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The deprived tend to conceptualize the different things they lack more clearly than people who already have them. So, it was easy for Marc, the mercenary, ever moving, never getting to stand on steady ground, to understand the wonders of consistency more than anyone.
Consistency held safety. It held reassurance and peace. He would close his eyes sometimes, and the warm embrace of loving hands would engulf him, there in his head was a world where his mother stayed the same, his brother's beating heart lasted an eternity and the edges around his dad's smiling eyes were soft, never strained.
Other times when he closed his eyes, he would see Abdullah El-Faouly instead, safely walking away. Marc's mercenary life continued after him, past the place where Khonshu laid, past the place where he should've died.
If it wasn't his messy, but free mercenary life then it was Layla who he would see, the adoring glow within her eyes still bright and colorful and ignorant, it was those times when she didn't know who he was, or what he did.
But as he fully understood that whenever it's related to him, that sense of security could never last. It was easy for him to open his eyes again and face the contrasting reality and be consumed by it.
There was a faint, distant humming, like the annoying buzz of a mosquito, it kept going round and round above his head Marc was pulled back to reality, back to consciousness. He opened his eyes, tired and confused, looking left and right, disoriented and lost. Time and space were a bit of a mess to him who just woke up.
There was someone in front of him. The stranger was swaying left and right as he sang a wordless song, his hands were working with something on the counter while he was facing away from Marc. He's wide open, the idea came to his mind offhandedly as he tried adjusting his position, sips of awareness returned to him as he perceived the situation a little more clearly.
As his body moved, a sharp stroke of pain cut through his side, and Marc realized he was injured, he couldn't suppress the groan that slipped from his mouth and the stranger turned his head.
"Good morning!"
"... 'morning" Marc didn't move his eyes from the man. He kept his hand on his exposed torso, right above a clean bandage that was put on him while he was unconscious.
"Just so you know, I'm still a bit unsure" the man's form grew bigger as he got close, and Marc's body tensed, his other hand absently went for the knife hidden inside the pocket of his pants, but he realized he was only covered in a blanket.
"Oh, your clothes were full of blood, so I had to remove them, sorry." The stranger looked sheepish; his fingers played with his dangling curls. "And they reeked," he muttered, his eyes glanced sideways.
Weaponless and paralyzed from pain, Marc felt defenseless, his brain didn't waste time forming plans on how to stop that man's pulse once he decided to get closer. "Why am I here?" Who are you and who do you work for were questions for later, when Marc got the upper hand and that stranger fell under his mercy. For now, he chose caution.
"You don’t remember?" The man pulled at his sweater's sleeves before getting a step closer. Even when Marc kept an uninterested facade as the stranger's feet hit the ground, stepping right towards him, his toes curled into themselves and his heart skipped a beat, apprehensive and ready for a strike.
And maybe the stranger saw through his stony expression, because he stopped and kept his distance, "I, uh...". His hand clutched his neck, a lost look on his face, "I worked overtime yesterday, you see..."
Marc never broke their eye contact, and the man looked bothered by it as he kept alternating between looking at him and literally anything else, he continued, "at first, I thought someone lost their puppy, people are careless sometimes...
I actually saw someone throwing their cat outside one day, it was their son's and he got bored, I despise those types y'know?
I could never tolerate someone who'll abandon their pet, if you don’t want the responsibility, don’t adopt it in the first place. It’s like-"
"Get over with it" the stranger flinched at Marc's impatient tone and the mercenary thought, minus the injuries, he actually might not be in that bad of a situation after all.
"Yeah, right, right... so I followed its voice, the puppy, I mean, in case you forgot or something, I don't know...
Yeah, so I looked everywhere, I kept calling for it and it seemed like it was calling for me too... but then I realized, it wasn't calling for help it was growling, and it wasn't a puppy it was a jackal.
A giant jackal, too big, in my opinion, I never saw a jackal in real life, but I know for sure no canine should be this big, unless we want a full extinction of herbivores, right?"
"Hey"
"Oh yeah, yeah" he looked embarrassed and couldn't keep his eyes on Marc's anymore, "I thought I was done for, it chased me and I never knew I could run this fast, everything was blurry after but I know you saved me, I prayed for god and you appeared and I tried thanking you but you looked angry. Turned out you weren't angry you were in pain and injured and 'bout to die, and you absolutely refused going to the hospital, which, I'm gonna say it again, is very suspicious but you were my savior and I had to do something, so I-"
"You brought me here and tended to my wounds" Marc unkindly finished the story. His back leaned against the soft surface behind him, and he finally regarded the bed he was put on. Must be the idiot's.
"What's your name?" he asked, fully sinking into the pillows. In contrast to his finally relaxed appearance, his muscles were still rigid, and his hand was still hovering over the place where the secret weapon pocket should be.
The man perked up, loosening a little noticing Marc's lightened tone, "my name is Steven, Steven with a-"
"Steven"
"Uh... yes?"
"Do you know why you shouldn't have done that?"
Marc couldn't see Steven's expression clearly now that shadows covered his face with his head lowered, but he didn't need to, with someone like him. "Shouldn't have done what?" He asked timidly, his voice diminished with each passing second between them.
"Bringing me here."
Steven shook his head, his curls waggled with the quick movement, and Marc made sure to look at him in contempt as he said each word.
"Because if it weren’t for the fact I'm unable to move,
I would've killed you right now."
Not surprisingly, he wasn’t welcomed with a good morning when he opened his eyes again.
As if he owned the place, Marc stayed on Steven’s bed while the man used the couch, he even slept on the floor sometimes, with his back naively facing Marc, which only helped exacerbating his itch for attacking him while defenseless.
The ceramic plate Steven left on his nightstand made a loud click and Marc gave him an unimpressed look, not caring how Steven definitely heard his stomach rumbling. “I’m a bit of a cooking disaster” he explained why his breakfast consisted only of cereal even when Marc didn’t ask, “but don’t worry, I’m bringing a decent meal once I return from work...
I think you’ve already guessed I work for that museum, not as a tour guide though! I was wandering there because I was searching for the puppy, my actual job is-”
“Steven”
“Y- yes?” the man blushed, already guessing what Marc’s next words were.
“I don’t care.”
“...Yes, of course” he retreated a few steps, fiddling with his sleeves, and Marc knew from the stupid stance alone he was formulating whatever he was going to say in his head. The mercenary wasn’t even interested in waiting as he pulled the covers up, ready to close his eyes again, disregarding the plate.
“I don’t... I don’t think I’ve gotten your name.”
Five minutes later waiting for an answer and Steven still didn’t get the message, “hello?” he said to Marc’s turned back, his voice unsure and his steps fidgety. “I don’t think I got your name”, he repeated, idiotically thinking Marc didn’t hear him.
“I don’t know your n-”
“Get lost.”
Marc could see Steven flinching even without turning his head, he knew it won’t take long for the British to stop talking altogether, maybe he would even develop a bone and finally kick Marc out of his house, who knows.
“Okay... okay, I will” his voice sounded weak, and the mercenary wanted to call the churning of his stomach satisfaction, but it wasn’t.
“But...”, Marc groaned, “-but I just wanted to ask you, whoever you are, if it’d be okay if I took a look at your wound.”
Marc was silent for another five minutes, “your wound” Steven repeated, and the mercenary wondered if obliviousness was a disease, “I need to check to see if it’s healing properly,
my work is nothing close to a doctor’s, and... and infections can get serious y’know?”
“Oh?”, the white sheets of Steven’s bed fell down as Marc leaned heavily against its headboard, the morning sunrays played with his messy hair and slid across the bulging lines of his muscles. His skin was of a similar tone to Steven’s, yet while he looked like a painting, Steven looked like an outsider from the real world. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I can’t leave it like that.”
“It was actually bothering me the whole time; I can’t feel my side”. He continued, his hand on the side of the wound outstretched, beckoning Steven to come closer. “Come ‘ere, Steven, take a look.”
At least the idiot looked skeptical, he would’ve stayed staring at Marc if the mercenary hadn’t raised an eyebrow, looking impatient.
He took tentative steps forward and crouched down to the level of Marc’s stomach, his expression turned from uncertainty to an uncharacteristic concentration as his hands hovered over the white bandages. Marc almost felt sorry.
Almost, before pinning the man’s neck down, his fingers dangerously pressed on his carotid.
Steven’s cheeks squished against his savior’s thighs above the bed sheets. Marc could feel the quickening rhythm of his heartbeats transmitting through his flesh and he tried controlling the impulse to press harder, because Steven was no actual threat, he was just infuriatingly stupid.
“I wasn’t joking when I said I’d kill you.”
Steven’s eyes glistened, his body froze in place and his lips pressed each other. Marc audibly scoffed at the sight even when he felt no disdain. He absentmindedly noticed how soft the skin of the man’s neck was against his calloused hand, and for an instant the idea of his cervical vertebrae being so easily breakable they could crumble inside his fist entered his mind, prompting him to immediately let go.
Steven coughed and scrambled away, his feet barely holding him, his hands were trembling as both surrounded his bruised neck, checking to see if it was still in place.
“You didn’t bring a savior to your apartment, Steven. No...
you brought death.” which, ironically, was the only consistent thing in Marc’s life.
Marc no longer believed Steven was capable of kicking him out, either because he was a coward or because he was a coward. And well, one would think this would’ve deterred the idiot from ever trying to open his mouth in Marc’s direction again, but no, it didn’t.
“Please” distress was maddeningly apparent on the man’s soft features as he glanced at yet another untouched plate by Marc’s bedside. The sleeves of the jacket he hung over his forearm swayed as he approached him hesitantly. “Eat something, it’s the only way for your wound to heal.”
Whether he ate or not, that damn wound should’ve healed the moment it was inflicted. Which can only mean two things. Harrow’s too freaking strong, or...
“If you’re so worried the stink of my corpse would stick to your sheets you should’ve kept me outside.”
Or Khonshu abandoned him.
“That’s the thing with adopting puppies, Steven. If you don’t want the responsibility, don’t adopt them in the first place, eh?”
He tried thinking of what was bugging him about this normal civilian he kept interacting with him in a stabbing manner, but he was too tired to care.The more he stayed here, the more he willed himself to drown. The skin over his jaw smoothened with the hint of hair growing back. Even when he wore nothing but his boxers, he still felt covered, instead of fabric it was sweat and dirt and dried blood, accumulating with each second passing.
The filthier he felt, the stronger his urge to ruin himself became, and the more strain Steven’s voice held.
He heard him take a long breath, gathering his courage to say something again, something Marc was sure wasn’t going to be anything close to “get out.” And oh, he knew why he hated him so much.
“You are not a puppy.”
No, Marc’s eyes didn’t leave the ceiling to see what face Steven made while he spewed that nonsense.
“Your…” Steven’s voice grew firm, “your life is yours.”
The one with no sense of responsibility is you. Went unsaid but Marc heard it loud and clear.
Marc’s initial idea of Steven was of a cat, if you scared it enough it’ll leave you be. Turned out the man was a fucking fly that’ll come back no matter how many times you swatted it away.
Marc couldn’t see himself as the one doing the attacking anymore.
“طبعا انا واثق جدا
ان جشعكم ده شيء زايد
والجبن ملاكم حقدا
بتلموا فتات الموائد”
“Turn it off, Steven” his voice quavered under the pillows.
Steven had the habit of staying awake throughout the night. It wasn’t any of Marc’s concerns before because the man would just stay at the corner of the room, light a candle, and read. It actually used to shut him up.
“Yes, of course” the timid man didn’t turn his head from the TV as he replied, a bowel of popcorn rested between his legs. His cars-patterned pyjamas would’ve looked ridiculous on anyone but him.
“I can’t quite reach the remote control though, too far, it’s closer to you”. so, get up and get it.
It didn’t look ridiculous because he was an actual child.
“فاستعدوا لمعركة الحياة
استعدوا لوثبة الطغاة
معارك خطيرة، مقالب حقيرة”
Marc threw the pillows away from his head and eyed the back of Steven’s, “really?” the colourful lights of the animated movie hit the British’s tangled hair in different angles, Marc’s eyes lingered. “Steven” he called with a hardened voice this time, “turn it off”.
The more you scare them, the more likely they’ll do whatever you say.
It was supposed to be like that, and it was working, Steven wasn’t talking as much to him as he used to do the day he brought him here, he no longer asked him about meaningless stuff and all in all wasn’t bothering him about anything.
But that conversation about puppies did something him, he still got scared, Marc could tell by the quivering of his shoulders as he firmly looked at the TV, refusing to turn around. He was scared, but he was also attacking back.
“Oh…” Steven’s pretending-to-be-unbothered voice was disgusting. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re injured, you can’t get to the remote.”
He rested his neck against the couch’s back, his eyes were still trained on the TV. “Well, maybe it’s an opportunity, I mean, you’re dying anyways might as well watch the movie with me.”
“Fuck you.”
“وعشان تاخذوا المكافأة مش عايز اي شفقة
وقد ما تدوني تاخذوا
عظم وسلطة وجاه
استعدوا”
Marc was not prepared.
“أيوه هنستعد، أومال لازم نستعد...
بس لايه؟”
… to see Steven as he finally looked back, straight at his eyes. Popcorn crumbs and tease danced around his awkwardly smiling lips.
“Too bad, you can’t come here.”
“Stop looking”
Trips to the bathroom were the only thing Marc allowed Steven to help him with. He would lean against his scrawny, pathetic body and allow him to lead till they reached the door.
Steven’s attention stayed on Marc’s injury for a second before looking away, continuing to walk forward. He was mindful of the books scattered around.
“I can tell it’s getting worse” Steven sat against the bathroom’s wall, waiting for Marc to finish outside.
“I can tell it’s none of your business.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“No.”
“Why did you save me?” his question came in a faint, weak voice. He hugged his knees to his chest and rested his head there. The only light where he stayed was coming from under the bathroom’s door. “I could’ve died that day, you know?” like he was telling Marc a dire confession, he whispered. His eyes were cloudy, and his heart followed an odd rhythm.
Outside the window a storm was blowing at full force, the shutters were being attacked by the wind producing loud clanking noise. It should’ve covered Steven’s voice.
“What a shock.” Marc’s words were accompanied by an echo inside the cramped four walls.
“Do you know why I was working overtime?”
“I don’t care.”
“It was because I didn’t want to go home.”
“Steven, stop talking.”
“I had a beautiful one finned fish; his name was Gus.” Like a damn fly…
“Gus was my…” he struggled to get the word out of his mouth, the toes of his bare feet pressed each other, he could feel the ventilator’s air coming from under the wooden door. “Gus was my companion.”
Marc’s tongue moved before his head, “did you talk its life out?”
The apartment was illuminated white for a brief moment. Steven’s fingers pressed his arms hard “the day I knew he was gone my body moved on its own, I don’t even know if I was breathing, I wasn’t controlling my own limbs. Like… like I was sleep walking.
As if it wasn’t me” his voice chocked, and Marc thought he’ll finally be quiet, but no.
It was always a no with Steven.
“I woke up, I went to work, my mouth talked. Working hours ended but I was still moving here and there.
And… and, even if I was breathing, my mind was going underwater.
I just couldn’t tolerate the idea of meeting Gus’ empty tank when I return home.”
He couldn’t tolerate the change.
“Nothing stays forever.” Marc knew this more than anybody else, yet he only realized that fact was eating him from the inside when it came out of his mouth as a pained breath.
“Yeah.” Steven took a forced inhale; the empty tank was in front of him, he didn’t dare to raise his head. “Yeah…” he drawled, “nothing stays forever, it’s only fair this should include me too.”
Huh?
“I told you, I couldn’t stand the idea of that empty tank; I didn’t plan on going home that day.”
What was he talking about?
“Bloody scary, the mind is”, his hands couldn’t stop trembling no matter how hard Steven pressed them together, “when that jackal opened his mouth at me, I believed my fate was tied with Gus’, it felt right.”
At the dead of night, as rain poured down like a barrier around Steven’s apartment, blocking the honking of cars, and the steps of the passer-by, the world appeared to hold two people and no one else.
The lights of the bathroom fell on Steven’s head following the soft opening of its door, Marc’s forehead was wet with sweat, he clung to the wooden board with all his might, a deep frown adorned his eyes as he looked at Steven.
The man in question raised his head, even with Marc’s shadow on him, his eyes sparked gold. “But then you appeared.” He continued, a with a blooming brilliant smile and eyes full of trust and admiration Marc didn’t give himself the chance to see before.
“Like a superhero.”
“Not only did you save this man from Harrow” the bony head of Khonshu bent down inside Steven’s tiny apartment. “But you also saved him from himself. Good job.”
The rain simmered down to a soft shower. Steven’s snoring was at its loudest this late at night, he was sprawled all over the place, half of his body on the couch and the other on the stone hard floor. Marc didn’t feel sorry watching him.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked quietly, his back leaned against the soft pillows Steven put for him, a fluffy blanket covered his lower half, his wound right above it exposed for Khonshu to see.
“Your job is to protect the travellers of the night, as my Moon Knight, you- “
“Why did Harrow come to that museum?”
Steven’s window was closed, but the ends of Khonshu’s robes fluttered with the night’s wind.
“…I did what I deemed fit.”
“By bringing an innocent man to harm’s way?”
“By bringing you to your salvation!”
A raging fire was lit inside of him, he could only clench the bed’s sheets in anger and frustration. The more Steven’s chest raised in a sleepy breath, the more his head got messed up.
“Don’t think, for even a second, that you are irreplaceable, Marc. Humans’ hearts are fragile, I’ve noticed how withdrawn you’re becoming with each passing day.” he pointed the end of his staff at his knight’s stomach, pressing not so gently, “why do you think that wound isn’t healing?”
Marc clenched his teeth, a knowing light flashed through his eyes.
“Yes, Steven Grant wasn’t the only one drowning,
I cannot heal those who don’t want to heal.”
Marc’s breathing hitched; and it was at that time Steven’s sleepy voice came.
“Are you okay?” he asked, confused, and concerned. When the mercenary saw his small, clueless frame next to the mighty presence of Khonshu, something was awakened inside of him, something vicious.
…before he knew it, his body moved on its own, jumping from the bed right on top of the man in childish pyjamas.
“You’re wide open, you idiot!” he scolded in a scathing tone, his broad shoulders covered the whole head of Steven, his thick hands surrounded him protectively, blocking him from Khonshu’s mirthful eyes. He could feel his heart beating fast and strong as their chests pressed together. The soft vibration was enthralling in a way that scared Marc like nothing else.
“You finally came out of bed.” Steven laughed, delighted and unaware of what he had gotten himself into.
“Indeed, it only took a worm to push itself in your life for you to get back to your feet again.”
“Shut up, shut up.”
“Uh, okay” Steven murmured, thinking Marc was talking to him.
“A true warrior could only strive when he has something to protect.”
“Shut up, shut up!”
“I’m shutting up!”
Khonshu nodded in satisfaction when the dirty bandage covering Marc’s side fell, revealing a completely healed skin. “Our fight against Harrow just started, rest well, a great battle lies ahead.”
With a soft woosh, Khonshu was gone, and there was no one except Marc and Steven in that tiny apartment again.
The Moon Knight’s tense muscles over Steven’s sprawled body only relaxed after a safe amount of time had passed. Steven kept quiet during that period, eyeing Marc’s vigilant eyes in bewilderment.
“I’m sorry” this time, Marc was the one who couldn’t look Steven in the eye.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he repeated, defeated and so, so tired.
“If you’re apologizing for crushing me under your weight, it’s not too late for you to get up.”
Marc immediately scrambled away, uncharacteristically not detecting the sarcasm in Steven’s voice.
“I’m sorry” he repeated, his body crouched next to Steven’s, towering over him yet still looking lost and scared.
Steven looked helpless as he eyed him for a second, sensing the distress but not knowing the source or what to do.
“Well,” he got up and brushed his clothes, “forgiveness isn’t impossible.”
Marc looked up, Steven’s features were registering in his head like he was seeing him for the first time. The man leaned down, his hands on his knees and a soft, tentative smile lined his face as he looked at Marc.
“Let’s start by learning your name.”
The End.