Kurt Bunker was a bizarre man.

It had taken just a few short hours of working together for Billy Raven to reach this conclusion. Everything had been a jumble—chaotic—at the station that night. He hadn't truly been paying attention to anything around him. His thoughts had been twisted with guilt at the time, and admittedly, he had been preparing himself for sacrifice. Now, his mind had been clear enough to actually think. The newest Deputy was a goddamn Nazi! Billy couldn't begin to imagine what had been going through the Sheriff's mind when he had hired the man. Apparently, he had had his uses in the confrontation with Chayton. Taking an arrow to the chest had muddled his… pretty much everything and he hadn't been able to see all that happened.

Billy had come back to work—earlier than he should have, according to the doctor… and his wife—only to be told that his tattooed co-worker was official. He was to be Deputy Siobhan Kelly's replacement. Like he had been to Deputy Emmett Yawners. Billy knew how awkward the Nazi-cop must feel. He had felt it himself actually. They had that in common. But… He did not feel compelled to talk to him. The man was covered in tattoos that showed how much he hated anyone that didn't look like him. Billy had been very uncomfortable in his presence and had wondered more than once if he should have waited until next week to come back to work.

That uncomfortable feeling had been replaced with confusion as the minutes ticked by and turned into hours. The Nazi-cop didn't act like a Nazi-cop. He was polite—borderline freakishly polite. The Nazi-cop had to be the most formal person Billy had come across. He had been called 'sir' more times today than he had in all his life. Growing up on the reservation did not earn him respect. Being a part of the reservation hadn't earned him respect even as an officer. A person wasn't respected unless he had ties to whatever gang was in power at the time. A few decades ago, it had been the Runaways. Anyway, being called 'sir' by the Nazi-cop was a bizarre mix of delight and disgust. Maybe not disgust. Maybe not delight. More like, Billy liked the recognition of being a 'senior officer,' but not coming from him of all people.

He had to sit across from a man that literally showed how much he hated other people. He had to work with someone that must have done awful things to people like him—the minorities. However, his behavior did not match the tattoos. There were no snide remarks. His 'yes, sir' routine hadn't seemed sarcastic in the least. His eyes—and Billy prided himself on recognizing micro expressions—did not hold hidden contempt. The Nazi-cop was genuine. In his work. In his manners. It was all confusing and bizarre.

Billy did not like it.

He despised being confused. He could normally read people like a book. Could tell their intention just based on their eyes. Kurt Bunker was different somehow. His behavior had to be an elaborate façade. Had to be. One that was extremely hard to see through. Still, the confusion lingered. Billy wanted to believe it was a ruse, but deep down… his instincts told him otherwise. The Nazi-cop may have been a horrible man at some point in his life. Now, he seemed… like a normal cop. No, not normal. "Way too robotic to be normal," Billy thought, staring down the other man as he scribbled away on whatever paperwork he could find to work on.

There wasn't much to do at the station since the attack. Nothing except cleaning and pretending to browse previous cases. The Nazi-cop was, more than likely, going over new employee papers. It was a large stack of rules and regulations that, admittedly, Billy had merely scanned through. The Nazi-cop seemed to be reading it word for word. Dedication, he suppose it was. Even if he didn't realize that another person was staring hard at him.

The Nazi-cop suddenly stilled, causing Billy to do the same. He watched the new Deputy clench his jaw. He had noticed? Was he going to say something? He could try. Billy had no problem with retaliation. Personally, he had never come across men with ink like that. Mostly because he hadn't had the opportunity. Now that he was off the reservation, anything seemed possible. Instead of looking his way or speaking, the Nazi-cop maneuvered in his chair a bit. He pulled out his cell phone, which was a flip phone—something Billy had quietly chuckled about it when he had first seen it—and then opened his top drawer.

To Billy's surprise, he pulled out another cell phone. A smart phone, one of the newer models maybe. It was covered with a dark blue case with four clear crystal gems at the four corners. Didn't seem like it belonged to him. Maybe he confiscated it during a patrol…? Still, it was odd. The Nazi-cop dialed numbers on his cell phone. Within moments, the smartphone began buzzing. Bizarre. But it only got worse. As soon as the Nazi-cop's eyes shifted to the screen of the smartphone, his expression showed surprise. Then his eyes lit up like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time. He didn't smile, but Billy knew that the Nazi-cop was… thrilled. Or maybe in awe.

Billy squirmed in his chair, feeling the curiosity grow and scratch at his brain. His insides were just begging to find out what had caused that type of reaction from the normally stoic male. The Nazi-cop cleared his throat before putting the smartphone back in his desk drawer. He then went back to whatever paper he had been looking over. Billy would have doubted that he even saw the bizarre occurrence if not for the way both corners of the Nazi-cop's lips tugging upward like he was trying super hard not to smile. Smile, of all things! Billy narrowed his eyes as the Nazi-cop dropped the pen. He touched his bandaged hand, fingers lightly rubbing the stained gauze. He hadn't always had his hand wrapped. He had not had an injury on his hand at the funeral... So bizarre. And that smartphone clearly belonged to another person—highly likely a woman based on the case. How did he get it? And more importantly, who did the device belong to? Obviously, it was none of his business. But…

He had to find out.

0-0

Gordon Hopewell pressed his finger against the doorbell… again. Alison had a knack for not hearing when she had company. Either she was listening to music and pacing about her house or playing an extremely violent videogame with headphones on. Other times, he had caught her in the middle of one of Marvel marathons. He did not want to make the same mistake today. He had already been in hot water for sending her to therapy. Gordon knew it had been frustrating for her, and he understood her irritation with him. He had tried to make it up to her by offering to buy drinks before she went back to work. He had been shot down hard last night.

Today, though, he had come bearing gifts. Alison's absolute favorite thing was food. She couldn't resist it. Gordon didn't believe she realized that he knew. It was a little secret for whenever he pissed her off. Too bad Carrie didn't have a similar weakness… With a sigh, the Mayor rang the doorbell again. This time, he heard movement on the other side of the door, and then her blurred image appeared at the window. Within seconds, she opened the door. Huh. He rarely got to see her in casual clothing. She wore a dark blue buttoned sleeveless shirt and black leggings. The hem of her shirt was long enough to cover her thighs mid-way. Alison immediately crossed her arms over her chest. Still annoyed, but at least it wasn't anger.

"What do you want, Gordon?"

Despite her hostile-like question, her brow furrowed as if she wasn't expecting his visit. He had definitely texted her this morning. Although he hadn't gotten a response, he had just assumed that she had read it and rolled her eyes. Gordon pondered it for a second longer before letting the thought drop. He moved his hands from behind his back and revealed the gift. Expectedly, her eyes lit up in response to seeing her favorite boxed cookies. "To make amends," he said with a light smile. She returned the smile, but it was more so towards the cookies than him.

"Are those s'more cookies?" she questioned, though she could already see. Her arms relaxed at her sides. "You shouldn't have."

"Can you accept my apology?"

"Well, if you insist," Alison replied with a shrug. The box of cookies were snatched from his hand. Gordon chuckled as she stepped aside. "Do you want to come in?"

"Actually, no," he said. "I'm on my way back to the office from lunch." Alison nodded, but her interest were only in the cookies. She was attempting to open the cookies right in front of him. He hadn't expected her to wait anyway. "I just wanted to talk about the files you left on my desk." She glared at him. "I already signed off on them—don't worry." Her expression relaxed as she put a cookie to her lips. "I just noticed a few things missing and I wanted to know where they might be. The new ADA didn't know anything."

"Jesus Christ, I told him to copy the pictures and put them back in the files," Alison muttered with an eye roll. "They're probably in the bottom drawer of my desk. He likes putting shit there when he doesn't know where it goes." Gordon chuckled. Normally, Alison was so professional—the rare times that she used vulgar language was almost charming. "This couldn't wait until after I'm on the clock?"

"It could have, but I can't keep them lying on my desk without getting filed," Gordon stated. "Besides, I would have talked to you over the phone, but you wouldn't answer, so I just texted you when I'd be stopping by." He watched as the woman in front of him froze. She even stopped chewing. Unprecedented. "You know where your phone is, don't you?"

"Of course…! But I don't have it here," Alison was quick to retort after a moment's pause and after she had swallowed. Her eyes looked everywhere but at him. She wasn't lying, but she had become nervous. About her phone? Why? "I'll be getting it sometime later today."

"Did you break it?"

"I just left it somewhere, asshole. I know where it is and it's not broken."

Better let the situation drop. Alison was becoming angry with his line of questioning. "Alright, calm down," Gordon soothed, throwing his hands up in a surrendering gesture. If he had a white flag, he would throw that up, too, just in case. The woman huffed lightly, but she had relaxed. "I'll see you at the office on Monday?" He turned slightly, preparing to leave. She nodded as her hand reached inside the box for another cookie. He caught sight of the small cut at the corner of her bottom lip as she opened her mouth. "What happened to your lip?" he asked casually.

Now that he looked closely, though, it was a little bruised, too. Like she had been hit. It had been a long while since he had been in combat, but he recognized that type of injury. Someone had backhanded her. Probably had a ring on or something to cut into her skin like that. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't have seen it if she had covered the bruising with makeup. Once again, Alison's gaze turned away from him. "Nothing much… Lena and I were roughhousing. I guess she got lucky. Don't worry about it." Definitely a lie. Besides, Alison's best friend did not wear rings. He had had to listen to Alison rant about buying Lena a gift every year around the same time because she didn't like accessories. Gordon narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but she did not return his stare. "Anyway, see you at work."

"Yeah…" he trailed off because Alison had already shut the door. He turned completely and walked away from her porch. The Mayor viewed his District Attorney as a good friend. As a good friend, he felt uneasy with her dismissal of the cut on her lip. He didn't know Lena well, but he did know the two best friends did tussle on occasion. Nothing too bad, though. Alison never showed up for work with injuries before, at least. Something had happened to her and she hadn't wanted to tell him. "I suppose that's fair," Gordon thought as he made his way to his car. As good of friends as they were, they didn't tell each other everything. Still, it was worrisome.

A massive part of him wanted to look into it. Obviously, he couldn't. He and Lena weren't exactly talking buddies. Gordon only knew about Lena in the first place because Alison sometimes talked/complained about her best friend's tendencies. He had never actually met her. The Mayor really hoped she was okay. The therapy, although unwanted, was supposed to help her. What happened to her had been violent. Being placed in another violent situation like that might have triggered memories of what had happened when she had been sixteen.

Gordon shut his eyes for a moment and sat in his car in silence. Alison wasn't aware, but he had checked up on her. He had been obligated to, and not as a friend. But as the District Attorney himself. He had been rooting for her to replace him when he had become the Mayor, but he still had to run a background check. What he had found… had been horrible. He couldn't believe that Alison had gone through something like that at a young age. He really couldn't believe it with the way she acted now. Statistically, young girls… could not break free of what happened to them. He knew. He knew from prior cases that he had worked. Those girls did not go on to live fulfilling lives.

Alison had obviously been different. She had broken free and had moved on. Even though most of the cases she worked had to do with men—scum, to be perfectly honest—like the ones who had beaten her father. It had made sense when Gordon found out. She had always been enthused about sending men like that to prison. He had wondered, quite a few times, how she had come from that type of background and still be able to function like a normal person. She'd never tell him. Not about that night. Not about the most recent night. And not about the cut on her lip. He supposed he would know eventually. All it took was a bit of digging. A bit of digging wouldn't hurt. He was just concerned for his good friend. He had to know she would be alright.

He was still rooting for her, after all.

0-0

Eyes continuously darting to the clock on the wall, Alison paced the length of her living room. More than once, she had banged her knee against the corner of the coffee table. It hadn't deterred the pacing in the least. Minutes before midnight, and she still hadn't formed a plan as to how this conversation would play out. Not for lack of trying. She had been thinking about this for most of the day. After coming back home, napping, and then showering, thoughts of how the conversation would go had filled her mind. Now, it was almost time, and she hadn't thought of a casual—and intentional—line of topic.

Alison gnawed on her lower lip. Her fingers squeezed the cordless phone in her hand. She released a sigh, cursing herself for not thinking things through properly. She had to make the call now or it would be too late. Then she would have another day full of pacing and thoughts that would get her nowhere. Like Hell. So taking a deep breath, she dialed the memorized number. She released as she listened to the ringing. Finally, the line picked up. "Hello…?" Despite breathing properly, Alison still felt her lungs clench tightly.

"Bunker," she greeted once she calmed herself.

"A-" He cleared his throat. "DA Medding?"

Panicking a bit, Alison froze. "Where are you?!" she blurted. It took a moment for him to answer. He stated that he was in his truck about to leave the CADI. Jesus Christ…! She thought he had still been in public. If anyone had overheard him… "Oh," she sighed. "Great." She rubbed at her temple.

"I actually wanted to contact you. Your cell phone-"

"That's actually why I'm calling," she rushed out. "I… misplaced my phone. I thought you might have seen it?"

"Yes. I have it," he answered. "I've been trying to come up with some way to contact you so you can have it back. I could wait for you here?"

"No… No, I don't want to inconvenience you anymore," Alison replied. Why did he want them to meet in public? Did he not understand the backlash that would follow if they were to be seen together? "Tell me your address and I'll come pick it up from there."

"My address…?"

It sounded like he almost choked. Well, there was no way she would willingly ask him to stop by her home. She wasn't ready for that. This was her home. Her sanctuary. Despite what they had been through, she wasn't ready for him to be here. Alison furrowed her brow. Maybe it was asking too much to go to his place, now that she thought about it. "If you don't want-" she began but Bunker coughed and cleared his throat. Several times. Then he said it was okay and told her his address. "I know where that is, actually. I can be there in maybe fifteen minutes if that's okay."

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Great."

"Good."

"… Alright, I'll see you soon."

Before hearing a response, Alison hung up her phone. That was awkward. Really awkward. She couldn't describe it as anything but. Still, she had gotten what she needed, so frowning, she shook it off. Her cell was important. She needed it. This is how she could get it. Sighing heavily, she made her way to the hall to grab her keys. She slipped into her blue flats while sifting through her purse for the teal wallet. Finding it, she tucked it under her arm and headed out the door.

After locking it, she headed for her car. She normally parked her bike in the garage and the car in the driveway. She suppose that meant she loved her bike more than she did her car. Alison got in her car, closed the door, and then put her key into the ignition. However, she did not turn the engine on. She sat there for a moment before leaning back against her seat. A puff of air left her as she closed her eyes. What was she doing?

It was a question that plagued her damn near the whole day. Ever since she had left Bunker at the police station. She didn't know why she was doing this either. Well, no… That wasn't true. She knew why. It's just… There were a lot of things Alison could admit to herself. She was her own confidante when she Lena was busy. She knew and accepted that she was intrigued by Kurt Bunker. She also… cared. She did. The reason she had done what she did had to do with the simple fact of wanting to see him again. She wanted to see his progression. She wanted to know that he would become a man. Alison bit her lower lip. Admitting all that out loud, though? Confessing such thoughts?

Fuck that.

So, without really thinking of anything else, Alison had hidden her cell phone in his truck. Just to have an excuse to talk to him again. Not that awkward conversation they had just had over the phone. But a real talk like they had had in the diner or at the motel. She wanted that. And it was weird that she did. However weird it may be, though, she still accepted that she wanted it. Again, admitting it out loud was about as appealing as getting hit in the face with a cactus. So, here she was back at the same question. What was she doing?

Alison hadn't thought of what happened after. Sure, she'd get her phone back. Maybe they would talk. But after that? Nothing. She could not see an after. Did she even want an after? What would that even be? What would they be to each other? Groaning, Alison sat up a bit and turned the key. With questions like those, she really wanted to talk to Lena. Her best friend would lose her shit, though. No. This was her little issue and her little secret. Bunker was her secret. And damn if that didn't rush through her like adrenaline.

Releasing another sigh, Alison pulled out of her driveway. She had been sighing a lot lately, hadn't she? Regardless, she needed to get her mind right. So she drove into the dark night, focusing on directions. However, as her destination loomed closer, her mind, once again, swam with questions she could not answer. She hadn't been this inquisitive towards herself about a situation since… that little boy.

Alison grit her teeth as she parked her car. Shaking away dangerous thoughts, she turned off the engine and removed her key from the ignition. She grabbed her wallet from the passenger seat as she opened the door. The surrounding area was less than average. From the outside, the apartment complex looked more like a motel. Not a lot of vehicles either, which maybe meant not a lot of tenants. Most people were probably put off by the outward appearance, so it wasn't widely known that the rooms were comfortable, spacious, and pleasing to the eye. She, herself, had never lived here, but she had checked it out after moving out of her parents' home.

After making sure the door was locked, Alison began making her way around the complex. The place didn't have multiple floors, so with just a bit of walking, she would find the right apartment. After a few moments, she found it. She also spotted Bunker's vehicle of choice. She drew in a large breath as she made her way to his apartment door. Again, the question popped into her head. "What am I doing…?" she thought as her knuckles rapped against the dark green door. As she waited for an answer, her gaze strayed away from the golden numbers of the door. There didn't seem to be any neighbors, peeking out of windows to sneak a glance in her direction. In fact, there hadn't seemed to be neighbors at all. In hindsight, that was pretty good. She didn't have to worry about being seen.

Alison felt the sudden rush of wind. She also heard the door open, causing her to turn her attention back. Her body immediately tensed at seeing him. But it was not the same sort of tense she had had when he had come through the diner door. She wasn't nervous or put off by his presence anymore, so it wasn't that. She couldn't explain it really. It wasn't the tattoos either. Despite him being out of uniform, he still wore clothes that covered most of them. Shy of wearing a turtleneck, the ink on his throat would remain visible, though. It couldn't have been the tattoos. She wasn't sure why her body reacted like it did. Maybe it was just a habit she had yet to get rid of. "DA Medding," he greeted, sounding slightly surprised. Alison bit her lower lip, and then nodded in response.

"Bunker," she said. "… Can I come in?"

"Oh, ye-yeah, of course," he replied. He stepped aside, a bit stiff, but Alison ignored that. She walked pass him into his territory. Her body did not relax as she ventured through his apartment. But it did not get worse when she heard the front door close. Even as she felt his presence behind her, she did not feel herself coil like a spring. Perhaps she was simply distracted. Her eyes were darting, taking in all that she could from her current vantage point. As far as she could see, his apartment was bare. A lonely gray two-cushioned couch was the only thing in the carpeted living room. In the adjacent room, she believed to be a kitchen because of the tile that began at the threshold. Down the hall, she assumed there was the bedroom and a bathroom.

There were no decorations. There weren't even boxes to indicate that he just hadn't finished unpacking yet. "How long have you been back?" Alison blurted out the question as she turned to face him. He looked back at her. Bunker looked quite the opposite of comfortable, with his hands tucked into his pockets and everything. Gordon did that whenever she glared at him. Was she glaring now?

"Just a few weeks," Bunker answered. He cleared his throat. "I didn't have much to bring with me. Most of my things are in my room or in the kitchen." Alison gave a noncommittal hum in response. He shifted awkwardly. "Did… Did you want some coffee? I was about to make a pot. I know it's late, but-"

"That's fine," she cut in. "Coffee's fine." Bunker nodded and headed into the kitchen. Alison released a silent breath as she berated herself. She had to stop interrupting him. After a moment's pause, she followed after. Immediately, she looked around the new setting. His kitchen had a sliding glass door that led outside. The long white blinds were partially open, allowing her to see her reflection. The kitchen also had an island counter.

Alison stood at the counter and decided to place her wallet down. She watched Bunker rummage through one of his cabinets. She leaned against the counter with her arms folded, gaze drifting to the rest of the kitchen. The refrigerator and stove were black—and appeared new—looking a bit mix-match with the white cabinets and the brown countertops. Brown eyes shifted back to Bunker when she heard water running. He was filling his coffee pot now. "You usually make coffee after work?" she asked. He went still for just a few seconds. His head turned a bit to the side as though he wanted to look her way, but didn't.

"Yeah, I stay awake for a few hours afterwards," he stated. He pushed a few buttons on the coffee maker and it hummed to life. Alison couldn't see it, but she heard the water pouring into the glass pot. Still, it took Bunker more than a second to actually face her. She gave him a look, hoping that it conveyed that she wanted an explanation. His eyes looked down at the counter for a moment. "Reading," he finally said. Unexpected.

"What? You have books piled in your room?"

"Scattered, actually."

Alison held back a chuckle, but couldn't control the smile. Maybe that was the reason he was a deep sleeper. She heard somewhere that reading could be considered a form of meditation—a relaxation method. "How long have you been doing that?" she asked, curious.

"… Almost a full year, now." Bunker didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. It was distracting. Alison shifted her line of sight to his flitting fingers. They immediately stilled under her gaze. Slowly, his inked hands left the counter. His hand was still wrapped, but she could see the black ink. She had seen those series of numbers many times in her career. She had put away monsters with those same numbers. 1488. To be honest, she didn't really understand what it meant. Just that if someone had it painted somewhere on their body, they were the enemy. Bunker was different, though—ashamed of the ink on his skin. Instead of art, he might have seen them as ugly scars. "Um—I'll get the mugs." He turned away from her again, clearly nervous, and opened a different cabinet and reached high.

"Why did you become a cop?" Alison asked as he busied himself by grabbing two mugs from the highest shelf.

She had questioned him before, but she didn't remember a clear answer as to why he chose this particular profession. The easier path would have been to lay low, get a job where he didn't have to interact with others, save up enough money to get the tattoos removed, and pretend he had never been a part of the white supremacy. But he chose a much harder route. People would see the tattoos first and not trust him. No matter his actions. Maybe they would come around, but there would always be hints of fear from the public. He… would never be able to form a solid relationship like that. Friends or otherwise.

Bunker set the two white mugs down on the counter. "Originally, it was because of Officer Miller," he said. "After my separation from the Brotherhood, I went as far as I could go. Ended up in Florida. Did a lot of thinking… and drinking on the way there. Had nowhere else to go, so I eventually thought that if I became a cop, it would give me the courage to face him. That he would accept me. It took a long time for me to convince the Sheriff there to take me on. But he did and I became a cop."

"Did you try to contact Officer Miller?"

"No," Bunker shook his head and dropped his gaze to the countertop. "I realized that he would never accept me. I took away his only daughter. I don't get to have acceptance." He visibly swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. For a moment, he was silent. Alison remained quiet herself, watching him. She understood his reasoning. She also understood why he had chosen the harder path. He didn't think he deserved an easy life. He must think only pain and suffering could be allowed for someone like him. Jesus Christ… "Anyway, by the time I came to this conclusion, I liked what I what did. Even if my coworkers didn't like me or the people I was sworn to protect and serve didn't, the job itself was worth it." And apparently, he was okay with living a lonely, painful life until his end at the Brotherhood's hands.

Slight irritation began crawling within her. Alison didn't understand why, though. It was his life. He could do what he wanted. He could live however he wanted. However he thought he deserved. That understanding did not stop the irritation. He was clearly better than he was, and yet he didn't even want to try to get out of that vicious hurricane of negative emotions? Idiotic. Cringe-worthy. And almost the exact mind frame she had before ultimately deciding to go to college.

Before she could make a comment, which probably would have seemed snappish, the coffee maker beeped once, signaling that the pot was done. Bunker turned to grab it, just missing the annoyed look that had crossed Alison's face. She bit her lower lip to stifle the expression and reel in her irritation. If she could meet her younger self, she believed she would smack her. Bunker was like her younger self and that made her want to smack him.

By the time he turned around again, she had fixed her face back to neutral. He began pouring the coffee. Alison watched the steam as it rose. It was soothing seeing the curls of steam. The smell was even better. "How do you like your coffee? I have some creamer in the fridge. I think I'm out of sugar." Bunker began pouring his own cup. She gripped the handle of the filled mug and brought the edge to her lips.

"I like my coffee black… just like my metal," she replied, unable to resist. Ever since she heard the song, every time she was asked how she liked her coffee, that answer would pop out and she couldn't control it. It was perfect because she actually did like her coffee without cream or sugar. Alison ignored the awkward silence she got—it was normal—by sipping the dark liquid.

"You know Mindless Self Indulgence?" Bunker asked. It almost sounded incredulous, but he had a voice that did not exactly change unless he was talking about his horrible past.

"What of it?"

"It's… surprising."

Alison licked her lips as she set her mug down. "Because of my skin color?" she asked in a nonchalant way. It was probably wrong that she got satisfaction at how red his face had become. Holding back a smile, she watched him chug his hot coffee. He must have a high tolerance for pain because when he set his mug down, it was empty. Fresh coffee gone in five seconds. "You need some water?"

"Cream, actually. How can anyone drink this without sugar?"

Chuckling, Alison went over to the refrigerator. She opened the door and immediately located the Coffee-Mate. She also noticed the rest of the refrigerator was filled with several items she didn't buy. Stuff to make other stuff. Did he cook? She kinda remembered him telling her that he had been taught. She grabbed the creamer and shut the door. "You didn't know black coffee was for psychopaths?" she teased. Bunker laughed as he took the creamer from her. "Still has a dorky ass smile," she thought as she took her place across from him again. He poured himself more coffee. "To answer your question, yes I do know and enjoy angry white boy music like Mindless Self Indulgence. I still like R&B and hip hop because of stereotypical reasons, but I like other things, too."

"Angry white boy music…?"

"That's what it is, Bunker." After a few seconds, he nodded his head in agreement and poured creamer into his mug. Alison drank a bit more of her coffee. "I'm curious, though. What about you? Listen to other stuff besides angry white boy music?" He cleared his throat, causing her to raise a brow. "Come on, Bunker. It's been years, hasn't it? Angry white boy music isn't all you listen to anymore, right?"

"…" He said something, but she couldn't hear him clearly. She stared at him blankly, hoping he would repeat himself. Bunker cleared his throat again, and then repeated himself. "Will Smith. Anything with him."

"What?!"

"I realize that may be unanticipated, but Will Smith is a talented man. I've seen all of his movies. Even that horrible one with his son. I've listened to all of his albums. I've watched every episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air." Alison continued to stare. Her mouth might have been open. "To be fair, it started when I was with the Millers. The entire family loved the show."

"Jesus Christ, Bunker…!" Then she started laughing. "I was expecting something a little less angry. Like… Like country or alternative."

"I don't like country."

That just made her laugh more. She couldn't believe she was standing across from a person, that just a few years ago participated in a deep hatred for people like her, and laughing because Will Smith was so charismatic he could get a Neo-Nazi to like him. The smile remained on her face as the laughter died. Bunker looked as though he was holding back a smile of his own. His eyes crinkled anyway. It was at that moment that she realized the answer to the question that had been haunting her mind all day. So what was she doing? She was attempting friendship. She wanted to be a friend to Kurt Bunker.

Jesus Christ… The realization hit like a punch to the gut, which felt oddly… good. Huh. Alison took several sips of coffee. She swallowed hard. "So…" she began, and then cleared her own throat. "Where's my phone?" His lips stopped twitching and his gaze fell to his mug. He awkwardly told her he left it in his pocket and went to retrieve it. When he left, she released sigh. It was already decided in her mind. She would befriend him, but saying it out loud wasn't something she was exactly comfortable with. For obvious reasons. But she wasn't uncomfortable with actually going through with it.

A few moments later, Bunker came back. He set her cell phone down on the counter next to her wallet. "Here you go." Despite his monotone, Alison got the sense that there was hesitation on his part. She picked up her cell phone as he stood opposite of her again. "I guess you're leaving then?"

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere until I hear you rap the theme song," she replied, feeling a grin spread on her face. Bunker looked rightfully shocked by her declaration. Then his face got red again, causing a giggle to slip through her lips. "Or… you can cook me something? I haven't eaten dinner." Admittedly, she hadn't eaten lunch either. Her own thoughts had been so distracting, she hadn't stopped to eat. Accept those cookies Gordon had brought her. Those were good.

"I… Yeah, o-okay. Good."

"Great." Alison bit her lower lip to stop smiling. Bunker cleared his throat again. She wondered if he would ever stop being so stiff. "You don't mind if I keep your cell number in my phone, do you?" He shook his head, and then turned away to go over to the refrigerator. Truth be told, she had already named his contact 'Neo.' By itself, it was actually a pretty okay term. It signified something new. Something revived or modified. And she loved Keanu Reeves, so… major plus.

"You cook…?" Bunker asked, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator.

"A little, but I tend to lean more towards desserts than entrees."

"I can tell," he muttered.

"What was that, Bunker?"

"Nothing." He coughed, but then began putting items on the counter. She could see a certain gleam in his eyes. It reminded her of amusement. Alison hummed, pressing her phone to her lips to cover the smile. She had heard him. And she was still a bit embarrassed that he had caught her happily drinking that milkshake in the diner. He must have been thinking about it when he had made that comment. However, she did not want to bring it up at this moment. They were teasing each other right now. Intentionally. And that was great. "Since I'm cooking for you now… is it possible for you to bake me something one day?"

"Maybe," she shrugged. "Depends of how good of a meal you make for me. My cheesecake doesn't come cheap." The instant the words came out of her mouth, she heard what it sounded like. Before she could become mortified, though, Bunker laughed out loud. Like before in his truck. Like he hadn't laughed in a while and it was blurted out unexpectedly.

"Alright, DA Medding…" he said with a lingering smile. "Challenge accepted."

Sixty minutes later, Alison did not what she had consumed. He had told her, of course, but it was French and she didn't retain the translation. But it was damn good. She knew then that she had to keep Bunker around for as long as possible. As a personal chef. And a friend. Obviously. That was the goal. Also… She definitely needed to hear him rap and keep the recording forever. Fuck the Brotherhood. They would not be Kurt Bunker's end.

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