It might have been a passive statement, but Alison had said it so matter of fact as well. Admittedly, it took a long moment to process. She had been the one to prosecute Randall Watts. Kurt stared at her, jaw becoming slack. Thinking of it now, maybe Kurt had subconsciously thought he could not have left if Randall had still been in charge during that fire. His prosecution had been the bit of nudge needed to take the first step away from The Brotherhood. He had always thought the fire had been the trigger, but maybe it had been before that. Before they knew one another, Alison had pried open a path for him to leave. Gave him that chance.

Once again, he found himself in awe of her. She had reached the rank of District Attorney despite various obstacles—and at such a young age—so, of course, he knew that she was more than proficient when it came to the job. But to realize she had put away Randall Watts—a guy that had been untouchable for decades despite the various and numerous heinous crimes—was practically a phenomenon. Alison Medding had done that. Her talent had made it possible. Maybe for the first time, Kurt wished he could have seen that trial, saw the arrogant smirk melt away from Randall's face, watched the triumph smirk form on Alison's. Christ, it would have been glorious.

But. That meant she was a target as well. Randall would not have forgotten that moment or the face of the person who had sent him away. He would do anything in his power for payback. That particular transgression most likely stuck with him throughout the eight years he had been in prison. If Kurt would be the first order of business, then Alison would be the second or on the list, at the very least. Christ. If he had known… Kurt would not have allowed Randall to leave. He would have done anything to keep him from targeting Alison. He almost wished that she had not stopped him from walking out that door. But he… wanted to work with her. For now, he would try things her way. Sniping Randall would be the last resort.

"You're the reason…" Kurt finally murmured. Alison blinked once, and then nodded her head. "How?"

"… Like you said, a technicality," she replied with a shrug. "But once I had him in court, I was able to stack the evidence against him with his other crimes. Some of the crimes properly weren't even his but circumstantial piled on all that hard evidence granted the maximum sentence."

"No, not how you sent him away," Kurt said. Alison furrowed her brow. How she had prosecuted him did not matter. Well, actually, he was more than a little curious about it, but he could get details later. Now, he just wanted to know something else. "I meant, how did you even come across him? I didn't know you were ever in Franklin."

Alison pressed her lips together, gaze averting to the side for a moment. She sighed slowly, obviously thinking about how she would word the explanation. She licked her lips, finally returning her gaze to him. "I told you before…" She visibly swallowed. "That I used to… go out looking for them. Around Banshee. In other states."

"When you were eighteen," Kurt said. He remembered the things she had told him that night. Quite vividly. That had been the night their friendship mutually—and consensually—shifted. "For two years." He gave a nod. "I remember."

"I used to… think of it as a game," Alison admitted. She crossed her arms, looking down at the floor. "Beating that little boy wasn't the end of the game. What type of final boss would that be?" She shuffled in place. "No, I started up again after college. After I passed the bar. Hunted them all the same, only a whole lot less physical." She tilted her head up, gaze on his person again. Her line of sight, however, focused on the visible ink. "Anyone I heard about with tattoos like yours, I went after. It didn't matter their… ranking. I didn't care for something stupid like that. If they had ugly ink, I would stalk them like prey, backing them into a corner, herding them into my courtroom where I had the full backing of law on my side." She smiled then, but it wasn't sweet. "And I was good at it. Sending them off. I went to every city and town I could in Pennsylvania. Before I came back to Banshee, I put away hundreds. Borderline a thousand. Some of them were minor convictions. Others were major. At the end of the day, it did not matter how long they spent in prison. It mattered that I put them there."

"That's…" Kurt wondered if the word had come out awed or scared. Truthfully, he was impressed. "I'm glad you never set your sights on me."

"By the time I returned to Banshee, the game was over," Alison said. "I couldn't just target some criminals anymore, so I left that part of myself behind. I forgot the game and all the monsters I defeated. Until you, it had been years since I saw those types of tattoos. And now, they're everywhere—on our fucking doorsteps. The worst of them just threatened my daughter's father." She breathed in deeply, eyes darting elsewhere. As though she suddenly realized the gravity of the situation. "You… You can't stay here."

"Alison-"

"No!" she cut in, glaring at him now. "You-" She breathed sharply, and then pressed a clenched fist to her lips. She shut her eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. Her glare had softened to a firm stare instead. "Your bed being in the wrong room, and a fucking loud ass creak in your steps, is not going to save you from Randall Watts. You. Cannot. Stay. Here." She was right, of course. Randall knew where he was. He would send wave after wave of loyalists. Whether they did whatever here or dragged him elsewhere, he would not be safe. But where else could he go? Jumping from motel to motel? For how long? He did not want to feel like a coward, but Randall had done well in forcing him into this corner.

"What-"

"Ms. Alison…!" A whine came from upstairs, completely drowning out one of the questions on Kurt's mind. Both he and Alison shifted their gaze upward. He had nearly forgotten his nephew. Again. Most likely, the boy had gotten restless, waiting for one of the adults to start the movie. Assuming Alison had set up the movie for him, the looped animations had only held his attention for so long. The woman in question sighed lightly, and then turned accusing eyes on Kurt. As if he had anything to do with the dramatics of his nephew. Fortunately, his yelling would not wake his cousin. Still, Kurt called back that he should not yell in the house. "Sorry…!"

Hank said nothing else, maybe contrite enough to wait patiently now. However, he had cut into the conversation, and Alison turned away from him to head into the kitchen. For now, their conversation was done. But not over. He knew that she would want to further discuss whatever plans she already probably began thinking about. Kurt awkwardly shifted back, facing the full-body mirror on his wall. He pressed his lips together, ear twitching at the sound of Alison rummaging through his kitchen. He swallowed hard as he began unbuttoning his uniform shirt. Truthfully, he still had inklings of going after Randall before the monster of monsters sobered up from his partying. The risks were too great to let him walk, right?

Before Alison had convinced him otherwise, Kurt had been steadfast in his decision. Randall Watts was an evil that Banshee could not go through again. He could not go through it again. Especially not now. Not with his daughter in the world. The very thought of Randall encountering Naomi made Kurt feel nauseous. He could not let it happen. He could not let his old life taint his new one. He could not let it begin again. He could not. He could not. He could not. It had been a mantra in his head. A loud buzzing that would not leave him as he spurred into action. Even now, the buzzing remained. Alison had quelled it somewhat. But it still lurked just beneath the surface, urging him to leave in uniform and take care of the problem. Take care of the evil before it could take root again.

The uniform. Of course. Choosing to wear his uniform had been a subconscious thing, but maybe on some level, he had known the true intention behind it. He would die in uniform. Become a martyr. Start that war. Sheriff Hood would retaliate—on his behalf or no. But in the end, he knew that Banshee Sheriff Department would win. Banshee would be safe for his daughter to grow up. And that would have been okay. He was completely fine with sacrificing himself for the greater good—the greatest good. The uniform would ensure that Naomi could remember him as a hero. A hero who died righting the world. A father she could be proud of. Dying in uniform would be preferable not only to Naomi but to himself as well. Finally, he would do something worthy enough to maybe counter all the evil shit he had done. It would be… worth it.

Kurt did not realize he was breathing harshly—and clenching the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt—until Alison called his name. He loosened his grip on his uniform, noting the blood rushing back to his knuckles. Christ. He had been lucky not to tear it. Blinking rapidly, Kurt turned his head slightly. Alison, hands holding a large bag of pretzels and two cups, stared at him. At the moment, he could not gauge her expression. Then she looked away for a few seconds. "Can you wake Naomi up?" she asked, and then her line of sight shifted back to him. "I think… it's better if you do it. She might not get fussy with you for interrupting her nap." Kurt pursed his lips.

"… Sure," he replied. Alison nodded her head before leaving through the door. Sighing to himself, Kurt finally removed the shirt. He stared at the top half of his uniform longer than necessary before folding and placing it on the bed. Since he had a task ahead of him, he decided to change out of his pants later. For now, he set out to do as requested. He left his makeshift room, following Alison's path up to the second floor. He passed the first room, hearing the faint conversation between Alison and Hank. Something about aliens…? Probably in regards to the movie that had been picked out. Kurt continued down the hallway.

Generally, if Naomi slept, neither parent would dare wake her. However, this circumstance was unusual. Naomi should not be sleeping at this time. Kurt could only guess that his daughter had fallen asleep on the way here. Car rides tended to put small children to sleep, he had read. Long car rides, though. It did not take very long to go from the daycare to his house. Or from Alison's house to here for that matter. It was strange, but… probably not important. Alison would have mentioned the reason otherwise. She was good at that—telling him about their child's schedules. The transition to fatherhood had not been as difficult as initially believed. Not with Alison as his partner.

Kurt opened the door to the room, gaze immediately seeking out the crib. He stepped forward, fingers curling around the top of the bars. A smile touched his face as he stared down at her. Because her mouth remained shut, he could tell Naomi did not sleep deeply. Mouth open and drool spilling indicated deep sleep for her. Something she shared with her mother. Alison denied any amount of drooling on her part and blamed any suspicious wet spots on his sweaty sleeping habits. Hank's earlier shout might have disturbed her dreams, but not enough to wake her. Kurt reached down with both hands, carefully picking Naomi up. She made a soft murmuring noise as she latched onto him. Kurt felt his smile grow.

"Hey, sweetie," he greeted, gently sliding a hand up and down her back. "You have a nice nap?"

Naomi shifted, peering at him through squinted eyes. Then her tiny palms touched his cheeks, holding his face steady as much as a toddler could. "Dabun!" she greeted, clearly happy to see him. Near bursting, a smile stretched on her face and her eyes opened wider. Her vocabulary was ever expanding, but she still shortened things. Fortunately, Kurt could translate her words with minimal effort. Daddy Bunker was a mouthful, after all, so it did not surprise him that she shortened the title her mother had given him. "Dabun!" she said again, and then lurched forward, nearly smacking her lips against his forehead. The simple gesture made him freeze. It had not been the first time Naomi initiated physical affection, yet somehow it felt different. Overwhelmingly different from previous kisses. Maybe because she mimicked the forehead kiss he reserved for her.

No. Deep down, he knew. Kurt knew that if he had walked out of the door today, he would not have gotten to experience his own forehead kiss from his daughter. He would have left this world without it. And that, he realized, would have been unacceptable. Would it be worth it…? He suddenly recalled Alison's question. No. The answer was no. Like a switch, he understood that leaving Naomi behind to be… a fucking martyr would not be worth it in the end. She would lose her father. She would lose someone that would love her unconditionally. Maybe it was selfish of him but he wanted to stay. Stay and receive more kisses and smiles. Stay and raise her. Stay and… and be a father. Christ. It would have been a mistake. Maybe the biggest one he could ever make. Naomi Jade Medding was his one true saving grace, and he had been about to give it up on the chance of The Brotherhood's eradication. Something he would not have seen for himself. Kurt would have no guarantee his actions would have led to Naomi's safety. He needed to ensure it himself. Therefore, he would.

Kurt blinked away the slight stinging in his eyes before grinning. He returned the sweet gesture with a frenzy of kisses to her cheek. Naomi giggled, and then threw her arms around his neck. "Good to see you, too," Kurt told her. "Did you miss me that much?" Mouth against his shoulder, her response of 'miss Dabun' was muffled. He still understood and his chest swelled with warmth. "I missed you, too…" Kurt hugged her little body, forcing himself not to hold her tighter than necessary. "Missed you, too." He wondered if this had been the result of Alison picking her up today instead of him. Had she gotten so used to him picking her up instead of her mother? Whatever the reason, he liked it. Releasing a sigh, he felt his body relax. "Alright, do you need a new diaper?"

"No…!"

"Well, I'm gonna check anyway if that's okay with you," Kurt said, slight chuckle in his voice. It took only a few seconds to confirm that her diaper was still clean. He would give it another twenty minutes or so before checking again. Soon, he would have to come up with a 'potty training' schedule for her. Another thing he would have missed. Thank God for Naomi… Thank God for her mother. She had talked him out of the martyr method. Honestly, for the second time. If not for Alison Medding, he would have died a long time ago. "Alright, let's go see if mommy's got your snack ready." Kurt lowered Naomi to the floor. She smiled brightly, making a grab for his hand. Together, they walked out of the room.

Door already opened to the television room, Kurt immediately settled his gaze on Hank. The boy sat on the fluffy grey rug, eyes on the television—previews, it looked like—and a bag of pretzels sticks in his lap. To the right of him, two sippy cups—blue and purple—was on the circular coffee table. Not really for coffee. It was where the kids colored and had their snacks. Alison had suggested buying the table—and the rug—for them, and Kurt had agreed. Better for them to play wrestle on a fluffy rug than on hardwood floors. Though, it still made his heart jump whenever Naomi tackled her cousin. Or when Hank body slammed Naomi. Alison reassured him that their daughter was not made of glass each time the two kids decided to roughhouse for play.

"Han!" Naomi pointed a finger at her cousin, gaining his attention. The boy sharply turned, and then put the bag of pretzels down before standing up. Naomi released her father's hand and took a step forward, but Hank was already on the move. He greeted her with a smile full of teeth as he wrapped his arms around her. Naomi threw her arms around him as well. It wasn't the first time the two greeted each other this way, but it still felt pleasant to see they had become so familiar and affectionate with one another. "Missed you!"

"I missed you, too!" Hank exclaimed, releasing her. "Here, I have a present for you!" The boy rushed over to the far wall, where his backpack had been deposited. Kurt left the threshold and chose to sit down on the couch next to Alison. Naomi walked towards Hank, arms outstretched for balance. Alison glanced at him, but her focus lied mostly with Hank. Kurt was curious, too. They watched the two crowd around the backpack. Hank unzipped his bag and rummaged around inside. He then pulled out a familiar stuffed animal. Kurt was surprised to see Penny. Honestly, he had not really thought about it, assuming his daughter's favorite toy had been left at her mother's house. But Hank had it…? "I took it last time—sorry," Hank said, offering the stuffed animal to Naomi.

"Sowwy…" Naomi repeated, sounding unsure. Still, she grabbed her toy and hugged it close to her chest. "Han has Penny!"

"Yeah, but I have mine, too, so you can have it for a week," Hank insisted. Once again, he reached into his bag and pulled out another stuffed animal. It was a bear in the color of tan. The pads of its front paws were baby blue and so was its nose. Kurt had never seen Hank with it before. "I usually sleep with him, but I wanted to give it to you because I had Penny." The explanation made sense. Obviously, he would leaving his sleeping companion at home.

"Hank, that is very nice of you," Alison complimented, drawing his attention. Hank's cheeks colored pink as he smiled back. "Say thank you, Naomi."

"Tank you!" Naomi had no problem listening. She smiled, reaching out to grab the teddy bear. She hugged both the bear and penguin. "Tank you!" She sharply turned, nearly running over to the couch to present both animals to her parents. "Look, Dabun!" She nearly crashed into Kurt's legs in her enthusiasm. Chuckling a bit, he reached for her, lifting her body to sit comfortably in his lap. Naomi presented the bear to him.

"You sure you can do without for a whole week, Hank?" Kurt questioned, taking the stuffed animal from his daughter.

"I'm a big boy!" Hank insisted, garnering a chuckle from both Kurt and Alison. "She can have it until next time." Next time…? Kurt wondered if they would be a next time. But both Hank and Naomi looked so happy that he did not want to bring that up. Not to mention, it had been Hank's mother that made it a possibility that cousins would not see each other again. For now, he would keep quiet, but eventually he would have to explain… and give the teddy bear back.

"Good, I know you're a-" Kurt stopped speaking, noticing the blue cursive writing on the bear's lower right paw. Seeing it, realizing what it meant, was a shock to his senses. Mr. Kitty. Why was something unique—only to him—coming from Hank's bag? A bear called Mr. Kitty was too significant to be just a coincidence. The thing about it was only a select few knew about it. Maggie wasn't one of them. And Alison… She always asked before giving anything to Hank. Even though he told her that she did not have to, she still asked. Even so, this was something big. She would have mentioned giving a gift of this nature.

"Kurt, what's wrong…?" Alison questioned.

Unaware of his swirling thoughts, Naomi shimmied out his lap and onto the floor. She moved to sit down on the carpet and dug her hand in the bag of pretzels. Hank copied her movements, complaining that she could not have all the pretzels for herself. "This…" Kurt began, almost dazed. Alison glanced at the teddy bear left behind. A brow raised. There was mild recognition, but not enough to warrant a remark on the bear. Did she assume that he had given Hank this bear? Kurt cleared his throat, turning his eyes away from Alison's curious stare. "It's nothing." Probably nothing. Still, it was strange seeing something from his childhood in his nephew's possession. The implication… the reason behind it…

"Are you sure?" Alison asked. Kurt shifted a bit in his seat, but then nodded his head. Alison hummed lightly. However, she did not call him out on his lie. "Okay." Despite the short response, he could almost sense the 'we'll talk later' behind it. That was fine. Maybe he needed the time to sort through his thoughts. They felt muddled somehow. His eyes fell back to cursive writing, where they remained for the duration of the movie.

0-0

Maggie Bunker sighed in content as she allowed the warm shower water flow down her body. It had been quite some time since she had no worries to think of. For the first time in years, she could just relax. She would have the house to herself for a few more hours. Her husband and father would probably not be back until the early morning hours. Her son would not need to be picked up until late afternoon tomorrow. She had the house to herself. It was calming. A calm before the storm, really. She knew things had been set in motion already. Her father's plans, her own machinations, Calvin and Kurt's intentions—it would all lead to the storm. However, she hoped she could change its course for the better now that she had inclination.

Despite her efforts—a plan nearly two years in the making—Kurt seemed resolute in not returning. She had not expected his resistance, especially given his positive relationship with his nephew. His return could have been the best course of action. Both her father and husband would have been pleased with that. Now, things had just gotten difficult. Maggie had to wonder why her initial plan had failed. Well, the second plan's failure, actually. She did not quite care for the initial plan of betraying her husband. The second plan should have worked. Presenting him with a taste of family should have been the key factor in persuading him back into the fold. It had not, which left her with uncertainty.

Uncertainty was a rare thing to occur within her. Hesitation meant scorn and disappointment, so she made sure her actions led to favorable results. Three steps ahead of those around her. At minimum. That was how she lived her life. Until marriage, at least. Then things had been peaceful for a time until Kurt showed up again after his disappearing act. If only he had stayed away, then the current situation would not be so difficult and full of uncertainty. Truth be told, she did not know how her father would react to Kurt's blatant rejection of his offer. None had ever denied Randall Watts without drastic consequence. If Kurt were to die, everything she had done would be for naught.

Maggie frowned, pressing a palm to the shower wall. Her fingers curled, dragging her nails against the tile. However rare, she disliked when her efforts proved to be futile. If only she could see what the misstep—the miscalculation—had been. If it had been up to her, she would have had the traitor killed before he could threaten her husband. Then, she would not have had to go through any of this. No need for calculations or manipulations. Maggie found herself scoffing in derision. The audacity of Kurt Bunker… What was it about him that had the males of her family bending over backwards for him? She could not deny his dogma, however. Before he had left The Brotherhood, he had respect. He had not been just another mindless goon meant to further others' plans. He had done the planning and gained a certain respect to the Bunker name.

Still, he was a blight now—an annoyance that had lived too long. His mere presence had altered everything two years ago. However, she could not very well allow her father to have his way when it came to the older Bunker. Surely, Kurt's death would lead Calvin down a terrible spiral. Maggie understood that quite well. She had witnessed the transformation herself. After her husband had returned from sending a message, he had changed. It had been a gradual thing she had not noticed at first. He had not smiled the same. Not even at her. Not even at their child. Burning his brother had twisted something within him. Planted seeds of doubt. Turned him into this workaholic for that gook boss of his. Caused unneeded stress. Turned him into a fool.

Calvin Bunker had always been cunning. He worked smarter rather than harder, and got the job done ten times better. Mind over matter. That cunning had charmed Maggie at a young age. He felt… like her other half. A kindred soul. Everyone else had been idiots. Not him. His wit. His quips. His everything. He had been unlike anyone else. Had it been a wonder why she had fallen for him? Her father had seemed to think so. More than once, he had remarked how she had chosen the wrong brother. Ridiculous. Kurt Bunker was a bore. No, he had not been mindless, but Maggie could not imagine him inciting laughter from her. Or warmth. He had always been too focused one thing. She had no use in falling in love with a one-track mind. Not to mention the distance. There had always been an invisible barrier between Kurt and the rest of them. As though he were half-in all the time. Maybe that had been the miscalculation. She had never discovered the other half.

Calvin, however, had been all-in from the start. Whether it be to The Brotherhood or to his relationship with her, her husband had been more than efficient. He, alone, led them all with a fist of steel. All saw his worth and all swore fealty despite knowing her father's whims of wanting Kurt to lead. But Calvin had changed. It began with his decision to bring Kai Proctor into their midst. The Brotherhood had been doing fine on their own without becoming practically slaves to that dutchie. Maggie was sure that it had been an order from her father. Still, in an effort of not relying so heavily on Proctor, Calvin had come up with these half-baked plans. Each one more foolish than the last. The underage porn filming had been the last straw for Maggie. From that point, she had taken a more active role in contributing to The Brotherhood. Instead on standing quietly on the sidelines. She could not be just the wife of the leader. She had to be a visible co-leader.

Of course, there had been those who disliked the more active role, not knowing they had been following her words from the very start of Calvin's reign. Hell, even before that. Unlike Calvin, father never gave her the credit. They had been dealt with. Without hesitance or mercy. Having been given a painful reminder of who exactly raised her, none had attempted such a thing again. Maggie Bunker would suffer no form of insult to her husband. And so, before the audacity of questioning his leadership began, she had guided them towards more productive habits. Unfortunately, she could do nothing about the damage done from being Proctor's lackeys. Her father must have a plan she was not privy to. He would not willingly submit to anyone, especially a lesser man, without a valid reason. Still, his sudden release from prison meant less weight on their shoulders. Moreover, a reveal to what future he had in store for The Brotherhood.

Maggie suddenly shivered, feeling cold air sweep across her shoulders. She turned, eyes straining to see beyond the mist of the shower glass door. Despite only making out a silhouette, she relaxed. Obviously, she recognized the shape. Still, she furrowed her brow, watching him strip out of his clothes. She had not spent that long in the shower. Truthfully, she had not expected Calvin until tomorrow in the early morning. Most likely, her father would find some floozy to spend the night with, and would not be back at the same time.

"Calvin…?" she called to him. "I thought you wouldn't be back until later." Silence was his response. At least until the glass door slid open. Completely nude, Calvin stepped into the shower behind her. Something inside stood at attention. She had always been pleased to see the dark ink stretched over his ivory skin. A beautiful sight. However, his demeanor was different. Frowning now, she watched her husband as he slid the door shut. "Calvin, what's going on?" Maggie could not say she liked his slouched shoulders. Her husband stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and lowering his face to her shoulder. Perplexed, Maggie blinked, but still instinctively returned his embrace. The two stood under the spray of water for a moment longer before she opened her mouth to speak. "What's wrong, honey?"

Calvin abruptly turned their bodies, maneuvering them from under the flow of water. Maggie's back hit the shower wall hard, causing a gasp at the cold surface. Her husband curled his hand around her throat, giving an almost vicious kiss to her lips. Maggie whimpered beneath his touch and squeezed her eyes shut. The force of his kiss had come as a surprise, but not exactly unpleasant. She could feel him against her inner thigh, already semi-hard. A piercing heat flooded her entire body, stronger than anything she had felt recently. It had been months since he had attacked her like this. His hand left her throat and roughly gripped her breast. Maggie practically drowned in his kiss. It left her lungs straining and thighs throbbing. But it was also out of the blue. This behavior jarred her senses, and she wanted to know why.

She reared back, and he followed, pressing another firm kiss. Before she could become lost in her husband's whims, Maggie pushed at his chest, effectively ending his assault. Calvin glared at her. "What the fuck?" he growled. The vein in the middle of his forehead bulged, further showing his irritation. That tone—his expression—drove her wild. It had been quite some time since she had seen it. She almost forewent her curiosities in favor of submitting to him. She would bruise from his touch but would be highly satisfied as well. Oh, she had missed this side of her husband. "Wait a minute… Are you screwing somebody else?"

"What?" The accusation threw her, and an entirely unpleasant warmth replaced the earlier flood. "No! Of course not!" His face remained the same, solid and heated. Maggie swallowed hard, mind conjuring images of her infidelity. Her near infidelity with Kurt. That would have been a stupid mistake. She should not have taken her father's 'use your weapon' order to heart. She glanced elsewhere and bit her tongue until she bled. Punishment. Every time her mind remembered, she had to fill her mouth with blood. Even now, she punished herself for what she had almost done. All for the sake of her father's golden boy. Swallowing the blood, Maggie returned her eyes back to her husband, hoping he would not see the memory on her face.

"We haven't fucked in months," Calvin pointed out. "So, what is it?"

Her eyebrow twitched. She could feel her heart beating rapidly and hear her own breathing. Despite the repulsive memory of pretend, the accusation angered her somewhat. "Calvin Bunker," Maggie began. She lowered her hand, curling her fingers around his member. Her husband expectedly shuddered and shut his eyes. "This is mine and no one else's." Her assurance came equipped with soft strokes and a firm grip. Calvin leaned against her, both hands sliding down her body. With her other hand, Maggie guided his fingers to her weapon. Calvin opened his eyes and looked at her. His stare was equally intense, yet softer. "This is yours and no one else's." His fingers moved, and it was her turn to shudder. "It's been months because we're both tired. You fall asleep almost immediately after dinner. So, it's me who should be asking: what is it?" Both hands reached up, cupping his face. "What is it? Talk to me."

Calvin withdrew from her, lowering his gaze to the floor. Still, he grabbed her hand, holding her palm against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed harshly. His heart pulsed quickly, but Maggie suspected it was for a different reason than desire. Calvin shook his head. "I can't do this again," he admitted. "Why did you bring him here?" Maggie licked her lips. Her father. Again, the question came from a Bunker. She did not quite understand. Calvin had been tense ever since he had come home from work to discover her father in his living room, but she had been certain that… Maggie bit her lip. Kurt had not been happy to see him either. Both brothers seemed to have the same reaction even though she had believed they respected her father. Her father was supposed to be the key to resolution. Instead, he seemed the lock. "The way he treats me in front of everyone… like I'm some sorta whipping boy," Calvin continued. "I fucking hate it."

"… So, you've come home to have a semblance of control over me?" Maggie guessed. "Not because you want me." The silence between them spoke volumes. Again, her eyebrow twitched. "Calvin, you're not a whipping boy. He knows what you've done in his absence. You've been doing good. He's just… happy to be out of prison, and he doesn't know how to act right now. It'll get better."

"No the fuck it won't," Calvin said. "I'll always be lacking to him. No matter what I do, he'll compare me to Kurt." Maggie narrowed her eyes. She knew that was true. If she heard her father comment about the wrong brother one more time… "I'll never earn his respect. And I'm fucking done trying. I am done being ordered around by him." Her husband lifted his head. His eyes were deep and true. He meant it. True, her father had normally dismissed her when he spoke with Calvin. She was not normally privy to their conversations. Of course, she knew about the dislike her father had for Calvin, but she had assumed it was normal father vs son-in-law hostility. But he had been belittling her husband this entire time.

"You are the leader," Maggie insisted. "He should understand that."

"He makes me jump whenever he snaps his fingers," Calvin retorted, scowling. "Like I haven't been running things just fine on my own. It's always been that way, but it's worse now. He can't just come back and order me around like I'm a fucking field nigger." He breathed deeply and lowered his head again. Maggie felt her face harden into fury. Seeing this subservient man before her irked her like nothing else. Her father had turned her husband into this? Intolerable. "Especially with the way he wants to run things now," Calvin continued, unaware of his wife's growing ire. "Aryan revolution that'll put money before our beliefs. He actually said he's tired of it—of our beliefs. This deal with Proctor… it's all for his retirement fund. He doesn't give a shit about The Brotherhood anymore. He wants to sell us out. He wants to take away everything I've worked for. He's in the fucking way."

This time her lip twitched. Retirement fund…? Money was his grand scheme? If Calvin spoke the truth—and she had no reason to doubt him—her father had changed. He was no longer the man that had raised her. All she had done whilst he had been in prison, almost blindly following orders—even at the cost of fidelity—would have been for nothing but security. For him. It was the most selfish thing her father had ever done. On top of that, he had repeatedly belittled her husband. Everything they have built—everything they had worked hard on—could be ruined by mere words of a former leader. She could not allow such transgressions.

"The Brotherhood cannot have two leaders," Maggie murmured. Calvin looked at her, so she forced the anger from her expression. "Especially if one of them doesn't know his place anymore." Her husband furrowed his brow, but the bulging vein disappeared. "I'm sorry, Calvin. I've been a bad wife. I didn't see you struggle for his approval. I didn't see that you want everything that comes with being the leader, including the stress. But I see the reason for that stress now. His approval. But you don't need his approval, Calvin. You are the leader. He should be seeking yours, and if Daddy doesn't understand that, then he must be taught. He'll learn… even if it's the hard way."

"He's your father… your blood," Calvin said.

Blood. What a convenient excuse. Blood did not stop her father from the occasional beating. Of herself or her mother. If it were not for blood, Kurt would not be such a problem. The cutting remark never left her mouth, though. Instead, Maggie smiled, honeyed and sugared. It did well in covering the tart. "When I was a little girl," she began, sliding her palms down Calvin's chest. Her fingers curled around his skin and drew him nearer. "I called him King. He liked that, so the mindset stuck. I served my king dutifully as I was his princess. I was born to serve him." Maggie tilted her head, lips easing to Calvin's ear. "But I failed to realize that on the day I married, I served a new king. I am no longer a princess. I am a queen. You are my new king. My leader." Her thumbs caressed his skin. "I will serve you and support you in whatever way I can. I live to serve you. No former king has the right to disrespect my new king—blood or no."

Like a flip of a coin, Maggie saw the way Calvin stiffened. His shoulders no longer slouched. The subservient aura he exuded since he stepped into the shower vanished in an instant. She witnessed the pressure slipping away. His eyes became clear and determined. Deep and dark with more than just desire. Maggie had truly been a bad wife. She had not seen all he needed was to hear. All he needed was verbal comfort. Action had not been enough for him. He needed the words as well. Now, he had clarity. He now had all the power and confidence needed to begin their own revolution. That potential she had seen before—it poured out of him now.

Calvin smashed his lips against hers, and she fed into his desire immediately. Yes, yes. She had missed this man. The man without restraint with her. The man that could breathe life into her. The man that could get her hot with just a look or subtle slip of tongue. Oh, there it was. Maggie wrapped her arms around his neck. He held the kiss until she had trouble standing. Appetite unsated, his mouth pressed hard kisses against her neck and shoulder. Then he lifted her leg, hooking it around him. "I wanna fuck my queen," he rumbled in her ear. Maggie felt like she could melt. She nearly jumped, wrapping her other leg around him. He slipped inside easily. Maggie gasped, tightening her grip. He fucked her against the wall, long and hard. And she relished his return.

If her father needed to be the sacrifice…

Then so be it.

0-0

The longer Alison stared at her reflection, the more she felt entirely silly. Hiding out in the bathroom. Yes, hiding. Like a child who did not want punishment. She had been in here longer than necessary in front of the mirror. It had been an offhand comment that had landed her in this predicament. Not really thinking about it, she had suggested both she and Naomi sleep over. To make sure he remained safe during the night. Risky, but she was confident she would be able to beat back any adversary bold enough. Together with Kurt. She was certain the children would be safe. She had believed he would deny her that, telling her of the danger. However, Kurt had only nodded. Inwardly, perhaps, he believed that Randall would not attempt anything with his grandson nearby. On some level, Alison thought the same. In part, she needed—wanted—an excuse.

Despite the flurry of activity, courtesy of Naomi and Hank, thoughts of Kurt spun like a vortex. She was anxious. Panicked even. But also, strangely excited. Hopeful, however tentative. Thoughts and emotions tugged her in different directions. She needed to focus. One thing at a time. The situation warranted one issue at a time. She did not have the luxury of attending to every single thought that crossed her mind. Not right now. With a heavy sigh, Alison uncurled her tight grip from the sink. She blinked a few times, ridding herself of dry eye. Pressing her lips together, she scolded herself for the excessive staring. Okay. Time to stop hiding.

Alison gave herself one last onceover. Sleeping over had meant a shower and a change of clothes. She wore a large t-shirt and boxers—his, of course. She smelled like his soap now—smelled like him. It was still… comforting, she realized. Wrapped in his scent again. She had missed it. Alison glared at her reflection, and then lowered her gaze to the tiled floor. She wiggled her painted toes, awkwardly shifted from foot to foot, and then urged herself away from the mirror. Huffing lightly, she twisted the knob and pulled open the door to the bathroom.

After turning off the light switched, Alison walked to the door down the hallway. Door partially opened, she peeked inside. Most of the room was dark, but the nightlight showed what she wanted to see. Naomi sleeping peacefully in her crib. Hank fast asleep on the makeshift bed. Kurt had taken two cushions of the couch downstairs for the bed. Spare sheets and covers had made an excellent bed and fort. The two kids had worked themselves into exhaustion whilst building the thing. It had been easy to get them settled. Kurt had read to them while Alison had watched, fascinated at how easy it seemed. To think such a thing could be ripped away from them.

Alison breathed in slowly, and then stepped away from the nursery. Admittedly, she was stalling. She turned and headed for the staircase. Careful to avoid Kurt's… security measure, she moved down the stairs. Normally, she would not have bothered. However, Naomi and Hank slept for the night for the first time. If the creak were enough to wake Kurt, then it would be more than enough to wake the children and she wanted to avoid that. Her bare feet touched the ground floor, and she idly thought about asking for socks. The door adjacent to the stairs was already open. She stepped inside, gaze already darting around for a glimpse of Kurt Bunker. Apparently, he decided to make himself scarce. Mildly disappointed, Alison moved further in.

The least she could do was tidy up. There was not much, however. Hank was a bit of a neat freak, cleaning up after himself without prompt. His toys and such could be left haphazardly, but trash…? No sir. Alison could only hope her daughter would be as diligent when it came to chores. She seemed to admire Hank enough for emulation. Surely, Naomi would not only pick up the 'bad' habits. It still exasperated her to no end that Naomi learned how to blow raspberries from her cousin. Still, her vocabulary had increased as well since befriending Hank, so not just the bad habits after all.

Now, Alison stood over the sink, cleaning dishes. Unaware of the smile on her face, she focused on the task of scrubbing. She had not foreseen caring so much about a child that was not hers. Yet here she was, charmed by the little tyke. Almost as much as her daughter. She suspected the reason for that had to do with the similarities between uncle and nephew. Despite where they had both come from, they did not allow it to define them. Truly surprising for someone as young as Hank. She did not know the reason why the racism had not touched him… yet, but she rather liked the innocence. She hoped the boy would continue to have his own mind and judge others based on their actions instead of what they happened to look like. But hope was a fragile thing, especially in this case. With parents like his, it might have only been a matter of time. Could an uncle's influence on his nephew be enough to sway him from mimicking the father or mother? She wished she had the answer to that right now instead of years down the line.

Alison pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes down at the plate she had been rinsing longer than necessary. Sighing lightly, she deposited the plate in the rack. Hank was not her son. She should not be thinking so heavily about his future. However, that did not stop her mind. Eventually, she would have to think critically about the boy. Maybe sooner than later. Still, one thing at a time. Speaking of one thing at a time… She had not been sure before, but she could now sense a stare on her person. His stare.

She did not know how long Kurt had been staring. However, she was almost finished with the dishes—just a couple bowls more—so she chose not to turn around. I can feel you looking at me. The words sprang to mind unbidden. It had been quite some time since hearing those words. She wondered what exactly he felt that first time. Ice? Fire? Poison? Daggers? That night in the CADI seemed so far away, Alison could not recall what she had been thinking or feeling at that moment. Surely, it had been negative, along with the curiosity. Uncontrollable curiosity that had led to their unconventional relationship in the first place.

With the last bowl in her hand, Alison feigned complete concentration on the scrub down. However, most of her senses focused on Kurt. He was behind her, perhaps standing in the doorway. He had yet to verbally make his presence known. His stare was damn near physical—as if he was touching every inch of her. Alison squirmed on the inside, mind conjuring almost vivid images of Kurt standing behind her. Wrapping his arms around her. Kissing her across her shoulders. He had done it often enough before. Apparently, she had been deprived of it too long. Jesus Christ. She really needed to stop this train of thought.

Alison cleared her throat, shutting off the faucet. She willed her insides to stop wiggling about as she set the last bowl in the rack. Perhaps she would turn around and discover that Kurt had not been there all along, and her mind—not for the first time—had made it all up. However, upon turning, Kurt stood just beyond the doorway. Alison could see him tense as though he not expected her to turn at all. He opened his mouth, excuse at the ready, but Alison interrupted him. "I felt you looking at me," she blurted. Damn it. Kurt's mouth snapped shut as his eyes grew wide. Alison rubbed her bare arm, averting her gaze for a split second. "You got something to say?"

"… No. I mean…" His words seemed blurted as well. Kurt cleared his throat and clenched his jaw. "I put the clothes in the dryer," he said. "I made sure your clothes wasn't dry clean only."

Alison stepped forward, somewhat glad for the light topic change. Somewhat disappointed, too. "I stopped buying dry clean only," she told him with a shrug. "Having a baby dampens the need to feel slightly better than others." The comment earned her a slight tugging of the corner of her lips. Alison felt herself mirroring his show of humor. She moved again, heading towards the bedroom space. "The kids are down for the night. They shouldn't wake up until morning. I've cleaned any mess they left behind." She sat on the edge of the bed, turning expected eyes on him. He stared back at her, waiting for her point. "Let's talk about Randall Watts."

All humor fled from his expression. He sighed heavily as though a weight pressed down on his shoulders. Yes, Randall Watts was a massive weight. That monster had made Kurt a target. It was a scary notion considering his history. "He can't find out about you," Kurt ground out. "Or Naomi." Of course, Alison understood the dangers just fine. "He won't show mercy just because I used to run with them. And now that I know that he could be gunning for you on a personal level…"

"We'll figure this out," Alison echoed, hoping to reassure him again. "We just need to prepare our next step." She tilted her head, urging him to come towards her. Kurt awkwardly remained where he stood. Mildly annoyed, Alison patted the space beside her, a bit harsher than intended. But Kurt caught the message. He visibly swallowed before making his way over. Alison moved her hand, and then he stiffly sat down next to her. Refusing eye contact. Instead, he stared down at the floor. She decided to ignore his palpable discomfort for now. There were other important factors to discuss. "Tell me about him. What are his methods? How does he plan to go after someone?"

"Shouldn't you know?" Kurt questioned.

"I have intimate knowledge of the evidence—real and circumstantial," Alison admitted. "But you lived through it. You watched it all unfold. You can give me insight so we won't have to worry about hindsight." After a few quiet moments, Kurt released another sigh. Alison patiently waited a few moments more for him to compose himself. Steel himself to look back at his past. Alison forced herself not to hold his hand.

"Randall is… ruthless," Kurt began. "Once he sets his sights on something, he's gonna follow through. But he's… He was always so nonchalant about his brutality. He never showed any type of remorse. He never lost his composure… outwardly. But everyone knew when he was pissed. He… He would send out five guys or more to take you." He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. Alison had to wonder if he recalled when Calvin had come for him. "He'd make sure you were alone when it happened, so they would be no chance to escape. He'd have you brought before the entire Brotherhood… and then rip you apart."

"He ripped apart his victims?" Alison had not known about that. Nothing in the evidence indicated that horrifying tidbit. Sure, Randall had a long list of crimes, but that type of violence… It was surprising to hear. In terms of violence, it had only been assault—not homicide. But according to Kurt's account, he had gotten away with murder.

"No, he personally didn't do it," Kurt responded. "No, he'd just beat them until they begged for mercy. Then he would have someone else rip them apart. Tie them to separate vehicles, and then have the vehicles drive in different directions. One time, he used five vehicles."

"Jesus Christ…" Alison said, breath nearly straining. "How is it that this never came up in court?"

"The body… parts were burned, and then buried. I don't know where. He always took care of that part himself," Kurt explained. "Besides, no one would care if a skinhead went missing."

"… Are… Are you saying that his murdered victims were…"

"Us," he filled in. "Yeah… If you displeased him in any way, you died. What's worse… your closest friend in The Brotherhood had to be involved with your dismemberment. So that we'd learn from their mistake." Kurt shook his head. "Some twisted version of survival of the fittest. Everyone feared him, but… he had the respect."

"That's insane, Kurt," Alison remarked.

"It was rare, but normal. If you didn't do right by him—by The Brotherhood—then you were punished," he replied.

"That's not normal. That's indoctrination." Finally, he turned his eyes her way. Alison could see that he understood that. He had understood too late, though. Alison frowned deeply. "I… I almost wish that I hadn't stopped you from leaving." Imagining Kurt being taken for that type of fate caused a painful clench of her stomach and heart. She would be an absolute wreck if it truly happened. "Like I said, you can' t stay here. He can't find you. I won't let that happen."

"Where am I supposed to go? Motels? That won't keep me safe." Kurt clenched his teeth. "I'd rather take the fight to him."

"Not without a plan," Alison insisted. "It's clear to me that we have to move you—buy us some time. And no, I didn't mean motels. Don't be stupid. You're coming to live me—us—until we have a permanent solution for this monster." Clearly thrown by the suggestion—no, not a suggestion; it was fact—Kurt merely stared at her, lips parted in befuddlement. "He wouldn't think to come looking for you at my home. It's a convenient setup."

"He's gonna be after you, too," he pointed out.

"Maybe… but I have protection," Alison said. Kurt furrowed his brow. "He might want to get his hands on the one that sent him to jail, but he won't be able to." A short sigh left her then. Honestly, she raged against this certain protection, but in this case, it helped immensely. "I had always wondered… why I had been allowed to send so many monsters to prison with little consequence. I mean, I didn't care, so I never bothered to find out, but the question remained. I only found out the reason two years ago." She squeezed her eyes shut, hesitating on revealing such a thing, but knowing she had to now. "… As a favor to my mother, I am under the protection of Kai Proctor."

"What?" Kurt raised his voice. Alison lowered her head, feeling the shame creep in. "What? Alison, how-? Your mother?"

"Years before my parents met, my mother knew Proctor," Alison stated. She swallowed hard. Two years later, and the truth still shook her mind. "She… helped him build his criminal empire. They were partners."

"… Partners?" Kurt repeated quietly.

"He…" Alison licked her lips. "He could have been my father." Kurt did not have a response to that, so he kept quiet. She was almost grateful for his silence. "Because of that, he saved me that night at the CADI. But he helped me way before then. I was so messed up when I sixteen that I couldn't even remember his presence when my mom dragged me out of the house."

"Alison…" He knew exactly what she had been referring to. So much sympathy and distress on her behalf. The way Kurt said her name almost made a sob come from, but it lodged in her throat. She had already been over this. She had already accepted. Her mother had been a criminal. She had come to terms with that. Alison squeezed her eyes shut again, knuckles pressed firmly to the top of her thighs. "Proctor was there?"

"He had the Taser," she whispered. She sucked in a breath and released it in a shudder. "But that-that was just the first time. He covered up what happened with that little boy. He was the one to pay my tuition. He made sure that my wins in court never came back to hurt me. All for my mother."

"Wh-Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was wrecked, Kurt," Alison said, lifting her gaze to his. "I lost my sense of self. I was devastated that everything I thought I knew was a lie. I mean, Proctor took part in reforming me. I was ashamed of my association."

"Be… Before Camp Genoa—that's why you... You found out," Kurt realized. Alison nodded her head. "Something like that, I can only assume he told you himself."

"Yeah, he did," she stated. "So damn persistent about it, too. He wouldn't stop hounding me about forming a relationship like mother wanted. Had to change my phone number because of him." Kurt jolted then. Barely noticeable but there. He stared at her as though seeing her in a new light. Alison could not discern if the light was brighter or dimmer. A sense of unease slithered within her, realizing that Kurt could see her as another one of Proctor's many corrupted officials. "I never gave him the time of day," she assured him. "He wanted a relationship—not me. I didn't… I-" She had almost made a deal with the devil. Instead, it had been the devil's niece. "I don't owe him anything."

"…" Still, Kurt remained silent as though he was processing everything. He blinked rapidly, eyes still focused on her. Then, he finally relaxed. His entire self. It was… strange, in a way. Alison was not sure the reason for it. But he did not seem wary of the connection. "That… That explains a lot, actually," Kurt eventually remarked. Alison pursed her lips. "But you did disappear for a while. How do you know he still owes your mother?"

"I don't," she admitted. "Tomorrow, I'll make some calls. The first one will be to whoever cut Randall Watts sentence without notifying the prosecutor that put him away. Then, I'll-" She sighed. "-reach out to Proctor to confirm. But I'm pretty sure it's a lifetime debt." Kurt made a small noise of inquiry. "He's helped too many times for it to be paid in full," Alison supplied. "I would rather you not be by yourself. Regardless of having that type of protection or not, I'd feel better knowing you're staying with me."

"Why?"

Such a simple question. With a weighted answer. Or perhaps it was backwards. A heavy question with a very simple answer. Of course, many things could be said in response to the inquiry. Because it's the best course of action. Because you shouldn't be alone. Because you're always welcomed. All true, but lacking. Not heavy enough. Not simple enough. Truthfully, the answer was both. Deep inside, she knew the words. But to say them now…? Alison shifted her line of sight to her lap. She breathed in slowly and held it. Then she reached for his hand. Kurt did not tense or recoil because of the touch. Alison released the breath she held as she returned her gaze to his eyes. His stare was predictably piercing and intense. She did not turn away again.

"Because we're partners," Alison said. She squeezed his hand and tilted her head to side. "Or am I wrong?"

"Partners…" Kurt echoed, tone different from the last time he had said it. Less unsure, more thoughtful. Then he curled his fingers around her hand in return. A burst of warmth shot through her because of the reciprocation. "Yeah. Partners."

0-0

With perfectly clarity, Calvin Bunker could recall the times he had felt genuine excitement. Despite how well his life had gone—it could be better—there were only a few instances where the excitement had been so pure. His first rally. His first kiss with Maggie. Securing his leadership. The birth of his son. All those things had made him literally tremble. Pure, unadulterated excitement. Not that he selfishly expected these moments to come frequently—he had many roles to play, after all. Some true and some false. Moments such as those tended to come suddenly and infrequently. Still, he reveled in them each time. Now, he felt it again. It had been too long since the last time. The anticipation of it felt like a drug flooding through his veins.

Calvin breathed in deeply before throwing back a shot of vodka. Liquid courage, some called it. For him, it was a calming agent. He needed to be calm about this. Not because he was nervous. Far from that. He was not some little kid about to throw a tantrum. He was the leader—had been leader for years. He should not have let things get this far. Taking orders from a caged person. Might as well have been a useless cripple. Calvin should have left him behind. Had he known Watts would turn so soft, he would have. In hindsight, maybe the only reason he had chosen to continue following orders had been because of his marriage. But that was not getting in the way anymore.

Corner of his lips curling upward, he eyed his beautiful blonde wife as she dutifully poured him another shot. Catching his stare, she smiled back at him. His marriage. Maybe on a subconscious level, he had believed it to be holding him back. In truth, he had been holding himself back. Maybe if he had shared his innermost thoughts sooner to his wife, she would have backed him in this from the start, and she would not have invited him back into their lives. God, he had been pissed when he walked into his own living room and discovered Randall in his favorite chair. So smug while he had downed a cold beer. Calvin hadn't always despised Randall's presence.

It had been a gradual thing. First, it had been compliments—little nods of approval. Then, the coaching—telling him what could be improved. Then, the snide comments. Then, the complaints. Then, the disrespect. Calvin hadn't noticed it right way, truth be told. It all seemed sprinkled on top of the giant jumps in rank. After his marriage to Maggie, they were no longer sprinkles. Again, he hadn't thought anything of it. All fathers must have a level of hostility upon giving their daughter away to another man. But Randall's behavior had only descended into complete animosity. Who knew the reason why other than Randall? Calvin no longer cared for the reason. Things were going to be different from now on. He was the leader. And he would have the power to change things.

The sound of footsteps interrupted the quiet ambiance of the basement. Both Calvin and Maggie slowly shifted their attention to the doorway that led to the stairs. Heavy footsteps indicated none other than Randall Watts. The smile on his wife's face dimmed a bit, probably at what was to come. But they both had formed resolve about the situation. Finally, her father made it to the bottom. The basement wasn't exactly well-lit, and so the man squinted at them over at the makeshift bar. Then he chuckled at the sight.

"Lights off everywhere else except the basement," Randall began, appearing amused. "Hell, I half-expected to catch you two necking again. But that'd be too much to ask for." Calvin felt his eye switch. The snide comments. The man could not hold a conversation with him without them. Randall tilted his head in his daughter's direction. "You make me one, Magpie?" The question made his wife tense behind the bar. Maggie glanced at him for half a second, but it had been enough to see Calvin's nod. Let the man have his drink. It just might be his last.

"Daddy, Calvin has something to tell you," Maggie mentioned as she turned to grab one of the many bottles on the shelf behind her. A dark liquor—one of his favorites. Of course, she would know exactly what to serve him. "Please have a seat." She turned back around, bottle in hand, and gestured to the chair underneath the single lightbulb.

"Does he now?" Randall questioned, amusement growing. Still, he obliged his daughter's request and sat down. "One would think he had enough to say tonight." Again, Calvin's eye twitched. He had been referring to their mild confrontation at the rally. In front of everyone—though not many had been paying attention—he had condescendingly put down Calvin's opinions. Any word spoken had been brushed aside. Once again, Randall had compared Calvin to his brother. Then had the nerve to imply he would rather have Kurt for a son-in-law. Infuriating. Calvin squeezed his glass harder than necessary. "Well, let's hear it, boy."

Calvin did not twitch again, but he noticed the way Maggie had as she poured her father a drink. Her lips twitched, pursing into thin lines. She reacted that way on his behalf. She was starting to see the disrespect he had faced on the regular. Something inside liked his wife's quiet fury. Maggie carefully walked towards her father, fingers curled around the glass. Her flats barely made a sound on the grey tarp. She handed the glass to her father before moving back behind the bar. Randall, already sloshed, did not notice anything out of the ordinary as he swirled the pieces of ice in his drink.

Calvin breathed in deeply before releasing it slowly. He set his own glass down on the bar, and then slid off the barstool. Facing Randall, he watched the man take a sip of his drink. Funny. He did not seem so intimidating now. This former leader did not seem like the future he had once claimed. No. His time had passed. It was time for the next generation to take the reins, and lead them all out of his hole Randall had put them in for his own selfish indulgences. He had had the nerve to talk about commitment and family whilst being an errand boy for Proctor. Whilst turning the entire Brotherhood into mere thugs. Calvin could not allow it.

"I want you outta here," he began. Randall looked up from his drink. His expression did not change. Like the words did not enter his brain at all. "This is my house—my Brotherhood—and you are not welcome. You are going to leave. You are not going to disturb my business or me. You will fade into the background. These are your orders." For a moment, there was nothing but the faint sound of his heart in his chest. His blood throbbed in his ears, but Calvin did not look away. He could not dare falter. Then the silence ended like a blade had cut through. The blade belonged to Randall. He snickered. Like it was all a big joke.

"That's cute," Randall said. Maggie sucked in an offended breath. His blue eyes only glanced in his daughter's direction. "You're sounding a little bit more like your brother. But… It's a little late to grow a pair." Calvin released a deep sigh. Randall ignored it. "Now, how about you just shut the fuck up and-"

"Daddy…!" Maggie's sharp interruption nearly sounded like a clap of thunder. It startled Randall so much that he flinched. His eyes focused on his daughter, clearly surprised by her outburst. "You're listening but you're hearing him." It only took a few seconds for him to compose himself. He let out another snicker.

"You're wrong, Magpie," he told her. "I'm not listening to him either." A grin spread across his face then, fully unconcerned. "You know I don't listen to boys with vaginas, thinking they're real men." That had been the last straw for Maggie. She quickly moved from behind the bar, taking short, but powerful strides in her father's direction. Before he could react, she backhanded her father across the face. Calvin could not help the urge to grab his wife by the back of the neck and give her a bruising kiss for her loyalty. "What the fuck are you-?!"

Maggie took advantage of his shock, pulling the ice pick from her back pocket and jamming it into the side of his neck. The single strike from the improvised weapon would not do the job but it succeeded in paralyzing Randall. Slacking in the chair, he stared wide-eyed at his daughter. The glass fell from his grip. The contents spilled on the tarp. Blood slid down the man's neck, staining his shirt. Calvin chose to step forward. "I gave you fair warning," he began. Randall's panicked eyes darted in his direction. His mouth opened and closed, but only strained breathing managed to escape pass his lips. He wheezed before choking on his pooling blood. Calvin slowly smirked as his wife step backwards until she stood by his side. "But I admit I expected this outcome." He shook his head as though disappointed. "You just can't help but disrespect your leader, so you have to be punished. The hard way."

"M-M-Mag…" Randall weakly lifted his arm. It appeared it took most of his effort to do so. The corner of his eyes welled with excess liquid. His wife, however, remained unfeeling to the sight in front of her. "M-Ma-Mag-Maggie…" She blinked slowly, and then, without turning away from her father, handed Calvin the ice pick. "Y-Y-You…" Calvin circled the dying man, coming to a stop at his back.

"There cannot be two leaders in our faction," Maggie said, voice devoid of shame. "And isn't this like you always told me, daddy?" Calvin clamped his free hand around Randall's shoulder, holding him in place. Not that he put up much of a fight. "Survival of the fittest. That's what you said as you strangled my mother for miscarrying your son. That's what you say when you force our brothers to rip apart their brothers. So… Think of this as survival. Two leaders—one more fit than the other. I'm sure you realize which of you will survive."

"It's me," Calvin supplied, a whisper against Randall's cheek. "I'll survive long after you. I will be the one to bring the Aryan Revolution. Not you and your fucking get rich quick scheme. Money doesn't equal power. Power equals power." Slowly, he pushed the ice pick into the back of Randall's neck. He cried out, but it was as weak as his flailing. The squelching and tearing of his skin was almost like music. "Too bad you won't be able to see what that really means." Calvin sharply yanked the pick out and pushed Randall to the floor. Releasing a shuddering breath, he looked towards his wife. "Tell me I'm the leader," he ordered.

"You are the leader," she replied without hesitance, staring back at him.

"Tell me I'm in charge," Calvin said, beginning to strip down.

"You're in charge," Maggie stated, mirroring his movements to take off her clothes.

"… Tell me I am The Brotherhood."

They stood opposite of one another, completely naked like Adam and Eve. His smirk widened into a smug smile. His wife, beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on her bare flesh, curled her lips. Like she was prouder than ever. Maggie lowered herself and, never taking her eyes off him, began maneuvering her father's body spread eagle. She cocked her head to the side. Calvin responded by turning to grab the power saw. He turned back around and stepped over Randall's extended arm. Like his wife, he lowered himself to his knees, positioning the power saw just right. Maggie grabbed his free hand, holding on tightly.

"You are The Brotherhood. And you will bring about the greatest change," she said. "There's nothing holding you back now."

"Right. Not fucking Proctor. Not Randall fucking Watts. Nothing will stand in my way anymore," Calvin stated. "The revolution begins now." He switched on the power saw. Maggie smiled but her eyes were alight with exhilaration as though she had been waiting for this her entire life. The whirring blade came down.

And the blood spattered across their skin.

0-0

Originally, there was supposed to be more for this chapter, but I'll save it for next. Fear not, this does not change the 30 chapters limit... hopefully. For those who are essential workers, like me, stay safe out there. Those of you in quarantine, I hope this relieved some of your boredom. I'll see you in the next chapter, peace!