AN: Hey guys! I'm so glad you're still interested in the story. I know the Banshee fandom isn't super huge, so to hear you guys like the story well enough to keep with it and comment is awesome. I'm hoping to upload once a week, or two at the most until it's over, which shouldn't be too long given the length of the series. Anyway, let me know what you think and enjoy!
Chapter Eleven
Bunker made his way back to the precinct. He'd only gone to fill up the gas tank when he saw the crowd gathering across the street. He sure as hell didn't expect to see Maggie and Cora together. While part of him had grown almost accustomed to Cora getting herself into trouble because of her brash and straightforward attitude, her and Maggie arguing, and Maggie bearing Cora's handprint on her cheek.
He was shocked to stumble across them at the same time. He didn't quite register it, in fact. There was no reason for their paths to ever cross, and yet, there they were.
As he pulled into his parking spot in front of the building, Bunker kept replaying what the two of them said happened. Maggie was distraught, crying, and scared when he spoke to her. Cora was calm, even-tempered, and spoke with certainty. He wished to hell he'd had the chance to speak to the people who'd witnessed the supposed assault, but they began to disperse the moment the man in the uniform appeared.
The question was: who did he believe? Cora was honest about having slapped Maggie, so that wasn't in debate, but the rest of it, what led to the slap was what remained uncertain.
Bunker walked into the building with his mind still fuming. The people shuffling around disappeared to him to the point he didn't hear Brock calling his name until the Sheriff was right at his side.
"Did you hear me, Bunker?" he asked, seemingly from nowhere.
"Hm?" he mumbled. "No, sorry. What?"
Brock eyed him skeptically. It wasn't often that Bunker was scatterbrained, and they both knew it.
"What happened with that disturbance downtown you called in?"
"Nothing," he said a little too quickly. "I mean, it was just an argument. Nothing important."
"Right," Brock nodded skeptically. "Well, I need you tonight, okay?"
"Sir?"
"We're uh..." Brock hesitated. "We're serving a warrant. I need all hands on deck."
"Warrant on who, sir?"
Again, Brock didn't seem willing to offer the information, but he had no choice in the end. "Hood."
Bunker's eyes went wide. They were going to arrest the former Sheriff.
With no friends, no job, and no family, Cora also had nothing to do. She wanted to leave Banshee again, but to go where? She'd been a traveler for years, a vagabond without roots. She had no friends because of it, and after being forced to retire, no job. She didn't have family either, missing all those things that keep people sane.
Sitting on the bed watching some local channel on TV, Cora found herself utterly lost. She didn't know what to do now that, seemingly, everything was finished. She had no objective to keep her busy anymore.
Leaving Banshee was an option, but where would she go? Home? She didn't have that. To a new city? Alright, but which?
She felt impotent, like she was a leaf floating on a river. It was aimless, without a destination, and at the mercy of the element that surrounded it. Same thing.
Without warning, Cora felt herself slipping into some kind of existential crisis, someone who was barely thirty years old shouldn't experience.
After a little while, Cora wanted a drink. She needed a drink because it was the only thing she thought might help her at that moment.
Pushing herself up, Cora got ready to go to the Forge, the only bar she knew of in town that she even kind of liked.
As she pulled up to the bar, she saw what could only be described as a fleet of police cruisers leaving the parking lot. She glided past them easily on her motorcycle, her eyes naturally drifting to the people within. She saw Brock in the lead with someone in the back of his SUV. The woman who'd cuffed her was in the second, and in the third and final cruiser was Bunker. His gaze met hers. She noted his light confusion as he drove by, a sentiment she shared. How, in a city of twenty-thousand people, could she run into one man so often?
Parking her bike, Cora made her way inside. She found a despondent group. Sugar, Carrie, and a man she didn't know were sitting at random tables. All of them looked as though they were attending a funeral.
The moment she stepped through the door, Cora was met with their heavy gazes.
"Uh," she hesitated to speak. "Can I get a drink?"
"Sure," Sugar told her heavily. He stepped back behind the bar, reached for a bottle of something brown, and a glass.
"Cheers," Cora mumbled.
She approached the bar and slid onto the stool. The Forge was surprisingly empty, to the point she wouldn't have been shocked if someone told her it was closed, but not one ever said.
Sugar poured her the drink and had every intention of returning the bottle to its spot when Cora spoke up. "Leave it." She replied. He gave her a small nod and did as she asked.
Cora downed the bit of whiskey he'd given her. As it burned her throat, she lifted the bottle and poured herself some more.
"How are the ribs?" she heard Carrie from behind. Cora turned to see the young woman grinning wearily at the comment.
"Sore as shit." She said honestly. "How's the nose?"
Carrie's smile widened just a little. She looked better than before, but there was still a hint of a bruise beneath her eyes, enough that one might be able to tell it'd been broken recently.
"Come sit." Carrie said, waving Cora over.
Surprising herself, Cora did in fact stand. With her bottle and glass, she joined Carrie and the unkempt stranger.
"Cora, this is Job." Carrie said. "Job, Cora."
"Pleasure," she said.
"I'm sure it is." Job said, his voice smooth and snarky.
Cora couldn't fight her smile. She liked him immediately for some reason.
Carrie, taking the bottle that she and Job seemed to be sharing upon Cora's arrival, poured them all some more.
"What are you trying to forget?" Carrie asked casually.
Cora let out a long, low sigh. She threw back her whiskey and refilled her glass. "A lot."
"Hm," Carrie nodded. She raised her glass, Cora did the same, and with a clink, they gulped down the burning liquid.
It seemed to be that kind of the night. Everyone in the bar drank to forget something, and Cora was more than willing to join in. At least she wouldn't be drinking alone.
A couple hours passed by the time what could only be described as a pathetic party, finally came to an end. It was late, anyway.
Carrie left with Job, Sugar disappeared into the back, and Cora went to the front porch. Her stance wavered as she walked, her feet finding the floor harder than they should and her knees a bit wonky. She was on the cusp of being shitfaced and she knew it, far beyond being capable of driving her motorcycle.
With a heavy sigh, she fell onto one of the exterior seats. She dug in her jacket pocket and called the only number she thought might be picked up. There were no taxi companies opened so late in Banshee, nor was Uber a thing, leaving literally one person for her to call.
"Hello?" His voice was thick and heavy. Cora felt guilty almost immediately.
"I woke you up, didn't I?" She tried to keep her words from slurring, but wasn't entirely successful.
Bunker paused before responding again. "Are you drunk?"
"Yeah," she mumbled. "I'm at the Forge, but I think I'm gonna go home now."
"No," he said quickly. "Stay there. I'll come get you, just don't drive your bike."
"No, you don't have to. Go back to bed. I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm fine." She whined slightly, showing her displeasure with the thought. Having waken him on accident, Cora didn't want to make him drive to get her, too. For some reason, she'd thought he would have been awake. "I won't drive. Promise."
"Stay there." He asserted. "I'm on my way."
Cora opened her mouth to speak, to tell him that he didn't have to, but he never gave her the chance. Instead, he hung up. She glowered at the illuminated screen of her cell phone. For a moment, her dazed brain considered calling him back, but that thought was quickly dismissed. Instead of waiting, she stood and began down the road.
Surely, if she wasn't there for him to pick up, he'd go home and go back to bed. Yeah, that made sense to her. She hadn't meant to interrupt his sleep, after all, so naturally he'd return to it when he found the Forge abandoned.
Cora headed off down the road towards town. It was only two miles to her hotel, so the distance didn't bother her. Sober, however, she would have realized how stupid her plan was. A drunk woman walking along a dark, abandoned road at one in the morning was begging for trouble. There were enough shitty people hiding in the shadows on the best of days that she would probably have to worry about the journey, but a brain soaked in whiskey didn't care.
She didn't know how long she'd been walking, passing under sparse streetlamps that barely illuminated the road, before the first vehicle she'd seen drove by. Cora felt a slight chill run through her, that shock of fear at its unexpected appearance that made her smile once it'd driven off.
She continued on. Roughly ten minutes later, an old truck rumbled by, it's headlights mildly blinding as it drove on. Cora had to shield her eyes. Most people who drive on such roads tended to keep their brights on. Whoever drove the truck did the same and it left her temporarily dazed until it was gone.
The sound of screeching brakes sent her nerves on end. Cora turned around and saw the bright red taillights of the truck and a wisp of smoke coming from its tires. She stood still, staring at it wide-eyed. Why did the truck's driver suddenly slam on his brakes? Every horror story and movie flashed through her mind. She was in trouble.
White reverse lights flicked on and a moment later, the truck came closer.
Nope, she thought to herself. Gathering any control over her limbs that she could, Cora ran.
She thanked her mind for remembering her training and darted instantly into the woods. Cora knew that staying on the road out in the open would be the dumbest thing in the world, so she raced for the darkness, letting it consume her the moment she passed the tree line.
Behind her, she heard the sound of a metal door slamming shut.
"Cora!" a familiar voice yelled out.
Her brain barely managed to recognize the sound of Bunker's voice behind her, taking her attention off her path for the slightest of seconds, but that was all it took. A low-hanging branch made contact with her forehead, knocking her violently to the ground.
Cora was dazed, her world spun, and her body ached. She vaguely heard the sounds of crunching branches, of someone closing in on her.
"Cora!" Bunker called out again.
"Here," she groaned, cradling her forehead as she laid on the ice-cold ground.
The footsteps neared at a cautious place. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a glinting cell phone, but the light was dim. She reached into her back pocket, now surprisingly sober, and unlocked it so her screen would light up, too.
Bunker clearly saw it in the darkness because his footsteps drew near quickly. Within a few seconds he stood over her.
"Jesus," he grumbled as he knelt beside her. She felt him slide his arms beneath her, helping her up. "Did you run into a tree?" he asked with a hint of sarcastic disbelief.
"Yeah," she mumbled as she painfully stood with his guidance.
She heard him chuckle at her stupidity. Cora glared hatefully, but in the darkness, there was no point. Bunker couldn't see her agitation with him. It made her feel better, however.
"Come on," he takes her hand and starts to guide her back the way they'd come. "The hell were you doing?"
"Going home." She replied. Her head was throbbing. "I told you you didn't have to come get me."
"I wasn't going to leave you here." He said under his breath.
She smiled softly to herself. That was pretty sweet.
The pair emerged on the road shortly after. Bunker keeps hold of Cora until he gets her into the passenger side of the truck. She climbed into it and fastened her seatbelt while he got in, too.
Cora wondered briefly why he hadn't teased her for running when she saw his truck, but assumed the answer was simply because she'd smashed her face into a branch. Bunker didn't seem willing to mock her since she had ended up hurting herself.
She looked to the man beside her, noticing the way his profile was lit up by passing lights made her stomach tingle just a little. God, he was cute. Kurt Bunker had a weird, but wonderful mixture of rugged yet innocent. When he looked at someone with his big hazel eyes and his brow furrowed just so, you wanted nothing more than to take care of him. On the other hand, his size, his voice, and the stern way certain emotions could twist his face made him intimidating. He had the potential to exude some sort of unknown power if he chose. He was tender and ruthless, which was a difficult balance to master.
Bunker was the only person like that she'd ever met. Most people leaned one way or the other. They may be both, but one trait definitely overshadowed the second. Not with him, though.
They rode in silence for some time until Cora finally spoke as they pulled up to a stop light.
"You're really cute." She said.
Bunker's brows rose and a look of slight disbelief took his features as he slowly turned to face her. Cora smiled at his surprise. A crooked, unsure smirk tugged at the corner of his full lips.
"Thanks." He chuckled.
Cora gave him a nod, short and sure as though that was just the simple truth. The light turned green shortly after.
Bunker drove them the rest of the way to her hotel. He leapt out of the truck while she struggled with her seatbelt, and was at her door quickly. Like before, he helped her. He seemed worried she might keel over at any moment. Maybe she would. She didn't know. Every time she stood up it felt like she might.
Cora retrieved her key card from her back pocket, but after missing the slot twice, Bunker took it. He unlocked the door, helping her to the bed while it closed behind them. She plopped down, but his grip kept her from lying down.
"I need you to sit." He said. She nodded lazily.
Bunker stood and turned on a few more lights so he could better look at her. When he returned, he squatted down in front of her. Cora saw his face twist with worry.
As tenderly as he could, he held her jaw in his hand and turned her head from side to side, examining whatever mark was clearly left behind. Cora just watched him, staring at the man only a foot in front of her.
"You still have that ice pack?" he asked finally, letting his gaze meet hers.
"Yeah," she nodded before pointing. "In the freezer."
Bunker turned and spotted the small mini fridge. He retrieved the gel-pack, molding it and squishing it repeatedly on his trek back to her side. He offered it to her. Cora took the blue square and pressed it to her head. She felt immediate relief, so much so that she fell back onto the bed with a satisfied groan.
"I can't believe you ran into a tree." Bunker said after a moment.
Cora's response was simple: her extended middle finger. She heard him chuckle a little.
"You uh," Cora paused briefly. She rolled her head to the side enough that she could see him from under the blue pack. "You don't have to stay with me. I know you were sleeping. You can go back to bed."
Bunker shook his head. "I can't leave in case you have a concussion."
"You can fall asleep with a concussion, you know." She told him. "If you're coherent enough to speak, you can fall asleep. It's recommended, actually."
"How do you know?"
Cora groaned and her eyes drifted shut as she replied, "I've had a few." She doubted he was surprised by her answer.
"Yeah, well, drunk and head injury are a different story." He said.
"Hm…"
Bunker resolved to stay long enough to ensure that if Cora fell asleep, she'd wake again. He was scared she might not. He'd seen how fast she was running and if she hit a branch going that fast, fast enough she was thrown to the ground, he knew it was likely she hurt herself more than was visible.
Bunker had just lain down to go to sleep when his phone rang. He was surprised to see Cora the cause, even more so when she appeared to be drunk. Despite their time together, he'd never heard her as intoxicated as she was on the phone.
The decision to pick her up was an easy one to make. There was no way he would leave her there, or risk her driving home in her current state. He hadn't expected her to run the second she saw his truck, or that she'd get hurt in the process, but that did nothing more than ensure he'd remain with her longer than before.
Cora's forehead was scratched, had minimal bruising, and a few pieces of wood embedded within her fair skin. He wondered briefly how hard she'd smacked her head. The gel-pack seemed to help.
The pair of them sat on her bed, partially propped up by the thin pillows. They watched a cheesy horror movie, one of the only things that was on TV besides the usual infomercials.
For the last half hour or so, Bunker had been struggling to stay awake. He was tired after a long day at work, but wanted to stay conscious. He gave himself an internal time limit: dawn. The moment the sun started to peek over the horizon, he'd leave and let Cora fall asleep. He figured it'd be long enough to ensure she was out of the woods. Unfortunately, he knew a thing or two about head injuries. It was hard not to when your father has no problem punching you with all the strength of a full grown man when you're ten.
Bunker glanced down at her and noticed Cora's eyes were closed. The gel-pack had been discarded some time ago, so he had an unobstructed view of her face.
"Cora," he said.
"Hm?" she mumbled, barely capable of making the noise.
"Hey," he kept his voice soft, but stern. Bunker rolled onto his side and reached for her, holding her jaw in his hand. "Wake up."
"M sleepy." She replied.
"I know, but you need to stay awake for a little while longer." He told her. Bunker tenderly shook her head a little. "Open your eyes."
Slowly but surely, she managed the task, looking up at him with those bright, crystalline blue eyes through long black lashes. Maggie had green eyes. They were pretty and suited her with their minimal hints of brown, but Cora's were unique. They were brilliant blue, the color of tropical seas with deep sapphire surrounding the very edges of it. They were beautiful.
He stared down at her, more transfixed by her eyes than he knew he should be. His thumb began to caress her cheek, her soft, warm skin passing easily beneath his calloused digit.
Bunker missed her, more than he knew he should. The amount he missed her was disproportionate to the time they spent together versus apart. A week and a half, that was how long they were together, and the only amount of time he truly counted. Bunker didn't want to add the three months after the hospital, the two he'd been in quarantine and the single month where he was allowed to live at home with her at his side. Those three following months were filled with pain, both physical and emotional, so he didn't count them at all.
But that's all. That was how long they'd even known one another, and then proceeded to spend twenty months apart. He'd known Maggie for years before he left Banshee, and didn't think of her again afterwards. Even if he left town again after the relationship they'd begun, he was fairly certain she'd cross his mind periodically, but in random intervals at most.
So why did a person he barely know stay with him as long as she had?
Cora's eyes drifted shut as she moved into his touch, a soft sigh escaping her when she did. She turned her head just enough that his thumb trailed across her lips. His gaze fell to the contact, watching as the soft pink flesh moved slightly beneath his touch. Bunker's heart rate increased, spurred on by such a simple action.
He felt a familiar tension grow within him, that desire to proceed radiating through his fingertips. Bunker was losing what little self-control he had. It was dwindling, hanging on by a fraying thread.
Her eyes finally opened and met his again. Cora wrapped her delicate fingers around his wrist. She turned her face towards him, guiding his hand to the back of her head as she closed the distance between them. Bunker threaded his fingers through her hair, cradling her as he inched closer as well.
His lips hesitated to make contact with hers, but only briefly. The instant he felt the heat of them against his, that fraying thread snapped.
