Chapter 17
Two days later her decision was cemented when she found herself in an overly crowded supermarket wheeling a cart filled with enough items to feed a small army. As Turner debated between sweet potatoes and yams, Watson debated between either shooting him or just knocking him out with the sixteen pound turkey currently rolling around in her cart.
The vision of Turner being bludgeoned by frozen poultry distracted her for a moment, uplifting her with dark, morbid humor; but then, as a woman walks by with a screaming toddler in tow, Natalie slumped herself against the railing of the cart, for the umpteenth time wondering how she allowed Turner to rope her into this.
Oh yeah...by appealing to her sympathies and ambushing her with the hopeful faces of her team. Damn him.
Apparently, her scowl deepened because Turner stopped contemplating between two different kinds of cranberry sauce to look at her, "Are you frowning so profoundly, because I'm not including you in my selection of Thanksgiving staples?"
She raised her eyebrow in response, her face showing just a hint of annoyance as she pushed the cart, "I'll be at the check out line."
She made the move to go but unsurprisingly Turner didn't let her; soft touch on her arm and she turned around. She wouldn’t leave but it didn’t mean she wasn't going to be defiant every step of the way. Turner almost kissed her in the middle of the canned food aisle when he saw her huff and cross her arms over her chest. He didn’t though, fearing she really might smack him over the head with something if he did.
She was not a fan of public displays of affection, never had been, and though he was wearing her down slowly, today is not the day to do it.
They closed the case a few hours ago and he could see the fatigue weighing her down, so he could't begrudge her the frown, but he also wouldn't let her go. "Oh come on, don't be so grouchy. Here I'll let you choose the cranberry sauce, this one or this one."
He gave her a brilliant smile while holding out the two cans of cranberry sauce. At first, Watson looked at him in disbelief, angry that he was trying to act so oblivious when he knew how exhausted she was. After all, it was technically his fault that she was here instead of at home in the bath or on the couch.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a man walking with a little girl, no more than six, and when she saw Turner look at them with an unmistakable longing in his eye, Watson instinctively reached out and pointed to the can in his left hand.
Turner looked back at her, the vulnerability in his glance replaced by an amused glint as he weighed the can in his hand, "Hmm you chose the heavier one."
Watson went back to being annoyed.
"So now you're going to criticize my choice?" she asked, hands suddenly on her hips.
Turner smirked at her, approaching a bit closer. Seconds later, the detective found herself trapped between the cart behind her and the man towering over her, smiling knowingly. "Don't think I don't know the murderous thoughts you're entertaining about me."
His finger tapped her temple and despite her strongest control, Watson couldn't help the twinge of a smile forming on her lips as he grinned at her. There was residual sadness in his mischievous gaze but she pushed the observation to the back of her mind. This wasn't the time or the place. Instead, she rolled her eyes and grabbed the can out of his hand, suddenly imbued with a new energy. With the case and everything else keeping her busy, she didn't even realize that perhaps Turner didn't arrange this Thanksgiving dinner out of the goodness of his heart just to cheer her or the rest of the team up.
Now, she was confronted with the realization that he was probably doing this as much for himself as for her, tired of spending the holidays alone. Usually, when she spent the holidays alone, it was voluntary, and she suddenly felt incredibly guilty for taking her brother's invitation from last year for granted.
Even with everything that happened to her in the past, Watson still couldn't fathom being completely alone, without family, while knowing that she was somehow responsible for that predicament. The tightness in her chest was unexpected and she instantly grabbed his hand, tightening her hold on him.
Turner looked startled for a moment, but when their eyes met, realization sank into his eyes and Watson gave him a tentative smile. She stuck her hand into his pocket and pulled out the list of ingredients he assembled at work and looked at it for a moment.
"Come on, we still need to get the ingredients for stuffing."
Watson turned around, pushing her cart to the next aisle, expecting Turner to follow.
"Well someone's suddenly eager." He murmured as he walked behind her, an adoring expression on his face as he watched Watson ahead.
"Don't make me test the thickness of your skull, Turner."
She felt a sense of calm as she heard him chuckle subtly behind her.
He was in the middle of chopping carrots for the stuffing when he felt a pair of warm and very familiar hands snake around his waist from behind, slipping underneath his t-shirt, and tracing the waistband of his pants as a cheek pressed against his shoulder blades.
Turner stilled for a moment, eyes closed as he indulged in the feel of a warm body pressed against his. It had been a while, but sometimes he still found the idea that he was actually there, with Watson, sharing more than just her bed, still incredible.
Her fingers traced random patterns across his stomach, igniting dormant nerve endings, spreading heat all over him. She was so close Turner could feel her soft breath on his back as it left ripples in his shirt, the softness of her curves as she wrapped herself around him.
It baffled him how strong she was, but yet how delicate. Sometimes he couldn't reconcile the woman who tackled suspects twice her size with the one hugging him. A woman of contradiction, he mused, and it brought a wide smile to his face.
"You turned off the alarm again," Watson murmured into his back with a hint of disapproval and Turner immediately put down the knife and pried one of her hands away from his torso, and placed a freshly brewed cup of coffee in it.
He figured with the day they were about to have and how completely not on board she had been with this dinner since he ambushed her, he could at least be nice enough to fuel her caffeine addiction, even if he disapproved.
Watson took the mug and Turner turned around and wrapped his arms around her.
"Thought you'd appreciate sleeping in," He explained, expecting her to frown at him again.
Instead, he watched as Watson took a moment to inhale the sweet aroma of her usual brew before shooting him a smile in return, dimple and all.
"On any other day, yes but we have a dinner to prepare with seven hours to go, so what could I help with?"
She looked at him expectantly and he was too distracted by her enthusiasm and determination to notice how messy her hair was or that she basically drowned in a pair of his sweatpants. Usually, Turner would have found the sight adorable, considering how well put together Watson always was, but at that moment he was too preoccupied with her sudden change of mood.
Yesterday, she was ready to inflict bodily harm on him with canned berries and now she was eager to cook with them.
He knew exactly what changed her perspective on this, but he’d been trying to put it to the back of his mind for safe keeping until after tonight. It is something he knows he would have to deal with eventually, but not during a holiday. He was usually so good at controlling his emotions, but the night before, at the supermarket he lost himself in memories. Though it was a brief moment, Watson caught it.
He knew immediately, because as perceptive as she was, she could seldom hide the smallest shift of mood from him and the way she tensed and then relaxed, scowl dissolving into a half smile, confirmed for Turner that as easily as he could hide from everyone else, the woman before him was a rare exception.
Unconsciously, Turner found himself without barriers, and even though they didn’t discuss it since, he knew there weren't any secrets between them.
It scared Turner, because this new life he had didn’t allow for many true acquaintances. Guilt and shame seemed to prevent him from being honest, but then Turner supposed even he wasn't immune to the power of human connection, especially not one as strong and inevitable as the one he had with Watson.
He was grateful that she didn’t bring it up, didn’t mention what happened, and didn’t probe him.
Perhaps it was that patience of hers, a quiet strength and vigilance that made her the exception, made him want to open up, reveal everything without fear. Turner must have spaced out a bit, because when he blinked again, he found Watson looking at him with a raised eyebrow, a silent question on her face.
"Everything okay?" she asked a few moments later, placing her cup in the sink.
Turner nodded and resumed chopping, "yeah I'm fine. Why don't you go relax, watch TV or something. I got it under control." He expectd her to concede but Watson shook her head and placed her hand on his to stop him for a moment.
"No, Eric. I want to help."
He put the knife down and kissed the hand resting on his wrist, and smiled at her as he nodded.
"Okay, why don't you start peeling the potatoes?"
"Sounds good," Watson returned his smile and took her post at the sink with a peeler in her hand.
Turner returned to his own task. As he watched the woman besided him struggle with an abnormally shaped potato that wouldn't peel properly, Turner thought it was nice to have a partner in the kitchen. It was a lot less lonely that way.
The wallet-sized picture was frayed at the edges, creased unnaturally.
Jagged white lines crossed the subjects' faces as their smiles remained unchanged, staring back at her as she leaned against the dresser, not sure what to make of her discovery.
The picture was small, but she could make out a playground in the background and the pink helmet the strawberry blond girl was wearing lead Watson to believe this was taken during a pivotal moment in the child's life. More precisely, the first time she rode a bike.
Shutting her eyes, the brunette remembered the first time she learned to ride a bicycle.
Hers was a birthday present from her parents, a white and pink two wheeler with training wheels. She remembered the joy she got when she first rode it, a toothless smile on her face as her daddy, her hero back then, embraced and twirled her around after, their embrace just long enough for her mom to snap the picture of the father and daughter hugging.
In this photograph, Watson didn’t see a dark haired man lifting up his green eyed daughter. Instead, she saw a smiling, blue eyed child in the arms of a beautiful blond woman, mother's eyes as she looked at her child with pride.
The still frame was rather sweet, innocent, capturing a pure moment, unblemished by the darkness lurking beyond the camera, and as much as Watson wanted to focus on that, on the fact that certain memories could be immortalized and kept as a reminder of better times, she could't let it go.
This wasn't just about the photograph, but about what it represented to the man who kept it in the back pocket of his slacks, the very same ones that lie on her bed now. The shower shut off and Watson immediately closed her palm around the photograph, wishing she didn't feel so guilty for something that wasn't really her fault.
She didn't look through his pockets, it just fell out and despite that rationalization, she still felt a slight hint of panic when Turner emerged from the bathroom, immediately heading for the pants. "Thanks for laying them out for me," He said, back turned to her as he put them on.
For a moment, Watson thought he won't even notice, but midway through he stopped, back muscles flexing before he buckled his pants and turned around, looking at her somewhat suspiciously.
Even before realization dawned on him, Watson stepped forward and placed the creased photo in his hand, swallowing deeply before saying, "it fell out of your pocket when I took them off the hanger." Turner continued to watch her as he took the picture, but instead of putting it back into his pocket, he walked over and placed it on the nightstand, next to his wallet, keys, and cell phone. At first, Watson wasn't sure what this gesture implied, but she knew Turner never did anything without purpose.
Then, when he looked at her, she realized that this is his way of showing her that he was comfortable with her seeing the photograph, at least enough that he could leave it just laying on the nightstand, despite it being her night stand, in her home, next to her bed, the one they now share.
He watched her with open, honest eyes, the slight surprise from seeing the photograph in her hand faded now, replaced by a calm and cool facade, but one that could not fully conceal the vulnerability she glimpsed at the night before.
"I think I need to say something to you," Watson finally said, breaking the silence between them.
Turner nodded and she made her way over to the bed, sinking down on the edge of the mattress delicately, feeling for a moment as if she was a stranger in her own bedroom. Turner seemed to sense her discomfort and immediately reached out to take her hand in his and the soft smile that passed his features, obviously an effort on his part to soothe her nerves, made Watson pull his hand in between her palms, fingers running over each knuckle.
"I know I'm not always forthcoming about my own feelings, especially anything that had to do with my past, but I really want you to know that you could talk to me."
"I know that," Turner said softly, peering at her with a penetrating glint, a look he perfected over the years and one that still leaves Watson feeling exposed.
"Do you? Because sometimes I feel like you're hiding from me just like you do with everyone else, and it's disconcerting."
Her honesty seemed to touch a nerve, because Turner suddenly sat up straighter, maneuvering his body so he was facing her directly.
“You could't ever think that," he said seriously, resisting the urge to put his hands on her shoulders to shake the truth into her.
"I don't always, but yesterday..." her voice trailed off and Turner didn’t like the defeated tone or the way she exhaled heavily. He didn’t really have much to say in the way of explanation but it seemed that Watson wasn't expecting one.
"I think the picture is beautiful and I realize the holidays are the hardest time to spend without your loved ones," she continued, emphadizing a point he knows she's far too familiar with, "but I don't want you to conceal how you feel from me. I never want you to be afraid to tell me about your family."
He stared at her, a bit wide eyed, but her courage didn’t waver. If she wasn’t so preoccupied with communicating how she felt, Watson would definitely find it amusing that for once it seems as if she struck Eric Turner into a bewildered silence, blue eyes infused with affection seldom so exposed.
"I'm not here to replace them, Eric. I hope you know that."
Her words dissolved into silence, but instead of it being thick and tension filled, Watson felt at ease for the first time since Turner came out of the shower. She continued to run her fingers soothingly over his hands, admiring their shape and weight in her palms, but Turner didn’t let the quiet last for too long.
He reached up and tilted her chin to him as he spoke, commanding her with the intensity of his gaze, "You're some thing else, Natalie Watson." He announced, a hint of reverence in his voice jolted her slightly, but as much as she wanted to conceal it, Turner picked up on it and ushered her closer to him.
"I'm not worth your patience. I'm really not and I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel as if I'm hiding. It's just been too long since someone asked me how I was feeling without being paid to do so, so you will have to forgive me, if I'm a little rough around the edges."
Turner stroked her cheek lovingly, and Watson couldn't help the warmth that spread through her body, calming her down considerably. Maybe it wasn't fair that he could pacify her with just one touch, but the look in his eyes said everything he could't quite yet express in words.
"Don't be so self-deprecating, Eric." She said, watching as his facial muscles relaxed into an almost smile, blue eyes no longer boring intensely into her. "I just don't want to you be scared of telling me things. The only way to make this work is to be honest and I know that might sound a bit ridiculous coming from me, trust issues and all, but I just had to tell you, because I know how this time of year is."
He didn’t even realize what he was doing until he was kneeling in front of her, hands cupping both her cheeks as he trained his eyes on her, making sure she couldn't look away again.
"And I want you to know how incredibly grateful I am for your prescence in my life. You will never replace my family, because I don't want you to. That's not what I was looking for when I found you. I wasn't really looking at all."
His comment earned him a laugh and Watson kissed the palm on her cheek softly, watching him with knowing eyes as he continued.
"But you, you challenge me and you don't let me get away with anything, at least you try not to, and I need you to know that you are the only person I ever want to be honest with. Believe that, Natalie."
"I do." She whispered, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in her voice, so Turner did the one thing he could think of at the moment to quell any anxiety she might still have. He abruptly stood and reached over to the nightstand, taking the creased photo of his wife and child, a well worn memento from the past. Before he could say anything, Watson stopped him.
"You don't have to do this." She warned, her hand on his arm as Turner sat down besided her staring at the picture, his thumb unconsciously gliding over his daughter's face.
It dawned on him that as much this keepsake was always close to him, he didn’t remember the last time he really looked at it. He was unprepared for the stab of pain that punctured his heart, tightening around him like a vice. Watson seemd to pick up on his distress and gently pried his hands away from the photograph, setting it aside as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hands unconsciously traced over the plains of his back, muscles that seemed to have tensed for far too long.
"I believe you, Eric." She whispered into his ear, praying for his body to relax against hers, "I don't need you to prove anything to me, that's not my intention."
Her words exposed guilt, remorse for having started this conversation and even through his own clouded mind, Turner sensed that. He willed himself to look at her, more composed than before.
"I know. I just don't want to you to ever feel like I'm keeping things from you deliberately, its just-..."Turner paused, but Watson's concerned gaze encouraged him to finish, "it's just hard sometimes, that's all."
Watson nodded immediately, her fingers ran through his curls as she pulled him closer, until she was almost in his lap, "I know. I'm sorry I brought it up now, we're supposed to be celebrating tonight, not rehash-..."
"It's okay," Turner cut her off, a hint of his usual, mischievous smile returned as he wrapped an arm around her waist, " we could still celebrate," He murmured, lips falling to the crook of her neck.
It was a light kiss but it seemd to serve its purpose, awakening her senses, alerting Watson to the fact that Turner sat beside her half-naked, breath warm against her skin as his lips traced over her pulse point.
The moan that escaped was inevitable and she didn’t fight it, letting herself indulge in the familiar stirring in the pit of her belly. She ran her hands unconsciously down Turner's back, across familiar skin that was now hot to the touch and she relished in the way Turner shivered when she ran a finger down his spine. Turner moved his lips off her neck, along her jaw line, and Watson unconsciously leaned into the anticipated kiss, but it never came.
She opened her eyes to find him looking at her, a gaze that didn’t reveal lust, but something else, something much deeper that Watson couldn't identify.
"Don't be sorry for bringing this up. I never want you to doubt yourself. You may not realize it, but you're a healer, Natalie Watson."
Despite his seriousness, there was a whimsical tone to his voice and a brightness in his admission that made Watson smile and raise her eyebrow at him.
"Is that so? Do I have mystical powers?" She asked teasingly, leaning in until their lips were only a hairsbreadth apart.
"Well lets be serious here, darling. I'm the only one with the mystical powers." Turner deadpanned, and Watson could't help the eye roll or the subsequent chuckle. She shook her head at him, but she was secretly glad that Turner was smiling again.
She was honest with him when she said it was never her intention to make him recall painful memories; however, she was not sorry she voiced her concern. There was something uplifting about being honest for a change, for sharing at least some of what she was feeling instead of pushing it back and Watson vowed she wouldn’t wait too long to tell him everything else.
She was is so consumed in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the roguish glint in Turner's eye until he leaned over and claimed her mouth, tongue tracing her lower lip until she responded, arms wrapped around his neck as he pushed her onto the bed.
He hovered over her for a moment, bracing himself on his elbow as his other hand disappeared underneath the dress she planned to wear that night. His eyes never left hers, but Watson didn’t squirm under his gaze.
There were many looks that Turner had that were mere pretences, a mask to hide behind, but Watson thought the way he was looking at her then was the most honest one, and the pleasure that coursed through her entire being as his hand traced her inner thigh was unmistakable.
She ran her fingers down his chest to settle on the waistband of his slacks, but Turner surprised her by pulling her into a deep kiss and abruptly moving down her body, a wicked grin on his face as she looked confusedly on.
"Eric," Watson rose up on her elbows but he gently pushed her down, fingers tracing the lace beneath her dress as he dropped a kiss on her knee and parts her thighs.
"Let me show you what I'm thankful for this year," he murmured playfully against her skin and didn’t wait for a response.
Moments later, even through the pleasure-induced haze, Watson still came to the solid decision that this Thanksgiving definitely beat last year.