Disclaimer: I own nothing.
She should know better. She should know better than to hope. Hope that her father would have any excitement or good will to wish them, hope that her mother would have any reaction at all. At this point in her life, she should know better than to hope.
It's a boy. Cruz wasn't supposed to be at the sonogram, but he'd managed to sneak away from work and surprise her. "It's the life of a cop's wife," Elizabeth had told her. "You can't always expect them to be there for the little things- all you can do is hope." So, really she should blame her romantic ideals on her darling sister-in-law. And her darling husband, who always gave her reason to hope- because he always came through.
Her pregnancy had been no picnic. The first trimester had been full of aggressive morning sickness that lasted well into the afternoon, and sometimes the evening. Dr. Lee had chided her for not gaining enough weight- as if it were her fault that she couldn't keep anything down. She'd had a few scares with a bit of spotting on her underwear and her sheets. Dr. Lee says it's normal, but that doesn't stop her heart jumping into her throat every time.
And Elizabeth says that's only the beginning. Once this baby is born, Elizabeth swears that she'll never have a moment of peace again. "You can't help worrying about your kids," she says. "It's hard to love someone that much- sometimes it feels like you can't breathe."
But when she hears that little heartbeat, when she sees Cruz's eyes light up when he realizes that in June, he'll have a son- it all seems worth it.
Her father hasn't been doing so well lately. He still goes through his bad spells- sometimes he just misses her mother so much that he can't take it- and he drinks himself into a black out stupor for days, sometimes weeks at a time. The only thing he says to her when she tells him that he's going to have a grandson is, "Don't name him Lucas. That's all we need." She just stiffens her upper lip and tells him that she's going to go see her mother- is there anything he wants Lulu to tell her? No answer at all to that.
And she should know better than hope- or even really to pray that Laura will have any reaction, or even realize that someone is talking to her. And Lulu knows that while one of her parents could care less about the little life she's bringing into the world, her other parent would cherish the day she held her grandson- and she'll never get that chance.
Lulu knows better than to hope for that again.
Cruz squares his jaw as he pulls the white sheet over the little face, black and blue and barely recognizable from the photos of the smiling little boy's school photo in a dusty frame on the wall. Fraser is reading the scumbag who did this his rights. And Cruz can't turn around, because he knows if he does, then he'll lose it. He'll lose his mind and lose his badge, strangling the bastard who did this to his own son- and then what will happen to his own boy?
Since Lulu Spencer has come into his life, he has declared at least a dozen days 'the best day of his life'. The first day she kissed him, the first time he made love to her, the first time she told him she loved him. The day she had agreed to marry him. It was no overblown proposal with rose petals and candlelight. He brought her to the house he had just bought and quietly told her that he would love it if she lived there with him- for the rest of their lives. His Lulu. His Little Spencer. She was everything he would ever need, but still none of that compared to the day that she told him he was going to be a father. And now he was going to have a son- it wasn't just 'the baby' any more. He was a little person.
Cruz had never known a love like that could exist.
And he kissed his pretty, young wife as she went off to tell her father the good news and he went back to work, and now he was bringing a little corpse to the morgue. A child was dead, killed by the man who was supposed to protect him with every fiber of his being.
In the car ride after the doctor's appointment, as he drove her to Luke's before heading back to the station, they started throwing around names. To his surprise, she's been reading up on Spanish names. She really likes 'Diego'. He chooses not to delve too deeply into that meaning, but still it's cute that she's been thinking of this.
His wife is beautiful and funny and not nearly as jaded as she would like the world to believe. Their son will get a little piece of that, just like he'll get some of Cruz's quiet introspection, his dry sense of humor, hopefully his affinity for the Mets.
But God...In this world how can he ever protect them?
He eases the door shut when he finally gets home. She's so tired lately, and usually takes a nap at this time. But she's awake, holding a cup of tea. It's that gross chamomille stuff that Dr. Lee suggested. She hates the taste, but sometimes she just likes to hold it because it's warm and the smell isn't so bad.
"Hey baby," she looks up at him. Her hair is in a messy pony tail on top of her head. She looks fresh-faced and young, with her gently rounded belly concealed by the sofa afghan.
"Hi baby," he smiles at her, sitting down and pulling her into his arms. Her back hurts at the end of the day, so he massages his thumbs into the base of her spine, and she sighs in relief. "How did it go with Luke?"
She doesn't answer, and he knows he isn't the only one who had a hard day. He needs to talk about what he saw, but he'll wait until she's not so fragile- his woman, his baby, he'll protect them with every fiber of his being. He kisses the top of her head, and slides his hands under her shirt to touch her bare belly. And he feels his son kick.
"He's a little fighter, our boy," he whispers. "With a mama like you...he's going to be one strong little boy."
She turns her head a little, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. "I hope."