Free to Love: A Second Chance Romance

by Cabe Sparrow

  "Going somewhere?"

  At first she was caught off guard by Turner's sudden appearance, but when the initial surprise wore off, Watson realized she should have anticipated that he would come find her, knew exactly where she went. It was Turner after all.

  Although she didn’t dare move from her spot next to the desk, Watson made eye contact, astonished to find that instead of the pained expression she expected there, all she saw was determination.

  "Not anymore," Watson answered, tensing somewhat as Turner walked further into the room, taking time to shut the door, though it was completely unnecessary.

  When he was done, he turned around and looked her straight in the eye, "Good, because I have something to say."

  She nodded, perched on the edge of the desk, arms wrapped tightly around her torso. Turner watched her with an air of perceived calm that Watson was not used to. It was as if there was an invisible wall between them and it killed her, because somehow this time she felt responsible for installing the barrier.

  She could't exactly gauge what he was about to say, because Turner had his "game face" on. The one she saw often in the interrogation room just down the hall, and it was chilling to see it make an appearance in this exchange.

  "I understand that this isn't easy for you, Natalie."

  However, something shifted between them as he spoke. It might be that he physically came closer to her or it could be that his voice was completely devoid of the coldness she saw in his eyes just moments ago, or perhaps it could even be the fact that he used her first name. Either way, Watson immediately softened at his first words and as Turner inched that much closer to her, she didn’t think about putting space between them.

  Instead her arms yearned to wrap themselves around his torso, curl up into his chest, smell his scent, and snuggle into the softness of his t-shirt.

  "I know despite your best intentions, you somehow let your guard down with me. I've seen it every single day since we reconciled and in some ways, because I know how happy you've been lately, I could't feel sorry for being the reason you let some of your defenses down."

  With every word he spoke, Watson watched the ice melt away, revealing a twinge of that vulnerability she saw in her living room. Except this time, her anger didn’t cloud her judgment; instead, she saw clearly the affect this had on Turner.

  He looked shaken but tried hard to conceal it and she found that endearing. She was involuntarily melting under his gaze, despite the knowledge that no matter how delicate his words were or how well spoken he was, at the end of the day, they were on opposite sides of his war. Now that she was aware, it was a bit hard to understand how they could get past that.

  She just hoped he didn’t expect her to change her moral position on the issue, even if she accompanied him this one time.

  Watson's momentary reverie didn’t go unnoticed and before she realized, Turner was closer to her, knees almost brushing against hers as he stood in front of her, taller, maybe stronger, but certainly not more intimidating.

  He didn’t stare her down, didn't glower at her like she thought he would. Instead, he looked down at her with affection, concern, perhaps a bit of understanding. "I know there's something on your mind, but I need you to hear me out for just a little bit more. I need to say something that I'm not sure you realize, okay?"

  His speech was soft, a barely audible string of words that formed a soothing cadence. Watson found herself nodding, trying to focus her exhausted mind on what he had to say, instead of branching out into a million different directions, jumping ahead of herself as she usually does.

  "I know you had to get away, think things over, make up your mind, but Natalie, if you're angry, I want you to scream at me, if you're frustrated, I want you to hit me, do anything you need to, but for God's sakes don't just walk away. I know I sprung this on you, but I couldn't keep it from you any longer, not just because I promised you I wouldn't, but also because I want to."

  Turner paused, but Watson didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at him, large green eyes, with fatigue seeping into them. She fought it admirably, but he knew when this was all over, he was taking her home to bed and making her sleep for at least 12 hours. He only hoped she would let him.

  "Look," Turner breathed out, only mildly frustrated now at her lack of a response, "if you think I'm expecting you to change your mind about your idea of apprehending the Red River Killer when the time comes, it's not like that at all. I know we think differently, but I don't expect you to compromise what you think. You've done enough compromising already."

  At that point, Watson wouldn't be able to say anything even if she tried. She watched as Turner ran a semi-hurried hand through his hair, but instead of losing herself in the memory of threading her own fingers through the soft, red curls, she stayed completely focused on him, eyes traced over every distinct feature on his face, those usually relaxed that now revealed a certain edginess about him.

  The crease in his forehead was more pronounced than ever and his jaw was set tightly as he pursed his lips together. He didn’t look older necessarily, but definitely more tense, and it was so rare to see him like that that even though they have spent virtually every day together for the last six months, the sight was still foreign.

  A few moments of silent staring ensued, but eventually Watson softened, watched as Turner subtly deflated. For the first time, she saw the fatigue clearly on display. The edginess was still there, but it was forced now, as if he was tired of being stern, and she knew he was not used to it, especially with her.

  They rarely argued anymore, and when they did, it was usually playful, not so intense or charged with so much apprehension and negative energy. Her hand reached out to his shoulder on its own accord, a slight squeeze, but it was all that it took for him to drop his facade, this exhausted mask he kept reusing.

  "You could say no if you like. I won't get upset. I'd understand."

  Turner's voice was barely above a whisper, soft, gentle, with nothing to disguise. For the first time since he entered the room, there was no zeal in his tone, no overt reason to try to prove anything. Instead, he spoke the unadorned version of the truth, and Watson believed him.

  She believed that he wouldn't be upset at her for declining his offer, that he had absolutely no expectations that she would change her mind about the Red River Killer, and that in itself made her laugh humorlessly.

  Turner looked suspiciously at her, eyebrow raised as he tried to make sense of her reaction.

  It was too ironic for Watson not to at least have a smirk on her face. She had been so worried about Turner taking too much away from this, thinking he could somehow sway her to his side if they found the Red River Killer that she never actually considered that all he really wanted was support.

  It was sad, tragic almost, how misguided they both were and it was equally devastating that neither one of them will budge to the point that the other would ever expect them to. Watson knew she couldn't dissuade him, but when he came out with Corey's information, the first thought that entered her mind had been whether he expected this to be one step in a long series of compromises, if he was perhaps trying to inadvertently use her as a pawn.

  It may not be fair that she jumped to that conclusion and allowed it cloud her objectivity, but it was definitely something she'd seen Turner do in the past. Only now she understood that by including her in his plans, he brought her very quickly down to earth, forcing her to double up on her defenses, effectively making her think the worst.

  Perhaps, it was now time to let go of those extremes...maybe there was a happy medium to this, perhaps not between them two but for her internally.

  Turner was patient, but she saw him stir in front of her, more relaxed but less calm than usual. She could already predict that in a few seconds, if she didn’t say something, he would begin teetering on his heels and looking around as if he was in her office for the first time, and though the thought amused her, the exhaustion she felt was just another ind
ication that her answer was long overdue.

  "No badge."

  Watson caught him off guard, but not even now was she immune to the unintentional smile that lit up his features. The creases around his eyes, the ones she finds so sexy sometimes, softened unconsciously, as she watched the tension leave his body.

  "Just like that?" Turner asked, and Watson tried very hard to push away the warmth infringing on her when she saw his rueful smile and heard his hopeful tone.

  She took a deep breath, standing up to move a little away from him, hoping to regain her stability, clear her mind of his proximity, that Turnerness that could get her feeling inebriated without a drop of alcohol.

  "No," She stopped, turning around, green eyes determined.

  He looked disappointed for a moment, and Watson was shocked she could see his emotions so unabashedly displayed on his face, "It won't be just like that. There are conditions, boundaries, rules that I expect you to actually follow if we're going to do this."

  His face lit up again and she thought what she said next would probably fall on deaf ears, but she said it regardless and was a little surprised when it appeared as if Turner was hanging on her every word, "Absolutely no mention of the PPB. I am not a detective; you are in no way affiliated with the PPB. If the kid asks how we found them, we say his mom gave us the address."

  She was about to say more, but when she felt herself engulfed in a pair of very strong and familiar arms, the words halted in her throat. For a moment, Watson let herself be held, indulged in the care and comfort Turner unquestionably provided. It was only a moment, just long enough for him to whisper a quiet but heartfelt 'thank you' into her hair, before she pulled away, pressing a palm to his chest.

  "I'm serious, Turner. I'm so serious in fact that I'm bringing neither my badge nor my gun, we're both going as civilians, so if this kid turns out to be some street thug-..."

  Her voice trailed off as the smile on Turner's face grew. She's managed to extricate herself from his hug, but he refused to let her go, hands wrapped around her waist loosely; she could barely feel them through the layers of clothing.

  She did, however, fully appreciate the wideness of his grin and the way his face was almost back to its usual vibrancy, looking far younger despite the two days' old scruff and wrinkled t-shirt .

  It was rare that Turner looked so unkempt, but it was a testament to how distracted he was by their argument and her hand itched to reach out and run itself across the stubble on his cheek, but she didn’t. Instead, Watson sighed heavily, muttering to herself as she realized that he really wasn't listening, "oh hell...let's just go home."

  She pushed past him, the rash movement reminding her how lethargic she feels, her limbs weighted down not only by the unnecessay winter coat but also by her seeming inability to get through to the flippant advisor. Maybe she shouldn't have consented right away, perhaps starting with her conditions would have been more efficient.

  She was too deep in her reverie to realize Turner was pulling her back by the hand, until he had her flush against him, deep cerulean eyes fixed on her, their shade somehow more distinct in the clarity of early morning.

  "Don't think that just because I'm smiling, I'm not listening. I'll accept any conditions you have, after all the pay off is rather sweet in my opinion."

  Just like that, with a few choice words, as only he could, Turner pacified the nagging feeling of disappointment already taking root in her chest. Watson stared wide eyed at him, unsure of whether to push him away or hold him closer, a rather strange sound broke their silent staring contest and Turner positively beamed as Watson felt her cheeks heat up.

  She shouldn't have declined his offer for take out last night...now her stomach had found the most inappropriate time to remind her that the last thing she ate was a couple M&Ms stolen from Barnes when he dozed off on the car ride home.

  "Someone's hungry..." Turner teased in his sing-song voice as soon as the noise subsided, and Watson had to physically restrain herself from the annoyed look that threatened to cross her features.

  She turned her face away from his just slightly and the sunrays that filtered in from the open blinds through the bullpen caught her in a brilliant light and for a moment, Turner fell silent, impossibly taken aback by the radiant woman in front of him, distinct features all the more beautiful in this illumination.

  In a split second, his smile dropped, his chest swelled, and he once again remembered just how lucky he was. In all honesty, he hadn't expected her to say yes. Of course, he knew at the time he got arrested that she meant what she said about him letting her in more, but he couldn't quite believe that she would be so open to the idea.

  He was more certain now than ever that he was falling unwaveringly in love with her and it was an uncanny feeling to have in this situation. His heart seemed to know it too, because it twisted unnaturally as he realized that he could't possibly continue living this double life anymore. He would have to make a decision soon.

  Watson would never ask him to give up, Turner knew that, but he also realized his sanity was not quite as resilient as hers. A chill accompanied the ache in his chest as he found himself questioning whether he was not pushing them both into something they may not get out of together.

  He hadn't truly turned over in his mind what that could mean for his pursuit of the Red River Killer. Of course, he thought in depth about it, but hadn't truly allowed himself to face the brutal reality that if they could somehow figure out what the Red River Killer looked like, he'll come that much closer to finding the murderer. Although the thought should entice Turner, encourage him to pursue this as soon as possible, he found himself feeling the tiniest bit of dread at this incredible revelation.

  “Eric.”

  He looked up to find Watson staring at him, the quirked eyebrow a simple mask for the concern swimming in her eyes. He couldn't quite believe it himself, but sometimes the brunette could read him almost as well as he could read her. It should be unsettling, but he was somehow liberated by it, secretly glad he didn’t have to spell out his every doubt and fear to her. It also made for quite uncomfortable silences as he wondered what to say.

  Fortunately for him, her hunger didn’t go away and Turner found himself exchanging playful smiles with her as her stomach growled again.

  He stepped closer to her, gingerly wrapping his arm around her waist and unexpectedly pressed his lips to her temple. It felt like so long since he kissed her that the simple action calmed him far more than anything else ever could.

  "You must be famished, darling. I mean I could hear your stomach through this many layers of clothing."

  His good-natured tease earned him a huff and a gentle swat on his chest as Watson tried to keep a smile off her face. "Oh shut up," she quipped back, trying to stifle a yawn. He noticed yet again how tired she was, and suddenly remembered where they were.

  "Come on," Turner said softly, already escorting her to the door, "let's get you home and fed."

  Normally, Watson would protest or at the very least make a sarcastic comment about being treated like a child, but she was too exhausted, both mentally and physically to care, and the thought of her bed, preferably with Turner in it seemed like a dream come true at this point.

  Instead of delivering a snarky response, she simply rested her weight on Turner, relieved to find him just as strong and solid beside her as he always had been. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling the mixture of soap and spice that reminded her distinctly of Turner.

  "Will you make me pancakes?" Watson asked in a small voice and the low rumble of laughter as Turner replied makes her feel warmer than it should.

  "Blueberry or banana?" He asked, dipping into his memory to reacquaint himself with the contents of Watson's fridge.

  "Both," she mumbled, pulling him towards the door.

  He smiled again, low chuckle as he let her guide him, "both it is."

  He thought it far too little of a repayment for everything she has done for him so far.


  Watson's mind was in a completely calm induced haze as they waited for the elevator in silence. Despite all the misgivings she had, those that threatened to attack her fully once she was more lucid, holding onto Turner, having his arms protectively around her, Watson realized that yes, this had changed things, altered them in a significant way, but she had an advantage that she was no longer blinded. She had clarity and awareness.

  With awareness came strength and perseverance, so perhaps with Turner by her side, she could find a way to merge together not only her crossroads but also his...maybe there was a way for her and Turner's goals to coexist in his world.

  Maybe...

  Chapter 21

  She heard her brother's voice, understood what he was saying, even managed to respond occasionally, but she was definitly not present in the conversation.

  Her mind was simply elsewhere, floating around in a different dimension as she tried to stay focused. However, it seemed damn near impossible for her to concentrate on anything. Everything was still in a beautiful spin, a mess, a complete and utter disarray of thought and emotion.

  The day was bright and a ray of sunshine hit her squarely in the face, even though she tried to evade it. There was not a hint of rain, no snow, nothing to suggest that it was the day before Christmas Eve. The only possible indications were the lackluster decorations on the window of the convenience store adjacent to the gas station.

  The "Merry Christmas" spray painted in blues, reds, and whites across the glass was lopsided and there was a pathetic looking Christmas tree drawn right beneath it. Luke kept talking, switching the subject from the dreaded Christmas dinner with his in-laws to the presents she sent for him and his wife.

  She was happy he was excited about them, but she couldn't find it in herself to respond with equal fervor. Instead her eyes fell upon the side mirror; what she found there made her shiver and press her thighs together, a secret smile spreading over her lips as Turner grinned back at her, blue eyes never wavering from hers as he pumped gas.