Once again, Alison lifted her gaze from her laptop, distracted by the sound of children giggling because they were so entertained. A smile touched her lips as she focused on the source of entertainment. Kurt stomped through the house in an exaggerated fashion, both Naomi and Hank clinging to either of his legs. She believed that the man had been going for dinosaur noises, but he sounded more like a sickly walrus. The children did not mind. They seemed to love it just the same, judging how loud they had gotten. A light chuckle left her mouth, amused by the spectacle.
It was another Saturday of visiting this residence. Hank had arrived during naptime for Naomi, so playtime started almost immediately after her daughter woke up. Alison found herself mildly amazed that the two children had become friendly after only one visit. They were young, so perhaps it was not too surprising. Hank was a good kid. She would hate to see him turn into his father. For now, it might take years for that change to happen, so Alison was comfortable in the blooming friendship between him and Naomi. Maybe there would not be such a horrible change to the boy if Kurt continued to nurture him.
Speaking of Kurt, in the following weeks after the initial meeting with his daughter, he had taken the role of father quite seriously. It had been a near seamless transition. Alison had been quite surprised to find the multitude of items catered for toddlers—and an excessive amount of Pedialyte, for some reason, but at least he had stocked up—around the house. A person, who had not needed to do those things, because Hank was older, had gone out of his way. She had had to keep the smiles to herself as he had showed her. He was so enthusiastic and sweet with Naomi. Everything she wanted and more for their beginnings. Well, he still had trouble disciplining her. She was definitely going to be a spoiled princess at this rate.
Abruptly, the noise in the hallway stopped. A squeal followed the silence. Hank. The squeal had been a dramatic sound of 'ew.' Knowing what it meant, Alison stood up from the coffee table. She stretched a bit, getting rid of the knots in her body for sitting in the same position for too long. Kurt came into the living room, holding Naomi at his side. Hank followed behind, holding his nose. The five-year-old had a flair for the dramatics. Alison had to wonder where he had picked it up. She lifted her arms, intending to take her daughter from Kurt so that she could change the dirty diaper.
"I got it," he said. "I've got a changing table upstairs now. Put it together last night." He turned towards his nephew as Alison lowered her arms. "Stay with Ms. Alison, Hank." The boy nodded his head, and then launched himself on the couch. His little body crushed a discarded coloring book, but he paid no mind, both hands reaching for his tablet. Kurt shook his head and smiled before leaving the living room. "Let's get you cleaned, stinky."
"No!"
Alison had to smile herself. It had been relatively short, but Kurt no longer distressed over his daughter's favorite word. He was getting used to her mannerisms. Alison was also getting used to some things. Hank. Despite any effort of keeping the boy at a reasonable distance, because of the identity of his father, it seemed futile. With each visit, the distance dwindled. There were times, of course, she saw the man, who had been the cause of strife, in the little boy, but those instances were becoming fewer and fleeting. He was not his father, though they shared a resemblance. A person—especially a child—should not be judged based on the sins of their parents.
Hank did not react when Alison moved closer to the couch. He did not look up from his tablet either as she sat down beside him. It seemed that he had gotten used to her presence as well. "Are you reading or playing?" she asked him. Hank usually played games on the device, but occasionally, whenever Naomi had naptime, she would catch him reading. He showed a high level of intelligence for his age. Sometimes, he used words that a five-year-old should not know. Once, or twice, Alison had asked him to repeat his sentence, just to make sure she had heard correctly. Hank always shrugged his shoulders, and then pretended to busy himself with some toy or he would rush off to find his cousin. And so, Alison had stopped her attempts of prodding. Perhaps showing how smart he could be had been discouraged elsewhere. She would not put it pass close-minded people. No, the intellect had to be Kurt's influence. She knew, without a doubt, the man's interest in literature.
"It's a game," Hank answered, leaning towards her to show the screen. Alison peered at the display, watching the boy use his finger to launch basic-shaped birds at fragile structures. "Nay-Nay likes this game, too, but she doesn't know the rules. Bet you can't beat my score!"
"Is that a challenge? Because you know how I feel about those," Alison said, reaching for the tablet.
"No way! I'm super good at this game!"
"I'm super good at games, too," she stated. "Tell me what to do."
For the next few minutes, Hank directed how she should move her finger across the screen in order to get maximum points. Truthfully, she had never been one for mobile games. Alison would rather have a controller in her hands or all of her fingers moving across a keyboard. However, Hank appeared fascinated, so she would not knock his excitement. He enthusiastically gave suggestions and either cheered or booed her efforts. In the end, she was not able to come close to the high score.
"I told you so," Hank smugly announced.
"That you did," Alison replied, shrugging. "I still have Uno."
"I'll beat you one day!"
"Not today," Alison said, simultaneously returning the tablet with one hand and pressing her index finger to the boy's forehead with the other. Hank, of course, exaggeratedly fell back as though he had been taken out by a headshot. He laughed as he went down, though. Alison shook her head, amused by the antics before she stood up. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Kurt stood underneath the archway. He held hands with Naomi, but his eyes fixated on her form. She flushed underneath his gaze, unsure of how long he had been watching. Naomi surely would have announced their presence if quiet for too long. Clearing her throat, Alison forced herself to ignore that penetrating scrutiny. "All fresh and clean now?" she asked, directing her concentration on her daughter.
"Clean!" Naomi confirmed with a toothy grin. She tugged at her father's hand, seemingly snapping him out of his daze, obviously wanting to get at the couch where her cousin idly played with his tablet. "Wanna play!" she said, pointing to Hank. The boy looked up from his tablet, and then patted the space beside him. Naomi released her father's hand and toddled over to the couch. It took her a moment—Alison could see the twitch from Kurt, obviously wanting to help her up—but she finally lifted herself to sit near her cousin.
"Let's play the one with the pretty jewels," Hank told her, sitting the tablet across his lap.
"Pretty!" Naomi agreed, scooting closer so that she could see.
They would be preoccupied for a bit like this, giving Kurt time to start on dinner. As he always did during this time of day. After dinner, the four of them would watch a movie, and then it would be time to go. Despite the break in routine for Naomi, she—the both of them, really—did quite well in getting used to this different routine with Kurt and Hank. Smiling, Alison turned away from the children, glancing in Kurt's direction before her eyes settled on her laptop. She walked over and lowered the screen.
"I'll help you with dinner," Alison said, heading for the archway.
"You… You don't have to," Kurt replied, though he shifted his body so that she could move pass him. "You don't have to stop whatever you were working on. It's surprising that you're working on a weekend."
"It's just a personal project, Bunker," Alison stated. The project consisted going through files she had been given. Her task involved cross-referencing criminals that were associated with Kai Proctor and had gone free because of the District Attorney. She mentally scowled, thinking of the number of monsters so far. She could not allow this to go on. No, she did not generally work on the weekends, but this was a special case. By Sunday, she would have enough to go to a judge, maybe more than one. Hopefully, Mark Franklin could be pushed from his position by her actions. Then the Sheriff—the entire police department—could effectively resume their jobs. Then she could rest easy. For a time.
Kurt grunted a bit, and then together they made their way through the house towards the kitchen. Naomi and Hank had been left alone numerous times before, so neither parent needed to worry. The two reached the kitchen, quietly going about to prepare for dinner. Kurt had mentioned earlier that spaghetti would be on the menu. Spaghetti happened to be a favorite of both children. There would also be garlic bread and a spinach side dish. Dessert would be ice cream if the children could eat all of their leafy greens. Alison had missed Kurt's cooking more than she cared to admit aloud. She missed being in the kitchen with him as well.
It felt a like a dance. She remembered the steps, and so did he. It was a smaller kitchen, but they still moved easily, words barely spoken because they knew each other's bodies so well. There was, of course, the occasional bump or touch, but there was no awkwardness between them. For that, Alison was grateful. She welcomed the easiness. It was a comfort that the both of them could put aside their past and come together as a parental unit. Soon, the kitchen began smelling of a delicious meal. Bread and pasta, seasoned to perfection. Kurt remained mostly at the stove, stirring the hearty marinara sauce and the pasta while Alison spread a mixture over the bread. By the time the bread finished baking, everything else would be ready to serve, according to Kurt. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should jokingly present a pink frilly apron to the personal chef.
And then her traitorous mind conjured up an image of Kurt in nothing but a pink frilly apron.
Scowling now, her fingers gripped the cooking brush a bit too tightly. At random, these thoughts would come, and she would have to banish them before they could form properly. The one downside of being near Kurt again… Despite it all, her attraction for him had not diminished in the passing years. Before, she had seen pass the ink. Now, she had to remind herself that the ink still tainted his skin because his actions, in his role of father, had caused her attraction for him to increase. Nevertheless, she would continue to fight and ignore it. It would do her no good to indulge, after all.
Kurt cleared this throat, snapping Alison out of her thoughts. She stood to her full height, noting she had practically triple-coated the bread with the garlic mixture. She pursed her lips before setting the brush tool down. Then she turned to Kurt because he had cleared his throat in a pointed way. "I'm done here," she announced, lifting the baking sheet with both hands. The man set down his own utensil and backed away from the stove. Alison opened the door and slid the baking sheet on the rack. Kurt moved forward again in order to set the time on the already heated oven. "Anything else I can do…?"
"No," he replied. "Thanks." He cleared his throat again, keeping his back to her. Alison had a feeling Kurt wanted to say something important. "I… I want to tell you something." Alison leaned against the counter, watching the man stir the sauce. He took his time, and she patiently allowed it. Kurt reached over the pots in order to lower the heat for the pasta. Finally, he turned to her, eyes hesitant. "The Sheriff agreed to let me change shifts. I'll be working until 3PM now."
"Starting when?" Alison questioned, furrowing her brow.
"Monday," Kurt said. Alison crossed her arms over her chest, remaining quiet. Did this mean she would have to change the day of Naomi's visits? What about Hank? Surely, Kurt would not be able to babysit so late at night anymore, right? "I changed shifts because I want to… I'm ready to spend more time with Naomi. If it's okay with you, I can start picking her up from daycare, and you can pick her up from here." Alison blinked slowly, taking an embarrassingly long time to comprehend the reason for the shift change. "It's… It's been a month. I thought I could help during the week—be there for her for more than one day."
"Wait… How exactly do you think that's going to work?" Alison asked. She had thought of it herself before dismissing the notion. With good reason. Just because she no longer cared for the tattoos on this particular person's skin, did not mean any well-meaning citizen would also not care. Both in and out of uniform, Kurt Bunker looked the part of dangerous. The thought of him picking up his own daughter had not crossed her mind again simply because it was highly unlikely they would walk away so easily. Still, she would not mind keeping the extra money spent on extended care because of her own work schedule. "You're not exactly… approachable."
"I know, I…" Kurt trailed off, eyes glancing elsewhere before returning to her. "I can cover up."
"It's hotter than the devil's dick in the afternoons and it's not even summer yet," Alison blurted. "You'll die from a heatstroke." Kurt had the decency to blush, gaze darting to the floor. "Don't get me wrong, I want you to spend time with Naomi, but there are…" She attempted to find a word that would not be harsh. "Difficulties," she settled with. "Difficulties that other parents don't have."
"I want to try," Kurt said, eyes and voice becoming pleading.
"Jesus Christ, Bunker…!" Alison exclaimed, realizing that he had been prepared to beg. She lowered her arms to her side, feeling hot all over. "I'm not denying you time with Naomi." A heavy sigh left her mouth as Kurt lifted his gaze to level with hers. "Let me… call the daycare, tell them something that will seem plausible—something to explain you." He nodded in agreement, showing relief. "Does… Does this mean you won't be watching Hank anymore?" Alison asked as a way to change the subject.
"No, I'll still watch him. I still have the same days off," Kurt stated.
"That does not give you enough time to sleep," Alison pointed out.
"I can handle it," he said. A noncommittal hum came from Alison, already calculating the risks and problems of this new routine. "It'll be fine."
"If it's not, you need to talk to your sister-in-law about changing the time," Alison said, crossing her arms again. "I won't have an exhausted man watching my daughter. Even with a baby-proof house." It had been a reasonable request, though it had come out as a demand, so Kurt nodded his head in agreement. "Anything else you need to tell me?" The corners of his lips tugged upward as he shook his head. "Good. Since you have all this extra time with her, you can be the one to potty-train. Good luck." Kurt made a noise of flabbergast, which tickled immensely on the inside, but Alison turned away before he could get a proper retort in. She left the kitchen, intending to gather the children. Sometimes, it took a bit more effort to pry them away from toys.
She tried not to dwell on the fact that this change meant she would see Kurt almost every day.
0-0
Huffing lightly to herself, Alison removed her key from the ignition. The drive had not settled her irritation. All the work she had put in during the weekend had been for naught. The judge she had spoken with wanted more. He had congratulated her for the findings, but he had wanted something not so circumstantial. His slight refusal to move things along had been the reason Alison decided to skip lunch and head here. She could not stand the thought of making nice with Mark Franklin, not after she had practically failed in the next step. He was an arrogant man who believed himself some type of monarch of the DA's office, delegating insignificant cases to the Assistant District Attorneys while keeping a close eye on anything pertaining to those with an unfortunate mindset. Still, Alison supposed that if he had pretended to be a nice person, it would annoy her more.
She paused in her movements to take a deep breath. Then her eyes shifted to the world outside her car. The Sheriff's department stared back at her. Back here again. Fortunately, Alison was not nearly as anxious as she had been last time. Still, her gaze attempted to locate a familiar truck, same as last time. She did not find it, though surely Kurt worked during this time. After all, it was only a little before noon. He had told her his schedule had changed beginning today. Another huff left her mouth as she moved to open the door to her car.
Alison quickly made her way to the entrance, heels clicking against the pavement. Just before she made a grab for the handle, she caught her reflection. She blinked once, and then attempted to smooth down her hair. Next time, she would not drive with the windows down. Pressing her lips together, halfway satisfied with the state of her hair, Alison opened the door and stepped into the Sheriff's department. Her eyes immediately settled on the front desk, recognizing Alma. The woman, on the phone, halted her conversation mid-sentence upon seeing her. She smiled, and then seemed to be ending her conversation.
"Yes, yes, Ms. Noland," she said. "Thank you for tying up the thieves. We'll send officers to pick them up." A pause. "Yes, I'm certain they were no match for you. Thank you. Next time, please wait until the authorities arrive. Have a nice day." She nodded her head, and then placed the receiver down to disconnect the call. Then Alma turned her full attention to Alison. "ADA Medding, it's good to see you."
"Good to see you, too," Alison said with a nod of her head. "I'm here to see the Sheriff. He's expecting me."
"Yes, he told me—go right on up," she said, gesturing with her head.
Alison nodded in thanks before turning to head further into the station. She walked by the desks, absentmindedly wondering which belonged to Kurt. All too soon, she stood outside of the office. She decided to be polite and knock on the door. Within seconds, the door opened to reveal a familiar face. Her lips parted in surprise. "Deputy Lotus," she greeted. "It's been awhile."
"That's Deputy Chief Sheriff now," Brock stated proudly. A promotion then. Good for him. But it was a mouthful she could not find herself saying. Times had definitely changed from two years ago. So many ranks now. "Yeah, I'd heard you come back." The man opened the door wider so that she could step into the office. "Too bad we didn't see each other last time you were here." Alison hummed lightly, eyes settling on the Sheriff in his chair. Lucas Hood greeted her with a nod of his head. "I was on forced vacation, so I missed your little disagreement with Bunker," Brock continued, casually.
Alison frowned as she sat down in one of the chairs. The Sheriff attempted to look sheepish, but he ended up looking guilty. Whether or not he had spilled the beans, or if it had been someone else in his department, did not matter. She still glared. Lucas cleared his throat, and then smiled at her. "Bet you know all about forced vacation, huh, Alison?" he asked.
"Not why I'm here, Sheriff," she retorted. "To cut straight to the point, the information I offered a judge is not adequate. He won't sanction an internal investigation until there is physical evidence."
"You actually found a pattern?" Lucas asked incredulous.
"If you can call it that," Alison said. "While the majority of cases involving the Brotherhood were thrown out, there were others that were also thrown out to hide it. Simple stuff. However, all of the cases dismissed had people associated with Kai Proctor at one point or another. Every single one. There are outliers, like you said, but some criminals are actually punished. I'm certain that's only to make him look good. Boosts his conviction rate. The DA thinks he's quite clever, I'm sure. But like I said, nothing will happen without proof. We can throw accusations all day, but Franklin will stay in his position until there's actual evidence of collusion."
"So you're here for that physical evidence then," Lucas said, exchanging a look with Brock.
"I assume you did more than look into his bank accounts for extra deposits, Sheriff," Alison said, cocking a brow. "You had someone follow him to capture video surveillance of potential wrongdoing, right? Gone undercover to his most frequented places? Traced his phone records?"
"Yeah, and nothing we looked at linked him to Proctor," Brock said, frowning deeply. "Looking into this guy's life is the same as watching paint dry."
"There must be something," Alison replied with a shake of her head. "Let me look at what you have."
"You want us to give a civilian access to our evidence?" Lucas questioned, both amused and incredulous. "On a case she's not officially working on?"
"Two years is quite the long time, Sheriff," Alison said, crossing her arms. "But I doubt you're completely by the book now." Brock pointedly cleared his throat, indicating that Lucas Hood had not changed. The Sheriff ignored him. Alison gave a mocking half-smile. "If you really cannot let me review the footage—if there is any—let me talk to the officer or deputy that handled looking into my boss. I am an officer of the court. Allow me that much."
"You sure about that?" Lucas asked.
"Sheriff Hood," Alison began, losing her smile. "I said I'd help you with this, despite the danger. Are you going to continue with this game or are you going to give me what I want?"
"Alright," he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Don't say I didn't try to tell you." Alison knitted her brow, wondering the reason for the attempt at warning. Lucas reached over and picked up the phone. He pressed one button before he began speaking. A small grin showed up on his face. "Hey, how's my favorite person in Banshee?" A pause before a chuckle slipped out. "Yeah, don't I know it? Hey, do me a favor and radio Bunker. Tell him to come back. Got a special assignment for him." Alison felt her chest tighten. He could not be serious! "Oh? Great, send him up when he walks by. Thanks, Alma." The Sheriff nodded his head before placing the receiver back down.
"Are you kidding me?!" Alison raised her voice just a bit.
"The case was personal for him," Lucas explained. "But, at the time, I couldn't have him arresting his former brothers. They always resist." Alison pursed her lips, already knowing the reason why physically confronting the Brotherhood would have been a bad idea in his condition. "So I put him on watching the least dangerous suspect. You're in luck. He just finished his patrol. He'll let you into evidence and answer any questions you have to the best of his knowledge." Alison sighed harshly, but said nothing more.
"Alison, look, I know what the guy looks like, but I've worked with him for years," Brock said, voice sounding reassuring. Alison merely turned his way with a scowl on her face. "Trust me, Bunker's a good-"
"I know him better than you think!" Alison blurted, narrowing her eyes further. Brock reared back a bit, appearing startled by the outburst. She mentally scolded herself. Not many people knew how intimate the two of them had become after the night of Chayton's assault. She should not go announcing to the world anything otherwise. However, before she could smooth over the near damning words, a knock at the door broke the silence.
"Come in…!" Lucas called.
The door opened and Kurt Bunker stepped inside. "Sir, Alma said you wanted to-" His eyes had been surveying the room as he spoke, but he stopped short upon noticing her. "… ADA Medding," he greeted her, surprise in his eyes. He had kept his voice neutral. Alison gave a slight nod of her head. She stood up as Kurt returned his gaze to the Sheriff. "You asked to see me, sir?"
"Yes, I want you to take Alison to a room, bring her some evidence collected, and answer any questions about that case I assigned you last year," Lucas said. "The one with the DA." Kurt's eyebrows knitted closer together, showing befuddlement. It could not be protocol to allow a civilian—even an officer of the court—to look at their case files so easily. Lucas had already provided a large amount of files to her to peruse at her leisure. Doubtful he told anyone else about that. "She's… She's doing us a favor. With any luck, we'll be able to finally get stuff done."
"Understood, sir," Kurt said. Then his eyes shifted to meet Alison's gaze. "Ma'am, if you'd come with me please?" She swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous, but she tilted her head downward in acknowledgement. Kurt turned, reaching out to hold the door open for her. Alison walked forward on trembling legs. Her brain attempted to figure out the reason for her fit of unease. Kurt was not a monster covered in ugly tattoos. Even if he had been, her insides would not vibrate like this. Thank God he did not attempt to make conversation. It felt as though Alison had swallowed her tongue from the moment he appeared. Kurt moved in front of her, unknowing of the cyclone of her thoughts. He brought her to a room with a rectangular table and two chairs. An interrogation room. Great. "Wait here please," Kurt requested, politely, as if he did not know her.
Alison frowned, a bit put off by his distant behavior. It was expected, but… Sighing to herself, she headed into the room and sat down on one of the chairs. Kurt left her, leaving the door open for his return. Lacing her fingers together on top of the table, she, once again, tried to pinpoint the reason for her body's reaction. So deep in her thoughts, she hardly recognized when Kurt returned with folders in hand. It was not until he sat opposite of her, knees brushing against her own, that Alison realized the reaction of her body.
They had not been alone together for quite some time. Always, there had been a child, or two, as a buffer. Alison became rigid, discreetly shifting her body away. She could recall the last time they had been by themselves. The air had been intense, crackling between them before she had ultimately blurted out their parental status. And, of course, her mind decided to delve further back to the welcome home she had received. Unbidden, her eyes darted to his lips, which were forming into a frown. Alison hurriedly looked away, choosing to focus on the folder he had placed on the table. Two of them. She made a grab for the folders, but Kurt slid them out of reach. Her line of sight lifted again, brow raised in a questioning manner.
"What are you doing?" Kurt asked.
"Exactly what I'm supposed to be doing," Alison retorted, suddenly annoyed. She snatched the folders to her side of the table. Kurt appeared a bit contrite. "DA Franklin is not good at his job, but he is great at preventing you from doing yours. I am convinced he is a link to both Proctor and the Brotherhood. I intend to break that link and weaken the foundation. Now, are you going to help me do that or not?" Kurt sucked in a breath. She could see the worry in his eyes, but she ignored it. For now. This was not the time for worry. Not when people did not realize how Alison spent her free time. "Sheriff Hood said that this case was given to you last year. When exactly?"
"October," Kurt answered. Alison lowered her gaze to the folders, and then opened one of them. Its contents consisted of what appeared to be daily reports in Kurt's neat handwriting. "Followed him for a few months. I didn't get anywhere."
Alison narrowed her eyes down at the papers, sifting through them with keen interest. Already, her mind catalogued important bits. She could recognize the diligence in Kurt's writing, but also the sense that the task had been a waste of time. It became clear when his handwriting became less bold. Obviously, he had begun to view his task as unimportant. Alison almost allowed a smile on her face. Even now, she could tell Kurt's mood through his penmanship. As she read, she became vaguely aware that her body had calmed down, no longer tense due to Kurt's presence. Then something more than trivial caught her eye. She reread the nonchalant fact before looking up. "He irregularly visited Savoy?" she questioned. "Kai Proctor's seedy little strip club. You didn't think that was relevant?"
"It would have been if he hadn't given his club to his niece months before the DA even came to town," Kurt stated. That gave Alison pause. She had not known that at all. Why would Proctor relinquish his hold on a business that hid some of his illegal activities? And to give it to Rebecca Bowman at that… Odd, but not exactly without reason. After all, they were family. The young woman must have been acclimated to Kai Proctor's way of living. Alison had not considered her until now. "We keep tabs on Proctor's movements. He rarely goes to Savoy anymore, and when he does, it's never during the DA's visits." Perhaps that meant Proctor left behind Savoy, intending to focus on bigger ventures, which spelled bad news for Banshee.
"So… You honestly believe that Franklin goes there just to get his jollies?" Alison asked.
Kurt frowned tightly, glancing away for a moment. He reached for another file and presented the contents to her. Inside, there were pictures. Various images of Mark Franklin in a few different places. Kurt spread them out on the table. He pointed to a cluster. The pictures were dark, indicating a time after the sun went down, but it clearly showed the man in question outside of Savoy's entrance. "He spends an hour to two hours there before leaving, which isn't unusual," Kurt explained. "He goes in with nothing. He comes out with nothing… accept maybe a loose tie."
"Did you ever follow him in?"
"Tried to, but the bouncers wouldn't let me in," Kurt said.
"They knew you were a cop?"
"Words gets around, but people wouldn't know my face right away if they hadn't already met me, especially if I'm not in uniform," he answered. "No, they wouldn't let me in because of my tattoos. There is a sign at the door that says 'No Nazis allowed.' I couldn't follow him." Alison pressed her lips together, somewhere between puzzlement and amusement. Barring anyone who appeared like a monster meant Rebecca wanted nothing to do with the Brotherhood. At least that was the assumption. Could be a clever little ruse to have in the event of a downfall. It was a bit amusing because of the irony. "The Sheriff sent in new recruits in my place, but they did not find the DA doing anything suspicious. We stopped viewing Savoy as a connection," Kurt continued. "Although, there was one instance where DA Franklin was escorted out." He searched through the pictures until he found one in particular. Lifting the photo, he handed it to Alison. "It had only been about five minutes after he entered."
"When was this taken?" Alison questioned, examining the photo. A familiar person had stood beside the DA, forcibly gripping the man's bicep. Clay Burton. Franklin expressed heated irritation as he directed a glare at the stoic man. Obviously, he had not known the danger of such a thing. She also noted the light in the photo. It was a daytime, a stark contrast from the other pictures at Savoy.
"A weekday," Kurt answered. "I think he was on lunch."
"Do you think he did something to offend the owner?"
"Maybe he got a little handsy with one of the dancers," Kurt suggested. "There is a strict policy on touching there." Alison gave him a dubious look. "I know it sounds hard to believe, but that place isn't a nest of illegal activities anymore. Even with the former prostitutes. We've checked."
"I'm sorry," Alison shook her head, incredulous. "Former prostitutes?"
"A little after Rebecca Bowman became the owner, known prostitutes started disappearing," Kurt explained. "It was a gradual thing, but noticeable. Deputy Lotus found them at Savoy with jobs as dancers. Eventually, every woman with a record of prostitution began to work there."
"But it's not a secret brothel?"
"No, we checked," he repeated. "There's no drug use, no backdoor services, no illegal gambling, no prostitution. For all intents and purposes, she runs a clean business, completely free from Proctor's activities." Alison snorted, finding that highly unlikely. "Maybe she's good at covering her tracks, but we can't get any type of warrant against her."
"So she's made herself into some kind of saint, has she?" Alison remarked. The woman seemed more cunning than she had previously let on. "I can't imagine her saintly actions went over well with their pimps?"
"They disappeared, too," Kurt stated. "Only thing: they didn't reappear."
"I… I see," Alison murmured, attempting to ignore the chill that had swept through her.
Somehow, and she did not see it yet, Rebecca Bowman had installed herself as a powerful player in the last two years. Surely, women of that lifestyle would be grateful and loyal to the one that had ripped their abusers apart and allowed them sanctuary in Savoy. Questioned, they would undoubtedly lie for her. Probably would do anything for her. Most likely, it had been the reason Kurt did not mention a case being brought up against her due to the disappearances. Even if underneath the surface, the actions had been sinister, the public would give her grudging respect as well. She had systematically abolished prostitution in Banshee. A jury would not convict her, and without bodies, there was no proof of a crime. Rebecca Bowman had become dangerous, and Alison became certain of her connection to the DA. She only needed to figure out what exactly connected them.
Alison hummed lightly before collecting the papers and shuffling them back into the folder. She slid the photos back into their respective folder as well. She felt Kurt's curious eyes while she gathered the files. "Thank you," she said, briefly meeting his gaze. "This has helped me." She slid the folders back over to him, and then stood up. Before she could begin moving towards the door, however, Kurt grabbed her hand. Tendrils of heat coursed through her veins as she, again, met his unwavering gaze. She wanted to pull away immediately, starve off the rippling sensation of familiar feelings forming. But Alison could not bring herself to. Kurt had not readily touched her since… the last time she had found herself in the Sheriff's department.
"You…" he began. "You aren't planning to do something dangerous, are you?"
"… I'm willing to do anything to ensure the safety of my daughter," Alison asserted. "Danger does not matter to me. As long as she's safe."
"I understand, and so am I," Kurt said quietly. The whispered promise made her heart swell with pride. And melt in affection. "But… she should, at least, have one parent survive this." Alison furrowed her brow, pondering the implication. Before she could give a verbal response, Kurt stood from his chair, releasing her hand. He cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. "Did you talk to the daycare yet?"
"Daycare…?" Alison repeated faintly. Then she shook off her daze, dropping her arm to her side. She could still feel the warmth of his hand. "Yes! Yes, I did." She cleared her throat. "I gave them a copy of your ID and told them that I'm handling a delicate case right now, so Naomi would need a police escort. As long as you show up in uniform, you should be able to pick her up with no problem."
"Didn't you already submit my name as an approved guardian to pick her up?" Kurt questioned.
"… I forgot," Alison admitted sheepishly. "Lucky for us, right?" Kurt gave her a smile then. The same dorky-ass grin that had been reserved for only her. For a time. Alison fought to keep her own smile from overwhelming her face. "The daycare, itself, is on the second floor. You'll have to be buzzed up."
"… That's a little more secure than necessary, isn't it?"
"She's our first child. Of course I'm cautious," Alison replied with a shrug. Then she realized what had come out of her mouth. Kurt's cheek took on a pinkish tint, obviously catching the implication as well. Alison swiftly turned away from him and placed a hand on the doorknob. "Well… I have to get back to work. I skipped a meal for this, so…"
"I could-!" His voice stopped her from prying the door open and making her escape after such a blunder of words. "I could pick her up today… and have dinner ready when you come to pick her up," Kurt offered. Alison pressed her lips together, immensely pleased with the idea. "If it's okay."
"It's fine, Kurt," she stated, turning slightly to give him a nod. "I'll see you both around 5:30. I'll try not to be late."
0-0
A few days later, Alison found herself in the parking lot of Savoy. Just as the sky displayed the setting sun. Any other time, she would not be able to do this, as it was a matter of inconvenience. After work, the norm had been to pick up Naomi from the daycare center. Her focus would have remained on her work and her job on the weekdays—no time for side projects. Now, she did not have to worry about it. Kurt was doing a fine job with Naomi by himself, which gave her time and ease to do what needed to be done. Taking a moment to breathe deeply, Alison recalled the last time she had visited this place. That meeting had shook her world. She hoped this visit would lean on the side of positive groundbreaking. Especially since it had taken three attempts to find the right one.
Alison clenched her teeth before opening the door to her car. This time of day, there were not many cars in the parking lot. Places like these did not become busy until later hours, so she had the time. She pushed the button on her key, locking the doors, before slipping it inside the left pocket of her slacks. She then adjusted her blazer, fastening the single button. Determined steps took her right outside the entrance. The two muscular men outside the door sized her up, and then ignored her, not deeming her as a threat. Alison did not attempt to correct them and continued through the door unimpeded. She spied the sign Kurt had mentioned. No Nazis Allowed—printed in bold, black ink and pinned to the door, framed for all to see. Seeing it up close caused a chuckle to slip out as she entered the building.
Inside, she recognized a few changes. Different furniture for one, a difference in lighting and shades of color being another. The place seemed more on the upscale side without being too much. The other two were similar. Regular customers would not be put off by the design change while new, perhaps richer, customers would find it appearing. Savoy had become a place where both the sleazy and the pompous could easily come together and enjoy the entertainment. Not too fascinated by the design change, Alison shifted her eyes around, noting a few of the dancers had been watching her. The female bartender in particular did not attempt to hide her gaze as she fiddled with the countertop beer dispenser.
Alison made her way over to the bar. The woman dropped her gaze until Alison cleared her throat and promptly requested to speak to the owner. "Right away, ADA Medding," she replied, nonchalantly. Alison narrowed her eyes, trying to recall if she had met this woman before. Unlikely, but it was not too far of a stretch to think a former prostitute would know a law official on sight. Regardless, the woman headed further around a corner towards where Alison knew an office was located. Previously, she had gone straight back to see Kai Proctor without pretense of being courteous. Rebecca Bowman, however, earned a bit of respect. Whatever her power—or dark rumor beneath the surface—she had made an effort to clean up the streets of Banshee. She had given hope to the helpless, and so Alison begrudgingly gave her credit. "She will see you now," the woman announced, appearing as quietly as she had left.
Nodding her thanks, Alison walked purposefully towards the back office. In the corner of her mind, she scolded herself for not telling anyone of her whereabouts. She had only told Kurt that she would be working late tonight, nothing more. However, she did not want interference. Steeling herself, Alison knocked on the door. After only a few seconds, the door opened. Clay Burton stared, impassive as always, and held the door open for her. Now more than ever she wished she had brought someone with her. Clenching her jaw, Alison looked beyond the unsettling bodyguard and settled her gaze on the petite blonde. Rebecca Bowman, not a curl out of place and red lips smiling faintly, sat behind the large black desk. Her dark red painted fingernails deftly moved across the keyboard as though she had not only just discovered technology within the last six years.
The door shut, and Alison nearly flinched outwardly. She did not need to turn her head to realize that Clay Burton remained in the room, just out of sight. Rebecca paused her typing, glancing in Alison's direction. The faint smile grew just a bit. "ADA Medding," she greeted. "Please, have a seat." Truthfully, she would rather stand, but decorum compelled her to unbutton her blazer and sit as requested. "What brings you here?" Rebecca asked, casually, leaning back in her seat and clasping her fingers over her white dress with black floral printing. "I doubt it's for the entertainment."
"I don't know about that. You've got a nice set up here," Alison replied just as casually. "Might stay simply because of the aesthetic." Rebecca chuckled in amusement, but it was without warmth. "It's come to my understanding… that we have a person in common."
"Oh, I don't doubt that. Despite it's growth, Banshee will remain a small town where circles occasionally overlap," Rebecca said. "I imagine it's still quite different from when you left, though? What's it like to return?"
"Disappointing." The truth popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. "But of all the things I've come here for, talks of my return is not one of them." Alison decided to cut the pretenses. "What do you know about DA Franklin?"
"DA Franklin…?" Rebecca repeated. She paused, making a show of pretending to think. "I know nothing of that man."
"Nothing at all?" Alison asked, letting the disbelief slip into her tone. Rebecca frowned, hand reaching up to fondle the gaudy silver pendant with pink jewels, shaped like a heart, that hung from her neck. "No overlapping circles here?"
"… He is a patron of Savoy, nothing more," Rebecca said. "I do not know personal information regarding those who visit, especially those who do not visit every day. Most days, I, myself, am not present. There are two other clubs that I oversee." She shifted in her chair, fingers once again clasping over her mid-section. "May I ask the reason for your question?"
"Perhaps I have an interest in the man that I work for?"
"From what I know, your interests lie solely with a certain type," Rebeca said with a coy smile. Alison narrowed her eyes, halfway understanding the complacent tone. Not sensing the growing ire of her guest, or maybe she found it amusing, Rebecca leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk. "Whether it be punishing them… or pleasuring." Alison breathed in deeply, nostrils flaring and body tensing. "Former DA Medding, you're not exactly subtle when it comes to your type." Alison folded her arms over her chest, silently demanding the younger woman cease her insinuations before things turned physical. Disturbing bodyguard in the corner, be damned. No one would stop her in time. Rebecca, fortunately, noticed the aggressive shift of Alison's body language. Her smile faltered a bit before she cleared her throat. "To answer your question more firmly, I have nothing to do with that man," she continued, relaxing her shoulders. "His actions do not concern me."
"Oh, I doubt that," Alison remarked. "Since his actions don't seem to hinder your uncle." A shift in the corner of the room told her that the bodyguard had inched forward. The smile completely fell away from Rebecca's lips. "You do still love your uncle, don't you?" Alison asked, entirely too satisfied in being the knowing one now.
"Is that what this is about?" Rebecca questioned, outright glaring now. Good. The objective was to get this young woman angry enough to slip up. "A play against my uncle?" She scoffed. "I seem to recall a deal that was made in regards to my uncle. I didn't take you for someone who went against their word."
"Don't pretend to know me just because we've had a passing association," Alison retorted.
"What is it that you want, ADA Medding?"
"What is it that you have, Ms. Bowman?"
"Do not treat me as though I'm some child," Rebecca nearly hissed. Alison remained impartial while the young woman bared her perfectly white teeth. "You have no idea who you are speaking to. Many things have changed in the last two years. Do you think men still hold the power here? They are all insipid creatures, just waiting to be manipulated at my whim. It is you that should not pretend to know me because of a passing association." Ah. But Alison did not need to pretend. At one point, she used to be her. High off stolen power, filled with delusions of invincibility. Still, it was not the same sense of empathy she had with Kurt. Rebecca seemed hell-bent on proving herself. Either to be equal or superior to her peers. A fruitless endeavor.
"Power…?" Alison repeated, dubiously. "Is that what you think you have?"
Rebecca stood up quick as a snap, hazel eyes darkening in her rising indignation. "I know I have power," she insisted. "With just a word, I can bend anyone to my will. I know things that can put your career in the palm of my hand, and with just a phone call, I could have your life in ruins. No matter how good you are at your job, it's not safe as long as I have my power. The next time you come here to threaten my uncle, will be the last time you threaten my uncle."
She had come to the wrong conclusion, and had blurted out a useless threat. However, she had also blurted out something Alison might be able to use. It would explain why Job had never found additional funds in some offshore account. Somehow, Mark Franklin wound up being blackmailed into doing Proctor's, or Rebecca's, bidding. Alison pondered this development, and inklings of pity formed within her. Perhaps, in the beginning of his term, his intentions had been good. Still, he had chosen to do the wrong thing. So he had to go.
Alison shut her eyes for a moment, a hint of a smile on her face. She then stood up and buttoned her blazer. Again, movement came from the corner of the room. She tried hard not to flinch as she stared back at the blonde. "Well…" she said. "Consider myself aware of the situation and thoroughly chastised." Truly, she tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Rebecca's perfectly shaped eyebrows knitted closer together. Perhaps the sudden shift in Alison's behavior caused confusion. She mentally berated herself for it, but she had gotten what she needed, and wanted to leave as quickly as possible. "You've clearly done well for yourself."
"You're patronizing me," Rebecca said.
"Am I…? I happen to be a good judge of character," Alison retorted. "I know power when I see it. Only the bold or the crazy would dare cross you."
"Which one are you?"
"… Stay from my sight, Ms. Bowman, and you won't have to find out," Alison told her. She could feel her expression harden. "That is a courtesy I will extend only once. Since you've been so helpful to me." Rebecca bared her teeth again, but she did not say anything in retaliation. "It's been a pleasure." Alison turned her back on Rebecca, aiming to leave. She glanced in Burton's direction, and despite her cool demeanor, she still felt mild panic at seeing him watching her. Like prey. Shuddering internally, Alison reached for the doorknob.
"ADA Medding," Rebecca's voice halted her movements. "How is your daughter doing?" It felt as though the blood in her veins shifted to ice, freezing Alison's body to the spot. Even her breath left her in light of the stinging weighted words. "I hear she's delightful. It would be quite the shame if-"
"You finish that sentence and nothing—not even death—will keep me from you," Alison said dangerously soft. She slowly turned around, not bothering to keep the glower out of her expression. "Did you hear that…? That was a threat. I have not threatened your uncle, so keep my daughter out of your mouth and out of your mind."
"Well…" A slow smile crept back onto Rebecca's face. "That all depends on your actions, doesn't it?" A hot rage swept through her then, replacing the cold. However, she also realized the extent of the younger woman's words, and it caused dread in equal measure, rendering Alison mute. The smile grew just a bit wider, clearly showing victory. "As you said, it's been a pleasure. You can go."
Any type of quip remained in her throat, damn near choking her. Clenching her jaw, Alison whirled around, prying open the door. Harder than necessary, her heels clacked against the floor, heavy with the very real risk. Before, it had been a possibility, not yet tangible. But Rebecca had drove it home that, yes, Naomi would be in danger. Alison made her way through the strip club, ignoring dancers and customers alike. She felt her anger recede with each step she took. In its place, forlorn acknowledgement formed.
Breathing in deeply, Alison made it to her car. She slid inside and shut the door behind her. Through gritted teeth, she exhaled. This was the pivotal moment. She could stay her hand, keep her head low as she had insisted doing before returning here, raise her child quietly, and ignore the injustice that was the Brotherhood. Alternatively, she could dive headfirst into a fight that was not technically hers anymore, and hope for the best. Hope and pray that the fight would not reach her daughter, but knowing that it would eventually in whatever form. She supposed, in the end, it would reach her regardless, simply for being born. All of this was inevitable.
Alison shut her eyes, weighing the pros and cons of whichever decision. She pressed her lips together and pressed a palm to her forehead. For some reason, it felt as though she did not have a choice after all. Feeling her throat tighten, Alison swallowed hard. She sighed heavily again. Opening her eyes, she reached over to the passenger seat and slid a hand in her purse. Rummaging just a bit, she pulled out her cell phone. After unlocking the device, she took a few moments to stare at her screen's background. Naomi with a giant grin on her face. One of her firsts. Alison smiled herself, but it was bittersweet. Anything to ensure the safety of her daughter, she recalled herself saying. Even if that meant putting her at risk to do so.
Frowning tightly, Alison searched through her contacts until she came across a recent one. It had grown dark by the time she had left Savoy, but not nearly late enough to warrant sleep just yet. She pressed the phone against her ear, listening to the ringing. Eventually, the line picked up and a familiar voice greeted her. "Hey, Carrie," Alison greeted in return. Her brown eyes shifted to the glowing neon sign of the strip club. "Still looking for some action?"
There was no turning back after this.
0-0
Haaah! I seriously wanted to make this chapter longer and deal with the DA in one fell swoop. I mean, the guy was only in one episode anyway. Not too important, right? But alas, patience will have to be a virtue. Plus, I hear swooping is bad, so... And hey, look, I didn't forget about Brock this time. Yay. Let's call it a cameo, because I'm pretty sure I don't actually have a role for him to play...
Anyway, until next time!
