Chapter Text
SATURDAY
"Steven, what did you just put in our cart?"
"What? The grape jelly? We're almost out. I figured you'd want some more."
"When have you ever seen me eat that crap? It's disgusting."
"What do you mean? I've seen your midnight snack leftovers in the kitchen sink for weeks now."
"Well, maybe you've been eating it and just forgot."
"Jelly isn't vegan Marc, it's literally in the name 'gelatin' it's against my principles and like you said, disgusting."
"Maybe it's Layla's then?"
Steven gave a mental shrug.
"Well, whoever it is, we need more of it. So let's just cash out already."
Lazily scanning through the self-checkout, Marc tapped his credit card on the machine and was surprised to see it decline.
"Steven, did you overspend on books again?"
"Nah mate this is the first time I've been out shopping since Cairo."
"Huh, weird."
Marc quickly put a fifty-dollar bill in the machine and grabbed the change as it spat out. It was a short walk back to their flat but the frigid air made it feel like their hands were slowly freezing into their grocery bag. They really needed to invest in some gloves.
"When's Layla coming back again?"
"Friday—I think, Saturday if her flight is late."
"Oh…okay."
They continued to walk in silence for a few awkward moments. While both of them had always been present in the body, being co-conscious and aware of each other was still a relatively new experience, and they still hadn't exactly reached comfortable silence levels of company with each other.
"Do you miss her?"
Marc immediately regretted asking as he felt Steven's anxiety rise.
"I mean—yes, I do miss her— she's your wife—don't you?"
Marc sighed.
"Of course I do…I'm just surprised with how well adjusted she is to, well, us ."
"Yeah…she's great that way isn't she?"
Another silence fell between them. Steven ended up being the one to break it.
"I am sorry by the way."
"For what?"
"For kissing her. I mean you explicitly told me not to and I didn't listen—I was a real idiot and it won't happen again."
"Oh, Steven–" Marc laughed, "–It's okay, really. I mean I punched you in the face for it so I’d say we’re pretty even."
Marc instantly felt Steven's anxiety melt away.
"Oh mate thank you—you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, truly."
"In fact–" Marc began, "–I was thinking when we get back, you and me could discuss how our new arrangement is going to work out."
"Arrangement?"
"You know—food schedules, finances…Layla." Marc quickened his pace to clarify. "I mean we don't really need anything in writing! But you know if you want to be close to her...I'm fine with it. If she feels the same way, and you two want to be in a relationship I won't be against it. We're equals now and I'm okay sharing that part of my life with you—I mean you love her right? I know that. And I also know you would never hurt her. Not intentionally."
"That's– that's a lot, Marc. I mean thank you. Cheers, and what not– I mean I don't even know what to say!"
Marc smiled, he could tell Steven was in shock.
"But listen…" Marc continued, "...we really have to sort our finances out when we get home. One of us is spending too much money on our main account and I don't think I showed you where I keep the excess cash. I know we're not doing mercenary work anymore but if there's ever an emergency, you should know how to access it. Especially since our card just declined."
"What was that about anyway?" Steven asked.
"No idea, but we'll find out."
As it turned out Marc had quite a bit of cash stashed away from his time as a mercenary in hidden accounts using both of their names. For insurance purposes, Marc had said. They had enough money to live comfortably for at least a few years if they were frugal.
"Marc, mate, this is a lot."
"What can I say, being a merc pays well."
"You know if we were smart we would invest this and become really rich."
"Come on, what do we even know about investing? The stock market is messier than the Ennead."
"You never know, I'm a quick learner, and good with numbers I might add."
Marc smiled and rolled his eyes. Then opened a new tab to check on another one of their accounts, the one for the credit card they used that morning.
"Alright let's look at the damage—I bet it's all that expensive organic crap you buy."
"Oi! It's good for us!"
"Yeah, yeah..."
But as Marc began scrolling through the documents things quickly became more and more concerning. These were big purchases, and they didn't make any sense.
"Marc, do we even own a car?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then why does it say we were charged for custom plates and rims and tires on a- does that say a limousine? What the blazes is that doing on our account?"
"I don't know Steven—but it looks like we're also being charged for monthly parking passes for some lot in the East End–"
"You don't think our accounts have been hacked do you!?" Steven asked frantically, "Oh my days—I've seen this sort of thing on the telly! They copy your info online or at hotels and then sell it or use it for themselves-"
"Steven, calm down, let me just call the bank first."
"Alright, alright…" Marc could hear him doing the breathing exercises he taught him and waited until their shared heart rate went down before dialing the bank's helpline.
It should have been a simple phone call, maybe a bit too long of a hold, some blaring elevator music for Steven to comment on, a bit of idle and awkward chit-chat with the teller on the other end, and then a simple halt made on their banking card after answering a few questions. But Marc only got halfway through explaining the situation before the lady on the other end interrupted them.
"I'm sorry for interrupting you Mr. Spector but what did you say the instance of fraud was again?"
"Somebody’s been using my card for large purchases, specifically custom plates and car detailing, I don't know who did it but it wasn't me."
"I'm sorry sir but it says here that we called you on this number a few days ago about these suspicious purchases you're describing."
"I'm sorry what?"
"You had an automatic limit set for daily purchases and when it exceeded that limit we called this number. It says here you confirmed that you were purchasing these items of your own volition."
Marc's eyes widened.
"And you're sure this was me? Not some con artist?"
"As sure as we can be sir, it was your number on file and it's protocol for us to ask security questions—childhood street, your first boss's name, mother's maiden name—that sort of thing."
Marc winced at the last example but quickly shook those thoughts away.
"Okay, okay…" he mumbled, filling up the empty space, "Sorry for taking up your time." He continued. "I guess I must’ve…forgotten."
"Um, okay." The woman said, obviously confused, "Did you still want me to cancel the card for you?"
"Yes! Yes please…" Marc sputtered out. It was all he could do to not take a back seat and unintentionally let Steven take over. "Just cancel it."
"I still don't understand Marc. Neither of us even own a car. Why would we even make those purchases?"
"We didn't." Marc said as he put their hood up to brace themselves against the autumn chill.
"Well it wasn't me, and you're the only other person who uses our number and knows our security passwords."
"I don't think that's true."
"What do you mean by that?"
"The blackouts, Steven!” Marc exclaimed. “In Cairo —you didn't stab those gang members or knock out Harrow— and neither did I ."
"What are you suggesting, Marc?"
"What I'm saying is that we're not as alone as we think we are."
"But—how does that even work? Me not being the only one here? Wouldn't you know if that was true?"
"I don't know. I made you up when I was a kid and you didn't know about it for like thirty years—maybe…maybe I made someone else up too and just forgot about it. Like I said, my memories are a mess."
"So why are they popping up now?"
"I don't know, why did you pop up again last year after leaving me alone for so long?"
Steven went quiet and Marc felt a tinge of guilt.
"For what it's worth Steven, I'm glad you're with me now."
"Me too," Steven smiled, "Let's hope this other part of us feels the same huh?"
"Well, we can only hope…" Marc took one last breath of fresh air before pushing open the doors to the parking lot connected to their now defunct card.
"Blimey, I hate the East End…" Steven muttered to himself as they entered the foul-smelling parking garage.
"Well, our new friend seems to love it so we'll have to put up with it for now."
Marc made his way up to the help desk where an older gentleman with long white hair was sitting, clearly engulfed in his magazine.
"Excuse me you wouldn't happen to know–uh–me? Would you?"
The attendant looked up from his book and grinned in surprise.
"Jake is that you? Or is it Marc now? So good to see you dear boy–‘ow are you faring? Did you and the boys finally figure things out? How I miss my evening chats with Steven…"
"Holy shit—Crawley? Is that you? Mr. Gold?? " Steven finished as they took a step back.
"The one and only." Crawley said with the tip of his hat.
"Woah this is all a lot—Marc you know him? And Crawley you know Marc?" He wasn't covered in that gold paint he had always adorned for their evening chats, but there was no mistaking that smile and Steven could still see remnants of gold dust coating his fingernails.
"Oh, Steven! So good to see you again, it's been months since you stopped by for my living statue routine. The pralines you supplied were always top-notch–"
"But hold on, you know Marc?"
"Marc used to see me in my off hours' dear boy! He was always concerned about you and thought I was a trustworthy mate to confide in–"
I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you, Steven, Crawley was how I made sure you were okay when I blacked out for too long –
Steven gave Marc a mental glare. Later. he hissed internally.
Steven refocused his attention back to the older man who was finishing up the last of his pleasantries.
"–was hoping to see both of you again someday. Jake shares my love of the East End and a good cup of coffee every now and again, but he isn't much for conversation–"
"Hold on–I'm sorry," Steven interrupted, "But that's the second time you've mentioned that bloke's name—Jake, was it?"
Crawley leaned back into his seat.
"So I see Mr. Lockley hasn't taken my advice then…he hasn't spoken to you gents at all ‘as he?"
Steven took a breath closing his eyes to refocus.
"We came here," Steven began, "to find a car that's been billed to our account. But you're saying this— Jake fellow—he looks like us, yeah? Comes 'round often?"
"I don't think it's my place to say–'' Crawley continued, "–despite my grievances Jake has always insisted he keep you boys in the dark. You've all trusted me with secrets, but if you want to know each other you'll 'ave to sort that out amongst yourselves."
Steven massaged his browline, surrendering control once more. Marc's pensive gaze looked back up at Crawley.
"I understand that I really do–" Marc began as Crawley's eyes widened in amusement, "–but can you at least show us the car this maniac bought with our money? It's what we came here for."
Crawley's grin somehow widened even further. Standing up he dusted himself off and grabbed a pair of keys with a lucky rabbit's foot from the rack behind him. Marc could feel Steven wince as he noticed the animal fur adorning the set.
"You boys really aren't so different from each other—your lad Jake would have kicked down the door muttering curses under his breath to grab the keys himself…"
Marc tried to suppress a groan as Crawley led the way through the parking garage.
"His pride and joy is just this way gentlemen."
As they turned the corner and the car came into view, Marc and Steven had to stop to take in what lay in ahead of them.
" You’ve got to be kidding me ."
A gleaming white limo fully adorned with whitewall tires, tempered rims, and a custom licence plate reading ‘ SPKTR’.
"Thinks he's funny does he?" Steven commented. "Is that a crescent moon attachment on the grill?"
"That it is gents, that it is" Crawley said, "That lad works on this vehicle quite a bit when he has the time for it."
"Do you know what he uses it for?" Steven asked.
"Never asked ‘im much," Crawley reflected. "Man's business is his own, that's what I always say—Unless it can be sold that is." He added with a chuckle.
"Did you want payment?" Steven asked softly.
"No, no no…" Crawley clarified, "Not from you boys, not for this. But what I can do is let you take her for a spin." He tossed the keys in their general direction and Steven fumbled to catch them.
"You sure?"
"Bought with your money ain't it? 'Sides it's the least I can do after your gent Lockley got me this job to keep an eye on it. He won't admit it but I see how lonely he is working on this thing—he needs your gent's company."
"Then why won't he talk to us?"
"As I said, gent’s business is his own. Won't tell me nothing." Crawley said rocking back and forth on his heels, "But take her for a spin, nothing a man loves more than his automobile. Maybe he'll give you a chance after this."
"Yeah–yeah right…" Steven said, lost in thought as Crawley made his way back to his kiosk. Marc was quick to front after he left.
"I am so sorry Steven, I can't believe I forgot to tell you about Crawley. I knew you confided in him and I just wanted to make sure you were alright–"
"It's fine Marc ." Steven spat out. "I'm more peeved at Crawley than anything—him and this Jake fellow—what do you think? The name Jake ring any bells?"
"Jake…short for Jacob maybe? It's definitely a Hebrew name. Maybe he formed from that part of our life?"
Marc played with the set of keys for a second before giving the fob a click. The lights lit up for a flash and they made their way to the door and shuffled inside.
"Red faux leather, very classy. " Steven sing-songed rather sarcastically.
They put their hands on the wheel instinctively. It was bizarre how easily their hands fell into the grooves. But of course they did, this was their car.
"No adjustments needed," Steven commented. "Don't need to adjust the mirrors when you're the same height eh?"
"Yeah…" Marc mumbled. Looking over to his left Marc noticed a glove box and gave it a quick pop open. " Shit. "
Marc grimaced at the contents, carefully removing a familiar-looking handgun from the space, and placing it on the passenger's seat before removing what appeared to be a silencer attachment.
"Huh, deja vu." Steven said.
"What?"
" Deja vu . It's Latin, it means-"
"I know what it means Steven."
"Sorry, it just reminds me of how I felt when I looked in your go-bag at the storage locker."
"Oh, you're right." Marc replied.
"What's that bit there for?"
"It's a silencer."
"A what?"
"A silencer . It muffles the sound of gunshots so that no one hears you when you–" Marc took a breath before continuing. He didn't want to say it. "–so no one hears you when you do a hit."
The silence in the car was deafening.
"I don't know about you mate but this Jake has me properly freaked out."
After looking over the gun even further, Marc didn't want to be the one to tell Steven that some of the rounds had already been used. That unsettled Marc more than anything. He was hoping Jake would be more like Steven in nature, but it looked like he had more in common with Marc than he originally thought. Which was… unfortunate.
Putting the gun down, he quickly shuffled through the remainder of the glove box's contents. Besides some ownership papers which had never seen the light of day, there was very little else to find, except one interesting article of clothing.
"What are those? Driving gloves?"
"Yeah." Marc replied smiling, putting them on. "Perfect fit."
"So what do you think? We taking her out for a spin?"
"You think we should?"
"Our gas money. What's he gonna do, shoot us? We're not that self-destructive. At least I hope not…"
Marc grinned. He wasn't too happy about the excessive spending, and the gun was fairly concerning, but this was their car. And it was pretty cool all things considered.
“What the hell—let’s do it.”
Marc adjusted the stick and prepared to put the car in reverse, but just as he was about to do so, he saw a pair of eyes glare at him intensely from the car’s rearview mirror. And they weren't Steven's.
"Wait, what the–"
All at once, Marc felt himself become detached from his surroundings as his vision grew dark. None of his thoughts were leading into each other properly. He tried to breathe through it but the dissociation from his body was inescapable. Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Dazed, he looked around taking in his surroundings once more. He was back and present in his body, in the car, in the parking garage, in the East End . Right. Everything looked the same except the stick was back in park and the gun, silencer, and gloves had disappeared—presumably back into the glove box.
" What the fuck…" Marc muttered to himself.
"Marc, look." Steven's voice rang out.
Gazing back at the mirror, a post-it note was stuck where the mystery man's eyes had been just moments before.
Written in all caps it read:
DONT DRIVE MY SPECTR IDIOTS
PS DONT TOUCH MY STUFF OR ILL END YOU
With a little drawing of what appeared to be a dead stick figure with x's where the eyes should be.
"Well so much for bonding over automobiles." Steven said sarcastically.
“At least now we know he can write.” Marc added, “First contact is better than nothing.”
Exhausted, they accepted their losses and made their way out of the parking garage. As they made their way out, they could see Crawley laughing at their expense.
‘Nothing a man loves more than their automobile’
Crazy old man. He had to have known this would happen.