#faberryweek2022

It’s quiet, which isn’t all together unusual on a Friday afternoon. In fact, it used to be a near regular occurrence in the days before Calliope had been born, when Rachel would rush off to the theater and Quinn would be left alone to write or bake or shop for a few hours without interruption. Life after their daughter has been wonderfully less quiet, but even now, with Callie spending part of the day in her pre-K classes, the quiet hours are few and far between, especially now that Rachel is on an extended sabbatical from her previously insane schedule.  

It’s a good thing. 

It’s a wonderful thing. 

It’s a thing that Quinn has been wanting for years. She’s ridiculously proud of her wife and every amazing thing that she’s accomplished—things she’d vowed to achieve practically from the moment she’d been out of diapers and had made happen through sheer talent and force of will—but Quinn had failed to fully grasp the bitter reality of sharing Rachel with the inhumanely long and irregular hours of a show business life. Oh, she’d been stupidly confident about her preparedness when they’d gotten married, of course, but adding a child to the mix had made everything so much harder than she’d anticipated. She will never outright admit that Rachel had been right about that part of becoming moms, so she grins and bears it with stubborn resolve because she wouldn’t dare change a single thing about their family.

Even now.

Especially now. 

They’re alone in their bedroom, the early afternoon sun streaming in through the windows, warming their skin. Oliver is curled up on the floor, exactly centered in a bright patch of sunlight as he naps with his nose tucked into his paw. Callie is currently blocks away in her classroom at the Brownstone School, no doubt concentrating on whatever educational craft Miss Polly has sprung on them today, safe under watchful eyes until the time comes for her mothers to pick her up. Their friends are at work or maybe at home, lost in their own lives and families until the next time they talk. And Rachel is here with her, lying on their bed in the stillness of this moment, just the two of them.

No. 

Not just the two of them. 

Quinn’s lips curve against a cotton covered breast, gaze drawn to her palm where it rests low over Rachel’s belly beneath her wife’s trembling fingers, warm touch united on the strip of bare skin between her bunched up shirt and unbuttoned jeans. Rachel’s other hand is tangled into Quinn’s hair, where it’s been for ten minutes now, ever since they’d come home to their quiet apartment and wordlessly headed straight to their bedroom to fall into this position across their bed. 

It’s been about a month now—twenty-two days (but who’s counting?)—since Quinn had sworn to Rachel, right in this very bed, that it was happening this time. She’d had a good feeling. (She’d had one the first time too, but maybe it had only been relief that they’d gotten through the even more unpleasant cocktail of fertility drugs than what they’d suffered through with Calliope. Maybe it had only been her own naivety after two easy pregnancies, thinking that nothing could ever go wrong.) But this time around, they’d both approached it with more caution. 

After ten days, there’d been a positive test with good hCG levels, but they’d had that the first time too, so they hadn’t celebrated. Well, they hadn’t celebrated much; every hope and joy expressed was still tempered with caution. 

At thirteen days, the results had only gotten better, and better again at sixteen—it’s the only thing Quinn had wanted for her birthday this year—but they still hadn’t celebrated; hadn’t let themselves fully settle into thinking it would happen for certain this time, even with Rachel suffering through the persistent nausea of morning sickness that doesn’t always confine itself to the mornings but still seems so much milder than what Quinn had experienced twice. Neither one of them can quite decide if that’s a worry or a relief. 

Even now, less than an hour removed from their six week checkup and the ultrasound that had proven to them that, yes, there is one (and only one, to Rachel’s immense relief) healthy, viable embryo with a perfect, beautiful heartbeat growing safely inside of Rachel, they both understand that nothing is guaranteed. They've learned that the hard way and send up daily prayers in two religions that they’ll never have to experience the lesson in that particular way ever again.

But—

There’s a perfect, beautiful, wonderful, amazing, miraculous little life inside of her wife whose heart is beating so steadily and, sweet Jesus, Quinn is so fucking happy right now. She wants this so much; is so excited for it.

She’s been a mother for more than half her life now, but only a mom for five short years, and she’s good at it. Beth and Calliope are the best things she’s ever done. She’s proud of her life, of her books and her friendships and her marriage, but her daughters are her greatest accomplishments. She loves being a mom, and now she has the chance to do it all again with the little person growing under her palm. There’s a little piece of her inside of Rachel, and holy cow, is it weird to think about. She’s used to doing this the other way around, and she’s not really sure what she’s supposed to do when it isn’t happening inside of her. 

All of her protective instincts are already fired up to dangerous levels, and she’s afraid she’s going to end up hovering as much as Rachel did. She already wants to keep her off her feet and in this bed for the next eight months. It’s awful and wonderful and Rachel is never going to let her hear the end of her I-told-you-sos. She’ll listen to them on repeat as long as Rachel stays relaxed and safe and pregnant while she says them.  

Pregnant. 

Quinn’s smile grows. This is further than they’d gotten the last time, and her good feeling is rearing up with a vengeance. She can’t wait to see the proof of their second child really begin to show in her wife’s body. Already, Rachel’s breasts are more sensitive, and Quinn swears they’re even a little bigger than they were just last week. (She’s intimately acquainted with them after all these years so she would know.)  But there’s only the tiniest, firm curve to her belly, hardly noticeable at all, and Quinn can’t wait to see and feel their baby moving under her skin—where her own fingers are splayed wide, seeking the extra connection. 

When Rachel’s fingers slot in between hers, Quinn lifts her gaze to meet glistening brown eyes. “We’re having a baby,” she breathes out reverently, her smile irrepressible.

Fellow Faberry fans, the Faberry Week 2022 is open to submissions!!

DAY 1 - Werewolves

DAY 2 - Covid 19

DAY 3 - Moving Out / House Together

DAY 4 - Time Travel Fix It / Back in Time

DAY 5 - Summer Vacation

DAY 6 - Fababy

DAY 7 - Free Day

Please remember to tag your works #faberryweek2022 or feel free to submit your posts!!! 

Thank you