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The hunter, the prey, or just a loose thread? Pick wisely, Harper. Choices can unravel.
Harper rubbed her eyes sleepily as she reread the message, tension knotting in her stomach. She wondered if maybe it was some kind of sick, poorly-timed prank. It was a futile hope, that - for just a moment - she tried to believe in. But she knew it wasn't.
It was a threat. Meaning she was a lot closer to this case than she realised, and Spencer had been right.
She knew she should tell Spencer. She even contemplated telling Hotch, Morgan, or JJ, but she knew they would just relay the information to him, and she would have hurt his feelings for no reason.
She imagined Spencer's face, the way his brows would knit together, concern shadowing his eyes. She wanted to feel the weight of his reassurance, but a part of her recoiled from the thought of seeing that pity - no, that fear - in his gaze.
How he had looked at her across the café, she felt like a glass ornament. Harper hated that he had treated her like she was about to break.
She knew it was just concern; years of repeated trauma had manifested itself in a protective nature that he couldn't help. But it wasn't the dynamic she wanted between them.
Despite her nerves, a familiar ache unfurled in her chest as she scrolled through their brief text thread. Each message was so him: polite, concise, thoughtful. She found herself smiling, remembering how his hands twitch and eyes brighten when he speaks passionately about anything. How he squints a little when he's confused or thrown off.
The distance felt too great, the silence too loud. She wanted his voice, his presence, something to remind her that there was more to them than this nightmare.
Instead, she turned her phone off, swallowing back nausea.
Spencer sat at his desk, the hum of activity around him fading into a distant buzz. He was supposed to be reviewing the latest case files, but each line of text blurred as he tried to focus. Harper's face kept flickering into his mind, her eyes shadowed with determination when they'd last spoken, her insistence on being part of the investigation as if her presence in his world didn't terrify him.
It's her job, Reid.
He told himself, forcing his eyes back down to the files. She's capable, he reasoned, competent, driven.
She knew what she was doing, and she wouldn't let herself get too close.
