To Love and Blood

“I am going to kill him.”

Kat growls to Bastet who listens patiently as her avatar paces through Stevens' empty deserted apartment.

“I am going to rip his throat out and make him beg for mercy.” Kat vows venomously, kicking at the sand surrounding the bed.

“Sure you will, darling.” Bastet hums, entirely uncaring.

It is early in the morning, just before the sun will rise over the horizon and the rush of people will begin its morning march. The stomp of her steps is the only sound as she curses Marc Spector.

She had arrived home late last night and had immediately ditched her suit, grabbing the almost empty bottle of whisky from the kitchen and taking a couple deep swigs while she searched through her first aid kit, triumphantly pulling out a needle and thread. Flipping on the too bright sterile lights of her small cramped bathroom, Kat had settled herself against the countertop and let the alcohol envelope her in its warm buzz. Taking a cloth and antiseptic, Kat cleaned the wound, gritting her teeth at the harsh sting. With methodical steady practice, she stringed the thread through the needle and tied it tightly.

A breath in through her nose, breathing out as she presses the sharp point into the first of three punctures. They were relatively small and would only need one or two stitches each, but that didn't make it any easier, especially with the awkward angle.

In 20 minutes Kat was stitched up and halfway to a decent buzzy haze. Looking at herself in the mirror Kat groaned and hung her head, she looked like a mess. Her hair was messy and tangled in itself, frizzy around the edges. On her face were streaks of dried blood, dark and sticky on her cheeks and her neck.

It took two showers to get it all off and by the time she was clean and freshly bandaged there were only 3 hours till sunrise. Wiping her tired eyes, Kat threw on comfy sweatpants and an old t-shirt, deciding to completely forgo sleep and instead get a head start on her day. The coffee machine grunted and groaned in the background as Kat thought.

She thought about Steven, about how he must be feeling during all this. She thought about Harrow, his plans of releasing Ammit. She thought about Marc most of all. She had now met him twice and still knew nothing about the man. Sure, she knows he's moody and easily frustrated, but she has no clue what lies beyond his rough exterior and that vexes her.

Kat always knows, she is always one step ahead, but with Marc she feels so many miles behind.

After gulping down the coffee, Kat had decided to go to Stevens and make sure Marc hadn't double crossed her. Now she feels like such an idiot, standing in an empty apartment after believing Marc's lies.

Flipping open her disposable flip phone, Kat dials the contact under Ben 10. It rings once, twice, before a groggy cracking teenage voice answers, all full of hormones and teenage angst.

“Hello?”

“Ben, it's Kat, I need you to track down a guy for me, kinda like what you did with that Harvard cyber trail.” Kat immediately tells him, not even bothering it with a greeting as she continues pacing the apartment.

“It's 5am!” Ben says incredulously, voice cracking, “Besides, don't think you can just expect me to do everything you say. I know you're some secret spy or something but-”

“Do it or I'll tell your girlfriend you slept with her best friend, Johanna was it?” Kat interrupts, smiling as she hears the kid leap out of bed and start typing on the other line.

“What's this guy's name?” Ben sighs tiredly.

“Marc Spector,” Kat pauses, frowning, “Or it might be under Steven Grant?”

There's silence over the line as the furious smashing of keys acts as the only sound. After a minute Kat can hear the crack of a Redbull being opened and sighs as she waits.

“Well?” Kat pushes expectantly.

“Hold on,” Ben grumbles, “This guys pretty good at covering his trail. Who is he anyway?”

“That's for me to know, and for you to not know.”

The kid mutters under his breath about the ‘unfairness’ of the world. Then, the typing stops and Ben gives a triumphant ‘Hah!’

“What is it? Do you know where he is?” Kat asks, daring to hope.

“Uh,” Ben hums as he reads, eventually saying, “Yeah, it looks like he's got a flight booked for this afternoon.”

Kat takes the phone away from her ear and grabs a pillow, screaming into it with all her frustration at Marc. With a sigh, Kat picks the phone back up, asking, “Can you get me on that plane?”

The kid scoffs, “Duh.”

“Okay….will you?”

“Dunno, what do I get?” Ben challenges, the effect ruined as his voice cracks in the middle.

“You, get to live a peaceful life and not worry about me showing up on your doorstep to kill you.” Kat tells him blandly, flipping through an open book on hieroglyphs that lays abandoned on Steven's desk.

“What seat?” Ben sighs, giving up on negotiating and just accepting it.

After having Ben get her a seat next to Marc on the plane, Kat checks the time and sees she only has a few hours before take off. Before she goes, Kat makes sure to feed Gus 2.0, promising to bring Steven back to him.

Leaping over rooftops to avoid the crowded streets, Kat runs back to her flat and climbs through the open window. Dropping to her knees, she pulls a simple black duffle from its hiding place under her bed and opens it. Inside, the stacks of foreign currencies stare back at her with their passport counterparts that all bare her face. Dumping it all on the floor, Kat grabs a French passport and a couple stacks of Egyptian pounds.

Kat then opens her bedside table drawer and pulls out 10,000 dollars US cash and stuffs it in the bottom of the black duffle as emergency funds. Kat grabs a couple pairs of clothes and throws those in as well with her go bag of basic toiletries. Finally Kat grabs her burner phone and tucks that in the duffles side pocket with her passport.

“You are chasing after him?” Bastets low purr echoes around the quiet room.

Kat looks up and sees the goddess watching her curiously, as if she just can figure this little human out.

“Someone has too.” Kat grumbles, grabbing some bags of chips from the kitchen and throwing those in her bag as well for the long flight, “Marc may be able to handle himself but Steven can’t, he's not used to this world.”

“The world of killers and assassins, you mean?”

Kat can hear Bastets mocking in her tone, frowning up at the goddess, “If it helps at all, I'm done with the whole assassin gig.”

Bastet chuckles and leans forward so she's towering over Kat, “You will do well little avatar.”

With that, the goddess disappears. Kat grumbles some about ‘cryptic unhelpful felines’ and grabs a simple black leather jacket from its place in a ratty old arm chair before walking out the door.

She will miss this place, god knows if she will ever see it again. It’s old and decrepit but it has provided her a home. Locking the door behind her, Kat takes the stairs two at a time and calls for a taxi as the yellow cabs rush by on their morning commute.

The ride to the airport is short and quiet, leaving Kat plenty of time to doubt herself. She wonders whether this is a mistake, getting involved in this mess. She could walk away, pretend it never happened and let whatever happens happen, care only for herself and protect herself from any repercussions. She could do that, but each time she entertains the thought, Stevens' face flashes in her mind. He thinks she's good, moral, decent, and a part of her wants to be just that. A part of her wants to prove Steven right, prove she’s not the monster she is.

The airport is crowded and Kat has to duck out of the way multiple times as business men almost barrel into her in their rush. Kat walks past the check in desk, slipping a paper map of the airport into her pocket as she passes, and if she snatches a peppermint from the desk as well, that doesn't really matter. She likes mints, sue her.

Kat quickly finds her boarding station and begins weaving her way through the crowded hallways in that direction. A warm salty smell wafts over in her direction and her stomach gives a loud rumble that demands satisfaction. Checking her watch, Kat decides to make a small detour and a minute later she is walking happily with a warm bagel in one hand and a coffee in the other.

With the food, her spirits lift monumentally. She’s still pissed beyond belief at Marc, but she also now has a bagel so the two kind of cancel out. Once at the gate, Kat keeps her head down and subtly searches for any sign of Marc, finding his dark curls from behind as he stands in line to board.

He's wearing jeans and a tee shirt with an army green jacket over top, very conspicuous. Joining the back of the line, Kat waits as she gets closer and closer to boarding. The woman in front of her has a small yapping chihuahua in her carry-on that keeps eyeing Kat suspiciously. With the woman's back to her, Kat smirks down at the chihuahua and lets her fangs drop, smiling to show them to the dog and laughing when it starts to yap madly.

When it's her turn, Kat pulls out her passport and shows it to the desk, putting on a timid helpless look as she tells the attendant in a thick french accent, “I haven't been able to print out my ticket, but I have it on my phone if that will work?”

Kat pulls up the electronic receipt of the ticket that Ben had doctored for her and shows it to the attendant who looks at it carefully, slowly saying, “If you don't have the physical ticket..”

Kat lets a few fake tears drop from her eyes as the attendant trails off sympathetically, “Please, my son is waiting for me in Egypt, he's only six and I can’t leave him alone.”

It’s kind of true. Marc has the emotional intelligence of a child and the temper to match and Kat certainly can’t leave him to his own devices.

The attendant chews her lip, silent, before giving Kat a reassuring smile and waving her through. As she passes, Kat wipes off the tears and smiles to herself, it's all too easy.

Entering the plane, Kat immediately spots Marc. He has his eyes closed and his head leaning against the plane's window, he looks so tired. Kat quietly shuffles through the aisle to his seat and leans over the seat to be eye level with him.

“This seat taken, handsome?” Kat smirks, chuckling as Marc's eyes open and fall on her, widening with shock before settling into a dark glare.

“What are you doing here?” He growls, voice low and dangerous as he stiffens in his seat.

“Going to Egypt for vacation.” Kat replies, rolling her eyes, “No, I'm saving your sorry ass, Marc.”

Marc's glare deepens as Kat flops down into the seat next to him and shoves her duffle under the seat in front of her.

“How did you find me?” Marc asks, suspicion coating his voice.

Kat chuckles and rests back against the seat, turning her head to face him, “I have my ways.”

“Very cryptic.”

“Like you’re any better.” Kat raises an amused brow, daring him to disagree.

Instead Marc settles back into his seat with a huff and goes back to staring out the window moodily.

‘Such a toddler.’ Kat thinks, shaking her head to herself.

The safety announcement comes on over the crackling intercom and Kat settles into her seat for the long flight, pulling out a bag of chips and a book on the history of Egypt. Tearing into the bag, Kat shakes it under Marc's nose, offering him some. Marc looks back at her suspiciously and turns away again, pushing her bag away.

“More for me.” Kat shrugs, munching happily on her snack.

“Are you going to be like this for the whole flight?” Marc huffs, annoyed.

“Like what?”

“So…” Marc struggles for the words, giving up and sighing, “Just leave me alone.”

Kat rolls her eyes and turns back to her book, beginning to read silently. She gets almost two pages in before Marc turns to look at her. Kat can feel him watching her but keeps her eyes on the page, though she's not actually reading much since the weight of his gaze is so distracting. After rereading the same sentence five times and still having no clue what it says, Kat huffs and closes her book with a snap, turning her whole body to face Marc.

“What?” Kat finally asks, “What do you want?”

Marc rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Nothing.”

“Then stop staring like I'm a bloody atomic bomb!” Kat opens her book back up, muttering under her breath a quiet, “Idiot.”

It's quiet for another hour before Kat grows restless and bored. Tucking her book back into her bag, Kat turns to Marc. So many questions rest on the tip of her tongue, so much she wants to know about this stranger beside her. Marc stares back at her, waiting patiently for Kat to decide what to ask first and resigning himself to her presence.

“So…you're divorcing Layla?” Kat instantly cringes at her words, she hadn’t meant to actually ask that but it had just slipped out.

Marc frowns at her, “It's a five hour flight, is this really what you want to talk about?”

Kat nods earnestly, “I mean, she's smart and cool and beautiful, why would you want to leave her?”

Kat thinks that Marc won’t answer, that he will close himself off and turn away. But she is pleasantly surprised when Marc seems to be thinking over an answer. His dark brows furrow in a distinctly ‘not Steven' way, once again hitting Kat with the fact that Marc and Steven are separate entirely.

“You're an avatar,” Marc begins, rolling his eyes as Kat gives a quiet ‘duh’ and continues, “You know how…tricky, the gods can be.”

“Well Bastets less ‘tricky’ and more just annoying, but carry on.”

Marc sighs, trying to get his words together, “Konshue wants Layla as his next avatar, I can't let that happen.”

Kat purses her lips as she thinks over Marc's words. It's sweet and honorable how he risks his pain for Layla's happiness, but it's also utterly stupid.

“But both parties must agree to be an avatar,” Kat points out, confusion pulling her lips into a frown, “You actually think Layla would agree to that?”

Marc huffs and turns away, “I won't let it get to that.”

Kat rolls her eyes, poking Marcs shoulder until he turns back to her, “Marc, I know I don't know Layla very well, but I don't think she would ever agree to be Konshues avatar.”

“Yeah? You some kind of psychic now?” Marc challenges, clearly beginning to get frustrated again as his Chicago accent shines through a bit more.

“Let's just say, I can know a lot about a person by looking at them.”

Marc scoffs and shakes his head, “Yeah, right.”

It falls silent again, neither knowing what to say. Out the window Kat can see the fluffy tendrils of white clouds passing them by and the bright blue of the sky as they float above all the earth below.

“So you're a mercenary?” Kat asks, trying to start a conversation again.

“Can we just… stay quiet?” Marc sighs tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face.

Kat frowns but nods, letting her head fall back and closing her eyes. The weight of eyes on her is a constant tingle against her skin as she gazes into the void of darkness behind her eyelids.

“Ya know, some people think starings a bit rude.” Kat smirks, not opening her eyes but feeling Marc shift beside her guiltily.

“Some people think asking about a private divorce is rude.” Marc mutters back.

Kat chuckles, “touche.”

They fall into a more companionable silence. Kat can feel each movement Marc makes but the lack of sleep from the night before pulls at her consciousness until she's fighting to stay aware. With her eyes closed and the presence of Marc beside her, with the gentle thrum of the plane rumbling beneath everything, Kat lets sleep take her in its gentle embrace and fades from the world around her.

Gazing at the sleeping woman beside him, Marc notices the dark purplish bags beneath her eyes and the way her cheeks are pale and hallowed. Her dark brown hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders as she unconsciously shifts towards him in her sleep. Her dark lashes cast shadows over her face and the sharp slope of her nose compliments her face.

Gentle breaths rhythmically fall from her lips as her face relaxes into the calmness of sleep. Like this, she looks so different from the fierce, dangerous woman he had met in that museum bathroom. Here, she looks harmless. But Marc knows that this is far from the truth. This woman is dangerous, too much of her reminds him of his past fellow mercenaries and screams danger in bold neon lights.

But he had seen her with Steven, seen the way she supports him and sticks by him. He also had seen how Steven looks at Kat. And now Marc had gotten in between them and screwed it all up for Steven. Marc berates himself for allowing this to happen, for Steven even realizing Marc exists and messing everything up.

“Oi!”

Fingers snap in his face, demanding his attention. In his distraction, Marc hadn't even noticed when Kat had begun to rouse. Now she stares at him worriedly and watches his reaction carefully.

“I asked if you're okay?” Kat repeats herself softly, “You're doing the thing where you look like you've smelled something really bad.”

Kat wrinkles her nose and squints her eyes in a hard glare, demonstrating. Marc stares at her, unimpressed with her impersonation of him.

“I don't do that.” He says, doing exactly that.

“Yes you do! You're doing it right now!”

Marc's face smooths out immediately, making Kat snort and roll her eyes. Shaking his head, Marck can't help the chuckle that escapes him, low and soft.

“I’m fine,” Marc assures her, “Just thinking.”

“I didn't know you knew how to do that.” Kat is unable to help the jab, a smirk on her face as Marc scowls at her.

For some reason, getting a reaction from Marc makes Kat feel nice. It makes everything else feel lighter and it settles the part of her buzzing for mischief. The way he will scoff and turn away when he doesn't have a good response brings a smile to her face. This dance between them, invigorating and exciting.

Kat sees Marc's gaze drift down to her shoulder, covered by the dark band tee that sits loosely on her shoulders. Kat glances down where Marcs staring and sees the white of her bandages poking out. Grimacing, Kat tugs her sleeve back over it, covering the injury.

“How is your shoulder?” Marc asks quietly, as if afraid to voice the question, a branch being offered.

Kat shrugs then winces as she feels the pull against the stitches, “It'll heal, it won't even leave a scar.”

“Does your suit not protect you?” Marc's brows dip in confusion, remembering how his own suit heals all wounds he receives when wearing it.

“It does,” Kat answers, holding up her hand as Marc opens his mouth to ask, “But it doesn't heal what's left uncovered.”

Kat gestures to her shoulder as an example. Marc's frown deepens as he absorbs this information.

“Then your choice of suit is even stupider than I thought.” Marc says, a genuine concern beneath his mocking tone.

“Well at least I don’t look like I walked straight out of a Spirit Halloween.” Kat shoots back, quite proud of her suit. Thank you very much.

“They're the ceremonial robes.” Marc defends, shaking his head, a chuckle escaping his lips, “and they're better than the Bond villain get up you've got going on.”

Kat gasps in mock offense, holding a dramatic hand to her chest, “I would make an amazing Bond villain!”

“Yeah, sure you would.” Marc rolls his eyes fondly, a smirk quirking the edge of his mouth.

“I would!” Kat insists, openly smiling now as her eyes glitter with mirth, “I have the drama and the supervillain edge.”

“You have the drama alright.” Marc agrees with a scoff turned smile, one that creases his eyes and makes his face seem more youthful.

Kats mouth goes dry as she watches Marc's eyes lift to hers, weakly choking out, “Shut up.”

And just as quickly as it had come, Marc's humor fades and his face becomes set with the heaviness he always seems to carry. His eyes become focused and serious as the frown, seemingly permanently etched on his face, settles back into place.

“When we get there, you should rest.” Marc says quietly, eyes drifting back to Kats injured shoulder.

“I'm fine.” Kat rolls her eyes, brushing off Marc's concern, “You're the one who needs to rest. You look like a raccoon with those under eyes.”

“Thanks.” Marc mutters dryly, settling back against the window, “Seriously though, there won't be much time to sleep, get some while you can.”

“So you won't ditch me the minute we land?” Kat asks cautiously, poking Marc's shoulder and smiling when he swats her hand away.

“I have a feeling you would just find me again.”

“Are you psychic?” Kat jokes, leaning forward to see Marc's face which is turned away, looking out the window.

“Sleep.” Marc commands, ignoring the way he wants Kat to keep talking to him.

Kat huffs and mumbles something that sounds distinctly like ‘you can't tell me what to do moon man’, but she does lean back and close her eyes once again.

Her dreams come quickly once she has been pulled under into a light sleep. Her dreams are never coherent, merely flashes of memories and fictions she wishes she could believe. This dream is more vivid than usual.

Stranded in the desert, Kat stands stuck in the sand that keeps growing and growing around her legs, pulling her further and further down. She claws at the rising sand, trying to save herself from doom but the sand is immovable as it creeps over her body, cementing in place. Far away Kat can hear voices mixing together, crying out for help. Stevens' accented cries stab at her yet Kat can do nothing but listen.

And then she is not alone anymore. No, for before her, standing with a young woman kat recognizes trapped in his arms and a knife against her throat, is Arthur Harrow. It's Harrow, but his face is strange, almost reptilian in its appearance. He smiles at her as Kat struggles and screams for him to let the woman go. Blood begins to drip down Kat from god knows where, coating her in its warm stickiness and blinding her. She cannot see but the sound of the woman's cut short scream paints a good enough picture.

The winds whisper their song in her ears, over and over, relentless in their taunts.

‘Monster. Monster. Monster.’

The winds are soft but the words are sharp. The heat claws at Kat, choking her as she feels the sand enclose around her throat and creep over her face. Kat draws in a final breath as the sand fully encases her and everything disappears.

Kat's eyes fly open, burning at the bright bluish yellow lights of the plane and the brightly lit day. Her hands immediately go to her throat and face, patting and making sure no sand granules are suffocating her as she takes in quick breaths. Her eyes dart around as she slowly realizes that it was just a dream.

The plane still rumbles, the people still chatter, and Marc is still beside her. No desert, no woman, no Harrow. Sighing, Kat runs a hand through her hair and closes her eyes tightly, swallowing back the dream and the resulting panic.

“Hey.” Marc nudges her shoulder, reminding Kat that she is not alone.

Marc is staring at her with a troubled look. He seems thoughtful and concerned, but says nothing about Kats behavior. Instead, he nods out the window where the tarmac lays a few feet below them.

“We've landed.”

“Right,” Kat nods, shaking off the lingering clutches of sleep and grabbing her bag, “Lets go.”

They shuffle down the aisle and through the airport together. Kat makes sure to keep a close eye on Marc the entire time lest he get the idea to abandon her, she doesn't trust him not too after last time. The airport itself is packed, tall ceilings echo the chatter of so many people speaking many different languages, the polished floor scuffed by suitcases and shoes reflects the hanging lights.

They follow the signs leading out into the street, printed in both Arabic and English, and squeeze into an already packed elevator down to street level. Kat is forced to stand closely pressed to Marc's chest as more people shuffle in after them. Kat can feel Marc's chest expand with each breath and tries to ignore the feeling of it tickling the back of her neck and the soft warmth of his skin through his shirt against her back.

“When we get to the street, I'll get us a cab.” Marc whispers close in Kats ear, leaning down and inadvertently pressing closer.

“Where are we taking the cab too?” Kat questions, only needing to tilt her head back slightly to come face to face with Marc, his face mere inches from hers as she swallows thickly and ignores the electricity sparking in her veins.

“Hotel.” Marc replies shortly, voice gruffer than before.

It is only a few minutes before the elevator lands and Marc and Kat separate again, but it feels like much longer. Shoving through the people and out of the crowded elevator, Kat and Marc exit the airport and breath in the warm humid air.

Bright yellow cabs and black and white older cabs whizz past in blurs, their horns honking rapidly at one another as if speaking their own language. The tall palm trees sway over them in the light breeze, the leaves shadows dancing on the sun bleached sidewalk. Sun beats down on them, wrapping Kat in its warm embrace and heating her air condition cooled skin.

People clump in mobs as they all wait and vye for the next cabbie's attention. people push and shove their way through, each on their own important errands. If not for Marc pulling Kat closer to him by her waist, she would have been trampled by the vacationing tourist that seem to forget spacial awareness and manners as they shove aside anyone in their way.

Kat glares after the tourist but her attention is snagged as Marc's hand stays around her waist, a firm weight against her hip. Marc doesn't even seem aware of this as he raises a hand to stop a cab.

It’s only when a bright yellow cab halts before them and ushers them in, that Marc's arm leaves Kat, the absence now much more prominent than it had been before. Marc ducks into the cab, rattling off an address to the driver while Kat gets in behind him.

The ride to the hotel is quiet, neither knowing quite what to say. The driver mostly ignores them, singing along to the song on the radio as he honks at other cars that try to cut him off. He makes small jokes and tells them about his daughter, pointing to the picture of a young child that is clipped to the top of the rearview mirror. Kat learns that her name is Aya and that her favorite color is blue. She will never admit it, but one of the best parts of her job has always been listening to people talk. People will tell you their darkest secrets if you just listen for long enough.

When they pull up outside the hotel, Marc pays and gets out hurriedly while Kat lingers behind to give the man a large tip and thank him. Following Marc into the reception, Kat gives a sigh of relief as she steps into the air conditioned lobby.

It takes almost no time at all until Marc slides a stack of egyptian pounds over the counter and receives a key to their room. Walking up the stairs with Marc, Kats thoughts wander as she thinks over the logistics of this whole thing.

They have no clue where Harrow is exactly, they will need food for sure, and Kat was in such a rush to pack that she isn't even quite sure she has everything she needs.

Opening the door, Marc and Kat enter their room. The first thing Kat notices is the gorgeous view overlooking the balcony, pyramids on full display and tan building roofs creating a geometric maze with the tall green leaves of the palm trees popping against the brown and sandy tones. The second thing Kat notices is the single bed in the room, crisp white sheets stretched over the mattress with neatly folded towels laid on top.

Marc swears under his breath, muttering “They said it was two beds.”

Kat shrugs and nods to the stiff and surely uncomfortable arm chair positioned near the open air window, “I can just sleep there, you take the bed.”

“I'm not making you sleep in a chair.” Marc sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, “I'll take the chair, you get the bed.”

Kat laughs shortly, “Not gonna happen.”

“Take the bed.” Marc demands, frowning at her.

“No.”

“Why are you being so stubborn on this?” Marc growls, glaring at Kat as he drops his bag to the floor.

“Why are you?” Kat shoots back, an insolent smirk on her face.

“Fine!” Marc yells to the ceiling, throwing his hands up and relenting, “Sleep in the chair, sleep on the floor for all I care!”

Marc crosses his arms and turns to begin digging through his bag. Rolling her eyes at his behavior, Kat grabs her own duffle and sets it on the arm chair, unzipping it and double checking that she has everything she needs for this impromptu adventure.

“Oh no.” Kat groans, hanging her head and cursing her own forgetfulness.

“What is it?” Marc softly asks, the frustration from before draining from his face and being replaced with hints of worry.

Kat flushes and looks at the floor as she mumbles, “I kind of…forgot to pack a toothbrush.”

Marc scoffs and shakes his head, “How do you forget to pack a toothbrush?”

“Well maybe if someone had, I don't know, waited for me like he said he would,” Kat levels an accusatory glare at Marc, “Then I wouldn't have been in such a rush and forgotten it.”

Marc for his part, at least looks away guiltily. His shoulders rise tensely and he crosses his arms, closing himself off again as a mask settles over his features. Kat had noticed it before, but now it is even more prominent that closing himself off and pushing people away is Marc's go to when he feels cornered.

‘It's kind of sweet.’ Kat thinks, intelligent eyes examining the way Marc walks stiffly around the room and avoids her eyes, ‘Sweet that he cares so much about others that he pushes his own needs away. Not healthy in the slightest though.’

Kat decides she will try and get Marc to take care of himself too before the end of this. Grabbing a stack of cash, Kat counts it and makes sure she will have plenty before grabbing the first jacket she sees and putting it on, night will come soon and she knows the desert gets cold with the sun's absence.

“I'm going to the store, do you need anything?” Kat asks, stopping with her hand on the door handle and turning back to Marc.

Marc's back is to her, but Kat can see him shrug his shoulders as he grabs a shirt and a pair of shorts, throwing them in the bathroom with a towel, “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Kat rolls her eyes, deciding to get him some chips or something, “don't burn down the hotel while I'm gone.”

Kat can feel Marc's eyes staring after her as she shuts the door behind her. She is halfway down the stairs when she realizes that her jacket is black, the one she is currently wearing is a muddy army green and smells like cologne and sweat with a hint of mint. With growing mortification, Kat realizes that she's stolen and is currently wearing Marc's jacket. She ponders going back and grabbing hers but ultimately decides she doesn't want to climb the stairs again and that Marc won't miss it.

Stepping out into the busy streets, Kat is hit by the wall of noise and smells. The streets are lined by square shops with open doors and faded signs advertising their products with big and bold Arabic letters, Al-abjadiyah, that Kat can roughly read. There are people gathered in front of shops selling their own wares and food. The rich scent of cooking meat and sauteed vegetables fills the air and reminds Kat with a pang of hunger, that she hasn't eaten almost the entire day.

Taking a quick detour, Kat goes down a more narrow alley like road off of the main streets where many carts and trucks are selling various foods that all makes Kats mouth water. She decides on a simple kebab and gets into the surprisingly short line.

After getting her food and scarfing it down in seconds, Kat resumes her original quest and arrives at a small shop, its bell ringing a pleasant melody as she pushes the door open. A man stands behind the counter reading a newspaper, glancing up at Kat before resuming his reading. Kat gives a small smile and makes quick work of grabbing the few things she needs, sighing in relief when she finds the toothbrushes and paste. Her phone buzzes in her pocket and, looking at the unknown number and the regular threat of death, Kat ignores it. After grabbing a few snacks and a Moro chocolate bar for herself, plus a bag of Tiger chips for Marc, Kat brings her prizes to the counter and waits as the man begins to scan each.

“Ahlan bekum” The clerk greets, giving Kat a cursory glance before continuing to ring up her total.

“Ahlan beek.” Kat responds, drawing upon her limited knowledge and feeling a surge of pride when the clerk doesn't seem to notice anything wrong with her response.

“Are you english?” The man asks in a thick accent, switching to English himself.

Remembering which passport she grabbed, Kat quickly adds a subtle accent and tells him, “No, I am french.”

The man nods and puts all her items in a bag, handing it too her and wishing her a goodnight, “Masa' al khayr”

Kat smiles and walks back out into the street, stomach filled with good food and her hands full of snacks and much needed necessities. Her mood has lifted from the sourness from the morning and her face can't stop spreading in a wide smile. Her footsteps feel light and like a melodic rhythm of their own as she walks leisurely back to the hotel, taking in the beautiful city around her.

She’s a block away from the hotel when a soft meow catches her attention. Looking to her side, Kat sees that an adorable orange tabby is walking behind her. Stopping, Kat crouches down and coos at the cat, her heart jumping with joy when the cat immediately comes up and rubs itself against her leg, its long tail curling over her hand with each gentle pet she gives it. There is just something about Kat that seems to make cats instantly accept her, probably the whole cat goddess thing if she has to guess. Kat laughs as the cat's nose twitches and bumps at the bag of food she holds by her side.

“Okay, okay.” Kat chuckles, rummaging through the bag and pulling out a bun she had gotten, tearing it open and offering the cat a chunk, “Good kitty.”

The cat purrs as it greedily eats the bread and looks expectantly at Kat until she gives in and offers the cat the rest of it.

“Such a greedy little thing.” Kat coos fondly, scratching behind the cat's ears and grinning when it leans into her touch.

When the cat is done with its dinner, Kat pets it one last time and says goodbye, standing and walking away.

The cat follows.

“No,” Kat turns to the cat, “You can’t follow me and you won’t get more food from me either.”

The cat stares up at Kat.

Kat stares back.

“Okay fine!” Kat cries, throwing her hands in the air and bringing out the package of kofta and giving one to the cat. “Now, stay and do whatever cats do at this time of night. Don't follow me.”

Kat turns and walks.

The cat follows.

Accepting her fate, Kat continues to walk to the hotel's lobby doors as the cat dutifully walks between her feet. When she reaches the doors, Kat bends down to pet the cat again.

“It's okay little one,” Kat whispers to it with a deep smooth voice, a certain power in her voice, that of a priest giving a blessing, “Go, be safe with Bastets protection.”

As if understanding her words, the cat licks her hand and gives a soft thankful meow before hopping through the spaces of a railing and running off into the night. Chuckling to herself, Kat heads inside.

The lobby is empty save for one woman at the desk and Kat, feeling rather proud of herself currently, decides to see if she can't get her and Marc separate beds.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Kat grabs the woman's attention, resting her hands on the counter, “My friend and I were given a room with one bed, and I was wondering if you have a spare room with two? Or perhaps a cot would work as well?”

The woman smiles at Kat and turns to her computer, typing away. After a few moments she turns to Kat with a sympathetic smile and shakes her head, telling Kat that they are fully booked and all their cots were already in use.

“Okay, thank you.” Kat says, shrugging her shoulders and going to the stairs.

Walking to her room, Kat is smiling and feeling like this whole thing may not be the disaster she thought it would be. Perhaps she can do this, perhaps she can finally prove to herself that she is not the ugly monstrous thing she always feels like.

Humming a directionless tune, Kat opens the room door and feels her feet falter and her heart stop in her chest. Her humming trails off as her eyes trail along the shattered glass littering to floor, to the cracked and broken mirror, to the messy bed of tangled sheets. Her eyes stop on the figure sitting in the middle of the mess, his back against the foot of the bed and an almost empty bottle of booze in his loose hand. Marc's head lolls carelessly to the side, his half lidded eyes finding Kats and his mouth twisting into a guilty frown before becoming a weak scowl.

His chest is almost glowing in the fading light of the sun as it rises and falls. Kat feels her eyes wander over his toned figure before snapping them back to Marc's eyes and gulping.

‘Get a hold of yourself!’ Kats mind screams at her, ‘He's just a man, not even a very nice one in fact, a very rude man.’

Nodding to herself, Kat draws herself up and puts her hands on her hips, fully the picture of disapproval. Ignoring her entirely, Marc stands and dramatically opens the curtains, letting beams of the sinking sun stream in and a cast fiery glow through the room.

‘He is nice looking though.’ Kats mind supplies unhelpfully.

Turning away and keeping her eyes anywhere other than on the practically naked Marc being silhouetted by the sun, Kat puts her bag of snacks on the bed and throws the bag of chips forcefully at Marc's back.

“Hey!” Marc shouts, turning around and glaring at the offending chips that had dropped to the floor, “What was that for?”

Kat glares at Marc, gesturing at the broken glass and mess, “This! How the hell did you tear the room apart in the time I was gone?”

“Shut up.” Marc grumbles, walking back and flopping on the bed as he takes a gulp from the bottle in his hand.

Huffing, Kat snatches the bottle from his hands and sets it on the bedside table, “I will do no such thing, Marc Spector.”

Marc lays back and closes his eyes, tossing an arm over them to block out the light. Kat has to take a deep breath and remember that she's mad with him as this sight is unfairly attractive.

“What happened?” Kat demands, kicking the glass into a loose pile with the edge of her boot, “Why are you drunk and moody?”

“I'm not moody.” Marc slurs, peeking an eye open to watch Kats movements.

“This says otherwise.” Kat says, gesturing to the broken mirror that sports spots of blood from where Marc must have hit it.

“Not moody,” Marc disagrees, voice gravelly and slow, “frustrated.”

Kat sighs and grabs her duffle, pulling from it her first aid kit and sitting on the bed beside where Marc head lays.

“What are you frustrated about?” Kat asks, looking down on Marc who gazes back up at her.

Her anger having evaporated and being replaced with worry, Kat carefully and slowly takes Marc's injured hand and cradles it in her lap as she pulls out a swap of disinfecting wipes and cleans the cuts.

Marc winces but makes no protests. Kat works quietly, dabbing away the blood and applying an antibacterial cream before wrapping his hand in loose bandages, doing her best to not pull or press on any of the cuts too harshly.

“Come on,” Kat nudges his cheek with her knee, “Tell me what's going on, please?”

Marc looks at her, evaluating her, before releasing a long suffering sigh and beginning, “I was having a bad night.”

“Really? I couldn't tell.” Kat mutters sarcastically, quieting and miming zipping her lips when Marc glares at her.

“I need to find Ammits tomb before Harrow and now, because of you and Steven-” Marc falters under Kats glare, “Sorry. Because of events,” Marc glances at Kat for her approval, continuing, "I have no way of finding the tomb without the scarab.”

Marc avoids Kats eyes after finishing, looking anywhere but at her. Clearly, this talking thing is not Marc's forte.

Taking pity on him, Kat lays on the bed beside him so he won't have to look at her.

“There are ways of finding the tomb, we just have to think of them.” Kat says, staring at the ceiling above them.

“I didn't know you could think.” Marc repeats Kats words from before, turning to her with a cheeky grin.

“Oh shush.” Kat bats his shoulder, slightly awkward laying beside each other as they are, “As I was saying, we're not out of options.”

Marc hums but stays silent, thinking over Kats words. Kat is content to just let the silence linger and lets her eyes fall closed, not sleeping quiet yet but appreciating the lull of silence.

Glancing over at her, Marc is struck by how Kats tanned skin glows against the yellow light of the lingering sun's rays, dusted bronze along her toned arms. His drunken mind is slow and lingers on every detail he notices of hers, her chestnut hair, her pink lips, the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Closing his eyes, Marc falls into a lazy sleep as Kat accidentally does the same beside him. Despite the agreement for her to sleep on the chair, Kat and Marc spend the first night in Egypt sleeping beside each other in the bed that Marc had torn apart.