All original characters, dialog and situations used from Star vs The Forces of Evil and Moon Knight are © The Walt Disney Company.

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All original characters, dialog and situations used from fanfics are © by their respective authors.


III

As a Navy man, Marco spent years around, and on, the water, but after college almost no time at the beach. He enjoyed himself so much just being at the beach that it was enough to make him forget his quest for the rest of the day; the excellent company and wonderful, unobstructed, view of that company were just the icing on the cake.

Marco was anxious to get back on the trail, but had shopping to do and a few errands to run. It was therefore late the next afternoon before Marco was able to return to the university, where he now stood in front of Donna's office. He felt really bad about what he had said to her during their meeting. The fact she had been nasty to him, and probably deserved her treatment, didn't assuage his guilt; he aspired to be the mythical "better man," sometimes actually succeeding. He had finally decided on gifting an artifact, a combined peace offering and apology.

The piece was a single primum rune carved into bluestone, the same type of rock used in the construction of Stonehenge and likely from the same source. It had been found in a dig close to Donna's hometown of Amesbury. It was at this dig that the photo on Donna's desk, of herself and Marco's parents, was taken. The relic wasn't a rare or spectacular find, but he knew it would be of great sentimental value to Donna.

Unfortunately, Donna was not in her office. Marco thought the gift was better given in person, but he didn't want to let any hurt feelings fester. He walked over to a desk used by graduate assistants, wrote a brief, nice, note, stuffed it in the box holding the stone, then sealed it with some tape from the dispenser on the desk. He dropped it into the incoming-deliveries box on the floor next to Donna's office door. He then left, without having spoken to anybody.

Walking to his parents' lab, Marco turned his attention to Jackie's offer of help. He was definitely feeling the old attraction toward her that he felt as a teenager, but, so far, how they were relating to each other seemed different. It seemed more mature, which he supposed it was, given they had an additional decade and a half of experience under their belts.

Under different circumstances Marco was certain he would pursue the opportunity to rekindle their romance. But even with what little research he had done so far, it seemed his hunch that their work led to his parents' murders was correct. That made him deeply concerned, then, that accepting Jackie's offer would put her in mortal danger.

Allowing himself a little selfishness, Marco thought it would be impossible to pursue a relationship with Jackie, friends or more than, if he turned her offer down. He considered the idea that maybe if he explained fully the situation she might decide on her own against helping; however, she seemed to still be the bold chick he knew in his youth, so he doubted it. He knew, without question, that his experience made him the better judge of the danger ... but, at what point did he have the right and the obligation to decide for her, in her best interest?

He still had made no progress toward the decision when he arrived at the lab. Marco looked around, somehow sensing danger, and, truth be told, looking for a mysterious blonde woman with heart-shaped face tattoos. Seeing nothing, he unlocked the door, entered, then closed and locked the door behind him.

The lab was clean. Immaculate. The perfect clue that something was very wrong; it was certainly not just as his parents and their staff left it, despite Donna's claim. It was unlikely that Donna, as head of the department, had not visited recently, so the question was whether Donna lied or the lab had been tossed.

Marco walked through the lab, looking over the picks, brushes, chisels, magnifying glasses, and other bric-a-brac used when cleaning and examining artifacts. He knew more valuable equipment, such as cameras, probes, x-ray emitters, and other computer-based tools, were locked in cabinets around the perimeter.

Some artifacts were still in the lab, but they were innocuous, none appearing to have primum runes or moon-god imagery. Donna had mentioned an NDA, but Marco figured covered artifacts would still be studied in this well-equipped lab. If that was the case, it appeared those artifacts, and therefore anything of value to his investigation, were gone.

Marco poked through some filing cabinets. Inside were primarily catalogs of older finds, again nothing to do with the runes or moon-god sites. That wasn't surprising ... the old Indiana Jones method of writing in a notebook was also gone; everything was now stored in computers just as with any other modern endeavor.

Walking over to where the lab computer used to be, Marco found a bare desk. The area was kept mostly clean to keep the computer functioning even in that dirty environment, but he could still see an outline of dust and dirt, which had been disturbed when the computer was removed.

Marco's parents had kept some written field notes and computer records at home, but the ones covering their recent work were not very extensive. He figured the data he needed were on the computer that was now gone. He knew there'd be backups, but he was willing to bet they would be found missing.

Marco felt a twinge of despair. Swallowing it, he looked carefully around the room, looking for anything anomalous ... other than the uncharacteristic orderliness and cleanliness. His eyes finally alighted on a picture of himself hanging above what he recalled as his mother's main work station. A cherished photo in and of itself wasn't strange, but, generally speaking, at work his parents' preferred keepsake photos that were related to work. This photo couldn't be related to work even in the wildest imagination. It was a photo of Marco, standing in front of The Rose Bowl, with a foam "number one" finger pointing up.

After contemplating it for a few seconds, Marco grabbed a chair, mounted it, then felt around the ceiling and wall above the photo. In a void at the top of the concrete block wall, Marco felt a small box. Pulling it out, he stepped down, then carefully opened it. Inside were thumb drives and SSD cards.

Marco exited the lab, locking the door behind him. He walked slowly toward the parking lot and his car, ruminating on his find in the twilight, the box nestled carefully in his arm. Can't get my hopes up, he thought, but why else would

Marco groaned. He rolled over, looking up at the clear night sky. The back of his head felt strange, and when he grasped it, he felt his hair stiff and sticky. The knuckles on both hands throbbed, and when he pulled back his hand and looked at it, he saw it was covered in blood. Examination of his other hand produced the same result. He stood shakily to his feet ... noticing, for the first time, five bodies lying on the ground, three men and two women. They were covered in blood and did not appear to be breathing; when he bent over to check one body for a pulse, his stomach lurched as the world began spinning.

OoOoO — O — OoOoO —

Marco walked into the emergency room of School University Hospital. He walked with a stagger, no doubt the result of whatever blow resulted in the blood-matted hair and the blood-soaked back of his shirt. What it didn't explain was the swing of his hips when he was able to put together a few normal steps.

Yelling at the staff, Marco called for the Royal Healer, and demanded they muster the Queen's Guard to find his attackers and put those traitors to the sword. The nurses attempted to calm him, and get him to sit, but he would have none of it, shouting that nobody told the queen what to do. Finally, security managed to grab hold of him long enough for a nurse to jab a syringe full of knock-out juice into his butt.

Marco shut off the TV. The video had been up for only a few hours but had already garnered tens of thousands of views. He remembered none of what he watched.

OoOoO — O — OoOoO —

Marco had awoken in a hospital bed late in the morning after being attacked. The university police showed up soon after and took his statement. It was relatively quick ... they asked him why he was there, what he saw, and what he remembered. Unfortunately, the only thing he remembered of the attack was waking up surrounded by unconscious, possibly dead, bodies. They grilled him intensely, but he could not remember anything more, nor could he account for the bizarre behavior he had been told he exhibited in the emergency room.

After a few hours holding Marco for observation, the hospital released him, Jackie providing transportation home. Once home, Jackie had insisted on showering with Marco to help him clean up, then helped him dress. She wanted him to then go to bed, with her joining him "just in case," whatever that meant. But he swore he was woozy, not sleepy, so she helped him to the living room couch instead.

After sitting, Marco jumped as "Space Unicorn" blared from his phone. With a brief thought that maybe he was too old for that particular ringtone, he answered the call.

"Marco Spector?" the voice on the other end asked.

"It is," Marco replied.

"Sir, this is Detective Flint with the L.A. Police; I help out the School University police when they need it."

"Nice to meet you, so to speak."

"Actually, we have met. I served as a Master-At-Arms under you on the ..."

"Yes! I remember you now. I'm not surprised to learn you're a detective, you certainly had a nose for the truth and a tremendously logical mind. Not to mention the ability to project your will, when necessary."

Marco swore he could actually hear the man grinning. "Damn, I loved serving under you. That's why I'm calling, even though I'm not supposed to discuss..." There was a slight pause. "This conversation is off the record, sir. We found no bodies where you said you saw them, and there was no blood or any evidence of a struggle."

Marco ground his teeth.

"That isn't to say we didn't find anything suspicious. Several cameras that might have caught you being jumped near your car were damaged, and the spot where you think you fought your attackers 'conveniently' has no camera coverage."

"Let me guess ... no witnesses, either."

"None that have come forward. We did get a hit when the uniforms were canvassing; one student says he heard a commotion and when he looked in that direction, which was toward where you said the fight occurred, he thought he saw someone wearing a red hoodie, with the hood up. It was only a glimpse, and he hurried away because he didn't want to get involved. It was sheer luck they encountered him as he wasn't about to come forward on his own."

"Well, crap."

"I agree. Frankly, my colleagues thought you were drunk, or high, or just nuts. I believe you because of our service together, and I was able to convince them your story is legit, but there really isn't anything more we can do. There's just ... nothing."

"Thank you for speaking up for me."

"Oh ... and there's a video."

"A video? I thought the cameras didn't catch anything."

"It was taken by someone in the hospital emergency room. It's up on uTewb, you should check it out, see if it jogs your memory, or maybe you'll catch something in it we didn't."

"I'll take a look. Anything else?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry I can't tell you more."

"That's okay, I'm absolutely certain you're doing a good job and have done all you can."

"Thank you, sir, and take care. Good-bye."

OoOoO — O — OoOoO —

"Well," Jackie said after watching the video with Marco, "it could be worse."

"How?"

"Could be raining."

"Young Frankenstein. Nice. Not relevant, but nice."

"Look, there was no clear view of your face, and nobody gave up your name to the bystander that took the video."

Marco was glad for that small bit of good fortune, both because it kept him anonymous to the wider world, and because he wouldn't have to endure the ignominy from the videographer titling the video "Queen Turdina has a Meltdown." He looked at his hands, flexing them a bit. He was nursing a slight headache and was buzzing from painkillers, which also made his hands throb much less. The knuckles were skinned, and each hand was basically one big bruise, well on its way to turning deep purple.

Sighing, Marco knew he had to endure a little more pain. "Um, Jackie? I was thinking as you drove me home. This proves I'm right that these weren't just ordinary murders, and that it's too dangerous for you to help. So, 'no' to your offer."

"What?" Marco was surprised at Jackie's suddenly red cheeks, and the intense anger expressed on her face. "Dude, this proves you need my help! Not just to decipher your parents' work, but to also watch your back!"

"No. This is dangerous and you're not trained for it. Not to mention, it makes no sense for you to put yourself in jeopardy for someone who's been little more than an acquaintance since high school."

Marco was surprised again, this time by the tears that suddenly squeezed out of Jackie's eyes and wet her cheeks. After only a few seconds, the stalwart, confident, woman reappeared. "I'll check on you tomorrow," she said, "and we will revisit this subject ... maybe by then your brains will no longer be scrambled, assuming you're not just stupid."

With that, Jackie left. As she exited, Marco watched her swaying backside, noting how it reminded him of his own in that embarrassing video. He wondered if her reaction to what he had said in spurning her help was in some way related to her insisting on caring for him ... if not the way she cared for him.

Marco flexed his fingers, wincing, as his mind turned to something Detective Flint said. Marco deeply wondered about the hoodie thing; he was well known for wearing a red hoodie in his youth, and still favored one when it got chilly, but he wasn't wearing one the day he visited the lab.

The lab...

The box of drives he'd found there was gone. The hospital staff claimed Marco had nothing on him but his wallet and keys; the entire reason he watched the video was in the vain hope he might see a pocket bulge caused by the box stuffed in it.

"Pegasus feathers," Marco muttered, in disgust. Then he said, "What?"

Shaking his head, a movement he immediately regretted, Marco decided to ignore the weird choice of oath. The missing box wasn't the worst thing that happened, it was the fight with Jackie. Marco ruminated for a moment on the significance of the fight being the worst, rather than the loss of evidence to further his investigation. Still, he believed he made the correct decision, but had to admit he was not as certain as he had been before the argument.

Marco wanted to go back to campus right away, but decided he was injured and drugged-up enough that he should wait at least until the next day.

OoOoO — O — OoOoO —

The following morning, after retrieving his car from the university impound lot, Marco drove to his parents' lab. He parked, then strode to the last spot he remembered passing. He began casting about, hoping beyond hope that he had dropped the box when he'd been attacked, and his attackers hadn't noticed. He knew it was irrational; nobody had any reason to attack him for anything other than his investigation, so certainly would pay attention to him dropping something. He continued looking anyway.

'It's in the darach knot.'

Marco had no idea what route was taken to where he briefly awoke among the five bodies. He took his best guess, factoring in that they wouldn't want to be seen and would pick a route with few potential witnesses and little to no camera coverage. He did not spy the box along the way.

Standing where he had awoken, Marco examined the ground. The cops had been right, there was no sign of a struggle ... to a cop, anyway. There were a few scuffs on the ground, but nothing else, not even any rust-colored drops he might extract DNA from. The thoroughness of the scrubbing of the site was otherworldly.

And there was nothing under, or in, which a box could be hidden.

'It's in the darach knot.'

Marco walked to the university hospital emergency room, the route again a guess, and while there were many places to hide something the closer he got to the hospital, none of them held the box.

'It's in the darach knot.'

Marco sighed in anger as he looked up at the sign above the emergency room, then turned and retraced his steps back to where he had seen the bodies. He stood in the middle of the spot, then slowly turned, examining the ground. He wasn't actually looking for anything ... he had already gone over the ground and found nothing ... but was using it to focus his mind.

What the hell happened? Marco thought. With my hands being a bruised mess, I must have fought them, but how? Did I kill them? Did I have help; a random citizen, or perhaps a not so random citizen, intervening? Why can't I remember it? He thought back to the mystery translation of the runes that appeared on his computer. What the actual fuck is happening to me?

Marco looked up, taking a greater interest in what was around that could provide a hiding place. Maybe I did fight them alone, and maybe there was no more than five of them ... so I could have had the time to carefully hide the box, afterwards.

'It's in the darach knot!'

Marco had been ignoring the voice in an attempt to continue believing he wasn't going nuts. But the conclusion that he had again done something he was literally unconscious of, allowed him to listen.

What's a darach? Marco asked himself. Could "knot" mean the knot of a tree? He walked over to a copse of large trees. Above head height he saw a large, hollow, knot in an old oak. He reached up, searching inside ... and felt the unmistakable form of a box. Pulling it out, he saw it was indeed the box of drives, and flipping it open, found that all the drives he remembered were still present.

Darach...

Marco pulled out his phone, then searched Bingle for the word "darach." He read the possible meanings, then looked up sharply at the tree. "'Darach' is gaelic for 'oak,'" he said to it.

Marco shivered involuntarily.

OoOoO — O — OoOoO —

Marco sat on one end of the living room couch, the box of drives safely hidden in his investigation work room. Jackie had arrived at the house soon after Marco; her pique at the previous day's rejection adding just a slight barb to her tongue. She carried two cold drinks from the kitchen, having made a peremptory order for him to sit on the couch and rest, especially after being such a "stupid, imbecilic, dumbass" for going out so soon after a head injury.

After handing Marco his drink, Jackie sat on the other end of the couch, sitting with one leg under her so that she could face him while still lounging on the cushions.

"Thanks, Jackie, but you really don't need to mother me. I can fend for myself."

Jackie shook her head. "Jeebus, you really can't fix stupid."

"Jackie..."

"Shut it and listen. I'm not a little girl, I understand the risks."

"No, you really don't."

"Then help me understand."

"It's been a year, and still nobody knows anything about these people. We have no clue who they are, where they come from, or why they did it. They murdered a dozen people ... should have been a baker's dozen ... and got away with it. They jumped me in plain view and got away with it."

"Unless you killed them."

"Very much not the point."

Jackie sipped her drink, then said, acid in her tone, "I get the fucking point."

Marco's heart flopped; for some reason, that hurt.

"Marco, do you want to solve Angie's and Rafael's murders?"

"Yes."

"Can you decipher their notes?"

"I think so."

"I know I can. Without my help, you might never find those bastards."

"Jackie, I do not want them to murder another person."

Jackie raised her volume. "Dude, I can handle myself."

Marco shouted, "No you can't! Not against them!"

Jackie's face turned beet red in fury. She was not going to let go of this. Marco's mind flashed back to fights during their tumultuous relationship; he decided it was time to defuse the situation.

Taking advantage of her pausing the fight to take a pull from her glass, Marco interjected, "Jackie, while I'm generally a big fan of your tits, I'm not interested in a tit-for-tat argument with you."

Jackie spewed her drink in a fine mist, then proceeded to alternate between laughing and choking. Marco patted her gently on the back.

"Look," Marco said, taking on a deeply serious tone that Jackie immediately caught on to, "when you're captain of a ship, you hold people's lives in your hands, and it's both a privilege and a burden."

Marco turned toward Jackie. "Do you remember the episode of Star Trek where Troi kept failing her Bridge Officer's examination?" He received a blank stare in response. "Right."

Marco paused, absently massaging his sore hands. Strangely, the bruising seemed to already be disappearing.

"Please go on," Jackie encouraged Marco, softly.

"I was just a lieutenant, in my first command, a patrol boat with a complement of 4 officers and 24 enlisted men. We were on patrol in the Gulf when we came under attack. They were in a small speedboat, and because of the restrictive rules of engagement in the theater they were able to get right up to us and ram us. The large mine they were carrying on their bow did not explode, but it was magnetic, and they got lucky in that it stuck on a particularly vulnerable part of the hull. We knew nothing about the mine and its characteristics; we didn't know if it would explode any second, or never. What we did know was that if it did explode, we would, at best, lose the vessel, or, at worst, the vessel and entire crew."

Jackie reached out and took Marco's hand, guessing that the story was headed toward tragedy.

"Our best bet was to get that thing off the hull, and it had to be done manually. I knew exactly who needed to do it, but if that thing went off while he was detaching it..." Marco engaged Jackie's eyes. "A captain's responsibility is the ship, not the crew. Not directly. In theory, what's best for the ship is what's best for the crew. That doesn't make certain decisions any easier."

Jackie squeezed Marco's hand in encouragement.

"I ordered an engineer over the side, knowing the very real likelihood the mine would explode; the hope was to get it off the hull to minimize damage. The sailor knew this too. I had been in command only a few months, but I suppose I was liked, as far as a skipper can be. The sailor saluted, said 'It's been an honor, cap'n,' then went over the side. He saved the boat and his crewmates."

Marco paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "The court-martial absolved me of all blame. I even earned a commendation for quick thinking and exercise of command. But writing the letter to that man's wife and children was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do ... and it was only the first of my career."

Her cheeks wet with tears, Jackie skooched over, placed an arm around Marco's waist, then laid her head on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. At the same time, he felt more of those strange feelings that didn't appear to be his, these seemingly of sympathy and respect.

After a few minutes deep in thought, Marco sighed heavily, then said, "Welcome aboard, sailor."


As always, stay amazing!