She runs a fever after the birth, and the drugs make her woozy in ways she wasn't expecting. For a solid thirty minutes she sits against the raised hospital bed and clutches Spencer's hand, so sure that she was about to throw up that even though she's dying of thirst she doesn't drink anything for fear that it will come back up. The incision stings but it isn't too painful, though she's sure that would change if she barfed.

Spencer is careful around her, and he looks very out of place in the hospital room, gangly and awkward dressed in his loose button down and cords. However when Cooper is put in his arms, he melts into the scene and suddenly he looks like the most natural thing in the world, and she supposes that he is. She knows the only history with babies that he had is Henry and Jack, but their baby fits in his arms perfectly and Cooper's entire head fits impeccably in the palm of Spencer's bony hand.

Cooper sleeps through it all, doesn't even stirr when young Henry is given the privilege of sitting in the room's rocker and carefully allowed to hold him. JJ snaps only a hundred pictures of the moment while Will talks to Spencer about lending them their toddler stroller when Cooper grows some.

At some point Cooper starts acting more like a baby and begins fussing, hungry and wanting nothing else but his mom. It's a weird thought— Cooper wants his mom, she's his mom. He's hers. She feeds him as much as possible, disappointed and a little ashamed when she has to take breaks because she's sensitive and it hurts. JJ had told her it might be uncomfortable, but she hadn't really taken it to heart. It makes her feel like she's already failing. Spencer assures her that it's normal, that he's read about it, that she shouldn't worry. He seems to understand though that she needs her mom, and he makes the call for her anyway.

Later she'll fall asleep with Cooper resting against her chest, his warm face pressed against her collarbone, and it will be the most peaceful sleep she's ever remembered.

OOO

Bringing him home is terrifying, because Reid realizes he doesn't quite even know how baby seats work or how to even get it hooked into the car— but Hotch is there and shows him, tightening it down and making sure it's level. He shows him how the buckle has to be square on the chest and how the seatbelt crosses beneath the whole thing. It's a strike of reality that Reid wasn't expecting. He knew that he was nervous and that he knew nothing about being a father. He had read all kinds of information about taking care of a baby and how to keep them safe and happy— but he had forgotten all the little things that he was doomed to figure out on his own. He's excited to learn but scared of failing. Hotch seems to notice this, claps him on the back and simply tells him that every parent has been there.

On the drive home Reid realizes that Hotch was right. Billions of families had done this before— some far worse off than him, and they had survived and thrived. It would be hard and there would be mistakes, but he could do it. They both could.

OOO

In the first days they are given time alone to adjust to their new lives. Cooper doesn't seem to realize the uproar he's causing. He's focused on sleeping and eating and not much else, despite his father's attempts to introduce him to new toys.

Spencer doesn't look anywhere near as tired as she does, and she finds herself jealous. He wakes up with her every time Cooper needs fed, but his bizzare sleeping schedule caused by his intense work means his body is already used to the odd hours, and even though it's not his fault that still seems unfair.

Still though, he must have had a heart to heart with someone, because he works hard to make her life easier. She'd heard countless stories from her mom that while she loved her dad, he hadn't been necessarily involved in taking care of Maeve when she was a baby. Apparently it had been a duty left to her mother alone while her father worked, and Maeve finds herself counting her stars that Spencer is not that way. He had already arranged to take three weeks off at work ("More if we need it!") and while they're not always on the same channel of thought, they do pretty well. He gets up as much as she does and he changes maybe more diapers than her. He can't feed Cooper unless she has milk pumped, so she tries to stay on top of that. He's better at swaddling than she is but she's better at putting him to sleep than he is, and somehow through all the chaos she finds that he truly is her partner in crime— their work is equal, and it shows. Cooper is just as attached to his father as he is his mother.

OOO

One night when Cooper is a week old she's already in bed, exhausted from the day but content and warm in their bed. She'd showered and done laundry and Spencer was dressed in his favorite heavy sweatpants but he's not wearing a shirt. He's given Cooper a bath and put a diaper on him with a warm onesie. They were careful with keeping him warm— their apartment was drafty and often a little chilly, but despite his small size, Cooper did fairly well at keeping cozy.

She spends five minutes just gazing at them, contentment washing over her as she hears Spencer begin reciting The Bronze Horseman from memory, the words spilling from his lips like honey as his voice softens, trying to distract Cooper into sleeping. It accidently works on her and she only wakes when she feels him slip under the covers and kiss her temple.

The apartment is awash with baby toys, boxes of diapers, laundry, and baby bottles, and she'll have to wake up in four hours to feed Coop, but she's happy listening to his breathing in his bassinet and the soft hitching snore of her husband.

OOO

Her parents visit periodically, and while it occasionally feels a little claustrophobic, she's grateful that they're there. Her mother is the master of babies, and she helps calm her when she has a billion questions ("Is his poop supposed to look like that? What if I can't get him to burp? Are you sure he's not in pain? He's not even awake how can you tell?").

Spencer is hopefully awkward, but he's loosening up around her parents finally. They've become used to all of hs quirks finally and they've learned that he can't fully read social cues and that he never meant to be condescending, even when it felt like it. Spencer tries his hardest around them to be conscious of what he says and do, but it's almost more relieving when he lets his guard down and acts like his normal self instead.

She catches her father watching her husband with Cooper one morning under the guise of reading one of the many newspapers Spencer subscribes to. Her husband has Cooper swaddled and was walking among their cluttered bookshelves, muttering about a absolutely nothing and holding him firmly to his chest. It's refreshing to see the confident smile in his father's eyes.

OOO

Eventually Spencer goes back to work, and she's left alone with Cooper. For awhile it's okay. She's still in a daze from giving birth and spending time with her baby, but there are times when she feels broken. Sometimes Cooper cries for no reason, and she cannot calm him. She calls her mom and JJ and they help but it doesn't do much good. She's frightened by the ferocity of his cries, it sounds like he's so upset that he's choking, but eventually he cries himself out and sleeps. She had cried with him, but can't stop herself once he does.

She's lonely and exhausted by the time Spencer comes home from work, and he does his best to put her back together before she falls asleep. They make dinner together ("Can pasta burn? We should google that.") and he tells her about his day. She relays her fears to him, and she puts them to rest. He often takes Cooper and bathes him, settling him into bed so Maeve can have time to read a book or shower or just lay on her back and stare at the ceiling.

He always tries to come home as quickly as he can, but his work is long and difficult, and some nights he comes home to find Maeve already asleep with their son.

He's amazed by her natural ability with their son. She can hold him and make a bottle and talk on the phone and fold laundry all at once, whereas he was still hesitant to double task while holding Cooper. He was getting there, but she was already the master.

Cooper likes suckling on fingers and reaching for his shaggy hair. His dark eyes are often alert and trained on anything bright and moving. It takes very little to make him smile, drool spilling over his lips and soaking the front of the tiny onesie he wears. His father makes him squeal when he blows on his tummy and screech with joy when he's plastered with kisses. His hair has started to come in dark and ramrod straight, sticking up at wild angles no matter what. Maeve tells anyone who will listen that that particular trait comes from his father, and the resemblance is uncanny.

OOO

After a month, Reid notices that Cooper can't hold his head up very well, despite the fact that he had reached that milestone. He laughs and screams like any baby, but he still behaves like his neck isn't developing. Spencer downloads seven medical journals on the topic, but doesn't tell Maeve what he's found.

OOO

After three months Cooper has grown and no longer is small for his age. His weight and height are strong and his personality is light and joyous. His hair has fallen out in the back from where he sleeps on it in the crib, but what he has remaining is tinted a deep auburn, wild and untamable. He suckles on anything put in his mouth and only wakes up once every night.

But he has not once made eye contact, and he does not follow objects. He uses visual guides to grab whatever he pleases, but sometimes he misses. He mirrors facial expressions with ease, but never meets the eye.

And he doesn't babble or try to replicate the sounds he hears. The doctor suspects autism, and connects them to a speech therapist and specialist.

She had already suspected, but having her fears written in concrete makes her stomach squirm for the entire ride home. There's a brief moment of oh fuck but she doesn't see it as much of a change, though there is apprehension and terror for the trials and difficulties that Cooper will have to face that she had never considered. His life wouldn't be as easy as hers. She worries for how far he would be able to grow and develop, and she wanted nothing more than to make his life as full of happiness as possible— to give him a better life than she had. It's every parents dream after all, and her path to achieve it may have just gained more obstacles. She's somehow less upset than she would expect herself to be. She's sure there's a reason for that buried in her brain somewhere that she can't be bothered to dig up.

Spencer does not comment on it other than to respond to what the doctor is saying, and that concerns her, even though he does not outright mention that anything was wrong. They were close, and throughout the years she had chipped away at his tough exterior and taught him that he could lean fully on her and confide with her no matter what the subject. It was a big change in thinking for him, but he had begun to get used to the idea. Now however, he was silent, leading her to seek him out and pry into his mind.

She follows him to Cooper's nursery one night when he does not join her in bed, and finds him perched in the swing, sitting in the dark clutching a purple duck that Coop had taken a special liking to. She slipped over to him and kneeled down in front of him, concern bubbling up her throat at his hunched appearance. She can't see if he's crying or not, but his voice is rough when he speaks.

"Is this my fault?" He whispers, his voice catching. He clears his throat to hide it, but her heart has already broken.

"Of course not." She rushes, tucking her robe more securely around herself. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrists. She hears him clear his throat again. "Spencer."

"I— I was never 'diagnosed' so to speak, it just seemed— it just didn't matter— but I know I'm on the spectrum, I mean everyone can tell—"

,"Spencer—" This time it's her voice that breaks. She can't stand to see him like this. He was perfect, he loved them and he was so gentle and sweet and funny and smart. He was strong and loyal and he was good man— he was such a good man— he didn't deserve any of the negative thoughts that she knew were swirling around in his head. Yeah, he was on the spectrum for autism, she knew that. It was just apart of who he was, and it didn't make any difference to anyone who loved him, and it rarely made a difference in his life either.

"I didn't think— I thought that the chances would be lower—"

"Spencer." She says firmly, trying to stop his downward spiral. She squeezes his wrists. His eyes meet hers finally. She can see the storm swirling around in his mind, eating at the edges of his consciousness and tainting his thoughts. It always pained her to see him like this.

"Do you wish that he hadn't had Cooper?"

"Of course not!" His reply is immediate, and she can see him open his mouth again, seeing where she was going with this and trying to protest, but she cut him off.

"Cooper is alive because of you, and because of me. Is it possible that his chances of developing autism were higher because of you? Yeah, maybe. But he wouldn't have been born at all without those chances. Without you. And I know you don't wish that he's rather remain unborn just to spare him the challenges that might come with the autism."

He shook his head minutely, and she catches a short glimmer on his cheeks from the light spilling into the room from the hallway.

"You know the research, and the advancements in technology. It won't be easy, but he will get to lead a wonderful productive, happy life just as he is."

"I know that, it's just— if it wasn't—" She waits while he takes a deep breath to organize his thoughts. "There will be times when he suffers. Believe me, I know, and it will be because I passed it to him." She nods, tears filling her own eyes. "And that thought alone hurts. A lot." He finishes, looking away abruptly.

There was not a lot that she could say to combat that. He was right. It wasn't his fault in any sense of the definition, he couldn't control his genes or his condition, but just knowing that Cooper may end up suffering the discomfort that came with autism or have to battle the stereotypes that surrounded it was a heavy weight on his shoulders that she could not completely lift. It would be something he came to terms with only with time.

She leaned forward, releasing his wrists and cupping his face instead. His cheeks were hot with emotion and his eyes adrift with guilt. She kissed him firmly for a moment, then pulled back once she was sure she had his attention again. "I know it hurts— so we're going to fight that hurt with everything we have to give him the best possible life we can. It's like— think statistics right?" It was a tactic she used on him when he was struggling to process his emotions. Bringing everything back into a context he understood almost always helped. "We have two inverse graphs. The better life we make for Cooper, the better you'll feel, and the better you feel, the better life Cooper will get with a dad who doesn't feel responsible for his misfortune." She gave him a little squeeze, and eventually he nodded.

"You're right." His voice sounded a little stronger, and he wiped the tears from his face clumsily.

She gave his arm a little tug. "Come to bed." It doesn't take much to persuade him, and after one quick check in the bassinet by their bed to kiss his son goodnight, she manages to pull him beneath the covers and curl up against him. She stirs a few times throughout the night, and while she notices that it takes him several hours to fall asleep, she peacefully notes that he was sleeping soundly eventually.