Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 – A lonely boy

Spring 2020

Steven woke up to the sound of his alarm clock. Immediately his first instinct was to turn it off, turn around and go back to sleep. He was so tired. Steven took school very seriously and would never intentionally miss it, no matter what his teachers said! But he knew exactly how long he could lay his head down and doze a bit more before he’d run the danger of missing the bus. So off to dream land he was again.

Twenty minutes later, the alarm rung again and this time, he sat up – and the world was spinning.

“Ouch,” Steven moaned and rubbed his head. Why was it hurting so much? Was there...? Yep, that was a nasty bump there at the back, alright. Must’ve gotten it during gym. Or maybe football. Why was Steven playing football again? He hated any kinds of sports. They only left him with his whole body exhausted and aching. Like right now.

Steven climbed out of bed and had to steady himself at his nightstand. Ugh, he felt horrible. Maybe he was getting sick. Could be a cold, or something. This was horrible timing, he had an important math test today at school!

Steven made his way into the bathroom, going through his routine as quickly as possible. He dressed himself, fed a few flakes to his goldfish in his glass bowl and then grabbed his school bag that he knew he packed the previous evening. His Dad was already gone, he left real early to do... Steven didn’t actually know what his Dad did. Something to do with volunteer work, something with helping people. Would be nice if he helped Steven once in a while, he thought bitterly, with homework and stuff like that. But Dad was busy.

Mum was still there but Steven didn’t have time for more than a quick: “Hi Mum, I’m late, laters!” as he rushed by the living room, where she was sitting on the couch. For a moment he stopped, walked back a few steps because – she looked weird. Slumped over. Staring with empty eyes at the coffee table, which had all the empty bottles, glasses and snack bags of the previous night strewn all over it. A blanket had slipped off her shoulders. Had she slept on the couch?

“Mum?” Steven asked worried. “Are you alright?”

Mum slowly raised her head. Her eyes were cold.

“Fuck off, boy,” she spat.

Steven flinched.

“Sorry,” he mumbled even though he didn’t know why she was angry. He hurried on, into the kitchen. Steven didn’t have time to make himself breakfast because he’d slept in but he opened the fridge anyway, hoping for anything that he could quickly grab and eat on the bus ride. Even an apple would do! But all he found was sour milk, beer, a lone piece of butter and some snack burger sauce. Even the bread in the bag on the counter was mouldy.

Steven sighed and closed the fridge door, hurrying out of the house instead. He would just have to go hungry.

Steven walked the five minutes to the bus stop. The ride itself took another fifteen, passing through the familiar neighbourhood. The bus was filled with children heading to the same middle school as Steven. One stop after his, a boy named James sat down next to Steven and immediately started talking about the upcoming football game they’d have in two weeks. Steven only smiled and nodded along and said things like “Yeah” and “Sure” and “The coach is an ass to schedule so much training. Like we’ll get any better just because he runs us ragged. But hey, I think Brian is just about to quit, maybe that’ll free up a spot for your brother to move up from reserve. He wanted to, didn’t he?”

That made James start a tirade about annoying younger siblings and Steven blinked and... he sort of zoned out. Why had he said that about Coach Whittling? He was strict, yes, but Steven wasn’t throwing around language like that! Besides, he hadn’t even known James had a brother. How could he say something like that? Had he just guessed? What if he’d guessed wrong, that would’ve been so embarrassing!

But apparently James had a brother, a step-brother to be exact and Steven learned much more about him than he ever wanted to know on their way to school. He’d forgotten most of it by the time they had to head to class. He and James weren’t in the same group, so Steven shouldered his bag and made his way to the English classroom. He just about made it but when he opened the door... a foreign class was sitting in the room. At first Steven was confused – then he went red and started rummaging in his bag for his planner. No, he hadn’t misremembered, he had English in this room in first period on Tuesdays!

“Can I help you, Marc?” Mrs Davis asked.

Steven ignored her and continued to check his bag. No, no, no! Those were his Wednesdays textbooks. He was sure he’d bagged his Tuesday books yesterday evening!

“Marc?” Mrs Davis asked again and lightly touched Steven’s shoulder.

Steven flinched and looked up at her. Was she talking to him?
“Oh, uhm – I’m just, I thought I had class here this morning. Uh... This is Tuesday, isn’t it?” he asked weakly. Please, please, please, not again-

“It’s Thursday, young man,” Mrs Davis said sternly.

Thursday.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn!

“I’m sorry!” Steven exclaimed, slung his bag over his shoulder and fled down the corridor. Thursday! That meant he had math in first period, and he’d missed the test, and he had the wrong books with him! How could that happen?!

Steven ripped open the door to the math classroom, panting and out of breath. Everyone was staring at him, all the students – this was his class! – and Mr Corbitt as well.

“You are late, Marc,” Mr Corbitt said sternly.

Steven ducked his head and slunk over to his seat. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, again.

“Stay after class,” his teacher demanded and continued where he’d left off. Which was in the middle of handing back the test they’d written on Tuesday.

Steven stared at the sheet of paper he was handed.

That was not his test.

That was not Steven’s handwriting. He always made sure to fill each square nicely with his numbers. Whoever had written this didn’t care at all about adhering to the lines. There were no doodles on the corners like Steven often liked to leave because he was done way earlier than all his classmates and got bored. The name on top read ‘Marc Spector’. That was Steven’s birth name, he knew that, technically. His parents called him that at home but all his friends at school and some of the teachers had taken to calling him by his chosen name instead. Mr. Corbitt knew it too and Steven had wanted to sign this test with his own name. He’d never done it before on tests but he’d been feeling so light, so good about his decision to try it on the next. Yet it still only read that stupid other name.

The test had a big fat red D underneath it. Steven could cry. That was pulling down his entire average!

Even so, Steven knew this wasn’t a case of some mean other students handing in a bad test in Steven’s not-name. This had happened too often for that to be the case. Besides, Steven had lost an entire two days. Poof, just gone! He tried to remember what happened and he sort of could see himself going to school, staring at that test but he couldn’t remember the questions or what he’d written. He looked down at the sheet again and it was as if he was reading its contents for the first time.

After class was over Steven stayed behind. Mr Corbitt gave him a lecture, about how Steven was such a smart boy, if he would only try more, study more regularly, stop skipping classes, he could be really successful.

Steven had never skipped a class in his life. And he did study, he did nothing but study at home! Other kids had hobbies, or friends – Steven only studied. Because he wanted to be successful when he grew up!

“I think... I think I was just a bit sick these last few days,” Steven tried, fighting tears. “I still feel sick but – but better. Can’t I repeat the test? Please? I’m sure I’d do better now!”

“Marc,” Mr Corbitt said.
“Steven,” Steven corrected him with a frown.

“Fine – Steven. I talked to the other teachers about this and you’ve already repeated four tests this year. You can’t do that every time you get a bad mark. If your performance is not consistent, your average will suffer. That’s just like it is. It would be unfair to the other children if I let you repeat it.”

Steven hung his head and blinked furiously. “But I really... I could do better,” he insisted.

“I’m sorry, Marc,” Mr Corbitt said. “You can do better next time. And do remember that you have to show your parent’s signature on the test tomorrow.”

“Yes Mr Corbitt,” Steven said resigned. Then he turned around and stormed off.

He was extra attentive for the rest of the classes that day, furiously taking notes. For lunch he went hungry again because his had no lunch money. What had he been thinking yesterday? Had he been thinking at all? Had he just spent the whole day zoned out? Steven knew he did that sometimes. The teachers often complained about his lack of attention. Steven couldn’t explain it, one moment he was hyperfocused, the next he was off in la la land.

Back home (why was he home already? Wasn’t Thursday afternoon football training? What time was it?) Steven unpacked his bag, made doubly sure to pack tomorrow’s textbooks and then went to find his parents. He knew they’d be disappointed about the D but surely if Steven explained he’d been sick they would understand? He already felt bad enough about it. In fact, he felt like crying and he wanted nothing more than someone to hold him.

He looked for his Mum first but couldn’t find her. Eventually he remembered that it was Thursday, not Tuesday, which meant she was at the doctor’s. So he went to his Dad instead.

Dad did hold him when Steven cried and lamented about the bad mark and his whole future being ruined and he shushed him and told him all would be better if he only studied more. He could tell though that his Dad was disappointed, even though he tried not to show it as he signed Steven’s test and Steven didn’t feel better afterwards. He certainly didn’t feel like he could ask his Dad for tomorrow’s lunch money.

Eventually Steven returned to his room. ‘Be good’ a sticky note at his desk lamp said and Steven smiled sadly at the small motivational reminder. He didn’t remember writing it, but he must have, maybe during his zoning out day. As he cleaned up his room and sat down at his desk to study, he found another: ‘Study more history, test next Wednesday’ it read on a note in his drawer with all the pencils. Thoughtfully Steven’s eyes wandered over to the big one, the note spanning a whole page that he’d taped to the wall opposite the desk. ‘Rule number 1: Don’t fight with Mom.’

Steven knew that rule was important. Mum was unwell. Dad had explained it to Steven: Mum was unwell, she had trouble with her head sometimes. That’s why she saw the doctor. We must all be patient with her, his Dad had explained. We must be understanding. We must not trouble her and if she gets angry, just stay calm. Arguing with her wouldn’t help any. Mum didn’t really get angry, as far as Steven saw but she was often distant and if Steven wanted to spend time with her, she’d brush him off.

At around 6pm his Mum returned home. When he heard her at the front door, Steven immediately stormed down the stairs. He wanted to greet her. He wanted to ask her if she was better. If her doctor helped her with not being so sad and ignoring everyone, like Dad said he would. He wanted to offer her help in making dinner. He even wanted to show her his test, even if it was a bad one. Even if she would be disappointed, at least she’d look at him. At least if she was disappointed that he was doing bad at school, it meant she cared because she wanted Steven to do good.

But when he’d reached the bottom of the stairs, all Steven could do was stare at her. His Mum with her cold eyes. He didn’t say a word. Steven felt far away, and everything was faint and dulled. He was like Gus, like his little goldfish, floating behind a glass wall, banging his fists against that wall, screaming when his body turned around – and walked back up the stairs. Without having said a single word to his Mum.

No wonder she ignores me, Steven thought bitterly.

It’s better this way, came the follow-up thought.

No, no it wasn’t. Steven just wanted to be seen. He just wanted his parents to be proud of him. To smile at him. To hug him.

Feeling returned to his limps when the door to his bedroom closed behind him and Steven threw himself on his bed and cried.

He cried because he’d gotten a bad mark and ruined his average. He cried because Dad was disappointed and Mum ignored him. He cried because he was hungry and his head hurt and he felt sick.

He cried till he was exhausted and the pain faded in favour of a deeper feeling.

Loneliness.

Miserable and despondent, Steven went over to his book case. There was one particular book, one he loved. He’d found it on a school flea market. It looked like an ancient book but it was actually plastic and hollow and it hid his most precious possessions. A few sea shells from the last family vacation to the sea. A keychain with a little pyramid that had been the first price to a history quiz Steven’s favourite teacher had held last year. A couple of colourful, pressed leaves that he’d always wanted to make into a birthday card for his Mum but never got around to. Two woollen bracelets. And of course his new diary. A small book with real leather in dark blue that smelled wonderful of paper. He’d only gotten it a little over a week ago. Now Steven opened it and grabbed a pen, ready to write down everything that happened today. Before he started though, his eyes skimmed the previous few entries...

XxX

September 6^th, 2006

Dear Diary,

My Dad gifted you to me for my eleventh birthday. Said since I like to read so much, maybe I would like to write too? I love the book, it's colored just like the Tardis, the time machine in my favorite sci-fi series. I'm not sure what to write though. My birthday was great, if a little lonely. Mum was at the doctor's till late in the evening. I didn't even get to see her before bed. I still don't fully understand what she has. She looks fine most days, but she has these regular appointments she has to go to, and she always locks herself in the bedroom when she comes back. I worry for her but mostly I just miss her. I'd much rather talk to her than to a diary. No offence, diary. Maybe I'll show her an entry or two. Mum, I love you very much and I hope you get better soon!

September 10^th, 2006

Dear Diary,

Today the teacher asked what we want to be when we grow up. I had to think about it real hard. There are so many things I like doing, it's hard to decide. I like reading, and I think I like writing too - I never mind the writing assignments and writing to you is kinda fun too. Maybe I could be an author? I like history so maybe I could be a historian? I also, and please don't tell anyone, I like crafts. Just anything I can work with my hands. I kinda get lost in that, same as reading, except I don't have to think at all. I saw some of the girls braiding friendship bracelets and it looked so nice, I just sneaked out and brought myself some wool to try it. It's not that difficult and it's very relaxing. I just don't know what to do with the finished bracelets. I've never seen any boys wear one and I'm afraid I might get picked on if I showed it to anyone or wore it myself. I just can't help but think how nice it would be to have someone to gift the bracelet to. I wanted to give it to Mum, but she just looked at me like... Oh, it was so weird. She must've had a bad day, she looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was something disgusting she found on the doorstep. Why did she look at me like that? Why won't she talk to me? Did I do something wrong? If I did, I'm sorry, please forgive me.

September 11^th, 2006

Dear Diary,

I hate my name. Marc, that's short for Marcus and it sounds like a big bulky brute, I don't like it at all. It doesn't sound like me. Whenever Mum or Dad call me by my name it's usually to berate me or tell me to do a chore, to the point where I dread being called that. I wish I was named differently. Why can't children pick their own names? I know exactly what I'd call myself if I could choose freely. I'd be Steven Grant. That's a proper name that fits me right. It just feels like it belongs to me. And that's not just a fancy, I've been secretly calling, thinking of myself like that for... Oh, must be two years now. I put it under all my paintings in art class and in all my textbooks where it says who it belongs to. Sometimes a few guys at school even call me that as a nickname and it always makes me so happy when it happens. I'm reluctant to tell Mum and Dad about my secret name though. They'd probably just laugh it off because they don't understand. They're adults, they know exactly who they are. I'm just starting to find out. I don't want anyone to laugh about my name. That would be the same as laughing about me.

I don't know what I want to work as when I'm older. I think I would be fine with almost anything. But I know when I grow up, I don't want to be Marc Spector anymore. I want to be Steven Grant. I don't want to hide anymore what I like, what I don't like, and I want to be able to speak my thoughts clearly. I don't want to have to wear a mask anymore and pretend to be someone I'm not.

We have an important test tomorrow in math. I've studied for it all afternoon. I think this time I'm going to hand it in under my secret name. It's not like the teachers won't know who it belongs to, they've heard me get called that and we have no other Steven in my class. My name's only really secret at home, now that I think about it. I hope I don't get into trouble for it.

XxX

Steven sighed and started his entry of today. He hid away his diary when he was done and studied some more. The next day (where had dinnertime gone?) Steven made doubly sure it really was Friday and he really did have the right books before he went to school. Yesterday still bothered him. He needed to keep better track of time! Maybe, he thought, he could make use of his diary more. He liked writing in it so if he did that every evening, it would help him remember the date, wouldn’t it?
Little did Steven know that that little diary would change his life forever.

XxX

September 15^th, 2006

I've decided I want to write in this book every day. Even if I have nothing to say, I'll just write ‘hi’ and move on. That way I'll know which days I'm there and which days... I'm not. I also don't want to just write to ‘diary’. I want to talk to a real person. I'd like to talk to my Mum, but for some reason every time I try, it's like my mouth just won't form the words. So I'll just write to my Mum here. Maybe one day I'll show this book to her. Maybe I won't. Maybe if I can't find the words and she can't find the words, we'll just use this book to write to each other? I'd like that.

So.

Dear Mum,

This is your son, Steven, and I love you very much but I need you, okay? I really, really need you. Please talk to me. You were such an amazing Mum, before. Weren't you? You know I have memory troubles and anything further back than three years feels really fuzzy. Maybe I'm confusing how you were with how a Mum should be. But I just feel like you were amazing. Like you ought to be amazing. Tugging me in at night, reading me stories, hugging me. I know I'm older now, you don't have to read me stories but - just - it's the little things. Other kids at school have their lunchboxes packed by their Mum. I always have to remember to do it myself and I often forget. Sometimes I even forget to take lunch money and then I have to go hungry. Other Mums come to their son’s football practices. I don't even like football, I have no idea why I'm even on the team but you know, it would be nice if you watched a game now and then. Other Mums give an allowance and nag their children to go to bed on time and you just never do any of that. Dad sometimes does but not you. Am I a bad son? I'm trying so hard. I even wrote myself reminders, notes all over, in my school books, in my calendar, to be a good son, to not fight with you, not argue. At least I think I wrote them, though I also don't quite remember that.

Do you not love me?

XxX

Steven sighed, reading over his last entry before he grabbed a pen to write the next one. Except yesterday’s entry looked longer than usual. His eyes moved down to read the end of it - and widened in surprise. There was another entry beneath his, in completely different handwriting. A reply to his own! He grew more excited the more he read and then scrambled to set his own reply underneath.

XxX

Dear Steven,

of course I love you, my little boy! I am so sorry you feel so alone. You are right that it is often hard for me to find the words out loud. I have some trouble with my head, similar to your memory trouble but different. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I promise it's going to be different from now on though.

Your idea with using the diary to talk is a great one. I can write to you in here what I’m really thinking, and you can write back to me. I can tell you here what I can't tell you outside.

Life is difficult for everyone sometimes, especially a growing boy like you. Please don't hesitate to tell me everything that troubles you. I want to help as much as I can, even if sometimes, all I can give you are words.

You are my dearest child, my Steven and I'll love you always.

Mum

September 16^th, 2006

Dear Mum,

I was so excited to read your entry today! I had a really tasty lunch packed in my bag today, with salad on the bread and avocado spread and no sausage (you remembered!!!) and you even put a cookie in too. That was you, wasn't it?! I went to thank you when I got back from school but again I couldn't. I wanted to, I swear, but the words just wouldn't come out. And then you got angry at me for disturbing you and I said something rude and slammed the door, I don't know what came over me, I'm so sorry! But then I read what you wrote and maybe that was another moment of not finding words? You even called me by my secret name in what you wrote but you called me Marc just now. Do you also have memory troubles and just forgot? I much prefer it when you call me Steven.

I love you too Mum and I hope you get better!!!

Steven

Dear Steven,

I'm glad you liked the food I prepared for you. I'll be sure to make you some every day from now on. Just tell me all your favorites. I know you don't like meat but I'm not so sure on what you do like?

Of course I didn't forget your name, darling. It's just that thing, where words just burst out of you that you never meant to say? That happens to me too sometimes. Please don't take anything I say out loud too seriously. In fact, you can disregard and forget it completely. It's only when I have the time to really sit down and muse on my thoughts before writing them down that I can really put what I mean into words. That outside person, Wendy Spector? That's not me. I'm a different person. I'm your Mum and I love you. I'll take care of you when she can't so please come to me whenever you're troubled. I don't even care if you're rude to her, it's forgiven, I know you didn't mean it. Now, please tell me about your day? How was school? Do you need help in any subjects?

Your loving Mum

September 17^th, 2006

Dear Mum,

I know exactly what you mean! I promise I won't disturb you anymore on the outside. I love writing to you like this. It can be like our secret way to talk, just for us. I've bound my favorite bracelet that I made to the cover of this book. It's for you, do you like it? Please tell me all your favorites too, I want to do nice things for you. Soon it'll be your birthday, is there anything you want? Here's everything I like:

...

XxX

Madeline Ulena Magison.

That was her name, she decided.

She didn't remember her real one, her original one. Her boy called her Mum, but that was not a real name of course and she really would like to have one. She told it to Steven, her secret name and while he did obviously keep addressing her as Mum, he did refer to her by that secret name whenever he talked about names in general and he never confused her with Wendy Spector again.

Madeline didn't know how she came to live inside this wonderful little boy. Her best guess was that she was a ghost, or a lost soul turned guardian angel who'd been sent to watch over this boy. Maybe he'd been her son in a previous life and Madeline had been given the chance to look over him in his next one at the cost of her own memory? She had a feeling that she’d had a name at some point but it was just... lost to her. So she made herself a new one.

She didn't think too much on it because it didn't really matter.

Sweet Steven was her son, and she loved him more than life itself.

The boy’s... biological gene-provider, Wendy Spector, was absolutely useless as a parent and Elias wasn't much better. It infuriated her how little attention they paid the obviously lonely, troubled child. Fortunately, it took very little coaxing for her to convince Steven to completely ignore and disregard the two and only see her as his parent. She made sure he was always taken care of: She packed his lunches, washed his clothes, made sure his school bag was packed every evening and proof-read his homework. She paid attention alongside him at school, so she was always up to date on what he had to learn. She recommended useful books for him to check out from the library, on cooking and sewing, and even chores around the house like how to fix a light bulb, so he could learn these skills for when he was older. And when he was less interested in those books than the ones about ancient Egyptian mythology, she stayed up late at night to read them herself so at least she would be able to tell him what to do.

Whenever Steven wanted to gift her something, she'd have him draw something into the book or use pressed flowers and leaves, and he would make the most beautiful pictures for her that way. When Madeline wanted to gift him something she had to be more creative. She wanted to give him something real, a toy or something sweet and for that she would need money.

Madeline didn't like taking over Steven's body for anything other than writing to him or doing her chores to take care of him. It felt wrong to encroach on her son's life like that. But needs must be met so one day, she confidently strode over to Elias sitting in the living room reading a book on a day his wife wasn't home and said:

“Father, I need an allowance.”

Elias looked at her, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“I'm already ten, it's ridiculous that I don't get any money to spend on my own,” she complained. “All the other boys get some.”

Elias lowered his book slowly, regarding her warily. “Marc, you know why you don't get an allowance. You have to learn to be more responsible first.”

That was rich, coming from a father who barely spared a look at his child!

“And how am I ever supposed to learn how to be responsible if I don't get any chances?” she argued. “You won't let me have a pet - the fish doesn’t count! - won't give me money, and I'm too young to earn my own.”

Of course, Madeline was not too young to earn her own money. She was 31 years old and even restricted to possessing the body of a young child, she had ideas ranging from babysitting to lawn mowing to selling cookies door to door. But taking care of the boy was the parent's job, and if they wouldn't take care of his emotional needs, they could at least pay up.

Elias sighed. “I suppose... I could give you five dollars a month, if you don't tell your Mom,” he allowed.

“I want fifty,” she decided.

Elias blinked at her. “Now be reasonable, Marc-”

“I want fifty dollars a month. I'll buy my own clothes from it too. You'll put the money in a jar in the cupboard where the flour is - it's not like anyone but me bakes in this house - and you'll give me an extra 50 dollar the month before my birthday so I can buy myself some gifts.” She rolled up her sleeves and put her thin, bruised arms to her waist glaring at Steven's father. “You'll do that, or I'll tell everyone at school how no, I'm not actually the clumsiest idiot in the whole neighborhood, I did not fall down any stairs or run into a closed door because I wasn't looking. I'm telling everyone that these,” and she waved her arms around Elias’ slowly paling face, “aren't accidents at all.”

That was a low blow and Madeline knew it. Steven was a troubled kid. He was clumsy and did play football and once Madeline even spied on him getting into a fight at school. Steven was just unfortunate in that he bruised easily. Often he couldn't remember where the bruises came from, which his memory problems definitely didn't help with. But there had never been any indication that he was being abused at home. His parents were neglectful, yes, but they never hit him. It sure looked like it sometimes, though. When Madeline stared Steven's father down, she knew that he saw it too.

“You don't have to do that,” he said quietly, and Madeline jutted her chin out and held a hand open.

“Then you better pay up.”

Elias paid up. And from that day on, Madeline completely took over any sort of care for her son.

She prepared boxed up warm dinner for him that she kept in labeled containers. Luckily, Steven was didn’t kike meat much. They had a deep discussion about animal rights and the meat industry, and she gradually pushed him even further toward vegetarianism. This way she was making sure that his Dad and, more importantly, his useless mother, both of who liked to eat meat, wouldn't touch the lunch Madeline had prepared for her boy. She also took Steven to football practice and picked him up after. She gave him thoughtful gifts to encourage him to try our different things and be creative. She gave him his own allowance from the one she got, minus what she needed for his school supplies and clothes. When he was sick, she took care to air his room and keep it clean when he was too weak. She cleaned him up and bathed him when he puked his guts out and rubbed ointment into his skin when he got another bruise.

Above all, though, she kept him company, and she listened to him.

Time passed and two birthdays came and went. For his 14^th birthday Madeline agonized for weeks on what to get him. It should be something special but Steven changed his mind almost weekly about what he liked and his behaviour became increasingly erratic. Puberty, the other adults called it. She read three books on it and she still didn’t understand it! How could she help her boy with something she didn’t understand herself?? Eventually Madeline started listening in to girls gossip and that helped a little bit. She found out which beauty products to use to prevent Steven from getting too much acne, if nothing else. It felt weird to rub the cream into those young, soft cheeks that started to sport a bit of hair. His face didn’t resemble her own much, for obvious reasons but Steven was too embarrassed to use his mother’s beauty products himself. So she had to do it. It wouldn’t do for him to get bullied at school or getting rejected by a crush for having pimples!

Eventually Madeline stumbled over the perfect birthday idea by pure accident. Steven had done... something wrong? She wasn’t sure what but he had to clean the basement. Now Steven was responsible but he wasn’t exactly meticulous so Madeline helped him out so he’d be done faster and could go back to playing. In the basement, Madeline found a little plastic bag filled with batteries... and a mobile phone. Curious, she took it up to show to the father once she was done.
“What’s all this stuff?” she asked, showing him the bag. “I found it in the basement.”
“Ah, that’s special waste,” Elias explained. “Empty batteries can’t go into the normal trash. That would be bad for the environment. It’s the same for broken electronics. I had been meaning to dispose of that but haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

Madeline fished out the mobile phone. It was an older model, a flip phone. “So this one doesn’t work?” she asked.

“Yeah, I accidentally left it on the table on the porch over night while it was raining and it hasn’t turned on since,” he replied.

Madeline nodded. “Then you don’t mind if I keep it, do you?” She pocketed the flip phone, already wondering about the best way to gift-wrap it.

“It doesn’t work,” Elias repeated with a scowl. “Why do you want to keep a broken phone?”

“Why do you want to keep a broken wife?” Madeline mocked him and turned on her heels, ignoring the way Elias gaped at her in shock.

When Steven unwrapped his new phone a few days later, he was elated – there were a few other kids in his class who had phones already and they were all considered ‘cool’. Madeline made sure to attach a card that explained it was a special phone, a child-proofed one. It could only receive and send calls and messages to the linked phone Madeline possessed. The idea was to use it instead of a diary when Steven wasn’t home.

Madeline hadn’t been perfectly sure if it would work – if Steven could hear her using the phone. Sometimes when Madeline was with him while he was doing homework or studying for a test and she saw him getting an answer wrong, if she focused a lot on the right answer, Steven would scowl and scratch out what he’d written and write down the correct one.

Steven didn’t care that it was a children’s phone. He was just happy to be able to finally talk to his Mum. Madeline had hidden the gift-wrapped box in his wardrobe, where she knew he’d have to pull out a new pair of pajamas that evening since she’d thrown his old one into the laundry. He tried it out right away, typing on the dead keys uselessly.

“Hello my sweet Steven,” Madeline thought as strong as she could.

“M-Mum?” Steven said, pressing the phone to his ear. “Is that... Is that really you?”

“It’s really me,” she said gently. Tears were in her eyes – in Steven’s eyes – and Steven trembled and hugged himself with one arm as he sunk down on the bed, or maybe it was Madeline’s arm hugging her boy.

“I’m so happy,” Steven sobbed and sunk down, his head hitting the pillow as he curled himself up. “I can finally hear you. It’s such a great present, thank you! Thank you so much!”
“Only the best for my darling,” she answered, feeling warmth fill her from head to toe. “I love you so much, my child.”

“I love you too, Mum!” Steven cried. “I’ll always love you, even when you’re not well!”

Madeline felt a sting in her heart. She was perfectly well and she was not ignoring Steven like his gene provider did. She reminded herself that it was too soon – Steven was too young to understand who and what she really was. But she didn’t like him drawing any kinds of parallels between herself and that woman. She’d have to do something about that.

For now though, she would just enjoy being able to actually talk to her son.

And talk they did, for nearly three hours and way into the night, until Steven could barely keep his eyes open. And Madeline listened and commented and joked with him and it was... It was wonderful.

One day, she’d tell him the truth. She thought. One day.

Chapter Text

Something changed after Madeline gifted Steven the phone. Steven would call Madeline nearly every day on it. Since there was only one number ‘saved’ in it, Madeline explained, he really only had to press a single button, any button. He might have to do it several times if she didn’t answer right away but she’d answer as soon as she could.

Steven would tell her all about his day and ramble on about the inanest of things. Sometimes Madeline would also call Steven. If she focused on the memory of a ringing phone, she found she could make Steven hear it and he’d automatically assume it came from his phone. That way she could let him know to come home when he was staying late at the library again or remind him to study when he was lazing about, which he frustratingly did more often as he grew older.

The diary was still in use though. Steven preferred to write to her using paper when he talked about his deeper worries. About the many evenings he lost time, for example. Madeline did her best to reassure him, to find excuses as to why it was nothing to worry about. She was using that time to cook and shop for him and do his laundry but she couldn’t exactly tell him that! She felt bad about hijacking his body like that but it had to be done. The more work Madeline took over in the house, the more the parents relied on her and the less they did themselves. She couldn’t really stop it anymore. By this point she basically did the cleaning of the whole house by herself. If she didn't do it, it wouldn't get done and she hated it when the house was dirty.

Other times Steven wrote about yearning to hug her for real, about trying to approach her outside but not managing to and how it frustrated him. He talked with increasing frustration about people calling him Marc and having to react to the name he’d grown to dislike when it didn’t feel like his own. Madeline suggested just not reacting to it at all until people got the hint.

“You can just change your name officially when you’re off age,” she comforted him.

But that only lead to Steven complaining to her, asking why Madeline had given him that name. Madeleine hadn’t, Steven had always been... Steven and had always had that other name attached to him. That wasn’t her fault!

And then there were those other entries. The ones even Madeline was uncomfortable talking about because they hit a bit too close to home.

XxX

April 17^th, 2008

Dear Mum,

Sometimes, I feel like a stranger in my own body. I find notes and essays in my bag, but the handwriting looks nothing like mine. Sometimes, I do things, say things, that aren't like me at all. I'm being rude to my classmates, and I don't answer when called. It's just as if my body, my mouth is moving on its own. Is that normal? Is that a hereditary thing because you have something similar? I lose days at a time of memory. I haven't written in this book in a week, and I don't know what happened. A teacher said I was sick and didn't come to school, that you called to let them know I wouldn't be in. I don't remember being sick. I feel fine now, if tired. Why do I forget so much? Sometimes, I think there's somebody else steering my body like a puppet when I'm gone. I don't know anything about this person except people don't like him much, he's bad at school, and the outside you looks at him like she hates him. Do you get that impression sometimes, that I'm... someone else, in the time I don't remember?

Dear Steven,

No part of me could ever hate any part of you, I assure you. That being said, I did sometimes notice you acting off, shortly before you'd tell me you lost time again. I don't think that's anything to worry about or anything odd even. You're more quiet during those times, more serious and yes maybe less studious but that's all. I think it's just like running through your life on autopilot. You don't think about what you do much and drift off in your thoughts. I think, to a certain degree, that is completely normal. I also sometimes wake up on a bus when it's my stop to get off without remembering anything since I got on it. I also sometimes check the date, and I'm confused which weekday it is. Maybe you and I have it a bit more often than others but that's alright.

Forever loving you,

Mum

XxX

High School was a difficult change for Steven. There were so many new people, all calling him Marc again. He lost contact with his friends from Middle School. Being able to talk to Madeline on the phone helped, initially. Until other students noticed and started calling him a ‘mama’s boy’. Someone at some point beat up a bunch of those meanies, someone that couldn’t possibly be Steven, no matter what the teachers said. Madeline wrote a very angry letter to the school about the unfair treatment! Steven got suspended from school for two whole weeks and was inconsolable about it. Worse, he ran to that woman, thinking she’d comfort him. Madeline wanted to stop him, to warn him, she tried to make his ‘phone’ ring as much as she could but he ignored it and went to that woman anyway.

Madeline didn’t know what happened. She could usually watch Steven, a bit like looking over his shoulder, but she sort of slipped away and Steven didn’t remember either. He only called her back four days later and it was as if Madeline had just nodded off.

She decided then that she had to do something about this. She couldn’t have Steven mistake her for that woman. It would be best if he forgot about his gene provider entirely! If she had to, Madeline would walk Steven away from her herself until he understood that he didn’t need to visit his mother physically. Because she was always with him.

But how could she make him forget that person? How could she make him forget weeks, months, years of loneliness and neglect? Madeline pondered over that problem for weeks.

It was around that time that Steven had his first big crush on a girl at school. It was sweet and amusing but Madeline felt just a tad uncomfortable watching Steven stumble about in first love. This was a very private part of her son’s life, a part she, as a parent, had no business meddling with. She was afraid to leave him alone for long but her boy was growing up and she knew she’d have to get used to not being able to coddle him forever.

So instead of trying her best to be as focused as possible to watch over her son, as she had for years, for the first time Madeline did the opposite. She tried to withdraw from Steven. Not far of course, she still wanted to answer him when he called her. But her child had his own life to live that she couldn’t always be part of.

Madeline discovered that if she, after being done with all her evening chores, took thirty to twenty minutes to just focus on the body and all the different ways it wasn’t hers, she could... float away. Farther back. It wasn’t quite like giving it back to Steven. She didn’t go to sleep. She just went... deeper. Limbo, perhaps? It didn’t look like limbo. It looked empty at first, just a wide sky and a big stretch of empty land, like a stone desert or a giant dirt parking lot. But she found if she closed her eyes and concentrated on all the warmth and comfort and purpose of her soul, she could open them to see... her home. The kitchen of her home, to be exact, the room in the house she spent the most time in. It was separated from the living room area only by the kitchen counter. It had a couch she could sleep on and a TV that really worked and that she could watch old movies Steven had seen on. It even had a garden in front with the sun shining merrily and birds chirping. It had a mirror hanging in the corridor, one Madeline spend hours, days, weeks before, wishing away that wrinkle over there, make her stupid straight hair a bit darker and curlier, put some flesh on her thin bones until the image felt something she was comfortable with.

Yes, she decided, she could spend some time here. It was not a bad place to retire in for when her boy didn’t need her anymore.

It was in this inner place that Madeline eventually came up with an idea on how to best protect Steven from the memory of his gene provider.

You see, Steven was already conveniently saving all his bad memories at one place. It was a simple matter... to take them away. Not forever, of course, she’d just keep them safe for him.

“I’m sorry, my sweet boy,” Madeline said quietly as she ever so carefully set the blade of a cutter onto the pages of the diary. Without leaving much of a trace, she removed page after page of the book, gathering many of the older entries and all of the darker ones. She lit up a candle, a bucket of water at her feet as a precaution as she fed one page after the other to the flame. After disposing of all the evidence, she sat herself down on his bed, the much lighter diary in her lap, closing her eyes and breathing deeply to reach the inner place. Once there, found herself on her couch, with a copy of Steven’s diary in her hands. This one was a complete version for Madeline herself still remembered every single entry. She carried the small book over to the lower right cupboard underneath the kitchen counter. In the outside world it held the liquor cabinet and it was the only cupboard that was locked. Elias had the only key – his poor attempt to keep his wife from the bottle, but of course she found ways around it. No matter. It would keep another secret now for it was a place Madeline knew Steven would never look. She’d taught him all about how alcohol was bad after all.

Madeline locked the cupboard with a key and put the key on a chain around her neck, hiding it in her ample bosom. The secret was safe now.

XxX

The change was gradual. Steven didn’t forget everything from one day to the next. But he did stop approaching his gene providers. He even stopped asking Elias for help with much of anything, coming straight to Madeline instead. He corrected everyone calling him Marc with more annoyance and less distress. Madeline wrote a letter to Steven’s homeroom teacher, explaining how Steven was a bit troubled:

“He’s often forgetful and has bouts of hyperactivity and lethargy when he’ll just zone out. It’s called ADD,” Madeline wrote. She’d read an entire book on psychology to find something that fit. “We’re working on it but please be patient with him and it’s really important to make him feel welcome. So would you mind just playing along when he asks to be called another name sometimes? It’s a play-acting thing, his therapist says it’s good for him! Don’t talk to him about it please, he’s not that far yet that he can admit it in public.”

The teacher promised to help and Steven started to have an easier time at school. Even so, sometimes he’d still write in his diary to her. He’d write about days on which he wasn’t acting like himself, or people telling him he'd done something that wasn't like him at all. Those instances, Madeline knew had nothing to do with her. Maybe her son really was troubled. Maybe his brain worked a bit different than others. That made sense, it was probably why he was able to talk to ghosts like her in the first place. But she didn't want him to feel different or afraid, so she'd downplay what happened, again and again reassuring him that everything was fine, that he was okay, that he was normal.

Eventually, Steven grew to believe her.

The High School years flew by, and her Steven grew up to be a polite, responsible, shy young man. He'd write less in the diary as time passed, maybe once a week, though he still talked to her over the phone every day. He would tell her of any worries he had, his fears of the future, about the girls he liked, and everything in between. The instances in which he told her about feeling out of place, anxious, lonely or downright broken inside lessened with every passing year and Madeline had every hope that he'd grow to be a successful adult.

Madeline spent most of her time in the replica of the open kitchen and living room of the house Steven had grown up in. Most of the time, she was curled up on the couch, asleep. Sometimes, when she was worried about Steven, such as when she knew he had an important test upcoming, she'd be able to see what he saw, hear what he heard. Other times, she was reliant on what Steven told her to know what was going on. Part of it may be wanting to give her growing son more privacy and space but sometimes she might want to see him... and couldn’t. Sometimes all she had to do to leave her kitchen was walk out the front door. Other times it took her an hour of meditation to so much as dream of him and sometimes she’d just drift off to sleep until the ringing of her phone woke her.

The exception were her evening chores. She had a set time where the kitchen was hers and she did her grocery shopping. Nobody disturbed her during that time. Well, almost no one. There had been some occasions where one of the parents had walked in on her working, and Madeline had gotten pushed aside. She didn't know what happened then, but Steven never mentioned those instances, so he'd probably assumed he'd walked in on Wendy cooking and not the other way around.

XxX

Madeline always thought that once her boy was an adult, once he knew how to take care of himself and didn't need her as much anymore, she'd tell him the truth about who and what she was.

But then Steven stopped calling her. Madeline woke up at her usual time to do her chores. It was later in the day than she expected because Steven had just written his final tests. Madeline had looked forward to helping him pick out his outfit for the graduation ceremony and prepare for a party to celebrate his no doubt excellent marks.

But Steven wasn't at home. The body she came to was sitting in a train. How weird. Was Steven heading to another city to buy a fancy suit or something? But he hadn’t even asked her for the allowance yet! She ducked out again, thinking she'd just wait until he was back. But the next day, it happened again. Steven never called her and when Madeline peaked, he was in an unfamiliar environment. First the train and now a smelly room with lots of bunk beds. It was all very confusing. Madeline stayed long enough to look for Steven's things. He seemed to be travelling, but the backpack at the end of the bed she woke up in held neither his phone nor his diary. Steven never went anywhere without his phone.

Confused, Madeline retreated again. She waited for her son to call her, in any way, shape or form, but he did not. Whenever she tried to leave her kitchen, she’d run into a wall. Sometimes a literal one, when she’d open the front door and there’d only be red bricks blocking her way. No amount of jolting could open the windows either. For the first time, Madeline... was trapped.

When Madeline did end up fronting, as rare as that was, she was pushed into the most bizarre situations. Curled up naked in a shower. In a camp somewhere outside, her stomach growling hungrily, surrounded by grown men in camouflage outfits. The bunk bed, lying hungover or sick under the covers.

From the bits and pieces Madeline saw and heard, she realized Steven was now part of some military group, but for the life of her she couldn't imagine her boy ever willingly signing up for something like that. It was so unlike him. The military hadn't been anywhere near his list of possible career choices. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It was just that her sweet Steven wouldn't hurt a fly. What was he doing here?

Madeline oh so badly wanted to talk to him but he wouldn't call her. A few times she even went so far as to write him a letter, to send it through the official post and everything, all proper like. She couldn't bear the thought of her Steven thinking she had forgotten about him.

Her son burned the letters unopened.

That hurt.

She gave up on her schedule - her son lived on rations now and there was no kitchen to cook in anywhere nearby. But at least he did get three meals a day without her interference. Her sweet Steven wasn't even using his secret name anymore. He'd gone back to using his birth name and that more than anything felt like a rejection. However, there'd still be times when he was lonely or hurt or hungry and needed her to hug him and take care of him and so she did just that. He might think he was too old for that, that he didn't need his Mum anymore. She'd make sure to be there to catch him if he ever changed his mind.

XxX

The first time Steven called her again was about a year after he'd moved out from home. Madeline nearly cried in relief. She'd missed these talks with him so much. And though hearing his voice again was like a balm to her soul, his words were anything but reassuring.

“Uh, hi Mum. It's... It's Steven,” his voice came to her from far away, waking Madeline from her sleep. She was awake instantly.

“Steven!” she exclaimed, elated. “Oh, I'm so happy you called! How are you doing?”

“I, uhm, good, I think?” Steven said and laughed uncertainly. “You know, uh... I'm not too sure where I am...?”

“Oh no, did you get lost again?” Madeline said, concerned. “Well, what do you see around you?”

“It's uhm, dark,” Steven said hesitantly. “It's night. I, I don't have a watch - did I wake you? I'm calling from a telephone box and... I had some coins in my pocket but they're not... I don't recognize the currency,” Steven said in a small voice.

Madeline had only caught tiny snippets of what her boy had been up to in the last couple of months. She supposed he was travelling a lot or deployed or something similar, so it made sense that he'd occasionally find himself in a different country. But to be so lost as to not recognize which country, which time zone he was in?

“It's alright, darling. Everything's alright,” she reassured him softly. “Let's do this step by step, hm? What’s the last thing you remember?”

Steven hesitated and she could practically feel him fidgeting. “Finals,” he said at last, quietly.

Madeline's heart sank. “Your High School finals?” she asked weakly. That had been over a year ago!

“Y-Yeah,” Steven said, voice trembling. “Writing them. I... I don't even know what I got on them, I...”

“Oh, you did really well,” Madeline reassured him. “Truly, I was so proud of you. So proud. You could've gotten a scholarship, I think, gone to college - maybe you still can!” Madeline had no idea how well Steven had done on his tests but it couldn’t have been anything other than amazing. She'd much prefer to see her boy at college rather than fighting meaningless wars in the desert.

“Why... Why do you say it like that? What happened?” Steven whispered.

“Oh Steven, I don't know,” Madeline sighed. “You haven't called me or written to me in almost a year now. You just... You just decided to leave one day, and I don't know why. I think you joined the military? I don't know, you haven't been talking to me.”

The other end was quiet for a moment.

“A... A year?” Steven then asked faintly. “Military - what?”

“Darling, it's alright, it doesn't matter,” she comforted him. “Lots of young men go into service, nothing wrong with that. And if you don't like it, you can always drop out, just tell them of your memory problems. We'll get you a different job, one you really like, or you could take college classes - there are so many options. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

“I never signed up for the military, Mum,” Steven said hollowly. “That's not - I wouldn't. That's not me.”

It was indeed nothing like Steven. Neither was skipping a whole year. It was one thing to not remember an afternoon, or going to bed, or even skipping a week you were sick. But a whole year?

“What's most important now is that you remain calm,” Madeline urged him. “We'll figure this out together.”

“I feel dizzy,” Steven mumbled. “I... I think I'm running out of money for the call.”

“Wait, Steven? Steven!” Madeline called out. “Steven, darling, are you still there? Steven?”

“Don't you ever - ever! - talk to him again!”

With an angry click her son slammed the earpiece on the rest, and the line went dead.

Madeline stared at the earpiece in her hand. Tears gathered in her eyes as she let them wander over the kitchen she was in - this space that belonged to her within this strange in between place. That voice just now, it had sounded so harsh, so hateful. She recognized the American accent as one Steven sometimes used when he was... not quite himself. But he'd never talked to her with that voice. She knew it must be her son but at the same time... It was not.

What was going on?

XxX

Madeline woke up in possession of the body.

That hadn't happened for a while – she wasn’t sure how long - and it took her a moment to orient herself. The body was unwashed and stank and she had the taste of vomit in her mouth. She was lying on a hard floor next to a bed, surrounded by empty beer cans and bottles and bags of snacks. The headache plaguing her was gigantic.

“Oh darling, what have you done?” Madeline whined and slowly got to her feet. She seemed to be in a motel room.

The last thing she remembered was Steven calling her on the phone. He’d sounded small and on the brink of a breakdown and Madeline had wanted nothing more than to hug him.

Steven had told her how he'd woken up in the middle of nowhere somewhere in Africa. How he'd stumbled blindly around for days, only able to communicate with hands and feet, until he eventually found a military base. They recognized him there, they called him by a name that wasn't his and Steven had done what Madeline had told him to do, he told the Sergeant about his memory problems and how he didn't know how he got here or even remembered enlisting and he really just wanted to go home.

Steven had told her he had been in and out of consciousness for probably days. He didn't remember leaving Africa but he was in England now. He was desperate and didn't know what to do.

Madeline had shushed him and comforted him as her boy cried and reassured him everything would be alright.

Steven had woken up in a motel room then too. Together they made plans on how to get him a job, just anything to carry him over for now. Madeline had insisted he ought to have breakfast before anything else was decided. He ought to shower and relax and everything would be alright. Steven promised he'd do all that and he'd call her back after breakfast.

He had never called her back.

Madeline didn’t know how long ago that was. Was this the same motel? How much time had passed? Hours? Days? Months?

No, that wasn’t important right now. What was important was that her son was not well and needed her to take care of him.

Thankfully there was a bathroom attached to this room, so she took a shower. She hadn’t washed her son since he was a little kid, and it was a little weirder now. She’d sometimes wake up naked under the spray of a shower or in a bathtub, but then she’d usually just leave, get dressed, and lay down to sleep somewhere. Now she was brushing her hands over body parts that were not there, and it was crazy, but she thought she felt something regardless. How odd. She wished her boy would put on more weight, it was only skin and bones.

Madeline got dressed in the cleanest set of clothes she could find. She brushed her child’s teeth and tried to ignore the pounding behind her eyes. She found a trash bag under the sink and proceeded to gather all the empty cans. Then, she rummaged through one of the bags lying on the chair for any hint what would make her son crash like that. She flinched when her fingertips brushed against the handle of a gun. Just in that moment there was a knock at the door.

Madeline whirled around, unsure how to react. Her son must be exhausted and deeply asleep if she woke up in this situation. She decided she needed to give him more time to come back to himself and wanted to send the visitor away.

Madeline went over to the door, opening it just a pinch to gaze outside.

“Yes?” she asked carefully.

On the other side of the door stood a middle-aged man in casual clothes, with dark hair and a mustache.

“Bonjour, Marc. Hard night, huh?” The man chuckled. “I've got the details on the next job.” He waited and when Madeline just kept staring at him dumbly, he added: “Well? Are you going to let me in or not?”

Madeline didn't want to confer with any of her son's colleagues. She was not particularly good at pretending to be him, and she wouldn't know what to say or do. She didn't even know what he did for work anymore. She supposed he couldn’t be in the military anymore if he regularly woke up in motel rooms alone, so what did he do instead? Steven's current situation looked rather bleak. He probably couldn't afford to skip on a job offer. She wished he'd wake up already to take over but nothing of the sort happened.

“Alright then, come in,” she said quietly and opened the door wider. Now she was glad that she'd had the time to clean up.

The man with the obvious French accent entered the room and started going through a list of names and details so fast it made Madeline's head spin. She barely gathered enough to know that the Frenchman wanted her to deliver a package, that some organization called the Brotherhood was after said package, that there'd be decoys and a likelihood of ambush at three different stops he showed her on a map, and - it all sounded highly suspicious and a bit illegal. Especially when he told her what the pay would be.

“Do you have any questions?” the Frenchman asked.

“Uhm,” Madeline made uncertainly. She slowly sat down on the bed. Her knees felt wobbly. “Can you tell me... Which date it is today?”

“6th of June,” the Frenchman supplied. “Wednesday.”

Madeline nodded slowly. “A-And... the year?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “2018. Are you sure you're alright, Marc?”

Madeline kept nodding absentmindedly... until the pressure became too much and she slowly shook her head. 2018. The years had gone by so quickly. Her son was an adult now and didn't need her anymore, didn't want her anymore. First the military and now this, she felt like she didn't even know him anymore.

The Frenchman sighed and put his hand over Madeline's, giving her an encouraging smile.

“Did you get lost in one of your identities again, mon cher?” he asked sympathetically and sat down next to her.

“W-What?” she said, fighting tears.

“Your, what do they call it, method acting?” He rubbed slow, calming circles over the back of her hand. “You're a master at forgery, at making up new identities. Sometimes you get a little bit too much into your role, hm? Then it's hard to get out again. Who are you now, hm? Marc Spector? Or Steven Grant?”

Madeline's breath hitched. She stared at the Frenchman with wide eyes. Her son got... lost in identities? What did that even mean?

“My name is Madeline,” she admitted quietly, impulsively.

“Whoa, okay.” The Frenchman let go of her hand and leaned back with a grin. “You have to work on that one, mon cher, if you want to pass as a woman at least wear a pretty dress.”

She returned the smile uncertainly, amused by the mental image of her son wearing a dress.

“Well Madame,” the Frenchman said with a light bow, “would you do this dear Jean-Paul the favor of being Marc Spector again? I kinda have a date with him.” He winked at her.

Madeline looked down at her hands. Her son’s hands.

Marc Spector was the name he was born with but her son hated that name. The older he grew the more insistent he was about being called Steven Grant. Now, this man, this Jean-Paul was talking as if her son used both names. If he was truly a master at forgery, which she couldn't imagine her Steven being but if he was, then surely he would've long since changed his name on all his official documents and only kept using Steven Grant? There were times when Madeline wasn't even sure Steven still remembered that his birth name was different. She’d done her best to erase it after all, to reduce the confusion he was suffering from.

Between that and all the time lost Steven didn't remember, all the bizarre decisions he'd made such as leaving home without saying goodbye and joining the military - the pieces slowly started to fall into place.

Madeline didn't have one son. She had two.

“Oh no Marc, or Madame - why are you crying?” Jean-Paul asked gently, which only made the tears flow faster.

Madeline grabbed the hand he reached out to her with and smiled at the kind stranger.

“I'm just so happy,” she told him, squeezing his hand. “I always wanted to have lots of children. Now everything finally makes sense. Thank you for being such a good friend to Marc, Jean-Paul.”

The Frenchman looked rather befuddled, struggling for words, but Madeline ignored that and wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

Yes, it all made sense now. Steven had always shared his body with another person, not just with her. She didn't know why or how and she mourned all those years she hadn't known, hadn't been there for Marc like she'd been there for Steven. But just like it took a lot of trust and love for her Steven to tell Madeline about his fears and his memory problems, it likely also had taken Marc a lot of trust to tell this man about Steven. That meant the two had to be close and Madeline was so glad to know her new son had someone like that in his life.

“I suppose... This is one of the instances I'm never ever under threat of death supposed to tell anyone about?” Jean-Paul asked jokingly once Madeline let go of him.

She huffed out a laugh. “Probably,” she said. “Marc's a private person, huh?”

“You could say that,” Jean-Paul chuckled.

Madeline patted his hand and stood. “Well, I'm afraid Marc is very tired right now. But please, let us go over all the details of this job again. I'll write everything down for him and make sure he knows to call you back for any questions.”

Jean-Paul looked a tad uncertain, still, but he did go through the plan with her in detail again. She had to ask a lot of questions. Some of them Jean-Paul seemed to think she ought to know the answer to. Some he seemed surprised she would want to. But he did answer everything and Madeline was glad she asked.

Apparently, her son was being hired to deliver a list with the names and location of a couple of mutant children that were in danger at home to Xavier’s Institute, to be taken in by other mutants. The Brotherhood was a hostile mutant terrorist group that wanted to recruit said children for themselves, which was what turned the whole job so dangerous. Hearing the details, Madeline felt bad she'd ever believed her son, any of them, might be involved in something illegal. (Technically all of this was highly illegal, but it was for a good cause so she'd overlook that.)

Jean-Paul left after an hour and Marc's flight wouldn't be until the evening. That left Madeline plenty of time to prepare for the trip. She wrote down everything Jean-Paul had told her in neat little memory cards, like the ones she'd made for Steven when he was studying. To make sure her son would be in optimal condition, she ate a healthy lunch, packed a nice little box with vegetarian food for dinner (she didn't know if Marc was vegetarian too or not but swore she'd find out at the first opportunity) and headed to the airport.

Madeline was growing a tiny bit anxious that Marc wouldn't wake up in time, seeing as she carried so much incriminating information with her. But when she neared the airport, her vision became blurry, and she felt strangely weightless, as if she was floating rather than walking. Madeline struggled to remain aware, to see what Marc saw, see how he reacted, if he liked the food, if he had any questions about the job – but this, this was nothing like when Steven returned. Sounds became muted. The few sentences of conversation she caught from people around her felt disconnected and made no sense to her. She viewed herself talking to a stewardess while boarding but she couldn’t hear her own words and forgot what she’d said the moment they left her tongue. It was like she was dreaming, her mind sluggish and she couldn’t even think about making herself noticed. Then she blinked – and everything was focused again. She was back in her kitchen.

XxX

Madeline made much more of an effort to be there for her sons over the following years. She was still entirely unable to see through their eyes the way she sometimes used to when they were children. Sometimes Steven would call her, confused and scared. He never stayed long enough for her to actually explain anything to him, but she would calm him down and reassure him that everything would be alright, that he was a good boy, that he was doing good, and that he was alright. With time Steven became calmer, grew used to the massive holes in his memory and only reacted to them with sheepish incredulity. He found his own excuses to normalize his experiences without her having to help him along. Madeline told him in vague terms that he was travelling a lot and working different jobs. Which was true, but Steven soon turned that into a full blown work and travel program. Soon, his first order of business whenever he woke up in a new place would be to get himself a job as a waiter, cashier or, if he could manage it, a city tour guide to keep himself afloat. His calls to Madeline morphed from tearful to excited, telling her about whatever city he was in and what he intended to explore.

He never took over for more than a few days though. Madeline knew because Steven, when he was in, would call her every day. Marc never called her at all.

With Steven happy, Madeline decided it wasn't all that necessary to confront her darling son with his complicated family situation. She'd do so if he could stay with her for a week or more but until then, she decided she ought to focus on her other son first.

Caring for Marc was a lot more difficult than caring for Steven for the simple reason that he wouldn't talk to her, but Madeline was nothing if not persistent. She hoped it was her newfound determination that let her front more often and not Marc's lack of self-care. In any case though, she'd now wake up more often in a body that was exhausted, injured, hungry, tired or dirty. She'd feed his body, wash his clothes (she became an expert in how to get blood out very quickly), and if he happened to wake up in an apartment, she'd cook for him, neatly stacking container over container in the fridge so he wouldn't have to live on take out. From what he did and didn't eat she made herself a picture of what he liked. Marc seemed to not be vegetarian. That didn't bother her. Now that he was away from home and she didn't have to worry about someone else eating the food she made for her son, she was even a bit excited to learn all about how to prepare meat. For some reason though he never touched anything she cooked with pork in it.

Madeline dearly wished she could communicate with Marc in more than the traces she left behind. A few times she tried calling him via phone. He never answered it. She wrote him letters and postcards - which she put into a letter box, no reason to freak him out thinking someone had broken into his flat - but from the burned up paper in the bin she doubted he read any of them.

So communication between them remained dead but Madeline still counted it as a win that he ate her food and accepted the little gifts she made him - a new keychain here, a pair of sunglasses there or some new clothes - she'd discovered that he liked pants and jackets with many pockets. It was hard to find out what he really liked and what he merely considered practical but she did the best she could.

In addition, she worried whether or not he took care of certain necessities that came with travelling around the world, such as vaccinations for tropical diseases, travel insurance and the like. She wondered if he earned his money legally and if so, if he had trouble filing taxes. If not, if he was properly laundering the money.

One day she found that one of the bookcases in the living room of the mental space she occupied started filling up with files – with just the information she was looking for. Information she memorized and, if she found something to not be in order, she’d leave a note behind the next time she was fronting. Not a full letter introducing herself, just a little scrawl in a place she thought he might stumble over.

Marc did not earn his money legally, she was sure. He was not laundering it either. He was just… hoarding. What was worse, he kept forgetting where he hid his caches. That was alright though. Madeline kept track of all of them for him.

XxX

One day, Madeline woke up late in the evening, as she usually did when Marc slept on a bed soft enough to indicate an apartment rather than a cheap motel. She went to the kitchen to do her usual cooking routine. She was humming to herself as she prepared the curry she knew Marc liked when there was a loud thump behind her. Madeline whirled around to see a skeletal horror standing in front of the window, moonlight gleaming on the bare bone of an avian skull.

“Marc Spector,” the otherworldly being spoke, “you have work to do.”

She might've screamed. She might've thrown the pan full of hot curry at the apparition. And then she might've fainted.

It was all a bit blurry afterward and she wrote it off as a nightmare. After all, what else could it possibly be?

XxX

Layla was... Layla was a change. A good change, no doubt, but a bit of a complication too. Of course, Marc never told her anything, so Madeline found out the way she found out most things, by waking up in the middle of a new situation. In this case, lying naked next to a young woman.

The first time it happened, Madeline simply closed her eyes and went to sleep again, as she had done every other time before when she accidentally walked in post hook-up on her son. He’d had quite a few partners over time, some male, some female. They were rarely ever recurring. She’d woken up a few times naked next to Jean-Paul but that had stopped a while ago too.

It was always embarrassing when it happened, but she’d gotten used to it. Her routine started in the evening, shortly after her son fell asleep, so it was unavoidable that she’d run into his partners.

But Madeline kept waking up in the same apartment next to the same woman, and it wasn't long before she had to conclude that this was a serious relationship. She was happy for Marc, of course, but also - her parental instincts were going into overdrive. So she started to, as quietly as she could, go around the apartment and gather information on who this woman was. After all, her son Marc was a mercenary, albeit one with a strong moral code it seemed, so it stood to reason any woman he attracted might also be a bit... off.

Layla El-Faouly was Egyptian, she was two years younger than Marc, not vegetarian, not married, had no children. She was an orphan, not close to any extenuating family, not religious and had nothing... too strange or kinky in her bedside table. She did earn her money by what sounded an awful lot like theft, but she only stole really expensive stuff mostly from private collectors and even donated some of the pieces back to museums. In that manner, Madeline supposed her and Marc fit well together so she decided to be carefully approving. It did worry her what this development would mean for Steven, though. Especially since he seemed to appear less and less often ever since Marc moved in with Layla. She'd grown to care for Marc, but she still missed Steven.

Apparently Marc was a night owl now and slept a lot during the day. So one day - and it took her a few tries to get it right because it was hard to wake up outside of her schedule - one day, Madeline took over and sneaked out of the apartment. If Marc wouldn’t talk to her, she decided she’d try to talk to Layla instead, get her to relay a message. Of course, she couldn’t do so directly. Layla would just think them crazy, and the point wasn’t for Madeline to introduce herself, not yet anyway. She just wanted to make sure that Steven’s needs wouldn’t be neglected while Marc was living his life.

Madeline knew her voice sounded different outside, when she had to use actual, physical vocal cords that weren’t hers. She rarely, if ever talked to people outside but she had done so a few times and it it always brought with it a sense of wrongness. Fortunately Marc possessed all sorts of small, nifty little spy toys, including voice distortion devices. They weren’t part of his standard equipment so she’d consider herself lucky if she found one in one of his caches and would occasionally use it to make phone calls for him, such as when making a vaccination appointment at the doctor’s. His main cache in Cairo was pretty well stocked, allowing her to borrow one of his devices. Thus, she was relatively confident in being able to talk to Layla as herself over the phone.

So Madeline went to a telephone booth, dialed in Layla's phone number that she'd memorized and called her.

“Yes, who is this?” Layla answered the phone, sounding tired herself.

“Hi, hello, this is Marc's Mum speaking,” Madeline said in her best cheerful voice, trying not to let her nervousness show.

“Marc's... Mom? Oh, uhm, I'm sorry but he's not here,” Layla said confused.

“Oh, I know, I know. I was actually trying to talk to you - you're his girlfriend, Layla, aren't you?”

“I am...” she said carefully.

“Perfect, look, I've been trying to reach Marc forever, but he won't answer my calls. I was hoping maybe you could relay a message,” Madeline said pleadingly.

“Uh, okay. What's the message?” Layla asked.

“It's about Marc's brother, Steven,” she explained. “I haven't heard from him either in far too long and I'm really starting to get worried. At least with Marc I know where he is and that he's doing okay but - I just want to make sure both my boys are alright. Could you perhaps ask Marc to check up on him? Or at least call me back?”

Layla was silent for a short moment. Then she said: “I mean, yeah sure. I... I'm sorry, I didn't even know Marc had a brother.”

Madeline's face fell a bit. It had taken her an unreasonably long time to realize she had two children, and, to her knowledge, Steven was also not aware Marc was a separate person. But she had the excuse of barely being out at all and only getting second hand information through Steven. In fact, Madeline had stupidly downplayed Steven's fears of feeling like there was someone else. She'd hoped that Marc at least was aware of Steven. He obviously couldn't be aware of her in the same way, not if he never gave her the chance to talk to him, but Steven had been such a large part of their life for so long.

“Well, he does,” Madeline said strongly. “And honestly, it's a bit mean of him to not care at all about Steven when he hasn't called in this long. So please just tell him to check on him, okay? I'll know if he doesn't!”

“Okay, Ma’am,” Layla promised.

“Thank you, dear. I hope you're taking good care of my boy. It's a shame we had to meet like this, I'd much rather get introduced by Marc but it is what it is.”

“Is there... a reason why he hasn't?” Layla asked hesitantly. “It's just... Honestly, he talks about his parents as if he hasn't been in contact for years.”

“That is a very good question,” Madeline sighed. “I'm afraid I didn't really... see him, for who he truly was, until he already no longer felt he needed my support. I've tried to make up for it since but... He doesn't let me in.” Madeline clutched the earpiece tightly, her chest hurting a bit. “I love him very much though and I'm proud of him. Can you tell him that from me please?”

“Sure,” Layla replied, now sounding a bit more warm. “I hope you can rebuild your connection one day.”

“I hope so too, my dear. I hope so too.”

XxX

Steven did call Madeline what felt like only hours later. He seemed to either not notice or be unaware how much time had passed but he was elated to be in Cairo and told her all about all the different sights he wanted to visit. Madeline was so happy to hear from him again she convinced him to stay on the phone while he visited his chosen museum and tell her everything he saw. It was such a comfort to hear from him again. She didn't have the heart to ruin it with probing questions about Layla or any of the other signs that Marc had settled down long term.

One day passed, then two and Steven didn't return. Madeline tried calling Marc again and, for once, he did pick up. Before she could even get a word in though, he started shouting at her:

“What the fuck are you doing, huh?! How do you even - how do you even have this number?! How do you always know where I am?! Which part of ‘I never want to see you again’ do you not understand?! You've been stalking me for years - years! And now you're harassing my girlfriend and - and you dare to drag Steven into this?! You're crazy! You hear me, CRAZY! I hate you and I want nothing to do with you so leave me the hell alone! And don't you dare go anywhere near Steven or I swear I'll fucking kill you. You hear me?!”

Madeline stared, stunned, at the earpiece long after the sound of Marc disconnecting the call had faded.

Marc... hated her? He never wanted to see her again? Tears gathered in her eyes. The harsh words broke her heart. She already blamed herself for not noticing Marc sooner. But she'd thought everything she'd done for her son, the cooking and cleaning and helping with homework, ultimately it benefited them both, did it not? She had chosen all their gifts and dishes to what she thought Steven might like though. Was that why Marc was so resentful of her? Did he think she favored Steven? She couldn't deny that it must look like that but - she'd also tried so hard to make up for it since. She hadn't even fought that hard to get her sweet boy back because she'd felt guilty that she never noticed Marc. And now he was accusing her of stalking him? How could she have been so, so very wrong?

Chapter Text

Madeline did not try to call Marc again after her attempt to contact him through Layla. She gave up on her routine of coming out every evening and withdrew into herself. There would still be some occasions of her being pushed forward when Marc was a wreck and she still helped him when that happened - of course she did - but other than that, she left him alone. Like he apparently wanted her to.

Madeline lost all sense of time. The files that kept appearing in her apartment became her only indicator that Marc was even still alive. Steven called her again a few times and she was always happy to hear from him. But the stories he told her sounded more and more redacted, like he didn't truly want to tell her what troubled him. And she didn't dare ask what date it was, what year.

Madeline grew increasingly hopeless. At her worst she would sometimes find herself in front, sobbing, and Layla would be there to shush her and ask her what was wrong and Madeline would flinch and withdraw and hope she hadn't caused trouble for her son.

And then, one day, Steven started calling her again. Really calling her, every day, for days and weeks. It started as usual, with him being lost and her helping him to figure out how he got there. She used to be better at this when she still kept track of where Marc was staying, but now, she was just as helpless as him. Between her, him, and the contents of his pockets though, they found their way back to Marc's last crash site, where he kept some cash and - thank God - a passport under Steven's name.

She had little hope initially that it would last. She couldn't count how many times she'd made plans with Steven to get a job only for him to be gone the next day. But this time he actually did call her back to brag about how he'd gotten a job as a museum tour guide. Money was tight, especially if you lived in the middle of London. But Madeline had shelves upon shelves of monetary information on Marc and every single one of his little cache cases. Considering how much he earned on an average job without ever really using any of it, she only felt a little guilty when she set up a rental agreement for Steven using Marc's money. Steven, who of course thought the money was from her, swore he'd pay her back once he was fully standing on his own two feet. Madeline told him not to worry about it.

A week passed with Steven calling her every day and Madeline, carefully hopeful, settled in with him properly. She started up her routine again, taking over in the evenings to do her chores. The more time passed and the longer Steven stayed, the more Madeline caught flashes of his life again. Vague, fuzzy impressions of where he was, what he did while she was dozing on the couch in her living room. It filled her with such hope and joy, that she could be at her son’s side again. She'd write him letters and postcards, hoping to reestablish some of that deeper bond she used to have with him, to learn more than just the redacted version he told her over phone. It worked, sort of. She found crumbled up paper in his bin, attempts at a reply to her letters. In it, he spoke of a deep seated fear of his own mind, of the huge memory gaps he had and how disjointed his life felt. He spoke of being lonely, of having nobody but her to talk to, and of being so afraid to disappoint or be a burden to her. He spoke of his declining sense of self-worth, how he was actually just a gift-shopist, not a tour guide and how he didn’t get along with his boss. He told her how he sometimes felt like he was just watching his own body instead of steering it and she felt so guilty when he named cooking dinner as an example of such an experience. Apparently, she was not the only one who had fuzzy memory overlap.

It was that negativity and the fear of being the cause of it more than anything that made Madeline decide she had to tell him about Marc – and about her own true nature.

It was a big moment, one she had worked toward and dreaded equally for decades. She’d thought many times how she would do it. How she would even make him believe her. In the end, there was only one way. One very obvious way.

Madeline sat on her couch in her living room, one evening after Steven was done with work and was settling down for a quiet evening of reading. The telephone was next to her, representing her most reliable line to him. And there, in front of her on the table, was a small leather-bound blue book.

It was the diary that Steven had kept as a child, or rather the copy of it she’d kept safe for him for all these years.

Taking a deep breath, Madeline raised the earpiece of the telephone to her ear and waited for Steven to respond to her mental nudging. He greeted her in his usual, carefree manner that was half pretend. She greeted him back and they went through the usual how are you’s and Steven told her a bit of his day. Madeline listened closely because she wanted to make sure she wouldn’t give him anything more to deal with when he’d had a bad day. He talked about a new exhibition at the museum, an Egyptian one he really liked and how they got the number of gods wrong on the poster. Everything was normal.

“Steven, darling, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” she said softly.

“You sound serious,” Steven noted immediately, his brow creasing in worry. “Is everything alright? Are you alright? Is Dad alright?”

“Oh, I’m just fine. Your Dad – let’s not talk about him, this isn’t about that,” she brushed his question away. “It’s about… well… Do you remember, when you were little you often felt like you were sometimes acting like a different person?” she asked him. She opened the little blue book, holding all of their secret letters to each other. Slowly she turned the pages, from the youngest to the oldest entry.

“I... I think so, sure, yeah,” Steven replied. “What about it?”

“Do you still remember what you were called then?” she continued quietly, stopping at a page close to the beginning. “You had a name, a name everyone called you... And then you had a secret name. At first only I called you by it, then your friends, then your teachers. But at home, you were mostly called the other name. Do you remember what that name was?”

I… I don’t…” Steven fell silent, staring at the ceiling for a long moment.

“You wrote about it in your diary,” she said softly. “You wrote to me in your diary, do you remember? I still have that book with me. I have it right now, you didn’t take it with you when you moved out. You used to take it with you anywhere. Remember, you started writing because you thought it would be interesting to look back on it later, when you were all grown up.

“Well, you’re grown up now, my darling. I think maybe it’s time we look back together.”

Madeline started to read to him... a diary entry. It was from 2006, when Steven had only been eleven years old. In the entry he spoke of a different name and how he hated the name – how he’d much rather be called Steven Grant. But that made no sense. Steven couldn’t have written that, because his name was Steven Grant, it had been given to him by his mother, not... except Steven did remember writing that. The further his Mum read, the more the memory started to return.

“Do you… Do you remember now?” she asked, pausing in her reading. “Do you remember your other name?”

“Marc…” Steven whispered, clutching the phone tightly.

“That's right,” Madeline said gently. “Marc Spector.”

“But that's not me,” Steven said immediately.

“No, that's not you,” she confirmed. “But you and Marc... You're like two sides of the same coin, I think. All those memory gaps, all those strange decisions, like joining the military? I think Marc did that. Whenever you lose time, when you're not... you. He's there.”

“But that's like... What?” Steven rubbed his forehead furiously. “That doesn't make any sense. Marc's just a made up name. A stupid nickname. I... I'm real.” He jumped to his feet, rummaging in his bag for his wallet, sighing in relief when he found what he was looking for. “See, it says Steven Grant on my ID. That's my name, it always was.”

“Steven,” she said gently, swallowing her tears, “you know my name, don't you?”

“Or course. Madeline Ulena Magison,” he said immediately.

“That's right. And do you know why we don't have the same last name, even though you're my son?” she asked.

“I...” Steven broke off, then chuckled nervously. “Heh, I never really thought about that. Did you and Dad both keep your last names after you got married?”

“What's your father's name?” she pressed on.

Steven's hands holding the phone became sweaty. “Elias...” he said slowly.

“Elias...?” she coaxed him.

Steven closed his eyes with a pained grimace. “Elias Spector,” he whispered.

XxX

14. September 2006

Dear Diary.

I'm so confused, I don't know what happened. Today was terrible.

It already started bad when I woke up and I felt really sick. Everything ached like from a bad cold and I was so tired. I wanted to stay at home but there was this important math test so I went to school anyway. I slept in so I couldn't have breakfast and I was tired and hungry when I arrived at school. First period was English, except it was not, there was a different class in the room and I checked my phone and it was Thursday. Not Tuesday. I had all the wrong books and I haven't memorized my schedule and it took me ages to find my planner and I was late for first period. Which was math. And we got the test back, I don't even remember taking it and I got a D on it and it really pulls down my average! I don't know what happened, diary. Why is it Thursday? I don't remember the last two days at all.

It's not the first time this has happened either. I've always had memory problems, I'm taking extra vitamins against it and everything. I asked Mr. Corbitt if I could repeat the test because I'm obviously coming down with some sort of sickness. He said no. Because that's also not the first time this happened, that I failed something at school and couldn't remember how or why.

Why does this keep happening to me? Am I sick, like Mum? I wanted to go to her, tell her, I just want to tell someone. I went to see her, I know I did. But then it was like... Like there was this thick glass plate between us. I could not see well and I felt like a fish in an aquarium, banging my fists against the glass, begging for her to hear me. But she didn't. And I turned around and went back to my room. I couldn't tell her. Why can't I tell her? I just want her to hold me. Why does she never hold me?

XxX

“I am so sorry, my darling,” Madeline whispered. “The... The people that lived in that house, they weren't good parents. They didn't take proper care of you. So I did instead. I'm your Mum and I love you very much. I don't know why or how this happened. Maybe we were mother and son in a previous life and for some reason I was allowed to keep watch over you in the next one? I... I couldn't do much since I don't... I don't have a body of my own. Mostly I could just listen to you and comfort you. I-”

But Steven had thrown the phone away, staring at it lying on his bed as if it was a poisonous snake.

“Steven? Please, I love you so much. I just want you to be happy,” Madeline said, tears welling up in her eyes again.

“Y-You’re not real,” Steven stuttered. “You're... My Mum's not real.”

“I am real,” Madeline cried. “Please don't shut me out, Steven, not like Marc did. I just want to help you. I made mistakes, I know I did. I should've told you sooner but you never stayed for long.”

“My Mum's not real,” Steven repeated, baffled more than anything as he stared at the phone. “Madeline - oh my days. Madeline Ulena Magison. M. U. M. Did I... Did I make you up?!”

“Of course not, darling,” Madeline replied, wishing so much she could hug him. “I gave my own secret name to myself, just like you did.”

Steven's eyes widened. “Was I made up?”

“Nobody is made up,” Madeline said strongly. “You... You and Marc, you just... happen to share a body.”

“With you,” Steven said hollowly. “You're in here too, that's what you're saying, isn't it?”

“I... I mean, yes, technically, but... I don't really live in your life like that,” Madeline tried to explain. “I sometimes borrow the body to do some cooking when you're not eating well or do some chores... But mostly I'm just inside... Waiting for you to call me.”

Steven drew his hand through his hair, looking frazzled. “You always preferred talking over the phone... Or in... Oh my days. My diary. Our letters. I never... I never really did show it to my real Mum, did I? That was always... That was always you?”

“That was always me”, she confirmed quietly.

She read him another entry then, dated just one day later. Steven’s first time addressing his mum in his diary and asking her why she didn’t do any of the things other mums did. All the things that his Mum had always done for him – but only, Steven realized, after he started writing to her.

“You’re in my head right now, you… What you read to me, you…” Steven stammered.

“You were getting so confused, darling. It was bothering you so much, to be treated like Marc, to be blamed or praised for things he did – you wanted to be your own person. Away from him. I thought… If I kept these memories locked away… you would be happier. And you were,” Madeline admitted quietly. “But now you’ve grown up. Marc has grown up. And you have to know.”

“You were there…. The whole time? In my head?” Steven asked weakly. “You and… This Marc person, he's... He's been stealing all this time from me?” he asked. “I remember…. Oh my days, it’s all coming back to me. I… I was lonely, I… I know you, I remember how… How much I loved writing to you but… Who the bloody hell is this Marc guy?”

Madeline hesitated. “Marc is... I don't know, Steven. Marc won't talk to me like you do. I think... No, I know he hates me. I didn't really realize that you were two until after you two left the military. I think because of that, he might think that I favor you or love him less or something. I tried to make it up to him but... He's a grown man. He doesn't need his Mum as much anymore and he... He's made it very clear he wants nothing to do with me.”

“What?” Steven chucked nervously. “This Marc is a plonker, isn’t he? You sure he meant you and not our real mum who was apparently so rubbish I had to make up a new one?”

Madeline gaped at the phone. Could that be it...?

“Mum?” Steven asked anxiously and picked the phone back up, holding it to his ear.

“Oh, I am so dense.” Madeline groaned.

Steven chuckled again a bit. “So our real mum-”

“Biological gene provider,” Madeline spat bitterly.

“Fine, so our gene provider was rubbish, which you knew. You never talked to Marc as a kid. When you did talk to him as an adult you told him you were his Mum. But because he didn't know you from before like I did, he naturally assumed you were his gene provider and wanted nothing to do with you. Sound about right?” Steven asked.

Madeline groaned and buried her head in her hands. “I am so stupid.”

“Not any more stupid than I am for not realizing that someone else has been living my life... Or that I'm talking to a phone that's not connecting to any number,” Steven said quietly.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do,” she confessed. “I don't know how this works, with you two, when it's you and when it's Marc or for how long. It was mostly you when you were younger, I think, or at least you were there almost every day because you'd call me or write to me. But then Marc left home and you were barely there at all. I think Marc knows you exist, or at least he knows that he sometimes acts like you and calls himself your name? I tried asking him once to check on you, when you didn't show for years and he shouted at me, said the most awful things... But you're right of course, I never build the same connection with him as I did with you. It's possible, probable even that he didn't realize I wasn't his gene provider.”

“What's he like? This Marc bloke?” Steven asked.

That was a hard question. “Considering I never talked to him in person... All I know about him are things I’ve gathered over the years that slipped through,” she mused. “After leaving the military, he started to work odd jobs as a mercenary, Robin Hood style, tracking down bad guys or helping good people. I don't know if he's still doing that, it's been years since I last... Since I last saw so much as a date. He had a friend once, a Frenchman called Jean-Paul, who said Marc was good at forging identities and that he would sometimes get lost in them. Jean-Paul knew your name too, that's why I think Marc might’ve known and told him about you. Marc had a girlfriend once too. They lived together for a while.” She told him everything else she knew like how Marc was not vegetarian, his accent was different, what clothes and food he liked. There wasn't much she could say about him as a person though. The truth was that even after ten years, she still didn't truly know Marc. She would like to get to know him better, but he'd never given her any indication that he wanted that.

“I don't really like the sound of that,” Steven said worried. “A mercenary? That sounds dangerous.”

Madeline groaned. “Oh, I know, believe me I'd have preferred he do something less dangerous too! I know he's ultimately helping people, bit like a firefighter but I'm still so afraid he'll get burned. He's left the most horrible scars behind... They all healed over, thankfully but still, I wish he were more careful. Maybe you can talk some sense into him?” she plead.

“Wha- why would he listen to me?!” Steven exclaimed. “A mercenary who ran away with my life... What am I supposed to do there?”

“I don't know darling but I'm pretty sure you two are supposed to work together and get along,” Madeline said. “We're a family! What if he's only been acting out this whole time because we have been ignoring him, hm? I worry he'll destroy your liver drinking too much alcohol or get shot on a mission or even worse, what if he knocks up some random girl and you have to pay for child support all your life?! Not like I don't want to be a grandma some day, but I would at least like to get introduced, you know? It's rather obvious you're the responsible one out of the two of you so please, won't you look after him? For me, and for yourself? He won’t talk to me. I tried calling him and writing him letters but now I think he thinks I’m his gene provider stalking him or something!”

Steven stared at the phone in his hand a bit helplessly. Since when was knocking someone up worse than getting shot...? It was kinda scary to think about all the ways this other person could mess up and use Steven's body. But Marc sounded like a scary bloke and Steven was not sure he was the right person to set any boundaries with him. Especially if Marc was the original owner of this body and Steven was just... made up? But then again, Mum was apparently made up too, made up by him no less, and yet she was very, very real. Steven couldn't even imagine having any other Mum. There was a little stab of jealously, of fear, that maybe she'd prefer this other person living in his body over him. Sure, Marc had refused to talk to her thus far, but only because he didn't realize what an amazing person she was. Would Mum prefer some Robin Hood style action hero as a son over the one she'd raised herself? She wouldn't, would she? Steven had made her up to be his Mum, she was his idea, so she ought to be his Mum first.

Which kinda begged the question... If Steven had made up Mum to care for him and love him, who had made up Steven? Was it Marc? Was there someone else? Mum didn't mention anyone else, so it must've been Marc. But why would someone who sounded as tough and fearless as Marc make up someone like Steven? It wasn't even like Steven was an imaginary friend because he'd never even met Marc. He supposed he must've been better at school than Marc, judging from the failed tests he'd gotten back as a child that he couldn't remember taking. Was that all? Had Steven just been created as a study aid and then been send into hibernation or something when Marc had decided not to pursue any sort of scholarly career? The thought angered Steven. Marc was being reckless with the body, he caused grief to Mum and he stole years of Steven's life. Made up or not, that was not okay. Steven would never push his Mum away like that. It might be a bit weird to think he shared a body with her but that was simply a matter of setting boundaries. It wasn't that different from caring for an elderly family member that lived with you. You gave up some of your privacy and your time to make sure they were taken care of just like they took care of you. That was what a good son did and Steven was a good son. Unlike Marc, it sounded like.

“Fine, I'll talk to Marc,” Steven decided. “Err, as soon as I figure out how.”

“You could try writing him letters,” Madeline suggested. “Maybe he'll read them when they're from you.”

“Can't I... call him like you do me?” he wanted to know.

Madeline thought about that. “I'm not sure, darling. I'm...” She looked around the kitchenette helplessly. “I'm not too sure where I am right now, when I'm talking to you? It just looks like home to me and I'm using a real phone and everything. I've tried to go outside once or twice but it's just this white, empty landscape beyond. I can't even see you from here, I can just hear your voice. You don't go to a place like this when Marc takes over, do you?”

“No,” Steven admitted but his heart was beating louder. “But maybe I could come to you? And then I could use your phone to call Marc?”

How amazing would that be? He'd never have to worry about travel time or flight tickets again. If he wanted to visit his Mum, he'd just close his eyes and... be with her? Yes... He could almost imagine it. The more he thought about it, the more Steven remembered. Writing in his diary late in the evening. Talking on the phone on the way back from school only to hide it and duck his head when he came home. He must not mention their secret talks to Mum in person, that was just between the two of them. But oh, how often had he wished he could give up the pretense and just hug his Mum and be held by her. Steven... A single tear fell from his cheek. Steven didn't think he remembered a single instance of hugging his Mum. In that moment, there was nothing he wanted more in the world.

“Hi Mum.”

Madeline shrieked and dropped her phone, whirling around to see her son standing behind her. Steven gave her a watery smile and she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

“My Steven...” she breathed out. Then she held her arms out to him hesitantly and Steven rushed forward. With a grin he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her in a tight hug as if making up for twenty long years. Mother and son just held each other for a while like that. Madeline might be crying a little while Steven was just smiling happily.

“You look different,” Steven whispered when he eventually let go of her, pushing her away slightly to get a good look. He remembered what his mother... No, his gene provider had looked like and his father too. Funny that, he couldn't remember the gene provider’s name. He faintly remembered that his relationship to ‘her’ had suddenly improved once he found the ‘trick’ of communicating via his diary. Before that she had been cold, distant, always ignoring him, always pushing him away... Now it all made sense.

His Mum's hair was darker than the gene provider’s, more like Steven's and it was cut in a bob, the locks barely curling around her ears. She had the brightest, blue eyes he'd ever seen and her face was a bit chubby. There were wrinkles in her face and a few white hairs around her temple. She was wearing a long, blue dress and Steven couldn't help but chuckle.

“What's so funny?” his Mum asked him.

“If your hair grows a bit whiter, you could pass for the fairy godmother in Cinderella,” Steven said with a soft smile.

“Oi, I'm not that old!” Madeline protested and hit his shoulder playfully. She wasn't, really. She was definitely older than Steven, but she looked more like she was in her forties, not her fifties or sixties.

“True,” he allowed. “I'd have a hard time selling you as my Mum, people would sooner think you're my sister.”

“Well,” Madeline said and self-consciously adjusted her hair, “I have some control over my self image and no woman likes to grow old, does she? It's not like I was ever expecting anyone to see, this is just for me.”

Steven regarded her again with a pang of sadness. Madeline had Dad’s hair and a statue slightly smaller than Steven. Her slight chubbiness hid any overly similar facial structure, and her eyes were quite different. There was definitely a resemblance between them. The one thing he couldn't find were similarities between her and... the gene provider.

“Do you know why... that woman... never loved me?” Steven asked quietly. It was Madeline who'd asked him each evening what he wanted to have on his sandwich the next day. It was her who'd lovingly baked him a birthday cake fit of a professional store - she'd bragged to him all about how she learned and practice the skills just for him after all. It was her who gave him his birthday gifts because he tended to get exactly what he told her he wished for. She had loved him like any mother should. But that also meant... that someone else hadn't. And the more he thought about it, the more the veil over his memories lifted. All those times his mum… no, that other woman had glared at him, had insulted him, had ignored him. All those times he’d cried himself to sleep.

A cloud passed over Madeline's expression.

“That woman,” she spat. “She was useless, Steven. Useless in the house, useless in the garden and useless with her child. She'd drink. Ugh, would she drink. I know she went to therapy, or maybe AA, I don't know but it sure as hell didn't look like it helped any! She'd just... ignore you and when she was there, Elias would be all about her and ignore you too and I just couldn't stand watching it. If you ask me, that woman never should've gotten any children. Not that I'm not - elated to have you, of course, but I mean, in principle. Some people just aren't cut out to be parents. Maybe she had issues, who knows, I never bothered asking. There's no excuse for that kind of neglect if you ask me.”

“So...” Steven took a deep breath, “it wasn't anything I did?”

“Of course not, darling!” Madeline cupped his cheek, gazing into his eyes. “There's nothing you did - or could've done for that matter - that would justify a parent not giving their all to make sure you have the best possible life. She's just a useless person. Please don't think about her anymore - you have me after all, don't you?”

Steven nodded and gave her a watery smile. “Yeah... I guess you're right.”

He let his gaze wander around the room. Over the light brown wooden kitchen counter, the windows with sunlight shining through them and the sight of the garden beyond, to the TV and set of couches and two armchairs with dark green covers that he vividly remembered from his childhood.

“Is this the whole house?” he wondered.

“No... All the doors are in the right place but only lead to broom closets. The garden is as it should but beyond it’s just... like a stone desert or something,” Madeline said. She sighed. “Honestly, I thought this was limbo or part of the afterlife or something. It doesn't make sense for you to be able to come here though.”

“Maybe it's like a mindscape?” Steven thought. “Like in Sherlock Holmes, the mind palace?” Steven started to wander around, opening doors. The basement door led to a closet. The bathroom door too. The stairs leading up opened to a corridor. His parents’ bedroom, a closet. The guest room, a closet. His childhood bedroom - oh well would you look at that.

“Huh,” Madeline made, peaking over his shoulder. “I couldn't even get to the corridor upstairs.”

Steven's room looked just like he remembered it. As a teenager he'd been a big fan of smart heroes such as Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Who. Several posters littered the walls. One of his favorite TV series, ‘Leverage’ about a band of con artists that stole stolen goods or information to give them back to their original owner as well as ‘Babylon 5’, an amazing science fiction show with a focus on interspecies diplomacy. There were others as well that he didn't much remember really being a fan of - Star Wars and Jurassic Park and Mad Max and something that looked like an Indiana Jones Rip off that he didn't remember at all. He brushed his fingertips over the latter, wondering if this was a franchise Marc had liked.

“If we're both down here, Marc should be up, right?” he mused. “Should we try calling him now?”

“Oh, right! Let's do that”, Madeline agreed and together they went back down into the kitchen, where there was their old fashioned cable telephone. Steven was sure he'd have a hundred and one questions for this other person, but he'd likely need time to think of them. For now, the only goal he set himself was to convince the other to let him keep the body for longer duration. As much as he liked seeing his Mum again, he was a bit uncomfortable at the thought of moving back in with her full time and being stuck in a two room house possibly for years. There wasn’t even a bathroom, it really was just the living room/kitchen and his bedroom. Maybe he should've thought about this for more than a second before he came down here...

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – The reckless son

Marc brought the hammer down on the mobile phone again. And again. And again. He was seething, hands shaking with so much in fury the broken pieces of plastic and glass slid through his fingers. While they weren’t sharp enough to cut him, they laid there as if mocking him and his own broken life. Marc stamped on them for good measure before he gathered them up to throw them into the trash. He'd have to take out the trash so Steven didn't notice, so he'd merely think he lost his phone.

Agitated Marc wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around the apartment with wild eyes. His gaze fell on a number of postcards stuck to the fish tank. He ripped off one of them and his fear came true. It was definitely a woman’s handwriting, signed with ‘Mum’. Marc didn't truly read it. He just glimpsed some verbiage about the weather being good and the city being beautiful before he crumbled up the card in his fist.

How dare she? How dare that woman try and do to Steven... what she'd done to Marc? The sheer nerve of her, and of his father too, the betrayal - Marc couldn't breathe he was so mad.

He gasped for air for a few seconds, stumbling backwards, sliding down the kitchen counter and ended up sprawled on the floor.

His father had said she was dead. He'd said she was dead and Marc... Marc had felt guilty, for not following his call earlier, for not coming when he'd called about her being sick. Now she was dead and Marc... Marc could never apologize again. He'd never earn her forgiveness. He knew he shouldn't even want that, but he had... No amount of telling himself he didn’t deserve her harsh treatment could erase the memory of her cursing him, calling him horrible and a waste of space and a murderer. With Wendy any chance to ever rid himself of that label seemed to have died.

And it was all a lie? His father had made it all up, had invited guests for a fake shiva to lure Marc out to corner him, for what? So he could listen to more excuses? Reassurances how much better Wendy was now? As if that should comfort him, that she was better now that he was out of her life? Or had it been an even more insidious trap? Marc still had a warrant on his head. For all he knew the police could've waited for him in that building to arrest him. Had his family sold him out?

For years the crazy woman that birthed Marc had stalked him. Somehow, she always found out where he lived, sending him letters and calling his phone. Marc was a fucking master at vanishing, at hiding from the law and the lawless alike. He had become a master at it mostly to shake her. And yet somehow, she always found him.

At least, he'd argue, Steven was safe from her. It hurt him to know Steven was missing so much of his life, but that life was just not safe for him unless he stayed hidden! Maybe it never would be. Not with all the enemies Marc had made as a merc, not with Khonshu in the picture. Steven was happy when he was out, he was magic like that, or so Marc told himself. Steven was embodied in the precious few moments of rest and joy Marc was allowed to have for only himself. Maybe it would be different one day but right now he was just too busy. So, he kept Steven safely nestled away, protected from everything that haunted Marc, especially his mother.

And that devil of a woman dared to play games with him.

Marc had come to abruptly, lying on a foreign bed, his cheeks wet with tears. He'd been instantly on edge. The phone in his hand was opened on a call - connected to ‘Mum’, according to the text on the display.

At first Marc had thought Steven had tried to call her, found out she was dead and that was why he'd been crying. But then he scrolled through the call history - that number had been called or called Steven at least once every day for the last three weeks. When he tried to view the number, it only showed a line of ones. Marc had only seen that once or twice, a person disguising their caller ID like that. Some serious tech and know-how was required for that. How did his mom even get access to that? How much further would she go to torment him? Then the postcards; those too had been dated earlier. There was no doubt, Wendy Spector had been in contact with Steven long after her supposed ‘death’.

Marc didn't understand why. Was it not enough that she'd ruined him? Was it not enough that she'd broken him, quite literally? Did she want to ruin Steven too? Take him away? Bring him up against Marc to use him to torment him more? To Marc's knowledge Steven only had happy memories of his home life. He'd done his damndest to make sure of that. But he'd also spend much of his childhood terrified someone would find out about Steven and take him away. As a result, Marc was pretty sure he would've noticed if somebody knew. His mother shouldn't be aware of Steven.

But what if she did know? What if this was all part of her plan? What if she'd faked her own death to send Marc spiraling so Steven would come out, so she could trap him in his own ignorance and... Do what? What was her end goal? The postcards indicated she kept up the same charade for him she'd play for the public but what about the calls? Maybe she'd been verbally abusing Steven for weeks already. Maybe she'd only shown her true colours today and that's why Marc had woken up? Was he too late? Should he try to talk to Steven about her? But what if she'd poisoned his mind against him? Marc had given up the pipe dream of actually befriending Steven the day he got kicked out of the military with a diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder. It wasn't that he was mad at Steven for ruining that particular career. Rather, it was the recording they showed him of Steven pleading to be let go, to go home. On some level, Marc had always known that joining the Marines wasn't something Steven would do. It had just been the fastest and safest way for Marc to leave home once he became of age when his mom refused to finance a college education for him. He’d preferred it over a mountain of dept. But while Marc would've been fine to sit back and keep sharing a life with Steven while he pursued whatever scholarly dream he had, he somehow hadn't made the connection that... Steven wouldn't be fine with the opposite scenario. Maybe he was a pacifist or maybe he was scared of them getting hurt or... Or maybe he just didn't like feeling useless any more than Marc did during summer camp or class trips or whatever when it was Steven all the way because Marc was not needed.

Marc closed his fist and crumbled up the postcard even more. This wasn't fair. Marc hadn't jumped from one violent career into another because he wanted to keep Steven under, because he didn't want to share. That was not it! He knew he owed Steven big time, and he'd die before he let anyone take him from him. Marc just needed him to be safe before he needed him to be free. And so long as Marc still had enemies, so long as Khonshu kept sending him out into the night and so long as that woman was stalking him, Marc's life wasn't safe enough for Steven.

Marc went to the tank to rip off all the postcards. Then a different thought occurred to him, and he froze, stopping before he could trash all the offensive paper.

What if he was wrong? What if the game Wendy was playing included keeping Steven in the dark? It was still a sick game no matter what but… Losing his phone, Steven could ignore that. All these postcards vanishing into thin air? That was harder to brush aside. If he wanted to make sure, really make sure that his alter was alright, he’d have to… He’d have to talk to him. Reveal himself to him. Ask all the uncomfortable questions and… brace himself for questions in return.

What if… What if Wendy really had changed? What if the therapy finally did show progress and she actually was sorry? If she hadn’t hurt Steven and he was still happy and Marc ruined that…

A terrible, painful knot formed in Marc’s chest. He was so sure that whatever Wendy could possibly have planned, it would only lead to hurt. But hurt for whom? Maybe she was trying to use Steven to get to him. But she couldn’t keep doing that if she hurt Steven. She’d need him to keep believing they were a happy family for that to work long-term. If that was what she was doing… Would Marc play along? Could he?

A faint buzzing sound jerked Marc out of his miserable thoughts. It took him a moment to place the noise. It was coming from the little hiding place he’d set aside a few essentials in, under the loose ceiling board.

Marc froze. That was his phone buzzing, no, blaring at highest volume. But that was impossible. Marc’s phone wasn’t like Steven’s, unrooted and with mobile data and traceable as fuck because it was fresh out of the store. Marc’s phone was a burner, not a smartphone, no network connection at all and most importantly, he kept it turned off whenever he put it into that space. It was for outgoing calls only. There was no way anyone could be calling Marc on that phone.

And yet, it was ringing.

Furious beyond human understanding and ready to murder someone, Marc pushed the table aside so he could climb up and retrieve the phone, which kept ringing urgently in his hand.

The same line of ones appeared on the display, and he almost crushed this phone too with how tightly he gripped it. He’d kill her. This time she went too far, messing with Steven, making him cry. Marc didn’t care, this time he’d really do it.

“What do you want from me?!” Marc hissed into the phone, and he hated how weak and trembling and not at all angry his voice sounded. He'd never answered any of her calls before and he didn't want to now either but for Steven - he had to.

What came next froze the blood in his veins.

“Uhm, hello? This is Steven. Steven Grant, hi – are you Marc?”

Marc’s knees grew weak. He grabbed the edge of the table so tight his knuckles turned white. Slowly, slowly he lowered himself to sit on the nearby bed. His heart was racing and he had trouble breathing. Was this a recording? Had Wendy - had she -

Marc held the phone away from his ear in front of him and stared at the display. Rubbed his eyes, stared again. The phone was dead.

“Steven?” he said in a small voice.

“That’s me,” Steven confirmed cheerfully. His voice sounded tinny, as if it really did come from the other side of a phone. What was going on?

Before Marc could even form another coherent thought, Steven was rambling on:

“I hope you know who I am, oh this would be so awkward if you didn’t. I know it was awkward for me, finding out about you but I’m told you’ve known me for a while? Or at least know my name? I don’t know how this works... I should probably start at the beginning. Except I’m not sure what the beginning is. Good grief, listen to me ramble. I’m sorry, I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. First time talking to my other half and that. No wait, that sounds weird, sorry. Dangit, I should’ve written notes…”

“Who told you about me?” Marc cut in, colder than he intended to.

“W-Well… Mum did,” Steven said and Marc, who’d instinctively put the phone back to his ear even though he knew that wasn’t necessary, tightened his grip again. “Hey don’t freak out, okay!” Steven rambled on before Marc could get a word in. “It’s not what you think. She’s not what you think, she’s great actually and this isn’t about her-”
“Steven,” Marc said firmly, trying to ignore the building dread in his stomach. “Listen. You don’t understand. Whatever she told you-” it’s not true. I’m not a murderer, I’m not a bad son, I’m not the one who ruined your life-

Wasn’t he?

Marc choked on the words and none of them made it past his lips.

“Marc?” Steven asked. He repeated his name two more times until Marc gave something like a grunt, unable to manage more to signify he was still listening.

“Marc, do you know who I am?” Steven asked quietly.

Marc nodded mutely. When Steven didn’t go on, he realized that maybe Steven couldn’t see that and said aloud, borrowing Steven’s own words: “You’re my other half…”

“Yeah… okay, let’s stick with that,” Steven went on quietly. “I’m your other half but I’m…. I’m kinda missing more than 50% here, yeah? And I don’t know how this works, maybe you can help me out there but… Whenever you… have the body… I just black out. Bam. And I wake up, days, months, years later. And I have these really short flashes, just a few hours here and there and then I’m out again and… I kinda hate it? I want… more than that. I want a life. Doesn’t even have to be a full one, you can have your life too, obviously, just… Can we talk about that, please? About this whole... sharing thing?”

Marc’s fingers slowly relaxed around the phone and he let himself sink back into the pillows. Steven wanted to talk about that? That… Yeah, that he could do.

“What do you want?” he repeated his earlier question, less tense now, more tired.

“Okay, uhm, just to confirm a few things I’ve… picked up. Y-You’re like, a mercenary? Is that right?” Steven asked.

Marc’s stomach churned uncomfortably. How did Steven know that? Marc had been so careful to only let him out under very controlled circumstances ever since his lapse with the Marines.

“Not anymore,” he replied shortly. “I used to be but… not anymore.”

“Oh, uhm, that’s great! I mean, we were kinda worried – I was worried – you know, our body getting shot and stuff. Not nice,” Steven said.

That’s what he was worried about? … maybe that was an obvious thing to worry about, but Marc had always been much more concerned with Steven’s reaction to learning that Marc was shooting at people, not people shooting at Marc.

“I was careful,” he promised. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t risk you like that. I was… I’m good at what I do.”

“Okay. Great! That’s great to hear. So any other, uh, big life changing events happened while I was gone?” Steven asked. “You… got a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Any really important relationship I should know about or might run into? What do you do now, working on anything particular?”

Marc ground his teeth. “No,” he said clipped. “No… There’s nobody you have to know about. I got a few… enemies but if those ever show up, I’ll take care of it. And my job is… I keep irregular hours. At night, mostly, so you can do whatever you want during the day. My… My employer knows about you, knows not to interfere with your life. You won’t even notice.”

“Al...right,” Steven made hesitantly. “What is that job?”

“...security,” Marc settled on. “Lots of patrolling. Comes with great medical care.”

“You’re not working for the mafia, are you?” Steven asked sternly.

“No! No, nothing like that. It’s just… Something I can’t, shouldn’t, talk about. It’s better if you don’t know, Steven. It’s safer. I need…” Marc took a deep breath. In for a penny…. “I need you to remain my safe space, okay? Please. I won’t let any of this touch you. If you want more time with the body, fine. I’ll do what I can to give you that. You can have days and I’ll stick to nights. My work isn’t that dangerous,” not when he had a god on his side capable of healing him from pretty much everything, “but it’s important. Lives depend on it, innocent lives. And I… signed a contract that’s hard to get out of.”

“Okay… Alright, I’ll trust you, for now,” Steven said to his immense relief. “I’ll have more questions later, mate, you bet on it but… For now, that’s enough.”

“That all?” Marc asked hopefully.

“I mean, no, there are loads of other things but… Seriously, mate? You run off with years of my life apiece and now you’re just… You’re willing to give up all the days to me?” Steven asked somewhat incredulous.

Marc tapped his hand against his knee impatiently, feeling the knot tighten in his chest again.

“I’m not stupid, Steven,” he ground out. “I know you’re the better one of us, better at… everything that matters. I didn’t shut you down on purpose, I just… couldn’t let you come anywhere near my shit. You never… You never asked for time before. I didn’t think… Look, I don’t know what I thought. But if you want more time, I’ll give it to you. God knows I could use the break.” Especially with how Khonshu was running him ragged. With his heart still aching from letting Layla go. But Wendy… Fuck, that was the one thing holding him back. He couldn’t let Wendy come anywhere near Steven.

“There’s just two conditions,” he went on. “One, if we, or any civilians around us, are in danger, you give me the body. And you leave that up to me to judge if I’m… if I’m aware while you’re...up here. I’ll try not to be, to keep out of your stuff but I can’t always help it.”

“Sure, sounds reasonable, considering you’re the gunslinger,” Steven agreed and Marc could breathe easier again. “What else?”
Marc’s throat felt very dry. He needed to forbid Steven from ever talking to their mother again. But how could he do that? Wendy had been the one to tell Steven about Marc. Somehow, that had not yet blown up in his face and Marc was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Was this what would make Steven shut him down? Was he walking into a trap here?
“I need you to… I need you to break off contact with our mother,” Marc said at last. Then he held his breath for two, three, four seconds as Steven remained silent.

Finally, his alter asked: “That is very important, huh?”

“Very important,” Marc confirmed, voice strained.

“Alright,” Steven said evenly after another beat of silence. “I will not seek out contact with the female that birthed us.”

That was a strangely detached and professional way of saying it. Marc liked it but it also made him suspicious. “And you won’t reply to her attempts to contact you?”

“I won’t reply to her attempts to contact me. Until further notice, no offense mate but I don’t really know you. Let’s give this a trial period,” Steven settled on. Marc didn’t like that much, but he supposed it was the best he could have realistically hoped for. He honestly had expected more of a fight. Or at least some shouting. Where was the catch here?

“I have another question for you,” Steven said. “I remember how I… named myself. Strange thing that, if you had asked me yesterday, I would’ve sworn I was born Steven Grant. But today I realized I was not and I… Did you make me up, Marc? Is that why you got to live so much of our life, and I so little?”

Marc’s tongue felt like lead. It was hard to stay focused and he struggled for words. Steven had taken everything so well. So fucking well, way better than he ever could’ve imagined. Marc was half convinced it was all a dream. But this felt like a last hurdle where he could mess it all up and plunge the most important person in his life into an identity crisis.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” he tried. Marc frantically worked to remember all the reassuring words and technical terms and all the comforting crap they had spouted at him before they kicked him out of the Marines. “I… they explained it to me once, the doctors, how… The medical term is ‘Dissociative Identity Disorder’, or DID. People like us, systems, they… The personalities, the alters, they’re all part of a whole. There’s no ‘original’ one that gets smaller every time there’s a split. Just alters with more memories or knowledge and some with less. I just happen to have more memories and carry our legal name. You may have... emerged when I had the body, and maybe my wants and needs played a role in what kind of person you became. Maybe you lack some memories from before you… came to be. But since we were so fucking young, whatever right, who even remembers stuff from when they were small? And it’s been more than twenty years, Steven. You’re all grown up. I doubt I’m responsible for anything you are anymore.”

“But you created me,” Steven insisted. “I just want to know if you did that on purpose? And if so, why? What for? Cause… Cause if it was just school work, I’m gonna be mad. I’m gonna be mad because I feel like you… like you made me and used me and then threw me away, Marc. That’s not… That’s not cool.”

Marc choked. “I – I did not – why would you think that!?” He gripped the phone tightly, the useless phone that he knew was just a crutch, but it somehow made Steven feel more real. He curled in on himself, hugging his knees, feeling minimally more secure knowing that Steven couldn’t see him, not like he could sometimes see Steven. “I didn’t make you for school,” he managed to get out. “I… fuck, if you really wanna know, I made you so I could hide behind you. When we got older, I stopped hiding and started fighting and I thought it would make me braver but it just…. It just made me tired and... lonely. So if you want to stand in front again, be my guest. You can take the body. You can take the whole fucking life. I apparently didn’t do anything good with it anyway,” Marc concluded bitterly.

He could hear Steven breathing on the other end but not much more than that for a few agonizing seconds. Then his alter spoke again:
“I’m sorry. I had to ask. I’m not trying to take your life from you. I remember how it was, back when we were little. I was still sort of there most times, I think. I’d wonder about the things I did or said. Feel like a fish stuck behind the glass of an aquarium or an actor reading a script. It wasn’t a terribly nice feeling. But I’d much prefer it over blackouts, now that I know it’s just you. Maybe we could have that again? Maybe we could be… friends?”

Marc breathed out again and now he couldn’t stop the tears from gathering in his eyes as he clutched the phone tightly.

“I’d like that,” he whispered barely audible.

“Good.” Steven cleared his throat. “That, uhm. That was a really good talk. It’s real nice to get to know you. I almost want to end it here for the day, you know, let us sleep over it, except a certain someone is practically vibrating next to me so… One more tinsy little thing.”

Marc blinked. That sounded like Steven was not alone. But of course he must be, he was in Marc’s head. There wasn’t any more private place than that.

“You said you created me because you wanted to hide, didn’t you?” Steven repeated slowly. “I’m not gonna ask what from, not today. I don’t really have bad anxiety. I mean I get nervous but I leave the excessive worrying to people who can actually change stuff. And I guess I… never felt like I had much control or ability to change anything. So why worry? But there was a time when I was… really lonely too. And felt like nobody loved me. Like I couldn’t talk to anybody. Didn’t have anybody to help me with everyday stuff. Because our biological gene providers were really not all that good at their jobs, so… I guess that’s something you and me have in common.” Steven let two heartbeats pass in silence before he concluded in a serious, calm tone: “As a kid, I really wished I had a Mum that loved me. Since I didn’t… I needed a new one. She’s very sorry that you thought she was stalking you. She just wanted to get to know you. Anyway, I’d like to introduce you, maybe not today but someday soon, to Madeline Ulena Magison. My Mum.” The phone’s plastic crumbled under Marc’s grip as the fear and churning pain in his chest grew so much he instinctively drew on the strength of the suit. “She says hi,” Steven added, a smile in his voice.

Then everything around Marc went black.

Chapter Text

Jake woke up in a bed, which – weird and slightly alarming. He was wearing the suit, which was even more alarming.

For one horrible moment he thought this was one of those situations of some asshole trying to get into Marc’s pants. It wouldn’t be the first time. His Marc was sexy as fuck after all and sometimes he was too dense to recognize someone flirting with him. Jake had woken up two times underneath a guy in need of castration. Once had been while they were in the Marines. That had been messy, and he was afraid the fallout had been not very nice for Marc but whatever. They were too good to waste their talent fighting for a single country anyway. The second time Jake hadn’t recognized the bloke and considering the body had been drowsy from some kind of drug and Jake had woken up with a knife already in his hand, well, he knew what to do.

Jake much preferred waking up in dark buildings, abandoned alleys, warehouses or wherever else Marc conducted his business and needed him to lend a hand. With a literal god backing him up, Jake had lost what little fear he had and could actually enjoy going full berserk on whichever bastards tried to hurt his Marc. Not that Jake had ever feared for himself. He did make an effort to return the body in prime condition though. Marc wouldn’t always let him, pushing back before Jake could take care of the wounds he did receive. Thanks to Khonshu, that was no longer a concern he had.

On first glance, Jake was alone. This looked like a lived-in apartment, not a hotel room and he was not injured. Still, Jake double checked all of those first impressions. The tiny bathroom was empty, and there were no other separate rooms in the small studio. It didn’t look like this was a place Marc lived in. There had only been three apartments he called home that Jake was aware of. The first had been a bachelor’s mess - a dump in Singapore after he left the Marines and started out on his merc career. The second looked like nobody was living in it at all. It was just a safehouse in Paris that he sometimes returned to. Finally, the third one was a flat in Cairo he shared with a woman Jake still wasn’t convinced truly deserved him. In that one, the only personal touches belonged to Layla. The only place Jake would say that was really ‘Marc’ was one of the ten billion storage units he opened in whatever new city he decided to operate out of.

A thorough investigation (ripping out all drawers, taking a knife to the pillows, up turning the trashcan and clawing a few ceiling and floor panels out) had Jake conclude that no, Marc hadn’t gotten kidnapped again. Whoever this Steven Grant was that lived here according to the name he read on a letter, he was far too much of a pussy to ever be a threat to his Marc. He was a bookworm, kept a pet as boring as a goldfish and he found an employment contract for a… museum gift shop? What the hell? What was Marc doing in the apartment of this guy? Was he a client? Jake thought Marc had stopped taking missions from civilians after he became a superhero.

Then Jake found a wallet in one of the jackets.

“Oh shit,” he muttered when he pulled out the ID and their picture looked back at him underneath the name ‘Steven Grant’. Was this Marc’s apartment after all? Or rather, one of his cover identities? Marc changed his name practically every time he crossed a border and for almost every single job. Sometimes he’d do it several times for the same job. And sometimes he put in more effort than just forging new papers and setting up a rudimentary online presence. Sometimes, he had all the clothes and props and tools to fake his identity. If Steven Grant was an alias, then had Jake just trashed his Marc’s stuff?

Jake rushed to the window and his heart sank when he saw Big Ben in the distance. He was still in London. The last two, three times he'd woken up had been in London too. He'd thought it was just a pit stop on whatever journey Marc was. His base was in Cairo with his girlfriend after all. But maybe that was not the case anymore? Maybe he lived in London now? Maybe the two had broken up? The thought made his heart flutter happily, until he remembered the chaos around him.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” he burst out and looked around with a slight panic. He hadn’t found anything threatening in the apartment at all. The only slightly suspicious thing were two destroyed mobile phones and an ankle restraint in the bedside table drawer that didn't quite fit what he knew of Marc's kinks.

There were usually three major triggers for Jake: fear, pain and moral dilemmas. With no significant injuries and no threats around, had Marc maybe gotten a job offer he was really conflicted about? Was that all? Jake worried his bottom lip. That wasn’t like Marc. He was tough, he could take a lot.

Not for the first time, Jake cursed his lack of awareness during Marc’s time with the body. He tried to watch him as much as possible especially when he had sex. Still he was lucky if he managed two, three hours a day on days when he was summoned. It was easier during the night but when Jake’s eyes fell on a calendar he’d carelessly ripped out of a drawer before, his eyes widened. Nearly four weeks had passed since he’d last checked a date in Egypt. This really must be Marc's attempt at a new start.

“Marc, how far are you with – ah. It is you again.”

Jake whirled around to see Khonshu sitting on the kitchen counter. The sun hadn't set yet so the bird was early.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have time right now – I need to clean up this mess!” Jake told the god and started stuffing feathers back into pillowcases.

“You’ve already wasted far too much time!” Khonshu protested. “You need to retrieve the scarab.”

“What scarab?” Jake asked while he looked around for a sewing kit. There was none in the first aid kit in the bathroom. Dammit! Marc always kept it there; an old habit from before stab wounds healed immediately.

Khonshu rolled his non-existent eyes. He was always annoyed when he had to explain something twice. “The scarab that points to the tomb of Ammit, goddess of the underworld. If the leader of her cult, Arthur Harrow, retrieves it, he could free her and thus doom millions of innocents to an early death and the damnation of their souls. Including yours, I might add! Ammit judges people not just for their past but also their future crimes. She would certainly consider any action taken by any of you against her as a terrible crime.”

“And where is that stupid scarab?” Jake asked equally annoyed, far more concerned with looking for a needle in a pile of feathers.

“Marc had a list of possible locations. I believe the next one he wanted to check was in Germany,” the god replied.

Jake snorted. “I’m not going to Germany! They drive on the wrong side of the road out there,” he said with a wave toward the window, “which means I'm still in London. And I have no idea where Marc keeps his secret cash pile in the fucking UK. Do you have any idea how many fares I have to collect to afford myself a plane ticket? I haven’t even paid off the cab in Cairo yet!”

“Then wake up Marc and let me send him there!” Khonshu demanded.

“Hey, don’t start that shit with me!” Jake growled, pointing a finger at the god. “I’m here for a reason, ¿entiendes? You don’t get to tell me when to scram. Marc doesn’t want to work right now. If you don’t have anything local for me, you can take your pushy little dick beak and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine!”

“Ugh, you insolent insect! The fate of the world is at stake! It would take you one second to wake my knight. Ten seconds to ask him what you need to know to do the job in his stead!” Khonshu complained.

“You know I can’t do that,” Jake replied with a pout. He gave up on his needle search and merely tried folding the edges of the pillowcase neatly before setting them back on the bed. Now for all those books strewn around…

“Your stupid insecurities do not matter in the face of this mission!” Khonshu exclaimed.

“Hey, I am not insecure!” Jake snapped. Jake was the least insecure person he knew! He just… wasn’t terribly keen on his Marc finding out how often and how regularly he was peeping on him. He might find a way to stop him from doing it after all, terrible prude that he was.

“If you don’t stop Harrow from releasing Ammit soon,” Khonshu threatened, “he will find Marc and attack him when he least expects it. He’s wasted too much time building this useless abode here. Harrow probably thinks he has the scarab already. He’s already cast his net, and his spies are combing the city for him. It won’t be long before they find him!”

Jake perked up at that, rising from a crouch with loose book pages in both hands. “Wait… Harrow is here? In this city? “

“Yes, he’s already here.” Grudgingly, the god admitted: “Harrow used to be my knight before Marc. No doubt he knew I would disapprove of his plans to join Ammit and expected I would send his successor after him. Marc’s search for the scarab must’ve come to his notice. But I have also kept a close eye on him and his presence in this city has become hard to ignore. I could recognize the stink of his cult anywhere.”

Jake put his hands to his hips, paper pages sticking up at the sides like feathers as he tilted his head with a scowl. “Then why don’t we just kill Harrow?”

“…We’ve yet to catch him in the act of actually harming anyone,” Khonshu admitted reluctantly. “He’s been… teaching redemption to sinners and criminals, instead of punishing them.”

“How dare he,” Jake said with a deadpan.

“Exactly!” Khonshu snapped. “He has to be stopped.”

“Okay, look, you have two choices here,” Jake said and waved Hieroglyphs for Dummies at the god. “Number one: We go and kill Harrow for the crime of awakening a goddess that judges people for future crimes they haven’t committed yet, even though he hasn’t committed that crime yet. Or number two: I go and hotwire a car to collect Uber fares for the next month or so until I either have enough cash to fly to Germany or Marc wakes up. Your choice.”

Khonshu tethered on the edge for a bit, torn between the morally ambiguous but quick and easy or the risky, time consuming route.

“Can you keep Marc from finding out we killed Harrow?” he asked in a slightly conniving whisper.

“Sure can, jefe,” Jake assured him proudly and stuck out his chest. “Out-of-combat-switches usually give me at least four hours to work with. Plenty of time to dump a body and wash off the blood.”

“Well, it is the fate of the world at stake,” Khonshu said to himself. “We can’t really take any risks here.”

“We absolutely can’t. You should never take any risk when the ex is involved. A clean cut is always the best – especially when it’s aimed at the neck.” Jake nodded sagely and made a swiping motion at his neck.

“Ahem,” Khonshu made, clearing his throat. “Right. Harrow will be in the most desolate district of the city. I have no doubt he will confront you when he sees you. Hurry up!”

The god vanished in a swirl of sand. Jake sighed, looking around at the remaining chaos. He had no idea how Marc would explain this mess away. While Jake wasn’t exactly leaving messages on purpose, he hadn’t been all that subtle with his presence either so he supposed this would just have to fall under their unspoken agreement of not touching bases.

“I’m sorry, mi tesoro,” he stage-whispered into the empty room. “I’ll clean up later, if I have the time!” He pressed a kiss on the palm of his hand and waved it at the closest reflective surface (the fish tank) before heading toward the window to jump out of it. At least he could make it up to his Marc by saving him a few hundred dollars in flight tickets and a useless hunt for some old trinket.

XxX

“He’s hung up on me,” Steven said, staring at the phone in his hand.

Madeline had to keep herself from biting her nails nervously. She’d only heard Steven’s half of the conversation. It had sounded like it went well – right until Steven said her name.

“What did he say? What did he think? What was he like?” she wanted to know.

Steven put the earpiece back softly, looking thoughtful.

“Well, he was much less scary than I expected,” he admitted. “Didn’t argue at all or try to defend himself, he just said we could share by me taking over during daytime, if he got to take nights. I almost feel hesitant to accept that. I mean, let’s ignore the fact that we need sleep too, that’s kind of an unfair deal, isn’t it?”

“Maybe he feels guilty because you’ve been missing entire years?” Madeline suggested.

“That’s probably part of it,” Steven agreed, “but he also… He said he didn’t do much with his life. And that I was better at it.” He lifted his shoulders helplessly. “Better at what though? High School level math? It sounded like he has some social anxiety, maybe. I really hope that’s not all though because I don’t really like to think about what that would mean, if he decided to go make a career out of waving guns around because he doesn’t know how to properly talk to people.”

“He’s made a career out of helping people,” Madeline emphasized. “He just happens to do that by waving guns around.”

“Well apparently he’s not doing that anymore,” Steven added. “Wouldn’t tell me what his current job is, claimed it was dangerous for me to know and that he wants to hide behind me. I think he wants to use me as his undercover identity or something. Not sure how I feel about that.”

“W-Well if nothing else, it’ll give you plenty of time to get back to your life,” Madeline encouraged him. “Marc will know what’s best for him. I’m so glad he’s agreed to share, I’m really not sure what I would’ve done if he hadn’t.” She patted Steven’s arm lightly. “And don’t worry about introducing me. I think this was a lot for him. It was a lot for you too. You don’t need to mention me to him anymore, especially not if he doesn’t want to hear about me. He knows that I’m here now and he’ll come around eventually when he wants to… If he wants to.”

“But… You said he’s your son too,” Steven said, sounding vulnerable. “Don’t you want him to… I don’t know, like you?”

Madeline sighed, tilting her head. “Of course I want that, darling. But I was your mother first. I came here for you. He obviously doesn’t consider me his mother. I’d love to adopt him and care for him, but I can’t force him to accept that. I can’t even promise that I’ll ever love him the same way I love you, since I didn’t raise him, and I don’t know him. For twenty years, I’ve only neglected him. I’m no better than his gene provider in that way and he has no reason to forgive me.”

“You’re nothing like… that woman,” Steven said, then scowled: “...whose name I don’t even know, I think. But you’re nothing like her. She neglected us knowing full well we were her sons and needed her. You didn’t even know Marc existed. You absolutely would’ve taken care of him if you knew. It’s not your fault.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Madeline whispered. “I’m afraid that doesn’t change my feelings though.” She patted his shoulder again. “I think I’m tired. I’ll take a little nap. You are welcome to join me. I can pull out the couch or you can see if you can fit into your old bed.”

“No… I think I’ll try and see if I can’t figure out how to… well, see from down here,” Steven decided.

“You do that,” Madeline said and yawned. She curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket over her and was soon out like a light.

XxX

Jake spend most of the early evening running around, following the vague directions of the moon good as he tried to find out where Arthur Harrow and his cultists were holing up. He'd narrowed it down to an area in the West End and he was tempted to just go in as himself and bash in a few heads. But Khonshu cautioned him that Harrow might have access to supernatural powers himself and to wait until the sun sank. While it was possible for him to summon the suit during daylight, its healing capabilities were much stronger under the light of the moon. Seeing as it was the middle of summer though, it would take a while for the night to fall.

Until then, Jake had some time to kill. Plus he would need something to keep him awake long into the night – which meant he needed coffee. So he went to the little café he'd discovered a few weeks back where they served an excellent coffee and snacks. Even more delightful was the company.

"Hi Gena!" Jake greeted the waitress cheerfully as he entered the small café with its red and white checkered tiles and leather seats that reminded him of his cab back in Cairo.

Gena Landers was a mid forties woman with long brown hair in a ponytail, a tired smile and her hands full of tablets.

"Hi Jake," she greeted him back. "What will it be for you?"

Jake grinned at her, happy she'd remembered his name even though he'd only come by twice thus far. He slipped onto a chair at the counter, next to a lanky teenager who was pouring over what looked like math problems.

"Coffee, black, three spoons of sugar and a pretzel," he ordered.

As he waited for his order, Jake kept shifting around. He was a bit tired but restless at the same time. His eyes kept checking all the corners, hiding places and exit routes of the café by habit. It got better once the waitress placed a mug in front of him and he had something to busy his hands with. He watched for a while as Gena went over to the teenager, quietly talking to him and seemingly helping out with the math problems.

"Your kid?" he guessed when she turned away to start wiping tables.

"Yeah. I promised Ricky I'd take him to a concert he likes to see once I'm done with this shift."

"Can't his Dad take him?" Jake asked. 

Gena shook her head. "My ex-husband isn't getting anywhere near my children so long as I have anything to say about it."

"Ouch," Jake made. "What's he done?"

This was what he loved about Gena, she was a talker. People rarely talked much to Jake so this was refreshing.

Gena shrugged, not looking at him as she wiped the table down.

"He was a cheater," Ricky said quietly from the seat to Jake's right. "And he gave her a black eye once."

"How utterly interesting an individual. What's his name?" Jake asked sweetly. "And address, and social security number?" Ricky looked at him weirdly.

"Leave it be, Jake," Gena said with a sigh.

"But-" he tried when Gena pointed at him sternly. "The last time I told you about trouble in the neighborhood, the police picked up Kellings out of a dumpster. He's permanently paralyzed now. Almost died from the beating he got!"

"Yeah but now Jeffrey doesn't have to pay protection money anymore, does he?" Jake said calmly and took a sip from his coffee. "I hope that meant a raise for you. You totally deserve a raise."

"Did you really beat up Kellings?" Ricky asked with wide eyes.

"Sure did," Jake said.

"Cool," the boy whispered, grinning. Jake grinned back.

"You think you're protecting people," Gena said grimly. "But what happens once you leave? Huh? What then?"

"I think I'm going to stick around for a while," Jake said, thinking back to the apartment.

"You don't have to play hero," Gena tried again. "Those are dangerous people you're messing with!"

"I'm not playing," he said. "Besides, I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to. I've got this voice in my head that keeps telling me to punish the guilty. Doing what it says is the only way to shut it up." He accepted the pretzel Gena handed him and took a bite off of it, chewing it as he stared Gena down in challenge.

"You're crazy," she said blandly, hands to her hips.

"So do the doctors say," he said with a smirk. "But I'm also really good at it."

"Does the voice talk to you right now?" Ricky asked morbidly curious.

"It did earlier," Jake revealed cheerfully. "I'm on break now. It'll probably start again once the sun's down."

"Cool," Ricky said again. Jake reached over to ruffle his head. "I like this kid," he told Gena grinning. She just shook her head and went back to wiping tables.

"Come on," he whispered to the boy. "Tell me more about your Dad."

"Ricky, don't," Gena said without looking up. 

"I know Mum asked Aunt Anne for help to make sure Dad doesn't get custody after the divorce," Ricky said. "She's a social worker. But Ray said she didn't have to do much because Dad didn't even try to fight for us. And he's moved to Edinburgh. We haven't heard of him in two years."

"See, nothing for you to bother yourself with," Gena said angrily. 

"Who's Ray?" Jake asked. 

"My brother. He's sixteen," Rickys said. Jake looked him up and down. The teen looked about fourteen or fifteen himself. Then he leaned over to Jake. "He's got a girlfriend now," the boy revealed like it was a big secret. 

"Urgh," Jake made, pulling a grimace and Ricky chuckled. "Girlfriends are so annoying."

"Right!? He won't shut up about her!" Ricky complained. 

"There's nothing annoying about girlfriends," Gena said with an eyeroll. "Have you never been in love, Jake?" 

"I'm in love all the time," Jake denied. "My crush just happens to be male."

"Really?" Ricky asked with wide eyes. 

Jake nodded and sighed dreamily when he thought about his soul mate. "Yeah... He's freaking gorgeous, and super cool... He's an action hero."

"Someone's got a crush on a movie star," Gena teased him with a weak smile. 

"He's not a movie star," Jake clarified seriously. "He could be though, if he wanted to." Then he sighed sadly, munching on his pretzel. "He's just as unattainable as one though. Doesn't even know I exist."

"Not you too," Ricky groaned. "Just ask him out or something. Ray was daydreaming about this girl and it was almost as annoying as him dating her. He just asked her one day and she said yes." 

Jake stared at the teen mulishly. "I bet your brother didn't spend years spying on and stalking his love interest in secret though."

"Err... I don't think so, no."

"You shouldn't secretly stalk people," Gena said sternly. "You'll never get a partner that way!" 

"I knooooow," Jake groaned. "I tried leaving hints here and there, so Marc would notice me but - he keeps ignoring them. And every time I try to say hi, I get super nervous. It's like a hundred times worse than when people are shooting at me. My mind just goes blank and I don't know what to say and then - next thing I know I'm just elsewhere and the chance has passed."

"You could write him a love letter?" Ricky suggested. 

"No!" Gena protested. "Just keep away from him, Jake, trust me. You should not obsess about a single person like that."

"Or make him a gift?" Ricky said. 

"I like that idea," Jake mused, smiling happily at Ricky and completely ignoring Gena. 

"Jake, leave the poor man alone," Gena said sternly. 

"I can't. We're meant for each other!" Jake protested. 

"How would you know that if he doesn't even know you exist?" she argued. "What do you even know about this Marc if all you do is watch him from the distance?" 

"I don't just watch him," he protested. "I also read his mail, go through his trash, frequent his haunts, interrogate his enemies - and sometimes his friends. I got a job working for the same boss. I even slept with his boyfriend a few times, back when he had one! Trust me, I know plenty about him."

"That's not something to be proud of," Gena said. "And you slept with his boyfriend?! After they broke up, I hope?" 

"No," he said with a scowl. "I didn't have the opportunity after anymore..." He bit off another piece of his snack, thinking back to Marc's merc lover. He still missed Frenchie sometimes... "He got a girlfriend after, which ugh. Marc I mean, not the boyfriend. She's okay but she doesn't deserve him. Nobody deserves him and I don't like watching them together."

"Jake, stop seeing that guy," Gena said seriously and even Ricky was nodding now, eyes wide. 

"No, it'll be alright, I think they broke up," Jake mused. "I should make Marc a gift. Cheer him up a bit... "

"Don't do that," Gena said. 

Jake nodded to himself, emptying his mug. "I'll do that. Maybe a sexy favor. Oooh, maybe a hooker! Thanks for the meal, Gena. It's always great to talk to you, you have the best ideas!" He put some bills on the counter for his order and a few more into the tip box. Then he tipped his cap to her and left while whistling a tune. 

Ricky turned to his mother. "Should we call the cops?" he asked. 

"On Jake Lockley?" she scoffed. "No. I pity this poor Marc but I don't want to end up like Kellings." She looked at the box on the counter and smiled a bit. Jake left really generous tips and well, those concert tickets for Ricky had been expensive. Even with the raise she'd recently gotten. "We should keep quiet," she said more to herself. "Jake obviously hates people threatening innocents so he wouldn't do something against this person's will."

Probably. Maybe. Ugh, she was just a waitress, she couldn't concern herself with the love problems of random psychopath customers!

XxX

Marc was… lost. Lost in a sea of his own thoughts, curled up in the corner, knees drawn to his chest. Everything around him was white. He had no sense of time, couldn't hear anything but his own breathing and he was alone, so alone with only himself for company, and he was terrible company.

Steven… Steven had split?

There was so much information in that last statement Steven had uttered that Marc didn’t even know where to start to unpack it all. Steven had been so alone, so miserable, that he broke. Marc had broken too, he knew how much it took and the thought that Steven had had to feel so much pain and he’d never known… That hurt.

Marc hadn’t always known who Steven was. First there had just been a vague feeling of dream walking his way through the day. He’d spend so much time imagining himself to be or meet with his hero Steven Grant from his favorite movie that there was no telling when it had stopped being him play-acting and when it had been Steven fronting. There was missing time, sure, but it was only about a year after his little brother died that Marc realized it wasn’t just him not keeping track very well.He obviously didn’t faint. People told him he still did stuff. The only thing Marc could imagine was that he was probably hyper focused on his studies when he was at school and pushed everything aside. Just as he was hyper focused on avoiding mom when he was at home. It quickly felt natural to think of his ‘other self’ as Steven but it wasn’t until someone at school actually addressed Marc as Steven once that he realized Steven might be a real person. Someone who helped him out when Marc was too overwhelmed with everything. A someone living in his head, perhaps, an imagined someone, but he knew other kids who had imaginary friends. How cool would it be if he could haven Steven Grant as his imaginary friend? But in the end, that’s not what Steven was. Marc had made the conscious decision to not try and contact him, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to. To not leave any messages but vague warnings to not make trouble and to not try and talk to him. Partly it had been out of fear because he so desperately wanted Steven to be his friend and had been terrified of getting rejected. Part of it was stubborn pride, wanting to deal with his problems on his own. Steven helped plenty by keeping up the expected facade, making sure Marc didn’t receive extra punishment. Steven had his job and Marc had his own.

As he grew older though, Marc started to truly cherish Steven. He’d feel proud when Steven brought home good marks for them. He’d be glad when he awoke and Steven had cleaned up his room or sorted his textbooks. He’d feel hopeful when he’d see traces of all of Steven’s inane hobbies. Marc might be messed up in the head but that part of him was still normal, still functioning. He even held hope that one day his mom would forgive him for letting Randall die because of Steven. His parents seemed to like Steven more than Marc. Marc would find gifts the day after his birthday that were obviously meant for Steven. Nice gifts that he’d surely love. He’d find his school bag carefully packed and his lunchbox filled with the rabbit food Steven liked. Maybe if Marc could become Steven fully, his parents would love him then?

Adult Marc no longer had that hope, but he did still loved Steven. He still wanted to know he was safe and protected and pure and happy. Wanted to preserve him that way, uncorrupted by reality. Because Steven was the part of him that other people could love. But Steven had grown up and was demanding things for himself now. And he claimed that he never was as happy as Marc thought he had been.

Steven had been lonely. Steven had not missed how little Wendy cared for them after all. And eventually out of that loneliness, a new alter was born.

A female alter. A mother figure.

Fuck, that was all kinds of messed up. Marc knew about Dissociative Identity Disorder. He knew he’d been lucky, freakishly lucky, to only have the one alter. It was common for systems to have ten, even twenty personalities. To have children and different sexualities and genders. Marc had always thought he’d gotten off lightly when compared to those people.

Turned out he had a female alter too, though. And fuck, now that he thought about it, he had to re-evaluate how much of what he thanked Steven for had actually been… what was her name? Madeline? How much of it was her? How much of what he thought was Steven earning the love of his parents had actually been this side of Marc, again, just taking care of himself? No wonder Steven loved his Mom. No… his Mum, it was so fucking ridiculous how he, or she, even picked an anagram as a name for herself.

God, had his parents ever cared for him? Could a person change so completely? Roro’s death had been a tragedy that Marc was responsible for, he knew that. He lived with that knowledge every day. Forgiveness had never been more out of reach, but now, he even struggled to remember if his mother had ever shown him love even before that day.

He supposed it was a relief that it wasn’t Wendy who Steven had been talking to, who had revealed Marc’s existence – ah, shit. That meant the actual Wendy was probably actually dead. That was… That was… Marc didn’t know how he felt about that. There was relief that he hadn’t been set up after all, that Steven was not in danger. There was a fresh wave of grief because his mom was dead and yeah, Marc’s feelings for her were complicated, sue him. There had been days he’d wished for her death. There had been years where he wished to never hear of her again…. And then there had been days where he wanted to go back. To show her what became of him. On some rare days he’d been proud of the person he’d become. Of being Moon Knight, a superhero, happily married, having overcome the mental disease she’d cursed him with. More often though, he fantasized about confronting her with a harsher truth. The truth of Marc the failed soldier, the ex-merc who couldn’t hold a normal job and had a body count in the dozens. Look what you made me do. Look what I became because of you.

His happily ever after with Layla had been such a goddamn fucking lie. He’d been right to send her those papers, to keep her at arm’s length. His alters had never been gone. Marc had never been cured, had never had it under control. Steven had never been safe and content, frozen in time in the museum of Marc’s childhood. He was always going to emerge again. And this new alternate, he, she, she had… she was…

She’s very sorry that you thought she was stalking you.

It had never been Wendy. Wendy had never tried to reach out to Marc. To apologize or torment him. All those letters, trashed and burned unopened… All those calls on phones she couldn’t possibly have the number of, a riddle that had cost Marc countless hours of sleep and driven him to the brink of paranoia. It had never been Wendy? It had always been…

Steven’s Mum. Trying to reach out to Marc. Of course. She probably hated him for suppressing her son all these years. Yet another mother he’d disappointed.

This way, Marc’s thoughts spiraled down, down, down an ever longer growing path into despair, self-loathing and regret. Eventually though, even his mind tired out from beating himself up. From what little glimpses Marc had seen before he’d received the call, Steven had been on his own for weeks after Marc broke down in front of the townhouse holding the shiva. That was the worst relapse Marc had had in decades, blacking out for that long. It had come entirely unexpectedly. Khonshu would be furious. Marc had been working on an extremely important mission for him. It had been hard enough to convince the god to let him observe the seven day long funerary rites. Layla had probably tried to contact him a hundred times by now with thousands of questions. He hadn’t meant to ghost her. It just happened. It was better this way though. Without understanding why he had to leave, Layla would want him back and Marc didn't think he'd have the strength to face her and still leave. He got the news about his mom after he’d already moved out and gone to the lawyer. Now Layla probably thought he was dead. He should let her know he wasn't, he owed her that much.

There were Things To Do and as devastating as the news were that he’d received, there was some good sprinkled in between the bad.

Steven wanted to be friends.

Steven wanted to be friends with him.

There was a time that Marc would’ve given his right arm for such an offer. Now, everything was so much more complicated. Now, Marc would… he would honestly give just about anything and everything he had, if only he could make that work. Him, friends with Steven Grant.

Yes, Marc decided, that ought to be his new plan. He’d give Steven whatever he wanted, if only that would help clean up the pile of glass shards that was Marc’s life. He’d never needed a friend more than he did now.

He just had to make sure the universe didn’t spontaneously combust because of some bogus evil goddess so he could actually enjoy that friendship.

It was that silver lining that enabled Marc to try and fight himself up to the surface a mere couple of hours after having noped out initially. But it was hard, like swimming through molasses. It was as if he was dreaming and he knew he was dreaming, he knew where the exit was. But there would always be something that would new pop up, some new hindrance, some new nightmare, some new distraction that sent his thoughts careening off-course.

He was crouching low on a roof top, a heavy weight on his shoulders. The moon was shining bright overhead as he tested the restraints around the ankles. Satisfied the tape would hold, that the stones wouldn’t come loose from the bag, he threw the package over his shoulder. Splash it made and he giggled as he watched the body sink to the bottom of the river.

“What’s so funny?” Khonshu asked.

“The stones,” Marc said. “Wrapped up inside.” Khonshu stared at him blankly. “Little Red Riding Hood?” Marc tried again. “No? Fuck, you are so old.”

Marc jerked away from the nightmare. No, no, no, that was not him. Marc never laughed at the death of a person, especially not one he’d killed himself. Marc wasn’t a murderer. Well, he was, but he wasn't that cold-blooded. He’d never purposefully set out to kill someone. Sure, he’d gone on his fair share of missions where a certain amount of death was the expected consequence, but it had never been the mission goal. Marc had gotten good at fighting, mastered every weapon imaginable, not because he needed more strength. Not even because he needed to protect himself and Steven. He’d gone above and beyond that and trained his ass off so that he could afford to miss. He could afford to capture and detain instead of executing. He could knock out the guards and not fear too much that they’d wake up to shot him in the back because Marc could get out even when he was outnumbered. Death was something Marc strove to avoid, at least when it was humans. For Steven’s memory. And now that Steven was back… He’d never do it again, if he could help it. Marc was not the monster Wendy had seen in him. He didn’t want to be a monster in Steven’s eyes… nor in his Mum’s.

Marc fought to wake up again, but another nightmare came hurdling his way.

“Where to?”

“That’s an awfully good question. Where do you want me to let you out?” Marc asked.

“Huh? Watchu talking about, this is my cab,” the driver asked confused.

“Not anymore it’s not. Hi Carlos.”

Carlos turned around and his eyes widened in fear. “Fuck! No, not you! Shit, why won’t it open!?” He rattled at the door desperately.

“I told you I’d be back for you,” Marc said in a sing-song voice.

“It’s been ten years, Lockley! Can’t we just forget about it?” Carlos begged.

“I don’t know Carlos, can we?” Marc drew a handgun, pointing it straight at the cab driver’s forehead. “What about your wife? What about sweet Melody? Did you forget what I promised you?”

“It was an accident,” Carlos begged, blanching. “I – It was just one glass, just one glass I swear, and she – she cheated on me! It was an accident! I didn’t mean to hit her that hard and I – I sat my time! I sat my time, I’ve been out for barely a year, please, I’ve paid for it! Please don’t shot me!”

“Oh, you silly man. I’m not going to shoot you,” Marc mocked him and put the gun back into its holster.

“N-No?” Carlos made, hands raised, sweating rivers.

“Of course not. I need your cab, and blood is a real work to get out of leather.” With that Marc reached forward with two gloved hands, grabbed the drivers head and twisted. With an audible snap the man’s neck deformed unnaturally. Marc then started to awkwardly wriggle himself from the back bench into the front seat, pushing Carlos into the passenger seat next to him, nicely positioned against the window as if he was only sleeping. The moment the back bench was empty, Khonshu materialized on it.

“How did you know he killed his wife?” the god asked as Marc started to drive, searching for a good music channel on the radio with one hand.

“I didn’t,” Marc replied with a shrug. “I just remember that ten years ago, I promised the bastard if he ever hit his wife again, I’d kill him. He said he hit her bad enough to end up in prison, so I killed him. Didn't know he killed her until you told me."

"And what are you going to do now?"

"Well, I have one more body to dump, a license plate to change and then.... I think I'm gonna celebrate my ownership of this nice little cab here. I think I'll call her Samantha."

That was not Marc. Marc wasn’t going around killing random people. Even if they did deserve it. His work for Khonshu was to pay off a life dept. He didn’t earn any money from it, the way he had with his mercenary work. Not that he needed to, having amassed far too much dirty cash than he knew what to do with, and yet never enough to settle. He certainly wouldn’t go out of his way to look up a guy he threatened ten years ago on the off chance that he hadn’t changed his ways, just so he could steal his car. The mental image annoyed him, but then he thought about what Steven would think and he shuddered. Steven wouldn’t just be annoyed. Steven would be horrified with him.

But of course, Marc had never done something like that and wouldn’t, that wasn’t him… it was just a nightmare.

The next time Marc tried to fight his way up was possibly even worse. There was an awful lot of noise all around, it was dark, and lights flashed before his eyes. Something was writhing in front of him, and it took Marc too long to realize it was not another nightmare.

Marc jumped back and the chair he’d been sitting on fell over with a loud clang. The sound barely made it over the music though and there weren’t a lot of patrons that bothered to turn their heads in his direction. After all, the entertainment was far too distracting by itself.

What the fuck was Marc doing in a male strip club!?

He let his eyes flit around frantically. Nobody seemed to pay him any mind, except for the stripper at the pole right in front of him. From the look of it, Marc had been feeding his underpants with bills, and the bloke was disappointed he’d stopped. Marc did a double take, letting his eyes wander over the stripper appreciatively – hey, he was only human, and Marc could appreciate both genders – before motioning at his pockets, shrugging and saying: “Sorry, that’s all I had on me.”

The stripper blew him a kiss, winked and then wandered off. Marc made his way to the exit, glancing around to see if anyone was following him.

Nobody was.

How the fuck had he ended up in there? That wasn’t a place Steven would go to, was it!? Wait… He had another alter to look to for instances of weird places to wake up in. An awful lot of patrons in there had been female…

No. No way. Steven’s Mum was not taking him out to look at strippers, was she!? He didn’t think he could stand the embarrassment!

Marc was perhaps panicking a little bit and swearing he would never mention this evening to anyone ever as he stepped out onto the parking lot. He just planned to walk down the street until he found the next bus station but stopped in his tracks. Stared at a car.

A black cab was parked in front of the club.

Which, you know, nothing weird about that. People tended to consume lots of alcohol in places like this, of course some might call a cab. To go home. Not to tell them to wait for them in the parking lot. Unless they were about to come out and use it. Marc took a few steps toward it, just to check if there was a driver sitting inside, waiting for his next fare. Nope. It was empty.

He had a bad feeling about this.

“It’s just a cab,” Marc muttered and turned on his heel. There were hundreds, thousands of cabs in London. It could just be an off-duty cabbie letting off some steam. Nothing special about that.

Nothing special at all. Marc didn’t even know why he noticed it. There was something… It felt like he was forgetting something….

It was probably nothing. Yep, it was nothing at all. He’d just go home to Steven’s apartment and forget all about this evening and never mention it to Steven. No need to make either him or his Mum embarrassed, whichever one of them had brought him here. He really had bigger problems to worry about, such as how to explain to Khonshu why he’d been gone for so long. He had to finalize the divorce before Steven found out he’d ever been married, and find the scarab, and think about what to say to Steven next time he heard his voice, if he ever did and… he was still sporting a tent. Yep, he had to take care of that too. Damn.

XxX

Two hours later Marc finally arrived back at the apartment... Only to find it utterly trashed. All of Steven's carefully sorted books were lying on a pile on the floor, some of them missing pages. The drawers had been pulled out of all cupboards, their contents strewn around. There were feathers lying everywhere and even floorboards pulled open. It looked like someone had thoroughly searched the place for... something. Remembering the mission for Khonshu, Marc had a feeling he knew what.

Marc's shoulders slumped in defeat. Steven would be upset to see his home - his belongings - destroyed like this. He'd blame Marc and Marc probably was to blame, even if he didn't know what happened. Whoever had broken in here had most definitely not done so for Steven after all. They'd need a new apartment, which wasn't bad, this place was too tiny anyway but... He couldn't leave it like this. He'd at least have to make a token effort to clean this mess. But after the shitty day he'd had, the task seemed daunting and impossible.

With a deep feeling of hopelessness, Marc sank to his knees, listlessly picking up a handful of pages. It was then that he felt it, a sense of dizziness creeping up on him. The faintest sensation of a small hand slipping into his.

“Shh, love. It's okay. Let me take care of this.”

Marc's body cramped up in instinctive fear. It took him a moment to remember that it was not her, this was most probably Steven's Mum. She'd never spoken to him this directly. But this disorientating feeling overcoming him, slowly, slowly, as if asking for permission... That was familiar. He'd felt that before. He had... He had...

Marc let go.

He tried to remain near the surface, he really did. He didn't trust this new person he didn't know. But he was so tired. Everything came back to him, the shiva, the divorce, Khonshu, everything and he just... needed... a rest.

Chapter Text

When Steven woke up in the morning, he was tired and decided to sleep for another half hour instead of eating breakfast before he headed to work. There was one curious moment when he noticed a pile of about a dozen books neatly stacked on his dinner table instead of on the shelf where they belonged. It was the only thing, at first glance, that was out of the ordinary. But he was late, especially after he spent fifteen minutes uselessly searching for his phone and he still had to get himself a sandwich to go before catching the bus if he didn't want to be chewed out by Donna, so he ignored it and kept going.

While on the bus ride, his sleepy mind slowly woke up and he remembered everything that happened the previous evening.

It was so strange, knowing there were other people living in his head. He wasn't concerned about his Mum. She was his Mum after all. He'd known her all his life. This Marc guy worried him a bit, though. He was glad to finally have an explanation for the massive gaps in his memory and the strange occurrences around him. Like, what had happened yesterday after he'd... gone inside? He'd tried to get back out but had failed and that had worried him greatly. He thought maybe Marc was already going back on his promise. Sure, it had been evening when he'd called him so technically Steven was supposed to stay away till morning but still.

Now it was morning, and Steven had double checked that, yes indeed, it was the morning after, not a week later. It was the middle of August, a workday. It still bothered him that he didn't know what had happened though and he pondered it all while he readied himself for the day. None of the safeties he put in place recently to prevent himself from 'sleepwalking' had been there. Steven usually put a circle of sand around his bed when he went to sleep and cleaned it up, keeping it in a small flower pot on the windowsill after he woke up. This morning the pot had been empty and the floor clean. He hadn't worn his restrain either and the tape at the door was gone too. Obviously, Marc hadn't put them back in place. But that made him wonder about the other times he'd lost time, even just since he was in London. When he had woken up in bed, with all the safeties on... And yet he hadn't remembered even going to bed, much less putting them there. Had Marc actively tried to hide his presence from Steven? Why?

Steven worried about it for the whole ride. He was on time at least, which meant a smooth start into the day. Donna was in a good mood. Asked him how he was. Steven stared at her and for one crazy moment seriously considered answering her honestly. He had a mental illness now. Well, he had always had one but now he knew for sure. And if it was just anxiety or depression, he would've considered hiding it. But this? Something this big? Was there even a point in hiding it? Wouldn't it always come up? Always be with him because it was a part of him?

But then he thought of Marc, wanting to 'hide' behind Steven, being concerned about actual enemies (what normal person even had enemies?) finding him. Steven didn't think Marc would appreciate Steven telling just anyone about him. If it was someone Steven trusted, or if he asked and got permission first, maybe. But he probably wouldn't want Steven's boss of barely a month to know. 

"I'm fine," was all he said in the end. "Received some good news and some bad news yesterday. Made a new friend... Maybe." Steven thought it was fair to say it was bad news that he was insane. That wasn't an offensive thing to say, was it? He wouldn’t want to offend Marc. Neurodivergent was another word but he grimaced at the mere thought of it. That sounded like trying to put a band-aid on a flesh wound. If he was hallucinating and hearing voices and forgetting stuff and literally had someone else take over his body – yeah, no, call it what it was. He was crazy. Marc would just have to deal with it.

On the other hand, Steven apparently did not have a sleeping disorder, and his memory problems might be getting better from now on. That was good. Dissociative Identity Disorder, Marc had called it. That sounded so tame. Steven had gotten used to telling anyone who asked about the, well, lack of order in his life, that he had a sleeping disorder. People usually met him with understanding, if a bit incredulity if he said that. A bit of a disorder was nothing to be ashamed of. Only Steven supposed there were small disorders and big ones and what he'd thought was a small one was actually... a big one. 

"Friends are nice," Donna said noncommittal, choosing to completely ignore the bit about the bad news. People usually chose to ignore the bad. "Are you planning on hanging out?" 

Was he? Steven had no idea. Could he hang out with the American that lived in his head? He supposed telephone dates were possible. But did he even want that? 

"Dunno," Steven said and shrugged. 

Conversation switched to work after that and it wasn't until an hour later, after Steven served the first few early birds and had a moment to himself in the shop, again wondering what Marc might've done the previous evening, that he thought... He could just ask, couldn't he? His Mum was always there when he wanted to talk to her. Now that he thought about it, that probably should've been a red flag, that she always answered the phone without fail, after only one or two rings. Of course, Steven wasn't supposed to take private calls during work time. He wondered... Did he even need his phone? 

"Mum?" Steven asked quietly into the empty shop. He listened for a few heartbeats for a reply, then felt silly and ducked his head, busying himself with wiping the counter. 

"Yes, darling? Is everything alright? Do ya need anything?"

Steven froze. That was without a doubt the voice of his mother. The tone of voice, the lilt of her accent (British like Steven's, obviously, he had no idea why Marc would sound American), and the warmth in her voice all made it clear who she was, even if he couldn't see her. It sounded like she was in the room right here with him. He had trouble making out the direction - maybe to his right? He looked there but of course he was alone.

"Do you, ahem..." Steven cleared his throat, feeling so awkward. "Do you know what happened yesterday after... after we talked to Marc?" The last thing he could remember was exploring the house, trying to find some way back to the body. He didn't remember finding one. He must've fallen asleep, but he didn't remember that either.

"Not everything, no, I'm sorry," his Mum replied, sounding genuinely regretful. "I did some cleaning up late at night, but I don't know what Marc did before that."

"Oh, uhm, that's okay," Steven said. He felt relief for some reason. To be even just given this small a piece of the picture he was missing was already... It was more than he'd ever had. "You don't have to clean up after me though. Or Marc," he added as an afterthought. "We can do our own cleaning."

"I know you can, darling, you just... sometimes miss a spot," Madeline said gently. "And I don't mind at all. Let's talk more later though, there's a customer for you."

Indeed, there was a couple arm in arm coming through the door and Steven put on his sales smile and greeted them.

At 5pm his shift came to an end and Steven was starting to get nervous. He'd have to hand over the body soon as per his agreement with Marc. It was his first time and maybe that would be routine eventually but right now he was freaking out a bit. Yesterday when Marc had been reluctant to talk about his job, Steven hadn't given it much thought, too distracted by the fact of his existence. Now though, he kept turning it over in his head. What was Marc going to do with his body? Where was he going to go? Who did he work for? Steven felt like heading to a scheduled alien kidnapping or something. There was this great unknown place he was supposed to go to and not ask any questions about. It was a little bit terrifying. 

"Hello darling, it’s me, your Mum. Do you have a moment?"

Steven blinked, instinctively looking around. He stopped at a lamp post, searching his pockets, or pretending to at least, trying to look busy while he listened to the voice in his head. This was so weird.

"I just wanted to ask you if you could pick up some things for me before you head home?" his Mum asked.

"Oh, uhm. Sure," Steven made quietly. He looked around, very conscious of the fact that he was talking to himself where others could see. He hoped his Mum would elaborate without prompting, which thankfully, she did.

"You need to go to the bakery, the one on Trilby Road. Then to B&Q Beckham. I know that's a bit of a detour but you can get there by the taking the 122 bus. There's a Saturn nearby so you can get a new phone too. I don't think your old one is coming back."

"Uh... why?" Steven asked very confused. Why was his Mum sending him to a bakery and a hardware store? And what happened to his phone?

"I'll tell you on the way, but you have to hurry please, the bakery closes at 5:30pm."

Trilby Road was close to the museum. Ten minutes later Steven stepped through the door. The staff was already starting to pack up everything.

"Uhm, I'm here to pick up the order of... Mrs Magison?" he asked nervously.

"That's right, she said she'd sent her son by. One moment please," the woman behind the counter said with a smile and went to the back.

"Why Mrs?" Steven hissed to himself, only now that he spoke the words aloud noticing how weird it sounded. "And how did you even order something?"

"I'm 42 years old, I can't be a Ms, that would be sad," his Mum claimed and he could practically hear the pout. "If anyone asks, I'm a widow. And I do happen to own my own phone, for emergencies. It's a good thing I do and no, you can't have it. I did a mail order last night."

The baker returned with a wrapped up plate of apple strudel, which Steven narrowly managed to put into his bag that he also transported his lunch in.

On the bus ride there were enough people around, many wearing earbuds, that Steven felt safe having a quiet conversation with the woman in his head.

"So who's the cake for?" he asked.

"It's for Mrs Donovan," his Mum said. "You know, the old lady that lives in the flat below us? She came up yesterday, complaining about the noise. Said she had her grandkids over and they couldn't sleep. I apologized to her of course but I thought it would be nice to bring her something to make up for it."

"And why was there a lot of noise?" Steven asked warily.

"W-Well... Some of the floor boards were... loose and I had to repair them. Which involved hammering, of course. At three in the morning. I tried to be as quiet as possible. I used a towel to muffle it and everything. That's why you need to go to B&Q too, for some wood-colored paint and some sandpaper to get rid of the splinters and make everything look nice again. You don't want to lose the deposit on the apartment after all, do you?"

"You repaired a loose floor board at 3 in the morning?" Steven said incredulous. "Couldn't that have waited?"

"...no?"

Steven sighed. But he went to the hardware store and he brought the paint and the sandpaper. And a new phone for himself. Because apparently, his Mum confessed, his old one broke.

"Do you think Marc would want one too?" he mused as he browsed the aisles. "I mean, if we both have our own?"

"Probably, yes. But you should ask him which model he wants first," his Mum advised.

Steven fidgeted. Doing these ordinary tasks for her had calmed him from his nerves but he was still nervous about contacting Marc. "Couldn't, uh... Couldn't you ask him?"

"I... I can try...?" His Mum sounded no less nervous than him, which made Steven feel guilty about asking her.  

"No, don't worry about it, I'll do it myself."

"No, no, you are out there right now, you focus on that. I'll see if I can't find him," Madeline said.

Steven waited, even holding his breath for a bit as he continued to try and look busy walking around the store, even though he'd already selected a phone for himself. Great, and now the shop assistant was starting to watch him. Steven probably looked like he was contemplating stealing something. He felt a pressure rise behind his temple and rubbed it distracted.

“Is that him?” he asked nervously. “Did he wake up or something?”

“I’m not sure," Madeline said. "Hello Marc, are you there? So sorry to disturb you. I'm Madeline. You can call me Maddy if you want. Steven is just doing some shopping, and we were wondering if you'd like a new phone?"

"...what?" Steven heard Marc's voice. It sounded very similar to Steven's but somehow... rawer.

"I'm at an electronics store," Steven tried, whispering quietly and trying to avoid the gaze of the shop assistant. "I couldn't find my phone this morning and Mum said it was broken. So, I'm getting a new one. Mum said she has her own one too, so we were wondering if you'd also like one. I mean, if you haven't already. Where do you even keep yours, Mum? Why have I never seen it?"

"I keep it in the drawer underneath the oven," his Mum said.

"But... There is no drawer underneath the oven," Steven protested.

"Of course there is. You just don't use it," she argued.

"Wait, that's a drawer?" Marc said. "I thought it was just a wooden cover, it's so thin."

"No, it's a drawer, it just doesn't have a handle," she replied. “You have to reach underneath and pull.”

"Anyone else hiding stuff in my flat?" Steven asked annoyed.

After a heartbeat, Marc replied: "I, uh, might be keeping some stuff under a loose tile in the ceiling. Not a phone though. It would be great if you could pick one up for me, actually."

"Not under the floor?" Madeline asked curious. "I thought you might've wanted to retrieve something from there."

It was so weird to have an entire conversation taking place in his head, and nobody could hear it but Steven.

"No. I don't know how that happened," Marc said, sounding defensive.

"How what happened?" Steven wanted to know.

"Nothing," Madeleine said. "You don't have to worry about the repairs. I can do those myself. If you would take the cake to Mrs Donovan though, that would be real kind.”

“What cake?” Marc wanted to know.

“Mum thinks we should take a cake to the neighbor living under us as an apology for certain nighttime renovations”, Steven repeated. “Now would someone explain to me why my floor is so damaged I have to go to the hardware store to buy stuff to fix it?”

Everyone was silent.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Marc eventually said, defensive.

“I’m not looking at anyone. I’m on the phone,” Madeline defended herself.

“You two were looking at me,” Marc insisted. “It wasn’t me.”

“Well, if it wasn’t you, it wasn’t me and I doubt it was Mum if she’s trying to repair it, then who was it?” Steven asked. “And would you tell me which kind of phone you want already? I’m pretty sure if I walk around here much longer, the shop assistant will think I’m going to rob this place.”

Marc was eager to distract Steven with a phone-selection and insisting that yes, he was sure, that antique, no he didn’t want a smartphone, yes he knew how to use one that wasn’t the point – he never answered the second question.

“I can pay you back for the phone,” Marc said quietly once Steven was past the checkout. “And the damages. It wasn’t me but considering I’m living there rent-free…”

“You don’t have to do that,” Steven said with a sigh.

“Uhm, I have something to confess,” Madeleine spoke up then. “Marc’s… kinda paying rent, actually.”

“I am?” Marc asked confused.

“Yes. I raided one of your cash deposits when we came to London so Steven would have something to pay the safety deposit and first rent with… He was supposed to pay me, I mean you, back when he got his first couple of paychecks,” she admitted.

“You stole from Marc!?” Steven asked aghast.

“I’m sorry!” his Mum cried out. “I know that was wrong! But I obviously don’t have a job of my own and well, it was just lying there…”

“That’s not okay!” Steven said hotly. People started to look into his direction, so he growled, unpacked his new phone and, without bothering to turn it on, held it to his ear.

“It absolutely is,” Marc disagreed. “I mean yeah, please don’t flush all my money down the toilet or something, but spending it on rent? For a place we all live in? That is absolutely okay. I just have to know which cache you emptied.”

“It was the one near Piccadilly station. And I only took out about half and none of the items,” Madeline answered.

“You have multiple caches with enough money to pay three months of rent in London?” Steven asked incredulously.

“...yes?”

“How much are we talking about? In total, I mean?” Steven asked suspicious.

“3,083,000 pounds,” Madeline said.

“What?” Steven made dully.

“What?” Marc echoed. “That can’t be.”

“Marc, love, you’re worse than a squirrel, hiding it around six different continents but I’ve kept track of it all. I’m estimating because I don’t know current exchange rates but you’ve definitively hit the three million mark one or two years ago.”

“How much have you been watching me?!” Marc exclaimed aghast.

“I’m not watching you at all, Marc, or Steven for that matter. I can only hear your voices when you talk directly to me. But I’m living in this…”

“Headspace?” Steven helped her out when she struggled for words.

“….right. And all sorts of information, numbers and statistics get washed up here. Including financial ones. I think it might be things you are forgetting. But I’ve kept it all safe and secure and sorted alphabetically for when you need it again,” Madeleine explained.

“You’re a literal millionaire and I have to live in a studio apartment?” Steven asked, slightly miffed.

“That’s impossible,” Marc claimed. “I didn’t have that much before… And then I changed careers and I’m loosing money now!”

“On an average day, maybe, but you still make a plus between ten and fifty grand per year via large drops”, Mum insisted. “I can show you the papers. Last one was on 2nd February 2025.”

“What happened on 2nd February?” Steven asked immediately.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“You apprehended a wanted criminal in Sweden. He had a bounty of 250.000 krona,” Madeline reminded him.

“But I never went to pick up any bounty,” Marc protested.

“It was transferred to the account of Eric Stein, the alias you were using while there, by local authorities. Says so in this bank statement I’m reading right now.”

“Now that you mention it, there was something like that… But wait, I only glanced at it once and I trashed the identity after I left the country!”

A smile started to form on Steven’s face, listening to their back and forth.

“Maybe you did but three weeks later you created the identity of one Gregor McDuly, transferring all monetary assets of both Stein and another identity called Farin to him and then withdrew 230.000 Bulgarian lev to stash them in a storage unit in Pernik. And you only actually used 15.000 lev during your stay there.”

“...That is creepy,” Marc whispered.

“You really forgot you had over 200.000 Bulgarian whatever still stashed away?” Steven asked incredulously.

“That’s what I’m saying, worse than a squirrel,” Madeleine complained.

“It’s just money,” Marc defended himself. “I was a bit more concerned about the League of Sadists coming after me than properly cleaning out all my shit!”

“The what?!” Steven repeated incredulously.

“Uh…” Marc made.

“There’s not actually a group that calls itself that, is there? That’s ridiculous, tell me you’re joking.”

“Right. I’m joking.” No way he was joking.

“Okay, that’s it,” Steven decided. “I’m going to Cambridge and you’re paying my tuition. And I want a bigger apartment.”

Marc remained silent.

“Can I take that as a yes?” Steven challenged him, his tone daring him to object.

“As far as I’m concerned, half the money’s yours anyway,” Marc muttered. “You can do whatever with it.”

“You mean a third. We’re three,” Steven reminded him.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I already fulfilled my life’s dream by raising you, I don’t need anything more,” Madeleine said.

Steven rubbed his temple and sighed. “Fine, you can just have access to mine then, in case you ever want to buy random cakes again.”

Steven lowered his hand with the phone and was glad when the voices faded into the background. Everything was getting a bit overwhelming. He was glad Marc was so cooperative. Shocked that he – they – were technically a millionaire. A bit amazed what his own mind could do, keeping track of everything through Madeline. And a bit incredulous – waiting for the other shoe to drop on why Marc would suddenly give in so easily when he’d suppressed Steven for years.

Maybe this was all a dream. A bounty hunter? Millionaire? League of Sadists? It all sounded so far-fetched. None of that was Steven Grant. He was just a normal bloke. He worked at a gift shop. Now he supposedly had enough money to buy himself a seat on the museum’s board of directors? That was crazy! Weren’t insane people supposed to be so disabled that they were unable to participate in society and barely scraped by until they snapped and murdered someone or something? Not that Steven wanted that to happen but… The good seemed to unexpectedly outweigh the bad thus far. Sure, it was weird to share a body with two other people… But these people were competent. He could… He could work with that. In fact, Steven felt a little fire lit within him.

He was determined to be competent as well. Marc wanted a public face to evade notice while he went around bounty hunting and arresting criminals or whatever? Fine. Steven would make sure it was a nice face. With a sharp suit and a fat wallet. Maybe a chauffeur… He’d never have to ride a bus again.

Yeah, Steven could work with this.

XxX

That first day, the first time they were all openly talking to each other, Marc declined claiming the body for himself in the evening. He felt Steven getting more nervous the more time passed, and it was like a huge weight fell off of him when Marc stated he didn't need to work that night so it was okay for Steven to go to sleep. In truth, Marc had no idea if he could afford that. Ammit was still a threat after all. He half expected Khonshu to crash the party. He'd made the god swear on threat of abdicating as avatar to not reveal himself or demand work from him unless Marc was actually in charge of his own body. The god seemed to have kept his promise till now, but Marc didn't know how long that would remain so when Marc stayed away for too long with such an important mission hanging over his head. Maybe the god would think that since Steven now knew about Marc, it was alright to also let him know about Khonshu?

But the god stayed away that night. Steven gave his cake to Mrs Donovan, apologizing for the noise, and spend the rest of the evening fixing the two splintered wooden floor boards with fresh paint. He also sorted through the pile of books Madeline had set apart that had ripped pages, deciding what to keep and what to toss. Madeline kept silent about the true extent of the damage they’d witnessed when Marc first came back home, which Marc was secretly glad for. Steven wasn’t afraid or upset about the damage, he was merely mildly annoyed.

Marc was sure neither of them truly believed Marc's claim to not have been the one to trash the apartment. Admittedly he didn't defend himself too much. He didn't want to scare them with his own theory of an intruder. Steven had already expressed a wish to move so it would be a moot point soon.

XxX

The next day, Marc woke up alongside Steven. 

It was so weird, to be in that state again. To be the one behind the glass. It hadn't been like this since they were children. Steven talked aloud, greeting his Mum the moment he woke up and the two chatted all throughout his morning routine. Marc just listened silently. It was only once he sat down for breakfast that Steven asked: "Marc? Are you there?" Marc said "Yes" very quietly and Steven said "Okay" and that was it. 

It was... peaceful. Marc was a part of it, but nobody pushed him to participate. It almost felt… It almost felt like they were a family.

On the bus ride Steven pulled out his new phone, now properly set up, started up the WhatsApp app and... started to type a message to his own phone number.

Steven Grant: Hi Marc, can you read this? Just had an idea, maybe we could write like this. Mum and I used to, in my diary or on the way back home from school.

Steven Grant: Kinda stupid I know, since we can talk aloud, you don't have to if you don't want. Just thought it could be fun.

Steven stared at the screen for a few moments. Marc was too baffled to realize that he was waiting for a reply before Steven sighed and put the phone back into his pocket.

Marc felt all kinds of weird things. A bit panicked, as he was every time Steven tried to reach out to him. Yesterday, when Madeline had somehow woken him up, he’d been wary, but the conversation had headed toward bizarre so quickly and nobody was angry at him. They were just… teasing him a little. It had been weird but not horrible. Now though, he was alone with Steven. Marc was a little bit worried what it meant that he wanted to talk via text instead of out loud. But also... intrigued. Marc wasn't a big talker to begin with. When writing, you could mull over for minutes exactly what to reply and there were no emotions attached to the words unless you decided to add a smiley or something.

Marc hesitated for nearly two minutes. Then he slowly, experimentally, reached out a little bit. He was still stuck behind glass but he had more freedom of movement when Steven knew he was there, was focused on him, wanted him to react. Marc didn't take over fully. It was more like... he stuck his hand through the glass, feeling it getting cold like he stuck it into water... and pulled out the phone from their pocket. There was a brief moment where he fumbled with his grip, almost dropping the phone as Steven instinctively resisted his interference. But then he relaxed, watching his own arm with morbid fascination as Marc started to type. His finger just hovered over the screen for a moment. He wished he'd brought his own phone for a moment because a chat history of Steven so obviously writing to himself would look so sad. Instead, he decided to add his own initials before each text.

MS: Yes we can write like this, if you want.

He could feel their heart beating faster and wasn't sure which one of them was more nervous. Steven's left hand moved to take the phone from Marc's right but stopped at the last moment. Marc retreated, giving control of the hand back as he recognized Steven wanted to reply.

Steven Grant: Awesome. I don't remember the last time I had someone I could text. Tell me something about yourself! I wanna get to know you better.

This time Marc reached out with his left hand. He'd noticed Steven only using his right for most things. Marc was ambidextrous, the result of long years of rigorously training to use weapons with both hands, just in case he lost function of one. This way, he could take the phone from Steven's right hand and type without having to give up control of the limb every time.

MS: What do you want to know?

Steven Grant: I don't know. Favorite colour?

MS: Are you trying to come on to me?

Steven Grant: Don't be an ass.

MS: Sorry. I was joking.

The question was harder to answer than you'd think. Marc preferred to wear colors that allowed him to blend in; brown and gray and black. Definitely not white. They weren't particularly pretty to look at though. Red and orange were too bright and shrill. Purple was the color of evil (all the villains always wore purple, that's how you knew they were evil.) Blue and green... it made him think of nature, which made him think of that day with the cave, blue water in a jungle of green...

MS: I don't mind yellow, I guess. Soft, vanilla yellow. Not on clothes though. Maybe on walls? What about you?

Steven Grant: It's a good color for walls. We can look into it for the next apartment. I like blue, deep blue and dark blue and jeans-blue, all kinds of blues, really.

Steven Grant: Favourite music?

MS: John Williams.

Steven Grant: He made movie music, didn't he? Like Star Wars and Harry Potter?

And Tomb Buster, Marc thought.

MS: Yeah.

Steven Grant: Cool. I like pop. But only when it's slow enough you can actually hear the lyrics. Favourite movie or TV show?

...there was no way Marc was answering that one truthfully. Then again, Marc had watched some other things he liked.

MS: I like science fiction and monster movies. Star Wars, Doctor Who, Jurassic Parc and Godzilla, for example.

Steven Grant: Hey, I’m a Doctor Who fan too! Well, if you can call it that, I watched maybe five episodes, but I’ve listened to lots of audio adventures. Which I now realize were probably yours. I always had this iPod with me with lots of stuff to listen to when I was traveling but I don’t even know where to buy this stuff. Not sure where it is now.

Marc had to smile a bit. He’d started listening to those audio books when he freelanced as a merc. Still did occasionally when Khonshu’s mission took him over borders. It was one of the few things he’d leave in his pocket before he made any attempt to ‘relax’ after a job was completed, knowing the free time might trigger Steven. It was… nice, knowing there was something they had shared even before they knew each other.

MS: You’re welcome. I still have the iPod, I can retrieve it if you want.

Steven Grant: That would be cool. Hey, do you have dietary restrictions? Or allergies? I'm vegan btw.

MS: I can eat anything. I prefer kosher but I'm not too strict with it.

Meaning he wouldn't starve himself over it. If Steven were to ever proudly offer him a self-cooked pork dish or something, he'd be tempted if only for the gesture, but he was glad that wouldn't be an issue.

Steven didn't reply for longer after this. Finally:

Steven Grant: You're Jewish?

MS: Yes. Aren't you?

Steven Grant: No. I'm an atheist. Don't you... have to be born Jewish to belong?

Marc felt stumped. Steven was not a Jew? How was that possible?

MS: You belong if your mother was a Jew or if you chose to convert. My mother was born a gentile, though she officially converted. Dad's a rabbi.

On second thought, Marc might've just answered his own question. If you ignored biology, Steven wasn't a Jew because he... He had a different mother. One specifically designed to be the opposite of Wendy. Marc wasn't sure how he could've missed being brought up in the faith though.

MS: Did they never take you to the synagogue? Read you the Torah? Anything?

Steven Grant: Not that I remember, no. I learned some about the five major world religions at school. My friends either didn't care or where Christian. Mum's agnostic, I think. She once said she wouldn't form an opinion until a god came to talk to her directly.

Well, that would be interesting if she ever faced off against Khonshu...

Steven Grant: I didn't know Dad's a rabbi.

MS: What did you think he worked as?

Had Marc truly been the only one who experienced those memories? Almost all of his recollection of his Dad as a child included him making some sort of reference to the holy scripture, be it to comfort or scold him.

Steven Grant: I don't know. I don't think I ever thought about it much. He was volunteering a lot? Doing community service? I know I wanted to be like him, helping poor people and stuff.

MS: ...me too.

Steven Grant: Did you ever want to be a rabbi?

MS: No. I'm no good with speeches. And I'm not a strict believer. I think God's real but I also know he's not the only one out there so the Torah can't be all true.

God was real but he obviously didn't care much about Marc, or anyone of his chosen people unless he needed them for a divine mission. Which might just be a general characteristic of all gods.

Steven Grant: Is that a problem for you, that I'm not Jewish?

MS: No. I’m not really practicing the faith either. Though I can't understand how you can claim not to believe in any gods. Did you miss the fact that we had a Norse one land in New York a few years back? Or that a titan attacked our planet?

Steven Grant: Those were just aliens. If it's not creating planets or at least people from scratch, it's not a god. You're more of a god than Thor is as far as I'm concerned.

Marc lost control of his arm because he suddenly burst out laughing. Which... Damn, Marc hadn't felt this merry in decades.

"What's so funny?" Steven asked aloud, obviously having noticed his reaction.

"Just imaging what my god would say if he heard that, haha," Marc replied and had to hold his stomach because damn, that was funny.

"Would he smite me with lightning?" Steven asked, smiling a bit.

Marc wasn't thinking of the god of his people in that moment. That one obviously didn't care enough about what an ant like them thought or said. It was just so funny because as far as he knew, Khonshu couldn't create any planets or people, so he wouldn't be a god in Steven's eyes.

"Would it count if they could create moons?" he asked just out of curiosity. He wasn't too certain about Egyptian mythology, on whether or not the god of the moon had supposedly created the actual moon or not. Khonshu had never made any claims in that direction, so probably not but now Marc was curious.

"No," Steven decided after he thought about it for a moment. "Not unless it's an inhabited moon with at least some flora on it."

Marc cracked up again. "Then what about the old gods from Greek or Roman pantheons? Or all the kami they believe in Asia?"

"Well," Steven whispered more quietly now that people around the bus were starting to stare at him again, "I'd call them nature spirits, or perhaps deities. Deities claim limited influence over nature and humans evolved to see patterns. You can assign a lot of stuff to them, if you want to, or nothing at all. So, deities are like fairies. They're only real if you believe in them."

Marc would pay the entire three million he apparently owned to see Steven call Khonshu a fairy to his beak.

"So, you don't believe magic is real either?" Marc teased him.

"Do you?" Steven asked back.

"I happen to know for a fact that it's real, but I'd like to hear your reasoning." Marc literally had a magic suit after all. Sure, you could argue semantics between divine power and magic, but it was all the same to him. He’d also seen a lot of actual magic being used as Moon Knight by various supernatural threats. But of course Steven didn’t have those experiences. He wouldn’t have even seen much of magic being reported on the news with how little he was fronting while Marc was the main host.

Steven thought about the question for a moment.

"I believe any sufficiently advanced technology is indiscernible from magic. The same goes for really foreign alien biology or possibly even planet-side biology that's poorly understood. I mean, if you told a first century sailor that male seahorses can get pregnant and give birth, he'd probably call that magic. Today we know it's just a quirk of nature."

"So the moment you understand it, it's not magic anymore?" Marc asked.

"Magic, by definition, is supernatural. If it can be explained with natural laws, it's not supernatural," Steven explained. "If you're naming something magic, you're either throwing your hands up in the air, declaring you won't bother to dig deeper..." 

"... Or?" Marc pressed. 

Steven huffed. "Well, or you're faced with something alien and inexplicable, yet following obvious internal logic while also violating known natural laws. I'm not saying people can't experience that. Plenty obviously do. I'm sort of experiencing that with you right now. Sometimes it's not worth it or maybe even dangerous to look too deep into it. But I'm not calling you magic and it's pointless to ponder the laws of the universe based on other people's experiences."

"If I'm not magic, what do you call me then?" Marc wanted to know, grinning. 

Steven thought about it, tilting his head and staring out of the window. 

"I'm calling you my B-brain", he decided. 

Marc cracked up again, laughing. "Are you the A-brain?" 

"Obviously."

Gods, Marc had missed this guy so much. 

"What's Madeline?" he asked. 

"She's my Mum," Steven said with a deadpan. "She doesn't count."

Marc laughed again, leaning against the glass that separated them, that kept Steven in the bus seat in the real world and Marc as a ghost in the in-between. Fuck, he loved this man. He was so... Steven. If Randall had never died, he wished he could've had a relationship like this with him. They were only starting to get to know each other, truly know each other, no secret peeping and already Marc never wanted to be apart again. 

Steven tapped a finger against the window glass next to his seat. Marc turned his head, and it looked as if Steven was looking right at him. 

"That you, Marc?" he asked. His expression looked strange. 

"Hm?" Marc made, watching Steven's face in the reflection. 

"I think I can see you," Steven said quietly. He raised a hand to put the palm flat against the glass and after a second, Marc did the same. "What's it feel like?" he asked. 

"Like being in an aquarium," Marc replied quietly. "I can see you. Hear you. But everything's... muffled. Moving is hard. And nobody can hear me." 

"Mhmm," Steven made, staring at him but it wasn't uncomfortable. "Can you breathe?" 

"Right now? Yes," Marc said. Obviously. He could even laugh, which he himself hadn't known was possible.

"But not always," Steven stated.

No, not always. Sometimes Marc was driven here by fear and then he felt like a butterfly pinned to a board by some sick collector. Sometimes he was hammering with his fists against the glass, screaming, choking, crying and nobody would help him.

No, that was not right. That had never happened. Steven was safe, Steven didn't get in enough danger for Marc to feel that desperate... Where had that memory come from?

"Let's talk about something else," Marc asked.

Steven smiled. "I would but - this is my stop. I know you’ve got more money than I could earn in a lifetime but I happen to like the museum, so I have to go to work now.”

“Alright,” Marc said, feeling more relaxed than he had in years. “Be safe.”

Steven chuckled. “I’ll do my best not to trip over my own feet.”

Chapter Text

Marc watched Steven throughout his day at work. He didn't didn't say anything unless prompted and Steven was too focused on his work to address him much. Marc eventually drifted off as the day passed in an uneventful manner. However whenever Steven felt uncomfortable, Marc would feel himself perking up instinctively. An annoying customer that complained loudly just because the old lady in front of him was counting out her change. A new shipment of statues on which they spelled Sekmeth's name wrong. His boss Donna reprimanding Steven for staring into empty space, threatening him with inventory work if he didn't focus. The security guard at the entrance who got Steven's name wrong when he left the building. 

The entire day was a series of hiccups like that. Steven claimed he liked the museum and Marc could see that. When his shift was over he took the long way out, passing through several now empty exhibition rooms and occasionally stopping to closely regard a piece. But Marc did not get the feeling he really liked his job there. 

After work Steven went home, fed his fish and ate some light dinner. Afterwards he grabbed a book (ancient Egyptian mythology, Marc wondered if that was a coincidence) and read for about an hour, lying on his bed. Eventually he put it aside, and sighed.

"Okay, I can't do this," Steven said aloud. "The waiting is killing me. Can we just get it over and done with? Like pulling off a band-aid?"

"What do you mean?" Marc asked after a beat of silence.

"You said you wanted to take over evenings and nights," Steven replied, scowling. "I appreciate that you didn't do anything yesterday but... we're just procrastinating at this point. So just do it."

Marc didn't want to do it. He didn't want to take over when Steven was so obviously uncomfortable with it. But he also... He didn't feel ready yet. He didn't want to get back to work. He didn't want to get started on the mountain of things he had to do. He wanted to stay inside a little longer.

"Alright," Marc said with a sigh because it was never about what he wanted. "Try and relax."

Marc pushed forward. There was resistance. It wasn't anywhere near the solid wall that he'd struggled against when Steven hadn't known he even existed. It wasn't the ease of slipping on a familiar shirt either that he felt when Steven was asleep or distracted or panicking about something. This was definitely harder than taking over a single arm but eventually, he pushed through.

"Whoah. This is... Oh my days. This is so weird," he heard Steven's voice as Marc blinked, getting used to wearing flesh again. "I... I can't move, this is... It’s like I’m watching myself, it... I don't like it!"

Marc lowered his head and rubbed his temple, fighting against a pounding headache building behind it. It felt like someone was trying to ram a screwdriver into his temple. He already felt drained and tired. And Steven’s upset voice didn’t help: “Whoa, my arm just moved. Wait, that’s your arm. Our arm. This is so freaky! Oh my days, stop it, please!”

“I’m not going to play statue the whole night,” he said with slight annoyance. "It gets better with time. You get used to it."

Marc had suspected that Steven might not get pushed under completely if he was awake and willingly giving up control. He'd hoped it wouldn't be like this but when did they ever get lucky?

"I don't like this at all... It’s like reverse-claustrophobia, everything is moving away from me! Oh my days, I think I'm having a panic attack. I'm not... I don't want to..."

And then his voice abruptly fell silent.

Marc waited a few more moments for him to speak up but he didn't.
"Steven?" he asked, now worried. When no answer came he repeated, more quietly, feeling lonely and small and aching inside: "Steven...?"

He was gone.

Marc wrapped his arms around himself, hands trembling and just sat there for a moment. He was aching inside, like there was a big-ass gaping hole in his chest where Steven used to be and he needed a few moments to gather himself. It wasn't like Steven was gone, gone. He'd be back in the morning. He'd be back...

Marc's world tilted sideways and before he knew it, he was behind the glass again.

His body stood. Took Steven's book and put it back onto the shelf and went to the living area. Marc thought at first that Steven was back but then his body leaned down to pull open a thin, wooden drawer underneath the oven that Marc had thought was just part of the covering. He watched as they pulled out a cheap phone, turned it on and set it to play a local music channel, setting it on the counter.

"Madeline?" Marc asked weakly as they rolled up their sleeves.

Madeline jumped. "Oh, I am so sorry! I didn't realize you were still there - do you want me to go back?"

She sounded different. Her voice inside was definitely female but of course the body's vocal cords were made to make deeper sounds. It was trying to imitate her desired way of speech but ended up just sounding like a bad actor, making Marc wince.

"It's evening, isn't it? This is your time?" Madeline kept talking. "I didn't mean to take over. This just happens sometimes. But I can go back inside."

Marc withdrew even more. He felt like everything was pressing down on him. The world was... suffocating.

"Did you see Steven?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, he passed me by. Looked upset, went straight to his room and locked himself in. You two didn't fight, did you?" she asked.

"N-No..." Marc didn't think so. "Can you... can you take today? And... not tell him?"

Madeline relaxed, her arms settled at her sides. "Of course I can, love. You just rest for a bit."

Marc winced at the endearment, the word feeling like a stab to his heart even though (or maybe because?) he knew there wasn't any literal meaning behind it. It was just Steven's Mum being very... British.

Madeline went around the flat, putting away any loose items that were lying around. She scrubbed the bathroom till it was sparkling. Then she grabbed a cooking book from the shelf, humming as she leafed through the pages. Selecting three different recipes, she made a list of ingredients she needed, checked which ones were already there and then headed outside. Madeline didn't talk a word to anyone. Even to the cashier that asked if she wanted a recipe she just smiled and shook her head. Back in the apartment she started cooking, swinging the pan and knife with an ease that made it look effortless. She boxed up enough food to last the entire week, putting some in the fridge and the rest in the freezer, even labeling them with its contents using a roll of sticky labels she kept in a kitchen drawer. 

When she was done, Marc had an intense feeling of deja-vu. He remembered finding boxes with food just like that in his fridge and freezer. Back in his old apartment in Singapore when he'd just started out. Layla had kept food like that, or so he'd assumed, though he'd never seen her cook. 

They'd kept food like that at home. Many afternoons he'd be home while nobody was there, and he’d get hungry. He'd take out whatever he could find in the freezer because Dad was always home late and there was no way he’d ask his Mom for food. He was never starving though because the freezer was always full. 

"How long have you been doing this?" he whispered. 

Madeline flinched and looked around nervously. She was obviously not used to people talking to her when she was in front. She was usually the one inside.

"Sorry," Marc said, feeling strangely self-conscious. 

"Oh uhm, no it's alright. I started looking up recipes when Steven was... Ten or eleven, I think. After, I bullied some grocery money out of Elias," she replied. 

"You did what?" Marc asked shocked. Madeline was so... so soft, her movements in their muscular body somehow flowing, he couldn't picture her as anything but dainty. She was certainly not someone he'd expect would bully anyone. 

Madeline shrugged. "I needed money for food. And clothes. And presents, of course." She started cleaning up the counter, scrubbing furiously. "Those people had no idea what my little boy wanted or needed."

If he still had the body, Marc’s knees would be going weak now. It was suddenly hard to stay at the surface. 

Food. Clothes. Birthday presents. The very basics a parent should provide for their kid. Marc had grown up hated by his mother but he'd kept telling himself it wasn't so bad. She was just sick. She was grieving and it was Marc's fault anyway for letting Roro die and many children had it worse than him. He was still cared for after all. Still had a roof over his head and food in his belly and his father still cared for him. He wasn't around much and he chose to look away when Marc was bleeding but he did still care. His mother, maybe, under all her grief, still cared. Because after all, they still provided the basics for him.

Except they never had.

"How... How did you get him to agree to that?" Marc asked. "To give you that money?"

Madeline shrugged. "I told him if he didn't, I'd show everyone at school the bruises my boy was getting and tell them he got beaten up at home."

Marc choked. This woman had blackmailed his father, threatening to reveal the abuse? She'd known? Since she came from Steven, Marc had automatically assumed she was as clueless as him. How much had she seen? Marc didn't remember every single beating he ever got. There had been some he was not present for, some he'd only woken up after or passed out in between. He'd always be terrified when that happened, fearing he'd let Steven suffer in his stead but Steven kept acting as if nothing had happened. Could it be that she had been there instead?

"You remember the beatings?" he asked weakly. He hoped she didn't remember. He didn't know how he could deal with it, if she'd been there alongside him and somehow still hadn't realized Marc existed. He hoped instead she'd only seen his bruises and put two and two together and thought it was Steven simply burying the memory or something.

Madeline dropped the sponge she was holding, staring wide-eyed at her reflection in the sparkling clean metal exhaust hood. "You mean... He actually beat you?!" she burst out. 

Marc was stunned into silence.

"I thought you were just getting roughed up during football practice!" she exclaimed. "It's what you told everyone!"

Marc still couldn't talk. He just stared back at her in horror. What had he done? How could he have said that?

"That... That devil!" Madeline cursed, clenching her fists. "Oh, I wanna rip him a new one! How dare he lay a hand on my boys!?"

"It wasn't... It wasn't Dad," Marc made weakly. "It was... It was mom..."

Madeline's eyes went even wider. "Oh," she said and now her knees must be getting weak too because she stumbled back, sitting on a chair by the small dinner table.

"She hated me," Marc confessed. "I... I was a bad son, I guess. And when you kept calling me on the phone and writing those letters... I thought she just wanted to torment me more. I'm sorry I never read them. You... You just wanted to help."

"I am so sorry," she said, voice trembling.

Marc squirmed. "Don't be." He didn't deserve sympathy. "It was a long time ago and I... I didn't exactly make it easy for her. Or anyone. And she's..." He swallowed thickly. "She's dead now. Liver failure. Dad invited me to her shiva about a month ago. I... I couldn't go. Steven had to help me out."

"I... I don't know what to say. That's terrible. How... How do you feel about her now?" she asked. 

Marc laughed humorlessly and maybe a bit hysterical. "I have no fucking clue." 

"It's a mess," she said. 

"Yeah..." A mess. That summed up his life perfectly.

His mother had never cared for him at all. Not even a shred, not after the cave. He'd always... had to care for himself. Marc had to face that now. It was the truth. He was talking to the evidence. There had... never been any chance of earning Wendy's forgiveness or love. He thought he'd lost that chance when she died but... It had never existed in the first place. 

"I know I can't replace what you've lost," Madeline said softly, staring ahead. "What you've been missing. I'm far too late for that. I am so sorry I wasn't there for you. You would've needed me even more than Steven did. And I'm sorry I didn't realize you were there and that I upset you with my attempts to contact you. I never meant to hurt you, please believe that."

"I do," Marc said. His tongue felt thick and slow. "I know that. It wasn't your fault. It was Steven who... who asked for your help. Not me. I don't think... I don't think, back then, I would've accepted it even if you had offered." 

"Then... How about now?" she asked softly. "I know you're not a child anymore... You don't need me in the same way. But I would still very much like to be family to you, Marc."

"I..." Marc fumbled, ached, squirmed. This was stupid, he was talking to himself and what was she even going to do? It wasn't like she could hug him and he could buy all his own damn presents now and it was nice that she did some chores but he didn't want to treat her like a servant - 

"I don't... No, I... Maybe later?" he settled on weakly. He wasn't ready to just... let himself be adopted like that and he was terrified of having to call Steven brother even though that was absolutely what he felt he was and... 

"Alright," Madeline said and only sounded a little disappointed. "Whenever you're ready, love. My heart will always be open for you."

Marc swallowed thickly. "Thanks... for taking care of us."

Madeline smiled softly, closed her eyes and pat herself on the shoulder. "There's no need for thanks. I'm just doing my job." 

She shouldn't have to. She'd had no choice because they had needed her so desperately and Steven had needed her to love them. Marc wondered if there was any free will involved at all. Steven had joked earlier that Marc was sort of like a god for creating people from scratch but the words suddenly weighted heavy on Marc. He hadn't created Madeline, not even indirectly. But she was... She was so much like what a real mom should be like and she was so utterly different from Marc, even more so than Steven, it was bizarre. The doctors had said an alter could act like an entirely separate person, even if they were parts of a whole. Marc couldn’t imagine any ‘whole’ that both her and Steven and himself supposedly came from, they were so different. No matter how much he tried to act and not be himself, he could never be like Madeline. He could never even imagine someone like her. The things she did, sure, but the way she made him feel... He never thought he would ever feel like that again. 

When Marc kept silent, Madeline proceeded to get them ready for bed. Briefly he wondered if it was weird to her, being in a body that didn't match the gender she identified with. He almost offered to take back over when she went to take a shower. But Madeline merely hummed along to the music the radio was playing and didn't seem all that concerned. 

Afterward she put on pajamas, watched Steven's goldfish for a few minutes, then put out the music, turned off her phone, put it back and went to bed. 

Marc wasn't tired at all. He felt all itchy like there was still something... something he had to say. 

"Maddy?" he whispered eventually. 

"Hm-mh?" she made, not opening her eyes. 

"... Don't tell Steven. Please?" he asked quietly. 

She didn't ask what he meant. "Why not?" she asked instead. It didn't sound accusing or defensive, as if she'd planned on definitely telling him all along, more like she hadn’t thought about it yet. 

Marc fumbled for words. He'd always wanted Steven to have a happy childhood. To have happy memories. With all the ugly parts cut out. It was what enabled him to be so amazing, so innocent, wasn't it? 

"I... I don't want him to share in my memories. The things I've seen, experienced... the things I've done. I don't want him to become like me," he whispered. 

"Because you are hurt?" Maddy asked. 

Marc nodded quietly. "Yeah..." And because he was hurting others. Because sometimes, he liked hurting others. Marc was corrupted where Steven was innocent. He wanted him to stay that way. 

"...I won't tell him," Maddy promised eventually. "But you should. Hearing about it isn't the same as experiencing it, Marc. Not even close. I think I understand you better, now that I know, and he will too. That's not a bad thing."

Marc snorted. It sounded so obvious, so wise. Such a mom thing to say he almost said it, 'yes mom' like a good little boy. But he wasn't a boy anymore. So he said nothing.

XxX

Something was going to go wrong.

Marc was sure of it. Whenever something went right in his life, it never lasted long and something inevitably had to go wrong.

Steven was... Steven was amazing. Marc remembered how he'd reacted, back when he was twelve and a teacher sat him down for the first time to talk about his strange 'mood swings'. That was the first time he'd realized that he wasn't normal. That hearing voices in his head was not normal. That feeling like being stuck behind glass while his body moved on its own was not normal. That clinging to an imaginary friend at his age was not normal, whether they communicated or not. Insisting to everyone around him that he wanted to be called a different name was not normal.

Steven hadn't talked to him back then, not truly, but Marc had sometimes heard his thoughts when he was being really loud and Marc was being really small, tugged away in a corner, or when Marc was big and doing something that upset Steven.

It had been terrifying to him, back then, to have that label attached to him. Abnormal. It was what his mother called him every day and that was the first time it got confirmed by someone outside his family. For a time, he'd even wished Steven gone. Tragically, Steven did go. They became more disconnected after that and Marc could no longer hear him, could no longer see through him. That made everything a hundred times worse though. Now Marc was lonely on top of being miserable.

But Steven was amazing. He'd woken up after years of hibernation, his past littered with blood, labelled with a severe disorder and he just... rolled with it. Oh, he was suspicious of Marc at the start. But he didn't deny his existence, didn't immediately run to drown himself in psychopharmaceutica to get rid of him, didn't demand he never take over again or hate and despise or berate Marc for all the wrong life choices he'd made.

He didn't ask why Marc was there.

A large part of that, Marc had to admit, was probably Madeline.

From what Marc was able to gather in the first week of the new, fragile truce between them, Madeline had been well aware that she was not the original owner of the body from the start. It was thus far easier for her to accept Marc as part of the package and so she was urging Steven, who she seemed to genuinely love, to do the same. Steven trusted Madeline. He had grown up with her and though it was new to him that she lived inside his head rather than being a real person he talked to via phone, that did not diminish their connection. 

Unlike Steven, Madeline did not seem to understand exactly what she was. She kept calling Steven her son like she really believed he was hers. Steven did not discourage that framing but he also occasionally referred to both Marc and Madeline in the same way, as voices in his head or parts of his mind, proving he understood that Marc and Madeleine had similar origins. When prompted the female alter would make up vague ideas of Steven maybe having been blood related to her in a previous life. She also never claimed the body as hers or expressed any wish in living her own life on the 'outside'. While Steven seemed to have come to the conclusion that they had become many due to loneliness and neglect in their childhood (though he remained oblivious to the true extent of the horrors they had to go through), Madeline didn't seem to even understand that much. She had just never made the connection between the neglect at home and them being many. When Marc had accidentally revealed more about the abuse he’d suffered, she’d been angry for them, for her boys, excluding herself from it entirely, like she was different from Marc and Steven.

Marc had no intention to explain the truth to her. He merely prodded carefully to better understand who she was. He'd been... minorly freaked out, at the start, to learn about her existence. And to his great unease, he could sometimes see similarities in her and his birth mother. There was the way she was upset by every speck of dirt – even if she went to clean it herself next time she’d get the body rather than shouting at Marc until he did it. There was the way she’d insist Steven dress properly: tug your shirt in, right your collar, no you absolutely can’t wear the same shirt two days in a row - because the image they projected to the outside world had to be perfect. Even the endearment she called Marc, love, was one Wendy used to call him when they were in public or during parent-teacher conferences. He always hated that because he knew it was never truly spoken in fondness. It was only ever part of the image she projected. Marc felt strangely jealous that Steven was being called by a different nickname by Madeline but he knew he’d rather shoot himself than ask her to change it. Madeline wasn’t Wendy, she wasn’t Marc’s mom but she was.. She was Steven’s Mum and maybe, possibly, that made her their Mom and he’d be the last person to demand their Mom shouldn’t love them.

Ever since Madeline took over for him when Marc was supposed to go out, she'd made more of an effort to include him. She raised him up when he was curled up back down but she wasn't pushy. Her main goal seemed to be to make Steven and him get along and he could appreciate that. The spiteful way she insisted on calling Marc's mother 'gene provider' also aided her case. 

Possibly most important though... Marc didn't feel like Madeline was his responsibility. Not like he felt with Steven. Marc constantly worried about Steven, how he was, what he was thinking, how much he saw. With Madeline, it was different. She... She wasn't his alter. She was Steven's. She interacted with him far more than she did with Marc, the two of them taking care of each other. Madeline prided herself in her organization skills but the way Steven and her described the headspace she lived in, she would not know what was going on in their life when she wasn't fronting unless one of them told her. There was no danger of her getting traumatized by getting too close. She didn't share Steven's wariness and curiosity about Marc's time with the body outside, instead freely giving them 'privacy' unless she felt she was needed and even then would only share in their auditory sense.

Madeline wasn't Marc's problem. She wasn't even Steven's, if anything she was Steven's helper. He was... alright with that. Sad that Steven needed help, that Marc had not been able to do enough to make him happy but it was alright that she was there.

Since his alters were apparently not going to try and rip him apart, Marc thought 'something wrong' might come in the form of Khonshu instead. Like some mission that blew up in his face. But when Marc did finally take over from Steven, making doubly sure he was really gone, and donned the suit, the god did not come to berate or warn him.

"That has time," Khonshu said when Marc told him he could go after the scarab now. "It seems like Arthur Harrow has perished while you were... otherwise occupied."

"Harrow's dead?" Marc asked incredulously. "How?"

"Does it really matter?" Khonshu said bored. "He was playing a dangerous game and no longer had my protection. Now, I can't sense him in this world any longer. That's all that matters. Obviously, you'll still have to retrieve the scarab. It's supposed to be safe and forgotten in a buried tomb, not displayed in some collection or museum. But the matter is no longer urgent. I recommend you take the time to sort out your identities before you start on a longer journey. For tonight, I have something closer at hand in mind..."

So Marc ended up investigating rumors of illegal weapons sales from A.I.M. to local drug gangs. He beat up a few criminals, went on a car chase, got shot a few times and dumped a truckload of highly lethal semi-alien hybrid technology on the police parking lot. He stopped by his storage unit to get a few things he felt naked without, now that he no longer had to hide them – a few pieces of clothing, a second passport, an army knife… He left the guns for now, not wanting to provoke a negative reaction but he did remember to bring his ipod with the audio adventures of Doctor Who. Then he glided home, slipping back through the apartment window at 3 am in the morning.

A perfectly ordinary Moon Night. The next morning, Steven was nervous, asking how his night went. Marc said ‘fine’ without giving any details and then quickly distracted Steven by teaching him how to download more audio books onto his… their ipod.

Steven was very willing to let himself be distracted by the wacky adventures of the time traveling alien time lord.

Khonshu didn't even make Marc work over time, allowing him to rest and only sending him out once more that week, again a normal patrol. Even that was probably only because it was a full moon. Khonshu’s power peaked during the full moon and thus, so did Marc’s. The god would get very pissed whenever Marc missed a work night on the full moon, regardless of whether there was actually someone in need of punishment around. It was just a waste, he’d say.

With so little of his time occupied by avatar duty though, Marc didn't have an excuse anymore to not get off his ass and take care of some of the tasks that he'd procrastinated.

Madeline offered to help. Marc was very much hesitant but in the end, he said yes. They visited his storage unit together. She stayed with him, encouraging him and giving tips, as he called or visited his specialists and build a proper paper trail for Steven that would allow him to apply for a university. He took three bags of cash (one from a stash he'd apparently used seven years ago and had completely forgotten about until Maddy reminded him) to an underground contact that would (against a fee) transfer the funds into a bank account under Steven's name, disguised as the payoff of a rich uncle that died. Which required more documents to fake and more bribes to be paid. Eventually that was done too.

Steven was really excited the next day when he heard the news. It was a Saturday and he spend the whole day mulling over university applications, study plans and fretting over which majors he wanted to chose. October 1^st, the beginning of the academic year, was not far away at all so he had to decide quickly. In the end he decided on history and modern languages. Madeline surprised them all when she asked if she could take some courses in economics.

"I don't need a degree," she added quickly. "I'm just thinking, someone has to manage your budget, right? I've worked on keeping track of it all but you can't just let it sit there in hidden caches. It'll lose its worth over time. You have to invest it, gain interest and so on... If you're going to university anyway, I could pick up some things to learn."

Steven thought that was an amazing idea. He had zero problem trusting his Mum with money and truth be told, Marc didn't either. Considering how much he would've already lost if it weren't for Maddy remembering where he put it, he was willing to give her that task.

Time passed. As Steven kept waking up each morning with no visible injuries and no blood on his clothes, he eventually relaxed and didn’t dread Marc’s work nights as much anymore. Marc didn’t go out every night. If he did, he’d mark it on a calendar Steven brought so if they happened to not be awake at the same time, Steven would know. They’d selected the calendar together, one showing famous sights around the world… and displaying the moon phases. On the one hand, it was good to keep track of those: Full moons always meant a work night, while new moons usually meant a good night’s sleep. On the other, his alters weren’t supposed to know that yet so he had to take care to only fill out a week in advance at a maximum to make it less obvious. On days following a work night, Steven would often add a late afternoon nap to catch up on his sleep or Marc would set his alarm clock to wake him later. On the evenings that Marc wasn’t out, Madeline sometimes was. No matter how often the two men told her she didn’t have to do any chores for them, she insisted to do it, to help them and ease their daily routine if only a little. So Steven always had a pre-prepared boxed breakfast, lunch and dinner that he could take with him to work when Marc’s job forced him to sleep in.

Marc did eventually go on a trip to Germany to retrieve the scarab. Steven had been worried when Marc had asked him for that much time but he hadn’t truly argued against it. In fact, when Marc confessed he had to take flight up to Europe, Steven relaxed. He knew that Marc used to travel a lot in his merc days and though he still didn’t know what his current ‘job’ was, he wasn’t surprised it still involved traveling. The trip ended up a full success. Marc found the scarab, stole it and brought it back to England. On a follow up trip the next weekend, he flew to Egypt to enter an old temple where Khonshu used him to perform an ancient ritual that drained all magic from the artifact, thus rendering it useless. That’s why Marc even brought the scarab back home as a ‘souvenir’ for Steven. He now used it as a paperweight.

Marc found that if he told Steven a little detail about his mission and his work, his alter was much more relaxed and trusted him more. So he’d tell him which country he was in, which landmarks he’d seen or the occasional anecdote he’d come across while working. Steven liked to listen to those stories and the more Marc told him unimportant details like that, the less Steven would fret about the ugly bits in between. He even let Steven front for the flight back to London on his second trip.

Three weeks after Marc first got exposed, the very same day Steven got the acceptance letter from Cambridge University, they started the search for a new apartment in earnest. Steven was really excited about it. He wanted two bedrooms – one for himself and one for Marc. Marc wouldn’t mind going to sleep in Steven’s room, so long as he could keep a gun within reach – but Steven vehemently opposed that and also refused to go to sleep in Marc’s room when he had it filled with guns. So two beds it was. Since Madeline resolutely refused them wasting so much space on her that she’d never use, there would only be a living room, plus a decently sized bathroom and kitchen. It took a while to find a fitting place and Steven was all giddy when he signed the rental with his own name.

Steven basically turned his room into a home library. He painted the ceiling sky blue, creating a calming atmosphere. It also housed his aquarium and he brought a bed that he could fold into a wall to make it look like a cupboard, thus making room for a large desk that he could study at.

Marc decorated his own room rather sparsely. He basically just put a lot of closets in there that were all locked. He finally cleared out his storage unit, securing his weapons, explosives and dozens of fake passports in safes in his room instead. At Maddy’s insistence, he did invest in a large bed with a comfortable mattress. Since he was the one mostly in charge of putting them to sleep, he ought to have the best bed. Marc also got himself a sandbag and a worktable to use for maintaining his weapons and sharpening his blades. It took two weeks of renovation work and carpentry to modify all the furniture, the floor and to draw up a fake wall until Marc was satisfied that in case of an emergency or an unexpected raid by the police, he could hide all his illegal shit quickly. When the two others both kept badgering him if he didn’t want to paint his room, Marc eventually gave in, selecting a soft vanilla color that would take the edge off the violent contents of his personal space.

With Marc and Steven focused on their own rooms, Madeleine took over decorating the rest of the apartment, which was placed in a better part of London near the university at the top floor of a five story building. It sported a small balcony where Madeline set up a small home garden with fresh herbs. There was a great flat TV in the living room, a large couch that could be opened to reveal a mattress for visitors to sleep on and several shelves and closets where Steven could put on all of the little knick-knacks he liked to collect or Marc could put on an item he brought home from his travels. The kitchen would make Frenchie, Marc’s old veteran partner who had a passion for cooking, green with envy. It actually made Marc a bit melancholic. Sometimes he still missed his old partner. Not in a romantic sense – while they had been involved with each other for a while, Marc had been committed to his wife for years now. Even though he had left her too, she still took up a great portion of his heart. But he did wonder what had happened to Jean-Paul, if he was still a mercenary, if he was happy, if he was - dead…. Marc hadn’t seen him since he went on that mission with Bushman and that was not likely to change.

When they were finally done putting the last finishing touches in place, Marc had to admit, it really felt like a home. It felt like a place he belonged, a place for him… and the others.

Shortly after the new semester started at Cambridge. Steven could still barely believe he’d gotten accepted. (The huge donation they made to the history department might’ve had something to do with it.) He quit his job at the museum to focus on his studies and they settled into a new routine. Both him and Maddy pretty much inhaled their assigned reading material for the year within a month. It was a bit weird for them to go back to ‘school’ as many of the students were younger than them. But Steven was way more relaxed and less awkward now. He had his personal cheerleader in his Mum, who felt no longer restricted to ‘calling’ him after work. And if any stupid, arrogant teenager dared to look down at Steven, Marc would flare up and tell them exactly what he thought of them, which kept all the annoying frat boys away from him. Steven even started to become popular with the female students. The fact that he was an absolute ace in his subjects right from the start and absolutely loved talking about his passion, thereby providing help to other students, also likely had something to do with it.

Meanwhile, London was big enough a city that there was plenty of crime to keep Moon Knight busy. Marc would be out most nights on patrol, sometimes just for an hour or two, and other times longer when he stumbled over a longer case. Steven even started to read the newspaper each morning, keeping a look out for current crime investigations, asking Marc if he had any insight. On occasion, Marc actually did. With time he revealed more and more about the work he did, about the kinds of criminals he encountered, fought and defeated. He never mentioned Khonshu nor Moon Knight though. Marc made a contact at the local police department, an inspector called Flint who became his primary contact when it came to delivering criminals he arrested. It significantly boosted Flint’s career and allowed Marc to keep his persona of Moon Knight under the radar of local news outlets.

Their switching didn’t always work perfectly – sometime Steven and Madeline got mixed up wrong when it came to their lectures and would then simply take notes for the other. Sometimes Marc would find himself on campus, lost, and do his best to keep up (failing miserably most of the time, if one of the others wasn’t present enough to guide him through). A few times Steven would even find himself out at night alone – usually while Marc was doing a stakeout and he’d scramble to push him back under.

Before they knew it, half a year had passed and Marc felt… content. Happy even. He hadn’t felt like this since the early days of his marriage. He missed Layla, of course he did, especially when he watched Steven’s first forays into dating life. Marc had send an old contact of his to pickup the divorce papers from Layla and deliver them to a post box for him to pick up. The day he’d held the papers in his hands, signed by her, the last nail in the coffin of his relationship, he’d trembled so much he’d dropped the letter and afterward didn’t remember what happened for the rest of the evening. He later found the letter in a drawer in one of his closets. Neither Steven nor Maddy ever mentioned seeing the divorce papers. He assumed Maddy must’ve squirreled them away because Steven most assuredly would’ve had word with Marc about it.

Part of Marc had hoped Layla wouldn’t sign the papers. But she had and so Marc put his signature on it too and sent it off to a lawyer he hired under the table and a few weeks later he got the confirmation that he was officially divorced. He’d left Layla with a couple of hundred thousand bucks. Not really half of what she was apparently due but he hadn’t known at the time how much he really owned and most of it was off the books anyway. But she would be well-taken care of.

Between the divorce, the new apartment and what they paid the university, they were rapidly eating through Marc’s funds. However, after Marc started sharing more about his work (the when and where and sometimes the who), Madeline got involved in insider trading. After some initial hiccups, she started making a killing investing in rival companies of whichever corrupt conglomerate Moon Knight took apart. Once Marc hunted down and took apart a cult of Seth-worpshippers in eastern Sudan in the name of Khonshu. They’d had their hideout in a mine, a network of tunnels that turned out to be excellent for hunting them down separately. Marc allowed Steven to go around and do some sight seeing the next day, since Steven kept begging him to show him some of the world he was traveling. The very next day Madeline took over and, after hearing their report, went ahead and bought the mine dead cheap from the Sudanese government before the news broke that it was no longer occupied by terrorists.

It turned out to be a literal gold mine, which by its own would probably set them for life.

Marc never would’ve thought to profit off his adventures like that but Madeline was ruthless. Suddenly, it was not hard at all to imagine her bullying their father. Once she verbally ripped into a bank employee that had mismanaged some of their funds in a way eerily similar to how Wendy would rip into Marc any time he brought home bad marks. Marc was torn between being horrified that they had learned anything from that woman at all and feeling vindicated that a mother figure was being angry not at them but on their behalf. Madeline was just always focused on making sure her boys had the best of the best and were secure and insured and covering all their bases and had every possibility to make the best out of their life. Steven started to feel a bit bad about it, especially since he did not yet have his own income and was only spending money.

“Think of it that way, at least you’re really good at spending money,” Marc tried to cheer him up. “I mean, you spend it on really practical and useful things, like your education.”

Apparently, that simple statement inspired Steven and he started regularly donating a great deal of his personal share of the money to various charities. Madeline thought that was a wonderful idea. They were basically taking money from the very rich, from powerful companies or governments, and giving it to the poor. Marc was… He was a bit blown away, actually. For years he’d done his best to suppress his disorder, to hide it and do the best he could despite it. But ever since he had given up, leaned into his own insanity and let his alters run free… Suddenly, he was flourishing. It wasn’t just Marc himself who felt more relaxed and safe and like he had an actual family to come home to. He was doing twice as much good now as he ever had as a superhero on his own. Even Khonshu praised his progress. The god had never looked down on Marc for his mental defect but neither had Marc ever had the feeling he’d been chosen because of it. He’d simply had it that well under control that it hadn’t been an issue. Now Marc was fighting evil in the dark and Steven was spreading good in the light and they were twice as effective and Khonshu… Khonshu seemed happy. Less demanding, more considerate when Marc insisted his duties should not touch Steven’s life.

Everything was going so well. The other shoe never dropped.

And so Marc relaxed. He got used to his new life. He left Steven alone for longer. He even started visiting Maddy in her headspace. He hated the house she lived in, obviously, and never actually entered it, but she set up a whole new garden behind the house for him, modelled after the university park she and Steven sometimes took walks in, and he’d meet her there for tea time and listen to her ramble on about her own studies and her ideas for their financial portfolio. True, Marc spend less time in the body and maybe that should make him worried about his personal mental health. But the more he watched the others be themselves, the more he found he just really enjoyed being close to them, experiencing life through their eyes. When Marc had been the sole host of their body, on so many days he’d barely made it through. Every day felt like a battle to be fought and the only way he could make it at all was by building up a wall around his heart and growing numb to the horrors he saw every day… as well as everything else. Steven and Madeline made him feel things again, as much and even more so as being with Layla did. Not all of those things were good. There was worry and anxiety and episodes of heart-wrenching pain. But there was also joy and peace and friendship and a great deal of relief.

But of course, the peace could never last. And eventually, Marc realized that ‘everything had gone wrong’ long ago.

He just never got around to cleaning up the mess. And the mess grew and flourished and now it had a name and a life of its own.

That name was Jake Lockley. And that life was all about pain and destruction.

Chapter Text

Steven was nervous. He didn’t think he’d ever been this nervous in his life. Well, okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But it was certainly a big moment.

“How do I look?” Steven asked his mirror image, adjusting his tie a bit.

“Like you’re heading to a stockholder’s meeting,” Marc said, completely ruining Steven’s attempts to evaluate his appearance by glaring down at him with his arms crossed. His posture was filled with a confidence that Steven couldn’t quite pull off.

“Marc, I wasn’t asking you!” Steven groaned. “Get out of the mirror, I want to see myself.”

Marc threw up his hands. “Fine then, just don’t come asking me for advice later.”

The merc vanished and Steven could now properly assess himself. After a few moments of hesitation, he tossed the tie, flattening his white dress shirt.

“Tug it into your shirt properly, darling,” his Mum advised him. “Over there on the right you missed a spot.”

Steven’s ears went a little red and he adjusted his shirt, straightening his shoulders. “Like this?”

“Yes, that’s perfect. You’ll do wonderful, I’m sure,” his Mum said. Steven had his phone propped up next to the standing mirror in his bedroom. It wasn’t on, just showing a black screen but Steven liked to pretend the voice he was hearing came from it. It made all this a little less weird.

“Okay.” Steven took a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, darling!”

Steven headed out of the apartment and into the basement garage. He still hadn’t gotten around to taking any driving lessons and wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Marc had faked him a license on his name, owned a motorcycle and was always willing to take Steven wherever he wanted to go. Steven thought it was a death trap, but the women loved it, and Steven was a bit too embarrassed to take the bus to university – so Marc had been driving them to and from the campus. He took over now too, speeding through the city to the meeting place, a cozy Italian restaurant. It was winter break, which didn’t necessarily mean less work, just that Steven spent most of his time in the library preparing for various papers he had to hand in at the end of the second semester.

“Well, good luck,” Marc said as he pulled off his helmet. “And remember, if you take her home, my room is off-limits.”
“I… I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Steven muttered embarrassed. “Even if it goes well… She’ll need time to process, won’t she?”

Marc shrugged and withdrew, and Steven fumbled with the heavy helmet, locking it in the motorcycle’s seat compartment.

“You don’t think it’ll go well,” Steven accused him quietly, checking his reflection one last time in the vehicle’s side mirror.

Marc sighed. “I think it’s foolish to aim for a normal partner. We’re not normal. But… that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t experience normal things. So go. Don’t mind me.”

Steven hesitated a moment longer but finally, nodded and headed toward the restaurant.

It wasn’t his first date with Simone Waters. It was the third, actually, and he really liked her. Steven had asked her out for the first time on the first day of winter break. She was the assistant of his French Literature professor, herself in her final year. She was 26 years old, blonde, green-eyed, gorgeous and thought Steven was ‘intelligent and handsome, the best combination’. He liked her, she liked him. They’d gone to the movies once, which had been great, and to a dance club where Steven had felt very out of place among the mostly early twenties students. Simone insisted Steven didn’t look a day over twenty five and would fit right in. It wasn’t the first time someone had acted surprised when Steven told them he was thirty-one but he still felt disconnected from most of the student body. He didn’t know how to handle compliments like that considering it wasn’t him that kept the body in such great shape.

The date started out great. Simone arrived five minutes after Steven. They did some small talk about Steven’s current project and her passion for collecting snow globes. It was all very nice. If only Steven could stop his hands from shaking.

“Are you alright, Steven?” Simone asked eventually, having noticed his obvious nervousness a while ago.

“Y-Yeah, I mean… It is. Maybe.” Steven took a deep breath. They had the main course behind them already. He contemplated whether to tell her now or invite her to a stroll through the campus park and do it later, when they were more secluded. The restaurant was full but they were sitting behind a divider and the general noise of so many people provided almost as much privacy as solitude would. Might as well get it over with now.

Steven took a deep breath. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” He laid his hand on the table, palm up and Simone didn’t hesitate to put her hand in his. He squeezed it, gathering his courage before looking up into her beautiful eyes.
“I… I really like you. I want to get to know you better… spend time with you… Show you who I am,” he started. Simone smiled and squeezed his hand encouragingly.

“There’s just… Before we, like, really start a proper relationship… There’s something you should know about me,” he continued quietly. “There are things, things that people do in normal relationships, that are… more complicated with me, for me. Or maybe even not possible at all.”

Now Simone’s forehead creased in worry. “Like what?”

“Like… introducing you to my parents. Going on vacation together for more than a week. I… I sometimes have to go somewhere suddenly, especially in the evenings, so keeping dates is difficult, even if I really want to go. That’s because I…” He took a deep breath. Now or never. “...because I have a mental condition. It’s called Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

“I… I don’t know what that means,” Simone said hesitantly.

“It… W-Well, on normal days it comes with... auditory hallucinations. Hearing voices,” Steven said quietly. “Other days and many evenings… one of my alternate personalities will take over. Then I have no control anymore about what my body does, what I’m saying, where I’m going. I might still be conscious or I might just wake up hours later with no memory of what happened.” He tried a thin smile. “I have two alters. The first one is a woman actually. She’s 42, or at least she thinks she is. She takes the economics course and helps a lot with housekeeping. The other is a man like me, same age, but he’s… He’s different from me. He’s got this sort of strict, intense sense of justice, is kinda protective of me, and he’s this silent, mysterious type. I can talk to them both. I do it every day. I mostly disguise it as talking over the phone but the voices are in my head. We… We share a body. Share a life. We get a long fine but it complicates life, as you can imagine.”

Simone just looked at him for a long time. Steven got more nervous by the second. “I… I don’t know what to say,” she said at last. “I never would’ve expected… You seem so normal.”

Feeling a bit encouraged, Steven smiled. “Well, I am the normal one among us, I guess. Some people, some systems have ten or twenty people in it. We’re just three but we’re all everyday personalities. Which means we are all out almost every day. The others know I’ve been meeting with you and they’re fine with it, that’s not an issue! A-And if you don’t want to, you won’t have to meet them for a while. We can just focus on each other. But... If this between us works out… It’ll come up eventually. They’re like my family, we live together… The more time we two spend with each other, the more likely you’ll meet one of the others. So, I just needed you to know that.”

“Are you… in therapy?” Simone asked. “I mean, can’t you do something about that disorder?”

Steven’s face fell a bit. “N-No… There’s not really a cure for it. Therapy can theoretically help to fuse the different personalities back into one but only if that’s what all of them want. And… None of us do. We’ve already reached the secondary goal by ourselves, that is to learn how to live with and communicate well with each other. Therapy would just... rip open old wounds." Steven lowered his gaze to his hands, wringing them a bit nervously. "It's... It's quite well known, in the field of psychology I mean, that... that this disorder is caused by childhood trauma. Which, I don't remember having any. But there must've been some for us to be like this. Like getting beaten up as a kid or something." 

"Steven..." Simone whispered pityingly.

Steven swallowed thickly. His chest felt tight and it was hard to breathe. He stared at his hands. They were shaking. He chuckled nervously, raised his gaze and raised one hand to show her. "Would you look at that? I don't remember a single bad thing about home. I could've sworn it doesn't bother me, even knowing what probably happened, 'cause... Well, it's over, it was so long ago, and I don't really have an attachment to the people involved. I'd have said we're over it. But... someone inside disagrees... I guess that's where dissociation comes in." He snapped his jaws shut, feeling like he’d said too much. He lowered his eyes again. “We don’t need a doctor. We’re fine the way we are.” That was what his Mum always told him, that he was fine the way he was. The one time Steven had mentioned therapy to Marc, he’d looked at him as if Steven had suggested Marc should shoot himself in the head.

Simone slipped her hand out of Steven’s and his heart sank.

“I… I’m sorry Steven but… That is a bit much. That… That is too much,” she said, looking upset.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Steven tried, though he had trouble making it sound as if he believed it himself. “My alters are both decent people, I’m sure you could become friends in time. And I’m still me for most of the day!”

But Simone shook her head and leaned back from him. “I don’t even know how you can say that, Steven. You’re telling me you literally turn into a different person, regularly, several times a day! One of which is a woman and one another guy I know nothing about, that – I’m sorry. That is too much.”

Steven’s shoulders slumped. Marc had warned him it would end like this. His Mum had been convinced it wouldn’t, had looked forward even to Steven introducing his girlfriend to her. He guessed his pessimistic side won that bet.

“It’s not like I chose to be like this,” Steven whispered bitterly. “And I told you, upfront, this is how it is. I’m trying to do everything right.”

“I know,” Simone said and stood. “I appreciate it, I really do. I’m sure it’s not your fault. But it just… I have my own dreams and ambitions, Steven. I want to find a partner that will be there for me whenever I need him. Not one who vanishes for hours every day to get replaced by a stranger. I want children, I want a family, and it’s hard enough to find one person I can trust with that – the chances that I can trust all three of you? Not great.”

“Maddy is great with children,” Steven muttered mutinously, not looking at her. “She raised me all by herself.” He wasn’t so sure about Marc but considering how careful his alter was to stay as far away from Steven’s life as he could so he ‘wouldn’t mess anything up’, Marc would probably treat any children of Steven the same way Steven would treat Marc’s lethal weapons: with excessive care and only as long as it took to get as far away from them as possible and push someone else front to deal with it.

Simone shook her head. “I’m sorry Steven. I can’t do that. I… I don’t think we should see each other again.” She pulled out her wallet, putting some bills on the table to pay for her food. “I hope you can find someone else,” she added quietly.

And then she was gone.

Steven remained seated, slumped over in his seat. A few minutes later the waiter came by, asking if he wanted anything else.

“No,” Steven answered hollowly. “I have all I’m ever going to get.”

Steven left the restaurant. And just his luck, it started to rain. He shivered in the cold, pulling his scarf tighter around himself. Then he pulled out his phone, sending a text to himself.

Steven Grant: Date went bad. Congrats, you were right. Don’t talk to me.

Steven retreated back into their shared mind, leaving it to Marc to take them home.

He soon found himself in his childhood home, standing on the porch. It was always sunny and always summer in here and his mother greeted him with a big smile. A smile that quickly fell when she saw how miserable Steven was.

“Oh my darling, what happened?” she asked and rushed over to him.

“She broke up with me,” Steven mumbled into Madeline’s shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. “She said she wanted a partner who was there for her always and didn’t turn into a stranger for hours at a time and she wanted children and couldn’t trust me with them.”

“Oh that silly woman. She has no idea what she’s talking about, she doesn’t deserve you,” his Mum said, caressing his hair as she held him. "Would you like some cookies?"

"No..." Steven sniffed. "Do you have ice cream?"

"As much as you want," she said and took him with her to the living room. She sat Steven down with a big bucket of comfort ice cream and listened with sympathy and some anger as Steven recounted the date. The ice cream didn’t have much in the way of taste – food usually didn’t in here – but Steven felt marginally better, clutching the big bucket to his chest.

About half an hour later the door to the terrace got ripped open and Marc practically stormed inside. Everyone looked up in surprise because Marc almost never willingly entered the house. At most he'd come to sit in the garden. But this time he crossed over with three long steps into the kitchen, a heavy scowl on his face. He stopped at the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the living room, taking in the sight of Steven, slumped over sitting on the couch with a bucket of ice cream and Madeline sitting next to him, one arm over his shoulders.

"Marc!" Madeline exclaimed surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, who's driving the body?" Steven added confused.

"Don't worry about that, I put it to bed. We're dreaming or... maybe comatose, that doesn't matter right now!" Marc's scowl deepened and a crease of worry formed on his forehead. "How are you, Steven?"

Steve wasn't crying (yet) which Marc took as a good sign. But he'd been pushed front so suddenly after Steven had made him and Maddy promise that they wouldn't interfere with his date. Steven's message nearly drove him up the wall. He wanted, needed to know what happened.

Steven sighed long and sad. "I knew it was a long shot but I... I really wanted it to work out."

"What exactly did you tell her?" Marc asked carefully.

Steven shrugged. "Told her about the DID. About you two. Basically, she thinks she can't trust me and that I have too much baggage to make a good partner."

"Did you..." Marc shifted, feeling highly uncomfortable but he had to ask. "Did you tell her my name?"

Steven rolled his eyes. "No I did not. I promised I wouldn't so I didn't." That had been Marc's one condition to allowing Steven to reveal his condition, that he wouldn't tell anyone Marc's real name.

"I'm sorry. I had to ask," Marc said quietly. "Nobody must know that Marc Spector and Steven Grant are the same person."

"Yes, yes, you have enemies that could come to try and kill me, I know." Steven glared at him. "I didn't tell Simone that. It wasn't necessary, she ran away way before that."

Marc's shoulders slumped. He felt an odd mix of relief and rejection. "I'm sorry," he offered lamely.

Steven scooped up a spoonful of chocolate ice cream and swallowed it, then stared morosely at the spoon.

"Did you ever love someone, Marc?" he asked.

Marc stiffened. "Do you... Did you...?"

Steven glared at him. "I've met her three times. She's gorgeous and way out of my league. I'm not a teenager, I didn't love her, but I... I loved the idea of her, okay? I wanted to have a girlfriend like her. I was amazed she even considered me. And now she knows how messed up I am and she left."

"You'll find someone else," Madeline comforted him.

"Will I?" Steven ate another spoonful of ice cream, frustrated. "She's... Simone was perfect. We like similar things, we could've had a future together, we have similar ambitions. She just couldn't accept that I come with an odd family. Maybe that's just something unacceptable for women." He looked at Marc again. "Did you ever make it work with anyone? When Mum and I weren't there, when you could just pretend to be normal?"

"I..." Marc drew a hand through his hair, feeling uncomfortable. He had never been normal. "Yeah. Twice," he admitted at last. "I mostly stuck to seeing people only one, two times, for, you know. But twice, I made it work for longer."

"What happened?" Steven wanted to know. He remembered his Mum mentioning once that Marc had lived with a girlfriend for a while. He couldn't quite remember her name and Marc had never mentioned her before. He wondered how serious they'd been.

Marc shrugged, trying to appear casual, as if it wasn't still a gaping wound in his heart. "Work got in the way."

Steven looked surprised. "Work? Not... us?" He motioned at his Mum and himself.

"No!" Marc took a step toward them, then remembered he hated being here and lingered just out of reach. "No, it... it had nothing to do with you. My first relationship… I was still a merc back then and he and I…"

Steven blinked and interrupted him surprised: “He?”

“Yeah. He,” Marc said and then refused to elaborate. “It was a regularly saving each other’s lives thing. It just happened. I quit merc work and that was that. The second… was a she. But it didn’t work out either. My new job was still dangerous, and it meant I was barely there for her. I couldn’t give her what she needed, what she deserved.”

"We make it work," Steven muttered mulishly, turning back to his ice cream. "We manage, despite your work. I manage to live a life despite your work, so why couldn't I provide for a partner too? You only work nights, why couldn't you make it work with a partner when I didn't yet take over days?"

Steven was visibly upset, though more frustrated than sad. Marc hesitated a heartbeat longer before he finally came over, sitting on Steven's other side.

"There are... other considerations than just time," he tried. "There's the danger, obviously. If you do ever get discovered and attacked, I'll take over and I can fight to get us out. We might have to move, take up a new name, but that is relatively easily done if we only have one life to worry about. If we had another person, one with ties to their own family, or worse, if we had children... It would be much harder. And if someone attacks the people we love while we're not around, I might be too late to save them."

"That's not fair," Madeline said quietly. "Neither of you should have to remain alone for the rest of your lives just because there might be danger."

"You could always quit it," Steven argued.

Marc stiffened.

"I'm not saying right now," Steven went on, "I'm just saying, in principle. You could've quit work when you found someone. You had enough money."

"I considered it," Marc admitted, "but it's not that easy."

"Why not?" Steven huffed. "You're gonna have to eventually. We can't keep playing bounty hunter when we're fifty or sixty. It's a physically demanding job and we're already past our prime!"

"No we're not," Marc said quietly. "You'd be surprised but there are plenty of mercs in their forties and fifties. Their experience makes them all the more dangerous. They might do less back flips and more sniper work but they're lethal nonetheless."

Steven's shoulders slumped. "So I'm damned to wait till I can date properly till I'm an old man?" he asked. "That's just... that's great."

"I'm sorry Steven," Marc said and meant it.

"Maybe you can find someone who doesn't mind," Madeline tried. "Someone who can defend themselves so they won't be in danger. Someone who doesn't have or want a family of their own."

Steven raised a brow at her. "What, like Marc brings home a secret agent or something? Why would anyone like that like me? Why would I like them?" He sighed. "Anyone who'd put up with Marc, I don't think would be right for me. So no matter what, one of us would be the third wheel."

"You could... date different people?" his Mum suggested hesitantly.

"I believe that is called cheating," Marc said quietly.

Steven agreed. "If Marc and I chose different partners, we're the cheater. If we chose the same one, they are. If only one of us dates, the other is cursed to be lonely." He sighed and ate another spoonful. "I don't know why I ever thought it could work."

"W-Well, there are couples with open relationships. There's a whole scene, you could at least try," Madeline said. "I don't want either of you to be lonely."

"I've gotten used to the idea," Marc said quietly. "I don't mind it if you date, Steven. I just don't want to see you hurt."

"Too late for that," Steven whispered, staring into his bucket.

XxX

"I need to get laid," Jake decided.

He'd woken up in a bed again. The last time felt like just a few weeks ago, with only about a dozen short instances of being thrown into brutal fights in between that left him with a few hours of time once he got rid of whatever bastard hurt his Marc. There had also been one very nice, very memorable instance of waking up to the sight of official divorce documents. Jake hadn't realized that Marc was ever married. He knew of Layla, knew that had been a thing that went on for a while, but he hadn't realized it was that serious. Knowing Marc was single again though made Jake feel all sorts of butterflies, even though he knew he wouldn't truly get to benefit from it.

This new apartment, Jake decided as he took a quick tour, looked much more like a place Marc would use - though he wondered about the library. Khonshu had no urgent mission for him - apparently Marc was completing his duty as avatar diligently - and yet Jake was here. There was no immediate danger, no heads to bash in. Which meant Jake had some free time on his hands!

The body was definitely frustrated. Jake worked it over for a good hour and damn, when was the last time Marc did some decent self-pleasure? He had some serious blue balls! Eventually Jake decided his own hands weren't enough so he went out to find someone just as horny as him.

Jake knew Marc didn't particularly care about gender but he personally preferred men. Well, one man to be exact. There really weren't a lot of guys that could hold a candle to the fucking adonis that was Marc Spector. Still, he could try looking for someone of similar build and coloration, maybe find an hourly motel with a big ass mirror...

Now with a plan Jake headed straight to the closest gay bar and within twenty minutes, picked out a victim partner. A few dances and a couple of shots later he got a very nice looking young man of probably Mexican descent with dark hair and kissable lips to follow him into bed. And, jackpot, Jake even found a hotel suite that had a giant mirror covering the ceiling of the bedroom. Clothes went flying, naked flesh was groped and Jake threw himself onto the bed, panting and excited. Looking over whathisface' shoulder at the mirror, he could almost imagine it being Marc that laid there nicely spread out, hotter than a summer day in the Sahara desert.

Jake pulled the Mexican down for a heated kiss... and had a crazy thought. You know what would be even hotter than fucking this stranger in his arms right now? ...watching Marc do it. Jake got super excited just thinking about it. He'd watched Marc being intimate before and it was always an amazing experience. It felt like ages since he last got to see it though. Which made sense since he was divorced now. He must be so lonely... How about Jake make him a little present?

XxX

What the fuck just happened?

One moment Marc was sitting on the couch in the headspace, comforting Steven as he suffered from heartbreak. The next he was in a dimly lit bedroom that smelled like tobacco, in the embrace of a complete stranger. A naked stranger. ("A hot naked stranger!") And oh yeah, Marc was naked too. ("Well, duh!")

Marc immediately pushed the warm body off himself and scrambled out of bed.

"Hey, what's wrong?" the guy asked as Marc hurriedly pulled on his clothes, trying his very best to ignore and block out the little voice whining in his head that very much preferred to remain naked.

"I have... somewhere to be. Sorry, bye," was all the said before almost fleeing out of what appeared to be a hotel.

His heart was beating wildly all the way back home, made worse by the fact that he had to take the bus because he had no idea how he'd even gotten to this place and didn't see his wheels anywhere.

When he finally did get home he was ready to pull out hair and pacing in the living room like a caged animal.

What the fuck just happened? He'd been in the headspace. He'd talked to Steven and Madeline. Madeline wasn't interested in doing anything outside unless it helped Marc and Steven. Steven definitely wasn't the type to hook up with strangers. Especially not males - Marc had never seen him express an interest in the same sex. It wasn't the first time Marc had found himself in compromising positions with naked strangers without remembering how he got there. But it was the first time it happened while not drunk and he definitely could account for all of his alters and what they, and he himself, had been doing in that time.

Which really only left him with one conclusion.

"Fuck," Marc muttered. He stopped pacing, standing lost in the middle of the living room, feeling like a heavy weight just settled on his shoulders. He looked around the room. At all the decorations Madeline had placed. At the three, four random books Steven had left lying around. This was their space. Where they all lived together. A family...

Marc closed his eyes and swallowed his panic. It was alright. It would be alright. They were doing good, great even, the three of them. What was one more? It didn't have to be the end of the world.

Marc dreaded having to deal with this. Steven would've told him if he had more than one alter, he would've told him if he had made up more. Which meant this new guy didn't come from Steven. Marc had no recollection of having created another alter recently, or at all. He did recall, now that he thought about it, several more instances of waking up in situations that didn't quite fit the mother-son duo in his head. So, this guy - or woman - had been around for a while. Did they know about Marc? About Steven? About home? About Khonshu?

Marc blinked. That last one, he could actually check.

"Khonshu?" Marc asked, putting his hands to his hips and pointedly not looking at any of the mirrors Madeline and Steven had positioned all over the room.

It took a couple of seconds for the god to appear. He was silent at first, just regarding him with his head tilted slightly until eventually he asked: "Why do you call, my avatar?"

Marc felt something ugly squirm inside his stomach. He'd never paid it much attention, the way Khonshu would just stare at him sometimes when they saw each other for the first time in the evening. The way Khonshu tended to refer to him as 'my avatar', or knight, or warrior, or fist. He'd just thought that's how he talked.

It had never occurred to him that maybe Khonshu did it because he wasn't quite sure which name to use. 
"You remember, when we made our deal, I specifically told you to stay away from Steven?" Marc asked the god sharply. "To not demand he do any missions for you, not talk to him, not even let him see you?"

"I do," the god replied simply.

"And then when I discovered Maddy, I told you the same rules apply to her. That you shouldn't make contact at all until either I call you or I use the suit?" he added. He didn't expect Khonshu to be able to tell his identities apart always, all the time. So that had been the best way to make sure the god never ran into any of his alters. Khonshu could sense it when Marc drew on his power by using the suit and since the others didn't know they had it, whenever he was in costume, obviously he would be Marc.

"I remember," the god confirmed.

"And you've kept that promise?" Marc asked.

"Of course. One of them saw me briefly the night after we first bonded. After that, I was never spotted again by either your bookworm, nor his caretaker."

Marc swallowed thickly. He remembered having freaked out when Khonshu first told him Steven had spotted him, that's why he'd made the rules in the first place. Of course Steven had never mentioned the incident so he wasn't sure now if it hadn't been Maddy. She hadn't said anything either so whoever it was, they'd likely brushed it off as a dream. Except...

"And have you ever been spotted by anyone else.... anyone living with me, in me?" Marc asked. "Besides Steven and Maddy?"

"You are talking about Jake," the god stated neutrally.

Marc's eyes went wide. "Jake?" he asked weakly. Khonshu even knew their name? "How... How do you know him?"

"Jake is filling in for you whenever you are too distracted to complete your duties," the god simply said.

Marc gaped at him. He had an alter who took over as Moon Knight?!

"A-And you never thought to mention that to me?!" he exclaimed angrily.

Khonshu had the nerve to shrug. "You didn't ask."

Marc had to turn around and take a few breaths in order to not blow up and start shouting at the god.

"Jake was avoiding contact with you. I did not want to break his trust by exposing him. Can I assume from your question that he's finally decided to reveal himself to you?"

Marc rubbed his temple, trying to chase away a building headache. "He left some signs that were impossible to ignore," he replied, suddenly feeling tired. "Not sure if it was intentional or not."

"I never insisted he had to complete your work," Khonshu defended himself. "He came by himself when you vanished at a most inconvenient time and saved your life. Afterward, he continued to be... eager to help. Though he proved to be most ill-suited for any mission requiring even a minimum of strategic planning," the god grumbled.

"Are you calling me stupid?!" Marc snapped.

"I wasn't talking about you. And you'll know what I mean when you meet him."

"Leave me," Marc growled without looking at the god. A moment later a random breeze signified that Khonshu had vanished.

Marc slumped down on the couch, head in his hands. A fourth alter... Marc couldn't deny that his life had improved significantly ever since he allowed Steven and Maddy to take part in it as much as they wanted. But their schedule was already tight, between Steven's studies, Maddy's financial research and insistence that they should live on home cooked food rather than take out and rations and Marc's own work for Khonshu. How was he even going to make room for this Jake guy? What kind of room did he occupy at the moment? Marc knew nothing about him except that he fought for Khonshu and liked to get naked with strangers. He could hardly introduce him to the others like that. Marc knew the obvious next step was to try and talk to Jake... But he was so tired. He just... didn't want to deal with this mess right now.

Tomorrow, he told himself as he headed for the shower. He'd try talking to Jake tomorrow.

"Ooooh... We have a date then!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 9 – Dating II

Steven was gone the next morning and Marc woke up alone in his head. He'd gotten so used to seeing only the twilight and night sky with his own eyes, it was disorienting to be thrust into the day like that. He was truly glad that it was winter break and he wouldn't have to fill in for Steven going to lectures and taking notes. He wanted to hand over the morning to Madeline, who also had some classes to prepare for. But when he tried to call her on the phone... He only got the answering machine.

"Hello love, this is an automated message. I am taking care of Steven today. You will be able to reach me again tomorrow. In case of emergencies, please visit in person."

Marc stared dumbfounded at the phone. He knew, of course, that the phone didn’t actually connect and this wasn’t actually a recorded message. He probably could prod her into paying attention to him if he really tried. Maddy's voice sounded overly nice but slightly uneven, as if she was distracted. It was the same tone of voice Steven sometimes used while speaking to his customers when he was also listening to Marc or Maddy talking in his head.

Marc lowered the phone and shook his head. He didn’t want to disturb Maddy if she was taking care of Steven. Even if his alter getting his heart broken couldn't have come at a worse time. Now Marc was left alone with the task of dealing with this new guy.

Marc rubbed his face. He'd gotten used to relying on his alters for a lot of things, too many perhaps, that he didn't want to bother with himself. They weren't just eager to help him, they demanded to be there because what bothered, upset or bored Marc, they found genuine joy in. Marc was fine being there, watching them go about their life, if he did not have to participate. His alters had grown on him as people, not just Steven but Maddy too. He enjoyed watching them, enjoyed watching them have fun and flourish. Could it be like that with the new one too one day?

Marc started pacing, pointedly avoiding looking at the mirrors. He didn't even know how to start. How to talk to... Jake. Honestly, he dreaded it a bit. The most childish, insecure thoughts filled his head and he felt himself transported back into the past, when he'd been a little kid, only just having realized someone else was taking over for him. Marc had created a wonderful person in Steven and he'd done that mostly through wishful thinking. What would an alter be like that he'd created accidentally? That had just kept... lurking in the shadows, like Marc had lurked in Steven's life? What if Jake was cruel? Reckless? What if he hated Marc? Purposefully went behind his back, ruining his efforts? What if he was suffering from depression or anxiety or any number of other mental issues? Marc knew he would be different but there was so much he loved about the two alters he already knew, he had a hard time imagining anything different that wouldn't be worse. He really wished he had more information.

"You know, if you have nothing better to do today anyway, you could just let me take over. I'll let you ride piggy back! Then you can watch me work."

Marc jumped, heart racing. Everything in him fought against the pressure rising in his head, every instinct screaming to shy away, to ignore it, to forget it was even there...

"Hey, it was just a suggestion."

The voice sounded offended, the pressure lessened and Marc was ready to pull out his hair or curl up into a ball or run up the walls. He didn't want to be in his skin anymore.

Jake grinned at him, one large shark grin full of teeth, eyes wandering up and down Marc's frozen form in the mirror hanging next to the couch.

"Well then, mi tesoro," Jake mocked him, "let's get going. Just you and me, hm?"

Marc found himself unable to answer, frozen, immobile and squeezed tight the way he rarely ever felt anymore with the other two. Jake though didn't expect a reply as he sauntered off and out of the apartment, not bothering to grab anything but the keys hanging by the door. Marc couldn't do anything but watch.

XxX

Jake was excited. A bit terrified, true, but mostly excited. Marc didn't say a peep all morning and Jake honestly wasn't even sure if he was still there by the time lunch rolled around. He was still acutely aware of the possibility though. It was a new feeling and Jake wasn't sure yet if he liked it or not. The whole day felt like prepping for a date with his first crush. Jake wanted to make a good impression but he had no idea what would make a good impression. His greatest worry was to be perceived as boring, because Jake was anything but! So he did his best to cram as much of his life into 24h as he could.

After leaving the apartment, Jake headed straight to his cab, parked a few blocks away. He changed into his regular clothes; comfortable jeans, a sweater that he should probably wash sometime, a worn and dusty jacket, thin gloves and of course his checkered cap. His first stop was at Gena’s café.

He greeted her loudly, cheerfully as he entered.

“Gena! Lovely Gena, you look amazing today!” he exclaimed as he let himself fall into his chair.

“Thank,” she replied surprised. “You look happy. Coffee?”

“Please. And it’s more – nervous,” he admitted quietly as she came over to fill a mug for him. “I’m being watched today.”

“Police finally got your trail?” she joked.

“Nah, they know to avoid me. I’m talking invisible passengers.” He tipped his temple with a grin, trying to mask his wildly beating heart. Gena was a great contact and possibly the first friend he’d made in London and he wanted Marc to know that. Know that he had friends, that there were people who liked him. But of course that was only half of the reason.

The café was in the worst part of town, which meant a lot of shady characters came by, especially after dark. Gena always had the latest gossip. And in this area, gossip meant unreported crimes.

“I need something big to impress them,” he whispered toward Gena and gave her the puppy dog eyes. “You know someone who’s in trouble, don’t you?”

“It just so happens I do,” she told him with a little grin. “Friend of a friend of mine has trouble paying back his dept. And with dept I mean protection money. His name is Blooms, and his little girl has been missing for two days. As usual the police is useless. If only a concerned citizen such as yourself took a look at the case.”

“I knew I loved this place for a reason,” Jake hummed and put a few large bills into the tip box. He finished his coffee quickly and bid Gena goodbye.

Then he started driving around the usual haunts, crack houses, homeless shelters, soup kitchen, until he found Crawley. Crawley, a mid fifties man with several teeth missing, usually seen wearing a moth-eaten coat and at least a dozen flies circling him, had all the underground connections one could wish for. Jake had build trust with him over several months with generous 'donations' to feed his drug addiction and get all the dirt on all the dirtiest men in town in return. Good thing Jake had no expenses besides gas and the occasional snack at Gena’s.

"Ah yes, I've heard of Bloom's misfortune," Crawley drawled when Jake described the case. "I believe he lives in the territory of the Green Stag Beetle gang."

"And you wouldn't happen to know where they have their headquarters?" Jake asked.

"You know I think I've heard a few whispers but I'm really not sure..."
Jake waved a fifty pound bill in his face.

"Crosby Road 67, I heard that's a place an honest cabbie like you should probably avoid. Bad neighborhood," Crawley said with a grin that showcased all his remaining five teeth. He pocketed the bill faster than Jake could blink.

"Awesome, knew I could count on you," Jake said with a grin. "Do consider spending it on a shower, hm?"

He clapped Crawley on the back, put a handful of quid in the empty coffee paper cups Crawley's three friends had pointedly put out and then left the merry band gathered under the bridge.

By now it was 3pm, not yet dark outside and Khonshu always got all prissy if Jake tried to don the suit during daytime hours. He didn't know why, the moon always shone somewhere but apparently it cost more energy to maintain the healing shtick or something. Anyway, Jake stored enough firepower and brunt force instruments in the back of his car to take out a SWAT team. So he geared up; bullet proof vest: check, his favorite gloves with steel-capped knuckles in the form of tiny crescent moons stamped on them: check, white jeans, jacket and ski mask: check, steel-capped combat boots, check, two 9mm with two extra magazines each plus silencer: check, machete: check, smelling salt to wake up fainting hostage: check, hairspray and lighter: check.

Jake stopped his cab in front of a five story, run down apartment building, probably full to the brim with gang members.

Now the fun times began.

XxX

Three dozen dead or knocked out thugs later, Jake's ears were ringing with the noise of gunfire and he was bleeding from about half a dozen probably dangerous wounds. Jake ripped open the door to the last room on the last floor (because of course) and spotted a small, maybe six year old girl sitting in the corner of a storage room with her hands and feet tied together. She stared at Jake with wide, fearful eyes. Jake realized he probably looked scary and so he crouched down in front of her to appear less big.

"Hi there, little one. I've come to rescue you and take you back to your Dad," he said, trying not to sound too eager - that little massacre had been fun!

"Who are you, Mister?" the little one asked.

"You can call me Moon Knight," Jake offered. He drew a knife, making her flinch but the little one relaxed a bit when he cut her ties.

The little girl reached out a hand to him hesitantly. "C-Can I see your face?" she asked.

Jake's mask was bloodied from coughing up blood, something having punctured his lung at some point. He didn't think what lied underneath would look much better but he tilted his head, allowing the little girl to push up the thin white fabric. She looked at him for a moment all serious, then pushed the mask back down.

"This is your face," she realized, patting his cheek, getting some blood on her little fingers.

"Smart girl," Jake said with a shark-like grin. She returned it and said: "My name is Sally."

Sally didn't struggle when he cooped her up in his arms, not bothering to position her in a way to hide the sight of all the bodies they passed on their way down. If she didn't want to see, she'd close her eyes. But sometimes, Jake knew, you had to know the bad guys were gone for good or you'd never sleep again.

Jake pulled off his mask as soon as he sat in his cab, glad that he always kept the seats covered with an old blanket. He stashed his now bloodied white jacket under the seat and threw on a black sweater instead to hide the open wounds. They hurt but he didn't bother dressing them, knowing it would be dark in just an hour or two.

The little girl he sat in the back and didn't say a word till Jake stopped in front of her home. 
"Well, that's your stop, missy," he said, nodding toward the apartment complex.

Sally didn't move. She just stared outside, lips trembling. For a moment, she looked more afraid than she had sitting in the storage room.

"Or, you know... I could take you somewhere else," he offered.

"I... I don't know where," she said in a small voice. "Daddy said I had to work hard if I wanted to come back. I'm glad I don't have to but I'm not sure if he'll take me back."

"Police station it is then," Jake said, starting up the car again without a second thought. "You know, I have a delightful friend, called Gena, whose sister Anne is something called a social worker. Do you know what that is?"

"N-No..." she said.

"Social workers are people whose job it is to help little kids like you who don't think they're welcome at home. Geez, I wish I met one when I was your age and my mom beat me up four times a week for crap like spilling food or some shit. Well, actually, I think I did once but I was stupid and lied to them and told them I loved my parents. If you're not stupid though, social workers can help you find a new home."

"Really?" Sally asked with wide eyes.

"Really. You go and ask the nice policemen to call Anne Landers. Tell her Jake Lockley sent you. She'll take good care of you and find you a nice family."

Sally waved to Jake when he dropped her off at the police station, smiling hesitantly. He waved back, checked the time and drove a few blocks before parking his car. A few minutes later he had exchanged his license plate, tossing it into the bag of used ones in the back. He’d have to stop by his favourite repair shop and junkyard soon to refill his stash. By now the sun had set.

"Finally," Jake grumbled and summoned the suit. Immediately all of his wounds healed and he stretched like a cat, happy about the lack of pain.

"Jake," Khonsu greeted him, appearing in a swirl of sand sitting on the roof of his cab.

"Hiya, jefe," he returned the greeting. "I was just off to have some fun with a Dad that sold his kiddie daughter to a gang to pay off his dept. Wanna peep?"

"...have you talked to Marc?"

"Briefly," Jake said and scowled. "Why? You wanna throw us a party?"

Khonshu scoffed. "I'm sure you will do that on your own. Word of advice, though? Don't be yourself."

Jake gaped at him, indignant. "Well it's a little late for that!"

The god disappeared in a swirl of sand and Jake huffed. Don't be yourself, what was that supposed to mean? That was horrible advice! It wasn't like Marc would just forget Jake existed, not now that he'd finally acknowledged him. What was he supposed to do, always pretend to be someone else? What would be the point of that?

"Stupid bird," Jake muttered and started climbing the fire ladder to his victim's flat. A few moments later he cracked a window with his superhuman strength and soon after found Sally's father. The man had good instincts because he looked terrified even before Jake started telling him exactly what he had in store for him.

Jake like this part. The power that came with having absolute control over the victim tied up on the chair in front of him. The satisfaction of their screams. Jake didn't hurt people for no reason though, oh no. He made them spill all of their crimes first. Jake had been very attentive when Marc had gone through CIA training. He knew how to hurt people just enough for them to tell the truth but not enough that they were so desperate for the pain to stop they'd be telling him what they thought he wanted to hear.

If all this man had done to Sally was neglect her, Jake would've stopped at merely pulling out all his fingernails and a threat of more to come if he didn't repeat all of that to the police. But that wasn't all he'd done and for every horrible crime this father committed against his daughter, Jake made sure to cut off bits of him.

In the end, he left the man castrated (obviously) and with his entire face peeled off. The flap of skin Jake threw into the trash bin. The other piece of flesh he stuffed into the man's mouth. By that time, he'd lost consciousness. Jake then had to do his least favorite part of the job, treating the wounds enough so the perp would not bleed out. It would be a shame for him to die when Jake had gone through so much trouble to make the rest of his life hell. Fortunately, he found a flat iron he could use for cauterization. He even went so far as to call an ambulance before he hopped out of the window and glided into the night. Wasn’t he a nice guy.

Anger and disgust was still rolling in his stomach when he got back to his cab and doffed the suit, which took all of the bloody traces with it. Jake was satisfied with his work but as he came down from his high, he took a moment to regret the fact that it was necessary.

Unwilling to let the rest of the night be clouded by dark thoughts, Jake switched his license plate again and headed toward the red-light district. Khonshu was right in one thing; Jake knew how to celebrate a job well done.

XxX

Marc woke up in his own bed the next morning. He was dizzy at first but memories of the day before quickly returned. Nausea boiled up inside of him and he rushed toward the bathroom, soon puking into the toilet.

"Marc, what-" he heard Steven ask and Marc panicked.

"Not now,” he snarled and squeezed his eyes shut, trying his hardest to press down on the presence. He felt Steven vanish and sighed in relief. The last thing he wanted was for Steven to see him right now, like this. Gods, he didn't think he could ever even look at Steven ever again.

Marc rinsed out his mouth, hands shaking. He headed into the shower and spend an hour scrubbing his skin raw without ever truly feeling clean.

“You know, as much as I like a nice long shower too, you’re acting kinda weird. Everything alright, compañero?”

Marc froze. That voice was deeper with a sort of flowing tilt and the hint of a Spanish accent to it. It was the voice from yesterday – Jake Lockley. The bastard was still awake? He dared to talk to him?

Marc got out of the shower, grabbing the edges of the sink like he was going to throw it and glared hatefully into the mirror.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Lockley?!” he exclaimed.

The face staring back at him remained his own but he could swear he saw movement behind him. “Y-You just said my name. Why do you look at me like this? Are you mad at me or something?”

Marc couldn’t help it, he gaped. “Am I – are you fucking serious!?” He grabbed the edge of the mirror, pointing a finger at the reflection like he wished he could poke the other’s eye out. “I’m fucking furious!”

His self image shifted just the tiniest bit, never truly moving independent the way Steven sometimes did. The other actually sounded baffled. “Why?”

Marc couldn’t believe it. This guy had to be joking. “You – you killed about half a dozen people yesterday, at the very least! You – you tortured someone. You went and showed your face, my face, to a witness and send her to the police, told her your name – which is apparently well known in the underworld!”

Jake was just confused and remained silent for a few moments. Marc thought he didn’t hear right when he eventually said: “I don’t understand… I thought you’d like that.”

“Why,” Marc hissed disbelievingly, “by everything holy in this world, would you think I’d like that?”

The other gave a little helpless shrug. It was weird because Marc somehow knew he shrugged even though the reflection didn’t show it. “That’s what you made me for, isn’t it?”

Marc stared at the mirror. “What?”

“The… The ugly bits,” Jake said, sounding more unsure with every moment. “Making people pay.” When Marc continued to just stare at the glass blankly, Jake started to fidget and explain. “They were all evil. You saw that, didn’t you? They kidnapped a little girl. What her father did to her, you heard, didn’t you? They deserved to die. Don’t you think so too?”

Marc felt cold. “That’s not up to me to decide,” he said hollowly.

“Why not?”

Marc shook his head. Everything was so bizarre. Why did he have to explain this?!

“Why not?” Jake repeated stubbornly. “We know what it’s like. We’re a literal divine champion. Khonshu never complained about anyone I killed-”

“And how many people have you killed?!” Marc asked hotly. “How long have you been lurking in my mind? Going behind my back! Why did you do that if you didn’t think you were doing something wrong?!”

Jake’s ears went red. Which again, weird – Marc couldn’t see him but he still knew. Like he could sense his gestures and expressions but they wouldn’t manifest visually.

“I didn’t…. It wasn’t because of that. I didn’t think…. Did you really not know I was there?” Jake asked.

Marc went even colder. There had been signs, it wasn’t like there weren’t but he’d… He’d chosen to ignore them. Too afraid of what he’d find.

“I don’t ever want you anywhere near the front ever again,” Marc said bitingly.

Jake had the nerve to actually look hurt. “Why?”

“Because you’re a murderer!” Marc shouted. “You’re a sadist, you enjoy inflicting pain, you’re dangerous!”

“But… so are you.”

Marc wanted to shout back, deny it, yell some more… But Jake didn’t sound angry. He wasn’t accusing Marc of anything. He was just confused. He… honestly didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. Gods, how twisted was this guy?

“I can’t have gotten you this wrong,” Jake said calmly. “I watched you. I studied you. I learned from you. You hate it when innocent people suffer. You want to make the bad guys pay. You’ve killed and you’re proud of all the many ways you can do so. I just wanted to help you. Why is that bad?”

Marc’s stomach twisted painfully with every sentence. It was true. Marc did think like that, in his darker moments. And then he’d think of Steven and Maddy and Layla and how disappointed they’d be and how they just wanted to be normal, and he just wanted to make normal work for them. When it never did for him.

“You enjoy it,” Marc replied with a glare. “That’s the problem, you – you have fun with it.”

“And why shouldn’t I enjoy something I’m good at?”

Marc grabbed a fistful of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. It was as if Jake was speaking right out of the darkest corner of his soul. Because it wasn’t like Marc never enjoyed it. Like he never had fun with it. He just had the decency to hate himself for it afterward.

“You endangered us,” he tried instead. “Your face – going in without the suit-”

“That’s what makes it exciting though, isn’t it?” Jake asked with a little smile. “The suit’s like a cheat code. Makes everything way too easy. Sometimes we have to fight ground level just to make sure our skills don’t get rusty. Khonshu bitches about it but you know he would heal us if we ever got seriously injured, moonlight or no. And as to revealing my face and name – Sally is what, seven? She’s not gonna be able to describe me well. And even if she did, this wasn’t the first case I took. They know me, at the police. They know to stay away from anything I got my hands on. I tie up way too many loose ends, clean up way too many streets for them to look too deeply into who I am.”

Marc’s hands on top the sink started to tremble. He had his own contacts at the police and he now wondered about the looks Inspector Flint and others would give him when he brought in a captive again – if they recognized him from one of Jake’s ‘cases’. If they had all known the darkness that slept within him.

“You killed people for money. You learned how to interrogate targets at the CIA. You always had a higher goal and I admire that about you, that you honestly seem to care,” Jake said quietly. “I kept to your code, for you. I never hurt an innocent. Even when they were fucking annoying. I never hurt anyone you wouldn’t hurt.”

“I wouldn’t have killed all those people,” Marc whispered.

“Would you have saved them?” Jake challenged him. “If it hadn’t been me, if it had been a partner, fuck if it had been Layla, would you have stopped it?”

No. No, Marc wouldn’t have. He didn’t give a flying fuck about gang members that kidnapped children, he just… He didn’t want that much blood on his hands.

"Did you even see the end of it? Did you hear everything he confessed?"

"I clocked out when you started to pull his fucking face off!" Marc snarled.

"Then you missed the best part," Jake complained. "All the stuff he did to his daughter. How well I covered my tracks. Oh, and the celebratory orgy too, that was great."

"I hate you," Marc snarled.

Jake flinched a bit. “I became like this because of you,” he whispered sadly.

“I never wanted that!” Marc snapped back. “I don’t want you, I don’t need you, I… I want you gone!”

Jake looked like a kicked puppy. “But… You made me like this. I did it for you.”

He sounded so sad, so hurt, that even Marc past all his denial and self-hatred felt a pang of guilt. He pushed past it.

“Don’t you ever dare take the body again,” he said coldly. “Don’t talk to me. And don’t you dare go anywhere near Steven!”

Jake looked physically pained, growing pale and then… and then he said the words that were the last straw for Marc:

“Who is Steven?”

XxX

Jake trudged through the doorway of his home, dragging his feet, shoulders slumped. 

"I'm home," he called out without enthusiasm. 

As he raised his eyes from the floor, he spotted Khonshu, wearing his white suit, only slightly covered in cobwebs, standing at the top of the great big staircase leading to the upper floor. He prepared himself for the inevitable and sure enough - "I told you so."

"Wow, that must've felt good," Jake scoffed. "Did you enjoy watching me get crushed?" 

"Did you enjoy getting crushed?" the god asked back. 

Jake's shoulders slumped further. "At least now I know," he muttered and started to drag himself to the drawing room. 

There was a house on a hill, once beautiful and great, a lavish manor with six bedrooms and other unnecessities like a drawing room, billiard room, and glass garden. Except everything was run down, broken, dirty and covered in cobwebs and dust. 

It was a Haunted House in the truest sense. And Jake Lockley was its ghost. 

(Khonshu didn't count as inhabitant. He was just squatting here.)

Jake let himself fall into his favorite armchair, waking a family of moths that fluttered out of the dark green upholstery. 

"I'm doomed," he sighed, feeling the weight of twenty boulders on his shoulders. 

"I don't know why you expected anything different," Khonshu scoffed, having followed his warrior and now standing with arms crossed in the doorway. 

"I don't understand it! I haven't done anything he hasn't done himself before!" Jake exclaimed frustrated. "Why's he mad at me?" 

"Marc is a hero, Jake. A knight. You are just imitating him. And badly, at that," Khonshu scoffed. "You don't have the heart. You follow the rules only because you know it is expected, not because you understand them." 

"Bravo, thanks for the pep talk." Jake glared at the god. "You don't have to tell me that Marc is better than me. I'm not a moron, I know that. I just..." He slumped a bit further, his gaze becoming morose. "I just wanted to be useful..."

"You would not exist if you had no use," the god eventually admitted grudgingly. "He would not keep calling upon you, whether consciously or not, if there was nothing you could do for him." 

"Then why's he not happy to see me?" Jake lamented. "I tried so hard. I held back. I only showed him my best." He buried his face in his hands. “I should’ve stayed inside…”

“...No. You should not have,” Khonshu disagreed eventually, though he sounded reluctant. “Marc kept the worm inside for many years and was miserable for it. I did not notice just how much until he stopped doing it. I may not understand your purpose and neither does he, but you have one. I am certain of it.”

“The worm? What do you mean?” Jake asked.

“The one he calls Steven,” Khonshu replied evenly.

Jake blinked. “Wait… you mean… Steven is like me?” Was that what Marc had meant? Jake had been pushed under before he could hear any further information on that name.

“Steven is the very opposite of you, I’d say. But he is in a similar position.”

Jake’s heart beat faster, something like hope blooming in him. “There are… others? I’m not the only one?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Khonshu scoffed. “There’s a reason you’ve never met them. You are on the other end of the spectrum, Lockely. You won’t get to them unless you can get past Marc.”

Jake could get past Marc. He’d perfected ‘getting past Marc’ to an art form over nearly twenty years of hard work. Jake could be sneaky. He could be patient, waiting for the right distraction. It might be harder now that Marc was actively on the lookout for him. But Jake felt seriously tempted to try precisely because of that. It was one thing to be banned from the front. He could live with that. He’d miss Gena and her boys and his car and maybe even Crawley but he could live with that. It wasn’t like Marc had forbidden him from watching him, and that was the most important thing. Jake wished for a moment Marc had never found out about him. Because for one precious day he’d had the hope that maybe, just maybe, this meant that Jake would finally get recognized. That he’d get a little thank you, a little smile, a little praise. He’d always known there’d be a chance that Marc would reject him but – Jake hadn’t even asked for anything. He hadn’t mentioned with a single word just how much he yearned for. He’d only shown him what Jake could offer. And yet the rejection had been so absolute, so full of contempt, it eclipsed all of Jake’s worst fears. And he still didn’t understand why.

There was no way Jake would make it worse by going directly against Marc’s wish and contacting this ‘Steven’. Even if he was really damn curious.

“How do I ever fix this?” Jake groaned. “There has to be a way. Khonshu, you have to help me!”

“You are seriously asking for my help?” Khonshu said.

“Pretty please?” Jake begged, putting his hands together in prayer, trying to make puppy dog eyes.

Khonshu looked disgusted.

“You are such a child. A mad little man-child.”

“Yeah, but I’m a mad little man-child that lets you live rent-free in their house,” Jake reminded him.

The god bristled. “It is part of the duty of an avatar to serve as vessel for their god!”

“Then why didn’t you move in with Marc?” Jake needled him. “Or this Steven guy?” His eyes narrowed to mean little slits. “It’s Marc, Khonshu. If I can’t… If he doesn’t want me, I… I don’t have anything to lose here. I’ll kick you out. I’ll tell Marc exactly how on board you were with all of my adventures.”

It wasn’t a particularly strong threat, he knew that. Khonshu tended to look down on him more often than not but at least he talked to him. Jake didn’t want to kick him out. He was way less lonely with the god here. If Marc didn’t want him and Khonshu left too, Jake would have nobody and he… He didn’t think he could take that. But Khonshu didn’t need to know that.

“I can’t help you, even if I wanted to,” the god argued. “Marc would sooner doubt his calling than take any advice from me regarding you.” Jake’s heart sank but before he could truly despair, the god added: “There might be a loophole through.”

“What? What do you mean?” he wanted to know.

“Marc has a third alter you haven’t met. They might be able and willing to help,” the god admitted.

“A third one?” Marc had only banned Jake from contacting Steven and forbidden him from taking the body. If there was another person living on the inside though… “Who are they?”

“I only know Marc calls her ‘Maddy’. She does not take possession of your body often when it is dark so I barely even know of her. But I understand she too only revealed her existence to Marc recently and their relationship progressed far smoother than yours.”

Jake immediately felt a stab of jealousy. “Marc… has a woman inside here?”

“Indeed. I could ask for her assistance in your name, if you’d like,” the god offered.

Jake fought with himself. He didn’t want the help of some woman if she… If Marc and her… Were they? Was that why Layla wasn’t there anymore? Jake hadn’t been a huge fan of Layla but it had been alright because she was outside and the outside was a different world. Jake was much less pleased knowing he had competition on the inside as well.

“Are they… Are she and him…?” he asked, mouth dry. On the one hand, yay, because it meant Marc was open to that kind of idea in general, on the other, sob, because it wasn’t Jake.

“I really do not concern myself with that kind of business,” Khonshu snapped. “I’m not you, I don’t enjoy watching my avatar when he deals with human needs when my presence is clearly not wanted.”

“So… you don’t know?” Jake clarified.

Khonshu huffed. “From what I have observed generally, she does not appear to be his – how do you humans say – type. You will have to ask her yourself to be sure though.”

That was something, Jake supposed and nodded slowly. “Alright. I… I would like to meet her then.”

Jake would do anything to try and get closer to Marc. Even if it meant sucking up to his potential girlfriend. Ugh, what Marc saw in the other sex Jake would never understand...

Chapter Text

Madeline stared at the sickly looking bird sitting on her windowsill. It was the size of a dove, with snow white feathers but it's claws looked sharp and wicked like that of a bird of prey. Around its head it was missing lots of feathers and it was so thin she swore she could see the bone through the skin. The long, curved white beak seemed better suited to skewering small mammals than picking at insects. 

And it had a roll of paper tied to it's leg. 

"Uh... Nice birdie?" she said hesitantly. She had no idea how, why or who would sent her a letter like this. It wouldn't be Steven because he was always nearby. (He'd recently decided he was too old to sleep in his old bedroom, even in the mindscape, so he was trying to build his own house next to hers.) It might be Marc because he didn't much like the house but he'd never done so before. Marc was fronting right now and if he wanted to contact her from there, it was always via phone. Maybe this was him trying to contact her while making sure Steven couldn't listen in? Earlier today Steven had complained that Marc had blocked him from the front even though it was morning. Her boy had spend the previous day moping but he'd been determined to get back on his feet and throw himself into his studies to distract himself from the disastrous date today. Now he couldn't do that so he was frustrated and started working on his blueprints for his own house. Material for it seemed to magically appear in the empty space next to Madeline's house.

The bird looked like it could easily bite off her fingers. She went to the fridge and looked for something to offer the animal. She did have some non-vegetarian ingredients for whenever Marc came by and fished out a shrimp from a shrimp salad she made yesterday. Hoping she might reach the letter if the bird was distracted with eating, she carefully placed it a foot away from it. 

The bird just stared at her. Then it clicked its beak in a way she swore sounded annoyed and stuck out its leg to her. 

"I - Oh, uh, thank you," she said, feeling embarrassed. Obviously a carrier bird would be trained! She untied the paper, which turned out to not be paper at all but... parchment? Papyrus? Was it from Steven after all? He liked old relics like that. 

The bird flew out the window immediately after she took the roll and she opened it carefully. The papyrus was filled not with Steven's small and meticulous script, nor Marc's blocky handwriting. Instead there were chicken scratches scrawled all over it, with inky spots everywhere that reminded Madeline strongly of the first time her Steven as a little kid had tried his hand at writing with a feather on the uneven surface of self-pressed paper. 

"Hi, my name is Jake. I'm a fellow inhabitant of our shared mind. I didn't know there was anyone beside Marc till yesterday. Can I get to know you? I need your help with something. If you agree to visit me, easiest way is to call a cab. 

Jake Lockley"

Madeline’s heart started to beat faster. There was another person living here? A third boy, next to Steven and Marc, sharing their body? She immediately felt torn – on the one hand there returned the same guilt and insecurity she’d first felt when she found out about Marc. How could she have missed a third one?! She was a horrible mother! On the other hand, this one wanted to get to know her. Marc had been so averse to the very idea of her presence at first.

But that note, about visiting this Jake… That was strange. This inner world Madeline was living in and occasionally sharing with Marc and Steven was some kind of metaphysical place, not a material plane. She couldn’t call a cab here. She could open an empty fridge, close it, open it again and it would have all the ingredients she wanted to cook a certain dish. However, she couldn’t just ‘wish into existence’ anything larger than a zuccini. Then again, Steven had truckloads of planks and building material appear at the construction site of his new house. So maybe Madeline could call a cab?

Hesitantly Madeline grabbed her phone. She didn’t know the number of any cab service but it wasn’t like she’d ever needed a number to call Steven either. So she simply dialed a number of zeroes. A very much electrical, automated voice asked for her address and time of pickup. Fumbling with her words, Madeline gave her address and told the voice she wanted to be picked up as soon as possible. She saw no reason to wait – she was nervous but also a bit excited.

Sure enough, not even fifteen minutes later, a black London cab pulled up in front of her house. Curious but a little cautious, Madeline grabbed her purse, scrawled a quick note for Steven just in case he came looking for her and approached the cab. She couldn't see the driver clearly as he had a cap pulled deep into his face. The door in the back opened automatically though. Maybe this whole thing was some kind of mechanism to move around the inner world that she had never discovered? Maybe she could visit Marc like this too whenever Steven was front? 

"Uh, hello," she said to the driver once she sat down. "I'm not sure how this works - I want to go see someone named Jake Lockley. I don't have an address though..." She checked her purse - she did have money, that was easy enough. She was a stay at home Mum after all, belatedly furthering her education now that her sons were out of the house. She needed money for groceries and supplies so of course she had some with her. 

“No hay problema", señora," the driver said. "I know the place."

The car started to drive, the radio playing some oldie rock songs. The cabbie hummed long to 'Highway to Hell' for a bit while Madeline stared out of the window, watching the endless dry, withered plains pass by. 

"So... You're Mrs. Spector, huh?" the cabbie asked eventually when the song changed. 

"Hm?" Madeline said, distracted as she was lost in thought, wondering what would happen if she somehow got stranded in this strange world. 

"That's the Spector house I picked you up from, isn't it?" the driver said. 

"Oh," she said, finally registering his words. "Oh no, my name is Magison. Madeline Ulena Magison."

"So how are you related to Spector?" the cabbie asked. 

Madeline wondered briefly how the driver knew whom that house belonged to, given that they weren't in the real world. Or where they? She looked down at her hands but no, those were her own hands, manicured and with peach colored nail polish. Maybe cabbies in the inner world still imitated the small talk real cabbies made? 

Madeline grew a bit calmer. She didn't usually do small talk in the outside but that wasn't for a lack of desire. She just always sounded off when she had to use the body. It was actually kind of fun to be able to talk to a stranger as herself. As she thought about how to answer his question though, her thoughts became maudlin. 

"I... don't really have a relation," she admitted. "Marc Spector is a good friend of my son, Steven. Sometimes he comes by to visit but... That's all." Marc still had not acknowledged her as his mother and she wasn't sure if he ever would or if it was even fair to expect that. 

"So... You and him are not together?" the cabbie asked. 

Madeline stared at the back of his head, aghast. "Excuse me?! I could be his mother!" She totally could be, if only he gave her a chance! 

"What do I know, maybe he likes them older..." the cabbie muttered. "We're there." 

The car stopped and Madeline looked outside only to stare. She looked at a sprawling two story house but aside from still having all walls and a roof, there was little to distinguish it from a ruin. The windows were either cracked, boarded up or just plain gone. There was no telling what color it used to be it was so faded where it wasn't peeling off the walls. The garden in front didn't look much better. There was a well and some trees and statues and every single one was a safety hazard with its cracked stone and overgrown with shrubbery. At some point clouds had moved to cover the permanently clear spring sky Madeline was used to. No wait, the darkness just came from the lack of sun. When had the night fallen? She was sure the ride hadn't taken that long! 

The cabbie left the car and then opened the door for her, theatrically motioning ahead. "Well señora, welcome to my home."

And it was only then, when the man raised his head and briefly lifted his cap in greeting, that she noticed he was wearing her son's face. 

She gaped at him. "You are Jake Lockley?" 

"Guilty as charged," he said, grinning. It was a wide grin with no humor to it at all, one that sent a shiver down her spine. She'd never seen Steven or Marc grin like that. It looked wrong. 

"And you live here?" she asked, slowly getting out of the car. 

When he nodded Madeline frowned deeply, glaring first at the house and then at Jake. 

"Well that absolutely will not do!" she said strongly. "No wonder you asked for my help. This place is a mess!" 

"... What?" Jake asked but Madeline was already marching up the dirt path. 

She was practically shaking by the time she stepped into the entrance hall - the door didn't even have a proper lock! 

"Oh my days. The dirt! The grime! The crawly things!" she exclaimed in horror. "I can't let this stand!" 

"Wait, wait a moment - that's not what I called you here for-" Jake tried, but Madeline couldn't hear him. She opened a side door Jake was pretty sure hadn't been there before, revealing a cupboard filled with cleaning utensils he was pretty sure he didn't possess. 

"You!" she said with a glare that actually made Jake flinch and thrust a broom into his hands. "Swipe the floor! I don't want to see a speck of dust when I'm done with the windows!" 

"B-But I like my windows," Jake tried to protest. 

"No buts!" she said harshly. "Get to work, young man!" 

Jake ducked his head, muttered "Yes, señora" and started half-heartingly swiping the floor. 

That woman, Jake decided after five hours, was pure evil. 

She threw out all of his broken furniture. ("But I sleep on that!") She put glass into all of his window frames. ("How am I going to get inside?!") She made him scrub the floor of all blood stains. ("Those are supposed to be decorative!") She threw out the skeleton in the wall cabinet. (That was actually Khonshu's, he would NOT be pleased about that!) She even made him destroy the cobwebs. ("It took me ages to collect all these!”) 

However, when she took a vacuum cleaner and aimed it at the spiders, Jake had to put a stop to her. 

"Noooo! Those are my friends!" he exclaimed, bravely putting himself between the hellish woman and a nest of recently hatched sac spiders. 

"They're filthy creatures!" Madeline shrieked. 

"No they're not!" Jake shouted back. "There’s Tibby and Frankie and Wilson and Mrs Wobblegum! I won't let you murder my friends!" 

Madeline huffed and put her hands to her hips. "They're vermin, Jake! Not pets."

"But...they're the only pets I can have..." Jake said weakly. "Mom would kill all the others. Like she killed Finn and Robert and..."

"...Gus," Madeline finished for him, eyes wide. She slowly lowered her weapon. She remembered how devastated Steven had been every time one of his fish ended up floating on the water. He'd tried everything but he just couldn't get the nitrite to go down. 

"These are... your pets?" she asked skeptically. Madeline hated spiders because they were a clear sign a place wasn't clean enough. Everything had to be clean. She got into the habit of cleaning up meticulously after her son because she knew he'd get shouted at by his gene providers if there was even the slightest speck of dirt to be seen. 

"Yes... Please don't kill them," Jake begged her and Madeline felt her chest clench. She had killed hundreds of spiders in the past in her attempts to keep her boy's room clean. 

"Okay I won't," she agreed and Jake's shoulders sagged in relief. "But Jake, it's not a pet unless it's confined. Can we at least put them in a terrarium?" 

"But... I don't want to lock them up," Jake protested weakly. "They're here because they like it, not because I force them to." 

Madeline rubbed her forehead. "This house is filthy, Jake. I can't stand it."

"It's supposed to be a Haunted House," Jake muttered mutinously. "It's supposed to be dirty."

"That's nonsense," Madeline snapped. "Abandoned houses are dirty. Haunted houses can be perfectly clean. There will just be moving pictures or objects changing places, stuff like that. Maybe a face coming out of a wall. But there's absolutely no reason for there to be dirt and dust and stains and - vermin!" She pointed at the spider nest. "There are plenty of arachnoids that like it warm and moist. Why not have an open terrarium with proper heating and jungle vegetation or something? The spiders will like it so much they won't even want to leave it."

"I... I guess..." Jake said unconvinced.
Madeline nodded decisively. She found a big rectangular glass container under the kitchen sink and they filled it with dirt from outside and leaves and sticks and at Jake's insistence, half of an overripe apple to attract flies. Then Jake gathered up all of the young spiders, carefully as if cradling something precious, and set them into the container. It was too small, he thought morosely, but it might do until the little ones were bigger.

"You did well," Madeline said when they were done and patted his shoulder. They were in the living room, which actually looked inhabitable now, even if the couch and chairs were still smelly. Jake was crouching in front of the 'terrarium', watching his little spiders crawl about. He didn't react to her words other than feeling faintly relieved to not have to clean anymore.

Madeline simply watched Jake, taking in many little differences in his appearance that differentiated him from Marc and Steven. There was stubble on his chin that Steven would never be caught with, more even than Marc occasionally sported. His hair was a bit shorter than either’s and there were less creases on his face. He looked... younger. Young and at the moment, very sad.

"Señora..." Jake said slowly.

"You can call me Maddy," she said immediately.

Jake glanced up at her. "Maddy. I don't know..." He looked back to the tank, putting one hand flat against the glass. "What am I?" he whispered.

"What do you mean? You are Jake Lockley," she replied. He'd told her so himself.

But Jake shook his head. "It's not a pet if it's not confined, you said." His shoulders slumped. "Marc keeps me confined. He said I'm never allowed outside again. But I don't think he even sees me as a pet. Pets are loved. He... I think he hates me. And I... I don't understand why."

Madeline's breath caught. Despite her revulsion over the icky spiders crawling all about, she sat on her haunches next to Jake. "You and Marc had a fight?"

He nodded slowly. "I don't get it. Everyone always says I'm weird. Or evil. Or filthy. You're the same! Why is it bad that I like my house to be dirty? It's a mind-house! It's not like I can get sick here. Why is it strange that I like spiders? They're friendly and keep away annoying flies. Why is it disgusting that I like to kiss men and not women? Women just have too many wobbly bits! Why am I bad for hurting an obvious sicko that rapes his own daughter but it's fine when Marc does it? I don't get it!"

Jake grit his teeth and his hands were balled into fists. He flinched when he felt a sudden touch at his shoulder, glaring at the offending hand Maddy put there. He looked at her and expected the same anger and disgust he was so often met with, the same she too had expressed when she first came here. But instead, he only saw warmth and compassion.

"I'm sorry for making you clean your mind-house," Maddy said softly. "I didn't realize you liked it that way, I thought you just lacked the discipline to keep it clean. I just wanted to help. But I should've listened to you." She stood and took a step back, giving him some space and a small smile. "It's not weird that you like spiders. Many people like them, I just happen to not be one of them. And there's nothing disgusting about kissing men or women, regardless of what you are yourself. That's also very common. I'm not sure about the last one... I think I'll need context for that. Was that what you fought with Marc about?"

Jake stared at her incredulously. She'd reminded him of Marc's mom when she ordered him around, which was likely why he'd obeyed without putting up much of a fight. He wasn't allowed to fight back against Marc's mom. Anyone else, but not her. He thought for sure she'd shout at him, maybe even throw him out of his own home if he confessed all the other ways in which he was bad. But she was still here. She was not mad. Maybe Khonshu was right. Maybe she could help.

Jake sat down cross-legged in front of the tank, Maddy joining next to him as Jake told her what happened.

"I always liked Marc. From the very start," Jake began quietly. "He was smart. Cute. He knew stuff. I was so lost when I first came to be. I didn't know any of the rules. I'd break them without knowing and people would shout at me and hurt me, and I'd fight back and then... Then Marc would be there and it wouldn't hurt anymore. He wouldn't shout at me. He'd leave me these notes, reminders what to do and what not to do. That's how I learned. I was an angry kid... I couldn't stand people looking down on me, or mocking me, or picking on the weak. I know Marc hated it too. He'd sometimes go and teach them a lesson and it's from him I learned how to cover my tracks. How to do the same. How to scare bullies enough so they won't tattle without making any threats I wasn't able to follow up on. At school, that was easy. Everything made sense. At home... it didn't. None of the rules made sense. I'd get punished for the weirdest things. For singing along to the radio. For putting my shoes to the left instead of the right. For holding my cutlery wrong. For breathing. I tried to learn the rules, I tried to follow them but there were so many. And I was doing so much wrong. I'd water plants that had already been watered and drown them. I'd pack the wrong stuff for school. I'd eat the wrong food. Everything I did was wrong. Worst was when Marc got punished in my stead. He... He made me. I owe my life to him. I thought... I thought maybe it was just borrowed. Maybe that was the whole point, that I had to give it back. So I made sure to be there, when she came but - she'd never actually kill us." Jake was trembling now, staring at his feet. 

"I wasn't allowed to fight back. That's always what he wrote, Marc, he left so many reminders, 'Make sure Mom's happy', 'Don't yell at Mom', 'Be a good son'. ‘Rule number one: Don't fight with Mom.’ So I didn't. I didn't understand that rule either but I kept to it. Marc knew what was going on, he was the only one who knew, he knew better. And then - and then we got out. And there were more people trying to hurt Marc. And the notes he left changed. He told me to survive. At all cost, to survive. To run if possible, to fight if not. And I did. I learned how to fight by watching Marc and I fought and I got good at it. People started praising him for things I did and I was... I was proud. I had found what I was good at. I thought I found my purpose." He relaxed a bit, leaning back against the tank and smiling a bit at Maddy, who listened quietly. 

"Marc and me were fighting side by side. It was awesome. War after war, contract after contract. We had a bond, I thought. I started to see him in a different light. He was powerful. Cunning. Brave. And damn, he grew up to be real sexy."

"You fell in love with him," Maddy realized, eyes wide.

Jake's smile fell a bit. "I don't know if that's the right word. Marc is... He's everything to me. I live for him. I'd die for him. He created me, he gave me purpose, he taught me and now..." He broke off, breath catching, eyes lowered again to his feet. "If he wants me gone, he only has to say it. If he wants me destroyed, I'll do whatever it takes to rip my own fucking heart out. It belongs to him anyway. But he just told me to go away, that I'm not allowed front and I'm supposed to keep away from Steven, whoever that is."

"Oh Jake," Maddy said and pulled him into her arms. At first Jake flinched back and tensed up. But there was no pain, she just held him loosely. Didn't even cut off his air. Instead she started rubbing circles on his back and he felt strangely... warm. So weird.

"I don't know what set him off," Jake whispered into Maddy's dress. "I didn't do anything he hasn't done before. He gave me the body for a day, to get to know me, and I only did the usual. I know he doesn't like people watching him. Hates it. Gets all paranoid about it. Especially when he kills people or when he has sex. That's why I never said anything, why I was real quiet when I was behind him. I didn't realize Marc didn't know I existed until we were... twenty or something. But that was fine, I knew we could never be together the way I wanted anyway, so it was better this way. If I told him and he didn't like me back, that would've been horrible. And if I told him and he did like me back, that would kind of be horrible too because we still couldn't be together. So I never said anything. But then he found out. It's not like I was trying very hard to hide, you know. He'd just always ignore any signs I was there. Until he didn't. So I thought I'd show him my best work. He wanted to watch me. I thought, maybe it was an opposite thing, that he hates being watched but really likes to watch himself? So I gave him a show. But he hated it. I didn't even tell him how I feel, didn't even tell him how much I watched him, and he still hates me."

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you... or that it's all a misunderstanding," Maddy comforted him. "Why don't you tell me exactly what you... worked on, that day?"

So Jake did. Explicitly and proudly. Eventually Madeline had to stop him and ask him to please leave out the details.

"I think I see where the problem might be," she said, looking a bit green around the gills and pulling away from Jake. Which shouldn't make him feel so cold but it did.

The woman sighed and offered Jake a hand, pulling him up and sitting him down next to her on the couch. Jake curled up there in a corner, hugging his knees, wondering if Maddy would hate him now too and get mad at him like Marc had.

She took a while to talk, seemingly finding the faded dark green pattern of the couch terribly interesting. At last, she said:

"You know how I said it's fine that you like spiders, I just happen to be the opposite?"

"Yes..." he said. Was she going to take that back?

"For me, spiders stand for uncleanliness. They make me go yuck. I don't like how they move, I could scream if they ever crawl over me. I'm afraid of them, even the non-poisonous ones."

"But-" Jake protested.

"I know, they're harmless," she cut him off. "I know, it's an irrational fear. Still, it's how I feel. You can keep as many spiders as you want in your home, Jake. It's your home. But if you invite over guests, it would be the polite thing to do, the emphatic and friendly thing to do, to put them out of sight so your guests will not be scared or feel icky. Putting them in a terrarium is a great way to do that. I don't have to go in the room they're in or can cover them with a sheet or something. I'm fine with them being there, as long as I don't need to see them. Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah... I didn't know you were afraid of spiders."

She nodded. "It's the same with your... sexual exploits. I really don't care who you sleep with. Whatever makes you happy, so long as every participant is a consenting adult, go for it. Just take precautions to not get sick or injured, please. And also, don't tell me details. Private things like that, I really would much prefer not to know about them. You share a body with my son Steven. I consider Steven my son, even though I very much hope I have nothing in common with his gene provider, the woman who hurt you and Marc. I care for Steven and love him very much. And while I really hope he finds someone he loves one day, I would not want to hear details about his sex life, not from him, from Marc or from you. That's just not the kind of thing I, as a mother, want to hear about, beyond teaching my children basic sex education. It's not something strangers would talk about with each other either. If you want to talk about it, you do so with a sexual partner, or perhaps with any siblings or good friends. I suspect Steven and Marc could talk about it, if they could get over the embarrassment of it all - but you do not yet have a relationship good enough to talk about it with either of them. Or me. It's not appropriate and makes us feel uncomfortable."

"So... I shouldn't have told him about the orgy?" Jake asked.

"No, no you should not have," Madeline said strongly. "Especially not after he told you he was not present for it. That kind of subject you should get invited to talk about or wait until you have a stronger bond. It is your body too so they don't have the right to tell you who to sleep with. But you do need to be considerate when it comes to leaving... traces on it, of such activities, as well as keep the details to yourself. Maybe announce what you're about to do if you know someone is watching so they can look away if they don't want to see."

"Okay..." Jake said slowly. "I can do that." That was a rule he could easily adhere to. Better yet, her reasoning actually made sense to him! He was suddenly very glad he had someone who could explain this stuff. Maybe he should take notes.

"Your... work, again, is similar," she went on. "A little girl was in danger and I believe we'd all agree that you had to help her. However, exactly how to help her, you, Marc and Steven would all have had different opinions on, both in terms of preference to your own involvement as well as the amount of... force and... blood that was really necessary or appropriate. For example, Steven likely would've just called the police the moment Crawley told him where the girl likely was hidden."

"But that would've been too dangerous," Jake protested. "The thugs might've killed the cops, they might've killed Sally or escaped with her as a hostage. And we never would've found out her father was abusing her!"

"I'm not saying it would've necessarily been the best choice of action," she admitted. "Marc likely would've saved the girl himself too, only I suspect he would've taken greater care to avoid injury and, as you said, wouldn't have killed the gang members. You went in there not knowing who these people were, what crimes they had committed in the past, if they were truly deserving of death or not. Personally I'm against the death penalty so I believe whenever possible, death should be avoided. But I do realize that is a privileged view that you cannot afford to have when you're fighting for your life."

"I wasn't exactly fighting for my life," Jake admitted. "I wasn't injured badly." Not enough to instantly kill him, at least. "But they didn't know that. If I die, Marc dies and nobody is allowed to kill Marc. I just figured, anyone that tries to kill me and thereby him deserves to die."

"I cannot speak for Marc," Maddy admitted, "but I know Steven pretty well. I know he wouldn't have minded you going in alone to save Sally, even if that would not have been his choice. He likely would not want to watch you get injured or injure anyone else, though. Again, you should make sure that is something that the person watching is alright seeing you do. It's their body that's getting injured, it can be a scary thing to watch that, especially if you have no control over it." 

Jake nodded. He understood that, he hated seeing Marc get hurt too.

"Marc complained about me killing those people. But he killed plenty himself in the past and I never had a problem watching that."

"Are the situations at all comparable, though?" Madeline asked. "Killing someone when you're really afraid for your own life or when someone is seconds away from hurting an innocent person is one thing. As per your admission though, you were not in danger and Sally was alone in a different room entirely. That's the difference in appropriate levels of force I talked about. Unlike personal preferences, like with pets and romantic partners, this truly is something that people can get seriously upset about."

Jake scowled a bit, remembering the people Marc had killed. The ones he'd tortured. They had been terrorists, suspected or proven mass murderers, that one serial killer who buried his last victim alive and he had to find her before her air ran out... Yeah, he could see how there might be a difference in stakes.

"Maybe Marc is more selective in who he kills," Jake admitted. "But I don't understand how that's different from the other examples. Why is me setting the bar higher when someone deserves to suffer or die any different from liking spiders over something stupid like chihuahuas?"

Madeline was quiet for a moment. She looked a bit disturbed at first but then her expression shifted into thoughtful.
"Sometimes," she said, "it's not enough to not see it. I don't like spiders but I don't have a phobia of them. If I had though, the mere knowledge that there is a spider in my house might have me run outside and make me too afraid to enter it. Neither Marc nor Steven are currently in a committed relationship - but if they were, just knowing that you, using their shared body, were intimate with someone other than their partner might upset them. Killing a person, taking someone's life, is a great crime. It is the ultimate violation of the self, the destruction of everything a person is or could've been. If it is done to a person who takes the lives of others, of innocents, of many innocents, it might be justifiable. But that is a case that, if at all possible, should be discussed, regarded from all angles and judged by an unbiased third party. Now in your line of work, that might not always be possible. But if it is, if there is the option to deliver them to a working justice system and have sufficient proof regarded, that is always the best option. At least that is what Steven and I think. Just knowing that you went against all of these convictions would upset him. And it obviously upset Marc too. You are your own person, Jake, and have a right to your own opinions and preferences. Following those opinions and preferences brings you joy. Not following them however would not upset you. It might frustrate or bore you but it would not truly hurt you. Now because of your unique situation with Marc and Steven, that right of yours becomes invalid when it causes hurt or upset for the other two. If it were simply a matter of preference, it's fine so long as they don't look. But if they feel very strongly about it, that is not enough."

"So... I shouldn't tell them at all?" Jake asked. "What they don't know can't hurt them?"

"Preferably, you won't do it at all," Maddy replied. "They will be doubly upset if they find out and you haven't told them. You might prefer to... permanently eliminate any threats to Marc's life because of the way you feel about him. But that is not what Marc wishes himself. You cannot truly claim to do something for him if it's the opposite of what he wants."

Jake nodded slowly. He thought he understood that. "Then I won't kill or torture people unless someone is about to die or Marc says it's okay?"

"You should check with Marc and Steven both about that." Maddy said decisively. "Steven has given Marc a sort of general allowance in making that kind of decision because he trusts him. That was done without any knowledge of what his job actually entails, though. So, I think we ought to revisit the topic for them too."

Jake didn't much care about this Steven guy that he'd never met or what his personal preferences were or whatever. But he liked Maddy and would play nice with her son if it was that important to her. Plus, Marc had warned him away from Steven too and he doubted it was because he was concerned for Jake.

"None of it matters anyway though," he sighed at last. "Since I'm not allowed outside anymore."

"Well maybe I can put in a good word for you, if you promise to be better. Do you understand now what you did wrong?" Madeline asked.

Jake nodded slowly, barely daring to hope. "I think so."

"Can you tell me, in your own words?" she demanded to know.

Jake struggled for a bit. Eventually he replied: "I overdid things. I wanted to show Marc my best. But the best wasn't just more enemies defeated, or more thoroughly, or even more sex. It's... quality over quantity? I should've checked with him beforehand how much was okay and not do too much, even when he wasn't looking."

"...close enough," Madeline decided. "You know, the way you found out about Sally in the first place, how you have all these friends in just the right places to find people in need, that was very well done."

"You think so?" Jake asked surprised. That was the boring part!

"I do. I also believe it says a lot about you, in a positive way, that you chose to use your day with the body to go out and seek people in need to help them. That was a very selfless thing to do, especially considering you don't get to have the body often at all," she praised him.

Her words made Jake embarrassed. "I wasn't really looking for people to help, just for bad guys to beat up," he admitted.

"But that's not what you set out to do," she said. "You could've asked where the nearest warehouse full of illegal drugs is or something."

Jake shrugged. "It doesn't count as a mission unless there's someone to protect," he replied.

"Is that a rule of Marc's or your own decision?" Madeline wanted to know.

"Not sure," he muttered. He was getting tired. All the cleaning and arguing and pouring out his heart made him exhausted. "It would be boring, I guess, to just go up against organized crime. They're just doing their job too. Following orders. Sure, they're still evil but... If Khonshu hadn't found us, that could've been us."

"Who is this Khonshu?" Madeline asked kindly. "Another friend of yours?"

"Hm? Oh, no. He's our God," Jake replied. "Have you not met him yet?"

And then he proceeded to tell Madeline aaaall about the vengeful deity.

Chapter Text

"Err, Marc? Why do we have an 'emergency meeting' at 5pm in our calendar in five days?" Steven asked, looking down on his day planer with a befuddled expression.

The last days had been a whirlwind of confusion for ordinary history student Steven Grant. First, he got rejected by his almost-girlfriend when he finally, for the first time in his life, trusted someone enough to tell her about his mental condition. Then, after totally not moping about it for a day or two, Marc wouldn't let him front. Not even to sit in the passenger seat. When Steven finally did emerge, four days had passed since he was last out. Marc was suspiciously taciturn, insisting nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all, he was just working, and now... Now his Mum was gone. He tried to call her this morning before he went to the library to ask if she needed anything and she didn't answer. That had never happened before. Marc swore he didn't know what was going on. Steven was tempted to go back inside and look for her, but he was wary that Marc would lock him out again.

Nobody was telling him anything and it was frustrating without end.

And now, this note in his calendar. 

"That's Maddy's handwriting," Marc said, sounding just as suspicious as Steven felt. Oh good, so at least he wasn't the only one.

"But why would she call an emergency meeting in a couple of days?" he asked. "Isn't an emergency, you know, urgent?"

"I have no idea. But I am worried, considering she booked three hours for it," Marc replied. "Did she say anything to you?"

"Nothing at all. It couldn't be about Simone, could it? I'll get over it, I just..." His shoulders slumped a bit. He knew he had worried his Mum with his unusually pessimistic outlook after the failed date. It still bothered him and likely would for a long time. It wasn't just the one woman breaking up with him. It was the realization that Steven might never find someone. That he might not even have the right to look for someone, both because of the dangers of Marc’s profession of choice and because being multiple complicated any sort of romantic relationship they could potentially have.

That last sentence needs major editing and I can’t do it there, so I suggest replacing it with this: That he might not even have the right to look for someone, both because of the dangers of Marc’s profession of choice and because being multiple complicated any sort of romantic relationship they could potentially have.
"I don't know, maybe. Maybe she had another idea how to hook you up with someone?"

"Ha ha," Steven said sarcastically. "What's she gonna do, sign me up on tinder? 'Hi there, mental patient with DID looking for a girlfriend. You get two for the price of one and a meddling in-law on top?'"

"I would go with 'Hot millionaire looking for tolerant life partner with interest in history and dusty books'. You were right to not bring out the big guns on the first date," Marc replied unironically. 

"You sure nothing happened while I was gone?" Steven pressed.

"I'm sure," Marc said in such a neutral tone Steven was certain he was lying. He just wasn't sure whether or not it was wise to call him out on it. Marc never told him any details about his actual jobs. It was suspicious that he wouldn't even say where he'd gone to but that didn't necessarily mean Steven had to know.

"Well," he muttered, "I better get a head start on my paper then." If his Mum wasn't going to use her designated study time, he could try and finish his early so he could hand over the body later for her to catch up.

XxX

In a Haunted, albeit not quite as dirty anymore House, Madeline sat in the dining room, sipping from a cup of tea. (She'd brought her own set from home, there was no way she was consuming anything from Jake's cracked, grimy dishes). Jake was animatedly telling a story, his mimic and gesture exaggerated and open in a way she'd never seen on that face.

"It was up in Canada, middle of nowhere, six hour hike to the nearest other house, since the roads were impassible for cars in winter. 2019, we'd been freelancing for the Company for about a year by then. The house used to be used as a hiding place for high ranking politicians in case of an attack but was abandoned after Bin Laden died in 2011. Anyway, we had these three agents, HYDRA agents you see-"

"What's a hydra agent?" Madeline interrupted him.

"Wha - oh, they're basically nazis. Except with more mad science and sometimes demons. They're super evil and Marc doesn't like dealing with them because of the butcher thing," Jake quickly explained.

"What's the butcher thing?" she wanted to know.

"You know. The Jew butcher!" Jake waved his arms around as he scrambled to fill in yet more holes in Maddy's knowledge. He was astonished how many there were given that everything she said sounded smart and wise. "There was a nazi deserter masquerading as a rabbi in our home town when we were little. He had his genes altered to age slower or some such and he was going around killing Jews. Marc ran into him skinn- I mean, doing bad stuff to some guy." At the very last moment Jake remembered to leave out the grisly details. He stuck out his chest proudly. "That was the first time I saved Marc's life!"

"That's... Wow, that was very brave of you. Did you kill the butcher?" Maddy wanted to know. She wasn't sure which answer she'd prefer. On the one hand, that sounded like a man she'd make an exception in her 'I'm against death penalty' rule, on the other, what did Jake mean when we were little? How young had they been?!

Jake's shoulders slumped. "No... I just ran away. But! I managed to pop his - err. I blinded him. Marc killed him seventeen years later. That was the first mission Khonshu gave us after we became his avatar. I helped though. Marc was about to back out because by then the guy was old and blind and in a wheelchair. But I found a bunch of pictures with victims dated back as little as a year and I made him sing and then Marc finished the job."

Maddy rubbed her forehead and put down her cup gingerly. Jake stopped, throwing her a cautious glance. "I'm sorry. Too much?" he asked. She said she wanted to get to know him and he had so much to tell. But she'd also warned him that she was unlikely to enjoy the same tales as he did. That she might have to take a break or ask him to skip some stuff.

"No, it's... It's fine," she said even though she didn't look fine. She looked rather pale, actually. "Steven told me Marc was Jewish but neither him nor I really ever noticed any of that back in the house. I had no idea Marc was...  confronted which such a violent demonstration of Antisemitism. And to live for seventeen years with the knowledge that such a monster was still out there..." It certainly put Marc's paranoia into perspective. Her heart arched for him. Jake did not appear very bothered by the memory, if anything he took pride in it. It was so odd how different these three men reacted to the same things.

"You were telling me where the Haunted House came from," she reminded Jake.

"Right. Right!" Jake said. "So anyway, Marc doesn't like nazis, or nazi-wannabes. These guys were planning an attack on the USA, like nine eleven only bigger, right? They had a nuclear bomb and our handler said these three guys might have intel on where it was heading, which we needed to know to stop it from going boom. We knew the date but not the location and we only had four days to get it out of those guys. Four days." He sighed dreamily. "It was a great time. Marc and I took turns. We were like good cop and bad cop. He would just waterboard and pry off fingernails but I would, bit by bit, cut off-"

"Too many details!" Maddy protested, holding up a hand.

Jake huffed, frustrated. This was the best part! "Sorry," he said, trying to sound contrite but wishing he could just lay it all out.

"It's okay. Go on, but please skip the torture," Madeline asked.

"Well, it was fun. Sort of romantic," Jake declared. "We got the info after the first day out of the first guy but stayed the rest just to make sure and verify with the others. We had to share the space with five other agents, that was annoying, they always got in the way. And they had weak stomachs, noobs. But the intel saved, like, billions of people and we got a shit ton of money for it. Marc got utterly wasted the moment we were back in civilization. I hooked him up with a hooker and we had a real steamy threesome, it was amazing. I wonder why it worked back then and not last week."

"The alcohol might've had something to do with it," Maddy said, not looking at Jake. "So, that's why you like this house so much? Because it reminds you of that... job?"

"I mean, the job was fun, but it was more like doing it together with Marc, you know?" Jake sighed and pulled a chair out for himself. "Sometimes I wish we could go back to that time. Just me and Marc. Before he started to work with partners or date or stick to local crime because Khonshu is mostly concerned with protecting those that are actively being ambushed at night."

"Right. Khonshu. The Egyptian god that gives you superpowers," Maddy echoed what she'd learned the previous day.

"You still don't believe me?" Jake asked, scowling.

She shrugged helplessly. "I mean, he's yet to show his face, so..."

Jake groaned. "I didn't realize he promised Marc not to reveal himself to you or Steven. Yet another thing I did wrong! I shouldn't have told you about him." That had been such a bummer, when he'd asked Khonshu to get out of the attic already and the damn bird just refused.

"No, no, it was good that you did," Maddy insisted and took up her tea cup again. "I'll have words with Marc about keeping that from me. I'm a bit suspicious of why he did though. You're sure this god isn't being mean to you? Or to Marc?"

"Not more than anyone else." Jake shrugged. "People generally find me annoying. At least those that don't fear me."

"Well, he's your employer, sort of, he shouldn't let you notice it even if he does find you annoying. Which you are not, by the way. You just need to learn how to better communicate."

Jake rolled his eyes and recited the lesson Madeline had spend a good two hours hammering into his head. "Evaluate your audience. Censor your information accordingly. Watch out for nonverbal cues. When in doubt, apologize and shut up until prompted to talk again."

"You are getting better at it," Maddy allowed. "You noticed when I became uncomfortable!"

He didn’t every time, but Jake made an effort to pay attention to Madeline instead of just mindlessly getting nostalgic.

"Khonshu likes Marc better than me," Jake admitted. Not that that was a big secret. "It was him he chose as an avatar, not me. I'm just along for the ride. But at least he does let me ride and he didn't rat me out to Marc."

Madeline just shook her head. She didn't understand why Jake and Khonshu (who may or may not be yet another prospective child for her to adopt) were taking orders from Marc. He wasn't exactly great at making big life decisions.

She emptied her tea cup and put it back on the table. "I believe that is enough for today's lesson, Jake."

"Y-You think? I can keep going!" Jake said. Tomorrow was the big day. Tomorrow Maddy wanted to talk to the others about possibly lifting Jake's ban. She thought they might want to talk to him afterward. Jake was really nervous about it, considering how his last attempt at bonding with his creator had gone. He needed more practice!

"It will be fine," Maddy reassured him. "You are going to great lengths to make sure Marc comes out of his various dangerous adventures alive. Don't mention how much you don't care if you are the one who gets hurt. You have a strong sense of justice. You just sometimes go overboard. Apologize for that and promise to take the other’s feelings into account before acting in the future. You are... free-spirited when it comes to love and affection, which is absolutely not a bad thing in itself. It might even help the two of them to get another perspective. They really did take their lack of romantic success rather hard. But these are all things that will come up naturally as you get to know each other. Don't overshare, just dial it back a bit and maybe wait until you are asked, or offer to tell them something and see if they want to listen. Basically, don't talk about murder, torture, orgies or near death experiences unless someone explicitly asks you to. Unless it's a policeman, lawyer or psychiatrist, don't ever mention that to those types."

Jake nodded along to her words, trying his best to memorize everything... but then stopped.

"But... if I leave all of that out... What would I even talk about?" he asked with a pang in his chest. "That's... all I really do."

"Oh, silly child, no it's not," Madeline chided him gently. "You have perfectly ordinary friends in the outside world. Which honestly, is more than the others can say. You have ways of getting information that doesn't involve hurting someone. You also spend a lot of time watching Marc, accompanying him on his missions, don't you? You may not actively use the body then, but you still experience things. You have thoughts and opinions you can share. Remember that talking about yourself is only half of the conversation. There are plenty of things you can ask the others to learn more about them too."

"Okay... So basically, I just need to be my most boring self?" Jake asked.

Madeline nodded happily. "Yes, exactly! Your most boring is plenty exciting for other people. You start low and work your way up when you think you've reached a base level of acceptance."

That didn't sound particularly fun. Jake felt like he had so much to offer. Like he'd spend a lifetime learning the art of weapon making and forge the most perfect sword in existence but everyone only wanted to hang it onto the wall because it looked nice. Or worse, they called it a trash sword only good for cutting vegetables.

But it was better to only be used as a veggie knife than being thrown into the trash. If the one wielding him was Marc, he could be alright with that.

Madeline packed up her tea service in a plastic bag that she put into her purse. Jake, as usual, offered her a ride back home. She had come by his house every day for the last couple of days and with every trip the time it took to drive back and forth appeared to be shorter.

Since Steven was usually fronting in the morning when she left and asleep by the time she returned late at night, she hadn't seen much of him lately. However, when she stepped out of Jake's cab today, her son was there, sitting on the porch, nervously tapping his foot. His head snapped up when he spotted her and he stood, looking both anxious and relieved.

"Thanks for the ride," she told Jake quietly, who took the hint and drove off, though not before throwing a curious glance at Steven. Never once in all of their meetings had Jake even implied that he might be willing to go against Marc's verbal ban that forbid him from going anywhere near Steven or the front.

"Mum! You're back," Steven said relieved and they shared a hug as she came into the house. "Where have you been? And was that a cab?" Steven asked incredulously. 

"It was and I've been busy... teaching," Madeline settled in, smiling at her son. "I'll tell you all about it in the meeting. We should have Marc there for it."

"Why? What's he done? He said he didn't know where you were either! I just had your note, reading you were going out but you weren't fronting - I was worried!" 

"I'm sorry I worried you," Madeline said regretfully. "Truth be told, at first I didn't know either what would come out of it, what I should do, if I wouldn't need help. I was just trying to gather as much information as possible before I told you." 

"Told me what?" Steven asked, exasperated. Why was everyone always leaving him in the dark? 

His Mum took his hands into hers, squeezing them lightly. "I discovered that there's another person living down here with us."

Steven's eyes widened. "Another person? Like... Like Marc?" 

"Well, technically, Marc doesn't live down here, at least I don't think so considering he never invited us over to his place. But yeah, there's this house a few hours drive from here where someone else lives."

Steven slowly sat down on the couch, trying to work through his shock. "So... You've been spending all this time getting to know this guy? And I'm only learning about this now? Does Marc know? Wait, blimey of course he knows, that's why he's been weird for the last week!" 

"Jake and Marc had a fight that I believe resulted in a lot of hurt feelings," Madeline explained. "And you had that unpleasantness with Simone to deal with. I thought it would be good if you all had some time to settle before I brought up Jake again. And..." She sighed and cupped Steven's cheek. "You're my darling, Steven, my sweet son. I had to make sure he was safe for you to be around. Jake is... eccentric and easy to misunderstand. I believe his heart is in the right place, but he needs a lot of guidance. He lacks a basic understanding of social norms and rules and that can be off-putting or even hurtful. I had to teach him the most basic things because... Nobody ever took care of him."

Steven let out a deep sigh. "You'd adopt a stray dog if one came running your way. But I understand. I'll be nice to Jake."

"I know you will be," Madeline said gently because she knew she'd raised her son well. 

It had never been Steven she was worried about. 

XxX

"Alright, what's this emergency meeting about?" Marc asked. He was sitting on the couch, the large standing mirror to the right next to the coffee table and Steven's smartphone propped up against the bowl of fruit standing on the table. Steven was visible in the former, mirroring how Marc sat in a way that almost felt as if they were sitting side by side. Madeline joined via video call, as usual. However, instead of answering she said uncertainly: "Uhm, do you mind if I take the body?" 

Neither of the others had anything against it. Madeline shifted to front, put away the mirror and set up their laptop instead that they used for the uni. Marc and Steven soon appeared there in a split screen, each in their own video window. 

"Alright." She cleared her throat. "There are a few things I would like to address. First of all, I have a question for you, Marc."

Marc raised a brow at her, regarding her warily. "Yes..?" 

"Are you the avatar of Khonshu?" Madeline wanted to know. 

Marc stared at her blankly. 

"Wait, what?" Steven said. "What's an avatar? You're not talking about the glowing blue aliens, are you? And what's Marc supposed to have to do with an Egyptian god?" 

"That's what I'm asking," Madeline said quietly. 

"Where have you heard that?" Marc asked carefully neutral. 

"I'll get to that. I would just like to know if it's true," she replied. 

"If what is true? What does it mean?" Steven demanded to know. 

"Khonshu, if he is real, of which I have yet to see any proof, is supposedly not just the moon god of a long dead religion," Madeline explained, "but also a vengeful spirit set on punishing people that commit crimes and hurt innocents. Supposedly an avatar is a mortal chosen by a god to serve in his mission. In exchange they get a power affiliated with said god, in this case, accelerated healing." She looked directly at Marc. "Does that sound at all familiar?"

"...Yes," Marc admitted eventually and closed his eyes for a second. "I've been his avatar for almost six years now."

Steven looked shocked. "Wait so... Your employer is a god? An Egyptian god? But you're Jewish!" 

Marc let out an amused huffed. "Yeah well, beggars can't be choosers."

"And did you tell Khonshu that he should not reveal himself or interact with Steven and me?" Madeline asked. 

Marc's expression soured. "Lot of good that did."

"I don't get it," Steven said. "Why would you not tell us that? I actually feel loads better knowing you got great medicare. Do you have any idea how worried I am every time you go on a job, thinking you might not make it back one day? How good is that healing power?" 

Marc blinked. "Uh... Anything short of instant death heals over within seconds. I never lost a limb, but I regrew an eye once." 

"I did not want to know that," Madeline muttered, paling a bit. 

"That's... Really useful." Steven's brown creased in worry. "Do you still feel the pain?" 

Marc shrugged uncomfortably. "Yes. Not after it's healed though."

"And how exactly does this god decide who should be punished?" Steven asked. 

"... He hears prayers," Marc replied after a moment of hesitation. "Khonshu doesn't have any power of his own. He can only affect the physical world through an avatar. So he sends me to take care of things."

"There are actually people who pray to Khonshu?" Madeline asked skeptical. "In London?" 

"Not directly," Marc replied uneasily. "But when people are desperate... They just pray to whoever will listen, you know? And it's not all prayers, obviously, just the ones in the night. And I can't teleport, which means it's just prayers that either I can get to in time to help or..."

"Or?" Steven urged him on. 

"Or whatever happened is so horrible, Khonshu sends you there anyway. To avenge, rather than rescue," Madeline finished for him. Marc bit his lip but then gave a curt nod. 

"Wait but... That means every night you don't go out, someone who might need rescuing will... not get rescued," Steven realized. 

"Yeah," Marc said quietly. "I'm well aware of that. But like I said, my mobility is limited. Anything outside of London is a stretch. Sometimes there really is nothing to do. Sometimes I stumble over something big, something I have to work on for several nights. Even if that means not doing any regular patrols. Sometimes the info I get is precise enough I can even give an anonymous hint to the police and move on. Sometimes I just wander and I see people in need who won't or can't ask for help."

"And how... I mean, how did that happen?" Steven asked quietly, his fascination dampened by Marc's serious tone. "Why you?" 

Marc rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. "My last job as a merc lead me to Egypt. To an excavation of Khonshu's last intact temple. It was supposed to be an easy security job, but things went wrong. I ended up bleeding out in the desert, and he ended up with his temple robbed, which lowered his spiritual connection to the material plane or some such. Point is, he needed an avatar ASAP and I needed healing."

Beggars can't be choosers, indeed. But there had to be something more to the partnership for them to keep it going for half a dozen years already. 

"Why didn't you tell us?" Steven wanted to know. 

"Aside from the obvious?" Marc asked with a scowl. 

"We wouldn't have believed you without proof," Madeline agreed. "I'm still skeptical even now, hearing it from two different sources. I can understand that you don't want us there when you're working. You get hurt frequently and you don't want us to see you like that, even if it is to show us your supernatural power. But why did you forbid Khonshu from showing himself to us?"

"He can do that?" Steven asked surprised and a bit impressed. "Order a god around?" 

"Not usually," Marc admitted, his ears going a little red. "It's the one condition I placed. In return whenever he says 'jump' I go 'how high?'" 

"Blimey. You're an actual superhero," Steven said, floored. "Shouldn't we then, like, move to Egypt? Or to some other country where more people need saving?" 

"Please don't," Marc said very quietly. 

"I think it's best to leave the decisions concerning the superhero thing to Marc. He's the one who has to deal with it, and he has the most experience," Madeline said gently. "But I, and I think you'll agree Steven, would like to make sure that if you do need our help, for whatever reason, you can have it. If you need extra time with the body - or less time with the body, to relax, or if you can make use of our knowledge, we want to be there for you." Steven nodded along eagerly. "And I would like to meet Khonshu. If only to get a better idea of what you're dealing with."

Marc grimaced. "That's not necessary. I... I don't want him thinking he can demand the same things from you as he can from me. You two are the only reason I get any peace at all." 

Steven snorted. "I'm sorry, but can you imagine my Mum trying to beat up robbers or whatever? What's she gonna do, clobber them with her purse?" 

... She probably would, if she ran into one, knowing she had super-healing. But Madeline admitted it might not be the most effective (or impressive) way to deal with that kind of situation. 

"It's not like crimes are only committed during the night," Steven said. "I’m not going to look for trouble but if I happen to witness a crime, I would try to do something about it, I think. And when I do, I’d like to know I have a god on my side. I'd still call you for help if things got dangerous though."

"You would?" Marc asked doubtfully. 

Steven rolled his eyes good-naturally. "Of course. We help each other. That's the point, innit? I'm definitely brushing up on my hieroglyphs though and I will expect you to show me ancient magic stuff if you come upon it. I'll be very cross if you don't!" 

"... Okay," Marc said quietly. He was sporting a small, soft smile that made Madeline want to hug him and squeeze him tight. She even considered calling it a day and leaving on a good note but... She'd made a promise. 

"I'm glad we cleared that up," she said softly. "That means we can move on to the main topic."

Marc blinked and then stared at her baffled. 

"Are you saying you didn't call the meeting because you found out about Khonshu?" he asked, incredulous. 

"Right," Steven said and snapped his fingers. "I forgot about Jake."

Now Marc turned to Steven to stare at him aghast. "How do you know about Jake?!" 

"I told him just before we started the meeting," Madeline revealed. "See, you banned Jake from approaching Steven, but you forgot to also forbid him from talking to me. And neither did you forbid Khonshu from telling Jake that Steven and I exist. They're both surprisingly loyal to you but apparently that doesn't mean they won't look for loopholes." 

"Those bastards," Marc growled. 

"Why don't you want Jake to talk to us?" Steven asked. "What's wrong with him?" 

"Nothing," Madeline stated at the same time Marc exclaimed: "Everything!" 

Madeline glared at Marc and then recounted a (heavily redacted) version of what Jake had told her about the way Marc had found out he existed. 

"Jake never had anyone to teach him right from wrong," she explained. "I raised my Steven and Marc's childhood, albeit far from perfect, still provided a basis for moral conduct. He could also watch you, Steven. But Jake emerged with no memories prior to his first awareness. He didn't have anyone to learn from but Marc. However, he only saw Marc at a time of great need. Plus, Marc didn't realize Jake was even watching and thus couldn't properly teach him. As a result, he considers the violence integral in Marc's line of work to be... normal."

"Oh my days," Steven said, face falling. "He's an alter permanently living in trauma. I read about those, poor guy. He doesn't hate us, does he? Please tell me he's not self-harming."

"What Maddy is trying to say," Marc said and glared at Madeline, "and I have no idea why you're trying to paint him as a victim here, is that Jake is a fucking psychopath. Which you'd know if you talked to him for even five minutes!" 

Madeline looked affronted. "Excuse me, you talked to him for five minutes. I spend a whole week getting to know him. He's not a psychopath. He very much cares about you as well as all the people you regularly rescue. I believe that if we all work together, we can teach him what's acceptable behavior outside and what isn't."

Marc shook his head incredulously. "You don't know what he did."

"Yes I do. He told me. In far too much detail, might I add," Madeline said with a frown. 

"What did he do?" Steven wanted to know. 

Marc and Madeline were both silent for a moment, neither knowing quite how to answer. At last Maddy replied: "He went out of his way to look for a day job that aligns with Marc's usual duties. It involved rescuing a seven year old girl first from human trafficking and then from the abuse at her home."

"That's... not so bad. That's good, actually," Steven said with a confused frown. 

"He also killed at least half a dozen people and tortured the girl's father," Marc snapped. "And then he went to celebrate. By having an orgy."

Steven sputtered. "Excuse me, what?!" 

Madeline cleared her throat. It sounded rather bad when listed like that, but she knew it wasn't all that much considering what else he'd done in the past. "Like I said, he had no concept of proper rules or restraint. But! I explained to him at length what he did wrong and why and he was a good listener. He understood at least half of it and after just one week. I think he's redeemable."

Steven groaned and buried his head in his hands. "He killed someone? Really? Oh my days, I think we need therapy..."

Madeline thought whoever attempted to treat Jake would need therapy almost more than he did. 

"Unfortunately, that's not really an option," she told her son gently. 

"Why not?" he asked weakly. "Marc's right, that's not just a little ill-adjusted. That's a major no-good."

Marc had gone very quiet, avoiding looking anyone in the eye. Madeline shot him a sympathetic glance. She knew he too had killed and even tortured people, albeit under different circumstances and with higher stakes. 

"Any therapist would lock us up immediately," Marc whispered. "And I'm sorry but... I can't allow that. Not as long as I'm Khonshu's avatar. The best we can do is make sure Jake never fronts again."

"Which wouldn't be terribly hard," Madeline added seriously. "Whatever you told him, Marc, it really hit him hard. He didn't understand why you were mad. Even so, you forbid him from fronting, and he just took that as law. He wasn't trying to make things difficult. He was trying to help."

"So...He won't sneak out serial killer style or something?" Steven asked hopefully. 

"If we explain to him that that's not acceptable, no," Madeline said convinced. "He had no idea that Steven and I existed until last week, but he's always known about you, Marc. And I think what he wants most is your approval. He even said if you wanted him dead, he'd try to just... stop existing. Which I'm not sure is even possible, but the point is, if you tell him to do or not do something, he'll listen. Even if it hurts him."

She let those words settle for a moment, watching as Marc clenched his jaw stubbornly and Steven grew thoughtful. 

"I'd like to get to know Jake," he decided at last. 

"Steven, no!" Marc protested. 

The other shook his head. "I'm sorry Marc, you might be an expert when it comes to fighting bad guys, but when it comes to our mental health, you have a rather bad track record. You kept me in the dark for years and I may have been safe, but you were obviously reaching your limit. You were too stubborn to talk to Mum or even just listen and wasted years in which she could've supported you. We're doing so much better since we all started working together and I know you feel that way too, don't try to deny it."

"I don't but - this is different," Marc protested. 

"I'd like to form an opinion on that myself, thank you very much. A new alter is something that concerns us all. We should decide together, fully informed, whether to give him a chance or not."

"We aren't a democracy," Marc snapped. 

Steven tilted his head. "Perhaps not. If you are Jake's anchor he might not follow me even if I tried to smuggle him out on a majority vote. Not that I intend to do that,” he added quickly. "But I believe we should at least regard this subject from all angles before simply dismissing an entire person. Especially since Mum vouches for his... redeemability. She's a rather good judge of character."

"No she's not," Marc growled. "She thinks we're all children she has to love unconditionally."

"Excuse me," Madeline protested. "You make it sound like that's a bad thing! What's so wrong with offering a bit of love and acceptance to someone who's never experienced that? Especially if that might make them a better person?" 

"It just makes you vulnerable to people who don't deserve it!" Marc shouted hotly. "Have you ever considered that maybe Jake's taking advantage of your kindness?" 

Madeline looked down with a frown. "Marc, I'm disappointed in you. Jake has saved your life and thereby Steven's multiple times, a few of which I'm sure not even you remember. If we don't give him a chance, nobody will and everyone deserves at least one chance. I'm not even talking about a second one. He's never had any because he didn't know any better. We can change that."

Marc groaned, looking thoroughly unhappy and somewhat defeated. Steven kept looking at him expectantly. 

"I need you to say it, Marc," Madeline said sternly. "Will you let us talk with Jake and Khonshu?" 

"Yes Mom," Marc bit out with an extreme amount of reluctance and sarcasm. Madeline though simply smiled brightly at him. "Thank you." That was the first time Marc had ever called her Mom. It made her feel all warm inside. Maybe one day, he'd mean it. 

"Finally!" 

"Gah!" Madeline made and nearly fell off the couch, Steven echoing her surprise when all of a sudden, a two meter tall, mummified bird-human-hybrid-skeleton appeared in front of her. 

Madeline switched out instinctively and Marc emerged, holding his head that felt dizzy from the sudden change. 

"It's about time! All this walking on eggshells around you was getting annoying," Khonshu complained. 

"That was unnecessary," Marc growled, glaring at the god. "You startled her. And what did I say about spying on me? We were having a private conversation." 

"Oh my, are we having a collective hallucination? Or is there a dead bird-person in our living room?" Madeline asked shakily. 

"... I think the correct term might be deity," Steven said slowly. "I have so many questions."

"I have no interest in your private life, so long as it doesn't affect your duties. And your worms being this clueless definitely does. I can't even ask them to give you a simple message," the god huffed. 

"Hey, let me talk to him," Steven demanded. 

Marc sighed and rubbed his temple. The last thing he needed now was Steven getting into a theological debate with the irate deity. "Steven, I really don't think now is the time."

"No actually, now's the perfect time," Steven insisted and pushed forward. 

For a moment Marc hesitated but he had said he'd allow it. 

Steven blinked, staring up at the skeletal figure. 

"Blimey, you're tall!" he burst out. 

"Is that all you have to say?" Khonshu asked annoyed. 

"Well, no, no it's not." Steven scowled a bit. "I actually wanted to say thanks for giving Marc healing powers and saving our life and all that. But then you had to go and be all rude about it. We don't appreciate it. We're having a major breakthrough in the mental health department here. You could at least pretend to be supportive."

"Do you have a point or are you just blabbing?" Khonshu snapped. 

Steven's scowl deepened. Fearlessly, he leaned forward, regarding the god as if he was a particularly interesting artifact. "Question. I get that you had little choice when you picked Marc as avatar. But you could've switched to someone else, couldn't you? I mean, you're not stuck with us forever because your temple was desecrated, are you?" 

Khonshu huffed. "Of course not. With my blessing my avatar can pass over his duties to any successor I approve of."

"But you stuck with Marc," Steven said again. "So it's still fair to say you chose him. Now I'm sure he's good at what he's doing - I don't know, could be my ego talking, I've never actually seen him fight. What I'm curious about though is - did you choose him despite or because we're many? Or did that not matter at all?"

"At first, it did not matter because he had you all under control," Khonshu said imperiously. "I was quite annoyed when you emerged while Marc was supposed to work on an important mission. The more he interacted with you worms during the day though, the more effective he became at night. You may not have much value on your own. As you strengthen my avatar though, I will accept your presence."

Steven leaned back, crossing his arms in front of him. He had a rebellious glint in his eyes that worried Marc. "So it's despite then. I figured as much - and it's understandable, really. You need a soldier, not a history student. Gosh, you probably know human history way better than even my professors. But I'm telling you now - as someone who definitely puts great value on human life and will always be all for protecting the innocent - I'll never allow Marc to see the light of the moon again if I so much as get a vague feeling that he doesn't want to go out for work. Whether it's because he's tired, or he's sick of getting injured or he doesn't want to deal with your nagging or heck, even if he just feels like doing a movie marathon instead. Marc's well-being has to come before the mission. Do you agree?"

"Steven... " Marc moaned. It wasn't like he didn't appreciate his alter standing up for him. He did, in fact it made him feel all fuzzy warm inside. But he was also a bit terrified because that could go horribly wrong. Steven had no idea what Khonshu was capable of. 

Khonshu leaned forward, beak almost touching Steven's face. "I am not someone who would discard such a useful tool needlessly," he said with a fake friendliness that sent a shiver down Marc's spine. "You, sheltered child, don't know what darkness lurks in this world. There are many causes worth sacrificing a human life for. Many adversaries that, if Marc hadn't defeated them with my help, would've killed millions of innocent people. He serves a greater cause now. To be an avatar is not a job. It is a calling. And sometimes, sacrifices have to be made."

"Not Marc," Steven said stubbornly. "You don't get to play him like a pawn. If he wants to stay inside, he will and he can!" 

"Ah, you misunderstand me," Khonshu said mockingly. "It's not a sacrifice if I force him to do anything. That's what I like about him. He can never stand it for long to see innocents suffer. That's the difference between a hero and a cowardly bystander."

"What did you just call my son?!" Madeline shrieked, pushing Steven aside and taking over. She jumped to their feet. Madeline attacked Khonshu with her raised index finger, practically sticking it into his ribcage as she verbally ripped into him. 

"Oh, I knew you were no good, I knew when Jake told me Marc forbid you from talking to us! Evidently you don't know a thing about us! Just because we mutually agreed to leave the dangerous situations to Marc to handle does not mean we can't be brave ourselves. What, you think Steven never faced a fear of his? You have any idea how much it takes for him to put himself out there every day in the spotlight? To openly talk about or even just research his condition, with as much prejudice as this society has? You think he's never tired, studying such complex subjects and doing it all in less than half the time other students get? And he's still among the top five of his semester group! If you truly see the value he brings to the table for your great avatar, then I suggest you show that by having some respect!"

Marc was very close to delving back into the subconscious, which was as close to dying from embarrassment as he could get. 

"Insolent woman!" Khonshu snarled. "How dare you talk like that to me?!" 

"I'll talk to you however I damn well please, Mister!" she snapped. 

"Maddy, please stop," Marc said weakly. "You don't have to like him but fighting him isn't helping."

Madeline huffed, putting her hands to her hips. "I don't like how he talks about us. Or you for that matter, like you're just a weapon."

"That's literally what an avatar is, what he agreed to be, the Fist of Khonshu," the god said with a deadpan. 

Marc pushed forward, relieved when Madeline gave up control without a fight. 

"Thanks for your support but really, that's unnecessary," Marc told the two now back in their respective reflections. "Khonshu and I have a mutually beneficial working relationship. He may be somewhat rude off duty, but he's never let me down on a mission. You don't have to put up with him at all if you don't want to. Just leave it to me."

"I think I much preferred being an atheist," Steven grumbled. "You can tell your undead fairy to stick it where the sun doesn't shine." 

Marc choked a little. "I'm not repeating that." 

"It might take some getting used to," Madeline said reluctantly, "but I suppose if we can deal with Jake, we can deal with him too. He's right in that it's quite inefficient if we can never serve as an in between to you. But if he resorts to name-calling, I'm throwing him out!" 

"He called us worms, seriously!" Steven complained. 

Marc groaned, squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple. "Guys, just look at him. He's using bird related metaphors. It's not meant as an insult."

That at least shut them up for a moment. "I knew this was a bad idea," Marc muttered, then opened his eyes to glare at Khonshu. "On that note, how come you don't have a problem with Jake? He's clearly hurting people just for fun."

"He only targets evildoers," Khonshu replied simply. 

"He dishes out excessive punishment," Marc snapped. 

"Sometimes," the god allowed. "But he also keeps you alive. And I like you alive."

"It's getting rather late," Steven chimed in, "and you had a working night yesterday, Marc. I really want to meet this Jake now. Why don't we all go to sleep or maybe leave the body to Mum, since she already spent time with him, and we two go and say hello to him together?" 

Marc really, really didn't want to. But he also definitely didn't want Steven to meet Jake on his own. 

"Steven wants to skip a moon night so we can meet Jake together," he told Khonshu, secretly hoping he'd say no. 

But as much as the god praised Marc's skills, he clearly wasn't on his side because he replied: "Very well. I expect if you and Jake can find a working arrangement, you will become even more efficient. Call me if I can aid in any way."

With that he vanished in a light breeze, leaving Marc to the daunting task of confronting his dark side. 

Madeline nudged him aside. "I'll take you to bed, love. You go and give my greetings to Jake. And be patient with him, will you? I coached him as best as I could but remember, he doesn't mean to be upsetting. He just doesn't know better."

Yes Mom, Marc thought with a mental eye roll and a bit less heat than last time. Maddy sure was bossy today. He wondered how Jake had reacted to that. He knew she meant well but Marc was used to connecting orders given by older women and disappointed looks with physical discipline. He knew Maddy wouldn't, couldn't hurt him even if he fell short of her expectations. A part of him still dreaded disappointing her though. It was, strangely, not out of fear though. He just... He really hated the way she looked at him earlier when he insisted that Jake was a lost cause. 

Maybe she was, slowly, reviving the withered part of him that yearned for a family. 

Chapter Text

Marc opened his eyes to the sight of a sprawling desert, tinted red in the light of a setting sun. In front of him, there was a great tent, made of thick leather and covered in dust. Various tools, buckets and brushes were lining the path to the entrance as if a whole excavation crew had recently abandoned the place. 

Steven stood right in front of it, moving the tent flap with a grin and entering without hesitation. Marc followed him quickly, heart racing. Inside, the tent was easily big enough for ten people to stand in. There was a cluttered desk with three chairs in one corner and an old fashioned, black monster of a phone on it, a shelf with books and some bottles next to it and the ground was covered in soft red carpet and plush orient-style patterned pillows. 

"Well... This is new,” Marc said, taking in the scenery. He'd never seen a place like this down here. 

"It's the first thing that came to my mind,” Steven admitted, smiling and brushing a hand over the desk. "Hey, you can't blame me, talking about and to an Egyptian god and all. I have no idea what the new one likes... I can change it if you don't though."

"No... It's fine,” Marc said and gave a little smile of his own. The tent looked like a set piece straight out of Tomb Buster. 

"You make places like this a lot?" 

"Sometimes. I've been experimenting. I would've taken us to my home, but it's not quite done yet,” Steven said. "The rooms still tend to change and shift. It'll take a while for them to settle in a fixed form, I guess. Snapshot places like this are easier. Single use only, I'll probably forget too many details to reconstruct it again. They're hard to travel to and from within the mindscape though. Only exit is the front or blackout."

"Which isn't an issue since we'll be asleep soon anyway, if we aren't already,” Marc surmised. More quietly he added: "It's certainly a better place to meet than Maddy's place... or mine." 

Steven looked up startled. "Your place? I thought you didn't have one down here!"

Marc didn't answer for a moment, fiddling with a looking glass on the table instead. 

"No, I do,” he admitted at last. "I'm just not there often. And it's not... It's not set up to be visitor friendly."

"But it's a place you like?" Steven asked with a scowl. "You know you can decorate it however you want?" 

"I know,” Marc replied neutrally. "It's a sanctuary. I just... Don't go looking for it, okay? It's meant just for me."

Steven gave him a piercing look, as if judging whether to trust him or not. At last, though, he nodded. "Alright. Only thing I'm not sure of is how to get Jake here. I can usually reach Mum and you via phone, though, so I'd start with that."

Marc nodded. "Phones work for me too. I got an idea how to get him here."

Marc stepped over to the desk, hesitating for one last moment before he grabbed the phone. 

XxX 

Jake was not moping. Nope, absolutely not. He was just bored. He'd refereed three spider races, jogged around and inside the house a dozen times, making sure to drag plenty of mud in and played soccer with the garden gnomes. 

The waiting was killing him. 

Maddy would tell him if it went bad, wouldn't she? She'd at least come by once to say bye? Or maybe she wouldn't. Maybe after talking to Marc, she too would realize Jake was good for nothing and she'd never want to see him again. 

Would Khonshu tell him? The old bird had been suspiciously quiet for a while. Jake hadn't even seen him in hours. But Khonshu wouldn't just vanish, would he? He lived here! He had no other place to go inside the mindscape. Unless Maddy invited him to live in the Spector house, but he couldn't imagine that either. He'd stick out like a sore thumb and Maddy cared about stuff like matching colors and furniture styles and shit like that. She wouldn't allow a skeleton to walk her halls. 

Jake's tastes obviously ran in the opposite direction, but Maddy had had one really good decoration idea. Jake had never bothered to try putting any pictures on the wall other than the few faded, cobweb-covered ones that had been there in the original house. So now, his house had framed pictures on the walls. 

Mostly pictures of Marc. With explosions in the background, him all in leather with sweat glistering on his bare arms like he just stepped out of an action movie. Marc's profile with the cape of the suit fluttering dramatically behind him as he crouched on a roof top under the full moon. Marc, victorious, standing over the broken bodies and bones of his defeated enemies. Stuff like that. No nudes though, in case he got visitors, because Jake had listened to Maddy's lessons! (He kept the nudes nicely plastic wrapped in his secret drawer.) He did keep a Marc calendar on his wall in the bedroom though with a new very suggestive pose each month...

The pictures didn't usually move though. And neither did they talk to him. Usually. 

"Jake." 

"Huh? You're talking to me?" Jake said, pointing at himself as he narrowed his eyes at the poster. The two foot tall action movie Marc, looking real sexy with his dark scowl, glared at him. 

"Obviously,” he snapped. "I talked with Maddy and Steven. No idea how you did it, but she seems to think you deserve a chance. Steven wants to meet you so get your ass over here." 

Jake gaped at the mini-Marc. Was that his own wishful thinking telling him what he wanted to hear or was this real? 

"How... How do I get to you?" he asked. Was he supposed to crawl into the picture? It wasn't that large but if he squeezed a bit, he might fit through. He'd end up right on top of Marc though. Hmm, yummy...

"Look for a trap door near where you are. In a basement or any dark corner,” mini-Marc said. 

"Will do!" he said, giving Marc a thumbs up before he scrambled to look for a trap door. He did find one hidden under a carpet underneath the stairs. He was pretty sure there had been no door here before, the basement didn't even reach that far. But as he opened it, heart racing from the prospect of seeing Marc again, and in person no less, he found a staircase leading downstairs. Jake started to climb down but halfway through, he suddenly grew dizzy. The world seemed to tilt in a disorienting way and when he looked up... He did not see the mouldy ceiling of the Haunted House. Instead he saw two faces similar if slightly older than his own looking down at him in front of the background of a tent dipped in orange and red light. 

Jake knew immediately which one of them was Marc. Everything about him was so familiar. The other one, albeit wearing the same face, was completely wrong. He stood relaxed instead of tense, smiling brightly instead of frowning and even offering him a hand to pull him out of the basement. 

Jake ignored the hand, only having eyes for Marc as he slowly emerged from the darkness. Damn, seeing him like this was nothing like watching him in the mirror. 

"Maddy's not here?" he asked, feeling nervous as he let his eyes wander around the unfamiliar environment. 

"She's fronting,” Marc said curtly, arms crossed in front of him. 

Jake nodded. His mouth was dry and he drew a blank as he scrambled to remember what he was supposed to do now. 

"Hi, I'm Steven. Steven Grant,” the other said then, rescuing Jake, who now remembered - right. Introduction. 

"I'm Jake Lockley,” he said, reciting what he'd practiced with Maddy. "It's nice to meet you." He offered a hand to Steven awkwardly, shooting a glance at Marc as he did so just in case he had something against it. He thought he saw Marc's jaw clench unhappily, but Steven smiled and shook his hand. 

"Nice to meet you too. We wanted to clear up a few things with you and maybe, if things go well, get to know you better. That alright?" 

Jake blinked at him. Steven did not appear afraid or repulsed by him. His tone and manner of speaking actually reminded Jake of Maddy, except he was much nicer looking. He relaxed a bit. "Sure. You can ask me whatever. Can't promise you'll like the answer though."

"Jake..." Marc said warningly. 

"What?" Jake returned the gaze warily. Had he done something wrong already? He thought back to his lessons but it was no use, Marc's eyes practically sucked him in and his knees were getting weak. Steven was saying something, but he couldn't hear what and Marc kept glaring at him and - then Jake remembered. 

He snapped his fingers. "Right! I'm supposed to apologize for the killing and the torturing. Sorry about that. I won't do it again, unless you say it's okay or it's the only way to keep us alive. Uh, that is, if you ever change your mind and let me out again. Which you don't have to. I'm fine being inside, just... I'd like to at least keep watching?"

"Wow,” Steven said after a few baffled seconds, impressed. "Mum was right, you're really bad at this."

"What? Why? What did I say?" Jake asked.

Marc shook his head. "That was the least convincing apology I ever heard."

Jake's shoulders slumped. He felt put on the spot and didn't like it. "Was it? But I am sorry,” he promised.

"Because Marc forbid you from fronting?" Steven asked. "Or because you actually regret doing it?"

"Uhm... both?" he tried. He regretted it because it had led to Marc being mad at him and locking him out.

"See what I mean!?" Marc said, motioning towards Jake exasperated.

"I do,” Steven said slowly. "It's a concern." He stepped closer to Jake, regarding him closely, making Jake feel like a bug pinned under a microscope. "You said you won't do it again. Because Marc didn't like it?"

Jake looked over at Marc helplessly, who gave him no cues. He wished Maddy were here. "Yeah?"

"What if Marc said it was alright and I said it wasn't?" Steven asked.

"I'd do it,” he said immediately. Marc was scowling harder, which made Jake add nervously: "I mean, if you're actively fighting over it, I could wait to see who wins the argument?"

"And if I said to do it but Marc said not to?" Steven kept asking.

"Which wouldn't happen,” Marc snapped.

"But if it did,” Steven insisted calmly.

"That... depends,” Jake said, sweating a bit. He didn't want to say anything wrong. Maddy hadn't prepared him for weird hypotheticals! "Are we talking random passerby or enemy trying to stab us?"

"So he can think for himself." Steven leaned back a bit, looking satisfied. "What I don't understand is - why? You clearly have your own opinion. Why would you discard that for whatever Marc wants you to do?"

"Don't let him get any ideas,” Marc growled quietly.

"I won't,” Jake said hurriedly. He had to think back to his spiders and how Maddy had made him put them in a tank so they wouldn't scare visitors like her. Jake would be fine with that. He would be fine being Marc's pet, his dangerous blood hound, obedient but raving mad and bloodthirsty when it came to defending his owner. He'd do anything to be at his side.

"Why do you listen to him?" Steven asked, curious. "Why do you care at all?"

"W-Well I... "Jake squirmed again under Steven's gaze. Maddy had told him to be honest but to censor himself. But how could Jake possibly explain what Marc meant to him without descending into an hour long rant about how awesome he was? How small Jake felt next to him? Like Marc could swallow him whole any moment and consume him entirely and Jake would enjoy that too?

"He created me. Gave me life. Purpose. I just... I just love him,” he settled on with a helpless shrug. He'd always imagined himself saying that to Marc while presenting the severed head of his arch nemesis or something. This was decidedly un-romantic and from the way Marc's scowl impossibly deepened even further, he hadn't liked it either.

"You mean... He's like a father to you?" Steven asked, tilting his head.

"Ugh, no!" Jake exclaimed and grimaced.

"That would be fine,” Steven insisted. "Madeline is like a mother to me."

He'd rather compare her to a strict teacher but whatever.

"It's not like that,” he protested hotly and then he did ramble after all and it somehow wasn't as scary as he'd thought it would be so long as he talked to Steven and pretended like Marc wasn't right there.

"Marc's the most perfect being in the universe! He's smart and cunning and super cool and he always has a plan. The way he lurks in the shadows, just before jumping on his prey! The way he'll just walk calmly or stand there, letting his enemies' fear grow as they see him, it's so cool!"

"So... you like how he fights?" Steven asked confused as Marc looked aghast. 

"I mostly see him when he fights,” Jake told him. "But I like him outside of it too. The way he moves, or looks at stuff, the way he talks..." He looked over to Marc dreamily, encouraged by his lack of shouting. "Like right now. Just look at him, don't you wanna eat him up?"

"Seven hells, stop it!" Marc said, looking horrified. 

Steven blushed a bit, taking a step back and clearing his throat. "Ah, I... I see. So, it's that kind of love."

"He doesn't know what that word means!" Marc protested hotly, glaring at Steven.

"No, I think he does,” Steven replied thoughtfully, looking at Jake. Who was a bit too distracted imagining Marc pressing him against a wall to notice.

"I'd do whatever you say, tesoro,” he told his idol in his best sultry voice, trying to salvage some of the romance. "Out there, in here, whatever you want."

Marc gaped like a fish and Steven chuckled and patted Jake's arm. "Maybe we ought to change the subject, before you scare him off."

"Marc's not scared of anything,” Jake said with conviction.

"Sure, he isn't,” Steven agreed easily and pulled a chair out for himself. "Come on Jake, sit with me." He shifted on his chair as Jake sat down opposite of him, decided the chair was too uncomfortable and turned it into a plush, dark violet bean bag with a magic puff of pink smoke. 

"How old are you?" Steven asked Jake, watching him with an amused smirk. "I noticed you look younger than us."

"I'm twenty,” Jake replied,

"Can I ask why? The body is going on 31 and so are Marc and me." 

Jake shrugged. "I don't know. I never wanted to be older than twenty. That's my prime, that's how I am at my best. Why do you want to be old?"

Steven blinked. "I don't know. I guess I never considered that I could be younger. Or older." He glanced over at Marc, who'd been inching toward the exit. "He's barely not a hormonal teenager anymore. That might explain some things?"

Marc just grunted.

"It's not bothering you that your... idol is a decade older than you?" Steven asked, pointing at Marc over his shoulder.

"Marc's not aging,” Jake told him with a deadpan, like he was explaining something obvious. "He's perfect forever."

"Of course, silly me,” Steven replied with an indulgent smile while Marc gave a pained moan and threw himself into the pillows, burying his face in one. (Jake was suddenly jealous of the pillow.)

"Do you know how Marc created you? Do you remember it?" Steven wanted to know.

"I don't remember my creation,” Jake said slowly. "I remember the night though. Marc was shouting at me to move. That's the first thing I heard."

"When was that?" Marc asked warily, looking up from his pillow.

"13th April 2007. My birthday,” Jake said with a grin.

"Friday the 13th,” Marc muttered after a moment, his frown easing as he remembered. He looked suddenly conflicted. "Did you... Did he..." He swallowed thickly. "Did we get hurt... that day?"

"Wouldn't you be able to tell?" Jake asked.

"I don't know... There was so much blood,” Marc remembered, grimacing. He'd woken up covered in it. His entire front, soaking wet. Sticking to him. He had thought a whole person must've died for there to be so much blood. Himself... or that other poor sod. He remembered scrubbing furiously, trying to get it off...

"There usually is a lot of that when person is born, or so I'm told,” Jake reminded him with a grin. "But no, we weren't hurt. I hurt him. Real good." He tipped against his eyelid, consciously restraining himself from describing exactly how satisfying it had been to press his thumps into those squishy eyeballs, to feel the blood flowing all over his hands. He hadn't been strong enough to push right through to the brain, not back then. He'd perfected his technique since though...

Marc seemed to understand without words. He relaxed further and even smiled a bit as he looked back down to his pillow.

"Hello? Anyone want to clue me in?" Steven asked.

Marc immediately tensed up again. "No."

"That's between Marc and me,” Jake agreed and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I can do math,” Steven said with a deadpan. "We were twelve." 

"Don't you dare,” Marc told Jake, glaring at him. Jake mimicked a zipper to close his mouth.

"It's nothing,” Marc insisted, turning toward Steven. "It was a bad night, we got away, it'll never happen again, end of story."

"Who hurt us? Or tried to?" Steven kept asking. "Was it Dad? Please tell me it wasn't Dad."

"Wasn't Dad,” Marc replied, urging Steven with his eyes to let it rest. "It wasn't anybody you know."

"Cause I'm not stupid, you know,” Steven snapped. "I do learn. I do read. I know that for someone like us to become many, we have to be hurt a lot. Over a long time. And I'm also assuming for you to make someone like that,” he pointed at Jake, "you have to have been pretty damn desperate. I already know that - that woman - Wendy,” he spat out the name, "had something to do with it. But if there was someone else, I'd really like to know about it!"

"There wasn't!" Marc insisted, face pale. "It was one night, we stumbled over something we shouldn't have seen and we got away. I don't - I don't even know how that was enough to create Jake. It was one time and... Mom had calmed down by then, we were... we were doing okay. She wasn't... hurting us, anymore, by then, so...I don't know why that happened."

Silence fell, Steven staring intently at Marc, judging whether or not to trust his word.

Eventually, Jake couldn't stand the tension anymore, couldn't stand the torn expression on Marc's face. He raised a hand as if in school and spoke up: "I mean... She was still hurting me."

Both Steven's and Marc's gaze snapped to him.

"What?" Marc snapped.

Jake shrugged uncomfortably. Had he said the wrong thing again?

"Oh my days. He took your place,” Steven whispered, his face ashen. "I read about that, about trauma distribution. Jake?" he said shakily. "When's the last time Wendy hurt you?"

"Spector family reunion of 2016,” Jake said immediately. "She threw a pan full of hot oil at my face."

"No,” Marc said quietly. "No, that's not possible. She got better. She stopped."

"We were grown up by then,” Steven whispered aghast. "Why would you allow that?"

"No, no, I had to,” Jake explained. "That's the first rule, I mustn't fight back against Marc's mother. Marc told me many times, he wrote it down everywhere. Everyone else I can fight against but not her."

"Marc didn't even know you existed,” Steven whispered.

"No,” Marc said shakily. "But I knew you existed. I... I didn't know how else to warn you."

Steven remembered the odd notes he'd sometimes find, reminders to himself he didn't remember writing. Reminders to be a good a son, to not argue or fight with mum. He'd been so close to utter despair, thinking it was somehow his fault that his mother didn't seem to care for him, that he was a bad son. But then... Then his real Mum had come, and everything had gotten better.

"Okay,” Steven said shakily, "new rule, Jake. Nobody is allowed to hurt Marc. You take measures to avoid that."

"Steven, you can't say that!" Marc protested. "He'll take it too far!"

Steven huffed. "Fine then - I'm defining 'measures' to mean preferably dodging or restraining the person. If that's not possible or if they've already hurt us - you have my permission to punch them in the face."

"You can't do that!" Marc said hotly and sat upright.

"Yes I can!" Steven snapped back.

"No you can't!" Marc insisted. "The suit enhances our physical strength. He can easily kill a normal human with a single punch!"

"I don't need the suit for that, it's all about good aim,” Jake added. "Does that mean we're lifting rule number one? Can we go and kill Wendy now?"

"W-Well, no,” Steven stammered, suddenly more uncertain and looking between Jake and Marc. He hadn't known Marc - and Jake - had been hurt that badly, that long by that woman. He suddenly wondered, given their history, if he even had a right to tell them to stop if they did want to go and kill Wendy. If they would even listen. If he had the courage to fight them about it.

"We aren't going to do that,” Marc said strongly. "There's no - We don't have to. She's already dead."

"S-She is?" Steven said, eyes wide. While he was surprised, a bit scared but otherwise largely unaffected - it wasn't his Mum after all - Jake suddenly looked betrayed and angry.

"You - you killed her?" He snarled and jumped to his feet. "Without me?!" That was the one thing he always, always wanted to do together with Marc. Maybe for their wedding or something. It was basically his childhood dream. 

"Of course not!" Marc snapped. "She was an alcoholic. She had a liver failure!"

"When was that!?" Jake asked hotly. "Was she sick beforehand? Did you know?"

"...About half a year ago. And no, I didn't, Dad called me out of nowhere after years of silence. She was already dead by then,” Marc told him.

Jake huffed and threw himself into the pillows at the other end of the tent. "I can't believe we missed it!" he complained. "We didn't even celebrate! Do you at least know the date? We could make an anniversary out of it."

"We're not throwing a party because our mother died,” Marc decided.

"I mean... we could,” Steven said quietly.

Marc turned to him quickly, disbelievingly. "What?"

Steven raised his hands in surrender. "I'm just saying! She's not my Mum, I have barely any memories of her at all, my actual Mum talks about her like she's a cockroach and Jake... has obviously been looking forward to this. I'm just saying. She hurt you. If you wanted to celebrate, you know, for closure... That would be fine. It's a perfectly normal desire, I believe, which is something we may want to encourage." He nodded pointedly toward Jake. 

Marc looked conflicted and Jake eagerly jumped onto the train. “Ooohh, we could hire a hooker and have a foursome!"

Marc groaned and hid his face in his pillow again and Steven glared at Jake. “You just had to ruin it."

"What? You don't want to be there?" Jake asked Steven confused. "Wait, do you like men or women? We can get a woman hooker too, if you insist, but then I'm not fronting."

"I hate you,” Marc muttered into the pillow. 

"Why? What did I say?" Jake whined, genuinely hurt. 

"Don't say that,” Steven chided Marc gently. "He'll think you mean it."

"I do,” Marc insisted stubbornly. 

"Well, I think he's not so bad,” Steven decided, shifting his weight in his bean bag. "He's just... eccentric. Maybe even a bit cute, in his cluelessness. He's like a wolf-child." 

"Rawr,” Jake made and Steven chuckled. "See? We can work with that." 

"Maddy is teaching me how to communicate better,” Jake said hurriedly. "So I don't say the wrong things anymore. I can do better!" 

"That's not the main issue here,” Marc growled, who had to come back to the surface lest the pillows suffocate him. He couldn't believe he'd accidentally created a pervert alter. A pervert alter who was obsessed with him. That level of narcissism was so embarrassing! It was almost worse than the whole murder/torture thing. Then he glanced at Steven. Before coming here, Marc had been seriously afraid Jake might attack Steven. He didn't know how it worked in the mindscape, if he could hurt him if he just wanted or imagined it hard enough. If not that, at the very least he imagined Steven would be afraid, or disgusted and then start seeing Marc in another light too because Marc had brought forth someone like Jake. And though there had been a fair share of shock and painful memories brought to the surface again, in the end Steven was... fine. He seemed to be more amused by Jake's antics than anything else. Worst of all, he kept shooting Marc small, knowing, teasing smiles. 

Yeah, on second thought, scratch the 'almost'. The pervert thing was definitely the worst part about this whole deal. 

"... I'm putting you on probation,” Marc decided at last, glaring at Jake. "No fronting without permission. No fronting on your own, you always have to have someone watching. And if they say you go under, you do. Do you understand?"

Jake's eyes widened. "Really? I mean - yeah, I do!" 

"See, progress!" Steven exclaimed happily hand clapped his hands. 

"Great,” Marc said and stood up. "Now that we're all clear, we can call it a night."

"Aww, come on! Don't go yet,” Steven said, grabbing Marc's hand as he passed him by on the way to the exit. "We have so many more things to discuss. Like the diet." He turned to Jake. "Is there anything you don't eat?" 

Marc sighed and fell down again in one of the remaining chairs. It looked like this would be a long night. 

Chapter Text

Over the next couple of months, as the late summer of the year 2025 turned into fall, the system slowly got used to Jake’s presence.

Steven and Jake had the least overlap but they were making an effort to get to know each other. Marc kept holding Jake at an arm’s length, no matter how much he wanted to scoot closer. Madeline had taken their newest member under her wing and continued to try and school him in what was acceptable and what was not. It didn’t change Jake’s opinions and desires but it did make him blurt out whatever he was thinking less often. There were hiccups and there were setbacks but there was progress too. Like for example, last week…

November 2025

"So I was thinking..." 

Marc groaned when he heard Steven use that tone with him the moment Marc switched in that evening. 

"What? What now?" he asked. He just wanted to go back to his old routine. He wasn't suited for giving dating advice to Steven or playing babysitter for Jake. He just wanted to beat up a few bad guys and have some peace and quiet while doing so. 

"Can I come with you on your mission today?" Steven asked. 

No such luck. 

"No you can't. This is my job,” he protested. He'd already neglected it for too long. Marc had avoided fronting for a few days. Inside, he could avoid Jake. He was under no illusion that his psycho alter wouldn't make his presence known when Marc set out to dish out some violence. 

"Geez, I'm not going to front, I just wanna see your costume," Steven said. "Come on, it could be fun."

Marc ground his teeth. "Fine but you have to go away when I tell you," he settled for. He didn’t know if that would be possible, or if Steven had any control over it – but he hoped that it would at least make it easier for the other stay out of his business if they both agreed to it.

"Wonderful. I'll call Jake," Steven said, excited. 

Marc stopped at the door. "Why would you do that?!" 

"Because he might want to watch too?" Steven said innocently. 

Sometimes Marc wasn't sure if he was doing it on purpose or not. 

"We are not waking up Jake," Marc decided. "We're all happy when he's asleep. He's a... He's a trauma responder, right, it's a good thing when he's not there!" 

"Actually, I've been here since twelve," Jake spoke up. 

Both Marc and Steven jumped a bit. 

"Huh? Why?" Steven said. "I was just studying. Oooh, are you interested in ancient history?"

"No. It was super boring," Jake replied.

"Then why'd you come up?" Marc asked annoyed. He usually slept through Steven's long study sessions because... yeah, they were a bit dry. But he didn't like the idea of Jake being anywhere but nicely secured down in the mindscape while Marc was unawares of it.

"Because I wanted to get to know Steven," Jake said simply.

"Aww, that's nice. But you could've said something," Steven replied.

"Didn't want to distract you," Jake muttered. "I mean, I guess you wouldn't die if I did but still. Fronting takes focus, doesn't it? Does for me. I don't like Khonshu butting in when I'm busy either."

"That's actually really considerate,” Steven encouraged him. "But it's okay to talk to us when we're not in mortal combat. Or in the middle of a conversation with someone outside. Or during lectures. Or-"

"No talking unless we're alone and not actively using our brain to do stuff!" Marc snapped. "I'm going out now. And I don't want a running commentary, understood?"

"Yes Sir!" Jake replied cheerfully.

"Spoilsport,” Steven muttered.

Marc took the elevator down to the garage. The light flickered ominously and a moment later, the cabin was mostly filled with Khonshu's towering form.

"So? What will it be tonight?" Marc asked.

"A killer has been going around hunting at night. The last victim died the night before yesterday. Find the perpetrator and put an end to him," Khonshu ordered.

"How many victims? And how do you know it's the same killer?" Marc asked.

"At least four in the vicinity. Each time I felt the Khet separate."

"Uh, that sounds unpleasant," Steven muttered.

"What did I say about commentary!?" Marc hissed. "What's the Khet, what does that mean?"

"The physical body, Marc. He's talking about-"
"Dismemberment."

"Joy," Marc said dryly. "Alright, that sounds like an M.O. Where do I start?"

"I will lead you to the last crime scene."

The job wasn't entirely ordinary, but it wasn't the craziest thing he'd ever seen either. Marc went to the crime scene, which was still restricted. Luckily the police knew him by now and let him enter without much hassle, even handing him the case file. Years of crime fighting, inbuild paranoia and a keen eye for exit strategies let Marc analyze the clues. There definitely was a pattern to the victims (all male, of similar age and strong build, all missing different body parts, all killed in the same neighborhood). The placing and dept of footsteps found at the scene told him he was dealing with someone on the scrawny side. Puncture wounds in the necks of the victims as well as a toxicology report told him the killer was paralyzing his victims with a needle, then removed the limps while the victims were still alive with a sharp blade. Amateurish attempts had been made to stop the bleeding, but no ambulance had been called. Four had died from blood loss, a fifth had survived but never seen the killer's face. Further digging revealed there had also been a series of grave robberies previous to the murders.

Someone was assembling a body and they had decided they needed fresh parts. It all screamed necromancy.

That could mean several things: Frankenstein wannabe, someone grieving for a lost loved one or super solider/zombie army. Because of the haphazard way the killer had half-heartedly tried to prevent the victims from dying, Marc ruled out option three. The cuts were clean but not surgical, which meant probably not mad scientist. Just a lunatic or someone who got his hands on advanced tech or magic they didn't understand.

Marc convened with Inspector Flint, his main contact at the police. Presenting his theory, he got Flint to run a  search on anyone else that had died recently in London before the grave robberies started, someone who'd left behind grieving family and fit the victim's description.

At around 3am, Marc got the search results and now had a suspect: Warren Carther, 23 years old, recently having lost his older brother in a car crash. Stopped going to work, lived alone and recently withdrew a lot of cash.

Carther was not home, but his flat was filled with books on poison, anatomy and scribbles of diagrams that looked mystical in nature. Marc checked all the usual nearby villain hideout candidates: abandoned buildings, the mausoleum on the local cemetery, the sewers. He eventually struck gold in the basement of an old church.

As usual with his luck, he was a smidge too late. Carther had already completed his magic spell and raised his brother from the dead, who did indeed look very much like Frankenstein's monster, covered in scars and, if he interpreted the howling correctly, in a lot of pain. Now came the fighting, during which Marc discovered that one, the corpse’s limbs weren't very well attached and two, it absolutely could still fight without a head. It was also way faster than rigor mortis should allow and could throw quite a punch. The screaming Carther trying to stab him with a syringe was also annoying.

Still, they were no match for Moon Knight, and it was only fifteen minutes later that Marc stood over a pile of twitching body parts, Warren lying in a corner, paralyzed with his own poison.

"Any idea on how to make that stop?" Marc asked, pointing at the hand that was starting to crawl back to the arm.

"Lit it on fire," Khonshu ordered.

"I was hoping for something where I wouldn't need to carry body parts around town but fine," Marc sighed.

"I meant the building. The ritual has tainted everything in a four chet radius with dark magic. It needs to be cleansed."

"So we're burning down a church. Great," Marc muttered resigned. "I'll get my kerosene."

Marc drenched most of the basement and a good portion of the main room in flammable liquid. Slinging Carther over his shoulder, he walked away from the scene with copious amounts of flames rising in the background, trying very hard to ignore Steven's horrified mutterings about how they'd surely be cursed now and Jake's swooning of how awesome that was.

The two had largely kept quiet for most of the night. But after Marc finally dropped Carther at the police station and crawled back into their apartment through the window, they were chatting his ear off.

"Ugh, this was just a random night! Why were there zombies and serial killers?! Seriously, please tell me this is an exception."

"Are you kidding? This was a slow night. But the fire was a nice touch, did you see how high the flames got? We could still see it burning from miles away, like a torch in the dark!" 

"That's millions of property damage... And where did he even get that ritual spell from? Is there a magic shop or something? Or do you buy that on the darknet?" 

"Who cares about that? Can we talk about how cool the fight was? Marc was totally domineering the entire thing, the zombie didn't have a chance!" 

"I kinda feel a little bit bad for them. In the end, all Carther wanted was to save his brother..."

"Guys, it's 6am and I'm tired," Marc said annoyed. "Can you evaluate my performance after I had a nap?" 

"Oh you did great, no doubt about that," Steven reassured him. "I'm amazed how quickly you found the suspect."

"Great show. Loved the beheading," Jake agreed. 

"... Thanks," Marc said, relaxing a bit. He'd never admit it but he had been a bit self-conscious about his alters' reaction. He was actually glad there had been a zombie and he didn't have to fight and kill a solely human adversary with Steven watching. 

Marc fell into his bed without bothering to change. The suit protected him from being tainted by blood or ash and he really was feeling the strain now. The semester break was coming to an end very soon. This might be the last time for a while that he could finish a job like that in one night without splitting it up. With some luck Khonshu would be as satisfied as his alters and cut him some slack when Steven went back to uni. 

XxX

January 2026

"How about him?" 

"No."

"Or that one, over there."

"No, Jake!" 

"The redhead looks yummy too."

"I'm not choosing my study partner based on how attractive they are!" Steven hissed. 

Steven had never appreciated Marc's quiet, sullen personality enough. Jake was chatty. Oh, he'd shut up when Steven needed to focus on his studies, but he now had second thoughts about giving him leave to speak between classes. 

It was the second day back at university. Steven learned today he'd have to do a team project with a fellow student. They were do a presentation on a cultural or religious holiday, to be held in Arabic. It was one of the languages Steven had elected to learn, complete with lectures in culture and literature. Though that was his main focus, he also took courses in Hebrew and Mandarin. He was already fluent in French and if he ever had the time he really wanted to learn Spanish - mostly because Jake was throwing around words in it and he hated not knowing a language that one of the others apparently spoke. As Steven had a talent for languages and was always an active participant in lectures, he was, theoretically, a much sought after study partner. Theoretically. 

"Hey Grant! Wait a moment!" 

Steven's steps faltered and he forced himself to smile as Derek, one of his fellow students hurried towards him across the throng of people changing rooms. 

"Do you have a study partner already for the presentation?" he asked straight out. 

"Not him. I don't like his nose," Jake decided. 

Steven agreed Derek's nose was a bit on the large side but that was not why he'd say no. 

"I don't but I'm not looking either, sorry," Steven replied. "I'm going to do the project alone."

"But it's a group project," Derek said confused. 

Steven shrugged. "We have an odd number of students. It'll be fine."

Derek crossed his arms in front of him. "I'm pretty sure that just means one group will have three people in it. If you don't want to do it with me, fine, just say so."

"It’s not..." Steven sighed. "Look, I'm just not good with teamwork. I'm a nightmare to schedule with. Lots of extracurricular activities. You're better off with someone else."

"Whatever, Grant," Derek said, obviously offended. "See you in class."

"Well that went well," Steven said sarcastically. He wouldn't have minded working with Derek, who was a good student. But he also happened to be in one of his Mum's finance classes. They hadn't crossed paths much thus far but if they worked together on a project, it would be impossible for him not to notice the difference in Steven at those times. After the heartbreak with Simone and more so, after seeing the kind of adventures Marc went on, Steven now took his role as secret identity a lot more seriously. Well, technically Marc was the secret, and he was out in the open but anyway. Nobody must find out about the others. That path only led to disappointment, heartbreak and possibly targeted attacks by super villains on their very nice apartment. 

"Can we pick someone hot now?" Jake asked. 

"No," Steven replied quietly. "We'll pick someone lazy, who won't have a problem with us doing all the work." Preferably someone female so that Steven wouldn’t have to listen to Jake's flirting advice. 

XxX

"Khonshuuuuu," Jake whined, going from room to room, looking for the god. "Where are you?" 

The god wasn't in the attic, where he usually hung out, nor was he perched on any of the dead trees outside. 

Jake heard a hacking sound then and perked up. Ripping open yet another door he found Khonshu laying on the couch in the living room. 

The god looked rather bad. As much as dead bones could look worse than normal, anyway. The bandages covering his thin frame looked even more tattered than usual, the cloth sporting small holes and thinning till it was almost transparent. His neck gap looked wider and there didn't seem to be much at all connecting his bone fingers to the rest of his shoddily wrapped arms either. His skull was slightly yellowed instead of polished alabaster white and wow, there were even flies circling his head. 

Another coughing fit wracked the god and he doubled over the edge of the couch, spitting out something that looked like blood but sizzled like acid when it hit the floorboards and ate through them in seconds. 

Jake sighed and threw himself on the couch next to Khonshu with zero consideration, resting his own legs right over the god's bony ones occupying the length of it. 

"That time of the month again?" he asked sympathetically.

"Shut up, Lockley," Khonshu growled. "And remove yourself."

But Jake merely grinned, crossed one leg above the other and leaned back with his arms folded behind his back. He did enjoy going on the god's nerves sometimes and right now, he couldn't defend himself. "C'mon, you should be used to it by now. It'll be over in a few days," he said in the most patronizing way possible.

"I said shut up," Khonshu repeated but there wasn't much strength to it and whatever authority he managed to gather went down the drain when he hacked up another cup of blood.

"It's the natural order of things," Jake said meanly. "No need to be a bitch about it."

"One day, Lockely. One day, I'll murder you," Khonshu threatened.

Jake raised a brow. "Wow, death threats already? It's only the first night of the new moon phase. Must be worse than usual."

"The second," Khonshu corrected him weakly. "You're missing time again." When Jake only made an uninterested sound, the god sighed deeply. "What do you want?"

Jake let himself fall to the side and onto the armrest of the couch.

"I'm boooored," he whined. "And lonely."

"Not my problem," Khonshu said, tired. 

"It is when you're stuck in my mind," Jake disagreed. "I want to do something fun! Steven is nice but boring and Marc..." He trailed off somewhat helplessly. "Marc still doesn't like talking to me. I thought... I hoped... He'd let me watch more. Maybe even accompany me when I drive. But... It's like he's more distant than he was before he knew about me. I get to be out alone with Steven and Maddy watching but not with him.”

"Maybe you shouldn't have confessed your undying love during your second meeting," Khonshu said dryly. 

That's what Maddy had said too but what else should Jake have done? They'd asked and he'd answered! Maddy had also said honesty was important, that they were mad at him for hiding himself for so long. It looked like whatever Jake did, it was the wrong thing. 

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked the god morosely. 

"No," Khonshu said flatly. 

That sounded lonely. 

"Ever loved someone, period? Even just in the friends way, like Marc and Steven?" 

"No," Khonshu repeated coldly. 

That... Jake scowled a bit. That sounded wrong. 

"Not even the family way, like Steven and Maddy?" he tried one last time. 

The god didn't answer. 

Jake turned from staring at the moldy ceiling to the dead god. "Do you even have family?" he asked, realizing only as he said it that he didn't know. He'd never bothered to ask. 

"... Shut up, Lockely," Khonshu said quietly. 

Jake rolled over, using the armrest to lean his head against and squeezing in next to Khonshu on the too small couch, his feet right underneath the bird's beak. 

"If you don't tell me I'll ask Steven to google your family tree," he threatened. "He probably already did but I'll make him tell me all the embarrassing stories humans made up about you. I bet there's incest involved. There's always incest involved with gods."

Khonshu made a disgusted sound and a half-hearted attempt to push Jake's feet away. Jake merely lifted them for a moment and dropped them right back into place. 

"You are thinking of the Greeks," Khonshu scoffed. "There's nothing like that in my family. I am the son of Ra, the sun god, and Amaunet, goddess of the wind."

"You don't love your parents though?" Jake asked. 

Khonshu gave a long-suffering sigh. "If I tell you, will you leave me alone for the rest of the new moon?" 

Jake considered that. "Yes," he decided. The God looked at him for a moment doubtfully but seemed content with what he found eventually.

"My parents are what you'd call divorced," Khonshu said bitterly. "My father's new companion, Mut, goddess of the sky, did not like me much for being a reminder that she was not Ra's first love. I ruled in Thebes together with them for a while but she never stopped to try and drive a wedge between my father and me. Eventually, she succeeded. My father became increasingly paranoid, thinking I would try to usurp him. He gathered more and more power and followers while trying to diminish mine. My mother did what she could to support me but that only ended up feeding his paranoia. She probably did want to raise me up as a petty revenge against him but I wouldn't play along. I preferred the night and the darkness over standing in the light."

"What happened to those gods?" Jake asked, now honestly curious. "Are they in the overvoid, with the others? Do you still have contact with any of them?" 

"Barely," Khonshu said neutrally. "Mut later broke the laws of our kind and was sealed many centuries ago. Ra is still around and throws a tantrum once a century or so, trying to attack myself or my avatar. Ironically, I did surpass him in power after the Old Kingdom fell and I thoroughly enjoy reminding him of that every time he does. My mother remains in the overvoid. I still meet her on occasion."

"What laws did your stepmother break?" Jake asked. He knew that Khonshu himself had been banished by the other gods for being too flashy after the pantheon had decided to retreat and merely observe humanity. That was a pretty low bar in Jake's opinion so he wondered what would get a god not just banished but sealed.

"That is of no concern to a lowly mortal such as yourself," Khonshu growled. "Now get your stinking feet out of my face or I'll bite them off."

"Grouchy," Jake complained but for once did as he was told. "You should get yourself a guy. Or a girl. You know, a sexy friend."

"I have no need for such a thing. As my example shows, companionship is overrated and no eternal promise lasts forever," Khonshu stated.

Jake rolled his eyes. "I meant you should get laid, not married."

"I have no need for that either. My desires are not the same as that of humans. My kind doesn't even reproduce in the same way. My parents created me by combining their essence, not through crude biological mating," the god said dismissively. 

"Well, your loveless life is making me depressed and I do have human desires," Jake declared. "Since you and your suit are going to be pretty useless for a while, I'll have to look for entertainment elsewhere." He hopped off the couch and stretched his arms over his head. "Let's see if I can't find myself a guy."

"Thank the heavens," Khonshu muttered, grabbed the edge of a ratty blanket and pulled it over himself, turning with his back to Jake. The alter resisted the temptation to pat his shoulder and decided to just leave him be. For now. Khonshu would be back on his feet as soon as the crescent moon showed itself again. Neither Marc nor him would be able to rely much on the suit's power until then. They could still summon it and make use of its weapons but the healing would be much slower and there'd be no enhancement of their physical capabilities. It was best not to chance any major fights during this time.

Plan B it was then. Maybe Jake would get lucky and be able to get himself invited to a frat party.

XxX 

February 2026

Marc picked up the phone. He tried to get his hands to stop shaking, he really did but they just... wouldn't... hold still. 

"Yes?" he whispered hoarsely. 

"Hello Marc, darling! I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Marc sagged in relief as he recognized Maddy's voice. He had to lean on the table he was standing next to to prevent his knees from buckling. 

"S'lright," he slurred. 

"It's just, you know, I know it's my turn to watch Jake and I really don't mind, usually that is, but..." Maddy rambled. 

"What's he done?" Marc asked warily, shoulders straightening a bit. 

"Nothing! Nothing to be concerned about," Maddy said quickly. "You remember how Steven was invited to that frat party?" 

"Yeah..." 

"Well Steven really didn't want to go and Jake really, really did so now we're here and you know, if it's just making sure he doesn't get too drunk, fine, but he's rather heavily flirting and, uhm, they're kinda undressing now and... I know you said not to leave Jake at the front alone but seriously, this is no place for me. I'm going home now. If you still think he needs a watcher, you have to come up here yourself, love."

"Okay," Marc said mechanically. His tongue felt like lead. "Thanks for letting me know."

"I love you my sweet, see you tomorrow!" Maddy chirped. Then the line went dead. 

Marc stared at the phone for a full minute before he put it back on the stand. 

"Well, Marc?" 

Marc looked up to the front. To the white desk with the white chair on which there sat a man wearing a white lab coat, white gloves, and a white mask covering the entire head, glowing eyes eerily shining like two little moons. 

"Mom says I should come home," Marc said quietly. 

"Do you think that would be wise?" the Doctor asked sternly but not unkind. "You are getting better but there's still a lot of work to be done."

"I need to... Something bad might happen if I don't," Marc whispered. 

The Doctor shook his head sadly. "Nothing bad will happen, Marc. Your mother is not in danger. Your alters are not in danger. This is a safe place for you."

When Marc didn't answer, the Doctor sighed and pulled out a sheet of paper from his desk drawer. "I can set up a leave permit for you for the weekend, if you truly want and if your mother vouches for you. But you will have to stay here tonight. You know there are procedures."

Marc swallowed thickly but nodded. 

"It's better this way," the Doctor said gently. "You aren't ready."

And Marc nodded again because that was easier than arguing. It was easier to leave that decision to someone else. To give up the responsibility. Even if that person had no idea what they were talking about. 

"I shouldn't," he still said half-heartedly. "Jake shouldn't be alone. What if he hurts someone?" 

“Is that really what you are concerned about?” the Doctor asked. “You were angry when you first told me about Jake and I can understand why. But lately, you've been a lot more quiet. What is it that's really bothering you, Marc?”

For a moment Marc cursed the Doctor’s perceptiveness. Of course he was supposed to figure out stuff like that. Marc knew he himself had to figure out this stuff and the Doctor was supposed to help him do that. He just... He didn't want to look too deeply into his feelings concerning Jake. Feelings that were much more complicated than he liked to admit.

“I... I don't want to talk about that,” Marc whispered. The Doctor was right. He wasn't ready.

"You are safe, Marc," the Doctor repeated. "You are here, with me. This is the real world. Not this fantasy you've build. Jake can't hurt anyone, least of all you." 

Marc kept his silence. He knew that wasn't true. He knew it. He just... wished it were. 

"Would you like us to help you sleep, Marc?" the Doctor asked gently. "To make sure Jake can't hurt anyone?" 

Marc swallowed again. Then, he gave a slow nod. 

"Alright," the Doctor said quietly. He pressed a button at his desk and a moment later, two white dressed orderlies entered. Marc didn't fight when they each grabbed one of his arms. He didn't hear a thing as the Doctor started to give out orders about dosage. He was compliant as the orderlies took him back to his cell and he didn't flinch when they stuck the needle in his arm. 

XxX

“This is where you live?” Marc asked, scrunching up his nose as he took in the dilapidated building. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to finally come here. He didn't know how long exactly he'd been... away, sorting out his thoughts. Maybe three or four days? Any longer and Khonshu would've started to complain about his absence.

Jake was sitting on the front porch, grinning widely.

“Sí, this is my humble abode. You’re welcome to come inside.” Jake stood and walked over to Marc. Except he didn’t stop, came closer and closer and it was only Marc’s stubbornness that prevented him from taking a step back. “I could give you the tour,” Jake said in a low voice, so close now they were almost touching. “Show you every dark corner.”

Marc shivered and he was a bit afraid to look too deeply into why. Jake didn’t scare him. They’d kept him on watch for a few months now and he had never tried to break free and go off on his own without permission. Steven was already arguing to lift his probation, Steven of all people. Madeleine refused to play watcher anymore unless Jake specifically requested her (which he actually did sometime, still uncertain how to navigate certain situations).

No, Marc wasn’t afraid of Jake or what he’d do. Most of the time he was annoyed or disgusted by him but sometimes… and it was that part that was hard to admit, sometimes there were parts about Jake that Marc found exciting. His enthusiasm for life and death. His shameless and obvious flirting. Especially Even the blind obedience and despair for affection he showed during his more vulnerable moments.

Of course, he must never let Jake know that. Must never let him know that Marc was, on occasion, amused by his dark humor. That he didn't feel an ounce of compassion for the people Jake hurt, merely annoyance about the consequences and a healthy dose of terror for what it would do to their system. That he wondered, sometimes, when he was at his lowest, why he didn't just give in. Maybe it would make the pain go away. Or at least be a distraction. 

God, what was wrong with Marc?

“Stop it,” Marc growled and turned away from Jake. He scowled heavily, wary and frustrated because that’s what Marc did best. He let his gaze wander over the house again. He recognized it, of course he did. Something ugly curled inside him knowing he had a person inside of him that willingly lived in this place.

“I need to talk to you,” Marc said stiffly, stepped back and leaned against the cracked stone well and crossing his arms in front of him. There was no way he’d give Jake the satisfaction of entering that house with him.

“Aww, this is not a social visit?” Jake lamented, exaggerated, and followed him with a swagger to his step. Swagger, honestly. He looked ridiculous! “We don’t have to talk, mi vida.” Jake stopped at his side, though at least this time he left an arm’s length between them. “I could think of more fun things to do.” His gaze wandered up and down Marc’s form and he licked his lips. “A lot of things.”

“I’m not here to fulfill your dirty fantasies,” Marc growled. Why was his heart beating so fast? Fuck.

“You sure?” Jake asked and raised a hand to Marc’s face, slowly. His tone was teasing but there was a yearning to it that – damn – it made Marc shiver again. “I’m pretty good at fantasying.”

Marc grabbed Jake’s wrist before his fingers could touch his face. For a moment he considered flipping Jake over his shoulder, slamming him to the ground. And yet… he didn’t. It had been a long time... since anyone had wanted Marc like that.

His skin pickled where he held Jake's wrist. He shouldn't have come here. 

“You’ve been having your fun up there,” Marc said in a carefully controlled tone. “Screwing strangers. Rumor has it you even accept sex as payment for jobs.”

“Jealous?” Jake asked, grinned and wagged his eyebrows.

Marc scoffed. “Hardly. But I need to know why. It sends Steven and Maddy running. Leaves you without supervision. Can’t help but think there’s an ulterior motive to it.”

“You’d know if you came along for a ride once in a while,” Jake replied, his grin widening. “I’m not keeping secrets from you, Marc. Not anymore. If you want to know, all you have to do is come with me.”

Marc had, actually. He'd started to see a rhythm in Jake's emergence. He thrived on violence, true, but outside of that, he was driven by... baser instincts. It wasn't hard to figure out, when Marc started to feel tense and frustrated that Jake would come to do something about it soon. 

Marc would not let Jake front during his time at night, or at all if he could help it but Jake had had more success to convince Steven and Maddy to let him out. So, Jake had gone to look for company, Steven had clocked out because he felt thoroughly uncomfortable watching Jake with other men but Marc... Marc had stayed. Quietly. Secretly. Just to make sure Jake didn't secretly go and kill anyone, he'd told himself. He hadn't said a peep the whole night and it had been... Fuck. He felt dirty just thinking back to it. 

Marc couldn't feel physical sensations when he was just a fly on the wall. But the visuals alone, coupled with the noticeable drop in tension in the body when he did eventually return to it... The memory had started to bleed into Marc's own nighttime fantasies, and he did not like it. 

Frustration spiking, Marc grabbed Jake by the collar of his worn jacket, pulling him toward him and choking him just a little. “You are going to tell me. You’re going to tell me exactly why you are doing this, why you always do it when it’s either of them on watch duty, and you are going to tell the truth!”

“I’ll tell you – fuck, I’ll tell!” Jake cursed, struggling to breathe.

Marc loosened his grip, pushing Jake from him, who stumbled a bit. His eyes were blown wide, fixated on Marc, singing of hunger and desire. Shit. Marc wished Jake had struggled more.

“You really have to ask?” Jake wheezed. “Marc, I… I only want you. I’ve only ever wanted you. But you won’t have me and I… I have to fucking go somewhere with this fire!” The alter glared at him but it was not with anger, just… heat. “Every time I touch one of those men, I close my eyes and pretend it’s you. I’m never doing anyone twice because it’s apparently off-putting if you call someone else’ name during. And I would do it with you watching me, fuck yeah, I absolutely would but you always say no! Every time I want to celebrate after a job well done, every time I point out someone decent looking we could play with, you say no! So, I’ve got to do it when you’re not there. There’s nothing else to it, Marc. I just… I just want to feel close to you.”

The words only confirmed what Marc already knew but he had to hear it from Jake. Aside from that first time, when Steven and Marc had both put Jake on the spot together, Jake hadn't really... made any attempts to win Marc over. When he first heard of Jake's feelings, Marc had been horrified, in an embarrassed sort of way, that Jake would try to court him. But he hadn't. He was crass and he was flirting, in that clumsy yet self-confident way that was so off-putting, but it was aimed at others outside as much as it was aimed at Marc. It was frustrating. Marc had told Jake no in very clear terms, but he didn't know him well enough to tell if that was the end of it. Or if he still... If he still... 

Marc didn't like anyone knowing where he lived so even if he found someone he liked, it was him who'd contact them, him who'd follow them, get back to them, chase them. He'd never been the one who was chased. Jake liked him, had claimed to love him even, and yet he didn't...

Marc’s mouth was dry, heart racing and he couldn’t, for the life of him, stop looking at Jake’s hands, his muscled arms, his lips, imagining what they’d done to who knew how many others while he imagined it to be Marc…

“That’s the truth?” he asked hoarsely.

“Don’t you believe me?” Jake sounded hurt but he still closed the distance, taking a step forward. His hand twitched but he did not reach out for Marc this time. Part of him wished he would. Jake always did this, he came bouncing back every time Marc pushed him away, but he never took that last step. He never came quite... close... enough. He stayed frustratingly out of headbutt range!

“I know I can’t be with you. I’m not what you want, or deserve,” Jake spoke quietly. “That’s… the one disadvantage of being a part of all this. I can never get close to you the way I really want, even if you did accept me.”

“Did you wish, sometimes, it weren’t like this?” Marc burst out without thinking. “That you had your own body?” It was one thing to recognize Jake as a part of him, a violent part but a part he could control. If Jake were another person out there, fixated on Marc as he was... Marc might be genuinely afraid. 

“No, never,” Jake replied quietly and Marc felt stupid at the relief that welled up inside of him. Purely at the fact that Jake would never be out there, even if there were a way It had nothing to do with him not... leaving. Nope. Not at all.

Now Jake did raise his hand after all and this time Marc didn’t stop him when he reached out. Jake's eyes widened slightly in wonder as his rough, calloused fingers brushed over Marc’s cheek, as if he couldn’t believe he wasn’t being pushed back. “I would not get to see you every day if I did. I would not be able to protect you the same. Marc…” Jake’s voice broke. “Te amo. Mi tesoro, te amo. If you never believe anything else I say, believe that. I know I'm all wrong, I'm not soft like Steven, I can't talk well like Maddy. I'm a bad person and I like all the wrong things but you, Marc... My love for you is the best, the purest thing I have in me. Everything else might be rotten but that one, good thing... I only want to give it to you. I-"

"Shut up," Marc growled. His hand struck out on reflex, hitting the inside of Jake's arm in a standard martial arts move to push it away (and probably leave a bruise). The other hand grabbed Jake by the throat again, pulling him forward and... 

Jake made a muffled sound of surprise when Marc crashed his lips on Jake's mouth. There was tongue right from the start and Jake's knees were growing weak as Marc pulled him close and he moaned into the kiss. There was fire in Marc, slowly stoked over weeks of listening to Steven's complains about everything Jake got up to with their body. The memory of seeing Jake pound into a Latino he'd picked up in some night club, the raw emotion in his voice as he whispered Marc's name... The hollow echo of satisfaction Marc experienced when he returned to control after Jake had a night out only served to heighten his own frustration, mental if not physical. Marc might be a knight first and foremost, that was the only niche left to him now that his head was so crowded but fuck, he had desires too. 

This was... This was wrong. This was so utterly wrong and forbidden and dangerous and such a huge mistake and - Marc only wanted more. 

He pushed Jake away, who stumbled and only just caught himself before he fell into the well. Jake stared at him as if he was the sun itself, rising after a millennia of darkness. 

"This is a mistake," Marc said darkly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He could still taste Jake. He always did this. Pushing people away, keeping them at arm's length. But he couldn't do that with Jake. Jake was in his head. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to. Which was why this was such a horrible, horrible idea.

"Yeah," Jake agreed as if in trance. "Yeah, let's make tons of mistakes, together!" 

"I'm going to hurt you," Marc warned him. He had to tell him. He owned him that much. Marc was torn, half of him wanting Jake to come to his senses and tell him to piss off, half of him wanting to be jumped and ravaged. Fuck. Where those even his desires? Or was Jake projecting so heavily Marc caught an echo of it? Wouldn't that be a welcome excuse.

"I'd never... I'm never going to love you back or some shit. I'd just be using you." Because he made it so damn easy. Jake's whole way of life mixed violence and sex together as naturally as breathing. It was wrong but it was hot and Marc hated it, but he saw the one and he saw the other and they never did that final step to come together and-

"Yes... Yes, yes, yes," Jake said, breathless, coming closer to grab Marc around the middle, press their bodies together. Finally. "Use me. Abuse me. Hurt me. I've never wanted anything more." Now it was Jake kissing him and it was like he was feeding Marc the fire back he'd given him. Their tongues fought, teeth biting lips, fingernails digging into muscled arms and this was so wrong, but God did it feel good. The physical sensation was much, much duller than anything he could feel outside. The emotions welling up inside of him though were as intense as anything he'd ever felt.

Jake was the twisted, horrible, dark side that Marc never wanted to be. He didn't want it, had decided against it, but fuck him if every fiber of his being didn't yearn for it right now. To just... Let go. To just be. Unapologetic. Unrestrained. Free. 

So, so easy to break. 

So, so eager to be broken. 

Jake's back hit the ground with a groan from its owner. The lack of any true physical sensation made Marc daring, desperate to feel something. He was on top of Jake, both hands around his throat and he squeezed. 

Jake didn't fight back. Didn't try to free himself, didn't even protest. He just laid there wheezing and choking. Marc knew what he was doing, he'd choked enough people and been choked enough times to know when to loosen his grip. And tighten again. And loosen. Jake's eyes rolled into the back of his head, he was twitching, Marc could feel his excitement against his thigh...

Marc let go and Jake jerked away and to the side, wheezing and gasping for breath. 

"I'm going to ruin you," he said with a hint of regret. 

"Promises," Jake hissed, shooting him a gaze full of lust and fire. Marc knew he hadn't hurt him, not truly, but with all the shit they'd gone through outside, it was all too easy to remember the pain. Instead of shying away from that memory though, Jake revered in it.

Suddenly angry, Marc grabbed a fistful of Jake's hair and roughly pulled him down. "I mean it!" he exclaimed. "You should stay away from me. Give it up. I am horrible for you!" 

"Did you like that?" Jake asked, grinning, as if he hadn't heard a word he'd said. "Hurting me. Did that feel good?" 

"... Yes," Marc admitted. That should've been enough to drive off a normal person. Marc did sometimes relish in punishment, in vengeance. He was scared of that part of him, the sadistic part of him that liked to hurt and punish others. But rarely had it ever felt this good. Hurting Jake felt like deserved punishment. 

Jake was a bad person. Jake needed to be punished. But also, he really, really wanted it so it was okay for Marc to do it. 

Marc wasn't allowed to hurt himself out there. Out there, that would upset Steven. But in here? In here he could hurt this guy wearing his face as much as he liked. Even if there was no physical pain, there was pain inside of him. There was the feeling of wrongness, of disgust and regret and longing and grief and Marc just wanted to delve into that ocean and... disintegrate. To pull another person under with him, to feel that pain together - the mere idea made his head spin with lust.

"Good," Jake breathed and gave him another kiss. Just a simple one, right on the lips. But it lingered there and it burned hot and Marc had never hated himself more. 

"Do it again."

Marc's hand slid to his belt, and he drew a small switchblade. Jake eyed the knife, licking his lips. He stared at the blade hungrily as if it were a fucking sex toy. 

"If you ever tell anyone about this," Marc threatened, "I'm going to burn you. I'm going to flock you. I'll lock you up in the darkest, deepest parts of my mind, where nobody will hear you scream."

Jake’s eyes were blown wide, hungry and yearning. Nodding too quickly.

Marc looked down at Jake, wide-eyed Jake, breathless Jake, hopeful Jake. Growing aroused with every new threat, to the point that Marc was seriously worried Jake would shout out what Marc was doing to him to the whole city just to provoke him further.

This was wrong. He shouldn't be doing this. He was ruining everything, again. 

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, almost begging. 

But Jake shook his head strongly. "I want to suffer with you. For you. From you. Please, Marc. I want to have everything you'll give me. Especially the ugly bits."

He really meant that, didn't he? Oh, if Mom could see him now. She'd be so horrified, so disgusted by him. And somehow, that made Marc want it even more. He leaned down, capturing Jake in another kiss, a true one, passionate and slightly aching and Jake moaned and melted underneath him like he'd tasted heaven. Marc closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, pressing against the warm body... and then he remembered Layla.

Mischievous Layla, sweet Layla, sassy Layla, hot Layla moaning underneath him just like that and it hurt-

Marc put the blade to Jake's side, cutting through clothes and skin alike, leaving a long, bloody gash that made Jake gasp. That was better. That was different. He threw the knife away in disgust but it was too late. The pain rose, both in Marc and Jake and it was intoxicating.

They were both lost causes. All messed up inside. Like a plane without a pilot, without a hint of common sense, nose-diving towards disaster. Only pain laid on this road. Because Despite all of that, Marc wanted it.

XxX

"Guess what," Jake said, leaning over the counter and grinning so widely at the waitress behind it that his face threatened to split in two. This evening Maddy was riding with him as his designated watcher, but she'd drawn away from the front and kept quiet.

Gena Landers, single mom of two, having just started her shift as a waitress, sighed as she turned her attention to one of the most troublesome customers she'd ever had.

"What has you in such a good mood, Jake?"

Jake slouched on the stool at the counter, head propped up in his hands like a little kid.

"I did it! With Marc!" he declared, eyes shining.

"Did what?" Gena asked, going a bit pale.

"Totally awesome gay sex, what else?"

“Wait, WHAT!?” Madeline exclaimed.

Jake grinned stupidly. "It was abso-fucking-lutely amazing." He sighed, lying his head on his arms. "I'm so in loooooove...~"

"Oh, I don’t think I was supposed to hear this. Jake, sweetie, I don't think this nice Lady wants to know those details," Maddy said gently. “Can’t you, uhm, talk about this when Marc’s on watch?”

No, he could not. Marc had said he’d do all kinds of exciting things to Jake if he told anyone. Which meant that of course he had to tell someone, but he couldn’t do it with Marc listening directly, that would be too obvious. Even if he had the chance for that, which he didn’t because Marc was avoiding riding with him still.

"Is... that the same Marc you've been stalking for years?" Gena asked carefully.

"Yeeees...." Jake said, so damn proud of himself. "I've had a crush on him since I was fifteen. Oh, I so hope it'll happen again. No, I know it will happen again! It's not like he can escape me, I have all the time in the world to seduce him!"

"What do you mean with that?" the waitress asked. "And would you like to order something?"

"Coffee with extra sugar. And a pretzel," Jake said. "I thought at first Marc would hate me forever. He found out I was stalking him and was really angry at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. That was just after the last time I was here. He didn't like how I handled the Blooms case."

Gena halted in her movement of pressing the buttons on the coffee machine. But then she pulled away the mug, added three spoons of sugar and pushed the mug over to Jake.

"I read about that in the paper. Mr Blooms was quite horrendously mutilated," she said neutrally.

"If only Marc hadn't seen that," Madeline sighed. "You two could've been happy together way before now."

"Voices in my head say I shouldn't have made Marc watch that," Jake said contritely. "He came around but apparently it made for a bad first impression. Even though I totally saved a little girl. How's Sally by the way, I referred her to your sister?"

"She's doing well," Gena said a bit more gently. "There was nobody there to take her in that first night, so she stayed with Anne. I had them both over for breakfast the next day. She's a sweet girl." With a wry smile, she added: "Apparently when the police asked her to describe the man who rescued her, she described Tony Stark."

Jake laughed at that.

In that moment the bell over the door rang as another customer entered, a tall man in a muscle shirt and tattoos on both his bare forearms. He sat down two seats from Jake and Gena set down his pretzel before him before excusing herself to serve the newcomer.

“I’m happy for you and Marc,” Madeline said while Jake sipped his coffee, which served to make him even more energetic. “Just remember that you don’t have to take everything he says or does. A relationship is a two way street. I don't want anyone to get hurt.”

“I’m not going to hurt Marc,” Jake said strongly, the very notion ridiculous.

“Well, no, of course not,” Maddy said quickly. That was not the point she’d been trying to make. “I’m... not worried about Marc here.”

Jake sighed. “You don’t get it. You don’t get us.”

“I’m just saying-” Madeline said but Jake cut her off with a raised hand. His attention was drawn to the newcomer a few seats down, who’d waved back Gena with a leery grin Jake didn’t like.

“Hey sweetheart, gimme a refill. And maybe a smile to go with it, huh?”

Gena smiled politely, the way she had to to get through the evening without trouble and maybe a nice tip. She poured the man’s coffee, setting the pot down with steady hands. That’s when the man reached out, brushing his tattooed fingers too close across Gena’s wrist. She pulled back, masking it as if she’d just remembered another table that needed her attention. Jake saw the flash of discomfort in her eyes before she turned.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be shy,” the man said, grinning like he owned the place. His chair scraped on the linoleum as he shifted closer to the counter’s edge, waiting for her to pass again.

Jake’s jaw flexed. He broke off a piece of his pretzel and chewed slowly, watching the guy out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you know this man?” Madeline asked.

“No,” Jake replied. “I just don’t like him.”

The guy shot him a weird look. “Who are you talking to, man?”

“Just the voices in my head,” he replied, giving him a cheerful grin full of teeth and raised his mug to his lips.

The man scoffed and turned away with a muttered “crazy”.

Jake set his mug down with am audible clink.

“Jake,” Madeline said warningly. “You know you’re not allowed to start any fights.”

“Not without permission I’m not,” he accepted quietly. The anger was boiling in his stomach though. This was his favorite diner, Gena was his favorite waitress who made the best coffee in town and had the best gossip for him every time he visited. She was one of a very narrow circle of people that treated him like a human being rather than a demon or an insect. Nobody was allowed to touch her against her will.

When Gena came back with another pot of coffee for a table behind him, the man with the tattoos reached for her. His arm shot out, fingers spread wide, aiming for her rear.

Jake’s hand was faster. His calloused fingers clamped around the stranger’s wrist, halting the movement midair. The grip was firm like steel.

“Jake!” Madeline warned him.

Jake closed his eyes briefly. He had promised, he knew he had, and especially now that Marc and him had connected so intimately, the last thing he wanted was ruin what trust he’d gained. But he really, really wanted to rearrange this guy’s face. He opened his eyes again. He wouldn’t throw the first punch. But he could at least state a warning.

“You don’t wanna do that,” Jake said, his voice low, flat. The kind of tone that didn’t need to be raised to carry weight. His eyes finally lifted from his mug, dark and steady, meeting the man’s with a cold stillness that made the smile fall right off his face.

The man tried to yank free. Jake didn’t budge. Come on, Maddy, he thought desperately. This guy is an asshole. He’s harassing my friend. He’s… He’s probably a criminal!

“You don’t know that!” Madeline said hotly.

Oh, why did it have to be Madeline tonight? Marc would’ve let him beat this guy up. Khonshu? he begged instead. Little help?

The skeletal moon god seemed to materialize on the seat to Jake’s other side, calmly lounging on the stool as he watched Jake with faint amusement.

“Go ahead, my warrior. Break all of his fingers. Fitting punishment for what he did to his wife,” the god said with a smile in his voice.

“Oh come on!” Madeline protested after an initial moment of shock. “You’re just saying that! How would you know!?”

“He knows this stuff,” Jake told her, still glaring at the man he was holding and who was trying to yank his arm free.

“I heard her prayers twice, begging for any divine power to grant her husband the strength and patience… to forgive her sins,” Khonshu replied imperiously “A misguided and innocent soul, she is. I cannot fulfill her prayer, but you can make sure her husband’s hands don’t hurt her again for a few weeks at least.”

“Let go, you psycho!” the man growled. “Which madhouse did you escape from, huh!? Freak!”

A spark of anger from Madeline mixed with Jake’s rage. Nobody called her son a freak!

“...fine. Jake – show him psycho!” she snapped.

Jake grinned as if his birthday had come early. He pulled on the arm of the man he was holding, forcing him closer and grabbing the back of his neck just so. One pull on either side would dislocate his entire arm.

“You know, you’re right. I am a psycho. Never escaped a madhouse – but I did escape prison once or twice. This is my new home. These people,” he nodded around at the other patrons who were now openly staring at him, “are my friends. And you are causing trouble for my friends. I’m not happy about that. The voices in my head are not happy about that. And the dead bird tells me I should hack off all your fingers. Now I am in a wonderful mood today, so I’ll be generous.” He pulled him a bit closer still. The man’s eyes were wide in fear by now. Jake whispered into his ear: “I’ll give you a head start. Run.”

He let go abruptly and the man fell off his chair. He scrambled back, staring at Jake with wide eyes. Jake grinned. The man bolted.

The waitress, Gena, stood frozen for a heartbeat, the pot of coffee trembling slightly in her hand as the man rushed out of the door. She knew Jake well enough to know he wasn’t bluffing. The diner had grown quieter, forks pausing midair, conversations having stopped everywhere.

Jake whistled a tune, leisurely finishing the rest of his pretzel. Everyone was watching him. Only when he’d finished his last piece did Jake fish out his wallet, put the money for his food and drink on the table and a few extra bills into the tip box.

“The coffee was great, as always”, he praised. “Give my greetings to your boys, will you?” he told Gena and stood.

“...yeah. Uh. Good luck with your, err…”

“Marc,” Jake filled in for her, grinning even wider. “He’s fucking gorgeous, especially when he’s furious. Oh, you should’ve seen me when he came after me with that knife…” He sighed happily. “Next time we’ll use ropes,” he decided. “I’ve got my basement prepped already.” Marc would surely love that, to have total control over whether or not Jake could move even an inch.

Gena blinked, her mouth parting just slightly. “…you—you what?”

Jake straightened his cap, oblivious to her expression. “Yeah. I got a great house with a really spacious basement. Used to be torture chamber but I think I have other uses for it now.” He winked at her.

Gena paled further but she forced a laugh, too high-pitched. “Right. Sounds… fun.”

Jake downed the rest of his coffee heading for the door like he hadn’t just confessed to something terrible.

“See ya, doll!”

The door swung close behind him.

“Jake”, Madeline said sternly, “you are going to come inside with me for another lesson.”

“Later,” Jake said distractedly. “I have to break Mr. Domestic Abuse’s fingers first. Khonshu?”

The god appeared next to him in a swirl of sand.

“You kept track of where he went, didn’t you?” Jake asked.

“I am not your errand boy,” the god complained. “You did not have to let him get this far!”

“Ah, but it adds to the fear factor,” Jake said, wagging his finger. “The nightmares he’ll have of this are part of the punishment.”

“...It was an adequate intimidation tactic,” Khonshu conceded and held out one skeletal arm. “He went that way.”

Jake grinned and started jogging in the direction Khonshu had pointed at. He was in a great mood tonight!

“I think I’ll head home now,” Madeleine deiced. “You two boys have fun. And remember to only break this guys’ fingers, nothing more, and no killing!”

“Yes, Madame,” Jake promised, tipping his cap and grinning.

XxX

February 2026

"This is ridiculous!" Steven huffed as he threw a pile of gay porn magazines that he'd found under the mattress into the trash. "Marc, can't you tell Jake to stop it!? He's your dog, he listens to you."

"Stop what?" Marc asked, trying to sound as if he'd only just woken up.

"I'm getting hit on at uni. By guys!" Steven complained. "Everyone thinks I'm gay!"

"I'm not the one letting Jake sleep around," Marc defended himself. Marc was getting used to hearing Jake's voice when he was accompanying him. Jake had enough sense to not distract Marc when he was working but during off times, he was a blabbermouth. However, Marc still felt uncomfortable being in the back seat when Jake was driving. Something about the lack of control just didn't sit right with him, even if he knew Jake would switch back with him when he demanded it.

Steven went a little red and put his hands to his hips. "W-Well I don't want to forbid him from... having fun. It's not like he can help his sexuality and... honestly, better he let off steam there than go around waxing poetic about blood splatters."

Marc sighed. "I'll tell him to keep his hands off the students, alright?" he said. Wow, that sounded so wrong.

"That's a start," Steven agreed. "But can't he, I don't know... take care of his needs in other ways?"

Marc raised a brow. "I'm pretty sure he does that too." Alone. At night. In Marc's bed. It had actually been Marc who'd gone to buy some proper sex toys because he did not want his firearms abused in that way! Most embarrassing trip of his life... Jake had wagged his tail like an excited puppy though.

"You know what I mean," Steven growled. "He's... attracted to you. Would it kill you to give him a hand now and then? Maybe that'd be enough to keep him away from outside guys."

"Steven!" Marc protested. 

"What? You think I don't see the way you two look at each other?" Steven scoffed. "There's playing hard to get and there's going behind your mate's back, and I'm pretty sure you crossed the line, my friend."

Well, that didn't take long. 

Marc fought the urge to flee.

"It... Doesn't work like that," he said quietly, almost pleadingly. "The... desires Jake has..." for Marc, because of Marc, towards Marc, "some of that can be fulfilled behind closed doors." To take the edge off the unhealthiest addictions. "But not all. It's not real. None of it is real unless it's out there, in the open. It doesn't affect the body the same way." Thank God it didn't. 

"So we just need to get off more? That's what you're saying?" Steven said and Marc winced but didn't refute the statement. 

Steven sighed. "I don't like Jake using people like that, Marc. Maybe it's time I... push back. You know. For my reputation."

"...What?" Marc said.

"I don't want people to think I'm gay. I'm not!" Steven clarified. 

"You sure?" Marc asked doubtfully. "You seem to have an awful lot of fun watching Jake moon over me. Teasing me about it. Almost sounds like you want us to be together."

Steven sputtered. "W-Well that's different!" 

"Is it?" 

"Yes it is!" Steven said strongly. "It's you. It's him. It's us. That's like... I'm not disgusted by my own body. By touching it. That's fine. That's... You know. But other men, out here? No. Just... No! I'd much rather it be a woman."

"So you want to try dating again?" Marc asked. "Think that's any easier now, with Jake thrown in?" 

"I mean... If it's just because the body needs, you know what... That would be fine, wouldn't it? If I took care of that. Then he wouldn't need to," Steven argued. “I'm not... wholly unaffected by what you guys are doing, I don't think. I mean, we don't need to compare timetables here but I've been getting bouts of unexplainable excitement for a month now, if you know what I mean. And it's distracting! So, I was thinking I should go out and... meet someone.”

"Wow, okay," Marc said, trying to ignore the embarrassment welling up in him knowing Steven could tell when Jake and him were together. "I admire your optimism. If you think you can find a woman that's okay with two guys screwing each other in your head while you screw her, I'll give you an order of Casanova, first class."

"Maybe... Not in a long-term relationship," Steven allowed and managed not to blush. "Though I honestly think the vigilante business would be more of a problem than that. I'm just thinking. You know. Occasionally, it could be me. Taking care of the body."

Marc sighed. "Steven, I don't care who you sleep with. If you want permission, I give it. Go ahead, be safe."

"Well yeah but can you help?!" Steven huffed. 

"Help?" Marc echoed incredulously. 

"I don't know how to... ask a woman out like that. For that," Steven fidgeted. "Without flowers and restaurant dates and... You know, feelings." He hung his shoulders a bit. "I'd really like to avoid feelings."

Now that was just sad. 

"I'm not going hit on girls for you," Marc blocked. 

"Why not?" Steven complained. "You like both, don't you?" 

"That's so not the point!" Marc snapped. 

"Then what's the problem?" Steven whined. 

"I can't-" Gah! "It'd just feel weird!" Marc hissed. 

"Why?" Steven wouldn't let go.

"Because..." Marc said helplessly, "I still... I still think of her."

"Who?" Steven asked cluelessly. Then he remembered: "Ooh! Your ex? Wait but... How long have you been separated?" 

"... Almost a year now," Marc admitted. 

"So shortly before... Oh. And around the time Wendy died too. I'm so sorry," Steven said. 

"It doesn't matter. It's over," Marc said defensively. 

"But you didn't separate because you didn't love her anymore," Steven surmised. "You said work got in the way."

"It just... It still feels weird to think of another woman. Or man. Even casually," Marc admitted, feeling way too vulnerable for comfort. 

"But... Jake-" Steven started. 

Marc scoffed. "Believe me, that is not the same thing. At all." Jake was a band-aid Marc was putting over a gaping wound to try and stop it from bleeding. Nope, not even that, he was more like tape, the one that did the job right until he pulled it off. It would fucking hurt like hell once he did and rip the wound back open again and possibly make everything worse, but it would have to come off before everything festered and became even more ugly and diseased. 

Jake and Marc weren't about love. They weren't even about passion. They were just about pain and pleasure with no separating line in between. 

Gods, he missed Layla. 

"I can't help you, Steven. I'm sorry, I can't. Not... Not with that," Marc said quietly. 

"... That's okay," Steven said just as quietly. "I'll just..." be alone. 

"I'm sorry," Marc said again. 

"It's not... I don't care about sex," Steven said quietly. "Well maybe a little. But what I really want is... connection. You know?" 

"Yeah, I know," Marc said. He loved Steven, loved him with all his heart but even Steven was sometimes not enough. Layla had been a connection that grounded Marc for many years. Except when he'd had her, he didn't have so many other things that he now did enjoy. 

Everything was going so well. They had a family and friends, if only in each other. They had financial stability and the leisure to pursue hobbies. They had their physical needs met. They had a grand purpose. 

The one thing they didn’t have was company with someone, anyone outside. Someone who knew them, truly knew them and did not run away, someone who stayed. 

That was something they could never have. Not unless they gave up all the rest. 

XxX

March 2026

“Madeline! Come in, come in!” Jake said, almost ripping open the door and grinning excitedly.

Madeline clutched her purse tightly to herself and tried not to look at all the dirt that had gathered back up on the floor of Jake’s house.

“I put all of the spiders into the tank, they’re in the billiard room! You don’t have to see them!” Jake promised as he lead her into the drawing room.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said with a forced smile.

The drawing room was still dirty, covered in a bunch of new cobwebs. But at least Jake had opened the window and while it was night outside, moon light was falling in via long, bright beams. It was eerie and Maddy’s hands twitched, longing for a broom and some disinfectant but she fought down the urge to pull out her hair and scream.

“You’re in a good mood today,” she commented as she took her usual seat on the least dirty chair.

Jake was grinning from ear to ear. “Marc’s visited again,” he said, wriggling his eyebrows.

“He did?” she said surprised. “That’s nice of him.” She’d been surprised, not to say shocked when Jake had claimed that Marc and him had… err… taken their relationship to the next level. Of course, she knew of Jake’s crush on Marc but whenever Marc talked about Jake it was usually to complain about him. That hadn’t really changed but complaints about Jake possibly hurting innocents had shifted to more general complaints about his character and habits. She had the impression Marc no longer feared what Jake would do when on his own quite as much and she hoped that it was a sign he was starting to trust him a bit more.

Whatever those two did behind closed doors, she decided, was none of her business.

Unless someone got hurt.

Then it very much was her business.

Jake leaned forward in his seat excitedly. “Yesterday Marc locked me up in the basement the whole night!”

Oh no.

“He tied me up with ropes and stuff so I couldn’t move.”
That was not okay.

“And then he went moon knighting and came back and told me everything I’d missed.”

Madeline jumped to her feet. “But that sounds horrible! I’ll talk to him – he can’t treat you like that, Jake!”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Wha – no, no, it was amazing!” he insisted. “You see, I was naked.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” Madeline fumed.

Jake couldn’t understand why Maddy wasn’t happy for him. “It was special,” he insisted. “He took me up outside after and we showered together and it’s like… everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

Madeline wavered, unsure. “So he’s not… hurting you?”

“Oh,” Jake sighed, “he hurt me plenty. In the not-real way, inside. Like when he-”

“Stop,” Madeline said, raising a hand. “If you were both naked during, I don’t want to know.”

“Only I was naked,” Jake replied.

“Because he made you or because you wanted to be?” she asked.

“Of course I wanted to!” Jake said. That should be obvious.

“And he didn’t mind that?” she asked further.

“No,” Jake said with a silly grin. “He didn’t.”

“Then it counts,” Madeline decided. “No details please.”

She sighed, putting her hands to her hips and looking down on Jake, wondering what she was going to do with him.

“Look, Jake, sweetie, if you and Marc are happy with each other, far be it from me to stop you. But it really sounds like you’re going about it the wrong way. Why don’t you try going on a real date together?”

“A real date?” Jake echoed. “Like what?”

“There’s any number of places,” Madeline replied. “You could go swimming in a pool. Visit a theater. Oooh, you could go to the zoo!”

“What are we supposed to do at a zoo?” Jake asked confused.

“Well, look at the animals of course,” she replied.

“What for?” Jake asked. “That sounds boring.”

“Well, if you want more excitement, you could try a roller coaster,” she offered.

Jake raised a brow. “Look, no offense but, why would I want the kiddie version when I can literally fly, using the suit? I’m not Steven. I don’t like lame.”

“I’m trying to help,” she said, not liking his sassy tone. “I think it’s wonderful if you two want to be together together but I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

“But the hurt is half the fun!” Jake protested.

“Jake…” Madeline said helplessly.

“No,” Jake insisted, “maybe I didn’t explain it right. This is exciting! Marc is sharing stuff with me! I… I’m useful to him. He comes visit me. He invites me up. This is all I ever wanted. Can’t you be happy for me?”

Madeline wavered. “You.. You are happy, like this?”

“Very happy,” Jake confirmed firmly.

“O-Okay then,” she said eventually. “If you ever change your mind though, you let me know.” She didn’t understand Jake and she was skeptical of his words. But unless he asked for her help, there was little she could do.

She sat back down on her chair. “Regardless of what you do in your own free time, I still think it’s important for you to understand how normal relationships work,” she declared. “Even if it’s just to understand Steven, who’s actually aiming for something like that. So that’s what we’ll base today’s lesson on.” She started to put out her material, pens and papers and erasers. She’d found that Jake was a visual learner and responded well to illustration.

“I was meaning to ask about that,” Jake said, leaning forward. “I was with Steven the other day while he prepared to ask out that girl at uni. Now I understand the chocolate thing, it melts on your belly and is delicious to lick off, but why flowers? They stink and they take work to not die and they are crazy expensive.”

Madeline closed her eyes and counted to five. Then she smiled.

“Okay, let’s start at the beginning then,” she said and started to draw stick figures on the paper. “When a man and a woman… or two men, or two women, like each other very much…”

This was going to be a long session, she could already tell. At least Jake was an attentive listener.

XxX

April 2026

Marc fell back into the blankets of his bed, sweaty and panting and coming down from an incredible high.

“Fuck, that was so hot,”Jake said breathlessly.

Marc had to agree. He'd only switched in toward the end but he'd watched from the beginning. Jake had pulled the big standing mirror toward the end of Marc's bed, muttering to himself as he worked their body over. He dragged it out, taking breaks, focusing his attention on different parts of their body. Eventually Marc hadn't been able to stand the tension anymore. He started whispering encouragement, calling him dirty names and eventually... giving orders. And fuck Jake was enthusiastic in obeying him. He liked to display. Liked to put on a show. He looked like a whore, begging for attention and Marc told him as much and it only turned Jake on more.

“I'm sorry,” Marc muttered, staring at the ceiling, still feeling the pleasure ripple through their body.

“What for?” Jake asked.

“For... taking over. Not letting you stay till the end. I didn't mean to,” Marc lied. He absolutely had meant to. It was mean, he knew that, to wind up Jake like that and then take the peak for himself but he'd felt like being mean.

“Are you kidding me? Switching mid orgasm felt fucking amazing! I don't think I ever want to have sex any other way,” Jake gushed. “Let's do it again! Round two, yes? You up for it?”

Marc's thoughts stuttered to a halt. Jake was so eager to give, so happy to receive, he was like one big hole that swallowed up all of Marc's darkness. All of his issues and pain and desires, throwing them back in his face with a laugh. Turning pain into pleasure and shame into joy.

“This is wrong...” Marc muttered while he let his hand wander down his torso, not sure who he was trying to convince.

“Yeah... So wrong...,” Jake purred happily.

It didn't feel wrong anymore. It just felt good. Marc had expected the others to protest, to shame him, be disgusted at him. But all Steven did was tease him and occasionally complain if Jake was leaving sex stuff lying around and Maddy… Maddy treated them like they were a couple. They were not. This wasn’t… Marc knew what it was like to be a part of a two. He’d had relationships before. Layla was the big one, obviously, but he’d had shorter ones before her too, even with other men. He’d fooled around with Jean-Paul for a bit, though that ended after he became Moon Knight and vanished off the radar. He’d had a few casual relationships with other mercs, other soldiers. This felt a bit like that. Jake wasn’t his partner. He was just… someone he hooked up with more than once.

“Yessss… like that,” Jake encouraged him as Marc touched himself.

“Can you feel that?” he whispered. Marc couldn’t when Jake did it, but he could see it. And Jake was wearing the body so differently, it looked like another person.

“I feel what it does to you,” Jake purred. “Look at you. So goddamn sexy.”

Jake pushed forward gradually and the hand that was touching Marc no longer felt like his own. Marc leaned back and closed his eyes, imagining Jake lying between his legs and moaned quietly. But then Jake stopped and Marc opened his eyes again.

“You know,” Jake said sneakily, “we could find someone to share. Some handsome guy to have some real fun with.”

Marc stiffened. “I don’t…. I’m not doing that.”

“You don’t have to. I could,” Jake reminded him. “You like watching me, don’t you? I know I like watching you.”

Marc licked his dry lips. “I don’t want anyone else outside,” he claimed. He thought of Layla. Shit. He thought of Layla on top of him while Jake used his hands to touch Marc. Double shit.

“But you want me?” Jake coaxed him, drawing little circles on his skin. “You do, don’t you? Say that you do. Pretty please…”

“That’s different,” Marc whispered and started to feel uncomfortable. “We’re different. It’s not… We’re…”

“Special?” Jake finished for him. “Unique?”

Technically, yeah. Marc found himself nodding. It sounded kinder than what he had in mind. Being with Jake was nothing like being with Layla. And while he still missed her, this… thing they had was touching something inside of him that he’d never dared to look too closely at.

“You know, I haven’t had a full night to myself in three weeks,” Jake pouted. “It’s kinda my turn. And I wanna have fun.”

It was his turn, wasn’t it? Jake had behaved. He sneaked out alone sometime when Steven or Maddy didn’t want to accompany him, but it wasn’t for Moon Knight stuff, it was just... to relieve tension. Jake wasn’t included in any deal, not like Marc and Steven who divided day and night between them. But Steven was regularly giving up some of his time for Madeline. If Jake slipped in with them, it was taking time away where the two of them were supposed to do their thing. That wasn’t right. Jake was Marc’s. His alter, his responsibility, his… His. It would only be fair for Marc to give some of his nighttime to Jake. He had a right to the body too, didn’t he?

Marc slipped back under and Jake sat up, grinning. “So,” he said, grinning at the mirror. “Latino or Pale-face?” he asked as if he was asking for Marc’s take-out preference and not discussing possible one-night stands.

Marc squirmed. Part of him wanted to deny the tight knot of want inside of him. He’d done this before, watched Jake be with other men. But Jake hadn’t been aware of it back then. He would be now. He would know exactly that Marc was watching. And there would be no reason for Marc to remain quiet. He didn’t want to encourage Jake’s exploits because they annoyed Steven... But Steven wasn’t here.

“I don’t care,” Marc claimed. “But it can’t be anyone we know. Nobody from uni. You better drive to the other end of town. And pick someone older, will you? We’re not all stuck at 20.”

“Got it!” Jake said, giving a thumbs up to the mirror. He jumped off the bed, grabbing a jacket. “Now what is your opinion on blindfolds…?” he asked, still grinning as he made his way through he flat.

Blindfolds sounded amazing.

“They’re alright,” Marc allowed.

“And maybe after,” Jake went on excited, “we can don the suit and look for a liquor store to be robbed or something? There’s always something going on in Brixton past midnight. Or we could go inside and do the thing with the matches.”

“Let’s see where the night takes us,” Marc said evasively. To his own surprise he found that he… He wouldn’t mind just having a fun night. With no pain for a change. Jake was… Jake was being good. He deserved a treat. Maybe it was okay for Marc to just enjoy himself for once.

Chapter Text

"Maybe there are ghouls. Oooh, there could be man-eating ghouls," Jake whispered. 

"Not every subway tunnel is inhabited by ghouls," Marc whispered back as he strode through the darkness. No sense in sneaking when you were the one bright spot in a sea of black. 

"Some are. Remember Paris?" Jake said and sighed. "Good times."

Marc shuddered. "Yeah, I remember. There were at least four hundred of them." He froze and drew his crescent blade, glaring at Jake's reflection in the polished metal. "Wait a moment, what were you doing there?" 

"What I always do. Make sure we get out alive," Jake said evenly. 

"When? I know I lost a few hours in between, but I never figured out how," Marc said. 

Jake was silent for a moment. "Do you reeeeally wanna know?" 

"I asked, didn't I?!" Marc said, rolling his eyes.

"Maddys says I'm supposed to make sure if there's blood involved," Jake returned. 

"They were ghouls. Ghouls are okay to kill," Marc decided. "I'm pretty sure I got nearly all of them when I flooded the catacombs with the Seine." 

"Yeah, that's not what I'm talking about," Jake muttered. "But since you asked: You remember when you entered that big cavern, with the gathering where they were all feasting?" 

"Yes...," Marc said slowly. "They swarmed me, the floor gave in and I fell into the tunnel below."

"I mean yeah, after a few hours you did," Jake muttered. "That was the last game."

"Game?" Marc echoed. He had a bad feeling about this. 

"You know, there was Truth or Dare, and Twister and a dancing competition - I totally rocked that one - and there was wrestling. It was fun. You know, in a keep-going-or-we'll-rip-you-apart kind of way."

Marc groaned. "Please at least tell me you didn't eat anything!" 

"I would but Maddy says I'm not supposed to lie," Jake replied apologetically. 

Marc lowered his blade and looked to the ceiling, wondering if it was really worth it to investigate the subway child kidnappings. He didn’t mind Jake’s brashness as much anymore. But finals were approaching and Steven had studied until late into the night the other day. Marc had already been tired when Khonshu showed up and demanded he set out to take this case. A sudden past of possible cannibalism was not something he wanted to deal with on this little sleep.

Fortunately, in that moment a shadow jumped him from behind. Marc rolled to the ground, throwing the attacker over his shoulder as he did so. A moment later the darkness was pierced by a flash of light and the deafening sound of gunfire as his back got riddled with bullets. 

"Hahaha, he took the bait!" someone to his left laughed and Marc threw his crescent blade, cutting off the laugh abruptly. 

"We'll get you, Moon Knight!" another shouted and a man stormed at him with a machete. 

Soon Marc was swarmed from all sides but very quickly, he noticed something odd about his attackers. They were all... disabled. One was missing an arm, another blind on one eye, the next kicked at him with a metal prosthetic leg and there even was a guy in a wheelchair madly cackling as he fired with an automatic rifle at him. 

"What the fuck?" he said as he punched one guy in what was left of the scarred tissue of what might've once been a face. 

"Hey, I think I know that guy," Jake piped up. 

I that moment someone hit Marc over the head with a tire iron shortly before wheelchair guy swung around and emptied a whole magazine into Marc's midsection. Pain exploded everywhere, nicely going in tandem with the stars he saw. Darkness clawed at his senses and all Marc managed to get out was: "Jake..." 

He was falling, falling, falling and from somewhere far away he heard Jake's voice saying. "Oh, you're going to regret that! Nobody gets a shot at Marc but me!" 

Then he was out like a light. 

Annoyingly, when he came to, he was the last one. 

About fifteen men and women were sat propped up against the tunnel wall, tied up in white bandages. A pile of another half dozen bodies or so looked decidedly dead but the captives too were likely to be so soon unless someone did something about the missing limbs and numerous gunshot wounds they sported. A lone, cracked flashlight lying on the ground illuminated the scene. 

Jake was pacing up and down in front of the line of captives, talking to Marc's phone (Steven had finally convinced him to get a smartphone, if only for the bigger screen - it didn't even have an battery inside and wasn't really working as a phone, just a convenient visual medium). 

Oh yeah, and Khonshu was there too, looking rather impatient standing by the rails.

"Jake, dammit, why are Steven and Maddy here!?" Marc snapped, joining the others in looking up to Jake from the reflection of the phone.

"Oh good, you're back," Jake said relieved over the near hysterical calls of "What happened!?" and "Why are we covered in blood??"

"Jake!" Marc snapped again.

"I just did what you said!" Jake defended himself. "See, most of them are still alive! Obviously, they shouldn't be, but I was gonna ask before I gave them the rest only you weren't responding. So I asked Steven, who didn't know and woke up Maddy, who didn't know either!" 

"Just kill them already!" Khonshu demanded. "You still have four children to rescue, have you forgotten?"

"We can't just kill fifteen people!" Steven protested. "Who even are those guys!?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you, they're all criminals that we fought before! People that Marc let live before," Jake said. "We can't do the same mistake again, they'll just try again later! Possibly even hurt someone else to lure us out!"

Marc felt a little sick, looking at the captives and realizing Jake was right. He recognized most of these people. Some from his merc days, some from after and one even from the Company.

"This is not good," Marc whispered. "Who brought all of these together? Someone... Someone managed to connect Marc Spector with Moon Knight." Which meant it was only a small leap to also follow the trail back to Steven.

"Good thinking," Jake said and grabbed one of the still conscious captives by the collar, one who was missing an ear and leaking blood from a flesh wound in the tight.

"Who told you where to find us!?" he snarled, slapping the man across the face and breaking his nose in the process.

"Jake, stop that!" Maddy shrieked.

Ugh, Marc really hated to do that but... He agreed with Jake.

"Maddy, please go back inside. I'm sorry but we have to know. They specifically set an ambush for me. Steven could be next," Marc said quietly.

"But..." Maddy started uncertainly.

Marc closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Mom, please. Go back inside. Let Jake and me handle this,” he said, choosing his address very carefully.

"I... I... Alright fine", Maddy relented tearfully. "Just make sure to save those children. Promise?"

"Of course," he promised. "Now go."

Maddy's screen went black and he sighed in relief.

"You can't kill fifteen people, Marc. You can't," Steven said stubbornly. "It's not - they attacked us, fine, not great, but this isn't life or death anymore."

"They're going to come back", Marc cautioned.

"How? Most of them don't have legs anymore," Steven said bitingly.

"They could come back as evil cyborgs," Jake suggested. "What?" he added when Steven glared at him. "It happened before!"

“It did?” Steven shook his head. “Oh my days, I’ve listened to too many Dr. Who audio books if this actually sounds plausible...”

"I very much doubt we’re going to have an invasion of the cybermen,” Marc chimed in. “But next time they could take a hostage we know. Someone we care about. Any of your fellow students, a professor, Simone - they weren't above taking children, Steven," Marc added. "And it's not like any of them were innocent even before today. I fought all of them before for a reason." Steven still didn't look convinced. "Alright, compromise," Marc offered. "We won't kill any of these guys but we're not going to call help for them either. You go back inside and let Jake question the ones that can still talk. We need to hurry Steven, we still have to find the children."

"Ugh, I hate this," Steven growled. "That's an impossible choice!"

"Welcome to my world. You wanted to know what it was like," Marc said humorlessly.

"...I'll go. I hate it but I'll go," Steven agreed at last. "Come back in one piece, will you?"

Steven's screen went black too and it was just Marc and Jake left.

"Go on," Marc told his alter quietly. "We need answers."

Jake grinned widely and turned his focus back to the man he was holding. "Sorry about that. The voices in my head were discussing whether or not I'm allowed to cut you open." He raised a machete. "Lucky me, they said yes!"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" the man shouted, eyes wide in panic. "The children - weren't you here to save the children!? I'll tell you where they are if you let me go!"

"I'm listening," Jake said coldly.

The man gave him an address. "Two more of us are guarding them. They're supposed to kill them when they don't hear back from us for too long!"

"That's nice," Jake said with his eyes narrowed. "Now tell me who told you where to find us?"

Conflicting emotions raced over the wounded man's face. Eventually, he settled on hatred and spat: "You ruined my life, Spector! And not just mine, you've made a lot of enemies. He'll come for you!"

"Who!?" Jake snarled, shaking him.

"Die like the rat you are!"

Jake brought the machete down, not in a clean cut, not with all his strength. Rather he started to use the rusted weapon as a saw and the man began to scream bloody murder.

"You get five minutes, Jake. We have to hurry," Marc said, trying not to notice how the mask pulled over Jake's grin. "Call me when you reach the children."

"Will do, mi vida," Jake said with relish, throwing the arm behind him. "Now let's try that again. Unlike your friends, you have three limbs left and if you won't talk, I have fourteen other playmates..."

Marc left Jake to it, reminding himself that it was for a good cause.

XxX

"Aww, look at them. You did it!" Madeline exclaimed happily, looking down with the others from the roof Marc was crouched on to the street where four children between the ages of seven and fifteen jumped out of the police van and into the waiting arms of their parents. "I'm proud of you, boys."

"I take back everything bad I ever said about your job," Steven agreed. "You did good."

Marc felt the back of his neck prickle and something painful curl in his stomach that was good at the same time.

"Really?" Jake asked what Marc thought. His presence felt closer somehow, curled up all around Marc like a purring cat.

"Yes, really," Madeline said gently. Marc readied himself to give Jake a mental slap if he started blabbing about exactly how they'd done it... but for once, Jake remained silent.

"I'm very proud of all three of you, my precious sons," Madeline emphasized.

"Hmm," Jake made happily, then did a double take and suddenly stiffened up. "I'm not your son!" he snapped at Madeline. 

"But you could be," Maddy offered and Marc could practically see her open her arms, even though there was no reflection nearby.

"Nope, never, go away!" Jake shouted and then there was the noise of a door slamming shut and Jake was gone.

Great. Marc knew it had been a moment too good to last.

"...What did I say?" Madeline said confused and hurt.

"I don't know. Maybe Jake doesn't want to be brothers with Marc," Steven said with a certain teasing tone in his voice. "Not like Marc and I are."

Now it was Marc who stiffened up, a pit forming in his stomach.

"We are not brothers," he said hoarsely. 

"We kinda are," Steven disagreed. "I can talk with you about all kinds of stuff, we help each other, we have semi regular family meetings at Mum's house-"

"You are not my brother," Marc snapped more aggressively. That was not - that could not be. Marc had not... He'd never meant to replace- They were not brothers.

"O-Okay. You don't have to be mean about it," Steven stammered. "What's so bad about-"

Marc was gone in the blink of an eye. The suit unravelled with him and Madeline swayed, falling backward on her behind.

"What the - did he just leave?" Steven said aghast. "What did I say?"

"I don't know," Madeline said, feeling just as helpless. "We have a bigger problem right now though."

"And that is?"

"... I have no idea how to get off this roof."

XxX

It was the day after the ambush, in the evening, after Steven handed over the body to Marc following a regular day of lectures for him. Marc shoved aside everyone for a while to work without distraction. Then, he called a general meeting.

Jake was with him the moment he so much as muttered his name. For Madeline, he dialed a line of one's into his phone and then asked her to bring Steven with her.

Five minutes later he had the big standing mirror sat up for Steven and the laptop for Maddy's video feed. Jake declined any visual medium for himself. He didn't like being visible when riding alongside. It was possibly a remnant from remaining hidden for so long but he preferred to... lurk, with Marc only ever able to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of his eyes in the faint reflection of clean glass or polished metal.

"Alright guys... and Mom," Marc said, the address starting to come more and more natural to him. Madeline met him with a brilliant (and possibly smug) smile. 

Marc turned toward a pin board where he'd attached about a dozen printouts, more than half of them wanted posters with names and known alias underneath them. "As you know, I was ambushed last night by someone who most likely knows that Marc Spector and Moon Knight are the same person. Among the group that attacked me there were a lot of my old enemies, both from my merc days as well as my avatar days. According to what Jake found out, this," he pointed at the face on top of the board, "is the man behind it."

"Wow. He looks ugly," Steven commented, regarding the square head with the military-short cut dark hair. "Is that a skull he tattooed on his face?"

"Could be. That wasn't there last time I saw him," Marc replied. "That is Raoul Bushman. Ex-US-Marine, used to be my commander actually. Later founded his own mercenary group. I did a few jobs with him when nothing else was available, 'cept I dropped out because Bushman cared nothing for civilian casualties. He only cared about the money. The last job I ever did with him was the one that ended with me almost dying. I only survived because Khonshu chose me as an avatar." Marc pointed out four other men. "These ones were his most frequent partners. I have no doubt that Bushman will come after me again. The group yesterday was just the vanguard, testing out the waters. He'll send others next time, possibly even come himself, if he's got the balls for it. If you see any of these people around - call me or Jake immediately."

"Okay, I get that this guy is dangerous," Steven said, "but why is he after you specifically?"

"I had one other run-in with him after he left me for dead," Marc said. "Khonshu wasn't too pleased him and his men robbed his temple. At the first opportunity, when we picked up his trail again, we got a little... revenge. Unfortunately, he had a lot of firepower and I only had a pair of blades. Actually, Jake, you know better than me how that ended."

"Yeah, that mess in his face? That was me," Jake said with a vindictive little smile. "I honestly thought he was dead. Left him in a collapsing building that was also on fire and all that. Sattler, Rodriguez and Mathews you can cross out, those definitely died back then."

Marc crossed out three of the faces. "That would explain the two year gap before he became active again," he muttered. "There aren't all that many ways for a man like Bushman to get proper medical treatment, not to mention rehab. He probably met all his new best friends that way. Count to that the loss of reputation, all the assets we blew up, finding new henchmen - it takes a while to get back from something like that. But he's made it. And now he's after us."

"Wonderful," Steven said dryly. "Your past is catching up to you. Why am I not surprised?"

"We will make sure to keep a look out for these people," Madeline promised seriously. "It shouldn't be too hard. They're very... distinctive."

Indeed, most of these men were either hulking mountains of muscle, seedy looking ferrets or veterans littered with scars. There were four women among them too, all professional killers, looking no less menacing than their male counterparts.

"They might send someone else to approach you," Marc warned them. "These are just the people I could confirm on short notice have worked most often with him in the last couple of years. I'm a little out of touch with my old contacts. There might be more. If - If he's found out that... That you are more than just cover identities, he might even send an infiltration specialist or heck, even a civilian. People you're close to could be blackmailed or threatened to harm or trap you. You have to be prepared for everything. So." He clapped his hands once. "That means new ground rules. Don't eat anything that we haven't bought in a store or cooked ourselves. That goes double for drinks. Don't agree to meet anyone on your own. Not even a professor after class. Come straight home after you’re down with lectures, don’t stay out too late.”

“But we have finals this month!” Maddy protested. “We need library time!”

“Then borrow what you need and take it home,” Marc said with a scowl. “Avoid public transport. Before you get into a car, let Jake or me check it for explosives. And Steven, Jake, no dating and no one-night stands for you until this is over."

Double groans of "Really?" and "Come on!" met that particular rule but Marc was insistent.

"I'm sorry but this is serious business," Marc emphasized. "The suit's slow to respond during the day. Say it takes three seconds for me to wake up when I'm not aware, maybe double that if it's an off day or you don't think danger is immediate. Another five to ten for the suit to fully form - that's up to twenty-one seconds of response time in which we'll be vulnerable. Far, far too long with this many professionals after us."

"Yeah, I'd barely need three to kill Steven. Less if I have a sniper rifle," Jake agreed.

"Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence," Steven griped.

"It's not that bad. Bushman isn't a real danger," Jake tried to reassure him. "If he shoots or poisons us, Khonshu can still resurrect us. He does that all the time."

"Wait, what?" Steven asked.

"Are you saying you already died before?!" Madeline screeched.

"Jake, shut up," Marc growled.

"What? Why?" Jake said.

"Context. Now," Steven demanded.

Marc sighed and drew a hand through his hair. "Look, it's just - the suit's pretty powerful. We can get wounds that would be lethal to another person and still keep going. A destroyed organ takes maybe four seconds to reform. A human can be resuscitated for a couple of minutes after death. Anything that a decent defibrillator can do, the suit's got it covered. We might've... been there, once or twice, but that doesn't mean you can be careless! I don't want to test the suit's limits with a bazooka or something equally ridiculous. Besides, it still hurts. And I don't want any of you to die, short or long term, so just promise me you'll be careful!"

"We will," Steven waved that away with far too little concern, "but honestly, you didn't think to mention that Khonshu can literally bring you back when you die? Didn't think that might've been important to know for us?"

"We should get him flowers. Does he like flowers? I think gods like flowers," Maddy said, sounding a bit panicked. "He better make sure you three stay safe. Oh, I'm going to be so worried now!"

"See, that's why I didn't say anything!" Marc burst out, motioning towards Madeline.

"What if your head explodes?" Steven fretted. "Would he still heal you then? Does a magically regrown brain keep all its synaptic connections? Would we all be dead and you'd be alone and amnesiac? Would we all be amnesiac?"

"My head is not going to explode," Marc snapped.

"Oh my days, his head! DON'T YOU DARE EVER RIDE THAT BIKE AGAIN WITHOUT A HELMET, MARC!" Madeline shouted. “Jake. Anyone attacks his head, you do whatever it takes to protect it!”

“Yes, Madame!” Jake saluted.

Marc winced and rubbed his temple, trying to soothe the headache.

"Everyone calm down. It's going to be fine. We're going to be fine. All I want is for you to stay vigilant.”

“Easy for you to say. You know what to look out for,” Steven worried.

“Maybe Marc and I can do more day-fronting till this is over?” Jake suggested.

“Absolutely not. I’m not flunking Ancient History because you guys had bad stuff going on in your personal history,” Steven rejected.

“I have a big presentation next week,” Maddy agreed. “Would hate to miss it.”

“It will be fine,” Marc stressed. “This is… This doesn’t have to interrupt your life. I’m not even sure anyone knows about your identities. They could’ve just stormed our flat if they knew we were living here under the Grant name. If you want to be extra safe, don’t leave the house for anything other than uni and maybe buying groceries. Nobody will suspect me here.”

The others were silent for a moment. Eventually, Steven sighed. “I want to put some of my first edition books somewhere safe. Just in case the apartment gets blown up. Maybe it’s time to go back to renting storage units.”

“I wonder if our insurance covers that kind of damage,” Maddy wondered. “I have to look it up.”

“I’m going to patrol each night. Very visibly, trying to draw them out,” Marc offered. “It won’t take that long.”

“More work and less sleep. Yay,” Steven said sarcastically.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Jake asked.

“Actually, yes,” Steven said friendly. “Would you mind not cutting off anyone’s face for a while? Just so we can tell apart the people who come to kill us.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Jake replied, totally missing the sarcasm.

“Jake and I will take turns watching over you whenever you’re out and about. The apartment and the uni should be safe, but I want one of us to be with you everywhere else,” Marc warned them.

“You can count on me,” Jake promised. "I'll look after them." 

XxX

A week passed. Marc made sure to show himself for at least two to three hours a night, even going after small-time thieves and dealers when nothing big came up just to show presence. He made sure to avoid wearing the cape in the area directly surrounding the apartment, though not so much you could guess his hideout by process of elimination. He also warned Inspector Flint that a number of dangerous people might be out and about in his city and got a walkie-talkie connected to the police radio.

Many mercenaries were not exactly known for their cool head, so it wasn’t long before they drew attention. A bar fight here, a trusted arms dealer who slipped Lockley info on a suspicious customer there. Once Jake even got lucky and picked up one of the suspects with his cab. He had an awful lot of fun with that one, asking innocent questions, making small talk. It took the poor sod half an hour to realize Jake wasn’t driving him to his hotel but rather to his favorite body dumping spot.

Still, there was no sign of Bushman himself. Steven and Maddy were getting nervous. The lack of sleep was grating on them as well as the final exams they had to complete at the end of the semester. Marc was confident they’d get through this though. It wasn’t the first time he had people plot to kill him. It was just the first time while juggling so many alters. He was nervous whenever he wasn’t fronting and withstood the temptation to retreat to his sanctuary. He couldn’t afford a blackout, that was even worse, so whenever he did go inside, he either stayed at Maddy’s or preferably Steven’s. The latter had finally completed his own mind house: a much fancier version of their apartment with a lot more books and guest rooms for all three of his alters. It came with an integrated home system, electronic devices that opened the curtains and turned on the large flat screen and everything when given a verbal command. Whenever someone called from the front, their voice would sound out of multiple loudspeakers all around the house.

One day, a big day for Steven who had to defend his semester-long project of an Arabic translation of some book Marc couldn’t even pronounce the English title of, Marc was in the garden of the Spector house, chatting with Maddy. There were birds chirping and the sun was shining and he could almost forget the stress of the last few nights.

Until the phone lying on the coffee table between them rang and a very upset and slightly scared Steven started rambling:

“Marc? Are you there? Oh my days, please answer.”

“What? What is it?” Marc asked, immediately snatching up the phone. He set it to speakerphone so Maddy could listen in too. The phone remained her main means of communication to the outside. She could speak to them even if they didn’t have a phone on them on the outside but in the headspace, it would still be the medium she used to visualize the connection. When Marc was with her here, the same rules applied to him.

“You know how you told me to be on the watch for suspicious people? That someone might approach me to get to you?” Steven fret. “Well, I think someone just did.”

Marc cursed. Steven was supposed to be at the university right now, he was supposed to be safe!

“Who did you see?” he asked.

“I don’t know – it’s nobody from the list, I don’t recognize them,” Steven hissed.

“Well, describe them. What did they want? Did they harm you, are they still around?” Marc asked.

“I… I don’t think so,” Steven replied, talking quickly. “It was a woman, my age I think, dark skinned, frizzy hair. Athletic. Pretty in the ‘can kick my ass’ sort of way, you know? Very distinctive jewelry, looked a bit like a Middle Kingdom period Usekh collar, so she might be Egyptian, might just be a collector, I really hope it’s not an original, what’s that doing outside of a museum – anyway. She didn’t say her name. But she called me by yours, asked what I was doing here – she seemed angry.”

Marc’s heart sank to his stomach.

“I told her she was mistaking me for someone else and I shook her off. I don’t think she followed me. Wait, no – shit, I think that’s her. She’s following me, Marc, what should I do??” Steven fretted.

Marc cursed, fighting against his own rising panic. He knew who Steven had encountered.

“Okay – calm down. That one isn’t going to try and kill you. I hope,” he added as an afterthought.

“Who is she?” Steven demanded to know.

“… That’s my ex-wife,” Marc admitted and swallowed thickly. “Layla El-Faoly.”

“...Wait, what?!” Steven exclaimed. “She’s your what!?”

“Now’s not the time Steven,” Marc sighed and stood, readying himself to move closer to his alter. “Let me front – wait no, shit, she can’t see us switching. Look, can you get to Jake’s car and change clothes? Maybe we can pass as twins.”

“Oh, so now you want to play the brother card?” Steven said with a raised voice, sounding slightly hysterical. “Why did you never tell me you had a wife?!”

“Steven,” Marc growled. “Get away from her and out of sight. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Marc ended the call and was about to leave when his eyes fell on Madeline.

His… mother had gone pale, staring at him with wide eyes. Marc didn’t have time for this, didn’t have time to deal with her anger or disappointment or-

A single tear ran down Maddy’s cheek and Marc froze.

“M-Mom?” he asked. He needed to rush to Steven but the sight of her rooted him on the spot. She looked… sad? No, not sad. More shocked, appalled maybe, like she’d just found out a loved one had died.

“You were married?” she asked in a small voice.

Marc shifted uneasily. “Y-Yes?”

“I missed you wedding?” she asked and there was so much hurt in her tone Marc felt pain just by looking at her. “My son married and I wasn’t there?”

“It… It was before I knew you,” he stammered. He had never considered – hadn’t expected – why was this so big for her?

“I should’ve been there!” she burst out. “I – you didn’t have your proper family, that’s one of the most important events of a person’s life, you should’ve had your family there!” she lamented. “I… I missed so much of your life, oh Marc…”

“Hey… Hey, no, don’t cry,” Marc said helplessly. It was useless, as Maddy began to sob now. “I would’ve invited you if I’d known you back then,” he tried. When that also didn’t help, he offered, a bit desperately: “You can be there at my next wedding? You can plan the whole thing if you want!”

“But there won’t be another wedding!” Madeline cried. “Not with the way you and your brothers are acting! You never even showed me pictures, Marc. Do you even have your suit anymore? Your wedding ring? You didn’t know me back then, but you’ve known me for a year now, and you never shared any of this!”

“I’m sorry,” Marc said and felt wretched. “I… I should’ve. I was just… busy getting used to everything.” Marc cursed mentally and went on one knee before his mother sitting in her chair, taking her hands in his. “Look, I promise when we have some time, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I don’t… I didn’t keep much, of her, but I kept some, I can show you if you’d like. But right now, I have to help out Steven, okay?”

Madeline wiped the tears from her eyes, giving Marc a hurt look. “I saw her, you know. The girl Steven described. I saw her a few times, I knew you two were serious. I even called her over the phone once. But I never knew she was my daughter-in-law!”

Marc’s eyes widened slightly. “That was you… Of course. You told her about Steven.”

That had been ages ago, but Marc remembered. Layla and him had only been dating for a few months. Back then he had still believed the mysterious phone calls came from Wendy Spector and he’d been absolutely furious when he thought she was using his girlfriend to try and get to him. Especially when she’d dropped Steven’s name.

“I’m sorry,” Maddy said with genuine regret. “I was just so worried about Steven back then because I hadn’t seen him in years and you weren’t talking to me.”

“No… No, it’s fine. Maybe we can use this. I think I know how to get her to leave,” Marc muttered, rubbing Maddy’s hand soothingly.

“But Marc,” his mother protested, “why do you have to make her leave in the first place? Why’d you have to get a divorce?”

“I…” Marc struggled for words. “It just… didn’t work out. Look, I have to go help Steven. Will you be alright?”

Madeline let out a shuddering breath but then nodded. “I’ll be fine. We will have words about this later, my love. Now go to your brother.”

It laid on the tip of his tongue to tell her Steven was not his brother – but he swallowed it. Because for the foreseeable future, he would have to be.