Chapter 26
At first, it felt strange to step into the shoes. They were her favorite pair of heels, a deep red color and well worn in after having them for years. However, they felt foreign to her as she slid her foot against the usually familiar leather soles.
Still, as soon as she buckled the ankle strap and stood up, she again felt right standing in them. The dark color accentuated the natural pallor of her skin and the height of the heel made her feel taller, more graceful somehow. It was a rare indulgence for someone who worked in such a male dominated field.
Right then, that was not what was on her mind. In fact, despite spending the better part of the past month worrying that she may not have a job to return to, Watson's mind was elsewhere as she applied a light coat of lipstick. For the first time in days, she didn’t think about how strange it would be, to be back after so long.
Instead, she worried that she was running a little late and Turner's gift still needed to be wrapped. Her eyes darted to the box sitting in the middle of her bed next to a roll of Christmas-themed wrapping paper and a small blue bow. She suddenly felt a little ridiculous wrapping such an unusual gift in such garish paper, especially in light of the fact that they were almost into the second month of a new year. Still, she couldn't help smiling as memories of the past few weeks washed over her.
There were many ways to describe Turner, but boring was definitely not one of them. Almost as soon as they had both made a full recovery, Turner finally free of his headaches and dizziness, and Watson free of her stitches, he announced that the weekend before they were going to return to work would be dedicated to celebrating Christmas. He had wanted to make up for spending the better part of Christmas Day waiting for Turner to be discharged.
It felt like a lifetime had gone by, but she couldn't say she regretted the turn of events Yes, her credibility was questioned. Yes, Sam was probably still very disappointed and upset with her. Yes, her boss now knew that she and her unruly advisor were involved.
All that paled in comparison to the fact that both she and Turner were alive and okay and they managed to emerge relatively unscathed after yet another bump in the road.
She still couldn't shake the vague feeling of guilt. She had gone over the incident from every possible angle. She understood why she had done things the way she had and she still believed that she made the right decision in the moment. What she tried not to examine was why she went in the first place.
She figured that out from the moment Ng had shaken her awake in the hospital. There was no more denying the inextricable bond that held her to Turner and she resigned herself to the knowledge that given the same circumstances, she would likely do it all over again.
Though she hoped that in the future, she would not be faced with that kind of decision. The sudden uncomfortable tightening in her chest reminded her that despite being both healthy and employed, there were still issues between her and Turner that needed to be resolved.
Originally, Watson assumed that spending four weeks with Turner with no work to distract them would have been complete and utter chaos mixed with a little anxiety considering the advisor rarely liked to sit idle for long. However, the actual experience was nothing like she'd imagined.
He had been different, almost melancholy. Although they had fallen into a very comfortable and familiar rhythm almost as soon as they arrived home, there were still moments of tension between them, not exactly uncomfortable, but not the way they previously were.
They had shared most meals, cooking for one another. The conversation was never strained and never boring. They watched old movies together to pass the time. They continued to share the bed, still somehow finding eachother through the night, regardless of how far apart they started out.
Through it all, there was an invisible wedge between them. Sometimes the silences almost buckled beneath the weight of unspoken words. It would become so overwhelming that Turner would occasionally leave the house in the middle of the night, taking long solitary drives presumably to clear his mind.
Those nights were always the worst for her; waking up to an empty bed, feigning sleep as he slid in beside her in the early dawn, and pretending he never left. Still, she never pushed him, never said a word. It was not that she wasn't upset; it was not that she wanted to play some sort of long suffering martyr.
Quite the opposite, she was pissed as hell most nights, angry not because he would leave, but because he wouldn't talk to her. In all this time, he still hadn't brought up their conversation in the hospital room. Even through all his tentative touches, his soft whispered words of adoration, and his commitment to cook her breakfast every morning, Turner remained silent.
He barely alluded to the incident itself, except to say that he hadn't meant for it to happen and that was it. Watson had wanted to bring it up, but felt that for once it was his turn to be forthcoming with his emotions. Regardless, she really had nothing else to say. She had said everything in the hospital that day.
Turner, even on a good day, was never very vocal about his feelings. Still, he had prnmised her honesty at some point, a little bit of candor here and there. Was that really too much to ask for?
She wasn't a patient woman, but she acquiesced to an unspoken agreement of a month. She never said anything to Turner about it, but now she thought he had probably figured out that she would give him until they had to go back to work to talk to her before bringing it up again.
After all, with Turner there was no such thing as a coincidence. She was not really surprised that he planned an evening for them two days before they had to return to the real world. The ring of her doorbell sent a jolt of anticipation through her as she wondered what the evening would bring. He was practically living at her place, but on this night he insisted that he would pick her up. Although Watson pretended to be annoyed, secretly she could't ignore the butterflies rising low in her abdomen.
They distracted her for a moment, long enough for Turner to impatiently ring the doorbell again. Watson realized with some chagrin that the gift still sat unwrapped, but she didn’t want to keep him waiting either. After a moment of thought, she managed to fit the gift into her clutch before turning the lights off in her bedroom and taking the stairs carefully but quickly to the door.
She wanted to be more graceful than this, having spent the last month in sweat pants and jeans, but she was more concerned with remembering where her favorite pea coat was than impressing Turner. Thus, when she opened the door, mouthing a quick hello before rushing back to the hall closet, Watson didn’t even notice Turner's jaw drop just a little as he took in her appearance.
It was only when she felt his arms wrap around her, that she took a moment to fully appreciate the effect she had on him, silently congratulating herself on going with the black dress. At first, she was hesitant to wear it, because the hem of the skirt fell just above her knee, right at the point where her scar ended. She thought she would feel a little exposed, but now she was glad she wore it.
Judging by his hum of approval, Turner seemed to agree.
"Are you trying to kill me?" He murmured into her ear, before pressing a soft kiss to her bare shoulder.
The simple gesture almost paralyzed her, tingles raced up and down her spine. It reminded her that regardless of everything that had happened, Turner was still the same man who knew exactly where to touch her to leave her body humming within seconds. A familiar stirring began to materialize.
Watson turned in his embrace, a playful smile on her lips, as she let her thoughts of any impending conversation between them dissipate and slid her hands around his neck, fingers threading instinctively through soft curls. Turner released a groan, but before he could say anymore, Watson pulled him into a hot, open-mouthed kiss.
There was nothing chaste about the way she pulled his lower lip into her mouth, tongue grazing the familiar flesh as Turner pressed her impossibly closer, heat enveloping them within seconds as their movements became more frenzied.
Finally, they broke apart, gazing at each other silently, as though memorizing each other, reacquainting themselves with features that felt both familiar and new. They shared kisses since the hospital, but it has never been as unguarded or as inebriating. Watson almost wished that they could skip whatever Turner had planned, because he feels too good. The desire that darkened his normally sea-blue eyes only deepened the ache growing inside her.
Turner seemed to echo her sentiment.
"I'm seeing all my plans for the night suddenly losing their value," he murmured in a low baritone as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. She was very nearly seduced, but Watson managed to snap out of it, rolling her eyes as she turned around to retrieve her coat.
"Nice try, Romeo, but I didn't spend this much time getting ready for it to go to waste."
"I could assure you already that it hadn't gone to waste." Turner stopped to ponder as Watson slipped into her coat.
"You look bewitching," he added thoughtfully with his signature whimsical smile, the kind that Watson had seen women salivate over. She merely raised an eyebrow in response.
"'Bewitching?' Really?" She commented, shutting the living room light off. "I knew I should have never let you talk me into watching the remake of Pride and Prejudice. The BBC version is just so much better."
"Hmm, I suppose you're right, but I think ‘you have bewitched me body and soul' is a very eloquent and pretentious way of telling someone how deeply you have fallen in love with them."
Watson couldn't help the chuckle that escaped at his ruminations. There was a hint of mirth in his words, a playfulness she missed in the last few weeks, so she couldn't resist continuing their banter. She opened her mouth to retort as they stepped out into the chilly January evening, but Turner snagged her hand again, thumb ghosting over the inside of her wrist and in the dim lighting on her porch, the intensity of his gaze sent goosebumps along her arms.
His breath lingered on her cheek and she wanted to kiss him again so badly. However, the look in his eyes and gentle fingers against her arm kept her in place. "As for me," Turner whispered, continuing his earlier train of thought, "I prefer a more subtle approach."
He pressed his lips to her cheek and escorted her to his car. It was only then, when his warm hand slipped into hers fully, fingers interlacing as he pulled her along that Watson felt, rather than understood, the implication of his words.
His ring finger was bare.
Turner took her to a small Spanish restaurant she had never been to before and poured her entirely too much sangria. She actually didn’t mind, savoring the tart flavor of the fruit-infused wine and returned each and every one of Turner's smiles as they talked about everything and nothing at the same time.
When she first noticed that his wedding ring was gone, no doubt an intentional gesture on Turner's behalf, Watson thought the evening would be a total bust. She was sure that there would be no way she could keep it out of her mind. She was certain that the enormity of the act and her attempt to catalogue the ramifications would make her useless company.
However, as the evening went on, Turner kept her attention fully focused on other things. The absence of his wedding band was all but forgotten in a dinner filled with glances, smiles, and subtle touches.
It was all very intimate, all so impossibly soothing to her soul. Sometime between dessert and walking hand in hand back to the car, her thumb absent mindedly traced over soft, newly naked skin. Watson realized the ring really didn't matter as much as she thought.
Turner smiled wistfully at her when he felt her trace over his finger and it dawned on her that his removal of the ring was more for himself than for her. She was certain that it couldn't have been easy to part with such a powerful symbol after all these years and suddenly she was overcome by such an intense sense of pride that she couldn't hold in what she wanted to say.
She stopped Turner before he could open the car door for her and placed her hand against his cheek. She was surprised by how warm his skin was with just the smallest bit stubble, just the way she liked it. A feeling of longing struck her deep, distracting her momentarily, but she would not be deterred. Collecting her thoughts, Watson searched for the right words. Turner watched her intently, eyes soft in the darkness, waiting for her patiently.
"You didn't have to do that." She whisperd earnestly. Taking his left hand into hers, she couldn't help but marvel at the way the newly bare skin contrasted with the rest of his ring finger. At first, Turner didn’t say anything, and Watson fought her natural impatience. He finally opened the car door and eased her into the passenger seat, before replying.
"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to."
Strangely, his response was enough. They haven't really talked about anything yet. He still hadn't opened up, but Watson felt an odd sense of calm. It was as if the jagged pieces of their relationship, the little fractures that she was terrified would form into larger cracks, were actually piecing themselves back together and forming a shape she finally recognized.
The cool breeze filtered in through the open window and contrasted nicely with the warmth of Turner's hand on her thigh, so for a while Watson didn’t even pay attention to where they were going. Usually, she would be more alert, more in control, but not tonight. Tonight, she was content to let him lead for a change.
Scenery flew by as Turner weaved effortlessly through the city streets, but at some point Watson noticed that they were driving away from her house rather than toward it. Still, she didn’t ask Turner where they were going, knowing there was very little chance he would actually tell her what their destniation was, consdiering how secretive he was tonight.
She didn’t have to wait long to get her answer. Soon enough they turned into a quieter, residential neighborhood and Turner slowed down and pulled into the driveway of a house Watson had never seen before. Instantly, her mind flashed back to the conversation they had in her kitchen and the house no longer looked foreign to her. It looked exactly as Turner described it. When he cut the engine and caught her gaze, eyes clouded with uncertainty, Watson gave him her most genuine smile before getting out of the car.
"It's just the way you said it would be." She said in quiet wonder, admiring as much of the one story property as she could in the dim light of the streetlamp. Turner stood just a little behind her, close enough for her to sense his strength. She instinctively leaned against him.
"Well, I am told I have a way with words," Turner murmured playfully, eliciting a soft chuckle from Watson.
They stood like that for a few moments until a cold wind flowed past and Watson shivered unconsciously. Turner took her by the hand and lead her to the door.