Layla's flight was right on time and Marc watched as his wife came out of the arrivals area. A longing spread through him, accompanied by a warm wave of happiness that was purely his own. She gave him a smile, then just wrapped him in a hug as he hesitated.

"You look good," she told him.

"Thanks. So do you. Very good."

Layla smiled more, warmly. "Plans?" she asked as they headed out of the terminal.

"Personal or professional?"

It got him a laugh. "Both?"

"How about dinner?" Marc suggested, feeling a little out of the water right now. It was even worse than their very first date. "Go out. Or just have take-out. Or delivery. Your choice."

Holy shit, he was sixteen again! And clearly channeling a little bit of Steven.

Steven wasn't even close to the surface. He wasn't gone, but he was keeping a lot of distance. Giving them privacy.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Mr. Spector?" she teased gently.

"What if I am?"

"As long as it is from my favorite Thai place, I'm in."

Marc laughed, the tension easing. "I think that can be arranged," he replied.

She took his hand, squeezing it gently. "I missed you, Marc."

"So did I. Really."

"I talked to Steven a lot."

"I know. So did I. And Khonshu."

She nodded. They had both needed the time. Too much had happened, too much had been revealed, and too much had changed for Marc Spector in the past weeks. He knew he would never lead a normal life, with or without being the Moon Knight, but he desperately wanted Layla back in that life. At least in the part of it when he wasn't fighting magical amulets and their thieving bearers. He wanted her out of danger, but not away from him.


They spent the evening eating extremely delicious take-out in a near-by park, talking, sharing stories, or just enjoying each other's company. Khonshu was suspiciously absent.

Layla gave him room and time, and Marc briefly debated with himself, then told her what had happened. The memories that had come back, sharing them with Steven, learning through each other's eyes and memories what had happened in that last battle. Shouldering a loss they couldn't fathom or start to understand, growing stronger in their interwoven lives and mind.

"You're healing," she said softly when he was done. "You're more… whole. I saw it when we met again. You're getting so much better, Marc."

"Because of him."

"And the bird."

He snorted. "Maybe."

"No, definitely. The three of you… it's doing you a lot of good. You said you remember what happened."

"Most of it. And it's… too weird to explain."

"But you handled it. You can deal with it."

"I am dealing with it," he agreed hesitantly.

Layla studied him, took in the still too tense lines Marc knew were there.

"It also means… answering your questions about… everything else," he added, voice rough.

"About before," she said.

"Yes."

"Marc…"

"You deserve to know. You need to know." His hands clenched into fists and he wanted to get up and just walk away. His flight reflex was overwhelming. "I owe it to you… the truth. Not the lies and manipulations of Harrow."

Layla was silent for a long time. Just a minute, maybe, but an eternity.

"Tell me," she finally said.

And Marc did. About the job; to raid an Egyptian tomb. About Bushman, who had ordered to leave no witnesses.

"I couldn't live with that," he said, voice barely more than an inflectionless whisper. "I'm not a cold-blooded killer. Self-defense yes, but not… that." He stared at the ground. "I tried to get them all away. We didn't make it. I didn't make it. I failed."

Layla watched him with large, dark eyes. There was an old pain in their depths, but it was a pain she had dealt with a long time ago.

"You didn't pull the trigger, Marc," she said quietly.

"No. I didn't. Might have just as well."

"It wasn't your fault."

Marc shook his head. "That temple we wanted to raid? It was Khonshu's. Your father had opened it, had been the first to set foot inside. I bled out in front of Khonshu's statue. That's when I took the vow. That's when it all started."

"We married a year later."

Marc wet his lips. "I never… saw it as atonement, Layla. I fell in love with you. I love you." He finally met her eyes. "That was never a lie and it still isn't!"

She hesitantly reached out and placed her hand over his clenched fist.

"I had a lot of time to think about what happened. Come to terms with everything," she told him. "Talking to Steven helped. It chased away Harrow*s words. He was a right bastard."

He twitched a humorless smile.

"Harrow… he got into my head. Your head. He played with everyone, with everyone's fears and darker moments. He twisted it all."

Marc closed his eyes.

"I know that now. I understand what happened wasn't your fault. If you hadn't been there, your partner would have still raided the temple site. He would still have killed everyone, including my father. It wasn't your fault and I have come to understand."

"Layla…"

"When we met, I really liked you. Then loved you. I never stopped loving you. The divorce papers…" She sighed and shook her head. "I want to try this again," she said softly. "Start again. I'm not sure how this can work exactly, but I want it to. Because I love you and I never stopped loving you. I know you didn't kill my dad. That you tried to save him. So much is clearer now."

"What I did…

"It wasn't you. It was never you."

"I was there."

"And you didn't kill any of them. You tried to save them." Layla was visibly fighting emotions. "You died saving them."

"I was given a second chance," Marc said tonelessly.

Perched on the building across the street, Khonshu was watching them. Marc felt him, his unwavering strength, and he briefly leaned into that.

"And you used it." Layla regarded him steadily, her dark eyes searching his, and apparently she found the answer to a question she hadn't asked. "This is your calling. It's not atonement. Not anymore, am I right?"

"It's my oath," he said softly. "To Khonshu. We are bound. Differently than before."

She was very close. He could feel her, felt his own flaring hopes, and still it was too soon. Layla leaned in and caught his lips, initiating a soft, soft kiss that had him almost whimper. Her hands were on his skin, brushing through his hair.

Marc caught those hands, holding them, feeling too much. "Layla…"

She kissed him again, then smiled. "We'll work on us. Small steps."

He couldn't let go of her hands. "Please…"

"I'm not going away. I came here for a reason. You. You and Steven. He's your best friend, Marc. He's mine, too. He is an integral, so very important part of you, and I love him."

He blinked.

"We need to work on this, I know. But I want this. Very, very much."

So did he.

Khonshu's presence increased and he felt the god closely entwined with him, the moon's power at his finger tips. Being the Moon Knight would always be the priority, he knew that.

Steven was far, far away, giving them privacy, but Marc knew he would do everything to keep his alter safe and sound, protected as much as Steven did the same for him in so many ways.

They were growing. Every damn single day. And there was room for growth when it came to his wife, whom Steven adored and Marc loved fiercely.

"And I might need another part of you, too, actually," Layla suddenly said, a devilish smile on her lips.

His brows shot up. "The Moon Knight?"

"Yes. I've heard of a deal going down right here in London in a few days. Stolen goods. Looters. Robbed a few graves."

Khonshu perked up and there was a slight breeze brushing over them. Marc rolled his eyes as Layla chuckled.

"Someone's already in," she teased.

"Yeah. He's so easy that way."

There was a growl, but Marc ignored it. He couldn't ignore his own excitement, the anticipation of dealing out Khonshu's justice.

"I don't know where and when, really, but maybe… we can look around?"

Yes, he loved her. So much.


She didn't spend the night at the flat. There was a hotel room in her name and Marc knew it was for the best.

Baby steps.

She's a lovely woman, Steven said wistfully.

"She is."

Marc knew he was smiling stupidly at the ceiling as he lay on the bed.

This can work, Marc.

Oh, he hoped so. So very much.


The crescent moon rose overhead, bathing everything in its silvery light. The energy touched his every cell, bathed him in power, and as Marc called upon the armor, it rose like a second skin. Eyes glowing white with the moon's power surveyed the scene below, taking note of the position of each target.

Khonshu rumbled softly in the back of his skull, anticipating the conflict, looking forward to exacting his vengeance on those who had robbed several grave sites and taken valuable relics, worth millions, while destroying the equally valuable history of the sites they had so carelessly torn apart. They hadn't even stopped at destroying the mummies of the dead.

Steven had been outraged.

It had taken them two days to get the time and place when the stolen artifacts would arrive in London. Most of it had already been sold to a buyer right here in the city, with some smaller pieces going all over the world. Marc had a list and he would make sure those illegal sales would end with the buyers in jail or worse.

Khonshu was clearly more than eager to get going. He was towering over his Knight, brimming with expectation and the hunger for justice. Flaps of cloth caressed Marc's form and there was hardly any room between them.

"Pent-up energy?" Layla asked playfully.

"Something like it."

"Will Steven be okay?"

Marc nodded. He didn't have to ask. He knew.

"Let's go," he murmured.

Steven would never stop worrying, but he was getting better. A lot better. As was Marc, who was no longer walling him off his extracurricular activities, unless Steven requested it. Steven still hated the violence and he really wasn't happy about the death count sometimes, but he knew it wasn't intentional. Moon Knight defended himself and it was kill or be killed. It was about survival and protecting the innocent.

Or avenge them.

And no, Moon Knight wasn't invincible. He took hits, some of them pretty hard and heavy, leaving marks, but the suit of armor was his best protection. Not that it always worked, but it kept him from serious harm most of the time.


Until the moment it didn't.

Until the moment the knife slid through the armor, slicing through the wrappings covering his body.

Until the moment he felt something bite and tear at him, at his very soul, trying to separate what was now one.

He went to his knees, his world shrinking down to a very small part, a black part inside of him, which was steadily growing.