Harper Bradley rubbed her eyes, the sun inconveniently shining through the slit in the curtain directly onto her face. She sat up, groaning softly, and touched her back. She felt sore from the hotel mattress. She always hated soft mattresses; she preferred firm.
Harper sighed. She felt the stress of her first case on her shoulders. It had been two days already, and she hadn't slept long. She didn't want to sleep at all, but Hotch had insisted. He'd told her that sleeping was essential, and staying awake trying to solve the case wouldn't make her any more suitable to the team. He'd said that no one would fault her for getting some rest. But she only went when JJ and Reid said they were going, too.
She yawned and got ready for the day as quickly as she could, then stood outside her door. She felt something. Someone. She knew it.
She stepped on the carpet cautiously, slowly. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, and she quickly tied it up with the band on her wrist. She felt someone there. It could be the unsub, she thought, but going after the FBI isn't in the profile. She placed a hand on her gun and stood on her toes, looking through the peephole.
Bradley exhaled, relieved. It was just Reid. The cute doctor. She wondered why he was just standing there. Was he waiting for her to leave? She thought about whether she should open the door or wait for him to knock. What's the protocol when you know someone's outside your door, but isn't even bothering to knock?
Harper backed up and squished her cheeks with her hands. She bounced on her knees, her hair swaying back and forth with each bounce. She thought about the first impression she made on Reid and cringed. She was so nervous, and she'd tried to cover it up with false confidence and teasing. She quickly shook the embarrassment out of her head and opened the door.
"Oh, hi." Spencer stood there, his arm up, fist closed, clearly about to knock.
"Hi," Harper replied. She scoffed, and Reid laughed awkwardly. "Um, do you want to maybe go get some coffee? I can't stand the stuff they have here, and if I don't caffeinate I'll probably pass out from sleep deprivation." She almost cringed at her slight rambling, but kept a straight face. The last thing she wanted was to let him know how nervous she was. God, how she hated meeting new people.
"Sure," Spencer replied, and the two walked down the hall together.
The pair left in silence, both racking their brains looking for something to say. Reid put his hands in his pockets nervously while Harper rubbed hers together.
"So, you have doctorates, right?" Harper asked, receiving a quick nod from Spencer. "Is that what you like to do in your spare time? Learn things?" She felt a pang of guilt for the sarcastic tone, but she couldn't help being a little mean when nervous.
"Yes, but I also like to read. I really like Arthur Conan Doyle, if you know him. What about you, what do you do in your spare time? Paint?" Spencer choked out the last words, then coughed.
Bradley snapped her head toward him. "How did you know I paint?"
Spencer nodded toward her hands. "The stains. I don't paint myself, but I know the names of all the brush strokes and what they mean. I know a lot about painters, and I know the technical aspects of it."
Bradley cocked an eyebrow at him. "But you've never painted?" She waited for the shake of his head, then continued. "Then you don't really know about painting. Trust me. You can read everything there is to know about it, but you can't execute it until you practice."
Spencer narrowed his eyes. "I don't think that's true. It's all science. The pressure, the technique."
"Alright then, Doctor. After this case, you can come to my studio and prove it." As soon as the words left her mouth, Bradley grit her teeth. She was practically asking him out, and he was a coworker she barely knew. She silently begged God that he'd take it well.
"I'll take you up on that bet. What's the payout, Bradley?"
Harper half-smiled. "Well, once you prove you're absolute crap at painting, you can buy me a cup of coffee."
Spencer laughed. "Oh, you mean when I win, you'll buy me a cup of coffee? Sounds like a deal."
Harper giggled and offered him a handshake. He took it weakly. He wasn't very good at handshakes. No wonder he wouldn't shake the lead detective's hand, she remembered. She smiled at the sweetness of his limp hand. Maybe she could teach him something.
"You can call me Harper, you know," she blurted. "I mean, if you want to. It's my first name."
Reid looked up as if trying to make himself remember, but she knew he had an eidetic memory. "Alright, Harper Bradley. You can call me Spencer."