Chapter 27
He unlocked it and Watson expected to step inside, but he stopped her, blocking the threshold. Beyond him, the living room was bathed in darkness.
"You have to close your eyes for this," Turner explained, and Watson raised her eyebrow at him suspiciously. Apparently, not even three glasses of sangria could take away her desire for control completely.
“Why?”
Turner shook his head, half in amusement and half in mock frustration. "Could you for once not be so suspicious of my motives?."
Watson opened her mouth to retort, but it died on her lips when she realized that he looks like petulant child.
"Fine, fine," she conceded, shutting her eyes begrudgingly, "But just for the record-..."
She didn’t finish her sentence, because even through shut eyes, she registered the change in the light. Everything was suddenly brighter. No sooner than Turner could give his consent, Watson opened her eyes, breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight around her.
The sparsely furnished living room was surprisingly cozy for having so little in it. The fireplace complimented the space, giving it a wonderfully homey feel.
Watson would have noticed all these things, if she were not completely taken aback by the garland lights strung across the whole room. They were bright, colorful, and twinkled in a slow rhythm, leading her eye to a lavishly-decorated Christmas tree that took her breath away. The were two stockings pinned to the mantle. Upon closer inspection, she recognized the one on the left. Her mother had made it for her when she was just six years old, her name sewn in thick gold lettering contrasting against the pattern of red and green.
Peeking up from beneath the white trim was a small gift, wrapped in cheerful Christmas paper.
The entire scene left her awash in memories of her childhood, of Chritmases they'd had before their family fell apart. Fighting back tears, she refused to let the emotions welling up beneath the surface ovetake her.
Instead, she turned to Eric, who was eyeing her uncertainly. Although the sight of him looking so unsure was rare and confusing, Watson couldn't help goading him when she spotted a few familiar ornaments on the tree.
"So is this what you were doing in my storage closet last week, stealing my decorations?" Turner immedi ately relaxed under her playful gaze, and approached her with his usual confidence intact.
"You like?" He asked once he was close to her and Watson couldn't resist sliding her arms around his neck.
"I love it."
She reached up to kiss him and this time, in the glow from both the lights and the wine, it was harder than ever to break apart. Turner didn’t seem to mind as he pressed his palm into her hip, tracing patterns into her skin through the thin material of her dress that clung to her curves in a very sinful and distracting way.
Between the warmth of her body against his and the way her tongue was expertly leaving no crevice of his mouth unexplored, Turner had to fight hard to pull away. Hurt and confusion registered in Watson's eyes, but he pushed aside any regrets and focused on what he had to say.
"I want you to open your gift first," he explained, affectionately brushing a wayward lock of hair from her forehead.
Reminded of the box poking out of her stocking, Watson immediately perked up and smiled in agreement. She shrugged her coat off, and Turner didn't bother hanging it up, instead focused all his considerable willpower on not being drawn in by the expanse of skin suddenly on display.
It reminded him of exactly how long it had been since he could touch her without restraint, without guilt. Tonight, he wanted to change that; he wanted to exorcise the guilt and remorse that had been holding him down. He knew it couldn't be fixed in one night, but he had to start somewhere. Taking his ring off was the first step. It was the only way he could think of to prove to her, and maybe to himself, that he does love her, had loved her for a long time probably even before he, himself, picked up on it.
Even though he could not stop looking for Red River Killer, he knew what was important in his life and Watson was it.
Sometimes it terrified him, how far he had come in such a short time. He was a creature of habit, despite what others might believe, abhorring any alteration to his character. Routine was what he operated by, the same armor and the same shield, but that no longer sated him. He knew catching the Red River Killer was a goal, but what about after?
What happened after he avenged his family's death?
If he was lucky, he would go to prison. If he wasn’t? Lately the realization that he would cause Watson an insurmountable amount of pain with any alternative made him question his future plans. It was not enough to stamp them out completely, but it did put things into perspective, making him want to be everything she wanted, everything she deserved for as long as he could.
He only hoped that she was okay with the here and now. He hoped that she understood just how much she had truly affected him, even if it was not always obvious.
Turner didn’t notice Watson looking at him, luminous green eyes gleaming with concern. When he finally did, he quickly led her to the couch, afraid he would lose his resolve if he waited any longer.
"I have something for you too," Watson admitted, opening her purse and pulling out a small leather box. It was not wrapped and Turner couldn't help chuckling a little, realizing that she'd been indeed running late when he showed up at her doorstep.
He was not surprised by the gift but he wondered what she got him. He had known since their impromptu trip downtown that she bought him a gift in that antiqueshop. He hadn't thought about it since and he couldn't even begin to guess what it was.
"What's so funny?" Watson asked him, lips curled unconsciously into a bashful smile as she watched him. Turner shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, a habit that Watson had noticed he picked up whenever he was especially nervous.
"Oh no, nothing," Turner answered, placing the gift on the table in front of him, and turning his body toward her.
He was once again momentarily sidetracked by the vision in front of him. The lights on the tree created a glow around her, accentuating every part of her; the delicate curve of her shoulder, the dark red of her lips, and her almost translucent skin offset beautifully by the black satin of her dress.
He leaned back, expelling a breath, "You're making this entirely too hard, you know that?"
Watson could pinpoint the moment that all traces of humor left his face, the creases around his eyes softened as his jaw set and his gaze turned somber. He stared at the Christmas lights for a moment.
"I, uh...I wanted to thank you for taking care of me this past month."
"Oh come on," She couldn't resist interrupting him, hoping to regain a little levity. "You know there's nothing else I would've done, would have wanted to do."
It was easy to say so now, now that they were talking, bantering, and slowly returning to normal. Watson knew Turner was aware that the ease with which she spoke was only granted through hindsight. She would not be as easygoing if he'd said this after one of the nights he slipped out to wander around aimlessly. That must be why he grasped her hand, squeezing it gently, as if to reinforce his gratitude.
"I do, but if I were you, I'd have thrown me out by now," he countered and Watson felt a cold shiver at the sincerity in his words. It broke her heart that he was so convinced of this, even though she tried to prove him otherwise through the entirety of their relationship.
''Then it's a good thing, you're not me."
She scooted closer to him with a soft smile, arm wrapping around his shoulders instinctively as he leaned against his elbows, looking straight ahead, tension radiating off of him in waves. He didn’t say anything at first and she exhaled, impatience overpowering her desire to be there for him.
"Look, Eric. We've been over this before; I've made it clear t hat I'm not going anywhere-..."
"That's exactly my point," Turner exclaimed and regretted it when he noticed her flinch. He shouldn't have raised his voice, but the frustration he's wrestled with for almost a month now seemed to have amplified in the last five minutes.
"I couldn't give you what you deserve, Natalie. I couldn't promise you anything more than what we have now and you are worth so much more than that. You deserve a loving husband, a noisy house full of children, security, all of which I could not promise, not at least until I finish what I started."
"You're missing a small detail here," Watson cut in before Turner could say anymore.
He looked at her then, the stern resolve in her eyes, the way she still held onto him, despite his words. "Have you ever considered that maybe this is what I want, what I deserve?"
Turner let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head, "No. No one deserves this, least of all you."
The comment sends a wave of anger through her. She tried to get through to him time and again, but he was just as stubborn as she was, forever resigned to self-loathing, and she was sick of it.
"Look if I don't deserve you, why did you bring me here? Why did you even take your wedding ring off? Why don't you just end it then?"
Her exasperation caught Turner off guard. He lamented the loss of her touch almost as soon as she dropped her hands from where they were on his shoulders. He was not sure what she was aiming for, but he didn’t have an answer for her, at least not one that felt right.
"I took my wedding ring off because I don't want you to ever doubt how important you are to me. I want you to know that even though I couldn't promise you permanence, I could promise to try to be the person you want me to be here and now. I just-..."
Her hand on his thigh stopped him, derailing his train of self-flagellation. "As long as you're willing to try, that's all that matters to me."
At first, it seemed like he was about to argue, but Watson held his gaze in silent communication before they sank simultaneously into a tight embrace, knees awkwardly bumping against each other but not detracting from the intimacy of the moment.
Despite her reassurance, Turner couldn't ignore the returning anxiety that bubbled within his chest at the thought that he'd nearly lost this to his quest for vengeance. It made him wrap his arms even tighter around Watson, nose buried in her neck, her familiar scent soothing him.
"I could have lost you," he whispered against her ear and Watson shivered, both from the memory his words triggered and from the heat of his breath against her skin.
She pulled him even closer in response until she was almost in his lap. Leaning back, she met his eyes, and was struck by the regret and adoration reflected in them, an odd juxtaposition that tugged at her heartstrings in an unexpected way.
She was not sure who kissed who first, but when Turner's fingers glided along the back of her dress, expertly finding the zipper, it ceased to matter.
He was not asleep so he felt her slip out of his embrace.
A moment later, he heard the sound of the patio door sliding open, but he didn’t follow her. He knew she needed a moment to herself, and he also knew she would enjoy the view of the river as he had every time he had been here.
Turner stretched lazily against the couch, enjoying the familiar soreness in his muscles, a smile tugging on his lips as he reflected on the evening. It couldn't have been more perfect and all he wanted was to stay in this house indefinitely: doors locked and phones off, just so he could show Watson how earnest he was in his promise to give her what she truly deserves.
He turned to admire the Christmas tree and his eyes landed on the box sitting innocently on the coffee table. He knew it would be wrong, but he was suddenly overcome with curiosity. He just had to know what she got him.
Impulsively, he sat up and opened the box before he could change his mind. The emotion that rose in his throat as he took in the medallion inside came as a surprise.
Turner was not a religious person, was never brought up to believe in a higher power; lat er taught to believe only in his own abilities, but he knew enough of religion to identify the pendant hanging off the thick silver chain.
St. Michael the Archangel: the commander of the Army of God; the one who went into battle against Satan, against evil. The significance of this gift didn’t elude him, neither did the warmth and love the gift triggered as he thought of the woman who bought it for him.
Wistfully, Turner ran his thumb over the engraved image of the winged man commanding his spear. Spurred by sudden inspiration, he shut the box before jumping off the couch, pulling on his underwear, and retrieving his gift to Watson. He almost regretted not giving her a chance to unwrap it, but all his doubt disappeared as he stepped onto the deck.
For a moment, he just admired her, took in her small frame engulfed by his light blue button down leaning against the railing with her right foot crossed over her left ankle. The pose was unintentionally sexy and he would be happy to spend all night watching her, drinking in the sight of her translucent skin and dark cascading locks.
Ultimately though, the pink scar protruding from beneath the short hem of his shirt propelled Turner forward until he was pressed into Watson's side, wrapping one arm around her waist and with the other, holding the gift out to her. Her eyes immediately widened in recognition as she took in the necklace dangling from his hand, finger tracing the familiar pendant, before gazing up at him.
"How did you? I thought it was still -"
"Evidence?" Turner interrupted her, reveling in her pleasantly surprised reaction. She nodded mutely, and he smiled, running his hand up and down her back.
"They finished processing it two weeks ago. The old chain was broken, which was quite the coincidence, because I had already planned to give you a new one."
Watson stared at the cross her mother gave her, overwhelming relief pouring into her as she realized how much only the sight of it managed to restore the little bit of the peace that she had been searching for. She couldn't contain the tears blurring her vision or the smile that spread over her lips as Turner unclasped the necklace and wordlessly fastened the cross around her neck, right where it belonged.
"Thank you," She murmured softly, before pressing her lips against his shoulder and curling into his side, cheek resting against his chest, the beat of his heart lulling her senses.
For a while Turner was content to just hold her, staring into the vastness of the river as it flowed past them, moonlight reflecting off the ripples in the water. Eventually, however, Watson disentangled herself from his embrace, intent on pulling him back inside the house.
"Come on, I want to give you, your gift.”
Turner was about to play along, but Watson caught his eye as she said it. Realization dawned on her and she crossed her arms over her chest, a bemused smile tugged at he lips.
"Eric Turner, did you open your present already?" Watson chided him like she would a child and Turner ducked his gaze guiltily, teetering on his heel as he avoided her raised eyebrow. He couldn't help smiling though, because it felt normal again.
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist," he admitted sheepishly and Watson heaved an exaggerated sigh.
"Forgive me?" He added, approaching her carefully, but she just rolled her eyes. Still, he knew it was an act when her eyes reflected a glint of mischievousness, the sparkle that seemed to be muted for the last few weeks.
He knew she felt it too, that certain something falling into place, everything shifting back to perfect balance between them.
When Watson leaned over, whispering that he'd better hope St. Michael will do a good job defending him against her, Turner's smile only widened. In a swift move that surprised both of them, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the house.
He then spent the next several hours proving to them both that her threats were indeed empty.