she nods, prompting Beth to continue.

"He's written you a letter," Beth says, smiling. "It's two weekends away, and he would probably die if you were to show up. I'm not supposed to ask you, so I won't. I'm just supposed to deliver this letter, right into your hand, and make sure you read it."

Quinn can't help her chuckle.

Forrest Noah Bay has to be the greatest grandchild Quinn could have ever asked for. He's already a seven-year-old monster, and Quinn gets almost daily phone calls from Beth complaining about the fact the Universe decided she deserved the punishment of birthing a boy.

Quinn puts out her hand. "Hand it over, then," she says.

Beth gets to her feet, fishes out the letter from her bag and places it in Quinn's hand. "If my son asks, you tell him I put it right into your hand, all right?"

"Done," she says, opening the letter and reading the messy handwriting. She can't help her smile. That little kid.

When she looks up again, both Beth and Luke are watching her, each sporting stupid grins. "What?" she asks innocently.

"Are you sure you're not really still a kid?" Beth asks.

"I can appreciate a good kid's letter," Quinn says, her cheeks tingeing pink again.

It's a wonder Luke hasn't noticed how many times his mother actually gets embarrassed in a single day. He suspects she really would turn beet red if ever she was asked to talk about her feelings.

"Do you still get all that fan mail?" Beth asks.

Quinn, once again, glances at Luke before she responds. "Not as much as I used to, no," she confesses. "Now, it's just kids who believe the stories they hear."

"Or, the stories they read," Beth adds. "I know you know what Forrest believes is actually true, right? His grandMommy Berry-Fabray is a hero."

Quinn makes no comment.

This is a conversation she always seems to avoid having with anyone - the work she's done in the name of love and country is sacred to her - especially when she's in front of Luke. She's tried to shield him from all of that unnecessary... drivel.

Quinn shakes her head. "I'll be there," she says simply.

Beth's face breaks out into a wide grin. "He's going to freak out when I tell him."

"Make sure he's sitting down," Luke comments, his smile matching Beth's.

When they were still kids, the two of them spent a lot of time teasing Quinn about her apparent hero status because it made her so uncomfortable.

Even now, as adults, they can't help it.

It's just too good to pass up.

Early in her career, Quinn worked a case in New York, that started out as a single murder, and paved the way to the discovery of a nefarious terrorist plot. The entire thing was littered with conspiracy and bureaucracy, and Quinn was just a young agent who followed her gut right into the thick of things.

There's footage of the incident that has gone down in FBI history, and put her name on the list of the greats. Luke didn't learn about it until he was much older, and he heard people whispering about Quinn Fabray (well, when they weren't whispering about Rachel Berry).

When he did the thing and actually Googled his mother - the supposedly less famous one - he learned far more than he ever thought he would. She was probably single-handedly responsible for saving hundreds and thousands of lives, merely because she was in the right place at the right time.

That's what she says, anyway, whenever she gets roped into talking about it.

Luke watched the footage fifteen times to be sure it was real.

There was a man standing on the steps of Grand Central Station with a bomb strapped to his chest, trigger clasped in his hand, and then there was Quinn standing right in front of him, hands held out in front of her, nothing to protect her.

He had a bomb and a gun, and she just had her mouth and her hands.

Luke can only imagine what was said, but Quinn managed to get close enough to the man that he made a grab for her, and she let him. (It took him until the eighth viewing to realise she let him). The bomb's trigger, clasped in his left hand, was locked around her throat, and the gun was pointed to her head, pressed against her temple.

Luke remembers thinking there was no way she made it out of that, but he knew she had to, because she was alive and well and humming to herself in the kitchen downstairs.

The man was yelling something, and Quinn was working him up, getting him angry and enraged until he was waving the gun and tightening his hold on her.

And, then, she did this thing.

This completely stupid, ridiculous thing that he remembers his Aunt Santana constantly teasing her about.

Quinn made a move for the gun as he was waving it around, twisted the man's arm right around and shot the gun through her own body and into his. If that wasn't crazy enough, she managed to keep a hold of the trigger as they both fell to the ground.

Luke has never managed to rid his brain of the image of her lying there, blood pooling around her.

She survived.

Miraculously.

Quinn was hailed a hero, and she's hated every second of it.

"Stop it, you two," Quinn warns, though her smile betrays her.

Beth leans back in her chair and looks at Luke. "Mommy Berry-Fabray's getting touchy."

Quinn just shakes her head, resisting the urge to throw something at one of them.

Luke laughs. "Beth, are you staying for lunch?"

Quinn blinks in surprise. "We're having lunch?"

"I can make breakfast for lunch," Luke offers, not sure what to make of the surprised tone in his mother's voice. "Like we used to have."

Like a child, Beth claps her hands together. "Oh, please make waffles, and your famous maple syrup chilli thing."

"With fried chicken?" Luke asks.

"Ooh," Beth says excitedly. "Yes, please."

Beth and Luke look at Quinn, both of them asking the silent question. They already know she's going to give in.

She usually does.

Quinn lets out a breath. "By all means," she eventually says, waving a hand through the air. "Go wild in my kitchen."

Luke jumps up, closely followed by Beth. They start muttering to each other like they're still children. It's difficult to imagine there are roughly twelve years between them.

Quinn watches them leave the study, feeling somewhat… giddy. It's not a feeling she experiences often. She lives a lonely life, and she loves having her family around.

Her children.

Quinn doesn't spend too much time reminiscing before she rises to her feet and goes to join Beth and Luke in the kitchen.

Indeed, she finds they've already made quite a mess of the kitchen.

Still, it has to be one of the best meals Quinn has ever had.

The three of them are able to enjoy one another's company, making jokes and just being. It feels like so long since they've done this, but also as if they've been doing it every day, at the same time.

---

Beth is the first to excuse herself several hours later, leaving the apartment with a brilliant smile on her face. She leaves Quinn and Luke in the study, with Luke back on the couch, and Quinn in an armchair, the same book from earlier propped open on her lap.

She isn't reading, though.

Neither is Luke.

"How is work?" Quinn asks.

"Interesting," Luke replies. "I've been working on a new piece, for the baby."

Quinn smiles. "Just the piano, or the entire orchestra?"

"Both." He doesn't mention it isn't going all that well, even though he's certain she would understand. She was married to a musician, after all.

"Do you think it will be done by November?"

Luke can't help his grin. "You talk to my wife a little too much, you know?"

Quinn shrugs. "She did say she finds me more attractive than she finds you."

"Did she now?"

"Don't blame her," she says, winking at him. "I'm terribly good-looking."

All Luke can think is so much for humble.

But, then again, Quinn Berry-Fabray is probably just being realistic. She really is still an attractive woman. It baffles so many that she's never remarried. It's not that she didn't date on occasion. She is a human being after all, but nobody could ever claim a heart that was already taken by a dead woman.

She promised her wife forever, and she meant it.

If Luke ever worries that his mother is unhappy, it always comes back to the truth that Quinn Berry-Fabray would never find true happiness with anyone other than the love of her life, Rachel Berry-Fabray.

"I'm sure you don't want to spend your Sunday with an old woman like me," Quinn eventually says.

Luke shifts until he's reclining comfortably. "I'm exactly where I want to be," he says.

Quinn just stares at him.

"Unless you want to be alone?"

Quinn shakes her head. "No, no, I don't."

"So, you won't mind if I just sit here and read?"

Quinn absently waves a hand. "By all means."

They regard each other, once more, before they both turn their attentions to their respective written works.

Quinn is reading up on new hostage negotiating techniques for when her specialty recruits resume training the following morning.

And Luke, well, he resumes reading the journal he now knows was designed, in its entirety, to change everything.

---

Luke keeps sneaking looks at his mother over the top of the journal and, if Quinn notices, she doesn't comment. There's something fractured in their relationship, and Luke can't pinpoint exactly what it is.

What he does know is that it started the moment Luke told Quinn about the baby.

Or, it just magnified.

He now suspects this collection of letters is the key to it all.

19th February 2022

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

In lesser news, Quinn is finally twenty-eight as well, and she can stop teasing me about being a cougar.

In bigger news:

It's official.

The world now knows that there's a Baby Berry-Fabray on the way. We've been bombarded with so much mail and good wishes. You're practically a royal baby. The entire entertainment (and Federal) world is waiting on your arrival.

Blame Quinn.

She's the one who decided to save the world with everyone watching.

I don't know exactly how they confirmed the pregnancy, but it was bound to come out eventually. I'm less annoyed than I thought I would be. It's odd.

They broke the story this morning and Quinn was tiptoeing around me the entire time she was getting ready for work. It's funny now that I think about it. It was like I was a ticking timebomb and she was just waiting for me to explode.

I ended up just laughing, surprising us both. It was bound to happen (can't really hide it forever, you know). Anyone around the hospital could have seen me and just known. We're getting closer and closer to your due date, you and me. I used to think nine months was such a long time to be pregnant, but things really do seem to be speeding up now.

In just a matter of months, you'll be here. I can't wait, but I also can. Does that make sense?

Everything changes when you arrive.

Speaking of changes...

We've decided we're going to move into the house. Majority of it is already furnished - though, all I really need is the piano.

I think Quinn only agreed to the move because she doesn't want to set up your room in this little apartment. She wants to give you the perfect nursery, and she's going to do it in our official family home.

I can tell she's excited about it. She can get a bit restless sometimes, so it's good to give her something to do. She's been sketching out the nursery, moving things around and asking for my approval.

I find I'm looking forward to shopping for you. Baby things just make me so happy. They're so tiny and cute, and I actively have to stop myself from buying everything I see. I'm certain you're going to be the best dressed baby in America.

Well, when you're not dressed like a kangaroo, that is.

Luke stops reading and looks at his mother. "Mom?"

Quinn immediately lifts her gaze. "Hmm?"

"Do you still have my baby clothes?"

Quinn appears surprised by the question for a moment, before she smiles and nods. "I do. Why?"

"That kangaroo outfit," he says. "I, umm, I'd like for Baby Berry-Fabray to have it, if that's all right."

Quinn pales considerably. "The kangaroo outfit?"

"Unless...?"

"No," Quinn quickly says. "I have it. I have all of your clothes. Do you want them all?"

Without thinking, Luke nods. He's sure he and Mia can go through them, and see which ones to pass on - as yet, they don't know the gender of their baby.

"Okay."

"Okay."

They both return to their reading.

We're moving in - officially - at the beginning of March. I think we both definitely want to bring you home from the hospital to the new house; to your new bedroom.

Though, I'm certain you'll spend your first few weeks with us in our bedroom. I don't think I'll be able to let you out of my sight.

Do you reckon we'll also have an Out-Of-Sight Fight? If you remember, I think I mentioned the fight Quinn and I had after she ended up in the hospital the first time, about how I couldn't let her out of my sight. My anxiety levels used to spike dangerously whenever I didn't know where she was.

At least, with you, you won't be able to walk around and wreak havoc until you're at least one, right? I think I'll have calmed by then, but I can't make any promises. I'm certain I'll freak out when Quinn first plays aeroplane with you.

So, seeing as the news broke today, I didn't go into work. Regina called and let me know there was press a plenty outside the theatre. They want statements and pictures, and I'm rebelling against all of that.

And, I'm convinced it will put stress on the both of us.

Unfortunately for Quinn, there was nothing she could do to avoid it all. They were waiting for her at Headquarters. She looked positively exhausted by the time she got home, which was amusing until she told me she told the reporters that at least there was now actual proof she had sex with Rachel Berry-Fabray.

I ended up punching her in the boob.

Luke winces, and then laughs.

Quinn looks up. "What?"

"When the press found out about me, did you really tell them that - "

Quinn cuts her son off by bursting out laughing. "Oh, God," she says, coughing. "I forgot all about that."

"Did she really, you know...?" Luke asks, glancing down at his mother's chest, and then flushes madly, because, God, did he just look at his mother's breasts? He doesn't know what it feels like to be punched in the breast, but he imagines it must hurt.

Quinn laughs, once again. "Oh, yes, yes, she did," she says. "And, then she felt awful about it, because I was just messing with her."

Luke shakes his head, the smile still on his face. "Amazing."

Quinn looks lost in the memory for a moment, before she says, "Yeah, she really was."

A moment later, they're both back to their own reading.

And then immediately felt awful about it when I realised she was joking. But, really, she had to know what would happen if she was going to make a joke like that. It really is all her own fault.

I'm certain the press will end up contacting most of our family and friends to get information on you. I suspect they're all eager to find out what we're having; as am I. We'll find out, and then we'll name you. We've actually spent quite a bit of time thinking of names. Would you like to hear them?

Boy's Names: Nicholas, Lucas, Rowan, James, and Callum.

Girl's Names: Emma, Charlotte, Grace, Catherine and Lily.

How do those sound to you? Would you be all right with spending your entire life being called by one of those? It puts a lot of pressure on a parent, you know? We have to make that huge decision for you, and you have to wait until you're at least eighteen to get it changed if you don't like it.

But, don't you worry. We'll pick wisely.

Love,
Your Mother

Luke closes his eyes for a moment.

His parents did choose wisely. Lucas Rowan Berry-Fabray is a great name. So much better than some of the other names he's come across in the music world.

Those poor children.

"Mom?"

Quinn looks up. "Hmm?"

"If I'd been a girl, what would you have called me?"

There's only a moment of hesitation before Quinn replies. It's like she's recalling a memory, instead of having to think of an actual answer. "Charlotte Lily," she says easily. "We probably should have called you that, either way. It'd probably fit your personality better."

Luke chucks a pillow at her, which she easily deflects. "Women are powerful," he says.

"Exactly," Quinn agrees.

Luke, somewhat like his mother, feels uncomfortable with the underhanded compliment, though his cheeks remain their usual colour.

"So, what made you decide on Lucas then?" Luke asks.

Quinn frowns. "Do you really not know?"

"I've never asked."

Quinn manages a smile. "Keep reading," he says. "She'll tell you why. It sounds a lot better coming from her, anyway."

A lot of things do.

"Okay."

Quinn looks away first, prompting Luke to do the same.

21st February 2022

What a day!

It's a strange day for us, mainly because it brings back memories of sorrow, and memories of happiness.

Quinn tends to go quiet around this time of year. She starts to think about her family a lot, and about the life she could have lived had they been better people. It's taken me a while to realise this reaction of hers has nothing to do with the fact she's unhappy with the life we're living.

It's never been about that.

Because, truly, this day also marks the reason why Quinn and I are even together the way we are. I'm sure we'll tell you the story in greater detail, but this day, in our sophomore year at college, also known as the two-year anniversary of her car accident, is the day Quinn finally worked up the courage to tell me she liked me.

The car accident is monumental in our relationship, because it's probably the reason I didn't make one of the biggest mistakes of my life by marrying Finn. I shudder to think what I would have missed out on, if I hadn't decided to wait for this flighty blonde with whom I've decided to spend the rest of my life. The accident also prompted the beginning of a solid friendship that eventually formed - and continues to form - the basis of our (eventual) romantic relationship.

So, today, we visited the 9/11 Memorial just the two of us. Three of us, I mean. We visited the many people this world lost. I'm not sure what it is exactly, but she's always harboured irrational guilt at the idea that, at some point in her life, she didn't want to live, while the people we visited didn't have a choice.

She's a precious soul, Baby Berry-Fabray. She feels everything so deeply, even though she tries her best to hide it from us. We have to protect her, okay? She didn't say all that much while we stood over the names, but, then, well, you decided to join the party.

We felt you kick for the first time today. Well, I suppose, now that I actually know what a kick feels like - ouch, by the way - I realise you've been moving for a few weeks now and I didn't even know.

Apparently, that's how it is with first time pregnancies.

So, you kicked for us, and it was wonderful and exciting, and so heartbreaking all at the same time.

And yes, Special Agent Extraordinaire, once again, dropped to her knees and wept. She placed her hands over you and just talked. For almost half an hour, she just explained all she knows of this world to you. It was therapeutic for all three of us.

It's up to you and me to make sure she comes back to us. I know it sounds like a lot of responsibility but, after what you accomplished today, I can already tell you're up for the task, and you aren't even born yet.

When we got back, I had this insane craving for fried chicken. Thank you for that, by the way. Quinn immediately went out to get some for me. I have her well-trained.

She's actually still out while I write this. I haven't exactly told her what I'm doing writing all these letters. For all she knows, I've started with journalling again. I don't write all that much in front of her, though, so it could even be a lyric notebook.

Oh, now I want cherries as well. Italian ones. Is that too picky?

I wonder how Quinn would feel about a quick trip to Rome - or just Little Italy, really. Just for cherries...

Now, see, that's my taking advantage of her.

Don't you worry. I'll control myself.

Love,
Your Mother

Luke yawns.

He can't help it.

And, seeing as Quinn isn't a psychopath, she follows her son with a yawn of her own, prompting smiles on both their faces.

Quinn sets her book aside. "Want some tea?" she asks.

Luke nods. "Please."

Quinn smiles warmly, before she stands and leaves the room, leaving Luke alone with his thoughts.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes. Through these letters, he's being offered different insight into the young lives of his parents.

Their marriage.

Their difficulties.

All of it.

It fascinates him, and he's a little miffed that it's taken so long for it to happen.

When Quinn returns to the library, carrying a tray in front of her, she finds Luke asleep. It amazes her how much nothing has changed. Almost twenty-seven years later and they're still just mother and son.

Quinn sets the tray on the low table and drapes a light blanket over his long body.

She isn't sure how she feels about that particular journal, but she still removes it from her sons's grip and sets it aside. Close enough for him to see as soon as he opens his eyes again.

Quinn returns to her chair, sips at her tea and continues to read.

---

Luke sleeps for almost two hours.

When he finally wakes, it's to find himself alone. For a moment, he doesn't know where he is, but, when he gets his wits about him, his eyes immediately search for the journal.

He finds it on his left side, with a note upon its top.

Quinn had to go out for a little while and she isn't sure when she'll be back.

Luke takes it as license to leave the house without waiting for his mother to return, so he wastes no time in returning to his own home, relieved when he enters the house to hear the sound of music.

Suddenly, he can't wait to see his wife.

Mia is in her practice room, lost in her music, when he finds her, and he has to stop himself from interrupting her flow, as desperately as he wants to.

As quietly as he can, he makes his way into the room. He recognises the moment she notices him, but she doesn't stop playing. He sinks to the floor against the wall on the right side of the room and says nothing.

He loves to watch her play.

There's something deeply soothing about it, and she looks positively majestic.

She looks powerful.

When Mia finishes, she stands, returns her cello to its case and moves to sit right beside her husband.

"When did you get home?" Luke asks, taking hold of one of her hands and squeezing it tightly.

"A couple of hours ago," she answers quietly. "Baby and I caught a nap, and then we came down to play."

He nods. "I like that piece," he says. "Tchaikovsky's Pezzo Capriccioso?"

"Louisa wants me to play it in the concert next month," she says. "I'm actually leaning towards a Bach Suite, but we'll have to see how it goes."

"Do you require accompaniment?" he asks lightly.

"If I did, I doubt they would allow my husband to accompany me," she says, squeezing his hand this time around.

"Well, the offer still stands."

Mia leans her head on his shoulder and sighs happily. "How's Quinn?"

Luke swallows. "Well, besides the fact she's obviously in love with my wife, she looks healthy enough."

Mia makes a sound of disapproval. "How is she, really?"

"The reason she wanted to get the boxes in the attic from you was because she wanted to find and give me the journal of letters," he explains. "She doesn't think she's done enough to prepare me for being a parent, and she's convinced I would be better prepared if my other mother was here instead of her."

Mia gasps. "What?"

"It's why she wants me to read the journal, I guess. The letters are about her pregnancy, and how she dealt with it. How she prepared for me; how they both did." Luke takes a breath. "My Mom thinks she wasn't enough of a mother, Mia. Do you think she's always thought that?"

"She wouldn't be as great as she is if she didn't worry about it," she says diplomatically, even though she's feeling a handful of other things.

"But, for her to think I want my other mother here instead of her," he says, his voice catching. "What kind of son have I been that she would think such a thing?"

"Luke," she says, making him look at her. "Maybe it's not about you. Maybe it's about who she is; how she's always been. It's who she is. Not you."

Luke blinks back the sudden rush of tears to his eyes.

"But, I suppose, it's also part of who you are as well, because you're convinced it's your doing; the same way Quinn's convinced it's hers." She shakes her head, and then smiles all too knowingly at him. "You really are related, aren't you?"

"Well, she has taught me everything I know."

"Everything, huh?"

Luke grins, because, yes, as mortifying as the conversation was at the time, Quinn did teach him how to please a woman. "From your tone, I can tell we're about to, hmm, how do they say, engage in a little sexy time."

Mia laughs. "You're such a dork, you know that."

"I do know that, yes."

"But, it's a good thing I love you, and my hormones are really out of sorts."

He puffs out his chest. "Your wish is my command, Mrs Berry-Fabray."

"As it should be, Mr Berry-Fabray."

This part of being a husband to such a beautiful woman comes naturally to Luke. He would give her everything she wanted. He didn't need to have read his other mother's letters to know his mother did the same.

Because, now he knows; he knows that just being who she was, was everything Quinn wanted.

---

Luke is able to get back to the journal only much later - well after Mia falls asleep.

Instead of going to his childhood bedroom again, Luke makes his way to his practice room.

His other mother's practice room.

It's not the room as much as it's the piano that makes it special to him. Luke can sit at it, and immediately feel closer to her. She's usually on his mind whenever he's composing. Every note he writes has to be something of which she would be proud.

Luke settles on the long couch in the room, puts his feet up and starts to read what is now his constant companion.

7th March 2022

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

You're a boy! You're a boy!

We went to the doctor today. Her name is Dr Anna Mess. She's delivered, I believe, almost twelve hundred babies, so I believe we'll be in good hands, you and me. She's been around for a long time.

Quinn was nervous, but she was a lot more attentive this time around. When we saw you, I can't even explain what it was like. And, then, when the doctor told us you were a little baby boy... well, let's just say that Mommy Berry-Fabray wasn't the only one who cried. She's such a softie, that one.

You're a boy.

We're having a baby boy.

You're going to be a Berry-Fabray boy.

I think Quinn was a little relieved, to be honest. We're probably not ready for a girl yet, anyway. I'm very happy.

I knew you'd be a boy, remember? I don't know how I knew, but I just did. I had a feeling. And, now that we know who you are, I think I know what I want your name to be. I'll discuss it with Quinn first, and then I'll let you know. I hope you'll be happy with it.

I haven't told my parents yet. I think I'll Skype them tomorrow and tell both of them TOGETHER. My Daddy was a little touched that I told my Dad I was pregnant before I told him. I think he was joking around, but I can't be too sure.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know we found out what you are today, and I'm even more excited to meet you. I have this dream of meeting you, sometimes. The first time I lay eyes on you. It makes my heart race just thinking about it.

So little time to go now, little one.

As excited as I am to meet you; I expect you to take your time, all right? There's no rush. You stay in there as long as you need, okay? I'll handle the outside world for now.

Don't you worry. I'm patient enough to wait.

Love,
Your Mother

Luke can literally feel her excitement rolling off the page. He absently wonders if he'll be as excited when he and Mia find out the sex of their own baby. At this point, he isn't sure if he's leaning towards a boy or a girl.

He makes a mental note to ask Mia what the baby feels like to her.

Though, he imagines, it's still too early to tell. It's mid-May, and their baby is expected to join them in November.

In November, Lucas Berry-Fabray will become a father, and Quinn Berry-Fabray will become a grandmother.

Rachel Berry-Fabray will never be a grandmother.

And, Luke suspects that's what bothers his mother so much.

23rd March 2022

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

Tonight is going to be our first official night in the new house. I know I said we would be moving in at the beginning of the month, but Quinn got called away on another case in Maine. She was gone for almost two weeks.

Our friends helped me move things into the house, though. We have a good group of them, and I hope you get to know all of them: Santana, Brittany, Kurt, Blaine, Noah, Meghan, Mercedes and Sam.

Once the piano was in the chosen room, in that moment, it really felt like home.

Home.

We're home, Baby Berry-Fabray.

Of course, though, we still have some unpacking to do. I'm tempted to make Quinn do all of it, but I'm actually enjoying this time with her. She seems at ease, somewhat settled. The case she was working on was a rough one, and it took her a little while to come back to us (emotionally and mentally), and now I'm just basking in the light of her love and attention.

She does this, you know? She carries the loss of all the victims on her shoulders, and bears the weight as if it's her burden. She doesn't allow herself to forget. (There are still cold cases she keeps in the study, and she goes back to them from time to time).

I don't know if it's all part of what happened with her family, or if she regards it as penance for her old teenage bullying ways, but I just wish she would sometimes let things go.

Is that selfish of me?

It's just that, even though she won't accept it, her heart is too kind and her mind is too open. It's proven to be dangerous from time to time, but she's still the strongest person I know. To have survived her life and come out halfway decent is a true testament to how strong her character really is.

You're going to love her.

Luke takes a moment to calm himself.

The love his other mother so clearly had for his mother is overwhelming. He just knows Quinn felt the same, if not more, and that is why Quinn can never move on.

While Quinn has never allowed the loss to define her, she's also never moved beyond it, either. For as long as Luke can remember, Quinn Berry-Fabray has been a widow, and she'll always remain one.

We got gifts from Maine, too. There's the most adorable stuffed lamb just waiting for you. She also bought this set of serving dishes, with sort of pyramid lids. They're painted beautifully, in such vibrant colours, and I honestly don't know where she found them in Maine, of all places.

I suggested we use them for the housewarming party Kurt and Noah are insisting we throw.

Don't they realise I'm pregnant? We can't be throwing these big parties anymore. Maybe we'll just do a small dinner party. How does that sound? Would you be okay with that?

I sometimes wonder how it is for you in there. I know you can hear me, which is why I'm always talking to you, and playing sweet music for you. Do you know it's me when I'm talking? Do you know Quinn's voice when she reads to you? Do you get scared in there?

Because, the world can be scary.

But, don't you worry. I'll keep you safe.

Love,
Your Mother

Luke, undoubtedly, prefers the lighter themed letters. He likes to hear she was happy living her life. As much as he wishes he was allowed the chance to know her; he's just so glad to know she existed at all.

Not because, without her, he wouldn't exist; but because the world needed to have Rachel Berry-Fabray.

Even for a little while.

10th April 2022

Dear Baby Berry-Fabray

We've made it safely passed twenty-eight weeks, Sweetheart. The papers published an article about our latest visit to the doctor's, and they're all glad to hear that Baby Berry-Fabray is well and healthy.

They have, though, started speculating on your gender and, thus, your name. Quinn and I sat for nearly twenty minutes laughing at the absurdity of it all. The names are positively ridiculous. Which is why we finally decided on a name for you.

After a bit of a discussion - in which we debated on which name would be your first and which would be your second - we picked Lucas Rowan.

Quinn's grandfather's name was Lucas (it's why her name is Lucy). He passed away when she was thirteen, and he was very important to her. It's not long after that she decided to become the Quinn of our high school days, and I always wonder how she would have turned out if he'd lived longer.

You should see her when she speaks about him. There's this light in her eyes that stops the world. I think he's the only shining light from that family of hers. It amazes me that Quinn even managed to come out of it as a relatively-functioning human being.

Grandpa Lucas was a hero to her, respite from the suffocating and painful atmosphere of her home, and I'll forever be thankful to him for offering her kindness when she didn't know anything else.

Then there's Rowan.

One day, you'll probably hear the story of how your parents finally got it right, but you should know it has a little something to do with a man named Rowan Belle. I don't think we're actually calling you Rowan in honour of him. Quinn likes the name, and it just so happens that Rowan is the first person ever to refer to Quinn as my girlfriend when the two of us emerged from my dorm room our sophomore year.

She was in New York for a weekend visit - I tend to freak out when she's not with me on the anniversary of her car accident, so she makes sure to see me - and we were going out for dinner on Friday night just the two of us. I remember her helping me into my coat, and then opening the door for me. They were all actions I was used to, not really seeing the implication and significance until Rowan Belle casually said, "Yo, Berry, you going to introduce me to your girlfriend or what?"

To say I was shocked is an understatement. Quinn handled herself much better and, by the end of the evening, she was confessing she wouldn't actually mind being my girlfriend. Then, by Sunday, when she was supposed to be boarding a train back to New Haven, she FINALLY kissed me.

We've been together ever since.

So, you will be Lucas Rowan Berry-Fabray, and you will be named after one of the finest men Quinn has known and wished to know, and Rowan Belle. It puts a lot of pressure on your little shoulders, I know, to carry those names, but you'll grow into them. Your parents will help you.

Be thankful, though. If the papers were actually to name you, you'd pray to be eighteen from the moment you're born. I won't even quantify their suggestions by writing them down.

Our Special Agent Extraordinaire is currently in Washington D.C. She's trying to get us to go out there and visit her as an early Easter trip. I'm not convinced I want to though, so we'll see. I'm getting bigger and bigger, and my feet hurt and I get irritable far too easily. I don't think travelling is for me right now, but then I can't help wondering when the next time will be that I can go on a little holiday.

Maybe you and I will be going to D.C., after all. Would you like that? A little trip with Momma? I think I should take advantage of the fact that where I go, you go as well.

Don't you worry. It won't always be that way.

Love,
Your Mother

Luke stares at the words. It won't always be that way. Did she know how right she would be?

Where she's gone, Luke can't follow.

Not yet, at least.

He still has so much life left to live.

25th April 2022

Dear Luke

I just called you Luke. Is that okay? Should I stick with Lucas?

It's odd. I just feel like you would make a great Luke. Luke Berry-Fabray. It's a good, strong name.

So, I just wanted to say Happy Easter (or, really, just Happy Spring Break, because I don't even know how people celebrate Easter), and tell you a little bit about how your - super boring - parents spent the holiday.

I should tell you that you and I did end up going to D.C. and we spent a few days with Quinn. She was busy with surveillance most of the time, but she did make time for sightseeing with us.

Contrary to what people think, it is a pretty stunning place, and wonderful and so vibrant. (It can also be a bit drab, but Quinn gets excited over all the museums - she's really a nerd, you know?)

I went a little crazy with the shopping, which amused Quinn a great deal. I've never really been into that sort of thing, so it was a surprise for both of us. I suppose the city just managed to do that to me.

Let's just say you got far more than just a kangaroo jumpsuit from that visit, little one. We've got all the clothes, but no wardrobe to put them in. Quinn promised we'll start work on the nursery when she got back.

We'll see how that goes. She's sometimes all talk, that one, and she's already been home for a few days.

Anyway, Quinn went to church yesterday. I think, after everything she's been through in life, that her faith is a beautiful thing. She believes in God, and in a Higher Being, and I think it's something that's helped shape her into the wonderful woman she is.

I'm Jewish. Sort of.

My Dad is Jewish.

Quinn says I'm Jewish by culture, not religion. I'm not particularly religious, in the sense that I don't actively practice, but I do believe. Before we got married, Quinn and I decided that we would try to meld our lives and beliefs.

(It hasn't really worked, because she's obsessed with bacon).

When it comes to you, though, our intention is to expose you to religion in its grand form. She's determined not to force anything onto you, the way it was forced onto her, and we want you to be able to make your own decisions about your beliefs when you're old enough.

I do think she's looking forward to being able to going to church with you and, I should admit, I'm eager to sing the hymns with you.

I just really like to sing.

Quinn likes to hear me sing.

She doesn't explicitly say it - she'd rather complain about my endless singing around the house than admit it - but she wears this expression that gives her away. It's content, I've come to learn. It took me a while to place it, because the look is so foreign on her face.

For so long, she's been… in pain. Dealing with a teenage pregnancy and getting kicked out of your home and family tends to do that to a person, but we're so proud of her. I'm so proud of this person she's become, and you should be too.

We are so lucky, Luke.

I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else, and neither should you.

This is what I wish for you, Sweetheart. I wish for you to find a person to love, who makes your heart sing. Whoever that person may be, I hope you find the utmost happiness within them.

And, believe me, if they don't treat you the way you deserve, I'll be sure to have a few words with them.

Or, I'll just sic Quinn on them.

Or, Noah. He can be a little bit scary when he wants to be.

Just know that you already have an entire family who loves you, and will protect you.

Love,
Your Mother

Luke hurts.

Every part of him just hurts. He should have stopped at the last letter. This one hurts. This one, about family and love and happiness; it fucking hurts.

Luke closes the journal. His eyes are tired and he knows he has to call it a night, but he can't bring himself to move. He can't go to bed yet.

There's something else he has to do.

He stands and moves towards the piano. The room is already soundproofed, so, when he eventually starts to play, he doesn't have to worry about waking Mia. He plays a piece he composed when he was just sixteen years old. He called it Rachel's Life, and it's his absolute favourite out of everything he's done since then.

It's a true testament to his feelings towards his other mother. This woman, whom he idolises beyond reproach. He knows she had her faults - he's picked up on that enough in her journals - but there's nothing anyone can say to change his mind.

She was special, and she will forever remain that way.

Rachel's Life is also the first piano piece he converted and wrote music to for an entire orchestra. It's the first piece he played at his first concert at Juilliard in his second year of study.

He imagines his other mother can hear it from wherever she is, and he likes to think she's proud.

Of him.

And of his mother.