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The others have been very suspicious lately. The first day was weird, but Marc had thought nothing of it. The second wasn’t much different, although he started getting worried.
A week in, and he’s suddenly thrown from the front, barred from reflections, and all in all not knowing what’s happening.
So yeah, Marc has reason to believe something’s wrong.
“Steven, you there?”
To make matters worse, neither answer him, and he’s stuck looking like an idiot, talking to himself in the mirror. Marc swears, if they’re working with Khonshu or doing shit behind his back, he’s never giving them control again.
“Jake?”
Nothing. God damn it.
Marc runs his hands down his face and moves to the next room. They’re still living in Steven’s apartment, and both Marc and Jake have their own drawers of personal belongings. It’s not permanent, but it’s better than sharing a bed with Layla and having one of the other two wake up next to her.
Plus, the apartment is cozy, and they’re hardly there anyway.
They got rid of the ring of sand and the ankle restraint after Steven put it on one night out of habit. Jake wasn’t prepared for that and had spent ten minutes lying on the floor.
Without the complex system of contraptions, it’s a good place to rest.
Marc stops next to Jake’s drawer. If he can’t get them to answer him, he’ll force them out.
“Oh, Jake,” he sings, taking out the flat cap. He brings it to the kitchen and turns on the stove. “If you don’t stop me, I'll burn your hat.”
No response.
He lowers it slowly over the fire.
Just as the tip starts to heat up, his arm jerks back.
“Fuck you, Marc.”
“Finally. What’s going on with you and Steven?”
“Nothing. Why’d ya ask?”
“Mhm, right.” He switches hands and holds the hat above the stove. “Stop lying, or I’m dropping it.”
“I’ll gut you if you do.”
If this was when they first met, Marc might have been worried. After a year of knowing Jake, it’s safe to say he’s bluffing. He lets go of all but his thumb and index finger. The hat is swaying dangerously now.
“Try me.”
He can hear Jake fuming from whichever reflection he’s in. “You’ll find out tomorrow, okay? Now put my hat down, you piece of shit.”
Tomorrow? What’s so special about tomorrow?
“Fine.” He twirls it and walks back to the living room. “Should I be worried?”
No answer. Gee, thanks.
Marc grumbles to himself and throws the hat back at Jake’s drawer, not sparing the effort to put it in its rightful place. He’s pretty sure Steven and Layla are laughing at him, saying something along the lines of “you don’t like being kept in the dark, do you?” And yeah, he gets it. He’s trying to be more open now. If he’s hiding anything, it’s not on purpose.
Speaking of, he fishes out his phone and calls Layla. Steven’s visited her a few times recently, and Jake shoves him bodily away whenever the topic approaches him. The fact that they’re working together against him is so… wrong.
No, that’s not right. It’s just weird. Why would they work so hard to leave him out of it?
It can’t be Khonshu related, because Steven wouldn’t allow that. He doubts it’s because Steven’s making a move on Layla since Jake wouldn’t care enough to distract Marc.
So what the hell is happening here?
“Marc?”
He melts a little at her voice. “Hey.”
“What’s up?”
He knows her too well not to notice the strain. “Jake and Steven are being weird. I was hoping you knew something about it?”
There’s a long silence. Marc checks to make sure he didn’t accidentally hang up.
“Hello?”
“YEeaAh! Uuummm. Nope! I don’t know a thing!”
Alright, so it’s all three of them. Good to know. “What’s happening tomorrow?”
“Who talked?”
“Jake did. And you just confirmed it.”
“Shit. Ah— I think I left my oven on. Bye!”
“But you don’t bake.”
She hangs up. Okay then.
There’s only one person left to ask, and really, if Steven doesn’t give in and spill whatever is supposedly happening tomorrow, then Marc has no chance of knowing.
“Steven. Come out, buddy.”
What has his life devolved into?
Marc isn’t willing to threaten him like he did Jake. Steven doesn’t deserve that level of… persuasion.
But there is something else he can try.
“I don’t understand why the pyramids are that big a deal. They’re not even Egyptian, technically, since they were built by Jewish slaves.”
“The pyramids were built by 10,000 skilled, paid Egyptian workers. I don’t deny that they had Jewish slaves labouring at one point in Egypt’s long history, but the years don’t intersect and— Oh. Hi, Marc.”
“Yeah, hey.”
“I’ll just, um… I’ll be going now—”
“Like hell you will. Why are you sneaking around? What’s happening tomorrow? What does Layla have to do with it?”
Steven grimaces, and that’s the first sign that something’s horribly wrong. “Nothing, really. You don’t have to worry about it, yeah? It’s, um, a surprise.”
“A surprise.”
“Ye— Yup! Don’t worry about it.”
Saying that is making Marc worry. “Steven, I swear, if you don’t tell me—”
“Oh, look at the time! I better go and feed Gus 2.0—”
“I’m the one with the body.”
“Well then, you better go and feed Gus 2.0. Because if you kill another of my goldfish, Marc, I will, heh, I’ll throw us off a cliff!”
Quoting him? Wow. Steven’s even got the accent down. And what’s with the threats today?
“Fine. But you—”
“Lights out, pal,” Jake cuts in.
And he blacks out.
And wakes to a panicking Steven in a messy kitchen.
There’s flour everywhere.
“What the—”
“Nope! Jake, take him away! Take him away!”
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t lose control of the fucking spatula!”
He blacks out again.
He doesn’t front, but he is aware of the cut on his hand.
“Fuck.”
“You can handle guns and knives, but you can’t use scissors?”
“Shut up, Steven, I’m figuring it— Marc’s awake!”
“Bloody—”
And he’s out again.
He’s getting very tired of this bullshit.
The next time he fronts, he shoves both Steven and Jake as far back as he can.
He’s so focused on stopping them from stopping him that he doesn’t notice Layla next to him. Not until she puts a hand on his shoulder and he twists it behind her back.
“Ow ow! Marc, it’s me!”
He blinks at her and quickly steps away. “Layla?”
Wait, when did it get so dark? How’d he get outside?
“What’s happening?”
Layla flicks her wrist and pulls a smile he isn’t sure he can trust. “Why don’t you go inside and see?”
That doesn’t sound ominous at all.
“You first.”
She quirks a brow and opens the door. The lights are off. Marc is suddenly reminded of a horror movie.
He’s probably the random victim in the first scene that dies horrifically to show the audience how dangerous the threat is. Layla’s with him, but who knows. She might be the threat.
Now that’s a stupid thought. Not that she isn’t a threat, just not to him.
Well, that’s also debatable.
He goes inside, the dread welling up as he steps further and further into the darkness. Which is dumb ‘cause this is Steven’s apartment. It’s supposed to be safe and comfy, not foreboding. Home, not—
Layla flicks on the switch and there’s so much light, noise, and an explosive pop, Marc drops behind the table.
Nothing clicked. He didn’t register what the noise and explosion was. He just knows from experience that it can’t be good.
“Woah, you okay there?”
Jake?
“Did… Did we overdo it?”
Steven.
“Marc, hey, it’s alright. You’re safe.”
Layla.
Marc exhales slowly and bumps his head softly against the table leg. “Shit. Sorry.”
“Nono, it’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Where were you?” Jake asks, strangely reserved and careful.
“Mosul. Cairo. Chicago,” he lists. “I don’t know.”
“Mosul?”
“City in Iraq. ISIS took it in 2014, we were deployed there.”
“Oh.”
Layla kneels beside him and traces a circle on the back of his hand. “Sorry.”
He sucks in a breath. “I’m fine. I just overreacted.”
“I told them confetti was a bad idea.”
“Jake, you lying sod, you wanted the confetti!”
Marc snorts and shakes his head. At Layla’s gentle prodding, he shares what they said. Apparently, Jake had insisted on it. He even offered to clean up after it was over.
How oddly endearing.
Layla helps him up and nods at the table. “Gonna make a wish, birthday boy?”
“Birthday?”
“Told you he’d forget.”
“Oh. Huh.” It’s his birthday.
He hasn’t really celebrated it since he was twelve, when his mother… He just didn’t think it was worth celebrating. Even when it was just him and Layla, he buried himself in his work with Khonshu that he never had the time for it.
That’s why they were so secretive this past week?
Layla starts the song, and Jake joins in with a harmony. Steven sings a really high descant. They must have practiced because it actually sounds good. They even make the octave jump without changing the key.
It’s so strange, it’s almost surreal.
Marc smiles and blows out the candles. Layla goes to the kitchen to grab utensils, because apparently the other two forgot to set that up.
“Is this cake homemade?”
“Yup. I tested the recipe, but I think Steven made it.”
“Side note, we’re out of flour. And sugar. And eggs.”
“In my defense, I’ve never baked before. And I did not like using eggs.”
“You can’t have a cake without eggs.”
“Yeah? And since when were you a food connoisseur?”
Marc picks up the plastic cake cutter, only half listening to them.
“Since this morning, when you spilled flour everywhere and I had to clean it up.”
“When you learn how to use a toaster, I’ll let you use the kitchen.”
“That’s it. I’m sneaking bacon bits into your salads.”
Marc cuts a slice from the floppy cake and slides it onto a paper plate. Paper? They have actual plates. Why use paper ones?
“I offered to clean the confetti. I said nothing about dishes.”
He passes the first slice to Layla and cuts himself a slightly smaller one. Hey, out of the three of them, he’s the one that actually exercises. Steven at least eats healthy. Jake used to starve them, but then he discovered junk food.
Layla doesn’t mention it and simply pecks him on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Marc.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh! Don’t forget your present!”
He hums and looks around him. “What present?”
“Oh yeah, they gave it to me. Steven didn’t want you finding it early.”
Layla rummages through her bag a few times, to which Jake bemoans, “She better not have ruined it. I worked hard on the wrapping.”
She pulls out a box wrapped in blue paper and holds it out for him to take. “I don’t know what they got.”
Marc takes it and slowly unwraps it.
It’s a cell phone.
“Wow.”
He didn’t mean to sound so deadpan, but seriously, why would he need a cell phone? He already has one.
“What do you think? Sleek, top of the line, Stark Industries. It’s nice, innit?”
Of course Steven’s the one who got it for him. He can hear Jake laughing somewhere.
“Something wrong?”
Marc holds it up to Layla. “I can’t tell if I should be insulted or not.”
“Better than your old one.”
“Yeah,” he huffs, frowning. “And expensive.”
“I pulled extra shifts during the day,” Steven answers.
“And I drove around all night.”
“So you better like it, Marc.”
“I do, it’s just… maybe save the money for something we need in the future.”
“If we’re really that tight on money, I could always do a couple contract kil—”
“Nope. No, you’re not.”
“I meant contract labor.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”
Layla laughs, and Marc physically melts at the sound. He loves her. So much. And he feels like such a fool right now.
“I got something for you too.”
He stares at the black scarf and traces the moon details. Handmade. Precise and perfect, like Layla herself. He doesn’t use scarves, but he loves it.
“Why the moon?”
“Because you’re my Moon Knight.”
It’s so corny, Jake bursts out laughing, Steven cries from secondhand embarrassment, and Layla hides her face, her cheeks flushed red.
“Forget I said that.”
He takes her hand and presses a kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you.”