Right... right. [It's for the best she's off her feet anyway, and she's too drunk and now too... exhausted, is probably the word, to want to be up for much longer. Emotionally, mentally, physically... exhausted. Plus, the injury will want a nice night's sleep to heal.

Maria does sit on the edge of the bed, and almost immediately sort of slumps onto her own lap, elbows on her knees.] I dreamed I failed.

[That's not very descriptive. Try again. She takes a deep breath, raises a hand against her forehead, and flinches against the image that talking about it brings up. It's still there, even if it's slippery and blurry like a dream should be. Hopefully it will fade away with this drunk.] ... At the warehouse, when I taunted one of your captors. He pulled the trigger instead.

I've seen what it looks like... when... when someone's shot in the head close. It's just more terrible when they have a... familiar face. [A sigh, it's shaky.] I'm... 'm sorry, I really did think a couple drinks would be... enough. At least to put me back to sleep.