Okay, hi. Hello. Greetings.

It's time to check in with everyone's favourite kickboxing bartender, post KOF (XV). As always, notes at the end.

Onward~!

Another King of Fighters tournament had finally come and gone.

Free from the stress involved in traveling, fighting in front of insanely large crowds, and watching the weird shit that always went down during the semi-finals from the stands after her team was eliminated, the woman called King was relieved to get back to some semblance of normalcy. No more cuts, bruises, and disembodied hands or meta-humans; just work, family, friends, and more work. Of course, some of the tournament's events had lasting ramifications, but many were unknown to the bartender, as they were much bigger than her or anyone she associated with and, simply put, not her problem. As concerned as she had been for a few of her friends (and still was, to be honest…), she had her own issues to deal with — namely, getting her mind right after her PTSD was accidentally triggered by Vanessa, the mercenary agent and housewife with whom she had been having an on again off again fling. Much to her chagrin, that included moving her regular therapy sessions, which had been switched to once a month quite some time ago, back to a weekly occurrence. Wednesday was no longer Wednesday; it was Therapy Day.

And, so, another Therapy Day afternoon saw the bartender and Nak Muay reclined on her psychiatrist's couch, eyes shut as she tried to wade through the chaos in her head.

"Cécile?"

Doctor Shelley, an older woman with bottom-of-a-bottle-thick glasses who seemed to have a never-ending stockpile of silk scarves, stared at King, her brow furrowed and ballpoint pen at the ready.

"Cécile, are you still with me?"
"Oh —" King blinked a few times and shook her head, almost as if she were clearing cobwebs — "I'm… yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"You seem to be struggling today…"
"... it's a lot of feelings to deal with."
"Well that's what we're here for, right? I'm here to help you sort through them. So with that being said, what are you thinking about right at this moment?"
"Honestly? I have a song stuck in my head. I don't know what it's called, and I don't know the words — just the melody, so I keep filling in the lyrics with things like, 'watermelon.'"

The psychoanalyst quirked a brow and wrote something down.

"Oh, come on, Doc," King sighed. "There's no deeper meaning to that — I literally just have a song stuck in my head."
"Maybe so, but you've been unusually spacey today," Doctor Shelley answered. "And also a little on the defensive. So, that I may help you — which is why you come here in the first place — I made a note of it."

King placed a hand on her forehead while pressing her lips together. She made a noise but didn't vocalize any actual thoughts.

"Cécile."
"Please don't call me that. Not right now."
"Okay. King. You've been back from your trip for three weeks now, and in those three weeks you haven't been yourself."
"What do you mean not myself?! I'm —"
"See?" Doctor Shelley interrupted. She pointed her pen at King and said, "Defensive."

The bartender let out a frustrated groan.

"I guess… you're probably right," she began. "Je pense… I feel like I've taken several steps back in terms of… everything."
"I wouldn't say that. You're certainly nothing like when you first started seeing me —"
"God, I hope not."
" — but you have been very agitated, particularly this visit. How have you slept this past week?"
"Poorly. I've had to use Ambien a lot," King admitted.
"Will you need a refill on it?"
"Probably."
"Okay —" Doctor Shelley made a quick scribble — "now what's been happening when you don't use it?"
"I have a lot of trouble falling asleep, and then when I finally do… nightmares."
"Do you dream when you take it?"
"If I do I don't usually remember them."

Doctor Shelley squinted down at her page while making a note. She then flipped a few pages back, quickly read something, and turned her attention to King again.

"Tell me about the nightmares."
"Do I have to…?"
"Yes," came the doctor's answer. "What was your most recent one like? And when?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as King pressed her lips together once more. She didn't want to talk about her nightmares; they were always intense and horrifying, full of vivid imagery that she never, ever wanted to actively try to recall. But, predictably, Doctor Shelley would always ask her about them if they came up — to "better understand" the kind of things going through her subconscious mind. Often, King would try to deflect and avoid elaborating on them too much, but one look at Doctor Shelley's face told her that any attempts to change the subject wouldn't work this time. (Not that they ever had in the first place…)

"Cécile —"
"I told you not to call me that right now."
"You did. I'm sorry," the older woman said quickly.
"Peu importe," King grumbled while making a face.

There was a long pause as Doctor Shelley wrote something else down. She then removed her glasses, wiped them on her scarf, and put them back on.

"Cé — King," she said candidly, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me. You're not at the point you were at when you initially started seeing me — which is great — but I am becoming concerned that you're heading toward a more unstable frame of mind."

King stayed silent as she crossed her arms over her chest. She then fixed her eyes on the window as a lump started to form in the back of her throat. Wordlessly, Doctor Shelley reached for a box of tissues and held them toward her. She slowly plucked one out before turning away.

"I'd really like to touch on the nightmares," the therapist said gently. "As always, if it makes you uncomfortable, you can stop, and we can talk about something else."
"I have a feeling I don't have much of a choice."
"You always have a choice Cé — King."

At that, King shifted so she could give Doctor Shelley a pointed look.

"Are you forgetting what prompted me to start seeing you in the first place?!"

There was a lull that saw King pressing her lips together tightly as her psychiatrist scribbled what must have been a damn essay, based on how much she was writing. The bartender narrowed her eyes as she watched, and wondered what was on the page. Maybe the phrase "ornery bitch" over and over in all capitals? Nevertheless, she drew in a very deep breath, and then:

"Vanessa was in it."
"Come again?"
"You wanted to know about the most recent nightmare, right? …Vanessa was in it."
"...And what happened…?"
"Well… we were making out and… it was getting pretty… umm… heavy between us…."

Doctor Shelley flipped a few pages in her notebook and, with a wry smile, read aloud, "'Sexual kryptonite.'"

"It's demented," King said, her voice rising slightly. "When the ring is on her finger… I don't — I wouldn't dream of touching her in any capacity! But once that thing is off of her and we're alone and she has permission from her husband to do what she wants we just… we-we just fuck each other's brains out! It's… It's like… it doesn't even seem physically possible to not do that, and I can't understand why. It's not like I don't have self-control, but…!"
"Well, you two are — obviously — very attracted to one another, so it's only natural that —"
"'Very' is putting it mildly," King interrupted. "To be honest, she could probably just look at me a certain way and I'd cu —"

The Frenchwoman abruptly cut herself off and grimaced as Doctor Shelley widened her eyes and cleared her throat.

"...Too much?"
"There's no such thing as 'too much' in this space," the therapist replied with a chuckle. "You should know that by now."
"Sure. But the point is, it's like we're horny teenagers! And I don't even love her! Sex and love always go together, right? I grew up believing that, and with Serge and… her… I didn't let either of them lay a finger on me until I knew — and by 'knew' I mean 'was convinced' — that they loved me. But with Vanessa… all logic and restraint go out the window."
"And you still don't have any ideas why?"
"No."

Another note.

"Okay… that's something we'll have to revisit in a bit, but for now —"
"The nightmare."
"I would like to get back to that, yes," Doctor Shelley stated. "So Vanessa…?"
"Yeah," King started reluctantly. "We were in the back of a car for some reason — I think it was mine but I don't know… and I was in the same clothes I was wearing that-that night: the black skirt and my old rugby shirt. And, like I said, things were getting pretty… intense, but… we stopped because my forehead started bleeding — the same way it did when… when… I was….
"Anyway. …There was blood everywhere, and… suddenly… Vanessa smiled at me, but it wasn't her smile — it was something else. It was twisted… and-and… almost… evil. I don't remember what was said, but she put her hand around my neck and started squeezing… and she used her other to hold me in place by pushing down on my shoulder so hard that I swear I can actually feel it. And she told me… that… she told me that I wasn't… good enough… for anyone. That — that I was disgusting, and pathetic, and that I… I didn't even belong in fighting tournaments since I couldn't… I couldn't fight back against them… That there was no way a joke like me could ever win, or ever protect myself or anyone I love because I was little more than a… weak, used-up whore… and I deserved everything that happened to me because I'm a terrible person."

With a quiet sniffle, King crumpled the tissue she had taken from Doctor Shelley in her fist. She then drew in a sharp breath, her eyes burning, and continued.

"She just kept saying awful things and squeezing; I-I honestly thought she was going to kill me. But then, I don't know how but I broke free and got out of the car, and it turned out we were in the parking lot near the Embarcadero — the same one where — where the Black Cats…! Where I fought Jack when I was younger…! I started running, but… I don't know if you've ever seen her fight, but Vanessa's fast. And she hits hard. So she caught up — like it was nothing! — and she… she hit me with a liver shot from behind and threw me down… and I don't know where he came from, but… he was suddenly there — and walking… and — and Vanessa…! She-she grabbed my wrists and she was — she held me down while he laughed about how… he said he missed me, and that he-he… he wanted to 'catch up.' A-and I tried to fight back — and I begged Vanessa to let go — to help me…! But she… instead she — she held me there, and laughed — and-and let him —!"
"Cécile," Doctor Shelley interrupted King, who was full-on crying. "Cécile, it's okay for you to stop now."
"Isn't this what you wanted?!" King snapped before letting out a choked sob. "Didn't you want to know all about —"
"As your therapist I do need to know these things," the doctor began softly, "but I'm not here to upset you like this, either."
"Too late!"

King placed her free hand on her forehead, squeezed her eyes shut, and tried her best to compose herself, but the memory of Nightmare Vanessa doing such a heinous thing was fucking with her head so much that she could barely form a coherent thought. It didn't matter if it wasn't real; it was still disturbing beyond belief. Being in a place that held such bad memories, and seeing that monster's face again, and hearing his voice, all while someone whom she trusted — whom she was more than comfortable with — kept her pinned there while she was violated all over again… it was too damn much, even if it was a product of her subconscious mind.

Just then, Doctor Shelley's hand on her arm made King flinch. She drew in a shaky breath and silently counted to six as she did so; she then held it for a brief moment and slowly let it out, all the while counting to six once again. She repeated the process a few more times as she squeezed the tissue in her hand so hard that her knuckles began turning white. She knew her psychiatrist was saying something, but she wasn't fully processing it, as she was busy focusing on trying to pull herself together before a full-blown panic attack took hold.

"Cécile…? Are you hearing me?"
"Nuh-no," King replied as she abruptly sat up. "And stop fucking calling me that!"
"I'll try my best, but sometimes it can be hard to really get through to you when you have that particular wall up."
"What wall?!"
"Your name."
"We — we've talked about that before," King stammered. "I didn't like it before I was attacked and I sure as hell don't like it now!"
"Yes, but the continued use of your alias has nothing to do with whether or not you like your name — and certainly not with pretending to be a man anymore. 'King' is a wall that you've built around yourself as a means of protection. The only people who know your real name — aside from doctors or professionals — are people with whom you feel like you can truly be yourself around; whom you feel safe around. It's when you don't feel entirely comfortable or, in some cases, safe, that you start hiding — like right now. We've broached some very upsetting subjects today, so you've gone from allowing me to call you by your actual name to just 'King.' You feel vulnerable, so you're putting that wall right back into place even though you don't need to."
"Yeah, no shit," King spat, agitated, but also amazed by Doctor Shelley's accuracy.
"This is a safe space, Cé —"
"Don't!"

There was an uneasy silence as the bartender held a hand up to stop Doctor Shelley from talking. She sat back against the sofa and looked up at the ceiling before finally using the tissue she was holding to wipe some of the wetness from her cheek, all at once very thankful that she had learned not to wear makeup to her sessions long ago.

"When did you have that dream?" Doctor Shelley finally asked.
"Two days ago."
"Have you slept since then?"
"...barely. Even with the Ambien."
"And when's the last time you saw Vanessa in person?"
"At the tournament."
"Talked?"
"A couple of days after," King sniffled. She wiped the other side of her face and added, "I don't think her husband would appreciate me hanging around now that they're back together, and, even then… after that dream… I don't know what I'd… how I'd even act if I saw her."
"I see," Doctor Shelley said as she started writing on a new page. "Have you told anyone else about this?"
"No."
"Not even Mary?"
"She doesn't need any more of my bullshit."
"Yes, but if you need someone to talk to between our sessions — someone you trust —"
"We're meeting up with Mai for food and drinks later —" King glanced at the clock and abruptly stood up — "so I'll be sure to ruin our planned evening by telling them both all about my rape dreams. It'll be grand."

Doctor Shelley looked up at King and furrowed her brow.

"We still have over twenty minutes left..."
"I'm done," King replied, her voice still shaky. "I can't think about these things anymore."
"Can't or won't?"
"I said I'm done, alright?!"

Doctor Shelley set her pen down and removed her glasses so she could wipe them again. She frowned as she considered King very carefully.

"Cé — King. Take a breath before you leave."

The bartender placed a hand over her eyes as a stress headache started setting in, and did as she was told, suddenly very self-conscious. How many times had she stormed out of a session just to come back the following week full of embarrassed apologies? Doctor Shelley was only doing her job; there was no need to be such a bitch whenever she struck a nerve. With that in mind, King made her way to the heavy office door with a deep sigh. She pulled it open, looked back, and mumbled an apology before walking out.

Time for some notes~

* King's non-canonical but super-awesome-genius full name that totally plays on the canon "sis" is Cécile Marie Levasseur
* Doctor Shelley's name is, of course, a reference to Frankenstein author Mary Shelley
* Nak Muay: someone who practices Muay Thai
* Je pense - I think
* Peu importe - It doesn't matter; whatever. Take your pick.
* King's exes: There's her first boyfriend, Serge, who's mentioned by name. The other ("her") is Jessica, her girlfriend who cheated on her numerous times prior to AOF
* Gentle reminder that King's filter is completely off, hence her almost explicit, TMI statement
* Okay, let's talk about this nightmare because, if you've been coming here (illyverse fics) from the beginning, then you might recognize some of these things. I'll start with the self-explanatory stuff, which is the bleeding forehead. Remember, the pistol whip and head bashing left a scar, but during the altercation in Much Like Suffocating it bled profusely (and needed four stitches to close). She also starts the dream in the back of a car, which is where she ended up in MLS: in the back of a car. Now we have the neck squeezing, which is, of course, what the driver did during her ordeal — squeezed her neck like, a lot. The things she says she's told have all made guest appearances in other fics. Moving on, as is mentioned, King fought Jack and the Black Cats in an outdoor lot at the Embarcadero when she was younger. When Vanessa sinks her with a liver shot from behind, well, that's a callback to Hurt, where she (King) hits Athena with a liver shot from behind during their fight. Being held down by her wrists calls back to the fight with the Black Cats again, and King's attacker being able to walk refers to the fact that, in real, waking life, Mary blew his kneecaps all to hell. Anyway, yeah, a lot going on there.

Okay, I think everything else is self-explanatory. So where does King go from here? Will she take Doc Shelley's advice and confide in her friends? Also, how many things in the dream did you illyverse vets recognize before I laid it all out here?

As always, don't be afraid to express the thoughts and feels!

Cheers!