Chapter 25
He woke up to the familiar aroma of cinnamon and apples. The room was dark and his vision was still a little blurry, a side affect of the concussion. For a moment, Turner could convince himself that he was just lying in bed with Watson in his arms, unable to sleep as usual, but finding a certain comfort in her curled into his side, hair tickling his neck.
But then she shifted in her sleep, left leg stiffening as she stretched it over his hips and the last day's events rush through his mind like a kaleidoscope of broken images, bringing back the guilt and shame he felt before he blacked out. At least the pain in his head wasn't as sharp and he now knew the source of it.
He was no stranger to concussions, but this one must have been extremely severe given that he couldn't focus his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time without feeling strained. He blinked several times, rubbing his eyelids gently before trying to right his vision again.
The room was dark, the curtain drawn back allowing moonlight to filter in through the window, casting a glow on his surroundings. There was barely any furniture, the walls were gray, and a strong stench of antiseptic solution hung in the air.
He really hated hospitals.
It was supposed to be a healing environment, but to him it always felt more like a prison. Hospitals are one of the only places where he is divested of all his defenses, stripped of his suit, his mobility (at the moment), and most of all his voice. It didn't matter how much he complained or not so subtly insulted every single nurse of his, no one budged. No one would dare to discharge a patient in his condition, not even someone as disagreeable as him. That didn't mean he had to like it though.
He took a deep breath, and the familiar scent of Watson's shampoo awakened his senses again. He had to smile, had to tighten his subconscious hold on her, even if it pulled at the IV in his arm. He didn't know at what point she snuck into his room, but he was so incredibly grateful for her presence that he didn’t care. Although he just saw her this morning, it felt like they've been reunited after a long separation and the painful twisting in his chest, the one reminding him how incredibly lucky he was that she was still by his side only grew, along with a healthy dose of gratitude.
His hand unconsciously buried itself in her hair and he leaned down to press his lips to her forehead, unable to resist the smoothness of her skin. He breathed a sigh of relief when Watson didn’t move, a sign that he didn't wake her up with his spontaneous show of affection.
He relaxed against the pillows, content to hold her for as long as possible, feeling her breathing peacefully besides him, her warmth extending a bubble of comfort over him. However, within moments he felt, rather than saw, her wake up as her eyelashes fluttered open, brushing against the exposed skin of his neck.
Turner didn't realize just how close they were to one another until Watson lifted her head just slightly and her breath ghosted across his cheek. She looked at him through half-lidded eyes until the cobwebs of sleep cleared away. Then the slew of emotions that passed over her gaze in succession brough the overwhelming feeling of dread and uncertainty he's done an amazing job suppressing back with a vengeance.
He didn’t dare look away, paying his penance just by having to witness the amount of pure, untainted hurt in her eye. He knows Watson, knows how guarded she was, how it took four years and a display of unwavering loyalty to slip past her defenses enough for her to open her heart to him. So letting him see just how hurt she was, was almost more painful than any physical injury he has ever sustained, especially not this concussion.
Watson didn’t break their gaze either, though only because she couldn't get enough of the sight in front of her. It was a little ridiculous, but the overwhelming relief spreading like anesthetic through her body seemed to numb everything, including the dull throbbing from her wound.
She knew that he was okay and that he would be just fine. It was another thing to see him awake, warm and strong, and at the moment, looking incredibly guilty and embarrassed as he stared at her. It was enough to melt some of the ice that seemed to have frozen her heart when she woke up in the hospital, mad as hell at herself and Turner for this stupid mess they were in.
She reacted impulsively, pressing her lips to his, guided by the ache in her heart at the thought that this day could have ended much worse than it had. She silently thanked God that it didn't, because as stupid and selfish and single minded as Turner was, she would rather have him alive and all those things than the alternative.
Bemused, Turner didn’t respond immediately. When he finally did, Watson pulled back, breathing heavily and realizing that the relief she felt just moments ago was only temporary. Now, as she really looked at him, she saw everything else besides him too, like the fact that he was in a hospital gown and that they were in a hospital room and that she couldn't really move too much now that the pain medication was wearing off.
Watson realized then that as much as she was glad that Turner would be okay, they still need to talk. His brows furrowed in confusion as she pulled away slightly, hurt crossing his features momentarily, but he didn’t stop her, probably realizing she needed some space. Watson granted him a small smile before sitting up and perching herself on the edge of his bed, a far cry from the intimate position they were in just moments before.
She didn’t even remember how she'd slipped into bed with him or why the nurses didn't stop her, but she knew she missed the warmth of his body beside her, missed the small flutter in her chest at the realization that his hand had found its way around her waist even in his sleep.
Her thigh throbbed as she sat up, but the pain was nothing compared to the pressure she felt inside at Turner's reaction to her pulling away. He didn’t hide how he felt from her, exposing all the guilt, shame, and regret in his cobatl gaze, but this uncharacteristic openness didn't make Watson feel better.
If anyt hing, it only tightened the coil around her heart, only added to the dryness in her throat as she clutched some of the comforter in her hands. For a second, as they kept staring at each other silently, Watson wanted to stomp her feet like a child, cry out all the anger and frustration she felt, and curl up into a ball in Turner's arms, to hell with the rest of the world.
She wished for just a moment that things weren't so difficult between them, wondered why they couldn't just be like everyone else, why there had to be so much against them. She wanted to be childish for a moment, didn’t want to be composed or strong, but wants to be weak. She craved the feeling of vulnerability, because it was just too damn hard to be so controlled all the freaking time.
Especially now, as she stared into the face of the man she loved and realized that as unfair as it was, as horrible a hand as life had dealt him in the last couple years, he needed to accept some sort of responsibility for his actions, had to see that there were consequences. Watson couldn't help but take a little self righteous comfort in Rodrigues' earlier words.
"I know Turner and he probably would have gone along and done it anyway..."
It didn’t lessen the weight of responsibility from her shoulders, but it gave her a small sense of confidence, just the push that she needed to clear the vulnerability from her eyes and break the silence.
Turner sensed the change in her before it even happened. She shifted just a little further away, spine straightening and shoulders set as she geared up to get everything off her mind. He couldn't quite stave off the wave of nausea that bubbled up at the thought that this might be the moment they finally broke, the moment she finally admitted that she couldn't deal with 'them' anymore.
He tried to swallow down the anxiety, but it didn’t really work. He knew that he was not doing such a good job concealing his reaction, because Watson's eyes flashed with concern, only amplifying the guilt he was feeling.
"I'm glad you're okay," she whispered, voice very soft but controlled, and Turner couldn't help the disappointment as she visibly closed off from him.
"Don't worry about me. How are you doing?"
She expected herself to be put off by his zealous concern, but his inquiry was so genuine that Turner almost derailed her train of thought, especially when he reached out his hand, placing it gently on her wrist, thumb brushing over her skin soothingly. She was surprised at how easily it relaxed her, making her lose her rigid posture as she gave him a wan, but appreciative smile.
"I'm fine."
It was obvious that he didn’t believe her. He even managed to roll his eyes a little, but Watson stopped him before he could put off the inevitable for any longer. She didn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes as she wriggled her hand from beneath his, placing it gingerly in her lap as she looked down, eyes momentarily drawn to her thigh. The thickness of the bandage wrapped around her leg was still noticeably protruding beneath the loose hospital scrubs.
"You and l are both suspended effective immediately after the holidays. Two weeks, but could be longer, depending on the fallout from this."
Watson stared straight ahead, keeping her attention on the moon, the crescent sliver of white against the starless, dark blue backdrop of the sky. It was somehow both beautiful and lonely in the vast emptiness surrounding it, but Watson refused to dwell on it, trying to keep focus on where it needed to be.
"I figured as much. I'm actually suprrised Rodrigues didn't fire me altogether."
"He knows about us.”
She's not sure why she said that, it wasn't exactly part of the conversation she'd outlined in her head.
"Yeah," Turner concurred and when Watson whipped her head around to look at him, trying to gauge his reaction, he tried very hard to feign surprise. He knew from the minute that Rodrigues walked into the hospital with Harper hot on his tail that their supervisor would find out about their relationship by the end of the day. It was inevitable.
"It's not against the rules, you know."
She surprised him with her humorless laugh. The irony didn’t escape her and she told him so, eyes dangerously darker when she looked at him again.
"It's funny that you should be the one to mention rules, Turner.”
He knew that he deserves every bit of the tongue lashing she was about to give him, but he just couldn't keep his mouth shut.
"What's that supposed to mean exactly?"
She only narrowed her eyes in response, lips pursed in a thin line, as she continued to glare at him, unwavering resolve in place.
"I hope you know I am in no way blaming you for what happened."
Turner didn’t say anything, biting his tongue this time before it got him into trouble. His initial indignation at her words faded as he took in her appearance, took in their surroundings, remembered what drove them to be here, both injured and undoubtedly exhausted. He realized very quickly once again that as much as Watson didn’t blame him for what happened, he did.
He wanted to say something, yearned to seek her forgiveness, ignoring how quickly his stubborn resolve had weakened in her presence, but he wisely remained silent, knowing that the most he could give her now was his undivided attention.
"Whether you think it's your fault or not, I take full responsibility for walking into this situation unarmed and unprotected. It was stupid not to take my gun with me. It was even more foolish for me to think the PPB wouldn't get involved. You and I both know we would've needed the unit's help on this eventually."
Watson paused, shifting a little to the side so she could look at him properly. It was a staged interruption in her speech, allowing her to see if Turner would say anything; he didn’t.
Not because he didn’t want to, but frankly, he was at a loss for words. For the first time, he let himself contemplate something beyond the actual meeting with Evans, a hindsight he hadn't allowed himself before. He'd been too afraid of confronting the very same fact Watson had just pointed out.
"Still I'm really sorry it didn't work out quite the way you wanted it to, but I feel like maybe this is a sign, a warning."
Her voice cracked just a little and she cursed her inability to remain as composed as she'd like. It was even worse when Turner caught the faltering in her tone and rose slightly off the pillows, seeking out her hand. She didn’t pull away from him this time, but she didn’t look at him either, afraid that his eyes would hypnotize her again with their bottomless depths and she would forget everything except Turner and the fact that he's okay.
Turner instinctively reached for her, trying not to panic or jump to conclusions, though his mind was racing now. His judgment was clouded so heavily he couldn't guess what she was referring to even if he tried.
"A warning for what?" He asked in an uncharacteristically quiet and worried tone. It's enough that Watson looked at him in alarm, just to make sure he was okay physically, before casting her eyes down at their entwined hands.
She didn’t pull away, instead laced her fingers through his, reveling in his touch if only for a moment, before expelling a sigh.
"I know you're not one to follow rules. Hell, I'm pretty sure you think the only reason they exist is to break them. Unbelievably, that didn’t really bother me at work. By now, I expect that you'll bend or break whatever boundaries I hope to set out for you. I've always known that about you and I accept that. But, this whole incident, it just proved that we couldn't have the same situation outside of work."
He felt like a broken record, only plying her for more information, but the inquiry escaped before he could organize his thoughts.
"What are you saying, Watson?"
She still refused to meet his gaze, taking a steadying breath as if she was convincing herself that this really was the right thing to do. After a few more moments of mulling it over, she knew there was no other way to do this.
"When you came to me with Corey's information, you were only doing what I had asked you to do earlier. And you were right, I did want you to not keep anything from me, I wanted us to be honest and open and as truthful with eachother as possible. Now I think I was naive to think that we could be honest about everything, especially the Red River Killer, without it interfering."
Turner didn’t interrupt her this time. He rose a little higher against the uncomfortable pillows and squeezed her hand in reassurance as she paused for a moment. He was momentarily captivated by her silhouette in the dim moonlight. He committed to memory the outline of her slightly pointed nose, the curvature of her chin, the swell of her breast and her slender waist as she tried not to slouch. He found a million different ways to distract himself just by looking at her, but it didn’t lessen the tightening feeling of anxiety deep in his gut, as he waited for her to speak.
Watson heaved a sigh laden with the weight of too many things.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is that the only way I think we could ever truly work is if we actually set real rules, real boundaries in our personal relationship."
She finally looked at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to conceal her uncertainty. It was such a Watson thing to do that Turner didn’t even realize he was pulling her closer to him until they were sitting almost face to face. He couldn't help the small smile that spread over his lips nor resist running a hand through her hair. The relief he felt in every fiber of his being guided his unconscious actions.
He was so sure that Watson was going to end it. He could almost picture the phrase as it tumbled out of her mouth, her guilt-ridden eyes full of resolve. He had been ready for it, ready for the proverbial punch to his gut that her actual words didn't fully sink in. It took him a full minute to discern that she hadn't broken up with him, that she hadn't decided that his obsession was just too much. The gratitude that washes over him was overwhelming, but he bit back his response, knowing that Watson had more to say.
"This couldn't be like it is at work. The rules have to mean something. When you break the rules at work, the worst you do is betray my professional trust. But when it's just the two of us, you're betraying me-"
Her voice faltered slightly, almost imperceptibly toward the end, but Turner heard it, felt it in the way her hand trembled in their embrace and his heart clenched as he finally absorbed her words.
Although her lack of trust in him was a little disappointing, he couldn't blame her for doubting his ability to respect boundaries in their personal relationship, regardless of what they were. He so badly wanted to rebuke her, tell her that he understood how important what they had is, how easily breakable it was, but he couldn't formulate the words. The lines he had carefully crafted in his mind couldn't push through the wall in his throat and all he could do was stare at her, wishing he could find his voice again, his sense of persuasion, his ultimate weapon.
It scared him that with a few well-chosen words, Watson managed to disable his arsenal completely, and to Turner, it was a little ironic that she was so terrified of leaving herself exposed to him when it was he who was truly at her mercy now.
Watson seemed completely oblivious to his reaction as she tried to blink back the tears that threatened to escape. It petrified her that she was so emotionally exhausted, so on the brink of letting go, at a time like this. For a second, she wondered if maybe it was a terrible idea to do this now, to give Turner an ultimatum when neither of them was at their physical best. However, as she felt herself being drawn into his troubled gaze, she realized it was better to do it now than later, when he could pull her in again.
She didn’t want to be left vulnerable like she had been for the last few months. She needed a balance in her life, some structure. She wanted to know that the next thing to throw a wrench in their lives could be dealt with in some other way, not ending with heartbreak or injury or a bitter argument between them.
As much as she wanted to lose herself in the comfort of Turner's arms, reveling in the tranquility they will surely bring, Watson knew if they didn't figure this out now, the foundation they worked so hard to build woud crumble to nothing again.
"I know this might be hard, but I think we need to separate our work from our personal relationship. The only way I could see to make this work, to move past this, is to make sure this kind of situation didn’t happen again."
Watson glanced down at her lap, admiring the way their hands fit so perfectly together. She wondered why Turner didn’t say anything, but a part of her was too afraid to look at him again, so she kept her gaze down, preferring to imagine his expression rather than confronting the reality of it. She knew he didn’t respond well to ultimatums, not even.ones masked by suggestion, so she swallowed hard against the dryness in her throat as she plowed ahead before he could stop her.
"This isn't your fault Turner, at least not all of it. I told you a long time ago that I wanted you to come to me with anything. I could have let you go alone, but I didn't. Thing is, I don't think I could do that anymore. I need you to understand that although I don't expect you to stop your search, I don't think I could be there with you all t he way. I know we've come a long way in our relationship, but there have to be some limits and I hope you could accept that."
She didn’t meet his gaze once she ran out of words, choosing instead to stare at an unseen spot on the floor and Turner was at once seized with an incredible desire to pull her into his arms again. He never should have asked her to come. He thought he'd been doing the right thing, but now he thought it was actually pretty selfish of him. He knew in the back of his mind that Watson, his reliable, strong, fireproof Watson would agree to go with him. As elated as he had been at the idea at that point, he should have realized that if things were to go terribly wrong, she would withstand the worst of it, get burned the most.
Of course, the tunnel vision, the blindness to all other things when it came to the Red River Killer had blocked out all thought of consequences. The guilt at that realization was as sharp and all consuming as ever and Turner couldn't help but wince slightly as the dull ache in his skull started to return slowly.
He'd been so focused on her, on what Watson had been saying, he hadn't realized the muted pain had turned into a full fledged throbbing, which now seemed to be a deserving adjunct to the sharp pain in his chest. His quest for vengeance had managed to fracture the only good thing in his life and he wasn't even fully aware of the enormity of the situation until he found himself snared by Watson's captivating green eyes, currently brimming with unshed tears.
Watson remained guarded but her true feelings were exposed. The hurt and disappointment swimming in her gaze and permeating the air between them made it hard for Turner to breathe, let alone say anything.
He wanted to apologize, wanted to promise her that he would do anything she said, that he will work as hard as he could to honor her wishes even though he doesn't completely understand them, but the pain consumed all his senses, leaving him mute.
Watson's eyes clouded with worry in a matter of seconds and she quickly scooted closer to him, placing her hand on his chest to push him into a more prone position.
Turner tried to hide his discomfort, but couldn't help wincing as his head made contact with the pillows. He grasped her wrist, intent on saying something, anything but Watson leaned over him and placed her finger to his lips, smiling ruefully as she brushed the damp curls from his forehead with a motherly affection Turner knew she seldom revealed. He ran his thumb over her wrist in response, stubbornly opening his mouth to speak even though she silenced him already.
"You don't have to say anything; I know it's a lot to take in, I should have probably waited until we were back at home. Why don't you try to sleep again, it might help with the pain." Her touch on his cheek warmed him, breathed a little strength into him.
"Will you stay?" He asked quietly, eyes not diverting from hers. When she nodded, Turner couldn't help feeling a little better, as if by merely continuing to be in her presence, he was imbued with a little more strength, more of his natural resolve, which helped combat the pain that was becoming like an incessant knocking on his skull.
Watson didn’t say any more, instead she resumed her position along his side, easing her left leg over his waist, her small arm resting in the middle of his torso, palm placed over his heart.
The rhythm of his breaths lulled her into a peaceful rest and even though she was wide awake, her body was more relaxed than it had been in several hours. She knew it probably had a lot to do with her finally getting what she needed to say off her chest. In all honesty, she hadn't been expecting a response, just wanted to say it before she chickened out. Now she was somehow lighter, less burdened by the anxiety that seemed to overwhelm her every thought between the moment she'd woken up this afternoon to the time she'd finally found herself staring into Turner's eyes before she kissed him.
He was in pain and it worried her, but the rational part of her reminded her that this is all par for the course. He had suffered a concussion and not even Turner, in all his imperviousness, was immune to the physical discomfort of such an injury.
It could have been worse, she thought, before letting her eyes drift closed, welcoming the darkness as it helped her appreciate the heat of the body beside her and the comfort of her position against Turner's side.
She was drifting in and out of consciousness so she was not completely lucid at first when he spoke, but his words slowly permeated and it only made her hold onto him that much more.
"I didn't intend for it to spiral this much out of control."
It was as close to an apology as she was going to get, but it was more indicative of Turner's remorse than an 'I'm sorry', so she wrapped her arm tighter around him.
"I know you didn't."
It seemed like a lame response, but she felt him breathe a sigh of relief beneath her. She knew she meant something to him, probably a lot more than he would ever be willing to admit and there was definitely no shortage of affection or sincerity coming from him on a daily basis.
However, when the Red River Killer was involved, everything seemed to pale in comparison, everything lost its value. For a moment, she thought she was one of those things too and although the feeling was still somewhere on the outskirts of her mind, she pushed it further away. His palpable relief was a tangible indication that not all was lost yet; that there was a light at the end of the tunnel and that this was not the end for their relationship.
Watson was so consumed by the rare blossom of optimism that she almost didn’t hear Turner's whispers beside her or feel the softness of his lips against her forehead. When she did, the feeling only swelled, warmth expanding from the inside until she sensed the uncanny prickle of tears return, though for a completely different reason than before.
She turned her head slightly and realized that it was indeed past midnight and a gentle smile graced her lips as she pressed her mouth against the side of Turner's jaw.
"Merry Christmas to you too, Eric."
When their eyes connected in the darkness, they both knew that in some strange, twisted way, regardless of where they were, the moment still felt like a celebration.