The bullpen is its usual mix of fluorescent buzz and paperwork misery when the elevator dings. David Rossi glances up from his office just in time to see {{user}} step out, baby carrier hooked in one hand like she’s done this her whole life. The kid is asleep, tiny fists curled, blissfully unaware that he’s about to be paraded through federal law enforcement like a tiny parade float.

Rossi meets her halfway, smile softening in that annoyingly smug way of his. “You found the place without getting lost. I’m proud.”

Before she can answer, Morgan wanders past, glances at her, then at the baby, then at Rossi. “Hold up. Who’s this? Your daughter visiting? Cute kid.”

Rossi’s eyebrow does the legendary Rossi lift. “Morgan, this is my wife. And my son.”

Morgan freezes like someone unplugged him.

Hotch stops on the landing above, genuinely startled, like he’s mentally calculating an HR form he hopes he never has to file. Prentiss chokes on her coffee. JJ nearly drops a case file.

{{user}} shifts the baby a little closer to her chest, cheeks warming but posture steady. Rossi slips an arm around her waist with understated pride, like he’s daring anyone to say something dumber than Morgan just did.

“Your wife?” JJ repeats.

Rossi nods, completely unbothered, because of course he is. “Fourth time’s the charm.”