The conference room looks exactly the same.

Same round table. Same whiteboard crowded with photographs and timelines. Same low hum of conversation as the team filters in and takes their usual seats.

For a moment I just stand there, taking it in.

I didn’t realize how much I missed the sound of markers on the board or the quiet shuffle of case files being passed around the table. Prison had a very different kind of noise—metal doors, echoing concrete, voices that always sounded like they were one step away from violence.

This feels… normal.

Or at least it’s supposed to.

I sit down and open the case folder in front of me, trying to focus on the information the way I used to. Victim photos. Geographic spread. Timeline.

My brain is a little slower than it used to be.

Not intellectually slower, exactly—just… adjusting.

Hotch stands near the board with his arms folded as the last few agents settle in.

“Three victims over eight days,” he says, pointing to the map. “Same area. Same entry wounds.”

Morgan leans forward. “Guy’s confident.”

Rossi nods. “And escalating.”

I glance down at the file again, trying to reconnect the pieces in my head.

Patterns. Behavioral indicators. Probability.

It’s all still there, just slightly harder to reach than it used to be.

Hotch continues outlining the operation while tactical coordination notes appear on the board beside the profile.

“…local law enforcement has already attempted contact once,” he says. “If the suspect barricades again, we’ll have HRT standing by for overwatch.”

That part barely registers.

Overwatch is standard protocol in situations like this.

JJ shifts slightly beside me as Hotch flips to the next page of notes.

“Which brings us to operational assignments,” he continues calmly.

My pen pauses against the paper.

“Agent Morgan and Agent Rossi will handle entry coordination.”

Morgan nods once.

Hotch glances down at the final line.

“And Special Agent Reid will be providing overwatch support.”

My head snaps up immediately.

“What?”

The word comes out before I can stop it.

Hotch looks at me evenly.

“Overwatch.”

“I don’t do overwatch,” I say automatically. “I’m a behavioral profiler. I’m not tactically trained for—”

Then the sentence stops halfway out of my mouth.

Because suddenly the room is very quiet.

Morgan is staring at me.

JJ’s lips twitch slightly like she’s trying very hard not to laugh.

Rossi leans back in his chair with an expression that can only be described as amused patience.

And Hotch just waits.

My brain catches up about two seconds later.

Oh.. Oh.

Right.

A slow wave of realization rolls through my head.

I lean back slightly in my chair, pressing my fingers briefly against my forehead.

“…Right,” I mutter.

Morgan grins.

“There it is.”

I glance up at him.

“There what is?”

“The moment it hits you,” he says.

JJ finally laughs under her breath.

“Yeah, Reid,” she adds gently. “There’s another Agent Reid now.”

I stare at the board again. The words feel strange in my head.

Agent Reid, but not me.

Morgan folds his arms, still smiling.

“You forgot you’re married.”

“I did not forget,” I say quickly.

Rossi raises an eyebrow.

“You seemed surprised.”

“I was surprised by the phrasing,” I clarify.

Morgan chuckles.

“Sure you were.”

I glance back at the board again where the tactical unit assignments are listed.

HRT. Overwatch. Agent Reid.

A strange warmth spreads through my chest that I wasn’t expecting.

Because logically I knew this already.

I knew we were married.

I knew why we got married.

Prison visitation restrictions make it very difficult for unmarried partners to see someone consistently. The solution had been simple. Efficient. Practical.

But sitting here in the BAU conference room hearing someone say “Agent Reid” and realizing they’re not talking about me—

It suddenly feels very real. Morgan leans over slightly.

“So,” he says casually, “how does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“Knowing your wife is the one watching our backs.”

I look down at the file again, "Statistically speaking,” I say, “I feel safer."