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, and 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."
There were so many questions she wanted to ask, so many things plaguing her mind, mostly what this could mean for them and for their relationship outside of work. However, perhaps because work had always been a defense mechanism of sorts, something to hide behind, her mind seemed to compartmentalize her feelings, put them on the back burner in favor of analysis.
After all, she had seen what a messed up lead had done to Turner before, and even just as his colleague, she couldn't bear to see that disappointment again.
"How do you know the Red River Killer didn't just kill the kid when he saw him? His only leverage against us had always been his identity."
Her words pulled him back to just a few hours earlier, when he lay beside her thinking how she surprised him every day, because her current reaction was nothing short of what he expected. Watson may not always be an open book to him, but he knew this was the only way she could deal with something of this magnitude, and he couldn't blame her. More than anything, he was just a little afraid of how much he could divulge until she reached her breaking point.
"I considered that as well, but Corey said she remembered the teenager when she ran into his mother at the grocery store. Apparently he moved away, but is still very much alive. His mother wouldn't tell her more."
"And you found him?"
“Yes, yes I did."
"I see."
He watched as she seemed to revert into herself, sinking further into the chair, averting her eyes from him, hands nervously fumbling with the tie of her robe. Turner wasn't used to seeing her like this and there was a foreign ache in his chest when he realized that he had something to do with this.
His rational side refused to feel guilty for accepting Corey's lead but his heart was too distracted by the vision of Watson looking so lost and vulnerable to care about any possible ways he could catch the Red River Killer.
He felt like he was being split in two, still unable to reconcile the two sides of himself.
However, the anxiety seemed to grow with every second that Watson kept her glance away from him, refusing to leave him, "Natalie, I-..."
"I don't need an explanation Turner, just do what you have to do."
Her head snapped up as she interrupted him, brave green eyes trying to hide the hurt and disappointment swimming beneath. The way she tried to conceal how she truly felt was almost too much to bear, so he was almost glad when she pushed back her chair and stood to walk away, mumbling something about going back to bed. As soon as she moved into the shadows of the living room, his mind seemed to catch up with what was happening and he almost sprinted after her, grabbing her wrist not too gently to twirl her around.
"What do you want?"
The question came out much colder than she intended, almost like a territorial hiss, but she couldn't be this close to him without her emotions getting the best of her and perhaps it would be easier if she disguised her pain with anger.
"I want you to come with me." Turner said, still holding onto her, afraid she would slip away again. There was a brief moment of silence as Watson took in his appearance. His body radiated warmth and his blue eyes searched for understanding, but she was still cold and for once wanted to be selfish, not be understanding, just because it was expected of her.
“Don’t ask me that, Turner.”
She swore he flinched when she used his surname. Within these walls, he was always Eric to her.
“Don't put me in this position.” This time, she didn’t hide behind anger, she felt it. It coursed through her veins, fueling the icy words as they spilled from her lips.
How dare he?
How dare he make her choose between her obligation to her job and her devotion to him?
This was Harper's investigation, not his and she didn’t want to be part of this, didn’t want to drive a deeper rift between her and her former colleague while violating professional boundaries. She knew this couldn't be easy for Turner, saw the indecision and guilt swimming in his bottomless blues, but there was still an inkling of self-preservation that simmered inside her, and she clung to it like a lifeline.
Turner could almost visualize the wall she built between them, brick by brick, and felt himself powerless to stop it.
"This is what you wanted, Natalie. You asked me to include you in my plans."
He knews it was a foolish statement, witnessed the damage it did as her green eyes flashed with fire, indignation at his audacity to throw that in her face. Of course, he was grasping at straws, anything to keep her from walking away, because he needed her.
God, did he need her...
He needed her support, needed her to be the pillar that had been unknowingly holding him up for so long. "You think this is what I wanted?"
Each word was perfectly enunciated, drenched in sarcasm, and with a twinge of disbelief. The advisor, always full of wit and equipped with a sharp tongue, stood mutely before her, more exposed than he had ever been and unable to predict what she would do. As perceptive as he might be, in that moment Turner was blind...blind as a newborn and equally as vulnerable.
It was almost pathetic how one moment he was in control and the next, he relinquished all of it to her. Even then, Watson felt like he was somehow putting her on the spot, asking her to make the decision for him. She was not sure she was strong enough to make the right one, which left her feeling bitter and resentful, two emotions she would never associate with the man standing before her.
"God, I can't even look at you right now."
Suddenly, the air in her cold living room seemed stifling and Turner's touch on her wrist felt like it was scalding her skin. The instinctual thought to flee consumed her, eyes falling on the large winter jacket she shed as soon as they arrived home.
She grabbed it off the armchair, slipping it on while trying to ignore the look boring into her back as she walked towards the front door.
"Natalie, where are you-..."
Watson cut him off, refusing to turn around, knowing the look on his face would be enough to make her change her mind and she couldn't afford that. She needed to regain some footing, find some balance in her world, which Turner had thrown off kilter with just a few words.
Her hand wrapped around the doorknob and she almost hesitated, but even the tone of his broken words, the slight panic as he spoke, couldn't stop her.
"You said what you needed to say, Turner, now let me do what I need to do."
And then she was gone, the metallic sound of her car keys echoing through the room as the door closed behind her, left Turner stranded in the darkness alone. For the first time he was aware of just how cold it was in Watson's home, especially without her there...