She had begun to sleep with him. It had been a really childish motivation behind it to be perfectly honest. She had been humiliated, and it that had still burned her like nothing else. It was a revenge tactic. But also a power play. For who…? Well, she had lost sight of that weeks ago. Still, she had done it. Enjoyed it, even. She had loved the taste of power. It felt good. Made her feel things she would have never felt before. She shuddered internally just thinking about it. Sighing, she stretched out on top of his bed, completely self-satisfied. Eyes shifting to the left, she met the gaze of her bed companion. As always, he laid on his side, fully clothed, staring at her. Most would see a blank expression, but after weeks of this, she recognized it for what it was. Petulance. He had hidden it well, but witnessing the same thing every morning, she had learned to see pass the dullness of his eyes.

A soft chuckle left her mouth as she turned on her side, body completely facing his. She rested her cheek against the back of her hand. His expression didn't change. But she knew. Her glibness about the situation must have irked him. The man beside her wasn't a man of words or emotion. His lack of… everything had frightened her in the beginning. But she knew now that he would never hurt her. Couldn't risk the wrath of his master, after all. She was protected from many things just because of relation. She had power oozing from her pores just because of relation. The life she had left behind paled in comparison to this.

Rebecca morphed her expression into a mock pout, mirroring what her bed-mate must have felt. Again, his face didn't flinched, but she knew. The first time she had slipped into his bed, mostly nude because that's how she liked to sleep—she just couldn't resist lace panties—he had recoiled. Had nearly fallen from the bed so that their bodies would not touch. He was a rare man that did not—or maybe could not—feel much of anything. Sexual arousal must have been impossible for him. Given his lack of. Perhaps that's the reason she had so easily used this tactic. There was no chance that he would hurt her in any sense of the word.

Especially because of her uncle. It was also because of her uncle that Clay Burton would never reveal their nightly ritual in the first place. She may not have gotten him to keep quiet in the way that had been expected of her, but this power play worked just as well. Originally, she felt she had to do this. Make Burton stay silent while she had systematically grew her uncle's empire. Her poor, shattered uncle—still in mourning over the loss of his mother. Her death had gotten to him, and there had been a decline in sales. There had been a decline in the fear that her uncle instilled within the citizens of this town. It had not helped matters since he was still playing house with that ridiculous woman.

Her dear uncle still had not realized what she was doing for his line of work or what she was doing to his personal guard. It had been nerve-racking in the beginning. She had been so afraid her uncle would come barreling into the room to discover the two of them not so cuddled up in the dark. But no. He had been too busy with that ridiculous woman. Rebecca hoped her uncle would snap out of whatever mournful state he was in and kick that woman out. She had done her job, so she should have left afterwards—not stuck around playing housewife.

No matter. Eventually, that ridiculous woman would be kicked out, and they would all return to normalcy. The three of them, living under the same roof, building a better empire for her uncle to rule. Of course, she would still help out. The life of luxury was good, but the life of power—that was worth anything. Even deceiving her uncle for the time being. "Did you find out anything?" Rebecca questioned, dropping her mock pout.

"No," Burton answered.

She frowned in response. It had been a week ago that she had asked—well, ordered—Burton to find out anything he could pertaining to the woman in the photo she had found in her uncle's office. She had sifted through his things, attempting to find another contact. Instead, she had found the photo. It had been hidden under papers of no consequence at the bottom of his desk drawer. The picture had been of a dark-skinned woman, taken whilst she had been unaware. In the photo, she had been sitting in a chair, reading a book, seemingly mesmerized by the words. The cameraman had to be in the same room as her, not outside spying.

Why would her uncle keep a photo like this? A fleeting thought of her being an associate had crossed her mind, but there was not a picture of Hector Morales, or any other contact, stuffed away in his office. Besides, the picture was old. The photo had to be a forgotten treasure to her uncle. She had already known that her uncle had a preference for dark women as his bed companions, until recently at least. But there were no other pictures of dark-skinned beauties that she had found. So it begged the question: Who was she?

"Are you lying?" Rebecca asked. She narrowed her eyes. "You know what happens when you lie to me." Burton narrowed his eyes right back and even frowned. A light smirk touched her face. So he had lied, did he? She lifted her hand and reached for his chest. Burton flinched and moved backwards, away from her painted nails.

"Yes," he grit out. Burton continued moving until he was out of the bed. Stifling a grin, Rebecca moved to do the same. She picked up the silk robe that had been waiting for her on the chair on her side, and then slipped it on. Unlike any other man, the sight of her mostly nude form bothered Burton enough for him to confess wrongdoing. The man was so backwards. He had let her slip her hand down his pants, only to shock and horrify her—to let her know sexual advances to keep him silent would not work. She had been horrified to find nothing. But since then, her touching him had been met with wariness and perhaps fear. "Her name was Arita Morgan." He sighed lightly. "She was the co-founder of Proctor Meats."

"Lies," Rebecca retorted. "My uncle is the sole owner."

"Her name was removed," Burton replied. "It was an effort to match the photo with a name."

"Where is she now?"

"Deceased… or no longer living in Banshee."

"Find me more."

"No. She has nothing to do with anything."

"But I'm curious," Rebecca stated. She crossed her arms. "My curiosity will be sated. Do as you're told, Clay."

Burton positively hated being called by his first name. It showed in the way he clenched his fists. Even if his expression didn't change. Behind his lifeless eyes was a spark—a spark of something like defiance. Rebecca tilted her head, and then walked forward. She came to a stop in front of him and raised a brow. Her uncle may have owned him, but that did not mean she couldn't tug on the leash. It very well meant she could tug to her heart's desire, and Burton could not lash out. Whatever spark of defiance he had would always be squashed before it surfaced completely. To have this power felt amazing, and Burton was probably the only one in existence that would let her get away with it. The hearts of men were fickle things, but Clay Burton's loyalty would never waver.

His fists unclenched, and he curtly nodded his head. Satisfied by his response, Rebecca hummed in approval. She walked by, making sure to lightly touch his shoulder as she did so. He flinched again. "By the way… You shouldn't sleep in your glasses. They're viable to break," she advised. "You wouldn't want me to take them off when I come in at night… would you?" His glower was answer enough. Rebecca left his room, no longer able to hold back the grin.

0-0

Alison had woken up well before she was ready. She was comfortable and hadn't wanted to move. Despite being squished between the small couch and the heavy body on top of her. Internally, she sighed, even though she hadn't needed to. It took a lot to wake up her sleeping companion. She shifted a bit, and in his sleep, he shifted, too—fingers gripping her side and nose nuzzling her neck. The first time she had woken up with him like this, her body hadn't recoiled. Maybe because her mind hadn't woken up at the time, but she hadn't been opposed to his sleeping position. With his face buried in the crook of her neck and his opposite hand holding her side, it had been comfortable. For her. She had fallen asleep sitting straight up. But him… Twisting his body like that with his feet still on the floor had to be rough. Still, every time she had fallen asleep on his couch, those were the positions she had found them in during the later morning hours.

The District Attorney stretched her neck back, resting the back of her head against the back of the couch. She yawned and squeezed her eyes shut. Three months ago, she wouldn't—and couldn't—picture herself waking up next to someone that looked like a monster. Hell, three months ago, she couldn't imagine being near one. Yet, here she was, three months later, snuggled up on the couch of a man that looked like a monster. She had become friends with Kurt Bunker, a former Neo-Nazi. And it was far from a tentative friendship. Point being—she hadn't minded sleeping over. She hadn't minded waking up next to him. She hadn't minded a lot of things, actually.

Like his tattoos. Most of the time, she didn't see them. They weren't glaringly obvious anymore. That didn't stop Kurt from attempting to hide them, anyway. But… My, how things had changed since their first exchange of words three months ago. Alison was comfortable with him, and she trusted him. The talking, the teasing, the casual touching—all that was because of the trust. The tattoos were… an afterthought. Getting to know him had covered up the fact that he had the ink of a monster. Sometimes, the thought would cross her mind, however. Would… seeing all of his tattoos matter? Actually seeing them like she had that night. Would it change how she saw him now? Probably not, but she wanted to check, anyway. She was at the point where she wanted to see them. She was at a point where she didn't shudder at the thought of them. Because it was Kurt. His being Kurt covered up the ink of a monster.

Alison bit her lower lip as she tilted her head back down. If she remembered correctly, Kurt didn't work today, and she most likely wouldn't go in today either. Weekends were meant for relaxing at home. Gordon would understand. Perhaps she could stay over a little longer instead of heading for the door in a hasty way. Alison shifted again, maneuvering just a tiny bit so that his face resting on her shoulder instead of her neck. The first time he had woken up to discover where his face had been, the man had nearly caused bruises—on both sides—in his attempt to get away. While he had apologized profusely, she had been trying not to laugh. The sight had been funny—him tense and pressed against the wall, looking like a cat trying to avoid the rain. Kurt had kept his distance for a few days afterwards, and that had not been funny at all. So it had become a precaution. Sliding a bit away from him, before waking him up, to avoid that drastic reaction was necessary.

"Bunker," Alison whispered. Despite knowing him for three months, she still referred to him by his last name. That… That wasn't a comfort thing. It was a habitual thing. Kurt had stopped calling her DA Medding a few weeks after her phone had been returned to her. He had been awkward as hell in the beginning, but gradually, her name rolled off his tongue in a natural way. Alison had yet to break the habit—that's all. Maybe one day… "Bunker…!" A bit more insistent, she lifted her shoulder a few times. He groaned lightly and lifted his head on his own. His mouth opened wide in a yawn and is eyes squeezed shut.

"What time is it?" he asked, voice a deep drawl due to sleep.

Alison smiled at what was to come. Now, he still half-sleep. Soon, though, he would fully wake and realized where he was. "Don't know," she answered. "My phone's still in the kitchen." He grunted a bit, and then rested his cheek against her shoulder. Again, his grip tightened around her, his body relaxing again. Then he tensed, jerking away from her like a fire had exploded. Holding back a grin, Alison watched him practically leap to his side of the couch. He stared wide-eyed at her, shame coloring his cheeks. "Without fail," she muttered.

"W-What? I-"

"Nothing," Alison replied. She stood up, hands reaching for the ceiling in a stretch. Her eyes shifted to him, seeing that his body had already began relaxing. "You got breakfast?"

"You staying?" Kurt questioned. She gave a noncommittal shrug, but at his unwavering gaze, she nodded. "I can make us some eggs?"

"Do you have shredded cheese? Bacon? Pepper? You know how to make an omelet?" Kurt gave her a flat look, but it was overshadowed by the tiny smile he gave as he stood up from the couch.

"What? You spoil me," Alison stated like it was his fault. Shaking his head a little, Kurt headed to the kitchen, and she followed behind, wearing a small smile of her own. Their paths diverged once they hit the island counter—her heading to the refrigerator and him going for the cabinets where his skillets were. Sure, he did most of the work, but she did help out with the prepping.

She pulled the carton of eggs out, and then set them down on the island counter, and then went about gathering the other things. The two moved about the kitchen with ease. They had done it so many times that they had learn to glide pass one another without bumping. The first time Alison had attempted to help had been a disaster they may or may not have led to a silly food fight. The last time she had had a food fight had been in college and it was nearly the entire campus involved. It hadn't been nearly as fun as it had been with Kurt.

Smiling to herself, Alison finished placing the things she wanted in her omelet. Huh. Actually, he hadn't confirmed if he could make an omelet or not. Shrugging, she sat down on her barstool, hand reaching for her cell phone. The barstools to the island counter were new. She had convinced him to purchase them a month ago since they tended to stay in the kitchen when she would visit. The coffee table in his living room had been an afterthought. On his part. So sometimes, they would eat in the living room.

Alison made herself comfortable as she scrolled through her phone. Lena had sent her several texts since the last time she checked. The ADA had called her twice. She instantly decided not to return any of his calls until she returned to work. Gordon had sent a single text, so she would look at it once she dealt with her best friend. Lena took priority. Her best friend was currently out of the country. She and Jenna had gone to London to visit the parents. It was the first time since their relationship began that Jenna arranged for the family meeting. Lena had been nervous even as she boarded the plane. And it hadn't stopped once they had touched down either. It was the reason Alison had been receiving these 'What do I do?' type of text messages.

Sighing lightly, she began to reply. By the time she finished, the smell of breakfast had wafted into her nostrils. She quickly sent the text to Gordon, agreeing to his proposal for dinner, later on this evening, before setting down her phone. She stood up and headed to the refrigerator. On top is where he kept his bread. Without heels, she could just barely reached the loaf. "You want toast?" Alison asked, opening the bag.

"Yeah," Kurt answered without turning away from the skillet in front of him. She headed over to the toaster on his right. Their arms lightly touched as she placed two slices of bread into the toaster. It had been an accident. Kurt hadn't flinched. Alison was glad to know their accidental touches didn't bother him anymore. "Almost done—you can wait in the living room if you want."

"Okay, I want toast, too," she told him. He grunted in acknowledgement, and so Alison left his side to head back to the living room. She sat down on the couch and stretched out her legs. A deep sigh left her as she shut her eyes. How was she to approach this? No matter her approach, more than likely the answer would be no. But she was worried that her question would undo the progress he had shown so far. Hence why she felt the need for a plan. Alison relaxed her body, legs crossed at the ankles and resting on the coffee table.

She didn't know how long she sat there thinking, but eventually the smell of food interrupted her thoughts. Opening her eyes, she found Kurt standing over her, balancing two bowls and two small plates in his arms. Quickly, she removed her legs from the coffee table. He sat down the dishes, revealing scrambled eggs and toasts. The eggs had the items she had pulled from the refrigerator—ham cubes, shredded cheese, bacon, and sour cream. Her mouth watered at the sight.

"I don't know how to make an omelet," Kurt told her as he sat down. "I mixed the pepper in with the eggs."

"I suppose this will do," Alison kept her tone neutral as she reached for a bowl. Kurt shook his head as he grabbed his bowl. His did not have nearly as much ingredients as her bowl did. "So you're off today?" she questioned, about to devour her meal. She glanced at him to see him nod. "How long are they going to keep you on the same shift?"

"Don't know," Kurt replied, and then dug in to his own meal. "Me and Billy are still new, so more than likely, we won't be getting a shift change until next year."

"Oh, so it's Billy now?" Alison teased. Kurt pressed his lips together and averted his gaze. He had mentioned his fellow deputy before, but he had called him Raven at that time. She had been under the impression that the two deputies had been just colleagues, but it seemed that had shifted to something closer to friendship. What with Kurt referring to him as 'Billy,' and all. Honestly, it was surprising. She had thought he and Brock would get along way before anyone else, especially a minority. "When did that happen?"

"It… Nothing happened," Kurt murmured, clearly hesitant. "He just… talks to me, especially when our shifts drag on. Sometimes… we eat lunch together. The Sheriff and Deputy Lotus have taken vacation, so it's just us two."

"Did you make another friend?" she crooned.

"I don't think he'll ever invite me over for dinner, so..."

"Still, it's a good thing—that he's talking to you at all?"

"… Yeah," he agreed with a slight nod.

While they ate, they discussed simple things. Like the plot of the book he was currently reading, and the wants and expectations of the newest Marvel movie. If they could help it, they normally didn't discuss work. Conflict of interest, and whatnot. Still, there were times that they would rant about something that happened while working. Sometimes, Kurt would talk about the Sheriff, too. He probably didn't realize that he had a slight case of hero worship for the man. Alison would make sure to tease him about it later.

Kurt stood up, collecting the empty dishes. He began heading towards the kitchen, and Alison stood up as well. "You have water?" she asked. He nodded, and so she followed him into the kitchen. She went over to the refrigerator, but did not open it. Instead, she shifted her gaze to Kurt, who had begun rinsing the dishes off in the sink. She folded her arms under her chest, eyeing his long-sleeved shirt. "Hey, Bunker…?" Kurt made noise of inquiry, but didn't look up from his task. Alison remained silent. It wasn't until he shut off the water and turned to face her that she breathed in deeply, preparing herself. "Can you show me your tattoos?" The direct approach it was.

"No."

Alison frowned. Although she had expected a negative response, she hadn't expected an automatic one. He hadn't even thought about the question. His answer had come quick as a snap. Admittedly, his response brought on feelings of disappointment. Perhaps she had gotten too comfortable. She almost did not want to continue this line of conversation. Holding her arms tighter against herself, she opened her mouth. "Why not?"

"I…" Kurt faced the sink again, inked hands gripping the counter. "Why do you want to?"

"Because I'm curious," Alison stated. She took a few steps towards his rigid form. "I just want to see…"

"No," he repeated, sharper than the first time. It was slight, but her heart jerked at the tone of his voice. She was used to his voice, and his voice had rarely changed inflections. Biting her lower lip, she ignored the nervousness that had formed just below the surface. Still, her next steps forward were cautious. He moved away, eyes focused on the tiled floor. Despite his distancing, his body still faced hers. He hadn't completely withdrawn himself. Alison swallowed as she let her arms fall to her sides.

"I'll… show you mine if you show me yours," she suggested. Immediately his eyes were on her again. Alison didn't know whether to take that as a relief or not. Kurt looked… startled.

"You… You have a tattoo?" he questioned.

"No, but if it'll make you feel better, I can get one—a big black panther on my back, clawing at my skin?" The corner of his lips quirked upward. Thankfully, he had gotten the humor behind her words. Still, his gaze fell to the floor again. Alison pressed her lips together and took one more step closer. She stood right in front of him. "Please, Bunker… I'm comfortable with you now. Seeing them won't change that."

"I don't want…" Kurt began. He visibly swallowed hard. His gaze remained on the floor. "I don't want you to look at me like you did that night."

"We've come a long way from that night," Alison stated. "Besides, you took off your shirt that night regardless of the several other people in the room. Don't tell me you're shy now." Her teasing had gotten her another slight upturn of his lips. "Come on—let me see you." Kurt still appeared quite uncomfortable, but he nodded in head, relenting to her request. Slowly, he grabbed the back of his shirt, and then pulled the dark cloth over his head. Like before, he wore a black undershirt. He pulled that off, too.

Despite what she had told him, Alison still felt her insides clench in panic. The giant swastika on his chest was hard to ignore. She didn't know why, but the ink on his chest had a different feel than the others. It seemed bigger and more horrid than the glimpse she had seen that night. The image was spread across his chest in an honored fashion like it had been the greatest gift he had received. She had seen it many times before on criminals she had sent away, but never so large. Never so gregarious. This person in front of her had been proud to be a monster. Kurt had been proud of his role in the Brotherhood. If things had been different—if the Millers hadn't welcomed him into their home—he would just be another monster.

A sharp breath left her, snapping her out of her observation on the ink on his chest. Well, she had thought it had been her. Alison had managed to keep her breathing neutral. Kurt had not. He wasn't looking at her and he had curled in on himself. He was ashamed. Realizing this, Alison relaxed. She hadn't realized her body had tensed in the first place. Without her mind consciously telling her, she reached for him. Her fingertips brushed against the side of his face where the smallest swastika had been drawn near the corner of his eye. He jolted at her touch and snapped his line of sight to her.

Alison blinked once, and then held his wary and questioning gaze. Truthfully, she didn't have answers to his unspoken questions. She hadn't planned on touching. Her fingers seemed to become sentient because, again, they moved on their own. Whilst she looked him in the eye, her fingers slid down to his neck, tracing the image of wings on his throat. She felt him swallow. She felt the shaky breaths that left him. She felt his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips.

Heat bloomed in her chest and spread through her veins. The heat curling within her was something she was unaccustomed to. But it wasn't the same prickly feeling she had had three months ago. This was different. This was… remarkable. Alison swallowed hard as her fingers slid down, caressing the ink on his left arm. The mark of a monster, and here she was touching as though it wasn't there. She should stop this. She should step back and pretend she had never asked to see. Never been allowed to feel. But damn it. Her body would not listen. The fingers of her left hand reached forward as well, knuckles grazing the cross on his abdomen. Kurt's breath hitched as he shut his eyes. He leaned into her touch, sighed out, and relaxed. His pectoral region flexed. The movement caused her to drop her gaze to the giant swastika.

Funny how a symbol of peace had been stolen and twisted into a symbol of evil. Alison traced the markings of the swastika with her knuckles, pressing against his skin. "Did this hurt?" she asked in a whisper, dragging her nails across the symbol. Her eyes lifted to meet his. Kurt stared back, hazel eyes having an intensity that seemed to penetrate deep inside. He breathed through his nose. With tightened lips, he nodded his head. "Did they all hurt?"

"No," he murmured.

"Which one?" Alison questioned. Kurt told her with his eyes. Following his gaze, her eyes settled on his right forearm. 'Fuck all yall' is what it said. The hostile words were underneath a bolded cross. She had seen it before. She had thought it seemed out of place from his other tattoos. The symbols he had on his body were so very much like the symbols on others. The countless monsters she had put away wore them like a uniform. This one on Kurt, though, had never been seen in any variation on another. Alison moved her hand, tracing the skinny letters with her index finger. "Why was this one different?"

"… After the Millers," he replied. He swallowed again. "I was… numb… and angry at everything." Alison continuously traced the 'all' part of the tattoo. He twitched, and she noticed his bulging vein. "I got this tattoo… because it was the only way I could express how much I hated everything—the Millers, the Brotherhood, all of it. I didn't feel the needle." Alison looked up again. It must have been his only way to express what he felt. He couldn't become angry outwardly or it would raise questions, so an edgy tattoo would do the trick. Freshly eighteen, and that's all he could come up with to cope.

"If… If that isn't the reason you left them, then what was?" she asked.

Kurt licked his lips, and Alison followed the movement of his tongue. "There was a church… in Harrisburg… Jewish. A group of us heard about some sort of lock in…" He looked away from her, gaze on the floor again. She could see where this was heading. "I made the call. I set it up. We, uh, pushed our way in, beat down anyone who tried to fight back—most of them didn't. We didn't care. It was just an excuse, anyway. The men were beaten. Some of the women were, too. There were children… They were made to watch. We destroyed everything that we could. Knocked over things we couldn't. The plan had been to cause a ruckus, and then leave. I didn't know why we had stuck around until… until the smoke."

"You… You started a fire?" Her question came out breathless. It felt like her throat had begun to constrict. That hadn't been her real question. Her real question dealt with his actions while in the church. Her imagination was going a mile a minute, filling in the blanks, and it wasn't a nice image. To think of him like that… Jesus Christ.

"No," Kurt answered. "It was my brother. He was there with me. We all… laughed as the people inside scrambled to get out. Then came the screaming… I-" His breaths came out short. "-I didn't handle it well."

"Because of Naomi…?"

"I thought of her, and I couldn't breathe. Everything I've done came rushing back in an instant," Kurt explained. "I imagined her screaming for me. Screaming at me. I couldn't… I couldn't…" He shook his head. "While my brother and the rest of them kept hollering and cheering, I backed away. I didn't… know what I was doing until I heard someone ask me what the emergency was… I had called 911. My brother saw me, though. Someone else did, too, but I didn't care. I told them what happened, dropped the phone, and then ran. I ran away with… with Naomi's ghost chasing me. I didn't stop running until… I didn't stop."

Alison had heard about that. Years back, it had been all over the news since it had been so close to Banshee. Monsters had been arrested. People—children—had died. The synagogue had not been savaged. It had been a horrible night for those involved in the chaos. The recorded call had been played numerous time in an attempt for someone to recognize the voice and call in with information. That panicked, desperate voice had implicated himself in the fire, too. It had been Kurt Bunker. He had been responsible for that tragedy, and then had run off like a coward. It… was a lot to take in. The person she had been friends with for months had been capable of those things.

I have done things that would make you sick…

Abruptly, Alison snatched her hands back. The heat had shifted to cold and she shuddered internally. Comfortable or not, she shouldn't have- Jesus Christ…! Pressing her lips into a thin line, she took several steps backwards. She did not look him in the eye. "I…" Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. The dry, scratchy feeling in her throat didn't help matters either. She clasped her hands together and cleared her throat. "I…" She tried again, but she had no idea what to say. "I should go," Alison managed before turning away.

"Wait…!" Kurt called to her, but she was already briskly walking out of the kitchen. Her eyes darted around, attempting to locate her shoes. She felt him right behind her. Despite herself, she couldn't help but glance back. He was in the process of putting his undershirt back on. She eyed the visible tattoos, and scolded herself for not flinching. Jesus Christ… This was confusing. This was overwhelming. Alison shifted her attention back to the room in search of her flats. They were under the coffee table. She walked over and knelt down, arm stretching to grab them. "Alison-!"

"What?!" Perhaps she had said it with more bite than intended. Kurt had reared back, expression taking on his 'kicked puppy' look. Alison sighed as she sat down on the couch to slip on her shoes. "I… have things to do," she told him. A lie. "So I'll have to cut this visit short."

"You're scared, I know, but-"

She turned sharp eyes on him, and he wisely snapped his mouth shut. He had no idea what she was feeling right now. She had no idea what to feel right now. "Don't you dare tell me what you think I feel," Alison said through clenched teeth. "Let me decide that on my own." For several tense moments, they stared at one another. Then he dropped his gaze. Kurt nodded and said nothing more. Breathing in through her nose, Alison slipped into her shoes and stood up. She headed for the door, grabbing her keys from the table cabinet on her way. Without a word of goodbye, she opened the door and hurriedly took her leave.

It would take her hours to realize she had left her cell phone.

0-0

Gordon Hopewell didn't know what to expect from her tonight. He had been anxious about it all day. This would be the first time he would be seeing her on this date. Previously, Alison would disappear for the day. She wouldn't show up for work. Wouldn't text or call either. Without fail, on this date every year, anyone would be hard-pressed to find her. Gordon had been completely surprised that she had agreed to his sudden dinner proposal in the first place. He had expected resistance when he had sent the text this morning. But she had so easily agreed, which is why he found himself waiting to be seated at one of Banshee's finer quality restaurants.

With it being fairly close to the town hall, Gordon was familiar with the establishment. Many times, he and coworkers had come to have lunch. He hadn't visited during dinner hours, though. It seemed to be much quieter at night than in the day time. It seemed more relaxed. That had been good considering… Gordon glanced at his wristwatch. He was a bit late—just about ten minutes behind the designated time. He had, of course, sent a text to let Alison know about his tardiness. She hadn't responded, but hopefully, she wasn't too irritated.

"Right this way, Mr. Mayor."

The young male receptionist guided him further into the restaurant. He led him to the far back where he spotted Alison sitting at one of the booths. She hadn't noticed his approach. Gordon waved the receptionist off, informing him that he could take it from there. After the guy left, Gordon sat down across from her. The District Attorney was leaning against the wall, head propped up by her hand and elbow. And also the wall. Her other hand was wrapped around the body of a wine glass.

The image was… not something he had seen before. Alison Medding was a professional woman. There was always an air of pride around her. She carried herself with confidence and her attire showed that, too. She was sharp and observant, and those traits of hers ultimately landed her the position of DA even at her young age. The woman in front of him now seemed to be the opposite. She hadn't even looked up to acknowledge his presence yet. Her clothes hadn't been ironed, haired barely combed, and no jewelry in sight. It was sloppy, and so unlike her.

Gordon eyed the bottle of wine to her left and noted the contents were more than half gone. This was definitely an Alison that he hadn't known. Could this be how she coped with this date? Gordon cleared his throat, subtly announcing his presence. Slowly, she lifted her gaze and stared at him with an unreadable expression. "Sorry if I'm late," he said.

"You are," Alison replied. She pushed herself from the wall and dropped her arm to the table.

"I texted you," Gordon stated. She averted her eyes, and mumbled a few words under her breath. "What was that?"

"I said I left my phone somewhere."

"Are you… feeling alright?"

"I'm fine." She was obviously not. Alison reached for the bottle of wine and filled her glass again. "So tell me, Gordon… Why invite me to dinner?" She took in a large gulp of wine, and the sighed heavily. "What's the occasion?"

"I can't just want to talk to a friend? We used to have dinners all the time," Gordon reminded.

"That was before you decided to awkwardly flirt with me," Alison muttered. He internally winced. That had been an uncomfortable tactic when he had been in a bad place. She hadn't needed to bring up that embarrassing moment. "Shut that shit down real quick, didn't I?" She laughed lightly, and then guzzled down more wine.

"Jesus, Alison…! How much have you had to drink?"

To his surprise, she shrugged her shoulders. Alison gestured vaguely in the wine bottle's direction. "I think that's bottle two," she answered. Gordon's jaw dropped. This was not normal. Sure, it was expected for her to find some way to not think about this certain day, but drinking excessively? It hadn't seemed the route that Alison Medding would take. He had never seen her with alcohol before. She didn't have any in her home. She had never drank during outings, but that might have something to do with her professionalism. Still… "Don't change the subject. What do you want? I'd rather be home, sulking in peace."

Sulking, she had said. Gordon grimaced, realizing he had been right in his assumption. This was a terrible day for her, and she would rather be alone. But as her friend, he hadn't wanted her to suffer in silence. As her friend, he had been worried and anxious about her wellbeing all day. "Listen, Alison… I wanted to make sure you were okay," he said. Gordon nervously rubbed the top of his thighs. She merely raised a brow before taking the rim of her glass to her lips again. Clearly, she wanted an explanation, and wasn't going to waste time asking for clarification. "We've been friends for a long time now-" Alison groaned in an exaggerated manner. Apparently, she was quite the rude drunk.

"Jesus Christ, Gordon! Just spit it out!" she demanded, slight grin on her face. Oh, she had only been teasing. "Seriously, I'm going to leave if you don't tell me." Or had she? Whatever the case, she was in no condition be to driving anywhere. Despite the lack of slurred words, clearly she was still drunk.

"I know what happened to you when you were sixteen," Gordon blurted. His voice hadn't been loud, but loud enough to almost instantly wipe the grin from Alison's face. She stared, slowly lowering the glass from her lips. With a clink, it touched the table's surface. Alison, however, had not released her hold on it. This was not how he wanted this conversation to go. Honestly, he hadn't wanted to tell her in the first place. Just spend time with her enough so that she could become distracted and not think of her personal tragedy. Yet here he was, bringing up the touchy subject all because Alison had demanded it of him. Well, she was an intimidating woman, after all. "And I know that today is the day it happened," Gordon continued. "I wanted to be here for you."

For a moment, or two, Alison merely stared at him, expression completely unreadable to him. Then the glass shattered in her hand. Eyes wide, Gordon shifted his line of sight from her face to her hand. Red wine and blood mixed and dripped from her open palm. He cried her name, alarmed by the sight. He reached for napkins instinctively, but the harsh voice from the woman across from him halted his efforts. "How the fuck do you know that?" Harsh though it had been, her question came out eerily calm. "There is only one other person on this Earth that knows. How do you?"

"I looked it up," Gordon murmured. God, several years in the Marines seemed like nothing compared to sitting across from this terrifying woman. "Before you announced your campaign to run for District Attorney. You told me before anyone else, so I… had to make sure there was nothing stopping you from winning. So I found that police report-"

"You had no right to do that!" Alison cut him off. "My history is my business! You-"

"I had it removed from the records," Gordon calmly interrupted despite the glare being directed at him. "No one else knows. No one else can know. I promise—this won't get out."

"You asshole." Alison kept her eyes on him as she reached for the napkins herself. She wiped the dark liquid from her hand as her expression became just a bit more hardened. "It's not about it getting out! It's about knowing something about me that I didn't tell you."

"Would you have told me?"

"What makes you so special, Gordon?" she asked, shaking her head. He cringed, not expecting the question to hurt like a punch. "Not even Lena knows. Why should you?"

"If Lena doesn't know, who were you talking about?"

Alison opened her mouth, only to snap it shut again. She blinked twice, and then furrowed her brow. Her gaze drifted to the table, and a slight frown appeared. Then she breathed deeply. "Someone who's more a friend to me than you are at this moment." Another punch to his gut had him clutching his thigh. Alison always had a way with words. There were just never directed at him in such a vicious manner. "I'm leaving," she announced, scooting across the seat. She stumbled out of the booth, heels clicking against the floor. Despite the heated argument, Gordon's mind protested her departure.

"Are you crazy, Alison? You can't drive!" he exclaimed as he stood up. She gave him a withering glare before grabbing the bottle of wine. She staggered away then, looking as though she may fall at any moment. "Shit…!" Gordon hurriedly pulled his wallet from his pocket. He pulled a fifty dollar bill out, and then dropped it on the table. They hadn't ordered, but Alison had mentioned the bottle she had taken had been number two. With the way she moved, that had probably been number three. Hopefully, the wine hadn't been that expensive and the bill would be covered.

When Gordon made it outside, he saw that Alison was attempting to unlock her car door. She seemed to be having quite the difficult time with the task—thank God. He moved quickly in her direction and snatched her keys from her hands. "You must think I won't hit you!" Alison sharply turned and held out her hand. "Give me my keys!"

"I'm not letting you endanger your life because you're mad at me!" Gordon retorted. "I'm taking you home—let's go!" Not waiting to hear her response, he turned on his heel, fully expecting her to follow. He had not expected the kick to the back of his knee. "Alison…!"

She rushed by him, heading in the direction of his vehicle. He sighed heavily, watching the woman trip and almost fall over. No wonder she didn't drink. She was a serious handful. As the doors were unlocked, Alison climbed into the passenger seat. Shaking his head, Gordon walked over to his vehicle to open his door. By the time he had gotten comfortable in his own seat, she had finished programming his GPS. "Take me there," Alison ordered. Gordon looked at the address as he stuck his key into the ignition. He couldn't recognize it.

"What's there?" he questioned. Alison merely took a swig of the wine. Pursing his lips, Gordon shifted gears and pulled out of the parking lot. He glanced her way again a few minutes into the drive. She had her head pressed against the window, eyes shut and frown in place. Gordon sighed again. "For what it's worth, and if you can even remember all this tomorrow, I am sorry for prying." His words were met by silence. "What happened to you was-"

"Shut up, Gordon," Alison whispered. "Just shut up. It's not your concern."

The Mayor frowned, turning his eyes back on the road. He hoped this argument did not mean an end to their friendship. He felt like a jerk—or asshole, as she preferred to call him. Gordon almost wished he hadn't come across the information in the first place. But what could he do about it now? Alison was not reasonable in her current state. Hell, she might not even be reasonable about this subject when she regained sobriety. With any luck, he could apologize properly… on Monday. Give her time to cool off—and get over a massive hangover—before trying again.

For now, an awkward silence fell, leaving him no choice but to focus on the destination. All too soon, the female automated voice stated that he had arrived. Blinking, he looked outside. They seemed to have come to a fairly empty housing structure. It looked more like a motel than anything. "Is this-" Gordon's question was interrupted by Alison shoving her palm against his face. Fortunately, the shove hadn't been too hard, but it had still caught him off guard. With her other hand, she opened the passenger door, silently demanding her keys back. Huffing lightly, Gordon maneuvered his hand into his pocket and pulled the keys out. "Are you sure-?"

"Go home, Gordon," Alison said, and then nearly fell out of the car. "I got this." Her actions were very contradictory. Gordon watched her carelessly make her way across the street towards the apartments. He continued to watch as she came to a stop in front of a dark green door. The District Attorney knocked on the door. He couldn't hear, but judging from the tension of her fist, Alison had knocked loudly. He glanced at the passenger seat, noting the empty bottle she had left behind.

Then he shifted his attention back to where she stood. The door swung open. Gordon squinted, attempting to see who had opened the door for her. Through the darkness, he couldn't make out the identity. Could it be the person Alison had mentioned earlier—this 'more a friend?' He felt a scowl forming. The bite in her words still had him reeling. All the years they had been friends, and- Gordon shook his head, focusing again. Alison said something, and then pushed her way in. Despite his feelings on the matter, he sent a silent prayer to whoever had to deal with the antics of a drunken and aggressive Alison Medding.

0-0

Fingers drumming against his knee, Kurt Bunker stared blankly at the opposite wall. Besides the tapping of his fingers, his outward appearance remained relatively calm. Inside, though, a storm had been raging. No amount of meditation could calm the anxiety he had been feeling. Ever since the morning hours, his thoughts had been a jumble of panicked thoughts. Not even Billy had managed to quell his nerves with his stupid 'punny' text messages. Or his thoughtful reassurances that the DA just needed some time. Of course, his coworker did not know the identity. Kurt refused to tell him, but Billy did know the basics… a very watered down version of it, at least.

He had let it slip during one of their conversations. It had been an accident, but Billy had leapt at the chance to learn about the woman with the cell phone. Kurt didn't know for sure, but his fellow deputy seemed to be good at reading his expressions. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that Kurt had been in contact with someone, so Billy Raven knew about Alison, but he didn't know about Alison.

A long sigh left his nose as he shut his eyes. If things continued like this, there wouldn't be anything else to know, though. Alison had left her phone here, so he couldn't contact her at all. With the way things had been left, Kurt doubted she wanted to see him again even to retrieve her cell phone. The way she had looked at him… it had been worse than that night in the CADI. They hadn't known one another at that point. But this morning, so far away from that night… The look in her eyes hadn't just been fight or flight. It had been awareness—an understanding of the monster he had been, of what he had been capable of. Still capable of.

No wonder she had pulled away from him as though his skin had burned. Rejection—he hadn't thought he had needed to prepare himself for that. He had experienced it a lot for the past few years, but nothing had hit him so close. He had gotten too comfortable, and had really started to believe his past hadn't mattered to her. Of course it mattered. It would always be an issue no matter who came into contact with him. Alison had learned only some of the horrible deeds he participated in, and had fled. Maybe he shouldn't have told her. He probably should have left it to her imagination like he normally did with Billy.

However, in that moment, he had stopped thinking. Just stopped. He had barely breathed. Alison had touched him. Willingly. It had been puzzling that she had wanted to see the ink. It had been electrifying to feel the tips of her fingers on his skin. It had burned in a pleasant way that had had him aching for more. And she had given him more. Not just his face, but his neck, chest, and arms. Dreams of what happened in the CADI paled in comparison to her touch in reality. Kurt groaned through closed lips as he opened his eyes. He shifted slightly in seat, willing thoughts of her touch away. He needed to stop thinking about it. It wouldn't happen again.

Suddenly, loud knocking forced the thoughts away. The noise caused him to turn his head, eyes focusing on the front door. It came again, causing him to stand from the couch. He discarded the unread book and it landed on the coffee table. Who could it be…? Kurt didn't exactly have neighbors. Billy hadn't been over before, and he wouldn't just show up unexpected. With it being so late at night, it wouldn't be a random person. The landlord, maybe…? Unlikely. The man barely wanted anything to do with his tenants. Probably why he didn't have that many in the first place.

The knocking came again, more forceful than before. Maybe it was Billy. He enjoyed 'knocking like he the police.' Kurt never understood the expression, and his coworker seemed too keen on not telling him. Frankly, it just seemed like an exuberant way of knocking. With a sigh, he made his way to the door. Mid knock, he unlocked and swung the door open. A silent intake of breath made him nearly choke. Instead of his fellow deputy, the DA stood on the other side. She blinked a few times, and then squinted at him. "Bunker…" she greeted.

Kurt swallowed hard, honestly surprised by her presence. He hadn't thought she would come back, especially not within twenty-four hours. The last time he had looked at the clock, it had been nearing ten. "Alison…" He had seemingly lost his breath because her name had come out as a whisper.

"What? You're not going to let me in?" she questioned, and then clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. Not waiting for a response, she moved forward, almost roughly pushing him aside. Kurt kept his eyes on her as she deposited her keys on the table cabinet and walked further down the hall. It was more stumbling than her normal way of walking. He furrowed his eyebrows as she disappeared around the corner. She wasn't… drunk, was she? But she didn't like drinking.

Frowning, Kurt closed and locked his door before following after his unexpected guest. She sat on the couch, attempting to remove her remaining shoe. Alison huffed in annoyance, seemingly because she could not accomplish her task in her current condition. "Did you drive here?" he asked. She sighed heavily and relaxed, dropping her foot to the floor, apparently giving up.

"No," she answered.

"Did you walk?"

"No."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Is 'no' the only thing you can say?"

"… No," Alison said, and then smirked at him. Kurt tried not to roll his eyes. Still, it appeared that she wasn't angry with him. But maybe the alcohol had been the reason for that. Tomorrow would be another story. Sighing, Kurt left the living room to retrieve a bottled water from the refrigerator. He came back to the sight of her curled up on the couch. He held the water out to her. She merely blinked at the sight.

"Drink it," he told her. Alison stuck her tongue out. "Drink it, you're going to get dizzy if you don't."

"I already ate. Like a huge meal. I'm fine."

"You're not. Drink it." Kurt forced her to take the bottle. She rolled her eyes at him, but obliged his request. She drank it all without stopping, but that was normal, and slammed the empty plastic on the coffee table. Both of her eyebrows raised as she looked at him as if to say 'Happy now?' Kurt pursed his lips in response. Alison rolled her eyes again.

"Help me." She stretched out her hand to him, and he immediately moved closer so that she can grab hold. She yanked him down to sit on the couch, and then lifted her leg to rest on his lap. "Help me," she repeated, wiggling her foot.

"You're drunk, Alison," Kurt told her, shifting to take her shoe off. She merely snorted. "I've seen enough public intoxication to know." He had to hand it to her, though. It was his first time seeing drunken antics where the person did not slur their words. She giggled lightly, and then groaned when he slipped her black shoe off. Kurt shifted uneasily in response.

"What—you're gonna arrest me?" Alison asked. "We're not even in public. I'd sue your ass and win." Kurt let a chuckle slip, not doubting that in the least. Slipping her leg from his lap, she leaned against him in the same motion. With her head against his shoulder, she let out a sigh. "I drank a lot," she confessed. "So many thoughts… wouldn't leave my head." Something inside clenched at her words. Of course. She must have been thinking about it since she had left. He had been thinking about it this entire time, too. "Even though I knew what you were capable of… Hearing about it was… different. I didn't…" She sighed again, and then lifted her head. Cautiously, Kurt turned to meet her gaze.

"I didn't want to be dishonest," he murmured. "I am a monster, and I know you're uncomfortable-"

"No," Alison interrupted. Then she shook her head. "Yes… I mean…" She grabbed her head. "Stop talking, Bunker." The side of her head rested against his shoulder again. "I know what you did—what you used to do—and it should scare me. Make me uncomfortable. But it doesn't. What makes me uncomfortable is… that I'm not uncomfortable after hearing those things. The more I thought about it, the more I thought how strange I've become. I'm the monster." She patted her chest twice. "I'm the monster. And I don't mind."

"Alison-" Kurt tried, but she grabbed his left hand with both of hers. He swallowed hard as she turned to look at him again.

"I see your hands and I should be wary, but I'm not," she continued, fingers rubbing his skin. "This ink should be a repellant, but I want… I want to touch. Why did you let me touch you?" Kurt opened his mouth, but he didn't have an answer—not one that he couldn't take back later. Truthfully, he hadn't expected her to. The thought of her touching him like that had never crossed his mind. Only in his dreams had he ever been so bold. He knew this inked marked him. He knew that it prevented him from many things. Like she had said, her wariness of him had been expected. But… Alison, by her own admission, hadn't felt that in some time. Maybe…

"Don't talk anymore. You're drunk," Kurt murmured, taking back his hand. He turned his gaze away, focusing on the wall ahead of him. Entertaining her words now—having dangerous thoughts—wouldn't do any good. She was his friend, at best. Tomorrow, she might not even allow him to her call that. He frowned, suddenly realizing how complacent he had become. Only after three months, he had become comfortable with this woman. And now that might be over.

"Don't tell me what to do," Alison's voice snapped him out of thoughts of what tomorrow might bring. Her palm lightly pressed against the right side of his face, turning his head to face her. "I'm telling you that I'm not judging your past actions anymore. What right do I have when my past actions aren't something to smile about?" Kurt felt his insides twist. He could feel the increased tempo of his heart. In the silence of his living room, it seemed to be the only thing he could hear. Alison continued speaking, but her voice had become muffled by the pounding in his chest. The warmth of her hand had spread through his body as though he had been lacking heat up until this moment. He reached up, fingers wrapping around her wrist. He felt her fingers curl in response.

"Stop… Stop talking," Kurt demanded, pulling her hand from his face. If she continued, he didn't believe he would be able to stop himself.

"Didn't I just say don't tell me what to do?!" Alison moved to yank back her hand, and he was grateful for that. Any more, and… "It's your fault! Your fault!" She harshly poked at his chest. "If you were anyone else—any other monster…!" The palm of her hand pressed against her forehead. "I would have beat your ass or flat out ignored you… But you are you, and now I can't ignore you. Now I miss you. Now I want to touch you."

"Alison, don't-"

"I said I want to touch." Both of her hands lifted to cup his face, forcing his gaze on her again. Her thumb lightly rubbed against the swastika. Christ…! He had to stop this. He had to stop her. But his body wouldn't obey his mind. Both his mind and body liked the attention. Her intense gaze. Her easy touch. Even her strange way of talking while under the influence. So the feeble urging of his thoughts were almost stanchly ignored. Kurt leaned closer, not sure if she had tugged or he had moved by his own choice. Her fingers slipped down his cheeks to his jaw, intoxicatingly slow. Then down to his throat where she curled her fingers, nails scraping against skin.

Kurt swallowed, and then let out a silent ragged breath. Alison continued to stare at him, eyes holding fascinated curiosity and… something else. He couldn't recognize it, not while trying to keep his hands to himself. With each passing second, it became harder. This was strikingly familiar to his dreams. He wanted to… to touch. More than touch. Christ, help him… Her dark brown eyes wavered, breaking contact with his and shifting down. He looked down, too. It was then that he realized that his hands were trembling. His tainted hands that had committed too many sins… He didn't deserve to touch. Not anyone. Especially not her.

Blinking, Kurt dipped his chin, feeling the shame creep up inside him. It was enough to bring the hazy voice of his conscious into focus. What right did he have? He was undeserving. As he rightfully should be. He was a monster, and just because Alison came close to him—willingly stepped into his orbit—didn't change how horrid he had been. That had been the true reason she had left this morning. "Don't," Kurt murmured, pulling away. "I can't-"

And suddenly, he couldn't feel anything except for his mouth. Her kiss left an electrifying tingle behind. The chaste meeting of their lips numbed everything else. It took several moments after to process what had happened. Kurt gasped sharply and reared back, wondering if he had just imagined it. Alison blinked once, lifting a hand from his shirt to idly touch her lower lip. No, that hadn't been his imagination. His dreams had bled into reality. And he didn't think he could continue to separate the two. Not now.

"That was your fault, too-" Kurt ignored it. Ignored the persistent voice of his conscious, screaming that this couldn't happen. That he didn't deserve this. That touching was forbidden for a monster like them. He ignored it and leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers. The screaming immediately stopped, drowned out by the sound of her light gasp. She didn't recoil, though. Alison sat there, allowing him to kiss her softly. Then she whimpered against him. "Kurt," she whispered. Whatever restraint he still had remaining snapped in two by the sound of her calling his name.

Swiftly, he moved his hands to her waist, pulling her on top of him. Alison's fingers slid against his cheeks against as she straddled his waist. Finally, she returned the kiss as insistently as he needed. Scorching hot, her tongue found his, teasingly coaxing an animalistic growl from within him. No hesitation, she removed her hands from his face to pull up her tan pencil shirt so she could sit comfortably. A strained groan erupted from his mouth, causing her to halt. She stared down at him, brow raised. Then she bit her lower lip. It did little to stifle the smirk on her face. She moved her hips, deliberately slow on top of him.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, feeling her massage his quickly hardening dick. His head rolled back as she continued to grind against him. "That's right. I was a monster, too." Before he could think to question her words, her teeth sank into his throat. A gasp ripped through him. His hands gripped her harder. Her teeth nipped and her lips sucked. Regardless of his tattoos, she painted across his skin using her tongue as a brush. Her fingers curled against his shoulders to steady herself as she rode him so damn slowly. Kurt nearly snarled as he rose to meet her lips again in a bruising kiss. He cupped her ass, pushing against her harder and quicker. Alison gasped against his lips, teeth clashing against his.

So many nights, he had thought of having her like this. Having her gasping and moaning on top of him, trembling as his name fell from her lips. Dreams that he never thought would be possible otherwise, but here they were kissing. Touching. Rubbing. Kurt broke away from her lips, only to ease down while his hands slid up her sides. She slowed her movements, arching her back as his lips brushed against her throat. An appreciated moan broke free as he began suckling her quickened pulse.

Her fingers gripped the back of his neck, nails digging in his skin. The sensation shot though him, and he was amazed by the sudden need of pain mixed with pleasure. He panted heavily against her neck. He had descended into a haze of lust, but he needed to control himself. He needed to slow the fuck down and think. This was Alison. Kurt swallowed, forcing his mind through the clouded mist. Cautiously, he looked up to gauge her reaction. Her eyes were shut and her body still moved against his—he couldn't stop his own movements either—in a subconscious way. It was okay. She wanted this, too. Right?

"Kurt…?" Alison whined his name like a question. He licked his lips in response before stretching his neck to kiss under her chin. She moaned again, enjoying that. Rearing back for just a second, she came back to press her forehead against his. "Touch me." Obediently, Kurt untucked her pink buttoned shirt, revealing her brown skin underneath. He breathed out ragged as his fingertips slithered across. Something like static coursed through him at the sudden contact. Alison allowed him to remove her shirt, letting him see the black bra underneath. She shivered under his gaze. "Touch me," she repeated.

Kurt gently kissed her lips, and then trailed soft kisses down her center as his hands caressed the contours of her back. Alison sighed out heavily, completely relaxing and burying her face in the crook of his neck. All of her movements stopped except her soft breathing. "Alison…?" His calling did little to rouse her. "… Christ!" Blinking, and suppressing the haze completely, Kurt lifted the woman off of him. As expected, he had not received any resistance. He sighed out in disappointment. Clearly, Alison had finally passed out.

With a start, Kurt stood from the couch and backed away. They had been about to- And she was drunk- She was going to kill him. In the morning, she would make him pay for taking advantage of her. A trembling hand raked through his hair. He had taken advantage of her. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, guilt bubbling within him. How could he-? He should have stopped. He should have pushed her away. But her words had affected him. And she had kissed him first… Hadn't she? He couldn't remember who had initiated it. Regardless, he had made the mistake of taking it too far. If she remembered, on top of what had transpired in the morning, how could they ever go back to where they had been?

Kurt stared at her sleeping form, noting her parted and swollen lips. Already, marks were beginning to show where he had touched her. He wanted to kiss her again. Kiss her in all the places he hadn't had the chance to this go around. He recognized that having those thoughts were wrong at this point, but… he couldn't shake them off. A sour laugh came unbidden from his mouth. Christ. He had fucked this up entirely, hadn't he? This wasn't a dream. He couldn't just pretend she didn't affect him. Not now. Not anymore. Not after it happened in reality.

There was no going back either way.

0-0

Whoo boy! I'm back! No, I am not trying to abandon this story. It's just I accidentally submerged myself in another fandom. It has distracted me so much that I create a story about it. My apologies. I've probably been writing for that story since the last time I updated this one in September. Again, I apologize. It was my own fault. But I will continue working on this story because I love it. So I will keep rewatching Banshee in order remind myself how much I want to see this story play out.