Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Marc Spector unwrapped the scarf he had protecting his face from the wind and took a swig of his canteen. The water had become warm, despite his best efforts, but it was something. The sandstorm had to end soon, it had been raging for amost two full days. Nearly everyone had confined themselves to their tents since it started, which was the smart thing to do. But Marc had been hired to protect these archeologists, and it was what he was going to do. A sandstorm like this was the perfect cover for anyone who wanted to sneak up on them. He didn't know why anyone would, they hadn't found anything of import yet, but Marc had a bad feeling he couldn't shake. Something in his old CO's eyes that he didn't like. This wasn't the first mission he had been on for Bushman, though he was still the newest recruit. He knew the kind of person he was. Knew the things he did. He had done most of them himself, by now. He tried to tell himself that they deserved what Marc did to them. They were no innocents.

That didn't stop Marc from seeing their faces on the rare occasions he was able to sleep. If he had any other option, any hope, any prospects, he would leave in an instant. Is what he told himself. Every mission Bushman took him on he told himself was the last. But then when the dust settled Bushman would find him. Clap him on the back, give him a smile. Tell him he was proud and that he had done a good job. All the things no one else had ever told him. Although the hand would leave a bruise and the words were followed with ways he could have done better, Marc came to rely on them. The crumbs of affection that fell from Bushman's fist were the most Marc had had since he was a child.

"And besides." Bushman had said once, just as Marc was about to tell him he was out. "Who else would want you? There aren't many who are as understanding of your....condition... as I am." Marc hadn't been able to say anything, hurt to the core by the realization that Bushman knew how broken he was. His eyes grew wide, and his bottom lip trembled despite his best efforts.

"Oh, Marc, no need to get upset. You have me." He smiled, and Marc's eyes were too blurry to see that it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll look out for you, even though no one else would."

He hadn't been able to work up the courage to suggest leaving since. Marc had truly become a mercenary. Whatever Bushman told him to do, he did. He was efficient, to a degree that others might call ruthless. Most of the time he didn't even remember doing it, but he tried not to think about that. He would come to back at wherever they had made their base, and Bushman would be proud of him. There would be blood on his clothes, but there would be happiness in Bushman's eyes. Those were the jobs that he couldn't decide if they had gone good or bad. There would be other jobs where Bushman would just ask too much. Marc couldn't do it. On those jobs, there would be no raucous laughter from the bigger man, no rounds of drinks at whatever bar was closest. There would be hard eyes and disappointment. Nothing that Marc hadn't felt before, but nothing that got any easier.

Now, underneath the blazing Egyptian sun, Marc was determined that this job go as smoothly as possible. It was the first one Bushman had taken that was truly legit. All they had to do was escort these archaeologists to their site and back. The others had made fun of him, catching him doing a head count during their march to make sure none had been left behind. Started calling him "Miss Spector", since he wanted to act like an elementary teacher with a group of students on a field trip. They all laughed except for Bushman, who had a hard look in his eyes Marc didn't understand. He didn't care either way, he was just doing his job.

And besides, he had started to like the group of nerds.Especially that Dr. El Faouly.

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Turning his attention from the raging sands away from camp, he looked down below at their base. At first glance, it looked like a ghost town with everyone hiding from the abrasive sands in their tents. Upon closer inspection, Marc made out the figure of a tall, slightly portly man struggling down the dune across from him, supposedly trying to get to camp. He was putting up a good fight, but the dune was one of the more unstable ones. He had heard a couple of the scientists talking, saying that that was a good sign that the temple or whatever they were looking for may be under there. All Marc knew was that it was a pain in the calves to climb. Between that and the winds rivaling those in the midwest, the figure was clearly struggling to stay upright and on course. Marc set off to go see if he could be of help. In conditions like this, being buried under the shifting sand would take a matter of minutes if one were to fall down and not be able to get back up. He figured it could only be one person; Dr, El-Faouly, Head Archeologist.

He was the only one crazy enough to be out in weather like this. Sure, the other archeologists were passionate-you had to be to go into a field like this- but Dr. El-Faouly was something else. Marc liked the aging man. They had only spoken briefly, but he could tell he was a kind man. He never fell into the trap that other academics rarely avoided of getting an uppity and holier-than-thou attitude for understanding more of the work than the mercenary did. When Marc showed interest or asked questions the Egyptian man never had a problem with explaining in ways that Marc, who barely got his GED, could understand. He had mentioned once, off-hand, about how much of the work the scientists did went over his head and he had no hope of understanding. Dr. El-Faouly had quickly and sincerely disagreed, citing a few days before when Marc had fixed one of their jeeps that broke down and had it running even smoother than before. Marc had just smiled and turned away, not wanting to betray that he had absolutely no memory of that event. Now, nearly finishing the arduous climb up the dune, he could see that it was indeed Dr. El-Faouly. He probably would have been fine making his way up and down the dune if it weren't for the heavy pack of archeological equipment he had on his back at all times. He was very firm in the belief that he always needed to be prepared for anything. This would sometimes cause more problems than it was worth, though. Marc had once offered to carry the pack for him on one particularly hard leg of a march when he got worried about the older man overheating. He couldn't believe the weight of it, that he had been carrying it so long. But he wasn't going to be the one to tell Dr. El-Faouly to leave it behind or lighten it. With his luck, that would be moments before they needed it.

"Beautiful day, is it not?" Dr.El-Faouly called, speaking slightly louder than necessary to be heard over the wind. He spoke with a heavy Egyptian accent, but his grammar was better than Marc's had ever been and ever would be.

"Yeah, beautiful day to be inside!" Marc laughed back, equally as loud, even though he could reach out and touch him at this point. Which he did, gently and nonchalantly taking the pack and putting it on his own backpack. The doctor immediately straightened up, thankful to be free of the weight if not a bit uneasy without it. "What are you doing out here anyway, doc?"

"I just wanted to see how the site was faring what with the sand shifting the way that it is. In winds like this, enough sand could be moved around to do all of our work for us, you know! Pick up this very dune and deposit it somewhere else, leaving us to observe what I strongly suspect is underneath!"

"Oh yeah? What's the verdict, then?"

"Bah." He exclaimed, waving a hand.

"No such luck, my dear boy. And you? Why are you out in this dry tempest?"

"It's my job, sir. Keeping all you nerds safe doesn't stop for weather." Marc laughed, elbowing Dr. El-Faouly when he said 'nerd'.

"Oh, please, what could there possibly be out here to protect us from?" He said in mock offense.

"Yourselves, for the most part." Marc answered, gesturing to the rapidly filling slip-and-slide set of tracks the doctor was leaving behind him before Marc came to help.

"Oh, yes, that. Well, I would have been perfectly fine. Not to say that it isn't greatly appreciated, Mr. Spector."

Marc just smiled into his chest, adjusting the pack on his back briefly.

"You know, you are the only person I have ever allowed to carry that for me? I have never trusted anyone else with it." He told the mercenary.

Marc bowed his head in the playful respect they had cultivated on the trip. "I am truly honored, doc." He exaggerated wheezes in between each word to poke fun at him.

"Oh please, there is not that much in it, a young strong man like yourself should have no problem with it." He said, slapping Marc's arm.

"Whoa, easy there doc, I usually make people take me out to dinner before they can talk about me like that." Marc winked at him, and the archeologist started sputtering and guffawing.

"You bodyguards, you are all the same!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Dirty minds, the lot of you! I don't know where the university found you, honestly." They had reached the flap of the Doctor's tent, and despite his seeming disapproval, he ushered Marc in quickly. Marc glanced around, taking note of the other mercenaries who had poked their heads out of the tents to see who the voices passing by were. Their eyes were hard and unfriendly. His jaw clenched in worry, but he stared them down unflinchingly. Despite the heat, a cold shiver went down his spine. 

"Yeah, me neither doc."