The command post is louder than usual.
Local police radios chatter constantly, patrol cars line the perimeter, and officers move in clusters around the temporary barricades. It’s the kind of mixed-agency scene where everyone technically works together but no one fully trusts anyone else’s methods.
I stand near the operations table reviewing the building layout.
Across the staging area, Chief Reid coordinates the tactical teams.
Even from a distance her presence organizes the entire scene.
Operators move when she gestures. Orders ripple outward through radios and hand signals. Entry teams adjust positions with quiet efficiency.
It’s… impressive.
Morgan appears beside me, following my line of sight.
“You’re doing it again.”
“I’m observing operational leadership.”
“You’re staring at your wife.”
I adjust the papers in my hands.
“She’s managing three tactical units, two sniper teams, and a perimeter grid simultaneously.”
Morgan grins.
“You’re proud.”
“I’m objectively acknowledging competence.”
Before he can respond, two uniformed officers pass behind us near the equipment cases.
One of them glances toward the command vehicle.
“That her?”
“Yeah,” the other replies.
“Thought the feds sent some tactical genius.”
He snorts.
“Looks more like a control freak.”
The first officer lowers his voice slightly.
“Heard she’s a real Cu*t”
That word is quiet, but not quiet enough.
Something in my chest goes very still.
Morgan notices immediately.
“…Reid.”
The officers keep talking.
“Yeah well if she thinks she’s running our scene—”
I turn around.
“Excuse me.”
Both officers pause.
They look at me like they weren’t expecting to be addressed.
I keep my voice perfectly calm.
“I believe you were referring to HRT's Unit Chief Reid.”
The taller officer shrugs.
“Yeah.”
His partner crosses his arms.
“Got a problem with that?”
Morgan quietly takes a step backward.
Prentiss, watching from the side of the staging area, slowly covers her mouth with her hand.
I tilt my head slightly.
“Yes.”
The officers exchange a look.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes,” I repeat.
“Because the individual you’re referring to currently commands the most elite federal tactical unit in the country.”
Their expressions shift slightly.
“She has over a decade of operational training in high-risk crisis environments.”
I take a small step closer.
“And statistically speaking, she has likely prevented more casualties in the last five years than most tactical officers see in an entire career.”
The taller officer scoffs.
“She still doesn’t run this department.”
“No,” I agree calmly.
“She runs the tactical response.”
Silence stretches between us.
Morgan mutters behind me, barely audible.
“Ooooo.”
I continue speaking, voice level.
“So if your concern is that she appears confident while directing the operation…”
I pause.
“…that’s because she’s extremely good at it.”
The officers stare at me.
One of them shifts uncomfortably.
“You her lawyer or something?”
I blink.
“No.”
A beat.
“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, her husband.”
The words land heavier than I expected.
Morgan makes a choking sound somewhere behind me.
The taller officer’s eyebrows lift slightly.
“…Oh.”
“Yes,” I say.
“And I would strongly recommend choosing different language when referring to her.”
The officers glance toward the command vehicle where Chief Reid continues coordinating the entry teams, apparently unaware of the exchange.
One of them clears his throat.
“Right.”
The other nods awkwardly.
“Didn’t realize.”
Morgan steps forward immediately, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Gentlemen,” he says pleasantly.
“You just met the proudest Husband in the FBI.”
They retreat quickly toward the patrol cars.
Morgan watches them go.
Then he turns slowly toward me.
“…Man.”
Prentiss walks over, still smiling.
“Reid just verbally dismantled two police officers.”
Rossi chuckles quietly from behind the operations board.
Morgan shakes his head.
“You went full protective husband.”
I pick my papers back up.
“I corrected misinformation.”
Morgan laughs.
“Sure you did.”