Spencer Reid is the epitome of anxiety induced by childhood trauma. When you and him first started throwing around ideas of having kids, he was excited, of course (all he's ever wanted was to be a father), but simultaneously scared to death. After his father carelessly abandoned him and his sick mother when he was ten, he's been worried about becoming a father.

Of course, logically, he knew that he would never make the same mistakes that his dad did. But that didn't get rid of the nagging feeling that something would go wrong. Maybe he wouldn't be good enough, maybe he'd get scared and pull away. He didn't know if he was cut out for it. But your encouraging words, spoken so certainly like they were a fact every time the topic of children came up, helped to set those nerves to rest. Or at least, more to rest.

By the time that you had their baby boy, Spencer was over the moon excited about this next step in his life. It was one of the best days of his life— he had a child now, along with you. Really, what more could he ask for? Of course, parenthood didn't come without its fair share of struggles. Spencer doesn't know if your son just likes you more, or if he's just a little too uneducated in children and caretaking, but he always seems to mess something up when with his son. Whether it's rocking him a little too much, or waking him up right when he finally gets to sleep. It's getting better, and he's learning, but sometimes the hassle weighs more on him and his anxiety rears its ugly head.

Today, you were busy trying to fix up a dinner for you and Spencer, so when the baby started crying in the next room, he immediately sprung into action to go help. But no matter what he did, no matter how many different things he tried, the baby wouldn't stop crying. Every second that went by with the sound of sobbing and fussing made that pit in Spencer's stomach grow a little more, until finally, he picks up the baby, trying to rock and shush it softly as he hurries into the kitchen.

"I've tried everything," he says to you, balancing the baby on his hip, bouncing him up and down as your son screams. "He won't stop, I don't know what I'm doing wrong." You can tell just by the tone of his voice that Spencer is distressed and overthinking about his role as a father. You hate it when he does that.

"Okay, watch the pasta for me," you say, trying to sound reassuring as you take your son from Spencer, cooing gently and kissing his forehead. Spencer walks over to the boiling pot, trying to pay attention to dinner, but of course his eyes drift to you, his anxiety and disappointment so clear as he listens to the baby's cries die down to a soft fussing.