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.