by Cabe Sparrow
"Eric," Her voice pulled him out of his reverie.
"Hmm?”
"Will you tell me about your mom? What she was like?" Watson clearly had other ideas.
The question caught the advisor off guard; he was not sure how to answer her, what to start with, or if he should even start at all. It was close to three in the morning and it was a dangerous floodgate she was asking him to open. When he looked at her, Turner saw hopeful and trusting green eyes staring back at him, a sight he couldn't deny, couldn't say no to.
Turner didn’t want to disappoint her though, didn’t want to reveal to her that, not unlike herself, he lost his mom at a very young age. Different circumstances but the same pain, the same anger, and bitterness towards something he didn’t understand anymore now than he did when he was ten years old.
“You don't have to.”
Turner was quick to reply, "No, I do. I just don't want to shatter your hopes."
Watson raised an eyebrow at him, "What do you mean?"
"Well, I lost my mother at an early age too and even before that we never had a proper relationship."
She looked even more confused now, "Why not?"
Turner exhaled and Watson unconsciously inched closer to him, watching the myriad of emotions flash across his face as he carefully considered his answer, "because my mom had bipolar disorder."
Watson sat up, trying to contain her shock over the revelation.
"Surprised?" Turner asked, the corner of his mouth turned upward, "told ya I would tell you things that aren't in my file."
She narrowed her caring eyes at him, a bit annoyed by how nonchalant his comments were. She quickly deflated, realizing that while she defended herself by shying away from tricky situations, Turner took it all in with a false but thick shield, refusing to show what he really felt.
She was not sure how to melt the cold shell around him most of the time, but when she saw the hint of vulnerability in his eyes she laid back down, wrapped her arms around him and asked him to tell her more.
"There's really not much to tell." Turner admitted, feeling torn.
He felt so good, so comfortable in this bed, it was almost deceiving. He didn’t know how to talk about something so dangerous in such a warm environment.
Watson didn’t say anything to encourage him, just ran her lithe fingers across the plains of his chest, tracing over the unblemished skin, spelling out designs and patterns that sent spindles of pleasure through his entire body. She was soothing him, coaxing the words out of him, without uttering a word herself.
Even though Turner knew this, felt himself lulled somewhat unfairly into revealing everything, the desire to stop hiding from Watson overrode any hesitation.
"She was diagnosed right after I was born. The doctors thought it was post partum depression, but when her mood began to fluctuate, they quickly realized what it was. It wasn't so bad, when she took her medication, but when she didn't; it was...I don't know like she wasn't my mother. She was more like my best friend for the first eight years of my life, because she never raised me, she would spoil me, take me out of school, tell me we're going on some adventure and when we'd get home my father would be about two seconds away from calling the police."
"Where would she take you?"
Turner chuckled before replying. Watson lookd up to find his eyes glazed over in thought, lost in nostalgia, in the past. He had a whimsical smile on his face, but she worried she pushed him too hard, dredging up the past was always a dangerous thing.
"Sometimes the zoo, sometimes an ice cream shop, sometimes we'd just drive for hours and she would tell me stories, fairytales, things like that. She always had some grand idea for the future, like moving to New York and starting her own Cabaret show or becoming an actress in Hollywood. When I was eight, these ideas seemed so out of this world, my mother seemed like the most fascinating person in the world.
I remember hating my father when he would yell at her. He would chastise her for not calling, for not taking her medication, for endangering me. This would inevitably cause tension and eventually she would snap and slip into a depressive episode. Those were the worst. She wouldn't do anything all day, wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, wouldn't shower, she'd just lie on the couch and watch TV. She wouldn't leave the house for days, couldn't keep a job, and had no interest in anything. By the time I was ten years old, I kind of got used to it. She refused anti-depressants. Her last depressive episode lasted for about a year but because she didn't do harm to herself or others, no hospital would admit her. And then one day, I came home from school and she was gone."
His voice trailed off a bit and Watson swallowed hard, waiting for him to continue as he kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. She was not really sure how to react, what to say.
When Turner first joined her team Watson had been curious about his past, but for some reason, perhaps her ethical stance, she never read past what she needed for the Red River Killer case and now that she knew a bit more, the churning in her stomach won't stop. It was almost a bit hard to breathe as she listened to his story. She could not imagine what it must have been like for him as a child. One minute, his mother was his closest friend, his partner in crime, the other she wanted nothing to do with him. At least all her memories of her mother were happy ones, filled with love, not characterized by an emotional roller coaster.
"Where did she go?" she asked quietly, as if she was afraid of the answer and Turner looked down at her. He wanted to tell her how cute she was, how much her evident distress thawed his tough exterior, but he held himself back, knowing if he deviated from the story, he won't be able to finish it.
"We waited for days, weeks. After figuring out that she was sick, the police lost interest in the case, the evidence all pointed to her running away so they gave up after a while. A few months later, my father packed us up and we left town. I'm still firmly convinced that he was looking for her. He carried a worn out picture of my mother in his wallet and every stop we made, he'd always ask around, always make a point of asking the locals if they've seen her. They never did, no one had seen her and eventually I just got tired of following him across the country looking for an apparition, so we split up and I haven't seen or heard from him since."
"How long has it been?"
Watson sat up, clutching the duvet to her chest, facing Turner as he tucked his arm behind his head.
"Long enough," he replied and she didn’t press further.
He let her draw her own conclusions, but her mind was in disarray, "I really don't know what to say, I had no idea."
Turner reached out, tugging on her arm until she sat beside him against the headboard and he rested his head in her lap, "darling, there's no way you would have known, no one knows. The last and only person I ever told was my wife."
The mention of that part of his past froze Watson in place. She suddenly felt cheap, as if she's the other woman’. It made her skin crawl, but she pulled herself together remarkably quickly, almost imperceptibly. She thought Turner didn’t notice, but he did. Of course he noticed everything and when he saw the hurt flash across her face, he regretted his choice of words. He wished he never divulged that detail, shouldn't have been so careless.
He sat up then, taking her hand as he faced her, "Natalie, I'm sorry."
"For what?”
He forgave her for feigning ignorance and guided her eyes to his wedding ring, which left a slight impression on the skin of her shoulder, "For everything I could't give you right now."
She shook her head, her curls tickled his hand, "don't be.”
The softness in his voice, the raw desperation and vulnerability within it resonated deep within her, tugged at her heartstrings even more so than the reminder that she may never have his whole heart, that there was always going to be a part of him she could't touch.
The thought worried her, but she could't ignore that he'd just disclosed a significant aspect of his past and revealed something very personal to her. While another woman would ru
n for the hills, Watson stayed.
In fact, she slid closer until she was straddling him and ran her fingers through Turner's curls and said, "Let me be the judge of that, okay?"
His hands instinctively landed on her hips. When she leaned down to kiss him and whispered a soft thank you in his ear, Turner shut everything else out. Having her so warm and supple in his arms made his senses come alive and made every bad thought melt away.
Instead of wondering why she was still with him, why she still held on when others would have let go long before, Turner savored the moment. He was finally realizing that the elusive feeling of wholeness might not be as unattainable as he originally thought...
Chapter 13
The wonderful and familiar aroma of caffeine invaded her senses at her first moment of consciousness. She didn’t want to wake up, but the desire for coffee overpowered the desire to sleep, so she opened her eyes slowly.
The bedroom was silent; the only sound was the breeze that ruffled the curtains as it filtered into the room, alerting her that the slightly colder weather of autumn was approaching.
Watson took the quiet opportunity to wrap her hands around her favorite mug and inhale the nutty aroma of her usual brew before taking a sip. It was only when she closed her eyes again, relishing in the warmth of the liquid, that she heard the soft footsteps up the stairs. A moment later Turner rushed into her room, a plate in one hand, a cup in another and a newspaper under his arm.
The sight of the usually composed advisor looking a bit harried was enough to make her smile, but added to that the sight of him in a ripped t-shirt and jeans, barefoot and looking like he belonged nowhere except her bedroom sent a different kind of warmth through her body, not the one caffeine usually provided.
"Good morning," He set the plate on the nightstand, dropped the newspaper in her lap, and crawled on the other side of her with his cup in hand and placed a clumsy kiss on her cheek. She noticed then that the t-shirt he was wearing was unfamiliar and he smelled faintly of an aftershave she knew he didn’t keep in her bathroom, which meant that while she slept he'd gone home.
Her stomach tightened at the realization and her palms burned slightly from the heat of the mug, but she shoved the unpleasant thought to the back of her mind before Turner noticed.
"Hey, you're quite busy this morning," she motioned to the plate stacked with French toast, but Turner just shrugged.
"Couldn't sleep, and besides not all of us chose to waste away our days off in bed," his teasing smile and mischievous gaze were meant to distract her from the mention of his persistent insomnia. Even though Watson really wanted to address this issue, she really wanted to talk about all the other things that were on her mind.
She played along, reached over to the plate, and playfully stuffed one of the triangles in his mouth.
"Hey, that's for you" Turner exclaimed as soon as he finished chewing. Watson couldn't stifle the giggle that erupted when she noticed the speck of powdered sugar on his nose. She wiped it away and smiled, taking a sip of coffee.
"I had to know if it was edible or not. I didn't even know I had powdered sugar."
"You didn't," Turner replied, taking another bite, "I did some grocery shopping today. I honestly don't know how you survived before me."
Watson rolled her eyes, "I survived just fine, but you know if you're so inclined, you could do the rest of the housework I've been neglecting, maybe vacuum or something."
"Hmm, always in control aren't ya? Already putting me to work at 10 in the morning? Well I hate to break it you but I've got some other plans for us today."
"I am not spending my rare day off on one of your adventures." Her comments were light-hearted and Turner simply shrugged off her protests.
"I prefer to think of it as one of the crazy Yuletide traditions worth partaking in, so get ready, we should leave soon if we want to beat the Sunday traffic."
"Christmas shopping?" Watson exclaimed, "It's not even Thanksgiving yet, it's way too early."
"Nonsense. I know you prefer to do your shopping the day of, but I'd much rather be prepared, so hurry up. I'll be downstairs when you’re ready. Maybe I'll even dust a little, if you're good." He winked at her before crawling out of bed. He gave her an infectious grin and sideways glance as he padded out of her bedroom, immune to any opposition on her part.
Watson took another sip of coffee and fell back in her bed, groaning as she felt the last vestige of peace slowly fall out of her reach.
Despite how many times she'd taken this trip, her breath still hitched ever so slightly upon the first view of the city. The skyscrapers against the clear blue sky were a sight to see even for someone who lived thre for as long as she did, and Watson indulged in the beauty of it all. Her hand unconsciously fell to her cross and she fingered the trusted pendant as they got closer to downtown.
Some of her best years were spent living in a small studio downtown, diligently working her way up the career ladder and paying her dues. While it all seemed so exciting when it was happening, there were many nights where her faith was the only thing that kept her going through the loneliness and the painful memories.
The cross, one of the only pieces of jewelry her mother ever wore, was given to her when she was twelve years old, and since then she worn it every day on the same gold chain. She found it highly suspicious that this morning she couldn't find the necklace anywhere. She looked for it for a while but eventually gave up, putting the pendant on another chain she had. She was so tired the night before, she couldn't recall whether she left the chain elsewhere and now it wouldn't leave her mind.
"Hey, since this is sort of your turf, I thought you could show me around later." Turner's voice ultimately distracted her and she sent him a small smile.
"Yeah, I'm considering retaliation for dragging me to a crowded mall on my day off. I am going to torture your taste buds. Give them a challenge."
A look of surprise crossed Turner's face for a split second, but his competitive nature overpowered any hesitation, "You are so on, babe."
He gave her a quirky smile and turned his attention back to the road, while Watson continued to stare out the window, her fingers wrapped around the cross unconsciously, a slight grimace on her face whenever she touched the chain.
Turner didn't believe in God and hadn't in a very long time. He didn't grow up in a devout household, no customary grace before dinner, or Sunday trips to church. For him, this standard faith didn't hold any self evident truths, didn’t instill hope or morale. The little faith he had in something greater than himself was buried along with his wife and child.
Ever since then he never paid much attention to religion, dismissed it for what he thought it was, just a way for people to justify the horrible things that happened to them. That seemed to hold true until he met Watson and became quite infatuated with the cross she wore.
She was one of the most rational and level-headed people he knew. Her faith, although tested throughout her childhood, still remained strong. Although she didn’t go to church, Turner knew she sometimes prayed. When they sat down to dinner, he knew she was itching to say grace, just to acknowledge God in some way.
It was in those moments that he realized how different they were. While tragedy struck her at an early age and became a permanent fixture in her life, the faith instilled in her from birth had never left her. Turner saw this when he first met Watson, when he first became intrigued by her, and he saw it now as she unconsciously stroked the cross.
He catalogued the observation and focused on driving; listening to Watson's sporadic directions as she navigated him through the city's downtown, bustling with people. Eventually they found a parking spot not too far from the street full of shops that ended with a large shopping center, right in the heart of Portland.
Turner could't even remember the last time he visited the city, but could definitely recall several times he made the trip here with his wife. His mind was suddenly overcome with memories of what seemed to be another lif
etime, another woman with willowy blond hair and soulful blue eyes smiling, dragging his hand along, calling to him with excitement.
"Turner."
Another voice broke through his memory and Turner blinked, realizing he stopped in the middle of the street during his musing. The sunshine blinded him somewhat but when his eyes zeroed in on Watson's face, watching him with curious green eyes, black curls floating in the breeze behind her, a sense of strong guilt assaulted him, hitting with a force that made it hard to breathe.
He shouldn't be thinking about his past, shouldn't indulge in these little memories. They don't bring relief and their existence inevitably brings hurt to the woman who had become the only form of comfort he craved.
Turner knew he would never part with his past, would never fully come to terms with the consequences of his actions, and there would always be a special place in his heart for the two women who first introduced him to true happiness. He knew for Natalie's sake that he had to at least try to move on andappreciate the second chance he'd been given.
Before Natalie could give him another pointed stare, Turner reached for her hand, catching her off guard. He pulled her along, hands still intertwined as he gave her a smile and said, "Come on, before it gets too crazy."
Watson had no other choice but to follow. Even after months of dating, holding hands still felt strange for her. Handholding was for couples who wore matching sweaters and send out joint Christmas cards, not for two colleagues who were trying to hide their courtship from the entire police department.
By now, she was certain the guys on the fourth floor and some of Harper's team had a pool going for when the "are they or aren't they" scenario will come to fruition. Since she always adhered strictly to rules, it rubbed Watson the wrong way that she was breaking a cardinal regulation so effortlessly. It didn’t help that between the two of them, she was the only one concerned about their superiors finding out about their activities outside the office and Turner took up every opportunity to tease her about it.
