When Steven's eyes fluttered open, the first thing he registered was the series of metal slats above him that definitely didn't match the crumbling and slightly water-stained ceiling of the motel room he had fallen asleep in last night.
Feeling disoriented, Steven slowly sat up, careful not to bump his head and noted that he had been sleeping on the lower mattress of a bunk bed attached directly to a drab, grey wall. When he turned his head, his gaze fell across a row of vertical steel bars, stretching from floor to ceiling. A second cell with matching bunks was visible through the gaps between the bars, and a guard, dressed in olive-green military fatigues, stood straight-backed in front of the door positioned between the two cells.
"Am I dreaming right now?" he murmured as he stood and surveyed the small enclosure of his cell.
A serviceable metal toilet and matching sink were tucked away in the far corner of the cell behind a partial divider wall to provide some semblance of privacy. A small, square mirror was affixed to the wall above the sink.
Shooting a furtive glance at the guard stationed in front of the door, Steven pushed himself off the mattress and wandered over to the sink. He grabbed the cool, metal rim with both hands and leaned in close to the mirror to peer at his own face.
"Marc? Are you there?" he whispered as loud as he dared while trying not to alert the guard.
His reflection shifted until Marc's tired eyes stared back at him.
"Please tell me this is just a dream," Steven begged.
Marc's brow furrowed as he took in their surroundings as well.
"I'm sorry, Steven," he sighed, rubbing a hand against his temple. He sounded as exhausted as he looked.
In almost an echo of Marc's exhaustion, Steven felt the familiar ache of fatigue and sore muscles that used to plague him most mornings back when, unknown to Steven at the time, Marc was apparently taking their body out at night for Moon Knight related missions.
"Marc, what did you do?" Steven asked, an exasperated note of accusation creeping into his voice. "Did you get us arrested?"
"Khonshu sent me on a mission to retrieve an artifact that was supposed to help us hide from Harrow, but I ended up getting captured," Marc explained. "They shot me with some kind of weird taser, I think. I'm not sure what happened after that since I passed out."
Steven whistled, impressed. "Must've been a bloody strong taser to knock you out."
A flash of movement in the corner of his eye caught Steven's attention. Slowly, so as not to alarm the guard, he turned his head to the side, just enough to confirm Khonshu had appeared outside the bars of the cell.
"Notice anything missing, idiots?" Khonshu asked, peering down the length of his beak at them.
"Huh?" Steven stared blankly at him. "What do you mean?"
Marc's eyebrows knitted as a thought dawned on him. "Wait, Steven. Check your pockets. Is Ammit's ushabti still there?"
Steven patted down the pockets of his jacket and trousers, forehead creasing with worry when he couldn't find anything besides pocket lint. "No! It's gone!"
"Shit. Those guys must've taken it while we were unconscious."
"The two of you better retrieve it before it's too late," Khonshu's voice rumbled with a threatening undercurrent.
"I'll get it back," Marc promised, eyes hard and mouth flattened into a grim, determined line.
Khonshu gave a noncommittal hum before blinking out of view.
Once Khonshu disappeared, Marc fixed his intense stare on Steven and said, "Give me control, Steven."
"Oh no," Steven hissed in a furious whisper, "There's no way I'm letting you out right now. I can just imagine you pissing off the U.S. military and getting us into even more trouble than we already are!"
"Steven–" Marc started, a note of warning in his voice.
"How are you planning on finding it, huh?" Steven interrupted. "We've got no scarab and no star map to guide us this time. Do you even know where we are or how long we've been unconscious?"
Marc's frown deepened.
"I'll take that as a no," Steven scoffed. Then he turned to face the guard and waved. "Hello there."
The guard shot him a glance but didn't acknowledge him further.
"Would you mind telling me where I am?" Steven asked.
The guard continued to ignore him.
"Could I speak with whoever's in charge here?" Steven tried again.
"Steven," Marc hissed through gritted teeth. "What are you doing?"
Steven turned back to the mirror and whispered, "Maybe I can clear up this little misunderstanding you caused, and they'll let us go."
"I wouldn't count on it," Marc scoffed. "I think I might've crashed an ongoing operation of theirs, so they're probably not going to be very happy about that. And quit bothering the guard. I'm sure they'll send someone to talk to us soon."
"Alright, fine," Steven sighed in defeat. "What do we do then?"
"Look. If they come to interrogate us, you need to let me do the talking," Marc insisted, voice low and steady.
"What?" A suspicious look crossed Steven's face. "Why?"
"No offense, Steven, but you're a bit of an open book," Marc explained, trying to keep his voice calm. He really wasn't trying to antagonize Steven, but he needed him to understand that with the position they were in, they couldn't afford to make any more missteps. "We don't want to give them too much information."
A stubborn expression crept across Steven's face as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and scoffed, "Yeah, well, anyone would be an open book compared to you."
Marc leveled a flat stare at him. "You literally told Harrow your name and where you live and where you work right after he killed someone in front of you. He didn't even ask you a question, and you still blurted all that out. Excuse me if I don't trust your judgement."
Steven felt heat creep up his neck. "I thought you were still asleep during that bit."
"Khonshu mentioned it during one of his rants," Marc clarified with a shrug. "I kind of wish he'd warned me before Harrow showed up at the museum to harass you."
"Bloody pigeon!" Steven cursed as he tossed his hands in the air, no longer caring about being subtle in front of the guard.
When Steven glanced back at the mirror, he was met with Marc's expectant stare. "I promise I'm not going to start a fight until we have a better understanding of the situation. Please just trust me, Steven."
A moment of hesitation and then–
"Oh, alright. Fine," Steven grumbled before stretching his arms out wide in grudging invitation. "Take the body then."
~ • ~
Gathered in the briefing room of Stargate Command, the members of SG-1 sat around an oblong, wooden table, with General Hammond seated at the head, to discuss the events of the team's recent mission to investigate the rogue NID warehouse and secure any stolen artifacts within. Although O'Neill and Teal'c had already given their official reports of their encounter with the mysterious intruder, they could only speculate on the exact details of his seemingly one-manned siege of the warehouse.
The secondary team had recovered a few surveillance tapes from the scene, but the footage was so choppy and full of static that they could barely make out what was happening in the video. While reviewing the footage earlier, Carter had guessed that the visual noise may have been caused by some electromagnetic interference during the break-in and that the intruder may have intentionally caused it using some sort of disruptor. However, they never managed to find any device, either on the intruder or near the warehouse, that could've caused the interference.
"What do we know about the intruder so far?" Hammond asked. "I take it he hasn't woken up yet?"
"Nope," O'Neill said. "We haven't heard a peep from the monitoring room or the guard watching his cell. He briefly woke up during transport and tried to attack us, so Teal'c here," O'Neill waved a hand in Teal'c's direction, "had to knock him out with the Zat again. I'd say he's probably gonna be out cold for a while."
Hammond glanced at Carter. "Have you had time to ID him?"
"Yes, sir," she confirmed. "He wasn't carrying any form of identification on him, but we managed to find a match for his fingerprints."
Carter tapped a few keys on her laptop and then a profile popped up on the projector screen. The face of the man in the photo seemed to match the man they had detained. His face looked younger in the photo, less creased with age or maybe stress, and his hair was a bit shorter, but they both shared the same faint scar, slanted across an eyebrow.
"Marc Spector. He once served in the U.S. Marine Corps but was dishonorably discharged after he went AWOL. Apparently he's been working as a mercenary since then and has some nasty charges against him."
"Any idea what he was doing in that warehouse?" Hammond asked.
"We found the guy rummaging through artifacts in the lower level," O'Neill explained, leaning back in his chair. "I think he was looking for something specific."
Hammond frowned, concerned lines appearing on his forehead. "How would he have even known about that warehouse? Do we need to worry about a potential information leak?"
"I don't think so. That warehouse wasn't even on our radar until those EM spikes occurred a few weeks ago during that unexpected solar eclipse and the anomaly in the night sky. But get this," Carter leaned forward like she was about to divulge a huge secret to the team and didn't want anyone else listening in. "We looked into Spector's recent movements and guess where he flew to right before the eclipse."
"Let me guess." Jack quirked an eyebrow. "Cairo?"
"Bingo," Carter confirmed. "Spector was at the epicenter of that massive EM spike and then just happens to show up at the exact location where one of the smaller spikes occurred? That can't be a coincidence."
"So you believe Marc Spector may have had something to do with the anomalies?" Hammond asked. "What do you think he was doing?"
"Showing off?" O'Neill suggested. "Or maybe he was sending his buddies a signal."
"What do you mean?"
"Here's a little hint: the guy's eyes were glowing," O'Neill said.
Hammond's brow furrowed. "You think he might be a Goa'uld?"
"Oh yeah. Glowy eyes, crazy strong, shrugged off bullets like they were nothing. Oh, and he was dressed like a freaking mummy!" O'Neill flung his arms out dramatically.
Hammond stared at him, looking vaguely skeptical. O'Neill thought it was a shame the security footage was so botched. It really could've come in handy right about now.
"It's true. Just ask Teal'c," O'Neill said, jabbing a thumb in his direction.
Hammond turned to Teal'c, who nodded. "O'Neill is telling the truth, General Hammond," he confirmed with a calm voice. "However, I checked the back of his neck, and there was no entry scar. Nor did I sense a symbiote within him, but I have been mistaken before."
"It could've entered through his mouth instead," Carter mentioned, recalling how her temporary symbiote, Jolinar, had jumped from a dying man into her while she was performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on him and left no visible trace of the intrusion. "Even though most Goa'uld seem to prefer leaving a visible scar to mark their hosts, I could see one using this method instead if they were desperate or felt like they needed to avoid detection."
"How would a mercenary even come into contact with a Goa'uld?" Hammond asked, glancing between the members of SG-1.
"It's possible it could've been kept alive in a sarcophagus like Hathor or maybe kept in stasis in a canopic jar like Osiris," Daniel suggested. "Apparently there was some kind of cult that found a previously undiscovered tomb around the same time Spector was in Cairo. It could've jumped hosts until it came into contact with him and infected him."
"Major Carter, do you think you could sense the Goa'uld if you were in the same room as him?"
"I'll try my best. But if I can't sense anything, we might need to have Dr. Fraiser scan him to be completely sure."
"Agreed," Hammond said with a nod. "On another note, what was in the package he was carrying?"
"Daniel," O'Neill prompted, swiveling in his chair to look at him.
Daniel fiddled with the manila folder in front of him. After a moment of digging, he pulled a photo out from his pile of notes and pushed it into the center of the table for the others to look at. "It looks like it could be an ushabti and a genuine one at that."
"A what now?" O'Neill interrupted.
"An Ancient Egyptian funerary statue," Daniel clarified. "As you can see in the photo, it has the head of a crocodile and the body of a woman."
"Yikes!" O'Neill blurted. "Talk about a butterface. This lady looks terrifying!"
Used to O'Neill's antics, Daniel ignored his outburst and continued, "Crocodiles are normally associated with the god Sobek and the demon Ammit. It's not as common to see her in human form since she's normally depicted as a chimera with the head of a crocodile, the torso of a lion, and the back of a hippopotamus, but this could be a representation of Ammit."
"Wait, back up," O'Neill held his hands up, gesturing for Daniel to pause. "Did you say demon? Do you mean to say this Ammit is somehow worse than your run-of-the-mill Goa'uld?"
"Ammit was known as the devourer of souls," Daniel said, absently adjusting his glasses.
"Great. That doesn't sound alarming at all."
A phone started to ring. Hammond reached to pick it up and press it against his ear. He exchanged a few words with the caller and then hung up the phone receiver with a click.
"It seems our guest is awake," he explained.
"I can pull up the video feed from the surveillance cameras watching his cell," Carter said, hands already moving across the laptop keyboard. "Let me bring it up on the projector."
The live video flashed onto the projector screen. Marc Spector was only partially visible to the camera from this angle, the rest of his body obscured by the divider wall. He appeared to be leaning over the sink, staring intently into the mirror above it. They could just barely make out his lips moving.
Hammond glanced between the surveillance footage and the others seated at the table. "Is he talking to himself?" he asked, bewildered.
"Looks like it," O'Neill shrugged.
Spector suddenly turned his face away from the mirror and stared across the space beyond the bars of his cell. Abruptly, the video feed scrambled the picture into an unwatchable mess, similar to the surveillance tapes taken from the warehouse.
"Okay. How's he doing that?" O'Neill demanded.
"I thought you said the statue was the only thing you found on him," Hammond said. "Are you certain that was everything?"
"You know what, I think it's time to pay him a little visit. I've got a few questions for him, and Carter still needs to check him for the Goa'uld anyway."
"Permission granted," Hammond said with a decisive nod.
~ • ~
A firm knock on the door snapped Marc out of his thoughts. He watched quietly as the guard turned to open the door and allow several people, dressed in similar green fatigues, into the room. As they filed in, he slipped out and pulled the door shut behind him.
Marc recognized the man with greying hair and the large, stone-faced man as the two soldiers who had interrupted his search of the warehouse and tased him into unconsciousness. Marc hadn't been able to see it before since the big guy had previously pulled a black, knit hat low over his shaved head, but a gleaming golden symbol, resembling a serpent, was embedded in his forehead. The two men were also accompanied by an unfamiliar woman with cropped, blonde hair and a bespectacled man who did not carry himself like a soldier.
The grey-haired man was the first to approach his cell, the others hanging slightly back for the moment. From this distance, Marc could clearly make out the name tag "O'Neill" stitched over the pocket of his jacket.
"Don't try anything funny, or Teal'c'll shoot you again," O'Neill warned.
Marc's gaze darted to the man who'd tased him and noticed the same strange weapon from before, clutched in his hand.
"I'd offer you a place to sit, but well…" Marc swept his arm to the side, gesturing to his sparse surroundings.
"Funny," O'Neill replied, voice clipped. "Now, we've got a couple of questions for you, Marc Spector. Cool name, by the way." The mocking edge to his voice was impossible to miss.
Marc closed his eyes. Great. Clearly, they had already looked him up. A curt "thanks" was his reply.
"So," O'Neill began, "care to tell us what you were doing in that warehouse the other night?"
Marc took a moment to breathe through his nose and let a sheer blanket of calm settle over his roiling nerves before he replied, "The place seemed like a front for something. I mean, why else would some shitty rundown warehouse need guards patrolling it around the clock?" It wasn't a complete lie. The whole operation did seem kind of sketchy, even if that wasn't the real reason Marc had broken in.
"And what, you thought you'd just stroll in and put a stop to their operations yourself?" O'Neill asked skeptically. "You think you're some kind of vigilante or something?"
Marc regarded him with a thin-lipped smile. "Why not? I'd say I did pretty okay back there."
"Yeah, I'm not buying that. I think someone hired you to steal that little statue thing–" O'Neill accused, gesturing uselessly with his hand as he seemed to search for the correct term.
"Ushabti," the man with glasses piped up helpfully.
"Yeah, that."
"I didn't steal it," Marc denied, crossing his arms across his chest. "It's mine."
"Bullshit. Even if it was yours, why would you bring something like that with you on a raid? Were you planning to bash someone over the head with it? 'Cause it seems like you didn't really need any help in that department."
Clearly, they had stumbled across the trail of maimed bodies he'd left in his wake.
"It has sentimental value," Marc offered with a shrug.
He could vaguely hear the sound of Steven slapping a hand to his forehead. Okay, so maybe it wasn't his best lie, but he'd like to see Steven try and come up with something better when put on the spot like that.
"Sentimental value," O'Neill repeated flatly.
"Yes," Marc double downed stubbornly, "so I'd really appreciate it if you returned it to me."
"No can do, buddy," O'Neill brushed him off. "But say we believe you about the statue. We still caught you, literally red-handed, rifling through the artifacts in that storage room. I think you were looking for something specific." O'Neill leaned closer to the cell bars. "So what were you looking for?"
"Hell if I know," Marc muttered bitterly under his breath. He never did manage to figure out what artifact Khonshu wanted him to find before his search was interrupted.
"Were you working alone, or did you have help?"
Marc snorted, the image of Khonshu's skull flashing through his mind. Although he felt tempted to give an ambiguous answer just to be difficult, these people clearly had access to his records and probably already knew about his wife. Considering Layla's reputation for repatriating stolen artifacts, he couldn't risk them suspecting that she may have been involved.
"I'm not sure why you think I'd rat out any hypothetical partners, but yes. I prefer to work alone," he finally answered.
"So what was your endgame?" O'Neill pressed. "I still don't think you seem like the kind of guy that would collect this sort of thing for himself. But a merc's a merc, and I imagine some collectors would pay a lot for this type of job. So who were you working for?"
"A moon god," Marc answered without a beat of hesitation, keeping his expression deliberately blank. "The pay is kind of shit though."
"Ungrateful," Khonshu scoffed, low voice rumbling through Marc's mind. Accustomed to forcing himself to ignore Khonshu while in public, Marc carefully did not react.
O'Neill raised an eyebrow. "A moon god, you say?"
When Marc simply tilted his head and smirked, O'Neill turned to exchange a meaningful glance with the others.
"Moon god," O'Neill mouthed. "This guy's gotta have a snake in him, right?"
"A snake?" Marc snorted. "More like an overgrown pigeon."
"Pigeon!" Khonshu shouted, affronted. "The worm is a bad influence on you."
Distracted by Khonshu, Marc had missed part of the conversation, but he caught an unfamiliar word being thrown around quite a bit.
"What the hell's a Goa'uld?" he asked.
"Playing dumb, huh? Nice try, but I don't buy your little act," O'Neill scoffed.
"No, seriously. I have no idea what that is," Marc insisted.
The man wearing glasses turned to Teal'c and asked, "Is it possible for a host to be unaware of a symbiote?"
"I am uncertain."
"Hey Teal'c, why don't you whip Junior out for our guest here. Maybe it'll jog his memory."
Teal'c raised an eyebrow at O'Neill, who simply quirked a knowing brow back in response, then nodded and sedately approached the bars of Marc's cell.
"Oh god!" Steven's voice echoed through his mind, voice high with alarm. "I really hope that wasn't some kind of euphemism…"
Marc's lips twitched as he suppressed the urge to laugh at Steven, but when Teal'c's hand drifted down to his belt, Marc suddenly felt a spike of concern.
"Whoa, buddy," he started, taking a step back, "I don't think–"
Marc's voice trailed off as Teal'c untucked his shirt from his pants and lifted the hem just high enough to reveal a massive, crisscrossing scar slashed across his abdomen. Upon further inspection, the scar looked more like a knife had gouged out the tracks running across his stomach, too deep to be properly healed, though there was no sign of blood.
Suddenly, the edges of the scar started to separate, peeling open like a fleshy orange rind. Marc could hear Steven gagging quietly in the back of his mind as he stared at the bizarre wound. Something pale and slimy started wriggling out from the center of the split scar, long and sinuous as it slipped out from Teal'c's body. Its beady eyes stared down Marc for a brief moment before it reared back like a serpent and hissed at him.
"Holy shit!" Marc shouted as he jerked away from the cell bars and knocked his back into the bed frame while Steven was absolutely losing his shit in the background. "What the fuck is that?!"
"It is a larval Goa'uld," Teal'c explained, pressing a gentle hand against the serpentine creature to coax it back inside before rolling his shirt back down. "An alien symbiote that relies on hosts for survival."
"And you think I've got one of those things inside me? I think I would've noticed something like that by now!" Marc shouted. Then he jerked his arm out to point an accusing finger at Teal'c. "And if you're so worried about these aliens, why isn't your buddy here in one of these cells too?"
"Teal'c is a Jaffa, not a host," the female soldier – Carter, according to the name stitched over her jacket's pocket – explained as she moved closer to the cell bars. "His symbiote isn't developed enough to take a host yet, so it's not a threat."
"I don't understand. How does he not count as a host?" Marc asked, gesturing emphatically at Teal'c.
"Goa'uld use Jaffa like Teal'c as incubators for their larvae, for lack of a better term." Carter's gaze darted to Teal'c, looking a bit apologetic. Teal'c didn't seem fazed by her words at all.
"Why would you willingly keep something like that?" Marc asked, horrified and a little bit queasy. "Can't you just take it out?"
Teal'c opened his mouth to reply, but O'Neill raised a hand to stop him. "Don't answer that, Teal'c."
When Teal'c nodded, O'Neill lowered his hand and focused on Marc again. "Let's just say we have our reasons and leave it at that."
"That's awfully suspicious," Steven commented. Marc couldn't help but agree.
"Once reaching maturity, a Goa'uld burrows into a host and attaches to the brainstem," Carter continued her explanation. "They can grant their hosts increased strength and accelerated healing. Some hosts experience auditory or visual hallucinations and may experience blackouts."
Marc felt his blood run cold at the mention of blackouts. Both he and Steven had been experiencing blackouts that they had originally blamed on each other. Except Steven had denied being in control during several of Marc's recent blackouts, and he still didn't have a clear explanation for them.
"Marc?" Steven's quiet, cautious voice broke through the silence. "When I asked you before, you said you weren't a demon – that I wasn't being possessed – but…you'd tell me if you were actually an alien, right?" He paused. "…Right?" He drew the word out and waited expectantly for Marc's answer.
Marc felt the edges of his mouth tug down into a frown. "I'm not an alien," he denied, voice flat.
"What about Khonshu?" Steven asked tentatively. "Do you think maybe he could be–"
"Sure, Marc Spector probably isn't an alien, if you really are him right now," O'Neill interrupted, a note of accusation clear in his tone. "It wouldn't be the first time a Goa'uld has pretended to be the host. And with the whole mummy getup and Egyptian moon god thing, you'd fit right in with a lot of the Goa'uld we've met before. Ra, Apophis, Hathor. Any of them buddies of yours?"
The lights began to flicker. The intense, uncomfortable feeling of a being too vast to fit beneath his skin swept over Marc as his limbs seized up. No longer able to move the rest of his body, his eyes darted from face to face as everyone in the room seemed to tense up and raise their weapons in alarm.
His lips began to move against his will, voice straining as Khonshu forced the bitter words out of his mouth, "You dare compare me to those vile pretenders?"
"So you finally decided to show yourself," O'Neill said, lips pursed with distaste. "Daniel, what was that moon god's name again?"
"Khonshu," the man with glasses answered.
"Right. Khonshu," O'Neill repeated, sounding almost dismissive. "I'm guessing that's supposed to be you then?"
"I am no false god," Khonshu bellowed from deep within Marc's throat, eyes flashing white.
"Yeah, that's what they all say," O'Neill snarked. "And the glowy eyes and freaky voice are really not helping your case."
Marc felt his body relax as Khonshu released his hold over him, grumbling irritably about false gods and O'Neill's accusation.
It couldn't be true. Khonshu had been with him for years, and he'd never taken direct control of his body until recently when he stood before the Ennead Council to accuse Harrow of conspiracy to release Ammit from her prison.
But then again, Khonshu had never needed to directly control him in the past because Marc always did whatever he demanded anyway. The powers of superhuman strength and accelerated healing lined up with their claim too. And then there were the unexplained blackouts.
"Khonshu," Marc's mouth was set in a grim line, and his voice was quiet and stilted. "Is it true, what they're saying?"
Khonshu's grumbling abruptly cut off. Everyone in the room lapsed into silence at his words.
Marc swallowed, feeling four sets of eyes staring at him – five, if he included Steven's reflection – and continued, "Are you really just some alien creature that's been fucking around with my brain this whole time?"
Khonshu appeared before him, regarding him silently. Marc struggled not to lower his gaze from the unsettling, dark eye sockets peering back at him.
Tilting his skull in a manner reminiscent of an actual bird, Khonshu asked with uncharacteristic softness, "Do you have so little faith in me, Marc Spector?"
It was unfair, the wave of inexplicable shame that washed over Marc as he registered the grave disappointment in Khonshu's voice. He hadn't even given him a real answer.
"I don't know what to believe anymore…" Marc murmured, his gaze dropping to stare at the floor.
"Don't listen to him, Marc!" Steven called out, a desperate note bleeding through his voice. "He's just trying to manipulate you."
"Silence, worm!" Khonshu barked, the abrupt shift in his tone disorienting. "This matter does not concern you."
"It bloody well does! It's my body too!"
Marc clenched his jaw as Steven and Khonshu continued to argue, their voices fading into a faint buzz. Invasive thoughts flitted through his mind, memories of the violence he had committed at Khonshu's behest. What if these people were right about Khonshu? Were the terrified faces that haunted his memories just victims of some alien parasite's whims rather than an act of divine vengeance?
Images of that fateful night in the tomb all those years ago, bleeding to death at the feet of Khonshu's statue flashed through his mind like a photo reel. He had thought it was a choice he had made to become Khonshu's Avatar in exchange for his life. But what if he had never had a choice at all? In that moment when Khonshu's grave voice first enveloped him – "What a waste…" – had he already burrowed himself beneath his skin as he lay dying, picking at the tangled fibers of his brain to manipulate him with more than just words?
Somehow, it felt like more of a betrayal than Marc had expected. It was odd to realize how much he really had believed in Khonshu before.
Feeling something shift along the edges of his awareness, Steven abruptly paused mid-argument with Khonshu. Marc had gone awfully quiet and still, and Steven had only just noticed. "Marc! What's wrong–"
And then he was shoved forward into the driver's seat.
"Hey, space cadet," he faintly heard O'Neill's voice.
Steven pulled back, blinking in bewilderment when the first thing he saw when he settled into the body were O'Neill's fingers snapping aggressively in front of his face.
Noticing Steven's eyes focused on him, O'Neill let his hand fall to his side. "What was that just now?"
Panicking, Steven tried to reach out for Marc to pull him back. "Come back, Marc!" he tried to project the thought, hoping that Marc could somehow still hear him even though Steven had no idea what he was doing.
When Marc didn't stir, Steven considered attempting to mimic his accent, hoping that maybe no one would notice the change. It's not like any of them knew Marc very well, so maybe he had nothing to worry about. "Nothing. Everything's fine," he tried.
O'Neill's face scrunched in confusion. "What's wrong with your voice? You're not having a stroke, are you?"
"Oh bollocks," Steven sighed, immediately dropping the facade. He should've known that wouldn't work. "I'm really no good with accents, am I?"
O'Neill's brow furrowed as he watched Steven cautiously. "Jeez, how many aliens you got in there?"
"Jack," Daniel closed his eyes and sighed, exasperated.
"I'm not an alien!" Steven exclaimed, defensive. Then he paused, thinking of the absurd turn his life had taken as of late, and hesitantly added, "At least, I'm fairly certain I'm not."
O'Neill shot him a look. "You're fairly certain?" he pressed.
"What does that mean?" Daniel asked, cautious but not unkind.
"Um, my life's been a bit of a disaster lately, and I think I've been going through some sort of an identity crisis," Steven admitted. "At this point, it's difficult to be entirely sure of anything, yeah?"
"And who are you exactly?" O'Neill asked.
"Ah, I'm Steven. Steven Grant."
"Steven Grant?" Daniel repeated, brow furrowed.
"Um, yes. That's my name."
"Is there a problem, Daniel?" O'Neill asked, quirking a brow.
"No, I'm sure it's just a weird coincidence, but…" Daniel's voice trailed off as his expression turned thoughtful, "when I was a kid, I used to watch this old movie. Tomb Buster."
Steven and the other members of SG-1 stared blankly at Daniel.
"It was kind of a niche movie," he huffed when no one else seemed to recognize the title. "Anyway, the archaeologist had the same name as you."
"Huh." Steven gave a hesitant smile. "Funny that."
O'Neill cleared his throat and shot Daniel a look.
"Uh, sorry. Anyway, can you tell us what happened to Marc?" Daniel asked, trying to steer them back on track.
"I don't know. He just suddenly shoved me forward and disappeared," Steven replied quietly. "Look, I'm not entirely sure what's going on, but I heard most of your conversation with Marc. I think you might be right about Khonshu. And as for Marc…I don't really know what exactly Marc is, but I believe him when he says he's not an alien."
"Yeah, somehow I doubt a Goa'uld would choose a name like Marc or Steven for themselves," O'Neill scoffed. "Not nearly flashy enough."
"Where could we have even picked up an alien parasite?" Steven wondered.
"When we ran a background check on Marc Spector, we noticed that he had been in Cairo around the same time an undiscovered tomb was unearthed at a nearby dig site. Did either you or–" Daniel paused, gaze darting away awkwardly for a brief moment before returning to his face, "Marc go inside that tomb?"
Steven was about to blurt out an answer when a sudden thought occurred to him that he should make sure none of them were working for Harrow before he gave them any more information about himself or Marc. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
"Sorry, this might seem like a weird request, but before I answer, could everyone show me your forearms?" he asked.
O'Neill raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Please, it's important," Steven insisted.
O'Neill still looked skeptical, but he pushed the sleeves of his jacket up to reveal unmarked wrists. "Roll up your sleeves," he instructed the others.
When they complied, and Steven didn't spot the distinctive scale tattoo that Harrow's followers all seemed to sport, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He had figured they probably hadn't been compromised since Ammit likely would've already been released if they were cultists, but it had still felt like a good idea to double-check.
"Alright, thanks. You can pull your sleeves back down now. And yeah, we were there," Steven confirmed. "That's where I found that ushabti you lifted off us. Why do you ask?"
"There have been several cases where Goa'uld have been found lying dormant in sealed tombs, either inside a host in a sarcophagus or preserved inside canopic jars," Daniel explained. "They can become active and infect new hosts that disturb their vessels."
"So you think–" Steven cut himself off, unable to form the right words as his thoughts were stirred into a whirlwind in his head.
"You may have been infected when you entered that tomb," Daniel suggested quietly.
"No, it couldn't have happened then," Steven replied slowly, brow furrowed in thought. "Marc said he was Khonshu's Avatar before we even left for Cairo. I don't know how it happened though. He never gave me any details."
"Avatar?" O'Neill repeated. "Blue aliens or anime?"
"That's what I said!" Steven burst out.
"Right. I'm guessing Avatar is another word for host in this case," Daniel said, sounding thoughtful.
Carter cleared her throat, drawing their attention. "Colonel, I know it sounds crazy, given the evidence, but there's still a possibility he might not be a Goa'uld."
O'Neill glanced at Carter and raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
"I haven't sensed any symbiotes in him this whole time, even when I got close to him earlier," she explained.
"Perhaps it is a different alien pretending to be a god," Teal'c proposed.
"I…" Steven swallowed anxiously. "Is there any way to find out for certain?"
"We can have Dr. Fraiser run a few tests," O'Neill replied.
"What kind of tests?" Steven never had been a huge fan of doctors – and he suspected Marc wasn't either – but it was better than stewing in uncertainty.
"The Goa'uld should show up on an MRI," Carter clarified. "Don't worry, it's a painless procedure."
"Okay, that's a relief to hear," Steven breathed, feeling a little better. Then he recalled the original issue that had been hanging over his and Marc's head. "Um, before we go, can I say something?"
"What is it?" O'Neill asked.
"Marc probably wouldn't want me telling you this because he's a paranoid git, but you should be careful with the ushabti you took from us."
"Why's that?"
"You will tell them nothing," Khonshu commanded. "The fewer people who know of its true nature, the safer it will be." Khonshu had been oddly quiet after Marc disappeared, but apparently he couldn't resist trying to boss Steven around forever.
Daniel shot O'Neill a dirty look. "Maybe because it's likely a priceless artifact?"
"No– well, that too, I suppose." Steven thought for a moment. He wasn't sure how much he should divulge, since Khonshu unfortunately had a point, Goa'uld or not. He still wasn't sure how much they could be trusted. But Steven didn't want the dusty old bird to think he was ever going to follow his orders again without a fight. "I can't give you all the details, but something terrible might happen if it ever shatters."
O'Neill made a face and started to say something, but Daniel quickly spoke over him. "We promise to keep it safe," he assured.
Steven murmured a word of thanks, feeling some amount of relief to share the burden of protecting Ammit's ushabti with others, even if they didn't know the full extent of the situation. He really hoped they could be trusted.
"Whatever, let's just get this over with and have Fraiser take a look at you," O'Neill muttered as he reached to unlock the cell door. He paused and met Steven's worried gaze. "But first, here's a quick reminder: Teal'c will shoot you if you or anyone else in your head tries anything. Got it?"
"Yes, of course," Steven agreed, eyes wide. "It won't be a problem, I swear."
O'Neill eyed him but swung the cell door open and took a step back. Steven took a breath and braced himself before following him out of the cell. He still hadn't heard a peep from Marc, so he figured he was just going to have to handle this on his own.