Marc woke in the late morning, to the sunlight streaming into the room.
And to memories that seemed less disturbing now.
He felt at ease, wrapped in an invisible blanket, anchored firmly in this reality. Remembering that surreal realm didn't make him want to curl up and scream, or run until he couldn't run anymore.
"The Realm of Souls, hm?" he mumbled as he ran a hand over his unshaven, sleep-muddled features. "Well, fuck."
Steven was there, a bit hesitant, but there was no tension. They were co-fronting and both now shared a knowledge that had been split between the alters, locked away because they hadn't been able to comprehend what had happened.
It made them so much stronger. It made them more.
"Memories. Our memories," Marc stated softly.
We have different ones that make up the truth of what happened. Not sure either of us can remember everything, especially since… well, Jake… he fought Ammit. We weren't part of that.
Yes. That part was lost forever.
And we are getting better at handling things.
At so much. Co-fronting. Co-existence. Dealing with everything, with their differences and with what held them together.
Like Layla.
"Yes, we are getting better." Far from fully healed, but healing.
So much more at peace. Khonshu had become the pivot and anchor of their mind.
You might want to call her. Layla.
"Steven…" A warning swung in his voice.
While he didn't need a mirror to see, he did look into the one above the sink. Steven's open, puppy-dog expression was almost too much.
I think she wants you to, too.
"You think."
We're friends. We talk.
Yes. And she was Marc's wife.
He blew out a breath, still staring at the ceiling. He finally sat up and padded over to the bathroom where Steven's gaze met his own in the mirror.
"This can work," Marc whispered.
It can. We can. It's time to start living again. For both of us.
Together. Balanced. Equals. Protective as hell when it came to the alter, but still… Marc knew Steven was stronger than he had given him credit for; Steven knew that Marc wasn't the emotionless asshole who remorselessly took a life.
"We can do this."
Steven looked positively happy. The world needs the Moon Knight. You are the Moon Knight, only you. You are Khonshu's justice, Marc Spector. You.
Marc briefly closed his eyes, then turned to face the deity who had been hovering behind him. Silently waiting, so infinitely patient and always there.
"We're on again."
Khonshu tilted his head. Marc didn't even have to ask if there was actually a job lined up. The moon god was brimming with dark excitement and the hunger for vengeance and justice for the innocent.
The suit whispered under his skin, close to the surface, and he caught faint outlines of bandages. There was an eagerness that was almost infectious and he thought he heard Steven laugh.
Go out. Have fun, his alter teased.
"Oh, shut up."
But Marc was excited. Very. It was like stepping back into an old life that was now very new.
That night he packed a bag, just the necessities, which included a passport that hadn't been acquired legally, foreign currency, and a burner phone.
Steven just watched, catching the eddies of excitement from both Khonshu and Marc. The eagerness was hard to miss.
It was the first time Marc felt… good. He felt good about going out to kick the lowlife where it hurt, to bring justice to others, to avenge those who had died.
They were on a plane heading to their destination a few hours later.
He was there, watching his Knight fight. Pride suffused the tall entity and he shared in the emotions of his avatar as Marc took down the human traffickers without a shred of remorse. He felt the power, he felt Marc, and they had never been this close in any of their fights before. His avatar was completely open to him.
Every surge was shared, every flare of anger, every triumph, every snarl of fury as Marc fought his way through the opposition.
No, it had never been like this before. It was exhilarating, thrilling, and Khonshu crouched above the battlefield, the burning pride inside clearly spilling over to the Moon Knight, because Marc's emotions were clearly reflecting it.
"Well done," the moon god whispered darkly as he stood behind his Knight when it was over.
Marc had taken a beating, had been hit with bullets and cut by knives. Someone had thrown a last resort grenade, which had left a sizable crater in the ground near him. The shrapnel hadn't pierced the shield of the cape, though the shock wave had blown him across the warehouse. The suit healed him, took the pain away, left him in prime fighting condition, and it restored his energy levels. It wasn't the ultimate weapon and Khonshu knew there was a limit, but they had not yet reached it.
Eyes as bright as the moon looked up and Khonshu felt the low tremor between them as Marc came down from that battle high. They were still closely entwined, the moon's power washing gently back and forth. The Moon Knight surveyed the scene, never relaxing his stance. There were bodies on the ground, some looking like they would never rise again, let alone alive. Some were still breathing.
Vicious satisfaction coursed through the timeless deity. Vengeance. Justice.
"Time to go," Marc finally said as sirens could be heard in the distance.
They had holed up in a rather nice hotel. Steven had no idea where they were, but he got a sense of safety as he woke.
"We're okay," Marc reassured him, meeting the dark eyes in the mirror above the desk. He was cleaning a gun, each move practiced and well-versed.
Good to hear.
"You don't want to know," he added before Steven could ask.
The last piece of the gun snapped into place. He could do this in his sleep, an arm tied behind his back, blind… your choice.
It had been violent. Bloody, terrifying, violent… It had been bad. Moon Knight had been injured, though the armor had healed him, but the reason why he had come here had been ugly. There was no lingering pain, which was good. Steven counted it as very good, actually. Grand.
Had fun?
Marc gave a little laugh that almost sounded like a bark of surprise. "Yeah. I… did."
Steven smiled brightly at him from the mirror side, happy with the response, happy with how it had worked out. They could do this. Together. It would work.
"Thanks," Marc added softly, his own smile reflecting more than he might ever be able to say out loud.
He suddenly rested his forehead against the mirror, the cool glass soothing.
"Thank you," he repeated.
It's our life. We share it.
He smiled dimly.
They could only do this together. Them and the possessive deity who was soul-bound to him, who was this heavy, claiming warmth in his body and mind.
Steven woke in his own bed, at home, feeling… okay. Like he had actually slept, not jet-setted around the world. Marc was in the depth of his mind, not really passive but also not close to the surface. There had been another job, this one involving some stolen amulet, which had Steven geek out over the myth and lore as Marc let him research the library files and look up the intricately carved and beautifully decorated piece of jewelry.
That it also contained some residual magic of old had been an unpleasant surprise, especially since the buyer of the illegal sale had been able to use it.
Marc had been hit hard.
Steven had heard his scream, had the terrible wound the amulet had ripped into his side, though he hadn't been the one to suffer the pain. The protective wall had been unwavering, keeping him away from that part of their life.
Now he was home.
"Marc?"
There was no reply.
"Marc?" he probed again, voice soft and careful.
Nothing. The alter was really deep, probably needing the time to recover.
"He is recovering," a voice whispered in his head. It didn't even startle him anymore.
Khonshu was close. He could feel him. Like a blanket around them, strangely warm, protective; a vicious, satisfied guard dog.
"Is he?" Steven asked, worried and that protective streak flaring once more.
"Do you doubt my word?" the entity demanded, though not unkindly.
"No." At least not anymore. "I'm just…"
"You worry. Marc Spector is fine," Khonshu repeated. "I will not let him come to permanent harm."
Steven got up and took inventory. No scrapes and bruises. Everything looked just fine. But he had been badly hurt.
"You healed him," he stated to the empty air around him.
"I always do," was the soft purr.
"Did you get the amulet?"
"Yes." The dark, low voice was almost vicious now. "They paid the price for their theft."
"Oh."
Khonshu was at the edge of his vision and when Steven turned, he saw him sitting inside the roof top window, blocking the morning sun that broke like a halo around him. He looked extremely satisfied.
"That was a magical item, wasn't it? That's why he hurt so badly."
"Yes."
"And it wasn't the first time."
"No."
And it wouldn't be the last. Steven hated to think of the damage Moon Knight had taken, how Marc had suffered the pain and kept Steven away from it all. Not just now. In the past, too. Even before Khonshu.
"He will not let you come to harm," Khonshu told him evenly. "Do not let him worry about your doubts in this arrangement."
"I… I'm not a fan of Marc getting hurt, but I thought… with the suit…"
"You experienced the power of the suit yourself."
He had. He had his own version of the suit and getting impaled hadn't been fun. It had hurt, though it hadn't been the debilitating pain he would have expected. There was a buffer and there was an incredible healing power at work.
Khonshu regarded him silently, watching, waiting.
"My bond to my Knight does not give him invincibility," the moon god finally stated. "I supply him my power. He has that at his disposal should he choose so. Everything else comes down to his fighting prowess and abilities."
Because sometimes Marc got into a fight without calling upon the ceremonial armor. That was his last resort, especially when facing overwhelming odds or the supernatural and magical.
"He also needs to learn to duck," Steven mumbled. "Or… just plain get out of the way of an attack. He just… goes right at stuff, taking hits."
Steven closed his eyes, willing down his protective streak. Khonshu chuckled and he thought he felt a gentle hug along the muted bond.
"You still have a lot to learn," the god murmured.
He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I guess. Not that I want to learn how to take hits. That's… not my forte."
"You are him and he is you," Khonshu said with a hum. "Muscle memory."
"I'd prefer not to…"
"You already have on occasion."
Steven shot the moon god a glare. "I'm not a warrior."
"You are. You have fought and won already."
He padded over to the kitchen and stopped as something caught his eye.
On the memo board were a few notes. The first told him the current date, which was nice and thoughtful. Then a brief list for groceries. And finally that he had had a call from Layla that she was coming to London by the end of the week. Apparently Marc had talked to her, which made Steven incredibly happy just from reading the note. He beamed as he read it.
There was also a quick scribble, almost like an afterthought, that Marc wasn't heading for another job right now. Steven held the post-it in his hands, drawn between relief and worry. He shot Khonshu a look.
"Is he really okay? I mean…" He held up the scrap of paper.
"This is in accordance with your arrangement."
"Oh. Right. I just thought… Uhm, I had months… and this was…" He checked the date again. "Five days, including travel time? It's a bit… rushed…?"
Khonshu radiated amusement, something Steven could feel at the edge of his mind.
"Well, I guess this isn't some undercover mission assignment or some long-winded investigation, right? You just… swoop in and do… your stuff. I'd have thought you had a whole list of jobs lined up by now."
"There is no urgency," the god reminded him, now so much closer and leaning in. "Until there is." And with that he was gone.
"Cryptic much?" Steven mumbled and pinned the note back to the memo board. "Right on! Groceries."
And Layla was coming. Excitement flooded through him and it was all his own. He was very much looking forward to seeing her again, talk to her in person, and he knew Marc was, too. Very much, actually.
Steven smiled as he left the flat, heading for his preferred store.
Marc woke by the end of the day. He looked… good, Steven decided as their eyes met in the mirror. Refreshed, not the least bit haunted or like he was running on fumes.
"Had fun?" he teased his alter.
Marc chuckled. Yes. Actually, I did.
"You're okay?"
Fine. Don't worry.
"I do, Marc. I really do. I know lots has changed, but…"
Everything has changed. This isn't like before. I'm good. Really good.
"Good," he echoed. Steven closed his eyes, mentally stepping back, letting himself fall into the backseat with ease and without a shred of doubt.
Marc opened his eyes, a bit surprised, and he met Steven's smiling face in the mirror.
"You didn't have to."
Actually, I did. And do. You have your wife to pick up at the airport.
"Layla…" He checked the clock. "Maybe you…"
Oh no! No, you're not getting out of that one, Marc. She's your wife. You need to talk to her! Really talk! In person!
Because so much had been left unsaid, even after everything had been said and done in Cairo all those months ago. He hesitated, then gave his alter a quick, thankful smile.
Dress nicely, Steven added cheekily.
