Chapter Text
Steven hated being in New York.
When Marc had convinced him to travel to the States, he had initially looked forward to it, even though it had already been obvious that they weren’t going there for sightseeing. He doubted he would have time to play a tourist and instead would have to focus of reducing the damage his reckless alter did to their body when he was in charge, but he had still hoped to at least be able to visit a few of the countless museums the metropolis had to offer. And, as unlikely as it was, he even played with the thought of visiting a broadway show. He assumed that Marc had been to New York City before, but for Steven himself it was a new place he was eager to explore.
But shortly after their arrival his dreams had been shattered. For some time, back in London, he had been able to watch over Marc, often annoying the other with his commentary, but apparently Marc had found a way to completely shut him out again, just the way it was before he discovered that he was not the only person inhabiting this body. Instead of letting him see the world from his place on the inside, Marc just did whatever when Steven was out, and had even refused to answer any questions regarding their stay in New York City.
When Steven woke up completely exhausted for the fifth day in a row, he had enough.
“Marc, bloody hell, what is going on with you?”
The mercenary in his head did not answer. With a loud sigh Steven kicked off the scratchy blanket and stood up on shaking legs. His head instantly started to ache and he wobbled toward the bathroom door of the tiny hotel room they had checked in just a few days before, switched on the light and looked into the mirror above the sink. The sight should not have shocked him that much, as he had been used to looking like a dishevelled mess for a long time before the events in Egypt, but once his eyes got used to the brightness in the dusty room, he let out a gasp.
A huge, purple bruise covered half of his face, decorated with some nasty looking cuts right under his left eye, that were, to his surprise, held together by several butterfly stitches. Steven cursed under his breath and raised his hands to touch his head, only to let out a hiss due to a sudden, sharp sting in his right shoulder.
Before he could investigate the source of the pain, he was suddenly overwhelmed by extreme thirst. Wondering how long the body had not had anything to eat or drink, he absent-mindedly turned on the water tap and held his mouth directly under the water tap of the dusty sink, only noticing the bloody cracks on his knuckles in passing.
“You shouldn’t drink tap water here, don’t you know that?”
Steven almost choked, the reminder regarding the differences in water quality only a secondary reason.
“Bloody hell, Marc, what is wrong with you?”
He raised his head to look into the mirror again. It still showed the same bruised face as before, but he instantly recognised Marc by the part guilty, part challenging look. The image of the former mercenary opened his mouth, but Steven angrily interrupted before he could even start to speak: “Do you see what happened to our face? We look like a complete mess, my head and my shoulder hurt like hell, and you are worried about me drinking tap water? Are you bonkers?” He raised his voice with each consecutive word, not caring about what any potential neighbours might think. The motel they had chosen had very few guests anyway; perfect for someone who sometimes looked as if he were talking to himself.
Marc’s face in the mirror looked taken aback. It was unusual for Steven to become this upset, despite having enough reason most of the time. Irritated, maybe, scared, often, but rarely angry.
“I’m sorry Steven. It’s hard to explain.”
“Well then at least try it. I’ve been trying to talk to you for days, but you either shut me out or leave me alone for hours on end. I told you, I will not try to force you to stop playing dress-up and fighting criminals, but the condition was you being more considerate towards our body!”
Steven resisted the urge to slam the door shut as loudly as he could upon leaving the bathroom and instead staggered towards the tiny table in the main room’s corner, where he had set up a small pocket mirror right after their arrival. Although Marc and him were now able to communicate inside their head, he still preferred talking to the other alter the old-fashioned way.
“I didn’t argue with you when you told me we were going to New York. I didn’t try to stop you from getting into fights, but you can’t just go back to the way it was in the past and let me suffer through the damage you did. Have you slept even once since we came here? Eaten?”
The even guiltier look on Marc’s face answered the question for him. Steven sighed again, trying to calm himself. He was surprised by his own anger himself, but he figured it was just natural, considering his lack of sleep.
“Look, Marc. I knew we weren’t here on a holiday from the start. But allowing me to front just to doze off during the day really is some arsehole-behaviour. And if you want to continue this, at least let me in on what’s going on. Maybe I can even help you out!”, he continued in a more quiet tone.
“I get you being angry, Steven”, his alter answered, “I’d be angry, too, if I were you, but… fuck” Marc’s image scratched his head: “just trust me on this, it’s safer for you if you don’t know. Actually, it’s safer for all of us. I promise it won’t be long until we head back to London. Just… trust me on this, okay?”
Usually, Steven would have given up at this point, but whether it was the general exhaustion or his throbbing head, he was still angry enough to not back off – at least not completely.
“Okay, then at least explain this!”, he gestured toward his face. “What’s the suit for when it doesn’t even heal us anymore? Or did you just get into a bar fight and are too bloody proud to admit it?”
The answer he had hoped for never came. The man in the mirror was no longer Marc but himself. Steven tried to listen into the back of their mind, but found no one. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he slowly conceived a plan. He had enough of Marc’s behaviour. Although he loved his alter to death, he did not have the strength to deal with his stubbornness and secrecy anymore. And wasn’t it also part of his job to make the right decisions when Marc was behaving like an absolute turnip?
A look on the ticking clock over the bed confirmed Steven’s assumption that it was already way past midday. He made a firm decision: Marc had until the early evening to explain himself. Otherwise, Steven would put them onto the next plane back to England, no matter what the other had to say about that.
First, he had to take a shower and find something to eat in this godforsaken city though.