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Chapter Text

“Fuck fuck fuck nonononono fuck …!”

King shook her head back and forth while staring downward at a small, mocking pink line, eyes wide and brimming with tears. There was no way this was happening; there was no way in hell she had just tested positive for COVID-19… and right before Christmas, no less.

No no no no no no no…!

How ?!

She had taken every step, every precaution. Wearing masks even when she didn’t have to, keeping up with her booster shots, washing her hands to the point that they would peel sometimes…! But now… here she was: standing over her dining table, nose running, skin burning, and periodically coughing as she stared down at the little test and the little line that indicated a positive result as it grew darker and darker. Her mind began racing as she frantically thought back to how she could have even been exposed to the illness in the first place. The obvious answer was the bar; she dealt with so many people day in and day out… but… what about outside of business hours? Where had she been? Who had she been around?

…Who could she have possibly given it to?

King pondered while pulling her plush robe tighter around herself, as, despite the warm temperature in the apartment, she was freezing : She had been working so much over the last two weeks that she hadn’t had time to do much else other than go home and sleep, which thankfully meant her little brother — who was immunocompromised — hadn’t been in direct contact with her. But what about everyone else? Her friends, her employees and customers, random store clerks… she didn’t remember interacting with anyone who was sick… which meant someone somewhere must have been asymptomatic. 

So… now what?!

Obviously, King would have to quarantine herself, which meant no bar, no friends, no sparring or working out, and no Christmas — or possibly even New Year’s, depending on how long it took her to test negative. All of the gifts she had made an effort to procure for her friends and family would have to sit in her apartment, untouched, until after the holiday, which meant that all of the time spent making sure she had the shopping done in time was in vain. On top of that, no work meant no tips, which meant her finances would take a hit, especially since she would have to rely on deliveries for food and groceries — and those fees added up fast …

…God damn it!

King used a crumpled-up tissue that was already in her hand to wipe her nose as she glanced at the timer on her phone: there were still twelve minutes before the test was even complete. She must have been permeated with the shit…! With a deep breath, she picked up her phone (she’d get rid of the tissue in a minute) and turned off the timer. Her head and throat were killing her, but she needed to make sure that everyone knew she was sick, and to take precautions — particularly at Illusion, which would probably need an entire day to be thoroughly sanitized.

And, so, King sluggishly went through the motions of sending texts, first to her work chat, with specific instructions for all of her employees to get tested (mandatory) and to close for the day to disinfect the place (she wasn’t taking any chances), then to her group chats with her friends: the Kyokugen Crew in one, and Mai and Mary in another.

“Céccy, nooooo!” Came Yuri’s reply in the Kyokugen chat.
“Céccy, yes,” King answered.
“Well, shit. Good thing we haven’t sparred with you in a minute,” Robert added.
“As long as it’s not mono,” Ryo chimed in, which elicited a fierce scowl from King and, a few brief seconds later, an animated gif of a shocked Allison Brie doing a double take from Robert that was followed up by a series of random angry and annoyed face emojis from Yuri.

Flabbergasted by Ryo’s comment, King swiftly navigated to FaceTime and pulled up his info. Her throat felt so sore — she didn’t even know if she’d be able to speak — but she didn’t care. The line rang twice before Ryo’s confused face appeared on the small screen.

“Hey! What —”
“Fuck you,” the bartender spat (wow, talking hurt !) while holding up her positive test.
“Whoa, whoa! What ?! Okay, so you’re actually sick,” Ryo grimaced.
“ Yes , I’m actually sick! The fact that I just had to prove it to you sucks !”

King began coughing then, which made her throat hurt more than it already did.

“You didn’t have to prove anything, King! I was just —”
“ Don’t .”

King sighed as she pressed her chapped lips together, a little remorseful for how she had just spoken to Ryo, who, in the grand scheme of things, was sort of justified in his reaction. (But maybe not by much…)

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way, but that comment — whether you realize it or not — was really insensi —”

She broke into a coughing fit so severe that she had to grip the table's edge to steady herself.

“Okay, point taken. I shouldn’t have said that and I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

King nodded — yes — but didn’t verbalize anything because she didn’t want to aggravate her throat more than she already had. There was an awkward pause as she reached for another tissue to blow her nose, which made a loud, horrible, and borderline embarrassing sound.

“A question, though,” Ryo finally said with a quizzical expression. “What are you gonna do about training? You’ve already skipped a lot of it…”

At that, King raised her eyebrows. Here she was, sicker than she had ever been in her entire life, and Ryo — who had made a terrible comment upon finding out — was concerned about, of all things, her training regimen ? She shook her head and let out a hollow laugh.

“Incroyable!”
“What? It’s a valid concern.”
“The only thing you should be concerned about is my foot up your ass when we spar again. If this doesn’t kill me, that is.”
“Oh, come on, King,” Ryo entreated. “Don’t be dramatic; you’ll live.”
“I’m French . Drama is in my DNA.”

Now it was Ryo’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

“Fair enough. But are you gonna be okay? Seriously?”
“We’ll see,” King mumbled just as a text notification banner appeared at the top of her screen:

Mary Ryan
“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!”

It was instantly followed by another message that read, “FaceTime me real quick if you can so that I may gaze upon your beautiful face in all its sick, pallid glory”

King couldn’t help chuckling.

“Alright,” she uttered, her voice hoarse. “I need to go; my wife wants to talk to me.”
“Your…? You two are so weird…”
“We are just in a loving relationship, much like you and Robert, that’s all.”

Ryo made a face.

“I still say you guys are weird, though.”
“But in a wholesome way,” King pointed out between coughs. “I’m going now.”
“Should I text you later to check in?” Ryo asked.
“Only if you want, but don’t feel obligated.”
“Alright. See ya.”
“À plus.”

With that, King ended the video call, wiped her eyes with the bottoms of her palms, and then took her phone to the bedroom, where she plopped down on the unmade bed and curled up under her blanket. The room was pretty dark, so she turned on the bedside lamp and situated herself as comfortably as possible before calling Mary, who picked up almost immediately.

“Bb,” the detective greeted, her high-pitched voice full of nothing but concern. “Aw, you look terrible. What happened?”
“I don’t know —” King sniffled and swallowed hard — “but I feel awful .”
“When did it start?”
“When I woke up. My throat was sore and —” coughing — “I was running a fever.”
“But you never get fevers. Hell, you barely ever get sick in the first place.”
“That’s how I knew something was really wrong,” King croaked. She then reached for the digital thermometer on the bedside table and held it up to her forehead. The reading came back almost immediately: 100.4 degrees.

“ Fuck ,” she said before coughing more.
“Okay, I’m gonna bring you something after work,” Mary declared.
“Mare —”
“I won’t come in; I’ll just knock and leave it outside.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Well, yeah, I know , but I want to! Besides, who’s gonna take care of you? The cat?”

King made a pained sound before sneezing into the crook of her arm.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Mare,” she lamented. “Jean is going to be so disappointed…”
“It’s beyond your control, though. He’ll understand.”
“Still.”

A text notification banner appeared at the top of the screen then, which was from Mai and simply read, “Oh, Kingy…”

There was a moment of silence that was soon broken by another coughing fit.

“Don’t worry, bb,” Mary soothed. “You’re tough; you’ll be alright.”
“Maybe, but I feel worse by the minute…!”
“Then rest! I’ll let you know when I’m gonna swing by, okay?”

King sniffled loudly.

“I have to tell the family first,” she sighed, her head all at once heavy . “ Then I can —”
“Bb, do it after you nap or something. They’re gonna stress you out and you don’t need that.”
“’m already stressed out… Going now…”
“Hey,” Mary said, her tone serious. “I love you. Take it easy.”
“Love you back…”

With that, King gave a lackadaisical, two-fingered salute and hung up. Her arm went dead weight, hitting the mattress with a soft thump before she placed her phone back on the bedside table. Another text came in (presumably from Mai) but she didn’t have the energy to look at it; instead, she curled up in a tight ball (she was so cold !) and shut her eyes while trying to will a sudden headache to go away.

After several minutes, King gingerly sat up, as she felt too miserable to sleep. She also needed to respond to Mai and call her family, but she didn’t think she had enough energy to complete either task. Nevertheless, she had to try, so, with that in mind, she made her way back to her dining table, lowered herself onto one of the chairs, and put her head down briefly before propping her phone up against a vase of roses that decorated the wooden surface. Sluggishly she pulled up her brother’s information and hit the Call button.

Jean’s eyes went wide when he answered.

“Holy hell, Céc! You look like shi — crap!”
“Merci,” the bartender grumbled while sniffling and waving her positive test back and forth.
“Is that what I think it is?!”

King nodded.

“Merry Christmas,” she said sarcastically while holding the small plastic in front of the screen so her brother could see it better.
“Shit!”
“Normally I’d tell you to watch your language,” King responded, her voice gravelly and tired sounding, “but that’s an appropriate reac —”

A series of dry, painful coughs stopped her sentence dead. She reached for a tissue to use on her running nose just as Aunt Maddy’s voice called to Jean from somewhere offscreen.

“À qui tu parles?”
“C’est Céc,” Jean replied.
“What does she need?” Maddy asked from wherever she was.
“She has COVID!”
“WHAT?! You’ve got to be kidding me! I swear, of all the excuses your sister could possibly come up with to flake out on you on Christmas…!”

Maddy came into view, her brows furrowed as she leaned toward the screen. She opened her mouth to continue her tirade but King immediately held the test up for her to see.

“Surprise,” she lilted in a raspy, sing-song tone. Fully expecting Maddy to continue being an asshole, she took a deep breath (or tried to anyway, as she was so congested that a downright gross noise came out) and watched as her aunt went on some kind of face journey. She almost looked as if she was full-on short-circuiting.

“...oh,” the older woman said after a good twenty or so seconds of odd staring. “Um… oh.”
“What was that about flaking out?” King prodded.

Maddy sighed deeply before squinting at the test in King’s hand.

“I see,” she uttered in an odd tone.

Red-faced, she hurriedly walked away.

“Gee, feel better, Céc,” King muttered just before breaking out into more coughs.
“Looks like you put her in her place,” Jean commented.
“Yeah…”

The siblings closed out their conversation, as King’s throat pain had increased exponentially from the series of back-to-back phone calls. Once off the phone, she pulled her robe tight again, walked to the kitchen, and proceeded to down some multi-symptom cough syrup and water. She then took a moment to answer her outstanding texts from Mai, inform Mary that she was going to sleep, and then crawled back into bed.

Chapter Text

King felt absolutely horrible.

Her sleep schedule had been inconsistent and outright fucked thanks to her sickness, as she had spent the majority of the previous day and night restlessly tossing and turning before falling into short bursts of sleep, only to be woken up by coughing, severe congestion, or extreme thirst that resulted in the need to chug copious amounts of water, sore throat be damned, which caused periodic wakeups caused not by her symptoms, but by her full bladder. After one such wakeup, she grabbed her phone and a pillow from her bed and went to the living room, where she threw the cushion on the sofa and lay down, letting her head and shoulders sink into it. She pulled a warm, Halloween-themed throw she always kept on the couch over herself and squinted toward the plain ceiling, coughing, congested, and miserable.

She was so tired … and so sick …!

Why was this happening?!

King knew that falling asleep again wasn’t going to be easy so she needed to figure out something to do — something mind-numbing that might help her drift off… if her Godforsaken symptoms would let her, anyway, as doing anything other than focusing on how hard this thing was hitting her was incredibly difficult. It shouldn’t have been this bad (especially since she was vaccinated), but knowing her luck, she was patient zero for some new super strain that would inevitably result in the start of the zombie apocalypse.

At least, that’s what her sleep-deprived imagination told her.

Coughing, King reached for her thermometer to take her temperature, which was now at an even 101. Groaning, she then checked the clock on her phone and sighed: It was five in the fucking morning.

A bit unsure of what to do with herself, she picked up the television remote, which was on the floor for some reason, and decided to flip through the channels. Finding nothing of interest, she turned to YouTube. First, she looked through her (very few) subscribed channels: Mai had a new video about Japanese snacks, and VICE had a new installment of Thotline that looked fun, but other than those, nothing really caught her eye… until she scrolled to the recommended section.

That was where things got interesting.

As a regular King of Fighters entrant who was somewhat known around the world, King had — of course — looked up previous matches and interviews, which was why a massive list of KOF-oriented content popped up: Press conferences, news stories, fighters reading mean Tweets (something she was once asked to do but swiftly turned down), match breakdowns, and fan edits of her friends and acquaintances doing various things, some more mundane than others, all made guest appearances. Curiosity piqued, she selected one of the many channels and almost immediately found a thumbnail featuring a tournament promo photograph she had once posed for, titled King Being Iconic For Seven Minutes.

“Oh, no,” she mumbled as she hit play on the video, which consisted of various clips of her from different interviews, events, and even actual bouts, with a silly tune playing over them and a periodic word or phrase in Comic Sans font that presumed to know what she was thinking at that moment appearing near her head or face depending on the camera angle. She remembered some of the moments that were highlighted — as well as her thought process in each situation —  but others not so much, which was strange and maybe even somewhat jarring, as she was watching herself doing or saying things that she couldn’t recall — immortalized on television and the internet, no less.

The video ended at seven minutes on the nose, leaving a somewhat bemused King to look for something else to watch. She browsed what seemed like an endless list to see what else the app had to offer by way of KOF and stopped on a thumbnail that showed Team Three Sacred Treasures, which was made up of her old associate and teammate Chizuru Kagura, her acquaintance Kyo Kusanagi, and the churlish and disagreeable cupcake Iori Yagami sitting together in a nice outdoor lounge at night, with an interviewer she didn’t recognize situated opposite of the trio. The title under it read: Kyo Kusanagi’s English Still Sucks . Under that was small text that stated the video’s upload timeframe, and the number of views, which was sitting at 940,000.

King quirked a brow.

Although not always perfect, her conversations with Kyo were completely passable. Saying that his English “sucked” was probably an exaggeration by whoever made the video. Unless…? Curious, she adjusted her position on the sofa as she coughed and hit Play. The video started with the obligatory, chipper intro from the sportscaster as he introduced his guests: Chizuru sat closest to the dapper man, her posture prim and proper but also relaxed. Next to her was Yagami (Cupcake), who looked strangely awkward — not at all like the borderline homicidal fighter who would decimate opponents with claws and flames — and, finally, next to him was Kyo, who, in contrast to his teammates, appeared completely laid back, wearing an expression that practically screamed: “cocky bastard” (which he absolutely, one-hundred percent was). Pleasantries were exchanged, with Chizuru speaking to the man in perfect English.

“Alright, Chizuru! How are you feeling going into this tournament after such a long layoff? Are you at all concerned about your performance since you’ve spent so much of your time running such a large business enterprise as opposed to in the ring?”

Chizuru furrowed her brow at the same time King did. It was a little insulting to imply that the priestess — who was a very formidable woman — wouldn’t be able to fight because of her day-to-day responsibilities.

“I… don’t really see the correlation between my career and my fighting prowess, but I assure you I am an excellent multi-tasker and, as such, am just as ready to compete as the entrants who may spend all of their time training.”
“As a person with… abilities… do you feel that you have an unfair advantage in the ring?”
“Many of the other fighters are enhanced in some way, be it through technology or through other means, so no. And those who aren’t are well aware of what they are stepping into.”

The interviewer nodded before aiming a question at Yagami:

“Iori, your band has gained quite a following over the recent months, with you, in particular, amassing many female fans, many of whom are taking to social media to express their support or maybe share some sentiments that we can’t repeat on tv. What do you say to that?

Expecting Yagami to offer nothing but silence and an intimidating scowl, King was surprised when he looked the correspondent up and down in a very judgmental fashion.

“I say that has nothing to do with anything,” he began, his deep voice cold and his pronunciation perfect. “Direct your vapid questions and fishing attempts at Kyo and his single brain cell.”

Chizuru very subtly nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to take a deep breath and simply say, “Please.”

The caster raised his eyebrows but then leaned toward Kyo.

“Kyo! How are you feeling about the tournament this time around?”
“You know what? I’m feeling good — great even,” Kyo answered, his English completely fine. “We’re going to get in there, and we’re going to smash our opponents’ asses!”

King started coughing then, not just because of her COVID infection, but because what the hell was that answer?! On the television, Chizuru and Yagami shared a wide-eyed look as the interviewer clearly held in laughter.

“How does your girlfriend feel about you fighting in these tournaments?”
“She’s very suppository; I’m lucky to have her in my life.”
“I see.”

Yagami leaned over then, and, speaking Japanese — which was subtitled — said, “Wrong word, dumbass…”

Kyo glared at Yagami before turning back to the sportscaster, a bright, enthusiastic smile on his face.

“Anyway, Yuki is very suppository of what I do,” he began. “We’re a strong couple, and without her influenza, I wouldn’t be here. She can’t always come with, though, so I try to get her things from some of the countries I visit during tournaments.”
“Is there anything you’re looking for this time around?”
“Oh, yeah! I heard that they sell Mexican cock at the stores here so I plan to get her a bottle of some because I heard it tastes different from regular cock?”

“I’m sorry — WHAT?!”

The correspondent looked straight into the camera, red-faced, as Chizuru and Yagami stared at their teammate, both slack-jawed, before the priestess slowly placed a hand on her forehead. Yagami, meanwhile, looked almost unhinged as he held in laughter. King, from her place on the sofa, swallowed hard, which aggravated her throat, the discomfort nothing compared to her secondhand embarrassment. Kyo, who looked more confused than ever, blinked a few times.

“Uhhh… cock?” He repeated. “She really likes it a lot? Sometimes when we go on dates she drinks all of hers, and then takes mine on top of it!”

Chizuru’s head snapped downward so hard and fast that, surely, she hurt her neck in the process (King actually wondered how it didn’t outright break). Her long hair obscured her features completely as her shoulders began quaking. At the same time, Yagami placed a hand on his forehead, slowly dragged it up through his hair, and rolled his eyes harder than an aggravated teenager being told a simple life truth.

“It’s pronounced COKE you dumb shit!”
“Co…ohk?!”
“YES,” Yagami and Chizuru shouted simultaneously, with Chizuru abruptly raising her head, her eyes glistening with tears that weren’t from distress, but from laughter. Kyo sat, watching the other Treasures for just a moment before asking, “Nani?” (Which King actually knew the meaning of.)

“He means Coca-Cola,” Chizuru quickly assured the sportscaster and the audience after taking a deep breath and clearing her throat. Simultaneously, Yagami and Kyo launched into rapid-fire Japanese that was so fast the subtitles couldn’t keep up.

King watched as absolute chaos unfolded on the screen and wondered how she hadn’t caught wind of this display of Kusanagi fuckery sooner. Of course, it wasn’t her job to keep tabs on her acquaintances, nor was it anyone’s to keep her informed of every little thing, but holy shit, that was quite the faux pas. The interview ended with the mortified caster spewing a hastily put-together outro as Team 3ST spoke animatedly among themselves.

Eyes suddenly heavy, King wondered if the Treasures — or Yuki — were even aware of the clip… or the comments, which must have been wild. She drifted off, but not before resolving to ask Chizuru about it at a later date.

The hot water beating down on King’s body felt amazing; the rest of her, unfortunately, did not. She had woken up off and on throughout the day but was — thankfully — able to fall back asleep fairly quickly each time until she finally woke for good after dark with Marron curled up near her feet. She had gone further down the KOF-YouTube rabbit hole between naps, checking out various Shorts and compilations as well as saving others for later, as she decided that, once she was truly awake, maybe taking a quick shower would help her feel more human, or, at the very least, help open up her clogged nasal passages.

She leaned heavily against the smooth wall as she used one hand to scrub her skin with her loofa, barely able to smell the lavender and sandalwood-scented body wash all over her. Her motions were sluggish and mechanical; she carried out each simple action with some degree of difficulty because of a lack of energy before reluctantly cutting the shower short. With a loud sigh, she went through the motions of dressing herself. Almost the second she pulled her robe on, the text chime on her phone went off. She picked up the device and saw that several messages came in during her shower:

Jean
“U up?”

Yuri Sakazaki:
“Céccy?”

And, finally, Mary Ryan:
“How are you doing you diseased broad?”

King couldn’t help chuckling at the stark contrast of each correspondence — an action that triggered a series of dry coughs. Nevertheless, she sat on the sofa and answered each message: a confirmation that she was, indeed, up to her brother, a simple “Yes?” to Yuri, and, finally, a long rant to Mary outlining how terrible she still felt. She sank back against the plush sofa and leaned her head back just as another message from Yuri came in.

“Have you been eating?” She asked.
“I’ve been too busy sleeping,” King answered. “And swallowing hurts anyway.”
“Yeah but you gotta eat”
“I know.”
“You know what? I’ll leave some soup outside later! Don’t tell me not to either because I’ve already decided that I’m gonna do it.”

Yuri punctuated the statement with a smiley face emoji, which actually made King smile as she turned on the television and selected the Save for Later list on YouTube. She stopped what she was doing when another text from Mary came in:

“Is it OK to FaceTime you? You don’t have to actually speak or anything I just wanna check on you without checking on you, ya dig? Because we’re besties and stuff?”

King quirked a brow because there was something about Mary’s run-on sentence structure that gave her pause.

“How much caffeine have you had?”
“I’ve had three cups of coffee today but whatever that’s not important. Can I call my sickly best friend or?”
“Sure”

Within seconds, the FaceTime call came in. King answered and immediately saw that Mary was at her desk over at the police station.

“Don’t say anything,” she stated. “Just let me look at you for a sec.”

There was silence as Mary scrutinized King’s features, a look of deep worry on her face. Finally, she leaned back in her seat and flashed a wan smile.

“Mare,” King started, the other woman’s expression making her feel bad. “Why —?”
“You look terrible, and I feel sad about it okay?”
“I understand but —” coughing — “can you please not look at me like I’m a terminal patient?”
“I can’t help it; you deserve better.”
“If it’s any consolation Yuri is bringing soup later. And I’ve discovered something kind of fun to do, I guess.”
“Oh? What’s that?” Mary prodded.
“KOF YouTube.”
“Bb, you’re just now discovering this?”
“I work a lot,” King pointed out as she grabbed a tissue to blow her nose.
“Okay, fair. Find anything particularly meaty?”

King snickered as she thought back to the videos she had watched during her short periods of wakefulness.

“There are several of Kyo butchering the English language, and Kim’s friend, Jhun,  has an entire channel dedicated to Athena. There are also a lot of interviews with Cupcake and his band… Oh, and there was even a behind-the-scenes with the Ikari Unit for that magazine article from a few years back… the one with the really thirsty pictures?”
“Oh, yeah! Daddy Heidern!” Mary chortled.
“Please don’t ever call him that again.”
“Hey! Daddies need to be recognized, bb! Heidern is scary, but he’s a daddy, and as such, I shall refer to him as one.”
“Even to his face?”
“ Especially to his face.”

The two laughed, though King winced, as speaking for a prolonged period had again angered her sore throat. She grabbed a half-empty bag of lozenges from the side table and quickly popped one into her mouth, grimacing at the strong taste.

“So you’re just gonna veg on the sofa with YouTube?” Mary probed.
“I need to keep myself distracted somehow, and I don’t have the energy to do anything else.”
“Okay. Well, tomorrow I’m gonna be at work for the first part of the day, and then I’m supposed to get together with Terry and the rest of the family but I’ll check in on you. Call me if you need anything, my love.”
“I will.”
“En- EE -thing! It could be something super important or it could be something super stupid, just don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it. Okay?”
“Okay.”

With that, Mary reached out with her index finger, touched the screen, and said, “Boop,” which made King laugh.

“Alright, Super Cop,” the bartender said as her giggles tapered off. “I’m going to melt into my sofa and watch some more stuff. There’s… a lot going on here.”

“Trust me, I know. Some of Ramón’s old lucha libre matches are crazy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” King responded while shifting her throat lozenge to the inside of her cheek.
“Mwah! Love you, bb~”
“Love you ba — oh.”

King’s cough drop fell straight out of her mouth, which made Mary let out a joyful cackle. Although thoroughly grossed out by the drool-coated mass on her shirt, King laughed along with her friend as she ended the call. She then used a tissue to unstick the pellet from her top and blotted up any wetness before making herself comfortable.

She’d change later, but, for now, a whole mess of King of Fighters-oriented Shorts were calling her name.

Chapter Text

King was still unable to sleep like a normal person.

Tossing, turning, and general discomfort thanks to relentless coughing fits, severe throat pain, and chills once again kept the bartender and Nak Muay awake and miserable for most of the day and night; at one point, it even drove her to tears. Eventually, she sluggishly moved from her bedroom to the sofa to change scenery and be closer to the kitchen. Just like the day before, she took her pillow, phone, and a box of tissues to the living room, where she situated herself on the couch, pulled her robe tight, and then covered herself with her Halloween throw. She turned on the television and began searching for something to watch: The news was too fucking depressing, and there were no good movies or shows that interested her playing, prompting her to turn to YouTube, where something was sure to catch her eye and hopefully keep her mind off of how awful she felt, or perhaps even lull her to unconsciousness.

For a few minutes, anyway.

Sighing, she selected the app, waited for it to load up, and made a face when the videos finally populated. The algorithm evidently had a field day thanks to the things she decided to watch throughout the previous day, filling almost the entire screen with King of Fighters content. Scattered throughout the interviews, fancam shorts, and videos of fighters being chaotic, iconic, or whatever else, were random bouts not just from KOF, but from other smaller tournaments, boxing and MMA events, and pay-per-views. She scrolled the videos and saw one bout in particular that caught her attention right away:

ATHENA ASAMIYA VS. KING - L.A. BANC OF CALIFORNIA STADIUM

Eyes wide, King stared at the small thumbnail, which displayed a still image of her and Athena standing opposite one another. The terrified expression on the pop idol’s face alone unsettled King, but knowing what went down during that skirmish — and everything it led to after — made her swallow hard (ouch!) before hastily scrolling past it.

NOPE.

She wasn’t about to touch that one.

Now searching for a metaphorical palate cleanser, King kept browsing until she spotted something that could have been interesting if it wasn’t so irritating:

Top Ten Hottest KOF Women

“Oh, fuck you,” she grumbled hoarsely before grabbing a tissue to blow her nose. Although undoubtedly a little curious, she knew there would probably be plenty of unnecessary and outright degrading commentary about everyone’s physiques that would put her in a bad mood — especially if she was on the list, too.

Although King was a bit drowsy and truly wanted nothing more than to try to sleep off her sickness, she kept sifting through content until she eventually spotted a thumbnail that displayed a grinning Vanessa standing in what she recognized as the conference hall at the H Hotel (where a very… eventful mixer had taken place during the last King of Fighters tournament), with the word “Interview” right beside her. At a little under six minutes long, the video’s title read:

“I’m Here To Hang Out And Eat Snacks” - Vanessa Talks KOF, Fashion, and Food

King couldn’t help it as a wayward chuckle that became a cough escaped her lips. Even though she made it a point not to engage with too much Vanessa-related content for fear of being weird (because reading or watching endless interviews and other things featuring the person she wasn’t in an actual relationship with but fucked a few times when her marriage was on the rocks here and there would surely be weird… right?) she decided to watch the video anyway. A spiffy little intro played before the anchor, standing outside the hotel, introduced himself and briefly explained his reason for being there: King of Fighters, interviews, bla, bla, bla. The segment then showed a timelapse of the caster walking to the conference room where the mixer was held, with other entrants making cameos here and there. Finally, the man found his way to Vanessa, who, as always, looked dazzling despite how casual her attire was: a silky, emerald green button-down blouse, denim capris, and open-toed platform sandals that added several inches to her already impressive height. Her makeup was very subtle and natural, and a small, plastic hair claw was doing a piss poor job of holding her deep crimson locks away from her face.

Predictably, King’s brain started auto-playing Warrant’s Cherry Pie while the interviewer spouted a preamble about the event and catching up with the fighters before the prelims.

“Alright, I’m here with Vanessa, who has entered the tournament with previous teammate Blue Mary Ryan, but, also, Luong, formerly of Team Korea. Vanessa, what can you tell us about this change to your team lineup?”
“Well,” the Amazonian boxer started in an incredibly chipper cadence that didn’t match her usual way of speaking, “Ramón is off doing his own thing but Mary and I wanted to compete as well, and with Seth off doing his own thing, we figured… why not join with some new blood?”
“How did you ladies find each other?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna bore you or the viewers,” Vanessa smoothly deflected since, as King knew, the circumstances of the team-up with Luong were shrouded in top-secret agent shit. “But we were all brought together and figured… ‘Sure, let’s do it!’ Us girls have to stick together, after all!”

Vanessa then giggled and flashed a bright smile that was pretty damn convincing, but still — as King could instantly tell — pretty damn fake.

“In light of your statement about girls needing to stick together, are there any other female combatants you would have tapped for your team had Luong not joined up with you?”
“Oh, well, Mary is our leader, not me, so I’d leave the tapping to her. That said, I’m sure she has plenty of lovely ladies on speed dial!”
“In the past we’ve seen that her and King are pretty close. Do you think the kickboxer would have been your teammate had things gone differently?”

At that, King instantly perked up. A team-up with Vanessa? Would Vanessa ever want to team with her in the first place? Would it be awkward at all? There’s no way it would work; King wasn’t an agent, or a cop, or anything else of that nature. As a bartender, she did have access to information, of course, and could get it pretty easily if she wanted or needed to, but she wasn’t —

“King is an amazing fighter, and yeah, her and Mary are basically married but in this really adorable, platonic way. I dunno; I wouldn’t mind working with her in the future but she’s tied up with her people, and Luong just gels so well with Mary and myself that it’s hard to see any other team formation right now!”

Vanessa punctuated the statement with a nose scrunch and a giggle. Meanwhile, King let out an unnatural sound that could only be described as an amalgam of a laugh, a snort, and a cough. Not only had Vanessa called her “amazing” (swoon…) but that team did not gel well at all: Mary didn’t trust Luong from the start, and Vanessa wanted to maim or even outright murder her for jeopardizing her marriage and blowing up her shit in front of the world. Not to mention how badly things ended after the tournament…

“Now, you three — Mary, Luong, and yourself — are called Team Secret Agent. What’s the story behind that name? Is there something you’d care to share?”

The boxer’s eyes darkened, though her expression remained light as she answered:

“Oh, well, that was actually a funny joke that started between us, but we decided to use it for our own amusement, really! I mean, could you imagine me as a secret agent?! My specialties involve cooking, cleaning, and potty training, not… whatever agents do!”

…Good answer. But was it good enough?

“As a housewife and mother, what do your friends and family think about you entering these events?”
“They’re all very supportive! And it’s important for me to keep my own identity, you know? I may be a mom, but I also throw a mean left hook!”

The interviewer nodded before asking, “Getting back to KOF, is there anyone you want to go up against in the ring?”
“Hmm —” Vanessa placed a hand on her chin as she raised her dark eyes toward the ceiling (King could feel herself somewhat melting because damn did Vanessa look great…) — “well… There are a few potential opponents who have piqued my interest, but, honestly, right now? I’m just here to hang out and eat snacks….”

King found herself smiling — probably in a dopey sort of way — as she watched her former fling tell the anchor, who asked about her eating habits, that she mostly munched on the things her child ate these days: cheddar goldfish crackers, chocolate Teddy Grahams, and, of course, plenty of fruit. This then led to questions about her workout regimen, which somehow led to a question about her fashion sense… and the somewhat peculiar striped purple pants and sandals combo she adopted during the last tournament, which King knew was the result of losing a bet.

“I just like to wear what’s comfortable, you know?”
“But boxing in open-toed sandals? Wasn’t that a bit risky?”
“A little, yeah. I really should have worn something a little easier to move around in. But I guess it didn’t matter since I could maneuver just fine~!”

King recalled how fluidly Vanessa moved in the ring (...and in… other scenarios…) and pressed her lips together while willing herself to keep off a path that she didn’t have the energy to go down in the first place. Luck was on her side, and a loud, disgusting sneeze derailed any remotely sexy thoughts that had popped into the back of her mind. She hastily snatched a tissue from the nearby box and blew her nose just as the interviewer closed out the segment. The apartment fell quiet then (with the exception of King’s sniffling and coughing, of course) as the main menu screen popped up once more.

The Frenchwoman made a face while staring blankly at the screen, wondering if she should reach out to Vanessa. After all, they knew each other very well… surely there was no harm in wishing her a happy holiday… right? Eyes heavy, King reached for her phone, pulled up the other woman’s contact information, and, with another loud sniffle, started to compose a message… that she deleted immediately.

She’d send her a polite Merry Christmas text the next day but for now?

Rest.

Chapter Text

More tossing, more turning, more coughing fits, more throat pain, more body aches, more congestion, and more chills once again kept King from any semblance of real sleep. She didn’t know how long she tried to rest, but, after what must have been hours she found herself back on (or was “in” a more accurate descriptor at this point?) her sofa, hair disheveled, nose pinkish and peeling, and eyes heavy, trying to pass time by looking through Snapchat filters. She picked the most subtle one she could find (it was important to accurately document her demise), snapped a selfie, and sniffled as she flipped the image to face the right way.

“What fucking day is it?” She typed methodically before saving the photo and sending it to her group chats.

It only took two minutes for Mai to metaphorically draw first blood in a one-on-one conversation.

“Girl, it’s Friday! How are you doing?”
“Still? And horrible,” King replied.

A frowning face appeared on the screen almost immediately.

Just then a message from Ryo popped up in the Kyokugen chat that simply read, “Friday.”
“You don’t look so hot, dude,” Robert added. “Yuri wants to know if you need to go to the hospital.”
“For what?” King typed, her brows raised.
“Because you look ROUGH,” Ryo answered.
“Merci…”

The text chime went off yet again, notifying King of a new message from Mai.

“Do you want Mary and me to drop by? I can make some of my special miso soup for you!”
“Don’t risk exposing yourself to this on my account,” King replied. “Everything tastes like mildly flavoured air anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” King nodded even though she was typing. “No offense but I’m sick of soup.”
“So let me bring you something else then?”
“I’ll drown in snot before you get here. Seriously, there’s no need to come by, okay?”
“...okay”

Mai then sent the uncertain and heart emojis, marking the end of the conversation — just in time for a new text from Yuri to pop up.

“Céccy, are you sure you don’t need to go to the ER? I can take you!”
“I don’t need a hospital,” King responded, correcting any typos as she went, “I need a Christmas miracle.”
“But maybe they’d give you that Paxlovid stuff,” Robert pointed out.
“Maybe, but I think I need sleep more than anything else.”
“Okay so go rest,” came Yuri’s suggestion.
“I’ve been trying but it’s fucking impossible”
“So try again, dude,” came Robert’s (very unhelpful) input.

King sneezed just as Ryo added, “Getting proper rest is the only way to keep your mind AND your body sharp in your state.”

Lacking the energy to say anything else, King placed her phone down, turned onto her side, and then pulled her blanket tightly around her. She hadn’t checked her temperature in a while, but being unable to get warm despite having her thick, fleece robe practically molded to her while laying under a fleece blanket told her she was likely still running a fever. With a miserable sigh, she stretched her legs out and half-smiled as her ankle brushed against Marron, who had barely left her side.

It was time to try to go back to “sleep.”

…or not, as a fit of dry coughing abruptly hit the bartender so hard that she had to practically jump into an upright position as she hacked and gasped.

Fuck!

King tried to breathe deeply, but her congestion kept her from doing so. Frustrated, she finally took her temperature (100.7 F), fetched herself a glass of water and Nyquil, and made her way to the bedroom, where she flopped onto the bed facedown, which was a horrible idea since she couldn’t breathe through her nose at all. With a loud sniffle she sat up, grabbed a tissue from a box she had placed on her bedside table, and blew her nose before angrily throwing the tissue on the floor (she’d get it later…) and punching her pillow out of frustration, the motion sluggish and lacking any real force.

“Merde,” she muttered hoarsely. She settled onto the somewhat flattened cushion (she didn’t care that the other one was still on the couch) and waited — impatiently — for the medicine to maybe kick in, as it hadn’t exactly been doing its job. This time was no different and, within twenty minutes, she found herself back on the sofa, browsing YouTube for something to watch that wasn’t a video essay, political news commentary, or reaction compilation. Finally, she decided on a clip she had passed numerous times while browsing but hadn’t bothered to watch:

MEAN TWEETS - KING OF FIGHTERS EDITION

King shook her head while remembering when she was approached to do one of these segments, and her reasoning for declining, which was that it was “a waste of time to read and get upset over the opinions of random assholes who couldn’t even swat a fly.” Of course… that was her; others were obviously more than willing to participate in the fuckery, as there were several installments.

Lips pressed in a thin line, she hit Play on a thumbnail that featured the musician and insane cultist Yashiro Nanakase scowling fiercely. The segment started with a very short, animated intro before switching to the busty wrestler, Àngel, sitting in front of a brick wall, holding a cell phone and reading out loud in her moderately thick Mexican accent:

“Àngel may have a smokin’ hot bod, but she talks like she has [BLEEP] in her mouth. I wish her teammates would keep her from speaking because it ruins everything.”

The young woman blinked at the phone in her hand, then looked directly at the camera, her light eyes narrowed and cheeks slightly red as she went on a tirade in Spanish that ended with her holding up her middle finger. The scene then cut to that foul dickhead, Joe Higashi, sitting in front of the same wall and holding a cell phone of his own. He scratched the back of his head as he recited the words on the screen:

“I don’t care how well Joe Higashi fights he is thoroughly obnoxious unfunny unintelligent and his hair sucks and he has a flat ass [BLEEP] that guy.”

King couldn’t help letting out a snicker that somehow turned into a sneeze; she agreed with everything the tweet said. Joe, however, did not. He set his jaw and then, in his much-too-loud voice, yelled, “Oh yeah?! At least I know what a punctuation mark is, you [BLEEP]hole!”

Surprised that Joe even knew the word “punctuation,” King continued to watch as Yashiro appeared on screen and read out loud, in near-perfect English (he had a slight hiccup):

“That Nanakase dude really thinks he’s some kinda gift but Iori is better in every way. Better hair, better face, better… guitarist, better band. All Yashiro has are abs and that weird Swedish kid.”

Yashiro glared with such intensity that King swore she felt the earth move through her television set. A vein in his reddened forehead bulged outward as he gripped the device in his hand so tightly that the case it was in actually cracked.

“You sorry son of a bitch,” he growled in a very low, very menacing tone that made King involuntarily shrink back a little bit. She grimaced as the next fighter, Kim Kaphwan’s buddy Jhun Hoon, appeared on the screen.

“Jhun Hoon is one bad hair day away from looking like a serial killer from a slasher flick,” the Tae Kwon Do practitioner, whose long, fair hair was tied back in a very impressive bun, read. He quirked a brow and offered a placid smile before waving a dismissive hand and simply saying, “Pssssshhhhhht. At least I have hair.”

King made a face but watched as the next fighter — whom she did not know well at all — appeared on the screen to read the vitriolic thoughts of a complete stranger:

“Ash Crimson has to be one of the stupidest names I’ve ever heard. The kid sounds like a comic book villain but looks like the most basic-ass alcoholic wine mom Karen in the world, complete with bad lip fillers. Why this bitch look like he wanna speak to my manager?!”

The statement was followed by melodic laughter — the type one might associate with some playful, mythical forest creature — from Ash, who twirled a platinum lock of hair around their finger as they did nothing to suppress their mad giggles. Ash then cleared their throat and composed themself as best they could, though the smile never left their face as they responded to the anonymous troll:

“Mon Dieu~! I feel… I feel so very, very… quel est le mot…? Sorry. I feel sorry for you, OP, because you’re not important enough for me to want to seek out your manager in the first place. Die mad, peasant~”

Ash then kissed the mobile phone in their hand before bursting into laughter once more, closing out the video and sending King back to the previous menu. She coughed into her arm while sifting through more videos, her head stuffy and heavy.

MEAN TWEETS - KING OF FIGHTERS EDITION #2

…Why not…?

The thumbnail for this one showed a wide-eyed Mai looking directly into the camera. King remembered how the kunoichi huffed about the comment from an angry troll but hadn’t seen her live reaction. Nevertheless, she hit Play and was greeted by the short intro, which led to Athena Asamiya, who recited:

“Why can’t Athena just die already?”

Wow, that was extreme…

The pop idol, clearly horrified, slowly looked to the camera, her mouth agape, before she cleared her throat, her expression at once resolute.

“I hope someone stabs you in the eye with a really hot french fry!”

Next to appear was Robert, prompting King to quirk a brow, as she didn’t remember him even mentioning that he was on the show. Nevertheless, she watched as he recited, “That mother[BLEEP] Robert Garcia’s facial hair is stupid. He looks like bargain bin Will Turner.”

King couldn’t help it as a somewhat painful laugh escaped her. She thought Robert’s facial hair was pretty nice and suited him well (plus, he didn’t look like that guy from the Karate Kid III and Cobra Kai anymore), but “bargain bin Will Turner” was actually kind of funny… because she could kind of see it.

“Hey, man,” Robert retorted with a smirk, “I’d rather be bargain bin Will Turner than some jealous, neckbearded [BLEEP] who’s probably living in his mom’s basement. Go outside!”

Up next was Mai, who, as always, looked dazzling, even as her expression changed while she read:

“Mai Shiranui is such an idiot. I bet that stupid bitch can’t even work a microwave. Cover them up, slut!”

At that, Mai made the face that was featured on the thumbnail before frowning. Although used to such comments, King knew that they almost always got under her skin. Not to say that Mai Shiranui was thin-skinned by any means; she just didn’t like the idea of being disliked, and especially not by people who didn’t even know her.

“I thought these tweets were supposed to be a little funny?” The kunoichi inquired. She then added, “This just sounds like someone who envies my beauty and talent. And, no, I will not be covering them up!”

Next, it was Vanessa’s acquaintance, the luchador-slash-secret-agent, Ramón. His eye widened at the phone as he recited:

“Ramón is such a creep. That one-eyed simp needs to stop chasing a married woman and get a life already. [BLEEP]ing weirdo!”

Ramón looked down at the phone and burst into raucous laughter out of nowhere, which King thought a little strange. She continued to watch as he cleared his throat while his eye flicked toward the camera.

“AssBlaster482 is telling me to get a life? AssBlaster ?! My man, there’s nothing wrong with admiring a beautiful woman, regardless of her marital status! Letting my friend know that she is gorgeous and smart is something that should be normalized — not criticized. Now, maybe you go get a life… and change your name, pendejo!”

King grimaced, then checked to see how much time the video had left, as she suddenly felt like the pressure in her sinuses was going to legitimately kill her. It was very little — only about two minutes, which were sure to be quite entertaining, as the next fighter to grace the flatscreen was none other than the King of Fighters poster boy himself, Kyo Kusanagi, who appeared ultimately, utterly bewildered.

“Nani kore? Eh? Eigo de ?”

Offscreen, someone could be heard saying something in Japanese (King thought it might have been something about it “being easy?”) to which Kyo responded with a slow, “Oh…kay.”

Lips pressed together, King changed positions while watching the screen intently. She was pretty sure that Kyo’s ability to read English was much, much worse than his ability to speak it, so this was going to be interesting. She watched as he cleared his throat, uncertainty all over his face, and began.

“If I wanted to… kill myself… I would climb Kyo Kusanagi’s… ego and jump down to his… IQ.”

Kyo balked at the device he was holding while his expression went through several changes in the span of a few seconds.

“Wait —” he furrowed his brow — “what’s… ai kyoo?”

King facepalmed; the Kusanagi heir made joking about his intelligence way too easy. Even if it was because of the language barrier, people didn’t care; there was probably a video essay about this very snippet somewhere out there calling him a dumb son of a bitch. She made a face as Kyo nodded to whoever was offscreen as he took in their words. His expression changed immediately: curiosity, shock, and then clear annoyance all played with his features until, finally, he took a deep breath.

“Goddamnit,” he growled before the segment’s outro played.

King was relieved that the video was finally over; she didn’t think she could handle watching any more mean tweets, as they were just reinforcing what she already knew: people were terrible. Head heavy, she turned off her television, grabbed her pillow, dragged herself to her bedroom, and buried herself under several blankets. She could feel herself on the precipice of finally passing out, but every time she thought she could, she would have to cough or blow her nose.

“Putain de merde,” she muttered. However, the deep frown on her face immediately melted into a smile as a purring Marron approached. He plopped down beside her and nuzzled her chest while stretching his front legs and kneading her shoulder with his paws. She wrapped her arm around him and sighed.

“Je me sens malade,” she lamented in her raspy voice. “Peut-être que tu peux m’aider à me sentir mieux…”

Marron’s purring grew louder, and King hoped like hell that relaxing sound would finally help lull her to sleep.

Chapter Text

The sleep King finally managed to get the day before helped her feel better, but not by a whole lot. Even though she had been out for an almost obscene amount of time (something like fifteen or sixteen hours on and off), her symptoms were still pretty bad; she imagined them being in the yellowish-orange zone of one of those colour-coded charts where, on a scale of green to red, green was the best and red was the worst. Despite that fact, her throat did seem a little less sore, and her temperature was down to a low-grade fever, spiking to 99.8 degrees at the highest.

So… progress.

…Progress that didn’t help the fact that she still couldn’t leave her apartment even though she desperately wanted to, though. How she had stayed holed up in there for an entire month following “The Incident” was becoming more and more mind-boggling. Had her mental state during that time really been that bad?

(Obviously, yes.)

Of course, back then, her friends were actually allowed inside and were there to help her whenever they could. COVID was definitely an entirely different beast; King felt isolated and trapped, and it was driving her up the walls… as was all of the self-reflection that was beginning to take place when she wasn’t spacing out in the general direction of the television, which was currently showing an interview clip that YouTube auto-played when she drifted off for a few minutes. Groaning, she sat up and rubbed at her temples (her head was killing her) before reaching for a tissue and blowing her nose, which was still very stuffed. She haphazardly dropped the used rag on the floor among several others, threw herself back against her pillow, and then bunched it up under her head while rolling onto her side to see who or what was on the TV. The sight that greeted her was that Shingo Yabuki kid speaking a mile a minute to the sportscaster Clemence Bellamy, who looked completely bewildered. She recognized the venue from the last tournament, which told her that the video was from earlier in the year. Nevertheless, she watched as Shingo enthusiastically droned on about being amped up because of adrenaline and riding the high of a victory — something King understood quite well — while Bellamy looked on. Finally, Shingo took a breath and laughed, which allowed the interviewer to speak.

“Okay, Shingo, since this is your first time back in a bit, what can you tell us about your experience outside the ring so far? Are there any notable behind-the-scenes happenings that are worth sharing?”
“Oh, well… not a whole lot really goes on — just people relaxing or training. Nikaido-san has been nice enough to help me learn some techniques to help keep me on my toes, and to be prepared for anything because this is KOF, you know?! But there are things outside of the fight that no one can prepare you for, like when I went into the restroom and discovered this massive — massive !!! — poop that someone didn’t flush!”

The off-the-wall statement — and how it was uttered — immediately snapped King into full wakefulness just as a horrified Bellamy yelled, “I’m sorry, what ?!”
“Or maybe they did and it just didn’t go down all the way, I dunno, but it was crazy ,” Shingo went on as if he hadn’t heard the other man. “It didn’t look like anything a normal human could have left behind!”
“I… don’t really know how to respond to this…”

At that moment, Killer Queen started playing from King’s cell phone, letting her know there was an incoming call from Mary. Quickly, she picked up the device and answered the request for a video call, which connected immediately, allowing the two friends to see each other for the first time in what felt like years but was actually only about a day and a half.

“How are you feeling?” Mary greeted with a soft smile.
“Bleh.”
“Well, you look a little better at least. Did you actually sleep?”
“I did, yes,” King answered with a sniffle, a little surprised to hear that her voice was mostly back.
“Sweet! You definitely sound better, too.”
“Still feel awful, though.”
“But at least you’re on the upswing!”
“Physically, I guess, but I’m not so sure about mentally…”
“Why’s that?” Mary prodded.
“Because I think I’m hallucinating this interview clip from the last tournament that’s on YouTube. I would have to be.”
“Okay, who said what out-of-pocket thing now?”
“Yabuki — Shingo. He just randomly told Bellamy that he found a massive poop in the bathroom.”
“ What ?!”
“Ouais. And now —”
“ Wait ,” Mary slowly interrupted while shaking her head, her eyes wide. “Bb. Don’t tell me…”

King offered a sheepish grin before coughing a little.

“...I kind of want to know who did it,” she admitted.
“Okay, you’re definitely losing it.”
“Do you think I ever really had it, though?” King asked while making a face, as her sanity was something she had questioned long before she had to start taking daily medication to control the things that went on in her head these days.

(Thanks, Big.)

“...good point, but! Why would you even wanna —”
“Because what else am I going to do, Mare? I’m stuck here, bored out of my mind for at least a few more days.”
“How would you even begin to investigate that in the first place though?”
“Maybe… ummm… I don’t… know,” King answered lamely.
“See? And besides, super-sleuth; what would you even do with that information? Like…?”
“I don’t know; blackmail? Really, it depends on who did it. It would have to be someone who looks like they can barely hold anything in their digestive tract. Somebody small…”
“We know several people like tha — why are we even discussing this?” Mary inquired while laughing.
“Because, Mare,” King began. “If I don’t distract myself my PTSD is going to start messing with me — more than it’s already starting to. I also might be a little high off cold medicine.”

Mary gave King a concerned look.

“Your PTSD…?! Bb, what happened?”
“Nothing — yet. Just… starting to think about how fucked up I must have been to want to stay in here for so long when… it … first happened. I have my lazy days, yes, but I can’t even fathom how bad I must have been and that could potentially trigger… I probably shouldn’t talk about this anymore.”
“Okay but is talking about who took a giant shit in the locker room really any better?”

King grimaced.

“Well, when you put it like that…”
“Bb… why don’t you try to go back to sleep and maybe not think about that? It’ll be good for you.”
“You’re probably right,” King said with a sigh. “I’m just so… goddamn stir-crazy at this point.”
“If you’re really that bored then download TikTok; that’ll drag you down a rabbit hole and keep you busy for hours.”
“Maybe so, but —”
“But nothing! It’ll be a better use of your time than trying to solve a mystery that really doesn’t need to be solved in the first place. Trust.”
“...Okay,” King said reluctantly, though she knew Mary was right (which was why she often referred to her as the Voice of Reason). “In that case, let me get off the phone so I can take your advice.”
“Are you really gonna do it?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. No more poop, you tall weirdo,” Mary said with a chuckle.
“Yes, mom.”
“Perfect. Love you bb.”
“Love you back.”

King waved at the screen and then ended the call. She pressed her lips in a thin line as she pondered the conversation she just had… and about how she probably was legitimately insane. Choosing to ignore those thoughts (or try, anyway), she resolved to follow Mary’s advice, which was why she put the interview with Shingo — which had ended while she was chatting — out of her mind and downloaded the app she had heard so much about (and seen in little bits thanks to her brother). She selected animals and comedy from a list of interests — just to get started — and was immediately shown a video of a cat with zoomies running around. With a small smile (it was a very cute cat), she finished setting up her account and then thought about what she would like to look for before realizing that she could actually cast the app to her television — a much more appealing proposition than staring at the small screen in her hand for who knew how long. Quickly, she set things up on her TV while thinking about what she would like to search for. Suddenly, her mind drifted back to the interview with Shingo, which resulted in her frowning deeply.

She needed to get a grip and drop it. It was gross and not worth thinking about.

With a shake of her head, King typed “King of Fighters” into the search bar and watched as a whole mess of bite-sized clips populated the screen. Her attention was immediately grabbed by a preview of none other than Iori Yagami, sitting with his bandmates, holding a board with a photo of the Google search engine page, and looking strangely amicable. She didn’t think she had ever seen him without a scowl — unless he was in the presence of Chizuru, of course — so the sight was almost jarring. Nevertheless, her curiosity was piqued as she read the text at the top of the video:

Iori’s face is priceless

The sentence was punctuated with the crying laughing face emoji, making the bartender even more curious than she already was. She watched as Yagami’s bandmates introduced themselves, with Yagami going last. With a small, almost shy smile (who was this guy?!), the red-haired musician said, in the deep voice that King usually associated with dramatic threats of violence and death, “Hi, I’m Iori, and, contrary to popular belief, I am not the captain of this ship — that’s that guy.”

Yagami jerked his thumb toward a man sitting on a stool behind him whose long hair appeared very nicely conditioned while the others saluted and recited a small piece of Walt Whitman’s, “O Captain! My Captain!”. They all chuckled before Yagami turned his attention to the board in his hand. He tilted his head and, with a furrowed brow, commented, “These look like they’re mostly about me…”

“Ahhhh, it’s fine! Maybe we’ll learn something new about you!”
“Whatever —” Yagami grabbed the edge of one of the paper strips and recited, “Are Iori’s…”

The sliver was quickly peeled away, revealing the rest of the question, which Yagami read, causing his bandmates to laugh hysterically:

“Are Iori’s tits real”

Sure enough, the look on the young man’s face was, in a word, amazing — and not one King ever thought she would see on him, as his eyes had become wide as saucers while his lips slightly parted. Slack-jawed, he looked around, first at his bandmates, then at his chest (which was quite famous among the tournament entrants — and probably Chizuru especially…), and then at the camera, which had zoomed in on him, before grabbing his jacket with one hand, pulling it over himself, and covering his impressive pectorals, a mock-scandalized expression on his face.

“My eyes are up here !”

The snippet abruptly ended there, prompting King to wonder if the rest of the interview was uploaded elsewhere, as she found herself wanting to know what other weird questions the band — and Yagami — tended to get…

King stopped the video from repeating and made a face as a few small thumbnails on-screen auto-played simultaneously, creating utter chaos. She continued to scroll through the offerings and saw a thumbnail of herself sitting in the stands of SoFi Stadium, where the prelims and round one of the last tournament took place, with Ryo and Robert nearby and the sentence “ Homegirl’s got it BAD ” overlayed on the screen. Quickly, she selected the video clip and watched herself watching the ring intently, her cheeks slightly pink and her expression bordering on dopey. The camera, which was a little shaky, slowly panned toward the ring, revealing what King was observing so intently: Vanessa beating the shit out of some lowly fool who was vying for a spot in the main tournament. The person recording quietly giggled as they refocused on King, who was leaning forward in her seat, her eyes locked on the Amazonian boxer. She very subtly bit her lip, eliciting even more chuckles from whoever was filming.

The bartender grimaced; she only did that when she was turned on, which, at that time, she definitely was, as Vanessa had done some fantastic things to her in the locker room prior to the match. Unfortunately, it resulted in King experiencing one of the most embarrassing moments of her entire life, but it had also made her eager to meet Vanessa again and return the favour (which she did before shit hit the fan later that night). She frowned as the voyeur started whispering in Spanish… only to be cut off by a sharp, male voice — Heidern!? — hissing, “Isla!”

The camera shook, and the video ended, leaving King lying on her sofa, nonplussed. That Isla girl whom Heidern was babysitting during KOF had caught her pretty much being horny on main… and put it on the internet. Because of course she would, the little shit.

King was aware that TikTok was very popular among younger people, which made her wonder what other things Isla might have posted. She navigated to the girl’s profile, which was full of different videos, most of which appeared to showcase her impressive street art. King selected a clip that began with Isla positioning her phone so that she could record herself and her strange, spectral hands (she called them Amanda, right?), finishing spray painting a mural on a brick wall in what might have been a suburb of Los Angeles.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Someone offscreen caught the girl’s attention, causing her concentration to lapse, which, in turn, caused the hands to disappear, the cans of spray paint they were holding instantly dropping to the ground with a loud clatter. She rolled her eyes while removing her mask.

“I was doing art, but now I guess I’m stuck talkin’ to you. Whadda ya want?”
“Young lady, you can’t paint this here.”
“I already did.”
“Well you need to clean it up!”
“Why?”
“Because this is private property!”
“Like hell it is.”
“You need to clean this trash up right now!”
“‘ Trash ?’ Lady, this is art !”

Isla gestured toward the mural, which was beautiful, before crossing her arms over her chest.

“Back in my country they would pay me hella money for something even half the scale of this and here I’m doing it for free. Sorry you can’t appreciate beauty.”
“This isn’t beautiful; this is vandalism! I’m calling the cops!”
“Whatever, Susan —” Isla picked up her cans of paint and tossed them in a nearby backpack — “I’m gonna go get somethin’ to eat. So you have fun with that!”

Isla then picked up her cell phone and pointed the camera at the woman talking to her: a typical neighborhood Karen, as evidenced by her Whole Foods bags and reverse bob haircut. Bored by the argument on the screen, the bartender made a face and decided to stop watching, as she had seen more than enough people versus Karen videos to last her a lifetime.

With a huge sigh, King returned to the menu, where another video caught her eye: Evidently, it was several clips of the incredibly unpleasant K’ spliced together with text that said, “ How I talk to my loved ones ” that was punctuated with a sparkling heart emoji. King pressed her lips in a thin line as she unconsciously scratched at an inch on the right side of her abdomen, directly below her ribs, which the pyrokinetic brat had scarred with his flames long ago. Although keenly aware that watching the surly bastard might put her in a bad mood, she decided to check out the video anyway. Right away, she was treated to K’ briskly stomping through a very nice kitchen and grumbling, “Can you fucking back up ?!”

The scene quickly changed to K’ standing next to an sportscaster with his arm crossed — like the petulant child he was — and looking away. “Don’t be an idiot,” was all he said before the clip changed to the young man sitting in what appeared to be a hotel room, wearing a Hawaiian shirt of all things, and playing a video game while bathing the entire zip code in obscenities.

(Who the actual hell talked to anyone like this?)

“Are we done yet?”
“Oh, piss off!”
“HURRY UP!!”

King felt like she was about to experience sensory overload watching the randomly spliced together segments. The little time bar at the bottom of the screen indicated that the video wasn’t over just yet, but King was already growing bored of watching K’ being a dick. She was about to swipe away but stopped when the young man was shown next to an ESPN correspondent, flanked by his teammates. From the looks of it, they were in a stadium hallway, near a locker room. The bartender didn’t know why, but she found herself focusing not on the trio, but on the activity behind them, as the door to the room kept on opening and closing, with other tournament entrants going in and out. She tilted her head; a glint of golden hair caught her eye before the clip abruptly concluded.

“Attends une seconde,” King said out loud. She didn’t know why, but there was something about that interview with Team K’ that was sitting strangely with her. She exited TikTok and went back to YouTube, where she hastily made her way to ESPN’s King of Fighters coverage archive and started scrolling through the various interviews and featurettes until she found the bit with K’ and company. She fast-forwarded through the introductions before letting the video play at normal speed, once again not paying attention to the team, or anything that Cyber Uncle was saying.

She scrutinized the background the entire time as people like Kim Kaphwan, Ralf Jones, and the kids Shun’ei and Meitenkun walked by, entering or emerging from the room. After a while there was no activity… until the owner of the golden hair King had spotted earlier appeared. Andy Bogard, clad in street clothes and holding a gym bag, walked behind Team K’ with a purpose, disappearing into the locker room.

“Our team is a little different this time, yes,” Cyber Uncle — Maxima — was telling the interviewer. “The kiddos had something of a disagreement but we still wanted to enter —”
“I didn’t wanna enter shit,” K’ interrupted, which was met by a nudge to the ribs by the young woman called Whip.

“As I was saying ,” Maxima said loudly while glaring at his charge, “we still wanted to enter…”

King hit the fast-forward button, skipping several minutes (how long was this interview?) until she glimpsed Andy coming out from behind the motley trio, this time dressed in his pristine combat gear. The sight was nothing remarkable in the slightest; just a man walking out of a room, appearing as though he was walking on air, which to be fair, he always did, probably because of his training. But something was different this time.

And that was when King saw it.

The camera panned to Whip as she began speaking, but behind her, a pumped-up Shingo Yabuki walked into the frame. The young man looked straight at the camera and threw an excited fist in the air before walking into the locker room. It took only about a minute before he reappeared, looking as though he had seen a ghost.

Holy shit.

(Apparently literally.)

Swiftly, King picked up her phone, dialed Mary, and put the call on speaker while she coughed.

“Bb, what’s the matter?!” The detective immediately asked as King continued to hack into the crook of her elbow. “Do you need to go —”
“I — cough — solved the mystery! I know who did it!”
“You don’t mean…? Did you seriously —?!”

King cleared her throat (ouch) and, almost a little too enthusiastically, declared:

“It was Andy!”

Chapter Text

King didn’t remember crawling into bed, but there she was, curled up under her covers, sweating under her robe, and wondering how and when she got there in the first place, as the last thing she remembered was idly watching the news in the living room. Groggily, she reached out for her phone to check the time (apparently she had, at some point, turned her LED clock face down for some reason), and immediately sprung up into a sitting position, as there was no way in hell that what she was seeing was right.

According to the clock it was late morning on the 25th — Christmas.

Which meant she had slept through the entire day before.

King swallowed hard while stretching her arms over her head and wondered how she had burned through a whole twenty-four hours, especially when she had felt like she might have been on the upswing.

…God, COVID was fucking weird!

Frowning, she turned her attention to the almost ridiculous amount of notifications on her lock screen. Mai, Mary, the Kyokugens, Jean, and even a couple of her employees had all left some form of correspondence, be it a text message (or ten…?) or voicemail, each one probably in various degrees of alarm. She knew she should probably inform everyone that she was still alive sooner rather than later, but she realized with horror that Marron had gone an entire day without food and fresh water.

“Merde,” she cried as she hopped out of bed and ran to the kitchen, the cat following close behind. She went to grab his kibbles from her cabinet but stopped when she saw that the bowl was actually full.

Now extremely confused by the fact that she couldn’t even remember feeding Marron in the first place, King scratched her head while pressing her lips in a thin line. Suddenly overwhelmed by the need to shower, she went to the bathroom to carry out her routine. Despite feeling a bit better, her actions remained sluggish (presumably from a lack of food in her system more than anything), making the simple task of washing up feel both fantastic and exhausting. Nevertheless, she somehow managed to get it done but was faced with the somewhat daunting task of answering everyone’s messages. She started with Jean, who, predictably, FaceTimed her immediately.

“Ça va?” She greeted, her voice almost completely back to normal.
“God, Céc, are you okay?! I was scared you were dead!”
“Oh, kiddo… you don’t need to worry about me like that.”
“... are you sure …?”

King made a face, as she knew that Jean’s question alluded to much more than just her being sick.

(Thanks, Big.)

“I’m sure,” she answered after breaking into a light coughing fit that didn’t hurt or last nearly as much as her previous ones. When she finally stopped, she sniffled and asked, “How’s Christmas treating you?”
“It’s fine, I guess,” Jean answered. “We have company, though, so I can’t talk too long.”
“Who’s over there?”
“One of Gary’s coworkers and his family. They’re actually pretty nice but I wish you were here.”
“I know,” King said, unable to keep the sadness from her voice. Not wanting to bring the mood down, she decided to change the subject.

“So what’d you get?” She asked, though she already knew since she had to touch base with Maddy and Gary so as not to get the boy any duplicate gifts.
“Mostly clothes, but they also got me Spider-Man 2. I got a new Moleskine sketchbook, too, and some PrismaColor pens, and sneakers.”
“Sounds like you made out like a bandit this year,” the bartender said with a smirk, since her brother still had gifts from her coming, too.
“I guess, yeah,” he answered. “Just wish I could give you your stuff. You deserve something nice for a change.”

King offered a wan smile as she stood up.

“You’re probably right…”

At that moment, Gary’s voice rang out from offscreen.

“Shi — shoot! Gotta go,” Jean stated disappointedly.
“Go,” King told him. “Don’t get in trouble.”
“Alright. Love you, Céc.”
“Love you back.”

The call ended, plunging the apartment into total silence once more. With a heavy sigh, King grabbed the thermometer from her night table (she didn’t remember putting it there…) to take her temperature, which was, for the first time in days, within a somewhat normal range at 98.8 degrees Fahrenheit.

“Hunh,” King said out loud while placing the small device down. She then left her bedroom, her footsteps soft as she walked down the short hall to the open living room and dining area. She pivoted to her right to go into the kitchen (she was so hungry!) but immediately stopped in her tracks when something on the dining table grabbed her attention:

A medium-sized box that was wrapped in shiny green paper adorned with snowmen and topped with a large, red bow sat on the dark surface. Next to it was a bottle of wine with a silver bow tied around its neck, as well as a small, glittery gift bag. Curiosity immediately piqued (but also maybe slightly freaked out because who the hell had been in her apartment?!), King went over to the table to get a better look at the mysterious items which were unmarked, save for the parcel, which had a label on it that simply read, “Céccy”.

Right away, King dashed over to her cordless phone, snatched it off the base, and dialed Yuri’s number. It took several rings before the young woman finally answered.

“Merry —”
“Were you in my apartment yesterday?!” The Frenchwoman interrupted in lieu of a real greeting.
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“No, I’m not mad. I’m just wondering why you would do something so stupid and reckless! Yuri —”
“I know, I know, but I wore two masks, and —”
“Your dad’s tengu mask doesn’t count!”
“ — it wasn’t the tengu mask. But I had some gloves, too, and lots of hand sanitizer.”
“But why were you even here in the first place?”
“Because! You weren’t answering your calls or texts, and I wanted to drop off your gifts anyway, but then no one heard from you — not even Mary! — so —”
“How did you even get in without a key?”
“I went to the front office and explained the situation,” Yuri answered as if it was the most simple thing in the world. “Anyway, how are you feeling?!”
“I… I’m fine,” King replied. “But now I’m worried about you! Yuri, what if you end up getting sick?!”
“Then I’ll quarantine myself?”

King sighed as she looked around her living room, which was noticeably cleaner: The crumpled-up tissues that were scattered all over the floor and coffee table were gone, her Halloween throw sat, neatly folded, on the center cushion of the couch, and her pillow was nicely fluffed and resting against one corner, sporting a fresh pillowcase.

“How long were you here?”
“I dunno. A few hours?” Yuri replied thoughtfully. “I mean… I did hella cleaning, and I got you into bed and stayed around for a while to make sure you were okay because you were hella out of it.”
“I was awake?”
“Well, yes and no. When I got there you were asleep, but then I guess you started having a bad dream, so I tried to wake you up, and you kiiiiiiiiinda got up, but you were rambling and your fever was so high I thought about taking you to the hospital! Buuuut it went down pretty fast after I put you to bed.”
“I see,” King said slowly. “Thank you…”
“Don’t mention it! Now open your stuff!”
“How do you know I haven’t already?”
“Because you would have said something about it by now.”
“Should I be worried?” King asked, suddenly a little wary.
“Only if you don’t like fun things.”

The bartender made a face as she approached the table. She put her phone on speaker and placed it down while looking at the wine, since it wasn’t wrapped up: An aged 2019 Cabernet Sauvignon from Duckhorn Vineyards that she recognized as Wine Enthusiast’s number one wine of the year.

“The wine is from Robbie,” Yuri informed her, almost as if she could actually see her.
“Wow,” King said while inspecting the dark bottle. “Thank him for me…”
“I will. Open Ryo’s next; you have to save mine for last!”
“Got it.”

King placed the wine off to the side so she could pick up the gift bag, which was stuffed with green and red tissue paper. She removed an unmarked white box that held within it a stemless wine glass with the constellation for her zodiac sign — Aries — embossed onto it.

“That’s… really thoughtful,” she murmured with a tiny smile.
“I’ll thank him for you,” Yuri stated. “Now open mine! Open mine! Quickly, like your life depends on it!”
“Okay, okay!”

With that, King set the wine glass aside so she could turn her attention to the present from Yuri. She picked it up and meticulously tore through the wrapping to be greeted by the second white, unmarked box du jour. Lips pressed together, she lifted the lid, peeled back some tissue paper… and made a face, as she didn’t quite know what to make of what appeared to be some kind of pajama set. Her eyes widened as she pulled the apparel out of the box so she could get a better look at it: 

It was lavender, with a purple-ish midsection, and had a tail and a hood — which had cat ears on it.

…A cat onesie.

“Do you love it?!” Yuri prodded as King began laughing.
“I… yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”
“Are you gonna wear it?! Better than that raggedy robe of yours!”
“You know what?” King said while taking off her house clothes. “I’m putting it on right now.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’ll FaceTime you to prove it.”

King hung up the phone, then easily slipped into the onesie, which was — thankfully — somewhat baggy, and zipped it up before retrieving her cellphone. She dialed Yuri via FaceTime and waited for her to answer, which she did almost immediately.

“You really did put it on!” The younger woman exclaimed, delighted, as soon as the video connected. “Does it fit alright?!”
“It does, yes.”
“Awesome,” Yuri cheered.
“Thank you,” King told her. “Really. You didn’t have to do any of this, but I appreciate it all the same.”
“Ahhh, don’t mention it, Céccy! I just want you to do me a big favour tho, if you don’t mind.”
“What’s up?”
“Hang up with me, get something to eat, and then take some medicine. Okay?”
“...Okay.”

The pair bid each other farewell, with King thanking Yuri several more times before hanging up. Once she was off the phone, she opened her refrigerator, which was restocked with fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as a ton of different drinks (lemonade, orange juice, and a curious little can that said it was cherry-flavoured and had CBD in it, to name a few). Smiling, she took out a small fruit tray and the orange juice, resolving to follow her friend’s instructions before answering the rest of her outstanding text messages. 

Chapter Text

It was much, much later when King sat curled up in one corner of her sofa, still clad in her new cat onesie, and looking for something to watch. She had already sat through A Christmas Story and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation but decided to turn to YouTube for something new and interesting to keep her entertained. Unfortunately, not a single one of her subscribed channels had updated because of the holiday, which meant she would have to sift through who knew how much older content before she would find something worth checking out.

With a quiet sigh followed by a tiny cough, the bartender navigated to the app’s search and thought about what sort of visual material she could possibly consume that wouldn’t require too much brainpower. Immediately, she exited in favour of opening TikTok, and began scrolling through her For You section. Surely there was something there that she could idly focus on. After scrolling past all but one cat video, her attention was swiftly grabbed by a catchy song, and… wow.

The woman who appeared on the screen was unquestionably hot… but also unquestionably insane, despite how normal she looked, dancing and very convincingly lip-syncing to a rap song. Suddenly curious about what sort of things an undead cultist was posting on a popular social media platform aimed at younger people, King clicked on the main profile. Smirking, she looked down at the small image of the young woman, which was a candid photo of her playing the keyboard at a concert, and then read the short bio, which had a little verified symbol next to it:

Shermie
She/her
ENG/FR
Keyboardist for CYS~
Fashion design, hamsters, and wrestling~!

The short blurb ended with several emojis: a keyboard, several music notes, three sparkles, a hamster, and a flexing arm, which were followed by what had to have been at least eight or nine pink sparkling hearts. There was no mention of KOF, her split personality, the god of destruction she worshipped, or even the fact that she was somehow back from the dead, which King surmised would have made her profile sound much more interesting. Nevertheless, she was surprised by the sheer number of videos that were loading up.

Lips pressed thin, King selected a random short and cast it to her television. She watched as Shermie appeared then, dressed in a very tight, very short dress and stiletto heels that had to have been at least six inches in length, holding her phone out and lip-syncing in front of a full-length mirror, periodically swaying her shapely hips to the rhythm of the music, her long pigtails flowing behind her.

The bartender made a miserable sound as she watched, not just because she felt like she had to sneeze, but also because she was uncomfortable with how hot she thought Shermie was. Yes, the young woman was insane, and had even threatened her before the last tournament’s prelims but, Jesus Christ, her physique was amazing! With a quick shake of her head, King switched to a different video, which was more of the same: Shermie dancing and lip-syncing to another song, though, this time, she wore ridiculously tight shorts that left very little to the imagination and a crop top with no bra under it that had the word “Queen” printed right across her generous breasts in a looping, pink script. King made another tortured noise while grimacing (stop… staring…!) before browsing some more.

It looked like all of Shermie’s uploads were just her “singing” and dancing; there was nothing of any real substance. Every now and then her beau (was he her beau?), the just as batshit Yashiro, or their Satanic charge, Chris, would make guest appearances, the trio of musicians seeming as normal — and vapid — as could be, which was why King was caught off guard when she scrolled a little too quickly and found herself watching Shermie, clad not in something skin tight or revealing, but in an oversized flannel shirt, holding a hamster in her hands, her plump lips, which were free of any lipstick or gloss, spread in a wide smile.

“Bonjour,” she lilted while shifting her hands slightly so her little friend wouldn’t fall, “Aujourd'hui, je vais vous expliquer comment savoir si votre hamster est un mâle ou une femelle!”

Eyebrows raised, King watched as Shermie explained the process of accurately gendering hamsters before discussing their reproductive systems. It was educational… but also kind of weird because never in a million years did she think she would ever watch this sadistic woman who wanted to end mankind enthusiastically drone on and on about breeding rodents on the internet.

When the video ended, King (now armed with the most useless information she would probably ever learn) promptly got the hell away from Shermie’s profile, as the small glimpse into the sexpot grappler’s mundane daily activities somehow weirded her right the hell out. 

Slightly frowning, she started browsing again, past fancam edits of the more popular fighters, like Yagami, Mai, and Terry. She stopped when she reached an edit of Ryo, which caused her to start cough-laughing, as the footage was him walking to a ring, straight-faced, followed by a swirling transition to him parrying someone’s blow, and then another transition to a random shot of him laughing during an interview while Air’s Sexy Boy played. The three snippets looped several times and ended with a fadeout to a black screen.

Unable to help herself, King selected the user’s page… and found a ton of Ryo-centric videos, consisting of a lot of shots of him punching or parrying something. Every now and then there would be a quick bit of him during a post-fight interview, but, for the most part, it was the same thing over and over: punch, parry, punch, parry, interview, set to some song about someone being sexy. Rinse, repeat.

Boring.

King resumed scrolling then, zoning out as she went… until she saw it:

On the screen was an image of Mary standing outside in a mostly empty Vons parking lot, wearing a mask, and speaking with Takuma Sakazaki. Which meant this video was…!

Although she knew she should have kept going, King found herself transfixed by the verbal skirmish she had only previously heard about. Somewhat apprehensive about what she might see or hear, she shifted her position on the sofa as she watched her friend stare at the man before her, who wore his ridiculous, red tengu mask.

“Oh, shit,” came a whisper from the person recording as they drew closer so that they were within earshot of the conversation.

“Is this about medical?” Mary was asking. “I’ll pay for whatever’s left of the bill, I don’t care.”
“It’s about more than just the bill, although I’ll sue you for every penny of that — and then some,” Takuma retorted, his voice muffled by his mask. The statement garnered a look from Mary that King knew all too well: she was annoyed, bordering on outright pissed off.

"Listen," the cop started, her high-pitched voice level but with a definite edge to it, "You have every right to be pissed about what I did to Ryo, and I'll own up to the fact that it wasn't cool, but you know what? I'd do it again in a heartbeat . You know why ? Because King is my friend and I refuse to let your son's bullshit hurt her more than it already has! What she went through was traumatic enough on its own without his shitty opinions hanging over her head!

“So, you wanna sue me?! Take my badge?! Go for it! I'll still be around to watch out for her, and if that means breaking more of Ryo's bones then so be it! And take off that damn mask already! You look like a lunatic!"

King swallowed hard and sniffled, not entirely because she was congested but because there was something deeply moving about actually hearing her best friend defend her like that. She idly reached for a tissue as she continued to watch the scene play out, interrupted only by a periodic breath from the person filming until Mary suddenly turned and looked directly at the camera.

“There’s no need for you to be recording right now,” she coolly informed the onlooker.
“It’s a free country; I can record if I want!”
"Faaaaaaaaabulous, but this is a private conversation."

"There shouldn't be anything private about cops getting involved in civilian affairs in public," the cameraman haughtily replied.

Mary’s posture was relaxed, but her eyes told a different story. She let out a sigh and then:

“You know what? Go for it. Record all you want so you can upload it to TikTok, or Twitter, or YouTube, and gain your fifteen seconds of clout before something actually important overshadows your hollow attempt to catch me abusing my authority. In the meantime I'll just issue a citation since you're not wearing a mask.”

The video abruptly ended, leaving King to sit in silence. She knew all about the confrontation between her “wife” and Takuma, of course, and was aware that it had been uploaded to the internet, but she had never actually seen it, and, as far as she knew, neither had Mary. (She’d have to tell her where to find it later so that, maybe, the officer could order a takedown.)

Lips pressed in a thin line, King did her best to keep any thoughts about the events that transpired so long ago out of her head by sifting through some more bite-sized pieces of content, then leaned back and shut her eyes. Despite her extended nap she was still tired — but not tired enough to sleep, which caused a feeling of restlessness to begin setting in. However, the text notification chime on her phone went off before she could start thinking about how bored she was or about how Takuma Sakazaki still, to that day, had everything all wrong. With a deep breath, she reached for the device while opening her eyes to read the screen and nearly dropped it as the song Cherry Pie began playing on a loop in her head.

Vanessa
“Hey, you. Merry Christmas!”

The bartender became slightly annoyed at how flustered she was beginning to get, as it wasn’t like she and the agent had completely stopped interacting after their various flings. She supposed she was just wary not only of her lusting turning into something much more (she wasn’t about to do the unrequited feelings dance again…) but also of stepping on the toes of Vanessa’s husband, who, from the sound of things, would probably get pretty offended if the woman his wife slept with while they were on breaks kept up anything more than a super casual relationship with her. However, regardless of his feelings, it would be rude not to respond to the friendly greeting.

“Merry Christmas,” King carefully typed. She added a little smiling face at the end, followed by the Christmas tree emoji for good measure and sent the message. Quickly, she fired off a second text that read, “How are you?”

“I’m good,” came Vanessa’s reply. “Just hanging out with the family. Heard from the grapevine that COVID is kicking your ass. How are you holding up?”
“It is, and I think I’m getting closer to moderately okay,” King replied.
“I can’t say that I envy you, but I’m glad that you seem to be alright”
“I’m getting there…”

There was a quick lull in the exchange before the animated ellipses popped up on the screen and stayed there for what felt like an eternity before Vanessa’s next message came through.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like — having COVID. Idk how but I’ve managed to avoid getting it. Hubs wasn’t so lucky; he caught it a few months ago. Had to do the Florence Nightingale thing until he recovered but now we’re dealing with long COVID.”

King swallowed hard; she hadn’t even thought of what would happen if she was hit with long COVID. She had heard and read about it, of course — hell, some of her employees were even in the throes of it — but it was something that had completely slipped her mind. She found herself hoping beyond hell that she would be able to clear the illness entirely and not deal with life-altering aftereffects.

“What kind of symptoms does he still have?”
“Constant fatigue,” came Vanessa’s answer.
“I’m sorry…”
“It’s not like it’s your fault, but I appreciate the sentiment. Hey, is it okay if I call you? It’s alright if that’s a negative, but I have to use my hands for something and that’s kind of hard to do when I’m texting, you know? But I’d still like to chat a little if you’re up for it.”

At that, King’s eyes widened. An actual phone call…? Now? Without thinking, she reached up to smooth her hair, only to realize that, one, she had the hood on her onesie up (oh shit, she was in the onesie…!) and, two… it wasn’t going to be a video call so it didn’t matter. A little embarrassed, she responded with a quick, “Sure” and then waited for what felt like the longest three minutes of her life before her phone rang.

“Hi,” the bartender greeted somewhat hesitantly while gripping the device tightly.
“I hope I’m not putting you out by calling,” Vanessa started. “I’m just baking some banana bread and I need to be able to move around in this kitchen.”
“It’s fine,” King said while imagining Vanessa in an apron — and nothing else.

Perturbed by her train of thought, King used her free hand to slap her face several times while willing herself to stop being pervy.

“Anyway,” the agent started. “I feel bad because we haven’t talked in a while, and I thought about texting you sooner — just to check in — but life kind of got away from me.”
“You’re a very busy woman so it’s understandable,” King stated. “Besides… it’s a two-way street. I could have reached out myself, but… life.”
“Or you’re just being shy for some reason.”

King felt heat creeping into her neck and cheeks and wished it was because her fever had come back, and not because of Vanessa’s comment.

“I-I’m not being shy,” she protested. “I just —”
“Relax; I’m only giving you a hard time. I understand why things are… the way they are — trust me. If I’m being honest, though, I would like it if we stayed in touch a little more regularly.”
“I’d like that, but… aren’t you worried about your husband?”
“Why should I be?”
“Well… wouldn’t you feel weird if he still talked with the person he was with while you guys…?”
“A bit, yeah, but you and I knew each other before anything ever happened between us, and it’s not like we get busy every time we see each other.”
“You’re right,” King conceded. “I just don’t want to cause any problems — that’s all.”
“And you won’t. If anything, Dave would probably joke about having a threesome.”

At that, King flushed violently. The idea of jumping into bed with more than one person at the same time was something she had never entertained and wouldn’t be interested in anyway, even if the third party wasn’t a complete stranger. She cleared her throat just as Vanessa started laughing, a sound that instantly made the bartender melt.

“Oh, Céc. You make it way too easy, I swear.”
“I… sorry,” King replied with a grimace.
“Don’t apologize, you’re fine. What do you say, though? Maybe we can meet up when you recover…?”
“Yuh… yeah,” King answered, maybe a little too excitedly. “I’m going to have to work a lot to make up for all of the time and money I’ve missed so maybe you can come by the bar and we can hang out over some drinks.”
“Sounds like you’re threatening me with a good time.”
“Only if that ring is off your finger, otherwise it might get pretty boring,” King blurted.

Instantly, she threw a hand over her mouth, as that was something she didn’t mean to say at all. Frowning, she tried to sputter an apology but stopped as Vanessa started laughing again.

“You’re adorable,” she commented with a giggle.
“Adorable…?” King echoed weakly.
“Yeah,” Vanessa began. “You may not think so but —”

At that moment the dialogue was interrupted by a loud crash that made King jump.

“Shit! I have to run,” Vanessa sighed. “Gotta mom.”
“I understand,” King told her. “Go!”
“Right. We’ll talk soon. Be good.”

King flushed again but smiled nonetheless.

“See you…”

Several low beeps signaled the end of the call, which left King to sit and think. It went without saying that she always enjoyed seeing and being around Vanessa, but, as the very definition of a disaster bi, she knew that things could go very wrong.

…or very right, depending on whether or not the other woman was fighting with her husband again.

“Stop,” she commanded herself out loud.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t keep from grinning, as the prospect of seeing the boxer soon made her a little giddy…

Chapter Text

The next afternoon saw King still bored out of her mind. She had slept a somewhat normal amount the night before, waking once only to use the restroom instead of being jarred back to consciousness by coughing, sneezing, or how much her throat hurt. In fact, she found that her symptoms seemed to have calmed down overnight, with a sporadic cough making a guest appearance here and there while only one nostril remained clogged (despite blowing her nose an obscene amount of times). It was a little bothersome, but she was more than happy to take those small inconveniences over how she had been all week.

Because she actually felt a little better, King decided to spend some time straightening up around the apartment. Her laundry, which was something Yuri hadn’t touched (presumably because of where the clothes hamper was located in relation to King’s bed; she probably hadn’t wanted to disturb her while she slept…), was in desperate need of washing and folding, as an almost ridiculous amount had accumulated in the time since before she even got sick in the first place. She spent her entire morning running, sorting, and folding her clothes before setting her sights on her wine glass collection, which was housed in a corner curio in the dining area. Although she intended only to add the glass from Ryo to the display, she wound up dusting and rearranging most of the shelves, a task that was not just mind-numbing but also strangely exhausting. Between the clothes and the cups, King was spent and had no choice but to sit down on the sofa and take a breather. Frowning, she picked up her remote control to change the channel, as she had turned on CNN for background noise earlier and was tired of hearing all about the gloom and doom of current events, but, predictably, nothing good was playing on any of the movie channels, and daytime television sucked in general. That left… YouTube and/or TikTok.

Again.

The bartender leaned back against her plush sofa cushion while starting up YouTube to look for any new uploads. Predictably, nothing of interest was posted, so she decided to idly browse because, really, what else was she going to do anyway? She made a face as she began to scroll: There was the Top Ten Hottest KOF Women countdown again, followed by a bunch of videos of various matches over the years (including the decimation that was her team versus Team K’ that one time...), followed by a few interviews, and then a typical video essay by some bitter incel about how including women in KOF was “woke.” King didn’t know why, but she decided to click on the person’s entire channel, which had only a handful of videos, each about a different female fighter and why they were… whatever derogatory thing the guy could think of. Suddenly, King’s attention was grabbed by a thumbnail that featured a photograph of her against a trans flag backdrop with a big, red X overlaid on top that read Trans Fighter Is Ruining KOF.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” King yelled out loud, as she could almost feel her blood pressure rising. It was bad enough that there were already entire Reddit threads speculating on her gender identity, but now this basement dweller had gone on an entire rant about it on a video-sharing platform?! Asshole!

King took a very deep, steadying breath while wishing she could ruin the guy’s face, but since she couldn’t do that, she willed herself to ignore the inflammatory content, which — surprisingly — she did. She quickly backed out of the channel and kept scrolling until she reached some Shorts. Maybe there would be a metaphorical palate cleanser there…? With a slight frown, she began to scroll through the seemingly endless offerings: Cats… more cats… something about being an adult… a skit about the French language being easy… a fancam edit of Yagami’s band… some CYS shit… a random Leon Kennedy edit… A TV spot for the Kyokugen BBQ restaurant…

With a heavy sigh, the bartender started to zone out as she browsed, perturbed. There had to be something worth checking out somewhere… right?

And then, suddenly, it was like the Universe decided to answer her silent plea for entertainment because a completely random piece of content she hadn’t previously come across instantly grabbed her attention:

Fighters Read King of Fighters Fanfiction

Right away, King selected the video and sat, enthralled, as the always fabulous Benimaru Nikaido appeared on the television, sitting at a white countertop against a plain blue backdrop.

“What’ve you got for me today?” He asked someone off-screen. “Fanfiction?! Oooh, this should be good then!”

There was a pause as the model cleared his throat and picked up a sheet of paper in front of him. His eyes, which were made up with one of the most brilliant eyeshadow palettes King had ever seen, widened with excitement as he read to himself.

“Oooh, babes, this is gonna be good,” he drawled before clearing his throat again. He smiled, and then started to read aloud in a dramatic, breathy cadence:

“There was a sudden knock on Benimaru’s door. Startled, he walked over, his open, silk robe billowing behind him, and pulled the door open to see none other than Iori Yagami standing in front of him, tall, mysterious. Dangerous. The blond cocked his head to the side and asked, ‘What brings you here? ’”

There was a pause as he skimmed the page again and let out a hearty laugh.

“Oh, no. I don’t think I can read this out loud!”

Next, came a bespectacled Cupcake — because of course; why wouldn’t a famous musician be part of this? — who blinked several times and then read, in English, “ Iori stares into my eyes, and my entire world melts away. He is everything and they pierce my soul. In that moment, I, Kyo Kusanagi, am his, and he knows it. His lips curve upward in a knowing smile. He leans in, and there’s a soft sizzle as our lips touch under the pale moonlight… ”

King couldn’t help it as she burst into laughter. She had heard that a pocket of fans relentlessly shipped Kyo and Iori, but imagining the Firebois in any situation that wasn’t an irritating squabble or outright fight to the death was damn near impossible for her. Nevertheless, she refocused on the happenings on screen: Cupcake had stopped reading to put on his metaphorical edgelord mask, which involved menacingly removing his glasses, narrowing his eyes, and glaring straight at the camera as he conjured his purple flames.

“You must have a death wish,” he grumbled while the paper in his hands burned. King continued laughing, as there was something undeniably amusing about watching the bassist try his best to hide how flustered he actually was.

It was then that the next fighter, the eerily and frustratingly reticent Leona Heidern, appeared at the table. She stared down at the page, then turned toward whoever was off-screen, expressionless, and flatly stated, “This is pornography.”

Unsurprisingly, the soldier’s commentary ended without her even reading the passage she was given, which paved the way for CYS Murder Child Chris to take the metaphorical stage. He made a face, and then:

“ Chris looks around, nervous. After all, it’s his first day at a new high school. At first, it didn’t go well at all: history class was a slog, math was alright, and science and English were mediocre. The place he really shined was PE… which was where he met her. The first thing he noticed were her eyes: bright green orbs that could look into his soul… ”

The boy started giggling then, a surprisingly contagious sound. King found herself laughing along with Chris, who straightened up in his chair and shook his head. “This is weird,” he chortled. “Sorry.”

Following Chris was Terry, who cocked his eyebrow, and then:

“ Standing in the windy field, Terry clenched his fists, his jaw set while his eyes remained fixed on his adversary. The heavy rain beat down on the two men as they stared each other down, with Geese preparing a finishing blow from several yards away. However, something caught Terry’s attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw… a duck .”

Terry stopped reading as a fit of raucous laughter overcame him.

“What is this?!” He asked. He cleared his throat while looking at whoever was offscreen, nodded, and composed himself before he went on:

“ It wasn’t a normal duck, however. No, this duck was roughly the size of a toddler and wore a dark red, three-piece suit. He looked from Terry to Geese, and then back to Terry as he got into his famous Quak-Fu fighting stance. ‘Looks like you could use some help,’ the bird said in perfect English .”

At that, Terry lost it. Unable to continue because of his guffawing, he placed his head on the table and worked to compose himself. Finally, after a good forty seconds, he pulled himself upright, wiped a tear from the corner of one eye, and took a deep breath.

“This is great,” he exclaimed with sincere glee. “People being creative is fantastic! I mean, this is way better than anything I could ever come up with! Keep it up, guys!”

King shook her head and smirked.

Teddybear Terry strikes again…

The video ended with a display card that showed the names and URLs of the stories that were read, which made King wonder. She knew all about fanfiction, of course, and had only heard of slash stories featuring real people here and there but never gave any thought to seeking any of them out… until now. Almost overwhelmed by curiosity, she grabbed her laptop from the coffee table where it was situated, opened it up, and went to the site that hosted the fics everyone had just read: Archive of Our Own. From there she quickly found the Celebrities and Real People category, clicked on the letter K, and scrolled until she found it: King of Fighters, which had over 1100 stories. With a deep breath, she followed the link and watched, somewhat amazed, as the first of many pages instantaneously loaded up for her.

King made a face, as she didn’t see anything interesting by way of titles; it was the people being written about that took up much of her focus. Unsurprisingly, most of page one featured fics that centered around Kyo, Cupcake, Mai, and Shermie, each with tags that read almost like a foreign language to the bartender: Kyori (which made up the majority of page one…), xReader, xOC, high school AU, futanari…

What on earth did any of this mean?

King pressed her lips together hard as she opened a new tab to look up and read the meanings of the unfamiliar terms. All at once repulsed by the last one, she returned to AO3 and grimaced, as that particular tag was attached to a story featuring Mai… and her. She read the description (in an unexpected turn of events, it was Mai who was the top) and nearly gagged as she took in the other listed tags; things she didn’t even want to begin to imagine were there for all to see as if it was the most normal thing on the planet. She read the author’s name and, against her better judgment, clicked on their profile and other works, which were all PWP and featured some of the most depraved tags she had ever seen.

NOPE.

Swiftly, she slammed the lid on her laptop shut and placed the device off to the side, somewhat distressed by what she had just read (which wasn’t even the actual story!). Terry was absolutely right about creativity being fantastic; people were free to write what they wanted — as long as it didn’t hurt anybody, of course! — but King couldn’t help being intensely weirded out by the knowledge that, somewhere out there, was a person who decided to write about Mai growing a penis and railing her. Although she was alone she pulled the hood on her head down so that it covered most of her face, and grimaced.

She wished she had never fallen down this particular rabbit hole.

Chapter Text

It was four fifty-seven AM when King’s eyes abruptly snapped open, as she had been jarred awake by a familiar noise that filled her with a frantic sense of dread.

“Marron?!”

She sprang into a sitting position and felt around next to her; it took a moment but her hand finally found the pudgy feline, who was sitting just inches away with his muscles tensed, making a distinct hacking sound.

“Marron, NO!”

In one swift motion, the bartender snatched the cat in her arms, jumped out of bed, ran the short distance to the bathroom, and tossed her pet several feet away without even turning on the light. He landed on his paws with a heavy thud (she really needed to put him on a diet… again …) before hacking twice more; a sickening noise followed by a wet plop told King that his hairball had come up. Not enthused by the prospect of turning the light on at all, she sighed as she flipped the switch and laid eyes on the disgusting mass her furry friend had just produced.

“Pourquoi est-il si grand?!”

With another sigh, King hurriedly cleaned up the mess, then washed her hands, patted Marron’s head as an apology for literally throwing him, and returned to the comfort of her bed. She settled against the pillows and tried — for several minutes — to get comfortable but made a face as she bunched her pillow up under her head.

She was wide awake.

Slowly, she sat up and ran her hands through her disheveled hair, a little annoyed but not entirely surprised that she couldn’t fall back asleep. Reluctantly, she grabbed her phone from the side table and made her way to the living room while stretching, then took a deep breath… and stopped dead as she realized that not only were her nasal passages completely clear, but, for the first time in days, she could fully smell her plug-in air freshener.

King inhaled deeply, almost shocked that she could even perceive the fresh scent in the first place. Quickly, she resumed her trek to the open living area but instead of moving to her sofa to turn on some mindless newscast, she made a beeline to the dining table, where an unused COVID test sat in its box. With somewhat shaky hands, she picked it up, then turned on the light in the kitchen, bathing the dark apartment in soft, yellow light. Strangely nervous, she went through the motions of swabbing her nose, combining the sample with the fluid, and then dropping the clear mixture onto the little plastic tester, all the while trying not to think of how much she would cry if the test came back positive.

“Okay,” King muttered while setting a fifteen-minute timer on her phone. She placed the gadget on the table and then stared at the test, where the control line had just started to appear in the little window. She swallowed hard and watched for just a moment before deciding that she needed some kind of distraction, as hovering over the damn thing for the next fourteen minutes and change had the potential to truly drive her insane. With that in mind, she forced herself into the living room, where she turned on some music and reclined on the sofa, willing herself to stay put and focus on the melodies coming from the speakers instead of what she would do if there was still a second line. With a soft groan, the bartender shut her eyes, folded her hands over her stomach, and did her best not to think about the timer.

King found herself dozing off, as the song playing (Radiohead’s acoustic version of Creep ) was very relaxing…

Suddenly, a different song was playing and the chime on King’s phone was going off. Startled, she jumped off the sofa, stretched, and then hastily made her way to the table to turn off the alert and check the result, which was…

Negative.

It was negative?!

The Frenchwoman inspected the little piece of plastic from every angle and even used her phone’s flashlight to illuminate the small control window, looking for any trace of the positive line. The window was clear, though, which she almost couldn’t process.

NEGATIVE!!

Quickly, King turned and grabbed another test kit from the nearby counter, tore it open, and, once again, went through the motions of getting a sample. Another fifteen minutes passed, with the second test coming back negative as well.

“Oh my God,” she breathed as the corners of her mouth turned upward. Unable to contain her excitement, she grabbed Marron, who was lying in front of the kitchen doorway, and lifted him into the air.

“Marron! C’est négatif! Je ne suis plus malade!”

With that, she kissed the perplexed feline on the forehead, put him down, plucked her phone from the table, and called Mary, the early hour be damned, as this was a momentous occasion.

“Bb, what’s the matter? What time is —”
“Breakfast!” King interrupted.
“...what?” Mary asked over the sound of fabric rustling, her voice groggy. “What are you —?”
“Do you want to get breakfast?!”
“When you’re better, yeah, but… wait. Wait! Bb, are you —?!”
“It’s negative! I tested negative,” King squealed, unable to hide her excitement.
“Oh my God, that’s great,” Mary replied, her tone easily matching the bartender’s. She paused, and then:

“...but did you really have to call me this early?”
“YES,” King yelled while dashing to her bathroom, where she turned on the shower.

The detective snickered.

“You better be glad that I love you, Céc; otherwise I’d end you for waking me up like this on my day off. What time you wanna go?”
“I’ll pick you up in half an hour! Loveyoubye!”

King ended the call without waiting for Mary to respond, stripped her clothes off, and enthusiastically got in the shower, where she took a moment to bask in the glory of finally being COVID-free. She washed up (being able to fully smell her body wash and hair products again was amazing!) and, for the first time in over a week, picked out clothes suitable for going outside.

Leaving her apartment to see her best friend in person was going to be glorious, though she realized she didn’t really have much to talk about… except the crazy things she had seen online throughout the week. She thought back to Cupcake’s almost bizarrely amicable band interviews, bad fanfiction, hamster breeding, and the dozens of fancam edits she had stumbled across and realized that, maybe, she did have some interesting topics to discuss after all.

Armed with internet trauma and TikTok, King grinned as she gathered her necessities, bid the cat farewell, and finally stepped out of her apartment.