Disclaimer: I do not own Moon Knight.
It takes Marc all of two days to realize something was up.
Steven is walking home from the bus stop, hands in his jacket pockets, hoodie on. It's cold and windy, and it had rained earlier and all Steven wants to do is get home and brew a cuppa. Maybe read. Or try to read while he puzzles out how the hell he really feels about Jake's revelation. About the fact that Khonshu is still looming over their heads like an overgrown vulture.
"Alright Steven," Marc says from the reflection of a shop window. "What the hell is going on?"
Steven ducks his head, hoping that no one catches his lips moving.
"What are you talking about?"
"Come on," Marc says. "I'm not that stupid. Something is bothering you and you don't want me to know."
"I can have my own problems," Steven says a little too loudly, though the automatic wince he gives, gives him away. He quickly apologizes to the two people ahead of him that he'd startled and who were glaring at him. He drops his voice back down to a hushed whisper.
"Can we talk later?"
"You mean at the flat where you can leave me to front and not talk at all? Like you've been doing every time I keep trying to talk to you?"
And oh dear. Marc sounds angry but he looks hurt.
"Look," he starts. He doesn't get any further. He turns the corner to head to the flat and walks straight into a blade. He chokes, pain screaming its way through his entire body, Marc's frantic shouted "Steven!" ringing in his ears.
The knife withdraws and is slammed back two more times into his body. He doesn't even have time to react.
By the time he registers exactly what is happening he is being dragged down a side alley where no one will see him. If anyone notices his body they'll probably think he's a passed-out drunk.
"Give me the body Steven!" And Steven manages to surrender it before he loses all sense from the pain.
Marc fronts in time to catch the knife before it slices their throat. He twists the man's hand and gets the knife to fall, snatching it out of the air in the next moment and slashing at their attacker to get some space.
The man jumps back but not by much. He's trained. He also has very familiar scales tattooed on his forearm.
Shit.
Marc lets one leg buckle and when the man lunges forward to take advantage of the perceived weakness he grabs his arm, drags him forward, and slams the blade up under his jaw.
The man drops and Marc is left panting in the alley, one hand pressed to the knife wounds, they are copiously bleeding out of.
Shit.
Shit.
Intestines, liver, lungs, kidneys. Three brutal stabs with a long enough blade, angled in all the right ways, and even if they get an ambulance right now, get in an OR right now, chances are they're dead.
He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.
Is this how they end? After everything.
"Marc," Steven calls, voice tight with pain. Marc is confused and then fumbles for the little pocket mirror they carry around.
"Steven," he says, breathless. He doesn't know how to apologize for this. He doesn't know how to fix this.
"Marc summon the suit," Steven says.
"What?!" He chokes out, panting through the pain. "Steven we don't…"
"You wanted to know what was bothering me this is it," Steven says. "Summon the suit, we'll be okay."
"He's right jefé," Jake says. He's edged Steven out of the mirror. "Summon the suit, or I will."
Marc…Marc grits his teeth, doesn't want to believe, wants to believe so badly it hurts more than the knife wounds themselves. He summons the suit.
It wraps around him like he's coming home. Each layer of fabric is quickly but tenderly wrapped around him. He can feel the rush of power flow through him, feel the wounds closing, that strange cool feeling, like liquid moonlight, pouring out of them.
In seconds he is standing in the suit of ceremonial armor he'd never thought he'd don again.
"What the hell?" he shouts.
"If my defense," Steven says from the mirror, I've only known about this for like two days."
"Two days?!" Marc seethes even as he is pressing a hand to his side, feeling all of him whole, knees weak with relief.
"It wasn't my confession to tell," Steven says frustratedly with a sideways glance.
Not his…"Jake?" Marc demands.
"Less talking, more moving eh muchachos?" Jake snaps from the mirror. "We don't have time to sit and chat!"
Marc wants to argue but there are more people crowding down the alleyway, knives and guns glinting.
"You will pay for your sacrilege against Amit," one says.
And yeah, okay, Marc is done here. He doesn't bother trying the other end of the alley, simply shoots his grapple and goes up.
He sprints along the rooftop and drops behind the crowd. It doesn't take him long to dispatch them, knocking out who he can, killing those who give him no choice in the fray. Soon all his opponents are down and he's only taken a few bullets and one really enthusiastic machete to his back. All his injuries are gone by the time the fight ends.
He stands there for a second, breathing and then pulls a blade and growls at the reflections there, "Does somebody want to tell me what the hell is going on?!"
"I don't know," Steven pipes up, "I thought we took care of these guys before we left Cairo!"
"I'm not talking about them!" Marc shouts. "Why the hell is the suit still here?"
"Considering we got gutted three minutes ago I think the answer to that is self-evident amigo," Jake says.
"You!" Marc growls. "What the hell did you do Jake?"
"What I had to do!" Jake growls back.
"You had no right…!" And he's sputtering, losing words, no not finding them, for how he feels.
"Marc," Steven starts up.
"No," he snarls at him. "No, you didn't tell me! Why didn't you tell me?!"
"I was going to!" Steven protests. "And he kept the suit for the healing which, fortunately, and unfortunately worked out."
"Oh so you think he's right," Marc snaps, wondering if this is truly how losing your mind feels like, the sick sour burn of betrayal churning in his stomach.
"What no! I don't know! But I do know I don't like being dead mate!" Steven shouts at him, throwing up his arms in the air. And Marc, Marc leans over braces his hands on his knees and breathes, harsh and uncoordinated.
"Marc?" Steven says, sounding worried now. "Marc?!"
"Screw this," he says, despair draining through his soul. He hates how comfortable the armor feels, how much it feels like a second skin, like a lost limb returned. "Screw this."
"Marc!" Steven says and he sounds really alarmed now.
"No," he says. "No, I'm not talking to either of you."
"Marc," That's Jake this time and Marc flings the blade, watches it impact the wall, watches Jake's startled expression.
"No, you….you betrayed me," he seethes. He'd thought they were free. He'd thought…he didn't want more blood on his hands, not like this. "You betrayed us. I am definitely not talking to you."
There's silence. Good.
"We're going home," Marc grits. And then he drops the suit and marches them all back to the apartment.
They keep silent all the way back to the flat, all the way through his checks to ensure no one is waiting for them in the apartment, but Steven speaks up when he starts dumping clothes in a bag.
"Marc, what are you doing?"
Marc says nothing. Simply keeps packing the necessities.
"Marc!" Steven says, " Marc I know you're angry but you can't, can't be doing whatever it is you're doing without talking to us!"
"Yes, I can!" Marc snaps, "since everybody is doing the exact same thing!"
"Don't blame Steve for this jefé," Jake pipes up.
"Shut up!" Marc snarls.
"Marc Spector!" Steven snaps and the genuine anger in his voice startles Marc. He stiffens and then pinches the bridges of his nose and sighs.
"I would never betray you," Steven says earnestly. And Marc lets out another deep sigh and runs his hands down his face.
"We should have never come back here. We should have never stayed this long," he says. "They know where we are. We have to move." It's a peace offering. He hopes they take it. He still feels like those knife wounds have not healed, the roiling mix of emotion; hurt and anger and things he can't even name. But he doesn't, he doesn't want to be at odds with them. Especially now. Especially when they need to be working together.
"I thought we'd gotten them though," Steven says slowly.
They had spent two weeks in Cairo rounding up the followers there and gathering enough information to drop off anonymously, to the relevant authorities to identify and capture the rest of Harrow's little cult. Last they knew several international organizations were involved, including, what Marc was sure, was the remnant of S.H.E.I.L.D. And a large, determined net had been closing very tightly on Harrow's people. Apparently killing innocent civilians in the street and feeding their souls to something didn't really sit well with a lot of people.
"Well clearly we didn't get all of them," Marc says. "Took their sweet time to get here though."
"Hey Jake, when did you kill Harrow?" Steven asks.
"Oh months ago pequeño erudito," Jake says. "Wiped everything so I doubt they traced us back from that."
"Hold up!" Marc says. "When Jake what?!"
"Um…" starts Steven.
"You killed him?!" Marc demands whirling on Jake's reflection.
"I did," Jake says, jaw clenching. "And I don't regret it. Mercy is your thing jefé, not mine."
Marc spins, runs a shaking hand through his hair. Laughs, wild, a little hysterical. He feels like he's back in fake-Dr. Harrow's office, about to put a glass pyramid through his eye or through someone's head.
It seems like his life is falling apart, all of his accomplishments, all the things he'd been proud of, are slipping through his hands.
What was the use of any of it?
"Marc?!" Steven calls, worried.
He laughs again. Throws up his hands in the air.
"You know what? Whatever."
He goes back to packing. He thinks Steven tries to talk to him but he doesn't quite hear him.
He is about to walk out of the apartment when the body jerks.
"Marc," Steven calls, strident, and maybe a little angry.
"What?!" He spits.
"We can't leave the fish!" Steven says. "They'll die!"
"To hell with your stupid fish Steven!" he shouts.
There's dead silence. Marc regrets the words the instant they are out of his mouth.
"That's cold even for you gilipollas," Jake says and his voice is frigid. Steven says nothing. Marc can't even tell how he feels. He tips back his head and sighs.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Get the fish Steven." He drops back and lets Steven front.
When he fronts again, they are standing right outside the flat, bag slung over one shoulder, portable tank in one hand.
No one says anything and Marc can feel his stomach twist hard at the silence. He swallows, hitches up the bag a little, and sets off walking, carrying them to one of the safehouses he'd never dismantled.
It's a tense journey, as he is constantly on the lookout for any more of Amit's followers, trying to keep off any cameras, trying to navigate the busy streets with a portable fish tank without jostling the poor fish too much.
All three are huddled inside the one ornament Steven could fit inside.
It's one that Jake had bought, a large ancient Egyptian ship model with lots of little nooks and crannies for the fish to hide and rest in. It's still hard to not have them shake every now and then though.
Throughout the entire journey, he doesn't see any of the others in any reflections, not even to glare at him. It feels lonely. It makes him mad.
He has a freaking right to be angry.
It's been maybe ten minutes and he misses them. The familiar shaky feeling in his bones heralds a growing anxiety.
Marc Spector is not used to being alone, not used to surviving alone.
He finally, finally gets them to the safehouse. It's the reinforced basement of an abandoned townhouse. It should hold up to a concerted attack if need be and there are enough amenities stocked there to last them if needed.
Marc shuts the heavy door, turning the heavy wheel to bolt it, and then switches on the lights.
The place comes alive, the air a little musty but okay. He sets the goldfish carefully on the counter and opens up the top of the tank so he can attach and run their filter and oxygen pump. They'll need them more than ever in their current cramped quarters.
He shakes a few flakes into the water as a reward for going through what most likely had been an Ordeal.
Then he grits his teeth, rolls his neck, and goes to find the mirror he has here.
It's settled over the sink, a cheap thing, framed in faded pink plastic. He grabs it and props it on the table using the random salt shaker as a backrest and then digs in his pocket for the small mirror there.
He sets that next to the other one, then pulls up a chair. He spins it so the backrest is facing the table and straddles it.
"Alright," he says, his voice sounds like gravel, "We're safe for now. Talk."
There's no answer for a beat, a beat of time in which Marc panics, before Steven is glaring at him out of the pocket mirror, arms crossed.
"Are you going to listen?! Or are you going to bloody go off and shout at everything?"
Marc looks away with an exasperated sound before looking back.
"I'm here aren't I?"
Steven narrows his eyes at him.
"Yes," he hisses. "Yes. Yeah. I'll listen."
"Fine," Steven says, and he still sounds pissed but he's talking and he's there and the shaky feeling eases back.
Steven glances sideways at the other mirror, but Jake doesn't appear so he heaves a sigh, runs his hands through his curls messily a few times, and then starts to talk.
"Okay, like I said before, I've only known about this whole, suit existence, stuck with the bloody old pigeon thing for two days."
"Why did he tell you?" Marc asks, trying to ignore the confusion, and hurt spinning happily around in his chest.
"He didn't," Steven says. "Tell me, that is. I sort of ambushed him? When he was in the suit? And let me tell you trying to make myself wake up in the middle of the night to catch him wasn't exactly easy. Think I tried 'bout three times before I actually woke up. And I couldn't simply stay awake 'cause if I did then he'd never go out and…"
"Steven," Marc interrupts.
Steven visibly reigns his thoughts in. "Right. Sorry."
"You ambushed him?" Marc asks because that was the one point that had stuck out.
"Yeah," Steven nods.
"How did you know?" Marc asked, baffled.
"The stitches," Steven says shrugging. "Healed too fast you know? Well actually you don't. You've kind of forgotten how long that kind of thing takes," he says apologetically.
Marc…had known he'd struggled to readjust to a normal healing rate but he hadn't realized how much he'd gotten accustomed to the faster healing.
If it was one thing Khonshu had never skimped on, was the healing. He'd never withheld it no matter how furious he'd been at Marc at the moment. He'd never even withheld it from Steven. And he had not been pleased when Steven had started intruding on his missions.
"Shit," he says. Then frowns. "Wait, if we're still his avatar why didn't we heal up right away?"
"To keep up the ruse," Steven said easily. "Well, Jake didn't deny it when I asked so I guess I was correct."
"Why didn't you tell me you suspected something Steven?"
"Because I still wasn't sure! And, and I didn't want to accuse Jake until I had actual proof. And for all I know I could have been losing my mind!"
"But you weren't."
"But I wasn't yeah," Steven nodded. "Woke up when he was in the suit. He was tracking a bunch of human traffickers so he wasn't paying attention to us? I think I nearly scared him off the roof actually."
There's a flicker from the other mirror, like Jake wanted to appear but stopped himself before he did so.
"He was what?" Human traffickers?
Steven flaps a hand at him. "Long story. Jake can tell you that part. Point is he didn't want to talk, I sort of threatened to ruin the mission, he talked, and then we went on said mission."
"Hang on, you went on the mission?!"
"Well l wasn't going to not go!" Steven sounds almost offended. "And then we came home. And I had to go to work on three hours of sleep which really was a bother."
Marc remembers Steven half-sleeping away all through his shift two days before. He'd chattered at him, teased him, annoyed him in various ways for what felt like the entire eight hours in order to keep him awake.
He rubs at his forehead. He's pretty sure he's going to get a headache from the stress.
"But why didn't you tell me?" he asked and he can't help the fact that it came out grieved. He trusted Steven. He trusted Steven with, with everything.
Marc knew he wasn't the most forthcoming of people, knew that he had lied to all the people he'd loved most in the world, knew it was hypocritical for him to be feeling like this but..but he'd thought they didn't have any more secrets.
True he would never be as open as Steven but he wouldn't hide things from him.
"I really was going to," Steven reassured him. "But I talked to Jake," Marc's hand involuntarily clenched into a fist and Steven gave him a look but carried on. Marc straightened out his fingers very deliberately.
"And I got some reasons, about why he did whatever deal he made with birdface. And I wanted to think it over, to know how I felt about it. Without anyone else's feelings and, and biases, and I don't know. I wanted my own thoughts on it. But I was going to tell you."
Marc…sighs, and rests his forehead on his folded hands. That is…a disturbingly good reason. The rationale is very Steven. He knows Steven likes to turn things over in his head. He does it all the time with every new fact he learns. It's why he's so damned smart.
"Shit, Marc says, "Shit." He slams one fist on the table causing everything to jump and sits back running his hands roughly through his hair.
"Fine," he says. "That's, that's fine." His jaw is ticking. And he wants to scream that it's not fine but he owes Steven this. Steven is allowed his own thoughts and his own considerations. He can't be angry about this.
"You're allowed to be angry Marc," Steven says, voice gentle. "I know how much you wanted out of this. I thought I had gotten you out of this. You can be angry. I'm angry."
Marc swallows. "I shouldn't be angry at you," he says. "That….I shouldn't have. You were right. You're allowed that."
"Marc…"
He shakes his head, once, so sharp he thinks he might have almost broken his neck.
"Take the damn apology Steven!"
"Alright," Steven says softly. And something eases in Marc's chest. He isn't so alone anymore.
He breathes and then braces himself for the next conversation. If he can even have that one anyway. Jake hasn't shown up since they left the flat.
"Jake?" He calls levelly.
The mirror flickers and then Jake is there, eyes narrowed, mouth downturned, lips pressed into a tight line. Marc hasn't actually seen Jake a lot.
Save for that one night, where it was dark most of the time and a few flashes in the mirror the past two days, he hasn't actually looked at him. So it's still a little jarring to see his face and yet have it be not his face and not Steven's either.
"What…" he tries to keep his temper, he does, but it hurts, this feeling of freedom sliding out of his hands. It kills him to know it's one of the people he'd thought he could trust.
Because somewhere, over these long months and indirect conversations, Marc thinks that he had started to trust Jake, had started to think of him as one of them, the way he and Steven were a team.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" He shouts. "Why the hell would you do this?"
"Why do you think cariño?!" Lockley demands and he's about as angry as Marc is. "We were killed an hour ago and you're asking me why? No, don't give me that look. You know as well as I do jefé that we weren't making it out of that alley even if we made it to anywhere in time. We were dead, dead men walking. And we weren't gonna be walking for long."
"You didn't know," Marc breathes. "You didn't know this would happen."
"This? Specifically? No. That something would happen?" He laughs, scornful, mocking, a note of hysteria threading through it all. "Of course, something would happen."
"What do you mean?" Marc demands.
Impossibly, surprisingly, Jake's eyes soften.
"You don't know shit about yourself do you cariño?"
"What does that mean?" Marc demands, frustrated. In the other mirror, Steven has a sheepish smile. Clearly, he knows what Jake means.
"You know," Lockley says so thoughtfully Marc knows the tone is an affectation. "You could have chosen maybe any other path but the military. Our grades were good enough. Steven was doing half your homework anyway, and I pitched in when you pitched out so we didn't actually have any gaps in our transcript."
"Where are you going with this?" Marc is feeling oddly wary.
"We could have gone anywhere but we went to the military 'cause you wanted to feel like you were doing something good, like you were making a difference, getting all that noble shit, protecting people."
"That, that wasn't," he sputters. Because it hadn't. "I went to the military cause that was one of the few places you could turn up with the clothes on your back and survive."
Jake shrugged. "We had enough savings to make it through. You worked an after-school job and I worked an after-school job and Steven worked an after-school job for years."
"Hang on, wait, what?" demanded Steven. "I remember working Tuesdays and Thursdays. At that little ice cream place."
"Marc worked Mondays and Wednesdays, different store. I worked Fridays and Sundays. We took Saturday off, for Sabbath."
"Huh," says Steven. "Is that why we didn't have a bit of extracurricular activity in our lives? Didn't have bloody time."
"You worked…?" Marc started and then shook his head. "Nevermind. Of course you did."
"So we had enough money for that bullshit excuse not to work," Jake says casually.
Marc glares. Lockley isn't even phased.
"And then you could have walked away, let Bushman kill them."
Marc jerks. "No!"
"I might have," Jake says. "We might have lived."
"The hell with that! Those people were innocent. Layla's father was innocent. They didn't deserve that!"
"Yeah well, my point cabrón is that you're a good guy. It's why Khonshu picked you. Even after that whole mess he'd gone through with Harrow."
"All Khonshu knows how to do is break people," Marc grits.
"Still does more than those other le madre que te parió."
Which Marc has to admit is fair. The other gods of the ennead do nothing.
"And I kept you together. The other gods called you broken. They would have thrown you away. Watched you die under their feet."
Khonshu's appearance is as startling as it is familiar.
"Shut up!" All three of them yell at him. He disappears back into the ether.
Marc rubs at his temples. The body is definitely getting a headache. He's making one of them front after this out of sheer spite. He knows from experience that Khonshu's healing does not extend to stress headaches.
He tries to keep the conversation back on track. If there is a track with the circular way Jake is going about this.
"Okay so for some reason you think I'm a good guy."
"Oh Marc," Steven says, sounding immeasurably sad.
He ignores it. He has to.
"That doesn't mean I want to throw in with Khonshu's sense of justice for the rest of my life."
"And what about your own pobrecito?"
Jake asks.
"My own what?"
"Your own sense of justice," Steven pipes up.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Steven sighs noisily as if he is too much to handle, while Jake rolls his eyes.
Marc is getting really annoyed.
"Two nights ago, el pequeño erudito y yo tracked and took down some human traffickers."
"Right. The human traffickers," Marc nods.
"Five nights before that I was out trying to get intel on that meeting place."
Of course "And that's how you got our head busted opening bad enough we needed stitches."
"Yep," Jake says. Marc is sure he pops the 'p' simply to be obnoxious. He continues though. "The traffickers were gathering kids, teenagers mostly, not much older than that. You know they sell better when you're young."
Marc does know. He's taken down trafficking rings both as a mercenary and Khonshu's fist. Worse, he's done missions of vengeance for those rings, when everyone including himself had come too late. Too late to save them. Not too late to miss the aftermath.
He closes his eyes briefly.
"And?" He says. Knows he sounds cold but he wants to know where Jake is going with this.
"And if you'd known, would you have let it go?"
He freezes for a second, jaw so tight he can hear his teeth grinding.
Jake nods in satisfaction.
"You would not jefé," he answers for him.
"But we wouldn't have known unless you'd stayed with Khonshu," Marc reminds him. They wouldn't have needed the healing. Much as he wishes he would have known about the kids without the old bird.
Jake snorts. "Cabrón," he drawls, "Half our missions came from you."
"I..what?"
He is echoed by Steven.
"You can walk out there and pick up any number of underhand deals on sight," Jake says.
He can. It comes from the military but was honed by being a mercenary.
"So?"
"So Khonshu watched you. He watched you watch them. He watched you note ambush points and shady corners and then sent you out to investigate. He stuck around with me too," Jake shrugs. "I drive around some, keep my ear to the ground. He sees stuff, follows it up I guess in his own way. Then bam, mission."
Marc is blinking at him.
"I, what? " he repeats a little more helplessly.
"It is true Marc Spector. We were a team."
"Shut up!" They all shout.
"Sod off!" Steven adds. Khonshu gives a deep sigh and leaves.
Marc rubs his forehead. He seems to be doing that a lot today.
"So…" he thinks he's finally getting the point Jake was trying to make. He bets he didn't take this long when he was talking to Steven. "So you're saying, that we, that I, would have gotten us into trouble, eventually, inevitably, and because you foresaw this, you chose to keep Khonshu and his armor around."
"Yes," Jake says.
"Couldn't you have said that?" He said exasperatedly.
"You would have argued with me, cariño," Jake pouts. It's the first time he's ever seen Jake pout and it's kind of scary. Marc should probably not tell him that.
He turns to Steven.
"And what do you think about his assessment? "
"Well we did get gutted today mate. And let me tell you, that wasn't fun to experience sans suit. Not that the experience was fun with the suit but you know what I mean."
"That's not what I'm talking about Steven," he says, "and you know it."
Steven presses his lips together, eyes narrowed and they look so alike here it's almost startling for all that they have the same face.
"I don't like the thought of having those kids left there," he says after a moment of thought. "They were right terrified and a couple were only about fourteen. They were all in a mess, shaking and pale and I know, I know we might not have known about them without that rotten pigeon sticking his oversized beak everywhere, but I'm glad we were there to help." He pauses. "This, this wasn't like a mugging or something like that. That's pretty ordinary as it goes, 'specially in a place like London."
Marc knows. He's pretty sure Steven narrowly escapes being mugged at least five times a day on the way to and from work.
"This was…this was truly evil. It was really bad. And, and I'm not still jazzed about all the killing and other assorted deadly injuries."
Marc knows. Steven has the most non-lethal weapons out of all of them for a reason.
"But I didn't hate actually helping people? That bit was quite nice. Maybe if the old bird is actually open to a conversation we can work things out to a less scarring conclusion? You did say you had some veto, Jake."
"You what?" Marc asks head swiveling to watch Jake in the mirror.
"I can bargain too," Jake says, a little huffily. "Pequeño erudito didn't get all the brains."
"I didn't say that," Marc soothes. "You dealt with Khonshu?"
"Little bit," Jake says. He's almost shy all of a sudden. "I can, we can, choose the times we take missions unless it's really time-sensitive and we, Khonshu and I, kinda have it out on what sensitive means most of the time so it's actually time-sensitive, not him being fussy." Jake makes a face Marc is all too acquainted with, having made it numerous times during his servitude to Khonshu.
"And we get a veto on how we handle them. He's still not happy about them being left alive but then neither am I," Jake shrugs, "but he settles for permanently breathing through tubes, comatose, paralyzed from the neck down, maybe missing a few limbs. Anything that'll stop them from being able to do the things they were doing before."
"Oh that's…" Steven trails off. "I can't even decide if that's better.
"They're not dead," Jake says.
"Well that's something," Steven squeaks.
Marc runs a hand down his face. "It's something," he agrees. But he's breathing easier, the tight metal band that had taken up residence underneath his ribs eases so suddenly it's almost painful. All are options he'd much rather take than death. All are options he'd wished desperately that he'd had in the past. He can do punishment if the only punishment isn't death. He can handle broken bones and lifelong pain instead of another life seeping out from under his hands.
Not that he can't or won't either. He didn't exactly feel bad about some of those people being sent straight to the afterlife. But he'd hated being forced to do it, hated that he'd had no other options available for him, hated that he couldn't give mercy even when he ached for it with his very being.
"It's…yeah that's better," he admits and something in Jake eases, the lines his face softer, his shoulders going down. Marc hadn't realized how defensive he'd been, how much he'd curled up to protect himself through this entire conversation until the tension had left him.
"Ah loquito," he says and watches Jake startle hard. "I don't….shit I'm still mad…but I don't hate you. I can't hate you. Either of you."
It's true. If Steven came to protect Marc then Jake must have too. Which means, in the same way there are memories Marc has of things Steven shouldn't see, there must be memories Jake has of things Marc shouldn't see. It aches him to know even if he is pathetically grateful.
Jake isn't looking at him, head turned away, jaw clenching.
"Jake," he says. "Jake."
Jake still doesn't look at him. Steven is silent but he gives Marc a tiny nod. Marc isn't surprised he's ahead of him on this.
"Loquito," he tries again softly and that gets him a response. He's facing him, but he still isn't looking at him, eyes hooded, jaw tight. Marc wishes suddenly that he could have him here, in front of him, like he'd had Steven in the duat, so he can grab his shoulders, look him in the eye. Give him a hug, so that he'd know that being mad at someone isn't the same as hating them. It'd taken Marc a long time to learn that but he had. He'd learned with Layla and he'd learned with Steven. And how it seems it's time for him to teach someone else and it's terrifying. But he has to. It's worth it.
"I…" he stutters, tries again. This is so hard. It's always so hard. He can always seem to find the words when he's angry but they always disappear when he's not.
"These last few months," he starts, because those last few months have been, they've been good, happy even, with all three of them. If Jake goes away, he'd feel bereft, incomplete. He'd miss him.
"That, that isn't going to go away," he settles on. This feels as bad as baring his whole heart on the sands of the duat. But he'd done it for Steven and he can do it for Jake too. Even if it makes his skin feel like it's being rubbed all over by sandpaper
"Steven and I aren't going to go away," he manages to say levelly. "And, and I don't want you to go away."
That finally gets Jake's eyes to flick up to his. Marc leans forward, not letting him look away, letting Jake see the truth in his eyes.
Jake doesn't look away until he does, sighing noisily.
"¡Qué lió!" he says, but he might be blushing a little.
Marc leans back satisfied, even if he feels a little shaky now.
"Great," Steven says. "Absolutely chuffed that I did not have to do that conversation. So about those cultists?"
"Steven," Marc groans.
"¡Que te jodan pequeño erudito!" Jake growls at him.
"I haven't the faintest clue what that means," Steven says beatifically. "But really, I kind of want to go home?"
"The worm has a point," Khonshu says.
They all groan in unison.
"If you're all done with your little…heart-to-heart…"
"I'm gonna kill you," Marc interrupts, "I'm gonna find Layla and we will imprison you in stone!"
"Then you might find it hard to deal with the mob of Amit's followers gathering outside this place."
"Shit," Marc says. He pulls out his phone and links it to the network of cameras he has set up. He should have done this earlier but he'd had other things on his mind. Still, sloppy.
The camera feeds flicker up and yep, there are like twenty people waiting outside with automatic weapons. Apparently, word spread about the suit.
"That doesn't look very good," Steven observes.
"Eh," Marc says. He's done it before, though with a lot more space. It'll hurt like hell but it's manageable.
The door could take a beating before they got in, but he doesn't want to have to deal with them in an even more enclosed space. Besides the fish are here. If they get hurt he thinks Steven will lose it and Jake, right along with him. He does not want to see the aftermath of the combined wrath of those two.
So. He'll have to go outside. Actually, he might have to do so soon because that one looks like he's holding blocks of C4.
He starts to summon the suit and then stops.
"Actually, Jake, why don't you show me what you've been doing with the suit."
"There's the catch," Jake hums.
"Okay hang on," Marc says. "I meant every word I said back there….And yes I am absolutely doing this out of spite."
"Marc you plonker," Steven says without heat.
"Eh, I'll take it hermano," Jake says. Marc drops back and lets Jake front. He watches as Jake shakes himself a little as if settling himself into the body before summoning the suit.
"Hey," he says annoyed. "Why do you get black in yours?"
"I asked," Jake says.
"What?" he says perking up.
"Really?!" Steven tacks on excitedly.
Jake snorts with laughter. "No."
"Jerk," Marc says, shoulders drooping.
"What he said," Steven pouts. "Got us excited and everything."
"Tick Tock," Khonshu says pointedly.
Jake flips him off which has Steven choking and then he unlocks the door and steps outside into gunfire.
Fifteen minutes later, Jake is panting slightly but all his opponents are down.
"Okay," Marc says. "Remind to never give you the body again to fight."
Jake grins wild and reckless, "Good luck with that," he says.
"Did you have to kill that many?" Marc asks. He's not actually mad. That was a hard, hard fight.
"What's the fun in that?" Jake asks. "Besides you said nothing about not killing them cariño."
"Would you even listen if I did?" Marc asks dryly.
Jake shrugs.
"Can I open my eyes now?" Steven says.
Marc blinks. "Yes?"
"Oh good," Steven says. "I watched some of it but I thought it would be best if checked out about the time he stabbed a guy with someone else's broken bones."
"Uh…yeah," Marc says, "Good call buddy."
"So what now?" asks Steven. "Are these all of them?"
"Probably not," Marc says at the same time Jake says:
"Doubt it."
"Look I hate to break it to you Steven but we probably aren't going home anytime soon," Marc says. He nudges Jake slightly and the other drops back and lets him front. The suit shifts into his own and he looks around for Khonshu.
"Do you know anything about these particular guys?"
"No," Khonshu says, appearing on top of the house. "But they must be some remnant that escaped your incompetent authority's grasp."
"Why did they take so long to find us?" Marc asks. He doesn't really expect Khonshu to know, but he'd gotten weirdly used to bouncing ideas of off him during his first stint as his knight.
"Harrow had many people in the service of Amit. It stands to reason that while he could update those closest to him quickly, information would take longer to disseminate to other, less involved factions."
"That's a fair point," Steven says, "And these guys were probably on the run from the authorities so they couldn't exactly keep up with all the news."
"So it took some time for them to realize that Harrow and by extension, Amit was dead," Marc says nodding. He glares at Khonshu. "You know if you had left it alone, we wouldn't be here."
"And if we hadn't, one day one of Amit's followers would find a way to release her," Khonshu rebuts.
"And it ain't our fault anyway," Jake cuts in. "I know I scrubbed every trace of us from that day."
"So how did they find us?!" Marc demands.
"There's not really a lot of suspects are there?" Steven asks a little wryly. Marc deflates.
"Great," he says. "That's great." He shakes his head again and says, "Steven make a list of things you absolutely cannot live without from the flat. This might take a while."
"Oh bugger," Steven says.
"You," he points at Khonshu, "I know about the deal you made. No pulling any more sly shit."
"Jake Lockley is my knight," Khonshu says.
"Yeah, yeah, package deal," Marc says. "You play any tricks again, and I will find a way to end you."
"I work with my knight," Khonshu insists. Marc groans but figures that the best he's going to get out of the old bird today.
He goes back inside to grab their stuff and the fish. They need a new safehouse. He pauses.
"Shit," he says. "I'm gonna have to tell Layla."
There's a long pause from the other two.
"I'll do it," Jake says grudgingly. Marc rolls his eyes because as much as he knows Jake is probably doing it because it is technically his fault, he's equally sure that it's a way to have somebody hate him. Jake was right. What a mess.
"Actually,' Steven pipes up, "Let's take a page out of Jake's book and not say a word."
"What?" Marc frowns. That doesn't sound like Steven at all.
Steven grins at him from the mirror and it's so mischievous he is instantly wary.
"Come on," Steven says. "I'll show you."
Five minutes later, Layla El-Faouly is the recipient of three pictures. They're three selfies. The first is Marc, in the classic ceremonial armor, looking distinctly unimpressed even under the mask. The second is Steven in his sharp white suit, happily throwing up the peace sign. The third is Jake in his black and white version, head tilted back cockily at the camera.
Five minutes later, they receive a voice note in return. It's four minutes long and consists only of Layla cursing. One minute into listening to the voice note and Jake says sounding impressed, "I don't think she's repeating herself, amigos."
Two minutes in and Steven comments, "Okay I don't think that's anatomically possible for even Khonshu to do."
Three minutes in and Marc is hissing frantically, "Cover your ears Steven!"
And Steven is shouting back, "You have the body!!!" Jake is laughing helplessly in the background, the utter bastard.
Another text comes in: 'Are you okay????!!!! I'm going to kill him. Tarawet will help me.'
Marc texts back, 'We're fine. Call you later?'
'Of course,' she responds. Then: 'On a completely unrelated note, we match now.'
He frowns but his phone chimes to indicate he's received a picture. He opens it and it's a picture of a goldfish swimming in a tank, in Layla's current house.
"Is that a goldfish?!!!" Steven says excitedly, pushing him out of the way and fronting. "It is!!! She got a goldfish!!! It's gorgeous."
The phone chimes again. 'Meet Fish Machiney El-Faouly,' Layla's text says.
"That's brilliant," Steven breathes, while Marc groans in utter defeat.
"That's terrible," he says.
"I like it," Jake says.
"Of course you do," Marc says. He nudges Steven back out of the way, pockets the phone, picks up their bag and the fish, and sighs. Looks like this is his life now.
Khonshu is leaning in the doorway, waiting for him, and he can see Steven and Jake reflected in the portable fish tank.
This is his life now.
Somehow it doesn't seem as depairing as it might have, had been, years ago, months ago.
Yeah okay. This is his life now.