Disclaimer: I do not own Moon Knight.

I do not know how DID systems work I am simply extrapolating from how it is portrayed in the show. If something is wrong I am sorry.

Jake awakes slowly to soft voices chatting. It's around eight in the morning, judging by the sunlight streaming through the windows but that's all he gets to really notice before the voices stop abruptly as they notice he's awake.

Then he's suddenly fronting and blinking up at the ceiling. Why the hell had they…? Because the two idiotas had purposely dropped back and let him front.

He tries to sink back on instinct only to stopped by Steven singing from the mirror,

"Ah, ah, ah!"

"What the hell?" He grumbled irritatedly, turning to look at the mirror. Did they want him to front until they healed up? But that didn't seem like Spector.

Steven is in the main mirror they use, Marc in the small pocket mirror Steven keeps on hand for emergency conferences, or company during lunch.

"Morning Jake," Spector's grin is a little wicked. Jake is regretting giving them his name already. He's pretty sure he's gonna hear it now more than he ever had his whole life.

"Morning Jake!" Steven chirps after and Jake almost groans again. It's gonna be 'Jake this' and 'Jake that' forever now isn't it?

He tries to ignore the warm feeling in his stomach at their obvious joy at knowing his whole name.

"What d'you want?!" He growled. Because they had to have him fronting for a reason. He suspects already of course. They'll want to know exactly what he was doing with the body last night.

Jake isn't sure he can deflect them. Not entirely. He regrets again letting them know his first name. If they called him by his last name he could pretend that this was business, colleges, nothing more. He could lie.

But his first name? Only people he likes know his first name and precious few of those are even allowed to use it. Marc and Steven are the only people he'll die for.

If they ask him, he'll have to lie, to keep them all safe, but it'll rip into him like a knife from sternum to intestines jagged and hard and messy, spilling every part of him every which way.

If they call him Jake…? When he's still reeling from the warmth of finally hearing his name in their mouths, after years of being a ghost to both of them…?

Yeah that was a mistake. Everything from the damn goldfish to now was a mistake. He shouldn't have gotten caught up in whatever cutsey power of friendship thing they have going here.

"Steven," Marc says, answering his question, "thought that since you had a bad night, you should get breakfast this morning. "

Jake's thoughts stutter to a halt. "Que en el mundo?"

"It only seems fair," Steven adds shrugging like they hadn't derailed his entire thought process by going in a completely opposite direction than the one he'd expected.

…This is why he has to save them so much isn't it? Jake thinks blankly. They're both stupidly naive sometimes.

"We didn't know what you liked so we guessed a bit," Steven adds pointing his chin to the kitchen.

Jake's cranes his neck and spots a bunch of bags on the table, their spoils of an early morning breakfast raid.

He is not feeling warm and fuzzy. Warm and fuzzy is for teddy bears and Steven Grant.

"You starved us for this?" He growls instead.

Marc scoffs. "It's hardly late, we've had worse eating schedules before and we've already had tea and coffee. So are you gonna eat the damn things or not? Cause I could take over…"

"Piss off," Jake tells him. "Que te folle un pez."

Marc laughs darkly. "I don't think Steven will like that," he tells him. And Jake remembers abruptly that Marc also knows Spanish. So he flips him off instead and gets out of bed.

In the background Steven is asking Marc what it is he won't like and Marc is trying to get out of explaining. Serves him right.

Jake feeds the fish, wiggles a finger at Finny Winny who comes up to great him at the glass and then finally heads to the kitchen table to see what his two idiot headmates got him for breakfast.

There's turkey slices and eggs and sausage and freshly baked bread, and crepes and buttered scones, and arepas and tacos.

And…Jake wants to leave now. He wants to go deep in their head and not come out for days because this…these kinds of things are not for him.

They are especially not for him when they don't know the truth, when he won't be telling them the truth.

"Come on," Steven says, right when he's about to make a run for it. "There's got to be something you like Jake."

Dammit.

He sits. He eats. He listens to them chatter endlessly.

He tries not to feel. Jake has been learning how not to feel for years now. That's not his job. The other two can take care of it.

He eats every damn bite of that stupidly large breakfast cause if his mouth is full he doesn't have to answer the questions they lobby at him or get drawn into the conversation the way they keep trying to.

He drinks the last of the orange juice, purposefully leaves the dishes behind and prepares to make with his exit.

"Jake?" Marc says right before he leaves.

"What now?" He growls.

"Nice to meet you." Steven says. And it's soft and warm and refreshing, like the air after rain and sunlight on his skin and Jake…Jake scoffs.

"You did that ages ago," he says and then he run, run, runs.

"That went well," Steven says but it comes out more like a question. Lockely..Jake…hadn't, hadn't been himself.

Marc hums thoughtfully as he cleans up the dishes. "I don't think he's used to this," he says, gesturing between him and Steven.

"But he's listening all the time," Steven protests.

"There's a difference between listening and actively being a part of the conversation," Marc points out.

And Steven, Steven does know.

"He…he doesn't talk to people a lot does he?" Steven asks quietly. "Friends I mean."

"I don't think so," Marc replies. His lips are pressed together, jaw tickling in the way that says he's upset.

"Well," Steven says brightly after a moment. "We're simply going to have to get him used to it! I mean it only took us a couple of months to get his whole name. How bad can it be?"

Marc snorts with laughter. "Steven," he says. "Now you've jinxed us."

There's a pause. "Bollocks."

Jake refuses to front for a couple of days. He doesn't even go out at night. He needs time to let things sink back to the status quo and to let the other two drop their suspicions.

It doesn't matter of they haven't asked him anything, they must have suspicions.

But Khonshu gets impatient and Jake needs to move before the information he'd gathered that night goes out of date, so five days later he's perched on a roof watching a deal go down.

He's in his suit, not the pure white monstrosity Marc wears or Steven even, but something with flashes of black. Subtlety is a thing they need sometimes, before they can abandon it entirely to broken bones and screams.

Jake is watching the men, listening as much as he could, waiting for them to lead him to their victims.

People have been going missing, pretty chicas and handsome chicos. No bodies turning up anywhere, so they haven't been killed. Which leaves one other option.

Human traffickers. Some of the worse scum to hurt the travelers of the night. Jake certainly doesn't have a problem with this particular job of Khonshu's. He needs to find out where they've stashed the people though, before he brings their entire operation crashing down.

Khonshu is vengeance for wrongs done to the travelers of the night. But he is also a protector of those who travel by night. If they have a chance to save those people who the traffickers already have stashed for their next sale, they have to take it.

He is primed and waiting and focused which is why he almost falls off the roof when Steven says, "I thought so."

Jake frantically starts to push him back before his words penetrate. Then he stops. He slowly pulls one of his crescent darts and stares at the reflection. Steven, pensive, looks back at him. It's weird seeing his suit with Steven's body language.

"Hullo Jake," he says.

"Steven," Jake says steadily. "You should not be here pobrecito."

"We never did get rid of that overgrown pigeon did we?" Steven says. His voice is a mix of sadness, disappointment, and resignation.

Jake thinks back to his earlier words. "How did you know?" he asked.

"The healing," Steven says shrugging slightly. "Marc's forgotten a bit, how long it takes for a normal person to heal. And I mean, I haven't really had to deal with any wounds for a while either you know, because of the suit, even if I didn't know about it. But I did live around normal people a bit more than you two I think. I know roughly how long stitches take to heal. Three days? To be basically healed? Fourth day, stretching it out a bit, fully healed that night. Day five the scar's there but it's hardly got any texture, like it's been there for months." Steven shrugs again. "Had to be accelerated. Must be killing the old bird to have to slow down everything to keep up the ruse."

Jake says nothing. What can he say? Steven isn't wrong.

"So," Steven says after a moment, jaw ticking a little under the mask. He reminds Jake of Marc right now. "Why'd you do it?"

Jake says nothing, gritting his teeth. He does not want to have this conversation now. Maybe ever. Everything he has done; has been done for their safety, for the safety of the system. He doesn't need to give an explanation. He owes no one an explanation, no matter how much they think so.

"If you'd told us," Steven begins and his voice has gentled. "If we'd known you were there too, I could have bargained for you too."

"I know that," Jake says, and maybe it's a little too harsh. But he'd known exactly what he'd been doing. He doesn't need Steven's kindness. He doesn't need to see his disgust.

Steven takes a deep breath, keeping himself calm. Jake wants to laugh. They all have terrible tempers don't they? Even Steven, kind, vegan, help-old-ladies-cross-the-street-Steven.

He's trying to rein it in though, for this conversation. Jake doesn't understand why. He should yell, get it out of his system. Realise exactly who and what Jake is. Leave.

"Okay," Steven says. "Okay." Then he pins Jake with his eyes alone. "So why did you do it? Why'd you'd keep us in servitude to Khonshu? When we could have gotten free? When you knew how much Marc wanted to get away? How much this was killing him."

"I don't owe you an explanation," Jake sneers.

Steven scoffs. "Fat chance of that not happening."

"I ain't talking esé," Jake replies.

"Alright then," Steven says and Jake has one moment to think that that was too easy before Steven continues, "You don't talk and I'll screw up this op you're on."

Jake stiffens. "You'd risk people's lives Stevie?"

"Steven," Steven stresses the last syllable. "There's an 'n' there and everything, can't miss it. And," That terrible gaze flicks over to him, makes him feel like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. "I've learned to only bargain when the stakes are high. So what'll it be Jake? Are you going to risk people's lives? Risk this mission."

"You're a real bastard pequeño erudito," Jake spits.

"I live with two in my head," Steven deadpans. "Three now, cause we've got to count the grouchy old thing don't we?"

Jake tosses back his head to take a frustrated breath and sits back from his crouch on the roof. He stabs the crescent dart into the concrete so he doesn't have to keep hodling it while they talk.

"Fine. Hijo de puta. I did this for us."

"We got free for us," Steven rebutts.

Jake laughs. "And how long do you think that was gonna last? Did you think you'd give up the suit, Spector'd hang up his guns, and the two of you would spend you life selling chocolates and perfume and shit. Happy ever after?"

Steven is frowning at him. "That was the plan, yeah?"

"Steven," Jake says, patiently, "Spector's on several international hit lists." He waves a hand. "Not any official government cronies. He managed to steer clear of that at least. But there are powerful people who are gunning for his head. You think all those bad people Khonshu had him taking down were lowlives? The worst people in the world are ones who sit rich and pretty, drinking power off the backs of other men. You don't kill people like that without retaliation, cariño."

"Oh," Steven says.

"Spector's good," Jake continues, "He's one of the best. If it hadn't been for us, he'd gone far. The military probably cried real tears the day they lost him. But he's not the best. And you can't be one of the best every day, every minute, every second. All it takes is one lucky sniper and we're all gone. If you think for one second I'd give up healing from fatal and near fatal injury for some moral scruples you're wrong. I will do whatever I have to to keep us alive and I don't really care what you and Spector think about that pobrecito."

Steven closes his eyes, jaw tightening while he takes that in. Then those eyes open, that piercing white while they're in the suit.

"You know that whole little explanation makes sense in, in a practical sort of way," Steven says. He nods to himself. "Yeah nice and tidy innit? But that doesn't jive with you does it? Not entirely. You said you'd do anything to keep us alive. Which means keeping the suit and the old biddy of a bird. But you kept it a secret because you knew Marc would be unhappy. Which means you don't want him unhappy. Which means keeping him happy is also a goal of yours, because keeping him happy is a part of keeping him healthy. Cause we all know what happens when he spirals, And I don't think we can really take another one of us popping up right now huh?"

Jake grits his teeth. How does Steven…..?!

"So," Steven says clapping his hands together. "Assuming that you didn't actually expect to be able to keep this whole thing a secret forever, I mean I wouldn't trust Khonshu to keep it together for so long honestly, there's got to be a little more of your whole reasoning." Steven spreads his hands wide. "Lay it out for me mate."

Jake…sighs. "Those men down there."

"Yeah I saw 'em," Steven confirms.

"Human traffickers," Jake says. "Snatching people of the streets for a couple of days now. Probably getting ready for a big sale."

"That's terrible," Steven says.

"Sure," Jake nods. "You think if Marc knows there's human traffickers in his neighbourhood, snatching teenagers, he's gonna let it go vato? You think you would?"

He wouldn't. Jake can see the realization in his eyes. Marc doesn't need a suit to be dangerous, and neither does Steven now actually. They'd have gone after them.

"Marc didn't hate all of this," Jake says. "He hated the killing, yeah. But not all of that either. There's some scum no one wants to let live. What he hated was the lack of choice. But Spector's always loved taking care of people, saving them, keeping them safe. And the suit? It let him do that. It let him have a purpose. It let him feel like he could make up for all the things he did wrong, one life he saved at a time. That isn't going to simply go away Steven. It's only been a few months, and he's still basking in the glow of being normal. But when that wears off? When the itch under his skin to get out and do something starts back up? When he remembers the people he saved, remembers the good he managed to do under the stupid bird. He'll run right back out and get into it. And you wouldn't stop him."

Steven starts to speak and Jake cut him off ruthlessly. "You like the adventure. You like to be somebody. You'd like to be superhero like Layla and Hawkeye and all the rest of 'em. Makes you feel special."

Steven doesn't say anything.

"So yeah," Jake says. "I kept the fricking suit esé. For both of your dumb selves."

"I'm sorry," Steven says.

"What are apologizing for me for?!" Jake says exasperated.

"For making you feel like you had to make that choice," Steven replies. "But we could have talked it out Jake. Could have figured something out."

Jake says nothing. He stands by his choice. He knows the both of them.

"You gonna tell Marc?" It startles him, the sinking in his stomach. He'd known they would be angry, that they would hate him. So this, feeling like this shouldn't startle him.

"Not yet," Steven says. And Jake lifts an eyebrow surprised.

"I need to think it through myself first," Steven says a little sharply. "See how I feel about this. See if I can accept that explanation. Without anybody else's feelings clonging up my bloody brain."

"Alright," Jake says.

"But I won't be keeping it from him forever," Steven warns him.

"Didn't expect you to," Jake responds. He never had expected to keep this a secret forever. Steven had been right about that.

Movement from below catches his eyes.

"Lovely as this chat has been Stevie, I have to go now," He stands and prepares to follow.

"Oh I'm coming with you," Steven says.

Jake side eyes him. "You might not like what you see," he warns.

"Oh I know," Steven responds.

Jake shrugs and then follows the men through the night.

It seems that the main operation contracts out to some smaller gangs, in order to reach their quota of human cargo. Jake will have to check them out after this. But right now, he waits until the gang hands over their kidnappees and then follows the main operations' men right back to their home base.

It's a warehouse. Edge of the ports, easy way in and out of the city, simple to grease palms to look the other way. It's a clever setup. Jake is going to smash it all to pieces. There are cargo containers stuffed full of people and he feels Steven vibrate with fury.

"Easy esé," he murmurs. He does not want Marc to wake up right now.

They skulk around the rafters, waiting until Jake is sure all the cargo for the night has been brought in and locked securely in their containers. It won't be comfortable for the muchachos but it'll give them a layer of protection against the hell he's about to release.

"Now?" Steven asks. He is a laser beam of focus.

"Now," Jake agrees.

They drop from the ceiling.

Steven watches as Jake doesn't give the men below a chance to react, throwing crescent darts as he falls, dropping at least four of them before he hits the ground.

Gunfire erupts, bullets hitting the suit but not getting through, the bruises they cause, healing almost instantly.

Jake doesn't flinch, spinning low to duck some the gunfire, throwing more darts as he does so. The spin takes him close to one of the gunmen and he snatches the gun breaks it, stabs it into the man's torso and then bodily flings the man into several of his colleagues.

Two men converge on him and he drops them in a tangle of broken limbs and blood. He flicks a dart and it spins around the warehouse slicing into flesh as it ricochets off several surfaces before returning to meet Jake's hand. He catches it with his hand he's not using to snap someone's neck.

He fights differently from Marc. Marc is all precision and grace, even when he's throwing his bulk around. Jake is raw, feral efficiency. There are no holdbacks, no mercy given; if he can break something he will.

He doesn't kill all of them though. He is efficient. If he doesn't have time to dispatch them to the afterlife, he will simply knock them out and move on to the next opponent. This is, after all, Steven remembers, a rescue mission.

Steven wonders what Jake of a mission of vengeance would be like, if a rescue mission looks like this? Seeing the way Jake moves lets him know with aching precision how he'd defended the body at Cairo.

Jake was right in that he wouldn't like what he saw. But Steven is done closing his eyes to reality. He's learned to live with who and what Marc is. He can do the same here. Jake is dangerous, but he's not a monster.

Steven cannot remember the soft look in his eyes and think he's a monster.

"Behind you," Steven says, catching a glimpse of an attacker in the reflection of one of the containers. Jake turns smoothly and slices the throat of the man who'd snuck up behind them.

"Two o'clock!" That exclamation is panicked. One of the gunmen, having realised their purpose here has turned his gun on one of the containers, planning to strafe it. Clearly, he thinks that if he can't stop them he can at least make their purpose for being here defunct.

Jake whirls, dart spinning from his hand to knock away from the gun. Then he's barreling towards the man, snarl on his lips.

A knee to the chest knocks the man over and then Jake is kneeling on his sternum, hand pressed to the man's face and pushing, pushing, pushing with all the enhanced strength he has.

"Jake!" Steven yells panicked, before the man's head caves in, blood and brain matter smearing on the damp concrete floor.

"Oh bloody hell!"

They get shot at from behind and Jake whirls off the body and lunges at their attackers.

"Jake!" Steven grits as if he can drag his temper back by sheer willpower alone. Surprisingly it seems to work. Jake's movements shift, going from stark murder back to his ruthless efficiency.

He dispatches the remaining men in less than a minute and stands there for a moment, breathing hard. The panicked cries from inside the containers bring them both back to the moment, however.

Jake strides over to the closest container and rips the door off its hinges. Pale frightened faces stare up at them, from where they are packed together in the dark.

"Come on," Jake says gruffly. "Out criaturas!"

Instead of moving though, the faces shrink back with more panicked cries.

"Oh for goodness sake!" Steven says. "Shove over!"

Jake lets Steven have the body and watches as his own bloodstained suit is replaced by Steven's pristine white ensemble.

He kneels on the edge of the container, dropping himself to eye level with the kids who had fallen back when Jake had opened up the container. And they are kids, mostly teenagers, maybe in their first year of uni.

"Hey lads," Steven says softly. "And ladies. I know it's probably been a rough week yeah? And I know tonight was really scary, but that's okay yeah? Cause we're gonna get you out of here. We're going to get you out of here and you're going to go home yeah?"

He reaches out a hand. "Come on," He says, "You're safe now."

And it's the first time Jake thinks he's ever heard Steven speak with the authority of the fist of Khonshu. But unlike Marc's harsh practicality and Jake's fierce growl, Steven's voice is warmth personified with steel threaded through every note and something in it that rings of trustworthiness. Jake isn't surprised in the least when the wide-eyed teenager takes his hand and Steven helps him step out.

The others follow, Steven's voice a calm, reassuring litany. He guides them to the back of the warehouse where there are fewer bodies strewn around and then returns to do the same for the next two containers.

There are sirens in the distance when Khonshu shows up. He doesn't usually hover over Jake when he's working but he does tend to show up to make sure that the job has been done. He stares imperially down at Steven and says,

"Worm."

Steven crosses their arms. "Pigeon," he says glaring and then drops back, leaving Jake to the front. It might be the best insult he can possibly give to Khonshu, to simply ignore him. Khonshu looks enraged but says,

"This is not going to be a problem is it?"

"No," Jake says. He says nothing more and the two of them stare at each other before Khonshu nods and then disappears.

They hover on a nearby rooftop to make sure that the cops have everything in hand and then Jake takes them back across the city. He stops on a roof he likes. It has a ledge wide enough that he can lie flat on.

He settles himself on the ledge, arms resting on his stomach and waits. He turns a crescent blade over in his fingers in case he has to look at Steven but he doesn't really want to. He hopes Steven doesn't take too long. He knows what he's going to say and he rather they get this over with now.

But Steven doesn't speak. He's there, Jake can feel him, but he's waiting too. Jake closes his eyes briefly.

"Que te den," he mutters under his breath. "Say what you want to say cariño," he says. "I ain't staying out here all night."

"Will he ever release us?" Steven asks. His voice is small. It knifes Jake in the side.

"No lo sé," he says, "I don't know."

"Oh."

Jake sighs long and low. "It's only me," he says.

"What?"

"You aren't the only one who can deal with the old bird," Jake admits. "It's only me. I'm the only one he can call on. You two are out of it. If…if you want to help, like you did tonight, you can. But that doesn't mean he can call on you either. And I get some veto. About times. And how to deal with the scum." He shrugs. "It's not much but it's more of a partnership than he had with Marc anyway. It's not servitude with me. He saved us and we saved him, we're square. This…this is payment, mutual benefit."

"For the healing," Steven clarifies.

"And Spector's need to help people so he doesn't feel like he's wasting air being alive," Jake grumbles.

"He's not like that!" Steven protests shaken at the implication.

"Not now," Jake says. He remembers the times he'd woken up covered in blood that was his and all his, and the intimate knowledge that he'd stopped Marc shy of ending everything. Of seeking oblivion when the pain became too much to bear, when even Steven couldn't hold back the worst of that creeping, sinking despair.

Jake thinks one of those times might have been the first time he's ever cried.

"Oh," Steven says again, in that small punched-out voice. Then he rallies. "It's not like that now."

"I know pobrecito," Jake sighs. "But you really think he only joined Khonshu to live?"

He can feel Steven thinking that through. "Protect the travelers of the night," he finally says.

"He couldn't save us," Jake says. "So if he can save everyone else…"

"It's not so bad," Steven finishes.

Jake nods then grins wide and sharp. "Besides don't tell me you've never noticed him have fun in the suit cariño?"

Steven's silence says it all.

Jake waits. He's talked more tonight than he has for the entire last year. He feels exhausted from it all already.

"What do you get out it?" Steven asks.

Jake frowns. "What do you mean pequeño erudito?"

"Well the healings for all of us, Marc gets the chance to feed his hero-guilt complex, I get adventure apparently. So what do you get?"

"I don't need anything," Jake says baffled.

He can almost feel Steven's inquisitive head-tilt, though he's pretty sure it's that he knows Steven so well.

"I don't," he says. "I keep you two gilipollas alive. That's what I get out of this."

"Hmmm," Steven says. It sounds thoughtful. Jake does not want to be on the other end of Steven's thinking.

"You know, blood and brain matter aside," Steven starts, "and that was horrible,by the way, you're kind of a sweetheart aren't you?"

Jake sputters. "Que demonios! Okay you're no longer the smart one Grant!" he snaps.

"So I'm not wrong," Steven says. He sounds smug.

"You are!" Jake growls. He knew talking to them, listening in, had been a mistake. They think he's someone else. Should have never gotten the damn goldfish. "You think we'd have gotten out of the duat if they'd tried weighing my heart with the both of you?" He's had a lot of time to think about this. "Leaving me behind in that damn sarcophagus was the best thing you could have done. Or do you really think my heart was going to be lighter that some puto feather?"

Steven makes a broken noise of protest.

Jake rolls his eyes. "You don't know half the things I've done pobrecito." He lets his voice twist at the end, turn the endearment mocking.

He flicks the blade to where he can see Steven, look him in the eye, let him know he's not joking. It lets him have a prime view of when Steven rolls his entire head back along with his eyes to emote himself fully.

"Oh I bet you and Marc think you're sooo different don't you," Steven says, exasperated.

Jake snarls at him. Appreciate the comparison he does not.

"Yeah, yeah, you two have the stupid martyrdom thing going don't you? Bloody hell the both of you. I'm going to throw all of the meat out of the house for this," Steven rants. "Stuck with two idiots, that's why I'm actually insane."

"Oi!" Jake says.

Steven rubs at his forehead. "Look I'm not going to hate you. Shut up!" he adds as Jake opens his mouth to speak. "Shut up! Shut up! I'm not going to do it! So don't even try with whatever you've been trying to do for this entire bloody stupid night you twat. I am not going to hate you. Be bloody pissed? Hell yeah! I am going to be. I am pissed! But I'm not going to hate you!"

"You should esé," Jake says, almost desperately. And then scrambling for something to say, something that will make Steven act like a rational human being again, he blurts, "I killed Harrow!"

There's a deafening silence on the roof. Now that it's gone Jake finds himself wishing that Steven's babbling had never left.

"Marc spared him," Steven said quietly, grieved. "He didn't want any more blood on his hands. Our hands."

"That was his choice," Jake grits out. "It wasn't mine! He may be comfortable leaving that threat out there but I wasn't! He killed us!" And okay that last line wasn't supposed to sound like that, wasn't supposed to have any of the grief and helplessness he'd felt watching them die, feeling them all slip away. The one time he was supposed to get them out and he failed.

Marc and Steven are the only people he'll live for.

"Oh Jake," Steven says.

"Shut up," Jake says. He's not looking at Steven's reflection, head lolling back, staring up at the moon.

He bets the old bird is having a hell of a time with this conversation. Probably has whatever passes for ancient Egyptian popcorn.

"Don't feel…sorry for me," he finally says. "Or whatever it is that you're feeling. I don't care. Killing him didn't bother me. I'm not like the two of you. I don't have any morals. I do what needs to be done to save all of us."

Steven needs to know this, to understand this if he's ever going to make him understand why he'd kept the suit.

There's a long moment of silence. Then, "You're a bad liar," Steven offers and Jake hisses. "You stopped those people cause Khonshu asked, but you killed that man like that cause you got pissed. You got pissed he was gonna kill those kids." Jake says nothing. Steven knows nothing about what makes him angry.

"It's not a little bit of morality you have in there," Steven tells him.

He waits but Jake is done talking for tonight. Maybe forever.

"Alright," Steven says after it becomes apparent that he's not going to say anything. "Let's go home yeah? I've got a bloody eight o clock shift tomorrow."

Jake grunts and then simply rolls them off the ledge. Steven's panicked screaming might have been the best thing he's heard from him all night.

Jake gets them home, slinking through the window and goes to take a shower before he drops them off to bed. They're late. Steven will only have about three hours of sleep before he has to get up and that makes Jake irrationally angry.

Before he drops the suit though Steven pipes up one last time.

"Hey Jake?"

"What now hermano?" He growls.

"I like your suit," he says and disappears leaving Jake feeling as wrong-footed as he had since the night had begun.

I hope you enjoyed!