"I understand you're affinity for Chaucer, but really, Spence? Kurt Vonnegut is much more appropriate," Emily growled, sitting heavy in a rocking chair. The room was pastel yellow, adorn with appropriately babyish décor, a crib, and a changing table, all dark mahogany. Her belly was swollen and round, very clearly eight months pregnant.
"Emily, you really want him to grow up questioning humanity and what would happen if the world were encompassed with Ice Nine? That's no story to read to a baby," Spencer stood at the bookshelf, a hefty old copy of the Canterbury Tales in his hands, unwilling to relent in this particular argument.
"It's more appropriate than the Canterbury Tales, the entire thing is meant to show the problems with humanity and the church. And what about the Wife of Bath? You want our son to grow up reading about fifteenth century sluts?" Emily retorted, she wasn't going to let this one go either.
They had managed to settle on an array of music for their son to listen to while in the womb, a collection of the best from many different genres and time periods. Spencer of course, had been adamant about classical, Mozart, Debussy, Beethoven. Emily had added Bach and Khachaturian to that genre, along with dozens of other artists, the Beatles, Johnny Cash, Tom Petty, with the claim that she wanted their son to be well rounded. Spencer couldn't help but silently note, that she hadn't included Siouxsie and the Banshees, which he was thankful for. They had also managed to settle on artwork to hang in the nursery, and all the décor had been picked out with out argument. But when it came to reading to him, they could never agree.
"I grew up listening to Chaucer and I seemed to end up just fine, besides, studies show that children who are read higher level literature in the womb tend to have higher IQ's," Spencer replied, that know it all tone in his voice which pissed a pregnant, hormonal Emily off.
"Oh yes, god forbid our son doesn't have an IQ of 2000 just like you. You can't put that kind of pressure on a child, Doctor Reid, don't forget he's half my dumb genes, so there's no guarantee," she bit back harshly.
"Emily, I don't think you're dumb," Spencer replied, immediately returning to damage control, something he seemed to be doing a lot of lately.
"No, Spencer, just dumber than you," Emily retorted, trying to heave herself out of the low rocking chair with some difficulty. She growled, trying to push herself up again, before sighing and resorting herself to turning away, unable to get up.
"Well, if you're looking in terms of IQ, then naturally, but that's not a comment on you Emily, I'm smarter than ninety nine percent of the population, but you know I don't believe intelligence can be properly quantified, you just don't have the advantage of an eidetic memory, like I do," Spencer attempted to sooth, reaching a hand out to Emily's forearm.
She jerked her arm away, "Well sorry, Mister I have four doctorates and three other degrees and graduated high school when I was twelve. If you were so concerned about having intelligent children you should have married someone else," she snipped, unable to hold back the tears that were welling in her eyes, and she blinked furiously to keep them at bay.
"Emmy," Spencer frowned, perching himself on the edge of the chair and pulling the struggling woman into his arms. "I do think you're smart. You're brilliant, and insightful, and lovely and I wouldn't want to marry anybody else. Our child will be smart, how could he not? He's got two intelligent parents. You've never even had your IQ tested, you have no idea how you'd compare to me, but its still just a number. You've solved cases that I wasn't able to figure out. You aren't just smart, either, you know how to use your intelligence, its not just wasted statistics," he was caressing her shoulder gently, drawing soothing circles. "Emmy, look at me," he guided her chin over softly so that he could look her in the eye. "You don't need seven degrees to let everybody know that you're perfect."
Tears were still welling in her eyes, at a glanced at the utterly devoted look in Spencer's face sent them tumbling over the edge, spilling down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb and placed a small kiss on her lips.
"I love you, Spence," she sniffed quietly, feeling far too emotional for her liking. Compartmentalization didn't work when you factored in hormones.
"I love you too, Emmy," he smiled at her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll read Cat's Cradle to him, if you want," he consoled, if it meant that much to her, he could forgo the argument for now, and stress the issue some other time.
"No, its alright, you can read the Canterbury Tales tonight, help me up," she requested, holding her arms out commandingly. Spencer grinned and stood up, pulling Emily to her feet. He guided her out of the nursery, the hefty book tucked under his arm.
It was as short walk, but Emily still plopped down on their king sized bed with a very unfeminine grunt. Reid stood at the doorway for a moment, just watching her and wondering how on earth he had ended up so lucky, then he too climbed onto the bed, perching himself up on his elbows right next to Emily's swollen stomach. Emily rested a hand on her bump, caressing softly as she felt their son kick. Spencer opened the book and with a broad smile, began to read.