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The door creaks as he slips inside. The lights are off, the hour is late, and Jake is exhausted. The mission took two days, and Steven might dismiss waking up in Delhi, but Marc sure wouldn’t. Marc might be able to keep himself safe, but Steven can’t. Switching out was not an option, which ultimately meant suffering a slow two days awake. Just in case.
He slips his flat cap off and hides it in an air vent. It’ll be relatively safe there, though dusty.
At least it’s over. Jake can go to sleep and not think about anything until he fronts again. He just hopes it’s not as long next time.
Just as he reaches the stairs, the lights flicker on.
“Where’d you go this time?”
Layla El-Faouly.
Fuck.
Jake can’t play “Marc” with sleep deprivation eating away at him. They have slightly different accents, different emphasis on words. It’s close enough that Jake might pass for Marc, but he doubts someone like El-Faouly could be fooled without effort.
But damn it, he needs rest. More specifically, he needs to get to bed so Marc won’t switch in front of his girlfriend. It would have been easier had she known, but unlike with his French mercenary buddy Jean-Paul, Marc didn’t tell her.
Why? Fuck if he knows.
“India,” he mumbles back, purposely slurring the word so she wouldn’t pick up on anything different. Hopefully.
She closes the distance with a look in her eye, one he can’t read because he’s too tired. He stands straighter when she gets within arm’s length. He knows she wouldn’t hurt Marc, but he tenses anyway.
“Khonshu?”
Worry, he realizes. That’s the look. It’s not wariness or judgment or a prelude to an attack.
“Who else?” he spits out and mentally kicks himself. He messed up. Marc wouldn’t do that. He backtracks quickly, too distracted by his mistake to tune his accent. “Sorry, ’m just tired.”
El-Faouly searches his face, hers a little too close for his liking. Jake knows he and Marc have different smiles too, but he tries one anyway.
“See ya in the morning.”
He pushes past her and climbs the stairs before she can answer.
Jake spasms and nearly chokes when he fronts. Marc’s half-formed suit melts off his shoulders and he doesn’t have the time to summon his own when he’s electrocuted again.
This is new.
“Where is the ankh?”
Everything’s bleary, and he wonders what an ankh is. He assumes it’s an Egyptian thing. Steven would know. Marc too, maybe. Too bad Jake never really cared about that stuff.
“We don’t know!” a voice pierces through the haze. “It was gone when we got here, I swear!”
“Shut up, bitch.”
His arms are shaking, and he can feel his heart stumbling to keep a steady rhythm. Regardless, he spots the gun on someone’s belt. If he can just—
Fuck.
“Stop it! I’m telling you, we don’t. know!”
“I’ve got word that you do.”
It’s getting harder to breathe, and there’s no time. He needs to do something. He needs to get up, get the gun, get them out—
He doesn’t know if he screams. He can’t focus. He can’t even think. No sound comes through, and he can’t—
Stop. It hurts. It hurts. It—
It feels like he’s dying. Is this what dying feels like?
He wouldn’t know.
Marc might.
Jake could ask him.
He could—
Marc doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t…
Jake doesn’t know when it stops. Someone’s holding him, hands gentle and soothing. It’s a stark contrast to the cold fire still circling his blood. The ringing slowly fizzles out and there is a single voice in its wake.
“I’m sorry, Marc. I’m so sorry.”
Fingers rake through his hair and he struggles to follow the motion, recognizing the voice as one Marc trusts. He holds onto it like a lifeline, and it may as well be.
“Please, wake up. I can’t— I can’t lose you too,” her breath hitches. “Not like this. God, please, not again.”
Jake fights to stay conscious. He’s not awake, he can’t move. He can’t do what he’s supposed to do. There’s nothing he can focus on but her voice.
“It’s my fault. You were right, we shouldn’t have come here. We… gone… instead…”
He’s slipping. It’s a losing battle.
The least he can do is take it with him.
Marc wakes with a start, holding his chest and gulping down lungfuls of air. “Layla? What… What happened?”
Jake does not move. He wants to move, but moving means untangling himself from the woman next to him, which in turn means waking her up.
And he doesn’t want to do that, because how is he going to explain his complete lack of interest and his desperation to leave? How can he clearly portray that Marc loves her, and she’s great, but Jake doesn’t want any part of it, all without revealing himself or Marc’s secret?
Trick question, he can’t.
God damn it. Why front here? Why now?
Sure, Marc doesn’t have a firm wall to keep Jake out like he does Steven, but that doesn’t mean Jake wants to be here. He appreciates quick access to the body, but not like this. He’ll deal with the murderers and armed bastards and trained assassins, but he would love to stay far, far away from this.
Christ.
El-Faouly shifts and his mind goes blank.
Fuck him. Not literally, god. Oh fuck. Shit. This isn’t right.
He is not supposed to be here. El-Faouly is clearly Marc’s. Not his. They even got married, the lovebirds. Wonderful. Marc needs people he can count on, Jake knows that. But he’s not supposed to—
What should he do? They’re pressed against each other, naked, intimately, probably (definitely) after making love. And no, Jake does not want any part of this. Thank you.
He shuts his eyes, trying and failing to ignore the leg sliding down his own. He’s tempted to reveal himself to Marc just so he can force him to switch, if that’s even how this shit works.
El-Faouly inhales deeply, and he knows she’s waking up.
Yeah, no. He can’t take this anymore.
“I have to go,” he splutters hurriedly, practically throwing her aside and jumping out of bed. “Mission. Khonshu. Uh…”
His only saving grace is that she’s too drowsy to question it. She gives him that worried look, secures the blanket around her, and murmurs, “Stay safe,” before falling back asleep.
Thank god.
He never wants to experience that ever again.
Jake has a knife against his target’s throat when he spots El-Faouly. Missions this close to her and Marc’s place always run a risk of discovery, but he’s always managed to time it so that he’s done before she can catch him.
That’s not the case this time.
She’s coming his way, and although she knows what Marc’s work for Khonshu entails, they share a good number of morals. Killing a kid, despite the kid’s penchant for preying on even younger kids, won’t sit right with her.
“Marc?”
She’s still far enough that she can’t see him clearly. The night helps.
Jake knocks the target out and shoves them behind a dumpster. Finishing the job will leave a scent of blood on him, and he can’t afford that right now.
“El— Layla,” he says amicably, evening out his pace to imitate Marc’s. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. I thought you had a mission.”
He leads her toward the lit street and away from his target, keeping his eyes forward so she doesn’t check behind her.
“I do.”
“Behind a McDonald’s?”
He frowns, then schools it back into a neutral line. “Yes. Behind a… McDonald’s.”
“Righhht.”
“Go home. I’ll be quick.”
El-Faouly cocks her head, her smile waning as she stares at him. It’s that look again. Jake’s gotten it plenty of times now.
He thinks about smiling to ease the worry, but it’s only made it worse in the past. With how often they’re meeting, he thinks he should have gotten better at tricking her. And yet after all these years, she’s still so perceptive.
“Okay.”
He waits for her to leave before walking back.
“Oh, nice hat, by the way!”
He stops and reaches up. He forgot to take it off. The flat cap is a distinctly Jake thing, not Marc. El-Faouly wasn’t supposed to see it.
“Fuck.”
He doesn’t care enough to act like Marc right now. He has one and only one goal in mind: kill every shitty bastard working under Harrow, and then the man himself.
He doesn’t care that El-Faouly is there, watching him beat down each bastard with cruel precision and a smile on his face. He doesn’t care if she connects the dots and matches it to his other ones. He doesn’t care if she knows, because the man who shot him, shot Marc and Steven, is standing right there.
He’s standing right there, alive, and Jake has the means to fix that.
What better way than with the man’s own beloved staff from his beloved goddess? Two bullets to the chest would be more poetic, but this isn’t bad either.
“Go to hell,” he growls, pressing the staff to Harrow’s forehead and—
Marc breaks through the wall, Steven right alongside him, and Jake is thrown back into the void.
“Marc?”
He takes in the scene around him. “Yeah.”
“What the hell was that?”
He doesn’t know. Steven doesn’t know. Something isn’t right.
“I blacked out.”
+1
“Thanks for picking me up. You must be Jake.”
He smiles at her, then catches himself. He doesn’t have to pretend he’s Marc anymore so he drops it. “Trunk’s open.”
El-Faouly— Layla. Everyone insists that he refer to her by her first name. Layla rolls her suitcase over and hoists it inside. “You kept the hat.”
She noticed. Right, of course she did. “Yeah.”
“Marc said you’ve been here the whole time.”
“Yeah.”
She closes the trunk and gives him the look. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“No.”
“Did you at least talk to them about it?”
Jake returns her gaze. Is this her attempt at conversation, or is she actually curious? “Yes. Now get in the fu—”
“Don’t curse at her. It’s not nice.”
He glares at the window to see Steven beaming at him. Marc’s there too, in one reflection or another.
“Get in the stupid car. We have places to be.”
“Huh. I can’t believe I ever thought you were Marc.”
“I’m a decent actor,” he quips. “I’m not acting now. Seat belt.”
Layla clicks in and slouches back, observing him as he drives away from the airport. If it was before Harrow, Jake is fairly certain he’d be giving her Marc’s own version of the look. Now, he just sighs exasperatedly.
“What?”
She blinks a few times and shakes her head. “Nothing, it’s just… Marc's a mercenary, and you and Steven are, like, average workers.”
“You got a thing against cabbies?”
“Just pointing out the obvious,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to get all defensive.”
He turns without slowing down first and Layla is flung against the car door.
“Wow, real mature!”
He grins at her. It’s genuine and his own, not a replica of Marc’s. Layla catches it quickly and smiles back. That ruined it, so he scowls.
“You should try talking to her,” Marc says from the side-view mirror. “Stop antagonizing her, or I’ll take the body back.”
It hasn’t been long since Marc and Steven found out about him, and although they’re taking it a lot better than he’d hoped, Marc is always ready to jump back in.
Of course, wrestling for control while he’s behind the wheel won’t just have consequences for them. Layla’s here too. And she might have her connection to Taweret, but Marc wouldn’t risk hurting her.
Despite that, Jake seethes and flexes his fingers as a small surrender.
“Why come to London?” he grounds out pointedly at Marc. “Wouldn’t you be happier in Cairo?”
Layla scoffs and slumps further into her seat. “Right, yeah, and leave you boys on your own? I don’t think so. We both know Khonshu still has his eye holes on you, so—”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Jake.”
“No, really. It’s not. Neither of yours. I’m handling it, and I don’t need you getting in my way.”
“That’s not how it works,” Layla says, sitting up. “He’ll promise not to come after Marc and Steven if you’re with him, but he can’t get to them without your help anyway. If anything, you’re the reason Khonshu hasn’t left.”
“That’s not what it is. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
Jake opens his mouth to say something but shuts it as soon as his mind forms the words.
They don’t need to know. They accept him for now, but it’s a fragile trust. He can’t just speak out callously. They know about him, and if they don’t trust him, there’s a high chance they’ll oppose him. He won’t front for months, and when he does, Layla will stop him from doing what must be done.
He can’t let that happen.
“Steven wants to know if you’ve eaten yet.”
“What? No I don— Well, actually, the flight was rather long.”
“Don’t change the subject, Jake. What’s going on?”
Doesn’t seem like Layla believes him, but she can’t see Steven through the reflections to confirm it. “Not yet.”
“Good, ‘cause there’s a steakhouse around the corner, and last time Steven had a date, Marc ruined it for him.”
“No, I did not!”
“Oh, but I thought… Isn’t he vegan?”
Jake furrows his brows. He hadn’t realized what that meant until recently. He didn’t care about food, so he didn’t understand the difference between diets and lifestyles. He just figured that Steven would appreciate a fancy dinner with a girl he worked with. Maybe use that to get himself promoted.
“Yeah. I didn’t know at the time.”
“Wait, hold on a minute, you set up that date?” Steven chuckles airily, “I thought it was Marc.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know! Why would I think Jake did?”
“So then, why a steakhouse?”
Jake shrugs. At least the questions have been diverted from Khonshu. “First thing that came to mind.”
“Oh, Farmacy’s a good place. And it’s vegan. Just saying, in case you’re setting something up here.”
“Steven…”
“Marc.”
“He wants to eat at a pharmacy.”
Layla scrunches her eyebrows and huffs quietly. “What?”
“No no, Farm-acy. Like a farm. It’s a pun, yeah? Don’t laugh, Marc, it’s an actual restaurant! It’s only three and a half kilometers from where I used to work!”
“What’s that in miles?”
“You know what? Fuck you, Jake. You and your rubbish imperial system. You should just get with the rest of the world and use metric.”
“Woah, hey, watch your fucking mouth.”
“Don’t worry, Steven, we can go eat at a pharmacy.”
“Nooooo! FARMacy. Not a—”
Steven bristles, and both Mark and Jake stifle their laughs. Layla chuckles, but more out of politeness than understanding.
“This is your fault, Jake. And here I thought Marc’s the reason I couldn’t get a date.”
“Wait, what?”
“I don’t see why it’s my fault.”
Layla’s good natured smile drops and she brushes a hand against his arm. Jake snaps out of the conversation and yanks it back.
“What the fuck?”
“I need to ask you something.” She has that look again.
He eyes her carefully, returning his attention to the road. “Me? Or do you mean Ste—”
“You, Jake.”
That tone isn’t pleasant. He tightens his grip on the wheel.
“What is it?”
Her expression turns icy and her voice is almost silent.
“Why has Khonshu been following us?”
Because he has a mission for Jake, why else? Khonshu hasn’t caught up with who’s in the know, and that is a pretty big part of their deal. Jake works for him secretly, and Khonshu won’t pursue Marc or Steven. He won’t tell them what Jake has done. What Jake still does.
Khonshu’s not exactly visible right now, but the fact that Layla can sense him means it’s urgent. The mission has to be done tonight.
“I’m handling it.”