Unlike before, Alison did not flinch awake. She awoke slowly, taking time to adjust from slumber. Behind shut lids, her eyes moved back and forth. Her nostrils flared, taking in a familiar scent, which seemed to envelop her completely. It pressed down her on just as much as the physical weight. Eventually, she opened her eyes. The room remained dark, not yet touched by the sun's rays. Morning would come soon enough, though. She could faintly hear birds chirping instead of crickets. Alison blinked a few times and licked her lips. Then her eyes darted down. Sometime during their slumber, their bodies had gravitated to each other. Again. This time, she had ended up on her back with Kurt partway on top. Chest to chest, he arms wrapped around her while his face pressed against her neck. It was a familiar position.

Alison blinked again, slowly this time, taking in Kurt's state. He looked… so relaxed. It was as though troubles did not plague his mind while he slept. It had not been this way just yesterday morning. Even now, she could not believe her stupidity. At that time, she should have pulled away and left the bed. But no, she had foolishly allowed herself to indulge in the familiarity of his embrace. And here she was again. Indulging. Still, her mind did not urge her away this time. This time, both body and mind were content to lay here. Practically smothered beneath him, Alison found herself smiling just a bit. Her arm, closest to him, lifted and her fingertips slid up his exposed back. She traced the path of his spine. As expected, he shuddered but did not wake. Her nails lightly massaged the back of his neck as her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

As far as she was concerned, Kurt was in as much danger as Naomi as long as The Brotherhood existed. Originally, she had decided to pursue the organization because their rise in power would affect her child. Now, in the wake of Randall's presence, it seemed all the more pertinent that the organization needed to disappear. On the other hand, they could just leave. That was always an option, right? Go somewhere that was not so condensed with people of a certain mindset. Raise Naomi without the added excessive racism. It was a nice thought, of course. But Alison figured there would be regrets. After all, Kurt's sole purpose in returning to Banshee had been to take out his former Brotherhood. Fleeing would not satisfy him. Or herself.

However, things were a bit more complicated than when she had initially took steps against The Brotherhood. The goal was to destroy the organization. Not cripple. Not undermine. Complete eradication. Thinking of the how proved futile now. It had not been an exaggeration when she called the task tackling a mountain. Despite the looming shadow over Banshee, the how could wait a moment. After all, she had already knocked down one of its pillars. The DA could not protect them anymore, which made the Sheriff's job easier. Or perhaps the man had a different idea in mind…? His methods were borderline criminal, and always seemed to lead to blood, but ultimately, they tended to work in his favor. If he wanted The Brotherhood gone, they would be gone. Alison understood Kurt's hero worship. To an extent. So, the how could wait.

The result left her worried—perhaps reluctant. Calvin Bunker. Leader of The Brotherhood. Heading to the goal meant his fate was sealed. Prison or death. Those were the only options. Truthfully, this time, she would prefer the former to the latter. If he were just another monster, Alison would not care where he ended up. But Calvin was Kurt's brother. Family. Alison understood that no matter what happened between them, Kurt would always feel for Calvin. The younger brother's death would devastate the older. He would feel the heavy guilt with him until the day he died. On some level, Alison realized that Kurt still felt the guilt of introducing his little brother to the lifestyle in the first place.

It was not just Kurt, though. It was also Hank. What would happen to the boy if his father ended up dead or in prison? His mother could not be so innocent either. Alison had not thought too much of Maggie Bunker other than their first and only conversation. Kurt had not talked about the woman since that time as well. Really, she had no reason to think of the blonde woman. Still, she had married Calvin. Alison was not fooled into thinking the woman had a kind heart, free of any ugly way of thinking. Admittedly, she did not truly know. For now, she could only make assumptions. Until she knew more, she would lump the wife in with the husband.

Hank could lose his parents one way or the other. Alison was certain that he had no other family. Except Kurt, who looked like a Neo-Nazi. It would be an uphill battle for custody. Hank could spend months—years—in the system while the courts attempted to find suitable guardians. Alison let out a soft sigh. If only she had not developed such a soft spot for a child born of monsters. But what could she do about? Especially now? There was a chance he could be hurt or used in what came next. Above all, she did not want children to get hurt. Could she somehow send him away before things escalated without resorting to plain kidnapping? She thought not. Hank showed no sign of abuse or neglect. Contacting children services seemed out of the question. There seemed to be nothing she could do about Hank. Unfortunate.

Alison sighed lightly, clamping her teeth around her lower lip. Thinking of Hank made her think of the teddy bear. Kurt had shown a rather peculiar reaction to the stuffed animal. Surprise. Confusion. She did not think even Kurt realized that something akin to suspicion had slipped into his expression. What reason could have had those emotions flickering across his normally taciturn face? It had been an unasked question last night. One thing at a time, after all. But it had been such a strange reaction that Alison could not help but ponder. Still, it seemed trivial against the other matters they faced. Perhaps the subject would naturally come up later on. After all, they would be living together for a time.

The thought made her still for just a few seconds. No, it had not been an impulsive decision to house Kurt Bunker. Far from it, actually. Even before they had spoken of Randall Watts, she had formed the idea of being under one roof. Now that the idea had been set into motion… It felt real. They would be living together as a true family. It made her feel giddy and anxious. But the good kind of giddy and anxious. Even if she should not be, Alison felt hopeful. Her gaze shifted from the ceiling down to the man that laid nearly on top of her. This could very well be a normal morning for them again. She pressed her lips together, but it did little to stifle a smile. Her nails delicately scratched the back of his head. A low rumble in his throat caused Alison's smile to widen. Kurt tightened his hold on her, just a bit, and nuzzled. Alison squeezed her eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of him breathing her in.

Okay. She needed to stop this. It was borderline taking advantage of his sleeping habits for her own gain. Reluctantly, Alison unwound her arm from him and sat up. Kurt's grip tightened again, but she still managed to pry his arms from her body. She turned on her side, facing away from him. Stifling her own impulse to stay put, she forced herself out of bed. It helped that her blabber also urged her away from comfort. Alison stretched a bit before walking to the entrance of the hallway. She paused at the stairs, straining her ear for any sound or movement. Hearing nothing from the children, she continued her route to the half bath. Once finished relieving herself and massaging her face with water, Alison returned to the bedroom.

She examined the bed's occupant, noting the way Kurt hugged the pillow she had been using. Ignoring the feeling of crawling back into bed, Alison turned away. She decided not to wake him up just yet. Instead, she walked into the kitchen, intending on making a pot of coffee. Yawning, she prepared the coffee maker. Once it began running, she opened a cabinet and pulled out two black mugs. She set the mugs down next to the coffee maker, and then turned. She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms and waiting for the machine to finish. As she waited, a rundown on what her day would look like went through her mind.

Last night, she and Kurt had talked about the basics. After breakfast, she and Naomi would leave. While waiting for Hank's pickup, Kurt would do his best to conceal Naomi's presence in his house—like converting her crib into its bed form. However, many things could be left alone. Naomi and Hank were close enough in age, so most things would be viewed as for Hank. It was a precaution for those who might come looking for Kurt. Meanwhile, Alison would be on the phone in order to figure out how Randall Watts had been granted an early release. As she had been the prosecutor for his case, it should give her some leeway when asking questions. Once she determined the reason, she could figure out how hard it would be to put him back in prison. Then, once Kurt arrived at her home, they could talk further. Perhaps bring in other sources. Like Kai Proctor. Alison wondered how far her protection stretched, so she would have to call him as well.

She felt herself scowling. All this time of avoiding Kai Proctor seemed a waste now. She supposed it had been foolhardy to believe they would not cross paths after her return to Banshee. Honestly, Alison had believed that she would have to block and deflect any effort of the man to meet her. However, he had been quiet since her return, making not one attempt to contact her. It was odd, considering their last conversation. He had seemed determined to… bond with her. Perhaps he had moved on in the years she had been away. That was plausible, which also made it plausible that he no longer felt keen on protecting her.

A beep from the machine brought Alison from her musings. She sighed lightly, turning to face the coffee maker. The dark roast smelled wonderful. She took the pot and began pouring the dark liquid into the mugs. Hopefully, she would get answers with just a phone call, or two, and the ensuing conversation would not rekindle any projected feelings again. Alison placed the pot back on the burner before opening the refrigerator. She quickly found the creamer—French vanilla, his favorite. Her lips twitched into a smile as she set the creamer next to the mugs on the counter.

Alison then headed back towards the bedroom area. She stood beside the left side of the bed, staring down at the sleeping man. Crossing her arms over her chest, she tilted her head to the side. She used to do this quite a bit, actually. Quietly watching him. Examining him with her eyes. Sometimes with her fingertips. She often marveled the fact. He was covered in darkness, and yet had so much light within. Kurt Bunker was a walking contradiction. So big and intimidating, yet polite and kind and gentle. He looked the part of a monotonous brute, cold and unyielding, but he was intellectual and warm. He was thoughtful and compromising. He was ugly. He was attractive. He was hers. He was not.

Sighing deeply, Alison narrowed her eyes. She wanted to banish thoughts like that from her mind. However, they cropped up like mushrooms on occasion. Randomly and without warning. Hers…? She wondered how far or close was that to the truth. She took another deep breath before focusing on the ink. A distraction from her own thoughts, really. Always had been. She hated his tattoos—what they stood for. But they were a permanent part of him, and so she had cast aside her utter revulsion of his ink and had essentially gotten used to them. Honestly, she could not recall the exact moment where she no longer flinched at the sight of his tattoos. Funny that. The moment, whatever it may be, had been the reason she had carried his child.

Shaking her head a bit, Alison unfolded her arms and inched closer to the bed. Her left knee pressed against the bed as her right hand slithered beneath his black t-shirt to slide her palm across the warm skin of his toned belly. "Kurt," she began, lips a hair's length away from the crown of his ear. "I made coffee." The whisper had not roused him. Rather, it had been her daring touch. It had always been an easy way to wake him—a gentler way. Kurt slowly opened his eyes. Not fully awake, his hand reached for hers. Her name, drowsy and longing, fell from his lips. Then he was awake, sharply turning his head towards her, eyes wide. Alison smiled a bit, taking his surprise like a reward. "I made coffee," she repeated, slipping her hand from his. "Dark roast." She removed herself from the bed and turned away. "The kids aren't up yet."

"What… What time is it?" Kurt questioned as Alison walked towards the kitchen.

"A little before 6:45," she told him after glancing at the stove's time. She turned at the counter's end, eyes settling on his form. Kurt sluggishly rubbed at his face with one hand as he crawled out of bed. "Thought we could make breakfast before they wake up." Kurt yawned but nodded his head in agreement. He went through the open door with only a glance in her direction. Once he rounded the corner, Alison pressed her lips together, hand reaching for one of the mugs. She sipped the hot beverage, waiting for his return. She heard the downstairs toilet flush. A few moments later, Kurt reappeared. "I took out the creamer, too."

"Thanks," he replied, corner of his lips twitching as though he wanted to smile. It was early, though, and he hadn't completely woken up yet. He walked around her, grabbing the bottle of creamer and poured some of it into the mug left for him. Once done, he drank a bit and leaned against the counter. For a moment, they only stood there, quietly. Then Kurt cleared his throat. "You still like your coffee like you like your metal?" The sudden playful question caused Alison to chuckle. She placed her mug on the counter before facing him.

"Yes, Kurt, I'm still a psychopath," she retorted, smile lingering. He mirrored her chuckle, eyes crinkling in amusement. "How much time do you think we have? Until Hank's picked up, I mean."

"Maggie told me that she didn't want Hank to see her dad drunk," Kurt said, amusement fading. He placed his mug on the counter. "I guess that means she also doesn't want to him to see the massive hangover either. If I had to say, I think we have until after noon."

"Plenty of time," Alison remarked. "We're leaving before noon." Kurt nodded his head in understanding. "Just in case, text her and suggest a certain time so we won't accidently see each other." Again, he nodded his head. "I'd rather you not come back here, so if there's anything you forget to pack, we can just buy later." She did not want to risk him at all. The last time they had come for him, he had nearly died from the burn. Alison did not want to find out the hard way what Watt's intentions for Kurt were. She pressed her lips together, thoughts drifting as Kurt began pulling bowls and such for breakfast. Swallowing hard, she moved to gather ingredients for breakfast as well.

Her mind was elsewhere, though. Without meaning to, Alison conjured thoughts of that night. The smell clogging her nose and throat. The sound of her own screams echoing in her ears. The frantic distress she felt. If she had been there—if she hadn't been called away—she could have prevented him from being burned in the first place. Then, of course, a completely different strew of things might have taken place. Worse than what had exactly happened. Doubtful Calvin Bunker would have taken kindly discovering his brother's company. She had had dreams and nightmares about that night. Dreams of saving him. Nightmares of him dying in her arms. More nightmares than dreams.

Alison shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the coolness from the opened refrigerator. Thoughts of that night had her swallowing more than spit. Jesus Christ. She could still taste her own cold sweat as if she witnessed such a terrible thing right now. She sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers clutched the handle to the refrigerator. The sourness seemed at a boiling point in her throat, and it was difficult to swallow. "Kurt…" Alison blurted, nearly gagging. She felt him still beside her. Then two steps brought him closer. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to calm down. A gentle hand came down on her shoulder and he said her name in return. His fingers squeezed, and she drew comfort from that. Breathing in through her nose, she managed to steady her body and mind. She released her vice grip on the handle and pushed the door shut. "I… I want to see." Her eyes turned to him. "Can I… see?"

"See what?" Despite the question, Kurt seemed to know almost immediately. His eyes darkened as he took two steps back, taking his hand back. It hung at his side. However, his other hand curled into a fist. Nearly his entire body coiled before her very eyes. He visibly swallowed and it appeared strained. Again, Alison pressed her lips together, harder than last time. She faced him, choosing to keep the distance between them.

"What they did to you," she said, insides vibrating. Kurt winced. "I need… to see."

"Why?" he retorted, voice hardening. It was understandable. She had not been just asking to see. She was asking him to relive the experience as well. Not intentionally, but the two went hand in hand. Alison understood that he also had the nightmares. As for his question, there could have been several reasons. There could have been none. Truthfully, she did not want to delve deep into the why. Maybe seeing it—his burned flesh—as a scar instead of the fresh angry burn would soothe her in a way. Selfish, but… Seeing it might be the proof that Kurt had endured such a horror. Despite her fumbling, she had managed to save him from a fate far worse.

"I don't know," Alison finally said. "I just… I want to see you."

"No," Kurt told her.

Alison bit her lower lip, disappointed but not surprised. It was ultimately his decision, but… "You don't need to hide from me," she said. Kurt remained quiet. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Alison took one step closer to him. Fortunately, he did not back away. Her hand moved, fingers curling around the hem of her shirt. "I'll show you mine," she stated. He balked, clearly stunned by her words. His eyes darted, closely studying her body, looking for such a similar injury. Alison had not necessarily been hiding it, but it felt like a reveal. Clearing her throat, she lifted her shirt and turned a bit so that he could see.

Expectedly, his eyes widened. He had not seen this scar before. Like Alison, he used to trace and memorize every single scar she had earned. This one was new to him. After all, he had been unconscious when she had gotten it. It had taken weeks after to scar, and he had still been unconscious. Right above her left hip was a somewhat jagged line of healed flesh. The knife had cut deep. If she hadn't turned just right, she would have been gutted. Kurt inhaled shakily but he lifted his arm while stepping towards her. The tips of his fingers brushed against the latest scar. Alison did not flinch. However, she did bite her lower lip. His touch almost came as a surprise.

"What happened?" Kurt questioned.

"A bowie knife," Alison said. "I didn't know he had a hidden weapon."

"He…?" Already, she could see plots of vicious assault in his eyes. "Who did this to you?"

"… Otto," she replied. His eyes sharply lifted to meet her gaze. His brow furrowed, not completely comprehending what she had implied. Alison pressed her lips together. "I hunted… like I used to. Otto and Finn. If it hadn't been for this, I would have hunted Calvin for what he did to you. It wasn't the pregnancy that stopped me. It was realizing that I wasn't invincible. Had I not gotten this, I would have gotten my revenge."

"Al-Alison…" Kurt managed, seemingly speechless.

"Arrest me later, Deputy," she quipped. Kurt shut his eyes, not finding humor in her confession right now. His hand dropped from her scar as he sighed. Alison slowly lowered her shirt. "You got burned because you wanted to do the right thing. You wanted justice. And you don't have to hide that. Not like me." She swallowed, and then lifted her hand to grip the end of his shirt. Kurt opened his eyes, stare deep and probing. "You don't have to hide it from me. Please…?" He let out a shaky breath but nodded his head in consent. Alison pursed her lips, using her other hand to grab at his shirt. Slowly, she pulled his shirt upward, and Kurt moved to allow it.

The shirt fell to the floor. For a long moment, the two merely stood there. The silence stretched around them, seemingly rooting them in place. A small part of her thought it would look the same. Scorched flesh. Angry red and blistered. Alison had braced herself for it. However, the burn was a scar now. For the most part, it had healed. His chest would never be smooth again for the scar was like trenches. Mostly small trenches—a combination of raised and depressed skin. The deepest one laid right in the middle. The flame had obliterated the giant swastika. Seeing it healed like this, obviously the gregarious symbol had been the target.

"He said…" Kurt began, slight tremble in his voice. Alison shifted her gaze upward but his eyes averted to a corner of the room. He would not look at her. "He said that if I wore a cop uniform, then I couldn't wear his." That explained the target. So maybe Calvin's aim had not been to kill his brother. Just send a message. Still… It made her incredible angry. Her eyes stung with oncoming tears as the inside of her mouth turned sour. She swallowed hard, using a knuckle to wipe away a stray tear before he slipped down her cheek. Allow this feeling of anger to overwhelm her could not happen again. It had done wonders last time. Alison shut her eyes for a moment to compose herself.

"Does it… Does it still hurt?" she questioned.

"Sometimes," he replied honestly. "When I think about it too much." Alison blinked rapidly, feeling another wave of anger. "I don't… Mostly, I don't think about it anymore."

"Well…" Alison sighed through her nose. She could feel the pounding of her heart, and no amount of willing could make the throbbing go away. "All things considered, it healed well." She stepped forward and Kurt finally returned his gaze to her. "If I had to pick, I would have hoped that he'd gone for the Hitler face instead." The remark earned her a slight chuckle. The tension slid away from his shoulders. "To be honest, that's the ugliest one you have."

"But the likeness is so good," Kurt joked.

"Yeah, like I said. The ugliest."

Alison couldn't help but smile at the effort. Some of the anger ebbed. In response, he smiled back at her. A little braver, Alison shifted forward again until she stood right in front of him. Her palm ghosted over his chest as she held his gaze. Kurt clenched his jaw but nodded. Alison made sure her touch was gentle as her fingertips glided over the scar. As she anticipated, the ridges were rough, but the trenches were surprisingly smooth. Like some of her scars. She had to swallow the lump in her throat. No changing the past, but she wished she could have been there. Her hand came to a stop. She lowered her head and shut her eyes. Jesus Christ. She would have been there for it if… Kai Proctor hadn't called.

"Hey," Kurt's deep voice rumbled. He fingers wrapped around her wrist. "I'm fine now."

"I wanted to kill them," Alison confessed, opening her eyes. "I really wanted them dead. I wanted to be the one to do it." She released an open mouth shudder. "If I hadn't gotten knifed, I don't think I would have stopped."

"Alison…" He said her name again and, surprisingly, drew her closer with his other arm. She easily fell into his embrace, slipping her arms around his form. It was almost as if they hadn't gone years without hugging. He squeezed her just right, and she nearly whimpered in pleasure as though she had been touch-starved this entire time. "You didn't have to… do that for me," Kurt said after a few moments. He reared back a bit, hands moving to cup her face. He gently tilted her to look him in the eye. He stared down at her, sweet and sincere. "Thank you." Admittedly, she had not expected his appreciation. Truly, she had expected mild scolding for her reckless actions. But he had thanked her as though it had been some grand gesture. Then he lowered his face and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

It gave her a bit of a shock, especially when he moved to kiss her cheek. "Kurt…?" Alison murmured, both anticipating and a bit apprehensive of what came next. Perhaps she was not the only one allowing last night's admission of partnership influence her actions. Or maybe the boldness derived from yesterday afternoon instead. Either way, Alison did nothing as his lips switched to her other cheek, closer to her nose. Her eyes shut as Kurt repeatedly kissed her face. Both cheeks, the sides of her jaw, above her brow, her nose. All the places except where she wanted kissed. Abruptly, it ended. Alison opened her eyes. His lips hovered over her own. Kurt still stared. With a jolt, Alison realized he was silently asking for her permission. To go further than these honeyed kisses.

Alison parted her lips to give a verbal answer, but before she could the loudest creak from the stairs interrupted. Both she and Kurt flinched and turned their heads towards the open door. "Hank, is that you?" Kurt called. Three heartbeats later, the little boy called back. Kurt slumped a bit, removing his hands from Alison. She mirrored his movements, lowering her arms to her side. Moment over, Kurt reached down to grab his discarded shirt. Alison cleared her throat, shifting to stand elsewhere in the kitchen.

"Nay-Nay cried," Hank raised his voice as he came around the corner. Instead of only him, he pulled along Naomi as well. "She's wet."

"Did you take her from her crib?" Kurt asked, having put on his shirt again.

"… Yeah," Hank reluctantly replied, stepping closer. Naomi released his hand and dashed over to Alison's legs. "I used the toy box."

That was good thinking actually. Once again, she became impressed with the boy's creativity. "You are so smart," Alison praised, picking up her daughter. As Hank stated, she could feel the soiled diaper. "But next time, ask one of us if you can, okay, Hank?" The boy smiled brightly, clearly relieved that he was not in trouble. He eagerly nodded his head. "Now, why don't you help your uncle get breakfast started while I change Naomi?" Speaking of her daughter, she wanted her morning kiss and leaned forward to press a sloppy one to Alison's cheek. Chuckling a bit, she shifted a bit to hold her daughter comfortably.

"You said we can have stuffed French toast…!" Hank reminded.

"Yes, I'll make some, too," Alison stated. "So, be a big boy and help your uncle first."

"Kay!" he conceded.

"Alison…" Kurt said just as she attempted to leave.

"… We'll talk later," she told him. He blinked once before nodding his head. "At home."

"Yeah… At home," he echoed.

The agreement should not have caused a quiver.

But it did.

0-0

Kurt sat on the steps of his front porch, watching his nephew play with bubbles on the sidewalk. Alison and Naomi had left over an hour ago. Since then, Kurt had not been able to keep still. After breakfast, they had both worked to get the kids dressed. Soon after, they had said their goodbyes, fully expecting to see each other again. Kurt had told Alison that he had to take care of a few things first. She had been suspicious, but had accepted regardless. He was grateful for that. Truthfully, he did not want to believe his own suspicions—not without proof. So, he would wait to tell… his partner until he got a confirmation.

Knee bobbing, Kurt allowed his mind to wander. Partners. He hadn't thought hearing a simple word could cause such elation. Still, he understood the deeper sentiment, made clearer by all the touching. That had been the reason for his strong reaction. Her admission of partnership had shifted something inside and he had become bolder. Coupled with Alison admitting to seeking revenge on those involved, Kurt had wanted to kiss her on the mouth. Maybe she would have allowed it. But that was only one piece of the puzzle. He wanted—needed—to understand everything before delving any deeper into this partnership.

Because what he had known as the truth had contradictions. Kurt had been set in his belief of the truth. So much so that when the first contradiction appeared, he had brushed it aside. Now there were too many to brush aside. When he had been discharged from the hospital, he had spied the visitor log. Only one name appeared on the log. Sheriff Lucas Hood. Kurt had believed that only his boss had come to visit him. At the time, he had tried to understand. His only two friends had jobs to think about. Logically, taking time out of their work schedule to visit an unconscious person like him served no purpose, and Kurt could understand that. However, his mind had been muddled. After his release, he had not been able to contact Alison. Hearing that she had moved away without warning had caused desperation and anger. He had taken out his frustrations on Billy Raven. After discharged, he had put himself in isolation. No outside contact whatsoever once it became clear that Alison had abandoned him. That meant he had fostered the strain on his relationship with everyone else. Because of assumptions.

Based on what he knew, and the assumptions that came along with it, Kurt had reacted in the only way he could. Now, thinking back, it felt as though he had acted too hastily. Had shut out the wrong people. Because now the contradictions felt too big to ignore. First contradiction had come from Alison. Upon reuniting, he might have dragged her to a secluded location, but she had instigated that kiss. Ignoring his plea and warning, she had rekindled the roaring fire between them. He had been helpless to stop it. Afterwards, he had chalked it up to a heat of the moment type of thing. It could not have meant anything beyond that because Alison had left him.

The next contradiction had come from Billy Raven. Not once had the man visited him in his most vulnerable state. Billy had not reached out to him either. Then he had switched shifts entirely so that they would not have to look at each other. Then, despite the years of no contact between them, the man had willingly—albeit hesitantly—questioned Kurt's wellbeing. Why would he do that—behave as though he cared—if he had abandoned him? Well, from Kurt's viewpoint, it had been abandonment. He had thought they were moving towards real friendship before that night. To realize that he had been the only one to think that way, of course Kurt distanced himself from Billy. But Billy's recent behavior did not align with that notion.

Another contradiction: Finding out Alison had sought retribution for him. Billy had told him first. It had been a shock because it implied intense feelings for him. For him, she had gone after members of The Brotherhood. Retaliation for the wrong. Not that he had not believed Billy, but hearing it from Alison had cemented the idea that she cared deeply. Her behavior had not matched with her abrupt departure without a word of goodbye. Also, the fact that she had left, not to get away from him, but to protect their unborn child had been baffling. It made sense based on her vengeful actions, but if that had been the only reason she had left, then why hadn't she given any type of way to contact her? Why hadn't she called him? If the implication of her feelings for him had been real, then the years without each other did not make sense. Not to mention, the reason Alison had changed her number in the first place. Again, it hadn't been because of him. It had been because of Kai Proctor's harassment.

Finally, and it might be the biggest reason for even thinking of these contradictions, there was the teddy bear called Mr. Kitty. His nephew slept with a stuffed animal that had been unique to himself. That story from his childhood had been told to only two people—with Alison maybe overhearing it. So how could his nephew have such a significantly unique thing? If it had been a pink teddy bear, it would have been even more jarring because it would have been an exact replica. His own childhood stuffed bear. However, the cursive writing on the paw had sufficed enough to rattle his mind. Kurt could only think of one person attempting to recreate the toy. And for only one reason. Billy Raven had a history of teasing. Only he would commission the stuffed bear as some joke. So then, again, why did Hank have it?

Kurt intended to find out today. He intended to unravel every single knot. Admittedly, he should have done this before now. In the back of his mind, he realized there was some hidden truth. However, he might have been afraid to know the answers. Last night had given him courage. This morning had given him courage. He would face whatever the truth may be. He owed it to his family. He owed it to himself. Therefore, he would try his hardest today. But he would have to be smart about it.

Hearing the sound of an approaching vehicle, Kurt glanced towards the right. Unlike the other approaching vehicles, he recognized the minivan. "Hank, your mom's coming. It's time to put away the bubbles," Kurt told his nephew. The boy sharply turned in search of the familiar vehicle. "The bubbles, Hank," he reminded. Dutifully, Hank focused on sticking the wand back into the bright blue bottle. His eyes darted around, looking for the white top. Kurt almost let a chuckle slip as he stood up. By the time, the minivan parked in front, both uncle and nephew stood on the sidewalk waiting for Maggie to exit the vehicle, bags in hand. Hank held his backpack while Kurt held the overnight bag.

Finally, Maggie stepped out. She shut the driver side seat, and then moved around to open the side door. Finished, she turned around, bright smile on her face. She lowered herself a bit and spread her arms. Hank excitedly ran to embrace his mother. "How's my little boy? Did you have fun?" Maggie asked, tone light. Enthusiastic, Hank nodded his head as he reared back. His mother planted a soft kiss to his forehead before standing to her full height. "Why don't you tell me all about it on the way home, hm?"

"Okay!" Hank agreed before rushing and practically throwing himself in the backseat. Shaking his head, Kurt followed. He placed the overnight bag down on the floor underneath his nephew. "I'll miss you, Uncle K!" The sentiment almost threw him. It was something Hank hadn't told him before. Well, he would normally be sleeping when it came time for pickup. Smiling, Kurt ruffled his nephew's hair. The boy giggled and swatted at the offending hand.

"I'll miss you, too. Be good for your mom, okay?" Kurt said as he strapped his nephew in the car seat. Hank bobbed his head. "Good, see you next time." He did not want to lie to the kid, but he had no idea when next time would occur. It might not even be a next time. Swallowing the sudden bile, Kurt step backwards and shut the door. He turned around to face Maggie. The woman had noticeably dropped her smile. Her arms crossed over her chest and she pursed her lips. Kurt cleared his throat, but kept his focus on her. Because of his unwavering gaze, he noticed dark markings around her neck. Like a hand had… Clenching his jaw, Kurt tilted his head. "What happened there?" he questioned, indicating the marks.

"That is none of your concern," Maggie easily replied. Someone had obviously bruised her, yet she did not seem troubled in the least. Hell, with the way she parted her hair, it seemed she purposely put in on display. Kurt frowned deeply. "So, judging from your… attire, you want to broadcast your decision?" His attire consisted of his uniform.

"I have work today," Kurt lied. Narrowed eyes stared back at him. "Regardless, it was never my intention to find an in, Maggie."

"Not even for your family?" she questioned, mirroring his frown. "We mean so little to you? Calvin and Hank mean so little?"

"I've never said that," Kurt said through clenched teeth. "But I won't drop my beliefs to rejoin that life."

Maggie laughed then, biting and foul. "That's funny," she said without humor. "And a little ironic considering you dropped your beliefs for this uniform. Or is it just a lie you tell yourself?" She chuckled, again, without mirth. Kurt said nothing, but inwardly he reeled at the change in his sister-in-law. He had only recently began to suspect Maggie was not all warm and kind. But this…? There was no longer any warmth for him in her. Maggie licked her lips and let out a sigh. "It doesn't matter anyway," she continued with a shake of her head. "Daddy has been… convinced to leave you be."

"What…?" Kurt said, astonished. Someone like Randall Watts could not be convinced of anything once he set his mind on something. He was relentless and ruthless. Unforgiving and resolute in his decisions. He would not give up on a traitor. "What happened? Why'd he change his mind?"

"Calvin and I were very persuasive," Maggie simpered. Kurt furrowed his brow, noting the proud undertones. "What does it matter, Kurt? Daddy won't be coming for you. So-" She hefted a heavy sigh. "-live as you have been."

"As I have been…?"

"Out of sight. Out of mind. Out of the way." She did not care for the twisting of Kurt's expression. "Calvin still cares about you, so you have that leniency… But you are no longer an interest to The Brotherhood. You're not the man you once were. You're not capable or useful. So stay away from my husband." Huh. Kurt had never experienced this side of Maggie Bunker. All those sweet smiles and friendly talks—had they not been real? Had it all been a ploy? But why? And more importantly, why suddenly drop the act? Had she truly been uncertain of his loyalties until now? Somehow, he thought it ran deeper than knowing where his loyalties lied.

Still, this made things a bit clearer to him. Maggie was not someone he could trust. And if he could not trust her now, should he have placed his trust in her in the beginning? Getting real answers out of her seemed a waste of time. Kurt mentally scratched her name off the list. If he wanted answers surrounding what happened years ago, then he had to get them another way.

"I take it… this is the last time you'll bring Hank over?" Kurt asked. "Seeing as how I'm not useful."

"That actually might depend on what you do, Kurt," Maggie said. "As I've said, my husband still cares-"

"He burned me," Kurt reminded.

Maggie merely sneered. "You deserved it for what you did," she said. Same conversation, but the counter from her had been nearly opposite. No longer did she sympathize. "A lot worse could have been done. But he saved you. Because you're his brother, and he loves you." Her tone sounded more or less mocking. "Therefore, regardless of your-" Her eyes looked him up and down, derision forming in her expression. "-decision, you just might be able to see Hank again. If you take off his uniform and become his big brother, I'd be more than happy to allow you back in. You won't have to be alone. You can have your family back. Isn't that what you want?"

"… Goodbye, Maggie," Kurt finally said. His sister-in-law scoffed and shook her head. Without returning the goodbye, she turned and got into the minivan. Kurt watched the vehicle pull away until it was out of sight. Christ. She had been a ray of sunshine in his life for so long—delivering groceries, making sure he changed his bandages, keeping the loneliness at bay—but now, that time felt… done. She was done with him.

Had he remained dependent on her, if Alison hadn't returned with their child, Maggie's departure just now might have broken him. Because she was right. He did want family. He wanted to belong. He had wanted it his entire life. He had been susceptible to Tank because of it, which made him easily conditioned by The Brotherhood. However, it had also been the reason he had not rejected the Millers. There was a deep-rooted urge within to surround himself with family. Fortunately, he still had the option despite Maggie taking Hank from him.

It was disappointing that he might not see Hank again. But really, there was nothing he could do. Even protesting would be futile. Maggie wanted more than what he was willing to give. With a sigh, Kurt shifted his gaze to the surrounding area. On this stretch of road, he could not see any vehicles that did not belong. No one seemed to be watching him now. That thing about Randall giving up on him had not put him at ease at all, so he would be just as cautious as he had planned. He walked towards his truck and quickly got in. He looked around again as he turned the key in the ignition. So far, nothing peculiar caught his eye, but he would still made an unnecessarily elaborate route towards his first destination.

To make certain no one followed him, it had been nearly half an hour before Kurt parked his truck. A text and a confirmation had already gone through early, so he was expected. Still, his nerves rattled just a bit. Because of the information that could come from it. Frowning tightly, Kurt took his key from the ignition, and then got out of his truck. Pocketing his set of keys, he walked the path up to the entrance of the bar. Despite his nerves, he made quick strides. He opened the door and walked inside. Per the norm, the bar was empty. Sugar Bates stood behind the counter.

"Afternoon, Deputy," the older man greeted with a slight upturn of his lips.

"Afternoon, sir," Kurt returned the greeting.

"Bunk, over here!"

At the sound of his voice, Kurt shifted his attention to the opposite side of the bar. Billy lifted his arm, waving. He sat down at one of the tables. He wore a grin, pleased to see him. "Hot damn!" Billy greeted as Kurt approached. "Look at you! You work fast!" The man gestured for him sit across from him. "Tell me all about it." Kurt tried not scowl as he sat. Obviously, Billy had come to the wrong conclusion about what this regarded. Perhaps he should have told the subject matter instead of asking if they could meet. "I was thinking I'd have to wait until Sunday for the details," Billy continued as he slid an extra soda over.

"You're not getting details," Kurt retorted, gripping near the base of the green bottle. He glanced at the bar. Mr. Bates seemingly began to restock his alcohol. Kurt turned to Billy, frowning a bit. "That's not why I'm here." The man nearly pouted. Ignoring it, Kurt twisted the cap off the soda. "Alison and I didn't get to talk… about that. Instead, someone from my past came to me yesterday."

"Your past…?" Billy furrowed his brow, matching his frown.

"From The Brotherhood," Kurt supplied. "A former leader. He came to my house."

"Kurt…" He said it softly, but the alarm was clear. "What happened? Was Naomi or-or Alison there?"

"No, thank Christ," Kurt answered with a shake of his head. He drank, taking a few gulps of his beverage. He set the bottle back down on the table. "But seeing him again, knowing that he's not going to stop gunning for me… I can't help but think it's bringing everything to a head." He laced his fingers together before clasping them tightly. "I think I can't move forward until I look back. I need to know-"

"Hold on," Billy cut in. "What are you going to do? You said this guy's after you?" He visibly swallowed. "Are you saying what happened can happen to you again?"

"… For now, they won't be able to," Kurt assured. He had noted the touch of fear slipping into Billy's voice and expression. It was strange that he felt appreciation about it. He cleared his throat. "I packed a few things and I'm going to be living somewhere else. I'll be careful in my movements so that I won't be followed. It'll buy us some time."

"Where? A hotel? Not exactly secure," Billy commented.

"No, I'm… I'm staying with Alison," Kurt admitted, feeling his neck and face grow warm. Billy squealed. Actually squealed. Kurt sighed heavily. "It's temporary. And necessarily. There's nothing-"

"You work super fast!" Exasperated, Kurt said his friend's name. Billy coughed lightly and quickly fixed his expression to somber. Kurt rolled his eyes. "Right. This is serious. We're being serious." He coughed one more time. "So, this relocation will give you time. Time to do what exactly? We've been at this for years, Bunk. The Brotherhood is untouchable."

"Not for long," Kurt said. "Soon, we're gonna be able to do our jobs again."

"You serious?"

"Yes, Alison took care of it," he replied, insides swelling with pride. "The DA won't be a problem for us anymore."

"Hot damn," Billy said, impressed. He shook his head a bit. "That's why you're here. Telling me in person? Are you going to tell the Sheriff?"

"Yeah, on Sunday if Alison hasn't already done it," Kurt said. "But that's not why I'm here. I need to know what happened two years ago." Billy appeared confused. "I was unconscious for it, and when I woke up, my world had changed. Now, I realize that it doesn't make sense, so I want to know your point of view. Starting from that night." Billy still appeared confused, but he shrugged and relaxed in his seat.

"I got the call when I was sleeping," he began. "The hospital told me that you were in emergency surgery. I rushed over and met Alison there. She's the one who found you. Later on, when we questioned her, she mentioned that your body was covered, so she didn't know right away. After talking to her, I called the Sheriff. He and Brock went to your apartment. Alison and I waited until the doctor could give us any news. You…" Billy stopped, gaze darting down to the floor. "You almost died on the operating table two times that night." Kurt blinked. That was news to him. He had heard about nearly dying just days before he woke up, but… "Alison—she didn't take it well."

"What do you mean?"

"She shut down, refused to speak. But she was angry. So angry. She hid it well, but she was enraged. Then three weeks later, we found two of the men responsible for burning you," Billy stated. "At least, the Sheriff thought they were responsible. Why else would someone go after them?"

"You said you couldn't prove anything. No DNA evidence?" Kurt questioned.

"Not from her. Bleached was used… and gasoline," Billy said. "I think… she might have planned on burning them in retaliation." I wanted to kill them. The words came and stole Kurt's breath. The declaration made sense now. He hadn't known anything about the investigation. Mostly because he hadn't wanted to. Hadn't wanted to relive the memory. But Alison had wanted to kill them—burn them—for him. As a cop, he probably should not feel happy learning about it. "But since it wasn't a homicide, and considering the victims, we didn't pursue the investigation that much. With your case, there was a—and forgive me for using this—lack of physical evidence." Despite the warning, Kurt found himself scowling. "Yeah, the only fingerprints left behind belonged to you or Alison. The two goons ended up in the hospital, practically on life support, so Sheriff Hood closed it cold."

"And… while I was in the burn unit?" Kurt pressed.

"What exactly do you want me to tell you, Bunk?"

"I woke up alone, Billy," he said. "The way I reacted made sense to me at the time because I thought, after everything, that no one cared enough about me to visit."

"Of course we visited!" Billy protested. "I told you that."

"After two years of no communication," Kurt reminded him. The man pursed his lips and scratched the back of his head. "I was resentful and hurt, so I ignored you. Before you approached me after I found out about Alison's return to Banshee, I was bitter about it."

"You mentioned that before," Billy muttered. His eyes narrowed. "I didn't realize it extended to me. I visited you every other day before my shift. Mostly because I… I thought we were friends. Partially to give Brock and Hood an update on your health. Not just me and Alison, though. Mrs. Hopewell, Sugar Bates, Brock. Hell, even the Mayor showed up once with his daughter. That's when I told Deva about your nickname, you know. Why would you assume nobody came to see you?"

"… The visitor log for my room was blank except for Sheriff Hood," Kurt said.

"With as many times as I had to sign in to see you—the hell it was," Billy retorted. He crossed his arms, appearing deep in thought. "Even if the log with our names—well, mostly initials—randomly disappeared so you didn't see, what about all the get-well gifts? That had to be an indication of our visits."

"There were no gifts," Kurt replied. Billy blinked twice and shook his head. "There was nothing when I came to."

"So… You're telling me, you never got the gift basket? The balloons? The flowers?" Billy questioned, sounding increasingly dubious. Then he sharply breathed in, staring with wide eyes. "The bear…?!" he exclaimed. Kurt sucked in a quieter breath as his insides jerked. Billy didn't seem to notice the reaction. "Do you know how much I spent on that thing?! I had no idea how much a custom teddy bear cost until I was already in too deep. I had to do it because I thought you could use a laugh after going through that. But you didn't even see it?! That is some type of hospital negligence. You need to file a complaint. You know what? I'll do it." Billy reached into the pocket of his pants, probably for his cell phone.

"Relax," Kurt told him, though his own thoughts were equally riled up for a different reason. "I'm going to the hospital after this, anyway. Besides, I got the bear. It… resurfaced recently." Billy frowned but did not protest further. "Thanks, by the way. I probably shouldn't have mentioned Mr. Kitty to you, but I appreciate the joke." It would have been something good, waking up from a coma to that. Too bad it hadn't been that way. Like the teddy bear, he wanted to have a confirmation on why. Already, he had formed an inclination in his mind but did not want to jump the gun until completely sure.

"You want me to come with you?" Billy asked.

"I don't need you raising hell over a stuffed bear."

"I can control myself just fine."

"I can tell you already have a speech prepared." Billy made a face, revealing truth behind the assumption. "I'm going for verification. Not that I don't believe you, but… I need something concrete as to why things went down the way they did. I need to do this part on my own."

"I… understand," Billy said reluctantly. Then he sighed. "You're doing this to fill in the blanks you left alone for so long." Kurt nodded his head. "Hopefully… Hopefully, it'll lead you to resolving things with Alison, too."

"Y-Yeah."

0-0

Alison was frustrated. Borderline livid. As the seconds ticked by, the intense ire only grew. If she had known that her mood would sour so substantially, she would have held off on calling the prison until Monday. At least then, her professional mindset would quell the anger somewhat. To think, she had had an optimistic view of what would happen today. She should have known better. This was Banshee, Pennsylvania. A quaint little town with hidden darkness. Huffing, Alison continued rummaging through her things. She had already checked in her room and the computer desk. Now, she searched through plastic boxes in the basement. Out of sight and out of mind, she had told herself. Apparently, she had hidden the file a little too well. Should it really be taking this long?

Well, every few minutes, Alison would halt her search in order to hear if her daughter had woken up from her nap. That might have something to do with it. Another huff left her mouth before finally coming across what she had been looking for. An accordion folder underneath things of little consequence. Whilst it was true that Alison never worked from home, she had a habit of compiling notes and such on the cases she worked. Handwritten and detailed. Mostly key points in arguments for trials. A just in case type of deal, too.

Fingers sifting through the letters, she quickly went to the section marked 'P.' Years back, she had thought about getting rid of her notes on Proctor. After all, she had made a deal with his niece. However, she had decided not to. A loophole within the deal of never pursuing the man legally. If anyone else decided to take that chance, she would provide her thoughts. So far, no one had stepped up to the plate. However, that was not the reason she had been frantically searching for her notes. Alison stood up from the floor, lowering the folder back into the basket while lifting the manila file closer to her face. She quickly opened it. Kai Proctor's photo had been clipped to first page. An orange post-it note with a ten-digit number stuck to the page. The phone number that had called her relentlessly two years ago.

Alison pressed her lips together, staring down at the string of numbers. She was still upset about it. Finding out this man had Randall Watt's released. Vague things had been told to her—something about a benefactor—but she had figured it out. Of course, Kai Proctor had ties to the former leader. Some type of deal, she guessed. It would make sense. Proctor had shifted from random thugs to an actual gang for whatever profit. Drastic change required a drastic man—a drastic monster—it seemed. Still, by reaching out to Kai Proctor, Alison would be inviting the man back into her life. She was uncomfortable with doing that. The problem lied with him being able to do that without her knowledge. What was the purpose of pulling Randall out? She had to know.

Sighing deeply, Alison turned and headed up the stairs. She shut the basement door behind her and walked to the den. Sitting down at her desk, she glanced at the living room and noted her daughter still asleep on the couch. She had only played with her toys for about twenty minutes before yawning. Playing with Hank took a lot out of her normally abundant stamina. Alison would not have to worry about her for a while. Deep sleeper that she was, she would probably be sleeping until just before dinnertime. Small favors, Alison supposed. The looming conversation might become… heated.

She hoped that the man's number had remained the same in the last two years. Otherwise, she would have to go to him. Not with her child, though. However, that meant she would have to wait until Monday. Alison would rather not wait that long, considering the circumstance. Or maybe wait until Kurt showed up…? Huffing, because she realized her own stalling, she reached for her cell phone. Just get it over with, she told herself. Nodding, Alison dialed the number taken from the post-it note. It rang about five times before going to a default voicemail. Hm. Better than an indication of disconnection, she supposed. She tried again. Again, she received the same response.

After the fourth time, Alison was ready to call it quits. She had tried, right? Just as she had been about to set her phone down, it began ringing. The default ringtone. Brown eyes stared down at the screen. Blocked. In hindsight, she should have blocked her number before dialing. Biting her lower lip, Alison pressed her thumb against the screen to answer the call. She held the device up to her ear. "This is Alison," she greeted, habitually. Silence greeted her in return. Narrowing her eyes, she opened her mouth to repeat. However, a deep inhale replaced the silence. She furrowed her brow. "Hello…?"

"I have to say, ADA Medding." She instantly recognized the voice. It had been years but the familiar tone of a man who believed himself above others. A man who knew he always had the upper hand. A man who remained untouched for decades. Therefore, his beliefs were not exactly baseless. "I was not expecting a phone call. Or four."

"Proctor," Alison replied, barely keeping the contempt from her voice. Then, of course, she remembered the reason for the calls in the first place. All contempt came back like a wave. "You son of a bitch." Those blurted words seemed to give him pause because for several long seconds, he said nothing, which prompt Alison to speak again. "You had something to do with Randall Watts' early release." It was not a question. "Don't bother lying or using cryptic words. I already figured it out. What I want to know is why?"

"Alison." Proctor had the nerve to sound exasperated. "I'm disappointed. Must all of our conversations begin with allegations? Though, I admit, I was hoping to have this conversation in person."

"I'm going to admit my foot so far up your-" Alison stopped and blinked once, the rest of his sentence registering in her mind. "… Hoping…?" she repeated. "As in you planned on me contacting you? You knew I would?"

"You are quite similar to your mother," Proctor replied. "More than just appearances. Your actions—your reactions—are… predictable because I've already experienced them." Alison slowly stood up. Out of all of their conversations, this was the first time Proctor mentioned knowing her actions before she took it. She had been called many things—some positive, mostly negative—but never predictable. Mildly offended, Alison frowned deeply. "You are the best of your mother… with the worst of her impulses."

"I did not call you to discuss my mother," Alison said. "Why did you let Randall out? You must know he's the worst of his kind. You must know I'm the one who put him away. He'll come for me."

"Yes," Proctor said in his nonchalant manner. "But he is a dog on a leash. Like the rest. He will obey his master in the end."

"… For a price?" Alison realized.

"Don't think of it as a price," he replied. "Think of it as… a deal. You make those all the time."

"What do you want?"

"I want what I've always wanted," Proctor said. "A relationship with the daughter of the woman I loved. And, I suppose, the granddaughter." Alison nearly snarled aloud. She felt the sneer twist her face. "You two are the last of her, and I want to keep you under my protection. My question is… are you willing to do the same?"

"Jesus Christ, Proctor… Do you fucking hear yourself?" Alison hissed in a whisper. She glanced into the next room. Naomi still slept, thankfully unaware of the naughty word. "You let loose one of the biggest threats to Banshee in order to coerce me into a relationship with you. All over a sick obsession of a woman who's been gone for almost a decade."

"That's only partially true," Proctor said, utterly unashamed. Alison grimaced and rolled her eyes. "Most of it is because of business. Ex-cons can be adequate… labor hands." His attempt at being coy only further grated on Alison's nerves. "Regardless, I had no choice. Two years of being unable to check on you. A month since your return, with a child, and no word from you. What else could I have done in gaining your attention when you seemed so ardent in avoiding me?"

"We have nothing to do with each other!" Alison laughed out without humor. "You are my mother's ex at best. Someone she used to fuck at worst. Neither gives you any privilege in my life or my daughter's! So, no. There's no deal."

"And you think your deputy will protect you from a man like Randall Watts?" Proctor's voice took on a harder tone. Most likely, he had been effected by the callous words spoken about his relationship with Arita Medding. "He could not, and cannot, protect himself. What hope do you have of him protecting you or your offspring?"

"I don't need protection from anyone," Alison asserted through gritted teeth. "Especially from you."

"And who do you think protected you the night your deputy was burned?" Proctor questioned.

"So… You're finally admitting that you are the one that sent them into his apartment?" Alison asked. Anger bubbled beneath her skin. Yes, she had known—suspected him from the start. Taking that short walk to answer his call that night had not been a coincidence. Far from it. However, hearing his confirmation caused her fingers to curl tightly around her cell phone. "He could have died. And you sent them there. You honestly think I would have welcomed you with open arms?"

"His life was not in danger," Proctor assured her. The anger spiked. How dare he say that so confidently? Kurt had nearly died—more than once. "But his foolish actions needed to be permanently halted. If he had continued his fruitless endeavor, you would have been caught in the crosshairs. So, when Calvin Bunker requested the address, I took it as an opportunity to keep you safe. Any means necessary."

Alison tried her best to reign in the fury. With each word he spoke, it became that much harder. The effort caused a strain in her neck. She licked her lips, and then pressed her lips hard together. Then breathed through her noise. Eventually, she calmed down enough. Proctor had been so kind in remaining quiet. "So that's it…" Alison murmured. Again, she felt the strain. "You don't care about me or my mother. I'm just… another debt to you—one that can't be collected on." She heard him take a breath. "Save it. You don't care, Proctor. If you did, you would not have put Kurt in harm's way. What happened… could have broken me. In ways I can't even imagine." She forced the memories away before they could properly form. "And now you're doing again—forcing some perverse protection on me. Only this time, you made a massive mistake."

"Are you threatening me, ADA Medding?" Proctor asked. "Because I seem to recall you making quite the beneficial deal with my niece. Deny it all you want, but I know that you are a woman of your word."

Alison scoffed. Of course. Rebecca had told her uncle of the deal that should not have happened. But Alison had been so angry. Reason and regret had been the furthest from her mind at that time. "That isn't what I meant," she said. "You refer to him as a dog on your leash. But the beast I put away was nobody's bitch. You must think that time and confinement changed him—made him compliant. But at his core, he's a monster. Eventually, the bitch is going to bite the hand that feeds it. The day is coming that you'll regret letting him out. And my family and I will be far away from you when it happens." Alison knew that all it took was a taste of power. Back at the reigns, it would not take long at all for Randall Watts to hunger for more. Monster recognized monster. "You very well may have brought war to Banshee."

"This means you are declining my offer?" Proctor wondered. Alison bit her lower lip. Originally, she had wanted to use his protection to keep Kurt safe. But at this cost, it would not be worth it. They would have to find their own way. She should not have thought to rely on his protection in the first place. Proctor chose to take her silence for an answer. He sighed heavily. "Unfortunate," he said. Then the line disconnected. Alison released the breath she had been holding, and it came out just as shaky as her resolve. The protection he offered was flimsy, at best, but it would have done well in giving them the time. Now, she and Kurt did not have the luxury. They needed to come up with a plan. Soon.

Otherwise, the dangers of Banshee would swallow their family whole.

0-0

Movements slow but firm, Kurt made his way to center of the floor. The path from the elevator door had felt too long, but the nurse's station finally came into view. Walking that path caused his thoughts to replay the hazy memory of wheeling himself down the hall. Alone. After discovering the mostly blank visitor log, he had been distressed and hurt. A vow of never returning had been on his mind then. And yet, he needed to return here. Finally, he would have the answers he had ignored. Still, maybe he should have allowed Billy to come with him. The man had a knack for distracting. Maybe Kurt would not have relived the excruciating seconds it took for him to reach the elevator door by himself.

Kurt clenched his jaw as he halted at the corner of the desk. Having made it down the hall without losing his composure, he might have breathed a sigh of relief. However, relaxing now seemed premature. After all, he would have to speak with strangers again. There were two in nurse scrubs, chatting, at the opposite end. Kurt took the time to observe them somewhat. The woman, Asian, stood on the outside and leaned on top of the desk. The man, Caucasian, stood behind the counter. Too engrossed in their own conversation, they did not notice his presence. Soon, they would. No matter how many attempts, Kurt could not make himself invisible or less imposing. He could only hope that his uniform lessened the blow somewhat. After silently taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat.

The deliberate noise caused the two to shift their attention. In unison, they turned their heads, eyes settling on his form. One was slower than the other but the reaction remained the same. Utter shock, closely followed by aversion. The two even took a noticeable step backwards. Truthfully, strangers reacting in this way was a good thing. It meant the majority did not favor or envy the monster he had painted on his skin. Even after so many years, it remained just a bit cutting. Kurt did not blame them. He couldn't because he deserved each and every wary glance in his direction.

"Hello," he greeted in his most polite tone. The tone did little in calming the two nurses. They continued staring, eyes wide and lips parted. Like he was a nightmare come to life. Kurt cleared his throat. "I understand that my physical appearance may be unsettling. But I can assure you my ties to the movement were severed long ago. Unfortunately, the removal of my tattoos has taken longer than anticipated. If you wanted to stay over there, I would take no offense." The man furrowed his brow, something like recognition forming in his eyes.

"Wait…!" he said in a hushed voice. His eyes never left Kurt's form, but he obviously spoke to his coworker. She did not look away either. "I think… I think he's that nice Nazi my sister talked about before!"

"Nice…? There's no such thing as a nice Nazi!" the woman hissed back, also whispering. Did they think Kurt could not hear them…? "Also, your sister is a straight white woman. Pretty sure he'd treat her differently than a Korean woman and a homosexual man!"

"Wow…! Way to out me in front of the Nazi!"

"Sorry, but if I go down, you go down, too!"

Once again, Kurt cleared his throat, halting the bickering. "I assure you that I am not here to cause harm or strife," he told them. "I'm a deputy with the Banshee Sheriff's Department." As though the uniform hadn't already given him away. "And… I was a patient here two years ago. I was hoping to speak with the nurse… or nurses who cared for me after my surgery."

"What are you looking for—a follow-up treatment?" the woman questioned, voice just short of hostile.

"No, I wondered if they could confirm a few things with me about my visitors," Kurt said. "If I had any… If they remember." Truthfully, he could not remember any specific face. The entire experience in the hospital had been a fuzzy one. White noise compared to the pain in his chest. "I need to know what happened while I was unconscious." For a moment, the two did not react, and then, surprisingly, the woman's shoulders relaxed somewhat.

"You're here for a case. You're investigating what happened to you," she assumed.

"Something like that," Kurt said.

"So… you ended up at the hospital because you were attacked then?" the man asked. Kurt nodded his head. The man relaxed himself. "Then you're in luck. One of our most recent policies deals with officers of the law coming in. Whether on or off the clock, if they come in with any type of injury—not related to preexisting health issues—we record everything we can during their stay. Nothing to violate the Hippocratic Oath. Just things that might be used as evidence, alibis, intent… things like that. Our Head of Hospital used to be a cop in California."

"That… That would be good," Kurt said.

"Bunker's your last name, right?" the man asked, moving to sit down at a computer. Kurt glanced down at his nametag. Quickly, he nodded to answer. "Alright, what's the first name?"

"Kurt. Kurt Bunker," he replied. "Like I said, it was two years ago. Burn injury." The man's fingers flew across the keyboard, entering information. "Would anyone else have access to this information?"

"No," the woman spoke up. She made no moves to leave her current position. "Only the hospital and the police would have the option of seeing this."

"May I ask what it consists of?" Kurt asked.

"Photos and copies," the man answered. "Copies of the visitor logs specifically for your room. Photos of anything brought into your room. There's surprisingly several pages." Then his eyes darted over to Kurt, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He cleared his throat before returning to his task. "I'll print them out for you." Kurt was not offended. It was a surprise to him as well. But it mean that Billy had been telling the truth. Multiple visitations and multiple gifts from different people. "It'll just take a moment for the photos. The printer is down the-"

"I'll go get them!" the woman volunteered.

Without waiting to hear any type of rebuttal—the male nurse stood up and attempted—she darted down the hall and away from the station. Grumbling to himself, the man sat back down. The way he looked anywhere but at Kurt was obvious. He almost wanted to assuage the man's fears. He wasn't that monster anymore. He had changed. He willingly became a man. He now had a family. However, to a stranger, words like that meant nothing. For strangers, it remained all about appearance and actions. Therefore, the two men waited in silence, mostly not looking towards the other.

Eventually, the female nurse returned. She carried a blue folder in her hand. Tentatively, she walked towards Kurt, arm outstretched to hand over the file. "Hope you find what you're looking for… deputy," she offered. It was… something, at least. However, Kurt fixed his attention on the file. Slowly nodding, he took the file from her, careful not to accidently touch skin. He wanted to look at the contents right away, but he told himself to be patient. He wasn't looking for an audience.

"Thanks for this," Kurt said sincerely. "Oh, um… How often does this policy have you recording the visitor log?"

"Every night after visiting hours are done," the woman said.

"So even if a hardcopy was… damaged somehow, the record would still be there?" Kurt asked. In unison, the two nurses nodded their heads. "Okay, and one more thing… If someone were to call in about a patient, would that be recorded, too? Even if they said not to tell anyone?"

"Yes, he would be," the man confirmed. "Electronically typed in your chart, actually. There's a space for notes where we could put it." His gaze shifted to the computer screen. After a few clicks, he hummed lightly. "No calls for you, though."

"None?" Kurt felt his throat constrict just a bit. The male nurse confirmed with a nod of his head. "O-Okay, thanks for this," he repeated. "Have a nice day." He turned away from the nurse's station and headed back towards the elevators. He heard the hushed conversation between the two, but he ultimately ignored it. There was a low buzzing in his brain. An insistent urge. The folder felt scorching, but he held onto it all the same, trying hard not to curl his fingers tightly. He could not damage it, especially after only receiving it. His confirmation.

His footsteps, shaky and heavy, finally led him back to his truck. Despite the buzzing growing in volume, he had the sense to do a sweep of the parking lot. As far as he could tell, no one paid attention. Kurt breathed in slowly, as he opened the driver side door. He climbed in, shut the door, and then released the breath he held. Finally. Something he should have looked into years ago. But he had been hurt—inside and out—and had shut off his mind. In the process, he had shut everyone else out, too. People that could have helped me. Well, it was a bit too late for what-ifs. Kurt took another breath before opening the file.

The first page revealed a spreadsheet. Times, dates, signatures—a basic sign-in sheet, specific to one room number. It began two days after. AM and BR—the initials appeared the most on the first page. Around the same time every day for Alison. Every other day for Billy. There were sporadic visits from others the following days. The Sheriff, of course. It was surprising to recognize the Mayor's signature. The Sheriff sometimes complained about the Mayor's penmanship. Brock came to visit, too. And so had Sugar Bates. Kurt blinked a few times as he slid the first page from the pile. He carefully sat it down on the passenger side as he scanned over the next page. It was the same. Then the next, the next, and the next. Weeks' worth of visits from the people he knew. They had dwindled considerably in the days leading up to his awakening, but this was it. Tangible proof.

Had it all just been a case of bad luck? No, this felt deliberate. Initially, after Billy had told him, Kurt had believed that an angry nurse had been responsible. However, a nurse would have known about the electronic record. This felt personal. But why? And who? Pressing his lips together, Kurt continued onto the pictures. Maybe he would find a clue, as the policy intended. The first picture was a bouquet of flowers in a clear vase. An assortment of blue and white flowers he did not know the name of. However, he spied a small card amongst the petals. Kurt squinted, but he couldn't make out the handwritten words. Nothing else about the picture seemed out of the ordinary, so he moved on to the next picture. To his surprise, the next was a closer shot of the flowers, focusing on the card he had seen. The words showed up clearly. Thank you for coming to my rescue. I hope you recover soon –Carrie

"Mrs. Hopewell…?" Kurt murmured. He had not had many encounters with the woman so it came as a revelation to know that she had visited as well. Her name had not appeared on the log, though. Well, Billy had told him Deva had visited, so it made sense that Carrie had accompanied the Mayor without signing in either. Kurt frowned, recalling the events of that particular rescue. Camp Genoa. He had been hyper-focused on Alison, but Carrie had been in need then, too. The Mayor's wife had not been a standard damsel in distress, though. A bit like Alison. The frown shifted upward.

Then Kurt cleared his throat, moving to the next picture. A gift basket full of bottles of alcohol, snacks, and a DVD of After Earth. No wait… He peered closer to the photo. It was soda in green glass bottles. A huff of a chuckle slipped out. Billy. Of course. Kurt disliked the movie and had ranted—a bit—one time to his coworker. So, of course, the man would gift him with a copy of it. And he had never gotten it. The next two photos showed simple balloons, probably purchased at the hospital's gift shop, and the stuffed bear. Again, Billy. Here it was—everything he had gotten while in the hospital. Proof that someone took it from him before he had the chance to see it.

Someone. As though Kurt had not already found a prime suspect. These photos indicted that the gifts had disappeared. Except one. The teddy bear that had been in Hank's possession. Who else could he suspect other than the boy's mother? Calvin would not have been so bold. Or maybe his pride would not have allowed him to. Maggie, on the other hand, had proved to be a curve ball. Now that he thought about it… From the very beginning, the woman had come into his life like a calm after the storm. She had inserted herself, befriended him again, and trusted him with her son. And yet underneath that, she had perpetrated actions that led to a broken man. Why? What could her motivation be? Truthfully, Kurt still had a hard time believing that his sister-in-law would do something like that. Even with her being the prime suspect, he still had doubts of her involvement. Maybe this was all just a coincidence.

So then why would some of her first words to him be a lie? Maggie had said that she had called the hospital to check on him. That was a lie. Who knows how many lies had slipped out of her mouth. Despite the doubts of her motivations and true self, Kurt could not deny the evidence in front of him. Sighing deeply, he shut his eyes. For whatever reason, Maggie Bunker manipulated him. Without her involvement, he would not have had to spend so much time alone. So much time distrusting those around him. So much time filled with anger. She had caused all of that… and had then come to him at his lowest. Could it be that she had planned it? Again, why?

Kurt shook his head. He was too close, he realized. Missing the bigger picture because of the relationship. Still, he had gotten confirmation, and now he could go home and discuss further with his partner. Alison could see it at a different perspective, and together they might form the bigger picture. Making his decision, and eager to get home now, Kurt almost missed the last two photos in the file. Billy had mentioned all the gifts so he thought they would be no others. However, the next shot focused on a get-well card. The words, in black cursive font and surrounded by rainbow flowers, read Thinking Of You. Frowning again, Kurt switched his focus on the last photo.

It was a shot of inside the card. Blank except for the handwriting. Kurt, it began in a familiar curve of letters. By the time you read this, I will be gone. Alison, his mind supplied. Kurt blinked twice and stopped reading. His body tensed so much that his joints seemed to lock up. He lowered the image to his lap, gaze looking elsewhere. So then, she had left him a goodbye after all. In hindsight, it seemed obvious that she would have. If he hadn't been in misery, he might have realized sooner that something had been wrong. Kurt sucked in an unsteady breath. But did he really have to read a two-year-old Dear John letter? He didn't want to.

Kurt and Alison were getting better. There was no need to bring the past into their present. Not now. For the first time since her return, Kurt had some clarity about their relationship. Reading the break-up letter meant nothing. However, it was another thing taken from him. Closure. Maybe if he had read this back then, then he would not have been stuck waiting. Swallowing hard, Kurt shifted his attention back to the last words Alison had given to him two years ago. However, no amount of reason could uncoil the tension of his body. Kurt released the air from his lungs and began again.

Kurt. By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish it did not have to be this way, but if wishes were poppy… There were several crossed out lines. Unreadable. Maybe if he had the original, he could manage to see the words. Kurt moved on. I know you will make it through this. You will recover and be back on your feet in no time. I'm sorry I can't be there for that. I'm not exactly in a position where I can. Things changed while you were in the hospital and I have to react to that. Once you are well enough, we will talk about these changes. Kurt paused again, brow furrowing. But that implied… Pursing his lips, he read on. I would rather talk about the changes face to face, so don't ask me for details when you call my new number. It's on the back of this card. His nostrils flared, realization sinking in. Before he knew it, his breaths echoed in his ears. Still, he continued reading. I know I'm not there, Kurt, but promise me you will take care of yourself in my absence. Recover strong and unwavering. Do not let this break you. You are more than a monster and you will survive this. Several more scratched out lines. I hate that I'm saying it for the first time like this, but I want you to know. I love you. I've been in love with you for so long that I can't remember a time where I haven't loved you. Stay safe until we are together again. -Yours, G

Kurt's vision blurred but it was only after the first couple of tears slipped from his eyes that he realize he had been crying. His eyes read the words over and over again, one line in particular. I love you. I love you. I love you. A choked sob escaped before he managed to clamp a hand over his mouth. He felt himself trembling as his blurred vision read the words again. This was not closure. This was not a Dear John type of letter. This was a letter of want. A letter of support and encouragement. A letter of hope. Alison had not written a goodbye. She had written him a love letter. But G…? Why sign it G? There was no doubting her handwriting, so- Then it came to him. A bolt to his heart.

"Goddess," Kurt whispered, despite his throat swelling. He released his hold on his mouth only to curl his fingers around the fabric of his uniform that covered his chest. The vital organ clenched painfully within. "M-My goddess… You loved me? Y-You loved-" All this time spent waiting for her, and Alison had been the one waiting for him. Kurt leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel. He breathed through clenched teeth. If he had gotten the original card, he could have went to her. Been there for the birth of his child. Heard Naomi's first word. He could have been happy in the weeks following his discharge. Safe. Loved. But that had been snatched away from him. By one fucking person.

Kurt lifted his head face flushed and eyes red. His body still trembled but he felt a calm overtake him. A calm he had experienced before. Fortitude. He swallowed again, easier than the last. Maggie Bunker was his enemy. He understood it clearly now. No more doubting it. She would be dealt with like the rest. He still did not know where the motivation came from, but he could not bring himself to care anymore. She ruined everything. Made him think no one cared about him. Made him rely on her. We are the only ones that could accept you, she had told him. She had been so confident of that. Now, he understood why. She had shoved him into that line of thinking. Had Alison not returned, he probably would have fallen deeper into her manipulations. Maybe even eventually returning to that life. The idea made him want to puke.

Still, he could not focus on that right now. Now that he had this information—information he should have had years ago—what should he do with it? Tell Alison, for one. But what if she no longer… Kurt clenched his jaw tightly. No. This needed to be out in the open. Because of this hidden truth, they had lost so much time. Dancing with uncertainty and wariness this entire time. They were partners and they needed trust. He and Alison would decide together what this meant for their family. Whether it meant closure or… or continuation.

0-0

Maggie hummed lightly as she pulled a large bowl from the cabinet. She spied her husband and son in the backyard through the window. She smiled, watching them for a moment. The change in Calvin had been wonderful. Tension had all but evaporated overnight. He was smiling and playing with his son like before. They could be a family again. Had she known, she would have taken care of her father long before now. Well, the problem was gone and they could all move on to better things. To a better venture. Money. Maggie still could not believe her father's endgame had been money. With thoughts like that, he had to go.

Narrowing her eyes a bit, Maggie returned to the task of preparing dinner. With her father gone, true focus could be achieved. She and her husband could continue running The Brotherhood and making no foolish mistakes. Money would not drive them any longer. Everything would be smooth from this point on. Her hands stilled for a moment, a sudden thought forming in her mind. Well, perhaps not everything. There was one outlier—one that had continuously evaded whatever plan in place. Kurt Bunker. Just how had he managed to resist for so long?

Despite the method, Calvin would have been ecstatic to have his brother return. Maggie cared nothing for the man, but it would have pleased her husband, so she had tried coaxing him back. It had not worked. Her mouth twisted as her hands began moving again. She continued to prepare dinner but her thoughts drifted. She had cooked this casserole dish many times, so it wasn't necessary to focus on the task. Out of all her well-thought out plans, Kurt was the one who got away. In a manner of speaking.

His return should have been easy. Break him down, and then build him up. That had been the plan. She had effectively removed any significant relationship from his life two years ago. Such simple actions had led to his collapse. His vulnerable state had been near perfect upon meeting him again. Kurt had been filled with fear and anxiety. No one had been there for him to abate those feelings. Maggie had only played a part, but he had been the one to close himself off. She suspected that he might not have done that had it not been for the seemingly abrupt end of his romantic relationship. Losing that probably sent him over the edge. Perfect for her machinations.

About a month after his discharge, she had shown up at his new place, bearing gifts and offering something he had lost. A bond. She had given it to him. She sympathized, became his caretaker and confidante, and helped him recover. All the while, teasing him with herself. Simple touches and words that would coax him back. She even went as far as pretending to be irritated with her husband. That night should have made it so Kurt would do anything she had asked. That night should have made him completely hooked. However, the initial plan had not worked. After taking off her clothes, he had denied her. Not that she had wanted to go through with it herself, but it had been a shock how roughly he pushed her away.

Truthfully, Maggie had not cared much about the dismissal. One, she had not betrayed her husband—thank God for that—and two, it meant she had not needed to continue until he came back. Although his resistance to having her body had shocked her, it mattered little. She had thought of another plan before leaving his house. Hank. Little Hank would do what she could not. Bringing her son into Kurt's life had helped tremendously, Maggie believed. Getting along with her boy—who looked so much like Calvin—should have steered him into returning. For her husband's sake. However, his blatant answer today had proved no plan had worked on him. Seduction or family. Using those basics things had always worked for her to obtain whatever goal in mind.

Kurt was different.

And he should not have been.

Although he no longer mattered in the grand scheme of things, it was a bit frustrating Maggie had failed to recruit him back. Somehow, she had missed something. She had been certain that when the time came he would have been amendable. No matter his reluctance, people could not change. A sharp sigh left her, shaking off thoughts of a useless man. Maggie shut the oven door, already heated, and then stood to her full height to set the timer. In the end, Kurt's resistance mattered little. Calvin was on his way to greatness without his brother. Her husband might have cared, but he did not need his older brother anymore. That was satisfying enough. So, ridding thoughts of why and how from her mind, Maggie went about setting the table.

First, she cleaned it off. She had not had a chance to last night. Her body was much too preoccupied. Or… Her husband had been much too preoccupied with her body. Quite the brute when he wanted to be, her Calvin. Allowing a chuckle to slip pass her lips, Maggie gave the table one last wipe down with the damp rag. Then she noticed Hank's tablet on one of the chairs. She sighed lightly. Of course he had left it. His father had offered to play with him, and so he had jumped at the chance. In his excitement, he had left his tablet. He probably left the power on as well with the apps running. No matter how many times Maggie had warned him, he always left it like that. So, by the time Hank was ready to play with it again, the battery's power drained to zero.

Shaking her head, Maggie picked up the device. Sure enough, the power was on. With a few touches, she pulled up the running apps. There were multiple. Several games, a reading app, music app, a calculator—it was a wonder the device had not already powered off on its own. Maggie swiped at the running apps, closing them out. The last—the photo gallery—gave her pause. The last snapshot showed Hank, obviously a selfie, but something in the background caught her attention. Blinking twice, the mother brought up the app and tapped on the photo, which enlarged it. She enhanced it further, focusing on the corner of the photo.

The shot was out of focus, and Maggie could only make at the side profile, the child in this photo had a dark complexion. For whatever reason, her stomach lurched. A monkey child with dark nappy hair played too close to her son. Clenching her teeth, Maggie shook her head. No, this must have been a unique occurrence. There was no one like that around her son. She had made sure of it. Even in his classes—where this photo could not have been taken—he stuck with his own kind. He never mentioned otherwise. Still, her index finger swiped through the gallery.

Gradually, her shoulders relaxed the more she scrolled through the pictures. They were all harmless. An abundance of selfies, but ultimately harmless. God, would she have to speak with Hank's teacher again…? Then she came across an image that made the device slip from her hand. The tablet clattered against the tiled floor but inflicted no damage because of the rubber case. Eyes wide, Maggie could only stare. Eventually, she lowered herself to pick up the tablet again. The photo, another selfie, show a close up of her son. However, that same girl was right next to him, arm wrapped around Hank. In the back of her mind, Maggie noted slight similarities between the two. It horrified her. Because apart of her realized what exactly this image meant.

Most of her could not catch up, though. The very image was inconceivable. Had she the strength, she would have crushed the tablet between her palms. As she did not, Maggie could only grip the device, mind reeling. She swiped through more photos. It was a cluster of pictures of her. Clearly, this tar baby was very much integrated in Hank's life. A friend…? The thought made her stomach roll again. How? How on Earth had she missed something of this magnitude? And just where were these photos taken? Certainly not here. Not at the school. Hank never went over friends' houses. She could never fully trust other mothers to care for her son, even for a few hours. The only time Hank had been away from her supervision-

Before the rest of her mind could catch up, the door, which led to the backyard, opened. Hank, smiling brightly, approached her. Hurriedly, Maggie stood up. "Dad said I had to ask you for a snack before dinner," he announced. "Can I please?" Innocently standing there, the boy had no idea that his mother had discovered. Slowly, Maggie showed him the screen of his tablet. She noticed the smile falter just a bit. Hank pressed his lips together. His brow knitted closer together as well.

"Hank… honey… who is this?" Maggie questioned.

"That's…" Hank began. He shuffled in place. "That's Nay-Nay."

"… But who is she?" Maggie asked, through clenched teeth. She tried to smile, but it felt forced. "I've never met her. Where did you meet this… this baby?"

"She's a toddler," he replied as though he had heard it multiple times. As though he had been corrected multiple times. Maggie grit her teeth. "She's family!"

"No!" she shouted. Hank lifted his shoulders in a flinch. "She is not-" Maggie had to swallow the bile. "She is not family, Hank! She's a dirty porch monkey!" She dropped to her knees, abandoning her hold on the tablet. At eye level with her son, she grasped his shoulders. "She, and people who look like her, have no future. They are a blight on society. People like her are only good for filling up prisons. She'll live off and bleed government funding dry because she's too lazy to work. But that won't stop her from spreading her legs and producing more beggars. Drugs and violence are their way of life, and they spread like an infection across our country. I will not have my son near them." Most of her words were probably lost on Hank. His eyebrows inched together. Normally, Maggie would not speak this way in front of her son, but she had been thrown for a loop. And still, something just would not click. "You are not to speak to her ever again. Don't even talk about her! She does not exist. She is certainly not your family!"

"Yes she is!" Hank shouted back. It was Maggie's turn to flinch. Her sweet, honest boy had never raised his voice to her. Not even during tantrums. But here he was, face flushed, confusion—and anger—crawling across his face. He had his father's bulging vein right in the middle of his forehead. However, there was nothing appealing about seeing it now. "She's family! She is! She's ohana! Ohana means family and that means no one is left behind!" Maggie only reared back in utter bafflement. Now, he was saying foreign words. "Family looks out for family. Family takes care of each other. Nay-Nay is family. Nay-Nay is blood. Uncle K is her dad and he loves her. I love her. She's my fam-"

Before Maggie could think twice, her palm struck Hank's cheek. Lips pursed and face contorted with barely concealed rage, she glared at her son. She had never hit him before. Admittedly, her emotions had gotten the better of her. After all, everything had finally clicked into place. The lingering questions. The holes in her plan. Seduction or family had not worked on Kurt because… those roles had already been filled. To an unimaginable extent. The thought of something so heinous never crossed her mind. Kurt and some random Negress created a mixed niglet. And he was raising her. The new items in his home suddenly made too much sense. Maggie had a near uncontrollable urge to burn his entire house to the ground.

A startled sob broke through her infuriated thoughts. Again, she focused on her son. Hank stood there, frozen. His eyes were wide as he stared back at her. As if seeing her differently. Tears suddenly sprang and fell as his face turning a deeper shade of red. A pang of regret shot through her. However, she found herself smothering it. She could not show a mother's weakness about this. He was so young, but she would have to teach him. Earlier than anticipated.

"Don't you dare say anything like that again," Maggie told him, voice at a dangerous whisper. "They're not like us. They're not family." Squeezing his eyes shut, Hank pressed his lips together hard. She shook her head. "Go to your room. Don't come out until dinner's ready." The tears did not stop even as Hank followed the order. Another pang shot through her. She felt the shame of striking of her child. Truly. But Kurt made it so that Hank would have to be taught the hard way. He had corrupted her son. Tainted her sweet boy with his vile sin. She would kill him for this.

The door opened for a second time, drawing Maggie's attention. Of course, Calvin walked through the door. His eyes immediately fell to her, and she slowly stood to her full height. Straightaway, he noticed something amiss. Feebly, Maggie said his name. Her husband stepped closer. His rolled up sleeves exposed his tattooed skin, and she reached for them. Her fingers wrapped around his forearms, taking comfort in the contact. "What's wrong?" Calvin asked. "Where's Hank?" Maggie shook her head, shortly losing her voice. She did not want to be the bearer of this type of news. "Maggie… What is it?"

"Your brother…" she hissed. "It's your brother."

"What about Kurt?"

"He has a half-breed spawn!"


I don't know hospital procedures. I haven't been in one for so long, I have no idea about signing in for visitation. Not even the point of the story. Do not come for me about that.

Anyway, I had initially planned for the "secret" of Naomi getting to Calvin a different way. It was going to rumors spreading from the daycare center. Word of mouth, Calvin would hear about it and get frustrated and confront his brother about it. Because the notion is outlandish, right? Kurt would been like "Yup. It's true. So?" Basically. Don't quote me. But since we're soooo close the end, I decided to go with this plan. I've had several. I'm pretty sure this reveal was supposed to happen, maybe, two chapters ago. Maybe. I'm not sure anymore, bro. My mind has runaway with the plot many, many times, and revisions were required.

So, yeah... This chapter was supposed to done and posted a week ago, but I had to get in Maggie's head. Again. Unpleasant place to be. But she needed to fill in some blanks, too, not just Kurt and Alison. So, I had to put the reveal in her point of view. Actually, I was was going to put it in Hank's point of view, but it is a struggle thinking like a five-year-old. And I had written it as though the reveal had already happened before the scene began and readers would not find out about it until the very end. Then I realized I wanted the reveal to be "live," so I scrapped it. And began again with Maggie.

Yes, I am well aware that I make things harder than they need to be.

Anywho, I look forward to your reactions. I know this one was a lot. Over 17,000 words with this one. Is your butt numb? Wow, only three more chapters until the end. Thanks for sticking with me for so long!

:D