Work Text:
When Mark goes to sleep, he doesn’t expect to wake up still in the body.
He wakes up and he’s in bed—Steven’s bed with the ankle tether in place. He hears cars on the street outside, and Marc reaches for his phone to check the date.
May 2.
It’s the next day.
It’s not two days later or five days.
It’s the next day.
He slept through the night without switching.
“Convenient,” Khonshu mutters. “We should get back to work.”
“That’s not.” Marc frowns. He rarely fronts for longer than he needs to. He can’t take what Khonshu puts him through, which is why Steven fronts, because with Steven things are calmer. Things are easier. He’s not angry like Marc is. Not as broken. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.” He reaches for the tether and unbuckles it from his ankle. He steps over the sand when he gets out. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t want to disturb it.
“Take it as a gift. At least the idiot won’t drag you down,” Khonshu says, and Marc knows the god is trying to persuade him outside so they can continue their work. That was the deal. That was the deal, Marc. I’m not leaving you now, MARC—
He’s in the bathroom in front of the sink. The water is running. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing here, but he splashes water on his face and takes a deep breath.
Okay. Steven does want to front. Okay. He can work with this. He’ll just try to . . . be Steven for a day. Not like he hasn’t done that before.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering,” Khonshu says as Marc dresses in Steven’s clothes and packs Steven’s bag with Steven’s things so he can go to Steven’s job and try to assume Steven’s life. He can’t let Steven get fired from the museum. He needs that job. He needs the stability.
“You promised you wouldn’t interfere with him,” Marc says, ripping the tape off the door and tossing it aside before leaving and locking the door behind him.
“But he’s not here,” Khonshu whispered, and Marc could feel the god step around behind him.
Marc stepped into the elevator and tried to ignore Khonshu’s nearly overbearing presence as he walked out into the street to catch a bus and head to the museum.
The security guard at the front calls him ‘Stevie’ and Marc politely waves. There’s already a school tour group here, and Marc tries not to stiffen, but he’s never been good around kids.
He gets set up behind the register and tosses his bag beneath him. He looks at the register and tries to remember when he’s last used one from this end of things. It’s not the first time Steven has left Marc here in front of a register and he’s had to fumble his way through it. It should be easy right?
“Good morning, Stevie.” A blonde woman comes to stand in front of the counter. She looks familiar. Her name tag reads Donna.
Right. Donna. Steven’s boss or something like that.
“Hi, Donna.” He tries to speak softer if only to mask that he can’t quite catch Steven’s accent.
“Forgetting something?” she asks and Marc frowns, looking about the counter.
“Uh—”
She taps her name tag. “Name tag, Stevie.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.” He searches his pockets and finds the tag in the front pocket of his shirt. He sticks it on and Donna smiles before walking away.
He breathes out slowly. He feels nervous, paranoid almost, like someone is watching him. Then he hears an amused huff from Khonshu.
“Oh, yes, this is certainly more entertaining.”
“Don’t you have some sort of building to perch on?” Dusty old, bird.
“I heard that.”
Yeah. That might be the worst part of having a god living in his brain.
He wakes up to the sound of a clock alarm. Marc stretches out, enjoying how refreshed he feels for the first time in—months? It might be months.
He looks at his phone.
May 3.
No. No. It can’t be. That’s not—
He breathes out slowly and tries to ground himself. Okay. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before.
“Still not back, is he?” Khonshu asks.
“Not now,” he mutters before throwing off the blankets. Steven’s got his work schedule written down on a calendar. Morning shift again. Tomorrow he’s closing. Then two days off.
Right. Okay. He could manage another day. Maybe Steven will switch in later.
The date is May 4.
Marc tries to wonder why Steven chose getting a fish as a pet. Does he like fish? He can’t remember. He tries looking through the books on Steven’s shelves and in the stacks he has around the apartment. He can’t remember the last time he, Marc, actually read a book. There was never time. He’s not interested in reading. It requires too much patience that Marc’s never had the luxury of.
Maybe if he reads, it’ll trigger Steven to switch in so Marc can just fade into the background and not think for a while.
He gets through a couple pages on a book about Ammit with Khonshu muttering in the background in what Marc thinks is ancient Egyptian. Then things start to get fuzzy around the edges of his vision. It’s almost like it’s tunnelled and he realizes he’s not all here. It’s quiet. He’s not reading anymore.
But he’s still here.
Usually his switching doesn’t take long. A few minutes, maybe, but not this drawn out process of feeling like he’s underwater and not drowning.
He gives up on the book and goes to lie down on the bed. Maybe a nap will fix this.
Instead, he wakes an hour later from an alarm on his phone that he has to go to work.
And he’s still just Marc.
The day is May 5.
Marc doesn’t remember the last time he’s been fronting for this long. Definitely before Steven set roots down in this town and got a job. Definitely before he left the States. Definitely before he encountered Khonshu.
He can’t remember.
So why is this happening now? Why isn’t Steven fronting?
“You should take this as a celebration,” Khonshu says as he stands behind Marc in the bathroom mirror of the flat. “Maybe he’s gone for good. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Marc shakes his head and braces himself on the sink. “No, that’s not . . . that’s not how this works.”
How does he explain an identity disorder to an Egyptian god?
How does he explain that Steven won’t simply disappear? That it’s more complicated than that?
Once he’s showered and dressed, he gets everything ready for work.
“This tirade grows tiresome,” Khonshu says, stalking behind Marc as he heads for the elevate.
“You’re the one who chose me.”
The days of May 6 and 7 belong to Khonshu.
“Ah. Finally.” Marc feels his hands on his shoulder and sees the beak of the god in his peripheral. “The night waits for no one, Spector.”
Marc sighs and opens the window of the flat to get out onto the roof. “So you’ve said before.”
With Khonshu, Marc at least knows his purpose. He knows what he’s supposed to do.
When he falls into bed on the second night, he hopes, hopes he doesn’t wake up. He hopes they can just to back to normal. To where Steven fronts and sells tacky souvenirs to tourists and Marc can pay his debt to Khonshu and try to make good on his own past deeds.
The date is May 8 and Marc wakes up.
The date is May 9 and Marc wonders if Steven has any friends. He texts so few people, only those from work, and Marc knows that’s part of the social anxiety. That Steven would rather do research on some obscure piece of anthropological history than grab a drink at a pub.
Marc may not be the most social of people either, but he at least had a social group.
Wait.
Did he?
It’s hard to think of the life he left behind because sometimes he’s not sure if it’s real.
Marc watches another school tour group moves through the front lobby. They’re headed by a tour guide he doesn’t recognize. When she turns around to lead them in further, she catches Marc staring at her and he straightens, tries to fiddle with the baskets of stuff lying beside the register.
When he looks back up, she’s smiling at him, even raises a hand in a wave at him and he waves back.
Two hours later, he hears a, “Hello there.”
He looks up. It’s the tour guide. “Hi,” he says. “You, uh, looking to buy a paper weight or something.”
“Oh, not at all. I’m afraid most of my stuff is digital these days.”
“Figured as such. What can I do you for? You’re new, aren’t you?” He spots her name tag. Dylan.
“I am. Just got hired on a few days ago. Today’s my first day out front with the kids.”
“Well, let me know if I can help out with anything. I may not do all the guide things you do, but I’m pretty handy with a phone.”
Dylan smiles. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind, Steven.”
Marc blinks. “Yeah, right. ‘cause that’s my name.”
Dylan laughs and heads off, likely to meet with the next group of the day.
The date is May 10.
Dylan continues to come by the cash register and talk when they have time to spare and when Donna isn’t hovering over Marc’s shoulder.
He likes Dylan.
He thinks Dylan likes him, too.
The date is May 11.
He exchanges numbers with Dylan.
For a moment it’s easy to pretend that everything is okay and forget about the life he left behind. That legally speaking he’s still married.
He forgets that he’s living Steven’s life and maybe Steven’s life isn’t so bad.
“That’s what you think,” Khonshu mutters, but a deal’s a deal and he’s not allowed to interfere when it’s Steven’s time, even if Steven’s taking a long break from reality.
Maybe when Steven is ready to return, he’ll notice that he has slightly more of a social net. That people will want to talk to him just because and he won’t feel so isolated, so out of control.
So when Dylan texts him that night, Marc responds in a way he thinks Steven would.
The date is May 12.
Marc asks Dylan on a date.
“Figured we could go to a place with fewer prying eyes, if you know what I mean.” He winks at her and she smiles.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re only referring to one pair of eyes?”
“Speaking of which, those eyes will be here any moment and I have gummies to sell.”
“Good luck with that, Steven.”
He texts her later that night.
<how do you feel about steak?>
>bold choice for a first date<
<I promise you it’ll be the best steak in town>
>sounds like a date. How does the 15th sound? At 7?<
<sounds good>
>great! Can’t wait<
He sets his phone aside and looks up at the ceiling of his flat.
Maybe Khonshu is right. Maybe Steven is gone.
“I’m always right.”
“Shut up.” Marc rolls onto his side.
But if he were gone, shouldn’t Marc have felt something? Shouldn’t something have happened about it?
The date is May 13.
It’s one of the bad days when there’s a metaphorical cloud hanging over Marc’s head.
He didn’t sleep a wink last night and the ensuing workday was hell.
For a retail worker, Donna has some pretty high expectations of Steven’s work when he’s just selling crap made in China to random guests and calling it a day.
He doesn’t know how Steven puts up with that shit. Why does he let himself be walked all over by someone like Donna?
“You know what you could do about that?” Khonshu asks that evening as Marc is getting ready to run a shower.
“Didn’t know I asked you for advice.”
“Quit.”
Marc sighs and turns on the faucet. “What was our agreement about Steven days? Yeah, you leave him alone.”
“Ah, but Steven isn’t here, Marc. We can solve all of our problems if you’d just give up his little life here.”
“That’s not happening.”
He feels a heavy hand on the back of his neck and can feel a presence of cool air at his back that’s emblematic of Khonshu.
“Need I remind you of our deal,” he says, and Marc’s stomach clenches at the notion of it. “If you want to be free of me with a clear conscious, then you need to do as I say.” Marc looks to the mirror that hangs beside the shower to see how Khonshu has fixed himself behind Marc like a leech. “Or would you like a reminder of how I found you? Or the things you want me to save you from? That you did.”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He drives his fist into the mirror without thinking of it. Again and again and again, Khonshu’s reflection breaking into a thousand pieces.
He wants Khonshu gone. He wants to forget about the things he did. He wants a normal fucking life where he can just go out and have a steak fucking dinner with Dylan and sell paper weights and he wants to forget about all of this—
Steven wakes to resting against the wall in his bathroom. The shower head is running and steam lazily rises to the ceiling.
“What’s—” He tries to stand and winces when he moves his right hand. “Ah.” He looks and sees the skin is split on his knuckles. “Oh. Oh, that’s—” He shifts and hears something break. “Oh.”
The mirror from his wall is on the ground, shattered.
“How did that . . .” The carpet beneath him is askew. He likely slipped and collided with the wall. He wonders if he hit his head. He doesn’t feel all that present in the moment.
But first thing, he needs to clean up the broken glass.
He sweeps everything into a dustpan and disposes of it. He washes and tends to his hand. The cuts are superficial and will likely be fine in a day or two.
But when he looks at his phone, he sees that the date reads May 13.
No, no, that can’t be—
It’s supposed to be May 2. He didn’t—what did he lose?
He can feel the well of panic rising up in his chest. The shortness of breath.
Okay, okay. He’s nearly lost two weeks.
Did he leave any notes?
He checks his calendar. The days have been crossed out as they go. New dates for shifts have been pencilled in.
Okay, so he at least went to work. Or so he hopes.
He moves to his fish tank. “Hey, Gus.” The little gold fish flutters about with his one fin, but he seems to be doing well. He sprinkles a few flakes on top of the water for good measure.
He checks his laundry. The hamper is nearly empty so clearly he’s been doing his clothes, feeding his fish, working his job.
He can feel the panic receding. It’s not uncommon for him to lose his sense of time or even lose a few days. It’s happened before, but to lose nearly two weeks.
Hm.
He needs a better strategy.
He’ll have to think of something.
He settles into bed that night with the tether securely in place and starts up the app on his phone as he gets his Rubix cube.
“Hello, and welcome to Staying Awake.”
He breathes out. He breathes in.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
Everything is fine.
The date is May 14 and Steven wakes up.