#cm reader

 “I…” You started, “I have good news.” You whispered, not looking away from the man’s face. The room remained quiet around you, “I know our list of victims.” 

“But?” Emily pressed, seeing the panic and fear in your eyes. You looked away from the man and to her, swallowing thickly. 

“It’s the same list of suspects.”

The room was silent, at least, you thought it had to have been, because the only thing you could really hear was the pounding of your own heart and the blood rushing through your veins. There was a squeeze once more on your shoulder - Aaron - and you became more aware of your current surroundings. Of your team, of the uniformed officers looking on. You stepped away from Hotch and he allowed you the dignity of releasing you. 

“What do you mean,” Rossi stepped forward, into your line of sight, looking at you seriously. Rossi and you butted heads the most out of anyone else on the team. He was hard on you - there was no doubt of that. You also disagreed, frequently, on a lot of things. What evidence is relevant, profiles, reasons behind actions, the moral behind actions. But mostly books - he had some pretentious haughtiness when it came to authorhood. However, despite that, and often because of that, he was the best person to bounce ideas off of. 

But this situation didn’t require the bouncing of ideas. You knew what this was now - and you felt foolish for missing it.

“I mean,” You started, trying to ignore the burning gazes of the rest of the room. You glanced to your left, spotting a rookie with a camera, who had paused and was now eavesdropping on the group. Rossi followed your eyes, catching on. 

“Are you done with the camera?” He asked, striding over to the man, who couldn’t have been 25. 

“I-Yes, I mean-” Rossi took the camera from him and was met with no resistance as he guided the younger man from the room. He threw the other local officers a quick look and they afforded them their privacy. Once your team was left alone in the room, the corpse of an old friend, from a lifetime ago, laying feet away, Rossi turned back to you.

“When,” You started before trying again, “I mean I-” How do you explain this in words? So many years, so much. Watered down into bits of information that your team can chop up even smaller - tearing their teeth into each morale you give them. They waited. “When I was 16 I got a scholarship for a university.” You finally decided, the best place to start was the beginning. 

“To the MF Norwegian School of Theology, Religion and Society.” Your companions remained quiet, allowing you to struggle your way through the tale. You were grateful for the lack of interruptions, you weren’t sure you would have gotten it out with them. “After 9/11 happened the Norwegian Intelligence Service started to come into the universities for recruitment. I wasn’t a citizen but-” You trailed off again, “I am good at what I do.” No one could deny that of you. You understood people, on a deeper level. More so sometimes then your coworkers could - as in the end most of the time they could only ever really view it within the lens they had crafted. However, you, even with some of the most putrid of suspects, allowed yourself to bask in humanity. You must have been silent for longer than you meant to, your eyes floated back towards the body only for your view to be obstructed by Hotch, moving between you.

“I worked on a top secret team for my first few years out of school.” You finally said. Your colleagues knew you had worked aboard before coming back to the US and eventually to your unit. But not in detail. Come to think of it, most of them probably wouldn’t have even been able to tell you the country you worked from. 

“Mostly internationally. Intelligence gathering. Sometimes domestic, depending on where the targets moved. The United States isn’t the only country that turned to fear mongering during that time.” Your voice was shaking slightly as you continued, feeling entirely too exposed. You pointed to the man behind Aaron. “Paul Clausen” Finally, the name left your lips and it burned like bile on the way out. “We went to school together… he joined the NIS with me.” Your eyes were glassy and your gaze far from the room surrounding you. “Paul. Ana. Jakob. Hugo. Lizbeth. Annete. Henry. Gal. Elise. Iver. Christopher. And Ronny.” Ronny’s face passed before your eyes momentarily and you shuddered before adding, “And me.” 

“Thirteen people.” Reid supplied.

“Thirteen roses.” Emily added on.

“Thirteen suspects.” Rossi signed. 

“Twelve.” Hotch looked at him pointedly, eyes briefly glancing towards you. You appreciated the backup but you knew what he meant.

“Eleven,” Morgan corrected once more, motioning to Paul’s corpse. It was harsh but true. Though, it would have never been Paul.

“Ten.” You corrected quietly, drawing back in the attention of the room. “Ronny, he passed long ago.” 

“What makes you think the victim pool must also be the suspect pool?” Reid asked. That was harder to sum up in a few sentences. 

“They are the only people who would know killing Paul would mean anything to me,” You simply supplied, and Reid nodded, stapling his fingers beneath his chin as he fell back into deep thought. You avoided Hotch’s gaze but you could feel the weight of his eyes on you regardless. Once again silence filled the room, each person on their own journey of thought, but most winding up at the same place. 

“So we make a list of their names and track them down.” Reid offered, you laughed, it was a jarring sound in contrast to the silent stretch before.

“Goodluck.” Bitterness dripped from the comment, though you didn’t mean for it to. “Some of those are aliases. We didn’t always share our real names. And even when we did? They could have stopped using those years ago.” It was the unfortunate truth. 

“Why don’t we get back to the office.” Hotchner finally decided, speaking for the first time. His voice was tighter than usual, but only so. You finally took a small breath and allowed yourself to look at the man who was still blocking you from the horror beyond. He offered a half smile, the corner of his lips barely turning, and you tried your best to return it. 

You entered the conference room and walked immediately to one of the sparse boards, picking up an eraser. You cleared the board before grabbing a pen and writing out a list of eleven names, leaving space to add more information to the 11 names. You were determined now more so than ever, to figure out who was doing this, who thought it was okay to drag your past up and out into the open like this.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked, catching the attention of Emily and Hotch who were waiting for you to finish, questions burning on their tongues. 

“Hm?”

“Why is your name up there?” He asked, and that got the attention of Rossi and Morgan. JJ and Garcia came into the room, completing your little family. You wanted to scream. But the facts were the facts, and it was too late to put pandora back into her box. It was time to address the elephant in the room. 

“Because. This is a group of highly intelligent, highly skilled, and frankly, highly dangerous people.” You addressed the room as a whole, putting the cap back on your pen with a ‘pop’. “And they’re also people I have not seen in close to a decade. We’re going to have to profile each and every one of them then,” You gestured around you,” And now,” you let your arms drop down to your sides, feeling naked you immediately crossed them in front of you offering your audience a rueful smile, “And unfortunately, I’m not naive. I know this is about me, for whatever reason, so. We will profile me too. At least me then.” Rossi was the first to acknowledge the statement, nodding and walking past Hotch to stand beside you. 

A warm pair of lips placing feather-lite kisses on your face pulls you away from the comforting arms of sleep. You sluggishly open your eyes, blinking the blurry figure leaning over you in the darkness of the bedroom into focus.

“Spence?” You drawl out, reaching a hand up to weave into his curly hair. “Don’t go.” He lets out a small laugh as he gently unthreads your hand from his hair. “I’ve got to go Y/N.” He says reluctantly, moving to rest his forehead against yours for a moment. You close your eyes, reveling in the intimacy of the moment. 

“I love you.” You murmur, your breath fanning across Spencer’s face. You reach up enough to press your lips against Spencer’s in a tender kiss. “Come home safe.” 

“I love you too Y/N. Go back to sleep.” He says as he brings the comforter back up over your shoulders. “I’ll be home before you know it.” 

If you had known that the kiss you’d given Spencer before he left for his trip to Mexico would have been the last you’d be able give him for the next 89 days (you had been counting), you would’ve made it more than a sleepy, wet kiss as you yearned for your bed. You would have hugged him tight, pressing your face into his chest, deeply breathing his musk in as you listen to his heartbeat. You would have pulled him in for two, three, four more kisses, murmuring words of love between each.

Most importantly, you would have told him what you had found out only the night before when he had been at work, that you were pregnant. If only you had known what was to happen, you could have saved yourself from the hell to come. 

---

No matter the case, Spencer always made sure to call, or at the very least text, you once a day. But after two days of radio silence, you were starting to worry. You had called him twice, leaving him a message each time asking him to call you when he could. You sent him quite a few text messages as well, becoming more and more concerned as time passed but you receive no call back from him.

By the fifth day, despite having sent a number of additional text messages and leaving enough voicemails to fill Spencer’s inbox, you still hadn’t heard from him. You are so worried that you can hardly focus at work. In fact, you are so distracted by thoughts of Spencer being kidnapped or him being shot and bleeding out in an alley that you got pulled into your boss’s office and reprimanded for your “airhead behavior”, as your boss had put it. When you arrive home, you are gripped with such anxiety and fear that you can only grab one of Spencer’s large sweaters and curl up in bed with it. You can’t even bring yourself to take off your shoes. 

The ringing of your phone early the next morning pulls you from the trance you had been in all night. You frantically start looking for your phone and quickly find it on Spencer’s side of the bed, answering it without looking at the number. 

“Spencer? Is that you? Are you okay?” You blurt out, not allowing the other person to talk before you are firing questions at them.

“Is this Y/F/N Y/L/N?” The voice on the other side asks quickly, stopping you. You immediately know it isn’t Spencer, just as much as you know that it isn’t someone you know. 

“Yes. May I ask who this is and what it is regarding?” You ask nervously, your heart quickening as you wait what feels like an eternity for them to answer. 

“I’m Penelope Garcia and I work with Spencer at the FBI.” She pauses for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to continue. “You were the most called number in the call log on Spencer’s phone and I felt like this is something you should know, as he seems to be someone very important to you, and vice versa.” The brokenness of her voice causes the worry in your chest to bubble up again. “Spencer is in jail...in Mexico.” 

“Wh-what?” You struggle to wrap your mind around what she is saying as you climb out of bed, rushing to find your discarded jacket and set of keys from the night before. You aren’t entirely sure why you’re rushing, or even where you’d be going, but that doesn’t slow you down. “Was there a case in Mexico? What happened?” 

“There wasn’t a case. He took some personal days and went to Mexico for some experimental medication for his mother. He...um..he was arrested for murder, but he doesn’t remember anything.” 

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to sit in one of the living room chairs as you try to fight off the sobs rising in your chest. “Is he, is he going to stay in Mexico? I mean, is he, no, when will...he didn’t do it.” You stammer out, as you try to slow your racing thoughts, stop the inevitable tears from falling, and make your word coherent. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I don’t have the answers to those questions yet. But, I can keep you updated if you’d like. The team left a few hours for Mexico to help Reid. They want to get him transferred to a prison in the states.” Her voice is comforting, but does nothing to tamp down the feeling of impending disaster that is rising in you. You manage to get out a shaky goodbye to Penelope before you lose grip on your emotions.

You struggle to get a proper breath through the onslaught of tears as the reality of the situation hits you. Your phone clatters to the floor as you bury your face in your arms, drawing your legs up to yourself as you try to push it all away. Eventually the tears slow and stop. You gradually unfurl from the cramped up position you had been in. You numbly make your way to the kitchen and somehow manage to make yourself breakfast. The rest of the day passes in a hazy blur, with you almost forgetting that you were supposed to be at work (you called in sick once you remembered, but your boss wasn’t happy the call was coming in three hours late). You spend the night, clutching Spencer’s pillow and wishing that this were all a dream. You don’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning, when the exhaustion of the last few days finally overtakes you.

The ringing of your phone wakes you later that morning, serving as a reminder that you have to face the day ahead, as much as you don’t want to.

“Y/F/N? This is Penelope with the FBI. I called you yesterday about Spencer.” Her greeting has you sitting up, trying to clear the foggy cloud from your brain so you could think. 

“Penelope, have you found anything else out? How is Spencer?” You plow over any possible pleasantries as you ask the question that had been on your mind for the last day.

“The team was able to get him extradited to the United States.” She starts, her words helping to ease some of the anxiety that had built up since you had learned about Spencer’s imprisonment. “He isn’t out yet, but the team is working on his case. In the meantime, I’m setting up a visitor schedule. If you’d want to come down to Quantico, I can help you fill out the necessary paperwork and get on the schedule to see him, if you’d like.” You quickly voiced your agreement and after getting directions and setting a time, you hung up with Penelope, your mood considerably elevated for the first time in days. 

A glance at the clock has you scrambling out of the bed and to your closet. You had completely forgotten about the doctor’s appointment you had scheduled days ago, before your world had been flipped upside down. You manage to get dressed and ready to go in less than ten minutes, arriving at your appointment only a few minutes late.

Your appointment is short as the doctor just does a routine exam, confirming your pregnancy and letting you know that the baby was healthy so far. You receive a list of different things to avoid (such as caffeine and smoking) and a few different things that are beneficial to your, and the baby’s, health (such as prenatal vitamins). After your appointment, you quickly stop at the store to pick up a few things suggested by the doctor, before heading back to Spencer’s apartment, where you had been staying. Although he had never officially asked you to move in, you had been staying at his apartment most nights for the past few months and had your own drawer and spot in his closet. And with the events of the past few days, it had just felt right to stay, almost as if you had one small part of him still with you. 

 You go to bed early that night, really early, in hopes of getting the time to pass quicker. The prospect of seeing Spencer has you anxious and excited at the same time, making sleep nearly impossible. After a few hours of tossing and turning, with no sleep, you climb out of bed and get dressed. You grab your purse and keys before leaving the apartment. You walk the short distance to your car and start it. Despite knowing that you would be hours early to your meeting with Penelope, you still start the drive to Quantico and the FBI building. 

After almost an hour in the car, and twenty minutes with security (in which they had to confirm your meeting with Penelope before they gave you a visitor credential), you finally made your way to the floor where the BAU team worked. Your eyes scan the bullpen and immediately you recognize Spencer’s desk, even though you had never seen it before. You recognize the pattern in which the items are placed and the semi-clearness of his desk space; it is identical to the desk he uses for work at home. You make your way towards it, tracing a finger along the fake wood edge as you take a seat in his desk chair. Sitting here, you can almost feel his presence behind you, his voice speaking up, sharing an idea he had or some crazy fact, his fingers tapping along the edge of his desk. You take comfort in the feeling as you rest your head in your arms on his desktop. It isn’t long before you are closing your eyes and falling into a light sleep.

A tap on your shoulder jerks you awake, causing you to fly up in a sitting position and blink at the harsh light of the bullpen. “You must be Y/F/N Y/L/N. I’m Penelope Garcia.” A cheery blonde, wearing a bright orange dress and matching hair accessory, as well as holding a bright pink pom topped pen. 

You stand, smoothing out any wrinkles in your outfit before offering a hand out to her. “Yes, that’s me.” She takes your hand but instead of shaking it, pulls you into a hug. You are taken back by her forwardness, but give her a squeeze in return.

“Let’s go see what we can do to get you on the visitor list.” She says softly, leading the way to what you could only describe as her office, although it more resembled a cave, filled with more types of technology than you would know what to do with.

Penelope gestures to a black swivel desk chair set next to the wall. “Here, take a seat. I’m going to pull up Spencer’s information and see if we can get you some visitor paperwork.” She says as you take a seat in the chair. The longer you sit there, the more nervous you feel. Unconsciously, you rest your hand on your lower stomach, right over the small bump that was starting to form. 

You don’t realize that you are zoned out until Penelope clears her throat. “Are you okay?” She nods at your hand resting on your stomach. You quickly pull it away, straightening up in your seat. “Yes, I’m fine.”

She gives you a long stare before speaking. “I have some good news and some bad news Y/N.” You nod, waiting for her to speak with bated breath. “The good news - you can call Spencer.” 

You wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. “And the bad news?”

“I can’t add you to the visitor list. It seems that Spencer doesn’t want you to come see him as a visitor.” She can’t look you in the eye as she says that.

You are quiet after that, not entirely sure what to say. The thought that he doesn’t want to see you hurts. But you also know Spencer, and whatever the reason, you know he has one.

“He can take a call in about five minutes if you want to get on the call list.” She says, looking up from one of her monitors at you. You nod quickly, before voicing your agreement. The five minutes of waiting seemed to go on forever, but finally, she is patching through to a prison phone. “Here you go, he should be on the other line now.” The fact that she immediately gave the phone to you, instead of taking some of the time to talk to him, had you smiling gratefully at her. ‘Thank you’, you mouth as you take the phone. 

“Spencer? Is that you?” You ask, your heart in your throat as you wait to hear his voice.

“Y/N, it’s so good to hear your voice.” He speaks quietly, the low quality of the phone call causing his voice to crackle.

“I know you didn’t do it Spencer. Whatever they are saying, it isn’t true.” You whisper, clutching the handset close to your ear, as if that would bring him closer to you. 

“Y/N...I don’t know-” He starts but you cut him off, knowing he was going to tell you he wasn’t sure what had happened.

“I know Spencer, but I also know you. And that isn’t who you are.” You say thickly, as you fight back the coming tears. “I want to see you Spencer. Why don’t you have me on your visitor list?”

“I don’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want you to see me here.” You start to argue that it doesn’t matter, but some yelling in the background cuts you off, after which Spencer says, “I’ve got less than a minute Y/N before I’ve got to hang up.” He says solemnly, the sorrow in his voice echoing the sorrow you felt. 

You push aside the topic of seeing him, not wanting to waste what little time you had left talking to him by arguing. “I love you Spencer. Don’t forget that okay? I don’t care how long it takes, we-I will be here when you come home. You have a lot of people here in your corner Spencer. They will get you out.” You push back the tears as you talk, not wanting him to hear you cry.

“Gosh, I love you and I miss you. I wish I was th-” His voice is cut off, followed shortly by a dial tone.

You grip at the handset, calling “Spencer? Spencer?!”, wishing for him to respond.

“I’m sorry Y/N. The call ended.” Penelope says quietly. You hand over the handset, moving to sit back in the swivel chair against the wall, roughly wiping away the evidence of your tears as you do.

“What do we do now?” You ask through the tears.

“We wait. The team is working on his case and I will keep you updated on everything that happens. Do you need anything?” She asks, giving you a good look.

You are telling her before you consciously realize what you are doing. “I-I’m pregnant. I just found out and I haven’t had the chance to tell Spencer. I don’t know what to do. I want to tell him when I can see him face to face, when he can enjoy it for what it is, a blessing. But I hate hiding things from him.”

Penelope gives out a little squeal, bouncing up from her chair to hug you tight. “Oh, you are gonna have a baby Reid!” She says loudly, taking a step back from you. The look on your face must have given away the shock on your face because she is quickly apologizing. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry. What can I do to help Y/N?”

“I just, I need someone to talk to. I miss him, a lot. It’s hard to be going through this alone.” You whisper, looking down at your hands in your lap. 

“Girl, you don’t have to ask. I’d love to be your friend.” She says excitedly, giving you a soft shoulder bump. “And I’m going to do everything I can to get the boy wonder home to you.” She gives you a small smile. “And your little one.”

---

The days follow a routine after that. Work, talking to Penelope, and the occasional doctor’s appointment. Penelope comes to some of the appointments as support, which you appreciate, and when you find out the gender, she insists on going shopping for baby items with you. You are able to talk to Spencer a few more times, although each phone call is shorter than the last, and leaves you missing him even more. 

Each doctor’s appointment is harder than the last. All you could think of when you hear the baby’s heartbeat is that Spencer wasn’t there. All you could think of when you feel the baby move for the first time is that Spencer might never be able to feel your baby move like that. He might never get the chance to feel your baby kick. All you can think of when you hear the gender of your baby is that Spencer might never get to experience that excitement, that joy, of imagining all the future things that might be in store for the baby. 

---

Late one evening in early May, after a long day at work (which you had spent almost entirely on your feet) and a feeling of nausea that had lasted all day, you dig through Spencer’s side of the closet and grab one of his cardigans. You pull it on, wrapping around you as well as you can with your growing belly getting in the way. 

You grab one of the many books resting on Spencer’s side table, taking it with you as you head to the living room. You pull the afghan blanket off of the back of the leather wingback, carrying it with you as you move to the dark leather couch. You get comfortable, wrapping the blanket around your legs and waist before opening the random book you had grabbed.

It isn’t long before the story has your eyelids drooping and your muscles relaxing, giving into the cloud of exhaustion that hung over you. The book, forgotten and half-open, falling to the floor doesn’t wake you, and neither does your cell phone, distant and tinny, as it rings from the bedroom. You don’t wake at the jingling of a key in the lock or the opening of the apartment door. However, the heavy thud that follows the apartment door falling shut has you jerking awake, one hand coming to rest on the swell of your abdomen, the other on the back of the couch. You struggle a bit to sit up, but when you do, after taking a moment to study the intruder, you realize it’s Spencer.

“Spencer?” You whisper, moving slowly from the couch, not entirely sure if he was real or a figment of your imagination. Either way, you didn’t want to scare him away. You stop when you are a foot from him. You search his light brown, almost hazel eyes, the pain and darkness within them, swirling around and hardening his expression. You tentatively reach out with your hand to caress his face. Your fingers slowly graze his stubble covered jaw before you move to rest it against his cheek. 

He leans into your touch, bringing his large, rough hand up to cover yours. Your eyes fill with tears, causing your view of him to become blurry and before you can stop yourself, you are throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you can get. 

He is quick to return the hug, but after a brief moment, he becomes stiff, his arms sliding loosely down your back. You step back, feeling hurt and confused at his sudden rejection of your affection.

“What’s wrong?” You murmur as you roughly wipe a hand across your face, trying to get rid of the tears that were running down your face. 

“You’re pregnant.” He states, his eyes no longer looking at your face, but instead, your belly.

Your heart beats faster, a rush of excitement going through you. This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for. You’d finally get to tell Spencer that he was going to be a father.

“Spencer, it’s ours.” You answer softly, gently taking his hand in yours and placing right above where the baby typically kicked. “You’re going to be a father.” 

“I-I am?” He questions in disbelief. His hand, which had been rigidly resting on your belly, slowly relaxes just as the baby kicks. He jerks his hand away, stepping back and bumping into the door. He brings his hands up, pushing them into his hair. His fingers grip onto the long, curly locks as uses his palms to cover his eyes. 

“No, this isn’t happening, it’s a dream. I don’t deserve this.” He is rambling now as he slowly slides down the door, landing in a sitting position. His face is still covered with his hands as he continues to ramble. “This isn’t real. I don’t deserve this.” 

“Spencer?” You murmur, keeping your voice low, but audible as you kneel down beside him. You place a gentle hand on his arm, afraid that your touch might startle him. He doesn’t move as he continues to talk to himself. You bring your other hand up to cradle his still covered face. You stay this way for a long time, holding him as much as he’ll allow in his closed off position. Eventually, he stops muttering to himself and is quiet. You shift then, until you're sitting next to him against the door. 

“Lie down, Spencer.” You whisper softly, brushing a lock of his hair back away from his face when he turned to face you. You slide your hand from his hair and over his shoulder, gently pulling him down towards you. He didn’t resist, placing his head in your lap and allowing you to run your fingers through his hair. 

The two of you stay that way until your butt goes numb from sitting in the same place for so long. You squeeze Spencer’s shoulder with your hand to get his attention. “Let’s go to bed, Spence.” You say. He slowly gets up, offering you a hand as he does, avoiding any accidental brushing of your stomach as he did. You keep his hand in yours as he leads the way to the bedroom, only letting go when you move to your side of the bed and get in. He is gone for a few minutes, coming back with a low-slung pair of gray sweatpants and an old college T-shirt on. He gets in bed, but instead of wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close as he usually did, he simply laces his fingers through yours. 

Weeks pass this way, with you and Spencer going back to life as it was, or at least as much as the two of you could with Spencer’s new work schedule and the fact that you were getting closer and closer to your due date. The fact that things remained the same though, as they had been when Spencer arrived home for the first time, was what worried you.

Never once did Spencer engage in the conversations you started about the baby or the nursery you wanted in the small spare room across from the bedroom you and Spencer shared. Whenever you commented that the baby was kicking, he found some excuse to leave the room. He still only ever held your hand at night, completely avoiding your ever-growing belly both in bed and anywhere else. It was almost as if he was trying to pretend as if you weren’t actually pregnant, as if what was happening wasn’t reality.  Not only were you constantly uncomfortable, tired and just all around ready for the baby to come, but you were frustrated that Spencer still acted as if you weren’t pregnant, as if anytime within the next few weeks you wouldn’t be handed a newborn, making the two of you parents. You had finally had enough when you had mentioned going shopping for baby supplies about two weeks prior to your due date and he ignored you, continuing to wash the dishes. At first you thought he hadn’t heard you, so you repeat yourself, but when he acted much the same way a second time, you slam your hand on the table.

“Spencer, you can’t ignore this pregnancy. It may not be something you want right now, or ever, but you can’t just ignore it.” You snap at him, the irritation you had been feeling at his callous behavior finally surfacing. He doesn’t answer as he continues to wash the dishes from dinner. You can tell he heard you though, by the unnecessary sheer force he was using to scrub the plate in his hand.

“Spencer,” you pause, waiting until he is looking at you before continuing. “You have to find a way to accept it. This baby is coming.” Your tone is softer now, but your words don’t hold any less bite.

“I can’t accept it Y/N. Accepting it means it’s reality.” He lets out a harsh, joyless laugh. “And the reality is that I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve a baby. And I definitely don’t deserve this life with you.” He is no longer facing you, rather his back is to you, his shoulders tensed and hunched. 

You place a tender hand on his elbow, wanting him to turn so you could see his face. Instead he roughly pulls his elbow out of your hold, flinging soapy water through the air before returning to the plate. “Spencer, look at me.” You try to speak clearly, steadily, but your voice cracks, betraying the emotion behind your words. 

He does as you ask, but his face is twisted and dark in a way you had never seen before. “Damnit Y/N. You have no idea what I’ve done or who I am.” He is yelling at you now, waving a half washed dish to emphasize his point, causing you to take a step backwards. “You think I should be the father of that child,” he gestures wildly at your belly, “when you don’t even know who I am, what I am.” He drops the plate and the sponge, letting them clatter loudly against the metal basin of the sink, as he walks towards the front door of the apartment, his hands still dripping wet. 

“Where are you going?” Your words are barely audible as you try to force them past the growing lump in your throat. 

He ignores your question as he grabs his jacket from the coat rack by the door and leaves the apartment. The loud thud of the door closings clangs against your ears, the tears you had been trying to hold back freely falling now. You were beyond angry at him, despite knowing you shouldn’t be because he had gone through hell the past few months. You couldn’t bring yourself to wait for him to come back. You were tired of the constant bickering and the numerous different times he had chosen to ignore any mention of your pregnancy or the baby.

You quickly fill your duffle bag with the things you’d need for a few days as you called Penelope. The phone rings three times before she answers with a bright, cheery “hello, Garcia.” 

“Penelope, hey. It’s Y/N. Can I stay at your place for a few nights?” You ask as you zip your bag closed. “I need some space from Spencer.” 

“Of course girl. You’re welcome anytime.” She says warmly. “I’ll get the couch made up and Y/C/M queued up on the TV.”

“Thanks Penelope. I’ll see you soon.” You end the call and upon reaching the kitchen, you find a piece of paper and a pen.

Spencer,

I am going to stay with Penelope for a few days. I just need some space.

I’ll be back in a few days.

I love you.

Y/N

You magnet the note to the fridge, where Spencer will be able to find it. You then grab your bag and make your way out of the apartment and down to your car. The drive to Penelope’s doesn’t take long, and when you knock on her door, she is there, holding a pint of your favorite ice cream and the TV remote. “Come here girl.” She proclaimed, pulling you into a side hug. 

The two of you watched feel-good movies well into the night. It is really hard for you to get comfortable, despite being on Penelope’s comfortable sofa, but you chalk it up to being 38 weeks pregnant and partaking in a ‘girls’ sleepover’. When you finally become too tired to keep your eyes open, you rifle through your bag, finding your toothbrush and toothpaste. “I’m going to brush my teeth Penelope.” You say, standing up to go to the bathroom. A wet sensation washing all down your legs has your frozen in place. The pinching sensation in your back intensifies, causing you to sit back down. “Penelope..” You call through the pain. 

“Huh? Y/N?” Penelope answers groggily, sitting up from her relaxed position on the oversized chair. If the situation weren’t so serious, you’d be laughing at the way her hair was standing up in random directions.

“Penelope, I think I need to go to the hospital.” You say, letting out a breath as the pain subsided. She is at your side within moments. “What’s wrong? Is it-oh.” Penelope stops as she sees the evidence of your leaking amniotic fluid on pants. “Let’s go Y/N. We’ve got a baby Reid on the way.” She says cheerily, helping you up. She grabs your bag, which was sitting by the door and helps you out to your car, opening the passenger door for you. The drive to the hospital goes much slower than you would like as a combination of traffic and increasing contractions makes the thirty minute drive feel twice as long. 

Upon reaching the emergency room, you are wheeled into a private birthing room with Penelope following closely behind. She stays with you throughout the next six hours of labor, leaving only once near the end. The closer the birth of your child gets, the foggier you feel. At one point, someone else enters the room, hovering near the head of your bed, but you can’t focus enough to see who it is.

After six hours and twenty-eight minutes of labor, you give birth to a beautiful baby girl. Shortly after birth, she is placed on your chest, a bright pink and green striped blanket placed over her backside. You laugh through the tears as you look into her eyes for the first time, an overwhelming feeling of love overtaking you. The hustle and clatter of the doctors around you slowly fade away as you get lost looking at the face of your newborn daughter.

“Y/N, she’s…” Spencer’s voice startles you as he trails off, causing you to take in his lanky form, framed by the hospital room door. “I...I don’t know what to say.”

“This baby, she’s a piece of you and me and if all I’ll ever get is a piece of you, then I’ll be happy. I love you and I want this life with you, but I can’t force you to love us either Spencer.” You pause, wiping away the tears falling down your face in frustration. “No matter what you think Spencer, I won’t ever stop loving you, just as this little girl won’t ever go a day without knowing who her father truly is. A kind, compassionate man who gave himself wholly and completely for the people he loved, regardless of what that meant for him. That’s who her father is.” You are looking at the baby in your arms now, her bright wide-eyed look bringing a small smile to your face.

You aren’t paying enough attention to Spencer to realize that he had come closer, almost to your bed, and was now staring at the girl in your arms in amazement. “She’s so small.” His words are thick with emotion and cause you to lift your head to look at him. His hazel eyes are glistening with unshed tears as he stares at his daughter.

“Do you want to hold her?” You question, slowly moving her towards his hands, which were hanging awkwardly out in front of him, as if he had anticipated your question. He hesitates a moment before nodding so you place her in his arms.

He cradles her against his chest, holding her as if she was made of glass. His eyes never stray from her face as they study her features, almost as if he was memorizing what she looked like in case he never got to see her again. You lean back against the stiffly starched hospital pillows as you watch them, exhaustion pulling at you.

“You would never have to force me to love her, or you.” His words snap you from the light doze you had fallen into. He is no longer standing as he watches the baby in his arms, now he is sitting in the chair next to your bed, the baby sleeping soundly in his arms. His eyes bore into yours as if he is trying to tell you with his eyes what he was struggling to with his words. 

“I have never stopped loving you.” He looks down at the baby girl in his arms, running a gentle finger over her small cheek. “I just don’t understand what I did to deserve this, to deserve you and her.”

His words break your heart and you place a hand on his knee. “Spencer, of all the people in the world, you deserve this. You deserve love and a family. You do. And I’ll be here, no, we’ll be here everyday to remind you, of who you are and what you do deserve.” You whisper, squeezing his knee as you look at him through teary eyes. 

He leans forward to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.” Those two words, uttered softly near your ear, hold more meaning than the typical words of gratitude and they meant the world to you. They meant he would stay, even if it wasn’t always easy, even if it wasn’t always what he felt he deserved, he would stay.