Come Daylight: Grandma
Title: Grandma
Author: wanderingjasper
Rating: FRT
Characters: Morgan/Reid, baby!OC, Fran Morgan
Word Count: 3537
Themes: Fluff, a smidge of angst.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, but I do take liberties with them for no financial gain.
Notes: Part of the Come Daylight 'Verse. Onesie and shoes referenced.
Summary: Fran Morgan meets her Grandchild.
“This is a place where grandmothers hold babies on their laps under the stars and whisper in their ears that the lights in the sky are holes in the floor of heaven.” - Rick Bragg
Fran Morgan waited exactly three weeks after her grandchild was born before she flew out from Chicago. Morgan and Reid were both surprised she’d held out that long. Morgan went to pick her up from the airport, while Reid dressed Sam in the clothes Fran had sent them; a white onesie with colourful dots, red trim and two red appliqué heart ‘pockets’, and a pair of soft blue denim shoes with stripy inner material and a red bow. They’d been saving them for her inevitable visit, and put them on at the last minute to avoid any baby-related mess.
Before he’d had a baby Reid might have been inclined to say that shoes for an infant were pointless, because she was months away from using her feet in any real fashion, but now he’d already got a soft spot for the tiny little baby shoes, especially after he’d seen a rainbow of baby hi-tops in a shop display.
“Look at you,” he cooed, picking her up from the changing table. “You look so cute for your grandma. Please don’t spit up.” He put her against his chest, and she relaxed into the shape of him, her head on his shoulder. “We’re going to go downstairs and wait for them, okay?”
He’d done a lot of talking to her in her first few weeks, almost a constant stream when she was awake. More and more she seemed able to engage, to the point where she’d watch their faces if either one of them was within a foot of her and speaking.
“Fran is just going to love you,” he told her as they entered the living room. “You might be her sixth granddaughter, but you’re special.” He double checked all the things were nearby to make introducing Fran to their child easy; a backup supply of expressed milk so she could feed her like Morgan did, diapers and a change of clothes stored on the downstairs changing table in the bathroom, and a baby seat so Sam could be engaged hands free, or sleep safely.
“You see,” he said as he moved around, keeping her occupied with the movement, “Aunt Sarah apparently wasn’t keen on having kids, but she still ended up with children before Derek. Your Grandma thought she’d never get a grandchild from him. Then when we told her about us, I guess she assumed I wouldn’t want to have children. When we mentioned in passing we’d like to adopt one day, Fran almost broke one of my ribs hugging me.”
Sam gurgled, unable to understand, but responding to his voice none the less.
“I didn’t always want children,” he continued thoughtfully. “Don’t get me wrong, Sam, you’re amazing. But I didn’t think I’d make a good parent, and I have questionable genes. It wasn’t until I’d been with Derek for some time I realised it was something I wanted. Something I thought I’d be able to achieve, with him. At first it was just about him negating all the bad things about me as a potential parent, but he made me see how much I could offer.”
He lowered his mouth to put a kiss on her head, and let the contact linger. “And I’m offering everything to you, little one. I’m going to be the kind of father you deserve.”
Clooney’s hurried trot to the door signalled Morgan’s arrival home even before Reid heard the car in the driveway. As soon as Morgan opened the door the dog started to bark excitedly in response to the company; Reid could hear Fran’s enthusiastic greeting in response.
“Hello little puppy! C’mon, you be a good boy and let me in- there we go. Hello Clooney!”
Reid didn’t even realise he was bouncing slightly, alternating on the balls of his feet, trying to keep Sam calm with the gentle movement. The last thing he wanted was her screaming her first greeting to her grandmother, although the woman had three children and five grandchildren before as experience.
Clooney trotted in at Fran’s heel as they entered the living room, and her face lit up with wonder at the sight of Spencer and Sam. Morgan put her cases down in the hall and followed her in, grinning over her shoulder at his husband.
“Hi, Spencer,” she said, coming over. He extended his free hand and she grasped it in both of hers, and brought it to her mouth to kiss it.
“Hi, Fran.”
“You’re so skinny again!” she fussed. “Are you back in pre-pregnancy clothes?”
“Mama, he was back in his normal clothes a week ago. The weight just fell off him.”
Reid smiled, and consciously stopped himself touching his slight paunch of a belly concealed under his shirt. While it was true he’d lost weight quickly, he wasn’t as thin and flat as he’d been before. He had very little time to give it any mind, and he found his physical appearance was the last thing he was thinking about.
“Are you eating okay?” Fran said, fixing him with a worried look after she’d spared a very motherly one for Morgan.
“Yes, Fran.”
“We haven’t cooked much since she was born, though,” Morgan reasoned. “We’ve been living off meals in the freezer we made and friends gave us.”
Sam chose that moment to make a fussy sound and kick her legs, and Reid automatically stroked her back to hush her.
“Oh my lord, she’s so tiny!” Fran cooed. “And her hair is even brighter in person!”
It was several shades lighter than her grandmother’s, a very fine mop of slight curls against her scalp, striking against her light brown skin. Small grey eyes blinked the new face into focus as Reid transferred her over to Fran’s grasp.
“Hello, Sam!” she cooed. “Aw, look at you! You look so pretty in your little outfit! It wasn’t too girly, was it?”
“We don’t mind girly, ma,” Morgan said, from his place crouched and giving Clooney a fuss. “We’re just not going to define her by girly, or force her to be girly.”
“Oh good,” Fran said, her years of experience shining through as she held Sam effortlessly and took up a seat on the couch.
“I’m going to take your bags up to the guest room, ma,” Morgan said. He passed by Spencer on the way, briefly touching his waist and putting a kiss on his shoulder.
“She’s due a feed,” Reid said, checking his watch. “I’ll grab a bottle.”
“I thought you were breastfeeding?” she called after him. He grabbed a bottle of milk from the counter and headed back to the living room.
“I am. We alternate, a feed on the breast and then one on expressed milk. We wanted her to be used to both, and I didn’t want Morgan to miss out on feeding her.”
Fran considered the bottle as Reid handed it to her. “Not warm?”
“No, she’s better on room temperature when she has the bottle,” Reid explained. Fran looked interested, and it was kind of refreshing; the only person he’d had to talk about specifics of their early childcare choices was JJ, but she’d only visited twice because work was busy as usual.
“Milk from, well, my breasts, is body temperature, about ninety eight degrees, but it’s harder for Sam to extract than from a bottle, so she paces herself when she feeds. When she’s drinking from the bottle it’s easier for her, so she drinks fast and ends up swallowing more air and getting gassy, or spitting up. She drinks room temperature milk slower. Plus it’s easier, especially at night so Morgan can still take shifts.”
Fran was beaming at him again, and Reid couldn’t help feeling warmed by her pride. She settled back with Sam in her arm and coaxed her onto the bottle. As an after-thought Reid grabbed a bib from a small pile of baby laundry, with a cartoon lion head on it, and leaned down to tuck it under his daughter’s chin so she didn’t get milk on the outfit her grandmother had chosen for her; at least not in the first twenty minutes.
Across the room, Clooney had retreated to his bed, and were it not for the eye open watching Sam being fed, he could be asleep. Reid sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, taking the weight off his legs with a satisfied sigh.
“How are you healing, Spencer?” Fran asked kindly.
“I’m still sore,” he said. “And the incision site itches. But Derek basically hasn’t let me do anything unless it’s Sam-related since I came home.”
“I raised a gentleman.”
“I’m just being a good husband,” Morgan said, grinning at them as he came back into the living room.
“ He is. Food, laundry, cleaning. I mean, we have a cleaner who comes in every week to do the big stuff, but he’s still doing a lot. Plus he’s been running with Clooney three times a day to keep him entertained and try and curb his excitement around Sam.”
“How is he with her?” Fran cast a glance over to Clooney, whose ears had perked up at the sound of his name, though he still looked to be dozing.
“He’s real good,” Morgan said as he slipped onto the adjacent sofa. “He doesn’t come up close unless he’s called, but he likes being in the room with her. If we let her cry for too long, he starts to fuss.”
“You’re not leaving her to cry, are you?” Fran looked worried.
“Even if the Ferber method was something we were interested in, it’s not safe for babies under six months,” Reid said.
“So you’re not interested?”
“We’re just taking it as it comes. She’s so young, if she cries it means she needs something.”
“Are you co-sleeping?” Fran asked, gazing down at her grandchild.
“She’s in a Moses basket next to the bed right now,” Morgan explained. “We talked about bed-sharing, but Reid doesn’t like nursing lying down anyway, and we-” he caught himself, and the words faded out.
Fran didn’t miss a beat, even though her attention still seemed to be totally on Sam. “And when Reid is healed you want to get back to having sex.”
“Mama!”
“Oh, come on, I’m not stupid. The walls of my apartment aren’t very thick, and you two do it like rabbits when you come visit. You probably think there’s something naughty about having sex in your mother’s house, which is really immature, Derek.”
Morgan groaned, tipping his head back. Reid stifled a laugh, and baby Sam gurgled appreciatively around the last of her bottle.
“Look at you, clever girl, drinking all your milk,” she cooed. She put the bottle aside and moved Sam into position to pat her back gently, to encourage her to burp.
“How does she like it?” Fran asked, putting the bib over her shoulder to protect her clothing.
“Like that,” Morgan said. “She likes tummy-time, but not right after a feed, and she doesn’t like being on her belly on your knees to be burped.”
“You’re learning fast,” Fran smiled. “Let me get her to burp, and then I’ll start on dinner.”
“Mama, you just had a long flight.”
“It wasn’t that long, and you two need something you’re not reheating.” She set Morgan with a stern but loving look as she bounced slightly, patting Sam’s back. “Derek, let your mother look after you for once.”
After a while Sam burped, and by the favour of whatever force, didn’t spit up on her grandmother. Fran passed her to Morgan, who right away noticed her wiggling legs and scrunched face, and took her to the bathroom to deal with the imminent diaper change. As Reid sat back, resisting the urge to scratch at his caesarean incision site, he wondered if learning Sam’s body language - the signs that acted as a prelude to her bodily functions - was easier for them because of their profiling history. Certainly Reid, who got empathetically distressed at the thought of Sam sitting around in a soiled diaper, had picked things up much quicker than he expected. He’d thought Morgan would be the “natural” parent, the one who took to it like he was made for it. And while it was true he was more cautious with things like holding her, ever-aware of her floppy neck and inability to support her head yet, most things came to him as easily as they did to Morgan.
If he thought about it, it wasn’t surprising. This wasn’t his first time being a carer to someone who was dependent on him. This time he wasn’t ten years old and alone, struggling for money and to keep his situation secret. He really had more experience than he’d given himself credit for.
“All fresh,” Morgan said, bringing Reid’s attention back to the present. He was beaming at their daughter, holding her up to his chest with one arm stretched right up the back of her body. He sat down on the couch, facing away from Reid, who raised his eyebrow. Morgan shuffled back, lowering himself down until he had his head in Reid’s lap, and Sam on his chest.
“What’re you up?”
“Tummy time with her daddies,” Morgan murmured. “You like that, don’t you little baby girl?”
Sam strained to lift her head to look up at him, but couldn’t manage it, but she did manage to turn her head to face the other side.
“There we go,” Morgan cooed. “Keep practicing, baby. She’s so tiny, watching her grow seems like she’s overcoming something.”
“She was full term, Derek,” Reid reminded him. “You’re just so huge she looks tiny.”
“I guess,” Morgan murmured, playfully patting her behind. The way his husband looked at their daughter made him feel warm; he knew Morgan would nurture and protect her until the day he died. “She is small, though.”
“She’s the small end of healthy. The nurse said she was fine.”
“I know,” Morgan sighed. “Come on, little girl. Lift your head up. Come on, Sam.”
Sam tried, and made a fretful noise when she couldn’t manage it, turning her head to the other side again.
“Nice try, baby girl,” Morgan cooed, lifting her up slightly, holding her up so she could see his face. “Peekaboo!”
Sam made a little excited sound and thrust her legs out against Morgan’s chest. Reid felt himself smiling; he knew it would be a few months before she laughed, but he couldn’t wait to hear it. Morgan lowered her again so she couldn’t see him - she strained to look up - and then brought her up again.
“Peekaboo!”
Sam sounded out a little gasp, thrusting her legs again. Reid hummed happily, leant down to kiss the top of her head and run his hand over his husband’s.
---
Fran insisted on taking them out to brunch the next day, which meant their first big trip out with Sam. They’d been for walks around the block mainly so Spencer could get a little exercise and stave off cabin fever, but otherwise Morgan had been making any trips out for groceries. The first couple of times they’d used the stroller, but as soon as they’d got the baby sling worked out they preferred it. It kept Sam warm and snug against whoever was carrying her in the spring chill, and they could use both their hands for other things as easily as comfort her. That’s what they used to take her out, Reid carrying her in the black fabric sling.
Morgan reached out to squeeze Reid’s arm as they sat down at their table in the restaurant, and Fran casually got the server’s attention.
“There won’t be any problem with my son-in-law breastfeeding, will there?”
The server did a double-take, apparently not having noticed Reid wearing the sling, then nodded and smiled. “There won’t be a problem, ma’am, sir.”
“Mama,” Derek muttered as the server left them with menus.
“Oh, grow up,” she said, setting a look on him. “These are the things you should be asking, looking after your husband and child.”
“Ma, I just wouldn’t have bothered asking. I know our rights, and would go to the wall for him if anyone told him he couldn’t feed her, not ask permission.”
“I wasn’t asking permission,” Fran looked slightly offended, “I just wanted to know we’d be able to have a nice meal without being disturbed, Derek.”
Sensing an argument, Reid piped up. “Although private businesses can bar breastfeeding on their establishments, breastfeeding is exempt from indecent exposure laws in Virginia,” Reid explained as he settled down, making sure Sam was safe and secure against him. They both seemed to understand that he was attempting to head off the tension, so they both took a breath and dropped it. It was very unlikely to have escalated to a big fight, but the Morgans could still have rather heated amicable discussions.
Sam slept on soundly as they ordered brunch and settled down. It was nice to have Sam against him, comforting and reassuring to keep her safe and out of sight. At the same time, a part of him wanted to show her off to strangers, let them see their beautiful daughter.
“It’s going to be strange, not getting to see her as much as I see the other girls.”
“I know, mom,” Morgan said. “But now we’re not with the BAU anymore, we can come visit more.”
“You’re not going back to work?”
“We’re serious about being full-time parents for the first few years at least. As long as we’re financially able, which could be a while if I pick up a few new renovation contracts.”
“So how often will you come to see me now?” Fran asked as she lifted a fork to her mouth.
“More often, Ma. Every six, eight weeks?”
“I see Des and Sarah’s girls every week, without fail.”
“They live in the same city as you,” Derek said.
“I know,” she sighed. “It’s just you’re so far away.”
“We can make it work, Mama,” Morgan assured. “You’re going to learn how to do the webcam on your own, right? So if you really want to, you can see her every day.”
“It’s not just her, Derek,” Fran said. “I’ve missed you; both of you.”
“Then you can see us more. And we will come see you more than just holidays now.”
“You better. You want her to know her grandma.”
“One of them, at least,” Reid said, without thinking. He When he looked up from his hash browns, both of them were watching him. “Sorry,” he shrugged minutely, and tried to diffuse the uncomfortable atmosphere with a smile. “I really am looking forward to getting to see you more, Fran, and making sure Sam sees plenty of you. But I can’t help thinking about how she might only have one grandmother who knows who she is.”
“You haven’t been to see Diana?” Fran asked, her voice kind.
“I can’t fly, and her doctors have advised against letting her interact with Sam until she’s about a year old.”
“Why?”
Reid took a moment to compose his thoughts as he chewed his mouthful, and wrapped his arm under the sling holding Sam. “She has less and less lucid time, and the doctor said that after we visited while I was pregnant, she started having delusions that she was pregnant, and that she’d lost the pregnancy, or someone had taken her baby. The doctors say because of the nature of the delusion, something as emotional as pregnancy, they have a tendency to be very taxing.”
Reid glanced at Morgan, who slid his hand over the tabletop and squeezed his forearm.
“The doctors fear she could put us, herself, and Sam at risk,” Reid said. “So I don’t actually know when my mother will meet her grandchild. I send her pictures, but I’m not sure knows who the pictures are of.”
“I’m sorry, Spencer,” Fran said. “I’ve been so excited, I didn’t think about you and your mother.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I really want her to have a relationship with her grandmothers. We made a promise to her. But it’s not realistic that she can have the same relationship with my mother as she can with you.”
“I know, Spencer,” Fran said. “I can’t make up for that, but I can try.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, returning her smile. He regretted bringing it up; neither of them could change it, and he felt like he’d made Fran feel bad. “Thank you for trying, Fran. I’m glad Sam has you.”
“I’m glad to be here,” Fran beamed at him. “I didn’t mean to have a go, I know you live here, and I live in Chicago. As long as we see each other more, I’ll be a happy grandma.”
“We will,” Reid assured. Morgan squeezed his arm again, and they went back to their breakfast as Sam slept soundly on.
“I thought grandmothers had to like you. It’s a law or something.” - Mary E. Pearson