A/N: Hiya, friendly federal agent friends! As always, thanks for reading... any time I get a notification of having received kudos/comments/bookmarks, y'all make my day. I appreciate all of you! 3

Now that we've got our characters/interpersonal relationships established, we'll start getting a little plottier pretty soon. Next chapter will cover Christmas + a little more. Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, and hope y'all will stick around for the next one!

All my love,
Cynthia

"I once knew all the answers / I stood on certain ground / A picture of true happiness / A confidence so effortless / No brighter could be found." — "Not Me" from Aida

December 1st, 2017

To Clara's pleasant surprise, the transition from living with her mother in Georgia to living with Spencer and Nellie in D.C. is relatively painless.

She's lived in houses with infants before, so she's well accustomed to the idea of following a baby's routine. It doesn't matter that Spencer doesn't really need her help, that he's a perfectly capable parent of his own power. She is still there supporting him, and it makes things… seamless. She has a purpose here, and it's been a long time since she had that.

It's nice, Clara finds. It's really nice.

She and Spencer take on their own roles in the household with little to no thought—and suddenly, it's like she has always lived here. Spencer does the grocery shopping, Clara does the laundry. He cooks, she cleans up afterwards. Things will certainly change at the end of Spencer's paternity leave when he goes back to work, but for now, things are close to ideal. It all just… works.

Clara is enjoying watching Spencer learn to be a father, too—this isn't the first time she's witnessed a new parent figure out what they're doing. It's always endearing, a process of trial-and-error at the hands of a tiny tyrant. For all his intelligence, Spencer is no different. He's at the mercies of Nellie, and she's running the show.

Clara is generally content to watch and pitch in where she's needed.

For the first few weeks, her role is that of a teacher. She observes what Spencer and Nellie are doing and adds pointers or makes small corrections as necessary. For the most part, she's supervising and doing little more, because Spencer is far from helpless.

Sometimes, though, he really does need someone with a more experienced eye to explain to him what's going on.

Tonight, for example, Nellie is fussier than usual. Clara stands in the kitchen, leaning against her favorite spot at the counter and nursing a cup of hot tea. She can see Spencer in the living room, trying to reason with a very small human who's incapable of being reasoned with.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs as Clara watches, bouncing the little one in his arms with an increasing sense of desperation, "what do you want? Whatever it is, I'll do it, but I don't…" He cuts himself off with a yawn. "I can't figure out what it is."

The nanny has watched him sort through the possibilities for the last twenty minutes, trying to decipher what's bothering Nellie. He's fed her—she only took half a bottle, but that in and of itself isn't completely out of the ordinary. She's not on a regular schedule yet.

Then he changed her diaper; it was wet but not otherwise soiled, almost certainly not enough to bother her this much. Regardless, the dry diaper didn't seem to satisfy whatever imbalance was upsetting her, and still, she cried.

Spencer then tried rocking her, reasoning that she was probably overly tired and in need of sleep. That didn't work, either.

Now he's pacing the living room, clutching her against his chest and seeming to approach his wit's end. Clara suspects that she knows what's wrong, but she won't step forward until she's asked to. If Spencer wants to get this down, he'll ask for help when he needs it. Until then, all Clara can do is be a sympathetic bystander.

Babies, as she knows from long experience, are difficult creatures to satiate.

It takes another ten minutes for Spencer to admit defeat. Clara can see it when it happens; he starts shaking his head and muttering to himself—or maybe to Nellie, it's hard to tell—well before he turns to the nanny. Then his pacing slows, and the determination with which he's bouncing Nellie starts to wane. He slows to a stop in the middle of the living room, and only then does he rotate in his employee's direction.

"Clara?"

She has been waiting for this, but to save his pride, she acts as if she's only just noticed him there. "Mm?"

"Can you…"

Clara takes pity on him, because he doesn't even seem to know how to ask for exactly what he needs. "Having some trouble calming Nellie?" she suggests.

"Yeah."

Clara sets her now-empty mug in the sink and plods her way to where he's standing. "I think I know what's wrong."

"What is it?"

"Do you have any guesses?"

Spencer shrugs, adjusting his hold on Nellie; Clara doesn't offer to take her, and there's a reason for that.

"I fed her, and I changed her diaper," Spencer explains. "I tried to get her to sleep. I burped her. I don't know what else she could want."

Clara nods. "Well, let's think about this. Her basic physiological demands have been met, right?"

"Yes."

"So what's next?"

Spencer looks down at his tiny daughter, his expression torn between love and exasperation. "From there, we move up Maslow's hierarchy of needs," he answers slowly, thinking out loud. "Safety needs are at the second tier—she'd need to feel secure."

"Do you think she does?"

He nods.

"Alright. Next?"

"Psychological needs—or more specifically, social needs… intimate relationships, friendships, family relationships and the like."

"I think that's where she's getting stuck."

"But I…" Spencer trails off, frowning.

Clara can practically see his analytical mind whirring, trying to sort out answers; she's almost positive that he's overthinking it. "Spencer, don't forget that she's just as human as you and I."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, she's been introduced into a world that's much bigger and scarier than the one she's been in since her conception, right?" the nanny reasons. "She's coming to terms with a lot of new experiences. They're mostly good, but not all of them are. So yes, she's been fed and clothed and cuddled, but that's not always going to be enough. Sometimes—much like you and I—she's just going to be… unhappy. She's going to be in a bad mood, because what she's experiencing is more than she's ready to handle. That's just life, right?—but it's enough to make even an adult feel moody every now and then. She just needs to get through this, that's all. It's as simple as that."

Spencer sighs; he can't quite refute Clara's logic, as much as he'd clearly like to have an obvious solution to fix his daughter's woes. "You're probably right," he concedes.

"I know I am," Clara tells him with a little smile.

"So what can I do for her?"

She shrugs, sympathetic to his plight. "You do exactly what you're doing now."

"Holding her? Bouncing her?"

"Yes… but more importantly, you're just… being there for her. Cuddle her and lend her some patience. Love on her. Make her understand that as scary as this world is, as disorienting as it can be, she's not alone. She's got you. She's got me. She's navigating the complexities of the world with us at her back."

"That's… poetic."

Clara laughs. "Maybe, but it's also true. She's absolutely fine, Spencer. She just needs a little time, and a little love."

"I can give her that."

"Then she'll come out the other side stronger for it. Have faith. It won't take long to get through this."

Spencer nods and adjusts his hold on the baby, making sure she's totally secure and warm. "Do you think she likes it when I talk to her? Would that help?"

"It might. You could even sing to her, if you want."

That draws out a reluctant smile from the profiler. "I'm not a very good singer," he admits.

"Ah, well, she hasn't heard enough music to know the difference yet. I doubt she'll judge you."

"You might, though."

Clara chuckles. "No, I won't. I solemnly swear! You should give it a try."

Spencer wrinkles his nose. "Alright…" He sounds more than a little doubtful, which makes Clara laugh again. Then he opens his mouth and starts to sing—it takes the nanny a moment to recognize the tune as "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider."

Okay, she has to admit that Spencer has a point. Singing is not exactly his forte.

As she predicted, though, Nellie doesn't seem to be too harsh a critic. In fact, as Spencer sings—first repeating the song he just sang and then moving onto what Clara thinks must be some sort of classical Italian aria—Nellie quiets and then falls silent entirely. By five minutes into the impromptu concert, she's completely asleep again, and Spencer slowly falls quiet, too.

When he's confident that she's really out, he turns to Clara again and beams. "You're brilliant," he tells her fervently.

She grins. "Thank you! But really, I'm just experienced. This will be second nature to you before you know it. You'll start to hear the differences in her cries—she'll tell you when she's hungry or tired or just generally upset. It'll become the easiest thing in the world to identify what she needs and give it to her… at least until she grows and starts to develop more complicated problems. For now, though, everything she wants is pretty straightforward."

"I'm sure you're right, but seriously—I just… I have no idea about any of this. You're a lifesaver."

The praise feels so heartfelt that Clara can't help feeling thoroughly warmed by it, and it makes her candid. "Spencer?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. Really, thank you. Not just for…" she shrugs in his general direction, meaning everything he's just said. "For that, too, but also—thanks for taking a chance on me. I'm happy here. You and Nellie are lovely."

"Oh!" For some reason, Spencer seems almost embarrassed by what Clara has said, but he's clearly pleased as well. Maybe 'bashful' is the right word. "We're really, really glad to have you." His tone tells her that he's feeling slightly awkward, but the comment seems genuine.

Clara reaches a sudden, happy conclusion: quite without trying to, she gained a friend in Spencer Reid.

December 2nd, 2017

"Spencer, you know I hate flying!" Diana is saying, her voice frustrated.

Spencer can sense a hint of fear behind her words, though, and no matter how tired and (shamefully) exasperated he is, he knows it's his responsibility as her son to protect her from things she's afraid of as much as he possibly can. He'd been afraid of this—he won't be able to get his mother here for a visit. He'll have to make the trip himself.

"That's alright, Mom. I was just asking—I'm not going to make you step foot on a plane, okay?"

"Thank you. I—I don't like flying." This time, her voice is much smaller, and it tugs on Spencer's metaphorical heartstrings.

"I know. It's okay. Don't worry, okay? I won't ask again." He pauses for several seconds, waiting for Diana to pull herself together a little so the conversation can continue in a more lucid manner. When he hears her breathing return to a normal rate, he continues. "Can you tell me what your plans are around Christmastime this year?"

"Why?"

"Because Nellie and I want to come visit you. I just wanted to make sure you're not already committed to anything else—remember when you rode a donkey at the Grand Canyon? I'm just double checking that you'll be home and not out in the world having some grand adventures without me." Spencer hopes his mother can hear the smile and gentle tease in his voice.

He really misses having her close by, but he knows that her memory care assisted living facility is the best place for her. She's back in Las Vegas where she's happiest, and she knows the facility and its staff and fellow patients well enough to feel really and truly home when she's there.

Still, it's hard to come to terms with the fact that she sometimes doesn't remember who Spencer is when he calls her. She'd probably do a little better with keeping her son accessible in her long-term memory if she saw him more regularly, but unfortunately, his job, his makeshift family, and his entire life are on the other side of the country. He'll just have to make peace with his mother's gradual descent into worsening Alzheimer's.

Diana has been silent as he raced through that depressing train of thought, and after a few moments, Spencer prompts her again. "Mom, did you hear me?"

Instead of answering directly, Diana asks a question of her own. "Who's Nellie?"

Spencer's heart sinks. His mother knows who he is today, but she doesn't seem to remember that she has a new grandchild. "Nellie is my daughter. Remember, Mom? She's just over a month old, and I'd really like to bring her to Nevada to meet you. Would that be alright? I'd love to come for Christmas," he repeats.

"Christmas? That's in…" Diana trails off, and Spencer is just about to answer her sentence for her when he hears her flipping a page; she's consulting a calendar, trying to figure things out for herself. It's good for her brain to engage in things like simple math on days like today when she'd not entirely living in the present moment. "Twenty-three days," she finally finishes.

"Exactly. What do you think?"

"I'd love to have you here for the holidays, Spencer."

Diana's voice is firmer now—she's found her footing, and it's helping her stay lucid.

"I'm so glad to hear that, Mom. Thank you so much. I miss you, and I want you to meet my daughter."

"I miss you, too, sweetheart."

"You don't have any field trips planned that week, do you?" he reiterates.

"There's nothing on my calendar," Diana responds.

"Good. I'll buy some plane tickets for Nellie and me, then. I'll let you know what our itinerary looks like once I've got it a little more planned out, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm going to go start planning right now… I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, Spencer. Hopefully, I'll see you soon."

"You will in a few weeks, I promise. Good night."

When the call ends, Spencer goes to settle into his rarely-used desk. It's covered in books and picture frames, and it takes a few minutes for Spencer to clear a space to set down the also rarely-used laptop that he pulls out of one of the desk drawers.

He's still comparing flights when he hears the front door of the apartment open, and Clara comes in, struggling slightly with two large bags of food—one from hers and Spencer's favorite Chinese restaurant a few blocks away, and the other filled to the brim with the groceries that she'd initially set out to get.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Spencer jumps to his feet. "I would have opened the door and helped if I'd realized you were back already."

"No worries! It was faster than I expected, too. There were no lines in the grocery store today. I really lucked out, and I stopped by House of Lu on a whim on my way there, so I ordered then and by the time I was finished at the store, the food was ready for me to grab on my way back. Hope you're hungry, because I bought a lot."

"I've long since learned not to do any kind of food shopping when I'm particularly ravenous, because my eyes are bigger than my stomach," Spencer empathizes, smiling.

"Exactly. See, you get it?" Clara laughs a little to herself and makes her way to the kitchen to start putting things away. Spencer follows and silently begins to help as Clara keeps talking. "I've got a nosy question, though—what on earth were you doing on the computer when I got home just now? Obviously, if it's something private, you don't have to answer, I'm just curious because I've never once seen you use a laptop. I didn't even know you had one."

Spencer laughs. "I prefer books to websites in general, but this time, I needed an internet connection. I'll tell you what I was doing in just a moment—but first, I've got a question or two for you."

"Fire away."

"Do you have any plans for Christmas?" he asks, pulling some plates from a nearby cabinet and starting to portion out rice and kung pao chicken for both of them.

"Not yet. Since I only have one friend here aside from you and she's going to be out of town visiting family, I'd sort of assumed that Christmas for me would look like any other day of the year, just hanging around here with you and Nell and helping out wherever I can. Why, though? Are you going somewhere?"

Clara puts the last of the small grocery haul—a half gallon of milk, a bag of shredded cheese, and some cherry tomatoes—into the fridge and turns around, leaning casually against the counter and finally looking directly at Spencer. She notes that he looks sort of apprehensive, and she's not sure why. Does he feel like he needs to hang around the apartment and entertain her?

"I'd like to take Nellie to see my mother," Spencer answers, turning around to lean against the opposite counter and look at her, too. "I wanted to know your plans, because if you didn't have any, I was going to invite you to come to Las Vegas with us. Obviously, since it's a holiday, I wouldn't expect you to work—I just wanted you to know that you're welcome to join Nellie and me if you'd like to."

Clara's answering smile is very warm. "Don't get me wrong, Spencer, I'm touched by the offer, I really am—but I won't intrude on your family time. Go with Nellie and have a good time! I'll be absolutely fine on my own here."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to have to be by yourself during what is traditionally considered to be a family-centered holiday." Spencer's concern is genuine, as is his offer.

Clara is firm, however. "I'm positive."

"Do you want to go spend time with your mom? I think Nellie and I will be gone for a week, but if you'd like to go somewhere yourself, you can take as much time as you need."

If Spencer wasn't watching Clara's face so intently, he might have missed the brief flash of pain that appears on her features and disappears as quickly as it came, and he wonders what she isn't saying.

For once, though, he doesn't really have to speculate; Clara is generally a very private person, and although Spencer has enjoyed getting to know her over the last month, he doesn't know very much about her history, especially the more personal details of her past. It's unusual for her to volunteer information like this.

"I… mm, my relationship with my mom is—complicated, I guess you could say," she admits softly after a moment. "Even when I briefly lived with her before moving here to work for you, we didn't spend much time together and it was better that way… a little more time apart will do us good. Trust me, it'll be a happier holiday for both of us if we're seven hundred miles apart."

Spencer nods, sympathetic. He knows what it's like to have complex parental relationships, and although he's naturally curious about what led to Clara's less-than-happy connection to her mother, he knows better than to push her. "I'm sorry to hear that," he replies, his voice just as quiet as Clara's. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I won't bore you with the details, and I don't want to trauma dump on you." Clara gives him another small smile, but this one seems more forced than the last one. "If you really want to know, though, the gist of it is that I went through some awful things a while back, and my mom, um… oh, goodness, it's such a long, uncomfortable story. Basically, she turned her back on me when I needed her, and I've had a hard time trusting her ever since."

"I'm so sorry," Spencer repeats sincerely, wondering again what the circumstances might have been.

"Don't be. It's ancient history." Clara then turns the conversation away from her own life and back to his, and Spencer senses that she has said everything she's willing to say; he takes her lead and lets her change the subject. "Enough of my own drama, though—you seem excited to visit your mom! Are you close to her?"

"I am," Spencer confirms, and Clara's unusual transparency makes him want to reciprocate and share some of his old pain, too. "Our relationship isn't always easy, though. It seems like a different situation than what's going on between you and your mother, but we've had quite a few bumps in the road, too. I don't think I've ever told you this, but my mom is schizophrenic and suffering from Alzheimer's."

"Oh, Spencer, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Spencer echoes her earlier sentiment, half-smiling. He's attempting to make his friend understand that he's merely relating to and sympathizing with her own struggles, not trying to one-up her. "That's why Nell and I are going out to Vegas rather than Mom coming here, though. Flying is one of the things she has irrational fears about, though. She wavers back and forth a lot—we made a trip to Paris once and she was completely fine, but she's afraid to make the much shorter trip to Washington right now."

"I understand. Are you sure you can get there and back with the baby all by yourself, though?"

Spencer shrugs, having worried about the same thing but already resigned himself to the idea. "I'm sure it'll be a challenge, but we'll manage."

Clara tilts her head to one side without speaking for a moment, considering him. "Do you want me to go to Las Vegas with you guys, just to have another set of hands helping with Nellie?" she finally asks.

Spencer shakes his head firmly. "I was inviting you as my friend, not asking you as your employer because I want you to work."

"Alright. Please let me know if you change your mind, though—as we've already established, I don't have any important plans that would get in the way, and I genuinely wouldn't mind helping if you need it."

"You're too good to me," Spencer replies, smiling and shaking his head slightly. He doesn't let the nanny argue, though, pressing a plate of Chinese food into her hand. "Come on, let's eat."

December 4th, 2017

When JJ walks into the café, hand-in-hand with her not quite 3-year-old son Michael, Spencer is pushing Nellie's stroller back and forth, essentially rocking the baby and encouraging her to settle down for a nap.

The café is far from busy, so JJ spots Spencer almost immediately and makes a beeline for his table. He looks up when he hears footsteps, and smiles widely when he recognizes his friend. "Hi!" he exclaims happily, standing up to greet them. It's nice to get to catch up with his best friend on a random Monday when normally, they'd both be at work. Spencer, of course, is still out on paternity leave, and JJ stayed home to take Michael to his slightly early three-year-old checkup at the pediatrician's office.

"Hey, Spence." JJ gives him a hug that he readily returns, and when they separate, Spencer kneels to give Michael a hug, too.

"Uncle Spence-uh!" Michael cries, giggling when Spencer picks him up and whirls around in a circle, sending the little boy's sneaker-clad feet flying through the air. (JJ ducks, laughing.)

"How's it going, buddy?" Spencer asks, grinning at the slightly sticky-faced kid in his arms.

"I got a shot," Michael informs him, clearly feeling very self-important and grown-up for having accomplished this. Spencer couldn't agree more.

"Did it hurt?" he wants to know, raising his eyebrows as high as he can and aiming to look suitably impressed.

"Yeah. But big boys sit sooooooo still, and me, too."

"Oh, yeah? How still were you?"

"Like this!" Michael's whole little body goes rigid in demonstration (making him significantly harder to hold); Spencer, still chuckling, sets him down on the ground.

"Great job. You're braver than I am!" Spencer praises.

"He didn't even cry!" JJ shares, smiling at her rambunctious offspring as he scrambles up into her lap as soon as she and Spencer sink down into their respective chairs. "And what did Mama say you could have if you were a big, brave boy and let Dr. Sanders give you a quick little shot?"

"A cookie!"

"That's right! Do you want to go pick one out?"

"Yeah!"

JJ points Michael in the direction of the sweets display a few feet away by the cash register, and once Michael's little feet carry him toward a mesmerizing array of sugar-filled treats, JJ grins at Spencer. "Alright, that'll only buy us thirty peaceful, toddler-free seconds, so you'd better talk fast. How are you doing? How's Nellie? Are you feeling a little more settled now?"

Spencer had anticipated these questions—this is the first chance he's had to sit down and really talk to JJ in quite some time, since the rest of the team was out on a case for the better part of the month he's had Nellie. "We're adjusting—all of us. Nellie is… wonderful." He can't help smiling down at his sweet baby; she's not quite asleep, but she's well on her way there, and she blinks sleepily back up at him when he beams at her. "She's just wonderful. It's awfully cliche, I'm aware, but I didn't know I could love someone this much. If she'd only let me sleep for a few hours every now and then, I'd say she's a perfect angel."

JJ laughs. "I'll remind you of that once she hits her terrible twos and turns into a veritable terrorist. You won't love her any less, but you'll strongly consider dropping her off at the nearest orphanage anyway." She looks fondly over at her own two-year-old (though Michael is nearly three) and chuckles as she watches him holding an incredibly animated conversation with the poor cashier about his Hot Wheels collection.

"I look forward to it," Spencer decides honestly. "Michael has so much personality—not that Nellie is devoid of personality, exactly, she just doesn't have the muscle tone yet to show it off to anyone and everyone like he does."

"Yeah, he's not shy, is he?"

"Not at all, but I'm jealous. I wish I had his self-confidence."

It's then that Michael comes running back over—JJ has to grab the front of his jacket to keep him from falling over backwards when he fails to account for his momentum and bounces off his mother's knees at full speed. "Whooooa, slow down there, little Mr. Nascar," she chastises him gently. "What did Mommy tell you about running inside? Especially in a café where people are carrying hot coffee?"

"You said not'a do it."

"That's right. So why were you doing it?"

Michael holds up one chubby fist to show JJ a very large M&M cookie. "Wanted you to look! Look at my cookie!"

"How did you get a cookie with no money?" JJ demands suspiciously, glancing up at the cashier who is now checking out someone else.

"Dunno, Mama." Michael pauses to take a bite and then continues, spewing crumbs everywhere (and making Spencer involuntarily scoot his chair back half a foot to remove himself and Nellie from the line of fire). "Was tellin' her 'bout all my cars and—and—and—she gived me the cookie and said 'go to Mommy'."

"She gave you a cookie," JJ corrects, her voice gentle. "Can you sit down and eat it nicely, please?" When she's got Michael settled in the seat next to her, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head at Spencer, but he knows she's fighting off a smile. "Are you sure you can't wait?" she asks her friend. "If you're really just itching to parent a toddler, you're welcome to take this one home for a few hours. Or months."

Spencer laughs, hearing the pride and love in JJ's voice beneath the pretend-exaggerated irritation. "He's great. I'm jealous, though—I wish people gave me cookies when they wanted me to stop talking and go away. I usually just get a command of 'shut up, Spencer' and a dirty look."

JJ joins in the laughter this time. "Well, would cookies work? Because if so, maybe we should stock the jet…"

Spencer gives her the very same dirty look that he just mentioned, and she wrinkles her nose at him. Then both of their expressions melt into relaxed smiles, and it's nice. For once, things are going well for both of them. They're happy, healthy, and free.

"Honestly, though, Spence," JJ says softly, "you're really coming into your own as a dad. Everything about you just screams 'contentment'. I'm so glad to see it."

"Thank you so much, Jennifer." Spencer is genuinely touched by the compliment. "If you'd told me a year ago that this is where I would be today, and that I'd be so unbelievably happy about it, I would have assumed you'd lost your mind. But life is really good right now. Nellie is great, Clara is great, and there's always someone laughing in the apartment. It's never quiet, which would have bothered me in the past but is now something that I cherish."

"Good." JJ makes the spontaneous decision to lean in and kiss Spencer's cheek, making him blush in half-embarrassed happiness. "Have you and Emily talked about when you're coming back to work?"

"Not in any detail, but yes. I'm planning to return to work once Nell is roughly eight weeks old. I know we're able to take twelve weeks of paid parental leave, but that's available to be used during the child's entire first year of life. I decided to hold onto those last four weeks and use them a little at a time as she gets older. That way, I'm able to be a little more flexible—did I tell you that Nellie and I are going to see my mom for Christmas?"

"No, but that's wonderful!" JJ exclaims.

"I'm nervous, but I'm really looking forward to introducing my girl to my mom." Spencer smiles. "Anyway, with four additional weeks available for my use, I can visit my mom again for a week here and there later on when Nellie's a little older and able to interact with my mom a little more. Obviously, she spends most of her time sleeping right now, but she'll start growing out of that soon."

"That's smart," JJ praises. "Also, when Nellie gets sick, you'll be able to take time to stay home with her. They tend to get catch communicable diseases a lot when they're little as their immune systems build up over time. I know you've got a nanny, but trust me—you'll absolutely want to be there yourself with your kid the first time she gets the sniffles. That's the voice of experience speaking."

Spencer chuckles softly, having no trouble believing her. "Clara will probably know how to handle that sort of thing and do a much better job of taking care of a sick baby than I would, but I'm dreading having to leave Nellie with her for the whole day when I go back to work… and that's with a healthy baby. I know it's going to hit me so much harder the first time Nellie gets a cold," he remarks in complete agreement.

"It'll probably be harder on you than it'll be on Nellie," JJ concurs, smiling sympathetically at the thought. "Good that Clara knows what she's doing, though. How's she working out?"

"I couldn't be happier with her," Spencer replies sincerely. "I imagine any of the candidates we interviewed would have been competent and trustworthy, but there's something about Clara that just… fits right in with our tiny family. She's wonderful with Nellie, and she's also excellent with me as a first-time parent. She has seemingly endless patience, and she's a great teacher. She's quickly becoming one of my closest friends and favorite people."

JJ is surprised by the enthusiastic answer—she'd expected to hear an employer's perfunctory assessment, but the way Spencer is talking about the woman in question, you'd think they were a lot closer than parent and nanny… and maybe they are. It's not a bad thing, though; Spencer needs to be able to trust his nanny absolutely, and having had an incredibly difficult and painful life up to this point, it's great to see him striking up new friendships, too. JJ worries about him, and she's not the only one. The entire BAU is protective over him, partially because of the way the universe seems perpetually ready to crush his spirit but also because he sometimes has trouble connecting with people. Those who know and love him understand him in ways that most people don't, and it's potentially a very positive thing that Clara might be joining those ranks. JJ makes a mental note to try to get to know the nanny a little bit herself. Maybe she'll invite the other woman out for lunch someday soon.

She doesn't share any of her inner commentary, though, not wanting to make Spencer feel self-conscious. Instead, she just gives him a wider smile. "That's wonderful, Spence. Sounds like things are kind of falling into place for you, don't you think?"

Spencer nods, but for a moment, he gets a far-away look in his eyes.

"Hey, what's with the raincloud that just popped up above your head?" JJ asks, nudging him gently with her elbow.

"Hm?"

"You went from happy and peaceful to frowny and not totally here with me. What gives?"

Spencer's frown deepens ever-so-slightly, and he glances down at Nellie as if he's considering closing her little ears and thereby protecting her from what he's about to say. Besides the fact that she doesn't yet speak English, though, she has also finally succumbed to nap time and is snoring slightly; Michael is watching her with great interest, having never had the chance to examine a baby this close before.

"Spence?" JJ prompts, growing a little more concerned with every second that passes without Spencer speaking. It's just such a sudden and jarring one-eighty in his mood that she immediately assumes something is wrong.

"Sorry, I just… I was thinking."

"What about?"

"About how things seem to be going a little… too well."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs. "Nellie is great. Clara is wonderful. I get to see my mom soon. All of those are good things—but something is missing, too."

"What is it?"

"Cat Adams."

JJ makes an involuntary face of displeasure, but it almost immediately turns into an expression of confusion. "You're not seriously saying that you miss her, are you!?"

"What? No, of course not." Spencer shakes his head. "It's just…"

"Spit it out, Spence. You're making me nervous."

"She's just—absent."

"In what way?"

"I haven't talked to her since the day Nellie was born."

"Maybe she's finally grown bored of messing with you," JJ suggests, but the notion seems to fall flat with Spencer and JJ doesn't even believe it herself. "How often were you talking to her before she gave birth?"

"More often than I wanted to be," Spencer answers, making a face. "You know I was visiting her once a month as per the agreement she and I made, but she often used her phone privileges to call me, too. I always took her calls, more because I was afraid of what the consequences would be if I rejected her than because I actually wanted to talk to her, but still… I spoke to her probably once a week on average. It's unsettling to me that I haven't heard a word from her in over a month."

"What do you think she's keeping her distance for?" JJ wonders.

Spencer shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know. She's got to be biding her time for something, because you and I both know that she isn't the type of person to just… give up. She's never going to admit defeat. I'm just worried that her silence is a symptom of a larger problem. The only good part—besides, of course, the simple joy of not having to talk to her—is that she no longer has any power over Nellie. When she was pregnant, she always had the option of intentionally doing something to abort the pregnancy or otherwise injure Nell in some way. Now, Nellie is safely out of her reach. That doesn't mean I'm going to let myself be lulled into a false sense of security, though…"

"Nor should you," JJ agrees, "but still… you're right. I think she's up to something."

"But up to what?"

They look at each other, far more sober than they had been for most of the coffee date.

Neither has an answers, and that's worrying. What is Cat Adams plotting now?