Content warnings: canon violence, references to events of media used, uncensored cussing, Arthur Harrow,

Media: Moon Knight S1E1 "The Goldfish Problem; Primeval S3E1

Word count: 3,175

Night fell, and the crescent moon rose. Steven, dutiful as ever, remained at his kiosk doing inventory. Sarah was happy to help him, fetching and delivering things even as the museum lights switched to the dimmer nighttime ones. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that clung to her like a too-tight jacket. She tried to tell herself it was just being in a museum at night after the morning that everything changed; the dim lighting and the looming Ancient Egyptian artefacts drawing her back into her past. A Pristichampsus that ate her colleague while looking like the demon goddess Ammut, groups of strange people all around her. Surely it was just bittersweet nostalgia mixed with a hint of trauma. Her past was catching up to her tonight with those memories, memories brought to the surface by the mention of the soul-eater.

"What did you see?" The blonde woman Sarah would later know to be Abby Maitland asked gently.

"Ammut." Sarah replied, moving forward hesitantly. "I saw… I saw the goddess Ammut." Abby sprinted away, and the others exchanged skeptical glances. "Look, I know what I saw, okay?" Sarah insisted desperately. "And- And it looked… it looked like that." She pointed toward the same statue head she had shown her tour group of small children the evening before, the one depicting the crocodilian head of Ammut.

"Look, I believe you saw something." Professor Cutter told her. "I've seen things that confused me too, but… I just don't think it was Ammut."

The memory of the semi-argument with the then-stranger had Sarah blinking back tears. She missed the slightly (very) insane Scottish professor, his excited ramblings and his chaotic anomaly prediction matrix that worked just once and then died with him.

Steven was, at long last, ready to leave. He shouldered his bag and came out from behind the desk, and in his awkward but ever-polite way he extended an arm to Sarah. Bypassing the awkward 'hold-hands-or-link-arms?' misunderstanding that had happened more than once, Sarah hooked her elbow through his, flashing him a tired smile. A doglike squealing noise emanating from deeper in the museum made them both pause and look behind them. "Oh, bloody hell." Steven whispered.

"I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe a security guard slipped on some wet tile." Sarah suggested, indicating the janitor a few meters ahead of them.

But it came again, longer and a tad louder, an almost pained sound. Steven began walking in its direction and Sarah stumbled along after him, worry rising in her gut once more. "Hello? Donna?" He called.

"Don't talk to it!" Sarah hissed. "Have you never seen a single horror film?"

He didn't answer her. "J.B.? No pets allowed in the museum."

"Well, evidently someone's brought one in." Sarah told him. "It's not ours, it's not our business." Nerves had her gut churning, and all she wanted to do was get them both to their respective homes, although she was seriously considering sleeping over at Steven's flat (or having him stay at hers) in case Arthur Harrow came calling once more.

"Here, boy." Steven called, now addressing the possibly-nonexistent dog. He whistled, and Sarah cursed his bleeding heart. It was really none of their business, and all she wanted was to get them both safely home unless that Harrow freak decided to come calling after hours to kill Steven. Pursuing Schrödinger's hound that probably didn't even need any help if it even existed was not a good idea, not tonight. "Hello? Where are you, you little bugger?" His 'calls' were so quiet they could be counted as inconsequential, honestly. "What are you doing, Steven?" He muttered to himself.

"That's what I'd like to know." Sarah agreed pointedly behind him. Her fingers drummed against the strap of her bag where they held it tightly.

"Here, boy." Steven repeated, whistling again after. "Hello?" They were back in the Egyptian section again, much to Sarah's dismay. "Oh, classic." He said, but gave no further context aloud. "I hear you. Can you hear me?"

He paused suddenly, turning around in a circle as if seeing or hearing something she couldn't. "Yeah?" Then he was off again, moving back toward the doors he'd escaped through earlier in the day. Then he stopped short, and Sarah didn't need a PhD in anything to read the absolute tension and terror in his body language at whatever he saw. But Sarah couldn't see anything- not a person, not a creature, not an anomaly, not even a shadow.

But Steven could, and with wide eyes he began to rapidly back up. Sarah backed up as well to avoid him bumping into her, but a moment later her back met a display case, and Steven collided with her from the front. She grunted and he stepped aside without even an apology- no manners? He was really scared-, grabbing at her wrist to pull her along as he backpedaled away from this unseen horror. He only went so far as the opposite side of the display case before he got down on the floor behind it, silently urging her down with him.

There was an unexpected chime, and then Arthur Harrow's voice flooded the museum. "Steven Grant of the gift shop, give me the scarab and you and your lady friend won't be torn apart."

Sarah bristled at the title on instinct, but the irritation was almost immediately overshadowed by fear at the psychopath's acknowledgement of her ("He can see me," she thought. "He knows I'm here.") and his corresponding threat.

Although… the threat (spoken or just implied) of being torn apart was almost a relief, in a twisted way. She hadn't ventured into the field much until after Danny, Connor, and Abby had vanished in the pursuit of Helen, but during her first encounter with the anomalies and every following field mission the danger of being torn apart had been present at the back of her mind- sometimes the front, too. Her close call wasn't something she'd forgotten, not with its connection to her sudden arrival in this universe and the scars that marked her body. But despite the fear and trauma she associated with it, the threat of being torn apart was familiar territory, and she felt herself slipping back into those instincts- instincts largely shaped and formed by Becker's training and guidance- like an old, comfy jumper. The fear, the adrenaline rush was still there, but the panic waned ever so slightly. Her hand went into her purse again, fingers quickly finding the knife she'd left near the top just in case, along with her tiny pepper spray. She had no idea what Harrow was threatening to sic on them for the purpose of tearing apart, but she wagered that it probably had eyes and a throat and blood vessels, and these two pitifully small weapons might be able to buy them some time to escape or find better weapons.

Just moments after Harrow's threat had been made, Steven took off his bag and tossed it aside. It had barely stopped sliding across the floor when what Sarah could only describe as an invisible monster attacked it, sending the bag moving again. She jolted at the sight- not that there was much of one, just a bag moving seemingly on its own- and she would later be ashamed of the fact that it was shy, terrified Steven who had more presence of mind in that moment than her. He got to his feet and wrapped his hand around her arm, eyes still fixed on that unseen creature as he pulled her to her feet.

Backing up once more, neither of them saw the illuminated pedestal until Steven knocked into it. By some miracle, he managed to catch the unbalanced vase and steady it again, preventing an expensive and telling crash. Unfortunately, it seemed to not matter, for a moment later Steven shouted and took off in a run, half-dragging Sarah with him. His gaze was, both bizarrely and unsettlingly, on either the ceiling or the highest part of the wall beside them. Sarah couldn't see it, but the only thing her mind could conjure was the future predators- the same kind that nearly killed her in that car, but so often skulked among rafters and ceiling pipes.

Just seconds later, whatever was pursuing them crashed into them from above, bringing them to the floor. Before she could even register it Steven was pulling her back up and running again, yelling all the while. They turned a corner and fled through more of the Egyptian section, only for Steven to lead them toward the loos of all places. She still couldn't see or hear the creature itself, but she could hear crashing noises as pedestals and a filing cabinet were knocked over by it. Steven paused and turned back in the hallway, tipping a ceiling-high rack laden with boxes over behind them. Then they were moving again, Steven shouting in horror as he fumbled for his museum pass. Sarah's was still clipped to one of the belt loops of her trousers, and she tore it off to frantically plant it against a red-lit scanner next to a door. Steven was attempting one on the other side of the hall, but Sarah's opened first, and she thrust out a hand to seize the collar of his blue cardigan and yank him with her into the loo.

Miraculously, they shut the door without incident, and backpedaled away from it down the length of the loo. A line of sinks with mirrors over them was either side of the terrified pair, providing no weapons, no hiding places, and no escape routes.

Steven jolted suddenly, looking back and forth between the rows of mirrors as if he could see and hear something she couldn't. "Is it in here?" Sarah managed to ask, the words tumbling from her lips shakily as she watched the silver-gray metal door, their last line of defense warping with heavy dents caused by the blows an impossible monster was inflicting.

"N-N-No, it's not that, it's him again." Her friend corrected.

Her face scrunched in a confused frown. "The American bloke from your loo mirror?" What a sentence.

He nodded jerkily in answer.

"Well does he have any bright ideas to get us out of here, or is he just being ominous and mysterious again?"

Steven didn't answer, but a moment later he whirled around to face the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the back wall. "No, what- control of what, what are you talking about?" Steven inquired of his reflection, which- to her eyes- was an ordinary reflection, a backwards image of him in real time.

Steven jumped around to face the door again, and a moment later his terror shifted to… anger? Frustration. "Damn it, no! No!" To her shock and horror (a slightly different horror than the one that had already seized her entire being), he began smacking himself in the face, as if to wake himself up. "You're not real!" The emotional cry of those three words nearly broke her heart, distracting her halfway from the very real, very urgent threat of gory death looming over them. "No! You're not real, none of this is real. Oh, God. I'm gonna die. We're gonna die." He met her eyes at last, tears and terror amalgamated in their brown depths. "Sarah, I'm so sorry, I should never have let you stay behind with me, you'd be safe at home now-"

"You're my friend, and friends don't leave each other alone when they're in danger." Sarah cut him off, wondering in the back of her mind why she was bothering to reassure him when they were about to meet a grisly end in a matter of seconds. It was sinking in, the fact that that bizarre stranger in grey and white had only given her six months. She'd been living for half a year on borrowed time, and now in a different shape than before, her fate- gruesome death by teeth and claws- had come calling for it back.

Abruptly, Steven's head snapped to the side to look back at one of the mirrors, and Sarah watched in something between fascination and dread as his facial expression shifted from one of justified fear to hesitant curiosity, then… something else she didn't know if she wanted to label.

She hadn't really noticed the fluorescent lights flickering before, but she did now as hieroglyphs of all bloody things flashed on the tile walls. Steven nodded, perhaps in self-reassurance, or the answering of a question she hadn't heard. And then his head tipped back and his body seemed to spasm, and before her very eyes greyish strips of cloth sprung into existence, wrapping themselves rapidly around Steven's body like bandages on a mummy. The danger faded into the background as astonished realization struck her like a physical blow. Mocha eyes wide, Sarah saw that Steven had been replaced with none other than her mysterious rescuer from six months ago- the cloaked man with glowing white eyes and superhuman abilities. Too absorbed in the impossible sight before her, she didn't even register the door finally being knocked down behind her until the monster hit her from the back, tacking her front-to-front into Steven.

One of Steven(?)'s arms came up and shoved Sarah aside, sending her under the sinks as the other arm tore the body of the unseen creature off her. A mirror shattered, and the faucet under it broke off into the corresponding sink basin. He was on his feet in a moment, and Sarah half-scooted, half-crawled until her back was to the massive mirror at the end, the last sink still partially covering her body. It was an incredible and strange thing that Sarah would've laughed at in a film to see a man fight an invisible monster, but there was no comedy as Sarah witnessed it, lived it. He grappled with it, punching it, clawing at it with gloved fingers, throwing it into sinks and mirrors- slamming it into sinks and mirrors. All around them, reflective glass and bone-white porcelain broke explosively, and water from the broken pipes and faucets sprayed out. A sink, torn from its counterparts (no pun intended), sailed out the doorway, and the man stalked toward it before reaching down and seemingly grabbing the creature, dragging it back through rubble and puddle before apparently throwing it down on the floor less than a meter away from her. He kicked it, then bent to punch it one- two- three- four times. At last, the fight seemed to be over, and he stood straight at last. His glowing white gaze all but burned as he stood unaffected by the damage around him. He panted, broad and bandage-coved chest heaving for a few moments as he turned back toward the doorway. He took a step or two toward it, presumably looking to see if the creature he'd apparently slain had any companions.

Seemingly satisfied, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he half-turned to look back down at her. "You okay?" The American voice from so long ago asked.

Sarah didn't answer. She was shaking with fear- of the creature, and, of this man (what the hell was going on with him? Why was he pretending to be Steven, or the other way around? Was she a witness that now needed eliminating?)- and that compounded with the millions of thoughts racing through her head had utterly stolen her voice. Instead, she just sat there, soaked to the bone and surrounded by shattered glass and porcelain, staring up at her savior with wide eyes.

The man sighed. "Okay. Moving on. I don't want you getting in trouble for this, so I need you to do exactly what I tell you to, okay?"

"What are you gonna do to me?" The words burst from her lips before she could stop them, and immediately she turned her head away and squeezed her eyes shut, fearing his response.

This was not Steven anymore. This was someone capable of great violence and destruction, but she had no way of knowing whether or not he would turn those on her.

"Sarah, look at me." He said. She didn't so much as open her eyes. He sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. Now look at me."

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, blinking the tears of terror from her eyes as she turned to face him. The strange suit was gone, and the man underneath looked identical to Steven. Same eyes, same hair, same face, same clothes. But his expression was changed, and instead of Steven's friendly, soft demeanor, this stranger bore a cold, stern mien.

"You're not Steven." She stated.

"No, I'm not." He admitted, not so much as batting an eye. "But that doesn't matter right now. Right now, what matters is getting you out of here. But first, are you injured?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"That's good. Now, I need you to trust me." He said. "I want you to shut your eyes and act like you're knocked out. That means you go limp and don't make any noise or facial expressions. I'm gonna carry you out of here."

Sarah frowned. "Why?"

"For one, this place is a mess, and I don't want you hurting yourself. And when they review the security footage tomorrow I'd like you to be free from blame."

Reluctantly, Sarah nodded. "Okay."

"Okay." With a little maneuvering on both their parts, he picked her up into his arms, and she laid her head against his shoulder and shut her eyes. The action brought a sense of déjà vu from the night he had rescued her six months ago, except she was bleeding significantly less and confused significantly more.

He picked his way through the rubble left behind from the attack with ease despite carrying a grown woman in his arms. It made her wonder how Steven could be so clumsy, with his tripping feet and windmilling arms that she had always found endearing. Dazed (and consequently wondering if she'd suffered a head injury in the chaos), she barely even noticed Steven(? Marc?) pausing in the middle of the floor to glare up at the security camera before moving off again, continuing to the entrance.

He set her down beside her bicycle. "You need to go straight home and lock the doors as soon as you're inside. You got that?" She nodded jerkily. "Good. Now go, and let me handle the rest." With that, he strode away again.

Tense and strung like a wire, Sarah biked home as fast as she dared, tears streaking down her cheeks. She fumbled with her bike lock with shaking fingers, then ran upstairs to her flat with her keys between them, knuckles white. Locking herself inside, she pressed her back against the door and let out a breath. That was when she sank to the floor and pressed her face into her palms and burst into tears.

She really missed the ARC.