MOCKINGBIRD | Spencer Reid ✔️

⠀⠀⠀ sixty

"Scout," Reid let out in a gasp, dropping his gun down immediately.

He glanced at his teammates with a look of confusion. They hadn't dropped their weapons? The barrels of their guns were still pointed defensively and with caution.

"My, my, my! If it isn't the legendary Behavioral Analysis Unit from the FBI. It is - quite a marvel to see the professionals in action, isn't it? Of course, my little Mockingbird here has become accustomed to your presence."

The doctor let his initial adrenaline of finding his fiancé drop in order to analyze the situation. She hadn't changed since the last time he saw her. Dressed in his P.E. shirt, his favorite maroon cardigan, and jeans, Spencer noticed nothing wrong.

That is, until his eyes landed on the firearm in her hands.

Mk23: nukeproof and a common weapon used in Special Forces. They are usually paired with a silent suppressor but this one did not have it. It fires the .45 ACP which is common and powerful cartridge and has good amount of stopping power, especially against unarmored targets.

The image of the gun on her - it almost looked natural. She held it with the same kind of gentle arms he had envisioned her holding their baby boy. But the look on her face - that was not something Spencer had ever seen before.

"Agent Wiley, put down your weapon! Everything is going to be okay, we can handle it from here!"

Hotch's voice boomed in the usual tone Spencer often heard during a standoff. The only difference was that Scout was always next to the team. Now, she was on the other side.

"I'm afraid she can't do that, Aaron Hotchner. You see, Scout doesn't take orders from anyone else except me."

Spencer raked over the unknown male that stood next to her. His voice - he spoke with such confidence. His influxes didn't falter for a second, his breathing stayed at a steady pace. He was calm - too calm, too calm for a man to be in a building surrounded by FBI officials and police officers.

Blonde hair, blue eyes; 5'10 - no, maybe 5'11. Weight? Approximately, 170 or 180 pounds - most of it looks like its muscle. Mid to late 50's but his voice - there was a hint of a small accent. He wasn't born here, that's for sure.

"And who might you be?" Morgan fixated his gun on the male.

He chuckled humorlessly, "I know most of you don't know who I am, but please - isn't it customary in Italian culture to introduce a past acquaintance to your friends?"

"Italian?"

"Agent David Rossi, it's been a long time, hasn't it? Don't you remember me?"

Rossi blinked, "Of course - of course, I do."

"Don't!" The male's face contorted into anger, "Don't you fucking lie to me! You don't remember who I am!"

Hotch steadied his aim, "There is no need for yelling. Agent Wiley, put down your firearm. That is a direct order."

"Like I said before, she's not going to listen to you, Aaron. Not unless I tell her to, and you know - I don't feel like it. Actually Scout, aim the gun at him."

The petite brunette moved her weapon towards Hotch with hollow eyes. Her face didn't show an ounce of emotion but she was looking through him. Scout's body didn't question the direct order at all, she didn't even hesitate.