Hiya, my beauties! Welcome back! As before, the italicized sections are happening in Spencer's past, and the non-italicized are happening in Spencer's present. All sections should be dated, so hopefully the sight jumping around isn't TOO confusing. Of course, if you're lost, drop me a comment and I'll do my best to clarify!

Important to note: if you've read my only other published Criminal Minds fic (it was posted on AO3 about a year and a half ago under the title "so much hope was held"; I may end up also posting it here, because I honestly kind of adore it as its own little narrative, and it's my hope that it'll draw people into this story!), you've already read part of this chapter! Feel free to skip it and move on if it's familiar to you; this is the only time that'll happen in this story!

As always, thank you so much for reading, and I love you, dear readers, to the moon and back!

XOXO,
Cynthia

"I know the truth and it shocks me / it's flown just a little too far." — "I Know the Truth" from Aida

May 29th, 2017

It's uncomfortably easy for Spencer to convince the guards to fetch the prison doctor, and it's just as simple to convince the doctor to order the proper tests. All it takes is a little flashing of his badge. If this was any less important, he wouldn't abuse his federal authority like this… as it is, he's more or less implying that these tests are for some kind of case, even though they're only for his own needs.

Cat consents to a blood test, though, and no one questions it.

Spencer's part is different—he only has to have his mouth swabbed. Parts of his DNA will be compared to the fetal DNA that's expressed in Cat's bloodstream, and just like that, they'll have a nearly-incontrovertible answer. With nearly 100% certainty, the results will say whether or not the baby is his. In most cases, paternity tests are performed following a baby's birth, not during gestation, but the circumstances behind this particular child's conception are so wildly unusual that Spencer feels the tests are appropriate.

The results will take a little time to arrive, during which Spencer will just have to learn to be patient.

Following the collecting of samples, Spencer once more sits across the interrogation table from Cat, attempting to broker some sort of deal. Regardless of the child's parentage, Spencer feels some sense of responsibility over its care and wellbeing, at least in the short term. There's no one from whom the baby is currently in more danger than Cat herself.

"First—and most importantly," he begins, leaning forward and ensuring that Cat holds his eye contact, needing her to understand how serious he is, "I want to know what your plans are. Do you intend to carry the pregnancy to term?"

"If it's yours?" Cat clarifies, raising her eyebrows and sounding—as usual—apathetic toward the proceedings at hand.

"Whether or not it's mine."

Cat seems to consider the question for a moment, and finally, she shrugs. "I guess."

"Will the results of the paternity tests change your plans?" Spencer wants to know, curious as to whether or not Cat would find any strategic advantages to carrying Lionel Wilkins' baby for the entire nine-month pregnancy. He's certain that none of her actions are driven by any kind of genuine maternal desire.

"Maybe."

"Alright. Say the baby isn't mine. What do you plan to do? Surely you understand that you'll never be allowed custody of the child, right? If the baby is Wilkins', it'll go into the foster care system."

"Obviously." This is accompanied by an eye roll.

"So what would you get out of that scenario?" Spencer prods, trying to suss out Cat's ulterior motives. "What's in it for you?"

"Wouldn't you just love to know?" Cat replies sardonically.

"Yes, which is why I'm asking." It's difficult not to match Cat's tone.

"Guess I'll tell you, then—never say I never did anything for you." Cat pauses for dramatic effect. "Are you aware that I'm on death row? They won't execute a pregnant woman, but that doesn't really matter to me—I'm the one who requested the death penalty in the first place. I'm bored of this place, and death would at least give me a nice change of pace. But what I really want out of pushing out some brat is to gift the world a little bit of me, even if I'm gone. I mean, look at me, Spencie—I'm too talented to die. I'm too intelligent, too special, too fucking pretty. Why should I deprive the world of… me?"

This little monologue is met with a fair amount of skepticism on Spencer's part. Cat's explanation sounds rehearsed; she was clearly expecting him to ask that particular question, and he doesn't really buy her answer. His suspicion is that should the paternity test name Wilkins as the baby's father, Cat will choose to abort the fetus and wash her hands of the whole affair.

If the baby is Spencer's, however, then things will certainly change.

"And if the baby isn't Wilkins'?" Spencer presses.

"What would you want me to do?" Cat shoots back, answering Spencer's question with another question as a diversion tactic. "What do you think, Spencie? Are you ready to play Mr. Mom?"

Spencer shakes his head. "What I would choose is irrelevant. You're the one who would be carrying a baby to term—pregnancy is a major medical condition, and it would affect you in more ways than I think you're thinking it will. To you, this baby is a pawn, but that doesn't mean pregnancy won't be incredibly uncomfortable for you. So what are your plans?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll abort the little shit… or maybe I'll hold onto it. After all, I've got a built-in hostage, don't I? Daddy's little baby is in my hands. If it's your kid, you'll have to follow my rules if you want to keep it safe. Are you ready to spend the next five months doing exactly what I tell you to?"

At last they've reached the crux of the matter. At last, they've addressed the elephant in the room.

Spencer waits several long moments before he replies, trying—much like Cat had a few short minutes ago—to find a way out. He conclude fairly quickly that there isn't one. If he wants his child to survive the duration of the pregnancy, he has to follow Cat's instructions to a tee. She has really and truly cornered him…

If the baby turns out to be his, that is.

June 21st, 2017

Six weeks of mandatory leave drags by for Spencer. He's always hated being idle, but so much has happened in the last few weeks and months that sitting at home has him feeling nearly as restless as he felt in prison. He'd give almost anything for the distraction of a nice serial murder by the end of the third week, but that's probably the point of the mandatory leave itself… the idea is to take a break and come to terms with all the trauma the team has been through. If they all lose themselves in their work and don't process everything that happened, they're going to hit a wall sooner or later.

Of course, Spencer is somewhat of the opinion that later is the ideal time to fall apart. Instead, he's doing it now, and he has no one to help him through it. That's mostly his own fault.

In the wake of finding out about the results of the paternity test, Spencer withdraws completely from his friends. This is something he needs to figure out his own feelings on before presenting it to the people who love him; they're certain to have strong—and loud—opinions. Spencer will be better equipped to deal with those opinions once he has a stronger grip on his own emotions.

As he adjusts to the knowledge that his life is mere months away from changing drastically and permanently, though, he just… doesn't know how to bring it up. He does stop actively avoiding his friends, but he doesn't give them the news. This is one bomb that he can't figure out how to drop.

In the end, he decides that he'll tell them all at once, and that he'll wait to do so until their leave period is over.

The day they're allowed to return to Quantico—finally!—another weight is lifted from Spencer's shoulders… he's officially reinstated. Of course, there's a caveat he wasn't expecting, and he's somewhat disappointed that he'll be forced to continue to take time off from work in the future on Bureau-mandated sabbaticals. All things considered, though, the committee's decision could have been far more catastrophic, and really, having time off will probably be a good thing now that he has a child to think about. (That's still a very strange thought in and of itself, but he's slowly getting used to it.)

The good news bolsters him, and once the team meets up in the round table room, Emily shares some announcements. Those are good news, too.

Then it's Spencer's turn, because if he puts this off any longer, he's going to lose his nerve entirely.

"Okay, let's get things started," Emily says, and the team has just started moving toward their seats when Spencer interrupts.

"Um, actually, I have an announcement, too, if that's okay," he says awkwardly.

Emily gives him a cautious look, but she gestures to him to go on. "By all means," she agrees. "The floor is yours, Reid."

"Thanks." Spencer sticks his hands in his pockets and looks around at his friends, all of whom are staring at him with varying degrees of curiosity. "So, um… after everything that happened before our mandatory leave period started, something just… didn't seem right to me. I couldn't get it out of my head, and in the end, I had to get some answers for the sake of my own sanity. About a week after I last saw you guys, I went to Mt. Pleasant to see Cat Adams."

That is met with a fair amount of surprise and disapproval—JJ, closest to Spencer, says "you didn't!" in a low voice.

Spencer holds up a hand, asking for silence, and after a few moments, the room is quiet again. "There's a reason I didn't tell any of you what I was doing," he continues, his voice slightly wry. "I didn't think you'd approve, and clearly, I was right. Either way, I needed information that only Cat could give me. I'm glad I did, though I'm certain she would have sought me out sooner or later if I hadn't gone to her first." He clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets once more, feeling awkward and nervous and self-conscious. It's time to stop beating around the bush and tell the rest of the BAU what happened.

"I went to ask Cat about her pregnancy. I knew that you all assumed when Lionel Wilkins' involvement was proven and he was shot that he was the father of Cat's baby, but she had told him and me both that we were the father, and she was lying to one of us. I needed to know whether or not it was me." He pauses briefly and has to clear his throat. "We did a paternity test. As it turns out, she was telling me the truth. She is pregnant… and the baby is mine."

Spencer counts the beats of silence after he finishes speaking. One, two, three… it's eleven seconds before someone speaks. "You're joking," Garcia whispers. "Please tell me you're joking."

Spencer shakes his head. "For better or for worse, there's a baby coming in November. My baby."

Then everyone starts talking at once, asking questions and sharing opinions.

"What are you going to do?"

"That bitch!"

"What does she want from you? She's got to be angling for something."

"Spencer, are you—"

"I don't know!" Spencer interrupts loudly, interrupting his friends' reactions. "I just don't know. Fiona pointed me in the direction of a good family lawyer, and my new lawyer is helping me figure out what the next steps should be. Until then, I've been advised to keep my distance from Cat, which I'm all too happy to do."

"Are you okay, Spence?" JJ asks once he stops.

He shrugs. "I don't know that, either. I will be, though. I have a child to think about now—I can't afford to lose my head."

Luke claps him on the shoulder. "Well, the circumstances might be weird, man, but you're going to make a great dad."

Spencer smiles slightly. "Thank you." Then he jerks his head in Emily's direction. "But that's all I wanted to tell you all, so we should get to it—we have a case, right?"

"We do," Emily confirms, gesturing for everyone to go sit down and coming to Spencer's rescue, "and Reid's right. There's work to do." She clearly understands his desire to stop being the center of attention for now, wanting to avoid the dozens of questions he knows he'll have to answer eventually but for now wants nothing more than to avoid.

She catches Spencer's eye and gives him a smile; he mouths 'thank you!'.

November 1st, 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 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 yours?"

Spencer points out the baby that will soon be coming home with him. "That's her right there."

"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?"

"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," Garcia 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 friend," Garcia points out.

Spencer continues on with his thought process, only barely acknowledging her point as if he didn't hear her. "No, but the United States is widely viewed as a melting pot, right? There are plenty of Ghanaians here. And West Africa isn't the only area with 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, but it's customary to used 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?"

"No."

"Chinese?"

"No."

Garcia laughs again. "You know what? I think you're avoiding my question here."

"Maybe a little."

"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 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 arm 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. 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." This confirms the depressing conclusion he'd come to on his own.

"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." The last part is said with a wink, and Garcia laughs.

"Oh, noooo, no, no, no, no. You're not naming your child Nefertiti. I'm so sorry, but if you try, I will personally restrain 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! I'm not saying 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 tends to draw strong opinions out of people, 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 nicknames as 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 job interviews. 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."

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?"

"Mhm."

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—"

"No! No, you can't take it back!"

"I won't."

After several long, breathing-restricted moment, 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, sounding 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 affectionate 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."

Once Clara has her bags unpacked and her things arranged neatly in dresser drawers and the closet, the room looks exactly the same as before: empty and impersonal. It strikes her as vaguely embarrassing that her has so little in the way of physical possessions, but even after rebuilding for more than a year, she hasn't accumulated much.

Still, it makes moving in easy, and that's not all bad.

It feels odd somehow to meander around an apartment full of someone else's things, but Clara forces the feeling down. This is her home now, too, and that's just going to take some getting used to.

Her impression of the apartment is on the whole the same as the impression she got when she first walked in two weeks ago. The place is cozy and warm, stuffed to the brim with books and papers but somehow still organized, uncluttered. It has a very lived-in feel, as if its occupant has spent many an hour lounging on the leather sofa, reading through the stack of books placed in easy reach on the coffee table. It's funny, because Spencer had said he just moved in… maybe it's the absent occupant that gives the apartment that feeling and not the space itself.

Clara sits down and glance at the titles of the books closest to her; Spencer has quite the varied taste in reading material, she decides. The World in a Man-of-War by Herman Melville is on the top of the stack, resting on a textbook entitled Bioethics: Principles, Issues, and Cases by Lewis Vaughn. Then there's a biography of Shel Silverstein, a book on flight theory and aerodynamics, and finally a book of baby names.

It's the latter that Clara picks up, pulling it carefully from the pile to avoid toppling the tomes on top, and she settles back into the cushions to thumb through it. This book is more worn than the others in the stack; clearly, Spencer has spent a lot of time with it. Clara wonders what name he's going to settle on—the book claims to offer more than 10,000 choices.

As if her musings have called to him, though, a text from Spencer himself makes Clara's phone ding. She looks at the screen, and what she sees makes her smile.

[Spencer Reid]: Introducing Penelope "Nellie" Diana Reid, born at 11:06pm on October 31st and weighing in at 5 lbs, 1 oz.

Attached is a slightly grainy photo of a squishy newborn in a clear plastic bassinet, clearly taken with a not-quite-smart phone. Despite the quality of the photo, it's clear to Clara that the little girl at its center is very cute, and—more importantly—very loved.

She composes a quick reply message.

[Clara Rose]: She's gorgeous! Congratulations!

[Spencer Reid]: Thank you. Hopefully, you'll be able to meet her soon. Her APGAR score one minute after birth was nine, so despite being slightly on the small side, she's doing very well. I estimate that she'll be discharged in 24-to-48 hours.

The formal way he texts makes Clara laugh, and not for the first time.

[Clara Rose]: I'm so glad to hear it. How does it feel to be a father?

[Spencer Reid]: Indescribable.

[Clara Rose]: Good answer.

[Spencer Reid]: How are you settling in? I'm sorry for not checking in sooner.

[Clara Rose]: I'm fine, don't worry about me! You have bigger (and cuter!) fish to fry at the moments, and things are going swimmingly on my end. All quiet on the homefront.

[Spencer Reid]: Would you be able to pick Nellie and I up when she's discharged in a day or two? With as rushed as things were getting to the hospital in the first place, I don't have a car here.

[Clara Rose]: Of course! Happy to help out in any way that I can. We're a team, and I promise you can count on me.

[Spencer Reid]: Thank you so much, Clara! There's a carseat in the hall closet. There should be installation instructions in the box, but you can call me if you get confused.

{Clara Rose]: Oh, are you the carseat expert?

[Spencer Reid]: I've never installed one, but I have a PhD in engineering. I'm sure I can figure it out. Hopefully.

Clara has to laugh, glad he's responding to her light ribbing with humor. He seems very laid back, and she hopes that'll prove to be true. So far, he's easy to get along with.

[Clara Rose]: Between the two of us, we'll get it working. Are you coming home tonight, or are you staying at the hospital?

[Spencer Reid]: I'm going to stay here with Nellie.

[Clara Rose]: In that case, is there anything you need me to bring you?

[Spencer Reid]: No, I should have everything necessary in the go bag I had with me on my case, but thank you!

[Clara Rose]: Sure thing. Just keep me posted.

[Spencer Reid]: I will.

[Clara Rose]: Good night, Spencer.

[Spencer Reid]: Good night, Clara.