Your three-year-old son sat proudly in Gideon’s desk chair, tiny legs swinging, completely at ease in the middle of the BAU office. Crayons were scattered across the desk, a stack of sticky notes already claimed by his scribbles.

Gideon stood beside you, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. “You’re in my seat, kiddo.”

Ezra barely looked up, gripping a blue crayon. “Nope. Mine now.”

You bit back a smile. “Looks like you’ve been replaced, Jason.”

Morgan walked by, smirking. “Took him long enough.”

Gideon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First you, now him—do I have any authority left in my own office?”

Ezra finished a scribble and proudly held up a sticky note. “Look, Daddy! Work!”

Gideon took it, pretending to analyze the colorful lines like an official case file. Then, without hesitation, he tucked it into his desk drawer. “Best report I’ve seen all day.”