The operation winds down slowly.

Paramedics finish checking the hostages, local officers begin clearing the perimeter, and the tension that filled the air only twenty minutes ago dissolves into the familiar rhythm of post-scene cleanup.

Morgan and JJ are talking with one of the tactical supervisors near the command vehicle while Rossi signs off on the final field notes.

I’m standing with them, listening, but my attention keeps drifting.

Because across the lot, near the edge of the staging area, Hale is packing up her rifle case.

She moves the way she always does—quietly efficient, deliberate, every motion practiced and controlled. The ghillie hood is folded over one arm while she checks the scope mount before securing the case.

My eyes keep returning to her.

I don’t mean to stare.

But apparently I’m not very good at hiding it.

Morgan stops mid-sentence.

“Reid.”

I blink. “Yes?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

He gestures with his chin toward the far end of the lot.

“The thing where you pretend you’re listening but you’re actually watching someone.”

I follow his gaze like I don’t already know exactly where it’s pointing.

“I'm observing the tactical team demobilizing.”

Morgan snorts.

Garcia turns slowly in the same direction.

“Oh,” she says immediately. “Her.”

JJ glances over as well, a small smile forming.

I clear my throat slightly.

“Well… while we’re discussing operational timing,” I begin carefully, “I have a question.”

Morgan folds his arms.

“That already sounds suspicious.”

“It’s not suspicious. It’s statistical.”

Garcia leans forward over the hood of the SUV. “This should be good.”

I hesitate for a moment.

“Hypothetically,” I say, “how many dates does it usually take before asking someone to enter an official relationship?”

The silence is immediate.

Morgan stares at me.

Garcia’s mouth slowly falls open.

JJ’s eyes widen slightly.

“…Wait,” Garcia says.

Morgan points a finger at me.

“Hold on.”

JJ tilts her head. “You’re going on dates?”

I adjust my tie slightly. “Possibly.”

Morgan laughs.

“Possibly?”

Garcia nearly squeals. “WHO IS SHE?”

“It’s not—”

Morgan cuts me off immediately.

“Reid. Who.”

I glance briefly across the lot again.

Hale has closed the rifle case now and slung the strap over her shoulder.

For a moment the noise around the team fades, replaced by the quiet memory of a small diner two weeks earlier. Hale had arrived straight from a range day, sleeves rolled, hands still faintly smelling of gun oil and coffee. She didn’t talk much at first. Just listened. Observed, but every now and then she’d tilt her head slightly and ask a question so precise it felt like she’d been studying me the entire time. I remember realizing halfway through the conversation that I was smiling more than usual—and that she’d noticed it long before I had.

I snap back and realize the entire team is staring at me.

Finally I sigh quietly.

“The Sniper.”

Another pause.

Morgan blinks.

“The sniper?”

“Hale,” I clarify.

Across from me, Prentiss nearly chokes on her coffee.

“There is absolutely no way,” she says immediately.

Morgan turns toward her. “What?”

Prentiss points toward the tactical unit across the lot.

“Hale is HRT’s best sniper.”

Garcia looks delighted.

“Oh my God.”

Morgan turns back to me slowly.

“You’re telling me… you’ve been dating the overwatch sniper.”

I shift slightly.

“We’ve gone out a few times.”

Morgan shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’ve been secretly seeing the woman who keeps saving our lives.”

Garcia claps her hands together. “I love this.”

Prentiss laughs under her breath.

“Reid,” she says, still amused, “that woman has a reputation in three different tactical divisions.”

Morgan crosses his arms.

“And you’re asking us when it’s appropriate to ask her to be your girlfriend.”

I glance back across the lot once more.

Hale is already heading toward the tactical vehicles, completely unaware that this entire conversation is happening.

“I simply wanted accurate guidance,” I say calmly.

Morgan grins.

“Oh, we’re helping with this.”