I cannot believe there is so little fanfiction with the Banshee fandom. Like what? How can you not know about Banshee? And want to write about it? Come on! That forth season was just begging to be played with. Sadly, wasn't part of the official writing staff. So fanfiction, it is!

I am in no way getting paid to do this. I just want to for my own pleasure. To be completely honest. Anyway, enjoy if it's awesome.

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Alcohol burned. The scent. The taste. It burned. Drinking liquid fire had never been appealing. The thought of alcohol addiction had always confused her. How could anyone stand the taste of it enough to become addicted? Disgusting, in her opinion. But not entirely unbiased. D.A.R.E classes from childhood had stuck with her throughout the years. Yet, here she sat, nursing a shot of… whiskey? Rum? Scotch? Hell, if she knew. To be perfectly honest, she hadn't remembered ordering it. She didn't want to be here. Didn't want to be drinking. She certainly didn't want to be surrounded by victims of a tragedy. And yet…

Alison Medding narrowed her eyes down at the dark liquid. Her palm lightly cupped the glass, as it had been doing for almost an hour. After the first sip, she had resigned herself to drinking the whole shot. At least to muffle the sounds of whimpering and tearful ranting of the other patrons. The whole town had been shaken from what happened, but the people involved—normal people—had been devastated. It clearly showed. Alison did her best to ignore the repeated story of how a woman to her right had been so close to catching a bullet in the eye. Or how much blood there had been from a man, sitting at one of the tables behind her.

The funeral had been bad enough. But the introduction of alcohol made it all the more worse. There were no more quiet murmurings of respect for the dead. Now, it was drunken rantings of how 'it could have been me!' Not that Alison wasn't sympathetic to their ramblings. Normal people did not imagine the horrors Banshee, Pennsylvania had hidden in the dark. Being a District Attorney, she witnessed more than a fair share of horrors. Then again, nothing could prepare a person for experiencing them.

Alison squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. God, she just wanted to forget the entire night. She should not have come. She should have drove home, showered, gotten into bed, and hoped for a dreamless sleep. Instead, she was sitting in a bar, glaring down at her drink, and failing to find a purpose in gathering all of the survivors together a second time. Well, not all the survivors. Alison had scanned the bar's occupants several times, not exactly looking for the sheriff, but realizing his lack of presence had been blatantly obvious.

Had he even been at the funeral? Probably, though she hadn't seen him herself. One of his deputies had died, brutally murdered by the ringleader of the hurricane of a tragedy. Last she heard, Chayton Littlestone was still at large. And if the rumors were to be believed, Siobhan Kelly had been his girlfriend. If his look of murderous rage had been anything to go by, that rumor had been true. The morning after had been the last time she had seen him. More than likely, it would be the last time she would see him. Come Hell or high water, she would never step foot into the Sheriff's Department again.

So why had she come? That answered lied with her best friend, Lena Bella. She had rushed to town to pick her up from the CADI and swept her away from the simmering chaos of the aftermath. Alison had been grateful for her arrival. She hadn't been so grateful of her urging to grieve properly. She didn't want to grieve. She just wanted to forget. But Lena had never taken no for an answer, and so after much nagging and prodding, Alison had agreed to, at least, go have a drink with the rest of the survivors. Load of good that decision brought. Sure, she had made small talk with Alma, the receptionist at BSD, but for the most part, she remained secluded in her seat at a corner of the bar.

Alison sighed heavily. This little excursion to grieve was for nothing as far as she was concerned. She would tell Lena that she had stayed for two hours, had more than a few drinks, and maybe even tell her that a tear fell. Her best friend would see through those white lies, but ultimately accept the fact that she had gone in the first place. Still, Alison expected a bit more nattering in the future about what had happened. With that thought in mind, she downed the rest of the dark liquor—immediately regretted it—and then pushed the glass away. Down her throat and straight to her veins, the burning sensation filled her as she stood from the barstool.

Grimacing as her eyes watered, Alison headed toward the exit. Vaguely aware of the bar's owner—Sweets, maybe? She couldn't recall as she did not visit this establishment… ever—bidding her a goodbye, she lazily waved back. She opened the door and the cool night air brushed against her face, though it did little to settle the heat that still rushed through her body. Alcohol still burning. She scowled as her feet crossed the parking lot to her car. Maybe she had a bottled water stashed in her trunk. The taste lingered, so she was hoping it would be enough to chase it away.

Just as she was about to open the car door, a voice called out to her. Male and… vaguely familiar. Mostly, she didn't recognize the voice, though. Her body tensed in reaction. She hadn't heard an approach and she had been so focused on getting to her car that she failed to scan the surrounding area like she normally would. "… DA Medding…?" The voice came again, more hesitant. Huh. No one ever called her by title. In a small town where everyone knew just about everyone, titles were pretty much not used often. Alison shifted her attention to the darkened glass of her car window. Could barely make out the reflection. The man must have not been close.

Breathing in slowly through her nose, Alison turned to face the stranger. Her body did not relax upon seeing the face of the one who called out to her. "Bunker," she acknowledged with a stiff nod. His gaze fell to the ground, but only for a heartbeat of a moment. Had it only been a few days since the first time she had laid eyes on him? The utter revulsion she had initially felt towards him was gone. She hadn't been near a skinhead in nearly a decade. She hadn't even heard him speak that first time due to her skin crawling. She had frozen, but on the inside, she had been fighting every instinct within her to remain in the chair. Now, the instincts were muffled. Quiet, but still there. "What do you want?" Alison questioned.

"I… I was hoping to catch you before you left," he replied.

Her eyes studied him, noting the slight apprehension in his features. Was he intimidated by her? Honestly, she didn't know how to feel about that. Bunker stood before her in his new uniform, which covered most of his tattoos. Most of them, but not all. The tattoos on his neck were visible, and so were the ones on his hands and fingers. His ink was the mark of a monster. Because of that ink, she had branded him just like the monsters she had encountered previously. I'm not who you think I am, he had said. Perhaps it was true. He seemed to be hiding the tattoos like they were shameful. "Why?" Alison finally asked, realizing that her continued silence caused his apprehension to become more prominent in his eyes.

"I wanted to thank you," Bunker answered.

"What for?"

"For saving my life."

She had known the response before he gave it. Before he had opened his mouth, flashes of her using the shotgun poured into her mind. She had her reasons for doing it. Mostly because they had been alliances in a time of war. Losing assets, even in the form of one person, could have caused that night to go differently. Partially, it had been because of what he had told her prior. It had… affected her, despite the way she had snapped at him afterwards. She had saved him, not only because the alliance needed him, but because an inkling of trust had formed with their exchange of childhoods. It had been a strange, silent moment between them after the Redbone had gone down. It had been a feeling she had never experienced before. It had made her feel prickly, that unknown feeling, and so she had remained silent for the rest of the night. Remained distant from everyone until Dawn broke. But by then, she had been rushed home…

"Thanks isn't necessary for what happened, Bunker," Alison said, mentally shaking the memories away. "Anyone would have done the same, given the situation."

"I know words wouldn't be enough for what you did. Even action would fail, but I should still thank you." His earnest response was enough to cause a grimace. He looked like a puppy, eager to show off a new trick. His expression reminded him of Lena without the visible protruding bottom lip. "I don't think just anyone would have done the same, given what I… look like."

"Don't worry about it." Alison crossed her arms over her chest. "We survived Chayton Littlestone. Now, the only thing left to do is move on. So that's why I say your thanks isn't necessary. After that night, we have nothing to do with each other anymore. Seriously, don't worry about it." Well, now he looked like a kicked puppy, making her feel all kinds of guilt.

"There must be something I can do." It didn't seem like he was going to take no for an answer. "At least… Can I buy you dinner?" His gaze faltered. "Or coffee? Something?"

Alison opened her mouth to protest further, but the thought of a meal halted a nearly hostile objection. If there was one thing that could completely and immediately persuade her, it was food—free food. Her traitorous stomach had been like this all her life. She pitied this town if anyone ever discovered they could bribe her with food. "Fine. If you're going to be insistent about it." Bunker looked her way again, surprise and hope in his eyes. She suddenly wondered the color of his eyes. They were darkened because of the lack of light. It had been the same in the CADI. Scowling, Alison waved the thought away. "But after that—nothing. Understand?"

"… Nothing to do with each other anymore," he repeated her words, albeit tentatively. "Right. I understand. That's fair." For the first time since the conversation started, he took one step closer to her. "I'm not sure what's open now, but I'm sure we can find coffee."

"No," Alison bluntly told him. She uncrossed her arms and took a step back, finding a bit of comfort in the feel of her vehicle. "I want foo—dinner, but I don't want to eat right now." Her hands fumbled with her purse, keeping her eyes focused on him as her fingers found the pen she had been looking for. She stretched her arm, almost reaching him, but not quite. Uncertain, Bunker held his hand out. Alison released her hold on the pen and let it fall into his awaiting hand. Not waiting for a response, she opened her car door got in. After turning on the engine, she rolled down her window. Clearly, her actions had confused her unlikely, temporary, associate.

"What-?"

"They're not letting me go back to work for a few days because of what happened," she cut in. "Doubt you have that kinda time, Deputy." Bunker stared at her, confusion not leaving his expression. Ignoring that, Alison told him her cell phone number. Twice. He hadn't understood the first time. The second time, he had begun writing on the palm of his hand. She put her car in reverse. "Call me when you're free." She released the brake, pulled out of the parking space, and then put the car in drive. She sped away from the bar, hearing the screech of her tires against the pavement.

The further she drove, the more her body relaxed. Finally, she released a heavy sigh. Still, Alison did not bother to turn on her CD player. Perhaps it had been ridiculous to agree to his form of thanks. But, in the end, it would be a win-win type of situation. One, she could get free food. Or two, Bunker could come to his senses within a few days and not call her at all. Either way, she didn't lose anything. The ball was in his court now. She had rid her hands of whatever should happen next.

Now, she could focus. Well, not exactly focus. Focusing would lead to thinking of that night. Hell if she wanted to keep thinking about it. So Alison drove in silence, purposely keeping her mind blank. It wasn't until she pulled into her driveway did she stop and think. After taking the keys from the ignition, she rested her hands and forehead against the steering wheel. Another heavy sigh left her mouth as she closed her eyes. At this moment, she truly wished she was a workaholic that brought work home with her. However, that wasn't the case. She would have nothing to lose herself in for the next week. The mandatory therapy sessions would not be a welcomed distraction.

There was nothing she could do. The sessions were mandatory by order of the mayor. Gordon said he had done it as her friend. As she was the person that helped him muddle through the abyss of the aftermath of his divorce, he felt that he owed it to her to help her as well. Apparently, ordering therapy sessions was the only way he knew how. Huffing at the thought, Alison opened the car door and stepped out. It was a short walk to the door of her home, so short that she still hadn't found the right key. Once finding it, she slowly unlocked the door and entered the comforts of home.

After closing and locking the door, she lazily tossed her purse towards the living room. The thud that followed told her it had hit the back of the couch. Not caring for the specific location at the moment, Alison walked further down the hall, reaching behind her to unzip the back of the black dress. She kicked off her heels, groaning a bit because her toes were no longer confined. She had to remember to throw those shoes away. She hadn't worn the damn things since the last time she had attended a funeral, which had been several years ago.

Her mind was drifting, it seemed. Shrugging the dress off her shoulders, Alison continued to move. Of course, she intended to pick up the discarded items in the morning, but for now, all she wanted was to shower. Completely nude, she finally reached the bathroom. After turning on the light, she wasted no time stepping into the shower. She shut the glass door and turned on the spray of water. She didn't react to the cold, merely stood there waiting for it to heat up.

Showering seemed… almost pointless now. No matter how many times she had washed—scrubbed—she would still feel the blood of Jackson Sperling on her face and arms. Jackson had been a squirrely little shit, who had called her out of her name more than a few times, but he hadn't deserved to die like that. She hadn't deserved to witness that. Breathing through her nose, Alison began to scrub at her skin. Jackson's blood was on her hands, as far as she was concerned. Maybe if she had let him do what he felt needed to be done, he would have done it quickly and easily. And maybe he would have survived the night.

Alison moved the teal loofa across her skin with more vigor. She had tried to take the keys. Jackson had died as a result. Because of her. She had… almost died in the next instant. In her panicked carelessness, she had moved in range of the imprisoned Redbone. If she hadn't tried taking the keys, she would not have let herself become trapped like that. It had been such a long time since she had felt utterly helpless.

Her motions abruptly stopped. Alison frowned, recalling what had happened. She had truly believed her life would end in that moment. Fear, confusion, anger—she had felt those as the breath left her. Then in the next moment, Kai Proctor had appeared in her hazy sight. He had stared, and she had thought he would continue on his way. However, he had shocked her by shooting the Redbone that held her. As she had coughed, sputtered, and tried to get as much air back in her lungs as she could, he had disappeared. The confusion had only increased. Why the fuck did Kai Proctor, the bane of Banshee, come to her aid? Sure, he had swaggered off like he hadn't done a thing, but he still had.

The man had to have known who she was. Had to have known she and the mayor were actively trying to put him away. Still, he had saved her life. Why? It made no sense. Certainly he didn't think she would owe him. Like Hell she would even consider kissing ass because he had saved her life. Jackson Sperling—most definitely. Alison Medding—God, no. He would know that. So why? There was no obvious benefit for him. Why had he saved her? Even though the question plagued her mind… Did she really want to know?

"No," she decided in thought, finally reaching for her body wash. To be perfectly honest, she wanted to stay away from him. Alison poured the creamy white liquid on her loofa. She let the scent and texture soothe her as she gently wiped at her skin. "I need to get over what happened." None of it mattered. Not really. It wouldn't do her any good to mull and wonder. She had survived. That is what mattered. "Never again… Never again… Never again…"

A mantra in her head, Alison finished showering. She now felt refreshed, and not just in body. The mantra stayed in her head as she walked towards her bedroom. She didn't mind the water trail she left behind as she made her way. A few water droplets wouldn't be the end for her hardwood floors. The mantra remained as she began to get ready for bed.

Never again. She dried herself with a dark green towel. Never again. She brushed her damp hair into a ponytail. Never again. She put on black panties, and then a large grey T-shirt with a red, white, and blue shield on the chest, star in the center. Never again. She turned out the lights. Never again. She climbed into bed, making sure to wrap herself tightly with the covers. Never again. She shut her eyes, wishing to shut out her mother's mantra now.

Never again.

Never again.

Never again.

Alison Medding cried herself to sleep.