Not gonna lie: this is definitely not my best work. But, you know what? It's just a little quickie that I thought up during a random bout of insomnia. If you haven't read Much Like Suffocating I highly suggest that you do so, otherwise you might be a little lost. Totally random, but you should totally picture King with the Tony Stark black eye. (Google it.) But I'm not telling you how to live your life.

Also, super quick, "putain" is pronounced pooh-TAHN and is French for "fuck."

Oh, and "bb" = baby but just a little faster... so, like... "bee-bee." Ha, ha.

Onward~!

"I'mma nddddd hella p"

The message was the first in a series of bizarre texts sent to Detective Mary Ryan in the half hour since she had left the police station for the night. She had tried calling the sender back several times to no avail; there was no answer on either her cell or landline. However, more messages flooded in, one after another. Mary read a few of them over as she entered a small elevator that smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, patchouli, and Axe Body Spray:

"The cats a doc. Wonttt hill"
"Pls gave brocilo"
"Codch s"
".putain"

Mary hit the appropriate button and waited; a minute passed before a loud ding sounded, letting her know she had reached the correct floor. She briskly exited into a brightly lit hall and made her way down the familiar path, around the corner, and all the way to the door at the end. She reread the texts on her phone one last time before ringing the doorbell. She heard unusually heavy footsteps, followed by the sound of the chain lock coming undone. There was a loud click as the door was pulled open.

"Mary! Heyyyyyy!"

Mary's friend, who went by the moniker "King", leaned heavily on the door frame, clearly trying to keep from falling over. There was a lazy smile on her partially bruised face.

"Bb?" Mary asked apprehensively.
"You're never gonna believe this," King, who was normally very well-spoken, slurred as she held up her index finger. "But I drank too much."

Mary's concern dulled a little, and she found herself smiling. She strolled past King, into the apartment, and spun on her heel to face her. "I see. So, like… you can drunk text but you can't answer your phone? What is all of this, anyway?" She asked as she held up her device.

King clumsily shut the door and pressed her back against it. She slowly started to sink as her feet slid across the carpeted floor.

"Marron's a dick," she replied as she awkwardly stopped herself from sliding all the way down. "He won't help me. And I think I'm one with my couch. Also, I'm out of broccoli."

Mary raised her eyebrows as she caught sight of an open bottle of wine on the dining room table. She picked it up. Empty.

"Did you drink the whole bottle?!"
"I'unno," King shrugged. "But I had a perc - for my ribs - and I think it was just too close. Too. Close!"
"Wait, wait, wait," Mary's eyes widened as she put the bottle down. "Did you just say you had a perc?! As in Percocet?! With a bottle of wine?!"
"Well, yeah, but, I mean… not… with it. I waited."
"How long did you wait?!"

King fell silent. She looked like she was thinking really, really hard.

"Okay," Mary said. "Riddle me this, your highness: How much perc did you take?"
"Just one. I'm not suicidal, Mary - jeez. I just fucked up. And now I'm really fucked up! Holy shit!"

Mary looked King over very carefully. She probably wasn't suicidal, as she had said, but Mary, who knew her better than most, was positive that she was trying to self-medicate. And how could she blame her, really? King had had it really rough over the last two weeks, recovering from a particularly horrendous experience that rattled her to her very core. Mary was with her every step of the way, helping out wherever she could when she wasn't working: coming over to do the dishes, feeding the cat, and keeping tabs on the district attorney to make sure that the people who hurt King would never see the light of day were among the things she had taken it upon herself to do.

"This is weird!" King frowned as she shuffled toward the sofa. "Everything feels all floaty, and my limbs are all… floaty."

Mary shook her head as she plopped down in a nearby armchair. She draped her legs over the side and kicked her shoes off while King picked up an empty wine glass from the coffee table. She looked at it with what seemed to be utter disbelief.

"What's the matter?" Mary asked.

King started laughing as she set the glass back down. It was an infectious sound Mary hadn't expected to hear so soon, what with everything that happened.

"Remember that part in the Avengers when Loki calls Black Widow a crying vagina and I completely lost it in the middle of the theater and nobody got it and I was just sitting there trying not to choke to death on my popcorn?!"

Caught off-guard by King's unusual train of thought, Mary let out a loud cackle. She unclipped her badge from her belt and tossed it, along with her cellphone, on the coffee table before turning to King, who was still giggling.

"I don't remember because I wasn't there, bro, but I'm sure it was amazing."
"...ohhhh? Oh! Right! Whoops!"

King sat down; she stretched her long legs out in front of her as she closed her eyes and absently started petting a pillow that was next to her.

"Marron, you asshole. Why won't you help me."
"That's not the cat…"
"Shhh. It is now."

Mary tried to hold back her laughter, but failed. She couldn't help feeling a little bad, though: What King was going through was very serious, but seeing her so relaxed and loopy in spite of it all was somehow reassuring. It showed that she was still capable of feeling some level of happiness. Maybe she could even get a reprieve from whatever dark, intrusive thoughts must have been plaguing her twenty-four-seven.

"Your freckles are showing," King said with a dopey smile.
"Yeah, they tend to do that."
"You're hot, Mary. We should make out."
"Yeah, that's a no," Mary firmly replied, a little surprised that King would even say something along those lines after what she had been through. "I still love you though," she added.

King picked up the wine glass again. "I've made a decision," she stated, her words a little jumbled. She began twirling the glass between her fingers like a weird, lopsided baton.

"What?"
"I'm going full gay. Men are trash. Trash!" King threw her arms up in a V; the wine glass came dangerously close to falling from between her fingers.
"Pffft, your hopelessly bisexual ass would totally go back on that if a certain someone started rocking a beard oh shit -"

Mary quickly stuffed part of her fist in her mouth to stop herself from saying anything else. Bringing up King's sometimes-maybe-not-really-sure-what-the-hell-was-going-on-schoolgirl-crush after she had been sexually assaulted was not a good look; it was a colossal screw up that was going to change the tide of the entire conversation. King was going to end up in hysterical tears, questioning her worth, and it would all be because Mary had failed to think before speaking - as usual. She removed her fist from her mouth so she could apologize, but King waved a dismissive hand to silence her.

"It's fine! You're fiiiiine! But, nope! Men. Trash!" King authoritatively slammed the wine glass on the coffee table.
"Hashtag not all men?" Mary ventured.
"All men," King replied. She grabbed the pillow that was beside her and hugged it tight, resting her chin over the top of it. "Je suis si fatiguée..."

Mary frowned. King didn't really speak French all that often, and when she did it was usually an indicator of some sort of emotional extreme. She suddenly looked so sad and exhausted; the change in her demeanor was a little unsettling, but not all that surprising, especially after Mary's little slip up.

"King...?" Mary asked cautiously.
"Hm?"
"Are you okay?"

King released her hold on the pillow to run a hand through her hair: The thin butterfly bandages on the side of her forehead became visible for a brief second before the short locks fell back into place.

"I haven't slept in six days." King's speech was still slurred but her tone was grim. "I, umm… I can't get him out of my head."
"Oh bb," Mary said as she pulled herself upright. "Is that why you drank so much?"
"I just want it to stop ."
"It will -" Mary switched from the armchair to the sofa to sit next to King - "but drinking entire bottles of wine isn't going to make it go away. I know you don't want to hear it, but these things take time…"
"I don't wanna hear it," King grumbled.

In that moment, Mary was ready to drive down to the jail with the express purpose of opening fire on the men responsible for King's fragile state. But, in the end, she was an officer of the law, and shooting kidnappers and rapists who were already in custody would be universally frowned upon by almost everyone ever, regardless of how much they deserved it. The only thing she could really do was hope to make her friend feel a little better.

"Hey!" Mary placed a reassuring arm around King and shook her. "Come on! You're, like, one of the toughest people I know! You're King! You're a badass! You're -"
"Drunk."
"Okay, yeah, you're drunk. But you're also -"
"French."
"So you're a drunk, French badass! How cool is that?!"

King didn't respond. She pressed her lips together and hung her head.

"Mary?"
"Yeah?"

King turned to Mary, her sad expression suddenly replaced with a cheeky grin.

"Are you sure you don't wanna make out?"

Somewhat sad masquerading as happy, huh? Anyway:

* Head-canon: Mary works at Southtown PD as a detective b/c she wanted more stable hours, paid vacation, and benefits.
* Don't ever mix Percocet and alcohol. Ever.
* The Avengers: At one point Loki calls Black Widow a "mewling quim" which literally means "crying vagina."
* I still hate the idea of KingXRyo. Haaate it. But I'll reference it here and there because canon, I guess. *grumble grumble*
* Head-canon for those who didn't read MLS despite me telling you to: King = raging bisexual.
* Je suis si fatiguée = I'm so tired