"Is this a date?" Lila asks casually, stirring her tea. They're at the main lobby of the Renwick Gallery of the Smithsonia American Art Museum, a castle-like brick structure with a quaint little café. Reid, obviously, orders black coffee that quickly turns a milky tan after all the milk and sugar he's dumped into it.
He chokes on it, before hastily wiping his mouth. "Uh—well, I mean…" What qualifies as a date? What is a date? He doesn't quite know. "Usually a date is… planned, right?" He fumbles, awkwardly.
Lila smiles, a tilt of her lips that could have meant anything. "Can it be one if I want?"
Reid blushes. "… If you want."
"Good." Her smile grows then, more honest. "Well come on then, Dr. Reid." There's a coy, playfulness to her as she pulls him up, holding his hand in hers. "Take me on a date."
And I can tell just what you want,
You don't want to be alone.
what you know
two door cinema club
He's looking into the chrome colored depths of his rum and tonic, stirring occasionally. Morgan yelps from where he's waylaid by a pretty blonde woman. Hotch broods with Rossi in a corner—the man looks just as unhappy to be here as Reid does. Garcia hasn't let go of his arm since they walked in, and Prentiss and JJ have already made for round four.
"I'm just glad we got you out of your house." Garcia says, matter-of-factly. Reid can see the genuine, pleased expression underneath all the fairy glitter. "I mean really, how many times can you watch Empire Strikes Back in a row?"
"You'd be surprised—
"Don't give me a statistic."
Reid smiles softly, ducking his head. "It's my favorite one."
"It's mine too, but there comes a point in your life where you just gotta—" She makes a schlick! noise, motioning to her hand. Reid laughs aloud. "Cut the hand at the wrist and say, 'I am your father."
"That doesn't make any sense." Reid points out.
"Let go of the hand, Reid!" Garcia crows, grabbing his wrists and pulls him into the crowds of people, who seem to dance to the heartbeat of the music. There's a pulsing from the bass line, and Garcia keeps telling him to 'let go of the hand'; whatever that means.
"I'm not holding your hand!" Reid calls back over the music, though Garcia is obviously really, really drunk is she's already making up illogical Star Wars references.
"The hand, Reid!" Garcia repeats with a shriek of laughter. Someone he doesn't know has begun to dance with her, and she's shaking the moves back. Reid is left for about two seconds, before Morgan comes to sweep him up into another crowd.
By the time he's made it back to the high tops they had been before, he's exhausted and smells like other people's smells and JJ and Emily are sitting among crowds of bottles and look deep in discussion.
"Reid!" JJ calls him over. "Come here, come here!" She grins, looking entertained by a drunk Prentiss even though she hasn't drank at all. "We've got a question."
"Yeah, yeah." Prentiss calls in. "A factual question."
"Alright…" Says Reid, warily.
"Relative to it's size," Emily begins, slurred. "What animal has the largest testicles?"
For a moment, Reid only opens his mouth.
"Speechless!" JJ crows, and Emily dissolves into laughter. "He's speechless! Em, Em, we did it. He's speechless. He has no idea."
"I'm not speechless and I do have an idea." He's affronted by the very thought.
But Emily and JJ are laughing so hard that Emily has begun to hyperventilate and JJ is hiding her smile. Reid realizes that he is also very, very drunk because none of this is making sense.
"What's the idea, then?" Emily raises her brow.
"Wrong!" Cries JJ.
"It's not?" Reid is getting dizzy. He sits down, doesn't quite make it and fumbles, then attempts again.
"That's the largest penis." JJ corrects with a smirk.
Reid blinks. "Then what is it?"
"The bushcricket." Emily looks pleased at herself for even knowing.
"That's an insect."
"They're animals too!" Emily denies, and JJ nods her head rapidly.
"Insects are animals, boy genius." The blonde reiterates.
Reid doesn't understand how they all managed to get so drunk. Because of the case yesterday? While it was gross, it wasn't any worse then the others they had seen. Maybe they just hadn't realized how much they had drank until obviously, they had drank it all. Personally Reid was just a light weight, so anything over seven percent and he was gone.
"You kids ready to go?" Morgan appears out of literally nowhere, though that may just be Reid's depth perception. No one else at the table seems particularly surprised to see him.
"Just one more." Emily promises, waving for the waitress.
"Bar's closing." Says Morgan.
The brunette looks scandalized. "Already?-!"
"It's almost four." Morgan points out.
Reid looks down and pulls out his phone, surprised. It didn't seem like more then an hour had passed by. He has a new message, but is a little too drunk to work his phone.
"Oh," JJ looks dismayed. "I was having such a good time, too. You drunk people are always so much fun."
"In a couple of months you can join us once more." Garcia promises, as she saunters up to them and wraps loving hands around a mostly sober Morgan. "Take me away, chocolate thunder god."
Morgan rolls his eyes. "Your wish is my command."
"Morgan," Reid calls slowly. "I don't think I can walk."
Morgan raises a brow. "No?"
"I got a question wrong." Says the genius flatly. "A factual question. I am very, very drunk."
"Good for you!" Morgan pats his back like he just broke the record for the SAT. "C'mon, I'll help you to the car."
"Where's Rossi… and Hotch?"
"They left already." Morgan laughs. "You know, back at closing time."
Reid blinks, as Morgan helps him stand to his feet, before helping JJ as well. The pregnant woman protests the help, but relents eventually from Morgan's charm. The world is spinning, but only a little bit, so he makes it to the car in one piece, sits through JJ, Garcia and Emily belting out the top twenty on the radio, though at least JJ and Emily sing in tune, and doesn't even throw up once.
It's only when he gets to the quite silence of his house does he remember his phone.
Spencer, she says. We've got to talk. Call me when you get this.
That was almost seven hours ago.
He would take this long to answer, she thinks, wrenching her bag from the luggage belt with more force then necessary. The seven hour flight to BWI from California has made her cranky and irritable. Though that could just be all those pregnancy hormones.
The least Spencer could do was answer his god damn phone. He probably has a reasonable explanation, like catching a mass murderer or something. That just makes it even more infuriating.
Lila hails a taxi when she exits into the bitter chill of Baltimore, packing up her enormous suitcase and sits in the back, taking a deep breath. She's been rehearsing this. Yes mom, I'm pregnant. No, it's not intentional—yes, I know who the father is. He's just not answering his phone, is all. He also happens to be quite possibly the most awkward man I've ever met, has an eidetic memory and works for the FBI's BAU unit.
This is going to go down well.
She texted him seven hours ago. Is he going to respond or take his sweet time? Case, she reminds herself. He may be halfway around the country saving little girls from crazy serial killers.
They pull off of I-95 and onto 70, and Reid still hasn't responded. Long night, she supposes, as the time nears five in the morning. She's slept through the flight so mostly she's wide awake as the cab finally pulls off the highway and down into Frederick.
Quantico is two hours away, she thinks morbidly. It'd probably take her less time to just haul the taxi down to Virginia then it would to get him to answer his phone.
The house is deathly quite when she gets it. That's probably because it's four in the morning. She's awake, more than she'd like, but her body is downright exhausted. The hike to her childhood bedroom is slow with all her luggage, and she's surprised no one wakes up with all the bumping and thumping she's doing on the staircase. By the time she settles everything out, has unpacked and brushed her teeth, she tells herself she's just going to lay down on her bed—
And falls straight asleep.
The blonde stirs, grumbling.
"Hello… You can't stay in bed forever…"
Watch me, She wants to say, because if there's one day she'd rather not live through, it may just be today.
Rachel is peering down at her with a sunny smile, smelling like cookies with batter all over her face. Though its common knowledge in the Archer family that Rachel is an abysmal cook, and an even worse baker, clearly someone has let her near the stove.
"You're baking?" Lila stirs, grumpy.
"Only a bit." Rachel assures, leaping onto the bed beside her, which groans in protest at the force. "Doesn't it smell good?"
Yes, actually, it does. A nostalgic twist of her mother's peonies and linen, with the spicy hint of sugar cookies, like the tangible smell of inevitable spring.
"And they're not burnt?"
"Not in the slightest."
"That was one time!" Rachel shrieks in protest. One time indeed, and yet the whole family was ready to puke from the sodium. "And they're almost gone," She continues, slyly, "If you stay here too long you may just miss them."
Lila contemplates this ponderously, weighing whether the last of the cookies are really worth the effort it would take to haul herself down to the kitchen—and the foreboding reality that waits there.
And finally, "Alright." She grumbles, throwing a pillow over her face. "But give me a couple minutes."
Rachel pats the bed as she leaves, her footsteps treading down the stairs lightly as Lila grudgingly rolls over to slide her hand around the bedside table. Amongst all her childhood collectibles she finds her phone, startlingly modern on a table filled with what were probably now vintage toys. Aside from a few worried, but routine texts from Jessica, she sees a missed call from Spencer. From… exactly thirty minutes ago.
She makes a noise of frustration as she pulls over a sweatshirt, wondering how she managed to miss that. By the time she slowly trudges into the kitchen, she's already made the decision to postpone her return call to after breakfast.
After, She thinks, unable to bring herself to think on the tenebrous thoughts of Reid, babies, and other foreboding, life-changing things when her family is all assembled in their lovely little home, puttering about with cheer.
After all, breakfast wouldn't take that long.
But serial killers don't wait until after breakfast.
"You've reached the cell phone voicemail of Dr. Reid, I'm unable to take your call right now but—
"You've got to be kidding me." She snorts incredulously, disconnecting and heading back into the warmth of the house. Unbelievable.
For a moment, she wonders if Spencer is just avoiding her call, but then thinks better of it. No, he's much too polite to do intentionally do anything remotely rude like that, and more importantly, he already attempted to call her back.
"Over here." The blonde calls, tugging off her scarf and wiggling out of her boots. Rachel pads down the stairs, looking confused.
"Were you outside?"
"Uh, yeah. I had to take a call." She hedges.
Rachel nods, looking placated. "Well we're heading over to Grandpa's soon. Dad's ready to go." She rolls her eyes. "But you know how he is."
Lila flashes a quick smile, and as Rachel moves off to the kitchen looks down at her phone forlornly. Even now, it doesn't seem real yet. It probably won't, until she hears Spencer's voice, his inevitable confusion. And reaction. Though what it will be, she can't possibly guess.
Too late for that now though.
If only all the mass murders of the world would have the common decency to hold off for a moment. She thinks, annoyed. At least for an hour or two.
Because it really wouldn't do to say it in a voicemail, or heaven forbid, a text message.
Though at this point, she really ought to tell someone. If not the biological father, then at least…
After a moment, her older sister backtracks into the hallway, peering back curiously.
"I have to tell you something." Lila deadpans.
"Oh?" Rachel grins, sauntering over, lemonade in hand. "What's up?"
Lila searches her face for a moment, her grinning, beaming visage and the brown of her eyes. They don't look very much alike, Lila blonde and blue-eyed, small and petite, and Rachel tall and lanky with dark hair and dark eyes and not for the first time she ponders the complex mysteries of the gene pool. Not for the first time since she found out she was pregnant, anyway.
Speaking of which;
"I'm pregnant." She says, without preamble.
At first, Rachel doesn't do anything. And then she drops her glass.
Lila watches it fall with detached interest, expecting some sort of reaction like that. "I'll go get a paper towel." She offers, heading over to the kitchen.
Rachel grabs her arm before she even gets the chance to make it into the hallway. "Whoa, whoa, hold on. You're pregnant?-!" She shrieks. And then, "So I was right all along!"
Lila has the good decency to look a little guilty. "Uh… yeah."
"And you didn't tell me the moment you took the test?" Rachel gapes, tugging her closer as she moves to the kitchen once more." "Jesus, slow down! What do you mean, pregnant? By who? If you tell me it's that Sam Worthing—
"It's not Sam!" She protests, disbelieving. Why does everyone assume they're in a relationship? "And you weren't freaking out this much before!"
"Because it was just a test! I didn't actually think you were..." Rachel refutes, and then, flabbergasted, "Then who? And when? And why didn't you tell me? Tell anyone? How long? What about—
"Okay, you hold on." Lila interrupts, taking a breath. "I didn't tell you because… I haven't told anyone. I wanted to tell the father first, but he seems… otherwise occupied. No, it's not Sam. No, you don't know him. I don't think, anyway. And I'm not sure when, about four weeks ago."
Her sister says nothing, digesting this with a pensive face. She reluctantly lets go of Lila's hand, an exasperated, lost look to her face. "And here I thought I would be the first one to be pregnant." She huffs, before laughing incredulously. "I'm the one with the steady boyfriend, after all."
Lila makes a face.
Rachel shakes her head. "Shit, let's clean this up. And you better keep talking."
By the time she's fully explained the entire situation to Rachel—with minimal and very vague descriptions of Dr. Spencer Reid, who as of now is only a, "nice, quirky guy"—they've cleaned up her spilt lemonade and are seated at the kitchen table, and Rachel is trying to give her all sorts of advice.
"Babies are a big deal, Lils." Rachel takes a deep breath, looking worriedly at her younger sister. "I mean, are you ready for that? Do you even want that?"
Lila hums. She isn't very sure. "I dunno." She decides upon, shrugging. Though to be honest, she does have an inkling. Rachel is correct, babies are a big deal. A big, fucking problem she isn't sure she even wants to worry about. At this point, she's sort of been putting off making a decision on that.
"What about an abortion?" Rachel offers, and to Lila's sharp look; "It is an option."
"I know." But who wants to speak of it? Surely though, she's been thinking quite a bit on the idea… "But I wanted to, uh, discuss it with the father first."
She thinks of Spencer, his boyishly awkward personality, his peculiar idiosyncrasies, and his veracious, genuine smile. Again, she's at a loss as to what he'll have to say about it. Probably an astounding fact or two. At this, she smiles.
"What's the smile for?" Rachel asks softly, though she smiles too.
Lila looks up, surprised. "It's nothing." She lies.
Rachel seems to be analyzing her from the inside out, and Lila unwittingly recalls, "Are you psychoanalyzing me right now?" and inevitable is thinking of Spencer again, and wondering why she is. Because I'm carrying his baby? She thinks, sarcastically, regardless of if she truly knows it's the real reason or not.
"Well, after Grandpa's birthday party we'll have to go to the Dr. Stevens." Rachel says, finally, as if coming to a decision.
"I'm sorry?" Lila blinks at the name of their family doctor.
"You know, for a prenatal checkup." Rachel explains, and then, with an eye roll. "Because I doubt you've had one."
Actually, she didn't even know what they were.
"Okay." She agrees, swallowing ominously at the thought.