Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, unfortunately.

Rating: PG/PG-13

A/N: Hey, guys. I know this one took awhile; sorry, I kind of had writer's block on this. I am sending this out unbeta'd, so let me know of any major issues you have.

MAJOR ANGST ALERT!!!!!!

Important

This last one is a bit different from the others, and since I can't easily format the text here, I'll give you guys a layout of what is going on:

Section 1: Donna's letter to JJ

Section 2: JJ watching the video. The bolded dialogue is taking place in the film, while the explanatory paragraphs explain what JJ is seeing on the screen from his point of view.

Section 3: A scene in Sarah's nursery, meant to be seen from above, from guess who's point of view.

Think of it as a love letter, of sorts.

I was gonna do this somewhat differently, have Josh writing a letter to JJ as he sees the scene in the nursery occurring, but it seems more effective to me this way; it took on a direction of its own, as fics are wont to do. I really like this one, so please let me know if you do, too!

The song is "All Through The Night," a traditional hymn/lullaby.

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To My JJ,

You probably think this is a present for Sarah, and it is, in a way, but it's more for you. Sweetie, she's perfect, and you'll be an absolutely wonderful father. Don't worry.

I came across this when CJ and I were looking through clips for the movie at your Bar Mitzvah. I haven't watched it since. I couldn't then, and I can't now. But I kept it for you. Sam took it; neither of us knew he was there at the time, and it ended up on a tape with lots of other things. So if you ever get nervous, or feel lost, because you're worried about not having grown up with your father around, watch this. I know it's been hard on you, baby, but he loved you, so much. He really did.

I love you, too.

Mom

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"Oohhh, quiet down, little one. You must have your father's energy."

His mother looked over at him then, his father, lying in his hospital bed, his body wasted, its energy drained by sickness. And still, he managed a grin for her.

"Hey, hey, little man. What have I told you about bothering your mother? Only five times a day. Any more than that, and you're toast."

"Josh."

"What?"

"Don't teach him these things."

"Well, I have to, while I have the chance. Donna, don't. Don't cry."

"How can you say something like that and not- oof!"

"He kick again?"

"Yeah."

"Come here."

"Josh, I…"

"Just come over here."

His mother made her way ponderously over to the bed, and sat. His father took her hand, looked at her with his brown eyes full of love.

"Let's try something, here."

And with that, he began to sing, in a soft, yet surprisingly strong voice made husky with emotion.

Sleep my child and peace attend thee,
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
All through the night

Angels watching, e'er around thee,
All through the night
Midnight slumber close surround thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
All through the night

"Josh?"

His mother spoke with a voice thick with tears, and his father answered her.

"My sister used to sing it to me. Did it work?"

"Yes, Joshua, it worked."

His mother covered his father's face with kisses, and the movie ended.

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"Waaaaaahhhhhh!"

The man stumbles groggily into the nursery, in boxers and a t-shirt, his hair sticking up every which way, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Sarah, Sarah, baby, shhhhh. Daddy's here, Daddy's here, sweetie."

He picks up the child, cradles her against his chest. "What is it, sweetheart, huh?"

The man continues on like this, trying bottles, pacifiers, walking, rocking, checking her diaper. He rubs his hand through his hair in desperation. "Okay, okay, what now?" He pauses, thinking. "It can't hurt," he mutters to himself, taking a deep breath.

He begins to sing. He sings the words his father sang, sings the words he learned from repeated viewings of an old home movie, sings the words he stubbornly refused to look up, because he wanted to learn this lesson from his father. His hands grip the edges of the crib as he sings, and before he knows it, when he opens his eyes, the baby is asleep.

"Huh. I guess it does work."

"Talking to yourself there, champ?"

He turns, smiles sleepily when he sees his wife framed in the doorway. "Hey, Becc. Yeah, I guess I was."

"I heard you singing. She finally nod off?"

"Yeah."

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

He smiles, and finally, finally, feels at peace. "My father taught me."