Welp. I can't help myself. I keep going back to this point in the timeline where everything changed in the worst possible way. I've done drabbles about Mai and Yuri where Mary made a guest appearance or two (see: Sleep Apnea; Legalities) but I've never really gotten into how she — King's best friend — really handled what happened during Much Like Suffocating... which is just a few clicks that way.

Originally this was just a drabble that had some of the same stuff, but fleshing it out certainly made it look a bit different, to say the least.

Anyway. This isn't a happy read by any means (a glowing endorsement, I know), so get ready for some angst.

Onward~

Mary Ryan sat alone at the bar of the Pao Pao Cafe, shoulders hunched, defeated. The normally laid-back detective was distraught: She couldn't think straight, not because of the alcohol coursing through her system, but because of the things she had witnessed and been a part of earlier that night. A case or a call getting to her now and then was an occupational hazard, one that she had learned to accept, but she didn't want to accept this one. Not by a long shot. And, so, she downed a shot of bourbon, slammed the glass on the counter, and fixed her pale eyes on Richard Meyer, who stood on the opposite side of the wide surface, wiping a glass.

"Another," she requested, her almost childlike voice low and monotone. She pushed the glass toward the bartender, who flashed her a concerned glance before refilling the drink.

"Rough night?" He asked as Mary hastily downed the liquor.

The detective silently stared into the empty glass in her hand. Most nights were rough — it was part of the job, of course — but this one was so much worse than the others because it hit home.

Hard.

"...One more," she sighed, effectively answering the question without answering the question.

Richard furrowed his brow but went ahead and refilled the drink. Mary consumed it in a flash before standing up. She pulled her wallet from her pocket so she could pay but stopped when he put his hand up.

"It's on the house. Just promise me you'll take it easy."

Mary solemnly nodded while she replaced her wallet. She thanked Richard, picked up her helmet, and walked out of the establishment and into the muggy night. She slowly made her way to where her bike was parked, eager to just get away from everything and everyone but not ready to go home yet. She placed her helmet on and thought for just a moment before coming to a decision. She then started the bike and sped off toward the one place and the one person that could — hopefully — bring her some form of comfort.

###

It was only a short while later when Mary stood straight up in front of a small apartment, her helmet under one arm. She rang the bell and waited patiently as the locks were undone from the other side.

"Mary?"

Terry Bogard opened the door to the dwelling, his hair and clothes disheveled, a look of pure confusion on his face, as it was clear the cop had woken him up.

"What time izzit?" He asked groggily.
"Where's Rock?" Mary inquired as she pushed the door all the way open and walked inside. She placed her helmet down on a nearby counter and stood, unmoving, as she waited for an answer.
"Spending the night with a frie —"

Terry's sentence was cut short when Mary turned and smashed her lips against his. She didn't let up as she backed him against the wall and shrugged out of her shoulder holster; she let it fall to the floor as she continued to kiss her lover passionately, but also, desperately. He enthusiastically kissed her back and started working at the buttons on her shirt as her hands traveled below his waist, his arousal quite evident.

The detective didn't know how they got there, but, all at once, she and Terry were in his bedroom, and she was straddling him while his hands roamed her body. She didn't know where the condom came from or how she managed to even remove her pants. What she did know was that she needed to feel something — anything — other than the absolute anger and despair that had overtaken her hours earlier.

###

A little later, Mary settled against the pillows, breathless, and stared blankly at the ceiling while Terry pulled himself out of bed so he could go clean up. Clad in only the black tank top she had worn under her thin button-down shirt, she knew she should have followed suit, but she didn't have the energy to move just yet.

"That was… something," Terry commented from the bathroom.
"Yeah…"

Soon, he emerged from the dimly lit area, pulled on a clean pair of boxers and a plain t-shirt, and situated himself next to Mary. He placed an arm around her and pulled her close while she stared at nothing in particular. She then sighed as she started thinking back to everything that happened earlier.

...To everything that was still happening. She suddenly found herself wondering if King would be mad at her. After all —

"Bad night?"

Terry's question interrupted Mary's thoughts. She looked up so she could see him and offered a small smile.

"Am I that transparent?"
"A little bit, yeah."

Mary stayed silent as the image of her best friend, sitting in a small hospital room, beaten all to shit and wearing borrowed scrubs while she gave a numb statement to one of the lesser badges on the force, popped into her mind.

She wouldn't be mad. She'd get it.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" Terry prodded.
"...No…"
"You sure…?"
"No…"

There was silence as Mary shifted her weight. She let out another sigh but didn't say anything as she was bombarded by intrusive thoughts about what transpired: The stress and the violence and the tragedy and having to hold her shit together for everyone else's sake. She shut her eyes and draped a muscular arm over Terry's chest.

"I answered a call," she started. "I didn't have to, but I did… and I'm glad that it was me. It had to be me. But… I…"

Her voice cracked as she trailed off.

"Hey," Terry said softly. "Come on. You know you can tell me."

Mary frowned. She really, really couldn't. As much as she wanted to get it all out, she had absolutely no intention of ever telling Terry what happened. Not all of it, anyway. She swallowed hard and let out a quiet sniffle, her vision blurry from tears she didn't want to shed.

"It's just… it hit a little too close to home."
"How so?"
"I shot somebody," Mary stated, more as a means to deflect and avoid answering specific questions than anything else.
"What?!

Terry instantly sat up and turned, a look of horror on his face.

"Did you —"
"He's not dead," Mary interrupted.
"Then what happened?! Why did you have to do that?!"
"He was… violent. A danger. I had to do something drastic to ensure that he wouldn't hurt anyone else."
"So you shot him," Terry stated, wide-eyed.
"Yeah. One round in the ear and another straight to the knee."
"Jesus, Mary!"
"What? He deserved it. He deserved more than that, but I'm not a murderer," the cop told him. "Besides, it's not like he's the first person I've ever shot."
"But… when you say he was violent —"
"He hurt someone in ways that… I mean, they… it… was — is..." Mary struggled to find the right words without saying too much.
"How bad was it?" Terry ventured quietly.
"...Bad..."

Of course, that was the understatement of the year. The century, even. There was no doubt in Mary's mind that, even if the victim were a complete stranger, she would have been wrecked. But the victim wasn't a stranger; she was the one person she could always count on in the entire world. More so than Terry, even. She loved Cécile Levasseur dearly, and seeing her like that, in the wake of the vilest of crimes…!

Mary bit down on her lip and clenched her fists as tears started pooling in the corners of her eyes. She wished more than anything that she could have gotten there sooner, that she could have stopped it all before it even started, but the Universe was cruel: it took, and took, and took some more. Her father and Butch had somehow been easier pills to swallow; they were gone and never coming back. King, however, wasn't gone, but at some points, it almost felt like she was. Recalling the look in her eyes — the switches from shock to anger to apathy to just... nothing — was as unsettling as it was heartbreaking.

With a deep breath, Mary abruptly got out of bed (Terry made a startled noise) so she could head to the bathroom to clean up and collect herself. She picked up her underwear along the way, entered the tiny space, and did what she needed to before going to the sink to wash her hands. However, her reflection in the mirror stopped her in her tracks. She looked exhausted, but it wasn't her typical, "I just worked this case and then went out into the field and made several arrests with three hours of sleep," exhausted. Instead, this was something different: Her skin, which was already pale to begin with, looked almost white, and the subtle bags that were always under her eyes were much more pronounced, the varying shades of purple contrasting with the rest of her complexion. Hell, even her freckles looked tired. She pushed her hair behind her ear before splashing cold water on her face, then turned off the faucet. Instead of drying herself, she let the water drip off of her while her wet hands gripped the edges of the smooth countertop, and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do with herself now.

She had taken a bike ride, and she had drowned her sorrows with liquor, and she had fucked, but, predictably, nothing was working; nothing was helping her feel any sort of anything other than pure anguish. Mary was filled with grief and blind rage; she wanted to go back and shoot that son of a bitch again and again. Not to kill him, of course, but just enough to make him suffer. His other knee, his elbow joints… his dick. She'd go back to the police station, into the holding area, and shoot that thing clean off if she could.

Then again, that honour should go to King…

Suddenly, Mary thought back to when she first met the somewhat mysterious fighter and bartender: The other woman had turned herself in for crimes committed under Mr. Big's employ under the guise of being a man, and Mary had been the beat cop called on to keep an eye on her while she gave the detective everything she could so he could bring Big down. Mary's gut told her that, despite her reputation as a dangerous criminal, King was a good person. Misguided and desperate, but still good. And the officer had been right: the two became fast friends, and Mary quickly discovered that King (AKA Céc) was a closet goofball who was great at making drinks but terrible with her feelings. A fantastic fighter and an awesome friend, and — why did this have to happen to her?!

Mary increased her grip on the counter and squeezed her eyes shut as the hours-old memory of bursting into that cursed motel room popped into her head. She didn't know how but she had managed to hold herself together — to stay calm despite the sight that greeted her, and the things she had to do, and then again at the hospital, where she held King's shaking hand and reassured her while she recounted the moments leading up to and including her assault, her clear, assertive voice detached and hoarse from being choked over and over for who knew how long while it all went down.

Without warning, the contents of Mary's stomach were in the back of her throat, and, just like that, she was vomiting into the sink. She took deep, shaky breaths when she was done, washed everything down the drain, and tried not to think about how badly she had failed. If she had just gotten there sooner…! Maybe if she had gone five miles faster on the freeway or skipped talking with the motel manager or the man outside the room, she could have… what? What could she have done? The attack was already underway when Mai called her; King was already being brutalized by that sadistic monster, and there was nothing any of them could have done to stop it. No matter what, Mary would have been too late, and knowing that made her feel even sicker than she already was.

Before she could stop herself, she let out a choked sob, and then another, and another as her entire body shook. She sank down to the floor, no longer able to hold back all of her hurt and anger.

"Mary?!"

Terry threw the bathroom door open and quickly stooped down beside Mary. He grabbed her shoulders so he could peer into her tear-stained face.

"What's wrong?! What happened?!"

Completely and utterly beside herself, Mary was unable to answer. Instead, she latched onto Terry and held onto him as she finally, after hours and hours of being the strong one, broke down and cried hysterically.

Not much by way of notes here, but there are a couple of minor things:

* So, if you're new or have been sitting in the back, Mary was a key player in MLS, as she was contacted by Mai and Yuri and answered a disturbance call that came in at the same time they called her (which was, of course, linked to King's kidnapping at the hands of Big's henchmen).
* Yes, I am aware that, most recently, Mary's profession has been listed as a freelance special agent/private investigator, but, like, in this continuity she started as a beat cop for Southtown PD (where she met King after the events of AOF), left to pursue freelance and PI work, but then went back to the force as a detective for benefits, PTO, and a more consistent work schedule.
* King's clothing was confiscated as evidence, which is why, when Mary thinks back to the hospital, it's stated that she's wearing borrowed scrubs.
* Parallels! In Silver Lining, Mary stays with King while she tells Detective Dincht everything he needs to bring Big and the rest of the Syndicate down, just like she stayed with her in the hospital while she gave her police statement.
* Mary has gotten pretty good at suppressing/deadening her emotions over the years as a sort of defense and coping mechanism, but still suffers from depression and anxiety. This woman needs a good hug.

Aaaaaaaaand...that's it. Be good to each other.

Cheers~