Kurt could not contain his good mood. Hours into his shift, on a Sunday, and he felt another smile threaten to overtake his face. Billy, of course, noticed the change and sat across from him, sourly glaring in his direction. The only details Kurt had given for his good mood had been 'we worked it out,' hence the glare. They were friends—and he could think it so easily now—but he would not be sharing intimate details with Billy. Ever. They were private moments between himself and Alison alone. He predicted many more private moments. Like their shared shower this morning—one that almost made him not want to come to work at all. Or the goodbye kisses at the backdoor. Christ. If Alison had not insisted on him going to work…

Clearing this throat, Kurt focused on the computer in front of him. He had been attempting to finish this report for the better part of an hour now. The closer his shift's end came, the more his mind wandered. For the first time in a long time, he felt eager to leave work. After all, he would not be returning to an empty home. He would be returning to his family. It was more than he could ever wish for. Honestly, he had not thought he would be so content with his life again. He no longer stewed in his own uncertainty. He had family. He had friends—a best friend. Last night—or early this morning—it had felt as though his life had shifted back on course. Finally, he felt happy again. Happier than he had any business being.

Therefore, he should have expected what came next.

Finally, Kurt approached a stopping point. Just a few lines more and he could save his report before heading to break. Alison said she would call on his last break. Naomi had been napping on his lunch. Around this time, she and Alison should be at the park closest to home. He had never had the chance to talk on the phone with his daughter. Lack of opportunity, he supposed. Now, things were different. Now, he could talk to his family on his breaks like the other fathers on the job. He could hardly wait.

Just as he saved the document, he noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye. It was a Sunday. Normally, there was no need for urgency on a leisure day like this. However, someone was approaching quickly and steadfast in their footsteps. The almost rapid movement caught his attention and he glanced up from the computer screen. To his utter surprise, he realized that Maggie Bunker powerwalked towards his desk. Face contorted with emotion he had never seen on her face, his sister-in-law practically dragged her son behind her. Privately, he thought he would not see her—or Hank—again, especially so soon after the last meeting with the woman. Therefore, her presence here was rightfully baffling. Kurt stood from his seat. With only a couple of strides in her direction, he met her in practically the center of the station.

"Maggie, what are you-"

Somehow, he heard the clap of her palm striking his face before he comprehended the sting. A unique hush fell over the station as Kurt froze in place. Blankly, his gaze aimed towards the floor as his mind slowly processed what had happened. Then the pain came. It had not only been palm against cheek. Maggie had curled her fingers and dug her nails into his skin. He could feel the angry red lines on his face because they stung worse than the skin around them. All too soon, he remembered that this woman was his enemy. Confusion bled into anger as his fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. Slowly, he returned his focus on the equally, if not more, irate woman in front of him. She glared back, lowering the hand that slapped him.

"You son of a bitch…!" Maggie hissed in a whisper. "After all we've done, you have the nerve to betray us like this!" Betray…? She had a lot of fucking nerve. "I take care of you, treat you nicely, and give you ample opportunity to return to us—to return to your brother… Calvin and I even made it so that my father will not come after you! But, here you are, allowing your disgusting habits taint my son!" At the mention of Hank, Kurt shifted his line of sight to his nephew. Hank did not return the look. In fact, eyes remained on the floor. Even with his hand held by his mother, the boy seemed to curl in on himself. Still, even with his eyes firmly focused on the floor, Kurt saw the dark mark on his cheek. Bruised.

The sight greatly alarmed him. Someone had hit his nephew. Any concern for himself faded and doubled for Hank. "What happened-?" Kurt blurted only to receive another smack to his face. The same cheek. Double the sting. More than likely, he would bruise. "Maggie-!" He stepped towards her, fingers itching to lash out at her in return. He would never so maliciously strike a woman but the urge to grab her and give a good shaking never felt so intense.

However, Maggie did not bat an eyelash. She neither faltered nor backed down. Her cold green eyes continued shooting poison fury. Despite the rising ire, Kurt had to wonder what he had done to trigger this type of reaction. She had been indifferent to him the last time they met. Borderline impolite. Now, her behavior was openly hostile. In the middle of a police station. She did not care who witnessed this altercation because, apparently, Kurt was in the wrong.

"Don't you dare look at him!" Maggie raised her voice. "You think I wouldn't find out?!" Kurt felt his face twist in confusion. He still did not understand why Maggie showed such rage. "I can't believe Calvin wanted you back so bad! You're a joke. A pathetic sick joke!" Anger and disgust in equal measure distorted her normally pleasant expression. Whatever he had done had clearly drawn hatred from his sister-in-law. "Calvin is not going to forgive you. And I almost wish daddy was still around to know just how far you've fallen from the position of his golden boy."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kurt asked through clenched teeth. She had yet to reveal what exactly had caused her frustration. And what had she meant by still around? Had something happened to Randall Watts? Did Maggie think he did something to her father? Too many questions and not one answer given yet. "Tell me what happened!" Maggie tensed further, looking even more livid. "And, I swear if you hit me again, I will lock you up right now!" The threat did little in pacifying the woman. She gritted her teeth before she opened her mouth in a snarl.

"It's bad enough that you became a traitor to your family so repulsively," Maggie said. "But to raise your half-breed spawn alongside Hank?! It's unforgivable! I'll make sure…" Kurt stopped listening. The hot anger had been replaced with cold comprehension. She knew. Somehow, she had found out about Naomi. His daughter. She knew, which meant Calvin knew. Which meant The Brotherhood knew. The realization knocked the breath from his lungs. As Maggie continued to berate him—rant and rave like only a justified mother could—Kurt only stood there, mind rapidly going through the horrible consequence of the reveal. Out of anyone, the secret was known to the worst possible.

Fortunately, the tirade ended because Billy approached the two. He raised a placating hand towards Maggie. The woman only sneered. Billy politely requested her to leave, emphasizing the threat of arrest because she had struck a deputy. The man's hand lifted and clamped down on Kurt's shoulder. The gesture served in grounding Kurt, and he could breathe easier. Maggie scoffed lightly, not bothering to soften her gaze. She glanced at the hand on his shoulder. Then spiteful eyes returned to Kurt. Even though a horde of his worst feelings welled, he stoically stared back at his sister-in-law. The woman that had been manipulating him for so long… Her actions, her words, her threats, cemented her as the enemy. He truly could not see her as anything but now.

"What you've done, Kurt…" Maggie said. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "I hope it was worth it." With that said, the woman turned on her heel, practically yanking Hank to keep up with her strides. The boy only looked back once, a deep frown on his face. Another glimpse of his bruised face before he focused on keeping up with his mother. Their departure only granted a few moments of silence. Then Kurt's coworkers crowded him, demanding to know if it had been true. Do you really have a kid? How long has this been a thing? What did she mean by half-breed? Are you married, too?! Billy attempted to urge them away all the while asking if Kurt was okay. However, it was all white noise. Compared to what it meant, nothing happening in the now mattered.

Eventually, Billy ordered the rest of their coworkers to get back to work. As a senior deputy, he had the authority. So did Kurt but he could not break from the loop inside his mind. They know. They know. They know. Billy led him to a quieter part of the station—an interrogation room. "Are you okay, Bunk?" he asked. Kurt nearly scoffed. "Yeah, I guess that was a bad question. She got you pretty good. Who was that? Somebody you used to run with?" Kurt lowered his gaze to the floor. Run with…? He had not thought so before. Maggie had seemingly stayed away from the way of life. However, with all those words she spouted, calling him a traitor, she seemed just as radical as her husband.

"My… She's Calvin's wife," Kurt said.

"From the way you described her, I didn't think she would be your brother's wife," Billy remarked, furrowing his brow. Kurt had mentioned Maggie a few times in passing. Since he talked about Hank, obviously the woman would come up. Christ. It had only been a day—not even twenty-four hours—since his entire perception changed about the woman he called sister-in-law. "She was threatening you, Bunk! She did more than that…" It wasn't himself he worried about.

"I…" The single word clogged his throat. He couldn't think straight. His heart throbbed painfully within his chest. It felt as though a block of cement pressed down on his chest, pinning him in place. Unable to move. Unable to breathe properly. Kurt clenched his teeth. He needed to calm himself. He knew he needed to calm himself. Otherwise, he would remained stuck in a loop of what-ifs. He could not afford what-ifs right now. Kurt forced himself to exhale. It came out sharp and raggedy. "I… um… Can you get me a first-aid kit?" he asked. His voice, fortunately, did not tremble as much as his guts.

"Yeah… Yeah, Bunk," Billy told him. He almost seemed just as uneasy about this development. "Just wait here."

Kurt nodded his head. His friend and coworker pursed his lips before returning the nod. Then he left him alone in the interrogation room. Kurt swallowed with difficulty as he shut his eyes. His clasped his hands together, fingertips digging into his skin. He needed to sift through all the what-ifs and come up with what truly came next. Maggie knew. She had come, in anger, to tell him that. Clearly, her emotions had gotten the better of her. However, Maggie was not known for going off the rails. Well, Kurt could no longer confidently say he knew her. Now, he could not say what she might be capable of. She had been putting up a good façade for him this whole time. Sure, her emotions could have gotten the better of her but why would she react so blatantly? What could she possibly gain from that…?

Then a thought struck him. What if there had been nothing to gain? What if her behavior meant confidence? Because she had already retaliated? Kurt replayed the confrontation in his mind, hoping to find some hint. I hope it was worth it, she had said. Softly. Menacingly. Undoubtedly. "Fuck…!" Kurt immediately dug into the pocket of his pants, fingers curling hard around his cell phone. Only when he was in the midst of scrolling through contacts did he realize his hand shook. Kurt found Alison's contact—it had been changed to My Goddess—and pressed to dial her number.

It only rang a few times but each drone in his ear made him twitch. Finally, Kurt heard the line pick up. There was a pause on the other end, which only made his heart twitch out of tempo. Then, fortunately, Alison answered. "Hey," she greeted. Her voice sounded casual. Light even. Kurt found himself relaxing. For just a few seconds, he forgot his urgency in calling her. She was fine, which meant Naomi was fine. Everything was fine. For now. "Kurt…? What's going on?"

"Where are you?" he asked, tension coming back. "Still at the park?"

"Yes," Alison replied.

"And Naomi is-?"

"Naomi is fine. What's wrong, Kurt?"

"… They know," he whispered. "They know about Naomi." Silence was her response. Still, she must have realized who they meant. Kurt shut his eyes, feeling his throat compress. "Alison… I-I need you-"

"We're on our way," Alison cut in, already knowing before he could put it into words. "We'll be there soon."

0-0

Maggie Bunker could have laughed at the sight in front of her. She, along with her son, sat at a table in an ice cream parlor just across the street from the police station. Their position was just inconspicuous enough to not be seen. However, she had a perfect view of the entrance to the station. Not even half way through eating her cup of ice cream, she had managed to spot the expected. Causing a scene as she had, Maggie had known Kurt would contact the mother of his half-breed. The eldest Bunker was so predictable. Whisper a few taunts and subtle threats and he would scramble to protect. React too hastily without truly thinking of the consequence. He would always have that mentality. It worked in her favor, though. It made her machinations that much easier.

Still, it was quite the unbelievable sight. Green eyes narrowed as she watched a mother and child leave a parked car. She immediately recognized the little girl, having had studied the images on her son's tablet. She had to make sure she would be able to pick her out in a crowd. To her surprise, she had recognized the woman as well. It had not been that long since the first time she had laid eyes on the woman. It probably should have clicked earlier but Maggie did not have a habit of remembering the faces of random niggers. This one in particular stood out because of the initial encounter. She had been the one to open Kurt's door. He had passed her off as an associate from work. In hindsight, it was clear to Maggie that the woman had not been over for business. She could have laughed about this situation. However, any mirth was overshadowed by such unbridled revulsion.

Of all the women he could have stuck his dick in, Kurt had chosen the darkest of the lot. No wonder he had practically thrown herself away. Maggie and this other woman could not be any more different if they tried. While she was light and beautiful, Kurt's baby momma—a slight huff exited her mouth at the thought—was dark and ugly. What had he seen in her? It could not have been for her looks. Clearly, the eldest Bunker had peculiar tastes. Or had Kurt really been so desperate for a fuck? Had she been desperate, too? That was rich. Two desperate, lonely people managed to settle for each other. That managed to soothe Maggie's pride a bit. Honestly, any man choosing another, less than, woman over her was too farfetched. In the back of her mind, she had always wondered.

Nevertheless, she had received the information she wanted with not much fuss. The identity of Kurt's dirty secret. It should not be too hard to find a name. Maggie already knew the woman's profession. They had put on quite a show before, hadn't they? Colleague from work. She should have seen pass the feeble lie. But the thought of them together had been impossible. At the time. Maggie frowned around the spoonful of ice cream. She swallowed the treat, gaze intense as the two entered the precinct. She would use this to do away with him. Bad enough he had fucked someone like her. Oh no, he had to take it a step further by raising—actually raising—the product of the revolting union. Then he had tried to integrate her son with his filthy daughter. He had humiliated The Brotherhood to such a degree, and it was time Kurt paid for it. Maggie bit down on the plastic pink spoon in her mouth. It snapped under the pressure.

"… Mom…" The timid voice of her son snapped Maggie out of her vicious thoughts. She pried her gaze away from the window and focused on her. He stared back her, hesitant yet clearly concerned. Her darling boy would always show concern for her. Love her unconditionally. Even now, Maggie felt the guilt of striking him. The bruise on his cheek was a painful reminder of her misstep. She would regret it for years. As far as she was concerned, the unfortunate smack—harder than she had believed—had been Kurt's fault. She would have never hit her child had it not been for her husband's brother poisoning the well.

Maggie carefully pulled the plastic from her mouth, and then dropped it into the cup of half-finished treat. "I'm fine, Hank," she assured her son. A soft sigh let her mouth. "Finish your ice cream and we'll go to the store." Hank slowly nodded his head before returning his attention back to the ice cream in front of him. Maggie frowned deeply, watching her son. Normally, he would be enthusiastic about the impromptu snack. Now, he lazily swirled the vanilla ice cream, with extra sprinkles, in the bowl. As though uninterested. Only his hand and elbow kept his head propped up. It was a strange sight for her typically energetic boy. "Afterwards, let's go picked out a new toy," Maggie cooed. "I know you want a new basketball."

"Okay…" Hank mumbled, not lifting his eyes from his mostly uneaten snack.

Maggie frowned again.

0-0

Walking on thin ice was a surreal experience. Alison had only had the displeasure once in her life. On the coldest day of the year, there had been a frozen lake near her college dorm. She had foolishly taken on a dare to walk across that lake. Fortunately, the ice had only cracked under her weight. However, the gripping anxiousness of taking a single misstep and plunging into icy depths stayed with her for the rest of that winter. She would never forget the feeling of putting too much pressure on the surface. The feeling of putting her life on the line for her pride. The feeling her of heart lurching with each crack in the ice.

Alison never thought she would have that experience again. Yet here she was. Somehow, the same coldness seeped into her bones as she opened the door to Banshee Sheriff's Department. During the short drive, only one thought plagued her mind. They know. Kurt had not needed to explain the statement. Alison instinctively knew what the words meant. She had not needed to decipher the distress in Kurt's voice. She had not needed to hear the tremor through the phone. The fear had been put back into him—into the both of them. Again. He needed comfort. Assurance. Action. Hell, she needed it, too. Therefore, without hesitation, Alison ended playtime at the park and drove faster than necessary. Playing pretend had been nice while it lasted. Now, it was time to face what came next.

With her hand wrapped securely around Naomi's smaller hand, Alison strode forward. Her eyes immediately began searching for Kurt. Unaware of the reason behind the change of location, Naomi made awed noises as she examined her surroundings. She pointed at a man dressed in uniform. "Dah!" she exclaimed. She, of course, pointed at another man, recognizing the uniform. "Dah! Like Dabun!"

"That's right," Alison replied, distractedly. Most of her searched for the man in question. There weren't many uniforms around. Kurt had told her how Sundays were the tamest of the workweek, so the lack of bodies was not surprising. However, she could not find him. "Just like daddy." As she searched, the echoing repetitive thought of They know transformed into How? How could they have found out? Gossip, maybe? An individual could have been suspicious of Kurt picking up their daughter from the start. They could have formed their own theories, choosing not to believe the police escort story. Alison nervously chewed her lip. She supposed the how part did not truly matter. Still, wondering was a welcoming distraction. Otherwise, she was sure her thoughts might spiral out of control with what happens now.

"Alison…!" A surprised voice caught her attention. Alison shifted her attention to the right. At the front desk, Deva Hopewell stared with wide eyes. Clearly, her appearance had been unexpected. "Why are you here?"

"Good to see you, too, Deva," Alison returned, feet taking her towards the desk. Gordon, or maybe it had been Carrie, had previously told her that their daughter worked some weekends at BSD, partly to spend time with her biological father. Mostly for the experience. She was a young woman now, no longer looking the part of rebellious teenager. She seemed to have lost her penchant for coloring her hair. Her natural hair—cut short—made her resemble her mother quite a bit. "How's your bio-dad?"

"Busy as always," Deva huffed a bit, gesturing with a wave of her hand towards the Sheriff's office. "Something happened while I was in the restroom, and now he's locked in his office with the Nazi-cop and Brock." Then her gaze darted downward. Both eyebrows rose. "Huh. Cute kid. You know, I almost didn't believe dad when he told me you went and got preggers. Need a babysitter?"

"I'm shocked you're taking initiative," Alison remarked.

"I realized I like money," Deva replied, shrugging.

"Hm. Hopefully, not like your mom."

"Haha! I forgot how funny you were!" Deva said, voice spilling with sarcasm. She tilted her head and gave a fake smile. Alison returned the smile with a fake one of her own. "Really, I'm great with kids, and this gig don't pay."

"I'll think about it," Alison told her. She pressed her lips together. Actually, it was not a bad idea. "Right now, I have other business to attend to, so let's do a trial run." Now that she had a location, she would not falter. The sooner she found out what had happened, the sooner they could plan around it. Perhaps allowing her daughter to sit in on such a serious conversation wasn't the best plan. "Take care of my daughter while I'm here."

"How much…?"

"Experience," Alison retorted. Deva clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. "She has an easy temperament, so as long as she has something to do, she won't fuss."

"Fine," Deva agreed. She walked from behind the desk and halted in front of them. The young woman squatted to meet Naomi's eyes. Alison watched as her daughter smiled brightly. Deva softened her expression and smiled back. "Hey, Nao-chan. Wanna find something to color?"

"Mm!" Naomi bobbed her head.

"Nao-chan…?" Alison repeated, arching a brow.

"Anime is all the rage now," Deva explained, standing to her full height. "I'm learning the language in my free time." Then she proved her claim by speaking in the foreign language. Alison could not understand the words at all. Deva grinned. Apparently, she liked the dazed expression. She then held out her hand and Alison passed Naomi's hand along. "It means… I'll take real good care of her."

"You'd better. I know where you live."

"I would hope my godmother knows where I live," Deva sassed as she walked away with Naomi in tow. Her daughter waved rapidly before her short legs picked up the pace to keep up with Deva's longer legs.

Snorting a bit, Alison shook her head, and then continued on her way. Interacting with Deva had been a welcomed distraction. She no longer felt as though she walked on thin ice. She swallowed a bit easier as she made her way up the stairs. However, as soon as she opened the door to the Sheriff's office, she lost the slight smile. As Deva had mentioned, there were three in the office. The Sheriff sat behind his desk with his Deputy Chief standing at his side. Kurt, who had been sitting, stood as she stepped into the office. Obviously, the conversation had halted because of her presence. However, Alison zoned in on Kurt. On his face rather. She saw the gauze pad fixed to his cheek and rationality completely fled. She walked forward, instincts driving her to lean against Kurt. Forehead pressed against his chest, she wrapped her arms around him.

Someone had hurt him. Someone had come to his job and hurt him. They know. They know. They know. Her throat constricted as she tried to force down a choppy breath. Alison had long since realized the threat of The Brotherhood. It had been a constant worry, in the corner of her mind, but seeing only a fraction done to Kurt—actually seeing it—made the threat that much more real. If they had the audacity to hurt him while surrounded by figures of law enforcement, then they had the capacity to do anything to continue hurting him. Physically and emotionally. They could come after Naomi and herself. They would have no qualms about it. It felt like the world was being ripped from her.

Then his arms secured themselves around her, causing Alison to relax. Easier breaths left her, though muffled, and the unwilling urge to cry faded before it truly formed. Kurt soothingly rubbed his hand up and down her back. His other hand cradled the back of her head. "I'm fine," he said. "It's just a scratch. I'm fine." The assuring words soothed her further. Alison pressed her lips together and then slowly reared back. "Where's-?"

"Downstairs. With Deva," Alison replied. She blinked twice, and then remembered why she had come here in the first place. Instead of waiting for his shift's end. "Are you alright? What do you need?" Her hands lifted to cup his face. Kurt shut his eyes and let out a deep, quiet breath as he leaned into her touch. She had sped here, wanting to comfort and assure him, and yet he had done so for her. Her turn now, she supposed. Admittedly, she had also come for an explanation, so that a real plan could be discussed. As much as it pained her to admit, last night had been a distraction to what they should have discussed at length. As pleasing as it had been, this morning had been quite the diversion as well. "What can we do?"

"I…" Kurt opened his eyes. Then shook his head. "I don't know yet. I just-"

Someone loudly, and obnoxiously, cleared his throat. Alison blinked, and then turned her head, eyes focusing on the Sheriff. Ah. She had forgotten propriety. Lucas Hood stared back at her, eye brows raised. However, he also wore an insufferable knowing smirk. The Deputy Chief Sheriff, Brock Lotus, on the other hand, stared with wide eyes and an opened mouth. He could only manage squeaks as his gaze darted back and forth from Kurt to Alison. Jesus Christ. Well, the most dangerous already knew, so this might as well happen. She dropped her hands from Kurt and completely faced the other two men. Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I know him better than you think," Alison echoed. Brock looked seconds away from clutching his pearls. She would have laughed had the situation been less dire. Deciding to ignore Brock's attempt at process this new information, she turned her attention to the Sheriff. "I assume the one who did this to your deputy has been charged."

"Not exactly," Lucas said. "Bunker didn't want to press charges."

"Why the hell not?" Alison questioned, glaring at the man in question. He pressed his lips together and lowered his line of sight to the floor. "Clearly, you needed some medical attention."

"She… She had Hank with her," Kurt said. "It was Maggie."

"Tell me what happened," Alison said, forcing herself not to gnash her teeth.

"I was just finished telling Sheriff Hood and Deputy Chief Sheriff Lotus about it," he told her. "But basically, Maggie came in and yelled at me for having a half-breed kid."

"Not that it matters anymore but did she say how she found out?" Alison questioned. "Because just yesterday, she didn't seem to have a clue."

"Besides all the name-calling, no," Kurt replied. His expression hardened somewhat. "I think it might have been Hank."

"Hank…?" Alison repeated skeptically. That boy had been tight-lipped for so long. She found it hard to believe he would finally mention Naomi to his parents. "I can only see him saying something about Naomi if specifically asked. What makes you think Hank told them?" To her surprise, Kurt glowered further, showing a certain anger that generally mixed seamlessly with his protective drive. Alison could recognize the distinction of his anger. "What is it?"

"Hank had a bruise on his face," Kurt said through clenched teeth.

The news hit like a wreck on her senses. Someone had hit Hank. One of his parents had hit him. For revealing his relationship with his own cousin? Jesus Christ. Alison had not anticipated such a thing. There had never been indicators. Essentially, Hank came from a healthy home. If one could ignore the racism, of course. More than that, though, Alison felt the same anger course through her. Kurt might as well told her Naomi had a bruise. The little tyke had wormed his way into her heart as though he was also family. Huh. She supposed this anger meant he was indeed family.

"You should have arrested her," Alison insisted.

"The way Bunker tells it…" Lucas spoke up. "The woman who assaulted him is his sister-in-law. There's a bit of a conflict of interest there." Alison shifted her glare to him. He was not fazed. "Not to mention, arresting the wife of one of the biggest threats to Banshee is an all-around bad idea. If we're not prepared to face the consequence."

"Better prepared than what you were a month ago," Alison retorted. Lucas narrowed his eyes, clearly not understanding. "I have removed the DA from office. His resignation will be official Monday." His mouth dropped open, and Alison felt immense satisfaction from it. "So, Sheriff," she continued, raising a brow. "Do your job without restraint. And I'll do mine. Without mercy." It was about this time that Brock came out of his interracial-induced coma. He pointed and sputtered, trying to form words. Alison scoffed. "If you're not going to contribute anything substantial to this conversation, then you can leave."

Brock blinked several times, mildly offended. "Well, excuse me for taking the time to wrap my head around something that is impossible," he retorted. "Side note: I now believe in magic and unicorns." Alison rolled her eyes. "If what you say is true, we might be able to arrest Calvin now."

"You have evidence of his crimes?" Alison questioned.

"Well… No, but Raven heard the conversation between Bunker and the Mrs," Brock explained. "He said she kept using language to describe Randall Watts as recently deceased. I figure if we follow his hunch and investigate if the guy's even missing-"

"Randall might be dead?" Kurt sounded stunned. Alison looked his way, noting the shock and relief on his face. She slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed in response. He released a shaky breath. "Good. One less problem to worry about." One less problem, sure, but it felt as though Watts had been just another cut head on a hydra. "Sir, I volunteer myself on this case."

"Bunker, you're way too close to the situation-" Brock protested.

"With all due respect, sir, my family is on the line," Kurt cut in.

"Yeah, and I'm still foaming at the mouth about that."

"And I'm the only one that should take down Calvin," Kurt went on as though Brock had not spoken. His focused lied on his Sheriff, who had been quiet throughout the exchange. "I know he won't stop until they pay for what he thinks is my sin. I can't let that happen." Lucas remained quiet for a few seconds more before sighing.

"I understand how you feel, Bunker, but… I've already seen this situation play out," he said. "It didn't work so well for the last guy. He retaliated, and then they retaliated. He lost his wife. His child. And his life. One of my best deputies lost against them. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Solemnly, Kurt nodded his head. His grip on her hand tightened. From the corner of her eye, Alison noticed that Brock tensed as well. She had to wonder what memory the Sheriff had invoked. He had seen the same situation…? "The family you're trying to keep from danger could end up in danger because of your actions."

"I…" Kurt faltered, pressing his lips together. Alison squeezed his hand, causing his hazel eyes to focus on her. She gave a slight nod of her head. Kurt took it as encouragement. He turned his line of sight back on his boss. "No disrespect to Deputy Yawners, but our situation isn't the same. It's been my goal to take down The Brotherhood for as long as I've been back home. My motivations might have changed over the years but my goal stays the same. They need to disappear. Not only for my family but also for the entirety of Banshee. I'm going to do it. I would like your approval, sir, but it's not necessary."

Alison stifled a smile, as well as the surge of want for the man. He had become steadfast in his decision again. Just one of the things that made him attractive. This time, things would be different. This time, she would stay by his side. In the end, they would stand the victors. She believed that. She had to believe it. Alison returned her attention back to the Sheriff. He appeared quite pensive. Then he sighed.

"Alright," Lucas conceded. Brock huffed lightly. "But anything you do, you run by me first, and I'll see about getting the resources you might need."

"Thank you, sir," Kurt replied, grateful.

"Fine," Brock grumbled, crossing his arms. He glanced outside the window, which overlooked the police desks. "Until this all blows over, they can stay at my place—your little girl and Alison."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Alison stated.

"Listen, ma'am, these guys won't be playing around," Brock said. "They might even know who you are already. The best thing would be to keep you and your daughter out of harm's way. Just until Bunker finds a way to take Calvin down."

"No," she said, firmly. Brock reared back, incredulous. "I'm staying with Kurt, and we will decide what to do with our daughter. Later. In private. Thank you for your input, though. Appreciate it." Her last sentence might have been a bit sarcastic. The Deputy Chief opened his mouth but Alison turned away. "We'll talk about what to do with Naomi when you get home, okay?" She had not forgotten about his earlier suggestion of keeping Naomi somewhere safe because the danger. The Brotherhood—Calvin—actually knowing was too dangerous to risk. However, a relocation to Brock's abode might be on the list of checking. They could not risk known associates. Kurt nodded his head in agreement. "We'll see you later." His pressed a kiss to his cheek, and she felt him lean into the gentle caress. Despite the situation at hand, his reaction made her smile.

"Seriously, am I the only one who didn't know about this?!" Brock indignantly questioned.

Alison sighed lightly before stepping away from Kurt. He had a couple more hours before his shift ended, which gave her plenty of time to make a few calls. She bit her lower lip as she exited the office. Narrowing her eyes, she rummaged through her purse to pull out her cell phone. As she walked down the stairs, she searched the internet for a particular number. A twenty-four hour hotline to start the process. Instead of going towards the desks, she veered off to the right to find a quiet place to make the first call. After several recordings, she managed to get a live person.

"Hi," Alison greeted. "I want to report suspicion of child abuse…"

0-0

Rebecca Bowman was not happy. Sundays were supposed to be easy. Laidback. Yet here she was at one of her Savoy locations, scrambling and frustrated. She had not been this frazzled since the beginnings of her extensive information network. About an hour ago, she had received word that the District Attorney resigned. That sniveling man should have remained in his position until she could completely groom the rest of the office into being minions. It would have meant no matter who took his position, her uncle and his work would not be disturbed. However, Mark Franklin had ruined that plan by disappearing. He had had enough sense to leave quietly. Had Rebecca gotten word of his plan, she would have made him beg for insolence. However, between Friday afternoon and Sunday morning, the man had made himself scarce. Obviously to avoid punishment.

Frowning deeply, Rebecca moved her fingers across her keyboard rapidly. Mark had been a pawn but he had been an important one. Had it been a year ago, she would have tracked him down. It would have been a simple matter to find him. Now, though, she focused on cleaning up the mess left behind. Inserting a replacement seemed to be the next course of action. It was proving to be difficult. Pawn though he might have been, she had relied too heavily on him. She had gotten arrogant in her control over one of the most powerful attorneys. Rebecca wondered how he had managed to slip from her grasp. No small thing would have him fleeing. He must have received a better offer. Or perhaps someone else had managed to dig their claws in? Still, she had been under the impression that only she had the means of making Mark jump.

A knock at the door startled Rebecca into flinching. Scowling now, she exhaled sharply through her nose. She recognized the polite knocking her of shadow and bid him entry to her office. Burton stepped in not a second later. As usual, his movements were quiet even as he shut the door behind him. Despite her earlier frustration, Rebecca felt the corner of her mouth quirk upward. The sight of him managed to ease her frustration. No matter the task, Burton remained efficient in his tasks. She could rely on him unconditionally. Also, she secretly loved when he wore the suits she picked out for him. Today, he wore a dark blue suit with a light grey shirt combo. His bowtie was deep red, perfectly matching the color of her nails.

"Burton," Rebecca greeted as he turned to face her. "What do you have for me?"

"Assistant District Attorney Alison Medding," he replied. The smile froze on Rebecca's face. Her fingers hovered over the laptop's keyboard. "I believe she has pushed him out of office."

"What makes you think so?"

"Your sources informed me," Burton replied. Of course, the man had access to her network. He rarely used it, preferring to perform his own research. Mostly because her dancers tended to avoid him unless absolutely necessary. And vice-versa. Over the years, Burton remained as passive as he had always been. However, he was probably the most perceptive of her and her uncle. He must have sensed her growing agitation and gotten the information as quickly as possible. His loyalty and dedication had extended to her. At least to some extent. It was touching, especially considering how they started. "Friday, Mark Franklin was in the middle of a conference call when it abruptly ended. The receptionist says she saw ADA Medding enter seconds before. After she left his office, Mark Franklin left in a hurry and did not return."

Rebecca leaned back in her chair, grimace contorting her expression. Her pursed her lips and shut her eyes. Alison Medding. Truthfully, she had thought the woman would be a problem. In the back of her mind, Rebecca had planned to counteract any ploy against her uncle. However, Alison had not gone after her uncle. Not directly. The woman must have discovered Mark's true role and found concrete evidence about it. But wouldn't that mean Mark's arrest? Not to mention her uncle… Perhaps, the woman did not have enough evidence. Doubtful. Alison Medding gave the impression of overkill. Still, Rebecca would have heard of her actions before now if she had gone through proper channels of arresting.

Humming lightly, Rebecca shifted. A single finger moving the cursor on her laptop's screen. She vaguely noted that Burton tilted his head to the side. However, most of her focus lied on bringing up footage from Mark's office. She had the small camera installed shortly after discovering his position. A precaution. Wouldn't want him leaving out important details of his case when reporting to her. Mark told her everything—because he was a fool—so Rebecca did not normally review the footage from his office. She had not gotten rid of the camera. Finally, she brought of the date in question and fast forward through the recording until Alison enter the office. Rebecca played the video and sounds of Mark's voice filled the room.

Burton stepped forward, moving around the desk to stand beside her. Together, they watched the conversation between DA and ADA play out. The longer the video went on, the tighter her insides coiled. She had been wrong. Choosing not to keep an eye on Alison Medding had caused this. The woman had gathered all she needed to force Mark out of his position. She clearly had been ready to present her findings, which would have launched investigation. Mark would have lost the title of DA eventually had he taken option one. But clearly, Alison had been pressed for time and wanted her boss out as quickly as possible. She had used the very same blackmail Rebecca had used. Only, she had used it to induce fear. Fear of Kai Proctor. Not a scandal. That was a bit insulting to realize. Still, this explained Mark's hasty retreat.

Harder than necessary, Rebecca tapped a key to pause the recording. A harsh breath passed her lips. She had been wrong. Largely, she had believed Alison would not go after her uncle. They had had a deal, after all. In addition, she had claimed she would not. However, this was obviously the first step in bringing down Kai Proctor. More than a simple threat. "Well, Burton, it seems that you were right," Rebecca announced. She turned her eyes to her shadow. The man's cheek twitched. She recognized it as smug. Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Don't gloat," she chastised. "It's not cute." This time, his entire mouth twitched, obviously fighting back a smirk. She rolled her eyes again, and then sighed. "Fortunately, I already know her weakness."

"She will not be controlled," Burton remarked.

"Yes, I know," Rebecca retorted. "We're beyond manipulation for her." She slid her teeth across her lower lip. "I did warn her, didn't I? It is not my fault she chose this."

"What would you like me do?" Burton asked, sliver of enthusiasm in his voice. Hm. It had been months since he could take care of an issue for her. Perhaps he felt neglected. "With her record, she will most likely be nominated to replace the DA. We cannot have that."

"No, we cannot," Rebecca agreed. "… But she is only an inconvenience. I'll take care of this. For now, I'll just… leak her address." As she spoke, she brought up an email to compose. "Then you won't have to clean up the mess and get that new suit dirty. Hm?" From the corner of her eye, she saw the mild put out face her shadow made. Rebecca chuckled. She had gotten so good at reading him. "My uncle feels he owes her a debt. I would rather him not find out that you had anything to do with this… unfortunate incident." Burton said nothing more. They both knew of her uncle's bizarre debt to Alison Medding. Rather, Arita Morgan. Rebecca finished the short email, and then sent it off. Only a matter of time before they heard the results. "In the meantime, now that I've watched how loose Mark's lips truly are, I see that he needs to be taken care of." Rebecca stood up and faced Burton. "Will you do that for me?"

"Of course," he replied, evenly.

"Thank you, Clay," she said. Her fingers slid across his shoulders up to his neck. He did not flinch. Even as she pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. Burton actually allowed himself to huff. Chuckling again, Rebecca slid her hands from his neck. However, she paused when she felt vibration. Raising both eyebrows, she shifted her gaze downward. It was his cell phone ringing. Burton stepped backwards and smoothly reached into the inside pocket of his blazer. He merely glanced at the screen before answering and holding the phone up to his ear.

"Mr. Proctor," Burton greeted. All manner of humor vanished. Her uncle… Had he somehow caught wind of her error in judgement already? Was he calling to reprimand her? Embarrassment burned her cheeks. Rebecca furrowed her brow and eased closer. Burton merely stood there. She made a face at him, silently urging him to place the phone on speaker. He understood and held the phone between them. With a tap, Rebecca was able to hear background noises. It sounded as though her uncle was driving. "What can I do for you today?"

"Is Rebecca with you?" his voice came through clearly.

"I'm here, uncle," Rebecca responded.

"Good. Saves me the time to inform you that I need Burton for a task," her uncle said. "I've had a rather… unfortunate altercation with my business associates." Alarmed, Rebecca felt her eyes widened. It might have been vague but she could recognize what unfortunate meant. Likewise, Burton's face twitched, showing a fraction of his surprise. "I am unhurt," he continued. "Though, my driver will no longer drive me, or himself, anywhere."

"Who has the audacity, uncle?" Rebecca questioned. Even as she asked, her mind already went through possible culprits. However, no one would make a bold move against her uncle. The groups he associated with understood the value of her uncle or feared him. Respect or fear, there was no in between for any of them. Then her eyes narrowed. Except, for maybe… "The Brotherhood." Her lip curled in a sneer. Out of all the gangs, they were the most unsavory. She understood their uses—their proximity and force in Banshee—but they were all disgusting. Their entire mindset grated on her nerves. The one who lead them—Calvin—was a conniving little upstart. The man had had several side businesses, which failed, and broke the prior arrangement with her uncle. He had simmered down a bit over the last six months, probably at the nudging from his wife. However, Rebecca recognized it was just a lid over boiling water. She had advised her uncle to take measures to thwart any more rebellion. It appeared that those measures had not worked.

"Perceptive as always, Rebecca," Uncle complimented. A smile touched her face. "Yes, it appears that their leader has chosen his comeuppance. He intends to steal my business for himself, and so I would like Burton to deliver a message… and a reminder of the terms we have arranged prior."

"Of course, Mr. Proctor," Burton readily agreed.

"I'll go with him," Rebecca volunteered. "Your message will be delivered, Uncle."

"Very good. I will see you both for dinner tomorrow night."

The line disconnected and Burton slipped the phone back into his pocket. She raised a brow, smile tugging at her lips. "Well, shall we go…?" Rebecca turned on her heel, almost as eager as Burton because of this excursion. It had been well over a year since the two of them went out like this. Normally, it had only been him following through with this type of task. However, Rebecca could not allow someone to insult her uncle in any capacity. "I'll drive," she threw behind her.

"You do not know where we are going," Burton stated, following her out of the office.

"Then give me directions," Rebecca retorted, turning her head and fluttering her eyelashes at him.

She could have sworn Burton rolled his eyes.

0-0

On Sunday, at 4:18 PM, eight men filed into their hangout.

Two individuals greeted them. A man and a woman. Clay Burton and Rebecca Bowman. The man sat stiffly in a chair, wearing a dark blue suit and eyes as expressive as a dead fish. The woman sat at the piano, dressed in a navy blue lace dress, pink lips curled in smirk. She stood up and crossed her arms, walking forward to stand behind the sitting man. Neither should have been here. This hangout was for them and people like them. Seeing outsiders so casually lounging in their territory caused them to falter, crowding around the entrance. Out of the eight, one man stepped forward, eyes narrowed into a glare. Like his brothers, ink curled around his arms, highlighting his affiliation and beliefs. He recognized the well-dressed man as Proctor's lackey. Clay Burton. Boldly, he approached the sitting man, his comrades spreading out behind him.

"Who the fuck let you in here?" he questioned, sneering at the man.

"That would be me," Rebecca stated. "I've gotten quite good at lock picking. It's a bit of a hobby of mine." She blinked slowly and smiled. "Is Calvin Bunker among you? We're here to deliver a message… and a reminder."

"You must also be here to get your asses kicked," the man retorted, sparing the woman a glance. "And maybe a little fun afterwards for you specifically." A couple of his comrades chuckled, nodding their heads in agreement. The woman scoffed, glancing elsewhere for half a moment.

"Riveting," she said, tone both exasperated and unperturbed. "As much as I'd like to spend my time in this-" Her eyes looked around, briefly examining the surroundings. "-cliché of a den, I literally have a million other things I would rather be doing. So, let us cut to the chase, shall we, gentlemen? My uncle tells me that Mr. Bunker disrespected him and killed one of his employees. He should not have done that. My uncle would like… let's call it reparations."

"Yeah? Well, you can tell Proctor to go fuck himself and his reparations. The Brotherhood is taking over his business."

Rebecca and Clay merely stared before shifting their gaze towards each other. A short conversation passed between their eyes before turning back to the group of eight men. Rebecca smirked again as Clay removed his glasses. "I see," he said, slipping them inside the pocket of his suit jacket. "Then allow us to begin relaying the message." Hidden by his stature, the group of Neo-Nazis stayed unaware of the woman slipping beneath the hem of her dress. Her fingers curled around a pearl handle, pulling her favorite friend from the confine of the right red thigh band.

"And what message might that be?" the mouthy Neo-Nazi sarcastically questioned.

Without another word, Rebecca lifted her right arm. She rested her hand, which held a semi-automatic pocket pistol, on top of Clay's right shoulder. As a whole, the Neo-Nazis flinched. However, Rebecca's aim proved steady. Her finger curled around the trigger and the one in front could only gape as the bullet pierced his skull. Blood and brain matter spattered against those directly behind him. The corpse dropped to the floor, triggering the chaotic dance. Before any of the Neo-Nazis could physically react to their comrade's death, Clay lifted Rebecca's left leg. Her dressed hiked up, giving him access to the left thigh band. He slipped a pair of specially crafted scalpels from the band. Swiftly and smoothly, Clay jabbed a single blade into the neck of the closest. Once on the left, and twice on the right. Directly into the arteries. Rebecca shot that one twice in the chest.

Finally, the rest reacted. Angry shouts filled the room as the group converged on the duo. Clay sidestepped an oncoming punch while Rebecca retreated backwards. He twisted his body, slicing the Nazi's arm with one blade and stabbing with the other. Shouting in pain, he jerked back. However, Clay dropped down, swinging his leg in a wide arc. The Nazi toppled to the floor. Clay rapidly assaulted his chest all over, spraying blood on anything in close range, including the underside of his chin. Another Nazi attempted to kick him but his efforts awarded him with a bullet to the kneecap. Then the other. He fell on his back, shouting pained obscenities. One of them focused on Rebecca and a made a lunge for her. Clay swiped at his right Achilles tendon. The man stumbled before falling head first to the floor right in front of Rebecca. She immediately lowered her gun and squeezed the trigger, blasting him in the back of the head.

Clay stood, landing a powerful blow to the next Nazi with his elbow. He came back with a swinging punch but Clay only swiftly maneuvered around, snapping the extended arm and restraining it behind the Nazi's back. He grabbed head and yanked it backwards, which exposed his neck. Only a horrified gasp managed to escape before the scalpel sliced deep in his throat. Not breaking his hold on the new corpse, Clay kicked backwards, hitting another Nazi's leg. An ungodly scream of pain closely followed the sound of bones breaking. Clay spun around, shoving the corpse towards the last standing. Both bodies fell to the floor. Rebeca walked forward, stopping to stand above the trapped man. She raised her gun again.

"Wait…! Wait!" The Nazi struggled under the massive weight of his comrade. "Please!" His attempts gained no traction because of the amount of blood. "Please!" He gave up, hand lifting in a placating gesture.

"Please…?" Rebecca repeated. She smiled, staring him in the eye. "Perhaps God will show you mercy for your insolence." The Nazi's face contorted with fear. "I certainly won't." The gun went off and the bullet soared straight into his throat. Rebecca tilted her head, watching the Nazi gurgle on dark red blood. Her smile widened when he choked on it. Satisfied, she turned away and looked towards Clay. He stared back at her, eyes narrowed and a mirrored smile. "I think he'll get the message, don't you?"

"One remains," Clay replied. In unison, the two shifted their gaze to the crippled man. He groaned loudly, holding his bleeding knee. Tears streamed down his face. Clay and Rebecca slowly moved forward. At their approach, the Nazi hastily crawled backwards. However, the body of his comrade stopped any further movement away. He breathed rapidly through clenched teeth. "I suppose he will have to be the reminder."

"He'll do," Rebecca said. She lowered herself in a squat and rested her arms on bended knees. "The biggest muscle of them all being useless for the rest of his life. They should understand." She looked the remaining Neo-Nazi in the eye. He stared back, hate in his eyes. "So… Would you like to be the reminder? Or shall we repeat the message?" His answer came in the form of spitting in her face. The saliva hit her cheek.

"Stay the fuck away from me, bitch!"

"Oh." Rebecca blinked deliberately, and then clicked her tongue, pleasant smile dropping from her face. "Clay."

"No reminders then," he said.

"No reminders then," she echoed. She then lifted her arm and brought the butt of her gun down hard on the remaining Nazi's face. His cheekbone shattered and he cried out. Rebecca lifted her arm again only to strike another time. And another. And another. And another. Expression enraged, she beat him until his face sunk in. And then continued beating him until she ran out of stamina. Breathing hard, she stood to her full height. Blood dripped from her chin and soaked her blonde hair. She swallowed hard, and then turned to Clay. He grinned at her, clearly pleased by the sight. "Uncle… won't like… this," Rebecca said between heavy breaths.

"There are more," Clay assured her. Finally, her breathing became steady. "We have to leave."

"Of course," Rebecca said. "We're both in need of a really long bath." Clay nodded and stepped closer to the woman. By then, he reverted to neutral in appearance. He lifted the hem of her dress while staring directly into her eyes. Rebecca returned the looked, cracking a smile. Dutifully, she lifted her leg and curled it around him, and yet her bare leg did not touch his suit. Clay easily slipped his scalpels back in place. His hand grasped her outer thigh but gently lowered her foot back on the floor. The heel met the floor with a clack and Rebecca raised a brow. "Just like after the pimps, right? With bubbles and companionship."

"Just like the pimps," Clay agreed. "Together." He gave her his arm and Rebecca immediately took it. The smiles came back. Together, the two stepped over the bodies and walked out of the room, careful not to step in any pools of blood.

On Sunday, at 4:29 PM, eight men lied dead in their hangout.

0-0

"You will not believe who Kurt stuck his dick in," Maggie began, placing groceries on the counter. She began to unload them, not yet noticing her husband's hardened expression. "She's an Assistant District Attorney. I don't know her name yet but-" Finally, turned and saw the expression on Calvin's face. "What is it?" Her husband clenched his teeth.

"Pony Joe just called me," Calvin stated. "He found our guys at The Reich." He looked up from the floor. "They're dead." Maggie's eyes grew wide. "They're dead—eight of them gone." Calvin swallowed hard. "It was fucking Proctor. He must have been him." He balled his fists, vein bulging in the middle of his forehead. "I'm gonna fucking kill him! I'm gonna throw everything we've got at him. I'm gonna tie a noose around his neck and string him up myself!"

"… You can't do that," Maggie told him.

"Why the fuck not?" he asked, glaring.

"I mean… It would be a waste to send everyone to his house," she explained. "He needs to suffer for what he did to us. As far as I'm concerned, Proctor just declared war. So we pay him back in full. Go after what he holds dear first. His precious meats factory. Any business he has, really. His family. Only when he is completely alone and hopeless, thinking he has paid for this offence, will we kill him. The Brotherhood will not allow mercy."

"His family…" Calvin repeated. "That niece of his-"

"Isn't enough," Maggie cut in. "We lost eight good men. One meager slut is not equal. He went after our family, so we go after his. Blood can only be repaid in blood."

"God, I love you," he told her. Calvin sighed deeply before a grin worked itself on his face. Maggie only smiled in response. "Now, what was that about Kurt?"

0-0

On Sunday, at 9:43 PM, four pickup trucks drove into Amish territory.

They carried fifteen men, some of them wearing hooded white cloaks. Running on anger and cruelty, they began their revenge for the loss of eight lost comrades. The outsiders raided and destroyed. Set fires and jeered. Beat and left many broken. Homes and livestock were the targets. Without mercy, fifteen men laughed as they had their fun. The community did not fight back, only prayed and begged for mercy. Mercy did not come. It did not take much time for their lifestyle to go up in flames. When all became quiet, and they thought the mindless destruction over, a shout of 'a life for a life!' echoed in the night, and the madness began anew.

Blood can only be repaid in blood, they said.

On Sunday, at 10:27 PM, Solomon Bowman witnessed the death of his parents.

0-0

I'm still hoping to get this story done next chapter but I feel like it will be a massive chapter to put everything in it. I might mess around and have to split up the finale. I hope not. For now, though, one more chapter. That's it. We're going to be finished with this story this year. As always, thanks to anyone that still reads and enjoys this rewrite. Especially you, Bullock. Always coming through with the reviews. -finger guns-