Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was over.

The world had survived. Again.

At a cost. Again.

People had died, on both sides, killed, their lives forever taken from them.

But it was over.

And it had been worth the cost. It would always be worth the cost, because millions upon millions would live to see this day, enjoy it, unjudged by some deranged deity.

Ammit was sealed again.

This realm was safe.

Until next time.

High on adrenaline, endorphins racing through his system, he hadn't felt the discomfort of his abused body. He had fought with everything he had at his disposal, with everything and everyone he was.

So very human without the moon god’s suit.

So very fragile.

But still so much stronger than anyone had given him credit for. So unbroken and determined, digging deep. Deeper.

He had lost more than he might ever know.

He had broken down barriers, screamed out his pain, and he had reached into a place that had always been sealed.

Until the cracks had appeared.

Until he had felt part of him die, sacrificed to hopefully end this, to win.

He had felt his battered mind, the broken pieces of what had remained everywhere, and he had longed to crawl into a dark place and just… be.

It was over, but never truly was, was it?

He was so tired. So endlessly tired. He wanted to sleep, but sleep had only ever been a change to another life.

We won, right?

He gazed into the broken mirror. “Yeah,” he whispered. “We won.”

And we need sleep.

He looked away, then walked out onto the roof terrace

The sun had set over Cairo a while ago, the night sky muddied by the residual light of the city. Even as far as he was from the city center, the light still polluted the night sky. Over twenty-one million people. Just a fraction of the many he… they had saved.

The moon was already out, the light bright and alluring in his eyes, the power behind it everywhere for him to feel.

It was intoxicating. Addictive. He knew what it felt like, that sensation of calling the ceremonial armor, of becoming Moon Knight, and to wield that power. It was a rush, a warmth, a sense of such immense power at his beck and call. It was everything. A connection to the god he had served.

His servitude hadn’t been all bad, no. Those moments had been… actually, they had been wonderful in their own way.

And the moment the connection had been severed, his god’s presence ripped from his very soul, Marc Spector had felt… nothingness. Not even real pain, just this vast nothingness. He hadn’t even been fronting at the time, but despite that, the loss had been almost crippling.

Steven had taken the brunt of that impact. The one he had always tried to shield from their life, from Marc’s life, and in the end he had become not only involved but also so very much important.

Closing his eyes, face turned to the moon, Marc listened inward.

*

He had always been two identities. Marc Spector and Moon Knight. The Knight was never anyone but Marc underneath that mask, empowered by the Moon God himself. He had never been a separate personality. Marc wasn’t a backseat rider when the Knight was out on a mission. Marc wore the armor. He made the decisions. He acted and reacted; he killed.

Steven Grant lived another life. A calm life, as a museum employee. A meek, gray and unassuming life. Like an alternate existence. Completely separate, watched by Marc from the shadows of their shared mind.

Steven, the gift shop work, the Brit, the meek little thing who got pushed over by just about everyone. Marc had been the one to take over when the alter’s mind weakened through sleep, when his guard had come down. That was when missions were run, when he stole time. Days upon days, sometimes more.

His life had gotten highly complicated with the stronger emergence of Steven Grant, when his mind had started to slide back and forth, their times together meshing into one timeline.

Things had started to spiral out of control.

Especially with alter number three, who neither had been aware of. The vicious protector of the protector, the one with absolutely no regard for life. No conscience, no mercy, just skill and single-mindedness that frightened even the hard-ass ex-soldier.

He refused to think about the very real possibility that this one had served Khonshu, too. Without questions. Relishing in the kill.

No mercy.

Marc had been too wrapped up in the mission to dig any deeper into why the barriers between him and Steven had thinned and finally broken all of a sudden. Why now? Why while fighting to keep Ammit from rising? He had never stopped to ask himself that questions.

He should have.

Maybe he should have listened to Steven’s mumblings about ancient mythology.

But he wasn’t that guy. He was the weapon, Khonshu’s Knight.

Steven…. Steven was the scholar and even while running for his life, terrified beyond belief, thrown into a world he didn’t understand but had to learn about on the run, he had started to piece together some things.

Nothing ever came without consequences.

*

When the dust had settled, when the world was breathing again, when the balance of power had been restored… there were just… the two of them.

Two strong alters.

The survivors.

Because Ammit had been relentless, devouring what was in her path, destroying what she judged as evil, as poisonous.

Marc had only fragmented memories of the fight, as he had alternated between those inside him, each trying to survive, but in the end there had been Steven. Frightened but yet so strong and loyal Steven. Trusting in them to be what it needed to call upon a power that shouldn’t have been theirs.

All the pain, the absolute terror, the loss and the suffering, it had forged a bridge, shattered the walls, made them one, and as one they had survived.

Just them.

While Marc couldn’t say he had ever met the other alter as he had met and interacted with Steven, he also wasn’t immune to loss and death.

Part of him had died.

Sacrificed to Ammit.

For another life. For millions of lives, actually. He had saved the world and lost almost all of himself.

*

There was a sudden chill down his spine, the whisper of a presence. Sharp, yet without the intent to harm. Powerful, but strangely soft and not unbearably overwhelming.

Marc turned to look at the Egyptian deity looming over him, as frighteningly real as he was surreal. Existing. Yes, he still had a bird’s long-beaked skull hovering over the empty socket of a neck. He still wore Egyptian style clothes that moved in a magical wind. He was still wrapped up like a mummy underneath the shendyt-like flaps and stripes, too tall to be human, too sinewy in his moves to be real, and yet… he was very real.

Marc had faced him often enough, had been around the imposing entity, and he had never felt like this, felt Khonshu like this, as when he had shattered the deity’s prison. When he had seen the tall figure hunched over, clearly in pain. And he remembered the pain as Khonshu’s connection had been ripped from him, when he had heard the other’s broken cry of what a human would call pain.

“You…” he whispered harshly. “You are back. Why?”

“I was never gone.”

“Right.” He rubbed a hand over his chest, the place where the void had been, dark and endless, reminding him that he had truly lost a piece of himself.

And how fucked up was his life that he thought that?

Khonshu regarded him from those hollow sockets, but there was something deep in there. Deep inside and alive, more alive than he had ever felt.

It was the same assessing look the moon god had given him those many years ago, when he was on the threshold between life and death.

When he had been given the choice.

Back then, Khonshu had been this terrifying, overwhelming entity, this endless power in a void that was about to swallow Marc whole. He had been the necessary evil to live, to continue having an existence.

Time had passed since then.

Marc’s perception of him had changed gradually. It had done a complete one-eighty throughout his hunt for Ammit’s tomb all of a sudden. It had rearranged itself and Marc had been given an insight into Khonshu that no one else had probably ever had.

Except maybe another one of his god buddies. Maybe not even them.

It didn’t make him less of an asshole, but now he was an asshole Marc was getting a better read on, which was tell-tale all on its own. He was getting better at reading an other-dimensional entity, go figure!

“You came for me,” the god stated and he sounded… mystified. “You freed me from eternal imprisonment.”

He snorted. “You told Steven to tell me to do so.”

The skull cocked a little and while there was no human facial expression, Marc could read something. Something… almost human. Like surprise.

“He actually told you.”

“Yeah. He did.”

“I thought you would be glad to be free. Both of you.”

“Free.” Marc turned that word over in his mouth. “Free? But I am not, am I? I never was and I never will be.”

Because even as Khonshu had been sealed in stone, his power taken from his avatar, Marc had still felt it. The moon was still deep inside his splintered soul and Steven had sensed it just as strongly.

He glanced at where Layla had stepped out onto the roof terrace of their little hideaway. A place to lay low until things had blown over. His wife. Khonshu’s chosen next avatar.

The god chuckled. “That is your perception, Marc Spector.”

“You chose me,” Marc said, meeting the hollow gaze. “You broke me!”

--“I’m curious. Do you think Khonshu chose you as his avatar because your mind would be so easy to break or because it was broken already?”--

Harrow’s soft, so falsely compassionate words echoed through his head. He shook off the memory that was actually Steven’s and that was so ever-present because how much they had meshed together.

“You are not and never were broken, Marc Spector.”

Khonshu regarded him with a sudden calmness that had never surrounded him before. There had always been this looming darkness, that storm about to break lose. Impatience coupled with an age-old anger and that always-present urgency.

Now there was something else.

Something had changed.

And it sat heavily between them.

He was still the same old, blandly colored deity. No colors to him but the sand. The browns. No embellishments aside from the crescent moon on his chest, the scarab belt adornment and the Usekh collar peaking out from underneath the tattered linen. Still looking like the outcast, he mused. Still the shamed god. He had seen the rich representations of the Ennead in the council chamber, had caught a hint of what they were, and Khonshu… was no that. Even his avatar was… tattered, cast out, down on his luck…

“Your mind fractured under a pressure I didn’t impose on it, but it never broke. Hairline fractures. Small cracks only. You were strong enough to survive before I found you, the damage already done. A damage nothing could undo, though Ammit did try.” Khonshu sounded viciously disgusted. “She took what she could, what wasn’t strong enough.”

--"The justice of Ammit surveys the whole of our lives. Past, present, future. She knows what we've done, and what we will do.“—

Getting rid of that voice would prove harder than anything else, he mused darkly. Because Harrow wasn’t part of him; he was an invasion, a parasite, and he had gotten to a part of Marc Spector. To Steven.

But Ammit hadn’t taken him. She had devoured everyone else, but the strongest had survived. Those balancing the scales inside Marc Spector’s soul.

Marc’s hands clenched into fists and his mind flashed back to the all-deciding battle with Ammit, with Harrow. The outcome had been death. Carnage, blood-shed and death. Too much of him had died and he only knew because of those wisps that remained behind. He had died over and over, each alter fading until only two remained, fighting to stay alive against a barrage of cold, ruthless judgment that wanted to drown them, too. Wanted their lives.

Instead they had come out stronger.

And he could feel the moon’s powers, even now. Marc’s eyes strayed to the crescent shape, the power heady and calling to him.

“What about Harrow?” he demanded, tearing his gaze away. “He claimed you broke him. Abused him. Abused his trust, his devotion.”

“He was different. At the time he seemed like a good choice. He enjoyed the pain.” Khonshu shrugged. “A lot. He was vengeance, yes, but he lusted for the kill. His mind was an easy gate into this world, seemed to perfect, so receptive, but he was never perfect. He betrayed me. His devotion was one of lies and personal gain. He was… the wrong choice.”

Spector studied the tall figure, brow furrowing. Inside he felt the same curiosity rise, mirrored from his other half. Steven was listening. He was on the back seat, but he was actively listening in. Taking notes; noticing things. Like Khonshu confessing to making a mistake? That one was rather… new.

“He would have left you there, in that prison. Actually, he did,” the mercenary stated coolly. “Perfectly orchestrated by a psychopath.” He spread his arms. “Like me, right?”

“You came for me,” Khonshu repeated in that dark, slightly raspy voice. “Without powers, without the armor, without me. You came and you prevailed, against overwhelming odds. Against Ammit’s followers and her. You felt the moon despite my absence. The strength of our connection astounds me.” He leaned closer. “You astound me, Marc Spector.”

“Well, fuck off,” Marc snarled.

“You chose me. Voluntarily.”

He clenched his hands into fists. He had, hadn’t he? Without coercion, without pressure. He had made his choice. He could have stood back, let everything go to hell, safe from Ammit because his soul was balanced chaos, but he hadn’t.

He had chosen Khonshu.

He had chosen the sacrifice of everything of himself.

“It’s over. I made a spectacularly bad decision back there!” Marc rasped.

“To save humanity?”

His narrow-eyed glare seemed to entertain the god even more. “To save you, you bird-brained jackass! Should have left you to rot in that stone!”

“I am immortal, Marc. I do not rot.”

“Fuck off,” he repeated, but with less heat.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling so tired, so exhausted right to his last cell. And yet, the power of the moon was pulsing through him. It had healed his body, had soothed his overtaxed mind, and it would always keep him in perfect shape, but he so very much wanted to give in and let someone else take over. Anyone else.

Strangely enough, Steven was a quiet presence. Simply listening.

“You called upon me, Marc Spector. You reached out for me. You wanted me. I am back. So why would I do that now? Fuck off?” Khonshu was projecting laughter, but he was also incredibly curious and so very, very present. Almost oppressively so. “Harrow was a suitable avatar, but nothing else. You were always more. You were perfect. You still are,” Khonshu rumbled. “Inside, you are what I need.” His bandaged finger almost tapped against Marc’s forehead. “You are vengeance and you are passion. You are the warrior and the… scholar.”

The idiot, Steven muttered distastefully.

Marc smirked at the remark. It was the first thing he had said ever since coming back to the safehouse to lick their wounds, regroup, do whatever. Actually, now that it was over, Marc had had no idea what to do.

“You embody the knowledge of my world and the skill of a warrior of yours. You are the first avatar to be everything.”

Not that it got us any thanks, Steven argued. He called me useless.

Well, yes. Marc was the hard-as-nails mercenary, ex-Marine, ex-CIA, the killer, the warrior. He was the Moon Knight. Steven was… the other half. The other side. The alter.

Khonshu’s gaze turned to rest on Layla. “And while she is the one to succeed you should you one day fail, I believe we have a long time of a very… interesting partnership ahead of us, Marc Spector and Steven Grant.”

“What makes you think I’ll just invite you back in?” Marc spat. “You interfering little…”

It got him a rough chuckle. “I never left, Marc.”

Chapter Text

--“It’s maddening, isn’t it?”

The memory teased him, mocked him. Steven’s memory. One interlaced with fear, with terror.

“The voice in your head. Relentless, forever unsatisfied.”--

Marc looked at the owner of that relentless, forever unsatisfied voice that had been in his head for such a long time. And he listened to that voice. He and found while everything was the same, things had forever changed.

 “I was always there,” Khonshu told him, voice dropping deeper, almost hypnotic. ”From the moment of that first crack in your mind as it gave in to the torture, to the brain-washing at the hands of your enemies. I was there and I knew I had to have you. Because you are perfect. Because there is a darkness to the moon, as well as a powerful light. There is nothingness and brightness, and there is the world between. You encompass them all.”

Again, the entity’s head turned to gaze at Layla.

“In my endless existence there were a few who had what it took to be my avatar for more than a few cycles. None were as balanced as you have become since you… gave in… gave up… stopped squabbling and just… fought.”

Marc felt his mouth go dry. “What?”

Oh bloody hell, Steven muttered.

“I thought he was a meddlesome fool. Just another crack. I was wrong. He was strong. So strong that he existed with you after a while, became aware, became your counterweight. The equilibrium.”

I wouldn’t call that bright nightmare of a world I was forced to live through stable or close to in balancel! Steven argued hotly.

Marc could only agree. His own life had been the worst rollercoaster ride ever imagine, a nightmare to anyone else, and then Steven had woken up to that nightmare.

“That wall between you was no more. He started to counterbalance your mind. The scales, Marc. Despite the chaos, they never tipped in one direction. They kept swinging. Now they stopped, haven’t they?” Khonshu asked, sounding almost curious.

Steven was shaking his head, but Marc ignored him.

“You found a way to exist within your two strongest alters,” the moon god explained. “Here,” he actually tapped against Marc’s temple, “and here,” and against his chest. “Fusing you into what you need. The balanced scales. The sword and the shield. Ammit took what had sent you into chaos and kept you off balance. She actually did us a favor.”

It was the first time he felt the entity’s physical touch and it was… weird. A little too much and yet, something that wasn’t unpleasant.

Khonshu had never touched him. Marc could have sworn the god was unable to touch anything at all. He had always been there, visible only to him, but never touching. He could use the wind to express his displeasure by upending things, sure, but usually he lashed out verbally.

“You confused Ammit. It gave you an edge. You weren’t just an avatar, a vessel. You were the Knight even without my armor. You were perfectly in symmetry for the first time of your life.”

Bandage-wrapped fingers cupped his chin, tilting his head a little to look up at the god. It was a warm touch, so incredibly real, the sensation of ancient, otherworldly cloth against his unshaven cheeks almost too much. It wasn’t coarse. It was softer than he would have thought. Just like that touch.

Marc met the intense gaze and found himself almost mesmerized by the force behind those empty sockets. He felt the swirl of emotions and thoughts around the edge of his mind and he let them brush over his consciousness in a brief caress.

“I didn’t know why your soul pulled me to you, but I wasn’t wrong to offer you the choice back when you died, Marc Spector. I felt you were different from Harrow, though I did not know it was the idiot who made you so perfect.”

“Hey!” they protested as one voice.

Khonshu chuckled, thumb brushing over his skin. So real. So fucking real! Not just a magical thing, myth and legend invisible to others. Not a figment of his imagination. This was real and he realized there had been a game-changer throughout their wild adventure.

Something had forever changed.

Within him.

In his relationship with Steven.

In his connection to Khonshu.

“Two sides of the same coin,” the deity continued softly, sounding almost mystified. “Two sides, warring for dominance and still so very much at balance it even confused Ammit’s scales. You are neither one nor the other. You are both. You fight like one. And she,” the skull turned to look at Layla, “is your reality, for both of you. She is connected to both of you, but has never been to the others. She is gravity. She gave both of you the strength to survive.”

Marc felt adrenaline spike. “Do not involve her in this!”

He wanted to step back, remove the gentle yet firm touch, but he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot as Khonshu’s presence seemed to seep into every nook and cranny of space around him.

It was gentler than ever before.

It was calm, far from the tempestuous temper tantrums he had sometimes. It was deeper, more meaningful, and it was simply everywhere.

“She already is,” Khonshu stated softly.

“I already am!” Layla proclaimed at the same time.

“She always has been,” the god added with an audible smirk.

Spector slanted a look on his wife. “You’re not part of this, Layla!”

“I am your wife!” she snapped back at him. “Not just some… sidekick! We’ve known each other for a long time! I was very much aware of the suit, too! I kept your arse alive, Spector. Yours and your alter’s. You wouldn’t be here without me! I am very much part of this, of you, and always have been!”

She was fire impersonate as she glared at him. Khonshu’s approval was an almost physical thing and Marc wanted to ram the moon staff up his skinny ass.

That emotional surge only amused the deity even more.

Steven was still on the backseat, mystified, watching.

“It’s why wanted the divorce,” he murmured. “You were too involved.”

“Well, too bad for you,” Layla told him angrily. “I have been there with you ever since… well, meeting you, you idiot! Marrying you! And while you ditched me, I got involved again. This time with your other self, Marc. I’ve been involved every single step of the way! All of you,” she gestured, “including Khonshu! You’re not getting that divorce, Spector. Ever!”

Khonshu chuckled, rough and actually amused.

“You have no idea what this means!” Marc snarled, finally turning to face her as the entity released him, fingers sliding over his skin.

“Don’t I? Tell me, do you remember how long we have worked together? How many adventures we had? I’ve been on this crazy, fucked-up ride around the world with you and your suited-up bad-ass knight, as well as your other self and his alter ego! I’ve seen some really messed-up shit! Among that some really insane, messed-up shit like a skull-headed moon god and a crocodile-headed woman trying to off most of humanity!”

Marc blinked. “You’ve seen Khonshu?” he whispered, completely caught off guard.

If looks could kill, Layla had a good grasp on how to accomplish that. “I can still see him.”

Steven chuckled inside him as Marc flailed to understand. He narrowed his eyes at the entity.

“She can see you?”

“Apparently,” was the smooth, amused reply.

“Why?”

“She is the next candidate.”

“No!”

“You know she could be my next,” Khonshu purred. “Should you fail or end this partnership, she is the replacement.”

“You’re still a blackmailing, manipulative bastard!” Marc spat furiously. “Getting your crusty old ass trapped in stone didn’t change anything!”

Layla crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Not that I really want to be the bad-ass mummy-wrapped Fist of Vengeance, but hey: you do not get to decide for me!”

“We had a deal!” Spector growled at Khonshu, ignoring his wife.

“Indeed. But since we successfully stopped Ammit from entering this plane, do I have to remind you that our deal is over? You told me so. I accepted the terms of our agreement."

Marc’s mind blanked with murderous rage.

No! Steven surged forward, voice begging. Don’t do this! If you don’t want to bargain, let me, okay?

“We’re not bargaining!” Marc hissed.

We’re also not fighting! Well, you won’t be fighting. This is a god, Spector! Uhm… an entity from another realm that manifests as what the paleolithic humans then saw as gods and the Egyptians later adopted into the deities we know… but, well, my point being… he’s immortal! Do you really think you can so much as kick him in the shin?

Okay, so Steven was his incessantly talking voice of reason and he hated that voice of reason. But it was also a part of him. He had started to heal because he had embraced all that he was, those fractured parts, and he knew they were all him.

So, yeah, well…

“I hate you!” he whispered, staring at Khonshu. “So much!”

The entity tilted his head, not the least bit perturbed.

--“No matter how hard you try to please, it devours you until there is nothing left but a hollow shell.”

Marc forcefully pushed those memories away; Steven’s again. Steven gave him an apologetic, almost tremulous smile.

Sorry. So very sorry. He got to me. A lot. Bastard.

“He got to both of us,” Marc replied softly. “A lot. And we’re not… hollow.”

No. There are still the two of us. And as one of them, I know you don’t hate the git.

“I will uphold my end of our bargain,” the god stated, head tilted as he studied his avatar. “If you want me to.”

Again, a surge of fury rose.

“I can set you free, Marc Spector. To be whatever you decide to do with what you call this life. But: are you willing to live that life? Are you willing to break again and maybe never return?”

Blackmailing, dusty old creep!

Marc…

“Yes, I could find someone else,” Khonshu mused.

“I won’t let you have her!”

Marc…!

“Shut up, Steven!”

No! No, listen! Listen to what he says! You need to shut up and listen! And see! Can’t you see it?

“You don’t get to decide over my life, Spector,” Layla stated angrily as his alter argued with him.

Khonshu’s gaze held Marc’s and he appeared almost… benign… all of a sudden. “I am the greatest of the great gods.”

“The greatest pain in the ass, you mean,” Marc snorted, but Steven made a sound as if he agreed with the entity.

He is, Grant argued. Really. The moon is quite powerful.

“So, we’re in agreement that he’s the greatest ass out there?” Marc asked darkly, a twist to his lips as he looked at the flustered Steven.

Yes. No. Well, yes to both. He’s the greatest of the great gods, but also the greatest of… jerks.

Marc felt laughter bubble up inside him.

“We agree on one thing, Khonshu: you’re great at something. Not sure you want to see it as a compliment.”

The deity looked at him, then snorted.

“This is between you and me,” Marc went on. “Leave Layla out of it.”

There was a thoughtful silence, then, “I have a proposal.”

“I really don’t wanna know…”

I do.

Steven would, he thought darkly.

“I am the shepherd of the lost,” Khonshu went on, voice softening. “My avatars are those who are lost, be it in life or in death. They were receptive to me for one reason or another, but you were by far the most receptive. Your mind was already open, but it never broke under the weight of my mantle, Marc Spector. It healed because of it.”

Khonshu traced a finger along Marc’s left temple. The touch seeped into his mind, blanketing it, gentle and almost tentative. So different from the demanding roughness of before.

Real. So real, real, real! He almost leaned into it.

Don’t you get it, you absolute twit? He is real! Layla can see him because he is really here. With us!

Marc puzzled over the words and Steven groaned.

We called the Moon Knight’s armor, right? When we shouldn’t have been able to! We called him, Marc! We opened up and called him! We wanted him. It was our free will and choice!

Marc was frozen to the spot.

We… we let her see him. Because he’s here.

Khonshu regarded him silently, then suddenly tapped one finger of the hand still cupping his face against the temple. “I am here,” he whispered, like a promise and a threat in one.

Marc swallowed dryly.

It only settled in just about now what a monumental decision he had made, what final step he had taken.

Following instinct.

“You faced a demon,” the entity murmured, so close, to overpowering, yet no longer that nightmarish thing that controlled him. “Just like the idiot faced a demon. Together, you faced Ammit and freed me.”

Sacrificing parts of himself. The survivors now without walls between them. Marc had no idea if he was more stable than before or even more crazy for doing what he did. Had done. Would do again.

Debt paid, Steven translated. That moment, the debt was paid.

“Greatest mistake I ever made,” Marc mumbled though almost numb lips, but there was no heat to it.

Because he had missed the guy.

He had missed Khonshu.

It was a frightening realization, and it hadn’t made it into his conscious mind up until now.

He could have run, let anyone else fight Ammit. Let the Ennead clean up their own mess. His debt had been no more. His body was his own again.

They wouldn’t have been able to stop her until it was too bloody late, Steven told him softly.

Yeah. Maybe. And he had been guided by instinct to finish what he had started.

Years of semi-voluntary service to a temperamental man-child of a god, the dark voice egging him on to kill, to bring justice, and his only relief had been when he had slid back into the depth of his mind, gave Steven control. Years of no peace. Years of anger and fear and yet…

It hadn’t been all bad.

He had had a purpose. A power. A life, wild and chaotic as it had been, hunting and bringing justice.

Marc stared at his god. And yes, he was quite aware of the proprietary term. Khonshu was his. He was the Knight to the Moon God. Damnit, he wouldn’t give anyone else that pleasure!

There was a surge of energy, responding to his unspoken claim. Steven radiated amusement.

Khonshu had been gone, ripped from him. Another decision taken out of his hands, not his to make.

He should have been happy, but the truth was, he had missed the jerk. Like a limb that had been removed.

Khonshu smiled, though it was more of a sensation or like an afterimage after looking into the sun too long. The skull had no lips.

You do remember that he called us his perfect avatar, right? Steven stated loudly. He’s not really that interested in Layla. And how would he make her his next? Possession? Forcing her? For all his bad temper, demands and name-calling… he can’t make someone his avatar, right? Doesn’t work like that. You died and he made you an offer. If you had said no, well, death.

Marc silently stared at his alter, the light bulb moment almost comical.

He pressed all your buttons! You only ever reacted, never stopped to think, you sod! Steven exclaimed. He doesn’t want Layla or anyone else! He wants you and me! And maybe her on the team because she connects us in the real world. Like he connects us in his realm. He connects to us, Marc. To us.

Marc blinked, then his expression turned murderous as he stared at the moon god.

“You manipulative bastard!” he hissed, eyes cold and dark.

Khonshu didn’t look impressed.

I’d say you can’t fault him for playing with that fear, Steven commented. What he lacks in tact and political savvy, you lack in just stepping back and thinking about stuff. Don’t they teach you soldiers and special agents anything?

The glare was now directed at his alter. He really wished there was a reflective surface somewhere, but despite that lack of visual aide, he still saw Steven, saw his face, the same he had himself, and there was this small smile, those large eyes, that almost hopeful expression.

In retrospect, he should have done that: step back, assess the situation, analyze the facts. It was truly what he had been taught and drilled to do.

But he had been under constant pressure. Missions upon missions, keeping his alter’s life safe from that of Marc Spector, until things… had spiraled completely out of control.

Khonshu had simply used that constant state of unrest, of pressure, to keep Marc Spector in line. He had never given him any rest, no moment to catch his breath, no time to think… because…

He doesn’t want a new avatar, Steven confirmed.

Khonshu’s head lowered and the darkness in those hollow sockets was filled with something that could only be described as ancient, endless energy.

“You belong to me, Marc Spector. You always have,” he purred.

“I repaid my debts!” he replied automatically, defensively, that hot rage flaring briefly.

Sore spot. Really sore spot.

“You did.”

“I belong to no one!”

“But you are my avatar still. Our connection was cut by the Council and yet… You bear the sacred armor. You are my representative. Willingly,” Khonshu added with a smirk.

Without coercion. Without strong-arming him into service. Without actually being offered to bear that power, be the Moon Knight, in exchange for a second chance in life.

He wanted this.

As much as he hated it, hated the tactless, demanding jackass, he wanted him, too. He couldn’t imagine a future without… all of this.

Chapter Text

--“There is chaos in you.”—

Yes, there was. Inside and also outside. It was him. Them. All of them. There was chaos, but it wasn’t unbalanced anymore.

Back then, years ago, Marc had been desperate, dying, had wanted to live. Against Ammit, those feelings had surged again. That crazy race against time, against all odds, with not a moment to think. Act, react, fight, kill.

Now, there weren’t any thoughts of survival. He had had time to think. Steven had been quite detailed in his examination of the facts.

So, yes, he wanted this.

Marc glanced at Steven who was nodding at him. There was a determined expression in his face.

They wanted this. Both of them in their own way. The timid, shy and socially inept side, as well as the hard-ass ex-marine with a conscience and a kill list so long, he had stopped making notes.

He looked at Layla. His wife. Someone who loved them both in their own way, her own way, had protected them, had given them the strength to go on, to power through, because she had the most solid connection to Marc and Steven, but never to any of the others.

She gave him an open smile. “That’s you, Marc. And Steven. All of this. You and him.” She nodded head at Khonshu. “You’re a lot more alike than you’d think.”

If a skull could look affronted, Khonshu gave a very good impression, but the expression glanced off her.

“You’re good together,” she added. “Crazy, sure. Way, way past the deep end of the pool.”

Khonshu hummed, apparently pleased with her words.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I hate the bastard!” Marc snarled. “The control freak!”

Layla rolled her eyes. “You love the guy, Marc. Get over it. You went against overwhelming odds, without powers, and got – him – back!” She raised her eyebrows, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Clue? No, you’re clueless. You and him? Match made.”

The deity tilted his head, humming in agreement. It sounded almost approving, with a sprinkle of triumph. Spector refused to be baited, even though Steven was close to speaking up again. He silenced him with a glare.

“You match,” Khonshu echoed, voice soft, low and hypnotic again. Almost a purr. “You showed your uniqueness as you called upon a power sealed off to you, a power no other could have reached and yet you did. You did what any avatar shouldn’t have been able to do. My power resonates inside you, with or without me. You are mine.”

Marc stared at him, refusing to feel all that he had felt the moment he had lost him. But he couldn’t help it. As chaotic as his emotions were, as much as he had wanted his old life back, he knew there was no going back in time.

“I am game if you are,” the moon god teased, voice filled with both amusement and anticipation. There was an almost giddy excitement flickering through him and his fingers tightened around the staff.

“You are so full of yourself,” Marc answered automatically. “You always get what you want, right? Jerk.”

But he wanted this so much. He had missed the creep.

“I do,” Khonshu confirmed. This time the wicked note of triumph was right there.

I don’t think it’s a weakness to… want, Steven interjected almost shyly. I’m not sure that this is the best thing that ever happened to me… with all the running and shooting, the blood and death, and the threats… not to mention the monsters… the monsters really are freaky… and it’s not getting better, eh? But… in a way it is? For us?

Marc felt a tremor pass through him. It was echoed from Khonshu, the winds kicking up, swirling around them in an excited dance. It wasn’t the violent display of before. It was warmer, caressing his skin, appeasing and exciting in one.

He wanted him back and he wanted to show the Ennead and everyone else what they could be. There was a quizzical little whisper and he held the empty gaze, filled with endless power.

The staff with the crescent moon at its tip was placed next to him, Khonshu’s hand lightly wrapped around the wooden handle.

“You know I’ll protect you with everything I have,” the entity repeated what he had said one night, what felt like a lifetime ago. “You are worth protecting.” It was a promise. A vow. It was more than words.

He had already done it.

Paying the price.

Marc looked inward, met the soft brown eyes of his alter. There was no protest, no arguing. Actually, he looked as excited as he had ever been.

“My oath, Marc Spector,” Khonshu murmured, the booming voice so gentle now, so without pretense, bluster or threat. It was everywhere. “My Knight. No more, no less. No strings, no conditions, no payback.”

No debts between them. Voluntary service. This… might work. After everything they had been through? After being separated from the entity, finally free, and suddenly even more broken? So hollow and alone? Was he ready to seal a pact that only someone as crazy as him and someone as imperious and snotty as Khonshu might actually manage to work?

He sacrificed himself to help us find Ammit, Steven reminded him almost gently. He knew what would happen if he interfered. He did it nevertheless. He ended up trapped in stone.

Yeah. That. Right.

“Doesn’t make him a decent guy either, Steven buddy. He’s still manipulating us!”

No, it doesn’t make him a good guy; not by a long shot. He’s… terrifying… demanding… But he isn’t a bad guy either. He truly wants to protect humanity. He proved it.

“For someone who is terrified of him… and who doesn’t like what I do… who fought me tooth and nail… you’re really selling hard on this one.” Marc gave him a scrutinizing look.

Steven shrugged, embarrassed.

“For once, I think the idiot understands better than the bloody menace,” Khonshu teased.

He looked up again, studying the other-dimensional entity who was still a bastard, still manipulative, still… here. Alone. Asking, in his own way, for Marc to continue doing a job he was truly good at.

With Khonshu. Not a servitude, but a weird kind of partnership between this mess of a human being and a total mess of a powerful god.

He was shamed. Abandoned. The loner, Steven stated softly. Cast out and banished. You saw how the Ennead Council treated him, right? I know I was there and heard it. That hurt. We’re really not all that different. We’re all here for a reason.

“You’d make a great lawyer,” Marc muttered. “And you’d have been a much better councilor making our case and arguing in front of the Ennead back there.”

Steven just shrugged, clearly embarrassed by the praise, but his tentative smile was tell-tale of the pride he took in that.

He saved humanity because he bloody cares about this realm… and that’s why I think being his avatar… by choice… is a rather grand idea on the scale of things. Could do worse. I know I did worse. Look at my life! Couldn’t even keep a bloody goldfish alive. We make this our choice, not his. No debts on either side. Blank slate. No strings, no conditions, no payback.

“And you want that?” Marc asked softly as the words rang through his mind, holding the alter’s gaze. “You would say yes if I agreed?”

Would I be given the choice?

“I swore to you that when this was over, I would give you back your body. You would never see me nor hear from me again. It’s over now. That last mission. I honor my promises, Steven. Still sorry about the fish, by the way.”

I think you made enough mistakes in the past. Including Gus.

Marc screwed his eyes shut, fighting the emotional reaction, then exhaled sharply.

“You might not be into the whole fighting and killing, but you enjoyed yourself. After a while. You loved the mystery.”

Steve chewed on his lower lip. I-it wasn’t all bad.

Yep. Guilty as charged.

“You’re a geek, Steven Grant.”

And you’re a bloody maniac who enjoys his side of the work just as much.

Yeah, guilty.

We’re in this together and I think, for the first time, we agree on the next step.

After yelling and shouting at each other for the most part of their dual existence, fighting over the body, over decisions, over Marc’s life choices… Actually, everything but the moment Khonshu was gone and Marc had mounted the rescue mission. The suicide mission.

Marc opened his eyes, strangely unaware that he had actually closed them at some point, and looked into the endlessness of those empty sockets in the ancient skull. Khonshu huffed a little. Almost surprised but covering it with his usual roughness when dealing with unexpected emotional events.

Steven was right. As powerful as he was, as ancient and so very inhuman, he still had some very human traits. Khonshu might be aloof, with as much political tact and savviness as a fist to the face, and he had never failed to remind his chosen knight who was in charge, but his actions had been founded in true and real care for humanity. Had he been cooler-headed, with more tact, with more control… if he had ignored the emotions racing through him, had been more politically savvy… a lot could have been prevented.

Marc had seen how his own kind had treated him, had doubted his word, had cast him aside. He had felt the old wounds open, had felt the pain, the hot sensation of betrayal. He had been there all the way and he had known when their case had sunk like a lead weight, because Khonshu was too out of control, too emotional, with no filter to speak of.

Speaking of which…

There was one last thing.

“You saved humanity,” Spector said thoughtfully, meeting the empty sockets’ gaze. “You also saved the sorry asses of your old buddies. Why don’t you just go back and play in your own sandbox again? Now that you can.”

Khonshu huffed another little laugh, the skull swaying over Marc’s head as the magical wind billowed through the linen belts.

“They banished me, made me an exile. Then they ignored my warnings. They sealed me. They are not what you call ‘buddies’ and never were.”

“But you, the persona non grata, proved them wrong. You showed them the truth, that you had been right all the time.”

If he could have ruffled feathers, Khonshu would have them now. He certainly gave a good impression of just that.

“I still don’t like them.”

Marc chuckled. “I suppose the feeling is mutual.”

“Probably,” came the amused reply.

“So, you’re going to haunt this realm? Hunt bad guys? Look for hapless avatars to possess?”

The skull tilted a little. “It is a way to pass the time.”

“I’m not going to be your toy…” Spector started, the surge of anger suddenly back at the teasing words.

Teasing.

He stopped, deflating.

Steven was chuckling softly inside him. The scholar had collected enough data to understand so much more than the warrior.

“I still don’t like you,” Marc grumbled.

Khonshu leaned in closer, the beak almost touching him. “I suppose the feeling is mutual.”

Liars. Both of you.

“Oh, get it over with,” Layla groaned. “Kiss and make up.”

Marc’s lips twisted into a grimace. He glanced at his wife, who was smiling at him. It was the smile he had last seen on the boat. The one she had given Steven later on, but not Marc. It was soft, loving…

“You won’t be alone in this,” she added. “Not again. I won’t have you run off, ditch me, then pop up with a boatload of trouble on your tail. We’re a team now.”

“A team,” he murmured.

Khonshu hummed, intrigued.

Marc looked up at the towering figure. ”Look it up. It means cooperation. Back-up.”

“A team,” the god echoed, the word rolling around in Marc’s head.

“New concept, I know.”

“Only you will be mine, Marc,” Khonshu stated darkly. “Unless she takes up the mantle.”

Fury flashed through him, hot and unrestrained, like a living thing with a mind of its own. “Hands off,” Marc spat.

“So easily angered still,” the entity sighed, suddenly behind him, leaning slightly over his avatar. “You are mine, Marc Spector, and nothing will change that. You are perfect.”

“Oy! And ‘she’,” Layla called, gesturing at herself, “isn’t going to take up anything. I’m not going to get between the two of you,” she flapped a hand at the moon god and his knight, “And ‘she’ can take care of herself. I don’t need an in on this. Four’s a crowd.”

Marc raised his eyebrows at her and Layla chuckled.

“I like her,” Khonshu rumbled and it sounded like laughter. “She will truly make a good… team.”

He set down the moon staff in front of Marc, the magical wind gusting around the two figures. He felt the flaps of linen of Khonshu’s clothes brush against him, curling over him like the Moon Knight’s suit.

“Didn’t think you were into ceremonies,” the former mercenary muttered as the moon’s energy suffused him, whispering around his mind, caressing his soul. The raw sensation inside him eased.

Steven watched it all with wide, curious and inquisitive eyes.

“The first time didn’t need a ceremony.”

Khonshu’s beak hovered so close, the whole presence of the deity so very much there and underlining the fact that this was a lot different than before. This wasn’t just choosing a new warrior. This was more.

Marc reached for the moon staff, fingers closing over the surprisingly solid and warm material. He felt it resonate in his fractured but not broken soul. He felt it in his mind, in Steven, in them. He felt Khonshu, that endless, insanely powerful, absolutely immortal entity of another realm. He felt the connection to his mind, his soul, the body that technically belonged to Khonshu but that Marc would always claim as his. And he was very much aware of the moon, felt the energy of the Moon Knight as it settled deep within, just as it was mirrored by Steven’s own version of a warrior, Mr. Knight.

One more step and things would never be the same.

“I am Justice,” Khonshu said, voice reverberating inside Marc’s head, echoing in his soul. “I am Vengeance. I am the Moon. You shall be my avatar, my weapon, the protector, the sword and shield of this realm. You shall be me.”

The pure energy of the connection raced through him, stronger and sharper than ever before. The suit’s manifestation was like an afterthought, pure power, invigorating, surreal and his second skin. Dark eyes turned pure white as bandages wrapped over him in a complicated pattern that formed his armor and cape.

Khonshu’s skull sockets glowed with a similar light and invisible fingers seemed to dig into Marc’s chest, right into his soul. Psychic energies rose, enveloping him completely, weaving through his mind in complicated patterns no one would be able to ever untangle.

He closed his eyes at the contact, the sensation of falling deeper into the incredible energy intensifying. It was heady and warm, like wrapped in a dozen blankets, it was safety and home.

“You are mine, Marc Spector,” he rasped, the voice everywhere, by-passing his ears, completely in his head. “In every realm. Unconditionally. No strings attached.”

“As you are mine, in every realm,” Marc heard himself say in a voice that was and wasn’t his. “Khonshu, God of the Moon and of Vengeance. You are mine. Unconditionally.”

Chapter Text

With slow, careful steps, Layla closed the distance, looking at the fully suited-up Moon Knight and the god towering over him. Khonshu met her calm eyes, humming, sounding pleased.

“You’re still a showy, pompous jerk, despite being trapped in stone and then rescued by us. But you’re welcome,” she commented. “Just be glad he likes you so much. Because you won’t get so much as a small finger from me, Khonshu.”

He chuckled, truly amused by her, and Marc felt it. He was aware of so much, looking into the endlessness, the void, and somehow he wasn’t terrified to meet the entity on this level anymore. Steven was fascinated, whispering to himself as if he was taking notes.

Marc felt physically connected to that endless flow, to the entity that was and wasn’t him. He felt Khonshu’s mind, so inhuman and still filled with so many very human emotions and insecurities.

With all their imperfections, they were perfect together. Chaos and yet completion. Balanced.

The god huffed a little, apparently quite aware of his avatar’s thoughts.

“On this level, we are one, Marc Spector,” Khonshu told him with an almost evil smirk. “This is the new… arrangement. Our partnership. I can sense you perfectly. Every thought, every emotion, all of you.”

“I think it’s called possession. Stay out of my head,” he snarled.

The raspy laugh startled him a little. “I shall always be with you,” the entity murmured provocatively. “Despite the different terms of our agreement. You always were and you always will be only mine.”

"I really hate you."

"I know." He sounded very fond.

Marc expelled a sharp breath, shaking his head.

Possession is a lot more… uncomfortable, Steven chimed in. At least it was back in the council room.

Yes. That. That had been… very uncomfortable. An invasion. Draining, too. The emotional barrage his body and mind had been under had been almost too much. Marc prided himself on his control, on his stamina, on his strength, and on his training, but back then, it had leeched every ounce of that strength out of him. Khonshu’s presence inside him had been invasive… angry… so very angry and close to losing control, screaming at his fellow gods and making his avatar weak.

Harrow had preyed on that weakness like the vulture he was.

And that was actually insulting vultures, Marc mused.

No, they hadn’t been in a good place back then to begin with. Khonshu had made it much worse and it hadn’t gotten any better afterwards.

The other avatars had made it look so effortless.

Because they don’t think their gods are bloodthirsty jackasses, Steven just remarked with a wry little smile. Theirs is a cooperation.

“He still is one,” Marc muttered. “That will never change!” He glared at the taller figure who had slid in front of him and who was quite aware of the argument involving him.

But now it’s a mutual partnership. Not a possession, Marc. Working together.

“Listen to the idiot,” Khonshu rumbled.

Steven huffed, giving a half-hearted glare that wasn’t even close to scary.

“He has good ideas,” the god added.

Now he acknowledges it! Steven exclaimed. Calls me an idiot and a genius in one!

The suit retracted, leaving just Marc. He briefly closed his eyes, invigorated by the energy that had permeated every cell, and still mentally exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster in one. Not just now. The past days… weeks… There had been no real sleep. There had been nothing but the mission.

Constant pressure. No relief. No sleep. His body functioning, his mind always on edge. Saving himself, saving Steven, Layla, the world, humanity… always running and fighting, his body healing mortal wounds, the pain never really his own, the exhaustion never leaving… the desperation, the need to bring this to an end…

He had.

Now he had.

And he had started it all again, but different this time. His mind tried to catch those faint memories of the final confrontation and all that had been before, but it wasn’t really there. Gone with one of his alters. Like from another lifetime.

His eyes snapped open again when he felt Konshu’s touch against his temple and cheek, the back of his fingers caressing his skin.

Gentle.

Caring.

He caught faint surges of something, undefined, like clouds passing through his fingers.

Insubstantial. Still real.

“You do not need to know,” the moon god told him, voice so soft it was barely more than a wispy whisper. “Only know that you were found worthy. My perfection.”

The suit thrummed under his skin.

“You should rest, Marc Spector.”

He would be allowed to sleep. No sudden switches. Just sleep.

And then I wake up in my flat feeling like I was run over by a bus? Leg chained to the bed? All just another episode? Some black-outs and lots of nightmares I can’t really remember? Because I’m not supposed to be here?

Khonshu’s touch grew firmer, turning Marc’s head to gaze into the dark eyes, looking past Marc and right at Steven.

“No,” he told the alter. “No, you are exactly where you are supposed to be.”

“It won’t happen ever again,” Marc said, voice cold and hard. “Ever. That I swear.”

Dreams were part of the brain's default network, dealing with events of the day. They were recent autobiographical episodes that became woven with past memories to create a new memory to be referenced later.

At least the scientists said that.

In his case, sleep had been a terrifying time. He had been frightened of falling asleep, of what he might do, where he might go, and to lose time.

You do need the rest, he finally told Marc.

Yes. Really. He did. Marc knew he was at the end of his rope, and Steven… Steven had run and run and been there all the time, along for the wildest ride of his life, without rest and pause. He had been thrown back and forth between fronting and the oblivion, sometimes hovering at the edge between both, fighting to have his life, his body, back.

“The bed’s nice and comfy,” Layla threw in.

Khonshu and Marc turned to look at her, as if they had truly forgotten she was there.

“Just in case you want to know. Downstairs. Second door on the right. Grab a shower, some sleep, see what happens,” she added with a smile.

Marc felt something shiver through him, pushing him to follow that need for rest.

“So that’s what it’s like now?” he asked the deity next to him. “You’re still pushy, but now you do it in a caring way?”

Khonshu tilted his head, radiating amusement. “I always cared, Marc. Always.”

He went looking for the bedroom, finding actually two. He chose one. It was cast almost in complete darkness, the curtains drawn, the night outside warm. Stripping out of his clothes, Marc took a shower first, just as Layla had suggested, then fell into bed, uncaring that he was…

Butt-naked, Steven murmured with a sigh. You didn’t even dry off!

“Tired. Go to sleep.”

Sleep. Real sleep. No weirdness?

“I promise,” Marc mumbled into the sheets, feeling exhausted and strung so tight he was about to snap

He didn’t care if he woke up two weeks from now, or tomorrow.

He was out like a light not much later.

The moon rose, barely a cloud in the sky there to obscure its cool, calm light. The curtains across the bedroom’s window had moved, no longer obstructing the light, and it brushed gently over the sleeping form.

Leaning against the rough wall next to the window where a mild breeze made it through, Khonshu watched his avatar sleep. All of him. Completely. For the first time since their deal had been made, both slept.

A new situation. Everything was new now.

Khonshu found the newness… interesting. Curiously so. He wasn’t too much concerned with as to who would rise first in the morning. For the first time since their deal had been made, it didn’t matter.

It surprised the eternal entity. Just like his fondness of Marc Spector had surprised him. Or his decision to sacrifice his freedom for his chosen, truly protect him with everything he had and help find Ammit’s tomb to stop her.

And Marc had come for him.

He had fought and won against insurmountable odds, had clawed his way out of a mental cage that had eaten away at his alters, had torn them apart, had left him screaming out his pain and frustration.

He had broken through. Against Ammit’s judgment.

Crouching next to the motionless form, watching the rise and fall of his chest, Khonshu hummed softly to himself.

Yes, things had changed. The weight of the old contract was gone. The new… agreement… arrangement… partnership… it felt natural. Weightless.

He had made his choices. He stood by his vows.

A wrapped knuckle brushed down one temple. He felt the quiet, sleeping mind. Absolute quiet. Soul-deep.

For the first time… since their deal had been made, Marc was quiet.

Khonshu might have gone about his solitary, driven mission the wrong way, but he had succeeded.

His avatar was his own, of his own free will. The moon’s power felt natural in him, no longer a burden. It permeated his very mind and soul, and Khonshu was intrigued how quickly that had happened.

“Perfect,” he murmured and brushed back a curly lock.

Keeping vigil over the healing soul, Khonshu stayed as the moon light crept over the floor through the lazily moving curtain; as the world outside never quieted for real, but in here, it was just that: quiet.

Chapter Text

It was the world’s most extensive collection of pharaonic antiquities, spread out over two floors, with more than 160.000 objects. The Egyptian Museum of Cairo was the oldest archeological museum in the Middle East and a historic landmark.

Steven had wanted to come here since he was a child.

And finally it had happened.

He walked through the exhibitions with wide-eyed wonder, the thrill of discovery racing through him. Despite everything that had happened, despite knowing so much more about where all these images came from… it was magical for him.

“Wow…” he only whispered, hands fluttering over the display case that showed yet another sarcophagus.

It was Steven who had woken to a new day, feeling refreshed from sleep for the very first time. No bone-deep exhaustion despite a night of sleep. No weird dream-memories. No small changes to his flat that he couldn’t explain. No weirdness that hadn’t been there already.

Just… going to sleep and then waking up, remembering everything, and only the one night had passed. He was still in Egypt, he was still in a safehouse in Cairo, and he had still been butt-naked.

Nothing had changed, really.

But everything was different anyway.

Layla had taken the change in fronts in a stride, asking him what he wanted to do until they left, and Steven’s immediate choice had been the Egyptian Museum.

Now here they were.

His dream come true. Well, he would have loved to see the Valley of the Gods, too. Or the pyramids. Or Saqqara. Or Abu Simble. So much to see, but he understood they didn’t have the luxury.

The museum had been the best choice.

Khonshu hadn’t been as amused, but he hadn’t interfered. Actually, he was always at the edge of Steven’s vision, crouching on a balustrade of the second floor, sitting on top of a stone statue, leaning against one of the many pillars.

Watching.

Vigilant.

… patient. That was… new. A bit scary, really.

It also wasn’t as distracting as he would have believed. Steven had been a little jumpy at first, but this wasn’t the ominous presence of before.

Layla was there with him and he shot her a shy, apologetic smile as she joined him, tour booklet in hand.

“We need to make the best of the short amount of time we have. This place is gigantic,” she had told him as she studied the booklet while they had made their way through the exhibitions.

“This must be boring for you,” he said. “My apologies.”

“No, no, no.” She waved him off. “It’s actually quite… nice to see this from another point of view. I’ve never been just a tourist.”

“Oh.”

She shot him a warm smile and Steven tried not to blush. Layla was Marc’s wife. Technically, that meant she wasn’t his. Emotionally, well, there was a lot going on, but she was Marc’s wife. And his friend. More than anything in the world, Layla was his friend. His first and only friend, actually.

It was nice to be with her, to have someone with him who didn’t bully him or belittle him… or tried to kill him, he thought wryly. Especially the latter.

They toured more of the first floor, Khonshu in tow. The moon god was quiet, huffing only a few times when Steven expressed his delight over something or other.

It wasn’t disdain.

More… tolerant amusement.

And maybe, just maybe, a little fondness.

“I wish I could see more,” Steven mumbled as they stopped by one of the countless stalls on the streets that sold snacks and some very tasty meals.

It was late in the afternoon and they had been at the museum since it had officially opened for the day. Time had passed so quickly and this time, it had been real time. No black outs. No sudden shifts and blood on his hands.

“You have my word,” Khonshu rumbled, sitting on top of a shed, watching the bustle with empty sockets.

“Reading my mind. So not creepy.”

The god hummed.

“Yeah,” Steven murmured. “Still have to get used to that. The closeness. You not trying to… evict me…”

It had only been a day.

It felt like more.

But it was a day. He kept checking the time and date wherever he could. He wasn’t losing time.

“I meant every word I said, Steven Grant.”

“Huh.” He played with the booklet, still so thrilled to be here, in this place. Egypt.

Not running for his life.

Layla was the one who haggled over the price of their afternoon snack and finally came back triumphant. They found a place to eat, Steven’s eyes straying through the busy street as he munched on the ful medames, enjoying the richness of flavor.

There was no pressure to be anywhere, to run, to fight. There was no enemy chasing them. No urgency. Just… him.

“This is nice,” he said with a small smile. “Thanks for going with me.”

“My pleasure.”

“This is an amazing place when you don’t have to evade knife-wielding cultists or rabid jackals from another realm. There is so much to see… and no time.”

Layla touched his arm, gentle fingers curling around it. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” he blurted. “This… all of this…” he gestured at the world around him, “is more than I could ever have dreamed of. Thank you.” He glanced at the mirror of a stall near-by.

Marc just gave him a quick smile. He had been a quiet watcher for a while now, waking in the back of his mind but not taking over.

“I know this is awkward for you,” he mumbled, not even sure he was talking to Layla or Marc.

He shot a quick look at the small, reflective surface and found Marc frowning. Layla shot him a quizzical look in turn.

“Talking to me. Listening to me. I’m… not Marc. You shared a life with him that I can’t remember. I’m just this awkward bloke who says the wrong things at the wrong times…”

“I don’t think it’s awkward at all. Not anymore.” She smiled a little. “I would be lying if I said it isn’t something that I needed to understand, but it’s… not really weird at all anymore? I know you are him. An alter of Marc. Someone who shares my favorite French author, who geeks out over Egyptian history, someone who is bad at stuff Marc was trained to be good at. You don’t have a driver’s license, you have no idea how to handle a gun, how to fight…”

Steven stared at his hands.

Layla squeezed his arm. “Just like Marc isn’t into French poetry, loves steaks and has no clue about hieroglyphics, Egyptian history… and he doesn’t really want to talk about anything personal… private… emotional. I believe everyone is made up of many, many parts. Some more prominent than others. Some people leave their less desirable sides in drawers, only opening them when that trait is needed.”

“This isn’t a drawer…”

“No, it isn’t. Like you aren’t Marc, don’t share his memories or abilities. But you are a part of this. A part I never knew about, he never told me about.”

“You are married to him. His wife,” Steven mumbled.

“Yes.”

“You love him.”

“Yes.”

He looked at everything but her, refusing to meet his alter’s eyes either in the mirror or by just looking inward. From above, Khonshu watched patiently, head tilted with clearly displayed curiosity.

Layla reached for his hand and interlaced their fingers. It startled him and he stared into her calm face with wide eyes.

“You, Steven Grant, are my friend.”

The friendzone, he thought darkly. Right.

“The one I love in my own way.”

“Uhm…”

“Not a third wheel. Do you understand? You are not on the outside or in the way. You saved the world. You were needed. You will always be needed. Remember what Khonshu said?”

“When he called me a parasite? A worm? An idiot?”

Khonshu was chuckling darkly from his perch. “You were all that.”

Layla only briefly looked up, a warning in her eyes. Steven had yet to work out when she saw him: all the time he did? Was it conditional? Connected to Marc?

“Think of it as terms of endearment now, Steven,” she told him firmly. “He’s a crusty old deity with no manners.”

Inside, Marc groaned and shook his head. Layla, shut up!

Steven felt a brief whisper of the power that was the moon god, felt it around him, but not as strongly as Marc had. For him, it was muted. Like the suit was different.

“What you are is the counter-balance. Yes, I’m married to Marc, and I love him, but I love you, too.”

He blinked.

“There was a reason why I married Marc Spector. Not just for his body.” Layla winked and Steven felt that heat in his face again. “Not because of some Indiana Jones moment while we were digging at a site or some hair-raising adventure. Several reasons, actually. Because before we became lovers, we were friends first. Good friends. Underneath that hard exterior is someone else, like you, and still Marc. Inside you, Steven, is a fighter like Marc. You proved that. You were incredibly strong, brave… ready to do whatever it took.”

Steven was aware of the stunned presence inside him, avidly listening. The hard-ass ex-soldier, just listening. Enraptured. And still in love. He understood that love, because Layla was stunning. Beautiful. Absolutely lovely. As he had told her so long ago, he would never be someone to divorce a woman like her.

“Friends, companions, buddies-in-crime, lovers,” Layla went on. “Husband and wife. We’re still all that, I’m just getting to know even more of Marc. Parts he never talked about. His reality. That includes you, Steven.” She squeezed his hand. “You are important. To him, to me. Yes, I am Marc’s wife, and I will fight him tooth and nail on that. But you are someone special to me, too. Definitely not the third wheel. I don’t have to get used to you, Steven Grant. I got to know you and I love you.”

Marc’s reflection was as open and vulnerable as Steven had ever seen him. Wide-eyed, stunned, lost for words, trying to understand something he had always pushed away.

He loved Layla.

And he knew his life endangered her, had always endangered her. His life had taken her father from this amazing woman.

Steven met those dark eyes; so much like his own and still not. The face almost like a twin’s. Now it was no longer hard, cold, distant. It was a mirror of everything Marc felt and couldn’t… wouldn’t… say.

He wanted the alter to front, to talk to his wife, but that wasn’t happening. Layla was right that Marc was emotionally stunted in his own way; confronting his very real emotions for this special woman. He was deeply scarred and terribly scared.

“You…you love him. I know he loves you. He wants to protect you. W-why aren’t you with him?” Steven blurted. “If it’s… well, me, I can…” He gestured, feeling a hot blush on his face. “I can… leave… give you time…” he stammered. “I promise I won’t interfere.”

Marc groaned and shook his head. Steven! Shut the fuck up! He sounded actually mortified.

Steven looked away, but Layla just squeezed his hand again.

“That is… very thoughtful. But currently our lives are complicated. Now more than before. I still need to understand a lot. What we have right now… it heals us. It heals Marc. And he needs that. That and time. You, Khonshu… he needs it without realizing it. And I need to find my place in this new world where an ancient, god-like entity is sharing my husband. And where their relationship eerily reminds me of the Odd Couple with a side of old married vibes.”

Steven burst out laughing as Marc muttered something very R-rated.

“You tread a very fine line, woman,” Khonshu rumbled as he stalked past them.

“Oh, get over it,” she told him with a scowl. “You are all of that.”

Yes, Steven realized. It was a very complicated life. Lives. Relationships. Even now.

Marc’s connection to Khonshu was different than Steven’s. It was much stronger, more direct. There was a familiarity there, a bond older than the few weeks Steven had been in on this amazing… frightening… marvelous ride. It was direct, unfiltered and resonated with the energy the moon represented. Steven was in awe of it.

His own ability to tap into the moon god’s power was different. He didn’t get the bad-ass temple armor; he had the spiffy, sharp suit. They were both very resilient with it, but Steven had yet to understand what powers he really had, aside from not getting easily killed. It wasn’t like he had some training room to try it. It was more muted, as if he still had the training wheels on.

“We’ll see how it goes,” Layla tore him out of his thoughts. “Work on this. On us. And that includes the jerk who can’t acknowledge he has grown emotions when it comes to his human avatar.”

Steven opened his mouth, then shut it again, almost ducking away as that large, bony beak appeared right above, Khonshu crouching on top of the vendor’s stall, unseen by everyone but two humans.

Layla rolled her eyes. “My point.”

Wind whispered through the street, kicking up dust, and Steven winced a little. Yes, he understood that the deity was pretty much incapable of expressing emotional issues normally, and in a way he understood that better than Marc or Layla. Steven knew he was a walking disaster when it came to emotions, their expression, or the whole concept of normal social interaction. He usually made people uncomfortable.

Yeah, their lives were complicated.

He dared to look at the entity, those hollow, dark sockets reflecting endlessness. Khonshu tilted his head from left to right, the move barely perceptible. The moon staff rested across the bony knees.

“Understand this, Steven Grant: you were the one who channeled my power to turn back the night sky. It wouldn’t have been possible without you,” the entity said, voice low and serious. “You bear my power. You yielded it under my guidance.”

The staff swiveled and the crested moon swung toward him.

“You are important, idiot.”

“I… I…” he managed, stunned. Maybe a little overwhelmed. Maybe even a little bit frightened. “Oh.”

Layla’s expression was loving and warm as she took his hand. “Sometimes he gets it right. You don’t even have to read between the lines,” she told him, voice soft.

Khonshu harrumphed.

“C’mon. Let’s get one of those devilishly good dessert treats, then we’ll see what we can squeeze into that last night.”

“I… I’m not much of a night owl,” Steven protested. “Well, maybe I am, but not me…”

She laughed lightly. There was the echo of a much darker laugh around him, amused and just a little more sarcastic than before.

“Basbousas first.”

So he followed her to another vendor, one who did the vegan version with applesauce, and simply let life happen.

The first time.

It felt rather good.

And he did enjoy the warm evening, listening to music, watching street dancers. He drew a line at dancing with Layla as she moved to the rhythm.

“She is amazing,” he whispered.

Marc was watching her, too. He could see him in a polished silver mirror, felt his presence.

She is.

“She loves you, you twit!”

I… don’t know if I… can anymore.

“I think…, no, I know, that you can.”

Those dark eyes, usually hard and cold, with that haunted edge, met his own. The vulnerability was stunning to see. So open, so human.

“Let it happen,” Steven whispered, eyes following her moves.

Marc’s hesitation spoke lengths. This would need time. Time and a lot more healing.

Chapter Text

They had packed their few things, gathering every piece of evidence that Marc Spector and Layla El-Faouly had ever been here, and had stuffed it all in the car Layla had... organized. Marc never questioned where anything his wife managed to get truly came from.

They were just about done when Marc looked up and found Khonshu perched on the balcony like some raggedy gargoyle, just watching them.

“Right,” he muttered. “The new you.”

And yet still the same old god. No longer an exile, the outcast, but his appearance hadn’t changed. For some reason he had expected him to look… different by now. Not like some down on his luck deity.

Layla followed his gaze and raised her eyebrows. “He wasn’t always hanging around before?”

Marc snarled something uncomplimentary.

She frowned. “He’s been constantly around since, well… you two made up. I think he actually got a laugh or two out of our museum trip.”

“Sure, he was with me, but only to torment me,” he growled.

Khonshu tilted his head.

“Later to scare the shit out of Steven!”

“I did what I had to do,” the god declared. “What was for the best.”

“Right,” he only said again.

“Whenever the idiot was in control, things got out of control,” Khonshu pointed out. “You had a job to do.”

At least it didn't sound too sinister and threatening.

“Right,” Marc repeated a third time and slammed the trunk shut. “And if you had left me to deal with it, we wouldn’t have been in half the mess we ended up in!”

“He got in the way. A lot.”

And whose fault was that? Steven muttered angrily. You frightened me on purpose, you bloody old bird!

Khonshu leaned forward from his perch, the moon staff pointing sharply at his avatar. “Because you got in the way, Steven. With your softness, your conscience, your morals. You refused to surrender the body to Marc. You were a danger. To him and to the mission!”

Marc shot him a narrow-eyed warning, protectiveness rising. He felt the ebb and flow of energy around him, the connection to his god, and where it had always been a one-way street, it was now clearly going both ways. He had an in on Khonshu. Sure, he had no idea how to interpret most of these weird surges, but some were very clear.

Like right now.

--“I remember the first morning I woke up knowing that Khonshu was gone. The quiet was liberating.--

Harrow’s soft voice, so steady and like balm on an injured mind, echoed in his head, worming into his thoughts.

He hated it. He hated the sensation, the very memory. It gave him the creeps. More than any old god. More than Ammit. Arthur Harrow had gotten to him, used his injured mind, the mess that Marc Spector was, and he had made up a home in his head.

Used him. Abused him.

Doing what he claimed Khonshu had done to him, what he had claimed the deity was also doing to Marc himself.

Harrow was dead now. Dead and gone, but the words were still a memory Marc couldn’t shake.

And he didn’t want to wake up without Khonshu in his head ever again. The quiet had been… terrifying… terrible… There had been no liberation, only confusion, anger, fear, close to abject terror, and a loneliness he had never felt before.

He didn’t want that ever again.

“But things have changed,” Khonshu added with a very audible smirk.

“Yet here you are, following Steven around.”

“Someone has to watch him. He gets in the worst places.”

This was like… teasing… hair-pulling… getting a rise out of him… them. Fuck!

Bugger, Steven muttered at the same time.

“So, to sum it all up, the new you is the same Creepy Old Stalker Bird?” Layla asked. “Hanging out with us at a museum. Or lunch. Or over tea. Keeping watch? Making sure we’re okay?” There was a glint in her eyes. “Not getting lost?”

Marc groaned and shook his head.

“We are a team,” Khonshu reminded her with a very audible and so very much sarcastic tone. “A team keeps an eye on each other. No matter what mind-numbingly boring activities one of them plans.”

Hey! Steven protested. You didn’t have to stay! You could have just… buggered off!

Spector rolled his eyes. “I liked you better when you were threatening my life, not stalking me.”

There was a sudden glint to Khonshu’s hollow sockets. “That can be arranged…”

Marc stared at him. “I hate you.”

That empty gaze held his, the skull’s sockets burning with a knowledge that should frighten Marc but didn’t.

He had had the choice. He had chosen Khonshu. That was his liberation.

“So! London still on the table?” Layla changed the topic, shooting her husband a pointed look.

“London,” he agreed, still looking at Khonshu, feeling that weird sensation of ease, of warmth. The presence of the god felt like a protective wing over them. He tried not to think too much on that, but he knew that was exactly what Khonshu was doing. “Home,” he added softly.

Steven’s flat. Steven’s home. Catch a break until there was a new mission. They needed that break. Badly.

I don’t have a job anymore, Steven sighed mournfully.

Marc glanced into the sideview mirror, caught sight of his alter’s sad expression. “You’ll find a new one,” he promised softly.

While you are chasing bad guys? That would be a right miracle. I’d be out on my arse within a week for buggering off work.

Khonshu snorted and Marc wasn’t all too surprised that the entity was suddenly standing next to him, looking over his shoulder and into the mirror. Looking at both of them. He felt that presence again, everywhere and part of him wanted to lean into that power, feel it, and with it the whisper of the suit.

“We’ll… work something out,” he said thickly, shooting his god a narrow-eyed look. “This isn’t just about me, okay?”

Steven looked doubtful, but there was also hope. Thank you…

He was about to reply when there was a sudden shift in the air. Marc straightened abruptly, training kicking in, and his muscles coiled, ready for any kind of confrontation. He felt the surge from Khonshu, how the suit hovered just under his skin, the armor primed and ready.

Layla immediately picked up on the change and there was a gun in her hand. Her eyes tracked around the empty back alley. Good girl, Marc thought.

Khonshu’s attention shifted from his avatar to something… someone… a presence… and yet he was still very much there in Marc’s mind.

“Hathor,” the moon god snarled.

Oh, wow… Steven murmured. She’s here? Of course she’s still here. She helped us. She actually likes him, you know. Old friends or acquaintances, or whatever gods are.

“I know,” Marc murmured, eyes scanning the area.

His muscles were coiled; ready. The armor trembled under his fingertips.

“Suit up!” Khonshu ordered sharply.

“Not yet.”

It wasn’t defiance. Well, maybe a little. Just a little bit. He felt it through the connection that Khonshu was on edge. The god was right next to him now. Wind whispered through the alley, the sounds around them muffled. There was a razor sharp edge to the entity’s touch, to the connection, but not harming the human avatar. It was the flexing of invisible claws, baring non-existent teeth, bristling and growling.

“This isn’t an attack, Khonshu,” he told the tense figure, though his own tension didn’t abate either.

She won’t attack, Steven agreed. She was always on our side. And the other gods aren’t attack-happy anyway.

Yatzil had been quite helpful, which meant Hathor had been helpful, too.

Hathor’s avatar suddenly stepped out of the long shadows at the mouth of the alley as the sun sank lower, coalescing into existence. She looked as stunning as before, Marc thought. Steven was quite taken by her, too.

“Yatzil,” he greeted her.

He felt Khonshu’s displeasure, but not as sharp and angry as before. The moon god was simply wary of the other deity’s sudden presence since none of the Ennead had deemed it necessary to offer so much as an apology or voiced a thank you for what the moon god had done for them, for humanity. For both realms! While Ammit wouldn’t have been able to kill her fellow gods, their avatars had been fair game.

Knowing how they had imprisoned one of their own already, Marc was quite sure Ammit would have found a way to do away with any meddlesome interlopers. And take over not just this realm but their place of origin, too.

Yatzil inclined her head, then turned to look at Khonshu. “It is good to see you again, Khonshu,” she said calmly. “You are looking very well.”

Possession, Marc realized. Hathor was using her avatar at the moment. She wasn’t as physically present as Khonshu always was with him, which…

…is interesting, Steven remarked, clearly intrigued. We never saw the other deities, only their avatars. When they interact, it is through possession. They never leave their realm.

Yeah…

Khonshu only possessed you in the council chamber.

“I noticed,” Marc muttered. “I was there. Unpleasantly there.”

We also can’t see the other gods, but we could see the jackals, right? Why can’t we see the gods? I would have expected it when we talked to the Ennead Council. Maybe because they can’t or won’t leave their realm? Khonshu was exiled to this place. His form is part of our realm. Steven stopped, eyes widening a little. Oh wow. Right, he murmured. He's here. With us. Physically. He was always here ever since they slammed the bloody door in his face without so much as a toodles. They aren’t here. They won’t step away… they’re safely in their realms, interacting from afar. Never interfering.

Not something Marc had pondered, but actually true. It was also something that had never interested him. Steven was different; he loved that stuff. He dug into it, wanted to know more, and he geeked out over the smallest tidbit.

“Marc Spector,” the goddess now addressed him. “Avatar and host of Khonshu.”

It drew an immediate wave of displeasure, almost anger, coming from his god. The moon staff thudded down in front of Marc, effectively blocking him off from the other avatar, and both Steven and Marc’s eyebrows shot up.

Wow, Steven murmured.

“I greet you,” Yatzil/Hathor continued, unperturbed.  She inclined her head. “I am happy to see you are well. All of you.” She smiled. “I can feel you are healing.”

“What do you want, Hathor?” Khonshu demanded, the anger bleeding into his voice. The moon god was on edge, giving off a trigger-happy vibe. He was also pushing at him to suit up.

“Stop it!” Marc hissed. “She’s not your enemy!”

Khonshu snarled, the rags whipping around him, briefly obscuring his sight. Marc finally reached for one and curled his fingers into the cloth. It was energy and then again not. It was unlike anything he had ever touched and yet familiar.

“You have finally come to understand, Khonshu.” Her voice was musical, almost ethereal, and the smile close to benign. “The importance of the avatar. The connection they have with us. Throughout the ages, you had many.”

Marc shot the entity a look, brow furrowing.

“None proved as fitting as this one. None ever fit you.” Hathor’s knowing smile was slightly unnerving, as was the shimmer of silvery blue in the depths of Yatzil’s normally brown eyes. “He suits you.”

Khonshu straightened to his full height, standing next to his knight, his warrior and the protector of this world, and Marc felt the surge of power running through him.

“Again: we’re not fighting her,” he whispered sharply, almost a hiss. “She’s a friend.”

Khonshu’s rising fury was bouncing around his head.

Steven was watching, fascinated, intrigued, the scientist studying two very interesting specimen.

“You were always too impulsive, too inconsiderate and too hotheaded in all your choices,” Yatzil/Hathor stated benignly. “Your avatar is more reasonable. Yes, he suits you.”

Marc’s brows shot up. Uh-huh.

“It needed to be done!” the moon god thundered. “None of you had the guts! You crawled back into the Overvoid! Watching! Leaving this realm to its own devices! You abandoned humanity! I never did!”

Alright, Marc thought with an almost fatalistic edge to it. The lid was about to blow off this particular pot.

Khonshu’s fingers clenched around his staff and a gust of wind barreled over the roof top. Marc glanced at his god, cocking one eyebrow. Nope, he hadn’t learned any political moves lately. Never would, probably. He still exploded at the wrong word.

“Shehas a good point.” He raised his eyebrows. “About you and your temper. Which I know about. Intimately.”

The skull swiveled sharply, a warning echoing through him.

Marc ignored it. For the first time he simply ignored it, felt no fear. No longer cowed, threatened, coerced. Because right now the bond was wide open as the emotional outbreak had torn down the locked doors, and he could feel Khonshu. He could really feel that vastness, that ancient entity, and what he felt was hurt, anger and disappointment, coupled with the loneliness of his existence. Left behind.

Yeah, he could relate to that.

Yatzil/Hathor smiled softly. “Marc was the first wise choice, even though you didn’t know it,” she added, driving the point home. “You have grown with him. You have seen what a true avatar can be. How much they are willing to sacrifice.” Her eyes met Marc’s. “And what it feels like when they want us, Khonshu. I know you can feel it right now. It’s so much smoother, so much better, so much stronger and closer.”

“What do you want?” Khonshu once more demanded, rather unkindly.

“Only to see you, old friend. We haven’t had the opportunity in a very long time, my friend.”

He drew himself up to his full height, towering over Yatzil. Marc felt the caress of the magic, the urgent itch of the suit, but he refused to give in to the childish prodding. Ribbons of gray linen fluttered over his arms.

“The truth, Hathor!” the moon god barked and a small whirlwind rose sharply, overturning a garbage can.

“Wow,” Marc mumbled. “You really need to work on your people skills. You might not want to alienate the few friends you still have with your old pals.”

Khonshu’s sharp spike of emotions was tell-tale, but so was his continued, very solid presence next to his Knight, and the open bond between them.

Steven was deep within Marc’s mind, watching with wide eyes, and an expression that reflected a million light bulbs going off at once.

Yatzil/Hathor smiled, still so patient, so warm and loving. “Nothing has changed and probably never will. You are still… hot-headed and impatient. But I believe you have found a way for yourself now. An acceptance. I saw you fight. I saw him fight. The Moon Knight has grown in power and strength.”

Khonshu harrumphed.

“I came to see how you and your avatar are faring. Your representative.” Yatzil/Hathor tilted her head a little in Marc’s direction. “A part of yourself. You never listened. Your passion for justice and also vengeance clouded your mind to the true purpose of such a partnership. It can be true and good. It gives us a way into this world.”

“I have always been in this realm!” Khonshu snapped. “Unlike you!” He pointed the staff at her, the crest mere inches from the avatar’s face.

Alright, Marc mused. Political incident in the making. At least this was Hathor and not Osiris, who had a chip on his shoulder the size of the pyramids. He didn’t think the gods would come to blows, but Khonshu had burned more than one bridge in the past.

Yatzil/Hathor ignored the outburst. “An avatar’s oath to us can grow beyond servitude. Yatzil has been my partner in this realm since we left and she has been loyal and true, never in doubt, and she has grown only stronger.”

“You abandoned this realm!” Khonshu snarled, that old, old pain flaring again. “Do not give me advice on my avatar!”

“Mistakes were made,” she agreed. “On both sides.”

That got her a really sharp flare and Marc felt the suit rise closer to the surface again, called by his tension and Khonshu’s very emotional state of mind. He felt it wrap over his skin, saw faint images of the layers.

Uh…, Steven murmured. That… is a long time, actually. To be a god’s avatar. Really, really long time. I mean, the first written evidence of deities in Egypt comes from the Early Dynastic Period which is somewhere around 3100 BC. Deities must have emerged sometime in the preceding Predynastic Period and grown out of prehistoric religious beliefs. The oldest findings of Egyptian paleo settlements date to almost 8000 BC…

Right, Marc thought faintly. Headache. Coming on now. And underneath all of that was the call of the armor, clamoring loudly. He pushed down on that, refusing to surrender.

How old is she?!  Steven exclaimed. When did they first choose avatars?

“A long, long time ago, it seems,” Marc mumbled, barely moving his lips. “Really long.”

“So, you finally confess to it!” Khonshu demanded. “You abandoned humanity out of spite because they stopped worshipping you?”

“The Ennead will never confess to any mistakes they might have made in that regard…”

Khonshu snorted in disgust. “That they made!” he snapped, ramming the moon staff into the ground with such force, a minor gust of wind blew over the assembled humans. “Sitting in the Overvoid, watching this realm through the eyes of useless avatars!” He almost spat the last word with such loathing, it was almost palpable.

“Hey,” Marc muttered, scowling.

Khonshu’s energy swirled through him, possessive and powerful, and he almost felt the caress of the suit’s wrappings. The moon god had always been here, with his avatar, bestowing his power upon his chosen to deal out justice, to act, not just watch. This was his realm, like Marc was his, and it was such a deep, intense and propriertary emotion, so primal, Marc closed his eyes with an inaudible gasp.

“They gave up on humanity because of some childish concept of needing the worship!” Khonshu thundered. “They watched from uncomprehending eyes as Ammit’s avatar manipulated them all! They gave Ammit the key to her own release!”

Marc wondered if he was the only one who expected wings to flare behind the tall figures back, maybe some thunder and lightning to underline the harsh words.

Yatzil/Hathor inclined her head. “Oversights were made and we paid the price. You were correct. And I know you are too head-strong to return, just as they are too proud to utter an apology.” She smiled a little. “You have grown immensely in your time in this realm, with him, Khonshu. You saved each other. One day you might be able to enjoy our presence again, listen to my music. Dance with me. I know you will never return forever. This is your world now. You love humanity. You protect them your own way. Just as you love your avatar and will do everything to protect him.” She bowed her head a little toward Marc. “You are what he needs, Marc Spector. Never be in doubt of who and what you are for my old friend. You harbor a strength unrivalled by others, a stability in chaos, and you are chaos.”

And with that she turned and walked into the shadows, slipping away.

Layla looked at the silent god, brows up, quizzical. She hadn’t said a single word, had simply stood by, watched, listened, and been invisible. Khonshu was staring at where the avatar of a very old friend had been. His fingers clenched and unclenched around the moon staff. Marc could feel the turmoil, the whirlwind of emotions. Old wounds, old scars, so much disappointment, pain and still-present fury.

It would take a while, a long, long while, for the moon god to even consider leaving Earth’s realm.

Maybe never.

Khonshu rumbled wordlessly, his refusal to face those who had shamed him, had banished him, had made him an outcast and finally had damned him to a prison of stone, only too clear. Marc could also sense the crippled little whisper of longing, of the loss of a bond to a friend over his own inability to control his emotions, and the fact that whatever he had done and would do, it would never be the same.

We are not so different, Steven said, voice soft and understanding; maybe just a little sad.

“You’re not going,” Marc stated, shooting the taller entity a calculating look. “Home… or whatever you call that place. Realm.”

Khonshu briefly tightened his grip on the staff, then squared his shoulders. “No. Never again.”

“Never is a long time,” Layla remarked, looking quizzically at him. “Especially for an immortal being. You sure? I’m not all too clear how it works with you gods, but aren’t they like family? Or old friends? Hathor implied as much.”

He didn’t comment, but Marc felt the entity’s unwavering anger at his treatment, at their doubt, their blindness to the reality around them. Their still-lingering irritability that humanity had turned away from them, had stopped worshipping them. Holding a child-like grudge.

“They squabble over pesky little political problems,” Khonshu finally rumbled. “They cling to what they think was humanity’s disloyalty to them. Losing faith and changing their believes. They don’t see the evolution of life and matter. They don’t adapt. They just complain about nothing, watching the realms from their golden thrones!”

“I know someone else who can behave like the biggest toddler in the universe,” Spector remarked, drawing a grin from Layla. “Throwing temper tantrums when not getting his way and the likes.”

Wind whipped around them and somewhere a vase shattered as it was blown off its stand. Khonshu glared at him.

“My point exactly. Proven. Evidence right here,” Marc simply said.

It was so easy now. Just a day after their new terms of this… partnership. A night of sleep, of resting while Steven enjoyed the day, and he felt better. Healing. Learning to accept.

Something crept up his spine, suffusing his every cell, giving him an awareness of Khonshu that came close to the brief possession, but so much less violent. So much more open and… controlled.

For the first time in a very long time, he also felt… at ease. Facing this powerful entity, aware of him on so many levels, feeling the softness of Steven buffering his own upheavals, and giving strength to the timid, shy alter as they grew into what they were now.

Khonshu was just as… not-broken as them. Just as bad as them at so many things.

“I am not a child,” the moon god stated.

“You are,” they replied with one voice, joined by a third, female one who was actually watching them with amusement.

Khonshu stared at them, then huffed. Something trembled deep inside him. The sensation stayed and Marc briefly closed his eyes, then let go and welcomed the presence of his god as the entity merged with his avatar, caressing his very soul, suffusing his mind.

Not a possession.

A partnership.

It felt… good. He felt strangely… whole.

As it should have been and would be from now on.

“There you go,” Layla said softly, proudly, eyes warm.

She held out a hand and he took it, squeezing hers. Marc knew he was smiling stupidly, almost hopefully, and Layla’s expression was so much like on that boat, he really did allowed himself that hope.

Chapter Text

They had waited until nightfall to finally leave the safehouse and head for the airport. Layla had gone out to get their passports and whatever else was needed, and Marc… well, he and Steven had talked. Not just shouted, threatened, yelled or cajoled; simply talked.

“So, uhm, about London… when we get back… The flat. My flat. Where… where do you actually live?” Steven asked hesitantly. “When you front.”

I don’t have a place, Marc replied.

“Oh.” Grant hesitated again. “Why?”

Because I only ran the missions, Steven. I’m the weapon.

Oh… oh! Steven felt his brain stall, then work overtime.

Marc had fronted when Steven had slept, taking over, using this body, sometimes for days on end… and then Steven had woken up to his mess of a life, his social anxiety, his inability to connect with anyone. His bland little jobs…

Steven was the one with a flat.

Marc was the weapon who had only ever been there when he was needed. Marc had taken care of Steven, had protected him, had arranged the flat, the cover ID, everything, but he had never lived a normal life.

“You… had a place before the mess with, well, dying and indebting yourself to an Egyptian deity.”

Marc chuckled. Yeah. A long, long time ago. I was deployed, Steven. A base or a camp isn’t a home. And after that… after my service to my country… I was always moving. Always on another job. There wasn’t a stable place. Not for years.

“And now?” he asked softly, strangely saddened by how lonely this existence sounded. Like his own.

It is your place, Steven.

“It doesn’t matter now. I mean, it’s our place. Has always been our place. It doesn’t even need a second bed, right?” he teased shyly.

Marc had to laugh. No.

“And we can work something out.”

You want to work at the museum again?

His face reflected almost horror. “No! I can never go back there! Never! They must think I’m absolutely looney after what happened!”

Sorry.

“Yeah, well, fat lot of good it does me now. You wrecked a bathroom!”

It was either me or the jackal. I preferred to survive, Marc remarked wryly.

“Good point,” Steven murmured, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Still… you cost me my job! I loved it there!”

Did you?

Did he? Had he? With all the bullying and the way people treated him?

“I… I know it wasn’t perfect, but it was something I liked a lot,” he amended.

Because he liked Egyptian history. He was absolutely gone on digging into so many tiny details, on seeing the art and relics every day for free… even if it meant inventorying souvenirs and… Donna.

“I might have made it to tour guide one day,” he mumbled. “I can dream, right?”

Sorry. We can work something out, Marc quoted him, voice quiet and filled with remorse and true regret.

“Yes. I think so. And… thank you,” Steven murmured softly as he enjoyed the last rays of this day’s sunlight, sitting on the rooftop, drinking tea. “For… this. It was an amazing day.”

You’re welcome, Marc answered, feeling almost relaxed. Museums are more your thing.

Steven looked into the distance, then, “You made the right choice.”

Marc was silent.

“Really. You did. In everything. Well, maybe not with all the killing, but with Khonshu. I know I haven’t been around him as long as you… haven’t worked for him… and I know it was terrifying, but now… it feels so different. The bond… it’s… different,” he finished lamely.

I know, was the quiet reply.

“He grows on you.”

He does? came the teasing laughter. Well, I guess you can’t always hate the bastard.

Steven chuckled and looked out over the rooves, listening to the sounds from below, muted and distant in a way, nothing at all like the hustle and bustle of city center Cairo.

“You don’t hate him.”

Marc was silent. Then, No. Yes. No… Resented him maybe. His voice was quiet. He… gave me a purpose. I chose to become his Knight. That first time. It was my choice alone. I didn’t want to die. I grasped at straws.

“Now you did it again. You chose. And it’s a different bond.”

Marc nodded. Very different. I can feel him. Everywhere.

Steven couldn’t. It was more muted.

“It’s beautiful here. Everything. It’s… exotic.”

Marc chuckled. Maybe the first two or three times. After that… not so much.

“When no one is shooting at you, it’s always beautiful.” The sounds of the city drifted over and he emptied the tea. “I liked it.”

They would leave tomorrow.

As much as he wanted to see everything around here, enjoy the history, the many temples, museums and shops, he knew it would have to wait.

“You can return. In the future,” Khonshu rumbled, startling him so much, Steven almost fell off the chair.

The god was sitting cross-legged on the low wall surrounding the terrace, the setting sun playing over his drab linens and wrappings. It glinted off the crescent moon adorning his staff, creating a halo.

“You can look at ancient relics of the dead, try to understand a world so far past your time.”

“I’ll have you know that I know quite a lot about that ancient world!” Steven replied, affronted. “Probably more than those bloody tour guides!”

It got him a rough chuckle as the god rested a forearm on a bent knee. His clothes moved in a lazy wind. He looked almost relaxed.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe you can play the guide next time,” Steven challenged.

Marc groaned and shook his head. Way to grow a spine and be cocky now, Steven.

Khonshu tilted his head. His presence increased, so much more real, and suddenly he was in front of the seated man, Steven staring at the god with wide eyes.

“Maybe I can. Next time,” he whispered. “Little parasite.” And it sounded almost affectionate.

Up yours, pigeon, Marc growled.

“I’ll… keep that in mind. Thank you. I… think?”

Inside their mind, Marc just shook his head in fond exasperation.

*

The change of scenery from Egypt to England was slightly jarring. Not as bad as it had been for Steven when he suddenly fronted in the middle of a fight or chase. That much was a given. Marc had been through his own jarring moments, flung forward into a situation where his alter had been in over his head, split seconds to make a decision, and then Steven had taken over again.

Chaos. It had been their chaos.

No, stepping out into the British weather was no comparison, but it made him long for Egypt. It was like a distant pull, a kind of homesickness that couldn’t be explained.

It rained.

Alright, so common preconceptions about the English weather played into this day.

It rained cats and dogs.

Layla grimaced as she shouldered her bag. They had arrived with very little luggage. “Figures,” she sighed as she gazed into the leaden sky, then her eyes were on her companion.

Warm eyes. Eyes he had fallen in love with so long ago and which had always been on his mind.

Right now… right now he, they, all of them… they needed both the closeness and the distance.

“Will you be okay?” she asked.

Marc blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Yes. You?”

Those eyes were filled with an understanding that had him want to run again. Away. Just… away.

“Give yourself time to settle, get used to this,” she only said. “It’s different now.”

It was. So very, very different. The sense he had of Khonshu was no longer this abrasive, foreign thing that had settled inside him. Foreign to the system. Invasive and pushy, using him.

So different.

Marc knew it would take time for him and for Steven to fully understand the magnitude of what had happened.

Harrow had called him a free man when Khonshu had been so violently ripped from him, he had actually lost consciousness for a while. He had hated that feeling. He had hated the emptiness.

--“And with freedom comes a choice.”--

Yeah. He had made his choice. He had wanted that jerk of a deity back.  Khonshu was his; he was Khonshu’s. Equals, balanced scales, the chaos there but theirs.

Best choice he had ever made.

“Is that so?” that smooth voice whispered from above.

Well, he now had that pesky bird in his head and apparently thoughts spilled over. At least from his side. Not that he wanted to know what Khonshu was thinking about.

Right now, he ignored him.

“You have my number,” Layla said as she hailed a cab. “Call. We are a team,” she reminded him with a wink. “Always. And I want this.”

He stared at her, hope blooming so sharply, it made him almost dizzy.

“I want that, too,” he whispered.

He leaned in and brushed their lips together, then smiled. There was no sorrow, no sadness, no good-bye. It was a breathing space they needed.

It was the breathing space Marc Spector so badly needed to dial down, find his own new equilibrium, because he was no longer a weapon that was pointed at an enemy and then used. That was the biggest change and it had never been like this in his old life, nor his life after death.

Give it time.

“You have time,” Khonshu remarked, watching the cab leave.

Marc glared at him, then hailed his own cab. “Is it too much to ask for a little peace?” he hissed at the god.

Khonshu smirked, then disappeared in a puff of wind.

“I really hate that ugly pigeon,” Marc whispered.

And he would choose him again and again.

*

Marc walked into the flat, drenched, strangely at peace with the situation, the weather, the lack of warm welcomes. He had never been welcomed anywhere, be it coming or going. He had been a weapon and that weapon was there to be used.

Khonshu harrumphed as he leaned against one wall filled with books, papers and knick-knacks. Mostly books, though. Lots and lots of them.

Marc glanced at his eternal companion. “Opinions?”

The god regarded him, then his empty gaze swept the mess of a place.

Yes, it was a mess.

An organized disorganization. Every surface covered in books and magazines that had been pulled from the shelves or had found no room there anymore. There was more on the floor, interspersed with almost random items that were all linked to Egypt somehow. Figurines, vases, pictures, some ornamental pillows. It wasn’t messy as such, just… chaotic.

His life.

Marc chased the tension out of his shoulders and moved to open the window, despite the constant rain, letting in some air.

Everything was as it had been.

Bed unmade, sand around it, the cursed chain attached to the solid wooden frame.

Sorry about the mess, Steven mumbled.

“It’s fine,” he replied softly, meaning it.

His gaze swept the flat again, restless, a little out of his depth. Since the moment they had stepped out of the airport terminal, Marc had been lost.

No mission, no orders, no job, nothing.

Afloat.

And still… not untethered.

His eyes fell on the empty fish tank. Gus 2.0 was gone.

“Sorry about the fish. Fishes,” Marc told his alter. “I tried. Not my strong suit, really.”

Caring for another life. A pet. He wasn’t really good at taking care of himself, actually. Hadn’t been… not since dying and becoming Moon Knight.

Steven gave him a tentative smile. Steven, who was the same mess. Because of Marc. Because Marc was bad at caring for himself, at protecting his alter.

He ran a hand through his unruly, damp hair.

Give it time to settle, Layla had told him.

Yes, it had to settle. All of it. The lack of urgency, the pressing insistence, the feverish drive to… just… serve. In its stead was something that had never been there before: gentleness. Still sharp, still vicious, still lethal, but so different in its approach to the soul that was forever bound to the god it had claimed. Patience had never been Khonshu’s strong suit; actually, he pretty much lacked it, among other things.

But now he… was? Waiting, observing, watching… and always there… guarding… vigilant…

Like right now, Marc mused as he caught the shadows coalescing into the familiar form.

Khonshu had made himself at home sitting on the overflowing desk, watching him, strangely silent. Inside, Marc felt the curious presence, slightly quizzical, but none of the sharp, endless pushing and pulling of before. No urgency at all.

“Do you want to stay here?” Marc asked as he let himself get acquainted with a place he had never really lived at.

It’s… somewhere to live, Steven answered cautiously. Is it even mine?

He smiled humorlessly, almost darkly. Marc had made sure that everything was in Steven’s name, had set up the phone number of ‘Mrs. Grant’, had made sure to send postcards, to keep his alter safe and secure in his world.

Steven scowled at him.

“It’s mine,” he finally said. “It’s… paid off.”

Oh.

I… paid rent… Not really a lot… now that I think about it.

Another harrumphing sound from Khonshu. Marc shot him a dark look.

You… you have money, Steven murmured.

“Yes.”

He didn’t want to go into detail, telling the alter just where it came from. Marc had protected Steven from all of that.

Look how well that turned out…

From… your work?

He almost laughed. “You want to know if this is the Army’s pension? Disability? Or CIA? No.”

He had quite a lot, actually. Mercenaries were well-paid and he had done some very pricey jobs. He was damn good at what he had done and did. With or without the armor.

Oh… Steven mumbled again.

Marc busied himself with the fridge, which was luckily, though also woefully, empty. No rotting food or spoiled packages, but also nothing to eat.

“Do you want to stay here?” he repeated the earlier question.

I like it, was the quiet answer after some thoughtful silence.

So did Marc. Under the roof, easy access to the outside, spacious. His. No nosey landlord either.

“The tank has to go, though. Sorry, Steven.”

Yes. Yes… I see… and… it wouldn’t be fair to the fish, I know.

Marc glanced around, then finally found his alter’s eyes in the mirror…

…and Steven was suddenly fronting, caught off guard, and he gasped in surprise. One hand flew out and caught himself at the nearest wooden beam, expecting vertigo to hit him.

“Oh. Oh-kay. Wow. I…” His eyes darted toward Khonshu’s silent, watchful form. “Groceries!” he blurted. He immediately wanted to slap himself. “Sorry. Wait. No. Okay.”

Marc was barely there, giving him space, probably trying to deal with the sudden normalcy… the new normal…, and Steven felt a slight tremor working through him again. He riffled through his pockets and found he had enough money to make a quick grocery run, maybe treat himself to one of those delicious avocado wraps from the deli around the corner.

Steven stopped just before reaching the door.

“H…how long do I have?” he asked without turning around. “Before…” He stopped. “Do I get a say? I mean, that just now was… a tad upsetting.”

He could sense the whisper of the presence, right at his back, so ancient and powerful, yet no longer such an abrasive feel on his skin. No longer a torment. Steven had made Khonshu’s case to Marc, had convinced Marc that this was him, them, all of them. Still, he was slightly terrified to be at the front and dealing with the entity, who had such a strong connection to Marc Spector, not Steven Grant.

“There is no ticking clock,” Khonshu rumbled.

“Not yet?” he whispered.

When there was no answer, Steven dared to dart a look over his shoulder, saw the tall figure right behind him. Too tall to fit into this place but bending space around him in a way that he did, without distorting anything else.

“This needs time,” Khonshu stated.

They needed time, Steven translated.

He chewed on his lower lip.

Then he opened the door and stepped out of his flat, determined to have a normal day. Get groceries, clean up his flat, do laundry.

Laundry! It was surreal. Absolutely surreal!

Because his new normal had included guns and blood-shed, as well as ancient Egyptian deities from another realm.

Now… laundry.

Steven wondered if this was really real or just another dream.

There was a brush of something; something he only ever felt through Marc and in a watered-down version. He didn’t see a single trace of the moon god, but he felt it.

Real.

Bloody hell, it was real.

And he was doing laundry after just saving humanity… the world… the realm.

Chapter Text

With no job, but also no urgency to find one or else lose his home, Steven had time.

Lots of time.

He sold the fish tank. He dumped the sand. He removed the leg chain. There was no word for the relief he felt when he could finally get rid of that thing.

Steven scrubbed down the fridge and restocked the necessities. He didn’t want to take any chances.

The chaos of his shelves stayed. He had a system, knew where everything was, and his fascination with Egypt was still unbroken. He shuffled some papers around, created new piles, sorted through old boxes, and decluttered a low shelf to fill it with what had occupied the floor for too long to count.

He went on extensive tours through galleries and museums, though he avoided his old work place. He was sure he was by now officially banned and would be in trouble with the police if he showed up. He would have loved to walk past all those exhibits, look at what only ever been historical artifacts to him and which now held a deeper meaning.

Steven soaked up the history, stayed days on end in the other museums, talked facts and myths with whoever didn’t outright dismiss him as a weirdo. One actually offered him a job position at the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology, which he shyly declined. There was too much going on, too much not normal, and he knew he was living this life on borrowed time.

What if Marc fronted because of a job? What if he woke up one morning and weeks had passed? Marc had promised, but… there was still this lingering unease.

The offer was still there and finally changed into archive work. Freelance, they called it.

Steven finally caved and accepted. He could spend some time here, do what he loved, geek out over all the ancient texts and relics, until the Moon Knight was called.

It was the most fun he had ever had, aside from being in Egypt.

Marc was there, at the edge of his consciousness, but gave him room. Just like Khonshu was suspiciously silent and invisible as he went about his days.

His life.

He and Layla didn’t exactly talk a lot and Steven understood her need to take a step back, reassess her whole life and relationship with her husband, but he also wanted them to realize that they truly loved each other. Still. After everything. After all the pain and yelling and life-and-death… actual death…

Finally he texted her. She told him to get a better phone and finally they used a messenger app that also allowed video calls, though those hadn’t been used yet.

According to one of her messages, she was currently in Dublin.

Steven felt a pang of… longing? It came from deep within, not really himself, but Marc didn’t surface. He was there, more of a watcher than Khonshu was. He didn’t push, though.

Steven let it go. He just exchanged those little messages, smiling at having a friend to talk with.

Layla told him about hunting art thieves, about reacquiring relics or just dropping hints with the right people. She sent him pictures of her adventure tours, of street restaurants, old castles or just… landscape.

He sometimes wondered if any of this might just be another weird episode; a dream. The longer he lived such a normal life, the more the dread rose that soon he would find himself somewhere, unable to remember how he had gotten there. Missing days or more. His mind a mess of confusion, heart racing, sleep-deprived and on the edge again.

That was when he checked the phone and found Layla’s messages, her pictures, sometimes a brief voice message.

He would also check an account Marc had given him access to. Proving they were now co-existing. Equals. Stable. Balanced.

And he felt Khonshu’s presence, though never too strongly, though it seemed to grow closer when the panic set in. Calming his fluctuating emotions, wordlessly reassuring him that this was real.

When Layla called for the first time, two months had passed.

Two months of a new normal, of no shackle around his ankle, of waking refreshed and feeling good. Two months of working without getting bullied or yelled at.

They talked about almost inane stuff. His work. Her travels. General things.

“Marc’s… fine,” he told her as the conversation fell into a lull. “Uhm, just so you know. In case you do. I mean… he’s… away.”

“Giving you the promised space?” she translated.

“I… no… it’s… like healing us. In a way. I can’t really… it’s….”

“I understand,” Layla told him, voice warm and soft. “I think I do now. And I wanted to know about Marc, thank you, Steven.”

Because she still loved him.

“I kinda… miss him,” he stuttered, wondering whether he was trying to reassure her, or himself, or just because he hated the silence on the phone.

She laughed, then sniffed a little. “So do I. Both of you. Maybe even Big Bird.”

He chuckled. “Bloody weird…”

And didn’t that describe his life just perfectly?

Steven sometimes thought he saw a shadow on the roof or in a corner at a museum, but it was never real. Lately, the ominous presence was more pronounced as time went on, hovering over him, reminding him…

Steven pushed those terrifying memories away, especially when he was alone in the museum late in the evening.

It was eerily like back then.

He hated it.

“Would you stop lurking, you pesky moon bird!” he finally snapped at the shadows, glaring into the inky darkness of one corner.

He was alone in the basement of the museum, inventorying an aisle with countless Naqada ceramics.

Khonshu huffed and leaned out of the darkness, like the monster under the bed from some horror novel. Steven didn’t even flinch and he prided himself on that.

“I do not lurk.”

“You do! All the bloody time! What are you waiting for? Are… are you waiting for Marc?”

“No. I merely accompany you.”

He flailed a little. “What?” Steven’s eyes narrowed at the moon god. “You… you’re my nanny?”

It got him a snort.

“Or are you waiting for me to get bored? That I want you to offer Marc a job?”

“Maybe?”

Steven exhaled sharply. “What kind of job? Any other banished gods we need to keep an eye on?”

“No.”

“Or set free?”

“No!”

The ragged edges of Khonshu’s gray cape whipped up in a gust of magical force. Steven grabbed hold of his notebook he used for all his work that was dangerously close to being whipped off the desk.

“Stop that!” he cried.

The winds died down. Somewhere in the depth of the room, something clunked to the ground.

He closed his eyes and suppressed a groan. All the cabinets were closed, there were no priceless artifacts outside to topple or be pushed over. Still, no reason to behave like a two-year-old! Khonsu had emotional issues that not only rivalled Marc’s, they surpassed them.

“No other gods then,” he summed it up. “But Marc… is needed?”

“The Knight is always needed.”

Steven studied the ancient deity, suddenly wondering if they self-actualized. Was his appearance a reflection of… him? That would explain so much, actually. And he had been an outcast for thousands of years, which meant those emotions had festered, taken root, had turned against him, expressed themselves in how he threatened, pushed and demanded.

“The world has its other evils,” the moon god added.

Okay, ominous. Really ominous. And yes, Marc Spector was the Moon Knight, the justice and vengeance. It was his job.

“I like my life,” he said quietly. "I know it must be boring for you…”

“It is,” Khonshu told him, voice dark and slightly growly.

“Oh… uhm… right. It probably is. All the reading and typing away…”

“And it is yours.” Khonshu was suddenly there, so close, the crescent moon of the staff hovering over Steven’s head. “As it is mine, Steven Grant.”

Because Marc was his; his avatar. A claim that was no longer one of servitude or enslavement. It rang so differently and Steven understood the intricacies of it so much better than his alter. Marc was still on a short fuse whenever Khonshu became more… aggressively proprietary, but Steven heard the nuances.

He met the empty sockets that reflected endless time, felt something caress his mind, gentle and caring, so much a reflection of what Marc always felt.

“Your mind is a pendulum,” the entity said. “Equilibrium and gravity. Back and forth. Always accelerating, even at rest.”

“Uhm, I… thanks?” Steven stammered, confused.

The beak was so close, the presence overwhelming, but he didn’t cower. He didn’t feel the endless, primal terror of before. It was a lot of respect and slight apprehension, but not because of what Khonshu was, but more of what he would demand of Marc next.

No. No, not demand. That was… the past.

“The intricacies of your mind,” the god repeated. “It saved you. You saved me, Steven Grant.”

“Marc did.”

It got him a head-tilt. “You are the protector.”

He barked out a humorless laugh. “No. I’m a lot, but not… that. That’s Marc. The Moon Knight.”

“You protected him. Always. From pain. A different pain than the one he protected you from.”

Steven felt something in his mind, a memory, a sliver of what had happened and what neither Marc nor he could truly recall.

“I didn’t understand your importance,” Khonshu said in that dark, rough voice. “You have a role in his head. You have a purpose for his mind. I understood almost too late.”

He frowned, the memory teasing more.

A white room.

There… on the floor… a doll. Action figure. Whatever. The crude cape. The Moon Knight. Steve felt the urge to reach for it, pick it up.

And he did.

It morphed into an ushabti. A beautiful stone representation of Khonshu, intricately detailed. Ageless, as if it had just been created… and it had.

Khonshu. He held Khonshu’s prison in his hands.

It was such a lovely representation of the moon god, so perfect, so small, so breakable.

There was a sudden surge of… Steven had no idea what it was. Like riding a rollercoaster, that free fall, then another sudden ascent, only to fall once more.

In the distance someone screamed… pleaded… begged…

“M-marc?” he stammered, but his voice sounded tiny and alone in the white room.

The stone crumbled and sand ran between his fingers.

And then he was in a dark chamber, with Khonshu hovering above him, with shadowy things lurking, and there was the scream again. Marc’s scream. Marc screaming out his anguish and pain, reaching for the god he had lost. He was trying to get to where the sand had piled in front of Steven and he was in agony.

A core of power exploded out of him, so bright and endless, suffusing his body, freeing him, them, the Knight. He saw the Knight’s suit, enveloping Marc, caressing the hurt, shaking man, covering the anguished features. It was like an embrace, a welcome. It healed the physical wounds, unable to alleviate the mental pain.

Emotions Steven had no words for touched him, thoughts that he couldn’t translate into appropriate words flowed by, and the presence that was everything surrounded his own mind.

Steven blinked, shaking his head.

He was back. In reality. Not just the memory that was weird and frightening, made no sense and still explained so much.

“You freed him, idiot,” Khonshu told him with no malice. “From Ammit’s jaws. You protected Marc and that gave him that one chance to reach past everything. To reach for me.”

“Stop calling me that!” he exploded, then breathed shakily.

The presence was everywhere now and he closed his eyes, felt it shiver around him, touch him, caress his mind.

Terms of endearment, Layla had called it. Laughter bubbled up. For someone bullied all his life, being called an idiot wasn’t a fun nick name.

“You are an idiot,” Khonshu repeated, the voice in his head without using his ears. There was no sharpness, no ill intent. “Because you are too innocent.” And he sounded a little exasperated, maybe close to annoyed. “But you protect fiercely.”

Steven bit his lower lip, hands clenching. He might be an idiot, but he was the idiot who had survived against Ammit’s judgment. The idiot who was the counter-weight. The idiot who had made Khonshu’s case, had sold Marc on accepting this new partnership, on taking on a tactless, demanding, apparently cruel god once more. A god who wouldn’t be here today, if not for Marc Spector. A god he, Steven Grant, had looked at and had seen the truth behind all that bluster, anger and rage.

“You are important,” Khonshu rumbled, voice deep and resounding in his head.

“Why can’t I remember what happened?”

“Because you were both there. You are ready to face what happened, but Marc isn’t. You still protect him, Steven Grant. You have since we returned.”

He stared at the weathered skull, the ancient energy reflected in the empty sockets. The truth. He protected Marc, wanted him to have time and space, to recover, to heal. Marc had been so accommodating in letting Steven front. There had never been a single push, never a comment, and Steven lead his life… protecting Marc while Marc did the same by staying away.

Steven swallowed as the truth settled in, the emotions clear, the meaning absolutely crystal. They couldn’t do this alone, pretending to have walls between them that had shattered a long time ago.

“We’re idiots,” he whispered.

Khonshu chuckled roughly.

He closed his eyes, shivering with the tender contact. The mind-touch was like a caress, like an embrace. It was almost loving; like a hug. Steven couldn’t fight the soft, soft sigh that escaped him. It was embarrassing.

And complicated. Really, really complicated.

Because Marc was Khonshu’s. The moon god was interwoven with his chosen, closer than any other deity was with their respective avatar. So much closer and on a level that was unbreakable. Steven was… not Marc, but there was still a connection.

“Stop lurking,” he finally whispered, shaken but also feeling so much stronger. “It’s creepy. Just… stop it.”

Khonshu chuckled. “Deal,” he rumbled.

Chapter Text

It was how he gained a roommate. Sort of. Low maintenance mostly.

Khonshu was suddenly very present and visible, reading through his avatar’s eyes or over his shoulder, murmuring comments that were actually quite… informative, really. Steven didn’t dare loosen up, but after some time of having a moon god living rent-free with him, he found himself asking questions.

And was receiving answers.

He was so startled, he really didn’t get what Khonshu was saying and forgot what the question had been about. It got him an amused head-tilt.

So he asked more. About ancient Egypt. About the role of the gods, their activities, their avatars. He asked more than Marc had ever done.

“The other gods aren’t with their avatars all the time?” he curiously asked one evening after reading half a book on Egyptian gods and how they interacted with the ancient Egyptians.

“No.”

He waited. Steven had learned that waiting was sometimes the best course of action.

“There is hardly any interaction between the avatar and their god. They only touch their minds when they need to meet in the realm between realms.”

“You people can’t just… go there yourselves?” he wanted to know, curiosity spiking.

“No.”

Alright. He waited.

Nope, not getting any more on that topic.

“The other gods don’t hang around ominously or just… have a chat with their avatars?” Steven let some humor slip in. “Move into their homes? Comment on their life style?”

“No.”

He wasn’t deterred by the annoyingly dismissive answers. “Ah. Okay. Hathor, Osiris… their avatars are… not their warriors? Knights?”

There was disdain radiating off the deity. “No. They refuse to actively involve themselves in this realm. Their guidance is laughable! I am not as blind as them,” Khonshu growled. “My Knights are my justice! They protect the innocent!”

“And they are the dead or dying? You give them the choice?”

“I always do. Reclaiming a soul from death against their will creates a schism within that eventually leads to decay.”

“Oh.”

Steven leaned back, mind whirling.

Khonshu’s brief, sometimes really annoyingly curt or very ominous answers grew into longer explanations as time went on. And when he used his powers to draw very vivid scenes of life back then, wrote hieroglyphs into the air, gave Steven a deeper look into the past, Steven Grant knew he couldn’t stop.

They didn’t touch the role of the avatars again, especially the deep connection Khonshu had forged with Marc, but everything else was apparently fair game.

One evening he dug into the mystery the Overvoid; Heliopolis. The world of the gods as perceived by the ancient Egyptians. He asked about the gateway between realms that existed only in Egypt. All doors led to Egypt and from that one pocket dimension to the realm of the gods.

They got back onto the topic of avatars by accident, about the other gods using theirs only to view the world of humans from afar, without ever interfering, and sometimes to walk among their former worshippers. There seemed to be one or two who had appeared in visions to potential avatars, but had chosen to indirectly bestow them with powers and let them protect their people instead of granting them access to the individual god’s energy.

“Is Yatzil really thousands of years old?” Steven wanted to know.

He was surrounded by stacks of magazines, books and worn paper that had been leafed through a thousand times. Some pages has been balled up, then smoothed out again, others had notes penciled everywhere.

Khonshu regarded him silently, almost indifferently. Steven was quite aware that time passed differently for the deity, that the life of a human soul was… maybe not nothing, but probably unimportant. Switching avatars every few years had to be tiring, so given the chosen one a life that surpassed everyone else’s made actual sense.

“I mean, humans aren’t meant to live that long,” he added, prodding gently.

“Of course not.” It was almost a huff.

“You can extend life?”

“It is the choice of the avatar to serve a god.”

Not an answer, but Steven took what he got. “As long as they want?”

Khonshu inclined his head. “We release them from their oath should they wish so. Until then, the power of the god protects the chosen.”

Khonshu had had many. Hathor had mentioned as much. But he had also done his very worst to keep Marc as his Knight.

Steven chewed on his lower lip, fingers nervously playing with the pen. He wanted to know, but he didn’t dare ask. Not just about Marc, but also about the avatar who came before him.

“You… I… I know it’s a sore spot, but… you chose Harrow…”

Khonshu’s magic flared and a tower of books toppled. Steven’s eyes widened and he raised his hands.

“Really, sorry, my apologies, never mind… I… sorry,” he finished lamely.

Khonshu’s sockets seemed darker than before, the anger clear to feel. “He seemed… fitting at the time,” he finally spat. “He was a mistake!”

“I can… see that. I understand. I mean, he was kind of… sick in the head. In a very weird way. Did… Ammit do that?”

Khonshu was silent for a long, long time, then finally snarled, “His mind was receptive, but it was twisted. Ammit didn’t need to add to that. She didn’t seek him out; he found her. He knew about the world of the gods through his servitude to me. A curious mind, like you.”

Steven opened his mouth, then shut it again, hunching his shoulders a little.

“Curious, but detached. No emotions but those the power over the guilty evoked. He wanted to serve because then he felt.”

Steven watched the play of magic around the moon god, the way the ragged shawl moved, how it twisted slightly with every angry spike.

“He blamed you.”

There was another flare. “I cannot influence a mind, Steven Grant! I cannot alter what is already there! I cannot erase the toxicity!”

“So you left him… let him be? After one last job?”

“I should have ended him,” the god whispered harshly, the surge of emotions so dark, Steven was glad he only got the watered-down version of that contact.

“You didn’t.” Which was quite telling all on its own.

Khonshu snarled wordlessly, then settled down, radiating displeasure and an old anger that was still gnawing at him.

Steven turned to restacking the books. Then he went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He was more shaken up than he wanted to confess to.

“An avatar’s choice is their own,” the entity’s voice broke the silence after a while. “It always is. I gave mine the choice, in death and in life.”

“You kinda threatened Marc…” he mumbled to himself.

“Not when he was given the choice to become my Knight!”

“Well, yes, but later you got so much worse!” Steven nearly yelled back, feeling a sudden protectiveness rise. “He didn’t deserve that!” The surge of anger was all is own. “He never did! What you did was cruel and uncalled for!”

Okay. Now it was out in the open.

He had seen Marc battle his own emotions, his conscience. He had a good moral compass, despite becoming a mercenary, despite killing people. Steven had seen his suffering, had experienced that conflict, and he had realized that Marc wasn’t opposed to serving Khonshu – because he had chosen him back then. He simply couldn’t cope with the constant pressure, the urgency, the way Khonshu had pushed and pushed to get to Ammit’s tomb first.

Which was probably the reason why Steven had surfaced so suddenly, so quickly; Marc’s last defense. His attempt to… to… ease the pressure?

Khonshu rose to his full height. “Ammit needed to be stopped! I was the only one who saw the danger and it needed to be done!” Ribbons whipped about and Steven shivered, but he refused to be cowed. “There was no time! It was a price I had to pay!”

No time for rest. No time to recover. No time to heal or to truly understand. No time to truly find a balance between his old life and his new, the power within him just a weapon with the safety off all the time. Like Khonshu had been absolutely off.

Because of the pressure.

Because he had been single-mindedly hunting, consequences be damned, and he had made grievous mistakes. The moon god had paid dearly for it, but so had his avatar.

“Marc is not a tool!” Steven blurted angrily. “But you treated him like one! You ran him into the ground! Your avatar! He didn’t deserve this! He never did!”

The next flare had a row of books tumble off the shelf that served as a divider and Steven winced.

“There was no time!” the god spat again. “None! It had to be done! No matter the cost!”

Steven felt hot anger course through him. “You nearly broke him!”

Khonshu’s magic whirled around him, the books’ pages fluttering wildly. “I would never have hurt him!”

“But you did!” he yelled.

There.

Steven wondered if the whole building would start to shake next.

And then the moon god was suddenly gone.

“Marvelous!” Steven exclaimed. “Just bugger off when things get tough!”

There was only silence.

He sank into his chair, looking at his trembling hands. There wasn’t a peep out of Marc, who was safely in the depth of their mind and soul, and Steven would do his damn best to protect him from this. The alter needed rest.

“Bloody pigeon,” he whispered, finger-combing his unruly hair.

Part of him tried to understand; actually understood. There had been a time factor. Khonshu had pushed and pushed to keep Harrow from reaching his goal.

“Should have trusted your avatar,” he grumbled.

He saw not a single lurking shadow anywhere for the next three days. It was getting on his nerves, made him even more jumpy, and he almost made an error in his inventory work.

“Enough,” he whispered as he rubbed his tired eyes.

Sleep had been a little worse those three days. He was thinking too much about what had happened, what had been said, what had been revealed between the lines, and how so much was still festering inside the deity.

“Would you please stop behaving like a child! That would be grand! Really grand!”

The room was silent.

Just him, the archive, nothing else.

Chapter Text

When Steven got home, just before ten, after he had almost missed the last bus, he felt tired and weary. He hadn’t had a real lunch, just a dry sandwich that had tasted even worse than it had looked. He couldn’t even remember where he had unearthed that. Dinner had been… well, no, that hadn’t happened.

All that because of that stupid fight with a deity only he could see! He would end up in the looney bin if he ever told anyone anything about that. He hadn’t even gone to talk to the street artist he had always poured his heart out to. He hadn’t seen the bloke at all since his return to London.

Tired, faintly nauseous from the sandwich, and too headachy to really pay much attention, Steven almost yelped when he discovered the skull-headed entity sitting cross-legged on the large bed.

Both looked at one another, Steven conflicted and apprehensive while Khonshu appeared almost as weary as the man felt.  The moon god’s hands were clenched around the ancient wood of the staff resting across his lap.

The silence was a little unnerving.

There wasn’t even the ticking of a clock, but from outside Steven thought he heard the far away noise of the traffic below. It was like a cocoon in here, protected, walled-off, safe.

Safe.

He blinked. Okay. Wow. Yes. Blimey me… He felt safe and protected, enveloped in Khonshu’s power. It was kind of like when the god did it with Marc. Steven always got the watered down version of that insubstantial hug, but it felt good.

“I… ah… I’d offer you a drink, but…” He made a weak little gesture. “Or tea.”

Khonshu made a soft noise that sounded almost amused. The comforting sensation didn’t fade.

“I need a stiff one,” Steven mumbled, feeling more releaxed. “But I don’t even have a bloody beer in that fridge.” He slowly walked closer to the seated deity. “Sorry about dragging up old memories. I know it can be… a bummer.”

God, that sounded lame even to his ears.

The skull tilted a little and Steven though he saw something flare in their depths. But maybe it was a figment of his imagination.

“I remember everything,” Khonshu told him quietly. “Every single day. There is nothing to drag up, Steven Grant. My mistakes are my own. I will live with the echoes of them every day.”

All his choices, good or bad, or just plain the worst he had ever made. Every avatar, every confrontation, every heated argument with the Ennead. All his fateful mistakes, all his wrong choices. All the bad, the worse and the ugly, but also the good things.

“Still… sorry. I can’t honestly say I’d ever understand what it’s like to be… uhm… you…”

“You cannot.”

“Right. And you had reasons… your reasons… which are… well, they were your reasons and I understand that Ammit needed to be stopped. What I’m saying is… I’m really, really sorry. It wasn’t my place to… blame you…” His voice tapered off.

Khonshu was this heavy, dark presence, but not threatening. Just very much here… in this room… more than ever before. The god was solely focused on him and it had something inside Steven want to nervously flicker about, but instead there was this grounding effect. As if Khonshu’s reality in this realm was keeping him balanced.

“It was,” the entity finally said. “It was your place to speak your mind. You are part of this. You protect what you love. It is a very human instinct that I have come to understand now.”

Steven stared at him, mouth opening and closing again. He had become quite a pro at reading between the line and what he heard made him happy. Insanely happy. For Marc. For this partnership. For them.

Khonshu had made grave mistakes, had misjudged situations, but he had never been this dark, evil deity, abusing his avatar, using him, casting him away when the job was done. There had been a clock ticking behind that mission to get the scarab. There had been so much at stake and the moon god had been on his own.

“Marc understood the urgency,” he added.

“Did he?”

Khonshu inclined his head. “He did. He became my avatar fully aware of what I expected of him. I didn’t blackmail him into my service. I didn’t force his hand. It was his choice. Things became complicated later…”

“Because of me?”

That got him a rumbling little chuckle. “Not solely, but you played a role. Like you, Marc protects what he loves and cares about. Even the clueless idiot.”

The last was a clear poking tease. Steven gave him a tentative smile.

“I do not hurt my avatars,” Khonshu repeated, voice low and insistent. “Least of all Marc.”

“I understand. I think I do. More than before. We’re… good?” he asked carefully. “No hard feelings?”

“The truth is painful,” the moon god said after a long moment. “I know it only too well. Many of the other gods have learned that particular pain just lately.” He cocked his head. “As did you.”

Steven swallowed. He had. It had been tough. And painful, as Khonshu had already stated. So very, very painful.

“We had a bad few days…”

Khonshu regarded him with that heavy, meaningful gaze, coming from empty sockets, yet it spoke lengths. The swirl of power around him was like a gentle hug once more that also prodded him toward the bed.

“Are you starting to mother-hen now?” he asked incredulously.

Khonshu huffed, but the sensation never abated.

Steven changed into sweats and fell into bed with a sigh. There was a silence between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time.

“You’re always here, aren’t you?” Steven mumbled into the pillow after a long time of not really falling asleep. It was like that fugue state between two worlds. Too tired to get up, yet not tired enough to just drop into unconsciousness.

“Always,” Khonshu purred, that dark, dark voice rumbling along his spine and echoing in his mind.

It wasn’t threatening. It was a promise that had him relax deeper into the warm hold, had him smile.

“That’s…” No longer worrisome. Just reassuring. Knowing he was here, watching, protecting. It was comforting and comfortable. “…nice…” he whispered.

It felt like being covered in insubstantial wings, even though he knew the moon god wasn’t really a bird. He had no wings.

“Nice,” Khonshu echoed just as softly, and it wasn’t sarcastic or taunting.

Steven smiled. He wasn’t alone. He had Marc. He had Layla. And they had Khonshu. Yes, it was nice.

*

They picked up their little Q&A sessions later, when Steven felt comfortable enough to ask more questions. Khonshu didn’t so much as try to stop him, answering in his usual way.

“Yatzil made her choice as the rift between humanity and the gods happened, right?” Steven asked carefully, still rather busy with that information working through his mind.

“Yes. She had served Hathor through the time we walked among humankind. Hathor was always choosey. Yatzil was her perfection.”

There was an almost wistful note to the dark voice.

Perfection.

Like Marc was now Khonshu’s. Okay.

“She’s really thousands of years old,” Steven murmured. “I can’t… really understand… or imagine living this long.”

Khonshu regarded him, then leaned forward a little. “All avatars are a temporary vessel of the gods. Those who hide in their realm and refuse to acknowledge the evolution of humanity.”

Ah, the old grudge, Steve thought, not saying anything.

 “She feels her goddess’ presence only should Hathor deem it necessary or important. The length of time is unimportant. Yatzil’s mind is influenced by her possessor.”

“She has free will!”

“I never claimed she hasn’t. Hathor is not a cruel goddess. She cares for her avatar. Should Yatzil ask, she would be free.”

“It’s not a bond.”

“No.” The moon god scoffed. “None of them bond. They take care of the human vessel, educate the mind to bear the passage of time, but they don’t leave their mark.”

Only you did, Steven thought. Then the words really registered.

“Her mind was altered?!” he exclaimed.

“No. She is as she has always been. All avatars are. The human mind needs to learn to bear the passage of years should the vessel choose to remain the servant of their god for more than a lifetime.”

“Oh.”

“It won’t be a burden to you,” Khonshu added, so close now, so present. “We are one,” he added softly. “A part of me is within your soul. I will protect you.”

Steven felt that heavy, timeless gaze on him, was aware of the sincereness, the vow behind those words once more. And deep inside he could feel this core of endless power.

A soul bond, Steven realized, slightly shocked. Permanent. He remembered Khonshu’s words as Marc had finalized their new partnership back in Cairo; a lifetime ago.

In every realm… He had been claimed in every realm.

There was no going back.

*

He was falling, pushed back by a force slamming into his chest. The world took on a strange sepia hue. He fell… and there was water… but he wasn’t drowning.

And then he was… somewhere else.

Steven heard the desperate scream, of Marc reaching for Khonshu, of trying to grab for that small shard of the god lodged deep in his soul.

There was the ushabti again. So beautiful and yet a cruel reminder of what had happened. It was on the ground where the action figure had just been and Steven reached for it, driven by the wordless pleas coming from outside.

He curled gentle fingers around it, protective, possessive, so very, very careful.

Power thrummed through him.

Steven stared at the door leading outside.

Marc’s voice rose, rough and raw, so open and vulnerable. So alone. So terribly, terribly alone…

Steven woke up with a start, an inarticulate cry tearing from his lips that might have been Marc’s name. His hands flailed over his chest, remembering the gun shots, remembering getting shot… The remnants of that dream still bouncing around his head. There were faint images and he felt his lungs constrict, his heart hammering.

The white room. Like a far away thought. People whose faces he knew, present within that weird space that was and wasn’t in his head.

Steven scrubbed a shaking hand over his face, through his hair, desperately chasing the dream, but it disappeared between one thought and the next.

It was worse than the first time he had so vividly dreamed and found out it hadn’t been a dream at all because…

“No!” he blurted all of a sudden and his eyes shot toward the calendar.

One day later than yesterday.

He scrabbled for his smartphone and checked the electronic time and date.

No missing time. None.

The tension eased and he expelled a breath. He was still trembling, still remembering… not much. Just… faint echoes because… it wasn’t his memory. It was one he had been a part of, but it wasn’t one he had experienced himself.

“Shit,” he whispered hoarsely and ran those shaking fingers through his tousled hair.

Steven. Relax.

“M-marc?”

Yes, it’s me. Relax. Everything’s okay.

No. Nothing was okay.

“I… sorry… so sorry… it’s…” He trembled a little, then forced himself to truly relax. “Habit.”

Marc was suddenly there, looking at him. Awoken because of the sudden panic, the spikes racing through his system, looking for a danger that was only imaginary. He had been oblivious to the hot arguments with Khonshu about so many topics, but now he had co-fronted.

Damnit! Bloody hell! It wasn’t supposed to be this way!

“Bad habit,” Steven added. “Trying to drop it. Not really having much of a success, do I?”

And with his late night conversations with a certain moon god, Steven had started to understand more and more of Marc’s role, and with it about the connection he had with this entity, how interwoven they had become.

More than an avatar. The host.  

So much more and so very important.

Steven, he cajoled. It’s okay. I understand.

“You don’t,” he mumbled. “We both never did. It’s not good the way it is.”

What are you talking about? There was a sliver of alarm in Marc’s voice and his presence became more pronunced. What’s going on?

Steven scrubbed a hand over his face, then turned to look at the silent watcher. It should be weird to wake up to an Egyptian deity perched somewhere in his flat, watching him sleep, eat, work… but Steven had never felt better than those last weeks. He wasn’t alone and while their conversations had been a rollercoaster ride, they had helped him understand so much.

Like right now.

This couldn’t go on. Not like this.

Marc radiated light confusion at Khonshu’s watchful presence. He scowled at the god. He’s… here… Why? he demanded.

“He kinda moved in. We… get along. Having a blast, actually.”

Marc’s frown was almost comical.

Steven rose, a determined expression crossed his unshaven face. He walked toward the bathroom mirror, needing to face Marc as he had countless times throughout the craze that had been his life for a while.

“But it’s no longer just about me,” he said firmly, meeting the dark eyes of his alter. “We’re a team. I’m a part. I can’t… force this. I did before and look where it got us.”

Steven…

“No! I nearly got you killed a few times! And if not killed, into serious trouble!”

You didn’t know what was happening.

“I do now. I know… and understand. This isn’t how it is supposed to be!”

Behind him, Khonshu blocked the doorway like a massive sentinel, watching his avatar silently.

I promised, Steven.

“And I appreciate the time, but it feels like some vacation that’s one day going to be over. And you dread that day, refuse to acknowledge the limited time, and then you get hit over the head by it. I don’t want that.”

Steven…

“You promised, I know. And I’m grateful. Really!” He looked into mirror, holding Marc’s gaze. “But you are important, too. You’re not just the weapon, Marc. Not just the Moon Knight. You’re more. Like I’m…”

More? Marc finished quietly. Not just the interference?

“…parasite…” he whispered, evading the dark eyes.

You never were.

“And you were never just the means to an end,” Steven told him firmly, looking up again, meeting the ancient gaze of the deity in the mirror. The skull was hovering above Marc, just like it was right behind Steven. The crescent moon of Khonshu’s staff reflected the meager light coming in from the other room. Ribbons of linen moved lazily, twirling, dancing, almost caressing him.

“Marc’s the Knight,” Steven stated, seeking out the hollow sockets. “Not me. We all know that. The arrangement is important. You and him… that’s really important… It saves lives… I understand that. I want that, too. Save people, help innocent victims… Just…”

He stopped, eyes flitting to Marc’s, then back to Khonshu, and finally he just stared at the sink.

Steven? Marc prompted, voice soft and quizzical.

“There’s… this new exhibit I’ve been looking forward to. Next week. I really want… want to see it,” he stumbled over the last words.

Khonshu watched him silently. Still no pressure, no urgency.

“And… if you and Marc have work… and I’m sure you do… I don’t mind. At all. I’ll just take a nap.”

Steven…

“How do you even find those jobs?” he blurted. “I-is there a bulletin board? Do you just look in the daily papers?” He stopped. “I mean… it’s… I know it’s the job… his job… Important…”

“It is,” the god stated calmly.

Steven!  Marc tried to stop him.

“No,” he told his alter, firmly holding the other’s eyes. “I want this, Marc. It’s your life! Your body!” He met Khonshu’s patient gaze. “I appreciate the time. Really, I do. It’s… been lovely. Normal. Marvelously normal. You were a great house mate. Answering my million questions, which you didn’t have to. I liked this. But it’s Marc’s life, too. And I understand it involves violence. If we could make it less of a nightmare… or so jarringly bloody… And if you, you know, let me know if I have to take the trash out, feed the neighbor’s cat, buy groceries…” He trailed off, aware of the heavy scrutiny he was under from the immortal entity.

Khonshu was suddenly there, startling him to stumble away from the mirror. The moon god reached out and his fingers ghosted over Steven’s jaw. It was so surreal and yet to familiar, he briefly closed his eyes.

“That can be arranged,” the deity said gravely. “After the exhibit.”

He stared at the powerful being. “W-what? I mean… Really?”

“Do you doubt my word?”

“No! No… I…”

“Marc is my Knight, but you are part of him, Steven Grant.” He tapped against Steven’s forehead. “Here. He has protected your existence fiercely. You won’t be involved.” He tapped again. “Unless it is your choice.”

We’ll find a way, Marc promised and he sounded as fierce and protective as he had several times before. And maybe just a little shaken.

“I’ll get a memo board!” Steven blurted, no idea why he had to get that out in the open.

Khonshu chuckled, brushing his knuckles over Steven’s left temple again.

Then he was gone.

Steven let trembling fingers flit over his skin where Khonshu’s touch had just been.

“That’s… new…” he stuttered, looking at his alter.

Yeah. Like the old bird hanging around you.

“It’s… nice? Which is… nice…” he finished lamely. “Different.”

Marc smiled a little. Yes. It is. Which should freak me out…

“But it doesn’t,” Steven murmured.

Because the acceptance felt… incredibly good.

And it was time to accept that as much as he wanted to protect Marc, as much as he didn’t want him to go back to that place in his mind where he had nearly died, was a selfish choice. They were in this together. They could only heal if they accepted their choices, their sacrifices, as one.

Chapter Text

--“Marc, you can’t keep doing this.—

Marc woke with a start. Almost panicky, eyes shooting open, muscles coiled and ready to fight or run, and his lungs were burning from the sharp breath he had pulled in. Sweat beaded on his brow and his hair was plastered to his forehead.

His vision swam, his mind feverish, and he felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

He was alone.

In a room. A white room, white walls, white ceiling, no windows… White light casting everything into a glaring brightness with no shadows to speak of.

Marc’s heart hammered in his chest and he tried to get his bearings, the vertigo of waking so abruptly nearly overwhelming.

“W-…”

He stumbled to his feet, shouldering against one wall.

“H-how…”

The door. There was a door. Milky glass window with shadows moving behind it.

Get out. Get out of the room.

And he ran. He heard the splintering of glass, of a broken window, and he ran. Everything was too white, too clean, too shiny. Every door looked the same.

“Calm down,” a dark, familiar voice rumbled.

He whirled around, but there was nothing. The world was starting to swim in front of his eyes.

“Where am I?” he managed, each word so hard to utter.

“The Realm of Souls.”

His mind blanked, then terror settled in.

No… No! He hadn’t died… had he?

Steven… where was…? “Steven!”

He stumbled and caught himself, tried to run, tried to find…

The fluorescent lights reflected off the polished tiles, blinding him. Everything was white. Everything hurt to look at.

He was breathing too hard, his heart was hammering, his pulse racing. The instinct to protect Steven, something hardwired into his soul, was screaming at him to find his alter. To make sure he was safe. That none of this could hurt him.

And then he collided with something very hard, very unyielding, but not a wall. He almost bounced off the obstacle but was deftly caught in a strong grip. For a moment Marc tried to fight, but he was too uncoordinated to do more than simply collapse against the only rock in this blinding white sea he had. An arm curled around his shoulders, trapping him but also keeping him from just falling to the ground.

It was as if an anchor had been cast and the out of control ship that was his mind was suddenly moored. The shards clicked into place, formed something whole, something stronger, keeping him… there. The whiteness dimmed, became more bearable. The strangely tilting world aligned.

Marc blinked. Then he looked up.

“Oh fuck,” he managed.

The skull gazing down at him seemed to grin. Khonshu. His god. The entity so entwined with him, so close, so overwhelmingly present. He felt him everywhere, not just where he held on to the human avatar.

It was grounding. Like suddenly taking root.

“You’re… Fuck! I… I’m dead?” The sheer terror of that thought was overwhelming.

“No.” The god sounded rather amused.

The weathered skull was as it had always been, the rags still as tattered, the colors still as bland. Except, this time, for the first time, there was more in that gaze but endless time and space. It was a thin sickle of a waxing moon. Surreal and terrifying in its own way, but grounding.

“Why am I here?”

“It is a memory.”

Something else struck him and panic surged once more, colliding against the gentle shield around his mind. “Steven! Where’s Steven?” he whispered, adrenaline rising sharply, muscles tensing.

“Protected. You protect him.”

Protected from this… this… “Memory,” he managed.

“Yes.”

The anchoring hold was unbroken, truly keeping him stable, and Marc had never felt such sincere thankfulness toward the deity than now. It was now that he became aware of the fact that he had smacked face first into the god. At the moment he was with his back against the tall form, held upright with ease. The moon god was a rock in a stormy sea, unmovable, unbreakable. There was a hum in the back of his mind, Khonshu clearly aware of his thoughts, all over the place as they were.

“This is a memory… and I’m in the Realm of Souls? In my mind… I’m there?”

“Yes.”

With Khonshu. Who was living in his head anyway. Well, his mind and soul, actually.

“So, I was here?”

“You were here,” he confirmed.

“But this isn’t real…”

“It is a memory. It was reality, though not one your human mind could understand at the time.”

“At the time,” he echoed numbly. Marc tried to dig deeper, tried to remember, but he couldn’t really see. “Why can’t I remember?”

The moon god was silent, studying him, clearly pondering something.

“Tell me!” Marc demanded and twisted away.

Khonshu quickly took hold of his wrist, the motion almost a blur. It was like a vice clamped around his limb. No pain, just the unbreakable hold. He regarded him steadily.

Truth be told, Marc was afraid what might happen if he lost this anchoring connection.

“What happened to you is far beyond a living human mind’s capability to comprehend,” Khonshu repeated. “It simply… switches off when faced with a realm beyond your limited abilities.”

Marc dimly wondered if he should be offended.

“The human consciousness cannot fathom the realm of the gods. Actually, any realm but their own. Every encounter is interpreted as nightmares, maybe dreams. You shaped this place, rendered it like it is.”

“A mental asylum?” he managed, voice shaking. “Because maybe I belong in one?”

Khonshu huffed a little. “No human can stay sane when confronted with the Realm of Souls.”

“It’s official then,” he muttered. “I’m mental.”

“No. We wouldn’t have this conversation had your small brain imploded from the overload.”

Marc glared at him. “Yeah, thanks. I’m starting to greatly dislike you again!” he snapped.

He tugged half-heartedly at the grip, but he wasn’t released.

Khonshu had the audacity to chuckle. “Your mind and soul are no longer just your own, Marc Spector. It is a shared world of a co-existence. It is bound to me. You are and have been my avatar, bearing my armor. Now it has adjusted to a deeper bond. You were both here,” he tapped an infinitely gentle finger against Marc’s forehead. “I can feel your pain. You both suffered and nearly lost yourselves. You both share the memories, the burden, both of you making up a whole. You both protected each other, refused to give in. The rest was lost as you were the only ones to survive Ammit’s spree.”

Marc swallowed.

“As long as you refuse to accept your alter’s strength, you won’t be able to heal completely.”

“Steven…”

“He is stronger than you might think. He has already confronted his own experiences and accepted.”

Marc froze, terror shooting through him. “What did you do to him?!”

“Nothing.”

Truth. He spoke… the truth. Marc closed his eyes, swaying a little with the need to get this over with and the equally strong desire to not let Steven in on this nightmare… the reality of what had happened. As he had always tried, so desperately, until the walls had crumbled and their lives had mixed together. Co-fronting.

“It is even beyond my abilities to bring back what was taken by Ammit,” Khonshu added almost apologetically.

“I… okay… I think… I didn’t know… anyone else…”

“You shared this, Marc. You need to share it again.”

He swallowed hard. He didn’t want Steven to relieve this horror. It was his job, his place, not anyone else’s. Not Steven’s.

“You are not alone. He was there with you,” Khonshu murmured, the voice heavy in his head. “He remembers, but not enough. You remember, but not everything.”

“I…”

There was a loud banging sound from somewhere and he heard a muffled voice.

“Open up, Marc.”

He was starting to tremble. His was a life of violence. It had always been violent. Steven was his safety. He protected him. Steven shouldn’t have been involved.

“He protects you,” Khonshu’s voice had dropped even deeper, resonating inside his mind. It was a soft caress over his stressed mind, anchoring him on so many levels he knew he would just break into a million pieces should the god let go. “Just as viciously.”

Marc screwed his eyes shut and shuddered.

“You are not alone. Your scales are perfectly balanced within each other.”

The door to the white room was suddenly flung open and Marc’s eyes shot open wide, meeting his own eyes in his own face, but still not his own.

“…steven…” he whispered, sounding almost wrecked.

Disheveled, looking like he had just fallen out of bed, dressed in an old, dark sweater and sweatpants, Steven was mirroring his surprise.

“M-marc…?”

There were dark rings under his eyes. He was too pale, too fragile looking, too… frayed at the edges. Looking at him, something broke inside the mercenary; something that had had so many cracks already, it had been held together by sheer determination and willpower.

Marc launched himself at the shell-shocked alter, barely aware that Khonshu had let go of him, and wrapped his arms around the startled man. Holding on. Just holding on as if he was his lifeline. And he was. He had always been.

“Steven!”

And then Steven clung to him just as tightly. “Marc…”

More memories surfaced like a tidal wave. Different ones. Both their experiences meshing together to be shared.

Marc squeezed his eyes shut with a whimper. He had flashes of a similar situation. Of the sarcophagus, of the maze of white rooms, the mental facility… trapped in the sarcophagus… then he was back in the Realm of Souls. Running, being chased, the hungry presence chasing them…

“It’s okay,” Steven whispered, sounding shaky and just a breath away from losing it, too. “It’s okay… I’m okay. I’m here. We’re okay.”

Marc’s knees gave way and he collapsed to the ground, his fall cushioned by Steven’s strong hold as he sank down with him, still holding him tightly.

His whole world collapsed and then realigned itself. He buried his face against his alter’s neck, shoulders shaking from the tidal wave of emotions crashing down on him.

He remembered.

“Jake saved us,” Steven whispered, sounding a little broken. “The other… he saved us… Marc, he saved us…!”

He pushed back and framed Steven’s face, looked into the wide-blown eyes, the wetness glistening in there, and he knew he was crying, too. He had no recollection of Jake; the third alter.

“Are you okay?”

“Uhm, yes, I’m… rather well… all things considered. The memories…” He frowned, then his eyes widened again. “The sarcophagus!”

“The what?”

“I… I found a-a.. sarcophagus. In a room. I opened it. I… it was him,” Steven stammered and his fingers twisted into Marc’s loose, wide shirt. “He told me to run. Find you and run. He would take care of this. For us. As he has always done.” He swallowed wetly. “Not look back. Just find you… save us… find Khonshu… and do what you do best.”

Now he was gone. He had never known him; neither had Steven. And he was gone. Gone, gone, gone! Like so much from his life.

“I’m not leaving,” he heard the alter whisper fiercely. “I’m not leaving!”

Marc was shaking so badly, his teeth were chattering. He was fighting the overwhelming emotions, all what hadn't been said, all he had felt and was still feeling.

Steven simply held him. He was both the protector and the protected, a fierce sentinel guarding the other.

Everything seemed to slot into place, making him whole, despite the many holes in his soul. Khonshu neatly filled those cracks, belonging, claiming... healing them.

“This happened faster than I believed possible,” Khonshu could be heard. He sounded thoughtful, watching the two men, nodding to himself. “You are very receptive, Marc Spector. Adaptable. Your mind is stronger now. It adapts to my powers, our new bond, and it can withstand the realm’s influence.”

The light inside the room changed, became softer, warmer, but still silvery white. It was the moon rising, the energy seeping into him, chasing away shadows. Around the two men, wispy strings formed.

Steven reached out for one and it turned more substantial without losing the ghost-like quality. It wrapped around his forearm, creating intricate patterns, criss-crossing and shaping more and more into the wrappings Marc was intimately familiar with. Off-white, silvery, light gray, golden hues…

He reached for Steven’s wrapped forearm and the bandages crawled over his own skin.

Soft linen, yet not linen at all. The temple armor and yet so much more. A part of Khonshu, his energy, his powers. It enveloped them, pulled them together, and finally there was the Moon Knight, kneeling on the ground, chest heaving.

Something trickled through him. Something endlessly, timelessly powerful. Something not him but still inside him. It encompassed them both, made them whole, made them one, and they were still those two sides the pendulum swung back and forth with.

Bright white eyes looked up, met those dark eye sockets of his god, and Khonshu hummed, nodding to himself.

“This is what makes you so strong,” he told his avatar. “This is what had you survive. And this is what heals you.”

He startled awake, the dark room in stark contrast to the white of before. Of his… dream?... memories?...

He was still in London, still at the flat. Everything was calm. There was the faint sound of rain against the window panes and the moon was behind thick clouds. He still felt its power and it was a rather reassuring sensation. Like a heavy but fluffy blanket.

Marc scrubbed a palm over his face, his head, hair disheveled. There were books everywhere and their sight alone relaxed him even more.

Then a thought struck and Marc frantically looked inward, found Steven safe and sound far away from the front, though the protective wall around him was flimsy at best.

He expelled a breath.

Shadows moved and Khonshu was suddenly crouching at the end of the bed, hunkered down. Watching. Waiting. So patient.

“This was real,” Marc whispered as he sat up, voice rough.

“Reality is a fickle construct to the human mind.”

“Cut the mystical crap!” he snapped, adrenaline still swimming through his system, his heart still beating so much harder than normal.

“It is a memory of a realm you shouldn’t be able to recall.” Khonshu sounded intrigued. “The battle against Ammit wasn’t only physical, it involved the soul. The human mind and soul rarely if ever perceive our realm as you did.”

“But I do now?”

“Yes. You are growing stronger. Your acceptance of me has opened the gates between us. Your past imbalance kept you from succeeding, but you are healing yourselves. It will create new pathways, and it has already.”

He felt like crap. Absolute crap. There was nothing strong about him.

Their dynamics had changed. They co-fronted. They gave each other room and time.

They were survivors, but he couldn’t even feel loss. He had only ever consciously met Steven. Jake… there wasn’t even a shred of a recollection. He had been a moment, was now a memory for Steven, with no emotional attachment. The one who was so remorseless, he must have been Khonshu’s wet dream come true. Just how often had that alter come through and left nothing but blood and death in his wake?

“Jake was part of the imbalance?”

“At the time? No. Now he would be.”

“How many jobs did he do?” Marc asked, eyes finding Khonshu.

The god regarded him silently for a very long time. “One.”

“And he wasn’t good enough?” His voice was without inflection, trying so hard not to let his disgust show.

“He was too good. His darkness had no light.”

“Uhm…”

Khonshu traced light patterns over his forehead and temples. “In here, he was darkness. Without light. His usefulness was… limited. No conscience, no remorse, but your ultimate protector. The last resort, the one used to the agony.”

Marc frantically tried to remember, but there wasn’t a single moment he had ever felt this third alter rise.

“When…?” he murmured. “When did he…?”

Khonshu’s hummed softly. “The greatest of duress,” was all he said. “When the suit’s power to buffer the pain, to heal wounds inflicted on my Knight, were not enough. He was your shield and he left a river of blood.”

Marc wanted to claim he was usually detached from feeling any remorse for when he had to kill an opponent, but even he, the one who had been trained for this, was a little queasy at times. Marc hesitated, spared lives, and as a mercenary he had declined certain jobs that gave him hives just hearing the proposition.

Which meant Jake had fronted whenever the job got too much. He had been with the system for a long, long time.

He was gone now.

Gentle fingers curled around one forearm, anchoring as they had done in his vivid recollection. His mind settled more, the pendulum swinging evenly, no longer erratic and out of bounds. He stared into the hollow sockets, saw the waxing moon in them, and Marc felt his mouth go dry.

“You have bound yourself to me,” Khonshu stated. “You shattered the walls between you and the soft-hearted idiot. You no longer shield yourself from me, and you stopped fighting me. Your mind is adjusting to what the connection between us means. You have grown stronger since. Only stronger. As one.”

“Is this an avatar thing or a you thing?” he asked carefully.

Khonshu chuckled. “You are no longer just an avatar, Marc. You are my soul-bonded. I know of none of the Ennead who dared to go this way.”

“Uhm?”

The endless power surged through him, washed away the fragments, cleansed his mind, and he whimpered softly as he felt the memories fade. But not forgotten. Just… memories. Distant. He could look at the events and not break.

He had been judged.

He had been given a sentence.

He had been freed. He and Steven.

“What else is there? What else don’t I remember?” Yet, he added silently.

“The mind can only handle so much. In time, you might recall more as you grow. As you trust in yourself. And me,” Khonshu added meaningfully. “Your bond to me is your shield and your anchor, but also your door to another realm.” The god cupped his face. “Your acceptance of each other, the violence and the softness, is your strength. You will face yourself again and again. Loss and victory. Pain and happiness. I trust in you to be what I asked of you so long ago; and more. I ask you trust me to not harm you in any way.”

He swallowed, the touch so much deeper, so meaningful, as were the words. Because he felt the loss and the pain inside the ancient entity. Timeless, endless, remembering every day, every night, everything. Alone; abandoned. The only companionship had been the chosen avatar, and some had come and gone very quickly. Some had been very bad choices.

“I… I trust you,” he stumbled over the words. “Now. I can trust you now.”

Khonshu tilted his head. “Can you?”

“Yes.” His voice cracked. “Yes.”

“Enough?”

“You never lied to me in the past. You were just an asshole,” Marc told him, mouth twisting into a dark smile. “A pushy, demanding asshole, but you never outright lied. I knew what I was getting into.”

“You didn’t,” Khonshu countered without malice.

Well, maybe not completely. He had been desperate the first time. Really, really desperate and with his back against the wall, a yawning abyss in front of him, when he had reached for his god and shattered the prison that had held the entity. But the second time he had said yes… that had been fully informed.

“When you lay in my temple, bleeding, your life fading, you made a choice. I had no time to slowly accustom you to what it means to be my avatar, my chosen. Mistakes were made.”

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“You saved each other. You saved me. There is no going back, Marc Spector. You accepted my bond. To be my hands, my eyes, my vengeance,” Khonshu echoed the words of so long ago.

“I know.”

“It is an open bond now.”

“I… know. I can feel it. And… and it helps. To feel. To know. I’m not alone.”

“You never were.”

Marc reached up and placed a careful hand over the wrapped one that still cupped his face. The ribbons seemed to move under his touch; shivering, rippling. Khonshu was motionless, silent.

“I chose to be your warrior,” he said. “A second time, despite the fucked-up first time. You were a manipulative bastard, Khonshu. I understand the reason. I saw what happened, what evil was released. I trust you in my choices.”

He trusted like he had never trusted anyone before. And probably never would again.

“You were worthy of my choice.” The god tilted his head. “I will always protect you, Marc Spector,” he said. “Always. My avatar. My host. You are important to me. Your mind is quickly adjusting to what your body is already capable of handling. Your soul belongs only to me.”

He sought for the gentle press of the other presence against his mind as Khonshu broke the physical contact. It was new, almost heady, and he wondered what Steven and Khonshu had been talking about, how much Steven’s so empathetic nature, his softness, his inquisitive way, had paved the road for this moment. Probably a lot.

“You will remember more and none of that will hurt you,” Khonshu promised. “You can remember without pain, without losing yourself. My power will guide your mind, keep it from fracturing again.”

Because of the bond. Because of the balanced scales.

“You and your alter are parts of the same system, of the balance that makes you so perfect. Imbalance hinders the healing. It hinders in your acceptance of everything. Do not protect him from the memories, Marc. It will create the imbalance. He is strong.”

“Not a parasite?” he asked shakily.

Khonshu chuckled darkly. “No. Not any more. This is the way it has to be. You both made your choices.”

With another shaky breath, Marc closed his eyes. He was tired from the whole experience, his eyes burning a little.

Khonshu’s presence was heavier now, wrapped around his mind, almost physical, and Marc let himself fall. He was caught and cushioned in the mind-world, held safely as he let himself fall asleep again. Without slipping into his memories.

Khonshu remained with his chosen avatar for the rest of the night, alert, watchful, probably closer than necessary. He felt calmer now, the age-old anger not gone but further from his mind. He felt a little lighter and a lot more settled.

Because of a human soul. Marc Spector.

He could feel the way the avatar’s mind was knitting itself back together, weaving a safety net that hadn’t been there before. Only trauma. Pain and loss, guilt and shame, running from nightmares, memories and shadows of a past that had nearly broken him.

Now those pieces were where they belonged and the most important was alive and well within Marc’s mind. Steven.

Khonshu watched the moon light as it reflected off the crest of his staff, watched it play over the sleeping man. Faint outlines of the ceremonial armor overshadowed his skin, embracing the warrior.

Chapter Text

Marc woke in the late morning, to the sunlight streaming into the room.

And to memories that seemed less disturbing now.

He felt at ease, wrapped in an invisible blanket, anchored firmly in this reality. Remembering that surreal realm didn’t make him want to curl up and scream, or run until he couldn’t run anymore.

“The Realm of Souls, hm?” he mumbled as he ran a hand over his unshaven, sleep-muddled features. “Well, fuck.”

Steven was there, a bit hesitant, but there was no tension. They were co-fronting and both now shared a knowledge that had been split between the alters, locked away because they hadn’t been able to comprehend what had happened.

It made them so much stronger. It made them more.

“Memories. Our memories,” Marc stated softly.

We have different ones that make up the truth of what happened. Not sure either of us can remember everything, especially since… well, Jake… he fought Ammit. We weren’t part of that.

Yes. That part was lost forever.

And we are getting better at handling things.

At so much. Co-fronting. Co-existence. Dealing with everything, with their differences and with what held them together.

Like Layla.

“Yes, we are getting better.” Far from fully healed, but healing.

So much more at peace. Khonshu had become the pivot and anchor of their mind.

You might want to call her. Layla.

“Steven…” A warning swung in his voice.

While he didn’t need a mirror to see, he did look into the one above the sink. Steven’s open, puppy-dog expression was almost too much.

I think she wants you to, too.

“You think.”

We’re friends. We talk.

Yes. And she was Marc’s wife.

He blew out a breath, still staring at the ceiling. He finally sat up and padded over to the bathroom where Steven’s gaze met his own in the mirror.

“This can work,” Marc whispered.

It can. We can. It’s time to start living again. For both of us.

Together. Balanced. Equals. Protective as hell when it came to the alter, but still… Marc knew Steven was stronger than he had given him credit for; Steven knew that Marc wasn’t the emotionless asshole who remorselessly took a life.

“We can do this.”

Steven looked positively happy. The world needs the Moon Knight. You are the Moon Knight, only you. You are Khonshu’s justice, Marc Spector. You.

Marc briefly closed his eyes, then turned to face the deity who had been hovering behind him. Silently waiting, so infinitely patient and always there.

“We’re on again.”

Khonshu tilted his head. Marc didn’t even have to ask if there was actually a job lined up. The moon god was brimming with dark excitement and the hunger for vengeance and justice for the innocent.

The suit whispered under his skin, close to the surface, and he caught faint outlines of bandages. There was an eagerness that was almost infectious and he thought he heard Steven laugh.

Go out. Have fun, his alter teased.

“Oh, shut up.”

But Marc was excited. Very. It was like stepping back into an old life that was now very new.

That night he packed a bag, just the necessities, which included a passport that hadn’t been acquired legally, foreign currency, and a burner phone.

Steven just watched, catching the eddies of excitement from both Khonshu and Marc. The eagerness was hard to miss.

It was the first time Marc felt… good. He felt good about going out to kick the lowlife where it hurt, to bring justice to others, to avenge those who had died.

They were on a plane heading to their destination a few hours later.

He was there, watching his Knight fight. Pride suffused the tall entity and he shared in the emotions of his avatar as Marc took down the human traffickers without a shred of remorse. He felt the power, he felt Marc, and they had never been this close in any of their fights before. His avatar was completely open to him.

Every surge was shared, every flare of anger, every triumph, every snarl of fury as Marc fought his way through the opposition.

No, it had never been like this before. It was exhilarating, thrilling, and Khonshu crouched above the battlefield, the burning pride inside clearly spilling over to the Moon Knight, because Marc’s emotions were clearly reflecting it.

“Well done,” the moon god whispered darkly as he stood behind his Knight when it was over.

Marc had taken a beating, had been hit with bullets and cut by knives. Someone had thrown a last resort grenade, which had left a sizable crater in the ground near him. The shrapnel hadn’t pierced the shield of the cape, though the shock wave had blown him across the warehouse. The suit healed him, took the pain away, left him in prime fighting condition, and it restored his energy levels. It wasn’t the ultimate weapon and Khonshu knew there was a limit, but they had not yet reached it.

Eyes as bright as the moon looked up and Khonshu felt the low tremor between them as Marc came down from that battle high. They were still closely entwined, the moon’s power washing gently back and forth. The Moon Knight surveyed the scene, never relaxing his stance. There were bodies on the ground, some looking like they would never rise again, let alone alive. Some were still breathing.

Vicious satisfaction coursed through the timeless deity. Vengeance. Justice.

“Time to go,” Marc finally said as sirens could be heard in the distance.

They had holed up in a rather nice hotel. Steven had no idea where they were, but he got a sense of safety as he woke.

“We’re okay,” Marc reassured him, meeting the dark eyes in the mirror above the desk. He was cleaning a gun, each move practiced and well-versed.

Good to hear.

“You don’t want to know,” he added before Steven could ask.

The last piece of the gun snapped into place. He could do this in his sleep, an arm tied behind his back, blind… your choice.

It had been violent. Bloody, terrifying, violent… It had been bad. Moon Knight had been injured, though the armor had healed him, but the reason why he had come here had been ugly. There was no lingering pain, which was good. Steven counted it as very good, actually. Grand.

Had fun?

Marc gave a little laugh that almost sounded like a bark of surprise. “Yeah. I… did.”

Steven smiled brightly at him from the mirror side, happy with the response, happy with how it had worked out. They could do this. Together. It would work.

“Thanks,” Marc added softly, his own smile reflecting more than he might ever be able to say out loud.

He suddenly rested his forehead against the mirror, the cool glass soothing.

“Thank you,” he repeated.

It’s our life. We share it.

He smiled dimly.

They could only do this together. Them and the possessive deity who was soul-bound to him, who was this heavy, claiming warmth in his body and mind.

*

Steven woke in his own bed, at home, feeling… okay. Like he had actually slept, not jet-setted around the world. Marc was in the depth of his mind, not really passive but also not close to the surface. There had been another job, this one involving some stolen amulet, which had Steven geek out over the myth and lore as Marc let him research the library files and look up the intricately carved and beautifully decorated piece of jewelry.

That it also contained some residual magic of old had been an unpleasant surprise, especially since the buyer of the illegal sale had been able to use it.

Marc had been hit hard.

Steven had heard his scream, had the terrible wound the amulet had ripped into his side, though he hadn’t been the one to suffer the pain. The protective wall had been unwavering, keeping him away from that part of their life.

Now he was home.

“Marc?”

There was no reply.

“Marc?” he probed again, voice soft and careful.

Nothing. The alter was really deep, probably needing the time to recover.

“He is recovering,” a voice whispered in his head. It didn’t even startle him anymore.

Khonshu was close. He could feel him. Like a blanket around them, strangely warm, protective; a vicious, satisfied guard dog.

“Is he?” Steven asked, worried and that protective streak flaring once more.

“Do you doubt my word?” the entity demanded, though not unkindly.

“No.” At least not anymore. “I’m just…”

“You worry. Marc Spector is fine,” Khonshu repeated. “I will not let him come to permanent harm.”

Steven got up and took inventory. No scrapes and bruises. Everything looked just fine. But he had been badly hurt.

“You healed him,” he stated to the empty air around him.

“I always do,” was the soft purr.

“Did you get the amulet?”

“Yes.” The dark, low voice was almost vicious now. “They paid the price for their theft.”

“Oh.”

Khonshu was at the edge of his vision and when Steven turned, he saw him sitting inside the roof top window, blocking the morning sun that broke like a halo around him. He looked extremely satisfied.

“That was a magical item, wasn’t it? That’s why he hurt so badly.”

“Yes.”

“And it wasn’t the first time.”

“No.”

And it wouldn’t be the last. Steven hated to think of the damage Moon Knight had taken, how Marc had suffered the pain and kept Steven away from it all. Not just now. In the past, too. Even before Khonshu.

“He will not let you come to harm,” Khonshu told him evenly. “Do not let him worry about your doubts in this arrangement.”

“I… I’m not a fan of Marc getting hurt, but I thought… with the suit…”

“You experienced the power of the suit yourself.”

He had. He had his own version of the suit and getting impaled hadn’t been fun. It had hurt, though it hadn’t been the debilitating pain he would have expected. There was a buffer and there was an incredible healing power at work.

Khonshu regarded him silently, watching, waiting.

“My bond to my Knight does not give him invincibility,” the moon god finally stated. “I supply him my power. He has that at his disposal should he choose so. Everything else comes down to his fighting prowess and abilities.”

Because sometimes Marc got into a fight without calling upon the ceremonial armor. That was his last resort, especially when facing overwhelming odds or the supernatural and magical.

“He also needs to learn to duck,” Steven mumbled. “Or… just plain get out of the way of an attack. He just… goes right at stuff, taking hits.”

Steven closed his eyes, willing down his protective streak. Khonshu chuckled and he thought he felt a gentle hug along the muted bond.

“You still have a lot to learn,” the god murmured.

He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I guess. Not that I want to learn how to take hits. That’s… not my forte.”

“You are him and he is you,” Khonshu said with a hum. “Muscle memory.”

“I’d prefer not to…”

“You already have on occasion.”

Steven shot the moon god a glare. “I’m not a warrior.”

“You are. You have fought and won already.”

He padded over to the kitchen and stopped as something caught his eye.

On the memo board were a few notes. The first told him the current date, which was nice and thoughtful. Then a brief list for groceries. And finally that he had had a call from Layla that she was coming to London by the end of the week. Apparently Marc had talked to her, which made Steven incredibly happy just from reading the note. He beamed as he read it.

There was also a quick scribble, almost like an afterthought, that Marc wasn’t heading for another job right now. Steven held the post-it in his hands, drawn between relief and worry. He shot Khonshu a look.

“Is he really okay? I mean…” He held up the scrap of paper.

“This is in accordance with your arrangement.”

“Oh. Right. I just thought… Uhm, I had months… and this was…” He checked the date again. “Five days, including travel time? It’s a bit… rushed…?”

Khonshu radiated amusement, something Steven could feel at the edge of his mind.

“Well, I guess this isn’t some undercover mission assignment or some long-winded investigation, right? You just… swoop in and do… your stuff. I’d have thought you had a whole list of jobs lined up by now.”

“There is no urgency,” the god reminded him, now so much closer and leaning in. “Until there is.” And with that he was gone.

“Cryptic much?” Steven mumbled and pinned the note back to the memo board. “Right on! Groceries.”

And Layla was coming. Excitement flooded through him and it was all his own. He was very much looking forward to seeing her again, talk to her in person, and he knew Marc was, too. Very much, actually.

Steven smiled as he left the flat, heading for his preferred store.

Marc woke by the end of the day. He looked… good, Steven decided as their eyes met in the mirror. Refreshed, not the least bit haunted or like he was running on fumes.

“Had fun?” he teased his alter.

Marc chuckled. Yes. Actually, I did.

“You’re okay?”

Fine. Don’t worry.

“I do, Marc. I really do. I know lots has changed, but…”

Everything has changed. This isn’t like before. I’m good. Really good.

“Good,” he echoed. Steven closed his eyes, mentally stepping back, letting himself fall into the backseat with ease and without a shred of doubt.

Marc opened his eyes, a bit surprised, and he met Steven’s smiling face in the mirror.

“You didn’t have to.”

Actually, I did. And do. You have your wife to pick up at the airport.

“Layla…” He checked the clock. “Maybe you…”

Oh no! No, you’re not getting out of that one, Marc. She’s your wife. You need to talk to her! Really talk! In person!

Because so much had been left unsaid, even after everything had been said and done in Cairo all those months ago. He hesitated, then gave his alter a quick, thankful smile.

Dress nicely, Steven added cheekily.

Chapter Text

Layla’s flight was right on time and Marc watched as his wife came out of the arrivals area. A longing spread through him, accompanied by a warm wave of happiness that was purely his own. She gave him a smile, then just wrapped him in a hug as he hesitated.

“You look good,” she told him.

“Thanks. So do you. Very good.”

Layla smiled more, warmly. “Plans?” she asked as they headed out of the terminal.

“Personal or professional?”

It got him a laugh. “Both?”

“How about dinner?” Marc suggested, feeling a little out of the water right now. It was even worse than their very first date. “Go out. Or just have take-out. Or delivery. Your choice.”

Holy shit, he was sixteen again! And clearly channeling a little bit of Steven.

Steven wasn’t even close to the surface. He wasn’t gone, but he was keeping a lot of distance. Giving them privacy.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Mr. Spector?” she teased gently.

“What if I am?”

“As long as it is from my favorite Thai place, I’m in.”

Marc laughed, the tension easing. “I think that can be arranged,” he replied.

She took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I missed you, Marc.”

“So did I. Really.”

“I talked to Steven a lot.”

“I know. So did I. And Khonshu.”

She nodded. They had both needed the time. Too much had happened, too much had been revealed, and too much had changed for Marc Spector in the past weeks. He knew he would never lead a normal life, with or without being the Moon Knight, but he desperately wanted Layla back in that life. At least in the part of it when he wasn’t fighting magical amulets and their thieving bearers. He wanted her out of danger, but not away from him.

They spent the evening eating extremely delicious take-out in a near-by park, talking, sharing stories, or just enjoying each other’s company. Khonshu was suspiciously absent.

Layla gave him room and time, and Marc briefly debated with himself, then told her what had happened. The memories that had come back, sharing them with Steven, learning through each other’s eyes and memories what had happened in that last battle. Shouldering a loss they couldn’t fathom or start to understand, growing stronger in their interwoven lives and mind.

“You’re healing,” she said softly when he was done. “You’re more… whole. I saw it when we met again. You’re getting so much better, Marc.”

“Because of him.”

“And the bird.”

He snorted. “Maybe.”

“No, definitely. The three of you… it’s doing you a lot of good. You said you remember what happened.”

“Most of it. And it’s… too weird to explain.”

“But you handled it. You can deal with it.”

“I am dealing with it,” he agreed hesitantly.

Layla studied him, took in the still too tense lines Marc knew were there.

“It also means… answering your questions about… everything else,” he added, voice rough.

“About before,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Marc…”

“You deserve to know. You need to know.” His hands clenched into fists and he wanted to get up and just walk away. His flight reflex was overwhelming. “I owe it to you… the truth. Not the lies and manipulations of Harrow.”

Layla was silent for a long time. Just a minute, maybe, but an eternity.

“Tell me,” she finally said.

And Marc did. About the job; to raid an Egyptian tomb. About Bushman, who had ordered to leave no witnesses.

“I couldn’t live with that,” he said, voice barely more than an inflectionless whisper. “I’m not a cold-blooded killer. Self-defense yes, but not… that.” He stared at the ground. “I tried to get them all away. We didn’t make it. I didn’t make it. I failed.”

Layla watched him with large, dark eyes. There was an old pain in their depths, but it was a pain she had dealt with a long time ago.

“You didn’t pull the trigger, Marc,” she said quietly.

“No. I didn’t. Might have just as well.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Marc shook his head. “That temple we wanted to raid? It was Khonshu’s. Your father had opened it, had been the first to set foot inside. I bled out in front of Khonshu’s statue. That’s when I took the vow. That’s when it all started.”

“We married a year later.”

Marc wet his lips. “I never… saw it as atonement, Layla. I fell in love with you. I love you.” He finally met her eyes. “That was never a lie and it still isn’t!”

She hesitantly reached out and placed her hand over his clenched fist.

“I had a lot of time to think about what happened. Come to terms with everything,” she told him. “Talking to Steven helped. It chased away Harrow's words. He was a right bastard.”

He twitched a humorless smile.

“Harrow… he got into my head. Your head. He played with everyone, with everyone’s fears and darker moments. He twisted it all.”

Marc closed his eyes.

“I know that now. I understand what happened wasn’t your fault. If you hadn’t been there, your partner would have still raided the temple site. He would still have killed everyone, including my father. It wasn’t your fault and I have come to understand.”

“Layla…”

“When we met, I really liked you. Then loved you. I never stopped loving you. The divorce papers…” She sighed and shook her head. “I want to try this again,” she said softly. “Start again. I’m not sure how this can work exactly, but I want it to. Because I love you and I never stopped loving you. I know you didn’t kill my dad. That you tried to save him. So much is clearer now.”

“What I did…

“It wasn’t you. It was never you.”

“I was there.”

“And you didn’t kill any of them. You tried to save them.” Layla was visibly fighting emotions. “You died saving them.”

“I was given a second chance,” Marc said tonelessly.

Perched on the building across the street, Khonshu was watching them. Marc felt him, his unwavering strength, and he briefly leaned into that.

“And you used it.” Layla regarded him steadily, her dark eyes searching his, and apparently she found the answer to a question she hadn’t asked. “This is your calling. It’s not atonement. Not anymore, am I right?”

“It’s my oath,” he said softly. “To Khonshu. We are bound. Differently than before.”

She was very close. He could feel her, felt his own flaring hopes, and still it was too soon. Layla leaned in and caught his lips, initiating a soft, soft kiss that had him almost whimper. Her hands were on his skin, brushing through his hair.

Marc caught those hands, holding them, feeling too much. “Layla…”

She kissed him again, then smiled. “We’ll work on us. Small steps.”

He couldn’t let go of her hands. “Please…”

“I’m not going away. I came here for a reason. You. You and Steven. He’s your best friend, Marc. He’s mine, too. He is an integral, so very important part of you, and I love him.”

He blinked.

“We need to work on this, I know. But I want this. Very, very much.”

So did he.

Khonshu’s presence increased and he felt the god closely entwined with him, the moon’s power at his finger tips. Being the Moon Knight would always be the priority, he knew that.

Steven was far, far away, giving them privacy, but Marc knew he would do everything to keep his alter safe and sound, protected as much as Steven did the same for him in so many ways.

They were growing. Every damn single day. And there was room for growth when it came to his wife, whom Steven adored and Marc loved fiercely.

“And I might need another part of you, too, actually,” Layla suddenly said, a devilish smile on her lips.

His brows shot up. “The Moon Knight?”

“Yes. I’ve heard of a deal going down right here in London in a few days. Stolen goods. Looters. Robbed a few graves.”

 Khonshu perked up and there was a slight breeze brushing over them. Marc rolled his eyes as Layla chuckled.

“Someone’s already in,” she teased.

“Yeah. He’s so easy that way.”

There was a growl, but Marc ignored it. He couldn’t ignore his own excitement, the anticipation of dealing out Khonshu’s justice.

“I don’t know where and when, really, but maybe… we can look around?”

Yes, he loved her. So much.

She didn’t spend the night at the flat. There was a hotel room in her name and Marc knew it was for the best.

Baby steps.

She’s a lovely woman, Steven said wistfully.

“She is.”

Marc knew he was smiling stupidly at the ceiling as he lay on the bed.

This can work, Marc.

Oh, he hoped so. So very much.

*

The crescent moon rose overhead, bathing everything in its silvery light. The energy touched his every cell, bathed him in power, and as Marc called upon the armor, it rose like a second skin. Eyes glowing white with the moon’s power surveyed the scene below, taking note of the position of each target.

Khonshu rumbled softly in the back of his skull, anticipating the conflict, looking forward to exacting his vengeance on those who had robbed several grave sites and taken valuable relics, worth millions, while destroying the equally valuable history of the sites they had so carelessly torn apart. They hadn’t even stopped at destroying the mummies of the dead.

Steven had been outraged.

It had taken them two days to get the time and place when the stolen artifacts would arrive in London. Most of it had already been sold to a buyer right here in the city, with some smaller pieces going all over the world. Marc had a list and he would make sure those illegal sales would end with the buyers in jail or worse.

Khonshu was clearly more than eager to get going. He was towering over his Knight, brimming with expectation and the hunger for justice. Flaps of cloth caressed Marc’s form and there was hardly any room between them.

“Pent-up energy?” Layla asked playfully.

“Something like it.”

“Will Steven be okay?”

Marc nodded. He didn’t have to ask. He knew.

“Let’s go,” he murmured.

Steven would never stop worrying, but he was getting better. A lot better. As was Marc, who was no longer walling him off his extracurricular activities, unless Steven requested it. Steven still hated the violence and he really wasn’t happy about the death count sometimes, but he knew it wasn’t intentional. Moon Knight defended himself and it was kill or be killed. It was about survival and protecting the innocent.

Or avenge them.

And no, Moon Knight wasn’t invincible. He took hits, some of them pretty hard and heavy, leaving marks, but the suit of armor was his best protection. Not that it always worked, but it kept him from serious harm most of the time.

Until the moment it didn’t.

Until the moment the knife slid through the armor, slicing through the wrappings covering his body.

Until the moment he felt something bite and tear at him, at his very soul, trying to separate what was now one.

He went to his knees, his world shrinking down to a very small part, a black part inside of him, which was steadily growing.

Chapter Text

He was back in Cairo. The desert. The camp. The… the…

The scene switched violently.

He was back in Ammit’s tomb.

“I can free you.”

The very floor seemed to grow all wavy and twist around him. His mind buzzed with something akin to whispers and a voice cut through. He didn't recognize it, but it was louder than everything else.

“You can be free.”

The voice was that of a stranger and yet not so much. It was worming into his thoughts, insistent, alluring, charismatic.

“You are a slave. Let me free you.”

Something slammed into his chest. Twice.

He fell.

All he was focused on was the other presence in the blackness, flickering and dying, then coming back to life again.

And then he was on a barge. Boat. Whatever. A vessel cutting through desert sand, endless dunes and nothing but purple sky around him.

It was a world he had never seen. It wasn’t his memory. It wasn’t Steven’s. He was in a place neither man had been to and he knew it couldn’t be another alter’s memory.

“Welcome to the Duat.”

He whirled around, the wooden deck beneath his feet moving gently. “Who are you?!”

The Duat. Marc wasn’t the expert on Egyptian mythology; that was Steven. But he had heard of it before.

The underworld? He had never been… not that he could remember.

The pressure behind his forehead rose.

This wasn’t… it wasn’t his memory!

“You are actually quite dead.”

No. No, he had never… when he had been dying… he had never stepped into the underworld. Khonshu… Khonshu had stopped that from happening.

It was a version of the world he had never lived or died in, an alternate reality, really.

“This isn’t real!” he shouted.

The barge shuddered and started to sway as if sailing through unruly waters.

And he was in the tomb, standing over the body of Layla’s father.

“Killer,” the unknown voice whispered. “Murderer. In his name!”

Gun in his hand. Bushman next to him. His former CO clapped his shoulder, teeth flashing white in the light of the moon.

“Let’s get our rewards,” the man announced.

Marc felt the weight of the gun in his hand, felt another weight on his soul.

The statue of the moon god towered over him, ancient and silent. His eyes found the dead ones of the carved stone and he felt like he was being judged.

He shivered.

“I can free you from this burden,” the voice whispered. “Let me set you free.”

No. No, he hadn’t killed El-Faouly! He hadn’t! And he hadn’t been a servant of Khonshu back then either!

“This is wrong,” he whispered sharply.

The gun fell to the ground.

He lay dying in front of that very statue, could barely breathe, blood trickling between his fingers.

“Your mind. I feel it. Fractured. Broken.”

Khonshu’s voice was cold and without mercy. It sounded off.

Offering him a deal. But so twisted. So… wrong!

Even at his worst, the moon god had never been this… dark, this cold and merciless, this evil.

This wasn’t real!

Khonshu’s voice rose, loud and thundering, without emotion, without compassion, and he felt it tear at everything.

He couldn’t… didn’t take it.

“What a waste.”

He pulled the trigger.

Wrong, wrong, wrong! This was wrong!

And he fell into the white room, now cast in the twilight of night. He was surrounded by the dead, gray shells of the men and women he had killed.

“Khonshu’s work,” the voice said harshly. “Murder! Murder in the name of an unworthy god! I can set you free. Just let me…”

Only to be torn away and he was back on the boat.

Saw Steven go overboard as… things grabbed him.

“Steven! NO!”

He started to run.

But it was too late.

He made a grab for his alter.

Hands touched.

Steven fell, turned to dust.

Marc’s anguished scream echoed in the mind plane and he reached again, this time deeper, so much deeper.

Frantic. Painful. Too much to take. Too much to sanely comprehend. And filled with death and more pain.

Something was trying to get to the bond, trying to…

The world whited out briefly.

“Let me take the pain from you, Marc.”

Harrow’s voice this time. But it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him!

“You can be free.”

“No!”

“He consumes you. He will kill you.”

Something was in his head. Deeper. Looking for a way to break the bond.

He screamed at the top of his lungs and energy rushed through him, consuming him, aggressive and spoiling for a fight.

The need to kill something rose and he whirled around, the cape billowing behind him. The crescent blades were in his hands.

All he saw was death and destruction.

The body of Layla’s father. The whole research team.

“Your fault.”

“No…”

It was hard.

It felt like climbing a steep, steep cliff.

And then he slipped.

And there was nothing anymore.

Everything grew distant, the sounds muted.

“I feel the pain inside you.”

He fought the darkness that threatened to make this even darker.

“Your mind. Fractured. Broken.”

The voice was wrong. Not Khonshu’s. Harrow’s face swam into view.

“Your servitude will erase you,” the man said calmly. “It will break you. Aren’t you already broken enough? Stop fighting. Let me release you.”

The flashes of violent death, despair, horror and pain came back. He saw it all again and again, the countless deaths.

His death.

Steven’s.

Marc’s strained against the force that kept him in place, that tried to tear into him, break him, and he refused to be broken.

Ever again.

Steven wasn’t dead! Steven was his alter, his counter-balance and his shield.

He was back in the tomb. Ammit’s. He looked at Harrow, the other’s eyes filled with false compassion and a light that spoke of how far gone he was.

Above Harrow, Khonshu hovered like a freaky gargoyle. He looked… wrong. So very wrong. Hungry for death and vengeance. So twisted.

Harrow’s eyes turned white with the power of the moon and the ceremonial armor enveloped him.

No! Khonshu wasn’t Harrow’s! Harrow had rejected him!

“He’s mine!” Marc snarled, fury rising to levels he had never felt before. “I don’t know who or what you are, but he’s mine!”

He reached for Khonshu. He reached for that sliver in his soul that wasn’t just a sliver anymore. He felt it tremble, then shake.

Something violently tore into the host and he cried out, but he refused to let go. Marc made a grab for that familiar sliver of power in one violent move, throwing everything he had around the other presence.

Something was trying to slice into that connection twining in his soul, destroy what Marc had sworn he would never lose. It was relentless, dark, cold, calculating, and it hurt. It was an agony he had never felt before.

But the bond didn’t so much as fray at the edges.

“Do you want to serve a blood-thirsty god?” the voice that was so much like Harrow’s and still not him wormed its way into his head.

 Marc wanted to scream at the suffocating darkness that surrounded his mind. His breathing pattern changed; it became rapid. He was beginning to find it hard to get the air he needed into his lungs.

“No! This isn’t real!” he finally roared, denial on his lips as the darkness tried again.

 “Taking advantage of you? Manipulating your mind? Erasing your soul?”

“No!” he hissed. “No, no, NO!”

“You are a killer. His killer. That is all you are with him. Let me free you of that unholy of unions, avatar…”

The armor suddenly surrounded him, protected him, and he reached for the crescent blades. The metal felt good in his hands. It thrummed with energy.

He would not be torn apart again.

Ever!

At the edge of his vision was another figure, dressed in pure white. Marc nearly blurted his name as Steven joined him, decked out in the suit and face mask that was his version of the Moon Knight. In his hands were the fighting sticks.

Khonshu was theirs.

He wouldn’t let anyone take him, and neither would Marc. Never again!

The mental scream echoed through the ever larger growing void.

“This is all your fault!”

“You are a disgusting human!”

Souls fell to the underworld, judged by Ammit.

His fault.

Khonshu’s fault.

“NO!”

The voice wasn’t his own. He felt another presence, so much stronger than before.

And they suddenly stood back to back, both suited up, both holding their weapons, eyes bright with the power of the moon.

They wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Marc glanced at his alter and Steven nodded once. His shield. He was the shield. Marc was the weapon, the Moon Knight. Steven was giving him a chance to get them out of this nightmare, this surreality. He would take care of whatever went at them.

The darkness wavered.

There was a knife stuck in his stomach.

Curious.

It had slipped through the criss-crossed wrappings of the armor, right between the plates underneath the bandages.

There was no blood. Not even real pain. Just… pressure…

Standing in the desert, in full armor, he stared at the knife, then looked up as he caught movement. His cloak flapped around him and there were shapes of pyramids and temples in the distance. No boat, though.

“Marc!”

It was Steven, in full gear as well. The mask was as expressive as always, relaying worry, fear and something that could only be called rage. And there, right where the knife was stuck inside Marc’s abdomen, was a bright red stain on the three-piece suit.

“Marc, pull the knife!”

Blood. Blood on Steven. No visible wound, no tear in the vest, but there was blood.

Darkness boiled up around them, still far enough away, but threatening nonetheless.

“Pull the knife!” Steven insisted.

“This isn’t real…”

Steven tore off the hood, hair disheveled, face gray and mirroring all the shared pain. The pleading expression in the dark eyes bore into Marc’s own eyes.

“I’m real. We are real. This isn’t, no. This is bad. Evil. Pull the knife!”

Marc’s gaze never left Steven’s and suddenly his alter stood right across from him. He closed his fingers around the ornate hilt.

“I can free you,” the voice of before whispered sharply. “Of all your pain. Of the god that abuses you! Renounce him!”

Steven shook his head, frantic, pained, so open and real. “It’s not real,” he insisted.

“Do you want to serve him?” the voice demanded.

And there was Khonshu. Twisted, dark, blackened bones and torn wrappings. Like some horror flic monster, but so much worse. So real, so endless, so powerful and….

“He’s not a monster!” Marc hissed, fingers tightening around the hilt.

There were cracks in the darkness.

The image of the moon god distorted, was ghoulish and a living nightmare, clawed bony fingers reaching for him.

“No!” Steven insisted. “That’s not us. This is us, Marc. All of this.”

His hand covered Marc’s now and the surge of power had him whimper.

They grabbed the ornate handle and pulled.

The world collapsed, as did he. His knees thudded to the ground. The darkness rose, dissolving into nothingness.

Someone caught him, caught his fall, his body, his mind, cradling the exhausted form.

Countless linen ribbons fluttered around him, caressing his shaking form as the moon energy dealt with the damage done. A ragged cloak closed around him, cocooning him.

Safe.

Marc closed his eyes.

He… they… were safe.

Moon light flickered from behind closed lids and he felt it spread through his system.

Someone ran a gentle caress over his head.

And then there was nothing.

Chapter Text

He felt like in a haze.

Around him, the world was absolutely surreal. Not the white room. Not some kind of underworld horror scenario. It was just… a room. Still a little unfocused, but it didn’t feel alien or dangerous. It was… like home.

Someone held him. He was leaning against another body and it felt safe. Protected. Warm.

“W-hat?” he managed.

The room started to coalesce into something more familiar.

Hands carded into his hair. “We’re okay.”

“Steven?”

The other hummed. “This was… bad. Wow, this was really bad. Abysmally bad. Lord, was that bad. I’m not sure it’s real, but it was real somewhere I guess. Like some wild ride through some badly cut movie reel with all the different endings and options. I read a book like that once. Choose your own adventure. Didn’t really like it.”

“Steven!” he managed.

His alter chuckled. “Sorry. I tend to babble, I know. This really freaked me out.”

“Got it, got it,” Marc mumbled. “What happened?”

“You rushed in as usual. Then got stabbed with a dagger. A ceremonial blade, actually. Quite a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Most likely 18^th dynasty and made for a king’s mother. Probably one of a kind. I’ve seen likenesses, but never one so simple and yet intriguing.”

Only Steven would gush over a deadly weapon that had managed to pierce the Moon Knight armor like that.

Marc’s eyes fell on his arms, and he raised the hands a little to stare at them. Gloved in ceremonial wrappings. He was still fully suited up, though from the way Steven was petting his hair and how open he felt, he knew the mask was off.

“Where are we?” he asked numbly.

He didn’t have the energy to think about a lot right now. Steven had been correct that it had been an awful ride and it felt like different scenarios playing out, one worse than the other. It had felt like something tearing into his mind, trying to break it, trying to sever it from its anchor.

“I’m not quite sure, but this could be us.”

“Hn?”

“Like the Realm of Souls? Just… absolutely not like it? Because we don’t exist in memories. In the Realm… those were memories we shared. This is like something more real. It also feels… different. Like home…”

“You are the smarter one,” Khonshu hummed.

There were windows. Chairs. A bed. It was… really familiar… Marc frowned and tried to focus on something specific.

Crouching down in front of the two men, the moon good reached out and placed a hand flat against Marc’s chest where the crescent moon emblem sat. He felt a surge of energy, though it was like a warm caress. A soft gasp left his lips.

“This is where you are. This is where we all are. The root of the soul bond. The heart of it, where we all touch. Our core.”

Khonshu’s hand remained on his chest, a second anchor to the first that was already provided through Steven. Another wave thrummed along the connection that was strung tight between them.

He felt more grounded, rooted, the hazy feeling lifting completely.

“What happened?” Marc asked again.

“The blade contained an old magic. Dark and unholy. It cuts into an avatar’s connection to its god,” Khonshu explained, voice reflecting controlled fury.  

He stared at the entity, the meaning clear. “It can sever the bond?”

“Yes. It failed.” There was vicious satisfaction. “The claim is permanent. Nothing can release it.” Khonshu tilted his head. “You also refused to even consider it, no matter the magic’s attack on your mind.”

Steven’s embrace tightened briefly. Marc reached blindly for one hand and fumbled to interlace their gloved fingers. Steven squeezed them.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Always. Wherever. Also wasn’t a fair fight,” the alter told him, light humor in his voice. “Two against one.”

Marc laughed roughly, shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Oh, and Layla shot the bloke who stabbed you. That was the last I got before we… well, had the fun freaky ride.”

“Layla!” He tried to sit up, but the hand on his chest pinned him back down against Steven again and the arms around him tightened their hold. “What…?”

“She is a formidable warrior. She would make a worthy avatar,” Khonshu told him.

There was a flare of anger and Marc glared at the god. “Don’t…!”

And this time the emotion was different. Not the anger of old, the protective instinct to keep his wife safe and sound away from the manipulative bastard of an ancient deity. This time it was personal. It was jealousy, he realized, flabbergasted.

He was… jealous...

Khonshu’s amusement was clear to feel. He raised his hand from the chest armor, but Marc’s hand shot out and grabbed the deity’s wrist. White-gloved fingers curled around grayish brown wrappings.

He didn’t want to lose the contact… Khonshu…

“You are mine,” the moon god said softly, leaning closer. “Only you. I stand by the choice I made. I do not lie.”

“Bastard,” Marc managed, fighting those emotions. “I really hate you.”

Steven briefly tightened his hold and he heard a little chuff of laughter from his alter.

He released the god’s arm and Khonshu sat back a little, but not too far, watching them attentively.

Marc finally managed to push himself up, Steven’s arms sliding away. He wasn’t too unsteady on his feet and there was no danger of keeling over. Good. Right.

“Marc…”

He turned to his alter and Marc let himself assess his alter’s state. Steven was still wearing the three-piece suit of his own armor, sans face mask, which was just as strange as his own armored-up appearance.

Blood… the blood…!

Marc reached out and patted over the smartly fitting vest.

“Marc, I’m fine,” Steven insisted, catching the frantically searching hands. “It was an illusion. The dagger stabbed you and whatever this dark magic was, it mirrored it on my suit.”

“You’re not hurt?” he whispered.

“No, I’m perfectly fine. You were the one who got injured. The Moon Knight.”

There really wasn’t a scuff mark on him; actually, he looked really relaxed, though with a hint of tiredness around the eyes. There were lines where there hadn’t been before.

“You’re okay…” Marc pulled the other man into a hard hug, closing his eyes as the tension drained. “You’re okay… Thank god, you’re okay… you’re okay…”

Steven embraced him just as fiercely. “I am. Brilliant, actually. Marvelous. We kicked arse. We’re bloody curse-breakers!”

Marc smiled softly and gave him one last squeeze, then stepped back.

“And this place is actually amazing!” Steven gestured at the world around them, beaming. “So much better than the Realm of Souls.”

He choked out a little laugh. “Yeah?”

“Because this is you, Marc! Not some other realm. This is you, your core.”

“How is this happening?”

“It always existed,” Khonshu told him, still so close. The moon staff towered above them. “Your realm.” Light reflected off the top, soft white and familiar.

“Huh.” He studied the weathered skull. “I have a realm?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“Since the day you bound yourself to me as my avatar.”

Marc stared at the empty sockets; hard. “You’re fucking kidding me!”

Khonshu tilted his head. “Why would I lie?”

He never had before. He had never lied.

“And you didn’t think to mention this?!”

“It wasn’t necessary.”

“Fuck…”

Khonshu silently met his wide-eyed, slightly shocked gaze, soft magical winds brushing over the two men. “There was no time to go into the intricacies of your connection to me. At that time, I didn’t see the need. At the time it served no purpose, was weak, fickle, barely even a flicker in your mind. Matters have changed profoundly and the attack on the soul bond showed just how strongly your souls defend themselves when threatened with the annihilation of what connects us.”

Steven was right beside him, a determined expression on his face. “We’re not going to let that happen,” he stated.

No, they weren’t going to let that happen, Marc thought faintly.

“Any other surprises?” he asked, looking at the tall entity. “Maybe I’ll sprout wings next?”

“It got him an amused huff. “No.”

“So why now?”

“You needed it. You never did before.”

“Not even after Ammit nearly devoured all of us?!”

“No.”

“I hate that mystical crap and you know it!”

Khonshu chuckled. “This is the place within you where we are tethered. The origin. The beginning and the end. The heart of us.”

Where he could touch his alter. Where Khonshu’s bond originated.

“You created this stronghold when you opened your soul to me, Marc Spector. The foundations were there, but we weren’t. You created the core afterwards, balanced it as you balanced yourselves. The twisted magic attacked this.” Khonshu made a sweeping gesture. “This. You. Us. You defended this. Both of you did.” The god sounded proud.

Steven looked intrigued. “That’s amazing.”

Marc just about kept himself from rolling his eyes at the other man’s enthusiasm.

“I… we can just… come here?” he asked the entity, stunned.

“You are always here.”

“I said no mystical crap!”

Khonshu lightly tapped his finger tips over his forehead, stroking over his face in a loving gesture. “You are always here, Marc Spector,” the god repeated. “You triggered this because of the stress you were under, fighting the darkness of the blade.”

“This is inside me?”

“Your soul,” the moon god confirmed. “At the root and core.”

Marc’s eyes scanned the room, took in the familiar outline of the London flat, and he almost laughed. His safe haven and core was the flat? Really?

“The shape is fluid,” Khonshu could be heard.

The skull hovered above him, the ragged cape fluttering lightly around them.

“You chose this place because it is safety.”

Because it reminded him of Steven. His shield. The one who protected Marc’s mind. As if he had heard his thoughts, Steven met his eyes, smiling brightly. There was a power to his alter’s presence, a strength and backbone, that reflected in the white suit.

Yes, his shield, Marc thought, pride and wonder racing through him.

“That stuff… those things weren’t memories,” Marc murmured. “Not my memories… because it didn’t happen to me. I didn’t kill myself in your temple. I didn’t kill Layla’s father…”

“No. They were possibilities. Fears. Alternate planes of reality. The unholy magic attacks the avatar’s fears. It creates nightmares. It even allows a consciousness to cycle through realities. It cuts into the avatar’s mind and leaves it adrift.”

He shuddered. Steven suddenly stood in front of him again, concern written on his features.

“It never happened,” he echoed Khonshu’s words.

“I saw Harrow… as your avatar.” He met the empty sockets.

“You never met him while he was,” Khonshu said calmly. “The foul spells preyed on your fears… to renounce me.”

It had felt so real. So wrong, but so real.

“It confronted you with the What Ifs and the Might Bes,” Steven said firmly. “Nothing was real. Terrible, horrible, nightmarish stuff.”

Yes, it had been. He drew in a deep breath.

“You?” he asked his alter.

“I wasn’t the one fronting.”

“You were there.”

“Yes, well, but the spell didn’t really see me.” Steven grinned devilishly. “I snuck up like some ninja spy and kicked it where it hurt.”

Marc burst out laughing and just drew him into a quick, hard hug. Tightly, eyes closed, face buried against the white suit. “Yeah, you did. We did.”

Steven gently took his hands when they parted. “It never happened. And it won’t. We’re not adrift. This is our anchor and it’s impossible to break.”

“This sinister magic attacks the mind,” Khonshu rumbled, sounding disgusted. “Tearing into an avatar, tainting a connection, severing a binding vow. It twists the mind and soul. What is left is a soulless, dead husk. The life and soul forever perished.”

“It’s gone now?” he asked, looking up at Khonshu.

“The blade is still there, but the darkness was broken. It no longer tarnishes the human realm.”

“And I’m not lying in the sands of the desert, bleeding out, dying?”

Khonshu’s magic flared, whipping about them, enveloping the two men. “No.”

“How… do I get back? We… how do we get back?”

The moon god raised his staff, imposing, protective and a very reassuring sight.

“Simple,” he only said.

And Marc started awake, bright white eyes snapping open, his body immediately switching into fight mode. He was standing in the middle of the warehouse, bodies all around him, blood on the ground, the smell of gun fire and explosions in the air.

His hands held the golden dagger, which was covered in blood. His blood. But the wound in his side had closed, the suit healing him with the moon’s power.

“Steven?” he whispered sharply.

I’m fine, was the reassuring reply.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the suited-up figure. Steven was in his Mr. Knight armor. Which was quite telling of how bad this had been. He had never suited up… not when Marc was Moon Knight. Not ever.

“Steven…”

We’re okay, Steven replied firmly. We made it.

Off to the side was Layla, gun in hand, face ashen and wide-eyed.

Only seconds had passed.

“Marc!” she exclaimed.

“I’m fine.” He stared at the dagger, the gloves creaking slightly with the force he held on to the relic.

“You were stabbed!” she yelled. “That’s not fine! I saw you bleed! You have never bled before! Not in the suit! Never in the suit!”

Well, yes, there was that. He looked at the place where the dagger had been moments ago. There wasn’t a trace of blood. Not a single drop.

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

He felt Steven close to him; not co-fronting, not attempting to take over. He was simply there, alert and ready to do whatever was in his power to keep Marc safe. It was incredibly reassuring.

He looked around and found their target close by. Dead. Shot in the chest. More bodies lay in the immediate vicinity. Most showed wounds associated with the crescent blades. Only one other had a gunshot wound.

Up in the rafters, surveying the grounds, was Khonshu. He was radiating fury; in waves. Marc could feel it, like a living thing prowling around, looking for something to maim and kill.

“Cut it out,” he snarled under his breath.

Khonshu’s empty sockets flared with the dark of the moon.

“We need to go,” Marc decided.

The buyer was dead. As was the seller and his men. Layla didn’t hesitate. She efficiently grabbed the most important and valuable pieces they had come for, then nodded at him.

“What happened?” she asked when they were in the car, driving away at a moderate pace as not to arouse any unwanted attention. The car was as unremarkable as it could be. “Tell me what the fuck happened back there, Marc! You were stabbed! It went into your stomach! That blade pierced the Moon Knight armor!”

Marc let his head rest against the back of the seat and briefly closed his eyes. One hand came to rest over where he had been stabbed. Finally he looked at her.

“The dagger was cursed.”

The dagger which was safely wrapped and stowed in a satchel.

 Layla shot him a quick look, but she kept on driving, weaving through the nighttime streets. “Say what?”

“Unholy magic. I’m not completely up to speed yet and Steven will probably geek out over the thing…”

Hey!

“…but what I got from Khonshu, the ancient Egyptians used it to… sever an avatar’s link to their god.”

“What?! Being chosen as an avatar was the highest honor!” Layla argued hotly. “It would be atrocious to even consider severing that connection!”

“Exactly,” Khonshu’s disembodied voice rumbled through Marc’s head. The god sounded really pissed off. Seriously, seriously livid. “Sacrilegious! A violation of a blessed bond!”

Layla suddenly parked the car in a dead end alley. She gave him a serious once-over. “You’re okay? You and Khonshu? Steven?”

“Yeah. We’re good.”

“Stop lying, Spector!”

Marc, Steven cajoled. She’s part of us. We’re a team. We’re fine, but we weren’t.

He sighed softly and let his hand fall away from his stomach. “It was bad. Really bad. That curse tried its best to separate us, but it didn’t. It showed me… stuff. Tried to get me to turn my back on Khonshu. It was like a coercion, promising me freedom. I saw twisted stuff, Layla. Really twisted stuff.”

Like that horrifying creature that was and wasn’t Khonshu. Like Arthur Harrow as the moon god’s avatar…

Khonshu’s presence grew more possessive, heavier, wrapping around him like a heavy cloak. His whole body was thrumming with the very energy of the deity and it was almost too much to bear as it raked over his very soul. This had rattled the entity more than getting imprisoned in stone by his fellow gods.

Her hand suddenly rested over his clenched fingers and he entwined their fingers, holding on. Marc exhaled slowly. There was a steep line of worry between her eyes.

“It couldn’t break us,” he said softly, meeting her eyes.

Layla nodded, still searching his face, his eyes.

“Steven's really okay,” he reassured her with a thin smile. “Absolutely fine. Salivating to get to study the thing.”

Layla smiled grimly. “We’re gonna bury that thing!”

No! Steven protested. And then he fronted, the body language shifting as Marc surrendered.

“It’s no longer cursed,” he added.

Her eyebrows shot up. She took to the change like the pro she was. It rarely happened like that, but in their time together Layla El-Faouly had adapted at light speed.

“Say what?”

“The bloody curse was broken, Layla,” Steven insisted. “It can’t hurt us anymore. It’s such a valuable and fascinating relic, we can’t just destroy it!”

“It pierced the Moon Knight armor, Steven! It hurt both of you, probably even the bird!”

“But we broke it!”

“But it’s still there!” He gestured at the satchel.

Steven slumped a little. “Yes. But it’s harmless. Just… a dagger.”

It’s not my first rodeo with a cursed object, and it won’t be my last.

“Do these relics always attack a soul bond?” she demanded angrily as Steven relayed the words almost hesitantly.

“No. That… was a first. Which is why we should look into it, right?”

“I need a drink,” Layla whispered and put the car into gear again. “A big one. And you’re paying.”

Steven stepped back and Marc fronted.

“Sure.” He gave his wife a little smile. He glanced at Khonshu, who was sitting on an industrial-sized garbage container. “You?”

It got him a chuff, then the tall figure was gone.

“Thought as much,” Marc chuckled.

Layla just raised her eyebrows, though it didn’t chase away the worry. Truth be told, the whole experience had rattled Marc. Deeply. Even after all the other impossible things he had been through, the dark magic had left a mark.

He could have lost this again.

Something seemed to wrap around him, insubstantial and yet very, very real.

“You cannot,” Khonshu promised, voice low, soft, humming through his mind. “You can’t ever.”

Chapter Text

They took care of every stolen object, but the dagger remained with Marc. Layla was talking to her contacts, making sure that nothing of what they had taken from the illegal deal would once more end up in circulation.

Marc handed over the body to Steven, who was fawning over the ceremonial dagger and who spent days researching what it was. He photographed it from every angle and documented even the smallest scratch. There was by now a whole book filled with notes, sketches, ideas and the like.

“It’s a whole mess of protective hieroglyphs and dedications, really,” he finally told Marc, who was co-fronting and listening attentively. “But there is also a mess of other stuff and I’m not sure, but that’s what turns it dark. It’s like a blessing and curse wrapped in one. Good intentions for a very dark case.”

Khonshu’s was a furious presence, still smarting over the attack on the soul bond and on his host. Marc knew it hadn’t been personal, but the moon god took it like that.

“It’s neutralized,” Steven told the tall entity. “We can hand it over to a museum.”

“No!” Books toppled over. “It is a vessel. An empty vessel! It could be used again!” the god thundered.

“Oh. Right. Well… what shall we do with it?”

Marc shrugged. I can think of a few place where no one will find it.

“Destroy it!” Khonshu demanded.

“It’s a priceless relic!” Steven argued, eyes wide. “It’s one of a kind! You can’t just destroy it!”

“I can and I will!” the entity snapped, wind whipping up again. “It nearly tore us apart!”

Steven blinked, then his shoulders slumped. “Oh. Yes. I… understand…”

“It could be used again! I won’t tolerate such a vessel in this realm!”

Marc felt how torn Steven was over the prospect of losing the artifact, but he had had a front row seat to what the cursed dagger had tried to do.

Steven, you know it’s the only thing to do.

The other nodded, fingers flitting over the intricately crafted hilt. “It’s just such a waste,” he mumbled. “It’s beautiful work. It’s an artifact out of the earliest of dynasties, maybe even before.” He sighed. “But it’s dangerous. The other avatars wouldn’t have been so lucky, am I right?”

Khonshu inclined his head. “They would have perished. Our connection is unique. Unbreakable.”

Steven sighed and wrapped the dagger in a protective cloth, then hid it in a drawer.

I’ll handle it, Marc promised.

He did. The dagger was turned into nothing but a molten heap.

Layla understood and she hugged him, hugging Steven through Marc, placing a kiss against his cheek.

“It’s the only thing to do.”

Khonshu fervently agree. He was still agitated and Marc felt every surge, every whisper of renewed anger. He felt the same. He knew he hadn’t been targeted, but he knew that other avatars had suffered from this horrible weapon. Someone had had a huge grudge against the gods or their avatars.

Maybe someone who hadn’t been chosen? Steven mused. Someone who wanted to be an avatar and then killed those who became one? Maybe they hoped that it would get them chosen next?

Marc rubbed his tired eyes. “I don’t want to know, Steven. Really.”

His alter wasn’t deterred. He felt his curiosity and it would probably launch another research mission. Marc decided to just give in and hand over the reigns, so to speak. He needed some downtime.

Khonshu’s presence grew, surrounded him, gently nudged his mind.

Apparently they were on the same page.

Steven truly did channel his inner librarian for the next two days. Marc watched him, silently amused and slightly bemused, as he poured over books and magazines, requested copies of some chapters or even just a few pages, then went online and browsed through what seemed like dozens of sites on Egyptian lore.

“Egyptian belief is heavily based on spells and charms, but I’ve never heard of something this dark,” he muttered, talking to himself and to Marc in one. “There’s a lot on fertility magic. Charms, amulets, tattoos… all of that. Or rituals surrounding a burial. Magic in ancient Egypt wasn’t just… tricks and illusions. Magic had created the world, sustained it daily, and magic healed when one was sick, gave when one had nothing, and assured one of eternal life after death.”

No black magic.

Khonshu huffed. “It was practiced.”

Steven looked up, peering over the rims of his glasses. “Well, yes, curses. Like the curse of the pharaohs or the mummy's curse.” His forehead wrinkled. “Allegedly anyone who disturbs the tomb of a pharaoh will be befallen by bad luck, illness, or death.”

The god tilted his head. “Not black magic. Simple protection spells in some cases.”

“So the curses are real?” Excitement flooded through him and Steven shot the entity an inquisitive look.

“There are rare few, but none have been encountered by humankind so far.”

“Oh. And the dagger is… black magic?”

“Yes. The foulest. Twisted.”

Steven leaned back and stretched. “This is crazy, crazy weird. All of it.”

How? Marc prodded gently.

“Too much doesn’t fit any of the other grave findings. For example, I thought this was 18^th dynasty. It’s… not that clear, really.”

Why?

“It might be older, but it’s so incredibly well-preserved and the craftsmanship is amazingly detailed. But the inscriptions make no sense. Not in any way I’m familiar with. All those hieroglyphs and sigils… It’s as if someone just carved all the sigils of the gods and then some into the hilt, and random nonsense into the blade. It seems to span through the ages, through all dynasties. Like some really atrocious heirloom.”

It's gone now, Marc said with dark satisfaction.

Khonshu agreed.

“Let’s hope there was only this one,” Steven muttered, unconsciously rubbing over the place where the knife had been rammed into Moon Knight’s body.

Marc still bore a scar. It was absolutely unusual since the suit healed him perfectly, but there was a scar. A mark where the dagger had pierced the armor and launched the nightmarish battle over the health and integrity of the soul bond.

Khonshu was very far from happy about the marking on his Knight’s body. He had been absolutely livid the first time Marc had seen it when he had undressed for a shower.

“I really don’t want this to happen again,” Steven added softly. He looked inward and found Marc’s sharp gaze on him. “Try not to run into any more knives,” he joked weakly.

I’ll try.

“I’m serious. You always run into stuff. Literally. Spears, lances, knives, bullets… It’s not healthy! I know it doesn’t hurt like it should. I was on the receiving end of lances. It’s… not nice. Really not nice. And they ran your through. It’s… disturbing that you call that a fighting style.”

It works.

Steven shot him an angry look. “Yes, it works, until it doesn’t! You saw what can happen! You can’t keep doing that stuff, Marc!”

Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. Yeah. Noted.

“Just… be more careful from now on?”

Khonshu tilted his head, but he didn’t comment.

That might not always work.

“Give it a try? At least when it comes to ancient weapons?” Steven begged.

Okay, he replied softly. I will. I promise.

The next few jobs went off without a hitch. Despite the hail of bullets or the attempt to collapse a derelict house on the Moon Knight.

The scar stayed. It was faded, like an old wound that had healed a long time ago, but it was there.

Khonshu’s displeasure about that was clear. The dark spell had prevented the moon’s healing energy from doing its job.

Steven had done more research, but he was hitting a lot of dead ends. All his notes were pinned on the walls or spread out over the desk, covering every inch. Marc let him work, watching or just sliding back to give his alter room. He sometimes woke to a cramped neck and the realization that Steven had fallen asleep at the desk again.

“Ouch,” he muttered, massaging the offending muscles. “Gotta stop doing this, Steven,” he added with a sigh.

His alter was silent, deep inside and probably not even close to any level of consciousness. Marc leaved through the notes and found some stuff that was clearly not from any of the history book.

“What have you two been up to?”

Khonshu was suspiciously quiet and invisible.

“Geeks,” Marc teased.

“He is very interested in matters that pertain to you, too.” The deity was suddenly right behind him, leaning over the seated man as Marc pushed the papers aside.

“You know I’m not a science nerd.”

“You are my Knight.”

“I never got a job description,” he shot back.

Khonshu chuckled, low and rough. “You’re doing just fine.”

He turned, eyebrows up. “Just fine?”

“You still have a lot to learn, Marc Spector.”

“That means you’re teaching Steven Egyptian lore? Wait, no, he probably asked you a million more questions until you caved and answered.”

Khonshu huffed.

Marc usually wasn’t part of those Q&A sessions. Steven’s voice was like a background murmur, like his favorite radio station, but he didn’t listen to the words, just the sound. Khonshu’s reluctance to get into his past was still there, but he easily answered everything in connection with the Egyptian dynasties. Steven had probably gone over where the dagger had been created or by whom a hundred times, involving their god, but so far, no luck.

“And you like it,” Marc added with a smirk. “Teaching us.”

“I teach Steven, not you.”

Except that he had. Small things. Marc knew how to fight and he could utilize all the weapons at his disposal when it came to the armor, but Khonshu had pushed here or there, had given him a better awareness of the ceremonial armor, and Marc had the feeling he had somehow upgraded. Not much. He didn’t have any new powers, but what he did was… better.

He rose and stretched, then headed for the shower. Steven remained dormant throughout, even when he met up with Layla two hours later to talk about a possible lead on his latest job: reacquire illegally attained artifacts that had been part of a very exclusive, private collection. A legal collection.

He was looking forward to that.

As was Khonshu.

*

When the call came, Steven was in the middle of checking a list of stored ceramics against the contents of a box that should contain all those precious pieces of an old workers’ camp that had been found ten years ago. The museum wanted to start displaying those shards and semi-broken cups and plates.

The sensation was one he hadn’t felt before. Like a tingle down his spine. It wasn’t a good feeling. More like sandpaper on skin accompanied by the sound of chalk screeching on an old board.

He put down the list, alarmed.

“What… what’s that? Did you hear that? Did you feel that?”

“Hand over the body to Marc!” Khonshu ordered, suddenly standing next to him, tattered shawl whipping about.

The moon god looked just as alarmed, posture rigid, drawn up to his full height. He was radiating such tension, such danger, Steven felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand up.

“W-what?” he echoed, even as he felt Marc’s presence. “What’s going on?”

“Do it! Now!” the god commanded harshly, followed by a sharp mental push. “Do it!”

The change happened fluidly as Marc fronted and Steven became a rather confused and more than a little apprehensive backseat rider.

What’s going on? Khonshu sounds worried… which is worrisome…

“We received a summoning,” Marc said, voice hard and cold.

From whom?

“The Ennead,” he answered tightly, lips a thin line.

What?!

“This isn’t good,” he whispered.

Khonshu was radiating something dark and foreboding. “How dare they summon me?!” he snarled.

What did we do?

“Nothing, Steven,” Marc answered softly. “Nothing at all.”

But… this is a summons! This is really, really serious! Creating-an-eclipse serious! Probably close to the level of turning the night sky back two thousand years!

Marc looked at his agitated alter, who was apparently close to hyperventilating. “Steven,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. We did nothing wrong.”

In our eyes or theirs?! The anxiety was by now palpable.

Well, he had a point there.

“Just… stay back. And quiet. Please.”

Steven’s expression relayed what he thought of that. Marc gave him an apologetic grimace.

The last time there had been an offense, the aforementioned unscheduled eclipse. Khonshu had done it to get the attention of his fellow gods and it had worked only too well. Really way too well, because Marc hadn’t been in a good place to begin with and things had deteriorated so fast, he should have gotten whiplash.

But he couldn’t think of a reason now. None at all.

One of the doors in the basement suddenly cracked open as if on automatic. The portal to the Council Chamber had presented itself.

Steven’s anxiousness rose.

Marc’s whole bearing was one of battle-readiness, though he doubted they would have a snowball’s chance to actually fight against the other gods. Even with the armor. He might just hold out a little longer, but it wasn’t a guarantee.

I really don’t like this, Steven mumbled.

Marc couldn’t think of anything that might have called the attention of the Ennead to them again. His work as the Moon Knight was the same as always. The other gods had never cared about whatever he had been sent to do. Why would they now?

“We won’t fight,” Khonshu growled, looking at his avatar. “This summons is a twisted game!”

“Wonderful,” Marc muttered. He looked at the moon god. “So? I’m going in alone again?”

Khonshu huffed. “You are never alone, Marc. Never.”

He closed his eyes, felt that strong, unwavering presence inside him. “But no armor.”

“No.” That sounded rather regretful.

“And it’ll be just me.”

“I will be there.”

“Last time didn’t go so well for us.”

Khonshu’s magic curled around him, making him shiver. “The last time was different. The last time there was… pain… manipulation… deceit.”

And a moon god with a short temper. Marc didn’t have any high hopes that Khonshu would fare any better this time. He wasn’t a politician and he ignored protocol most of the time. He was also someone who spoke his mind and damn the consequences.

Yeah. Not a good starting point.

“You got hopes they’re just calling for tea and cookies?” he asked with an almost fatalistic edge to the very sarcastic remark.

The deity rumbled softly.

This isn’t good, Steven was almost pacing in his head. The convention of the Ennead is a serious matter! They called their avatars to preside over something important. Us!

“We will see,” Khonshu just said, the frown audible, as was the distrust.

Marc steeled himself as he approached the door. It opened automatically.

The invitation was clear.

Right now he wished he could wear the ceremonial armor. It felt like walking into Ammit’s tomb again.

Steven gave a dark little laugh, sounding close to panicky.

“We’ve got this,” he told his alter firmly. “We’ve got this…”

Chapter Text

It was like stepping over a threshold.

Something flittered through him, faint, like a sizzling spark of electricity, only to disappear again as quickly as it had come.

Marc had been to this place before and just like the last time, it gave him the creeps. It was a hall of grandeur, of exquisite art and larger than life statues that was every archeologist’s wet dream. It was amazing. And it was a pocket dimension.

He had seen some pretty horrifying stuff, had done some very terrifying things, had fought creatures that others might never even dream up, but the huge stone hall with its depiction of the Ennead hewn in stone was right up there with the worst of it.

They were back inside the pyramid of Giza, inside a world that didn’t exist in their time or even their space. It was beautiful, yes. Steven was brimming with scientific curiosity, but Marc was the one to assess the threat level.

Which was insanely high.

“To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath,” Khonshu had said a long time ago. Well, now they had called for him and Marc could feel the low thrum of the moon god’s own wrath echoing in his bones at the audacity of a summoning.

He didn’t like this. His fight or flight reflex was screeching loudly.

The energy in the room was tense as he stood in front of the avatars of the Ennead. Almost the same faces as before. Osiris was presiding over the council, the avatar’s face cool and distant, with a rather haughty look. It was almost a sneer, if Marc had to give it a name. For someone whose life they had saved, he appeared less than pleased.

Well, the great Osiris had been proven absolutely wrong. By a shamed and banished god who had tried to warn them. That he looked like he had bitten into a lemon was just proof of how strained the relationship still was.

Isis and Horus flanked him, just like the last time, both avatar’s giving nothing away.

Something was up.

He kept his stance loose, but far from relaxed. His eyes scanned every corner, took in the entrances and exits, noticed how nothing had changed since the last time.

And yet, everything was different.

Last time had ended with his near breakdown, with his mind fracturing wildly, with his body shaking with the stress it had been under. He had been thrown into a situation he had had no clear grasp on and Khonshu hadn’t given him any pointers either.

Not to mention that Harrow’s presence had made the whole messy situation even more of a disaster.

Getting restrained by Osiris and forced to kneel had been the cherry on top, had broken him more than everything else before. Right now, Marc wasn’t in a good place to start with. Not mentally. No. He wasn’t wildly flashing back to those torturous moments.

These were emotions.

His. Khonshu’s. And Steven’s.

“Marc Spector,” Osiris spoke up. “Welcome.”

Oh… oh wait, no way... They summoned… you? That’s… And if they summoned you, they know your god will be here, too. Addressing you without acknowledging Khonshu is a serious breach of protocol. What’s he playing at?

Part of Marc wondered when Steven had learned about the Ennead’s protocol, but maybe that had been part of those Q&A sessions he had with Khonshu sometimes.

Another, much larger part stiffened at the slight against the god whose avatar he was. Yes, this was bad. This was going to go to hell in a handbasket at warp speed, he thought.

Khonshu’s response was a spike of fury that ran along the mental connection. The god’s presence within his avatar was quite pronounced and unlike the last time, it didn’t feel abrasive or invasive.

The insult was clear, as was the intent.

Don’t! Steven called. That’s what they want, Khonshu. Don’t play their game!

The god bristled. This had been an outright provocation, and if Marc hadn’t disliked Osiris from the very first time of meeting him, he would have gladly kicked him where it hurt now. And punch his lights out. Repeatedly.

There was a surge, almost like a request, and Marc felt his god slide along the bond to envelop his mind. He closed his eyes for a second. It was softer, more mindful than the last time. Not a possession. His eyes shone a brilliant white as he met each avatar’s gaze. Some of them frowned at the continuous glow.

It was a poignant response to the breach of protocol by addressing Marc and not Khonshu. Okay, getting off on the wrong foot right from the start, Marc mused darkly. Khonshu wasn’t and had never been a political animal. He responded emotionally and this was a very clear statement. He was one step away from suiting up, which would most likely break every last protocol.

“Osiris,” Khonshu spoke, using Marc’s vocal cords and mouth. “Why was I summoned?” he demanded coldly.

“You and your avatar were requested to appear to a hearing on the infraction you caused,” Osiris told him sternly.

Infraction? Did we mess up somewhere? Steven muttered, worried. What’s going on?

Marc had no idea. The other gods hadn’t given them so much as a thank you for saving the realms and Khonshu had been smarting over that brush-off for a while. Aside from Yatzil, no one had spoken to them since. That had been months ago. Almost a year now. Khonshu had grown out of his temper tantrums, but the summons had opened the old wounds again; wounds that still hadn’t scarred.

“Explain yourselves!” the moon god ordered harshly.

“You are accused of deliberately destroying an Unholy. You unraveled ancient magic and counter-cursing spells woven over sacred ground without express permission by the Ennead!”

Marc was stunned and Steven’s wide-eyed confusion was a reflection of that.

Oh dear, his alter suddenly murmured. Oh dear… oh dear… oh… bloody hell’s bells!

Marc couldn’t exactly ask what was going on, mainly because Khonshu was currently in control of his avatar, but he didn’t really have to. The deity wasn’t stupid and whatever Steven had already understood, Khonshu now uttered out loud.

“You speak of the blade?” The moon god was bristling, seething. White eyes turned to stare at Osiris.

“An Unholy, yes.”

Steven groaned. The dagger! We’re here because of the bleeding dagger?!

“It was singularly foul magic created to cut into oath-bindings!” Khonshu replied sharply. “Unspeakable, sinister magic we haven’t dared touch in millennia! It shouldn’t exist on any plane! You dare summon me over this?”

“It was a relic of my temple,” Osiris simply stated.

Steven made a shocked little sound and Marc wondered if they shouldn’t have let Ammit eat the guy. Khonshu’s response was a sharp rise in energy and Marc’s body stiffened accordingly. It wasn’t painful, but it was a warning.

“I erased an evil that should not exist, nor even spoken about! You claim such unspeakable magic as your own?”

“The Unholy was created to protect avatars,” Osiris said evenly. “It isn’t a weapon. It is a means of healing.”

There was a gust of wind dancing around Marc and Steven was frantically shaking his head.

Don’t let them provoke you! he pleaded. Last time was an outright disaster!

Khonshu snarled softly, but he quieted a little. “It doesn’t protect an avatar. It kills them!”

The other representatives shifted in their seats.

“The choice was not yours to make, Khonshu. Your actions were not sanctioned by this council’s vote.”

Marc’s jaws clenched as Khonshu’s emotional response trickled through him. Yet, it was a far cry from the forceful presence that had used his body and voice the last time. That had been stressful… painful.

“My avatar was attacked. The bond was threatened. I do not nor did I ever need the so-called sanctioning of the council to defend myself!”

“You claim an attack by an Unholy, a weapon created specifically to break an avatar’s binding. Yet here you are, with your avatar; healthy and whole.” Osiris’ own avatar relayed cold curiosity and something else. “You claim to have won against the strongest of bind-breakers?”

“Yes. Yes, I do! It was cruel magic,” the moon god snapped. “Sadistic and unnecessary!”

“It was necessary!” Osiris argued. “The only way outside a ritual conducted by at least six of the Ennead to ensure the freedom of an avatar!”

“Because imprisoning Seth in stone wasn’t enough?!”

Seth? They created that terrible weapon because of Seth? For one rebellious god?

Marc was rather hazy on these matters, especially when it came to myth and lore.

“He tainted his avatar. He abused his host,” Osiris stated. “He couldn’t be allowed to have access to the avatar, even in his imprisoned state.”

Khonshu narrowed those brilliantly white eyes and Marc felt the whisper of the suit.

Oh fuck, he thought faintly. Please no…

Khonshu, Steven pleaded.

“You of all should know that a binding oath cannot be broken by the entrapment of the god who wove it.” Osiris gave him a pointed look.

Yeah, Marc thought bitterly. Your luck or Ammit would have killed millions. It had been his only way of reaching Khonshu, breaking him out of his prison.

“You broke it for them… To punish Seth?” Khonshu’s voice was flat, cold. “Using dark spells forbidden by your very self?”

Marc wanted to punch the other god; hard; repeatedly. He had been on the receiving end of that ‘freedom’, how Khonshu had been ripped out of him. That had left a hole in him that had threatened to tear his very soul apart. He had also been the victim of the Unholy, the cruel spell trying to sever the connection to Khonshu permanently, torturing his mind into turning away from the god. Both events had eaten and chipped away at his soul. The second time had been far more cruel and gruesome, the nightmarish images and clear psychological manipulation enough to drive any avatar into insanity or worse.

No avatar should be forced to endure this, Steven whispered, shocked. No one! That was sadistic! If the dagger had stabbed you before… before we had healed ourselves… before we reached a partnership…

They would be dead now, Marc agreed wordlessly. His fractured mind and soul would have been torn apart. He would gladly have renounced Khonshu and just accepted his fate; his death.

The moon god’s energy swirled through him, curled around his mind and soul, whispering and warm. Khonshu’s possessiveness rose, holding on tight. It was reassuring and calming, though their god was far from calm. Right now he was about to blow the lid off.

Marc… Steven said softly. Let me. Please.

Alright.

“Hope you’re sure,” he whispered, barely moving his lips.

I am. Trust me.

He felt Khonshu’s surprise, then the sudden acquittal. Marc briefly closed his eyes, then stepped back.

It was Steven who opened his eyes and gave the assembled avatars a smile. “Hello.”

Chapter Text

Marc burst out laughing at the friendly greeting, shaking his head. Khonshu’s amusement was almost audible in their head.

Osiris leaned forward, a frown on his features. It was clear that something had happened and Steven was also quite sure none of the Ennead had an idea about who or what Marc Spector was.

“May I ask: I thought you didn’t meddle in the affairs of humankind anymore, ain’t I right?” Steven addressed them, the British accent carrying polite criticism in each word. “But then you go and you create a weapon to hurt an avatar? And the god using that avatar?”

Marc caught sight of Isis’ startled expression at the switch, as Khonshu handed over control to his avatar. The full orb glow to his eyes hadn’t changed, just Steven’s demeanor had taken over.

He blinked, then rubbed his eyes as if he had something sticking to them, and the glow was gone. There was only the deep brown, softer than Marc’s, but far from vulnerable.

Isis looked slightly puzzled. “The Unholy was created long before we decided to leave this realm, Marc Spector.”

Steven tilted his head, but he didn’t correct her. His eyes were on Osiris once more.

“The bond between an avatar and their god is a blessed connection. It is the highest honor to be bestowed upon a human being. You all gave your respective avatars that choice. You all honor that choice, as they honor you.”

Horus’ expression softened briefly and he fractionally inclined his head.

“But you also created a weapon,” Steven went on. “Not a pretty pendant or handy amulet. You could have woven those spells into shackles or golden ropes. No, you made it a deadly weapon, and then imbued that beautifully crafted piece with dark magic that shouldn’t exist in this realm. You accused Khonshu of wielding weapons, yet you created one. One that is able to kill an avatar.”

“It is not a weapon,” Osiris stated coolly.

Like hell it is, Marc commented angrily.

“It is a knife,” Steven said almost pleasantly. “A dagger. That is classified as a deadly weapon. Please explain to me how you cut into a blessed binding without injuring the avatar? You’re not cutting an invisible ribbon. You harm a physical form.”

“The avatar survives if they are strong enough.”

Steven’s hands clenched into fists and it wasn’t Khonshu’s doing. Neither was that hot fury racing through him. It was a protective instinct he had never felt more intensely, never more violently, and he wasn’t a violent person to begin with.

“Which is not very likely, isn’t it?” he accused mildly. “You have to stab a soul with this blade. You ram it into a body and the magic does the rest. It confronts the avatar with twisted nightmares and memories that are not their own. It enthralls them. It’s not a free choice, nor is it a healing. It tortures the mind and the soul.”

The other avatars murmured and Osiris held up his hand to quiet them.

“Without Khonshu, we would be dead!” Steven stated, voice louder now. “Bled out! I’m not sure what you blokes think a weapon is, but we humans call that dagger one!”

Marc was still trying to understand how the other gods had forged a weapon to kick an entity out of their chosen avatar. How they accepted the possible death of the host, due to the physical injury through the blade; or the shock to the system when the binding was forced apart. He had experienced the cruel, painful way that happened.

There was a phantom twinge from the scar and Khonshu’s presence enveloped them, both of them, shielding and protective. There was a thrum of power, a pulse that echoed through his very soul, and he soaked it all up. Marc was more than glad they had resolved their issues before the dagger incident. He would be dead and gone otherwise.

“And others die?” he heard Steven ask with more bite, though he still sounded positively polite.

There was nothing demure about his manner, nothing shy or apprehensive. He was currently very much in protective mode, standing tall, shoulders squared, fighting a different kind of fight than Marc usually did.

“Collateral, you might call it? How many actually died as you judged the avatar bond unworthy? All? What gave you the right to judge another god’s choice?”

Osiris stiffened. “Seth was unhinged,” he said coldly.

“So was Ammit and I didn’t see you get that dagger.”

Marc smiled darkly and the same dark satisfaction was echoed by Khonshu.

“According to your own decree you won’t interfere in this realm, but you created a deadly weapon,” Steven drove his point home. “You sacrificed living beings, Osiris. Human beings. You accepted their fate because banishing a god, trapped in stone, wasn’t enough. Why is this Unholy so important now? Its destruction shouldn’t bother you at all. You left. And you left everything you did behind, too. Free for any human grave robber to loot and sell off to the highest bidder. I believe Khonshu is doing a marvelous job keeping humankind and this realm safe. And I, for my part, are more than proud to be his avatar!”

Steven held his head high, face a determined mask. Khonshu’s pride was a clear mirror to that and Marc had to laugh softly. There was a stubborn line between Steven’s eyes and a set to his mouth that was a clear indicator that he wasn’t about to apologize for anything. Anything at all.

Osiris looked at him, eyes filled with very clear antipathy. Steven responded with a bland smile, hands clasped in front of him. He wouldn’t be cowed.

Last time had been a slightly too terrifying experience. Marc had been a fish out of water and Khonshu’s possession had been abrasive and yes, abusive in a way. This time he was prepared. This time, they were whole. This time they acted as one, as it should always have been.

“Please do not pin your short-sightedness on us, Osiris,” Steven told him evenly, holding the other man’s gaze without flinching. “You misjudged the situation a while ago, too.”

A pinprick of white appeared deep within his eyes.

Osiris froze, looking suddenly murderous.

“You were mistaken about Harrow and Ammit,” Marc’s alter added with a tilt of his head, still so absolutely polite and respectful, it clearly enraged the other god more than yelling would have. “You failed to see the danger to this realm and to yours. We saved your bloody arses, if I may say so. Didn’t get a single ‘well done, mates’. Now we destroyed a weapon that would be able to tear you and your avatars apart. If it fell into the wrong hands.” Steven spread his hands. “And it fell into the wrong hands, didn’t it?  I’m sure not all of you see your human avatars as just a temporary vessel.” He briefly glanced at Yatzil.

“Do not threaten me, avatar!” Osiris spat.

“I state facts,” was the mild reply. “What happened to Khonshu could very easily have happened to any of you. It was a random attack. Who is to say someone else won’t get his sticky fingers on one of your Unholy weapons? What if your avatar walks into a situation where a bond-breaking curse hits them?”

The very air in the room had grown more tense by the second.

“You left live weaponry behind. No safety on them. It is rather negligent, don’t you think? So we took care of the one that tried to kill us.”

Osiris was about to lose his own control. Khonshu took over, the sensation almost like a caress and a slight nudge. Steven yielded without a fight and the moon god surged forward.

“We are done,” Khonshu stated with a low, warning growl. “This is comedy of a hearing is over!”

“You will not leave this chamber before a verdict has been reached! This is to decide whether your actions have harmed the Ennead!”

“Harmed?! I did the Ennead a favor! And like the last time my avatar fought an unspeakable evil that threatened this realm, you only sit on your thrones and dole out false judgment! The sinister spells woven into the Unholy broke apart as they failed to claim me and what is mine!” Khonshu declared, drawing sharp whispers. “Like the curse and abomination it was!”

“Impossible!” Osiris replied sharply, rising to his feet in a swift motion. “Lies and deceit, Khonshu? Still lies and deceit? No single one of us can unravel the Unholy’s magic.”

“The truth!”

“There is no curse-breaker for an Unholy! Nothing can undo the spells once an avatar is in their thrall!”

Khonshu’s streak of vicious satisfaction was clear to feel. “There is. I claim the twin souls of my avatar as my one host,” he said, voice clear and loud, echoing in the chamber. “My soul-bound! Such a binding cannot be broken. It is more than an oath. It is everything! No spellwork can undo what a soul bond has created!”

“Twin souls are a rarity! Unheard of!” Tefnut’s eyes flared. “Twin souls cause an imbalance, Khonshu. It hurts the avatar to be a vessel of a god when the mind is unwell!”

“There is no imbalance.” Marc stated firmly. “Our scales are even.”

“That’s not possible!” Tefnut argued, shaking her head. “Those of us who took on mentally unstable or hurt avatars couldn’t exist with that imbalance, the pain! The avatar suffers! We, as gods, suffered. We had to leave them. Mentally fractured avatars are incapable of sustaining our presence. None would present as two equal souls either! Just like a mind with fractured parts cannot give us a hold, a body cannot hold two souls! We cannot exist as a triad!”

Marc felt a sudden, sharp pull in his chest area that spread through his body and seemed to root him to the very ground he stood on. It felt like someone was draining him of energy while simultaneously giving him a massive transfusion at the same speed.

Holy…! What the frig…?

Steven’s gasp was loud in his head and he saw his alter flail a little, then stare with wide-eyed wonder. The sensation spread, encompassed them, made them one, while still staying individuals, and Marc thought he could feel Steven right there next to him.

Physically.

Right there.

So very, very close.

“Steven?” he blurted.

He felt a hand grasp his, for a fraction of a second. For that single moment they looked at one another, as if they were in the core, and then he was back in the Council Chamber.

Barely a second had passed.

And Khonshu was standing in the room with him, behind him, tall and proud, head held high.

The other avatars shot from their seats, eyes wide. Marc caught sight of Hathor’s. Yatzil was the only one who appeared calm and collected, like she had expected this to happen. There was a flicker of magic licking over Osiris’s fingers.

Wow… headrush, Steven managed. What… what did he… oh! He’s… here? Khonshu’s here?!

Chapter Text

Marc felt like he was about to topple over from the force, his mind spinning. Something twined through him, feeding small trickles of energy, and he breathed in sharply as the rush cleared. There was the clear sensation as if the suit had wrapped itself around him, individual ribbons layering into armor, but he was still in his ‘civvies’.

He’s here… Steven said again. He shouldn’t be able to do that, Marc! No god can enter the chamber in their true form! None!

But here he was. Very much physical because one of the ragged edges of the torn cape was brushing over Marc’s arm; curled around it briefly. Then the contact was gone.

How… how could he?  Steven whispered, radiating shock.

“Us,” Marc murmured, lips barely moving.

They can use their avatars…? No, no, can’t be! Then the others would be here, too! And they’re not. Well, they are, but they aren’t physically here like Khonshu. They’re just possessing a human body!

Maybe this was just something Khonshu could do? Marc thought. But if so, why him and why hadn’t he done it the first time they had been here? Why stress his avatar’s system so badly, Marc had been pleading for help?

No, he didn’t believe the other gods could just manifest, too.

“Khonshu,” Isis greeted him, apparently the first to get over the shock. “Time has not been kind to you, my friend.”

Ouch!

“Spare me the small talk,” the god of the moon replied.

Oh, alright, there goes the political savviness.  

“You… you endanger your avatar to enter the Council Chamber?” Osiris demanded. “You harm his physical form and drain him of his energy… for this insulting and theatrical entrance! For your own benefit! I see you haven’t changed your ways! Despite his ill-advised allegiance with Ammit, your prior avatar was right!”

--“Khonshu is taking advantage of him the same way he abused me.--

Marc pushed away the almost forgotten voice, the memories of the time he had been here before. Steven was right there, next to him, and from the brief, thin smile, his alter was quite aware of the memory.

“How dare you accuse me, Osiris!” Khonshu made a sharp, cutting gesture. “I have not harmed my host! I did not drain his energy! He is physically and mentally more than capable of functioning as my conduit! Without harm to his body or mind. Or his souls!”

Okay… Marc looked at the towering figure. What the flying f…?

Because there’s is two of us! Steven exclaimed excitedly as a light bulb went off inside his head. Marc! I think it’s because we are two! He has an incredible advantage over all of them! We’re not an injured mind, split apart. We’re whole! We’re one, but more than the others! We provide stability! We give him his physical form! Like with Layla! She saw him because of his bond to you!

Marc felt almost winded with the realization. He, the fractured, almost broken mind… the one Khonshu had chosen as he lay dying in his temple… Everything he had been through, the mental anguish, the physical pain, losing so much… He had come out stronger… with Steven as part of the whole now. He had lost parts of himself, but he had gained stability, balance… and a soul bond with an ancient deity.

Empty sockets briefly met startled, silvery white eyes. Khonshu’s dark, satisfied grin was clear to feel. As was the possessive note.

Tefnut’s eyes were wide open, the shock clear. “You… you are balanced within both souls,” she whispered, speaking out loud what the others were starting to realize now. “This has never happened… No one has ever…”

“I claim a reciprocal soul bond to my host,” Khonshu stated, voice dark, filled with satisfaction. “Unconditionally.”

Horus slowly shook his head, clearly speechless. Hathor was radiating amusement. Her expression was one that could almost be called pride.

“My claim on my avatar’s souls supersedes everything,” Khonshu stated, voice rough but booming. He made a sharp gesture with the staff. “My binding will not break and my host will not be broken!”

There was a gleam to the sockets Marc had seen before and it made him smile, actually grin like a madman. The crescent moon of his staff glinted sharply, dangerously, and Marc felt an immense pride and strength suffuse him.

He faced Osiris without a single doubt about who and what he was. His eyes were glowing brightly and shadows of the armor overlaid his clothes. On his chest, the crescent moon symbol was visible. Inside he felt Steven’s mirrored strength and his alter’s own clothes were trembling between the loose-fitting sweater with pants and the sharp, white suit.

“It was my right to break the curse. It was my soul-bound’s right to physically destroy what threatened us. This so-called hearing is a farce! It is a petty game to play to stave off your boredom, Osiris! Pathetic!”

Khonshu looked at the assembled Ennead.

“You summoned me over a so-called infraction! You accused me of laughable matters that wouldn’t have been worth your time before. But it is my name that drew you here! You have done so before and banished me to the realm of humankind!” He leaned forward, fixing empty sockets on Osiris’ representative. “I have grown, I have evolved. You cannot command me anymore!”

Isis raised her hand to stop Osiris’ reply. “You have truly consciously bound yourself to this eternal form, Khonshu?”

“Yes.” So simple. So clear and simple.

“Shackled in this grotesque parody of your former glory?” She gestured at his appearance. “Why would you do that?”

Uhm, Steven murmured. He… they… they do self-actualize, well, choose their appearance… wow… That’s why he looks so different… Oh dear… Oh dear, wow… This is amazing!

Marc wanted to laugh at his alter’s enthusiasm. This was a research spree about to happen.

Khonshu rumbled darkly. The entity still looked like a down on his luck deity, still so drab and without many ornaments.

“My physical form means nothing, Isis.”

“You chose this ghoulish representation,” Tefnut interjected, shaking her head. “Why? Why would you forsake your true form?”

“Because it shows his garish essence,” Osiris stated coldly. “It is a reflection of what he truly is. A disgraced, fallen god. Weak, without believers or followers.”

Khonshu actually laughed. Well, it was more a derisive snort, of sorts. Marc felt a moment of relief that the moon god hadn’t even so much as twitched at the insult.

“Superficial glamour. What I am hasn’t changed. It has only grown. I do not need to brag.” His gaze was solely on Osiris’ avatar now; the point clear. “My power is not diminished by this form, nor am I defined by it!”

Marc glanced at Yatzil again. She was watching with a faint smile around her lips. When she caught his gaze, she briefly inclined her head.

Osiris’ expression of contempt was hard to miss. “Do you renounce your place among the Ennead, then?”

NO! No, don’t! Steven cried immediately, surging forward. Marc was nearly thrown back into their mind by the force. The sudden co-fronting almost gave him whiplash.  He’s goading you, Khonshu. That’s what he wants! Two are imprisoned in stone, Ammit has been destroyed, and you are the outsider. You were banished, shunned, ignored… He can’t do this to you without a reason, but if you choose to leave…

Khonshu looked down at his avatar, clearly aware of Steven’s argument. “No,” he said slowly, voice deadly calm. “I do not renounce my place.” He swiveled his empty sockets back onto Osiris. “You won’t get that satisfaction today.”

“Or ever,” Marc said under his breath.

“I have grown tired of your drama, Khonshu!”

“Drama? No, Osiris, you are the only melodramatic one.” The rough chuckle echoed in the chambers. “Your allegations against me were always ludicrous! Without evidence. Without proof! You claim I intentionally destroyed your creation. You state I would abuse my avatar. That I hurt and still do hurt a broken soul? Who was my accuser?”

Horus inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Arthur Harrow, avatar of Ammit.”

“You believed his pretension,” Khonshu said harshly. “But cast aside my warnings!”

“Your avatar was unwell at the time,” Osiris stated. “It proved his claim.”

“And still we saved your avatars, saved you and your realm,” Marc threw in.

“Tell us, Marc Spector,” Isis turned her attention to him, “are you well now?”

Almost the same question Horus had asked so many months ago.

The moon god bristled again.

She raised her hand. “Let him answer for himself, Khonshu.”

“If that was the case, wouldn’t the Unholy have severed my connection to Khonshu? Left me a dead husk? An empty shell?” he replied provocatively.

Steven rolled his eyes.

Isis studied him.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” Marc elaborated evenly.

Aces, Steven piped up.

“You claimed otherwise the last time.”

“And you didn’t listen last time,” he told her evenly. “None of you did. Back then I was unwell, I did suffer. I told you. I needed help that you didn’t give.”

Isis inclined her head, accepting the accusation. “We didn’t listen.”

“You didn’t want to hear. You also didn’t want to hear about Harrow. You were never interested.” Marc stared at her; hard. “Because it was Khonshu making the accusations. Because of your prejudice.”

Isis bowed her head briefly. “We were wrong.”

Osiris shot her an incredulous look, but she raised a hand again to stave off his interruption. Even Khonshu radiated surprise, something his avatar felt immediately. But the moon god remained silent.

“And are you unwell in your binding to Khonshu now? Is he exploiting your oath as his avatar?”

He laughed wryly. “I claimed him, Isis,” he stated coolly. “I am not bound by him but to him. I work with him, not for him. It was my choice. My free will. I would do it again and there are no regrets.”

The other avatars shifted again, murmuring.

“And that of your second soul?”

“The same. We are proud to call Khonshu, god of the moon, protector of those who travel the night, ours. I have protected him as he has protected me. I will not renounce my claim. Neither of us!”

Isis studied him, almost as if trying to look right into the twin soul. Steven looked back at her through Marc’s eyes, refusing to evade that searching gaze, just as proud as Marc was. Just as protective and unyielding.

“His twin souls are freely entwined with my essence. In every realm!” Khonshu stated calmly. “Equals and balanced.”

“The package deal,” Marc added with a dark smile.

The other avatars stared at him with shocked expressions, Osiris with one of contempt and disgust. Steven was grinning like a loon.

“You truly bound your essence… to… to two souls?” Horus whispered, sounding shocked. “Even in one body… The risk… This is insane, Khonshu! Absolutely insane!”

“It was well worth the reward,” Khonshu stated with satisfaction.

There were murmurs now. “You cannot ever return to what you were!” Isis exclaimed. “This… this is all you are now!”

“It is all I need to be. Have you become so superficial, Isis? To not see past an exterior anymore?”

I thought he must have been more… Steven whispered, shaking his head. Before, well… before he was banished from Heliopolis. Look at all those murals and paintings! All the gods are splendor and gold. He was never any of that.

Marc looked up at the imposing figure, the mummy-wrapped limbs and torso, the ragged shawl and drab colors. Barely any jewelry to speak of, and what he did have was muted in color. Old. Scuffed. Faded.

And somehow, yes, it was just the outside. He was intimately familiar what lay underneath, the power, the strength, the very energy. He felt it everywhere with him. Nothing about Khonshu was old and faded. He was brimming with power.

“Yes,” he confirmed, sounding deeply satisfied. “This is all I am now, Isis. It is more than I ever was before. You banished me to the realm of humankind yourselves for what I am. You ignored my warnings against Ammit. You trapped me in stone, like so many others, for a perceived transgression.”

“Revealing our existence to humankind!” Osiris reminded him sharply.

“Humankind has been confronted with many revelations. You found petty satisfaction in my fate,” the moon god snarled. “You turned your back on me, Osiris, for I spoke my mind! For I never gave up on humanity! You still don’t see their evolution and neither can you fathom to evolve yourself.” Khonshu thumped his staff down next to Marc. “My avatar survived the darkest of curses, broke it, and he stands before you as my host and soul-bound.”

“Two souls truly balanced equally and without suffering and harm in one body?” Isis asked, her voice rather calm and slightly inquisitive.

“Yes,” Khonshu huffed, radiating how done he was with the inquisition, how he had tired of the repeated questions. “The scales are balanced. Ammit herself couldn’t harm him.”

Marc saw some of the avatars stiffen, eyes briefly flashing with the emotional response of their gods.

Isis’ eyes were on the tall god standing right behind his chosen avatar. She finally clasped her hands and inclined her head in acceptance. Khonshu mirrored the nod.

“This laughable show of a hearing is over!” the moon god snapped before someone else could interrogate his host, clearly displeased by the inquisition.

“You do not decide whether to come or not! Nor when you may leave!” Osiris snapped.

Khonshu’s ragged cape whipped up wildly and there was a loud rumbling inside the chamber.

“Do not test me, Osiris. I adhere to the Laws that there shall be no fighting within the Council Chambers, but do not test me! Not now, not ever. You have no grounds to stand on. Your so-called accusations are figments of your petty mind. This hearing shows your boredom in the Overvoid. There was no infraction. There is no judgment and there cannot be a verdict or sentence. This is over! Do not summon me again!”

With that he turned stalked toward the exit. Marc blinked at the abrupt departure.

“Whoa,” he muttered. “Way to make a statement.”

He caught Yatzil’s eye and she nodded her head to follow the tempestuous god. Steven would probably have loved to talk to her, and maybe Marc, too, but right now it was time to leave these not-too-friendly halls.

He went after the entity whose fury spilled over from the bond, though it was rather muted. Marc hadn’t really given it much thought that he had started to get such a good read on the deity whose partner he was, but right now it was driven home again just how much they were one. Ribbons curled wildly in the magical winds, flapping like angry birds, and Khonshu’s state of mind was clear to feel.

I suppose we won’t get an invitation to the next company picnic, Steven piped up and Marc almost laughed. We did save their sorry arses. They could at least spring for some crisps and a pint.

Osiris truly had a chip the size of the pyramids on his shoulder and his clear contempt of Khonshu was almost palpable. Despite everything they had done for the Ennead and their realm, saving their avatars and countless souls…

I’ll say, he really does hold a grudge.

“Yeah. Ours isn’t any better, Steven,” he murmured. “Mutual dislike is way more their style than cooperation.”

He had worked with mercenaries he had detested, who were cruel, cold and blood-thirsty, and he had made it work. No fists had flown, no knives had been pulled. This, right there, back in the Council Chamber, had only been so civil because the pocket dimension was neutral ground.

Marc inhaled sharply when he felt Khonshu’s presence merge abruptly with him as he walked into the corridor leading to the portal. Vertigo nearly overwhelming, he stumbled and reached for the wall, stone scraping over his hand.

Gloved hand.

Damnit!

The ceremonial suit was semi-physical, the mummy-wrappings complete, the chest armor and face mask missing. The moon god’s riled up emotions boiled to the surface, and Marc fought down the instinctive reaction to fully suit up. He closed his eyes, breath escaping with a hiss.

“Stop that!” he whispered harshly.

It was as bad as the possession had been. Hard, sharp, abrasive, no sophistication.

And it stopped. Abruptly.

Marc? Steven asked worriedly, pushing forward.

“No!” he ordered sharply. “Don’t!”

Steven froze, wide-eyed. Marc…

“Fuck…” He dragged a hand over his face.

He stayed where he was, eyes closed, riding it out. Marc had no idea if the sensations currently flowing through him were all Khonshu or also his own. He felt wrung out. Depleted in a way that couldn’t be compared to last time. It was and wasn’t Khonshu. It was and hadn’t been the whole confrontation.

“Go,” the deity ordered softly. “You need to leave this place.”

Right. They were still in the corridor, only halfway out of the pocket dimension inside the great pyramid of Giza.

They stepped through the portal and the moment the door clicked shut, Marc fell against the wall, a tremor racing through him. The wrappings dispersed, changed into a white business suit with a startled Steven fronting.

“Oh, blimey…”

Then even that was gone.

Chapter Text

The world was… a room.

Wooden beams, hardwood floor, slightly threadbare rugs… a wild collection of books, papers, magazines and many, many knick-knacks on endless shelf space. Light streamed in from the skylights. The bed was rumpled and unmade, a dozen pillows, all with different pillow cases, all different sizes, were all over the mattress.

The flat. Their flat.

He was standing in the middle of the flat on a cloudy afternoon. Even the ratty green chair was there.

Steven had no recollection of coming home and for a second he was close to hyperventilating, then he caught sight of his alter.

“Marc?” he whispered.

Wide eyes, dark and filled with overwhelming emotions, met his. There were dark smudges underneath those eyes, his skin pale. Marc was wearing the full Moon Knight armor, without the cowl and face mask, and he looked like he was at the end of his emotional ropes.

“Uh… what… how…? Did you… did you… how… are you okay?!”

Steven was caught in an embrace that almost bowled him over. Warmth blossomed inside him and he held on instinctively. It was the moment he realized he was in his Mr. Knight suit.

The core! Goodness, they were in the core! It wasn’t really the flat. Yes, it looked like it, but it wasn’t. Marc had pulled them both to where the soul bond was rooted.

“Sorry,” Marc murmured, clinging to him. “Sorry if it was abrupt, but…” He exhaled. “Sorry.”

He returned the hug, shaking his head with an almost goofy smile. “No, it’s quite alright. You needed it. You were mentally completely exhausted. I have to say so am I. That wasn’t a walk in the park, was it? So intense. The transition was a bit jarring, needs getting used to, but amazing. You’re getting good. And the details of the core are amazing! It's so much more than the last time.”

Marc pushed back, his smile watery, the laugh barely there. “Wasn’t just me. Khonshu pushed. I still need the training wheels.”

Steven chuckled, then he ran a slightly shaking hand through his already very tousled hair. He experimentally willed the suit away and it did. He was in black sweatpants and a long-sleeved black shirt.

“Huh.” He spread his arms. “Neat.”

Marc grinned a little and he was suddenly gray sweatpants and a light gray Henley, the Moon Knight armor gone. He still looked rather shaken. And tired.

“You okay?” Steven inquired, worry creasing his forehead.

“Yeah.”

“You look like crap, mate.”

He snorted. “Thanks, Steven. Just what I needed to hear.”

“This was bad,” Steven said, sounding lame even to his own ears. “Could have been better, I guess. Didn’t think they could dislike Khonshu any more than they already do. Well, except Yatzil.”

“I do not care whether they like me or not!” The moon god was suddenly there, standing in the middle of the flat, radiating his displeasure.

“Clearly.” Steven studied him, biting at his lower lip.

This was Khonshu. No glamours, no glitter, no brightly colored robes or golden jewelry. As if he was still stripped of rank and standing, banished and shamed. But he wasn’t. There was pride and power, such power… and it entwined perfectly with his Knight. Steven had long since realized that Khonshu was as emotionally stunted as his host was in many situations, but he loved his soul-bound and was dedicated to his protection.

He still looked furious, radiating it with such force, it would have bowled them over mere months ago. Right now it was like watching a wild sea, foaming waves crashing against the rocky shore, yet he had himself under a lot more control.

And they were in the core, where they all connected, where the root lay. It spoke lengths that Khonshu had guided or pushed Marc into this space. Very tell-tale, Steven decided.

 “You… you were physically present… in a neutral zone. The Council. That was… quite unexpected…” he probed carefully, eyes on the entity. He had a million and one theories, but he suspected he knew the truth.

It got him a huff.

Marc crossed his arms in front of his chest, still a little too drained and sleep-deprived in Steven’s opinion. He felt the soft waves between their souls, felt the perfection that was them, and it reassured him that Marc was fine.

“That was quite a stunt you pulled,” he added, almost accusatory. “A little warning would have been nice, Khonshu!”

“I did not know it would happen.”

Marc’s eyes were almost comically wide. “You what?”

“Isn’t the purpose of the Council Chamber that only the avatar can enter?” Steven piled on top of that. “It’s neutral ground. The other gods did have this gob-smacked expression. I guess it never happened before, am I right? Because no one was able to… do it? Before you made your entrance… so abruptly and unexpectedly. I think Osiris was that close to blasting you, actually.” He held his thumb and forefinger barely wide enough apart to fit a piece of paper. “Political disaster!”

Khonshu snorted, amused. “Osiris would not have dared.”

“He might make an exception for you,” Marc snarled, raking a hand through his curls.

Steven shot him another assessing look. He didn’t like how much this had cost the other man. This was Marc’s body and mind they were talking about. He felt slightly worried how cruelly tired Marc still looked.

“He also detests leaving the cushy, opulent realm of the Overvoid,” Khonshu continued. “And yes, he also cannot physically enter the pocket dimension of the Council Chamber. It truly is protected against the physical presence of any god. It prevents… more intense disagreements. To enter through an avatar would eat away from the host’s soul, most likely destroy them. No god would risk that.”

“You did,” Marc stated flatly. “Though right now I do feel like someone drained me.” He crossed his arms again, staring at the moon god.

“You managed the impossible because of Marc,” Steven added, mirroring the gesture. “But it costs the avatar nevertheless.”

Khonshu was close to them now. “What I told the Ennead was no lie. I will not harm you. I would never deplete you. I will protect you with my everything I am.”

“Then why do I feel like that’s a big, fat obfuscation?”

“It was your first time, Marc.”

Steven burst out laughing and Marc swatted his arm.

“You felt the brunt of this first time,” Khonshu added with an audible smirk. “But you are still whole. Still healthy and complete.”

“And no one but Marc can do this?” Steven asked.

“No one but you two. Both sides. It needs the warrior and you.”

“The idiot?”

Marc’s eyes narrowed and he sharply turned to his alter. But Khonshu didn’t give him a chance.

“The warrior’s shield,” the deity corrected him. “A fighter.”

Steven blinked. “Oh…”

Khonshu placed a finger under his chin, those empty sockets filled with endless darkness. “Still an idiot, though,” he teased. “You are a fighter. You are important. It would always need more than one soul to do what I did. Always. One body and soul cannot sustain the life energy needed to allow a god entrance.”

“Life energy,” Marc echoed flatly, eyes darker.

Khonshu’s smile was almost visible. “I did you no harm.”

“But you used our life energy.”

“No. With one soul it would be life that is drained. You are the foundation of this bond, Marc Spector and Steven Grant. This.” He gestured at the space around them. “You are the root. I am connected to that and it gives me a way to wherever you are.”

“That rush…”

“Was the anchor taking hold in the root.”

Steven’s mouth formed an ‘oh’. “Anyone else would need two avatars?” he breathed. “To have that anchoring?”

“No god can claim two. It would split our own essence. It might splice us.”

“You have two,” Marc pointed out.

“You are one, Marc Spector. One body.”

“Occupied by us… Two souls…” Steven added carefully.

Pride coursed through him, through them. And possessiveness. Khonshu’s magic swirled around them, like a tiny storm breaking loose, sweeping over their minds and souls.

“Yes. You are. Equals in one body. Perfectly in sync. That and your psychic strength enabled me to do what no other has tried before; my form can be wherever you are, my avatar. You can support and sustain it because of the root.”

“I… oh… wow. I was right!” Steven beamed at Marc. “Cool.”

The deity chuckled. “Yes. You were correct. You are the smart one.”

Steven grinned wildly.

Marc laughed softly. “You are. You always were.” He gazed at Khonshu. “I guess we’re in a boatload of trouble now?”

“Nothing Osiris can say or do will threaten us. They abandoned the realm. I claimed it.” Khonshu’s satisfaction was palpable. “I am still of the Ennead.”

“He is a right twit,” Steven commented.

“He hates to be corrected. Absolutely abhors to be proven wrong,” Khonshu stated darkly. “We also never saw eye to eye.”

“That wasn’t hard to overhear the first time either,” Marc commented wryly. “Really holds a grudge against humankind’s so-called desertion of the gods. Then again, holding grudges seems to be a specialty when it comes to gods.” He raised both eyebrows as he looked up at the entity.

Steven almost laughed.

“He is a paper pusher,” Khonshu muttered with a large spattering of disgust. “Always was. He has no concept of how matter can change, evolve… He is no warrior and never was!”

Steven nodded slowly. “And he presides over the Ennead.”

“It was a vote,” was the answer. “The least objectionable candidate.”

Marc shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Steven understood the gesture and he could read the other man easily.

This least objectionable candidate had created a weapon that hurt avatar and god alike. Maybe for the right reason, but it was still a terrible weapon that killed innocents. It was a dagger, for crying out loud, Steven thought. What did you do with it other than stab or slice people?

“I doubt any of those avatars it was used on survived,” Marc muttered angrily when he uttered his thoughts out loud.

Khonshu’s grip on the staff tightened and there was almost a creaking sound. “None did. The violent cutting of a bond sends the avatar into fatal shock. Even if a body survives, the mind would not. The loss is too great, no matter whom the avatar served.”

“Seth’s avatar died?” Steven translated cautiously, voice filled with empathy and regret.

Rags and ribbons flared around the moon god. “I wish she would have. She suffered greatly. Her wounds never healed.”

Marc shuddered and screwed his eyes shut. Steven just pulled him close, arms closing around him, feeling the same pain, the same memories.

“Didn’t happen to us,” he whispered.

Marc echoed the words. The memories were there. They would never forget the past, what they had been through, and they both knew that they had been so, so lucky.

“And it never will!” Khonshu added.

When he looked up, Steven found the deity crouching opposite the two men, watching them, a fierce air around him.

“Are we… you… in any danger?” Steven asked carefully. “Would they attempt to trap you again? For destroying the Unholy? Or the stunt in the Council Chamber?”

Marc’s whole form tensed and he felt his muscles coil as if preparing for a fight. There was a gust of wind and Khonshu’s presence increased, surrounding them, wrapping their souls in layers of his very self.

“They would not dare!” he snarled. “Osiris wouldn’t dare! He cannot touch us!”

“Because your avatar is a soul-bound one.” Marc stated.

“Yes!”

“It protects you against them?”

Khonshu was towering over them like a protective bird of prey. “Us,” he whispered sharply. “It protects us! They cannot touch us. They cannot banish us with their magic, imprison me in stone. This is my realm!”

“So any dark stuff we find, we take care of it,” Marc translated coldly. “Permanently”

Khonshu’s agreement echoed in their minds.

“How do we find it?” Steven asked with a mild frown.

Marc stared at him. “What?”

“How do we find that nasty dark magic in Egyptian relics?” he elaborated. “Is there a list? A dark magic detector? You only found out about the bloody dagger when it was… well, when it was stabbed into you!”

He grimaced. “I’m painfully aware of that.”

“Not a good method to find more!” Steven argued hotly.

“Not really, no.”

“And Osiris said ‘an Unholy’, not ‘the Unholy’,” the other man pointed out.

“Like more than one.”

Steven nodded. “Place your bets on how many of those dastardly things are pointy or sharp or both!”

“Fuck,” Marc muttered.

Khonshu growled. “We will find the others.”

“Might take a while.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

“To piss off Osiris?” Steven asked with a fake innocent smile.

Khonshu chuckled darkly. “A bonus.”

When they rose out of the core, no time had passed. Steven was still at his workplace and Marc stepped back to give him the time to pack up his things and head home early. He was still tired and really needed some rest.

“You can go to sleep,” Steven suggested as he walked toward the bus stop.

I’m good.

“You’re tired, Marc. Khonshu didn’t hurt us. But the whole experience was… draining.”

Marc sighed. I’m good.

“Liar,” he muttered.

Steven stopped at one of his favorite food places. Marc laughed softly in his head when he carried a huge bag of snacks and a vegan chocolate shake into the flat.

“Oh shuddup,” he mumbled as he stuffed crisps into his mouth and washed them down with the shake.

That’s the single most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Steven crunched on, scowling, but his eyes reflected the same laughter.

Chapter Text

The night had brought rain. A steady drizzle that was only once or twice interrupted by an hour of just damp air and lights reflecting off the puddles.

Marc didn’t care as he stood on the roof, eyes on the almost peaceful and quiet night around him. They were located far enough away from the hubbub of the city center to get some of those nights. No night clubs, no twenty-four hour fast food places. It was actually a nice, friendly neighborhood.

Steven was asleep. Marc had been proud of his alter today, how he had handled the Ennead, the strength and unwavering loyalty he had projected. They had both grown in their own way, but they had also grown together.

Sitting next to him on the low wall that encircled the roof area, Khonshu was mirroring his Knight’s silent vigil. Marc glanced at the entity, took in the unchanged appearance. Steven’s words echoed in his mind. Khonshu had chosen to appear like this. It was always a conscious choice, not a projection, not something that had happened to him because of his banishment. That he hadn’t changed his weathered appearance also meant that it wasn’t a reflection of his state of mind, of shame, guilt or remorse.

“So this is it.”

Khonshu tilted his head. In his seated position he was almost eyelevel with his avatar.

“It always was.”

“You sprang it on them that you’re… bound.”

Something rippled through him. Not excitement. More like a viciously satisfied little whisper.

“Yes.”

“To two souls.”

“Yes.”

Marc almost smiled; it came out as a little twist to his lips. Khonshu had enjoyed the theatrics, shocking the Ennead, boasting what he had achieved. Rubbing it in, he mused. Really well. Add some salt. Khonshu wanted them to know, wanted them to be aware of what he had become. Devious old bird.

“The others called it a risk. Because of the imbalance?”

“Possible imbalance. Yes.”

“Then why? You couldn’t know it was going to work!”

Khonshu hummed. “No, I couldn’t know. Maybe it was an ancient instinct.” He shrugged one bony shoulder. It was such a human gesture. “It was a calculated risk.”

“Bullshit.”

The deity chuckled. “It was a risk I was willing to take, Marc.”

“Why?”

“It felt right. You felt right.”

Marc gave him a doubtful look. He felt the fine spray of rain against his skin, matting down his hair, creating tiny drops that ran down his face.

“You’re not a gambler. Especially with hopeless cases like us.”

Khonshu was silent, but his sockets were on his avatar. Marc felt him everywhere. It wasn’t an oppressive knowledge, a constant thought on his mind. No, it was a lot more subtle. Like a background hum, a soft presence.

When he closed his eyes, the suit crawled slowly over his skin, like a loving embrace, leaving his head free.

“You were never a hopeless case,” the entity told him quietly. “An imbalance is only dangerous and possibly lethal if there is no hope.”

He finally looked at the moon god again. “You didn’t know what you would get yourself into when you made the offer.”

Khonshu chuckled. “No god really does when choosing an avatar. Most choices are good. Some turn out to be… less good.”

“Like Harrow?” he challenged.

“Yes. He was one of my greatest mistakes,” the moon good answered calmly.

Marc fought another wave of unaccustomed jealousy at the thought of Harrow. The thrum between them was almost palpable.

Khonshu looked at him and there was the shadow of a crescent moon, a thin, thin sickle, barely perceptible, in the depth of those dark sockets.

“I only knew you were different, Marc Spector. It would truly have been a waste had you ended your life. That was why I offered the oath to you and not the other souls who had perished that night. I was right.” Moon light glinted off the crescent top of the staff. Khonshu’s voice held a faraway tone. “I haven’t reacted to an instinct in a very long time. When you crawled into my temple, it was instinct. I had to have you. I also knew I wouldn’t let you go. At least not without a good fight.”

Marc snorted. “You threatened me into servitude.”

The suit shivered around him, full of energy and warmth.

“You were quite contrary in your service. Almost from day one.” Khonshu tilted his head. “It hasn’t changed, but you have. You were my greatest challenge, but also my greatest warrior.”

“Now we give you an edge,” Marc said quietly after a long moment. “But you’re also… limited. You accepted limits…”

“A limit doesn’t equal a weakness, Marc. You should know that. Sometimes, a limit gives you the strength and power you never had.”

“You old pals didn’t agree.”

“Unlike them, I am a warrior,” he rumbled, proud and judgmental in one. “My Knights are warriors. We guard, we protect, we avenge, and we deal out justice. I punish the evildoers, but I don’t eat their souls. We are a necessity, Marc Spector. The Moon Knight is a sentinel of the night, a protector of those who can’t protect themselves, and the vengeance of those who couldn’t escape a crime against them The Ennead only judge and rule.”

Marc felt a sliver of excitement course through him. It was a restless little shuffle, holding back but still projecting how much some action would be appreciated.

After what had happened and how civil Khonshu had been compared to other times, Marc knew he was itching to work off that energy. And Marc had to confess he was looking forward to some action, too.

“They seem to have it in for you.”

There was a soft huff. “They were wrong every single time I was summoned.” He reached over and tapped the crescent moon adorning the armor. “I wasn’t when I chose you, Marc Spector. I stand by my choice and I won’t bow to their so-called judgment. I never have.”

“You’re never going back there. Never is a really long time,” he quoted what Layla had said a long time ago.

“There was never anything there for me.”

“Hathor?”

It got him a mildly amused snort.

“She seems like a friend.”

“She was and still is. My past. A life I am not living anymore. A life I won’t ever want again.”

“You took a gamble.”

“It paid off, as you humans would say.” Khonshu was now right behind him, leaning down. The ribbons of his tattered shawl curled around the Knight’s armor. “You are the strongest of all avatars, Marc Spector. Unique. And mine. You are my choice. Never doubt that.”

“I don’t.” Not anymore.

Somewhere in the distance sirens could be heard. Police, Marc suspected.

“You really think they’ll leave us alone?”

Khonshu straightened, the staff thudding down next to Marc. There was a surge of annoyance.

“They don’t meddle in the affairs of humankind. They observe.” He almost spat the last word. “Even knowing that it nearly got them obliterated, they would never change that.”

Marc unconsciously rubbed a palm over the scar that was underneath the armor. Khonshu’s reaction was a warm caress of moon energy over his skin that had him close his eyes, leaning into the insubstantial contact almost unconsciously.

It was time to work off that energy thrumming between them. As draining as the experience had been, the emotional discharge, the moon energy coursing through his system, and the need to work off all of that had him want to hit the streets.

“Got something for me?” he asked.

Khonshu’s reply was dark, dark satisfaction and the prospect of a good fight.

He opened his mind and the hood smoothly covered his head, the mask in place. When the Moon Knight opened his eyes, they were the bright white of the energy of a full moon. He swung over the roof and headed into the night, excitement racing through him. It wasn’t all his own. He almost laughed. Khonshu was just as eager to get the memories of the Ennead Council out of his head by doling out justice.

*

Steven woke in a rumpled bed, feeling a little bleary-eyed. He swung his feet over the edge and scrubbed a hand over his tousled head. It was already mid-morning, judging from the murky light inside the flat. The blinds were pulled almost closed, but they didn’t keep out all the light.

He yawned and automatically looked at the memo board nailed to one of the wooden beams.

‘It’s Sunday, Steven. Left Friday night. Had some stuff to work through’ was scrawled on a piece of bright yellow paper that had been torn out of somewhere and stuck to the board with a magnet.

Sunday. Right. Sunday?!

“You galivanted off into the night!” he blurted. “For two days? Two days? I slept for two days?”

He searched inward, but Marc wasn’t awake, which told him that whatever those two had been up to, Marc had been exhausted by the end of it.

“Good morning, Steven Grant. Slept well?”

 “Oh, up yours, you!” Steven muttered and gave Khonshu a dark look as he shuffled over to the bathroom. He didn’t feel a single twinge and so far there were no bruises. “Is Marc okay?”

“Of course.”

“You just had to go and work it out of your system?”

The low, dark laugh said it all.

Steven rolled his eyes. “Hope you had fun.”

“We always do,” was the simple reply.

Of course they did. He wouldn’t read it in the newspapers, most likely. Or find any mention of what Moon Knight had done. Steven couldn’t even be sure they had been in the country last night.

But Marc was fine, which was the most important piece of information.

He didn’t hear or see anything of Marc for the rest of the day. Steven also didn’t feel like he had been run over repeatedly by a bus, so that told him more than enough about those extracurricular activities. They had gotten enough sleep and whatever Moon Knight had been doing, it had been more of a vacation.

He went to work on Monday, shopped, made himself a simple dinner, then spent the rest of the evening reading the backlog of magazines on his desk while a documentary ran in the background.

Khonshu was a quiet house guest, keeping him company, answering the occasional question as was their little game.

“You worry,” the god said as Steven aimlessly shuffled through some papers. “About the Ennead. About us.”

It was already late in the evening and the few lights he had left on cast barely any light. The flat was dark, silent, the world outside muted through the closed windows. The lamp on his desk was enough to read by and the TV spread its own glow.

“Shouldn’t I be worried?” Steven wanted to know, looking at the deity so closely interwoven with their lives.

A little over six months ago Khonshu would probably have given him quite a fright. Well, he had terrified him, chasing the clueless man through dark hallways, looming out of the darkness, or just a rather vicious voice in his head.

Now… Steven wanted to say it was still a novelty, but it wasn’t. He had an Egyptian deity living with him, hovering in the background, sometimes never uttering a single word, and Steven still interacted with the entity like he was truly a roommate.

And he was.

“You know I will protect you.”

He shot him a mild scowl. “I know. And it’s not that that has me worried. Marc can hold his own in a fight.”

“As do you,” was the smooth addition, almost a purr. And Khonshu sounded… pleased. Actually proud.

Steven grinned. “I can. I’m pretty good, come to think of it.”

He didn’t have the flashy ceremonial armor and he didn’t have the crescent blades, let alone the cool cape, but Mr. Knight was a mean fighter and those sticks broke bones. He had apologized profusely to the thug the first time that had happened. Well, the smuggler hadn’t been able to hear him, being unconscious and all, but Steve had felt it was necessary to point out that he hadn’t done it on purpose.

“You are. Yet you worry.”

“The Ennead are pretty ticked off.”

Khonshu sat back with an amused snort. “They always are.”

“So nothing new? You go in and insult them, they get mad at menial stuff, you don’t get banished again? Just another day?”

It got him a little head tilt. “Yes. I have been doing this dance for millennia.”

“You don’t play well with others. Got that right from the start.” There was no vitriol in his words. It was almost like lightly pulling pig-tails. Steven plonked old files onto one another, hoping they wouldn’t topple. “I still think it was… intense. They summoned you to judge your actions. Our actions. We did them a huge favor with that blade and they kinda tried to throw the book at us.” He frowned. “The entitlement alone gives me blood pressure.”

Khonshu hummed, amused.

“You revealed so much to them, too! You pulled a stunt that could have gotten you… well, blasted to smithereens or something!”

“No,” Khonshu disagreed mildly.

“Or seriously hurt!”

“Debatable.”

Steven stared at him, agitated and angry in one. “You showed your hand!”

“As much as I detest the Ennead for their meddlesome behavior whenever it suits their purpose, as they otherwise ignore blatant warning signs of a much greater danger, they are not the enemy.”

Steven ran a hand through his hair. “Oh? Could have fooled me. Next thing we know we have bloody ninja assassins after us!”

The moon god leaned closer. “They talk, they threaten, they judge from a high horse, and they do imprison those who they belief broke any of their micro-managed laws, but they do not send out ‘ninja assassins’, Steven Grant.”

Steven felt a weak little laugh leave his lips.

“We are not in danger. I told Marc the same.”

Steven blinked. “Oh. Right. He… I’m sure he’s worried, too.”

Currently Marc was asleep, but he should have figured that his alter was also worrying about their safety.

Khonshu chuff was soft, warm, and he was suddenly close. A wrapped hand stroked over Steven’s cheek.

“As different as you are, as alike you are when you protect what you love. Both of you protect fiercely. We are safe, Steven. All of us. I cannot be separated from you. You cannot be torn apart.”

“Yes, well, sorry about the anxiety thing…” he said softly. “Happens. Will happen again. Sorry. And thank you. For everything.”

Khonshu regarded him solemnly. “I protect my avatar.”

“And we protect our soul-bound,” Steven replied, voice low and serious.

Chapter Text

“You get into the worst situations when I’m gone!”

Layla swatted his chest and Marc shot her a mock hurt look.

“Ouch.”

She scowled. Marc licked chocolate ice cream off his spoon, grinning at her.

“The worst,” Layla grumbled and emptied her vanilla-caramel mix.

It was date night. Actually, Date Night, capital D and N, as Steven had told Marc. Dress nicely, take her out to dinner, maybe a movie, or just a walk in the park.

Marc had rolled his eyes at the suggestions. He had thrown on a rather new black t-shirt and a jacket, but when Layla had walked in with take-out boxes and two dessert-sized tubs of her favorite ice cream, he knew this was going to be the at-home kinda date.

Which he liked. A lot.

They were sitting in that cozy little space underneath one of the roof windows, their backs to the wall, the sky a dusky gray-blue as night fell. There were pillows, blankets, the old rug, and books stacked to function as small tables.

“One week, Spector!” she reminded him yet again. “One measly week and you can’t stay out of trouble!”

“I was summoned,” he repeated what he had said before. “I could hardly say no. Not polite.”

“Since when are you all manners?”

He elbowed her gently, playfully. “I can be a gentleman.”

“Bring the evidence,” Layla huffed and scraped the last bit of caramel syrup out of the tub.

There were a few sprinkles clinging to the spoon. She had poured a generous helping of the colorful sugar treats onto her ice cream that had Marc grimace. Layla had told him about her dig site, her black market visits, finding a few pieces she had reacquired, and to anyone else it would have sounded like talking about her latest vacation, just without the million and one snapshots. Marc knew his wife lived a dangerous life and he would have preferred to come along, but she had clearly told him not to hover, mother-hen or shadow her.

Marc had brought her up to speed on recent events throughout their dessert and Layla’s first words had been ‘You could have opened with that!’.

Yes, well, his bad.

She had been as shocked, surprised and disgusted at the summoning as he had suspected she would be.

“Is this some kind of deity witch-hunt?” she asked sourly.

He chuckled. “Kinda sounds like it, doesn’t it? Might also be Khonshu’s non-existent political skills. He is more of a battering ram.”

Layla smiled briefly. “You all are really okay?” she asked as she leaned against him. “All? Even the possessive asshole of a god you are bonded to?”

He laughed and curled an arm around his wife. “Yes. Steven, me, Khonshu… all of us. We didn’t make any more friends, but we made a statement. Khonshu did.”

“Doesn’t endear him to the rest, but he was never one to thrive on a big social circle,” she remarked.

Marc chuckled.

Steven had given them privacy after happily greeting Layla, telling her she looked as lovely and amazing as always. Khonshu was… wherever. Marc could sense him close by, but he wasn’t visible, and he wasn’t reacting to them talking about him. He was actually remarkably not-there whenever Date Night happened.

Marc refused to call it consideration.

“It’s crazy to think that Osiris of all people… gods… deities… created something like that,” she mused. “To destroy an avatar bond… it’s so much worse than any other punishment I could think of.”

“Apparently it was done because of Seth.”

Layla dropped her head against his shoulder. “Seth’s not the nicest of Egyptian gods, sure. He’s called the god of the desert, storms, violence and disorder, so that’s a first clue. I’m sure myth is founded in facts somewhere and he probably wasn’t the friendly neighborhood deity.”

Marc chuckled. “Probably.”

Steven had been talking his ear off about that particular deity and Marc knew more than he had ever wanted to know, but it had been very interesting. Khonshu had pointed out where myth and reality differed, but he had been very patient and tolerant with Steven turning into the Encyclopedia of Egyptian Deities.

“Khonshu never mentioned why they went to such extremes?”

“No. It seems to be a sore point for all of them.”

There was a sliver of unease and something else trickling through him. Marc didn’t even flinch anymore. He had grown very much accustomed to sensing the moon god’s stronger reactions and sometimes he thought Khonshu wasn’t even trying to shield him from it. It had been a very fast learning process.

“At least the dagger’s gone now,” she said.

“Hm.”

“And you know that the guy loves you.”

Marc looked down at the wild curls. Layla turned her head enough that he could see her teasing smile.

“Khonshu. I’m not sure other immortal entities would have gone to such extremes, both physically and emotionally, to keep you as his avatar. He risked the bond to two souls, which gives him an unrivalled advantage. Could have backfired.”

But it hadn’t.

“Just like you won’t let him go either, love.”

“No,” Marc answered quietly. Not for anything. Like he wouldn’t let go of Steven. Or Layla.

He was in a very weird relationship that wasn’t defined by any human norms with his wife, his alter and the god whose soul-bound he and Steven were. He shared Layla’s theory that no other deity would have done what Khonshu did, would be as invested in one single avatar, and surely wouldn’t have gotten themselves trapped in stone to help the avatar.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “You’re married to all of that,” he teased.

She hugged him close, laughing. “I am.”

“Crazy lady.”

“Menace,” she purred.

It was Steven who woke up to Layla next to him and he nearly fell off the bed in a panic.

Because he was mostly naked.

And she was mostly naked.

He frantically slipped out of bed and grabbed the nearest sweatpants, pulling them on. Breath coming in quick gasps, Steven backed away from the bed and fled to the bathroom.

He stared into the mirror. “Marc!” he hissed.

No answer.

“Damnit, Marc! That’s not…”

He stopped. It hadn’t been their deal. Then again, there had never been words lost about their individual relationships with Layla.

But Marc wasn’t around. Bastard.

Steven quickly splashed water into his face, shaved haphazardly, and pulled an older Henley out of the pile of already washed but not yet folded clothes. Marc was a slob in that regard, he thought darkly.

When he peered outside, Layla was very much awake and in the kitchen. So much for hoping to sneak out. She was wearing an, albeit short, nightshirt, thankfully.

“Good morning.” He gave her a shy little wave.

It was met by a warm, loving smile. “Good morning, Steven. Coffee?”

He wasn’t surprised that she knew it was him and not Marc. She was really good at that.

“Uhm, yes, sure. I can nip over to the bakery, get croissants or such…”

Layla poured him a coffee, put the right amount of milk and sugar in it, and held the mug out to him. Steven gave her another smile as he took it.

“Sorry about… this…” He gestured at himself. “Not sure what happened. Kinda slipped up there.”

“Marc just needed the sleep.”

“Oh. I… Sure…” He flushed.

Layla grinned from behind her own mug, a teasing light dancing in her eyes. “You had quite an interesting encounter, I heard. Family call from the Ennead?”

Steven slid into one of the chairs, glad for the change of topic. He was too flustered to think if a good way to extricate himself from this clearly domestic and husband-wife situation. It really had never happened before. He loved Layla, he really did, and he would never do something like this; wake up with her when it was her night with her husband.

He pushed those musings aside. Layla didn’t look angry, offended or grossed out. Actually, she treated it like an everyday occurrence.

“We… had. Not sure I’d call them family, though some are bratty. Marc told you everything?”

She nodded.

“It was… not ideal. The way the Ennead requested us to explain our actions… I mean… and Khonshu was Khonshu, which didn’t help.”

She chuckled humorlessly. “I bet. He’s a cranky old bird when it comes to the Ennead.”

“Oh, very. And it’s a little past cranky on a good day. I have to say he was more civil than I had previously seen him, but there is no love lost there.”

“Marc also told me about the possibility that there are more cursed items.”

Steven nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. It’s difficult to find something about Egyptian curses and dark magic, though. You get the usual stuff on the pharaoh’s curse and mummies and stuff. King Tut’s curse is right at the top of every article I could find, like the fan favorite it is.”

“I might have a way to find information that isn’t in the text books.”

Steven perked up. “Where?”

Layla grinned. “Just like there are places to look for, buy or sell illegal items, there are places for the more… dark stuff.”

He stared at her, wheels turning. “Dark… magic stuff?”

“For example.”

“And you… you know someone?”

“Oh, I know a lot of people,” she answered vaguely. “But you don’t talk to those people in person.”

“I won’t?”

Layla shook her head with a fine smile. “I won’t, Steven. You’re not going anywhere near them. It’s an online access to a site that contains some highly illegal stuff, from artifacts to drugs to weapons.”

Steven grimaced, feeling a shiver of unease. “Sounds dangerous.”

“No more than what you two do.”

“Marc is the one who gets shot at, stabbed, strangled or worse. The worst I get is a paper cut,” he argued.

Her expression was so loving and amused, Steven felt himself melt a little more in her presence. No matter how long they had known each other by now, how often they had interacted, he couldn’t get used to anyone, let alone a woman, treat him the way Layla did. Well, anyone but Marc, who was closer to him than anyone could possibly be, and by extent, yes, Khonshu.

“You’re also not an avatar,” Steven ploughed on. “Marc and I have Khonshu. You don’t.”

“I can take care of myself, especially in an online setting. The whole access is encrypted nine ways to Sunday and back. I found my best recoveries there.” Layla drank her coffee, looking absolutely at ease.

“I know you can. You’re absolutely bad-ass amazing, Layla. I’ve seen you fight and you’re strong and independent…” He flushed a little. “I just worry.”

She reached over and gently took his hand, interlacing their fingers. Her smile was warm, affectionate, loving, and Steven almost melted at that.

“Thank you. Thank you for worrying. I know you do; I know you would do everything to protect this. Just like I know Marc does in his own way. I feel the same when he goes out in that suit, even though I know Khonshu is one hellishly protective mother-hen and the armor will heal him from just about anything. It’s human nature. It’s also love. Your love. His love. My love.” She winked. “Khonshu’s.”

He gave her a wide-eyed look. Layla just met that gaze, holding it with an unwavering expression of conviction and love, and Steven felt himself smile tentatively. Something warm curled through him and he couldn’t say whether it was just him, just Marc, or both of them. Probably both.

“This is complicated,” he said softly.

She nodded, face reflecting her emotions clearly.

“And this morning…” He ducked his head a little. “Really complicated.”

“You are not an intrusion, Steven. Or a stranger. You know that.” She squeezed his hand again. “Now, I’ll take a quick shower,” she said with a little smile. “Then I want a big breakfast in that hideously unhealthy restaurant Marc loves so much. I know it’s not vegan…”

“That’s fine!” Steven blurted. “There’s always an option on the menu.”

She got up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

He would give her all the time in the world.

Chapter Text

Life fell into place. An almost sedate place.

Layla was spending a lot of time on her laptop or phone, while Steven did his own research while she tried to get the information they were hoping for. They were working seamlessly together, Steven’s almost bottomless knowledge of all things Egyptian mixing well with Layla’s more hands-on experience and her very thorough education as an archeologist.

Marc watched them fondly, enjoying his more passive role. Khonshu was always there, either visible or just as a general feeling for both Steven and Marc. Whenever he did show himself, Steven would start questioning him about certain artifacts, much to Layla and Marc’s amusement.

Layla had more or less moved into the flat for the time being, but both Marc and her were under no illusion that she meant to stay permanently. Steven didn’t comment, but Marc knew his alter wanted her to at least come around more often. All three knew that living together wouldn’t work.

This, the way they were now, was perfect. There was enough distance and a lot of closeness, and separate places helped.

“Four’s a crowd,” she had once told Steven as they watched a documentary on pharaohs. “This between us… Marc and I… we are so much closer now. It’s working.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Very. This is what we want. I know you want us to be happy and we are. I am very much.”

Because the way they loved each other was still strong and unbroken. And it felt right.

It was always Marc who slipped into bed with his wife and who also woke up again. Steven was happily oblivious throughout the night and mornings, though he had once co-fronted throughout a shared breakfast of eggs and bacon that had him sigh.

“My morning, my breakfast,” Marc muttered, grinning at Layla, who had rolled her eyes.

It was a perfectly imperfect little world for them.

It took almost a month to have a possible first lead, then find another for a vague second and third. Layla’s contacts had only a few sketchy leads or they weren’t willing to get too deep into black magic items without the exchange of money over information. But she was persistent and she really did know a lot of people.

One of those vague leads panned out to be quite close to them.

“The British Museum?” Marc frowned.

I can’t go back there! Steven immediately argued. Neither can you. You trashed that washroom! Pretty thoroughly I have to say! I’d be arrested on sight! They have my face on their most wanted list, I’m sure!

Marc chuckled and met his alter’s wide-eyed look in the mirror. “They wouldn’t arrest you, Steven.”

Layla looked up from her laptop, eyebrows raised, and Marc gave her a quick run-down concerning the washroom situation. A very intense, possibly lethal situation with a jackal that had ended with thousands of pounds worth of damage.

“I can see where that’s a problem,” she commented wryly.

Of course it’s a problem!

“Aside from giving you a really good disguise? Not just a fake mustache and a cap, that is. How about I pay the museum a visit and we can decide what to do next?”

“The item isn’t on display,” Steven argued, fronting smoothly and without a second

of a transition phase. “At least its not on the inventory list for what they are showing of that era.”

“Maybe a listing error?”

“Hardly. They’re pretty much accurate to the last splinter.”

Layla went to the museum’s website and clicked on their online ticketing service. “I’ll have a look anyway, talk to the guides and whoever might be interested in giving up some information. Then Marc can do his own stuff.” She grinned at them.

Steven frowned. “Breaking and entering?”

The very same.

He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll end up in jail.”

“If it’s any consolation, Marc’s good at what he does.”

Steven scowled. “Unless it’s some Egyptian monster trying to eat us.”

She walked over to him and gave the man a light hug. “It’s a simply recon mission.”

Famous last words, Marc joked.

“And you have the suit,” Layla added cheekily.

“Cheers,” Steven just muttered.

*

Steven was along for the ride as Marc broke into the museum – without triggering a single alarm!

You’re good, he mumbled.

“Bonus of the suit,” was the equally low reply. “And some skill.”

Yet you had to walk out of the washrooms, staring full frontal at the cameras, and get me fired!?

He grimaced under the mask. “I was in a bad place back then. You fighting me wasn’t helping.”

Steven huffed. And whose fault was that?

Marc cracked another lock and slipped into the depths of the basement where all the items not on display were stored. “Yours,” he teased.

Steven rolled his eyes. So you got me fired because you scared the living daylights out of me and I tried to make sense of it all? Really petty.

“Didn’t think they’d fire you.”

You absolutely trashed the washroom! There wasn’t a sink intact or a mirror uncracked! The water damage alone was more than I make in a year!

“Did they sue you?”

No. Gave me a glossy little brochure on mental health and kicked me out.

Steven had never wondered why the museum hadn’t sued him for all those damages, and he wouldn’t start now, but it had been the end of his gift shop career, especially since his life had been completely turned upside down not much later.

He sat back with a muttered complaint about framing him for things he hadn’t done, though it had been his face on camera. None of it had been serious and wouldn’t ever be again.

This is amazing! he exclaimed as Marc made his way through the basement. So many things made him want to stop and study them closely. Not all was wrapped and boxed up.

“We’re not window shopping, Steven,” Marc said under his breath. “This is a mission.”

Right. Right. Awesome things here. Really awesome. And I can see that eyeroll!

Marc laughed fondly.

They struck out on finding a possible Unholy. The item was as mundane as they came, not a lick of magic around it. It would have been too good to be true if the vague reference had panned out, that a sought after, spelled item was truly in their own back yard.

Marc had surrendered control to Khonshu, who had used his avatar to chant a soft, brief spell, repeating the words several times.

Nothing had happened.

Can we be sure? Steven asked tentatively, watching from a distance.

“Yes,” Khonshu rumbled, sounding disappointed and displeased.

Maybe it’s really locked down tight and it needs someone specific to wear it? Touch it? Maybe there’s an on-switch?

The last was said with some humor sprinkled in. Marc suppressed a grin.

The skull turned to stare at his Knight. “All magic, no matter of its origin, has a baseline. It can be detected with the right means. The knife appeared normal because we didn’t know. The Unholy curse woke when the blade touched an avatar, but the sinister magic was always there.”

“Call it ‘stabbed’ and I’m on board with that description,” Marc groused.

Oh. That sounds about right. So… nothing here.

“Nothing here.” Marc placed the necklace back into its box.

It was a true masterpiece and Steven had been struck by how well-preserved it was. It was a shame it wasn’t on display, but there were so many items down here that should be out there for the public to see, too.  

There is so much down here! Such wonderful things! I haven’t even heard of some of the artifacts they keep down here! Steven gushed. It’s like a treasure trove!

“We’re not opening boxes and look at stuff,” Marc decided.

Khonshu was standing between the tall shelves, bony sockets running over the labels or studying stone statues and sarcophagi stored on the bottom. He wasn’t urging his Knight on to get going. He was almost browsing the things he must have seen when they had just been created.

I know, I know. It’s just so… I couldn’t have imagined what the basement of this place looked like in my wildest dreams!

The Moon Knight started toward the exit. “Sorry,” he said softly.

No, no, it’s quite alright! This is marvelous to see and I’m actually quite relieved there’s nothing darkly magical down here.

“There just might,” Khonshu said as Marc passed him where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “You never know.”

“Don’t,” Marc muttered, wondering whether Khonshu was just flat out joking or absolutely serious. Khonshu wryly cracking jokes was rather new. And a little disturbing.

He has a point…

“No. Absolutely not! I’m not going back in there to open every single box and test the items for magic!” he snapped. “We’re also not hunting for scraps of magical residue!”

That would truly take ages. And there are more promising leads on the list Layla compiled.

“Not all old spellwork is dangerous,” Khonshu agreed. “There is a lot of benign magic. Protective, helpful, healing. We don’t hunt for that.”

Exactly! Steven agreed excitedly. Magic, or heka, was believed to be one of the forces used by the creator of the world. It was used daily by priests, though not all was probably even close to what real magic was like.

Khonshu walked a little ahead of them. “Some had an affinity.”

Like the scarab locator device, Steven realized. Someone must have used magic to make it into some kind of compass locator thingy to find Ammit’s tomb. It wasn’t bad magic, just ill-used.

Khonshu inclined his head, like a teacher who made a student realize something important.

And you couldn’t just do some kind of homing beacon magicky stuff to find the beetle. You had to really look for it.

Marc sighed. “Yeah. Damn hard to track down and even harder to acquire.”

Steven grimaced. I was there.

“Only for the best parts,” Marc teased, grinning.

Steven harrumphed. Khonshu’s quiet amusement washed over them.

So there might be a lot of residue, the alter said after a moment of silent thinking.

“Benign residue. The dark magic is… different.” Khonshu shot him a pointed look.

Too bad you can’t just… uhm… sense it.

“We do. All the time. The energy around us is everything.”

Marc frowned behind the mask. “So you’re… blind to magic because you’re always aware of it.”

“Well deduced, Marc.”

“Oh, don’t make it sound like I just learned a new trick.”

Steven snickered. But it makes sense, he threw in. It would be overwhelming for an entity who is a magic user and consists of energy to always see, hear or feel that magic. For example, we humans can see, but we need aid to see far into the distance. We use binoculars, telescopes and the like. Or microscopes for very small things. And our mind blocks out stuff, too. Like our nose which...

“I get it, I get it,” Marc interrupted him. “The gist of things is: it’ll take a while to find stuff containing the kind of magic we’re looking for.”

“Yes.”

He had by now slipped up the dark stairs, heading for the roof they had used as an access point.

“Would have too easy otherwise.”

Khonshu was sitting on the ledge, watching the night sky where the moon was almost full. His Knight stopped next to him, Marc’s eyes flitting from the lunar body to the silent streets below, then back to the god next to him.

Khonshu just tilted his head, his presence everywhere for Marc to feel. It was still early on in the night and he could tell Khonshu was itching to go hunting for vengeance. He wasn’t as pushy anymore, more subtle, and it was easy to tell when he truly wanted justice to be served to a particular person.

“Let’s see what the streets have for us,” Moon Knight murmured as he swung over the edge of the building.

“I have a few places in mind,” Khonshu purred.

Steven sank back into the mind, slipping into semi-awareness. Not asleep, but also not co-fronting. He simply gave Moon Knight room unless he was needed.

*

It was almost two months after the summoning that Steven stepped off the bus and his eyes fell on a familiar looking figure. He froze in shock and was pushed by the guy behind him, who hadn’t expected someone to just suddenly stop. He stumbled onto the sidewalk, apologizing profusely, then hurriedly got out of the way of the next bus.

The woman was gone.

Steven scanned the busy street, but there was no sign of her. As he turned the corner toward his home, she was there again.

Just standing there, ignored by everyone around her, people giving her a wide berth without actually being aware of it. She was dressed in jeans, a blouse and a smart looking blazer, her attire casual and still businesslike.

“Isis,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

He had seen her twice within a short amount of time and while Yatzil had been the one to interact with Marc outside the Council Chamber that very first time, Steven would be able to recognize any of the other avatars, too. Their last encounter hadn’t been that long ago and they had left a lasting impression with him.

So here she was; Isis’ avatar, to be correct, not the goddess herself. Steven had no idea if she could even be seen by him. Maybe. Maybe not. He had never spotted any other deity/entity since he had been able to see Khonshu, so maybe only the avatar could see their god. That would make things simple, wouldn’t it?

The woman inclined her head with a fine smile, confirming that it was the goddess, possessing her avatar.

He felt a mixture of curiosity, apprehension and fear run through him and Khonshu’s presence was suddenly washing forward, enveloping him. Steven relaxed a little, though not completely.

He wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t just a sleep-deprived gift-shop worker anymore.

Marc might not be awake right now, and he wouldn’t run around in a panic to rouse him, but Steven could handle this.

With Khonshu if necessary.

“What are you… what you doing here? Is something wrong? Did something happen?” he blurted. Then his eyes widened. “Am I in trouble? You… you’re here for Khonshu?”

There was a sharp spike along the soul bond that had him almost flinch. Steven usually felt Khonshu’s emotional reactions in a more muted way.

Isis’ smile was now almost serene. “No, Steven Grant. Nothing has happened. I also didn’t come to talk an old friend. I came to talk to you.”

He frowned, a steep line forming between his brows, anxiety briefly skittering through him. “Me? Why me? Wouldn’t you…” And then it registered. “You know my name?!”

Her expression was still calm and non-threatening. “Yes, we do know your name. Can we talk? Just talk?” She gestured toward one of the smaller shops that had a table and chairs outside. “I assure you, you are not in trouble.”

The market stalls were empty, already packed up, but there were still boxes and crates stacked everywhere. Someone was sweeping up garbage. Steven’s frown stayed, but he followed her as Isis walked through the market stalls, unperturbed by the people around her. No one took notice. No one at all. At least of the beautiful woman. Steven himself apologized profusely as he hurried after her, bumping into a vendor and evading a pram the next moment.

Isis looked a little amused as she stopped at the shop. Again, no one took notice as they sat down. Even the owner of the shop didn’t spare them a single glance or complained that they were taking up seats without eating or drinking something.

Isis chuckled at his confusion. “We will have privacy for now.”

“Oh. Alright. Lovely.” He fidgeted a little. “Why are we talking again? And how do you know my name?”

Marc was the avatar. Only Marc was known. Steven Grant was the alter. Sure, he had been employed at the museum’s gift shop and there was a pay-slip with his name, and he had an ID card, but to the other gods, Marc Spector was Khonshu’s avatar.

Isis knew his name, though.

“The avatar of each of us is known to the others.” The goddess folded perfectly manicured hands.

“Khonshu’s avatar is Marc Spector.”

“And you are his second soul. You are half of the soul-bound, the host Khonshu chose. You didn’t introduce yourself in the Council Chamber, but you are now known, Steven. You were also quite… convincing and present in the hearing.”

Khonshu’s presence was more alert and more pronounced now, wrapped around him like the suit usually was. Steven fervently wished Marc would just front and take over from here. But, no such luck.

“I mean you no harm,” Isis repeated softly. “You or Marc. Khonshu’s revelations were… surprising, maybe more than a little shocking. But he is known for being blunt in that regard.”

“Uhm, yes… quite… blunt. He does have a sledge-hammer method most of the time.”

She chuckled. “What he did was unprecedented. The inherent danger of a splicing is too great for us to risk a binding as he did, but we never considered an avatar with your particular… condition either. In the past there were one or two of us who attempted to choose two avatars because they seemed to perfect. But it was always too dangerous. We would splice ourselves if the binding failed and either drive the avatars insane or kill them.”

He winced, fidgeting with his hands. “We’re not two.”

“You are and you aren’t. This unique situation is what allowed Khonshu to become what he is now. Tethered to you without splitting his essence, but also your anchor without enslaving your souls.” Isis watched him with a soft, almost fond smile. “You all evolved. You all grew. I am truly happy he has found this.”

Steven wasn’t a suspicious person by nature. Actually, he was usually amiable, gave anyone a chance, would happily step back to make someone happy, and he wouldn’t think a bad thing about anyone without getting to know them. He had even extended that courtesy to Arthur Harrow.

But this was… weird. He wasn’t jaded by recent events, he wasn’t influenced by Khonshu or Marc, and yet he couldn’t quite believe in her words.

“That’s why you’re here?” he asked doubtfully. “A social call? Sorry, but that’s… hard to believe.”

“I came to talk to you, Steven Grant, because I was curious, but I also came because I agree with Khonshu on more topics than my old friend might think.”

Steven’s brows shot upward. His doubt rose. Khonshu’s emotions spiked along the soul bond and he wished the god would cut it out.

“Uhm…”

“Osiris’ creation of the dagger wasn’t with malicious intent. It was meant to be a defense, a healing of sorts, though it cost lives.”

The brows went down, knitting into a frown.

“But to heal a twisted binding, measure needed to be taken,” the goddess continued. “With sad, mournful results. It was a mistake to leave these devices behind. Which is why I have made a list of those items that were imbued with… debatable spells.”

Steven stared at her. “Thank… you…? I think. Uhm, why?”

“We do not want another incident as the one that has already occurred.”

Right. Incident. Something about the word didn’t sit all that well with him. This ‘incident’ would have cost Marc his life!

“Incident,” he muttered. “Sure. An incident.”

Steven sensed Khonshu like a twitch in the back of his mind and he knew that wasn’t Marc, who was fast asleep. The moon god started to wrap himself around Steven’s soul, so close now. There was a soft, reassuring hum. He felt… grounded. Calmer. Khonshu’s presence calmed him.

He would have called anyone completely off their rocker if they had told him so just a year ago. Now he leaned into the solid feeling, drawing his own strength from it.

The moon god was perched on the building across the street, watching them, and Isis was clearly aware of the vigilant entity.

“None of these I remember are weapons. They were for protection only,” the goddess explained.

“Like a blade,” he stated.

Steven’s voice was inflectionless, almost cold, and it surprised him. But whenever he thought of the injury, how Marc had suffered and bled, he only felt this unaccustomed anger. His protective instincts screamed at him to prevent this from ever happening again.

Isis’ expression reflected an apology. “At the time when Osiris created the Unholy that hurt you, it was needed.”

“For Seth.”

“Yes.”

“And you killed his avatar.”

The remorse was clear to see. Something whispered through Steven, stronger now, feathering out over his body like a cape. Khonshu had changed from his perch and was now standing right across the semi-busy road, ignored by all and everyone, but Isis briefly looked at his representation. He stared right back at her, ominous, dark, foreboding.

Steven hoped this wouldn’t end with some godly squabble.

“We needed to cut Seth’s bonding to his chosen avatar,” she explained as she turned back to Steven.

“Because Seth was dangerous,” Steven said slowly. “That made his avatar dangerous, too? How could one person be so dangerous that you murdered another? You took lives, Isis. Human lives. Those of avatars, men and women who had been chosen, who had felt blessed, and who willingly served their respective god.”

Isis’ eyes took on a faraway look. Fine lines etched into the skin around her mouth and eyes. “Seth was always at odds with Osiris. Worse than Khonshu.”

“Hard to believe,” he muttered. “But go on.”

“I’m sure you are aware of Egyptian lore, about how Seth supposedly murdered Osiris, cut him apart?” At his nod she continued. “While nothing like that happened, there were altercations, even in council rooms or while among humans. Seth… was losing control. It was our only way to cut him off from a possible return, imprison him for all eternity and deny him a possible connection to an avatar in the future. We needed the Unholy.”

Steven chewed on that. It was clear that something terrible had happened for the Ennead to decide on such drastic measures. Something Isis didn’t want to delve into.

“Seth was the reason this particular Unholy was created, but it was used on others, too,” he finally said. “And this list proves more bad stuff was left behind… for whatever reason you created it in the first place.”

“Looking back at what we did, I feel shamed,” the goddess said softly.

“But you created more than one,” Steven pointed out evenly. “And you left them behind.” His expression was firm, unwavering, relaying what he thought of that.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a USB stick. “I cannot undo what was done millennia ago, Steven Grant. This contains a list of objects containing darker magic. I do not know where they are. Some might have been destroyed with time, but others could be in human hands.”

Khonshu was right there.

Right.

There.

He was crouched on a van parked a few feet away from the shop, staff resting deceptively lightly across his knees. His psychic presence was sitting right behind Steven’s eyes, staring at Isis, staring at the USB. Steven clearly felt the god’s suspicion churning through him, his lingering disgust at his old friends and fellow gods, and his annoyance that Isis had approached his avatar.

“Why are you helping us?”

“We are not enemies, Steven Grant. Osiris and Khonshu never saw eye to eye and that won’t ever change. Their relationship had always been strained, right from the start. As a god of vengeance and justice, Khonshu’s temper always got the better of him.”

“Well, it’s hard to have a counter-argument there,” Steven agreed, glancing at the deity in question. “He is a tad… intense sometimes.”

Annoyance flooded him, this time directed at Steven himself. He briefly glanced at the god, a tiny smile around his lips.

“Yet you chose him again.”

“Yes. We both did. We like the silly old stalker bird.” And like Marc, he would do so again.

She studied his face and Steven didn’t shrink back. That wasn’t him anymore. He was Khonshu’s avatar. He was Marc’s shield and he was a fighter in his own right. He had a suit of armor, a very nice one, too, and he knew how to use the weapons that came with it.

So he met those dark eyes, reflecting the goddess inhabiting the body of her avatar.

“Khonshu was always known for his sometimes rather erratic behavior. He made questionable choices. He was temperamental, his arguments heated and filled with too many emotions.” Isis raised her eyes to meet the empty sockets of the entity in question. “Hathor always believed in him, called him a friend, trusted him without fault.”

Steven tilted his head, quizzical.

Isis smiled at him. “I believe that he has chosen wisely.”

“Even though he bound himself to two souls?” he challenged.

“Yes. What he found in you and your other soul is something rare. Unique, probably. Something only done if there are emotions involved.”

There was a ripple from Khonshu, something like unease mixed with a warning, but Steven ignored it.

“He is very involved, Steven Grant. Don’t think that anyone else would have simply accepted this partnership as he did with you. I am happy for him. I am happy for you. You protect this realm. All of you. I wish you luck.”

“Thank you, Isis,” he said quietly.

She rose elegantly and Steven followed.

Khonshu stood behind him, silently meeting her gaze. Steven didn’t have to turn or look over his shoulder to know just how much the moon god would be posturing, warning her off. He was quite good at looming and staring at someone.

“You took a gamble, Khonshu,” Isis told him quietly. “A risky gamble. I can see the strength of your chosen. I understand your motivations. I also understand the emotional connection and what you feel for him. You protect what is yours and the chasm between you and the Ennead only grew. No one can undo the past. Too much has happened and we all share our guilt and our burdens.”

He wordlessly looked at the goddess, then disappeared into thin air. Isis smiled while Steven just rolled his eyes.

“No social skills,” he mumbled.

“He hasn’t changed,” she agreed. “And yet, he is no longer the same as before. I wish you all the best. All of you.” Isis inclined her head, then she just walked off.

Steven watched her join the pedestrians, turn a corner, and then she was gone. He looked at the USB stick he still held in his hands.

“We have a list,” he said to himself.

He didn’t expect an answer, since Marc was asleep and Khonshu had buggered off to who knew where.

Steven slowly walked home, mind whirling, the USB in his fist.

Khonshu was in the flat. No surprise there. He sat on the bed, looking a little darker than usual, a little too upset, a little too agitated. And maybe a little weary.

“Isis seems like a nice woman… goddess… entity,” Steven said slowly as he dropped his messenger back on the chair.

There was a rustle of wind, but nothing toppled over, so that was a big win. “She was always the peacekeeper,” was the grudging reply.

“Which isn’t a bad thing.”

He scoffed.

“Was she… there? I mean, like you?”

“No.”

“She only possessed her avatar to talk to me?”

Khonshu harrumphed.

“It’s… different with you… Why is it different?”

“Because none of them would show themselves in this realm.” There was disdain and heavy criticism dripping from his voice.

Steven pondered that. “You… could have possessed me to talk to her.”

There was another gust, ruffling his hair. “She didn’t come to talk to me,” the god pointed out.

“You just hung around to make a point.”

The smirk was clear to see.

Steven brows lowered in thought. “Would I be able to see any of them should they ever come here?”

Khonshu cocked his head. “Possibly.”

“That’s not terrifying at all,” he muttered. “Seeing some Egyptian god just popping up.”

The moon god leaned in close. “You see me all the time.”

“And I was scared out of my mind because you stalked me down dark hallways and empty corridors!”

Khonshu chuckled. “I know.” He sounded darkly satisfied, but there was a playful edge that Steven had heard more and more often.

He glared for good measure, then dug out the USB drive. “Isis gave us this. That might be helpful.”

Khonshu rumbled wordlessly, ribbons waving gently in the magical wind.

Steven placed the drive next to the laptop. “It’s been a while since you last saw her. Well, aside from the whole messy business with Harrow and all.” He shrugged. “But before that… it’s been a while, right?”

“Not long enough. It is her way to clear her name of any involvement with the Unholies.”

“That’s kind of a dark way to look at it.”

“It is the only way when it comes to the Ennead.”

“You really don’t want to give them any leeway.”

Khonshu’s head tilted a little. “Do you believe any of them would simply hand you a list of dark spells hidden in ancient relics? Do you believe any of them really cared about my avatar’s injuries? No. By actively accusing them, you forced their hand, Steven.”

“I… I didn’t…”

“You confronted them with one of their dark secrets. It is now out in the open.”

“But they summoned us!”

“Me. They summoned me,” the entity corrected him. “To accuse me of destroying this dark relic. They didn’t bet on you.”

There was such vicious satisfaction in his voice, such pride, such a sense of achievement, it had Steven shiver a little, though not in fear.

“They had forgotten about all the darkness they left in this realm, but you reminded them. You forced Osiris’ hand.”

“Maybe it’s a kind of apology?”

Another scoff. “Gods don’t apologize. Least of all the one presiding over the Ennead.”

Steven’s brows shot up. Khonshu really was in a mood. Then again, he always was when it came to the Ennead.

“You have.”

“To you.” The entity leaned forward, his presence so intimately close and warm. “You are mine. I would never apologize to another.”

“You’re not going to give them the benefit of doubt?”

“No. This is a political ploy. Nothing else. A power play. Giving this scrap to us is nothing but a game.”

Oh. Politics. And Khonshu hated politics, which Steven understood. Too many toes to tread on, too many words or actions taken differently from their original meaning. He knew he could have played this game at the museum, too. Report Donna for harassment. But he hadn’t. It wasn’t him.

So yes, Steven shared Khonshu’s disdain for politics. Not everyone wanted to play in the sandbox full of sharks.

He decided he wouldn’t get any further here. This was an old, old grudge, an old scar that never really healed completely, and things like that couldn’t be changed within just a few months or even years. Maybe never.

He just made himself a tea, then settled down with the laptop and opened the USB drive.

It was no great surprise to have Khonshu hovering by his shoulder as he scrolled through the file’s content.

Chapter Text

When Marc woke, he was greeted by an open Google search, books taking up every inch of desk space, and Steven out like a light. It was close to noon, the blinds were open, and light rain pitter-pattered against the roof windows.

He stretched and grumbled a curse at his alter’s habit to fall asleep while researching. Nine times out of ten Steven made it to bed, but when he really got into something, he was absolutely gone and turned into a night owl. Marc felt and heard something crack and he rubbed over his cramped neck.

“Steven what the hell…?” he mumbled.

His eyes fell on a printed list with several neon colored post-its on them. Steven’s handwriting was crammed on them, detailing they had had a visit from a goddess who had given them a list of items that had been spelled with dark magic to become an Unholy.

Marc’s brows shot up, then he turned in the chair and met the endless gaze of the deity leaning against the room divider.

“What the hell!” he repeated, sharper this time. He was about to get a headache.

Khonshu’s smirk was clear to see, even without lips.

“Isis?!”

“Yes.”

“The goddess?”

“Her avatar.”

He glared at him. “Nitpicking,” he snarled. “Steven met Isis?!”

“Yes.”

“Would you please elaborate?” he almost yelled, exasperated. Khonshu was clearly playing difficult and enjoying himself extremely well. “What the hell happened?”

“Steven was quite capable handling her and that meeting, Marc,” was the purred reply. “Very much capable. As he had already proven in the Council Chamber. You weren’t needed.”

Marc stared angrily at him, then glanced at the notes. Damnit! He got up and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Trust your alter, Marc Spector.”

“I do!” he snapped, rounding on Khonshu. “I know Steven can handle himself!”

And yes, he could. He was Khonshu’s avatar, Marc’s equal, and he had access to the suit. He could defend himself. But still… His protective instinct was screaming at him that he hadn’t been there.

“And trust me to protect what is mine.” The moon god was close now, right with him, and Marc closed his eyes, feeling his tension lessen.

“Knee-jerk reaction,” he mumbled.

There was a gentle touch, so physical and yet not. “You are my weapon, but sometimes the shield is needed.”

He snorted a little laugh. “I’m an idiot?” he translated.

“Sometimes.”

He laughed again, shaking his head.

The pitter-patter of rain was a soft background noise. Sometimes the rain strengthened and the noise changed into one of a tiny waterfall rushing down the roof.

“You trust her? You trust the list?” he asked after a long time of staring at the printed files.

Khonshu still hovered right behind him, silent, a heavy, reassuring presence in his soul, something he wouldn’t ever have thought to be possible. He unconsciously leaned into that psychic presence, felt the countless twines between them.

“I trust in the authenticity of the listed items,” the moon god finally said, voice dark and low. “She has no reason to lie. It is her way of clearing her conscience. I do not trust in the completion of the list. Isis is part of the Ennead after all. Osiris allowed her to feed us this information, to hunt only for the dark things left behind. There is magic everywhere and you encounter magical items before.”

“Painfully,” he agreed.

“The Unholies are different.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Marc scrubbed a hand over his eyes, sighing. There was a big difference between getting blasted by some magical item and having your binding to a god almost destroyed. “Okay,” he muttered after another lengthy silence. “Okay. We trust the list.”

“We do.”

“But not her?”

“No.”

Big difference. “But you trust her enough that this isn’t some badly construed attempt to get rid of us?”

“The Ennead has already gotten rid of me, Marc. Of us.” Khonshu chuckled. “We created waves, yes, but those waves are still rippling through the Overvoid. Osiris will do everything in his power not to be involved in anything we do. Anything at all. That’s why he let Isis give us the list. Good will. She would never go behind their back.”

“He gives us our orders without making it an order. We get pointed into the general direction and when shit hits the fan, he washes his hands of his involvement.”

“Yes.”

“And if we succeed?”

Khonshu shrugged, unconcerned. “We succeed.”

“Hn. You really need to make better friends.”

“We are not friends!”

He grinned at the moon god. Riling him up was fun.

“What about Hathor? She’s your friend, right? We might get some more from her?”

Khonshu refused to be baited. The silence stretched and the empty sockets reflected timeless darkness, giving nothing away.

“She might,” he finally said as Marc sat out the silence like a pro. He knew the entity by now and the gentle back and forth along the connection told him told him Khonshu was a little annoyed.

“Hathor risked a lot helping us the first time, going behind Osiris’ back,” the moon god finally said slowly.

“So she won’t do it again?”

A shrug.

Marc sighed. “I hate politics.”

“Indeed.”

“So the Ennead is helping by not really giving us much, I get it. And we can’t expect more help to come. I guess I’m starting to understand how this works. And where your antipathy comes from.” He shot the moon god a look, brows raised. “Not that you were any better when we first started out. You were just as unhelpfully helpful. With a heaping serving of attitude, temper and pushiness. Sprinkled with some blackmail and threats.”

Khonshu’s mirth was clear to feel.

Marc got up and stretched. He needed a long hot shower and then have a long talk with Steven about falling asleep at the desk. “You don’t think Osiris set her up to bring us the list?”

That got him an actually amused laugh. “No. He would never do me any favors or even appear to be doing me any favors.”

“Yeah. My bad. Should have thought of that.” He checked the time, then the messages on his cell phone.

Nothing from Layla, which meant she wouldn’t be around tonight. A shiver of anticipation flickered through him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed softly. “Addict.”

“I am vengeance, Marc Spector. There is always an innocent life to avenge.”

And it would do him some good to get some exercise. After a hot shower.

A short time later he left a text message for Layla that he would be on a business trip, then raised his eyebrows at Khonshu, who was by no projecting restlessness and eagerness in one.

“Where to?”

*

Steven woke two days later, wearing a slightly too large ‘I Love Berlin’ t-shirt. There was a note from Layla on the message board.

‘MK went to Berlin and all he got us was this lousy t-shirt’.

He fell back onto the mattress, laughing so hard, his sides started to hurt.

*

Marc Spector had gone into his service for Khonshu not knowing what to expect. He had followed orders, had been sent all over the world to hunt for the criminal element. He had been an assassin, clear and simple. A weapon to be pointed at a target and then let loose.

He was still a weapon, was still the Moon Knight, but matters had changed profoundly. Yes, he was still going after those who had hurt the vulnerable, he still killed if necessary, but it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t like before.

And now there was also a new job. Long-term, probably an insane game plan, but one that was as important as punishing criminals.

Khonshu felt like it was his personal mission to find Unholy items. He wasn’t the pushing, driving force of before. He didn’t run his Knight ragged, demanded the impossible and left him panting for air, aching all over, teetering at the edge of an endless abyss, but he was single-minded when it came to the dark magic.

Marc knew it was personal for him. It was also personal for both Marc and Steven, who had both been under attack by the sinister spells that had tried to destroy something precious and holy. The scar was the eternal reminder and something neither of them could overlook.

That the confrontation with the dark magic had given Marc access to the root core of the bond was a bonus, but he could have done without the threat of an injured or permanently destroyed bond to get to that point.

Khonshu had advised him to only attempt it when he was perfectly safe because his body would be unresponsive, close to unconscious for the time he spent there. Maybe only a fraction of a second in real time, a second at most, but it might be a second that meant the difference between failure and victory.

But he was getting better.

Layla was completely on board with looking for cursed objects. She had a lot of connections, she knew the right people, and those people knew more people. She hadn’t specifically hunted for relics containing dark spells before, mainly because she hadn’t known they a) existed and b) how to find them, but now that she did, she was absolutely invested.

Isis’ list wasn’t all too long, but there were descriptions and sometimes a sketch. It helped a little, though Steven had still spent long, long days searching and researching. He had handed his finds over to Layla, who had in turn done her own thing. They had found a few leads as to where a particular item might be, but it was tedious work.

Better than nothing, Marc argued. There’s also no deadline.

“Museums first,” Layla told him as she perused the latest list with Steven’s extensive notes. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen these anywhere in any of my books or the places I visited. Some are very distinct. Also, not every foul piece of magic stands out, as Khonshu said. We have to go through the collections, then the privately owned stuff. And the not so legally owned things.”

“Sounds like we’ll be travelling for a while.” Steven stacked some books. “And who knows what items are still undiscovered in some tomb or temple.”

Layla smiled. “Look at it as a road trip.”

“There goes my job,” Steven sighed.

You have a new one, Marc told him with a soft smile. You’re my walking, talking encyclopedia of all things Egyptian. You’re also going to visit a lot of museums, maybe even sites that no tourist has ever seen.

Steven perked up a little. “Legally visit or ‘drop through the ceiling and break down the doors’ visit?”

Marc laughed. We’ll see.

*

Three days later, their flight took them to Cairo. So much time had passed since the last time Marc had been here and he hadn’t been in the best of places then. Actually, he had drunk himself into a stupor that first night. At least that’s what he thought he remembered. He had been trying to escape the nightmares and the pressure on his mind, dealing with Steven becoming so active, with the sudden switches, with Harrow and, yes, with Khonshu. Especially with Khonshu, who had been riding him to find the scarab, then to retrieve it and, when that had failed, to find Ammit’s tomb first. Or kill Harrow first.

So much had changed since then.

For the better. Only for the better, he mused.

He felt whole; healthy. The constant pressure against his mind was gone. There was a balance he had never thought he could achieve.  He was complete and very much at ease with who and what he was.

Marc had always felt like he had been shattered into a million pieces. All his life.  Not anymore.

He wanted this. He wanted to be the Moon Knight. It wasn’t a burden. It was his calling.

And he was free.

A free man.

Marc nearly laughed at that, the memory of Harrow’s words dancing through his mind. They didn’t hurt anymore. They weren’t nightmares even throughout his waking hours.

In a way, Harrow had done him a big service; a great favor.

There was a brief surge and he glanced at Khonshu, who was staring back with muted fury. Harrow was a sore spot, especially since he had been an avatar for the moon.

“It’s the past,” he murmured. “Just the past. I know you got the memory of an elephant, but let it go.”

There was another surge, but softer this time.

Somehow the whole ordeal with Harrow and Ammit had freed something in Marc. It was a sensation like a knot had been split, like suddenly being free of an oppressive weight that had sat on his very soul. Like his whole skin had burst open and emotions he had held in check for all his life were unleashed.

“And he really did us a favor, y’know,” he continued softly. “Without all of that, I’d have done just about everything to get rid of you.”

The moon god chuckled, low and dark. “You would never be able to do that, Marc.”

Months ago that might have sounded like a threat. Now it was a promise.

Despite everything, despite the loss and the pain, Marc Spector had grown whole again, had found a solid balance between the two souls inside him, and his relationship with Khonshu was close to symbiotic.

Yes, he would always make the same second choice again. Just like Steven had told Isis: they had wanted this.

“You look relaxed. Both of you,” Layla remarked as she walked onto the roof terrace to where he was sitting on the cushions scattered on the tiles. She carried tea in small glasses, as well as a kettle.

Yes, a lot of good had come out of this, he thought with a soft smile directed at her. He had been ready to divorce his wife, the woman he still loved so much, because he wanted to protect her. Now, in retrospective, he knew it had been a ludicrous idea. Distancing himself from Layla wouldn’t have stopped Khonshu.

Not that the conniving bastard had ever wanted her to begin with. But as much as he would claim he hated him, Marc knew it was a lie. He didn’t. He hadn’t for a long time.

There was a slight curl of possessiveness winding through his body and he almost laughed. Khonshu was slinking around like a cat, rubbing against him with a purr, marking his avatar. He let the warm feeling sink into him, almost heard the purr of approval.

“Deep thoughts?” Layla asked playfully.

“Hm,” he grunted.

She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Funny.”

She kissed him again. “Talked to a friend. We get in for free tomorrow.”

Marc grinned. “I like your friend.”

“She’s married.”

“So am I.” He winked.

Layla chuckled and joined him on the cushions.

Turning his face to the sky, Marc closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth as the sun set slowly. It was warm, but bearable, and there was a slight breeze. Tomorrow would be the time to scout around the museums they had on their list. He would leave that to Steven, who was already excited about it.

“Time to play,” Khonshu whispered darkly, eagerly. “Finally!”

He cracked an eye open, looking at the deity sitting on the roof across from them, leaning against the chimney. One knee was bent, the arm with the moon staff resting lazily on it, the other leg hung over the ledge. In a way they each reflected how at ease they currently were.

He had never been this relaxed throughout any of his prior missions or jobs. Neither had Khonshu been this laid back. There had been this feverish edge to him, driven, always driven.

The balance that had been between them for months now was amazing.

“You’re up for that?” Marc murmured as he glanced at Steven.

Oh, very! I’ve heard they are featuring a temporary exhibit on the Qantir-Piramesse site! There is a physical exhibition and a virtual tour!

Marc gave him a fond smile. “We have a job to do, Steven.”

It’ll take at least two to three days to scout around the whole place and that’s not counting all the special exhibits. You can do your Mission Impossible stuff and break in, hanging from the ceiling or crawl through vents to get to the storage areas. I think the basement’s several times as large as the British Museum’s. This will be fun!

“You and my definition of fun differ greatly, my friend.”

Khonshu rumbled, amusement flooding him, and the hollow sockets regarded his Knight.

Layla watched him with that indulgent look of someone who knew she was listening to only one side of a fun argument, but who also knew the other party and had a good idea what was going on.

“You wanna play personal tour guide?” Marc shot a grin at the moon god watching them.

Layla snickered into her tea glass.

Those eyeless sockets filled with more than emptiness. There was almost the glint of a thin moon.

“I did offer,” Khonshu replied smoothly.

“Hm, you did. And it’s only a first casing. Check stuff out. We have time. No deadline.”

Khonshu’s magic flared a little. He was eager to hunt, to maybe find some criminals while they were looking around, but he accepted his avatar’s lead. Yes, so much had changed. For the better and for all of them.

This was their life now. His life. Marc had a life, which also included his wife. He was forever entangled and bonded with the Egyptian god of the moon. With a timeless, immortal entity who called his avatar his soul-bound. And he had his very stable and perfectly balanced counterweight; his alter.

Steven had always been his safety, his shield, before he had even known it. But now it they were equals, equally strong, equally serving as anchors of the soul bond.

It sounded… okay.

Really okay.

Perfect, actually.

Marvelous, Steven whispered softly, fondly.

Yes, absolutely perfect.

Khonshu watched his avatar, his host, as Marc enjoyed the pleasant evening with his wife. Night was falling, the moon peeking out, and the moon god let its energy suffuse him. And his Knight in turn.

Marc was an easy presence within the soul bond, reflecting everything Khonshu himself felt. There was no tension, no anger, no exhaustion, no sharp, sour spikes of emotions.  Steven was just as relaxed, keeping very much below the surface to give Marc and Layla some privacy.

He had made an instinctive choice back in his temple.

It had been the right one.

He had made another instinctive one the second time when he had offered more than just the power of the moon to a potential Knight. When he had offered it to two souls instead of one.

And Khonshu had offered everything.

What he had gotten in return had far surpassed his wildest hopes. The acceptance had paved the way for a development he couldn’t have foreseen. The strength of the two balanced souls was unrivaled and while the moon god didn’t believe in luck, he knew he had been lucky.

Marc suddenly met his gaze. White burned in their depth, a clear indicator that his Knight was very close to Khonshu’s mind, feeling more than Khonshu would have thought possible. Marc was itching to go out into the night, find some criminal elements, too.

The next few days would be Steven’s.

The nights were theirs.

Time had no meaning for him. The future was an abstract concept.

And Khonshu was very much looking forward to what it held for him and his soul-bound.