Chapter Text
Spencer had heard that the weeks after birth were often referred to as the fourth trimester, but it was a whole other thing actually experiencing it. He lives out of the NICU until the baby’s due date passes, each day both scarily similar and terrifyingly different from the last.
She drops weight in the immediate few days after birth, which scares the shit out of him, but she quickly gains it back and more as she feeds on donor milk. JJ stays for the first week, bringing him clothes and other essentials but eventually has to go home to tend to her own children- around the same time that Cat gets deemed fit enough to get shipped back to her prison.
Alex calls every day, always deeply apologetic that the case she’s on is stopping her from seeing him, and offers kind words, advice and stories from James that make them both chuckle. The rest of the BAU trickle in and out, bearing snacks and coffee and all of the parenting and medical books that Spencer requests.
Whilst the baby lies in her incubator, having light therapy and all manner of wires and sensors hooked up to her impossibly delicate skin, Spencer sits cross legged in the chair next to her- one hand poking into the incubator as she tightly grasps his finger, the other flicking through book after book.
He’s pretty certain her grip is just an involuntary mechanism, but he lets her hold onto him as long as she wants.
He doesn’t look at her much. The midwives pretty much take over the responsibilities of feeding and changing and medicating her, so he’s able to avoid paying too much attention to her tiny facial features- it’s ridiculous, really.
He knows at some point realistically he is going to have to fucking look properly at his own child, but he’s too nervous still. He doesn’t know what he’s going to see in her face- whether it’ll be his own phenotypes or Cat’s.
Instead he fills his head with as much knowledge as possible. He’d studied up on the actual birth process when JJ had been pregnant, but he hadn’t been quite so clued in on postnatal care, and he figures that's the least he can do.
When Penelope bustles in, filling the hospital with cheer, hand-knitted babywear and homemade cookies for the staff, she politely and incredibly gently informs him he needs to look after himself too. He gives himself a once over next time he has to break to pee, and figures she’s probably right.
His hair is greasy and lank, his eyes even darker than usual and patchy stubble coats his jaw. How the fuck is he going to do this? He’s not even the baby’s main caregiver right now, and he’s already seemingly incompetent at managing his own basic personal care.
Days blur into each other, the hospital lighting keeping him from even knowing what time it is. One by one, the baby is unhooked from all of her various monitors and treatments, until she looks just like any of the other babies in the regular maternity ward- plump and wide eyed, pursed little lips and tiny clenched fists.
Emily and JJ are set to come and drive them home on Sunday, but on Friday the entire team including Penelope is called out on a particularly grisly case. Once the day rolls around he’s packing all their items back up into bags, the midwives giving him last minute advice and encouragement, strapping the baby into her car seat that thankfully was dropped off earlier in the week, entirely alone.
The drive home is eerily quiet, the baby sleeping in the back and Spencer worrying at his lip, spending more time glancing back in the baby-mirror than looking at the road. She’d been sorted out by the midwives before they left so that she was fed, burped, changed, bathed and entirely happy- they’d also made sure Spencer was entirely happy (or as can be) with all of these processes, showing him many many times everything from how to swaddle properly to the quickest ways to wiggle her tiny tummy to expel painful air.
He lets himself into his silent apartment. Everything is exactly as he left it, baby-proofed long ago with JJ, but books are scattered everywhere, his chessboard gleams in the sunlight where he left off mid-game, and the curtains are half pulled letting a small amount of light pour through to illuminate the faded olive walls and highlight the dust on his shelves.
Ideally he would have bleached the place before he took the baby home, but there’s nothing to be done now, and so he sets the carrier down on the floor and unloads the bags he’d hauled up with him.
It’s certainly a comfort being in his own space again, but everything feels odd, performative almost. If he were alone and coming home after a stint in the hospital he’d shower off, consider what the easiest food he can prepare for himself is, stumble onto his couch, and probably flip his sobriety chip between his fingers until he falls asleep.
He can’t do any of those things today, and the baby decides now is a marvellous time to let out a blood curdling scream to remind him as such.
“Shit,” Spencer hisses, fumbling to unstrap her from the carrier and awkwardly holding her in his arms, “Uh, you’re okay. Come on, ssh.” He doesn’t really know what to say to her- baby-talk is proven to be entirely unhelpful in infant cognitive development, but it seems bizarre to chat away to her like she can understand him.
He lays her on the changing mat and un-pops her onesie to check if she needs changing. She’s fine on that front, so he buttons her up again and tries feeding her, but she fusses and won’t latch onto the bottle properly or doesn’t like the formula perhaps, and then when he tries to burp her anyway she spits up down both of their fronts and continues to scream some more.
He wants to tear his hair out, tears start to spill down his own cheeks in frustration because he’s had her home for mere hours and he’s already totally lost. All he really wants to do is take a shower and lay down, but he can’t take his eyes off of the baby for even a moment.
The nurses and his friends had all made it seem like if you checked off all of the main things, they’d be okay. If she’s not wet, she’ll be hungry, and so on, but he’s done all of those things, so what does he do now? Does she just hate him? Does she just somehow know he’s an incompetent excuse for a father?
He stares at where he’s placed her back in her car seat, her scrunched up red face and claps his hands over his ears, crumpling to his knees and sobbing at the noise, feeling like his skin is on fire at the overstimulation.
After a minute or two, he leans over and decides to pick her up, intending to move her to her empty crib so that maybe she can sleep (if there’s one thing Spencer is knowledgeable on, it’s safe sleep rules) but the moment he holds her tightly against his chest, she just… stops.
She just wanted to be held, and now he feels so stupid because of course she does. It’s the most natural thing in the world to yearn for your parent to hold you close and comfort you- it’s probably his smell and warmth and the steady thump of his heart mimicking the womb, and he breathes a long sigh of relief.
“Huh?” He stares down at the now angelic baby, snuffling quietly and happy in his arms.
Finally he takes a long, good look at her and truly examines her features. Obviously she’s still just a squishy little barely formed human, but he feels relieved nonetheless when he doesn’t see Cat in her.
He doesn’t necessarily see much of himself either at first, but he thinks her small snub nose looks a little like his, and her upper lip is reminiscent of the shape of his own, and of course babies’ eyes are huge and round but he thinks perhaps hers look slightly deeper set like his eyes are, and suddenly as he sees all of these he feels something.
This odd rush of warmth and fierceness sparks inside his chest and he knows now with absolute certainty that he would burn the world down for her.
Things go a little smoother after that, he’s able to put her down to sleep for typical 2-3 hour bursts, with feedings in between.
He makes an odd realization at 3am, when he’s got her on his hip and trying to placate her while also fixing a bottle one handedly, that he feels like he’s waiting for something, and he can’t figure out what.
It’s at 6am when he’s pacing laps in his apartment, holding her tucked against his chest because she won’t sleep if he puts her down, that he comes to the conclusion he’s waiting for someone to come and take over. It feels like he’s babysitting, that someone who actually knows what they’re doing is going to come and take her off him and sort everything out and he just needs to hang on until then. But no one is coming, this is his kid and he’s the one who’s got to take charge now. It feels very bizarre.
The next few days are an odd limbo like that. Everyone texts him periodically to check how he is, which he appreciates, and thinks that right now he’s… fine. He’s technically afloat: everyone is alive and he’s not relapsed so he figures that’s the best he’s gonna be.
Penelope calls and he spills his guts to her while slumped on the couch with the baby snuggled into the crook of his arm, awake but mercifully silent, seemingly content just to look around and stare at things with her enormous eyes.
Penelope is the only one he’s ever truly felt able to talk about his autism with, and she’s sure to ask him if he’s struggling in that sense. He tells her how the baby’s screams are so piercing that he’s terrified they’ll trigger a migraine and he won’t be able to look after her, that he misses having blankets on his bed, and the fact that he can only really keep up with her needs and has only managed to feed himself twice in the last 48 hours, and neither of those were actual meals.
“I kindly command you not to worry, angel boy,” She says far too cheerily, “I know exactly what you need and I’ll bring it around later. Is 6pm okay?”
He’s slightly bewildered by the nickname, but agrees, and waits for 6pm to roll around. Aside from JJ, who pops in and out for frequent but short visits, he’s not really had anyone over in a long time, and he wishes he had the time and energy to make his place look less like a dump, but he figures Penelope won’t mind too much if there’s burp cloths strewn over chairs and if his shirt has milky spit up down the front.
To his utter surprise however, it’s Luke that appears at 6, and Spencer immediately feels ashamed of his greasy hair and awful appearance. He can only shower when JJ’s here to watch the baby, and she’s not been able to come in a day or so.
“Hey!” Luke smiles warmly as Spencer swings open the door, wide eyed and nervous.
“Oh- hey?” He mumbles, brain too sleep deprived to process things properly.
“I come bearing food,” Luke grins, looking far too crisp and attractive in his fitted maroon sweater and holding a takeout bag, which now he notices it does smell damn good, “And other things.”
“I thought Penelope was coming?” Spencer frowns, beckoning him in and closing the door behind him, following the other man into the kitchen.
“Oh I see how it is,” The man smirks, “Only want deliveries from the pretty girl, huh?”
“You’re pretty too.” Spencer says without thinking, and then instantly flushes bright red. Did he just fucking flirt with his coworker? His brain is far too fried right now, he thinks, simmering with embarrassment. Luke also seems to short circuit, because he freezes for a moment before shrugging and smiling sheepishly.
“I’ll take that. Speaking of pretty, how’s mini Reid?” He squints at the infant in Spencer’s arms, and Spencer takes that opportunity to hand her right over, swapping the heavy weight of the baby he hasn’t been able to put down in a ridiculous length of time for-
“Thai!” He cheers, opening the boxes of takeout, “Thank you, oh my god. Um, she’s fine.”
Luke seems bewildered by the baby, but also absolutely smitten.
“Hey tiny genius,” He greets her, “You’re so cute! You’re so cute, huh? Do you know how cute you are? Yes. Yes you do!”
If he wasn’t so hungry, Spencer would have launched into an explanation of how absolutely useless baby-talk is, but as it stands he’s too busy filling his mouth with pad thai.
“You’re right though, it was supposed to be Penelope. She picked up some stuff for you, but Sergio ate something he shouldn’t and she had to drop everything and take him to the vets, so she had me be her errand boy. Which is pretty great, huh? Cause now I get to hang out with the cutest baby and daddy in the whole world!” He coos the last part in a silly voice to the baby, and Spencer’s 99% sure he meant the baby is cute, and not him, but it could have been both of them implied, and it makes him feel oddly warm.
The baby is displeased at being shunted into Luke’s arms but seems to begrudgingly accept it and prefer being held by at least someone- even if it isn’t Spencer- than being put down, which allows him to devour his noodles. He hadn’t even noticed he was so hungry, but now he’s eaten something hot and fresh, the headache, shakiness, and dizziness he’d been feeling subsides and he feels so much better.
“Do you think you could watch her while I take a shower?” He asks shyly, and Luke nods enthusiastically.
“Of course, yeah. Whatever you need to do, I’m here to help.”
Sometimes he has sensory issues with showers, but right now the hot spray of water feels so good on his skin, and the gentle scents of his products are familiar and much nicer than the baby puke and stale sweat that had been lingering on him.
He doesn’t take too long, always slightly anxious at being apart from the baby now that he’s used to carrying her all the time, and hurries back into the kitchen once he’s changed into some loose comfy pajama pants and an old FBI academy sweatshirt, wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. He’s had to really dig through his wardrobe for things he doesn’t mind getting bodily fluids on, as every day he seems to go through half a dozen shirts.
Luke has an odd look on his face when he sees Spencer, swallowing slightly and a rosy flush lighting up his cheeks a little. Perhaps not noticeable to the average person, but as a profiler Spencer can’t help but be unable to switch off from noting even slight behavioral changes in a person. He elects to ignore the reaction, because he doesn’t really understand it, and instead gratefully takes the baby back off him, and starts to put water on to boil to fix her a bottle before she can get too grizzly.
“So, um. Penelope had a few things she thought would be useful for you. She said she put notes on them to explain.” Luke says, clearing his throat and sliding Garcia’s favorite polka dot tote bag over.
Spencer finishes with the water and readjusts the baby on his hip, and pulls the bigger items out of the bag. There’s a thing that looks like a weird long jersey scarf, and a thing that looks like a backpack. He frowns at them and picks up the note.
Scanning through his friend’s loopy, girly handwriting under Luke’s curious gaze, he devises that both items are baby holders. The scarf thing is a sling, and the backpack is- well, a backpack sort of device for putting the baby in. Spencer smiles a little and shakes his head- Penelope’s always so keenly aware and helpful of her friends. He mentions having to hold the baby once, and she immediately finds a way to help with it.
The other thing in the bag is a tiny box, which upon further inspection contains small transparent plastic ear plugs. They’re not like anything he’s ever seen before- nothing at all like the horrible foam things they wear at the gun range. Penelope’s note explains that they’re high fidelity ear protection, that’s definitely safe for parents to wear, and won’t block noise at all, but just turn everything down a little. She writes that she’s been wearing them herself at the office recently, and that she thinks they will definitely help take the edge off any prolonged crying so he can settle the baby without getting overwhelmed himself.
“Helpful stuff?” Luke queries, picking up the sling and inspecting it.
“Yeah,” Spencer says, fighting tears, “Definitely.”
Luke pulls up a video tutorial on his phone for the sling and helps Spencer into it, and Spencer finds he weirdly enjoys every touch of his graceful hands on his torso as they get it positioned on him, and place the baby in it. She seems to like it straight away, and so does Spencer- it was a bit fiddly, but his hands are finally both free and he can finish preparing her bottle with ease.
“God bless Pen, huh?” Luke grins, putting coffee on for them both, “Go on, go sit down. I’ll bring you over a mug.”
When Luke pads over and places a steaming cup down next to him, he knows from his slightly nervous sip from his own mug and the pause before speaking, what topic is going to come up.
“So, we were wondering if-”
“No,” Spencer says dully, keeping his eyes on the baby, “I haven’t named her yet.”
He can’t explain why he’s struggling with it so much, but nothing feels right. He can’t get Cat’s taunts about ‘Maeve Junior’ out of his head, nor the fact that once he’s named her things are real and he has to complete her birth certificate, or the fact that when he imagined having children, he imagined bouncing name ideas around with a partner. In all his fantasies about being a dad and having a family, there was another faceless figure there too, who’d joke about with him and veto things or come up with ideas themselves.
Spencer has a few ideas he’s considered, and he knows it’s a peculiar thing to get hung up on, that he is putting far too much weight on it, but he still just can’t find it in himself to make the call.
“Come on, man. I can’t keep calling her mini Reid for the rest of her life. That’s gonna be tricky for job applications, y’know.” Luke teases gently, leaning against the wall.
“I just… I guess I just thought I wouldn’t be the only one in charge of naming any kids I’d have.” He says reproachfully, tilting the bottle to make sure it’s at the right angle and watching the baby feed carefully.
“Okay,” Luke says slowly, like he’s thinking about something, “I’ll name her then.”
Spencer’s head jerks up.
“What?”
“I’ll name her,” Luke breaks into a shit-eating grin, “If you can’t decide, I’ll do it. Ready? Mildred Montgomery Reid.”
“What?!” He splutters with laughter, and Luke looks pleased, “That’s awful.”
Spencer realizes as he steadies himself that that’s exactly what Luke wanted- he was being silly on purpose to make him laugh, and those unusual butterflies fill his stomach again, replacing the heavy pit of dread.
“Oh! You’re pulling my leg.”
“I’m just gonna keep going here until you think of something better, dude. Gregory McGregorious Reid. Roberta Boberta Reid-”
“Stop, stop, stop.” Spencer gasps between chuckles, “They’re horrendous.”
“Come on, pick something! Don’t think too hard about it.”
“How did you name Roxy?”
Luke snorts.
“I didn’t. She came with that name.”
“God, I wish that was how it worked for humans.” Spencer sighs.
“Come on, or I’ll start again. Anything, a literary character, a scientist, someone you love. Name her after one of those. Don’t think too hard, just go with what you feel!”
Luke pauses as Spencer furrows his brow.
“I’m gonna go again. Muriel Ursula Reid-”
“Okay, okay!” He giggles, “Um, Jo. Joanna.”
“Joanna! That’s nice.”
“As in Joan of Arc, and also Joanna of Flanders. Medieval French chroniclers described Joanna of Flanders ‘to possess the courage of a man and the heart of a lion.’ She’s always been very overlooked in history, Joan of Arc is quite the opposite, but both were fierce, powerful medieval warriors. And perhaps also a nod to Jo March, one of my favorite literary heroines, too now I think about it. Plus, my mom taught medieval literature, so there's that connection there too. ”
“That’s incredibly cool,” Luke seems impressed, “What about her middle name?”
Spencer pauses. He’d only really considered first names, even if he wasn’t sure about it all, he had known that he wanted to name the baby after strong, brave women, but now the whole thing clicks into place and seems obvious. He panics for a moment, wondering if it’s too much, but swallows and trusts Luke’s advice to wing it.
“Jane.”
“Let me guess- Jane Austen?” Luke raises a brow, but he shakes his head.
“Jane Addams, actually. The first American woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize.”
“Joanna Jane,” Luke repeats, cocking his head, “Hang on- JJ?”
Spencer nods.
“I think I’d like her to be known as Jo, possibly Joanie? But the initials would be a nod toward a woman I consider also a powerful warrior in her own right, but more importantly my sister, and I hope will accept the role of godmother when I ask her.”
Luke beams and sits down next to him, their arms pressing against each other, and Spencer tries not to lean into the warm comfort Luke and his proximity provides.
“Hey, Jo.” The man says, the first person to greet his daughter by name.
By the time Luke leaves, Jo is crying again but he feels better equipped to handle it, and at the very least has a name on his tongue to croon to her and beg her to settle down with.
Once he places her in her crib, he pulls out his phone and texts Alex.
Joanna Jane Reid
He types simply, and a few minutes later her response dings in.
It’s beautiful, and I’m proud of you.