Chapter Text
The morning sun slanted through the blinds, sketching stripes across the living room carpet. Aly, almost two, tottered unsteadily toward the couch, giggling as Ellie, nearly four, crouched beside her.
“Careful, Aly! Don’t fall!” Ellie warned, though her smile betrayed excitement.
Spencer was already kneeling on the floor, holding a sippy cup and a small stack of crackers. “I’ve got you,” he said calmly, eyes scanning the room like a radar, noting each tiny wobble and misstep. “And don’t forget hydration is important.”
Cora, seated on the armchair with her coffee, watched him. Her chest tightened in a familiar, infuriating way. He was doing exactly what he always did—brilliant, careful, and utterly… responsible. She could feel herself leaning forward, mesmerized by how naturally he moved through their small domestic chaos.
It had been a year since Aly’s first birthday. A year of bedtime stories, bath routines, snack negotiations, and playdates. They weren’t “officially” a family, but the routines and the laughter wove them together in ways words couldn’t capture.
Yet underneath it all, the air still hummed with unspoken tension. Neither Spencer nor Cora had admitted what the year had done to them—the quiet, simmering pull toward each other. They’d agreed, without ever speaking aloud, to put their feelings on hold, to prioritize Aly and Ellie above everything else.
Ellie handed Aly a stuffed rabbit. Aly squealed and clapped her hands. Spencer’s hand brushed Cora’s briefly as he steadied Aly. Neither pulled away. Neither spoke. But their eyes met, a fraction of a second too long, a silent acknowledgment of everything they were avoiding.
By mid-morning, the small apartment buzzed with energy. Spencer had Aly in his lap, reading a book aloud while Ellie played quietly nearby. Cora sipped her coffee, pretending to check her phone, but her eyes never left him. She caught the gentle curve of his smile, the tilt of his head as he emphasized a word, the precise way he tucked the blanket around Aly.
“Mommy,” Ellie called, tugging gently at Cora’s sleeve. “Watch this!”
Cora turned just in time to see Spencer lift Aly and spin her gently around. Aly squealed, Ellie clapped. Spencer’s laughter—a low, warm sound—filled the room.
Cora’s knees went weak. She gripped the armrest of her chair as if it could anchor her to reality. He didn’t notice. He never did. But she did. Every gesture, every careful decision, every moment he spent being himself—it unraveled her in ways she refused to admit.
And then he looked up. Their eyes met for a long, suspended moment. His smile softened. Aly wriggled in his lap, Ellie’s eyes sparkled, and Cora’s chest thudded painfully. He reached for her hand, just brushing her fingers. She froze, heat blooming in her cheeks.
The doorbell rang. A reminder of the outside world, the BAU calling him back to work, to life outside this bubble. Cora exhaled, letting go of her racing thoughts for a moment. But when she looked at Spencer again, at the calm certainty in his eyes, she whispered quietly to herself: I get wet at the thought of him being responsible.
And somewhere in the quiet, unspoken agreement between them, the first chapter of another year began—not labeled, not perfect, but entirely theirs.
Later that afternoon, Cora and Spencer took the girls to the little patch of park near their apartment. The sun had softened into a warm glow, and the air smelled faintly of cut grass and late summer blooms.
Aly tottered on wobbly legs, gripping Cora’s fingers for balance. “Mommy!” she squealed, taking a few shaky steps before collapsing into Cora’s arms.
Ellie crouched nearby, carefully placing twigs in a neat line like a makeshift path. “You can do it, Aly! You’ve got this!”
Spencer knelt at Aly’s level, arms ready to catch her if she fell. “You’re doing amazing,” he encouraged, voice steady, eyes full of warmth. “One step at a time, baby girl.”
Cora’s coffee cup shook slightly in her hands—not from cold, but from watching him. The way he focused on Aly, attentive, calm, patient… she could feel herself melting all over again. And when he looked at her, just briefly, and smiled, heat rushed to her cheeks.
Ellie grabbed his hand. “Daddy, do it too!”
Spencer’s head tilted. “Me?” he asked, playful.
“Yes!” Ellie insisted, bouncing on her heels.
So Spencer crouched beside her, taking Ellie’s tiny hands, showing her how to balance. Laughter and small triumphs filled the air. Aly clapped, Cora cheered, and the neighborhood birds seemed to sing along.
And Cora—she leaned against the bench, heart racing, noting quietly: responsible. Nurturing. Brilliant. Dad. Gentle. Perfectly oblivious to the effect he had on her.
When the girls finally ran off together, arms linked, Spencer straightened and looked at her.
“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.
“I… yeah,” she admitted, smiling despite the racing of her heart. “I’m fine.”
But neither of them spoke the words they both wanted to say. Not yet.
And somehow, that was okay. For now, this moment—laughter, milestones, their small, unconventional family—was enough.
The apartment was quiet, the soft glow of the nightlight casting long shadows across the girls' bed. Spencer balanced Aly on his hip while Ellie fidgeted under her blanket on the bed. He recited the story he’d memorized, the rhythm of the words soothing them both, but his eyes kept drifting to Cora.
She moved through the room with quiet efficiency, picking up stray toys, smoothing the blankets, brushing Aly’s hair back with a practiced hand. Her hair caught the light in a way that made him pause—just for a second—but enough for him to realize he couldn’t look away.
She’s… incredible, he thought. Calm, careful, capable… even when things are messy.
Ellie yawned, curling against him, and he adjusted the blanket around her. He noticed how Cora’s shoulders sloped slightly when she leaned over, the soft crease in her brow as she concentrated, the way her lips pressed together when she was focused. Everything about her… he realized, the thought catching him off guard.
He shifted Aly onto the bed beside Ellie, smoothing her hair. Spencer’s eyes lingered on Cora again. She didn’t notice—or if she did, she didn’t give it away—but he couldn’t help observing every detail. The gentle sway of her movements, the way she crouched to pick up a toy, the quiet hum she made under her breath.
Responsible. Brilliant. Nurturing. She just… fits here.
He shook his head slightly, trying to focus on the routine, but his chest felt tight. He wanted to tell her she was amazing, that watching her with the girls made him feel… something he couldn’t quite name. But he didn’t. Instead, he straightened the blanket on Aly’s crib, telling himself to concentrate on the logistics—the bedtime, the story, the lullaby schedule.
Cora’s gaze flicked toward him briefly, just a fraction of a second, and he caught himself holding her look longer than he should have. He felt a pang in his chest, a mixture of admiration and something heavier. Is this… attraction? The thought surprised him, but he didn’t have time to dissect it further. Ellie’s sleepy sigh, Aly’s tiny grip on his finger—they demanded his attention.
He followed Cora through the routine silently, noting little things: the faint scent of her shampoo, the soft scrape of her shoes against the floor, the way she tucked stray curls behind her ear absentmindedly. Each detail anchored her in his mind, and he realized he wanted more than just observation—he wanted to be near her, to talk, to share, but he had no words for it.
She’s… everything I didn’t know I wanted, he admitted quietly to himself. And yet, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t know if she felt the same, and the thought of risking what they already had—this fragile, perfect rhythm with the girls—made him hesitate.
He watched her for another long moment before looking down at his hands, trying to steady his racing heart. The words he wanted to say stayed lodged in his chest. He didn’t realize how much he affected her—or how much she might be noticing him, too. All he knew was that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and somehow, just having her in the room, watching her move, was enough for now.
When the girls were finally tucked in, Spencer straightened and let out a quiet sigh, settling into the armchair nearby. Cora could see the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his hands rested on the armrests, fingers twitching almost imperceptibly.
“Do you ever get used to this part?” she asked softly, stepping closer.
Spencer glanced at her, eyes warm but conflicted. “Which part?”
“This…,” she waved vaguely toward the girls’ rooms, “…all of it. The chaos, the… caring, the… family.”
He swallowed, gaze drifting to her briefly before returning to the space between them. “I… I think about it all the time. About them. About… you.” His voice was quiet, hesitant, careful.
Cora’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected that. “Me?”
He nodded, small, almost apologetic. “You… make this easier. Better. Somehow. I—” He paused, words faltering in the weight of the unsaid. “I don’t want to mess it up.”
She swallowed hard, stepping closer. “Spencer…” she whispered, voice trembling. “…neither do I.”
For a moment, they simply stood there, two adults suspended in the quiet aftermath of bedtime, watching over the children they loved fiercely, the unspoken words heavy between them.
And for now, that was enough. The girls were safe, the apartment was calm, and their hearts… were starting to catch up to what their minds had already known.