Chapter 8
Eric Turner was no stranger to sin.
Through the years, he's been guilty of quite a few things, made several poor choices, indulged in far too many forbidden fruits, and now finds himself still reeling from the aftermath. He was quite amused by the fact that whole of human vice could be grouped into seven categories and still retain legitimacy.
He thinks perhaps pride is the one he identified with the most, because from an early age his father taught him to be proud of his perceptive abilities, nurture them, and not think of himself as an average boy. He could see and sense things that others couldn't and with careful practice and time, he could use his skills to promote his own self interests.
Turner wanted to think he rid himself of that arrogant and slightly false belief, but sometimes, when he closed a case and still got a few raised eyebrows in return, he felt the tiniest bit of pride for finally contributing his skills to something important.
By the same token, he was well acquainted with anger, particularly because the only case he wanted to close, the only murderer he wanted to catch, had eluded him for over five years now. Everyday Turner wrestled with anger and guilt for his painful past, for the two loves he lost.
Driven by greed, Turner used his talents to generate wealth, indulged in things he had mistaken for happiness. He had ignored his wife's warnings and his daughter's pleas to spend more time with him.
Seduced by the spotlight, by recognition, as a young and reckless man his lust for fame consumed him so deeply that eventually he struck a chord with the wrong viewer. He had taunted a dangerous man and found that the monster he prodded made sure that Turner suffered for many years to come.
His loss reduced him to a shadow of a man. He was no longer interested in life, in anything, only in letting the excruciating moments of his existence tick by. He was now just flesh and bones, too afraid to kill himself but too afraid to live.
Until one day, he awoke with a new purpose, a new goal in life, one that still eluded him, but the promise of which he thinks will complete him. He would finish his purpose for living after those he loved died. He still hadn't achieved it, but from the moment he joined the PPB, he had the plan all mapped out and nothing would stand in his way.
At least, that was what he used to think.
He doesn't want her to be his new reason for living, but somehow Natalie Watson had become a new chapter in his life. His whole career and persona was built on being observant enough to spot what others could't, but even he didn't see it coming, couldn't predict that the vivacious but tough detective would change him somehow.
No, the change was gradual and so incremental that it snuck up on him one day. That was the day he picked up a firearm for the first time in his life without hesitation and shot a suspect a half-second away from plunging a knife into her.
It was then that he knew, suddenly realized that this woman meant something to him and would continue to be in his life whether he liked it or not.
Thus, he eventually learned to depend on her presence. He even began to take comfort in her softly curved figure hidden beneath layers of work armor, in her suspicious green eyes, in the half smile on her lips, and her ability to challenge him.
Unlike other men, Turner found no shame in admitting when he had been smitten by a beautiful woman. He didn’t look at it as a sign of weakness, but more as a privilege.
Yet, somehow he felt like he took his privilege for granted, because as soon as he let himself indulge in her kisses, in her soft skin, in the way her eyes grew dark when she was near him, she slipped past his fingers by no fault of her own.
He didn’t regret what he did. He wouldn't change his actions for anything, because regret had no place when you're on a path seeking retribution; however, a mere glance in her direction had him feeling tiny prickles of guilt, of remorse, things he had no business feeling, because they cloud his judgment, steer him off course, something he couldnot afford to do.
He knew he hurt her, probably even betrayed her, and while he wanted things to be different, he knew it would take far more than her hurt to make him change his mind. There was a battle inside him, two sides of him that could not reconcile. The vengeful side and the side that was fighting to live again, to smell a woman's scent, trace her lovely skin, kiss her perfect lips; pamper her, care for her.
Until now, he wasn't sure which side was winning this internal duel; he was also pretty certain that of the seven sins, he could triumphantly declare that he had never been poisoned by envy. But that all changed when he walked into the bullpen that morning.
Now, as he stood on familiar ground, watching through the open blinds in Watson's office how she interacted with an unfamiliar man, perfectly complaint with how he invaded her personal space, Turner felt a tightening in his chest that he hadn't experienced in a long time.
It was as if his heart was finally coming alive, alerting him rather erratically that despite his deepest masochistic desires, he was still a living, breathing being. He was a man who could no longer fight the realization that he might be falling for this incredible woman currently being appreciated by someone else.
The unfamiliar sting of envy gnawed at him and Turner didn’t like it. He defied all rules of propriety and barged into Watson's office. "Watson, we're out of tea again," he said as soon as he flung open the door, startling the two people deep in conversation.
The detective set her jaw and narrowed her eyes at him immediately, already suspecting an ulterior motive. He looked at her and then finally sizes up the man leaning against her desk in one fluid, barely detectible glance.
He appeared to be around six feet tall, athletic built, with calculating gray eyes and short black hair. He also looked positively intrigued by Turner, which the advisor uses to his advantage. "Oh, where are my manners. I'm Eric Turner," He stuck his hand out before Watson could interject and kick him out of her office.
"Mark Burton, nice to meet you," he leaned over the desk and grasped Turner's hand in a tight but admirable handshake. Turner flexed his hand afterwards sheepishly, knowing it would endear him to the man.
Watson didn’t look pleased, her mouth set in a scowling frown and her arms crossed over her chest, clearly not amused by Turner's showmanship, but he didn’t care.
Smiling brightly at Wilkes, he spoke, "What brings you by to the PPB this early in the morning? If it's our wonderful tea selection, I hate to disappoint you but my dear Watson is on kitchen duty this week and had neglected her responsibilities."
Watson's jaw literally dropped when Eric chuckled lightly in response, "Nah, I'm more of a coffee drinker; just came to visit an old friend."
His eyes drifted to the women sitting between them and Watson gave him a tight smile, not quite believing that Eric didn't seem as put off by Turner as other cops were upon meeting him. "Yeah and we were rudely interrupted, I'll have to apologize for my colleague here, who has no concept of knocking."
"It's alright." Eric shrugged it off, then added, "You're a cop?" His eyebrow was raised slightly and he looked a bit confused, which Turner found very amusing,
"Oh god no, I'm merely an advisor, which entails the supervision of victuals in the office and keeping dear Watson here occupied in her off time."
"Oh?" Eric looked at Watson, surprised, but she merely ran her hand over her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was not even nine in the morning and Turner had already managed to embarrass her.
"Turner, out now," she raised her voice slightly and Turner frowned over dramatically. "But what about my tea?"
She glared at him and he tried very hard not to laugh at the rise he got out of her, "Close the door on your way out," Watson added and Turner conceded.
"Well someone's grumpy this morning, anyway it was nice to meet you Eric, have a pleasant time catching up with the Grinch here."
Watson was even more mortified when Mark seemed to take part in Turner's teasing of her, "You know, back in Vancouver, we used to call her the Hammer. She was vicious with suspects." Mark winked.
"Interesting," Turner mused, while Watson shot Mark a glare, as if to communicate her dislike with his siding with the enemy.
"You could go now, Turner."
"Alright, but I'll be around." He said while his eyes were trained on Mark, silently wondering how he was going to hide all the new boxes of tea Cranston bought yesterday.
Every punch was cathartic and every kick helped lessen the weight on her chest. It was good that it was a slow day at work, because with the amount of confusion and anxiety she was feeling, she would be useless in the field.
If she was honest with herself, she would admit that it's been quite a while since she felt truly at peace and it had everything to do with a certain advisor that just won't leave her alone. Throwing another punch, Watson tried to channel her emotions into physical motion but she had kept her feelings of hurt and betrayal in for so long now. It was difficult to even discern what it was about their fight that bothered her so much.
She didn’t expect him to give up on Red River Killer. She knew it was like asking Turner to stop breathing, but a little warning, a little inclusion in his plans would have been nice. Perhaps, that was what truly bothered her. It was not that she could't trust him or didn’t.
It was terrifying and even slightly pathetic, but even after his latest stunt, a part of her trusted him implicitly and knew that he didn’t mean to hurt her and would never intentionally do so. The guy saved her life after all, and that's not something that's easily erased.
Her muscles ached as she continued to fight against the suspended weight, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins motivated her. It was as if with every punch and kick, every twist of her body, her mind brought her closer to clarity, closer to identifying why she had been so on edge with Turner lately.
There was no doubt she missed him, missed his presence in her home, missed the little things he would do to let her know he was thinking of her. She missed his touch, his kiss, and almost everything about him.
She knew thinking about this would lead her into uncharted territory and break her resolve. She fought against it, but the images in her head were persistent as she remembered the evenings they spent together on her couch, just wrapped up in each other, nothing but the noise from the television to supplement the companionable silence between them.
She felt privileged to know that part of Turner, the soft vulnerable side of a man who lived behind mask most of the time, but it infuriated her because he had gotten under her skin and she could't seem to push him away.
Her lack of oxygen and fatigue in her sore muscles finally overpowered Natalie and she retreated from the punching bag, taking a moment to catch her breath. "Uh, the Watson secret to tackling men twice her size, watch out the bag bruises easily."
She almost choked on her water when she turned around to see him casually leaning against the door. He wasn’t wearing his jacket, just those gray slacks, the crisp white shirt, and the gray vest, That was his typical costume and just another thing to hide behind.
She never noticed before, but Turner used clothing as a shield. Some might think him eccentric for the getup but she thought he was smarter than that. No one would ever see the real side of him if he was wearing an expensive suit.
"I'm surprised you know where the gym is." She replied back, wiping the sweat off her brow, realizing very quickly how exposed she is in front of him, all sweat and messy hair.
"Hey I work out," he defended himself. Then when the swaying bag clipped him a little, he recoiled like a little child. Watson rolled her eyes, knowing he was putting on a show for her benefit.
He was trying to make her smile, a continuous attempt since that day in her kitchen. Although she found his persistence admirable, there was still a part of her that felt he was misleading her. It kept her guarded, on edge, not quite as relaxed in his presence as she used to be, and she knew by the somewhat disappointed look in his eyes that he knew this to be true as well.
"So, Detective Burton, good cop or bad cop?" Turner broke the silence, circling the equipment in the room, trying to keep his tone casual.
"I don't know, you tell me." She took a sip of water while watching him carefully, seeing if perhaps there would be a slip in his nonchalance.
He stopped prowling the premises and leaned against some weights, looking ridiculously out of place, as he narrowed his eyes on her, "You guys had a romantic relationship that ended on amicable terms, because you decided to transfer to Portland. However, unlike Harper, Barton isn't bitter about it, just carries a torch for you still."
Watson rolled her eyes. She had long since given up on trying to figure out how his mind worked and she didn’t even want to waste her energy refuting his points. "Yeah, we dated for a while, nothing serious."
"Maybe not for you," Turner mused, his fingers tracing over the dumbbells neatly stacked on the rack, "but I saw the way he looked at you, kind of like Harper does sometimes, they're both in love with you."
"Oh, please." She retorted, taking another sip of water and pulling off her gloves, "You act like I'm some hot commodity, have you seen Cranston?"
It was meant to be a joke, but the slight frustration in her voice and the overly dramatic hand gesture failed her. It exposed her secret fear that she would never be taken seriously, just be told to stand still and look pretty, despite everything she has accomplished.
"Uh, yes, Grace is quite the attractive woman, but anyone within a ten foot radius knew how Barnes felt about her, so they admire from afar."
Watson shook her head now, a half smirk on her face, "Men, you all act like women are something to assert dominance over, like we're some sort of property."
She tried to divert the topic, but she could tell by the determined way he was heading towards her and the look in his eye that he was not listening to her at all. "Besides," Turner said softly, standing close enough to see the beads of perspiration all over her body and the freckles on her shoulders.
"She didn’t have your legs, or that dimple right there, and her eyes don't have that golden glint in them like yours do." He reached out and traced the curve of her lower lip, running his thumb over her jawbone, before cupping her neck.
Watson felt like she was in a trance, like her body had completely given into exhaustion and wouldn’t move, her limbs were so relaxed. His warm, large frame sparked such pleasurable memories that heat surged through her veins. Just one more step, one more turn of her tired body and she would be in his arms again, kissing him, and seeking comfort in him.
His cerulean gaze followed her, she could see the desire in his eyes, the look that communicated everything he wanted to but couldn't say aloud. She actually contemplated giving in, but then there was a flash of another memory.
The ice cold vodka burning her throat, memories of how her father sought solace in alcohol, and how one wrong move on Turner's part had her weak and broken, seeking comfort in the poison that tore apart her family.
She blinked and the desire drained from her eyes. Her resolve was too strong, her pain too raw to be forgotten in the midst of a kiss.
''Natalie".
His voice was as smooth as velvet, a beautiful chord in the chaos of her mind, but it was just a cadence, not enough to sway her. His lovely gestures, his compliments, they didn’t erase anything, didn’t take back what he did or what he would do in the future. She could't protect herself from the past, but she could save her heart from further pain, so instead of pulling him closer, she pushed Turner back.
"I can't do this." She whispered, refusing to meet his eyes as she slipped away from him, throwing her gloves, water, and ipod into the gym bag.
"Natalie..."
"You can't just do that okay?" she interrupted him; "you can't kiss and make it better."
“I’m not trying.”
"Yes you are." She exclaimed, finally looking at him, wishing she hadn't when she saw the bewildered look in his eye. Eric Turner being caught off guard would be a sight to see on any other day, but not now, not when she almost let herself fall too far. "You can't fix this by putting a band-aid on it, Eric."
"At least I'm doing something," He shot back, hands flexing at his sides. There was something simmering beneath his calm. It was threatening to spill over and unleash everything he was keeping inside. The frustrated look in his eye, which she only ever saw when Red River Killer was involved, sent chills down her spine.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she turned to face him, hands on her hips in the typical Watson pose.
"It means at least I'm trying to fix this, trying to get through to you. You're the one who won't budge, you won't even compromise."
"Compromise? All I've done since you've joined this team is compromise, I've gone out on a limb for you more times than I'd like to remember and you repay me by getting yourself arrested and embarrassing my unit. How could I trust someone like you? How could I give my heart -...?"
"If I'm such a thorn in your side, this partnership doesn’t have to continue," he cut her off, and she wanted to fling her gym bag at him out of pure frustration. For someone with such perceptive abilities, he could be so dense.
"It's not about our job Eric, you're not even listening to me. I trusted you, hell, a part of me still does, but you, you disregarded what we had, flung it aside and for what?"
"It was never like that. I care for you, you know that."
He didn’t know what to say, much like he was at a loss for words the day it happened, even weeks later he wasn’t sure what could make this better. She looked so broken, so defeated, so unlike herself that it made him physically ill to watch her struggle.
"You may care for me, but you do not respect me. I never asked you to give up your search; although I disagree with your methods, I know what this case means to you. All I asked for was that you include me in your plans, show me that my opinion matters and not just because I am your colleague. But you proved to me that neither my opinion nor my place in your life matter enough for that little consideration, so I don't think a hug and a kiss will fix this."
The determination in her voice chilled him to the bone. It was as if she made up her mind and she wanted nothing to do with him and he was not prepared for the wave of nausea that washed over him. He was familiar with the ache associated with his past, sometimes he even took comfort in the dull pain that came every time he remembers happier times, remembering when he was still a husband and a father.
However, those were just remnants of a different life. He could live with painful memories, but he hadn't even thought about a life without Watson in it. He didn’t want to cut ties with her, didn’t want to let her go, he wanted to move forward with her, not fall behind without her.
When he looked at her, he saw how much pain he caused her and made her endure much more than she needed to, he made the decision that he thought would benefit her. Forget him and his bitter thirst for revenge.
As much as he needed her, she didn’t need him, didn’t need him to bring her down, make her unhappy, make her look so beaten all the time.
"Say yes," He said softly, his eyes still not meeting hers, his voice almost inaudible.
"What?" Watson raised her eyebrow, confused and trying to ignore the weight settling in her stomach. His posture, his voice, everything about him screamed defeat and stupidly she was disappointed. She wants him to fight for her, tell her she was wrong, tell her he needs her, and that she's important to him.
"When Mark asks you to dinner, say yes," Turner clarified and she wishes she heard wrong. "You deserve to be happy, Natalie."
He looked up at her then, a lost blue stare that poorly concealed his need for her, the exact opposite of what he was trying to assert. She was tired of playing games, of pushing him, trying to wheedle something vague out of him.
"Good night, Eric." Watson added. He let her go.
She gave him ample opportunity to stop her, even pausing at the door so he could reach out, pull her back, and ask her to stay. But he was a coward and he didn’t trust himself with her. He knew he would break her if he screwed up again, which was likely to happen.
She walked away, taking the little warmth he had in his life with her, taking it somewhere he could't go and left him behind in the shadows.
His trusted friends.