Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Groundbreaking.

Well, no, not that groundbreaking but everything invented by the folks in Cognito Inc. must be cut above the rest. You name it, they perfected it—Genius AI, Robots, Clones, Virtual worlds, Rockets, Big Brother high-end surveillance systems (that homophobic George Orwell warned everyone about this… that’s why his cause of death just registered tuberculosis!).

A whole bunch of other things those normal scientists hadn’t thought of achieving.

But this one… this was the shit.

Since the shitshow that Rand pulled like it was the mutiny of 1894, Reagan buried herself into work; she chugged much bitter coffee, as dark as her hollowed soul, more than usual and one would wonder that if they cut her open, her blood would churn caffeine. Her co-workers were busier too, which was odd considering they were a bunch of lazy asses around her. But Rand had full reign over the administrative system now that he was the CE-fucking-O, he was taking his sweet time. Her poor excuse of a father was changing how Cognito Inc. worked from top to bottom and it annoyed Reagan how Rand was taunting her with the decisions he made like it was a slap in her face.

Several of her project proposals were either rejected or Rand would simply say ‘okay’ but drastically cut her budget which in the end, her projects render useless. Reagan grew tired every day of his pompousness, saying that she was on the brink of insanity was an understatement.

(Gee, if being emotionally traumatized wasn’t damaging enough. Reagan always surprised herself that she was still alive to this point—Oh! what if she’ll work on the Elixir and test the theories on immort—)

One day, Reagan thought of something; if she couldn’t work on her projects inside the labs in Cognito Inc. then she’ll have to rebel somewhere without her father breathing down her neck. It would take time since she had to duplicate machines from the labs or invent equipment, not to mention that she had to find a suitable and discrete place for her experiments. Also, she had to appear the grumpy, caffeine-induced, salt of the earth with parental issues Reagan at work to cover up her plans. Nonetheless, those were the easiest parts, nothing was new. Several weeks since the inception of her idea, she had dug a tunnel somewhere in the outskirts of Washington which led to her laboratory that was ten feet under. Reagan had the place equipped with security features, answering only to her commands and biodata, and she managed to override the surveillances that Cognito Inc. could access just in case those nosy bitches back there would snoop into her computers.

The Cave (which Reagan dramatically called her lab even though the name was conspicuous and bland itself) was dimly lit at the moment, with only the neon green glow from the huge glass incubators emitting radiance. She was hunched on her desk, her nimble fingers worked with speed as she typed in her formula and calculations, gnawing on the pencil’s bottom tip whenever she thinks about what her blueprint should look like. Seven days later, Reagan completed building the machine that can genetically engineer human DNA. Of course, the trial phase was the next step but she chose to do her experiment on an animal first that has the closest DNA to humans. Reagan flew to Texas where Rand acquired a ranch for whatever the fuck it was for since he was never a country boy and stole one of his cows.

Reagan wasn’t sure how long she had been cooped up in the Cave until Rand managed to send her a message, asking why she hadn’t reported for duty for nine fucking days. As if he cares now, Regan grumbled. Begrudgingly, she reported to work the next morning but the good thing is, Reagan could share to the one person she fifty-fifty trusts.

Brett.

Actually, it was Brett who hinted at the idea of engineering the perfect human.

About a month ago, Brett went to check on her at the isolated meeting room. Most of her colleagues had gone home while Reagan was brooding in her chair because Rand rejected her conquest to test the universe’s alternate realities (she preferably want to explore the one timeline that her father is dead but Rand said “Ha! I won’t give you your satisfaction”).

“Hey, Reagan!” Brett said with his optimism and Reagan was annoyed at how Brett could still be all cheery when everything seemed to fall apart. “What’s up? I think it’s time for dinner, want to order pizza?”

“Not hungry,” Reagan tightened her arms crossed under her chest.

“Well, I’m going to order still so more for me, I guess.” Brett said with a shrug, “What’s today’s problem?”

Reagan sighed sharply but didn’t answer him.

“Aw, c’mon Reag, isn’t it so bad to be working with your father?”

Reagan turned to him, her eyes widened with anger, “I am not working with him! He makes me work for him, okay? There’s a difference and his purpose here is just to get under my skin!”

Brett held his hand up in surrender, “Woah, I’m sorry. I mean at least your father believes in your genius and still lets you work here in Cognito Inc. because you’re an asset.”

“And you’re an ass.”

Brett chuckled, “Yeah, I bet I am.” Then he was suddenly somber. “Well, my dad has praised my brothers for running the family company. They’re smart that’s why the company has expanded and ventured to other fields.”

Great, she wasn’t up to join Who’s Got a Tougher Childhood in the Family Olympics.

“Let me guess, your dad never offered you a position in your family company?” Reagan said dryly.

Brett scratched the back of his head, “Yeah, I wouldn’t be here if that was the case. I did intern once. Dad sacked me the next morning.”

“Huh, I wonder why.” Cognito Inc. must have a high tolerance for idiots but Reagan chose not to voice them out loud.

“They never trust me,” Brett answered her sarcasm and Reagan thought he was too polite for his own good it made her pity him. “They have a reason to be, you know? I keep messing things up and I don’t have anything to offer anyway. I’m just an unwanted nuisance,” Brett stared at her with his boyish smile. “At least you have you, your brains. Even when your father is a wacko, you can still stand on your own, you know. Heck, you can resign right now and build your company!”

“Yeah, sure. My lack of dependence is a natural occurrence that comes with age rather than being forced to be mature because my parents are emotionally unavailable and yet they set me on a pedestal because of their expectations.” Brett could only blink at her. Of course, he doesn’t speak sarcasm. Reagan sighed, “Look, I get it. You don’t need to make me feel better by lowering your self-esteem. We’re fucked up either way. It won’t change things.”

Brett hummed as he leaned on his seat, “Well, being perfect sure does change things.”

Reagan knew how Brett was also neglected during his childhood and honestly, she felt a tinge of sympathy for a moment. But it didn’t linger long as a lightbulb moment struck Reagan. What if there was a way to create a human without flaws at all? Their intelligence could span different fields of knowledge and still be sentient beings that can respond to human emotions. What if they’re immune from diseases? It’s more than an algorithm or a hyper-realistic robot, it’s made up of flesh and blood.

Or, she could just experiment on Brett and alter his DNA and he’ll become the perfect being that he’s always dreamed of! Ethical issues aside, this was Nobel Prize-worthy.

Reagan suddenly shot up from her seat and looked at Brett with glimmering eyes, “Brett, you’re a genius.”

Brett stammered, “Uh, I-I am?” then a blush tinted his cheeks, “Ha-ha, no one ever complimented me that. What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything but you just gave me an idea!”

Reagan smiled cruelly; she’s going to make Rand know his place.

Reagan explained to Brett her progress. Her test runs had been successful so far with the cow she stole and she was confident to proceed to the real game which is taking the experiment on a human subject.

“…my machine includes a gene-snipping enzyme and a guide molecule that can be programmed to target unique combinations of the DNA letters. I get these ingredients into a cell then they will cut and modify the genome at the targeted sites. Such technology could be used to rid families of scourges like cystic fibrosis. It might also be possible to install genes that offer lifelong protection against infections, Alzheimer’s and—and maybe the effects of aging!”

While she was rambling and pacing around the lab where ROBOTUS was placed, Brett was dumbfoundedly staring at her.

“Uhm… Reagan?”

Reagan was interrupted, “Yes! Yes, what is it?”

“I, well, could you just give me the Sparknotes version of what you just said?” Brett said sheepishly.

ROBOTUS chortled, “Oh boy, Reagan, you’ll have a lot to edit in this man’s insides.”

Reagan shot the robot with a sharp glare, “Anyway, I was going to ask you if you’re willing to get experimented?”

Brett rubbed his chin in thought, “What will happen to me?”

“You’ll be the dream person you’ve always wanted to be!” Reagan said without preamble.

“Oh,” Brett murmured. “Does that mean I’m finally gonna be smarter?”

Reagan nodded eagerly.

ROBOTUS frowned, “Uh, no? You’re going to be smart. Not smarter.”

“Does your old man—” before he could spell out his sentence, Reagan clamped his mouth shut with her hands.

“No! I mean, who cares? You told me that I can make my way now,” Reagan said with an awkward laugh.

“There’s an oddness in your method, Reagan,” ROBOTUS commented. “If you’re going to make a human with their genes edited, isn’t it going to be more dangerous to alter Brett’s rather than making a new human that you can endlessly experiment on?”

Reagan straightened, “You mean… a baby but genetically edited?” ROBOTUS nodded. “Hell, no I’m taking care of a child!”

“You’re pregnant?!” Brett exclaimed.

“Fuck, no! Don’t be so stupid to comprehend it,” Reagan retorted.

“Reagan, you could get that man killed if something goes wrong,” ROBOTUS interjected.

“Why the hell are you suddenly concerned over a human’s life?” Reagan argued, opening her laptop. She mulled over the clone’s words and hated to admit that ROBOTUS was right; altering an adult could either mutate them into something else or they die. The percentage she had edited in the cow’s genes was sufficient that the cow could handle the changes in its DNA. It didn’t get killed in the process but Reagan still has yet to observe its lifespan. She estimated the success rate and it was about seventy percent, give or take.

“I guess I have to postpone the next phase. Putting the ingredients into a human would be scientifically trivial but it wouldn’t be practical for much just yet.”

“See when you listen to me, Reagan,” ROBOTUS smugly said. “How about you give me the next season of Friends?”

“Am I still into this experiment?” Brett asked.

Reagan slammed her laptop shut and sighed, “Yes, if you consent to it.”

“Wow, since when were you concerned over ethical reasons, Reagan?” ROBOTUS sassed.

Reagan’s career as a scientist made her reach possibilities that mainstream science couldn’t present to her. For most of her days, she modified her machine to make it safer for a human subject. At least, it helped take her mind off Rand and she was surprisingly enjoying working on her project since her father had taken over Cognito Inc. It’s been a while that she felt this sense of accomplishment.

The cow was incessantly mooing in the corner and Reagan gathered some grass for the cow’s meal. “You’re going to make a delicious beef steak soon.”

The cow blinked and chewed on the grass, ignoring Reagan. The scientist went back to her work and picked where she left. She uploaded the algorithms into the machine and ran a program. Reagan waited for a few minutes before it sent her a diagnostic. After reading the statistics, Reagan slumped back on her seat; she was cornered. It’s not like she hadn’t helped the Deep State with some of its assassinations but putting Brett’s life on this was not what Reagan wanted to achieve. She made clones! Why was this suddenly a concern and an examination of her conscience?  

Reagan tried another formula and ran it. Tapping her finger anxiously on her desk, she waited until her laptop showed her the new numbers.

“Ninety-five percent.”

Good enough to proceed on testing a human subject.

Later that night, Reagan called Brett to meet him on a rendezvous point. She explained to him what was going to happen while they drove to her underground laboratory.

“So, are you really going to do this?” Reagan asked him before they stepped into the elevator that was concealed by a tree trunk unless Reagan inputs her palm into the scanner.

Brett only shrugged, “Well, I feel indifferent about being experimented, honestly.” Then, he beamed at her, “It’s brilliant, Reag! If you’re so determined to do this then hey, I’m here to support you. What are friends for?”

Friends. For some reason, it made Reagan smile. She could get annoyed at Brett but at the end of the day, he was the one person that Reagan could hang out with and rely on things that she didn’t have the answer for.

The journey downwards didn’t take long. Brett whistled at the facility she managed to build and saw the huge glass incubators and pointed at it, “So, I’m going inside there?”

Reagan shook her head, “Not yet. We’ll have to test something out first. I need a strand of your hair to get a copy of your DNA. I’ll reprogram it and see how it’ll react.”

“Say, it’ll be successful, are you going to inject me something or will there be a Brett clone but the perfect version of me? Oh my god, you’re going to kill me! There can’t be two Bretts!”

She rolled her eyes, “Relax. This is different from cloning.” Reagan chewed on her lip before she continued, “what this process called is Somatic engineering. It’s the process of introducing additional genes into an adult. This is the type of genetic engineering that is employed in gene therapy. Viruses are utilized to carry out the task of introducing new genes. A virus is tweaked to include human DNA before being injected into a patient. Because viruses take over cells within the body, it's a reasonably successful method of delivering the desired DNA. The modified virus will ‘infect’ the subject's cells with the new DNA. This might be an effective method of combating hereditary problems, and the modifications will not be passed down to the subject's offspring.

“I’m still in the process of inventing the machine that doesn’t require cutting you open. I’ll be putting you up on wires for the transfusion but as you can see,” she motioned her hand to the machine that was structured like the incubators meant for babies, “I have to test it out yet.”

Brett blinked at her and opened his mouth but no word ever came out so he remained silent. He eyed a glass dome filled with liquid that reminded him of the ones at Cognito Inc. where they store strange unearthly creatures. “What’s that for?”

“Well, that’s just backup storage for the excess on this experiment. There’s a tube to direct those particles into it.”

“Why is there a cow?”

“My test subject and my soon-to-be dinner. I’ll give you my share of beef steak if you’ll behave.”

Brett grinned, “Hell yeah.”

He plucked a strand of his hair and gave it to Reagan. She carefully picked it with a pair of tweezers and placed it on a slider. She ran codes on the machine and it ignited to life. She warned Brett not to touch anything in the Cave and ordered him to sit still. After which, she went to her laptop and started to reprogram Brett’s DNA. She slid a tube that contained her blood into another slot.

“Uh, Reagan where’s the bathroom?”

Reagan waved her hand without taking her eyes off her laptop screen, “Just on the right and find the remote and press a button. Now, don’t disturb me!” It was a thin line of completely restructuring Brett including his personalities or simply enhancing where he lacked. She could gather some impressive traits she had including her intelligence with her DNA then insert them into Brett’s. That was the gamble on this project and Reagan was willing to bet all her cards on this.

“Here goes nothing,” Reagan pressed the red button and stepped back. The expected outcome would simply be the reaction of Brett’s DNA—

The alarm suddenly went off.

“R-Reagan? Uh—Well, I might have chosen the wrong remote?”

At this point, she wanted to kill Brett, she didn’t just have the time to react.

The incubator churned to life as the alarm wailed and blared in red indicating that the machine was gathering the information from her samples. A surge of excitement and uncertainty dawned upon Reagan as the machine began its calculations.

“Reagan! Oh my god! Is there a button to stop this?! Reagan!” Brett began to panic and ran around the lab to find the right remote.

“Brett, fuck! Stop panicking!” The machine blew steam and noticed that something was coming out and into the glass dome. Reagan knew something was going wrong and searched for the flash drive that contained the code to override the system and to completely shut everything down. She cursed and cursed when the said flash drive was neither in her pockets nor on her desk. The machine became volatile and Brett screamed for her name.

“Reagan! We need to get out of here!”

Reagan stubbornly stayed in her place, “I can’t abandon everything that I worked hard for! Do you know how I was so close to making this come true?! No, you don’t! Because you can’t even use your common sense—”

“Okay! Okay! Save me your lecture but that thing is going to explode!”

As if it was on cue, shards of glasses flew everywhere and liquid splashed on the walls. Lights exploded and the Cave was blanketed in almost total darkness. The sound of the alarm was already muted and possibly the electricity was cut off from its power supply. Her laptop miraculously survived but the screen was cracked. Reagan felt strong arms wrapped around her and realized that Brett was shielding her from the explosion.

“You alright, Reagan?”

Reagan shoved him away and grumbled, “I would have been if my project didn’t obliterate itself to oblivion.” She stood and brushed her lab coat from dust and debris. Brett shuffled onto his feet.

“Reagan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—If you want, I-I can reimburse you and help you put everything back!”

“Save it,” Reagan hissed and saw Brett’s expression turn shameful. When she was about to pick her laptop, a sharp wailing cry cut through the silence, reverberating the walls of the lab.

“Did you happen to experiment on monsters here?” Brett asked, his voice shaking.

Reagan squinted her eyes at the source of the sound, “No, I didn’t.” The cry became clearer and it sounded like—

“Reagan! I think you might want to see this…”

The veil of dust finally settled and everything was clearer to see now. Reagan headed to the destroyed incubator where Brett was standing.

Whatever nightmare that Reagan had become true and Brett’s expression was what gave away.

Holy fuck.

“Reagan! A baby girl!”

The said baby continued to wail and cry, its face was covered with dust and snot and tears. The baby was sticky with the liquid from the dome. What stun Reagan was the fact her experiment was likely successful although the byproduct wasn’t exactly the ideal outcome. But the baby was fully formed! Before she knew it, Brett scooped the baby in his arms.

“The baby probably came from the machine that I accidentally turned on. You were planning to make a baby… with my genes?!”

Reagan shook her head vehemently, “Fuck, no! That wasn’t my experiment’s intention! The objective was to see how your DNA was going to react with its reprogramming and infuse it—"

A sharp cry cut through their arguing. Brett stared down at the baby in his arms, “I think this fella is hungry, don’t you have milk in your boobs?”

Reagan’s eyes widened and felt scandalized, “Brett, I didn’t conceive that baby! My breasts can’t produce colostrum right now. It’s too taxing to pump the milk out of my boob, it might as well come out as powdered milk.”

“That makes her a science baby,” Brett mumbled then cooed, “And that means you are special! Yes, you are!” He turned to Reagan, “Can we keep our baby?”

Reagan arched a brow, displeased, “Our baby?”

Brett shrugged, “Well, if she’s half you and me, that means this baby is ours. I mean look,” he showed the baby to Reagan, “She looks like you but she has my eyes, I think, and she has the color of my hair. Oh! She’s gonna be a little genius when she grows up! We’re gonna give her a pet! We can take her to the family park and…”

As he continued to daydream, Reagan was baffled to see how Brett was determined to keep the baby—the guy was practically gushing! Nope, nope, this was a bad idea and whatever Brett was planning with the baby, it’ll be a disaster. Brett was into playing happy family.

“We’re sending that baby to Cognito Inc. Brett, they’ll know what to do.”

Brett gasped and feigned hurt, “How could you, Reagan?! How could you do this to our child?”

Reagan pinched the bridge of her nose, “For the last fucking time, that baby is a product of an experiment gone wrong! Or not. Either way, I don’t want it!”

Brett gasped dramatically and held the baby tighter to his chest, “Don’t listen to your mother, sweetie, she doesn’t mean it when she said that you’re unwanted.”

Reagan gritted her teeth, “Jesus Christ, fucking take the wheel.”

The baby only gurgled.

Reagan took deep breaths to calm herself, at this moment, she was a ticking bomb that could explode if Brett kept on insisting that they keep the baby under their wing. Cognito Inc. had a department where they observe children who are a little too smart for their age and recruit them to a special program where Cognito Inc. personally trains them to become scientists in the future. That was a feasible option once Reagan handed over the baby to them. But the more she gazed at Brett trying to comfort the crying baby in his arms, even though he has no fucking idea what parenting was like, Reagan felt an emotion—

Nope, don’t even go there. Nothing is picture-perfect in the life of Reagan Ridley or Brett Hand.

Besides, she swore to herself that the generational trauma that she inherited fucking thanks to her parents, Reagan was going to break the cycle. Having a baby would only slow her down and get in the way of her career! She still has to oust her father and become CEO and she wasn’t yet in her prime. That baby was better off without Reagan.

“So, we’re keeping our baby?”

“No.”

God fucking damn it.

Brett Hand was having the time of his life with the sudden responsibility of being a father thrust upon him while Reagan was shopping for baby formula and diapers. Since Brett was the one who wanted to keep the baby, Reagan assigned him to be the focal babysitter but that left her to do the errands. Instead of pumping her breast for milk and gathering colostrum, there was a store on the road where she frantically asked the cashier what baby milk brand was the cheapest.

She could test on the hypothesis if the baby being engineered to perfection didn’t need necessary nutrients, although it was weak sauce it’s not like she was going to keep the baby for the long run, right?

Right.

Reagan led them to the cabin she usually stayed in when she wanted to get away from the apartment she used to share with her father. She decided that they better stay for the night while they figure out what they were going to do with the baby because they still needed to report to Cognito Inc. While Brett was washing up the baby with a damp cloth, Reagan was measuring the water inside the bottle and shook it to dissolve the white formula. She turned to Brett and noticed how he was concentrating on washing the goo and dust off the baby, his phone was showing a demonstration of how to carefully wash a newborn.

The baby whimpered at the cold sensation on her skin and Brett would coo, “I’m so sorry! Almost there. Don’t worry, we’re going to bundle you up nice and warm.”

Reagan left the bottle on the table and flopped on the couch with a heavy sigh.

“Alright! We’re done!” Brett gathered the crying baby in his arms, “You’re hungry, huh?” he walked to the table and grabbed the baby bottle, “Look, mommy made your milk.”

Reagan’s face scrunched and she groaned, “Brett, don’t make that kid call me her mother.”

“You can’t deny that she’s biologically yours, Reag.”

“Huh, that didn’t stop my parents to neglect me emotionally.”

Brett gently coaxed the baby bottle into the baby’s mouth and she suckled on it hungrily. “We have to give her a name.”

“Just name her RB01,” Reagan deadpanned.

“That’s so lame!” Brett protested. “She needs a sweet name for a sweet baby.”

“Babies cry and are annoying. Nothing is ever sweet about childcare.”

“You’re just being bitter right now,” Brett admonished. “Our baby—”

“Stop calling that baby ours!”

At Reagan’s outburst, the baby suddenly wailed, frightened at the loud voice. Brett froze and stared at her with disbelief in his expression. She didn’t have time to deal with this shit right now, not after everything that she was still going through. She heaved a sigh and washed her face with her hands in an attempt to ease her tension. The baby’s cry reduced into whimpers as she resumed drinking the milk, Brett was rocking the baby gently in his arm.

For a moment, Reagan thought that fatherhood was natural for Brett.

“Look, Reagan, I made an honest mistake on pressing the button but there was something wrong in your machine all along and that accident in your lab was also on you. If you only checked and re-checked, then it wouldn’t birth a baby.” Brett said, his voice low and sullen. “I know how this project means to you. Be mad at me, okay, but I’m also trying to clean the mess I made by taking care of the baby even when you don’t want to. I’m trying to help. If that’s not even enough for you, I don’t know what is.”

Reagan’s emotions and thoughts were a bundle of raging turmoil. She didn’t know how to exactly feel at the moment—Accomplished? Scared? Confused? Mad? Everything happened so fast in just a day, she feared she couldn’t cope. But Brett was also right, she also made a mistake and she was too prideful that she overlooked it.

But right now, Reagan wasn’t sure anymore.

Shaking her head, Reagan stood and went to the door, “Whatever. I’m going out for a walk,” then walked out, leaving Brett and their nameless baby alone in the cabin.

Chapter Text

Reagan came back from her sulking session at the park after she picked up a six-pack of beer. When she checked her wristwatch, it said it was past eleven. For a second, she wondered if Brett and RB01 were asleep or probably the baby was still up and crying. That’s what babies do all the time, right? Sleep, eat, cry, shit, repeat. Brett could handle it, she guessed.

On her third can, Reagan opened the door to the cabin to find Brett scrolling through his phone while the baby was… surprisingly asleep wrapped in a sort of cocoon made of blanket harnessed around Brett’s torso to keep RB01 close.

“Oh, you’re back,” Brett said to her, whispering. If she didn’t know better, Brett was pretending that their argument didn’t happen or he has a switch in his brain that turns him to his cheery mood in a matter of minutes. “Look at what I found on Reddit! The subreddit r/newparents. My post got upvoted fast and the thread is flooded with congratulations. They’re replying with their first-time stories as parents and one said that their kid could sleep through a concert but the moment they put the baby in the crib, the baby wakes up! That’s why I invented this baby sling to make our baby feel like she’s just being held close to her daddy. It’s ergonomic, I can use my hands too.”

Oh, God. When Reagan thought that she had at least calmed down from her pep-talk by talking to herself, she realized that she wasn’t until she noticed that the can of beer in her hand was crumpled.

“Brett, you did not invent the idea of the baby sling. Also, Reddit is filled with a bunch of circlejerks who loses their minds over Gamestop. That’s why we just sold our conspiracy theories to Q Anon in 4chan.” Reagan replied. “What did you tell the people of Reddit exactly? That better not be scooped by Fox News.”

Brett pursed his lips before saying, “Just a selfie of me and the baby.”

“You what?!”

Brett suddenly coiled and chuckled anxiously, “So, I’m not supposed to participate in Single Parents’ Awareness Day?”

Reagan rubbed her temples, “No, you’re not supposed to expose the baby anywhere! Cognito Inc. can still trace you, you dipshit. If they find out about RB01, my dad will probably make my life hell once he knows that I’ve been making my projects behind his back. Also, fuck red tapes and bureaucracy, we never had those before.”

“Woah, okay, okay, I’m gonna delete it—oh hey! Redditor Shrek2Fan said we should name our daughter—”

“Get some rest, Brett. Tomorrow, we’re going to put the baby in my restricted lab with ROBOTUS,” Reagan said tersely as she took her shoes off and hung her lab coat. “And fucking delete that post. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Brett grinned at her, “Aw, you don’t have to be so chivalrous, Reagan. This bed can fit us all three.”

Reagan scoffed, waving his offer off, and opened another can of beer, “I have suffered all my life with insomnia. The last thing I need is a baby waking me up at midnight.”

Well, jokes on her because RB01 just did what newborn babies are supposed to do.

Being an insomniac meant that Reagan was susceptible to every sound she hears. The moment she heard a faint whine from the bedroom, she was ready to fight anyone. Now wide awake, Reagan groaned as she walked to the bedroom, wake Brett, and tell him to put the baby back to sleep. The bedroom door was slightly ajar and Reagan could see through the opening what the baby was up to.

Brett was already up on his feet with the baby in his arms as she sobbed. He was trying to talk to RB01 in hushed tones but Reagan managed to hear what he said.

“Come on, little one. You need to go to sleep because if you wake Reagan up, she’s gonna kill me,” Brett whispered. “Oh boy, I haven’t renewed my subscription to Kindle Audio, I would have let you listen for some bedtime stories.” Still, any sort of comforting words from Brett didn’t work as RB01 continued to whine, on the brink of letting out the loudest cry and letting the world know she’s got a strong pair of lungs.

Brett suddenly held the baby up and began to sniff the air around. His face scrunched as he smelled the stench of the soiled diaper.

“Oh no, I’m on diaper duty.” Reagan saw Brett rummaging the bedside table and grabbed a diaper. Brett laid the baby down on the bed and scratched his head while RB01 sniveled, her chubby hands flailing at her sides. “Uh… okay, so fun fact, I did a little volunteer babysitting during my frat years. My bros were making this roleplay pretending to be manbabies and I was dressed in a pink maid uniform while I changed their diapers. Changing yours should be a piece of cake.”

Everything she knew about Brett was against her will.

Reagan wasn’t sure if she was going to facepalm herself or slap Brett because who the fuck shares their frat’s weird fetish experience with a newborn baby?

(Maybe Rand did… she will never know and she has no plans to)

Luckily, she didn’t barf on the spot after Brett’s gross misadventures in Yale fraternities. Slumping back against the wall, Reagan wondered why the baby stopped declaring World War with her incessant crying. Perhaps, Brett was successful in changing RB01’s diaper.

And successful he was. Brett beamed at the baby with a newfound pride, “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Carrying RB01 into his arms, Brett went back to bed and reclined himself against the headboard. The baby had quieted down; the diaper was surely the reason for her discomfort. Reagan silently peeked through the small opening again and observed what Brett was going to do to make the baby go back to sleep.

Since you asked for this, we’ll see if you’re going to last another day taking care of that baby, you’ll come bleating at me and send the baby away, Reagan thought haughtily.

Brett was rocking RB01 gently and spoke in a soft tone, “You know little one, I’m not so good at telling stories. My dad never tucked me to bed. Usually, my parents skip my room when it’s time for us to go to bed so I don’t know any bedtime stories.” He paused. “Oh! I should just tell you about my experience at Cognito Inc.! Working there has been the best experience in my whole life and I met the best people, The Gang.”

RB01 fussed and suckled on her tiny fist.

“I wish you’ll get to meet everyone, you’re gonna love them,” Brett whispered excitedly. “There’s Gigi, she’s good at handling media and manipulating people that what they’re watching is harmless. Myc is a magical mushroom, I’m not sure where he came from but he’s colorful and reads your mind. There’s Andre, he does drugs and makes them, but you’re not getting an iota of cocaine until you’re fifteen. There’s Glenn, he’s a half dolphin, half-human, half Republican. He’s adorable… on the inside and an aggressive uncle.”

“As if the kid is going to meet everyone,” Reagan said to herself while rolling her eyes.

“… And then there’s Reagan….” Brett’s voice softened at the mention of her and Reagan wondered what he was going to say about her. Well, why would she care about other people’s opinions about herself? Except if it’s from Human Resources and evaluation time.

“I’ve never met such…” Obnoxious? Anti-social? A person with a superiority complex? Emotionally abused? A woman with so much baggage and trust issues? “…Brilliant and determined person in my life until Reagan.”

Wait, what? Did Brett just… praise her?

“Reagan sometimes just doesn’t know what she’s capable of,” Brett continued. “Yeah, she’s a genius but she lets herself hold back to the emotions she’s warranted to feel.”

Well, that’s some insightful character study on her. Why didn’t Brett ever write that down on evaluations? Having a pessimist mindset, Reagan had just settled to see herself as someone difficult because it was easier to be someone that other people perceive her to be. She heard Brett sigh and continued on his musing, “Little one, Reagan can be tough but I wish you wouldn’t hate her by the time you grow up. She’s… you know, always a hard shell on the outside but if you get to know her, she can be a softie.  She didn’t have the perfect childhood role models so she freaked out when we had you instead.”

Yeah, no shit Reagan freaked out. The baby was going to be a liability.

“…Just don’t hate her, okay? Your mom will come to love you.” Brett’s words became slurred and soft snoring filled the otherwise silent bedroom. Reagan stood there for a few minutes and waited for the baby to cry once more but she never did. Opening the door slowly, Reagan saw that Brett and RB01 had both fallen asleep. Brett had laid the baby down beside him while he slumped on the pillow, his mouth slightly agape.

If she was going, to be honest, Brett had done nothing but to be supportive of her. Yes, he did a mistake, classic Brett, but him taking care of the baby was a character development; Brett was holding himself accountable while Reagan was being a bitch. His heart was always in the right place. Blaming someone else wouldn’t help her solve the problem now, besides, she needs to research and observe RB01 and see the effects of the DNA reprogramming in her body. This accidental baby can be her next lifetime project! Rand once said that he edited Reagan’s DNA when she was conceived but this baby could be an improved version and even better than what her dad did. It sounds ethically impractical but editing the baby’s DNA whenever and however she wanted throughout the years with adjustments and tweaks could finally bring humanity their answer of what perfection means.

She just needed to make this covert experiment look natural to her family and colleagues.

And there was one solution that Reagan despised but knew would work.

A week later since the baby was conceived in a literal scientific way, Reagan and Brett managed to sneak the baby into Cognito Inc. by putting RB01 in a metal casing. Employees didn’t have the clearance to inspect what was inside it since Reagan was still a respectable figure in the company so, there was a small chance that they got busted. Brett built a crib out of the spare parts that Reagan had around the restricted lab and even went beyond by ordering a cushion for the baby to sleep on. When it was time to go home, Reagan would put the baby in the chamber where she can program a virtual home to take care of the baby overnight.

Reagan’s observation so far was that RB01 acted like a normal baby, there hadn’t been a strange happenstance nor did the baby do something extraordinary. Brett ordered baby toys on Amazon and when they had their free time from work (though Brett always had free time because he worked on someone’s orders) he played 80s toys and watched 80s children's show with RB01 and ROBOTUS.

(Only Brett was enjoying it)

“When I get access to the Wi-Fi Reagan, your baby is the first thing I’ll eliminate!” ROBOTUS threatened her behind the glass. “This was such a downgrade from my office upstairs, you put me back here in the lab.”

“Oh, hush you, you’re on babysitting duty and if you get to be good then I’ll have you binge-watch another season of Friends, deal?” Reagan proposed. “If you don’t, I’m trading Friends for Barney, the historically inaccurate purple dinosaur. Besides, I need you to observe RB01 if she does anything.”

“Right now, she’s a whiny bitch.”

“Also, can you scan her vitals and see if she’s alright?”

ROBOTUS left eye scanned the baby for a few seconds, “Your kid is fine but when I get out of this, I will not apologize for the AI I will become.”

Reagan sighed, “She’s not my kid. She’s an experiment.”

“Research says that twenty percent of new mothers experience post-partum depression. I get you, Reagan, you’re going through it.”

“No, I am not!” Reagan groaned as she slumped back on her swivel chair. RB01 had just bathed thanks to Brett and was dressed in a Mickey Mouse onesie. The baby was curiously trying to reach the hanging mobile in her crib. “There’s just a lot to take in, okay? I need to fix the machine while I observe the aftereffects on RB01. I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“And you’ve never told any of your co-workers besides me,” ROBOTUS said. “If there’s one thing that I learned while you kept me here before is that no secret remains a secret forever.”

Reagan knew that the son-of-a-bitch AI was right. Rand changed Cognito Inc’s structure on conducting experiments and creating inventions, all of it had to be approved before any project commenced. It also turned out that the Shadow Board ordered Rand to hold an iron fist among them to ensure that no disasters could ever happen again, making him the tyrant. One time, a regular employee snuck out a drug and was immediately sent to the Shadow Prison. Reagan wasn’t sure what her father would do to her if he finds out about RB01.

The doors slid open and Brett happily skipped into the lab with a box of stuffed toys, “I’m back! I had my mom send me my childhood toys because she wanted to jettison them and, well, my other stuff at the house too, said she doesn’t want me back home. Also, I bought a Lion King DVD. It’s gonna be another movie night!” Brett placed the box down. “So, is the baby hungry yet?”

“She’s preoccupied at the moment,” Reagan replied flatly.

Brett went near the crib and gathered the baby in his arms, “How is my honeybunch, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin?”

Reagan covered her ears and groaned.

RB01 hiccupped.

“Reagan, if you can erase that song in my system that has been drilled into my memory because this motherfucker sings whenever he has the chance, I will not try to kill you,” ROBOTUS said.

Angry footsteps were suddenly heard and Reagan turned to see that everyone from The Gang had infiltrated the lab.

“Reagan Ridley! Girl, you have a lot of explaining to do!” Gigi exclaimed.

Reagan’s eyes widened and she shook her head, “I-I don’t know what you guys are talking about!”

“Oh, don’t go denying, Reagan,” Myc said, “A package was sent to the meeting room and when we opened it, it wasn’t the kind of toys Andre and I ordered!”

Reagan could have sworn her neck would break when she whiplashed her head to Brett, “Brett! Did you order another set of baby toys?! I told you don’t set the address in this workplace!”

“So, you admit you’ve been experimenting on babies,” Andre accused. “Sheesh, Reagan, even a retard thinks that’s fucked up.”

“Do you happen to experiment on children who can go to combat?” Glenn interjected, “’Cause if you do, we’re gonna train those snotty brats military-style.”

“No!” Reagan groaned and restrained herself from pulling the hair out of her scalp, “Can’t you fuckers keep it down? Fine, I’m going to explain.” She took a deep breath and said, “Guys, this is my unexpected product from an experiment I’m not so sure if it went wrong or not, RB01.”

There was a collective silence until the sound from the stereo played The Circle of Life. Reagan turned around and saw Brett was lifting the baby just as the monkey was lifting Simba on the screen. Reagan grabbed the remote and turned the TV off while Brett’s shoulders sagged in disappointment.

“You were pregnant?” Andre asked.

“Ha! Bold of you to assume Reagan wants a family,” Myc laughed. “But… hmmm… yeah, why do you suddenly want to be a mother?”

“My goodness, Reagan honey, I bet my Beverly Hills apartment that you edited this kid’s genes to perfection because that baby is gorgeous!” Gigi gushed.

“Wait a minute,” Glenn had his eyes narrowed at Brett and Reagan, “You two had sex?”

“Well, I’d be damned,” ROBOTUS said.

Reagan sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “First of all, no. RB01 was made completely by a machine with the help of Brett and I’s DNA samples. Second, the baby wasn’t supposed to be the desired outcome of my experiment, the machine went haywire. Third, please don’t tell my dad I made this without him knowing.”

The Gang all gasped.

“That seems counterproductive and defeats the purpose of keeping your dirty little secret,” Andre commented. “Why is the baby here?”

“My lab somewhere blew up thanks to Brett.”

“What’s your plan then?” Myc asked.

“Reagan and I would take care of the baby,” for the first time, Brett spoke. He had put the baby back in her crib. “As a way of making amends, I’m helping her with this. I don’t have any experience in fatherhood so that’s why I signed up for some seminars. I’ll be out this weekend, Reag, it’s my first class on ‘How Not to Be an Asshole Father 101’.”

“Uh, we’re not playing house, Brett,” Reagan said. “Fine, whatever, do what you wish. Take the baby with you, I’m gonna have to work on RB01’s neurology assessment while you’re gone.”

Gigi waggled her finger in the air, “Nuh-uh, girl, you ain’t going to work this weekend. Tell me, what’s your goal in this experiment?”

“Observing a baby who’s a product of genetic engineering and see what are its possible side-effects,” Reagan said without skipping a beat.

“If I may offer my input, I have a plan for you, Reagan,” ROBOTUS spoke. “Genetic engineering is not uncharted waters; however, it would appear that only Rand’s and yours had a decent success rate. Now, if you want a viable success, you must do it holistically; physically, mentally, psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually.”

They all fell in thoughtful silence.

“Huh, for once I agree with a robot,” Myc said. “The thing is, if that brat of yours is exposed to an environment that completely fucks her up, it’s expected the results would be the child is fucked up too but it gives you a result anyway. The child’s reaction to a certain environment depends. We all know here that you and Brett had a problematic childhood upbringing and the only key is to give the baby a complete opposite of what you both had; a un-fucked up childhood. You have two options on how to do this.”

“What Myc said,” Glenn added. “Hey Brett, if you want training in fatherhood, you can refer to me! The first step is, don’t ever tell your kid you’re going to buy milk at the store because that’s the alibi for fathers who never came back.”

“And here I am thinking that they’ll give the baby to an orphanage,” Andre said.

“I know you, Reagan, you have commitment issues unless it’s one of your inventions,” Gigi supposed. “Coz girl, childcare ain’t nothing like bolts and nuts you put together. No Terminator Bear-o’s to take care of the baby either.”

“Gee, thanks for the heads-up,” Reagan rolled her eyes.

“The point is,” ROBOTUS interrupted, “in my calculations, the baby must be treated like a normal human baby. That also entails that the baby must grow up in a normal and healthy environment. Therefore, it is imperative to let the child think that she has a real family. That means no more putting the baby into the virtual world and letting a virtual family look over the baby.”

Reagan froze, “You mean…”

“Tl;dr Reagan, play house with Brett,” Myc deadpanned. “Mother and father. Husband and wife. White picket fence and a golden retriever. Fuck each other’s brains out loudly twice a week so that the neighbors are convinced that you’re together. Be the poster family of the American Dream.”

The word ‘family’ echoed endlessly in Reagan’s mind.

Okay, skipping fourth grade because the American education system wasn’t ready for you? Totally normal. Graduating from MIT at the age of 13? Nothing crazy about it. But having a fake family for the experiment and playing as a career wife with a husband and a child while trying to live a normal life at the age of 30? Pfft, get out of here!

“Well, what’s it going to be? You up for the challenge, Dr. Ridley?” ROBOTUS said sinisterly.

To be fair, they did have a point but roleplaying wasn’t one of her strengths, either in a theatre play or in bed. She attended a conference on child psychology once and one research already supported what her colleagues were trying to prove. There were a lot of variables to consider. However, when a child is removed from these neglectful environments, just like she and Brett experienced, and receive healthy stimulation and affection, they generally improve to some degree.

Furthermore, the question of whether a genetically engineered child presumed to be perfect would either be easier to deal with or crucial methods on parenthood must be enforced. Her findings would create possibilities to intervene, prevent, and lessen the effects of maltreatment. The future success of this experiment is dependent on further diffusion and refining. Reagan weighed on her options (as if she had plenty). Hypothesis aside, was it practical to even live on the same roof with Brett? Maybe. He knew more about childcare more than Reagan or at least, he was learning how-to on the way and wasn’t even afraid to try! He was convenient. It felt like gender roles were reversed in this scenario (still, fuck patriarchy and macho-feudalism). She could at least provide for their daily needs if they were going to—

“Let’s do it, Reagan!” Brett slung an arm around her shoulders, shaking her out of her stupor. “Don’t worry, just like Nicki Minaj’s rap ‘yes, I do the cooking! Yes, I do the cleaning!’ I already found a house that has a white picket fence and a bonus American flag. It’s a few blocks away from a pre-school too, though I doubt our child’s going to daycare.” Brett beamed, “Oh! Which religion should we baptize our baby, Catholic, Christian, Orthodox, Church of Satan? Also, should our daughter have both of our family names? Should we have new identities instead?”

Myc chuckled, rubbing two of his tentacles together, “Oh boy, you’re gonna let us install cameras around your house, Reagan. Watching you have a life with Brett is gonna be a TV reality show-worthy.”

“Hundred bucks, Reagan falls in love with him first.”

“Ha! As if, that girl is as stiff as a flagpole and has an emotional capacity of a goldfish.”

“Ain’t nobody getting fooled, the tension between them is palpable.”

“If Reagan falls in love first, I’m declaring a nuclear weapon showdown with China. If it’s Brett, a showdown with North Korea.”

The plan was to get a decent house, move in together, take care of the baby, look like a normal couple in front of the neighbors, and act as the poster family of the American fucking Dream. Everything that her colleagues suggested, should be easy.

Until they made it complicated.

To make their plan work, Gigi insisted that they have a fake wedding but skipped the whole ceremony itself; Reagan and Brett only took pictures wearing a suit and a wedding gown. Glenn forged them two gold rings while Andre volunteered to be the fake priest. Everything they’re doing was at a face value.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Andre commenced.

Yep, Brett kissed… Reagan’s fist.

“I’m sorry!” Reagan said, genuinely apologetic. “Just a reflex. I really didn’t mean it.”

“M'kay!” Brett held a thumbs up and massaged his jaw, “Man, what a punch. I would appreciate it if I won’t be a battered husband this early.”

“I will make no such promises.”

Reagan’s brownstone was leased and a week later, both she and Brett had moved in with their daughter. Brett was an ace in this “fatherhood” role while Reagan couldn’t stand a minute cradling the baby in her arms without her legs visibly shaking.

“We need to set some rules and boundaries, Brett,” Reagan said while scooping some baked mac and cheese on her plate. It was going to be their first night together and RB01 was long asleep in her cot. “My bedroom is on the left side while yours, you get to sleep together with the baby. Second, we only pretend we’re married outside.” She paused and looked at him, “You can have relationships outside of our marriage, it’s not like what we have is real anyway.”

Reagan tried not to overthink the hurt expression that flashed in Brett’s face for a moment.

“Reagan, I’ve been thinking,” Brett began. “Maybe I should stay at home with the baby. I mean, between the two of us, I know you’d rather be at your lab than be beside her. Also, one parent should be with the child rather than both parents being at work. I’m not sure if a nanny could handle a science baby like her.”

Reagan pondered. “Now that I think about it, you’re right. I don’t trust anyone outside of the Gang. We should have this contained.”

Brett nodded and suddenly, they were tears in his eyes, “I’ll hand in my resignation on Monday.” He sniffled, “I’m gonna miss everyone!”

Reagan smiled sadly and continued to eat her dinner silently. When they were done, Reagan insisted to wash the dishes and Brett stayed with the baby upstairs. In reality, she wanted to be alone. As soon as she turned the tap water off, the silence in the house felt different. Her eyes caught the empty baby bottles being sterilized and a sudden overwhelming emotion hit her. Was this going to be her life for the next couple of years? She wasn’t sure if she was prepared to commit to this experiment on a long-term scale. Sighing heavily, Reagan leaned against the sink with a hand on her forehead; the weeks’ worth of stress and fatigue finally getting her. She was supposed to input her first entry on RB01’s observation after dinner but Reagan’s body and mind didn’t have the strength to do the task.

Patting her hands dry, Reagan decided that she’ll turn in for the night.

She trudged up the stairs and turned to the corner where she first found the baby’s room. Three days ago, before they officially moved in, Brett had the walls painted pink and decorated the room with some cartoon characters and action figures she knew were from both the 80s and 90s. On one corner was a queen-sized bed, a bookshelf, and RB01’s crib was situated near the wall where some anime girls dressed in schoolgirl uniforms, wearing headbands, while they posed in front of a moon. God, Brett was overdoing this.

“Hey, Reag. Going to sleep?” Brett asked.

“Yeah, I should probably rest. It’s been a long week for us,” Reagan answered.

Brett smiled boyishly, “Well, okay then. Good night.”

Reagan nodded but didn’t reply. She stood there and gazed at Brett who also stared back at her. Seconds past, she felt the awkwardness seep into the atmosphere. Thankfully, Brett turned around and busied himself in fixing the hanging mobile.

Reagan sighed quietly and muttered, “Brett?”

He turned to her, “Yeah?”

Without preamble, Reagan blurted the words, “Thank you. For everything that you’ve done.”

And those words were enough to bring a genuine smile on Brett’s face, “Of course. Business Friends Forever.” He held his fist in the air, “Come on, bro fist?”

Gingerly, she bumped her fist against Brett’s. Reagan’s eyes softened as she stared at him, and for the first time since the baby came into their lives, she felt relaxed.

Chapter Text

It was past the first month into her observation and Reagan was about to give up.

She failed to see the fascination behind this experiment much to Brett’s insistence. All babies cry but some babies wail more than others; RB01 was the latter. She wasn’t sure if she should issue a public apology to their neighbors every time the baby was like screaming bloody murder. It wasn’t a problem during the baby’s first week, RB01 was often drowsy and slept in a lot. Reagan had more time to go on and do stuff at their house without getting disturbed. For once she wished the baby stayed small and quiet.

Reagan eventually had to invent absolute noise-canceling headphones and used them every night when she went to sleep. Still pushing through this, Reagan decided that the baby must drink nutritious milk than the standard and manufactured baby formula. She concocted milk that has the exact components of a mother’s breast milk.

(To which Brett found the milk… delicious. She had caught him red-handed drinking the milk straight out of the baby bottle)

She didn’t have the same patience as Brett’s in comforting RB01 when she fussed. Reagan was only supportive when it came to what the baby needed, specifically material stuff. Brett was strangely hyper-focused on his role, something that Reagan thought that he was trying to fill a void inside. He practically made the book Simplicity Parenting and What to Expect When You’re Expecting his bibles; Reagan would come home finding Brett asleep on the rocking chair with either book open. When he handed in his resignation, Rand couldn’t even be bothered why he suddenly wanted out of Cognito Inc. Her father had always seen Brett as someone insignificant to the team anyway. Nonetheless, it was better than Rand becoming suspicious of their whereabouts. Reagan then removed the microchip that JR implanted on Brett.

But there was one thing that must be done before Brett became a free man.

Employees who wished to resign from the company should have parts of their memories erased and all they know about Cognito Inc and the Deep State, it was a new policy when Rand became the head. Luckily, he still trusted (or rather, he was delighted) Reagan to do the trick. “Putting the good in goodbye by seeing your precious friend forget you, eh Reagan?” Rand said to her. They did the procedure but it was all just for the sake, Reagan did something to the machine to make it look like Brett’s memories were being erased. Right now, they just had to steer clear.

It was a Saturday; The fake family was currently in their living room. Brett was watching the Superbowl just like any other white male who considered liking football a personality, RB01 was sleeping in her Moses basket, and Reagan was working on her laptop.

“It’s a weekend, Reag, you should enjoy our time as a family,” Brett beamed at her. “Just chill and bond with us.”

Reagan rolled her eyes and scoffed, “The baby is asleep and I prefer her that way. We literally have nothing in common, except for the childhood trauma and parental issues.”

“Well, it’s high time for you to get a hobby!” Brett responded. “Did you ever play sports before?”

“Uh, chess,” Reagan said plainly.

“That’s nice! But it’s not the most exciting sport out there,” Brett said. “What do you do outside of work?”

That gave Reagan a pause.

“Uhm… invent things?”

Brett stared at her as if she had grown an extra head, “Seriously? Inventing things out of work is just an extension of what you do at work! Hobbies should be something you enjoy outside of your job, something that makes you relax.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Brett. It’s not like my dad allowed me to explore opportunities besides being a scientist,” Reagan retorted with annoyance. “Though, my mom wanted me to try ballet and gymnastics…”

Brett hummed in thought while he rubbed his chin then his face brightened, “Aha! We should have a family ritual instead, in that way all of us could enjoy like movie nights every Sunday.”

Reagan arched a brow, “Didn’t I tell you that we have boundaries? We don’t pretend inside this house.”

“Come on,” Brett stood behind her and began to massage her shoulders, “Loosen up, will ya? There’s no harm done when we try new things.”

Reagan scowled at him, “I’m fine with how things are.” She almost moaned when Brett massaged her kinks and knots very well. Huh, who would have ever thought he had this on him?

“I beg to differ. Ever since your father became CEO, you haven’t slowed down.”

Although he was right about it, Reagan only huffed and said, “Well, thanks for the concern.”

The doorbell rang twice and both of their heads turned to the house’s front door. “I never told anyone our address,” Reagan mumbled as the doorbell rang again for the third time. It could have been anyone from Cognito Inc or her father finding out that she had moved out of her brownstone.

“I got it!” Brett skipped towards the door and opened it, throwing a glance at the baby to make sure she wasn’t disturbed, Reagan followed suit. She felt a sense of relief when it was none of the people that she expected but immediately felt a sense of dread at who they were about to deal with.

“Hiya, new neighbors!” some 40-year-old blonde dunce, who looked like she goes to a yoga class every time her husband didn’t want to talk to her, greeted them with her Brooklyn accent, “I been wondering why y’all been because this house is suddenly quiet as a mouse.” She laughed loudly like some WASP mom who shopped at Urban Outfitters. Oh, and the reason why the house had been quiet was that Reagan built an invisible barrier around the house for soundproofing. “I’m Sharon, your neighbor two houses from here, and I just wanted to give you my famous recipe, Chicken Frito pie. I know it’s a month late for a housewarming but it ain’t all too late to try my bestseller!”

Brett was salivating looking at the casserole, “Thanks, Sharon! We’ll take it from—”

Reagan had shut the door so hard without Brett finishing his sentence.  “Reagan?! What’s wrong?”

She thumped a finger on his head, “Rule number 20, do not talk to strangers and that includes our neighbors!”

Brett swatted her hand, “But she was just giving us a casserole! It’s called a good gesture if you haven’t known that.”

“We can’t just accept anything from anyone we don’t know!” Reagan argued, “What if I’m not here with you and someone delivers a package you didn’t order and it turns out, it’s from the Deep State trying to threaten you because they found our cover? What if she was sent by Cognito Inc and filled that pie with poison?

He only snorted, “Pfft, relax. The lady is just being nice to us! You know, being undercover for our family experiment also means that we have to participate in a group called society. Not talking to our neighbors would only make us suspicious,” Brett pointed out. “So, stop being paranoid. And I don’t want that Chicken Frito pie go to waste so, please?” he pleaded with his puppy dog eyes.

Reagan’s face was twisted. She wasn’t sure if she hated Brett for making some points or that she was in her usual anti-social self.

“Let me, your husband, handle this.” Brett cleared his throat before he opened the door with a ready smile. “Hey, Sharon! I’m so sorry about that. My wife gets iffy around new people, it’s something to do with her trauma. I hope you weren’t offended,” he chuckled while rubbing his nape.

Reagan noticed the sudden flirtatious aura that Sharon was showing.

“None was taken, my dear now that I only get to see your handsome face apologizing,” Sharon shamelessly winked and laid a hand on Brett’s chest. Reagan wanted to scream I’m literally here! His wife—his fake wife! The nerve!

Before she knew it, Brett was inviting Sharon inside their house. “Thanks again for this casserole, Sharon. I bet this is going to be delicious,” Brett said with such innocence, taking the casserole with him.

“Oh, you’re being too kind,” Sharon drawled, her voice suddenly dropping to the point that it came out sultry. Reagan’s eye twitched in annoyance.

It’s not that she was jealous—God, no! She wasn’t jealous at all! There’s nothing to be jealous of over something that isn’t real. It’s just that why do some unhappy married women take advantage of someone so innocent and too polite for their good? Yeah, sure you’re lonely but this man was married! Well, married under special circumstances but—

“So…” Sharon observed the living room around her and her eyes stopped by the fireplace where several picture frames were displayed. Thankfully, Gigi was so keen at attention to detail (manipulation was her specialty after all) that she insisted for Brett and Reagan take photos of them together and showcase their “relationship” throughout the years. One frame showed how Reagan and Brett supposedly first met at Yale because Reagan was participating in some science expo, he had his arm slung around Reagan’s shoulder with a wide grin while she awkwardly smiled at the camera, her old weather machine prototype and Yale’s campus served as a backdrop (thanks to Gigi’s editing skills in Photoshop).

Another was a snapshot of her and Brett’s “vacation” to Egypt using the holo-simulator, Brett pressed a kiss on Reagan’s head while she tried not to dodge away, Gigi said they were already 3 years into their relationship at this point.

Beside it was a photograph of their engagement. Gigi told them that it was their romantic getaway to Amsterdam and Brett said he had always dreamed of visiting the tulip fields in Holland (this was again made possible using the holo-chamber). He was on his knee with a ring popped open and Reagan had to maintain a fake shocked expression.

“Wait a minute,” Sharon narrowed her stare at the frames. Reagan and Brett exchanged panicked looks for a moment. “You and I have the same wedding dress! Oh, this dress makes us feel and look gorgeous, doncha think?”

Reagan shook her thoughts and strained a smile, “Uh, yeah! Definitely. Yeah.”

“Even if my wife didn’t wear a wedding gown,” Brett suddenly spoke and stood beside her, an arm wrapped around her waist which made Reagan jolt slightly in surprise. He gazed down at Reagan with such… loving eyes. “She’s always beautiful.”

The Holy Trinity of Oh’s: Oh no. Oh god.  Oh fuck.

“Aren’t you two lovebirds cute?” Sharon squealed. “Well, I have told you about my name but you’ve never told me yours.”

Reagan paused. Shit, they haven’t thought of an identity yet. She never expected a neighbor to care about them so she thought it wasn’t that important anyway.

“We’re the Ronalds!” What in the—Brett smiled as he stood proud. “I’m Brett and this is my brilliant wife, Reagan.”

Reagan prayed that the ground would open and swallow them whole.

“… And this is our firstborn, Carter.” Brett picked the basket where the baby was gradually taking in the surroundings and the noise she suddenly heard.

“You have such a beautiful baby girl, Brett,” Sharon gushed, “and Reagan. So, what do you guys do? What made you move to this boring neighborhood?”

“If I speak,” Reagan said and she wanted nothing more than to banish this woman. “I’m a scientist at NASA and my—uh—husband here stays at home to look after our daughter. He used to work at NASA too.”

At that, Sharon gasped with a hand on her chest as if saying Girl, you did not just say that!

“Reagan darling, I don’t want to impose but a baby this young needs her mother,” Sharon said with a purse of her lips. What was that supposed to mean? “When I had my firstborn, I had to leave my job at the hotel. I used to be a manager. Let me tell you, my husband can’t be left a single day with the baby.” She shook her head then turned to Brett with a sympathetic look, “But it’s so nice of you to step up and fill in the role that Reagan should have done. I wish I had a husband like Brett.”

Reagan was sure that her face was as red as a tomato and she was about to burst a vein. This hag!

Brett only chuckled lightheartedly and shrugged, “I volunteered. Reagan is too important at NASA anyway. I couldn’t risk my wife’s career. Plus, I enjoy being a father to Carter.”

At the sound of her name, Carter whimpered and began to whine, a sign that she wanted to be carried or she was hungry, and just like that, she had Brett’s attention. Reagan wondered if he had secretly named the baby and called her that when Reagan wasn’t around.

While she tried to be nice around Sharon throughout their conversation, Reagan began to question things as they were.

It was going to be a long morning.

As soon as Sharon went home, Reagan confronted Brett with her resting bitch face, “Really, our family name is Ronald? You named the baby Carter? You got a thing with American presidents?”

Brett swallowed a spoonful of the pie before answering, “Did we have presidents who had those names?”

Reagan groaned as she rubbed her hands against her face, “Jimmy Carter and you just switched my name to that neoliberal Ronald Reagan!”

Brett’s mouth gaped at the realization, “Oohhh, I thought his name was Donald.”

“That’s Trump’s name. Seriously, I wonder how you passed AP History,” Reagan mumbled as she sat opposite Brett at the dinner table. “At least you didn’t name our daughter after a Loch Ness monster.” She smirked.

Brett abruptly stopped eating and they both stared at each other with mirth dancing in their eyes until they broke into a fitful of laughter.

“Oh man, somebody’s been catching up with their pop culture history,” Brett grinned, seemingly proud at Reagan. “What’d you think of the Twilight series?”

“Eh, I’ve seen real vampires. Dracula visited the company when he needed blood one time,” Reagan said casually. “I just thought at first that Twilight was a parody. It’s an idiotic portrayal of vampires, I heard Dracula tried to sue Stephenie Meyer for it, but I enjoyed it.”

“Hm, if I were Dracula, I would just back off. Have you seen the fans of Twilight? They’ll eat him alive,” Brett said with a shudder. They fell into a comfortable silence. RB01 or—as she was baptized just an hour ago with a name—Carter was awake in her stroller, still trying to figure out her surroundings but focused on a rocket toy dangling above her with curiosity. Brett wasn’t even chatty at the moment and it made Reagan wonder what he was thinking. Usually, he voiced out his thoughts, never mind if they were absolute nonsense sometimes but Reagan had come to know that a quiet Brett means he’s been internalizing something.

“Hey, Reagan?” Brett broke their silence, setting his empty plate aside. “You’re not mad that I gave RB01 a name?”

They once talked that Reagan wasn’t a fan of giving RB01 a real name. Giving a name to someone only forms an attachment.

But here they are.

“Mad is a strong word but no, I’m not,” Reagan admitted. “What you did when Sharon was here was a good initiative. With my social anxiety, I don’t think I would have thought of an undercover on the spot. You sounded natural.”

Brett smiled and a faint blush dusted his cheeks, he was a sucker for a smidgen of praise. “Thanks. I just thought of a contingency plan if ever someone suddenly asked about us. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Brett kept her close when he complimented Reagan to Sharon, he even attempted to lace their fingers together which made Reagan grip his hand far too hard.

Reagan shrugged, “I just get taken aback with physical contact, is all. I’ll get used to it.”

Brett moved away and placed the dish in the sink, “So… Uhm… Carter it is, then? I thought of, I don’t know, keeping the kind of tradition of naming the family after presidents starting from you? You can change her name if you want to.”

The name didn’t sound so bad at all. When she was younger, people would think that Reagan was a boy because of what her name sounded like. Carter. It wasn’t that unique but for Reagan, it gave a nice ring to her ears.

“No, Carter is perfect.”

The observation on Carter needed a second opinion.

Reagan needed a bit of advice from an expert in child psychology. It was probably a little late for it but it was better than having nothing at all. During her undergraduate in MIT, being the youngest student made her prone to loneliness for being the oddball. It’s not like she wasn’t used to it any way but there was a professor that somehow stood as a mother figure to Reagan in her college days. Dr. Samantha Bradley was a clinical psychologist who also taught at MIT but she was no way Reagan’s therapist (she never let anyone delve into her brain other than the fiasco with her father when they entered her mind. Literally) Dr. Bradley was more of her mentor and she taught Reagan some basics in psychology to incorporate into her thesis. The psychologist was probably the closest person she’d ever consider as an acquaintance.

Reagan drove to Cambridge on a Tuesday, having finished her entire tasks the previous day. When she arrived just in time for some classes in other courses ended, Reagan parked her car and made her way into the campus. She saw students with their cliques chatting and laughing while walking down the hallways. Reagan vaguely remembered the emotion of being carefree during her days here, she only felt the pressure and the weird looks that other undergrads gave her. Technicality-wise, she didn’t have to deal long with those jerks who belittled her, Reagan excelled far than them and she was out of MIT right away. She found Dr. Bradley’s office and the name plaque brought a small smile to her features. Taking in a deep breath, she knocked three times and waited.

“Come in,” a muffled voice was heard behind the door and Reagan opened it. “Ah, a familiar face I haven’t seen since forever.”

Reagan smiled at Dr. Bradley. The woman was now in her 50s, her long brown hair Reagan used to see before was now trimmed into a bob, her face had shown the common signs of aging but Dr. Bradley still looked beautiful and gentle as ever. “Long time no see, Doc.”

Dr. Bradley smile, laughter lines creasing her eyes. “Please, you’re not my little assistant anymore. Call me Sam.” She motioned her hand towards a chair and Reagan took a seat. “I’ve heard great things about you since you graduated, Reagan. I’m surprised you still remembered me despite your accomplishments.”

Reagan had published several research articles across legitimate journals but Dr. Bradley never knew that she worked for the Shadow Government.

“Well, I just haven’t had the time to visit you,” Reagan said with embarrassment. “And now that I’m here, I kind of feel bad that the reason for my visit is that I needed your advice on my latest experiment. Not because I’m catching up. Though we can do both?”

Dr. Bradley’s shoulders shook slightly as she chuckled, “Oh, Reagan. It’s not as if we can ever talk about other matters besides nerd stuff but I’m down for some coffee while we talk about whatever concerns you.”

Reagan nodded, “Sounds like a plan.”

They chose the nearest coffee shop that wasn’t Starbucks. It was a quaint café with only a few customers inside and it was cozy and peaceful. “I know you hate small talks, Reagan, but I’d like to know how you’ve been in your life?” Dr. Bradley asked while they waited for their orders to be served.

“I’d like to say that I’m trying to cope,” Reagan replied. “My career is still my priority these days.”

Dr. Bradley nodded thoughtfully, “Always the stellar student. Though you should slow down because burnout is truly real and it’ll hit you at some point in your life.”

Reagan shrugged, “I’ve felt that more than enough in my life.” Then she quickly changed the subject. “So, about my experiment. I wanted to talk about your methods of observing children. I remember there’s naturalistic child observance but I doubt if this one’s the right approach.”

Dr. Bradley leaned back against her seat and laced her fingers on the table, “Ah yes, there are several ways and the one you mentioned is one of the oldest methods in scientific research, as you may have already known that. It was used by Charles Darwin and Ian Pavlov. This observation aims to observe and record behavior in real-world settings,” She paused as their cups of coffees were set down on the table. She muttered a ‘thank you’ to the waitress before continuing, “without manipulation or control over the situation.”

The last sentence made Reagan internally wince. “Right, so…  let’s say that we made a set-up and controlled the environment and uh… there’s no other way to say this but somehow we manipulated the situation, naturalistic is not the way then?”

“Well, that approach is not the only way.” Dr. Bradley said after sipping on her latte. “You could always do experimental research; I doubt you never considered that way. But in child development, it can be risky. The good thing about it is you can have greater control over variables, it’s easier to determine the cause-and-effect relationships and—”

“Yield better results for repeating and confirming pre-existing theories,” Reagan supplied.

The psychologist smiled, impressed, “Indeed. But on the flip side, it can cause ethical issues.” Reagan fought the urge to laugh at the statement; ethics was never an issue in Cognito Inc. “Setting up an artificial design of the research can cause participant bias or unusual behaviors. It can be subject to human error; may it be in the form of experimenter bias or data collection errors. You have to commit to it on a long-term scale. If you abandon the experiment, you’ve caused yourself a fortune for nothing.”

They fell into silence, sipping on their cups and Reagan mulling over Dr. Bradley’s words.

“Now, I know you’re smart enough to know these things already, Reagan,” Dr. Bradley spoke. “You don’t really need my help, that, I’m sure. So, let’s be honest here, alright?”

Reagan wasn’t ready to be confronted over something personal but Dr. Bradley could always look through as if she was transparent. She took a deep breath and hesitated.

“I… I have my own family.”

Dr. Bradley blue eyes widened slightly but composed herself right away, “The sweet introverted Reagan finally found someone to settle with. I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised.” She smirked.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Reagan mumbled.

“I take that you have a child now,” Dr. Bradley continued, “Well if you want your child to be assessed, you can always refer to a psychologist.”

“No. There’s a reason why I cannot disclose to you but my daughter is unique. I want to oversee her growth personally, it’s just that child development is nothing of my caliber.”

Dr. Bradley didn’t say anything and only gazed at Reagan with a thoughtful look, her forefinger rubbing slow circles on her chin. “You want to be a good mother.”

Okay, this wasn’t it. This wasn’t what she wanted to hear from Dr. Bradley and certainly, Reagan didn’t want to play therapy with her. God, she was deflecting and regressing.

She shook her head and sighed, “I’m sorry, Dr. Bradley, but I don’t think you can help me on this.” Reagan abruptly stood, ready to leave. “I’m sorry for taking up your time—”

“Reagan, hold on,” Dr. Bradley calmly said making Reagan stop in her tracks. “I’m sorry for inputting my assumptions. I understand the nature of what you’re trying to achieve. Perhaps, I can help you through behavioral pattern interpretation? I genuinely am interested.”

Reagan considered the offer for a moment. “Okay but I must redact the other sensitive information. I hope you understand. It’s something that I can’t tell you but it’s not that I’m ashamed of my child.”

Dr. Bradley conceded, “That’ll do. You can always e-mail me your observations and I can anecdote it with my interpretations.”

An hour later after discussing more on Dr. Bradley’s clinical studies, the fog in her mind has cleared and Reagan was relieved that she wasn’t on a dead end this time. At least, the part on understanding a child’s development was something she understood now. Playing God on human conception could make you doubt. After they parted ways, Reagan had driven back to Cognito Inc. She decided to continue on a new project that Rand threw to them. Her usual energy, she noticed, declined gradually right after Brett left the company. His goofiness and energy made a difference in the team and even if she didn’t admit it out loud to him, she found herself missing his presence at the workplace.

By the time she went home, it was already past ten in the evening. The living room was dimly lit by a lampshade, the house was quiet. The single bulb in the kitchen was on and Reagan found a note left on the fridge.

Dear Reag,

There’s some leftover pasta in the fridge, just heat it in the microwave if you’re hungry. I ordered wine and some chocolates if you wanted something else.

If you ate the food rest after!!! Do NOT work overnight!!

Love,

Your hubby Brett

Reagan found herself smiling at something ridiculous ha-ha it’s really not sweet at all! Her stomach betrayed her and growled; Reagan decided to eat what Brett prepared for her. Dinner was surprisingly pleasant, Brett did have the skills to cook, Reagan thought. Remembering his note, she didn’t work on her project and instead chose to rest.

Instead of going straight to her room, Reagan took a detour to Carter’s room. She slowly opened it and what greeted her was the sight of Brett’s sleeping figure, knocked out on the rocking chair with a childhood bedtime storybook propped open on his stomach while Carter was clearly awake but wasn’t crying (Halleluiah!). Reagan stifled a chuckle, it seemed that the first one to fall asleep reading bedtime stories was Brett and Carter was still kicking her legs and stretching her arms. Reagan approached her daughter’s crib and peered down at the baby.

“H-Hey,” Reagan whispered. Carter turned her head, trying to find her mother’s voice. “You tired out Brett, huh?” Carter gurgled, trying to respond to Reagan. “I don’t speak the baby language but I’m gonna take it that you had a tiring day too.” Carter blinked at her. “You’re, uh, bearable if you aren’t crying.”

Carter cooed at Reagan as if protesting that she was wrong.

“You know that I’m right,” Reagan said. “Dr. Bradley said I should try talking to you. She said it helps.” Carter stretched an arm up, her fist trying to hold on to something. Reagan thought of the advice that her mentor said that babies at this stage needed to bond with their parents through physical contact. She slowly reached a finger down to Carter and stroke the baby’s fist until it opened to her touch and eventually, Carter held Reagan’s finger tightly.

Something about the gesture and intimacy of the contact made Reagan’s chest expand with warmth, her throat was lodged with unspoken words, and her heart was beating erratically. Reagan let out a broken laugh, unable to comprehend the indescribable emotion that washed upon her.

Once you feel the baby near you, it’s one of the rarest joys you can ever feel as a mother, Dr. Bradley’s words suddenly rang in her mind.

Little did Reagan know, Brett was awake, enough to see the whole scene unfold, smiling subtly at their interaction.

Chapter Text

“…Nice! Fully charged for today and it is five-thirty in the morning! Time to rise and grind!”

Brett unplugged the camcorder from the charger then opened the blinds of the window. The sun was slowly peeking out of the horizon, splashing soft light across the land. He stretched his arms, legs, and did a quick push-up on the floor. He strode to the bathroom and did his facial care ritual then brushed his teeth. He spent about ten minutes trying new hairstyles only to end up in his usual style. He grinned at his reflection in the mirror and winked, “Ka-chow.”

Just in time, soft whimpers and gurgling were heard from the bedroom and Brett did not waste another moment appreciating himself.

“Aww, you’re also awake, little one,” Brett cooed and quickly grabbed the camcorder, pressing the small red button to record this moment.

He cleared his throat before pointing the camcorder at Carter, “Today is day… I forgot how many days three months has. Okay, take two! Today is baby Carter’s third month since her birth! Yay! And according to the calendar for your baby’s activities,” he picked the calendar he printed from a website for new mothers, “It’s time for us to have a walk in the park! Reagan said I’m now allowed to take you to places as long as it’s not crowded.” Brett gathered the baby in his arms and Carter kicked her legs excitedly at the sight of him.

“Oh, someone’s excited!” Brett sang and walked near the window, adjusting his hold on the baby while he set the camcorder near the dresser. “Now, Carter, it’s time to say good morning to everyone. Good morning, Mr. Sun,” he started while Carter was still taking in the surroundings outside. Some people from the neighborhood have started their day by exercising; a group of middle-aged women in bright neon yoga pants were brisk walking past their home, a milkman was delivering bottles of milk to the house owned by the old cat lady, a newsboy was riding his bicycle while throwing newspapers at the front doors, a dog was trying to catch its tail, a man was mowing his lawn with cigarette lit between his teeth.

“… Good morning, Mrs. Moon, although I don’t see her anywhere. I’m gonna tell you someday what the moon is truly like and it’s nothing like the typical science class ever shows us,” Brett continued. Carter blinked and only stared at her father. “Good morning, skies. Good morning, tress and animals,” then, Brett placed a kiss on Carter’s forehead and brushed the tip of her nose with his, “Good morning, Carter.”

Carter responded with a yawn and Brett leaned to inhale her breath, “Ahh, nothing sweeter than the scent of a baby’s breath. Come on,” Brett said, slowly walking out of the room with his camcorder in hand. “We’re gonna make breakfast before Reagan wakes up. She gets cranky when she only drinks coffee and never gets something to eat.”

Ever since they moved in, Brett purchased a camcorder to store “precious moments of our baby and rewind it whenever we feel nostalgic” much to Reagan’s nonchalance and annoyance later on. He recorded almost anything daily like Carter’s actions, her growth, her playtime, her feedings, her attempt to talk, and every video always ended by the time Carter goes to sleep at night. In his defense, the recordings could supplement Reagan’s research! That was the convincing argument that she needed since Reagan was always away to work and eventually, she had grown to the presence of the camcorder intruding on their lives.

Brett let Carter down on her basket, shaking the toy rattle to grab the baby’s attention. He rested the toy on her stomach, Carter held the toy in her arms, and immediately put it in her mouth. “Oh nononono, that’s not yet cleaned, Carter.” Brett chastised her softly and pried the toy away from her. Brett gently coaxed the pacifier against her lips until Carter accepted it.

He made sure that Carter was safe before he went to the kitchen and prepared breakfast. Carter wouldn’t be hungry until around six so he still had time. He planned to make something nutritious and ready-to-go for Reagan to take while going to work. He opened his music player app and soft tunes of his 80s playlist filled the house. Humming to the tune of Uptown Girl, he set the kitchen counter and grabbed the utensils and ingredients from the pantry, he was going to make vegetable burritos. He set the coffee maker and it made a grinding sound as it started.

By the time the kitchen was filled with mouth-watering aroma, he could hear the thunderous sound of footsteps as Reagan staggered downstairs.

“Hey, Hon—Reagan, hey!” Brett mentally kicked himself for slipping.

“I don’t have time for breakfast!” Reagan hurriedly buttoned up her lab coat.

“That’s why I got you the perfect Vegetable Burrito Brett-fast.” He set aside a burrito stored in a plastic canister. “You’re always in a hurry so, I filled your thermos with coffee.”

She turned to him with a grateful look, “Well, I could use something to eat while driving. Thanks.” After she finished fixing her hair into a ponytail, Reagan grabbed the canister and thermos and dashed to the door when Brett called after her. “Reagan, wait!”

She abruptly stopped, “Ugh, Brett. I told you, we’ve got something important to work on at Cognito right now. I gotta have a head start.”

“Your work is always important at Cognito, Reag.” Brett walked to Reagan, still wearing the white polka-dotted pink apron, “Okay, I know you’ve got a big mission but what did we agree on a few weeks ago about our family undercover?”

If Reagan could take some liberties in their set-up, so was Brett because surprisingly, he was beginning to make and suggest things with sense… not always, though. Some neighbors who didn’t care about the young family before began to take a second glance at them. Reagan was a little worried that after Sharon visited their house, she might have started some rumors about what a weird couple they were but perhaps the rumors were targeted more on Reagan than Brett (probably Sharon and her groupies were talking about what Brett’s dick size should be). Brett suggested Operation: Affection; it was simple, he said, all they needed to do is to show themselves to the neighborhood for once a day and show gestures of affection like hugs, holding hands, kiss—

Well, not on that option yet ha-ha! A couple with a baby but they don’t even share a kiss? Yeah, it’s so weird that it’s backward.

Reagan grudgingly rolled her eyes and hissed, “A side hug for five seconds, nothing more.”

“We—uh, did a side hug for two days in a row. Shouldn’t we, you know,” Brett fidgeted with his words, “take things to another level?”

“Okay then, a bro fist,” Reagan suggested.

Brett thought for a second before shaking his head, “We did that last Monday.”

“Jesus, you’ve been counting.” Reagan groaned, “Fine, a full hug but only two seconds.”

“We did that on a Wednesday.”

Reagan inhaled deeply and narrowed her eyes, “Brett, why is this such a big deal? So-called love languages are bullshit. People in the neighborhood wouldn’t realize something is wrong if we’re not pointing out something that will make it obvious. Art of subtlety, yeah?”

“Says the one who posted her Right-Swipe profile with a selfie and a mission to have a boyfriend written on a whiteboard in the background,” Brett folded his arms. “People will question us, Reag. Remember Sharon was a close call? Also, to show affection is not only for the benefit of the people outside to see but didn’t the Gang already suggest that we have to condition Carter that she’s with her parents who look natural together? We can’t have this conversation go on and on, Reagan.”

The reasoning behind wasn’t the problem to Reagan, Brett had long figured that out, and she had accepted her part in her experiment. But Reagan still had difficulties coming to terms with showing emotions because for her, to feel a sliver of something that wasn’t anger or dejection was a weakness to her being. Brett may be slow to pick things up sometimes but he wasn’t entirely stupid. He believed that Reagan wasn’t an asshole, it was the trauma from childhood that just winds her up, and her fight or flight response was always up in her defenses. He wasn’t trying to be vindictive…. This wasn’t for himself. He was doing this for Reagan. It would be good for her to break out from her shell; Brett knew it would be like his therapist told him.

Reagan would never know how to fully heal and move forward if she kept herself holding back and push herself to a corner and coil. Her past had fully dictated her present reality.

But… Brett was willing to be patient. Just how far would he go for Reagan?

“I’m gonna be blunt with you,” Reagan said terseness in her voice. “You’re doing this out of pity. I get it, you’re trying to draw something out of me, draw that kind of person I am not. Don’t get comfortable with the domesticity. It’s not going to last and you know it. Let’s not start.”

Now, Brett was aghast. “What’s so wrong about domesticity? It’s a normal thing to live with it.”

“We’re not normal, Brett. We never were. Don’t strive for normalcy or even the idea of domesticity. If you haven’t forgotten, we still set up boundaries in this house. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t overstep outside of this experiment.”

That was a blow in the gut, almost below the belt. Brett laughed incredulously, “Of course, yeah. At the end of the day, I’m just someone who came along and tried to help a friend fix an experiment because someone didn’t want to keep it.”

Reagan rolled her eyes and responded with the same haughtiness in her tone, “Gee, I wonder who kept on insisting that we keep the baby because he wanted to make his fantasy come true. After everything you’ve been through in Cognito, you haven’t learned anything at all? Because you had it easy?”

By this point, Carter was already wailing at the sound of their voices slowly raising with each word that hurled. Brett’s expression stoned in betrayal and resignation he said, “You’re going to keep up with this, fine. Have at it. You are the brains behind this experiment, Reag. I got nothing but my support, to look after a baby because your career is at stake because your father will ruin you even more. I don’t even want to say this one to you at all but aren’t you being the coward?”

Reagan stared at him with indignation, words she could spit were already at the tip of her tongue, ready to ruin the day when it barely even started, and she would regret saying it to him…

“My career is invaluable, unlike yours. I don’t think you’re much of a loss to Cognito when you left.”

…Regrets always come later. Much, much later, if you were Reagan Ridley.

The thing was, Brett never hid his emotions when it came to his or someone’s happiness but he did so poorly when it came to disappointments. What’s worse, he took Reagan’s words to his heart that was more fragile than hers—which had hardened like a leather skin and if someone would cut it, blackened blood would flow, Reagan imagined it. Brett’s expression was pained as Carter was now shrieking, maybe because she was hungry or their voices made her uncomfortable.

With acquiescence, Brett hung his head low, “You’re right,” his voice was small and vaguely motioned at the wall clock. “You’ll be late. I would have kissed you on the cheek and told you to have a good day but I wouldn’t want you to piss your pants at the domesticity of it all.”

Oh, he knew how to quip, all right. Reagan thought that he picked it from her after months of being together under one roof.

“Jeans,” Reagan corrected. “With a hole burned in its knee. My fucking favorite work clothes,” she grabbed the keys and, without so much as glancing at Carter, left the house with the door slamming behind her.

Carter was in Brett’s arms, eyes watery and nose runny, looking at the door where Reagan had gone out as if remembering that Reagan was supposed to pat her head before she would head to work.

The day was moving slowly; Brett still assumed his routine with the baby and took care of some errands in their home. He cleaned the living room, vacuumed Carter’s bedroom, did a little laundry, and spent half of the day looking after Carter as usual. Reagan had once seen him clean the house and told him that for a man, he was impressive in his work; the house was almost spotless. She made a disclaimer not to be sexist about it but it was rather a surprise to Brett’s privilege and his track record in Cognito Inc for messing things up. She didn’t know much of his family since Brett never did mention them a lot but Reagan was sure he was rich enough to have servants and maids in their huge house. And he was in Yale, rich people love the Ivy League schools.

Having a neglectful family and busy parents meant that Brett didn’t quite spend his time with them, other than the times that the Hand family attended important luncheons and posed themselves as a picture-perfect family; successful, wealthy, good-looking Hand family. Beneath the generational wealth and trust funds, Brett learned humbleness when he was in the care of his butler, Roy, and the chambermaid and nanny, Mrs. O’Reilly.

Whenever his parents were away and his siblings were with their friends, Roy would take young Brett to a trip downtown, where the elites do not usually dwell but are still safe enough for the young master for a stroll. The trips always excited him for it was rebellious in a clandestine way. Young Brett would always request for a cone of chocolate ice cream and, realizing that he didn’t take his fat wallet of pocket money left by his mother, Roy would take a few bucks from his pocket—from his wage as Brett’s butler.

He would take Brett to a public playground where he could play for a little while with ordinary children, whose names never appeared in the guest lists in lavish parties thrown by the wealthy families in Beverly Hills or Las Vegas. Then, they would go home with Brett’s fingers sticky with melted ice cream, sweat running down his chin, a huge grin on his face, and Roy’s endearing smile for fulfilling his duties to his young master: making him happy.

Mrs. O’Reilly would be waiting for them in the parlor, immediately chiding Roy for letting the young master be rough and dirty with the children but her sternness always melted whenever Brett would squeal and said that he always had fun at the playground. She would bathe him afterward, dress him up with fresh clothes, combed his hair neatly, and tidies his room. Sometimes, young Brett would follow Mrs. O’Reilly and would ask her endlessly to teach him folding napkins and use the vacuum. The nanny would never make him clean nor touch any of the cleaning materials but she was always was a puddle when Brett would heartily want to help.

“Don’t you want to play with your toys, young master?” she would ask but Brett would trade in his toys to be with Mrs. O’Reilly and he loved the small tasks she gave him such as closing the bin properly, stacking the towels, and folding clothes. He loved the sense of responsibility.

That birthday when his family but Brett went to Barbados, he spent his day watching The Growing Years in the dining hall but Roy and Mrs. O’Reilly, later on, cheered him up. His butler and nanny both pitched in to give him a gift: an airplane model which Brett could follow the blueprint and assemble the pieces.

And when it was time to blow the candles on his slanting three-tier birthday cake, Brett wished that “I wish Roy and Mrs. O’Reilly were my parents instead.”

Brett blinked and looked down at Carter’s onesies; his memory of his butler and nanny unlocked something in him and without putting effort, he had folded half of the baby’s clothes neatly. He turned to Carter, laid on her stroller, and saw his daughter’s big and wondrous hazel eyes, cooing at him. Carter was now on the right month to have her eyes settled on their right color. Brett knew from the start that she had Reagan’s eyes.

He chuckled softly, “My mind was somewhere else that I didn’t hear you. You hungry?”

Carter chortled; it was almost lunchtime and Brett promised her a stroll in the park after.

The park was green and spacious, for a bleak and not-so-developed neighborhood in DC. There was a small playground and children went on to choose where to start with. Some went to the slides, to the monkey bars, to the seesaw, to the sandbox; Mothers were bringing their babies strapped inside their strollers or the carrier; Groupies mostly of divorced or cheated-on-by-their-husband-working-at-Wall Street wives were hosting a Zumba dance class by the sycamore tree. Brett went on an about their little trip to the park as if his argument with Reagan didn’t happen like the jolly good husband that he was. He hummed the songs he made Carter listen to while he pushed the stroller. A group of varsity jocks in purple and yellow striped jackets, passed a football with one another, laughing and howling, while they walked past Brett and Carter; but not without giving them a second glance with mischievous eyes.

“… guy with a pink bag…”

“… must have been floored by his bossy wife… pfft! Feminists…” muttered a buck-jawed blond and they leered in Brett’s direction and walked away with all their misogynistic comments and fragile masculinity. Inhale, exhale was Brett’s mantra but he knew better than to make a spectacle out of it nor to be ashamed that he was a house husband. What was so bad about it? Were pigs flying? Has hell frozen over? Has the shadow government fallen? Was Reagan finally falling in—

Brett was also anxious that being out in the open with Carter would make them even visible under Rand’s radar. Reagan had already taken care of the surveillances not to include their footprints in Cognito Inc’s satellites. He suddenly felt a grudging sense to himself and relief to Reagan; she was always a step ahead of him while he… well, still Brett doing Brett things that Brett was expected to do. Reagan would routinely say It’s so… Brett of you, or It’s un-Brett-ful so that won’t do whenever he took his decisions at the table.

He was Brett “go with the flow” Hand and it would be un-Brett-ful of him if he was going to avoid the casserole lady Sharon, waving at him with her freshly painted turquoise-colored nails, giving him her biggest smile. Why was she here? Sharon was dressed in her Spandex with armbands and a visor perched on her blonde bob. Of course, she was probably the one who led the dance class. She was gesturing to her friends like Oh, looky here! It’s the eye candy in my neighborhood!

Brett began to ramble to Carter as if she could understand a word. “I can’t avoid her, can I? Like I’m going to pretend I didn’t see her and it was that ice cream truck behind her that I’m looking at—Hey, Sharon, hi.”

“Hi, Brett. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you around the neighborhood.” Sharon had an unnecessarily shrill voice, with a bit of her nasal accent, like some donkey. Her eyes looked behind him. “Oh! You’re taking your baby for a walk.”

Brett could hear Reagan’s drawl in his head, thick with sarcasm, ‘Thanks for the notice. We had no idea we brought the baby with us’ but he only lightly smiled.

“Thought it was good for her to see something new and not just the four walls of our house.”

Sharon’s friends cast knowing glances in their direction and giggled, the kind of giggle that high school girl cliques have when there’s juicy gossip. Sharon began her strings of talks and tips: “You should put the net around the stroller…” “Did you know that you can get vitamins when you expose your baby early in the morning…” “So, wife is at work…” “Does it ever get lonely…”

Brett grew up wanting to please anybody so, Sharon was no exception even his tone was clipped and Sharon still smiled at him with delight in her eyes; and when she knew that Reagan was away, that seemed to please her. That was bad. She was feigning her obliviousness while getting an ego stroke from the husband who’s left at home with the baby. That was dangerous.

“You should keep your strength,” Sharon said and Brett suddenly felt a warm hand on his arm as she patted him. “Kids can be awful and they drain your energy before evening.” Her energetic lady friends called after her, shouting that it’s time for their vegetarian recharge at some organic café. Carter saved him from his discomfort when she gave out a wail of protest.

“Come here,” she said while pulling out her phone and opening the camera app. “Show me that darling Brett smile.” Without a chance of declining. Be nice, play it cool. He smiled comically as Sharon pressed her cheek against his, her array of pearly white teeth in full display as she beamed. Carter made an agitated sound again and then a flash, a click. Sharon giggled like she was a schoolgirl again as she showed him their picture. She could pass as his mother or if people wanted to reach, she looked like his sugar mommy. Brett stared at himself and thought, it’s easy to hate this guy.

When Sharon went on with her friends, there was a huge sigh of relief that he didn’t know he had been holding.

Maybe I should hate myself.

Reagan was having a blast. In a literal sense. The wires in the radar machine that she was fixing had a short-circuit and blew up. Instead of fixing, she decided it was high time to make additional upgrades in its system and just build a new one, a sturdier one at that. Sweat ran down her spine, her stomach grumbled, the digital clock said it was past four o’clock. God (or god, either who was listening to their swearing), she was easily exhausted these days. Usually, as in before, everything changed in her life because of a certain specimen—yes, her accidental child—Reagan couldn’t care less about her well-being. How many scientists were there that led an unhealthy lifestyle? Many! She was here on earth to have a good time and not for a long time. But her stomach begged to differ again.

She yanked the protective goggles off her head and turned the wielding machine off, its whirring sound winding down into a quiet hum. She grabbed her thermos and winced at the bitter liquid that filled her mouth. Right, it was the coffee this morning that ran cold. Reagan realized that the sandwich that Brett made was left untouched. She was pissed, alright, and she was in a rush; she lost her appetite and her mood became sour. Her co-workers were walking in eggshells around her, afraid that if they say a thing or ask about her “domesticated and casual life” with Brett, she would snap and possibly aim the ray gun at them and blast it.

Arguably, Reagan had calmed down and the projects that they have been working on gave her enough distraction throughout the day. Her father was nowhere to be found and she prayed it stayed that way, that Rand would stay out of her way.

The doors of her lab opened and ROBOTUS made his presence known with a cackle, “Your co-workers are such wussies. None of them had the guts to ask you what’s gotten your panties in a twist.”

Reagan groaned, “Please, let’s not have a conversation about my life falling apart.”

ROBOTUS shook his head mechanically and chortled, “Boo-fucking-hoo, I’m not in a mood for your sob stories. I’m also not a friend you can cry on.”

“You plotted to kill me once.”

“And my plan still stands.”

“Fuck you but whatever,” Reagan said. “Got anything you hear from up there?”

“You mean your dad?” ROBOTUS scooted closer to the radar machine. “He’s not here these days, you know that. Does he play golf? That would have been my deduction. Otherwise, I’d think he’s being secretive. That’s unironically saying it.”

“We work for the shadow government,” Reagan said a matter-of-factly. “Anyway, I don’t appreciate your uninvited visit but I’d like you to fuck off now. I have things to do.”

“Suit yourself,” ROBOTUS nonchalantly said. “Unless you wanna know a tiny piece of information that might interest you.”

Reagan frowned, “I hardly ever think of something that might. Do tell.”

“I’m sure this will. I’m talking about the end of times.”

Reagan faltered. Shouldn’t they be oriented about this? Though it was an open secret that Cognito Inc has a hand in this so-called (as its operative word) end times. There had been catastrophes that were precursors to the end of the world, of course, her father helped make those happen such as planting conspiracies and then making unexplainable phenomena around the world, one at a time. Two thousand and twelve was rather ironic that Cognito Inc amassed millions of dollars like from a movie franchise and a song that featured Nicki Minaj.

Reagan was aware of the extent of Cognito Inc’s… evilness… or how dark the shade of grey is in their moralities. They’ve changed the course of history and the idea of arriving at a singular moment, that moment that there’s only nothingness after everything that this world had gone through… what’s the point then if ending everything is the culmination?

There was no such thing as free will in her world.

Nonetheless, Reagan was still open to the plan. Her nihilism would win. Who knows?

“Well, that’s not news for me. I just think that the Shadow Board would still want to run this world and let everything run its course.”

“It would be a promotion for your part, would it? But I’m certain it’s nigh, Reagan.” ROBOTUS replied before he turned and left, an air of vagueness left behind. It’s like the robot was sending an omen. Reagan knew a lot of things but maybe not enough yet. She’d have to know what Rand was up to.

Too bad, they weren’t on speaking terms. She didn’t need for them to patch things up, she has ways.

Brett sat limply on the sofa, tired and spent and almost asleep; the television’s volume was almost muted, the colors and movements of the movie bleak and dull beneath his eyelids, the camcorder out of battery in his hand. Carter had a lovely day at the park (except with the part when Sharon showed up, that’s unspeakable. Good thing babies don’t talk). Even when in fact the earth’s air is polluted, it was a breath of fresh air for her. She was growing curious as expected and actively observes her surroundings. Meanwhile, Brett was hounded constantly by schoolgirls and mothers in the park, poor white guy just couldn’t take a break.

Carter was fast asleep after she was fed which allowed Brett to cook for dinner. He wasn’t hungry but it was mostly for Reagan. He still wasn’t sure what to do; Brett was still upset. That disagreement was probably their first ‘marital’ fight that blew off. Disagreements with Reagan weren’t new and he’d been in a couple of arguments with her before; they either forgave each other or the issue just blew over and they moved on.

There was the familiar clinking of the keys that filled the quiet room, the key slotting inside the door lock and the knob twists, a low creak until the door was opened. Brett was awake and aware that Reagan had come home. There was an unceremonious flinging of her bag on the countertop and a set of surprising eyes that he stared back. It seemed that Reagan wasn’t expecting that he would be staying in the living room at this time. He was supposed to be with Carter upstairs and she was supposed to quietly head to her room without notice.

The air suddenly whiffed with awkwardness, each not knowing what to say or do or think.

Brett shifted in his seat, blinking away his sleepiness, while Reagan simply stood there.

“I made dinner,” Brett broke their silence, like thin ice that momentarily surrounded them. “If you eat that sort of thing.”

Pfft, what’s this? Back to square one?

Reagan only gave him a curt nod, “I already ate.” Her throat was suddenly parched and she swallowed.

A beat. A silence.

It was Brett who couldn’t take it anymore. “Reagan, listen. I’m sorry that—”

“I’m sorry.”

Oh. Their apologies both shocked them. A first among firsts.

“I shouldn’t have dumped my frustrations on you this morning,” Reagan said, her voice small. “Just don’t make me say it again. Please.”

Brett stood and walked towards her. He nodded, he understood that Reagan wasn’t one to say apologies. “Yeah. Yeah, I—uhm… I’m sorry because I shouldn’t have insisted on letting you do it.”

“I was being an asshole to you, Brett.”

“And I disrespected boundaries,” he said softly, and suddenly, Reagan realized they were standing close to each other. He smelt a mixture of baby powder and his faint perfume; it had become his distinctive scent over the months. Sensing the sudden awkwardness at their proximity, Brett cleared his throat. “So… are we good again? We can totally call off everything, Operation: Affection, you know. You told me before, this isn’t how we live.”

Reagan remained silent until she said with a sigh, “No. We’re staying undercover. In one condition, just don’t go overboard.”

Brett smiled sheepishly, “You got it.” He held his fist up. “Do our code.”

Reagan shook her head in amusement, “I thought this isn’t how we live.” But she bumped her fist with his anyway.

The massive screens mounted in his office allowed him to switch cameras and surveillance, whether he wanted to check the traffic or if this hotshot mama was posting a new bikini photo on her Facebook; Rand Ridley knew everyone’s movements on this planet. Data at his fingertips, he had power under his thumb. Currently, he was aimlessly surfing the net, in other words, looking into everyone’s inboxes within DC or their feeds. The Shadow Board had been demanding lately, he just needed a fucking break.

His timeline became a bore after trolling around until… something caught his eye. Rand squinted his eye and read the name of the account’s owner, Sharon Cole, and her post, Met the nice and handsome neighbor! If I was years younger, Angelina and Brad Pitt would never stand a chance with us and winking and laughing emoji at the end; below it was her picture with—

“Wait a fucking second,” Rand clicked on the picture and enlarged it. Realization lit his face with amusement. “Well, what’d you got here. The little pest finds himself a cougar.”

At the lower corner of the picture, there was a baby in the stroller. Rand thought that all babies looked the same; small, splotchy, round, and well, they kind of remind him of Winston Churchill.

“Huh… whose baby is that?” Rand murmured. “Didn’t know he was a father. Or maybe he took the job as that hag’s granddaughter’s nanny.” Rand suddenly felt mischief coming and maybe he could use some little fun (seriously, Sharon and her friends are trying hard to please one another) following this woman and knowing what her relationship with Brett was. He pressed Sharon’s profile and linked her to his surveillances. Now, this is free reality TV.  

Chapter Text

Evil never sleeps and neither was Reagan, who was working overtime in her newly-built underground laboratory right at their home. It was easier to concoct serums and invent for personal use now that she didn’t have to drive far to Cognito Inc. The devil works hard but Reagan works harder. It’s been three months since ROBOTUS brought up the hypothetical end of times; the Armageddon in the Bible as some Christians would call it, or when the Mayans predicted that the world was going to end in 2012 according to their mystical calendar.

Reagan knew the stakes like it’s simple as reciting the alphabet. She wasn’t sure what the Shadow Board would decide if they were to spare the lives of valuable figures in the company or they would allow them to vanish and burn to the ground along with the world. Personally, Reagan couldn’t care less if she was spared or not—but one thing is for sure she knew she would be helping to make it happen. She just didn’t expect it would happen soon… or sooner. It’s bad enough because wiping the world out would only cause distrust within Cognito Inc. Reagan wouldn’t be able to know who could be trusted (apart from her father), people tend to be selfish to save themselves. The Shadow Board played like Old Testament God and moved in mysterious ways. The majority of the human population was too naïve to notice that.

Naivety. Oh, how she never had that chance to be innocent.

A soft ding went off and notification from her e-mail inbox popped up; it was from Dr. Bradley. She and Reagan had exchanged a few electronic correspondences for some time now. All of their conversations had been strictly about clinical studies and mundane questions on how Carter was doing.

Still doing fine, Reagan replied to her one time, still slobbering all over her hand and playing a lot now. Reagan had recently added a log into her observation on Carter’s progress. For the past six months, there hadn’t been anything unusual that happened… well, except the fact that she was a baby conceived unusually. She hasn’t had a fever or common colds that most babies experience at their age. It was just as Reagan predicted that she was immune but she still has yet to determine which diseases couldn’t penetrate Carter’s immune system and which diseases wouldn’t heed or cross the thresholds of her body. Carter was created a little pre-maturely, she was merely a byproduct. Again, Reagan was going through this like it was a hit-or-miss situation.

But Carter was smart. Smarter than any babies her age. That was something Reagan marveled about among things.

There had been only a handful of babies who were born geniuses in history—some were recruited to Cognito Inc during the company’s early establishment and some went to rehabilitation. Not every genius has a lucky life of getting recognized. Reagan was one of those lucky genius babies, of course. When she was three months old, she could recognize the patterns and match the flags of the world and their countries; by nine months, she could hold a pencil and write a paragraph from Beer’s Law; and two years old, she could recite the Constitution without faltering.

She often wondered whether her giftedness was either a blessing or a curse. Having that vast amount of knowledge was a burden sometimes. Reagan had asked herself before what she would be if Rand didn’t alter her genes. Take off her genius, what was she? Take away her one true goal of obtaining Cognito Inc, who was Reagan Ridley? Sometimes, her imaginative answers to those questions scare her.

It would be nice to think of Reagan as just a plain, average woman. That she would have grown up to be a normal, fairly happy child in a tolerable environment and that she would have grown into a normal, fairly contented adult. She let her mind dwell into that idea, that image of hers; her average scores in science, her honest mistakes in English quizzes, her unremarkable graduation from a third-rate community college, her unscrupulous job in the accounting department. Maybe marry a good man, bear him a child or two, maybe live a life which you can say “yeah, that'll do.”

So, yeah, not that she was making this about her but Reagan wondered when Carter would grow up and she would choose a path that was inconsequential; that she would blend into the status quo whereas Reagan had to be bullied and be called a freak. Would Carter ever defy the kind of path that Reagan had put her through to choose a life that is normal as it can be? And as a question to Reagan, would she allow Carter to?

Would she allow herself to be a mother and a better parent than her parents ever were? Oh. Mother? But whatever happened to the “specimen-scientist” relationship?

Reagan imagined herself again as an average middle schooler and thought, I’d win in a fish-breeding contest.

What a convenient way to evade her existential dread.

Reagan didn’t have to work on a Friday, she decided she’d rather be in her home lab and do her work from Cognito Inc remotely. The previous projects assigned to her were already done and gone for whatever purpose they may serve (distraction and destruction). Her co-workers could handle the rest. At the moment, she was producing more milk for Carter inside the machine and was waiting for the time for the sterilization to finish. Knowing that it might take a while, Reagan decided to join Brett and Carter in their living room. She saw them sitting on the carpet with toys and coloring books around them. When she was near the couch, Carter perked up and began to crawl towards her.

Maybe it was only in the beginning that she was reluctant whenever Carter wanted to be held by her, as time went by, Reagan was a little less uncomfortable (much to Brett’s constant teasing that she had gone soft). No, she hadn’t gotten soft, she was just mingling with her test subject. Nothing of that emotional fuss, none of that sort! Preposterous.

But Carter was now tugging on her pajamas and Reagan gathered the baby in her arms, settling her by the hip. It was embarrassing enough that Brett was the one who taught her how to hold a baby.

“Have you learned how to talk yet?” Reagan asked Carter.

Brett laughed, “Okay, I thought we were better than this. Let’s not pressure the baby.”

Reagan stared at Brett with a straight face, “I was this old when Rand brought me to Cognito and made me assemble an atomic blaster gun. You were saying about pressure?”

“And, uh, did you assemble it? Succeeded?”

Reagan shrugged, “Assembled it, yes. Succeeded? it blew up when Rand pulled the trigger. I tried, rookie mistake.”

Brett’s brows shot up in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish until he sputtered, “Y-You realize that you saying that Rand made you assemble a deadly weapon not suitable for babies and-and failing at it when you’re barely one year old by dismissing it as a-a rookie mistake—wha—you were barely a kid! I just… you really do have a tragic childhood. Wow.”

“I’m still proud of it. Not every baby knows how to assemble a destructive weapon.” Reagan smirked, “I told you, I’d bag all the awards in the Tragic Childhood Olympics—ow!” She yelped when Carter yanked her ponytail down and the baby could only giggle at her mother’s reaction. “You little imp, no. Let go, come on.” Reagan slowly unlatched Carter’s chubby hand from her hair.

“You gotta have to ask her nicely,” Brett remarked.

Reagan rolled her eyes, still trying to get Carter’s hand off her hair, “I’m not baby-talking.”

“Carter’s having fun.”

Without having much of a choice but to coax the baby from completely letting go, Reagan cleared her throat and said in a honeyed tone, “Sweetie, please fucking let go.”

“Hey! That’s not very nice,” Brett chastised.

“I’m trying,” Reagan said through gritted teeth but she already succeeded. Carter found another toy that interest her and fussed in her arms to signal that she wanted to be put down on the carpet; Reagan delightfully obliged.

Plopping down the couch, Reagan picked a bowl of leftover fries from the coffee table and began to munch some of it. “Dr. Bradley sent me an e-mail, said she wanted to observe Carter in a non-intrusive way.”

“Dr. Bradley? Oh, right. That former mentor from MIT.” Brett furrowed his brows in thought, “And? What’d you tell her?”

Reagan swallowed down a mouthful of fries before answering, “I told her that I’m—we’re going to think about.”

He nodded slowly, “And what do you think? What do we think?” Reagan was only silent, genuinely unsure. Brett continued, “Do you think it’s a good idea to let Carter meet outside of our circle? And by ‘circle’, I mean anyone but your father finding out about her.”

“I can’t argue with a licensed child specialist, can I?”

“Arguing with other people is what you do sometimes so…”

Reagan halfheartedly threw him a throw pillow that nothing Brett couldn’t catch with a laugh, “Geez, I have a supportive fake husband. Also, you’re right.”

Carter began to crawl towards Brett and he willingly accepted the baby and made her sit on his lap. Reagan saw how easily Carter gravitates towards Brett and how he was always gentle and adoring towards the baby.  “What I think is… we can’t hide her forever from the world, Reag.”

Brett was right. There’ll be a point in time that Carter would eventually be wanted to be free; in Reagan’s scientific perspective, Carter being out to the world sooner meant expanding her experiment so to speak. Even the most classified CIA files on American intervention in the Global South were leaked somehow, somewhen. Their little secrets would spill like a skeleton out of the closet. Same difference.

But, presently, what would an extraordinary child be like when she’s exposed to other people? Would she have Brett’s traits of being simply outgoing and friendliness or would she have Reagan’s antisocial tendencies?

“But we can hide her from Rand for a little longer,” Reagan said as if to reassure herself. She sighed, “I looked up one of Dr. Bradley’s research articles she worked in ’71. Babies are made through in-vitro fertilization. The paper mentioned the poor experimentations on humans in Dachau by the Nazis. Thus, there’s this principle of informed consent on human test subjects before the whole thing starts.” Reagan gazed at Carter, who was taking interest in Brett’s hand as she clapped them with hers. “Bradley suggested that one cannot ethically choose the unknown perils that a kid must encounter while also choosing to give them life in which to face them.”

Brett tilted his head to the side, humming as he thought. “It’s an outdated paper. Unless she’s Christian, I don’t think Dr. Bradley won’t judge you for working in a morally grey borderline evil company, or the fact that Carter was an experiment that went right and wrong, depends on how you see her.”

“Feels ominous,” Reagan mumbled as she leaned her head against the armrest. Carter cooed and babbled as she crawled to Reagan and snuggled against her side, making Reagan smile lightly. “Let’s give it a try. What can go wrong?”

Anything, said a voice in the back of her head.

It turned out that Dr. Bradley wanted to invite them not to her office in MIT but her home, much to Reagan’s surprise. She also disclosed in her invitation that she was inviting Reagan’s “husband” too, and Reagan didn’t hesitate to tell him about it. It only seemed practical as Brett could handle Carter better than her anyway. They only needed to rehearse what they were going to say when Dr. Bradley asked them anything personal.

“Okay, soundbites. So, we met at an expo in MIT…” Brett began to recount their script and Reagan hummed in agreement, her eyes focused on the road as she drove. Carter was happily staring at the moving pictures of buildings and landscapes outside the car window, gurgling when something interests her. “We were both awkward but I asked you first for a drink then having drinks together became dates and we hit it off from then on. Uh, it sounded like we were supposed to have a one-night stand but feelings got involved?”

Reagan rolled her eyes, “Don’t include the last part, it’s unnecessary.” She slowly hit the brakes as the traffic lights signaled red. “You are a Data Science graduate and you work with me at NASA until I got, er… pregnant and the baby was born so you resigned.”

Brett nodded, “Yes.”

“And you’re from New Jersey.”

“And I’m from New Jersey. Got it.”

Reagan began to drive again when the lights turned to green once again. She followed the directions from her phone app that took her to Dr. Bradley’s house. About thirty minutes later, they arrived in Forest Hills. Dr. Bradley’s mansion reminded Reagan of the Victorian era houses during that time when Cognito experimented on time warps. As they got down, they noticed the grand door opening and Dr. Bradley emerged with a pleasant and welcoming smile, waving at them.

“Reagan, so glad for you to come.” The child psychologist said, then her eyes flitted to the baby in Brett’s arms. “Oh, such lovely child you have, Reagan. I have no doubt she’ll be as brilliant as you when she grows up.” Dr. Bradley gushed, beaming at Carter with fondness before she turned to Brett and extended her hand, “You must be the lucky man for Reagan, I’m Samantha.”

“Hi! I’m Brett Hand. Pleased to meet you,” Brett shook her hand and grinned, “Reagan has told me good things about you especially during her stay at MIT.”

“Reagan is too nice,” Dr. Bradley smiled serenely and then her forehead scrunched in sudden thought. “Brett Hand… now, that name rings bells. Are you in any way related to Greg Hand? Benjamin Hand?”

Reagan noticed Brett’s face blushed and suddenly became embarrassed. It could mean that those two names that Dr. Bradley mentioned were his family and knowing how his parents were rather proud of his siblings than Brett, any personal questions would make him even more uncomfortable. I’m just a footnote in the family, he once admitted that to her when they opened up about their childhood pasts. But damn it, if Dr. Bradley knew about the Hands, then their undercover would blow up! And why did Brett never recall this doctor?

“I… Uhm,” Brett cleared his throat and shifted Carter in his arms. “Greg is my dad and Ben is my brother.”

“Ah, now I can see the resemblance.” Dr. Bradley nodded, her eyes scrutinizing him. “Greg was my classmate and a friend and your brother Ben was a patient of mine during therapy. How come I never saw you much around during alumni reunions? Most of my batchmates bring their families with them”

Brett stammered and vaguely answered, “Oh… well, I-uhm… gatherings, not really my thing.”

“Mom? Your guests are here now?” from the steps, a voice called out and they all turned to a fair-skinned woman, her locks of dark curls cascading down her shoulders, her eyes widened in curiosity as she found Reagan and Brett.

“Why don’t we get inside and let me introduce you to my daughter, Fay,” Dr. Bradley gestured towards the door. Quick pleasantries were then exchanged before they headed inside. From the open doorway to the spacious hallway, the home exuded warmth. Photographs of Dr. Bradley, her husband, and their children, evidently well-loved, adorned the walls. The floor was an old-fashioned parquet with a combination of deep homey browns, and the walls were summer garden greens with a dramatic white baseboard.

“How old is she?” the woman, Fay, asked Brett after she closed the door behind.

“She’s six months now! Carter’s growing up fast and I’m not sure what to feel about it,” Brett answered. “I shouldn’t blink or else, Carter’s off to make her dreams come true.”

There was something about Fay that makes one gravitate towards her naturally. Reagan observed her and she seemed like a nice person like her mother. She didn’t look like she took the same path as Dr. Bradley, on first impressions she seemed like a vinyl hipster who went to fine arts school; carefree, sheltered, yet rebellious, a cool girl. Fay exuded warmth just from the short interactions she had with the woman.

“She’s the same age as my baby girl,” Fay smiled. “She’s currently taking a nap upstairs but I think she’ll be up soon. I was thinking that they can both be playmates for the day.”

Reagan turned to Dr. Bradley and murmured as they made their way to the living room, “I didn’t know your daughter would also be here. I would have brought two bottles of wine.”

Dr. Bradley chuckled, “No need to. Fay’s arrival was also unexpected, she only arrived just this morning.” Reagan kept on glancing back at Brett and Fay, who was happily trying to entertain Carter by making silly faces and tickling her side. Carter seemed to have the time of her life, laughing and giggling in a high pitch of amusement. She was only distracted when Dr. Bradley began to talk about this “non-intrusive” observation.

“I know it’s quite unusual to employ this method,” she began with her tone laced with cautiousness. “But if you want me not to meddle on your observations, I can take a step back, and let’s just enjoy this weekend without the topic ever being brought to the table.”

“Honestly, your expertise would be a help. I don’t really mind.” Reagan answered.

Dr. Bradley clasped her hands together in delight. “That’s settled then. Don’t worry, you can forget about it for today, don’t mind me. Pretend that it’s just us catching up. I do love to know more about the things you’ve been doing, Reagan. But first, lunch.”

When was the last time she ever had decent dining with a friend? Reagan couldn’t remember and it’s not like she had so many friends to hang out with and invite them for brunch or dinner. Dr. Bradley was perhaps the first one to even invite her and the woman had been treating her like an old friend although the two of them hadn’t communicated for almost twenty years. Of course, Dr. Bradley asked her questions about her career and what she had been up to, more like, what had Reagan been inventing. She gave the generic ones, the pieces of made-up information that she rehearsed with Brett, and Dr. Bradley was looking impressed and… proud. The crow’s feet that adorned the side of her eyes softened as she listened to Reagan recounting her achievements, a gentle smile etched on her features as if she was being nostalgic and remembering the Reagan who was once her mentee.

“Brett, why’d you decide to be the one who takes care of Carter?” Fay chimed in.

He glanced at Reagan before answering, “I honestly enjoy spending time with Carter and Reagan and I don’t just trust anyone to be Carter’s babysitter. I volunteered. It saves us lots of money if you ask me.”

Fay smiled at Reagan, “You have a very supportive husband. Men these days don’t like to be the ones to give up, you know? It’s always been us, women. Independence has no gender in the first place.”

Reagan found herself agreeing to Fay but didn’t say anything and she was once again engaged in a conversation with Brett about movies and TV shows that Reagan had no idea what they were referring to. They spoke candidly, quoting lines, and made jokes. Even when Brett was beside her with Carter in a high chair seated between her two parents, Brett was far more interested in Fay’s stories. Reagan’s first impression on her rang true; Fay deviated from the path of the medical field and pursued what she truly wanted, now she was a curator at a museum in New York while pursuing her second chance in a law school while being a single mother. Dr. Bradley seemed to be supportive of her as well, it’s like she never regretted how Fay turned out to be and loved her for who she was.

Reagan hated being envious about it but she couldn’t help the small feeling she felt.

Even if lunch was over and Carter was introduced to Amari, Fay’s daughter, she and Brett were still engrossed in sharing their interests and love over anything 80s (Except for the privatization by Reagan, Fay joked as she referred to President Reagan while winking at Reagan). They were relieving some childhood memories of watching shows that stayed in their hearts. Reagan had a feeling—no, she knew that Brett was enamored by Fay, dazzled by her outgoingness, and her overall personality. Reagan was a genius, undeniably genius, but Fay was smart minus the parental issues and traumatic childhood. Hearing them talk and finish each other’s sentences made Reagan feel as if she was intruding into their presence.

To be this insecure for nothing, felt so fucking small. People are dying, Reagan said to herself, and there are far more important things to worry about. She, instead, took interest in playing with Carter, giving her toys that she couldn’t reach while Reagan talked to her about the shapes and colors. Dr. Bradley also joined them, minutely observing the mother and daughter interact while she also mingled with Amari.

Carter leaned against Reagan’s chest while trying to twist with her small hands the disoriented Rubik’s cube to their respective colors, her tongue slipping between her lips as she tried to solve it, her nose scrunched as she focused. Dr. Bradley chuckled at the sight, “Carter seems very determined to solve it. Reminded me of you when you stayed up late in MIT’s lab. I remember you arguing with the guards who tried to chuck you out of the campus.”

Reagan laughed lightly, “I can’t abandon a work frustrated. I’d be more frustrated if I leave it for the next day.”

Carter babbled and raised the cube to Reagan, which the tiles of red were already completed. Reagan was aware of Carter’s intelligence but for Dr. Bradley, she seemed surprised at the baby’s achievement.

“How fascinating…” Dr. Bradley murmured, her eyes glimmering in awe and excitement. “She completed one color at six months old. I know it shouldn’t be surprising to see knowing that you’re her mother, Reagan, but seeing it with my own eyes… it’s amazing!”

Brett and Fay were now also staring at Carter with a shocked expression painting on their features until Brett recovered and plopped next to Reagan.

“Reagan, my God, look at her go!” Brett exclaimed with pride as Carter didn’t seem to notice how the world was stopping after what she had done, she continued twisting the cube and figuring out the colors. Reagan’s chest swelled with pride and she found herself absentmindedly smoothing down Carter’s baby hair for encouragement, smiling.

Carter gurgled again and looked up to Reagan as if asking whether she was doing alright.

“Go on, baby, you’re doing good,” Reagan said softly.

A few more turns and… she did it!

Brett swooped Carter in his arms and peppered her cheeks with kisses, earning a laugh from the baby. Reagan had mixed feelings about it, she was this young when her intelligence manifested, and look where she was now. She achieved things in the name of Rand’s selfish intentions but at the expense of her well-being. Maybe a part of her wanted Carter to be… normal, just normal.

For once, she suddenly didn’t see Carter as her experiment, she saw her as her daughter.

Brett offered to drive them back home while Reagan went to the backseat with Carter. He would take a glance at the rearview mirror and saw a sleeping Reagan hugging loosely Carter. The baby was dozing off and nuzzled into the crook of her mother’s neck, sucking on her pacifier. They looked so peaceful together as if Reagan had finally accepted Carter and let her maternal instincts get through. Brett didn’t want to disturb this moment but knowing that they were almost arriving at their home, he pulled over and grabbed his phone. He discreetly took a picture of them, a new addition to the stolen moments of Reagan and Carter being together. He drove to their garage and took Carter’s baby bag before he gently shook Reagan.

“Hey, we’re home now.” Reagan stirred and blinked her eyes until her drowsiness was gone. She groaned when she felt Carter’s weight on her chest. “I’ll get her,” Brett said and carefully carried Carter in his arms. The young family strode inside and not in the mood to do other things like their nightly family movie activity, they decided to get ready for bed.

“I didn’t know Dr. Bradley was a family friend of yours,” Reagan said as she leaned against the doorframe, watching Brett brush his teeth.

“I didn’t know either,” Brett admitted before spitting out the toothpaste. “Look, when there were visitors in our home, they usually make me go to my bedroom. That’s probably why she didn’t recognize me, nor I to her.” He rinsed his mouth and washed his toothbrush and faced her. “Uhm… Fay invited me—I mean us to an art exhibit in Maryland.” Brett blurted out and Reagan didn’t fail to notice the creeping blush in his cheeks.

Oh, so there were arrangements that went on during the visit.

“If you’re not busy… we should attend,” Brett continued while Reagan could only narrow her eyes.

“Out of the question,” Reagan deadpanned. “I’m gonna be busier than ever, Brett. I can’t afford to be away from Cognito.”

“Come on, Reag, it’s just one day,” Brett said. “We can let the Gang look after Carter for just one day.”

“No, you said it yourself that we can’t trust anyone to look after Carter,” Reagan pointed it out, suddenly feeling annoyed. What was so special about this art exhibit schmerbit anyway?

“I said anyone but our friends!” Brett countered. “Are you implying that you don’t trust them?”

“Do you even trust them around with a baby?” Reagan folded her arms.

“Fair point,” Brett answered with a sigh.

“I don’t even know why you’re suddenly accepting an invitation from a practical stranger,” Reagan exasperated. Now that came out of nowhere and it sounded wrong on Brett’s end. She recovered, “Well, if you wanna go on your own, fine. I’ll look after Carter myself.”

Reagan walked past him but Brett held her back, his hand gripped on her upper arm. “Hey, what’s bothering you?”

She shrugged him off, “Nothing. I said you’re free to go in buttfuck nowhere.”

“Don’t be like this,” Brett mumbled. “Listen, if you don’t want me to go, just tell me.”

“I don’t care about it, Brett,” Reagan hissed. “Like I told you, if you want to do something for your own good, I won’t meddle. If you want a relationship with someone else, be my guest.  If you want something in your life—”

“You and Carter are my life now!”

There was stillness for a few seconds while Reagan stood rigidly as if she had been turned to stone, even though the life within her was so strong that her thoughts had never previously swept across equal variety reasons and doubts in such a short time.

“Brett…” She said, at last, in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to look like I oppose your acquaintance with Fay…”

“Yeah, sue me for being sensitive to your feelings and considerate to a friend,” Brett said. “You know, what? Let’s forget it. We’re both tired and we have to rest before we spew something we would regret tomorrow.” Brett walked past her, busying himself in making sure Carter was comfortable in her crib.

She had amassed emotion as she went on to think about what just happened, and had forgotten everything, save the satisfaction of pouring forth her sentiments, unchecked: an experience previously frequent with her, but scarcely ever-present since which had been a perpetual conflict of energy with dread.

Reagan stood numbly and with a terrifying realization, her feelings had gathered to an avalanche, and there was nothing that prepared her for it.