by Cabe Sparrow
"Exactly what I was thinking."
"Glad we're on the same page," Watson responded, before pressing her lips softly against his, missing the mischievous look in Turner's eye right before.
The front door flew open causing Watson to push Turner away instinctively, only to find her team and April standing in the threshold, looking at her and Turner expectantly. Watson opened her mouth to speak, but Cranston beat her to it, "So we'll see each other on Monday then?"
She looked at Natalie without a hint of discomfort, which although surprising to Watson, also lifted a weight off her shoulders.
"Yeah. Thankfully we're not on call this weekend," Watson concurred, giving Grace a warm smile.
"Thank god. Poor Smith though. His team drew the short straw this year; the crazies tend to come out during the holiday season." Barnes chimed in, earning a few chuckles from the rest of the people on the porch.
"Well, we've got to be going, thank you for dinner, it was lovely." Ng announced, helping April into her coat.
Sometime between saying goodbye and watching as the two pairs drove off in their respective vehicles, Turner's arm slipped around Watson's waist, but she didn’t push him away. Instead she leaned against him, strangely not at all bothered by how calmly her team took the revelation. Of course, there was something else that dawned on her when she thought about how her team found out...
"Ow, what was that for?" Turner actually jumped away from her after she elbowed him not too lightly.
"You totally set me up!" Watson explained, more amused than furious, but he didn’t have to know that.
The sly smile that spread over his face was all the indication Watson needed that she was right. Instead of assaulting him once more, the detective pinned the advisor against the opposite pillar on her porch, a roguish glint in her eye as her fingers circled around the top button on his shirt, "I could shoot you right now."
"You could." Turner concurred, though the immediate physical threat didn’t deter him from settling his hand on her hip, her body flush against his.
"But I won't." She decided, finger flicking the first button open as she looks at him beneath hooded lashes, pink tongue darting out to trace over her lower lip, "on one condition."
"Which is?" his voice trailed off, trying to suppress a groan as Watson popped another button, finger tracing the exposed skin.
A whisper in his ear and then she was gone, hips sashaying to the door.
Turner took a deep breath, a play for self control, but when he saw Watson leaning against the doorframe with a darkened green gaze reserved solely for him, he realized he never stood a chance.
Chapter 19
Natalie Watson surprised him everyday.
She surprised him with her patience, her diligence, and her fierce loyalty. She also surprised him with her demeanor towards him. The way she has always been accepting, almost from the very first day they began working together.
Despite how many times he managed to put a frown on her face and make her sigh heavily in exasperation, she has never been anything more than supportive. At times her annoyance shone through and that natural fire that he loved about her seemed to overpower her desire to assist him in one of his latest schemes, but through all of that, she was the constant in his life.
Now more than ever...
And Turner was not only eternally grateful, but still very much surprised that instead of pushing him away like any sane individual would do, the most level headed woman he knew had done the complete opposite and let him into her life in the most intimate of ways.
His bedmate shifted in her sleep, blankets accidentally pulled lower to reveal more of herself, as Turner laid on his side watching her. She was facing away from him, still curled up in the position she had been when he was spooning her, hair fanned across the pillow as she breathed steadily, chest rising with every inhale.
He's been sleeping far better with her by his side than he had in the last five years but tonight, tonight his mind was in disarray and sleep seemed like a cruelly unattainable state, despite the exhaustion seeping in. Unconsciously, Turner reached out, tracing the thin strap of the camisole Watson was wearing; feeling the soft material against his skin brought an involuntary smile to his face.
He never thought Watson was the silk and satin type, but after months of being with her, she managed to disprove his every preconceived notion about her, including what she preferred to wear when not at work.
The emerald satin beneath his fingertips was proof of the fact that she was still a woman behind her badge, one with an incredibly alluring taste in sleepwear. It made him a bit nervous that she was such a mystery to him, but it also excited him. In a way he had spent most of his time tonight hoping that she would surprise him one more time when he confided in her. He knew she wouldn’t be happy about this.
There's no way she could be, but perhaps she will be somehow placated by the fact that he came to her, had not broken the promise he made to her the first time they made love. Turner remembered vividly lying beside her, in the silence her thoughts seemed to scream at him until finally he couldn't bear it any longer and turned her over in his arms.
She'd given him a pout, but he didn't even pause to challenge the worry it was concealing. Instead he promised her in so many words that he would try as hard as he could to include her in his plans more, let her in just a little bit. Not shut her out like he had when he landed himself in jail. If not for anything else, he owed her honesty and respect for that.
There was certainly no love lost between Turner and Harper, but the advisor knew how important that relationship was to Watson, even now when it seemed like the older detective could not let go of his preconceived notions of Watson and see her for the incredible detective she had become.
Despite their strained interaction, Turner knew Watson still cared deeply for the older detective, looked up to him even. For her to risk that for him, for his arrogance and single mindedness, for a plan she didn’t even approve of, spoke volumes of her character. It almost made him want to rethink the purpose he has been living for since the Red River Killer struck.
Therein lies his dilemma.
No matter how much he knew that revenge would lead nowhere, Turner could not let go. He could not even consider it and yet found himself feeling less bitter and remorseful every day he didn’t spend in solitude, but with Watson. Secretly, he cursed what he learned. With the initial excitement over this new information barely a memory now, Turner realized exactly what this could mean for his relationship with Watson.
Despite knowing how selfish it would be of him to ask Watson this, he hoped she wouldn’t turn away, hoped that somewhere inside herself, she could find the strength to support him. If there was one thing Turner had been certain of from their very first kiss, it was that he could no longer do it alone. She's become a lifeline in the unlikeliest of ways, guiding him unknowingly, but with a light so bright and inspiring that he found himself being led unconsciously.
In the last few months, never mind the years he has known her, she has been a permanent beacon, a shield on which he could rely, and an endless supply of calm and comfort whenever he needed it. He never realized how lucky he was, didn't even realize he had feelings for her, always too focused, his vision too narrow and determined to be distracted by pesky things such as love.
No, not for him, not after everything he's done. Fate didn’t care what one deserves and he could't help but think once again about how really undeserving he is of all the care and devotion Watson had inside her, he's not even worthy of her respect.
Yet she gave it to him wholeheartedly, without question, rarely ever asking for anything back, and Turner knew how fragile all this was. How despite her courage, devotion, and constant presence in his life, she could easily slip away and vanish just like his wife and child did, because of one arrogant mistake. It was disconcerting, so very troubling how similar all this was, except this time he knew he could lose the most important person in his life, an
d yet it didn’t make this decision any easier.
He was teetering on the brink of a potential disaster, between the past and the present, his future hanging in the balance... He knew he couldn't survive another loss like this. His mind, regardless of how malleable, could not sustain another blow like the one he had, but he knew that his existence would always be plagued by nightmares and ghosts until he caught the Red River Killer.
Not just "catch" him, but make sure he didn’t breathe again...
Watson might not understand that and he was impossibly grateful that her soul is as resilient as it is. She's suffered loss. She's seen it so often in her job, it had undoubtedly left an indelible impression on her; however, he saw a vitality in her eyes that went beyond a simple adherence to the rules. She didn’t want him to kill the Red River Killer not only because she was an officer of the law, but also because she could not understand a darkness like his.
She was not naive by any means. How could someone be when they lost both parents before they were legally considered an adult? However Watson, unlike him, understood and believed in the obscure concept of justice, not only professionally but also personally, and it was that comprehension and compassion that made her a good cop and an even better person.
Watson moved in her sleep again, tearing him away from his thoughts. This time she settled facing him, and he had the greatest urge to reach over and swipe the bangs from her face, run his fingers through the waves lying in disarray around her. She looked so peaceful, not quite smiling but definitely not frowning. Turner imagined that she was safe somewhere inside her mind.
Laying beside her now, Turner couldn't believe he kept this from her for over a week. Their last case was time consuming, but they saw each other quite often, ate meals together, and snuck into each others' rooms even though the team already knew about them.
He spent plenty of time with her, but it's only now in the dead of night with nothing to occupy his thoughts that he truly felt the weight on his shoulders. There was no way he could put this off any longer. All of the sudden, he felt parched, his mouth like sandpaper as the realization sank in and what was once a source of calm and comfort was now suffocating.
He needed to clear his mind, assemble the right words, and find some way to explain the situation that didn’t end with Watson shying away from him and possibly never trusting him again. He couldn't do it here where her breath tickled his shoulder, her warmth reminding him that revenge did not have to determine his future. He was not ready for that step yet. He may never be.
With a dexterity he didn't know he was capable of, Turner maneuvered himself carefully off the bed, making sure Natalie was undisturbed as he did. The room was cold, but he didn’t pay attention, not even bothering to put anything on, simply set on walking away from her, away from the bedroom and the woman who even in her unconsciousness reminded him that there was something more important to live for than revenge.
She woke up for an unknown reason. Seeing the empty space beside her, Watson assumed she woke because of the sudden absence of her bedmate. However, after running her hand across the soft sheets, she realized the place had grown cold so she must have been sleeping alone for a while.
It wouldn't be first time she woke up to an empty bed, but lately it's been happening less and less, so without thinking, she got up, intent on finding Turner, wherever he may be.
The house seemed cold and it was probably because she forgot to turn the thermostat up when they came back, a product of exhaustion or maybe just plain forgetfulness. Ever since the advisor had stopped slipping away for the night, her bed had been warm enough without the heater.
Shivering, Watson slipped on her housecoat and padded downstairs, an odd mix of relief and tension filling her as Turner came into view.
It was a relief that he was there, still in her home, but the strain in his shoulders and the way he fixated so intently on the full glass of water in his hands suggested that something was wrong with him. Cohabitating with an insomniac did not permit a normal sleeping cycle, so she found herself awake in all hours of the night before, regardless of how vigilant Turner was about keeping her up when he was unable to sleep.
Usually, when she would wake up to find him in her kitchen, he would always be one step ahead of her, as if anticipating her trek downstairs. Depending on the hour of the night, he would have some tea boiled or an old movie playing on the television, always greeting her before she had the chance to sneak up on him. Yet, tonight he sat alone in her dimly lit kitchen, seemingly so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even turn to acknowledge her as she stepped into the living room. Still, Watson refused to jump to conclusions and walked nonchalantly into the kitchen.
"Couldn't sleep?" She asked calmly, walking past him to the stove, intent on making the tea Turner neglected.
"No," Turner shook his head slightly, looking up to find Watson's back to him as she poured water into the kettle. He suddenly remembered that little tradition of theirs, and by the way she stood so straight, he realized easily that she was miffed that he forgot.
"Did I wake you? I'm sorry." He said softly, hoping to remedy the situation, relieve some of the unspoken tension circulating between them.
When Watson turned around, leaning against the counter instead of approaching him, he realized that an apology would not prevent the inevitable. "No, I just woke up. You must be sitting here at least an hour." She replied in an even tone, only a hint of accusation in it.
Despite her steely green gaze, Turner sensed the exhaustion she felt and that the words, "what's going on?" or some variation of that phrase were on the tip of her tongue.
The silence was deafening between them, but the crackle of the teakettle on the burner gave Turner another way in and he took it.
"Uh, tea. I completely forgot."
His weak attempt at small talk was overshadowed by the way he couldn't stop himself from looking anywhere but Watson's face, a rare experience for them both, since no matter the situation, Turner always kept his eyes on her.
At times it made her blush, at others it simply annoyed her, but it always, always left her with a warmth she couldn't explain. Now she missed it, yearned for it, trying to drive away the tightening in the pit of her stomach as it dawned on her that whatever was plaguing Turner was far more serious than she previously thought.
The little immature irritation she felt with him for ignoring their ritual when she first walked in dissipated as she spotted the agonized look in his eye. The one he was trying to conceal by not meeting her gaze, a sure sign something was wrong.
The whistle of the kettle interrupted her thoughts, but tea seemed like the last thing on her mind, as she turned it off and pulled up a chair. He looked at her for a moment and she was not sure what to make of it. Her hand reached out to his bare shoulder, a light touch intimate in nature, one that was supposed to communicate a level of comfort that transcended words, a familiarity nothing could touch. Turner remained stoic, but there was a hint of a smile on his face, at least it seemed so. It might also be wishful thinking considering how tense he was.
"You know I don't care about the tea, Eric." Her voice was soft, soothing, and her touch felt so good against his skin. Turner felt simultaneous comfort and shame. Comfort, because that's what she came to represent to him and shame, because he's certain he wasn't worthy of it, especially not after what he was going to tell her. With his admission, it would become completely certain that he was truly unable to give her what she rightfully deserved and that was something he cared about deeply.
"I care." He murmured, not tearing his eyes away from her.
"Don't," Watson whispered back. They were so close and it was so quiet around them, it felt almost wrong not to speak in hushed tones.
"It didn’t matter to me, just tell me what's going on."
He didn’t expect her to be so direct, and even though her voice was barely a whisper, it stabbed at him, gnawing at a scab that had been opened by his recent discovery.
Then, just when he felt like the consequences of his next action might be too great of a sacrifice, his mind backpedaled, back to the thoughts, the images and the events that haunted him for so long. Even if he wanted to, it was not as simple as pulling Watson into his arms and forgetting the world.
He could not afford that luxury until he settled his debt, paid his penance, and without even contemplating the implication of his words, he pushed the glass away and spoke.
"A few days before the last case, Corey Farrow contacted me, said she might have some information on Red River Killer."
He was not sure what to expect, but the loss of her hand on his shoulder as she leaned back in her chair and exhaled felt colder than he anticipated, leaving him more bereft and uncertain than he's ever been before.
There was a myriad of emotions swirling in her, but all she could focus on was the thought that even in her line of work and personal life, a single phrase had never instilled such a deep feeling of foreboding, a mix of fear and apprehension as she tried to make sense of what this meant.
The man in front of her held the answers, but she didn’t even know if she wanted them. A simple calculation alerted her to the fact that he had known for a little over a week. Even though it was obvious he kept the information to himself, the fact that he didn't confide in her earlier still hurt, still wounded her just a little.
"What kind of information?" she managed to choke out.
"Apparently, she remembered that in the very beginning of their courtship, a local teenager who used to deliver her groceries asked her about the man who had begun visiting her. She said that one of the last times he came by was when the Red River Killer had just left her home and he'd asked her about the man he'd just seen walk out, which means he might remember what he looks like."
