Wouldn't you know, there actually was an article about a hijacked plane in Italy, which had been crash landed just outside of Nepal. Passengers reported a figure in all white taking on the terrorists. Further research showed Dr. Samson a figure fitting the same description as an active vigilante in Cairo and sometimes the states.
Baffled the doctor looked down at his laptop. Steven Grant was honest to god claiming to be Moon Knight. He never would've believed it, nobody would've believed it after talking to Steven – if not for the DID. Because as well as Steven got along with his alter Jake, that personality he claimed had very little concerns about applied violence.
For the third time Samson had to go on a research spree after a session with Steven Grant, this time researching the legal framework of how to apply his medical confidentiality when dealing with an illegal vigilante with a rumored body count in the dozens. He actually really hoped he wouldn't have to report him. While Samson did not think Steven would ever hurt him, their system did seem to have a rather violent-prone protector in Jake Lockley and Samson did not want to paint a target on his back for betraying Steven's trust.
He was in luck – or, what was more likely, Steven had done some meticulous research beforehand. Samson was under no obligation to report any past crimes, so long as he did not believe that future crimes might happen. Steven had been very careful in everything he said and had never actually admitted to his secret vigilante identity, nor to any actual deaths happening when Jake was in control. Plus he had also mentioned before that their relationship with Khonshu had changed and they were focusing more on healing and helping people now and less on dishing out punishment. Samson still had not gotten the whole picture here.
It was with a bit of anxiousness then that Samson awaited Steven for his next session. However, barely an hour before he was due, his secretary told him she'd received a phone call from one Layla El-Faouly, who'd canceled the session for Steven. No reason had been given. She hadn't canceled all sessions, or Samson might be worried that a white-dressed murderer might slip into his bedroom at night to make sure nobody knew the face under his mask – but still. He was getting a tiny bit nervous.
XxX
Chapter 8 - Accomplices
"Jake? Jake, you there?"
Jake awoke slowly. His head felt as if it was filled with cotton. There was the familiar feeling of engines below him. It was warm. He wanted nothing more than to sleep for a whole week.
"Jake? Mate? Come on", Steven called for him again.
With a groan born right out of the bottom of his soul, Jake dragged himself just far enough out of the trunk to make his voice heard.
"What? Steven, I'm fucking tired. If you're not getting shot at, please just let me sleep."
"Oh… Okay. I just thought… It's alright. We're not in danger anymore."
Slowly the memories started to come back. The fight in the plane, shooting the flight staff, trying to wake up Marc.
"Did it work?" he asked, a hint of hope fighting its way through his exhaustion. "Did we get Marc back?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it worked, mate. Not for very long though. I blacked out for a moment and when I came to, we had crash-landed somewhere in Tuscany. Everyone was cheering and applauding, you should've seen it. It was mental. We're on our way to Sicily now."
"I thought we were going to Mount Doom. You wanna take a vacation or something?" Jake asked. "Not that I could blame you."
"Mount Etna, Jake, and that is on Sicily", Steven told him in a slightly lecturing voice, though his tone was laced with fondness.
Jake yawed. "Okay. Wake me up when you're there. I've never seen lava before."
"Alright, mate. And… thank you. For saving us."
Jake felt an unexpected surge of warmth inside. He'd been concerned how Steven would take the inherit violence in his job the whole time but it was only now, when he heard those words, that Jake truly realized how much he had yearned for them.
"You're welcome, hermanito. And thank you, for saving Layla. You kept a cool head, knew right away what to do. You've got good instincts." If Jake had taken over when he first wanted to, he would've focused on eliminating the threat first and then it might've been too late for Layla. And Marc, gods, Marc was even worse. He was horrible at asking for help, even – especially from Khonshu. So bad Jake sometimes doubted it ever even occurred to him that others could help him, much less that they would.
"We make a pretty good team", Steven said lightly. "You can rest now. I'll take it from here."
Jake grunted and sunk back under. He really only wanted to sleep.
XxX
When Jake woke up next he was in the body, lying in a bed… and Layla was sleeping next to him, her head in the crook of his arm. For a moment he stiffened, old instincts urging him to check his environment, find out where the danger was. But after a few seconds, he gradually relaxed again. Everything was quiet. The room around him was impersonal and sparsely decorated in a way that fit neither Steven nor Marc – a hotel room then. There was a small TV and a table with a coffee machine as well as one door half-opened leading to a bathroom.
Jake turned his head, looking at the woman next to him. They were both wearing sleeping clothes that felt and smelt new, probably something recently brought as neither of them had packed for a longer journey.
Jake didn't normally wake like this, at daylight, with no danger around. It was Marc that should be here, or at the very least Steven. They were the ones taking care of daily life. But whatever had happened to Marc had thoroughly messed with their usual dynamic. Jake closed his eyes, trying to feel around in his own head for his brother's presence. But only silence greeted him. He could probably try to wake them. But if they were gone that meant there was a reason, even if it was only needing rest. Jake still didn't feel fully rested himself but he was getting there.
Jake shifted, trying to sit up without rousing Layla but she mumbled something in Arabic in her sleep and wrapped one arm around his torso.
Jake couldn't help but smirk a little. Well, if it was like that, nobody could really fault him if he took advantage of the situation a little, could they?
"Having sweet dreams, cariño?" he whispered, planting a feather light kiss on Layla's neck.
"Hm, Jake?" she mumbled, slowly opening her eyes.
Jake blinked, taken aback. "How did you know it was me?"
She smiled at him, apparently not alarmed at all to find herself in his arms instead of…. Whoever she'd gone to sleep with.
"Marc rarely calls me pet names. When he does, it's 'sunshine' or 'angel'. Steven calls me 'love'. Steven doesn't know Spanish and I've never heard Marc speak it either", she replied sleepily.
"Damn, and here I was thinking I could make you mistake me for your husband", he teased her, pulling her close toward him. She allowed it, smiling at him and he felt his heart flutter a bit.
"As far as I'm concerned, you are my husband – or at least a large part of him. So is Steven. You three aren't that different, you know?" She drew a hand through his hair and Jake couldn't help but flinch a bit from the unexpected gesture.
She stopped it, tilting her head. "Jake?" she asked concerned.
Jake sat up, causing her to shift and let go of him. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his back to her, though he didn't stand up yet.
"I'm not though", he said between gritted teeth. "Neither Marc nor Steven would agree either. I've barely known you for a few days and I'm not…. I'm not who you see in me."
Layla put a soft hand on his shoulder.
"I want to be whatever you need me to be. All of you. If all you need is a friend or a sister, I can be that for you, and only be a wife to Marc. If he even still wants me. It's your choice, I'm open for anything."
Jake's head swiveled around, staring at her with wide eyes.
"¿Me estás tomando el pelo? ¿En serio?" he asked.
Layla looked at him confused and but Jake struggled to repeat the question in English. Surely she wasn't serious. Surely she couldn't mean… He'd only been joking about it the other day but he'd never truly expected…
"Marc would never allow that", he said instead. "Remember, I only got him out at all when I…" Jake trailed off, eyes downcast as he remembered their kiss. Or really, more like a full-blown we-might-die-any-moment snogging session.
Layla sighed and sat up herself. "I don't know what Marc wants. I don't even know if he knows what he wants. I just know that he needs you two and that keeping you a secret is what apparently broke our marriage. So, if I ever want to make it work again, it will have to be with all of you. I'm fine with merely having you as friends. You… You all obviously feel as if you're different people but…. To me, it's not like that. You all have the same face and you may have different preferences and different ways of speaking. But it's just…. Not that different from having one person going through different moods. Marc was different with me alone at home compared to how he was when we were working together. And he's different when he's Steven or when he's Jake. That's fine. I can treat those parts of him differently if you all want me to. I just think that would be impractical if… if you or Steven cared about me the same way I hope Marc does."
Jake blinked at her incredulously. That… sounded really pragmatic and he struggled to find a hole in her logic. It couldn't be that easy, could it? Them being multiple, that was... That was a huge deal. To have Layla brush it off like that... He wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or relieved. Did she just not understand their situation? How could she not care? At the same time though she offered them a level of acceptance he'd never thought anyone would ever give them.
Jake hadn't thought much about how a relationship would ever work with their system but that was mainly because he wasn't really fronting during any sane time day of the day. When he'd learned how much Marc was doing to shelter Steven from anything that could break his delusions, he'd felt more and more isolated, left alone by the alter he'd always considered his partner, his other…. Not half, more like three quarter. Steven accepting him for what he was, Layla accepting him maybe made it even worse – his fear that Marc might not.
"You are, like, a verbal kung fu mistress", he told Layla baffled. "I can't even argue with you. Is that how you managed to stand being close to him all these years?"
"He never really did win any arguments against me", Layla admitted, sounding a bit proud of herself. "But I'm telling you because…. Steven didn't seem to mind. He kissed me yesterday…. It was very sweet, like he is, and he said he wanted to do it ever since the plane. He didn't seem to mind that we… Well, you know. And you certainly never tried to convince me to leave Marc or anything."
Jake blinked again, shocked. "Steven did what?" He laughed. "That little fox! How did that happen?"
Layla shrugged and started to change into her proper clothes. She did not try to hide from his gaze and Jake sure as hell didn't look away. She no longer wore any bandages around her chest and there was not even a hint of a scar left from the wound that had almost killed her.
"After the plane crashed, Steven and I slipped away in the chaos before the authorities could arrive. We got a rental using my ID – I hope that will buy as some time, seeing as you used Marc's to get on the plane. We drove all the way here; we're in Sant Alfio, a small town not far from the center of the island. It was close to sundown when we got here, too dark to try hiking up a mountain so we explored the town a bit, he took me out for dinner… It was nice."
Jake was grinning from ear to ear. "So you had a proper date with him, huh?"
Layla grinned at him. "You don't mind?"
"Heck no! Good for him, the boy needs it", Jake exclaimed. "I just wish I could've seen it."
"See, exactly my point", she made and lightly brushed a hand over his bare arm as she went over to the bathroom.
"The most important person in your life, in anybody's life, should always be yourself. Love yourself. Only when you do that can you properly love other people. In your case, that just means a few more steps."
"Maestra de Kung Fu", Jake muttered, grinning a bit. "I bow before your wisdom." She flipped him the finger before she went into the bathroom and Jake laughed again.
The hotel Steven and Layla had chosen offered free breakfast with the room so after they both had washed up, they headed down to a small dining hall, sitting down for croissants and bread rolls. Layla was once more wearing the scarab on her necklace, hidden underneath her shirt. After his second coffee, filled with spoonfuls of sugar, Jake finally felt like himself again. Some worries still gnawed at him though.
"How was Marc?" he asked quietly, stirring the sweet concoction that was his morning brew. "How… How did he take everything?"
Layla furrowed his brow, her voice becoming serious.
"He was… confused, at first. Scared, I think. Didn't know where he was, saw the… you know what. Saw the bodies. Saw my bandages. I had to reassure him that he hadn't hurt me. He kept saying that it wasn't him. We didn't have much time left, not nearly enough to explain what had happened. I managed to calm him just enough to tell him what we needed, how many lives relied on him landing that plane – and preferably not on an airport, where people would be asking questions he couldn't answer. Then, when it was over… I think he wanted to ask. Or maybe explain something to me. But… He didn't. I just wanted to get him out of that plane, away from the people. So I took his hand and I lead him out of the cockpit and then… all the passengers started cheering and applauding. Coming up to him, thanking him. And he was just staring at them like he had no idea what to do…"
"And then Steven came back", Jake finished for her.
Layla nodded, looking down at her own coffee, her brow creased in worry. "I wished I could've told him more. That he'd stayed longer. He kept looking at me as if I was a ghost or a stranger. Like I wasn't acting as he expected I would, as if me helping him was strange. Without being there, without knowing the situation, it looked…. bad. I know that. But I'm his wife. Of course I would help him."
"Well… he did send you divorce papers. Probably thought you were angry at him still – you were, when I first called you", Jake reminded her.
Layla gave a frustrated huff. "But he didn't even sign the papers. He sent me unsigned papers, with no return address, Jake. I didn't even believe it was from him at first. I thought he might've gotten into trouble, or maybe he got captured, someone trying to mess with him, whatever. Even if it was from him, how could that be anything other than a cry for help?"
She actually might be onto something there.
"I just wish he would talk to me", Layla continued with an odd mix of frustration and misery. "Or at least talk to you and Steven. If it's easier for him to speak through you, I'll take it. I just… I hate knowing he's in pain. And I hate that I might be the reason for it."
"You're not the reason", Jake said with surety.
Layla wiped at her wet eyes and grimaced. "I kept pushing him. I kept asking him about things he was obviously not ready to talk about. He's always kept secrets, always, from the very first day and I married him knowing that about him. It was foolish of me to expect it to change."
"But… You said you got married as part of a disguise, for a job", Jake remembered. "And then you just didn't un-marry. That's… That's not really the same thing, is it?" Jake shrugged a bit. "Maybe you should get a divorce. Try again for real. And if it still fits, get married properly. Heck, we can have three weddings, if it comes to that." He grinned a bit.
Layla grinned back weakly. "I think you need to work on your romance skills, Mr. Lockley."
"Hah! I can do romance. I just happen to turn into Steven when I do", he replied.
That made her laugh and Jake hid his grin by taking another sip of his coffee.
"Has he been in at all this morning?" Layla asked after taking another bite of her bread roll.
"Steven? No." Jake shook his head.
"How can you tell?" she wanted to know.
"I can feel him when he's aware. Like that prickle at the back of your neck when you know you're being watched. He's also not really quiet either, always commenting things", he explained.
"And Marc? Is he the same?" she wondered, supporting her head with her hand, her elbow on the table.
"Marc's a headache when he comes to. Literally", Jake complained. "He always makes a grab for the front when he comes and that's never pleasant. I usually let him, of course, but still. It starts with feeling dizzy, like someone is cramming cotton through my ears into my head. If I don't retreat, it hurts. I don't know what he feels like when he's just aware but not trying to take over."
"And Steven doesn't hurt when he's trying to front?" she asked.
"No, he does, just not as much. I thought at first he was just weaker." Jake shrugged. "But I don't think that's it. Back on the plane, when I tried to front and he fought me off, that hurt. It's like… Whoever is in charge of the body is stronger. If he retreats on his own or willingly steps back, it's as smooth as slipping on a shirt."
Layla hummed, and they finished the rest of their breakfast in a calm, unspoken understanding. She was done first and offered to cover the bill, since they'd used Steven's card in Munich. Jake shrugged, unbothered either way, and watched her head to the front desk. When she returned a few minutes later, she was tucking her card back into her wallet, and Jake noticed the corner of a photograph sticking out.
"Hey, you keep a pic of you and Marc in there?" he asked, curious. He'd caught glimpses of Marc before, in reflections—a little of the way he stood, his particular kind of focus. But he had no real idea what Marc looked like when he smiled.
Layla paused, glancing down. "Oh, this?" She pulled out the photo. "No, it's a picture of my dad and me. He… passed a few years ago."
"Ah... sorry to hear that," Jake said, his tone awkward, not quite sure what to say.
"It's alright," she said, her voice soft but steady. "We didn't have the best relationship. He was an archaeologist, married to his work, barely ever came home. But, you know how kids are… just made me want to impress him even more," she murmured, staring down at the picture, a trace of something bittersweet in her expression.
Jake didn't know what that was like—not in the slightest—but he didn't like seeing that look on her face. He cleared his throat, trying to lighten things. "Is it at least a baby photo? Can I see?"
Layla managed a small smile, passing him the photograph. "Sorry to disappoint. It's pretty recent."
Jake took the picture, studying it. Layla looked only a little younger, her arm wrapped around a man with warm, dark eyes like hers, his graying hair tucked beneath an eye-catching fuchsia scarf.
Something about him looked strangely familiar.
"Wait… I think I've seen this guy before," he muttered, frowning as he tried to place it.
"What? No, you couldn't have," Layla replied, sounding perplexed. "He passed away before I met Marc."
But a memory flared in Jake's mind—flashes of blood, gunfire, that nightmarish blur of pain and fear.
"No, I mean… I do know him—or, I saw him before," he said slowly, feeling the color drain from his face.
Layla's face tightened, and she gently took the photograph back, a flicker of alarm in her eyes. "Jake? What do you mean? You look pale."
Jake glanced around, pulling his cap deeper as he did so. The dining room was mostly empty now, save for an elderly couple across the hall.
"A couple of years ago, there was this mission that went sideways. I don't know all the details—I was only there for the… bloody end of it. It was the night Marc first heard Khonshu, the night he… became Khonshu's avatar to stay alive."
Layla went completely still. "Jake," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "what are you trying to tell me? What happened on that mission? And what does this have to do with my father?"
Jake grimaced. "I don't know the whole story. I woke up to chaos—two groups at each other's throats. Armed men, closing in on civilians, with your… with your dad among them. Marc and I, we… tried to fight back, tried to help, but it was… too many of them."
She stared at him, her eyes sharp, her face unreadable, but the fury simmered beneath. "So, you're telling me," she said, her tone cold, "that you—or Marc—were there, the night my father died?"
"I didn't know he was your father!" Jake said, almost defensively.
"But Marc knew," Layla bit back, her voice trembling. She shook the photograph at him, her eyes blazing. "He's seen this picture a hundred times. So tell me, Jake—who killed my father? And why?"
Jake felt his chest tighten. He could only look at her helplessly, anger and grief clear in her expression. "I don't know, Layla," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I… I don't know."
"Isn't that the whole point of Moon Knight?" Layla demanded, her voice sharp with anger. "To protect travelers of the night? To punish criminals? Weren't those men the first ones Khonshu should have sent you after once you made that deal?"
"Maybe," Jake said, his tone low and uncertain. "Maybe he did. Maybe they're already dead. I don't know." He hesitated, then added, "But if they're not, I can take care of it. Soon as we're done with this scarab mission, we'll go to Cairo, hunt them down. I remember some of their faces, especially the bastard who shot me."
Layla's stare stayed fixed on him, hard and unforgiving. After a tense pause, she finally let out a huff, shoving the photo back into her wallet. "Whatever. Let's just get our bags and go," she said, turning on her heel.
Jake hurried to keep up, glancing sideways at her. "Layla," he tried again, "if you want them dead, I'll do it. Or you can—I'll hold them down, you beat them up."
"Jake, shut up," she snapped. "This isn't about revenge. It's about Marc. About him knowing what happened to my father and not telling me."
Her voice shook, and the words came fast and bitter, each one hitting Jake with a fresh pang of guilt. "They found his body—and the others—weeks later. Animals had gotten to them, and we couldn't even… couldn't even have an open coffin." She choked, her face twisting with grief and fury.
Jake felt ice grip his insides, but he couldn't find anything to say.
"I met Marc right after my father disappeared," she went on, her voice raw. "Marc saw how worried I was, saw that picture, and he knew, Jake. He knew, and he said nothing. For all I know, that's the reason he got close to me in the first place."
Her words were like a punch to the gut. He knew she wasn't angry at him, not really, but it still felt like her rage was aimed at all of them.
Layla shook her head. "It's always like this. Lies, secrets… every time I think I finally know all there is to know, something new comes out," she said, her frustration spilling over as she yanked open the door to their room and started throwing her things into her bag with a fierceness that made Jake step back.
He felt a familiar prickle at the back of his mind, a gentle pressure behind his eyes.
"Mate? What's going on?" came Steven's voice, soft and sleepy. "Why is Layla so angry?"
Jake said nothing, knowing that anything he said could just as easily turn her fury on him instead. He stood there, watching her in her whirlwind of motion, the words slipping out almost involuntarily.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, though he knew the apology would mean little to her right now.
"It's not your fault," Layla snapped. "Like you said, you didn't know."
"Then I'm apologizing on Marc's behalf," Jake said, forcing himself to hold her gaze. "I'll make him apologize, too, once I give him a good talking-to. He… he should've told you. You deserve to know. And you deserve a chance at revenge." Steven was quiet but Jake could feel his concern adding to his own. He felt an urge to retreat, to let Steven handle the emotional woman but Steven didn't push and Jake didn't retreat. Steven didn't even know what this was about and he couldn't go talking to himself while Layla had a minor breakdown right in front of them.
Layla looked at him, her jaw tight and her eyes bright with a hurt that was far more piercing than her anger. "You think you can just… make Marc apologize?" she asked bitterly. "It's not that simple, Jake. It's not a quick fix. I've spent years trusting this man, loving him, and he's been hiding this from me the whole time."
Jake took a deep breath, uncertain how to respond. He wasn't good at this—at emotions, at easing pain. "Layla, if there was anything Marc could've done to change it, he would've. I know him. But he's made mistakes. We all have. He just…" he trailed off, not sure how to put it.
"Just what?" she demanded, crossing her arms as she stared at him, daring him to give her some excuse she hadn't already thought of.
"He's afraid. Of what you'd think of him if you knew everything." Jake's voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "You said it yourself, you saw it yourself, how he reacted to what I've done. Even back then… He would've woken up among a pile of corpses and now knowing which ones died by his hands and which he only failed to protect. Marc is... He has a serious guilt complex, alright? I've seen him flee like a criminal from a site where I was saving people, not even bothering to check what was going on. I've seen him cry over the bodies of innocents he failed to save. I've seen him hurt himself when people he gives two fucks about accuse him of shit. He can't... He can't just learn from a mistake and move on. He didn't tell you not because he doesn't care but because he cares too much."
Her face softened slightly, but there was still that flicker of anger beneath the surface. "And what about you, Jake?" she asked, her voice low. "You don't have any regrets?"
Jake's mouth twitched downwards. "Plenty. I regret every person I couldn't protect. I remember all of those, every time I failed, even when I've long since forgotten how many I've taken out that deserved it. But I don't bury that regret, I don't bottle it up and wallow on it. I let it all out onto the next target and then I move on. So yeah, if revenge is what you need, I'll be right there with you, every step. We'll track down the bastards who did this to your father and make sure they're the ones begging for mercy."
Layla's gaze softened, but her hands clenched tightly around her bag's strap, her knuckles white. She shook her head slowly, her expression unreadable. "You make it sound so simple," she murmured. "Just… find them and make them pay. But it's not just about vengeance, Jake. It's about trust. And I don't know if I can trust Marc anymore."
Jake stayed silent, taking in her words. He understood that this wasn't a wound he could patch up for her, wasn't a wrong he could make right. But he could stand by her, let her see that not everyone around her would let her down.
"Layla," he said quietly, "if it means anything… you can trust me. You can trust us." His gaze softened, and he forced himself to reach out, placing a hand on her shoulder, as unfamiliar as the gesture felt.
She looked at him, searching his eyes. After a beat, she nodded, her expression wavering between gratitude and an exhaustion that seemed to go soul-deep. "Thanks, Jake. For… everything."
They stood there in silence, an unspoken understanding settling between them. Jake withdrew his hand, and, for once, Steven didn't intrude, letting them share the quiet moment without words, without any more weight than they were already carrying.
XxX
AN: Sorry for everyone who was looking forward to seeing Marc. But I'm sticking to Jake's POV for this story and in this particular situation, forcing out Marc like that would've pushed Jake way under. And with it still being too early for Marc to wake up, coupled with that confusing and upsetting a situation, he wouldn't be able to stay long. He might've taken it if he had to flee from police or something. But people coming at him, thanking him for saving them? Nope, he can't deal with that.
So instead I gave the B-team time to fix yet another major problem in Marc's marriage. Well, Layla won't just forgive Marc for never telling her about her father but at least now it can't be used against him anymore since the cat is out of the bag.
I hope you're noticing, unlike in my other stories I'm putting more focus on Layla and her relationship with the three. Do you think I did her character justice in this story?