It was the world's most extensive collection of pharaonic antiquities, spread out over two floors, with more than 160.000 objects. The Egyptian Museum of Cairo was the oldest archeological museum in the Middle East and a historic landmark.
Steven had wanted to come here since he was a child.
And finally it had happened.
He walked through the exhibitions with wide-eyed wonder, the thrill of discovery racing through him. Despite everything that had happened, despite knowing so much more about where all these images came from… it was magical for him.
"Wow…" he only whispered, hands fluttering over the display case that showed yet another sarcophagus.
It was Steven who had woken to a new day, feeling refreshed from sleep for the very first time. No bone-deep exhaustion despite a night of sleep. No weird dream-memories. No small changes to his flat that he couldn't explain. No weirdness that hadn't been there already.
Just… going to sleep and then waking up, remembering everything, and only the one night had passed. He was still in Egypt, he was still in a safehouse in Cairo, and he had still been butt-naked.
Nothing had changed, really.
But everything was different anyway.
Layla had taken the change in fronts in a stride, asking him what he wanted to do until they left, and Steven's immediate choice had been the Egyptian Museum.
Now here they were.
His dream come true. Well, he would have loved to see the Valley of the Gods, too. Or the pyramids. Or Saqqara. Or Abu Simble. So much to see, but he understood they didn't have the luxury.
The museum had been the best choice.
Khonshu hadn't been as amused, but he hadn't interfered. Actually, he was always at the edge of Steven's vision, crouching on a balustrade of the second floor, sitting on top of a stone statue, leaning against one of the many pillars.
Watching.
Vigilant.
Actually… patient. That was… new. A bit scary, actually.
It also wasn't as distracting as he would have believed. Steven had been a little jumpy at first, but this wasn't the ominous presence of before.
Layla was there with him and he shot her a shy, apologetic smile as she joined him, tour booklet in hand.
"We need to make the best of the short amount of time we have. This place is gigantic," she had told him as she studied the booklet while they had made their way through the exhibitions.
"This must be boring for you," he said. "My apologies."
"No, no, no." She waved him off. "It's actually quite… nice to see this from another point of view. I've never been just a tourist."
"Oh."
She shot him a warm smile and Steven tried not to blush. Layla was Marc's wife. Technically, that meant she wasn't his. Emotionally, well, there was a lot going on, but she was Marc's wife. And his friend. More than anything in the world, Layla was his friend. His first and only friend, actually.
It was nice to be with her, to have someone with him who didn't bully him or belittle him… or tried to kill him, he thought wryly. Especially the latter.
They toured more of the first floor, Khonshu in tow. The moon god was quiet, huffing only a few times when Steven expressed his delight over something or other.
It wasn't disdain.
More… tolerant amusement.
And maybe, just maybe, a little fondness.
"I wish I could see more," Steven mumbled as they stopped by one of the countless stalls on the streets that sold snacks and some very tasty meals.
It was late in the afternoon and they had been at the museum since it had officially opened for the day. Time had passed so quickly and this time, it had been real time. No black outs. No sudden shifts and blood on his hands.
"You have my word," Khonshu rumbled, sitting on top of a shed, watching the bustle with empty sockets.
"Reading my mind. So not creepy."
The god hummed.
"Yeah," Steven murmured. "Still have to get used to that. The closeness. You not trying to… evict me…"
It had only been a day.
It felt like more.
But it was a day. He kept checking the time and date wherever he could. He wasn't losing time.
"I meant every word I said, Steven Grant."
"Huh." He played with the booklet, still so thrilled to be here, in this place. Egypt.
Not running for his life.
Layla was the one who haggled over the price of their afternoon snack and finally came back triumphant. They found a place to eat, Steven's eyes straying through the busy street as he munched on the ful medames, enjoying the richness of flavor.
There was no pressure to be anywhere, to run, to fight. There was no enemy chasing them. No urgency. Just… him.
"This is nice," he said with a small smile. "Thanks for going with me."
"My pleasure."
"This is an amazing place when you don't have to evade knife-wielding cultists or rabid jackals from another realm. There is so much to see… and no time."
Layla touched his arm, gentle fingers curling around it. "Sorry."
"No, no, it's okay!" he blurted. "This… all of this…" he gestured at the world around him, "is more than I could ever have dreamed of. Thank you." He glanced at the mirror of a stall near-by.
Marc just gave him a quick smile. He had been a quiet watcher for a while now, waking in the back of his mind but not taking over.
"I know this is awkward for you," he mumbled, not even sure he was talking to Layla or Marc.
He shot a quick look at the small, reflective surface and found Marc frowning. Layla shot him a quizzical look in turn.
"Talking to me. Listening to me. I'm… not Marc. You shared a life with him that I can't remember. I'm just this awkward bloke who says the wrong things at the wrong times…"
"I don't think it's awkward at all. Not anymore." She smiled a little. "I would be lying if I said it isn't something that I needed to understand, but it's… not really weird at all anymore? I know you are him. An alter of Marc. Someone who shares my favorite French author, who geeks out over Egyptian history, someone who is bad at stuff Marc was trained to be good at. You don't have a driver's license, you have no idea how to handle a gun, how to fight…"
Steven stared at his hands.
Layla squeezed his arm. "Just like Marc isn't into French poetry, loves steaks and has no clue about hieroglyphics, Egyptian history… and he doesn't really want to talk about anything personal… private… emotional. I believe everyone is made up of many, many parts. Some more prominent than others. Some people leave their less desirable sides in drawers, only opening them when that trait is needed."
"This isn't a drawer…"
"No, it isn't. Like you aren't Marc, don't share his memories or abilities. But you are a part of this. A part I never knew about, he never told me about."
"You are married to him. His wife," Steven mumbled.
"Yes."
"You love him."
"Yes."
He looked at everything but her, refusing to meet his alter's eyes either in the mirror or by just looking inward. From above, Khonshu watched patiently, head tilted with clearly displayed curiosity.
Layla reached for his hand and interlaced their fingers. It startled him and he stared into her calm face with wide eyes.
"You, Steven Grant, are my friend."
The friendzone, he thought darkly. Right.
"The one I love in my own way."
"Uhm…"
"Not a third wheel. Do you understand? You are not on the outside or in the way. You saved the world. You were needed. You will always be needed. Remember what Khonshu said?"
"When he called me a parasite? A worm? An idiot?"
Khonshu was chuckling darkly from his perch. "You were all that."
Layla only briefly looked up, a warning in her eyes. Steven had yet to work out when she saw him: all the time he did? Was it conditional? Connected to Marc?
"Think of it as terms of endearment now, Steven," she told him firmly. "He's a crusty old deity with no manners."
Inside, Marc groaned and shook his head. Layla, shut up!
Steven felt a brief whisper of the power that was the moon god, felt it around him, but not as strongly as Marc had. For him, it was muted. Like the suit was different.
"What you are is the counter-balance. Yes, I'm married to Marc, and I love him, but I love you, too."
He blinked.
"There was a reason why I married Marc Spector. Not just for his body." Layla winked and Steven felt that heat in his face again. "Not because of some Indiana Jones moment while we were digging at a site or some hair-raising adventure. Several reasons, actually. Because before we became lovers, we were friends first. Good friends. Underneath that hard exterior is someone else, like you, and still Marc. Inside you, Steven, is a fighter like Marc. You proved that. You were incredibly strong, brave… ready to do whatever it took."
Steven was aware of the stunned presence inside him, avidly listening. The hard-ass ex-soldier, just listening. Enraptured. And still in love. He understood that love, because Layla was stunning. Beautiful. Absolutely lovely. As he had told her so long ago, he would never be someone to divorce a woman like her.
"Friends, companions, buddies-in-crime, lovers," Layla went on. "Husband and wife. We're still all that, I'm just getting to know even more of Marc. Parts he never talked about. His reality. That includes you, Steven." She squeezed his hand. "You are important. To him, to me. Yes, I am Marc's wife, and I will fight him tooth and nail on that. But you are someone special to me, too. Definitely not the third wheel. I don't have to get used to you, Steven Grant. I got to know you and I love you."
Marc's reflection was as open and vulnerable as Steven had ever seen him. Wide-eyed, stunned, lost for words, trying to understand something he had always pushed away.
He loved Layla.
And he knew his life endangered her, had always endangered her. His life had taken her father from this amazing woman.
Steven met those dark eyes; so much like his own and still not. The face almost like a twin's. Now it was no longer hard, cold, distant. It was a mirror of everything Marc felt and couldn't… wouldn't… say.
He wanted the alter to front, to talk to his wife, but that wasn't happening. Layla was right that Marc was emotionally stunted in his own way; confronting his very real emotions for this special woman. He was deeply scarred and terribly scared.
"You…you love him. I know he loves you. He wants to protect you. W-why aren't you with him?" Steven blurted. "If it's… well, me, I can…" He gestured, feeling a hot blush on his face. "I can… leave… give you time…" he stammered. "I promise I won't interfere."
Marc groaned and shook his head. Steven! Shut the fuck up! He sounded actually mortified.
Steven looked away, but Layla just squeezed his hand again.
"That is… very thoughtful. But currently our lives are complicated. Now more than before. I still need to understand a lot. What we have right now… it heals us. It heals Marc. And he needs that. That and time. You, Khonshu… he needs it without realizing it. And I need to find my place in this new world where an ancient, god-like entity is sharing my husband. And where their relationship eerily reminds me of the Odd Couple with a side of old married vibes."
Steven burst out laughing as Marc muttered something very R-rated.
"You tread a very fine line, woman," Khonshu rumbled as he stalked past them.
"Oh, get over it," she told him with a scowl. "You are all of that."
Yes, Steven realized. It was a very complicated life. Lives. Relationships. Even now.
Marc's connection to Khonshu was different than Steven's. It was much stronger, more direct. There was a familiarity there, a bond older than the few weeks Steven had been in on this amazing… frightening… marvelous ride. It was direct, unfiltered and resonated with the energy the moon represented. Steven was in awe of it.
His own ability to tap into the moon god's power was different. He didn't get the bad-ass temple armor; he had the spiffy, sharp suit. They were both very resilient with it, but Steven had yet to understand what powers he really had, aside from not getting easily killed. It wasn't like he had some training room to try it. It was more muted, as if he still had the training wheels on.
"We'll see how it goes," Layla tore him out of his thoughts. "Work on this. On us. And that includes the jerk who can't acknowledge he has grown emotions when it comes to his human avatar."
Steven opened his mouth, then shut it again, almost ducking away as that large, bony beak appeared right above, Khonshu crouching on top of the vendor's stall, unseen by everyone but two humans.
Layla rolled her eyes. "My point."
Wind whispered through the street, kicking up dust, and Steven winced a little. Yes, he understood that the deity was pretty much incapable of expressing emotional issues normally, and in a way he understood that better than Marc or Layla. Steven knew he was a walking disaster when it came to emotions, their expression, or the whole concept of normal social interaction. He usually made people uncomfortable.
Yeah, their lives were complicated.
He dared to look at the entity, those hollow, dark sockets reflecting endlessness. Khonshu tilted his head from left to right, the move barely perceptible. The moon staff rested across the bony knees.
"Understand this, Steven Grant: you were the one who channeled my power to turn back the night sky. It wouldn't have been possible without you," the entity said, voice low and serious. "You bear my power. You yielded it under my guidance."
The staff swiveled and the crested moon swung toward him.
"You are important, idiot."
"I… I…" he managed, stunned. Maybe a little overwhelmed. Maybe even a little bit frightened. "Oh."
Layla's expression was loving and warm as she took his hand. "Sometimes he gets it right. You don't even have to read between the lines," she told him, voice soft.
Khonshu harrumphed.
"C'mon. Let's get one of those devilishly good dessert treats, then we'll see what we can squeeze into that last night."
"I… I'm not much of a night owl," Steven protested. "Well, maybe I am, but not me…"
She laughed lightly. There was the echo of a much darker laugh around him, amused and just a little more sarcastic than before.
"Basbousas first."
So he followed her to another vendor, one who did the vegan version with applesauce, and simply let life happen.
The first time.
It felt rather good.
And he did enjoy the warm evening, listening to music, watching street dancers. He drew a line at dancing with Layla as she moved to the rhythm.
"She is amazing," he whispered.
Marc was watching her, too. He could see him in a polished silver mirror, felt his presence.
She is.
"She loves you, you twit!"
I… don't know if I… can anymore.
"I think…, no, I know, that you can."
Those dark eyes, usually hard and cold, with that haunted edge, met his own. The vulnerability was stunning to see. So open, so human.
"Let it happen," Steven whispered, eyes following her moves.
Marc's hesitation spoke lengths. This would need time. Time and a lot more healing.
