A/N: This is actually a snippet/a partial chapter of a much, much longer work, but I almost like it better as its own little independent story, lol. Anyway, since it can stand alone as a oneshot, I decided to go ahead and post it. The only background you need to know is that this is an AU in which Cat's baby WAS Reid's (and we're gonna go ahead and NOT have her miscarry like the show did!).
Edit — the longer work is now a WIP that can be found under my penname; it's called "As Truth and Reason Fall".
Enjoy this little piece of fluff and softness!
xoxo,
Cynthia :)
suddenly, the world seems a different place / somehow full of grace, full of light / how was I to know that so much hope was held inside me? /what is passed is gone / now we journey on through the night
— "Suddenly" from Les Misérables
November 1 st, 2017, shortly after midnight
Spencer stands alone in a brightly lit hallway, absolutely entranced. He's not a big fan of hospitals, and he's not too keen on staying here longer than absolutely necessary today… but really, the itch to leave couldn't be further from his conscious mind. There's only one reason for that.
On the other side of the glass window he's gazing through, his daughter sits in a bassinet, swaddled cozily and snoozing the night away.
His daughter.
Spencer can't stop staring at her, drinking in the sight of her tiny features and committing them to memory. Thanks to a quirk of his brain, he only rarely forgets anything… but this is worth a special effort.
The little girl in the next room has a mess of dark brown hair on top of her head—a truly surprising amount of it, honestly, sticking up in all directions just like his own hair does. Her eyes are closed now, but Spencer knows that they're dark, too, the same deep brown that Cat's are—and her small cheeks are rounded like Cat's, too. Her nose and lips are more like Spencer's, though, and when she made a fussy face earlier, he noticed a set of dimples that are somehow unalike anyone else's, something new and unique and entirely her own.
Obtrusive thoughts of the pressures of fatherhood still make Spencer's heart rate increase, but it doesn't matter.
He's so deeply in love with that girl already.
For now, the traumas of the last year are far away, almost irrelevant. Spencer can't exactly forgive Cat for everything she's done to him… but the pain seems so worth it now. Though he still wakes up gasping most nights, dreaming of prison and certain that he'll be behind bars again when he opens his eyes, he wouldn't take it back for anything. After all, any conceivable change in events that could have led away from this moment… well, that would be unthinkable.
All that matters is the here and now, and the tiny person who now has Spencer's entire heart.
He's interrupted from his sentimental musings by the click of high heels against the polished tile floor of the hospital hallway, and he looks up reflexively.
It's Garcia.
She gives him a very warm smile when their eyes meet, and within a second or two, she has joined him at the window. "So you're a dad now, huh?" she murmurs, gently nudging his side with her elbow.
The question was clearly intended as rhetorical, but Spencer answers anyway. "Seems like I am," he agrees, his voice as low as hers. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"
Garcia shakes her head. "The way it happened is hard to believe, but the fact itself definitely isn't. I've known for years that you'd eventually have a brood of sticky-handed little geniuses following you around—it was only a matter of time."
"A brood? Don't get ahead of yourself," Spencer replies with a chuckle. "Let's see how I do with one first."
"You'll do great."
"Thanks, Garcia."
Garcia beams, and they both turn to peer through the glass again. "So which one is ours?"
"Ours?" Spencer has to laugh again.
"Okay, fine, yours," Garcia uses air quotes around the word 'yours,' showing Spencer exactly how much she disagrees with the distinction. "So are you going to show me your new kid, or…?"
Spencer shakes his head—in amusement rather than as an answer to Garcia's question—and points out the baby that will soon be coming home with him. "That's her right there."
"I knew it. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! She's the prettiest one in there—by a long shot."
Spencer laughs. "I think you're just saying that."
"Au contraire, I never hand out empty compliments!"
"Then you're biased. It wasn't even a day ago that you were calling her your newest BAU baby, remember? And then 32 seconds ago, you said our—"
Garcia cuts him off mid-sentence. "I can love her for who she is to me and objectively say that she's the most beautiful bean to ever grace this hospital," she argues, watching the baby sleep.
"If you say so."
"I do. So tell me—what's her name going to be? You've kept us all in the dark about that for way too long now."
Spencer hesitates.
In truth, he hasn't been intentionally tight-lipped about what he was planning to name his daughter, because he wouldn't have minded his friends knowing what he chose.
The problem is that he just hasn't chosen.
He's been turning the dilemma over in his mind during every spare moment he's had for months now, trying to settle on a single name. There are both too many suitable options and too few that feel right; he's been forced to accept that naming a child is best done with the help of gut feelings, not facts and statistics.
Unfortunately, intuition has never been his strong suit, and he's still paralyzed by indecision about what to call his daughter.
"Boy Genius?" Garcia prompts after a moment of letting him think. "You still with me?"
"Yeah," Spencer answers automatically.
"What's going through that big brain of yours, then?"
"I'm thinking about how names are… fascinating things."
"Are you going to elaborate on that, or should I start guessing?"
Spencer breathes a laugh. "Well, naming traditions vary wildly across the world," he begins. "For the Akan people of southern Ghana, for example, there are these things called Outdoorings—those are naming ceremonies, traditionally held eight days after a child's birth, and the child is given a 'day' name in addition to his or her legal name. Today is Wednesday, but since my daughter was born last night, she'd be given the Tuesday name for baby girls—Abena, which is associated with the meaning 'ocean.'"
"That's all well and good, but you are not Ghanaian, my gorgeous, bookish little friend," Garcia points out.
Spencer addresses her question very briefly and then continues on with his thought process, almost as if he didn't really hear her and didn't understand her point. "No, but the United States is widely viewed as a melting pot, right? There are plenty of Ghanaian-born citizens and descendents of Ghanaian people here. And West Africa isn't the only geographical region where people follow their own traditional naming customs… in parts of China, for example, it's considered bad luck to name a child before they're a hundred days old. Before that point, they refer to the baby using a temporary name or 'milk name,' and it's often an intentionally unappealing name in order to ward off evil spirits. Oh, and Jewish naming traditions are particularly interesting! For Ashkenazi Jews, it's bad luck to name a baby after a living relative or loved one, but it's customary to use a deceased family member's name to encourage the child to model character traits that the family member in question displayed. For Sephardic Jews, though, that tradition is flipped on its head."
"Are you Jewish?" Garcia's tone is very fond… but definitely teasing, too.
"No."
"Chinese?"
"No."
Garcia laughs again. "You know what? I think you're avoiding the original question here."
"Maybe a little," Spencer admits sheepishly.
"Does that mean you haven't picked a name yet?"
Spencer shrugs. "It's just… it's hard to settle on just one."
"Why?"
"Because—well, what if I choose a name and it doesn't suit her? What if I give her a name that no one can pronounce or spell correctly, and she resents me for giving her a lifetime of correcting everyone? Or what if I give her a name that's too popular and she's one of seven girls in her kindergarten class who are all called the same thing? Or what if I go too far in the opposite direction and give her a name that's obscure and weird and she gets made fun of for it?"
"Reid?"
"What?"
"For the love of all that's holy, turn your brain off for a minute. Just stop thinking so hard about it—it's not that serious, I promise."
"But—"
"No. Hush. Stop!"
"I don't think I can."
Garcia takes pity on him. "The downside to having such an absurdly large capacity for abstract thinking is that it pretty easily turns into overthinking. You're being too hard on yourself."
"That's what JJ said, too."
"Yeah, well, she's a smart cookie." Garcia lays a hand on Spencer's shoulder and squeezes affectionately. "Look, I know you, okay? You've gotta be working through some kind of list or something in your head—why don't you walk me through it? Tell me what you're considering and I'll help you narrow it down a little."
Spencer nods; maybe having a sounding board will help. "Alright."
"Hit me with it, then."
"There are three big reasons that names are chosen—there are honor names, names chosen for their meanings, and names chosen for their sound." He ticks off each of the three on his fingers as he talks. "As for my baby… I can't see myself choosing her name based on sound alone, so I've been bouncing between the other two naming conventions. Virtue names are often thought to be vague prophecies, so—for example—calling a girl Hope would be like saying you hope she has a life full of optimism and good luck. There's a part of me that likes the idea, as nonsensical as it is to think that something as multifactorial as the trajectory of a person's life path can be determined or even influenced by a given name. Still, virtue names offer a lot of lovely possibilities; I've considered Joy, Grace, Merry, and—as previously mentioned—Hope. Then there are names that have virtuous meanings that are a little more subtle… I like Sophia, meaning 'wisdom' in Greek; Allegria, meaning 'cheerfulness, joy' in Italian; and Ahava, meaning 'love' in Hebrew."
"All of those are really nice," Garcia tells Spencer kindly. "Any of them in particular that jump out at you?"
"No. Should they?"
"Yeah, I think so. I think you'll know when you find the right one."
"If that's true, then I guess I haven't yet."
"Well, go on, then. Tell me about honor names."
"Going back to the Jewish traditions that I mentioned before, I could name her after someone I love, or I could choose someone I don't know personally but whose life I hope my daughter's will emulate. There are a lot of women that would be excellent namesakes and role models—everyone from Emily Prentiss to Nefertiti. Oh, now that I think about it, Nefertiti really is a nice name…" The last part is said in jest, and Garcia laughs.
"Oh, noooo, no, no, no, no. You're not naming your child Nefertiti, you beautiful lunatic. I'm so sorry, but if you try, I will personally restrain you, tie you to a chair, and forge your signature on her paperwork—under a different name for the baby, of course. Or maybe I'll just sit on you until you change your mind."
Spencer chuckles, too, and he shakes his head. "I won't, I promise… but my point is that the possibilities are functionally limitless. The world is full of inspiring people."
"Tell me who, Wonder Boy."
"I just said the possibilities are—"
"I know! Come on, Reid, I know you're smarter than this—so try to keep up! I'm not telling you to list everyone you could possibly name a kid after, I'm just asking you to say the first ones that come to mind."
"Okay, okay." Spencer looks away for a moment and makes a face, thinking. "Marie Curie, Maya Angelou, Queen Elizabeth I, Rosa Parks, Ada Lovelace—"
When Spencer suddenly stops talking, Garcia raises her eyebrows at him. "Did you run out of breath?"
"No…"
Spencer sounds distant, lost in thought, and Garcia grins fondly at him. "You just thought of the one, didn't you? The best name, the one that just feels right."
"I might have."
"What is it, then? Come on, don't leave me hanging! You know patience isn't my strong suit, Reid."
Spencer looks between his friend and his daughter and back again, and a slow smile spreads across his face. Garcia's right—the name he just thought of strikes a chord somewhere in his gut. He can't explain it, but it just seems… perfect, somehow. Fitting.
Instead of immediately saying the name itself, though, Spencer decides to gently torture Garcia for a moment.
"Onomastics is a field that tends to draw strong opinions out of people," he begins in an exaggerated lecture voice, "particularly when it comes to anthroponymy, and—"
"You have to know that I have no idea what those words mean," Garcia cuts in.
"Onomastics is the study of names, and anthroponymy is more specifically the study of human proper names."
"Got it. Go on."
"Okay. There are a lot of people that have strong naming opinions, a common one being that children shouldn't be given traditional nicknames as their legal names. The idea is that by giving a longer, more formal 'official' name, the child is free to take on different nicknames as they age and change—and they'll seem more 'grown up' or 'professional' when using their legal names for things like applications and resumes. What's more, nicknames are—"
"Spencer Reid, if you do not stop beating around the bush and tell me, I will—"
Garcia doesn't finish her thought, but her disgruntled expression breaks through Spencer's lecture mode and makes him laugh. "Okay, okay!" He raises his hand in surrender. "Do you know who Elizabeth Cochran Seaman was?"
"No. But are you telling me that you're naming the baby Elizabeth?"
"No, but if you'd give me about twenty seconds, I'm getting to that part."
Garcia huffs—but Spencer can tell that her irritation is all for show. "Clock's ticking, Einstein. Come on."
"Thank you. Elizabeth Cochran Seaman was a journalist and inventor in the late 19th century and early 20th century. Most notably, she traversed the world in 72 days, shattering previous records, and she pioneered a new field of investigative journalism. She wrote under a pen name, though, Nellie Bly, and that's what she's better known as."
"Nellie Bly… now that's a name I know. So are you saying…"
"Nellie. I think my daughter's a Nellie." The word 'daughter' rolls uncertainly off of his tongue.
Garcia's smile—which had been just under the surface, Spencer thinks, just waiting to emerge again—widens. "Nellie," she muses, studying the baby in question through the NICU window. "I like it. It suits her."
"I think so, too, and you're right… there just a—a feeling there, one that I can't explain."
"I love it. That's a great name."
"It is," Spencer agrees, "but like I said, it's generally accepted wisdom to use a more complete name as the one that goes down on the birth certificate. So while I think I want to call my daughter Nellie, I think her legal name should be Penelope."
He watches Garcia's face closely, waiting for her to process what he's just said—because her expression has just frozen, her brain short-circuiting like one of the computers she loves so much.
Her recovery doesn't take long.
"Penelope?" she parrots softly.
"Yes."
"Like… like me?"
"Yep."
Spencer barely has time to shift his weight and widen his stance for stability before Garcia launches herself at him, hugging him so tightly he can almost feel his ribs creaking in protest. He laughs and hugs her back.
"How dare you!?" Garcia demands, her voice wobbly; she has—predictably—burst into tears. "How dare you make me this emotional?"
"I mean, if you don't think I should—" he teases.
"No! No, you can't take it back!"
"I won't."
After several long, breathing-restricted moments, Garcia partially pulls back, wiping at her cheeks with one hand. "I don't… I don't know how to thank you. This is such an honor."
"Don't thank me," Spencer says warmly. He gestures to the baby in the NICU. "Just… keep being yourself. You'll be a positive role model for her."
"There's nothing I'd rather do." Garcia squeezes him one more time before letting him go entirely. "So what's Nellie's middle name going to be?" Spencer opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, Garcia speaks again. "Don't overthink it—first name that comes to mind."
"I was thinking Diana—after my mom."
"Penelope Diana Reid…" Garcia says slowly, feeling it out. "Nellie Reid. I love it," she says for the second time.
"Yeah?"
"Yes. It's beautiful." She beams and shakes her head, looking at Spencer with so much affection that he feels something in him soften; another little piece of who he used to be that has felt lost since his stint in prison may have just found its way home. "You've grown up, my love. You're going to be such a good dad—I can't wait to watch it happen."
"Thank you—I just hope Nellie thinks so, too."
"She will. Oh, she's going to have you wrapped around her little fingers!"
Spencer studies the tiny pink bundle on the other side of the glass. "I think she already has."
And he wouldn't have it any other way.
fin.