They had packed their few things, gathering every piece of evidence that Marc Spector and Layla El-Faouly had ever been here, and had stuffed it all in the car Layla had... organized. Marc never questioned where anything his wife managed to get truly came from.

They were just about done when Marc looked up and found Khonshu perched on the balcony like some raggedy gargoyle, just watching them.

"Right," he muttered. "The new you."

And yet still the same old god. No longer an exile, the outcast, but his appearance hadn't changed. For some reason he had expected him to look… different by now. Not like some down on his luck deity.

Layla followed his gaze and raised her eyebrows. "He wasn't always hanging around before?"

Marc snarled something uncomplimentary.

She frowned. "He's been constantly around since, well… you two made up. I think he actually got a laugh or two out of our museum trip."

"Sure, he was with me, but only to torment me," he growled.

Khonshu tilted his head.

"Later to scare the shit out of Steven!"

"I did what I had to do," the god declared. "What was for the best."

"Right," he only said again.

"Whenever the idiot was in control, things got out of control," Khonshu pointed out. "You had a job to do."

At least it didn't sound too sinister and threatening.

"Right," Marc repeated a third time and slammed the trunk shut. "And if you had left me to deal with it, we wouldn't have been in half the mess we ended up in!"

"He got in the way. A lot."

And whose fault was that? Steven muttered angrily. You frightened me on purpose, you bloody old bird!

Khonshu leaned forward from his perch, the moon staff pointing sharply at his avatar. "Because you got in the way, Steven. With your softness, your conscience, your morals. You refused to surrender the body to Marc. You were a danger. To him and to the mission!"

Marc shot him a narrow-eyed warning, protectiveness rising. He felt the ebb and flow of energy around him, the connection to his god, and where it had always been a one-way street, it was now clearly going both ways. He had an in on Khonshu. Sure, he had no idea how to interpret most of these weird surges, but some were very clear.

Like right now.

-"I remember the first morning I woke up knowing that Khonshu was gone. The quiet was liberating.-

Harrow's soft voice, so steady and like balm on an injured mind, echoed in his head, worming into his thoughts.

He hated it. He hated the sensation, the very memory. It gave him the creeps. More than any old god. More than Ammit. Arthur Harrow had gotten to him, used his injured mind, the mess that Marc Spector was, and he had made up a home in his head.

Used him. Abused him.

Doing what he claimed Khonshu had done to him, what he had claimed the deity was also doing to Marc himself.

Harrow was dead now. Dead and gone, but the words were still a memory Marc couldn't shake.

And he didn't want to wake up without Khonshu in his head ever again. The quiet had been… terrifying… terrible… There had been no liberation, only confusion, anger, fear, close to abject terror, and a loneliness he had never felt before.

He didn't want that ever again.

"But things have changed," Khonshu added with a very audible smirk.

"Yet here you are, following Steven around."

"Someone has to watch him. He gets in the worst places."

This was like… teasing… hair-pulling… getting a rise out of him… them. Fuck!

Bugger, Steven muttered at the same time.

"So, to sum it all up, the new you is the same Creepy Old Stalker Bird?" Layla asked. "Hanging out with us at a museum. Or lunch. Or over tea. Keeping watch? Making sure we're okay?" There was a glint in her eyes. "Not getting lost?"

Marc groaned and shook his head.

"We are a team," Khonshu reminded her with a very audible and so very much sarcastic tone. "A team keeps an eye on each other. No matter what mind-numbingly boring activities one of them plans."

Hey! Steven protested. You didn't have to stay! You could have just… buggered off!

Spector rolled his eyes. "I liked you better when you were threatening my life, not stalking me."

There was a sudden glint to Khonshu's hollow sockets. "That can be arranged…"

Marc stared at him. "I hate you."

That empty gaze held his, the skull's sockets burning with a knowledge that should frighten Marc but didn't.

He had had the choice. He had chosen Khonshu. That was his liberation.

"So! London still on the table?" Layla changed the topic, shooting her husband a pointed look.

"London," he agreed, still looking at Khonshu, feeling that weird sensation of ease, of warmth. The presence of the god felt like a protective wing over them. He tried not to think too much on that, but he knew that was exactly what Khonshu was doing. "Home," he added softly.

Steven's flat. Steven's home. Catch a break until there was a new mission. They needed that break. Badly.

I don't have a job anymore, Steven sighed mournfully.

Marc glanced into the sideview mirror, caught sight of his alter's sad expression. "You'll find a new one," he promised softly.

While you are chasing bad guys? That would be a right miracle. I'd be out on my arse within a week for buggering off work.

Khonshu snorted and Marc wasn't all too surprised that the entity was suddenly standing next to him, looking over his shoulder and into the mirror. Looking at both of them. He felt that presence again, everywhere and part of him wanted to lean into that power, feel it, and with it the whisper of the suit.

"We'll… work something out," he said thickly, shooting his god a narrow-eyed look. "This isn't just about me, okay?"

Steven looked doubtful, but there was also hope. Thank you…

He was about to reply when there was a sudden shift in the air. Marc straightened abruptly, training kicking in, and his muscles coiled, ready for any kind of confrontation. He felt the surge from Khonshu, how the suit hovered just under his skin, the armor primed and ready.

Layla immediately picked up on the change and there was a gun in her hand. Her eyes tracked around the empty back alley. Good girl, Marc thought.

Khonshu's attention shifted from his avatar to something… someone… a presence… and yet he was still very much there in Marc's mind.

"Hathor," the moon god snarled.

Oh, wow… Steven murmured. She's here? Of course she's still here. She helped us. She actually likes him, you know. Old friends or acquaintances, or whatever gods are.

"I know," Marc murmured, eyes scanning the area.

His muscles were coiled; ready. The armor trembled under his fingertips.

"Suit up!" Khonshu ordered sharply.

"Not yet."

It wasn't defiance. Well, maybe a little. Just a little bit. He felt it through the connection that Khonshu was on edge. The god was right next to him now. Wind whispered through the alley, the sounds around them muffled. There was a razor sharp edge to the entity's touch, to the connection, but not harming the human avatar. It was the flexing of invisible claws, baring non-existent teeth, bristling and growling.

"This isn't an attack, Khonshu," he told the tense figure, though his own tension didn't abate either.

She won't attack, Steven agreed. She was always on our side. And the other gods aren't attack-happy anyway.

Yatzil had been quite helpful, which meant Hathor had been helpful, too.

Hathor's avatar suddenly stepped out of the long shadows at the mouth of the alley as the sun sank lower, coalescing into existence. She looked as stunning as before, Marc thought. Steven was quite taken by her, too.

"Yatzil," he greeted her.

He felt Khonshu's displeasure, but not as sharp and angry as before. The moon god was simply wary of the other deity's sudden presence since none of the Ennead had deemed it necessary to offer so much as an apology or voiced a thank you for what the moon god had done for them, for humanity. For both realms! While Ammit wouldn't have been able to kill her fellow gods, their avatars had been fair game.

Knowing how they had imprisoned one of their own already, Marc was quite sure Ammit would have found a way to do away with any meddlesome interlopers. And take over not just this realm but their place of origin, too.

Yatzil inclined her head, then turned to look at Khonshu. "It is good to see you again, Khonshu," she said calmly. "You are looking very well."

Possession, Marc realized. Hathor was using her avatar at the moment. She wasn't as physically present as Khonshu always was with him, which…

…is interesting, Steven remarked, clearly intrigued. We never saw the other deities, only their avatars. When they interact, it is through possession. They never leave their realm.

Yeah…

Khonshu only possessed you in the council chamber.

"I noticed," Marc muttered. "I was there. Unpleasantly there."

We also can't see the other gods, but we could see the jackals, right? Why can't we see the gods? I would have expected it when we talked to the Ennead Council. Maybe because they can't or won't leave their realm? Khonshu was exiled to this place. His form is part of our realm. Steven stopped, eyes widening a little. Oh wow. Right, he murmured. He's here. With us. Physically. He was always here ever since they slammed the bloody door in his face without so much as a toodles. They aren't here. They won't step away… they're safely in their realms, interacting from afar. Never interfering.

Not something Marc had pondered, but actually true. It was also something that had never interested him. Steven was different; he loved that stuff. He dug into it, wanted to know more, and he geeked out over the smallest tidbit.

"Marc Spector," the goddess now addressed him. "Avatar and host of Khonshu."

It drew an immediate wave of displeasure, almost anger, coming from his god. The moon staff thudded down in front of Marc, effectively blocking him off from the other avatar, and both Steven and Marc's eyebrows shot up.

Wow, Steven murmured.

"I greet you," Yatzil/Hathor continued, unperturbed. She inclined her head. "I am happy to see you are well. All of you." She smiled. "I can feel you are healing."

"What do you want, Hathor?" Khonshu demanded, the anger bleeding into his voice. The moon god was on edge, giving off a trigger-happy vibe. He was also pushing at him to suit up.

"Stop it!" Marc hissed. "She's not your enemy!"

Khonshu snarled, the rags whipping around him, briefly obscuring his sight. Marc finally reached for one and curled his fingers into the cloth. It was energy and then again not. It was unlike anything he had ever touched and yet familiar.

"You have finally come to understand, Khonshu." Her voice was musical, almost ethereal, and the smile close to benign. "The importance of the avatar. The connection they have with us. Throughout the ages, you had many."

Marc shot the entity a look, brow furrowing.

"None proved as fitting as this one. None ever fit you." Hathor's knowing smile was slightly unnerving, as was the shimmer of silvery blue in the depths of Yatzil's normally brown eyes. "He suits you."

Khonshu straightened to his full height, standing next to his knight, his warrior and the protector of this world, and Marc felt the surge of power running through him.

"Again: we're not fighting her," he whispered sharply, almost a hiss. "She's a friend."

Khonshu's rising fury was bouncing around his head.

Steven was watching, fascinated, intrigued, the scientist studying two very interesting specimen.

"You were always too impulsive, too inconsiderate and too hotheaded in all your choices," Yatzil/Hathor stated benignly. "Your avatar is more reasonable. Yes, he suits you."

Marc's brows shot up. Uh-huh.

"It needed to be done!" the moon god thundered. "None of you had the guts! You crawled back into the Overvoid! Watching! Leaving this realm to its own devices! You abandoned humanity! I never did!"

Alright, Marc thought with an almost fatalistic edge to it. The lid was about to blow off this particular pot.

Khonshu's fingers clenched around his staff and a gust of wind barreled over the roof top. Marc glanced at his god, cocking one eyebrow. Nope, he hadn't learned any political moves lately. Never would, probably. He still exploded at the wrong word.

"Shehas a good point." He raised his eyebrows. "About you and your temper. Which I know about. Intimately."

The skull swiveled sharply, a warning echoing through him.

Marc ignored it. For the first time he simply ignored it, felt no fear. No longer cowed, threatened, coerced. Because right now the bond was wide open as the emotional outbreak had torn down the locked doors, and he could feel Khonshu. He could really feel that vastness, that ancient entity, and what he felt was hurt, anger and disappointment, coupled with the loneliness of his existence. Left behind.

Yeah, he could relate to that.

Yatzil/Hathor smiled softly. "Marc was the first wise choice, even though you didn't know it," she added, driving the point home. "You have grown with him. You have seen what a true avatar can be. How much they are willing to sacrifice." Her eyes met Marc's. "And what it feels like when they want us, Khonshu. I know you can feel it right now. It's so much smoother, so much better, so much stronger and closer."

"What do you want?" Khonshu once more demanded, rather unkindly.

"Only to see you, old friend. We haven't had the opportunity in a very long time, my friend."

He drew himself up to his full height, towering over Yatzil. Marc felt the caress of the magic, the urgent itch of the suit, but he refused to give in to the childish prodding. Ribbons of gray linen fluttered over his arms.

"The truth, Hathor!" the moon god barked and a small whirlwind rose sharply, overturning a garbage can.

"Wow," Marc mumbled. "You really need to work on your people skills. You might not want to alienate the few friends you still have with your old pals."

Khonshu's sharp spike of emotions was tell-tale, but so was his continued, very solid presence next to his Knight, and the open bond between them.

Steven was deep within Marc's mind, watching with wide eyes, and an expression that reflected a million light bulbs going off at once.

Yatzil/Hathor smiled, still so patient, so warm and loving. "Nothing has changed and probably never will. You are still… hot-headed and impatient. But I believe you have found a way for yourself now. An acceptance. I saw you fight. I saw him fight. The Moon Knight has grown in power and strength."

Khonshu harrumphed.

"I came to see how you and your avatar are faring. Your representative." Yatzil/Hathor tilted her head a little in Marc's direction. "A part of yourself. You never listened. Your passion for justice and also vengeance clouded your mind to the true purpose of such a partnership. It can be true and good. It gives us a way into this world."

"I have always been in this realm!" Khonshu snapped. "Unlike you!" He pointed the staff at her, the crest mere inches from the avatar's face.

Alright, Marc mused. Political incident in the making. At least this was Hathor and not Osiris, who had a chip on his shoulder the size of the pyramids. He didn't think the gods would come to blows, but Khonshu had burned more than one bridge in the past.

Yatzil/Hathor ignored the outburst. "An avatar's oath to us can grow beyond servitude. Yatzil has been my partner in this realm since we left and she has been loyal and true, never in doubt, and she has grown only stronger."

"You abandoned this realm!" Khonshu snarled, that old, old pain flaring again. "Do not give me advice on my avatar!"

"Mistakes were made," she agreed. "On both sides."

That got her a really sharp flare and Marc felt the suit rise closer to the surface again, called by his tension and Khonshu's very emotional state of mind. He felt it wrap over his skin, saw faint images of the layers.

Uh…, Steven murmured. That… is a long time, actually. To be a god's avatar. Really, really long time. I mean, the first written evidence of deities in Egypt comes from the Early Dynastic Period which is somewhere around 3100 BC. Deities must have emerged sometime in the preceding Predynastic Period and grown out of prehistoric religious beliefs. The oldest findings of Egyptian paleo settlements date to almost 8000 BC…

Right, Marc thought faintly. Headache. Coming on now. And underneath all of that was the call of the armor, clamoring loudly. He pushed down on that, refusing to surrender.

How old is she?! Steven exclaimed. When did they first choose avatars?

"A long, long time ago, it seems," Marc mumbled, barely moving his lips. "Really long."

"So, you finally confess to it!" Khonshu demanded. "You abandoned humanity out of spite because they stopped worshipping you?"

"The Ennead will never confess to any mistakes they might have made in that regard…"

Khonshu snorted in disgust. "That they made!" he snapped, ramming the moon staff into the ground with such force, a minor gust of wind blew over the assembled humans. "Sitting in the Overvoid, watching this realm through the eyes of useless avatars!" He almost spat the last word with such loathing, it was almost palpable.

"Hey," Marc muttered, scowling.

Khonshu's energy swirled through him, possessive and powerful, and he almost felt the caress of the suit's wrappings. The moon god had always been here, with his avatar, bestowing his power upon his chosen to deal out justice, to act, not just watch. This was his realm, like Marc was his, and it was such a deep, intense and propriertary emotion, so primal, Marc closed his eyes with an inaudible gasp.

"They gave up on humanity because of some childish concept of needing the worship!" Khonshu thundered. "They watched from uncomprehending eyes as Ammit's avatar manipulated them all! They gave Ammit the key to her own release!"

Marc wondered if he was the only one who expected wings to flare behind the tall figures back, maybe some thunder and lightning to underline the harsh words.

Yatzil/Hathor inclined her head. "Oversights were made and we paid the price. You were correct. And I know you are too head-strong to return, just as they are too proud to utter an apology." She smiled a little. "You have grown immensely in your time in this realm, with him, Khonshu. You saved each other. One day you might be able to enjoy our presence again, listen to my music. Dance with me. I know you will never return forever. This is your world now. You love humanity. You protect them your own way. Just as you love your avatar and will do everything to protect him." She bowed her head a little toward Marc. "You are what he needs, Marc Spector. Never be in doubt of who and what you are for my old friend. You harbor a strength unrivalled by others, a stability in chaos, and you are chaos."

And with that she turned and walked into the shadows, slipping away.

Layla looked at the silent god, brows up, quizzical. She hadn't said a single word, had simply stood by, watched, listened, and been invisible. Khonshu was staring at where the avatar of a very old friend had been. His fingers clenched and unclenched around the moon staff. Marc could feel the turmoil, the whirlwind of emotions. Old wounds, old scars, so much disappointment, pain and still-present fury.

It would take a while, a long, long while, for the moon god to even consider leaving Earth's realm.

Maybe never.

Khonshu rumbled wordlessly, his refusal to face those who had shamed him, had banished him, had made him an outcast and finally had damned him to a prison of stone, only too clear. Marc could also sense the crippled little whisper of longing, of the loss of a bond to a friend over his own inability to control his emotions, and the fact that whatever he had done and would do, it would never be the same.

We are not so different, Steven said, voice soft and understanding; maybe just a little sad.

"You're not going," Marc stated, shooting the taller entity a calculating look. "Home… or whatever you call that place. Realm."

Khonshu briefly tightened his grip on the staff, then squared his shoulders. "No. Never again."

"Never is a long time," Layla remarked, looking quizzically at him. "Especially for an immortal being. You sure? I'm not all too clear how it works with you gods, but aren't they like family? Or old friends? Hathor implied as much."

He didn't comment, but Marc felt the entity's unwavering anger at his treatment, at their doubt, their blindness to the reality around them. Their still-lingering irritability that humanity had turned away from them, had stopped worshipping them. Holding a child-like grudge.

"They squabble over pesky little political problems," Khonshu finally rumbled. "They cling to what they think was humanity's disloyalty to them. Losing faith and changing their believes. They don't see the evolution of life and matter. They don't adapt. They just complain about nothing, watching the realms from their golden thrones!"

"I know someone else who can behave like the biggest toddler in the universe," Spector remarked, drawing a grin from Layla. "Throwing temper tantrums when not getting his way and the likes."

Wind whipped around them and somewhere a vase shattered as it was blown off its stand. Khonshu glared at him.

"My point exactly. Proven. Evidence right here," Marc simply said.

It was so easy now. Just a day after their new terms of this… partnership. A night of sleep, of resting while Steven enjoyed the day, and he felt better. Healing. Learning to accept.

Something crept up his spine, suffusing his every cell, giving him an awareness of Khonshu that came close to the brief possession, but so much less violent. So much more open and… controlled.

For the first time in a very long time, he also felt… at ease. Facing this powerful entity, aware of him on so many levels, feeling the softness of Steven buffering his own upheavals, and giving strength to the timid, shy alter as they grew into what they were now.

Khonshu was just as… not-broken as them. Just as bad as them at so many things.

"I am not a child," the moon god stated.

"You are," they replied with one voice, joined by a third, female one who was actually watching them with amusement.

Khonshu stared at them, then huffed. Something trembled deep inside him. The sensation stayed and Marc briefly closed his eyes, then let go and welcomed the presence of his god as the entity merged with his avatar, caressing his very soul, suffusing his mind.

Not a possession.

A partnership.

It felt… good. He felt strangely… whole.

As it should have been and would be from now on.

"There you go," Layla said softly, proudly, eyes warm.

She held out a hand and he took it, squeezing hers. Marc knew he was smiling stupidly, almost hopefully, and Layla's expression was so much like on that boat, he really did allowed himself that hope.