Echos of a Genius | Spencer Reid

In A Days Work

Stephie

The house is perfect.

It took months of searching, endless listings, and more than a few arguments. I can't count how many houses Spencer loved that I didn't, or how many I fell for that he thought were impractical. But now, standing here, I feel a rush of relief. It's a cozy two-story house with a wraparound porch and a big backyard, enough space for our family to grow. Spencer's already talking about turning one of the rooms into a home library. And for the first time, I can picture us here, raising our daughter in a home that feels like ours.

"Are you sure about this one?" Spencer's voice pulls me from my thoughts. He's standing next to me, his hand gently resting on my swollen belly. I'm nearly eight months pregnant, and everything feels heavier—my body, my emotions, even my thoughts.

I look at him, the worry creasing his forehead, and smile. "Yeah, I'm sure. This is it."

His shoulders relax, and he smiles back, that same soft, loving smile I've grown to rely on over the years. "I'm glad."

Moving in, however, is a different story.

The entire team insisted on helping. Spencer tried to argue, but JJ and Derek weren't having it. "You're not doing this on your own," JJ had said, giving me a knowing look. "We've got this."

Now, the house is buzzing with activity. Emily and Penelope are unpacking boxes in the living room, while Rossi and Derek are tackling the furniture. I can hear JJ talking to Hotch in the kitchen, probably organizing everything for the nursery. They've all been so excited about the baby, and I'm touched by how involved they've been throughout the whole pregnancy.

"Don't lift that, Penelope!" Emily calls from the other room. "I'll get it."

"I'm fine, Em," Penelope grumbles, though she sets the box down with a dramatic sigh. "I'm a strong, independent woman."

"Yeah, and you'll be an independent woman with a bad back if you keep lifting that stuff wrong," Emily teases, laughing.

I smile at their banter, grateful for their help but also feeling a little guilty that I can't do more. Spencer's been hovering over me all day, constantly telling me to sit down, take a break, or drink water. I know he's just worried—his overprotective side has been in full swing since we found out about the baby—but I'm going stir-crazy just sitting here.

"Stephie, you really should sit," Spencer says, appearing at my side with a glass of water. I roll my eyes but take it, knowing there's no point in arguing.

"I'm pregnant, not made of glass," I mutter, taking a sip.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You're almost eight months pregnant and overexerting yourself. Please, just take it easy."

I laugh softly, leaning against the kitchen counter. "I am taking it easy. You're the one running around like a madman."

He doesn't laugh. Instead, his eyes soften, and he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. "I just want everything to be perfect before she gets here."

My heart swells at the way he says it—she. Our baby girl. Baby Genius, as Penelope's been calling her. It's funny how something that once seemed so impossible is now so close to becoming reality. We're about to become parents.

"I know," I say quietly. "But you don't have to do everything. We have help, and we've got time."

He nods but still looks a little stressed, so I pull him close, resting my head against his chest. His arms wrap around me, and I feel him relax, his steady heartbeat calming my own.