I haven't decided if I want to leave this as is, add another chapter, or turn this into a short series. We'll see what happens.

This story takes place after episode six but doesn't actually acknowledge any of the season's events. It also omits some important bits such as Khonshu being sealed away and his interactions with the other Egyptian deities.

Please read, review, and enjoy! : )


Music spilled into the streets, deep enough for one to feel it pulse in the chest, loud enough to keep every neighbor within a two-block radius awake. A swarm of patrons littered the sidewalk around The Mad Hare, many with their first round, not yet tipsy enough to stumble into the street but buzzing with the joviality a good drink could provide.

The crowd was a menagerie of costumed characters, a plethora of colors glowing in the dark October night. More conservative-minded individuals would call the congregation a bacchanal, but for those in attendance, it was merely a celebration of thrills and creativity that came once a year.

A single woman departing the shop next door side-eyed the party-goers as she maneuvered around them, nearly twisting her ankle as she balanced along the curb in heels, quick to send an accusatory look once they were behind her.

Leaning against a cab parked on the street, Khonshu huffed at the scene and returned his attention to the inside of the club where his avatar mingled. Eleven minutes. Jake Lockley had eleven minutes to close his tab before a windstorm ruined the evening. And the establishment.

The God of the Moon crossed his arms, betraying his irritation to no one but himself. There were places to be, criminals to kill… Yet here he was, witnessing people do what they did every day, sans the ridiculous costumes: eat, drink, and be merry.

How uninspiring.

From the throng of patrons stumbled a woman in cow-print attire, her cheeks flushed from alcohol, exertion, or both. She careened into the side of the cab and slumped against it, throwing her hood, complete with plush horns, back from her face. With a derisive twitch, he turned away from the woman, putting an extra step between them.

"God, it's a mad house in there." She wiped a forearm across her forehead, breathing heavily. "Pretty sure it's a fire hazard too," her voice cracked.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to run into your car. Just lost my footing." The woman was looking in his direction.

He turned his head and realized she was looking at him. She was talking to him.

No, he checked himself, that was impossible. Insects could not see him. His unwanted companion pushed herself off the bumper and moved closer while he said nothing, deigning it better to ignore and be ignored.

"Your costume is really impressive. Did you use wire to shape the beak?" She was definitely talking to him.

His annoyed grunt overpowered by the pounding music, he turned his head in her direction, sharply, to convey his unspoken words.

She edged back. "Woah. That's longer than it looks."

Clearly, this one did not understand body language. He was prepared to tell her as much, but the words that left him were far removed from his premeditated content.

"Do I know you?" He gazed down the length of his beak, studying her with an eyeless stare that she could not return. Nevertheless, her eyes flickered over his skull in search of his, keen on finding contact.

Thick eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully above dark eyes. "Probably not. I don't know you." One corner of her mouth pulled upwards at the same time a loud whoop sounded from the club, disrupting their conversation.

They turned towards the open doors in unison, watched as a young man ran out followed closely by a female around the same age. The couple barreled into a group, scattering the herd and laughing uproariously. A moment later they emerged from the frenzy, the woman shouting something unintelligible and reaching for her partner, who twirled away and barely dodged a pantomime horse.

"Watch out!" The warning came a second before the cow-printed menace pressed against his side, her warm hand wrapping around his beak and shoving it to the side. The lover's chase skirted by to a round of applause and encouraging whistles.

Once they were clear, the woman pulled away, adjusting her outfit. "I'm so sorry." Her voice broke again, vocal cords raw from overuse. "You're not hurt, are you? Is your costume okay?"

"It is…undamaged." It took a fair amount of self-control not to summon a gale at her impudence. He stopped fussing over his suit when he saw her offer a hand out towards him.

"All things considered, I think this introduction could have gone a lot worse. I'm Nadia Hathor." He straightened, no longer relying on the cab to keep himself propped up.

For a moment, he was bound by self-doubt, trapped by the possibility that this was the goddess; that after years of isolation, he could no longer recognize his brethren.

A rush of shock chilled his bones, and shortly thereafter, a boiling disbelief. This was not the Hathor he knew. She had been the beginning of everything: sung until the winds chorused her melody; bathed in the shadows of his moonlight; coaxed life into being; shared his breath.

Anger gave way to resignation. He was alone because of his choices, not in spite of them. Perhaps he needed this reminder of his standing amongst the ancients.

When he extended his hand to meet hers, it was because he wanted to. "I am Khonshu."

"Nice to meet you, Khonshu." Her grip was firm, and even though she tipped her head farther back to meet his face, she did not comment on his height. Her gaze strayed from his eye sockets a couple of times, briefly, in small increments, like she did not wish for him to notice: she was looking for his eyes again.

As their hands separated, his fingers twitched, anxious to commit the solid warmth to memory. He hadn't touched anyone with his own hands in a long time. He shouldn't have been able to touch her, just as she shouldn't have been able to see him. She was a human—of less worth than an avatar, the equivalent of an ant in the grand scheme of things. And yet, their meeting possessed a supernatural element, something neither one of them seemed to command power over.

"Your name is very princely. I like it."

"And Hathor isn't?"

She shrugged. "It's my mom's name. I don't particularly like the way it sounds, but I would never change it. Sentimental value and all that." Fingers finding the zipper of her outfit, she pulled the tab up and down in short bursts, a nervous gesture that she appeared to be engaging in subconsciously.

"A name to preserve, then." Gods did not lay claim to families anymore. The practice of passing the responsibilities of an avatar from parent to offspring ended many centuries ago with the pharaohs. To name a mortal child after a goddess was the height of arrogance. No human could compare. Least of all to one such as Hathor.

"While we're on the subject of identity, who—er, what—are you dressed as? You look familiar in a Final Boss sort of way." Her cheeks had lost most of their red color in the autumn air, and although her voice was uneven, she had not slurred once.

"I am a god."

"A bird god?" Had his face retained anything more than bone, the woman would have seen by his expression how he disapproved of her interrogation. He conversed with her to assure himself, to sate his own curiosity, not hers.

"God of the Moon," he entertained her one last time. "What are you?"

The pointedness in his tone did not faze her. "Just a cow. Old MacDonald and the rest of the farm are inside." She breathed a sound like a whisper, and it took him a moment to realize she was laughing. Whatever the joke was, he did not get it.

"Hey, it's actually a little chilly out here now that I'm standing still. Do you mind if we go inside? I won't make you dance," she teased.

He glanced towards the mass of bodies within the club, lights dancing overhead as it swayed, whites, golds, and silvers glinting from the depths like fish in a stream. Jake Lockley was there, somewhere.

"I need to find my friend." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "I will come with you."

"Better keep ahold of your mask," she rasped as loud as she could, stepping towards the club. He followed her across the threshold, making sure to keep a couple paces behind her so that she would not see how his presence went unnoticed by others.

They traveled along the periphery of the center room, Nadia moving slowly, searching for her group, while he kept an eye out for the ugly cap Jake Lockley was so fond of wearing.

Halfway around, she leaned back and tapped his arm, her mouth moving as she looked from him to another point in the club. Unable to hear a word above the bass, he bent down until his beak brushed her shoulder.

"My friends are over there, by the end of the bar." She cupped her hands around her mouth and lifted up onto her toes, closer to where she supposed his ear was. "Would you like to get a drink with us?" Her voice was almost gone.

He shook his head, maxilla nudging her fingertips.

"You need to be careful with this thing," she smiled up at him from behind her makeshift shield. "I guess I'll see you around. It was nice meeting you, Khonshu. Good luck finding your friend." She turned as if she was going to walk away, but stopped short. "I hope you keep the suit. It looks good—" Her voice died, cutting off the rest of the sentence. She brought a hand to her throat, her smile holding a hint of pain as she gave a thumbs-up and a small wave before departing into the crowd.

He almost left it at that—let her put her back to him, watch an excited momentum carry her across the floor as she forgot about him in sight of her friends. The finality of their parting jarred him once she was out of arm's reach. His doubt returned.

"Wait." Time shifted, his silhouette blurring as he stepped forward between the seconds. Maybe it was desire, surely not desperation, he told himself, that spurred his actions. He snaked a hand around the crook of her elbow, the sciences reasserting their authority over all things to let him hold her for a moment.

Nadia whipped around, surprised.

It became apparent that he did not have the words to explain himself, his grip loosening as he remained silent.

She touched his arm and spoke, expression louder than her words. What's wrong?

All of this was wrong.

"I would like to keep your company for just a little while longer." He could see another question forming on her lips. "Only your company." His response flattened her smile, wariness dimming the gleam in her eyes.

She gently removed the hand on her elbow and then reached for the zipper on her outfit, jerking it down to her waist. He watched her complete the motion with a mixture of trepidation and fascination, tensing when she pulled both sides of the costume open to wiggle out of the sleeves. She was clothed beneath the cow suit. The way a number of patrons were dressed, he had expected different.

She fished around the costume and pulled out a cell phone, tapping the screen and then raising it to snap a couple of pictures. There was nothing to do but watch her face change as she took another set. Her frown deepened and she glanced at him over the top of her phone.

He wouldn't appear in any of her photographs.

When he edged forwards, she took a step back. "No one can see me, apart from you and my friend." She looked ready to bolt. "Do not be afraid. I will not harm you."

Without taking her eyes off him, she tapped the closest person and said something, nodding towards where he stood. The reply she received was not the one she wanted to hear. Hands fumbling with her phone in haste, she dropped it onto the floor, swooping down in an instant to search for it.

He slowly mirrored her crouch, his vision much more enhanced than hers in the dim light. Saving the device from an untimely demise with an approaching shoe, he offered it to her. "You are not sick, Nadia Hathor."

She appeared stunned for a second, as if she did not recall giving him her name. Blinking the emotions away, she hesitantly lifted her hand to take her phone, brushing her fingers against his. The urge to reciprocate was strong but not overwhelming.

Upon standing, she typed a message on her phone and then tucked it into her pants, returning her focus to his face. This time her gaze went straight to his eye sockets. Two daring fingers prodded his arm again, and then she turned, scanning the crowd around them. "My friends know where we are. If you try anything suspicious…" There wasn't a credible threat she could dangle over him.

"Come with me." She marched off into the crowd, motioning him to follow, and he did, believing she had a destination in mind. She avoided her friends, ducking down a narrow alcove that took them to the building's rear.

A couple of girls in black trotted down the hall, glancing at Nadia but not him, and she stopped to look back at them after they passed, her expression anxious. Further down, a man and woman were pressed close against the wall, too tangled in one another to take notice as they slipped by. Picking up speed at the end, she burst through the door marked as an emergency exit.

Outside, the back alley stretched both ways, lined with dumpsters and the occasional vehicle under orange-tinted streetlights. Moths and insects fluttered manically above them around a man-made sun, their hum the only countermelody against the raging music.

Nadia did not look at him for a long while, instead staring down the street, her arms folded across her chest for additional warmth, the top of her costume hanging around her hips. "You don't show up in photos. What are you, really?" It was easier to hear her now, removed from the club. She was nervous, but doing a decent job of hiding it.

"I told you the truth."

"Khonshu," she rasped, "God of the Moon." She thought he mocked her.

He repositioned himself in front of her, prompting her to finally meet the gaze that had been trained on her the entire time. "You think I'm lying? Do you have so little faith that you doubt your own eyes? After what you have witnessed tonight?"

"The self-professed gods on this planet have engaged in conflicts that killed thousands and uprooted many more. I don't want you to be a god."

He hunched forwards and she leaned back. "Then what would you have me be?"

"… A man. Just a man in a silly bird costume," she whispered uneasily.

"And I would prefer your namesake over you."

She flinched at his words. "If you came out her to insult me, I'm going back inside. I can keep better company." She backed up another step, her eyes darting to the side in search of an exit.

He straightened and put his hands in his trouser pockets, swallowing his temper. "It was not my intention," he confessed into the tense silence. "There is…a goddess. Named Hathor. We were close, once. You could see me and I thought, with your attire, and your name, that you might be more than you appeared." He sounded more bitter about it than he thought he would.

Nadia rubbed her arms and lowered her head, embarrassed by the implication. "I guess everyone makes mistakes." She slotted her fingers together and shuffled her feet, inching out from between the wall and him. "I'm sorry I'm not the Hathor you were expecting. I didn't mean to mislead you." Something about the way she said it made it sound as though she was pitying him, not repenting. He resented her for it—if not for pointing out his error, then, at the very least, for speaking the truth.

"Why did you want me to stay, if I'm not the person you thought I was?" He decided not to answer, and she did not press. Scrunching her arms tight across her chest, she stepped forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, facing the opposite direction as she peered up into the dark expanse overhead.

The moon, nearly full, was a pale, blurry orb in a sky full of clouds and haze, its light fading in and out like a dying bulb. Not fit for stargazing or romance, the night promised rain and nothing else.

They did not speak, but after a time, she moved closer, pressing her bare arm to his sleeve. He glanced at her but she paid him no mind. More likely than not, she was looking for a source of warmth. He could see her—feel her—shivering. "Go back inside, girl, you're only making yourself sick."

"All right." No argument. For the second time that night, she turned her back to him, and he realized that his words, his actions, did not reflect what he wanted.

"At least wear your costume properly." Another failure.

She walked to the back door and then stopped, quietly pulling the sleeves over her gooseflesh.

As she leaned forward to tug on the zipper, he made up his mind. He would not chase after her this time. There was no point pursuing a dream when he knew that disappointment waited at the end, the woman in front of him only serving as a nagging reminder of what he could not reclaim.

"I hope you find your friend." She turned half-way, her posture reserved. "And I hope you meet Hathor again." She hadn't smiled once since learning the truth about his identity, and she didn't smile now; didn't wish him well or express hope for another encounter as seemed to be customary in so many cultures.

Things would have been different if he hadn't revealed himself, if he had played the part of a human; of this, he was certain. Now a rift existed, opening wider, forcing them farther apart every second they spent in one another's company.

The back door clacked suddenly, rapidly swinging outward towards Nadia as she twisted back around, her eyes wide in dismay. She was standing too close.

He swept forward, blurring around the edges, and extended one arm. His palm met the upper corner of the door with an opposing force, the door snapping back inwards and colliding against something solid.

A high-pitched "Ow, fuck!" rang over the music before the door slammed in its frame.

Nadia stumbled back in anticipation of an impact that never came, teetering until she knocked into him with a small "Oof."

Khonshu did not budge, his weight distributed to keep the door shut. For one painfully brief instant he felt her conform to his shape, her muscles flexing and then tensing against him as she steadied herself. His fingers curled tightly against the door.

She turned her head, accidently bumping his chest with her shoulder. "Sorry," she croaked, "I—"

"You're going to get hurt if you're not careful," he grumbled down at her apologetic expression, resisting the temptation to fold around her.

"Thank you…for that." She ducked her head at the end and slowly stepped back to give him space.

Her refusal to make a scene over the physical contact both relieved and irked him. It was for the best that nothing came of this meeting, but that didn't stop him from wishing that he bothered her a fraction of the amount that she bothered him. That this was a shared fantasy instead of a shameful want. That he was the one to deny her, instead of the other way around.

"Khonshu."

Had she been talking?

"You don't have to block the door anymore. I'm going back inside." She didn't look his way as she reached for the door handle, but he was acutely aware of her attention as he lowered his hand. Standing out of the way of the door's trajectory, she braced and pulled, her body jerking to a halt. She readjusted and tugged again. "It's locked on this side. That makes sense." A short breath of air slithered out from between her lips. "Guess I'll take the long way."

She began to wander down the backstreet, her flimsy cow tail swinging behind her. "Are you coming?" she called over her shoulder. Her pace did not slow.

When she turned down a side alley, he finally moved to follow, keeping his distance to deter any more chatter.

At the end of the road they parted ways without speaking, exchanging gazes one last time in the glow of the city. It could have been his imagination, but he thought her visage was softer now than it had been only minutes ago. The faintest of smiles reached her eyes an instant before she spun away from him and ventured back towards the club's entrance, a familiar skip in her step.

Later that night, seated in the cool, dark flat overlooking the nightscape, he listened to Jake Lockley toss fitfully in bed, and smirked. He tilted his head towards the window, watched the wink of stars, barely visible past the curtains, fade as time marched forwards, the echo of a clock filling the silence. The image of a smile, genuine and warm—maybe even for him alone—colored his thoughts. Mandible propped on his knuckles in a rare show of reflection, he let his bones sink into a memory of flesh and desire, and black night flowed into white dawn.