Hello!

So, I've been working on this little number for what feels like forever (two months, to be exact). This is a direct follow-up to Circus Acts, so if you haven't read that, I suggest you do so for additional context.

This does take place during the KOF XV tournament, with the events behind some of the team formations being re-written by yours truly because the canon team stories for Super Heroines and Art of Fighting sucked. (Check out Connections for more on that.)

Now, before I go on, I need to give super special thanks to Mana_Sputachu, WriterPerson78, RinoaDestiny, and jojoDO for all of their help on this, as I need to consult hella people for some pointers about... stuff. Seriously, massive, massive props to all of them for putting up with me!

Anyway, as always, some more notes at the end, and, also, this is your "there are some mild sexy times ahead" warning.

Onward~


The preliminary bouts for the King of Fighters tournament had ended for the day, with most of the fights being nothing more than squash matches, as the real action was set to begin the next morning with the kickoff of round one, which would see the winners of the prelims squaring off against one another. Usually intensely focused and familiar with her opponents on some level, the woman called King found herself unable to remember who her team was even set to face the following day. Knowing her luck, she'd end up in a match against someone capable of tearing her limb from limb — literally — since a startling amount of the combatants were "enhanced" in some way. Cyborgs, lab experiments, meta-humans… ghosts…? Thanks to past personal experience, either through watching from the crowd or going up against one of the many souped-up teams herself, she was pretty well aware of what most of them could do — which was why she couldn't help thinking that she really should have just stayed home this time, her concern for her friends and loved ones be damned.

However, one good thing had come out of King's decision to enter the tournament: seeing the boxer and undercover mercenary agent Vanessa again. There was always a catch, though, as a locker room conversation (or was it more of a one-sided rant…?) took a one-eighty, veering into something much more… intimate — which was usually par for the course with the pair. What wasn't par for the course was getting caught in the act, which was what happened: King (stupidly) allowed the other woman to get rather "handsy" with her right out in the open, which felt amazing and was probably something she outright needed, but Mai had entered the room — and even witnessed her having an orgasm — which was mortifying on every level imaginable and probably shaved at least fifteen years off of her lifespan.

In addition to that, Vanessa had to take off rather abruptly, with King only seeing her again from the far end of the stands, and then when she watched her decimate an opponent in the ring. And while it probably would have been best to distance herself from the boxer, she simply couldn't, as her best friend on the planet — Detective "Blue" Mary Ryan — was teamed up with her for a "work thing." (Which was, of course, one of the factors that motivated King to participate in this KOF to begin with…)

That was why, hours after the fights ended, King — who had grabbed a quick meal and a couple of drinks with Ryo and Robert to celebrate their team's victory — found herself standing in front of the door to a hotel suite located two floors below hers. Sporting a minor bruise under her right eye from where her opponent — who honestly wasn't shit — nailed her with a cheap shot, the well-known Nak Muay and bartender had freshened up after dinner. Though she didn't bother changing out of her burgundy dress slacks or button-down shirt (which was now untucked), she left her cummerbund, vest, and tie in her room. Additionally, she had traded her boots for a pair of traditional black and white Chuck Taylor high-tops. Lips pressed in a thin line, she looked in both directions and then, with a deep breath, knocked on the door and waited. Moments passed until it was finally pulled open.

"Hey, you…!"

Vanessa, dressed only in a very tight black tank top and matching boy shorts, greeted King with an easygoing smile and casual tilt of her head. Her bright red hair was wet (and even wavier than when dry), and a small, white towel was draped over her shoulders. She wore no makeup whatsoever and, despite her earlier match, didn't have a single mark on her.

"Hey," King replied genially — but also somewhat clumsily — as she tried to will her mind to stop auto-playing the chorus to Warrant's Cherry Pie.
"I know what you're gonna ask —" Vanessa opened the door wider and stepped aside — "and no, Mary's not here. She went out to meet Terry and the boys. Trollop McFetish won't be around any time soon, either."
"Good," King replied as she entered the room. She took in her surroundings while Vanessa shut the door behind her. The space was similar to the suite she was staying in but, surprisingly, not that much bigger: it held two queen-sized beds, a sofa, and a dresser with a flatscreen television perched on top of it. Haphazardly sitting on the couch was Mary's open duffel bag, which had clothes and toiletries scattered in and around it, a stark contrast to a nearby, neatly placed rolling suitcase that clearly belonged to Vanessa, as evidenced by the red necktie draped over it.

King quirked a brow. Shouldn't there have been three sets of luggage in the room? Unless…?

"I thought Legs was rooming with you guys?"
"She is —" Vanessa sat down on one of the beds and placed her towel on the side table — "She just put her bags in the closet is all."

The bartender let out a low hum while removing her sneakers. She placed them against the wall a few paces from the door, her thoughts abruptly wandering back to the locker room encounter at the arena, and how things might have gone had she and Vanessa not been interrupted. Namely, about the things she would have done had she had the chance.

…and the things she was about to do now that she did.

A little more mindful of the possibility of being caught in a compromising position, King went to the door and flipped the deadbolt lock into place. Now certain that a situation like the one back at SoFi would be avoided (and maybe a little amused by the mental image of a mildly drunken Mary wondering why the hell her key card wasn't opening the door), she turned around and made her way to the bed where Vanessa was sitting with her back against the headboard, her long legs stretched out in front of her. She looked up at King and flashed her a knowing smile.

"So what's on your mind, your majesty?"
"Oh, you know —" King carefully climbed onto the bed and positioned herself so she hovered over Vanessa — "just… girl things, I suppose."

The agent made a face and, with a chuckle, asked, "Girl things? That's the best you could come up with?"
"Well… okay, fine. There might be a few other things, too."
"Is that right…?"
"Yep…"
"And what, exactly, are those 'other' things?"

King, whose lips were only a few inches from the other woman's, smiled.

"I think you already have an idea..."
"Sorry, but I'm not a mind reader," Vanessa told her with a smirk. There was a mischievous glint in her dark eyes as she added, "You're just gonna have to explain it to me."

With a slight chuckle, King leaned forward so she could close the distance between the two, with the kiss being gentle at first before evolving into something much more passionate. Then, she slowly slid a hand over her companion's form-fitting tank top so she could caress one of her breasts. Vanessa, meanwhile, reached out and started unbuttoning her shirt. For a fleeting moment, the thought of how married the boxer still was entered King's mind, but the feel of the other woman's hands roaming her body and pulling her closer took precedence over any doubts she might have had about what she was doing. After all, Vanessa, who was, once again, separated from her husband, always assured her that their flings were perfectly fine as per certain agreements and rules she had within her marriage. If her spouse was okay with it, then there was no reason why King should have had any reservations about it — or, additionally, the type of person she was to sleep with someone whom she didn't even love (and especially not at that moment). She pushed Vanessa's shirt up to feel the smooth skin underneath before finally breaking the kiss.

"Hmmm," Vanessa smiled while scrunching her nose. "I don't think I quite understand."
"In that case, I guess it would be better if I just showed you," King murmured. She curled her fingers over the waistband of the other woman's briefs and very deliberately removed them. She then moved backward so she was between Vanessa's thighs, gave her a teasing kiss just below her C-section scar, and added, "In glorious, 4K detail, of course."
"'Glorious 4K detail?' I had no idea you were such a dor —"

King didn't give Vanessa a chance to finish that sentence.

###

A little later, King towel-dried her freshly-washed face as she walked out of the bathroom. She set the damp linen aside and plopped onto the bed next to Vanessa, who was lying down, a little breathless and fully nude under the thin covers.

"Are you tired?" King asked.
"Yeah, but in a good way," the agent replied with a slight nod.
"Bien. Mission accomplie…"

Glad that she successfully pleased her partner, King trailed off as she buttoned her top back up. She then folded her hands over her abdomen and closed her eyes; she felt like she could go to sleep right then, but she knew that staying for too much longer wasn't an option. She yawned just as Vanessa said, "Hunh…."

"...What?"
"It's just rare to hear you speak French."
"It is?"
"For me, yeah," Vanessa answered. "It's your first language, right?"
"Correct."
"But you're completely fluent in English."
"Yes."
"I never would have guessed that you're not a native speaker. You don't even have a trace of an accent."
"Not anymore," King replied with a chuckle. "I had a pretty strong one when I first moved to the US but as time went on it faded. It still comes out a little bit with some words, though, or, if I get too… excited? Then my arrs get a little weird."
"Oh? Then, quick — tell me something I can do to excite you," Vanessa requested while turning onto her side. "Because I'd love to hear that."
"The arr thing?"
"Yeah! I bet it's cute."
"It's not," the bartender stated while staring at the ceiling, a little mystified by the idea of anyone finding anything she said or did "cute." Her eyes then flicked toward her companion, who was smiling at her.

"Okay, then. In that case, why not just tell me something interesting instead? In French, of course," Vanessa said casually.
"I just did say something in French, though."
"I meant something a little… lengthier."
"Lengthier? …Like what?"
"I dunno, anything you want. A joke? Or maybe a deep, dark secret?"
"I think you already dug up all of my secrets, double-oh-seven," King pointed out.
"But did I dig them up in French? Besides. If I'm being completely honest? Hearing you speak it is just really hot."
"Suuuuuuuuure."
"It is!"
"Je doute sincèrement que."
"Yep — hot."
"Whatever," King laughed while playfully rolling her eyes. "Now you're just —"
"Uh-uh —" the agent gently placed her index finger over King's lips — "In French, missy."
"Mmhm. Ne soyez pas insistant, sinon tu ne ferez plus jamais l'expérience de mes talents."
"Yeah, wow. That is incredibly… wow. Care to tell me what you said?"
"I told you that if you get pushy with me you'll never experience my 'talents' again."
"Uh-oh. Definitely can't have that!"

Both women giggled before Vanessa absently remarked, "You know, the immature part of my brain wants me to ask you how to say some of the dirty words."
"... Dirty…?"

King's blood ran cold as, out of nowhere, the voice she would never truly forget no matter how hard she tried came rushing into her head, almost as clear as the day she first heard it:

"Tell me something dirty, Cécile. En français!"

Eyes wide, King's breath hitched as she was accosted by a very sudden torrent of memories of the things that happened all that time ago: the gun against her head and the blood that poured from the laceration that left a scar; the pain and the fear as that monster squeezed her neck and —

"King…?!"

Vanessa's hand on top of hers snapped King back into the present. She blinked a few times as she worked to keep her slightly erratic breathing steady, then, after a moment, glanced at the other woman, who was staring at her with an expression that was a mix of concern and bewilderment.

"I'm fine," King choked. "I'm —"
"Clearly not fine," Vanessa interrupted. There was a pause before she asked softly, "What's the matter?"

King swallowed hard, as she had never actually talked about the incident with Vanessa. The other woman knew about it, of course, but the bartender had never once told her anything except that Mary kneecapped the bastard who "hurt" her that day. And she was positive Mary never gave any details that could be considered private or invasive, which meant she'd probably have to say more about the subject than less. Upset with her subconscious for dredging up something so horrible while she was having such a nice time, she swiftly climbed out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Vanessa queried as she sat up.
"I don't… I don't know."
"Hey. Hey, Céc —"
"I really need you to not call me that right now…!"
"Okay —" the agent quickly held her hands up in front of her — "I won't."

Trembling slightly, King grabbed her shoes. She then walked to the couch, moved Mary's jacket off to the side, and sat down so she could put them back on.

"Cé — King," Vanessa, dressed in her tank top and briefs once more, crossed the space in several long strides. "Listen. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but if it's something I said or did — which, obviously, it is — then don't you think I should know so I don't do it again?"

King gave a tiny nod but didn't look up as she tied her sneakers.

"You can talk to me," Vanessa gently assured her.
"Thanks, but… I don't know if I want to, not because of anything against you, but because it's still not easy…!"
"Like I said, you don't have to say anything you don't want to. Just tell me what I did and we can go from there."
"That's the problem —" King sat back against the firm cushions and balled her hands into tight fists — "You didn't do anything! But he…!"

There was a brief lull, and then:

"It's not what you said; it's what he did. He took my name — and an entire fucking language — and weaponized them against me…! And now… damn it!"

King brought her fist down against the sofa cushion, frustrated as her anxiety shifted into anger. Hell, at this point, it wasn't even anger anymore — it was outright hatred. She still hated herself despite the time that had passed; she simply tried not to think about it, which was easier to do on some days than others.

But it went without saying that she hated that bastard more.

And she hated Big for sending his men after her in the first place, and she hated the scar on her forehead, and she hated guns, and she hated her name, and she hated crying, and she hated skirts, but, most of all, she hated, hated, hated that Vanessa's playful prodding acted as such a harsh reminder that, no matter what she did, "it" would always linger in the background; a low hum that could unexpectedly turn into a deafening roar at any second.

"I'm going to make an educated guess here," Vanessa told King carefully. "I just need you to nod 'yes' or 'no.' Either way, I won't pry. Can we do that?"
"That's fine…."
"Alright. So, if I'm getting this right… your… attacker… made you —"
"Say 'dirty' words and phrases," King cut in bitterly. "He used that word — 'dirty.' 'Tell me something dirty, Cécile'...!"
"Oh…! Oh, God. I'm very… I'm very sorry," the agent fretted. "I never would have —"

King cut her off with a loud, frustrated sigh while rising from the couch. She raked her hands through her hair as the other woman approached her.

"Listen. I know you're gonna tell me that you need to go — and I get that —" Vanessa cupped one side of King's face in her hand — "but you better not start beating yourself up over this or get shitfaced when you leave here. Alright?"
"... Alright."
"Promise me."

King nodded and sniffled in spite of herself. She narrowed her eyes as she willed herself not to cry, but a stray tear made its way down her face anyway. Vanessa gave a wan smile and wiped it away with her thumb. She then removed her hand and moved a few stray locks of hair out of King's face, her eyes briefly flicking toward the small scar on the left side of her forehead.

"Will you be okay?"
"Maybe in an hour or two," King responded while making her way to the door. Vanessa followed close behind.

"Text me later?"
"Yeah," the Frenchwoman affirmed as she exited the room. She stopped, and then, "Good night… I guess."
"Be careful…"

King's shoulders sagged as the door closed. She stood for just a moment, unsure of where to go because, despite her fragile state of mind, she didn't feel ready to retire to her room yet. She sniffled again, wiped her cheek, and then, head down, started down the corridor to the elevator, all the while thinking of a place to go. The pool on the first floor didn't have much privacy from the street, and though there was always the bar, she had just told Vanessa that she wouldn't get drunk (and doing so the night before a big fight was a terrible idea, anyway). She also didn't think she would be able to stomach being around people — especially any other competitors who were probably hanging around the hotel. The only other place she could think to go was the rooftop lounge, which overlooked the city and had an excellent view of the nearby airport. She made a face; maybe some fresh air would help her clear her head? It was doubtful, but, at that point, anything was worth a try, so King, who was doing her best to stop thinking about anything altogether, rode up to the twelfth floor and made her way out to the large, open space, which was (oddly?) deserted. Holding herself tightly, she approached one of many small countertops set up against a see-through fiberglass partition that wrapped around the entire perimeter, then lowered herself onto a wicker stool as that cloying, "En français, Cécile!" pushed itself into her mind again. She placed her head, which was pounding, in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to stay composed.

"I'm not there," she whispered. "It's okay. It's fine. I'm fine…!"

Over and over, she repeated the words while contemplating whether or not she should call someone. Mary? Mai? Yuri? Hell, even her teammates? No… she couldn't bother any of them with this — not while they were all happily celebrating or preparing for their upcoming fights. Besides… what could any of them say to her anyway? She had heard it all before: useless advice from people who meant well but could never really understand what things were like for her ever since the incident happened in the first place. With that in mind, she glanced toward the airport as she pressed her lips together, determined to get through the panic attack on her own. After all, she had done it plenty of other times before and would have to do it again and again and again for the rest of her life anyway….

"I'm not there," she dictated a little louder. "I'm not there and I'm fine. I'm fine."

Intensely distressed, King watched a plane slowly move across the runway as images of the incident hit her hard, one after another after another. She did her best to steady herself with very shaky, deliberate breaths.

In and out… and in and — How bad do you want me to hurt you?! — out… and in — En français, Cécile! — and out and in and…?

…Cigarette smoke?

Immediately, the bartender froze as she realized someone else was out on the roof with her. She whirled around in her seat and scanned the area for the other person, whom she soon spotted in a darkened rear corner. Tall… red hair…

King pressed her lips together hard. She was hyperventilating and talking to herself like a madwoman while none other than that infamous psychopath, Iori Yagami, stood there, sucking on a cancer stick, either lost in his own (probably murderous) thoughts or scoffing at her from his poorly-lit recess. She hoped it was the former and that he hadn't noticed her.

…Unfortunately, she wasn't that lucky. His piercing blue eyes were locked right on her, probably judging the shit out of her for daring to set foot anywhere in his vicinity. There was an uncomfortable silence as the pair stared at one another from across the large patio: King, with her jaw set, determined not to falter despite wanting to curl in on herself and bawl her eyes out; Yagami with his usual hateful glare. Finally, the young man took a drag from his cigarette and turned his back so he could look out over the city.

Despite what was going on in her head, King found herself staring at Yagami's back. He was a KOF regular, always trying to legitimately kill one Kyo Kusanagi (who also knew about "it") because of some weird, ancient blood feud between their families. However, this time around, the two were actually on a team together, along with the bartender's acquaintance (and one-time leader of Team Women Fighters), Chizuru Kagura, who was also privy to some of the details about the incident. Regardless, the guy was a huge asshole — snarky and standoffish — though Chizuru always maintained that he was actually pretty normal, and maybe even slightly pleasant, when he wasn't around Kyo or the tournament.

King continued watching Yagami as more of a means to try to concentrate on something that wasn't the villain living rent-free in her head, but it wasn't working; that son of a bitch had wormed his way back in and was taunting her over and over — and she didn't entirely understand why. She had been doing well for a long time now: no intrusive thoughts, no nightmares, no uncontrollable self-loathing, and, if her time with Vanessa was any indication, definitely no sexual dysfunction. But, there she was, sitting in a posh outdoor parlor, losing it for the first time in ages because her memories of being violently torn to shreds had come screaming out of retirement and would not. Fucking. Stop! She shut her eyes, covered her mouth, and swallowed a small amount of bile that had risen to the back of her throat as she unwittingly recalled a particularly graphic statement she was forced to make while her air supply was being cut off.

At that moment, King felt a shift in the air, followed by an increase in the unpleasant smoke odor, which was mixed with strong cologne. It didn't take much brainpower to figure out that Yagami had approached her for… whatever reason, which meant she had to do something to save face; to appear as casual as possible given the circumstances, which wasn't going to be easy by any means, as her breathing was all over the place, and possibly even getting worse. Nevertheless, she slowly uncovered her mouth and tried to think of something to say; something cool and suave that sounded like the "her" that the KOF entrants were familiar with and not like the wreck she currently was. She cleared her throat, swallowed, and opened her eyes to look up at Yagami, who was standing over her.

"Yeh — yes?"

So cool and suave.

Not that it mattered, though, because the man clearly couldn't care less about King's marked lack of verbal finesse. He narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything, which was, in a word, aggravating. If he was trying to intimidate her, it wasn't going to work; she had been through so much shit throughout her adult life, and while it was true that she wasn't quite as fearless as she used to be, it was also true that her PTSD spells often left her unable to give a single, solitary fuck about much of anything else until they passed. She narrowed her own eyes and, with a fierce scowl, stared Iori Yagami directly in the face.

"Is this… the part where you try to scare me by waxing poetic about burning roses with your super scary flames? Because I honestly… don't care, so why not do us both a favour and —"

Without a word, Yagami practically slammed his phone on the surface in front of King, cutting her off. Puzzled, she turned her attention to the screen, which displayed a small photograph of Chizuru Kagura, and what might have been her contact information.

"What —"
"Do you want me to call her or not," came Yagami's gruff response.
"NO!"

King used a trembling hand to push the phone away. She swallowed hard before clearing her throat, a little perturbed by her own overreaction.

"No," she repeated, a little softer this time.
"Then shut up and breathe in for six seconds."
"Huh?"

Yagami rolled his eyes.

"Breathe in for six seconds, then out for six seconds."

King made a face, uncertain of what to do or say. Yagami was — as usual — radiating raging dickhead energy, but he had also come over, offered to call Chizuru, and was now giving unsolicited breathing tips.

"Wh-why are you —?"
"Because the sooner you stop sniveling the sooner you can piss off and leave me alone."
"I… beg… your fucking pardon? You're the one… who initiated this conversation. …Not me."
"Fair enough," Yagami grumbled. He took another drag from his cigarette, which was almost down to the tipping paper, and then, in a move that made King raise her eyebrows, produced a small purple flame so he could incinerate the remainder of it.

"Am I next…?" She asked dryly.
"Tch. You're not worth my time."
"But here you are."

Somehow, Yagami's glare became even harsher. Seeing an opportunity to make a half-hearted joke about smiling, King opened her mouth to speak but stayed quiet as she abruptly recalled when Big's men initially approached her. It was one part of that evening that was a complete blur, a small piece of the bigger picture that her mind barely held onto because of how fast everything occurred. But her brain, the asshole that it was, tended to randomly regurgitate her suppressed memories, which was why she froze as she recalled a little more of the beginnings of the altercation that led to her abduction and subsequent assault; namely, something that was said to her before she was grabbed:

"Why not give us a smile, cutie?"

King briefly pressed her lips together before pivoting to look out toward the city, her breathing now very strained. She needed to find a way to calm the hell down already, but she couldn't concentrate on anything other than her trauma.

"I'm not there," she croaked while aggressively wiping a tear away.
"No, you're here, and you're pissing me off," Yagami growled. He placed his hand down on the countertop and leaned slightly toward King, his face suddenly unreadable as he carped, "Six seconds."

With some difficulty, King closed her eyes and forced herself to draw in as much air as she could. She silently counted and then slowly released it.

"Again."

The bartender furrowed her brow but did as she was told.

"You must… really… want this place to yourself," she panted.
"Again."
"Or… maybe… maybe you really are… the person Chiz says you are…"

That seemed to grab Yagami's attention, as King sensed a very slight change in his demeanor. She opened her eyes to look at the man standing over her, who appeared as though he might have been a little flushed (the lighting made it very hard to tell). He actually hesitated before saying, "Six seconds."

Once again, King inhaled deeply, counted, and let it out.

"Why… are you helping me?"
"I told you: the sooner you quit your bullshit the sooner I can have peace."
"Could have… just left."
"I was here first."
"What are you…? Eight?"

Yagami rolled his eyes (again) while King continued to try to calm herself. She stared out at the airport runway while she counted to six, somewhat perplexed. Never, in a million years, did she ever think she'd be in a situation where she had to be talked down from, well, anything, by Mr. Rage Monster himself, Iori Yagami, but that was precisely what was happening. She exhaled slowly; her composure seemed to be coming back to her…

"Are you done yet?"
"No," King exclaimed as she unexpectedly recalled an intensely frightening moment when the driver said he wasn't done with her. She ran her hands through her hair as that all-too-familiar, goddamn stinging in her eyes became much stronger. She was dangerously close to a full-on crying spell, which was her cue to get the hell out of Dodge. With a low, frustrated growl, she stood up… only to be pushed back into her seat.

"Wha —?!"
"You want people to see you like this?!"
"What people?! No!"
"Then sit down and focus on something else."
"'Focus on something else,'" King scoffed. "You don't think I've tried that?!"
"I don't care what you've tried."
"But you care enough to keep me from leaving?! Why are you —"
"Listen," Yagami snarled in a slightly hushed tone. "I'm only doing this for Chiz! If she found out that I sat by and did nothing while her dumb friend sat around, whimpering like a child — in public — I'd never hear the end of it!"
"Whatever, cupcake," King muttered. "I didn't ask for any of this!"
"Cupcake?!"

Yagami seemed genuinely offended by the offhanded nickname. He glared daggers at the bartender but somehow appeared confounded at the same time.

"Why the hell —"
"Because you just said you're doing this for Chiz, and that's actually kind of sweet. You know — like a cupcake?"

If King hadn't been so far down the rape trauma fuckery rabbit hole she would have punctuated her statement with a cheeky grin, but she was too emotionally out of it to even try. There was an uneasy stillness before Yagami, whose face was now obviously flushed, set his jaw.

"Tch. You're a pathetic fool."

Although she knew that the insult was hurled at her as something of a defense mechanism (because she was clearly onto something), the word "pathetic" gave King pause. This asshole wasn't entirely wrong about her in that regard, but she still didn't like hearing it. However, instead of saying anything, she watched Yagami as he lowered himself onto the stool next to hers. He shifted his weight to get comfortable, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and stared out toward the airport, where a plane was coming in for a landing. King, meanwhile, hugged herself again. Her breathing was finally stabilizing, but the inside of her head, not so much. She gritted her teeth as another recollection from that horrible day decided to surface for the sole purpose of wrecking her shit.

"Don't go to sleep ye —"
"Why don't you trust Chiz?"

The sudden question interrupted King's thoughts. She blinked a few times, which caused the tears she was trying to hold back to spill down her cheeks, before quirking a brow.

"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I asked."
"It's not that I don't trust her," King intoned cautiously. Then, much to her chagrin, she (involuntarily) let out a quiet sniffle.
"...Then let me call her. She'll probably tell you one of her stupid proverbs but it might help."
"Proverbs won't do shit and you know it."
"No, but the point is, she helps people — like some modern-day Mother Theresa. She'll —"
"I don't want to talk to her," King interrupted. "Or anyone for that matter…!"

The two fell quiet before Yagami spoke again.

"Hunh. For all your self-assured bullshit, you don't trust people," he stated, almost thoughtfully.

"It's myself that I don't trust," King shot back. "It doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with or what I'm doing! I was having an amazing time earlier but I went and fucked it up because of these… these 'demons' I have! Those fuckers are in my head and I can't trust myself to keep them from clawing their way back to the surface! It doesn't matter how much time passes, or how many pills I have to take, or how many times I have to talk it out with a professional — they always come back to remind me that I will never get away from them; that they will always be there waiting to drag me down again!"
"Then tell them to shut up."

King adjusted herself to better look at Yagami, who appeared more indifferent than angry or annoyed, and made a face at him.

"Ha. That doesn't exactly work."
"So try it again until it does."
"Oh, okay," King groused while throwing her hands up. "I'll just be more assertive next time. Maybe I'll even throw in a 'pretty please' for good measure!"

The young man turned to the bartender, his face expressionless except for something in his gaze that she couldn't put her finger on. For one ridiculous second, she was reminded of a possessed Victorian doll — the ones in movies that had dull features except for their creepy, all-seeing eyes — and while the thought was almost enough to make her laugh, she simply couldn't. Unsure of what to say next, she wiped her face on the bottom of her shirt and sighed. She began rubbing her temples while staring out toward the airport again.

"I know how you feel," Yagami divulged out of nowhere, his tone solemn.
"No," King said flatly. "You don't."
"No," Yagami sharply replied. "You don't. I live it every. damn. day. Every damn day I have to live with the noise and remind myself who's in control. I have to keep telling myself that it's my body, my brain, my life."

King didn't say anything, so Yagami went on.

"You got demons? Tell them to get fucked. Don't let whatever your shit is dictate your entire existence."
"And I don't," King protested, angry that anyone would assume that she was still letting the incident permeate her every thought. (Of course, Yagami had no idea of what she was talking about in the first place and, truth be told, probably thought she had some kind of dissociative personality disorder, which was a fact she had to remind herself of before she became too heated over it…)

"Then what do you call what you're doing now?"
"A moment of weakness," King replied, her desire to leave all at once very strong. "Surely you've had one at some point in your life, right, cupcake? Now, are you going to let me go to my room? I'd rather be alone for the rest of this meltdown."
"Don't call me cupcake. And no."

King started to open her mouth to protest but Yagami gave her a pointed look before lightly jerking his head toward the exit, where a couple stood, blocking the path as they blissfully chatted with one another.

"Putain," King muttered through gritted teeth. She observed the pair before shifting her attention back to Yagami, who was watching her carefully. Her tears hadn't entirely stopped; they were still running down her face, and her emotions were still going haywire, threatening to completely overwhelm her at any second despite the breathing and the distractions. In all honesty, she would probably have to sedate herself with anxiety medication — or even a sleeping pill — to help herself reach some semblance of stability. And that was why she needed to leave.

"I'll take my chances."

King pressed her lips together while rising from her seat, still upset, but eager to get back to her quarters so she could just end her night and reset. After all, both she and Yagami had bouts scheduled for the next day…

"Thanks for the 'talk,' I guess," she sighed. "And for the breathing tips. Give the others my regards."

With that, she started toward the exit but froze when Yagami briskly walked in front of her.

"What are you doing? I told you —"
"Keep your head down and follow me," the young man commanded while glancing at her from over his shoulder.
"I don't need an escort," King told him.
"Look. It's damn obvious that you've been having some kinda breakdown, so if you wanna be left alone and not have to talk to any of the idiots roaming around here then I suggest you do what I tell you and come on!"

King frowned but followed Yagami's instructions, simultaneously astonished by his decision to accompany her inside, but also a little relieved, as no one in their right mind would dare approach the churlish bastard, or, by proxy, her. The pair quietly moved until they reached the couple blocking the exit, who seemed completely lost in their little bubble, which made King envy them in a way. Not because of their companionship, but because they were talking so happily, without a single care in the world. It reminded her of the time she spent with Vanessa earlier, and how lovely it had been until her shitty PTSD started acting up.

"Move."

The single, sharp command brought King out of her thoughts. Despite her orders not to, she raised her head — just in time to see Yagami swiftly place a hand on the man's shoulder and shove him out of the way as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll. The woman, meanwhile, looked from her mate to Yagami, and back again, slackjawed.

"So-sorry," King mumbled while ducking her head and walking past. Once inside the hotel, she started toward the elevator but furrowed her brow when she realized that Yagami was now strolling behind her.

"Why are you following me?"
"Did it occur to you that I need to get around this place, too?"
"...no," King admitted with a grimace.

The trek to the elevator was short, but the wait for the lift and the subsequent ride within were both extremely awkward, the stillness between the two broken only by a sporadic sniffle from King, who desperately wanted to blow her nose. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doors opened, and King hastily stepped out into the hall. She turned around to address Yagami, who had also stepped out of the small space.

"I, uhh… thank you," she told him quietly. "Even though you said it was only for Chiz, it was still… actually nice of you to do all of that."

Yagami raised his eyebrows. For a brief millisecond, his features appeared sympathetic… but then switched back to ornery so fast that it nearly gave King whiplash.

"Don't go thinking that we're friendly now," he remarked coldly.
"I said what you did was nice," King responded. "I never said anything about friendly. Anyway —" she wiped a wayward tear away with the bottom of her palm — "I guess we'll see each other around, cupcake."
"I swear, if you call me that again…!"

Yagami's voice took on a menacing quality that probably would have scared the shit out of anyone else, but King couldn't bring herself to give a damn.

"Yeah, yeah," she said flippantly after a particularly loud sniffle. "A rose blooms best near death and I'm in full bloom or something, right? Ask me if I even care. I'll wait."

Silence and a scowl.

"Thanks again," King told Yagami. She gave a half-hearted salute, spun on her heel, and walked off toward her room. She glanced back right before rounding the corner just in time to see Yagami pull his phone from his pocket, smirk at whatever was on the screen, and disappear into the elevator.

###

It was nearly pitch black in King's hotel room except for the light coming from the way too bright display on the LED bedside clock. The bartender, who had drugged herself with Ambien, lay on her side, her lips together in a thin line. She quietly sighed before slightly readjusting her position.

"I just can't escape redheads," she said into the near darkness, her voice slightly higher-pitched, and breathier than normal — an indicator of a less-than-sober state of being. "You guys are everywhere."

At that, Vanessa chuckled and repositioned her arm, which was draped over King.

"There are a few of us in the tournament this time around, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Still can't believe you had a run-in with Yagami," the agent, who was acting as the metaphorical big spoon, began, "had the balls to call him 'cupcake' —"
"Because he's a cupcake."
" — and made it back unscathed — because he was actually trying to help you. For the sake of Kagura, of course, but still."
"He wants to act all big and tough but I promise you, he would be delighted if Chiz stepped on him," King stated tiredly.
"Absolutely, one-hundred percent," Vanessa agreed. She then asked, "Do you think she knows that?"
"...I dunno…."

King trailed off as her thoughts wandered away from her time spent with Yagami, and toward how thankful she was that Vanessa had been so willing to forgive her for being such a mess before coming over not for any type of sex, but for comfort.

"Hey, how much longer do you think you can stay?" She inquired, a little drowsy.
"Until I know that you're really alright."

King made a face.

"Yeah, but…"
"Don't worry; Mary is out. Fucken. Cold. She won't know that I was here unless we tell her."
"What about Shady McAirhead?"
"She tailed me, but I don't think she'll say anything. Not as long as I keep playing nice."

A pause.

"As… Luong as you keep playing nice?" King joked, eliciting a snort from her companion.
"That was really bad. You really are a dork, you know."
"That's me. Your sort of friendly — but traumatized — neighborhood nerd."
"Well, sort of friendly — but traumatized — neighborhood nerd," Vanessa said lightly, "relax. I'll let myself out when it's time. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Now, rest up, and in case I don't see you beforehand, good luck tomorrow."
"Thanks. You too," King replied.
"Thank you. Now —" Vanessa placed a hand on the bartender's head and started running her fingers through her short hair — "no more talking."
"No more talking…"

The two women fell into a comfortable silence then, which allowed King to think about the general mess her day had been. Arguing with Mai, the locker room situation, her sudden relapse, the time spent in the company of Iori Yagami… KOF just kept getting weirder and weirder — and she wasn't sure of how much more she could take, especially now that, on top of everything else, her trauma decided to resurface, which was overwhelming in and of itself. She knew she needed to focus on the present, but now that the past was, once again, hanging over her head, she had no idea of how she was even going to do that in the first place.

…Especially without seriously hurting someone.

And, so, King stared off into the darkness, her eyes wide open despite the potent drug coursing through her system, and silently counted to six.


Finallyyyyyyyyyyyyy~!

You guys have no idea of how much of a relief it is to have this one done. Hopefully it wasn't too painful. Anyway, here are the usual additional notes:

* The hotel is intended to be the H Hotel down in Los Angeles, which isn't far from SoFi Stadium, which is where the prelims took place
* Cherry Pie playing in King's head when she sees Vanessa is a Thing™
* The nicknames for Luong (Trollop McFetish and Shady McAirhead) are courtesy of WriterPerson78. Coming up with new nicknames for Luong has been something of a fun pastime for us during writey convos
* 4K is also referred to as ultra-high definition. You know, on blu-ray movies and displays? Yeah.
* Bien. Mission accomplie = Good. Mission accomplished
* King's R's being weird is a sorta nod to her voice actress, Harumi Ikoma, and her apparent inability to pronounce a hard R sound during some of King's English lines
* When King calls Vanessa double-oh-seven, she is referencing James Bond (007) but, also, referring to the fact that Vanessa went snooping around about her during the events of Red, which is just a couple of clicks away
* Je doute sincèrement queue = I sincerely doubt that
* Ne soyez pas insistant, sinon tu ne ferez plus jamais l'expérience de mes talents = Don't be pushy or you'll never experience my talents again. Talents in this case, refers to King's proficiency at giving cunnilingus (What?!)
* En français = In French (but you knew that one already, right?)
* In Much Like Suffocating (which is several clicks over yonder), King is repeatedly choked by the driver as what happens happens ("off-screen"). The laceration in question was from where she was struck (forehead, left side) with the gunman's gun. This cut is then later busted wider when she's slammed into a wall.
* When King says that her name was weaponized, she's referring to the driver finding it via her driver's license and then constantly calling her by it (Cécile Levasseur. Make it canon, SNK.)
* The driver and the gunman were sent by Mr. Big himself because, by his own admission, he got bored.
* The airport King and Iori can see is LAX
* Yagami's eyes: there's early art where they're blue. I kept it.
* Chizuru and Kyo both know about King's assault: Kyo found out by sheer coincidence in MLS, while Chizuru had to dig a little deeper
* King nearly throws up when she recalls what she said, because not only was she forced to speak French, but she was forced to say some really fucked up things on top of it
* The comment about Iori talking about burning roses is a direct reference to his KOF XV win quote against King in Story Mode
* Breathing in for six seconds and then out for six seconds is a legit anxiety technique. Try it if you need to~
* Yes, those are some very subtle hints of possible IorixChiz.
* "Cupcake." I've been watching Arcane, but I knew from the start that King was going to give Iori a cheeky nickname
* The line about Iori being like a possessed Victorian doll actually came from a conversation with dearest Mana_Sputachu :D
* Putain = fuck

* "A rose blooms best near death. And you're in full bloom, pal!" = One of Iori's KOF '95 victory quotes, yo
* When King thinks about someone being seriously hurt because of her trauma: this is referencing Hurt, where, due to being in a really bad place mentally, she ends up breaking Athena's back during a match

Holy shit, that was a lot. Hopefully I didn't forget anything! As always, thank you for taking the time to read, and please don't be afraid to let me know the ol' thoughts and feels on this, whether it's in that little box down below, or on the bird app, where you can find me being a total nerd (if you haven't already).

Thanks again and see you next time, whenever that may be! Cheers~