Chapter Text
Things were going well until around midnight.
The turning and bubbling of Layla’s stomach dragged her out of sleep into the cold sheets of reality, and quietly she groaned, curling up on herself to try and fight the rising sickness. Steady breaths and the cool air of the little standing fan did little to push it back, and she was forced to stagger out of bed towards the bathroom. She barely made it in time and there was no grace to what followed.
Laying against the ice cold bathtub, she tried to catch her breath, expecting to have been heard.
But the flat was silent.
For a long time, unable to gather the willpower or strength, Layla contemplated curling up and sleeping on the slightly damp mat of the bathroom floor. Eventually, with a shaking, weary sigh, she pushed herself to sit on her own, listening intently to the silence of the flat. No snoring, no creaking on the bed or floorboards, no hint that she had any company at all.
He, must’ve gone for a walk.
Khonshu had broken off the deal, why would Marc leave in the middle of the night? Especially when he’d promised to help her?
It was anger that got Layla to drag herself to her feet, knees threatening to buckle again, weak from dehydration and low blood sugar. Clutching the wall, she shuffled back out, towards the bed, which was mysteriously empty. He better have a damn good reason for running off at this time of night.
The bed creaked as she all but fell onto it, taking a few steadying breaths before fumbling for her cell phone. Steven had made sure to plug it in for her, how sweet, but that didn’t make up for the fact they’d abandoned her to her fever sleep.
When she dialed, the phone didn’t ring from somewhere in the flat, meaning he most likely took it with him. Or, shut it down and hid it in the bookshelf. If he’d actually run off again when she couldn’t follow so help him God she was going to-
The line clicked. “Layla?”
“You, better have a damn good reason, for leaving right now,” she said between breaths. “Where, where are you?”
“Layla are you alright?” the voice on the end asked. It sounded like Marc, but, not quite, as if something was off.
She scowled, “No, I’m not alright. I wake up to vomit and you’re fucking gone. What, did you think, did you think-” she paused, gritting her teeth to bite down the welling nausea.
“No, no I’m, just at the store,” the voice answered, as if to reassure her, to calm her down. “I, couldn’t sleep, so I just went to grab a few things. Hang on, I’ll be back soon I promise.”
“You better,” she hissed, one hand gripping her shirt tightly.
“Calmate mi vida, I’m on my way.” And the call ended.
Layla frowned a bit, lowering the phone and staring at it, Spanish? Marc knew a little, but… No, no she was clearly just delirious and tired. Spanish or not she didn’t need to be worrying about that right now.
Maybe, a few more sips of that kiwi stuff, to try again.
As Layla tried her best to keep fluids down, Khonshu, god of the moon, protector of the night, and eternal dickhead was very angry.
“What do you mean you’re abandoning the mission?” he demanded of his knight, who was currently making his way back towards his cab, away from the drug den they had been ten minutes away from busting in a glorious display of justice and violence.
“I mean you conveniently forgot to fucking tell me that Layla was sick!” his knight, Jake Lockley snapped, turning sharply and jabbing a finger up at the god. “Maldita sea I left her alone! Did you hear her?” Layla’s voice was ringing in his ears, the uncharacteristic tremble, the way she’d been scared. “Sonaba a punto de desmayarse!”
“She is not your wife, nor your friend,” Khonshu snarled, leaning down. “Why do you care?”
Jake scowled, “Dios, eres un pájaro estúpido… She’s Marc’s wife and Steven’s dear friend. If she dies tonight, if she accuses them of leaving, what do you think they’re going to do? Pretend it never happened? ¡Deja, ya!”
He turned sharply on his heel, storming back towards where he’d parked his cab on the curb, waving a hand at Khonshu. “Besides! We found los bastardos! You can follow them and I’ll snap their necks on the weekend.”
“Jake Lockley-”
The god was cut off by the slamming of the car door and the rev of the engine. He would’ve glared, instead choosing to appear in the back seat. “It is a wonder I still deal with you.”
“Ah te gusto, don’t pretend you don’t.”
Khonshu couldn’t argue with that, and simply folded his arms, turning to look out at the moonlit streets as they drove. Jake stashed the cab in the back alley where she usually rested, tossing the tarp over her before sprinting, almost at full speed, into the building. Waiting in the elevator was agonizing, and he couldn’t stop drumming his hands anxiously on his side.
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Layla had crept her way onto his list of people worth dying for, people worth killing for. The thought of her being alone and possibly hurt because he wasn’t there, while completely irrational, was starting to drive him nuts. Was he overreacting? Oh most certainly.
But something about the way she’d sounded on that call…
It kept replaying in his mind like a broken record.
He’d already fucked this completely, because in the morning when they realized it was neither Marc nor Steven who went out, they’d start putting the pieces together.
Honestly fuck that, it could wait until Layla was back in bed and safe.
The elevator door dinged softly as it settled on their floor, and Jake didn’t bother trying to be quiet for the neighbors as he ran home.
He found Layla sitting on the floor in front of the bathroom, half conscious, looking ready to fall over if a strong breeze brushed past her. She glanced towards him and he barely took a moment to practically fling his cap into a corner before running to her side. Kneeling, he looked her over, and almost began to speak before reminding himself that he wasn’t who she was expecting.
“Are you alright?” he asked in his best Marc impression, passable to most people.
Layla gave a weak nod, “Yeah… I, I’m not keepin’ anything down, again. I…” She gave a shaky, wheezy sigh, and when she spoke she sounded ready to cry. “I thought, I thought you ran, again, because now I can’t, I can’t chase you. Fucking stupid, right?”
Internally, Jake wanted to strangle his alter. “No, no not stupid, I fucked up and it hurt you, both times. I’m not going anywhere mi vida.”
Slowly, hesitant, he sat beside her, trying to figure out what a normal person would do to comfort someone else in this situation. Jake wasn’t used to all this touchy-feely stuff, he’d only ever taken care of himself sick, not someone else. It took a lot not to flinch too badly when Layla shifted to lean on his shoulder, giving another bone weary sigh.
With a bit of shifting, he slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into an awkward sort of hug, like he imagined Steven would do. It seemed to work, and Layla smiled just a little, closing her eyes, her breathing steadying. Jake wiggled a bit, so he could wrap both arms around her, silently telling her: I’m not going anywhere this time, I promise.
Layla would’ve been content to stay like that all night, it wasn’t totally comfortable, her thigh was starting to go numb from the position, but she was held and warm and so so tired.
Not too tired, though, to notice when her husband began to sing. And he didn’t sing, he especially didn’t sing in Spanish, something that sounded remarkably romantic?
She lifted her head, and he paused, tilting his head to meet her eye. “Yeah?”
Her eyes scanned over his face, flicked down to his clothes, to his gloves… He could see the gears turning, and eventually, she spoke.
“You’re, not Marc, or Steven, are you?”
Shit.
He sighed, dropping the accent entirely. “Sí, lo siento, I didn’t mean to leave you alone. I, didn’t know you were sick.”
“It’s, it’s okay.” She tucked herself into his shoulder again, closing her eyes. “You three, really need to work on communication.”
Jake allowed himself a chuckle, gently rubbing one of her arms. “Una problema con esto, they don’t, really know I’m here. I, was hoping you wouldn’t either.”
Layla hummed, clearly exhausted and starting to tune out. Without thinking, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Alright chica, come on, you need to sleep.”
“You won’t leave again?” she mumbled, pressing closer when he tried to pull away.
“No, no I’m going to stay right here.”
“Promise?”
“Lo prometo, yeah, I promise.”
He saw her smile a little, and admittedly it did warm his dead heart when she pressed into him, when she let him scoop her off the floor and carry her gently to bed. Once Layla was safe and sound again, while Jake was tempted to just crawl into bed next to her and keep an eye on her until morning, he knew that wasn’t going to cut it if this was really going to be his first impression.
So, a clean bucket, fresh frozen ice packs, and that kiwi bullshit swapped for clean and cool ice water later, he finally joined Layla in bed.
Her chest rose and fell evenly, and the flush in her cheeks had gone down a bit. For a bit, Jake sat there watching her, turning over everything in his mind.
Hopefully she felt better soon, so he could do a proper introduction.
Because she seemed cool, and maybe befriending her wouldn’t be so bad.
Maybe.