To Love and Blood

A man in a pressed suit with a HK45 tucked into his waistband approaches Morgarts side and leans in to whisper something to him. Kat watches Morgarts facial expressions carefully. First anger, then surprise, then curiosity.

‘Not good.’ Kat thinks.

“Well, that's interesting,” Morgart drawls, a smile creeping over his face as he assesses them, “it appears we have a concerned third party here.”

Kats stomach drops, her face filling with fear before dropping back into a mask of neutrality. She's roughly pulled to her feet and forced to walk forward, Marc and Layla doing the same beside her.

They are shoved forward until they stand behind Morgart and a few feet from the glass triangle. Kat can hear the clink of glass before he even comes into view, the sound signaling Kats fear. From the shadows of night emerges first, the glint of a cane, then greying hair, and then his face. Harrow is flanked by a group of his followers, all armed and dangerous. His face has adopted a look of pure serenity and calm. Kat wants to spit at it.

Beside her, Kat sees Marc's face darken dangerously. He begins to struggle and fight against the guards holding him before stopping and just glaring at Harrow. His rage is like a cloud around him, so intense that even Kat can feel it just standing by him.

Kat wonders what Marc was going to say before this, and whether she will ever find out. Something tells her that it was important. Kat suddenly regrets even waking up this morning, especially if not waking up meant she could have stayed longer in Marc's warm, comforting, arms. The reminder of warmth brings Kats attention acutely to the chill of wind against her arms, her jacket loose and unprotective, great for the hot daytime but not so great for the cool night.

“Whatever they've told you,” Harrow speaks in his aged voice, leaning on the cane clasped between his hands and gazing at Morgart as if he already knows Morgarts mind and more, “I'm sure I can offer you something more tangible.”

Kat sneers at Harrow, muttering, “The only thing you can offer is death.”

“I could say the same of you, Katalya.” Harrow says. Kat ignores Marc's questioning stare as Harrow continues talking to Morgart, “Why settle for a clue, when you can have the treasure?”

“Anton,” Layla pleads, tears brimming in her eyes, “Anton, don't listen to this man. He's trying to stop us from reaching-”

“Please, stop.” Anton cuts Layla off with a hand.

“He's gonna kill millions!” Layla insists, struggling, “Trust me!”

Morgart turns back to Layla with a humorless chuckle, flat and menacing. His footfalls are muffled by the ground but the anger in them is unmistakable as he stalks towards Layla with a twisted expression in incredulity.

Kat struggles against the hands holding her back as Morgart gets close in Layla's face. A growl close to a hiss releases from her throat against her will as she snaps at him.

“Trust?” Morgart laughs with disbelief that turns to betrayed anger, “Are you seriously talking about trust?”

“Get the hell away from her you scum faced douchebag!” Kat shouts, thrashing as a hand covers her mouth and muffles her words in a painfully tight grip.

“Please, there's no need to descend into violent accusations.” Harrow says, much too calmly, “Each one of you has much more in common than you know.”

A coldness with nothing to do with the temperature of the night comes over Kat as she abruptly stops struggling and stares at Harrow with wide fearful eyes. He knows too much about her, his hints of knowledge all collecting in her mind like a puzzle being solved. The texts, the way he looks at her as if he knows who she is, the way he kept speaking of her past. It all falls into place as Harrow's cool disconcerting blue eyes stare back at her.

Him. everything comes back to him.

‘Oh god.’ Kat realizes with cool fear dripping down her back, ‘Claire. He knows about Claire.’

Harrow turns from Kat as if he does not care about her realizations, and instead speaks to Layla, “Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your fathers murder from reopening, but something stands in your way. Your husband doesn't tell you the truth.”

“Shut up, you sick-” Marc grits out, his jaw clenched tightly as he glares darkly at Harrow.

“Marc,” Harrow turns his disconcerting eyes to Marc calmly, “you don't tell her because you know if you do, she’ll see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of love.”

Kat releases a sound that's a mix of a shout and a grunt as Harrow turns to her, a creepy smile appearing on his wrinkled face. Her breath comes quick and shallow as she uselessly shakes her head, a rabbit in a wolf's trap.

“My dear Katalya,” Harrow practically hums, triumphant in his condescension, “hiding yourself from those around you. Lying at every turn.”

“Shut up.” Kat growls, catching Marc and Laylas glances and quickly looking away as if burned.

“The blood on your hands is numerous and dark,” Harrow continues as if not hearing Kats words, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he speaks the next piece, “a hired assassin.”

“What's he talking about?” Marc asks, turning to Kat, repeating more firmly, “Kat, what is he talking about?”

“Are you an assassin?” Layla asks more calmly, still freaked out but not as angry.

“No!” Kat answers immediately, on instinct.

“Ah ah ah,” Harrow mocks, wagging a finger, “no need to lie any more Katalya.”

Kat sighs, clenching and unclenching her fists a few times before shaking her head and meekly nodding.

Kat keeps her eyes closed as Layla's gasp and Marcs scoff float into her ears. Shame and guilt washes over her in intense waves, ones that threaten to pull her out to sea. Harrow continues speaking, talking about showing Morgart ‘true power’, but it is all noise to Kat. Her head and heart feels too full and her body too small.

The walls around her are crashing and every lie she's ever told is coming back to haunt her again. It's only when there is a boom to her right that Kat opens her eyes. The first thing she sees is the wafting purple smoke around the busted sarcophagus. The second, is that Marc has disappeared from her side.

Taking the momentary distraction, Kat kicks back at the man holding her and pulls herself free. Mentally calling upon Bastet, Kat closes her eyes and sighs as the familiar golden light basks her in its warmth and disappears into her black tactical suit and golden bands.

There are shouts and gun fire erupting around Kat, but she gives no bother to it. This, unlike emotions and friendship, Kat understands and can do.

Moving quickly, Kat is able to catch two guards by surprise and smoothly cut their arteries before moving onto the next. This guard is slightly harder. He is able to catch Kats wrist in its downward arc and kicks Kat back. Skidding on her feet, Kat digs her heel into the ground and uses her momentum to dart back forward and catch the guard in the temple with her fist before stepping to the side and out of his range.

The guard falls to the ground, out cold. Kat can't say she's not a little disappointed that it wasn't harder, but she has no time to think much before arms are wrapping around her torso and pulling her to the ground. Kicking her attacker off, Kat rolls over and spits out the dirt and dust that had fallen into her mouth.

Coughing slightly, Kat jumps up and stumbles back as a hand grabs her hair and jerks her head backward painfully. Kat jabs her elbow back but meets only air. Her neck twinges uncomfortably as a fist lands on her stomach and forces the air from her lungs. Sputtering a cough, Kat grabs the hand in her hair and twists it until she hears a snap and feels her hair be released.

With a blade in one hand, Kat spins around and cuts a deep slice across the bodyguard's stomach. She doesn't bother to stick around and see the damage, instead she starts running towards the glass pyramid. If she loses Marc and Laylas trust forever, she can at least make sure they don't lose the map to Ammits ushabti.

Around her, punches fly as everybody fights everybody. Kat weaves through the fighting people and is so close to the opening of the triangle when a baton collides with her skull with a crack. Stars burst across her vision as Kat is vaguely aware of her body hitting the ground. Blinking the fuzziness away, Kat rolls over as a shadow falls over her. Her mind is too dark to understand what is happening, only that her head hurts like hell and everything is spinning.

A voice says something that Kats muddled mind cannot make out, it sounds like she is under water. Kat groans and tries to get back on her feet but her arms give out as her vision fades in and out.

“Katalya!” A low voice hisses, pleading, “Get up!”

‘Can’t.’ Kat thinks. God, even thinking is hard, ‘Too hard.’

“Get up! Please Kat!” A different voice, british and familiar, yells from somewhere Kat cannot see.

Kat feels the wind before a blow lands and instinctually rolls out of the way. Her eyes are still closed as the ground where her head had just been vibrates with the sound of a fist hitting dirt.

“Get up!” The voice pleads.

Forcing her eyes open, Kat hisses at the dim, but still too much, light that makes her head throb harshly. The world is slowly coming into focus but not quick enough, as a blur speeds towards her head. Kat rolls out of the way again and stumbles to her feet, the ground spinning beneath her as her legs wobble.

“I'm up, I'm up.” Kat mumbles to no one in particular, her mouth feels full of cotton and her words are slurred and slow.

Kat can feel a sticky warmness tickling down the side of her face and matting her hair. The metallic smell of rust invades her senses. The world is back in focus and her mind is slowly jogging back to speed. The man who had attacked her is standing across from her and preparing to throw the stick again. Kat grabs an abandoned gun from the ground and chucks it at the man, it misses wide but it effectively distracts him as a crescent blade nestles between his brows. Slowly the man falls to his knees and collapses dead.

“Thanks.” Kat whispers, unable to say anything more or to even bother looking for Marc.

With a pounding head, Kat stumbles up the glass triangles steps and into the room. She leans against the sarcophagus as her mind works to understand what's going on around her. In the room, Layla struggles with Bek as he has her in a hold from behind.

Fighting to not puke in the sarcophagus and ruin such an important artefact, Kat grabs a canopic jar and uses the edge of the sarcophagus to shuffle behind Bek until she is close enough to whack him on the back of the head with the jar.

Taking the distraction Kat provided, Layla pulls her blades from her broach and jabs it into Beks shoulder and chest. Sighing in relief, Layla turns to thank Kat before her face falters and falls into a deep pained frown.

“For-oh god why are these lights so damn bright?” Kat grumbles, blinking her eyes harshly and tries to focus back on what she needs to tell Layla, “For what it's worth, I'm sorry I lied to you.”

Kats fingers grip tightly on the sarcophagus as her legs give out beneath her. Layla is suddenly beside her and holding Kat up as she swallows back the nausea rising in her throat.

“Right, apologies can wait.” Layla says quickly, slowly lowering Kat to the floor, “You're hurt, badly.”

“Wow, really? I didn't notice.” Kat snarks, immediately apologizing, “Sorry.”

“It's okay, just..stay here and out of trouble.” Layla instructs, patting Kats hand once before pulling away and running back into the fight.

“Stay here.” Kat repeats to herself, her head rolling to the side as she watches people outside the triangle run about, “Just stay here, and out of trouble.”

Kats is not sure how much time passes as she sits there. Time is weird, it feels like it sludges on but Kats eyes can barely keep track of the people running by. She can hear Steven calling from somewhere, but she cannot figure out how. But it's definitely Steven by the way he calls for peace.

Kats worry pricks up as Stevens voice falters and she hears a yelp of pain. Pushing herself up, Kat takes a cautious step and, finding that she can stand, starts running to the gates where the floodlights bathe the ground in white. As she gets nearer, she can see the crouched figure of Marc in his suit hunched over in pain with many poles impaled in him and pinning him to the ground.

Clumsily climbing over the white gate, Kat stumbles into the ring and shouts in surprise as Marc rips the poles from his body. The sound brings Marc attention to her, his eyes widening before falling into a glare as he turns away.

Kat thought that nothing could feel worse than what she had already experienced, but this is very much worse. This pain rips at her with its teeth and claws, sharp and pointed in its attacks. Tears blur Kats vision as the pain inside her claws itself to be known and unignored, urging her to unleash the pain she keeps locked inside.

A shout pulls Kat out of her thoughts and brings her attention to where Layla lays in the sand, unable to get up as Morgart charges a horse towards her with a gun pointed directly at her. Kats eyes dart to where Marc is too overwhelmed by guards to get to Layla in time.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Kat blinks the dizziness away and starts running. The ground wobbles and spins beneath her, but Kat continues her path as best as she can. When she is only a foot away and Morgarts finger is closing around the trigger, Kat leaps with blind faith.

Her body crashes into Laylas and pushes the woman to the ground as Kat covers her, shutting her eyes tightly as the crack of a gun sounds behind her.

Kat had expected agony, shooting pains through her spine, not whatever the hell this is.

The soft cloth of a cape brushes her bare arms like a blanket and strong solid arms are wrapped around her waist. It takes a few frustratingly long moments for Kat to connect the dots and realize that Marc had shielded her.

The thump of a body hitting the ground brings Kats' attention to where Morgart lays with a crescent blade sticking out of his back.

Slowly Kat turns her head to look at Marc. His eyes are trained on Morgart, a hatred intense in them. Kat dreads to think what it would be like if she were on the receiving end of that stare.

Marc's eyes slowly lower to look at Kat, stilling for a moment before frowning and releasing her as if burned. Kat shuts her eyes against the burn of tears and sits up to let Layla out from under her.

“Are you okay?” Marc asks Layla, ignoring Kat entirely.

Kat is sure that the whole world can hear her heart breaking. It's a deafening sound in her mind.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Layla answers. Catching Kats mournful expression, Layla's face softens, “Are you alright Kat?”

Kat looks up at Layla quickly, not bothering to cover the shock on her face. She hadn't expected Layla to even speak to her, much less ask how she’s doing. Silently, Kat nods, not trusting her voice at the moment.

“Do you have it?” Marc asks Layla, continuing to ignore Kat.

“Yeah.” Layla nods, pulling the tattered and worn pieces of cloth from inside her cardigan.

A sigh of relief escapes Kat, her shoulders loosening and relaxing with the knowledge that all is not lost. Now if only Harrow hadn't disappeared during the fight, then Kat could hit him with his own stupid cane.

“We need a car.” Layla says, standing up and holding out a hand for Kat.

Hesitantly taking it, Kat allows herself to be helped up. This small act of trust from Layla confuses her, why would Layla even want to be near her after she has lied so much.

Marc watches their exchange with disapproving eyes, a scoff releasing from his throat as he turns away and starts to march away in search of a car.

Kat watches him go with drooping shoulders and a sad frown. She wants to go after him, to explain herself, but what can she say? Even the truth is horrible. She is horrible. Only a true monster would do such a thing to someone they care for.

“He just needs some time.” Layla says, seeing where Kats gaze follows, “Marc doesn't usually trust people, so when that trust is broken it's hard on him.”

Well if that doesn't just make Kat feel a thousand times worse.

“I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.” Kat whispers, wiping at her tears, “I quit the assassin gig, I'm not one anymore.”

Layla nods, a small smile on her lips as she squeezes Kats shoulder, “Good. Now no more secrets, okay?”

Kat stares at Layla dumbfounded, “How can you be so accepting of this? How can you even look at me?”

Layla purses her lips as she thinks, her brows furrowing in concentration.

“Because everyone has their secrets, even me, and I know that they don't define a person.” Layla shrugs, explaining as if it were obvious, “And I can see that you care about Marc and Steven and wouldn't hurt them.”

‘If only she knew.’ Kat thinks morosely to herself.

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Kat nods. The motion makes her head throb something awful and her hand instinctively goes to her head and feels something wet and sticky. Pulling her hand away, Kat grimaces at the stark red staining her fingers.

“Layla! Hurry up!” Marc shouts from the beach, opening a car door and beginning to hot wire it.

“Right.” Layla sighs, “There should be some medical supplies in my bag, let's get you patched up.”

Kat can't respond, her mind going blank for any words to express her gratitude. Layla grabs Kats hand and pulls her along as they make their way to where Marc is struggling to get the car started.

Leaving Kat with Marc, Layla goes around the sand colored jeep and throws her bag into the back seat and starts searching through it for the bandages.

Kat watches silently as Marc tries to get a spark going, unsure of whether she is welcome to speak or not. She doesn't want to risk making Marc more angry with her. Marc mutters something under his breath as he ignores Kats presence.

It's when Marc starts to tie together the wire that controls wipers and the ignition wire that Kat finally decides to speak up.

“Use the red wire, not the green.” Kat says softly, keeping her eyes trained on the wires and not Marc's face.

Marc stares at her for an intense moment before grabbing the red wire harshly and cuts off the insulation to expose the copper wiring beneath. The minute he touches them, the engine roars to life. Taping those together, Marc leans back and glares at Kat.

“Is that something you learned in assassin school?” Marc demands mockingly.

Kat cringes and shakes her head, “No, and there's no such thing as ‘assassin school’.”

“Not the point, Katalya.” Marc growls, scoffing and turning away from her,

If Marc is using her full name then Kat is really in trouble. She screwed up big time. Mark never uses her full name, he knows she hates it.

Kat opens her mouth to say something, to apologize or just say anything, but no sound comes out. She stands there, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. Marc shakes his head disappointedly and is about to say something that will surely hurt, when Layla appears from behind the jeep with a small box in her hand.

“Not now, Marc.” Layla scolds him, giving Marc a harsh stare, “She's hurt, give her a break.”

“We are not taking her with us.” Marc states, ignoring Kats presence entirely.

“You can't be serious!” Layla gasps, her voice raising, “What? Are you going to just abandon her here?”

Marc scowls and grinds his teeth, “Yes! She's dangerous.”

“So are you!” Layla shouts, throwing her hands up and shaking her head as an almost hysterical laugh comes from her, “God Marc, you're such a hypocrite. You're just as dangerous, if not more.”

“Actually I'm technically more dangerous.” Kat adds in a quiet voice, immediately shutting up when catching Layla's glare, “I'll stop talking now.”

“We can't risk it.” Marc says decidedly, turning to get the car into gear.

“Oh yes we can.” Layla argues, dragging Kat around the jeep and pushing her into the passenger seat before climbing in the back herself, “She's a part of this Marc, whether you like it or not, and she can help.”

Kat feels the pain in her head rising into almost unbearable levels as they continue to argue. Closing the passenger door, Kat leans her head against the cool glass, a startling relief against her fevered skin. The words of Marc and Layla blur together and become a muddled mess as Kat feels the pull of sleep, the longing to drift away.

A slap against her shoulder brings Kat back to the present. Blinking her eyes as the pounding of her head becomes forefront, Kat turns to see Layla looking at her with worry.

“Hey, are you with us Kat?” Layla asks gently, her eyes examining Kats face, “You need to stay awake, okay?”

“What's wrong with her?” Marc asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

‘When did we start driving?’ Kat wonders but is unable to move her mouth enough to ask.

“She got hit pretty hard,” Layla explains, her frown deepens, “Marc, pull over.”

“Why? What's wrong?” Marc asks.

“Just pull over.” Layla insists, her hand staying on Kats shoulder and occasionally squeezing as Kat feels her eyes closing.

Mac quickly pulls to the side of the road and parks, shifting in his seat to finally look at Kat fully.

His eyes pin point on the blood matting her chestnut hair down to the bruises adorning her face with their mottled hues. Her eyes are drowsy and unfocused, pupils dilated. His eyes then go to the pained expression she wears as she blinks to stay awake and aware.

Marc feels a pain in his chest, a clutching squeezing pain that grabs him and fills him with remorse. He can feel his resolve to ignore her weakening and his anger dissipating in the moment.

“Kat,” Marc says, reaching out to support her lolling head and holding her cheek, “Hey, kitty Kat, stay with me.”

Kat mumbles something unintelligible but it sounds a lot like “Stupid nickname.”

“Let's get her in the back seat, I'll drive while you fix her up.” Layla suggests, hopping out and moving over to the driver's seat while Marc gets out and begins to move Kat to the back seat.

He carries her in a princess hold, Kats face pressing further into the comforting warmth of his neck as she relaxes into his arms. Her mind is too muddled to care much at all, nor to detect the way Marc's pulse races against her cheek.

Shifting her onto the back seat, Marc grabs the first aid box and begins to wipe away the blood on Kats temple. Kat hisses at the cold contact of an antibiotic soaked cloth while the car rumbles beneath her and continues its drive.

“Kat, open your eyes.” Marc says, tapping her cheek to gain her attention, “Let me see your pretty eyes.”

Slowly Kat pries her eyelids open, blinking at Marc blankly, “You think my eyes are pretty?”

“Of course you would focus on that.” Marc scoffs, fondness leaking into his voice, “Keep talking, you need some stitches and I don't want you passing out on me.”

Marc pulls out a needle and thread and cleans both, tying the thread on the needle and lining it up with the cut on Kats temple.

“What do you want me to talk about?” Kat asks.

“Anything, just keep talking.”

“Hmm,” Kat hums, trying to think, “The story of Horus is good…”

Kat flinches as the needle pokes through her skin, Marc whispering a soft apology as he eyes stay studiously trained on his job. While he pulls the thread through, Kat begins to ramble about Horus and how he gained power, in her dazed state Kat doesn't even notice that she is switching between english and french throughout.

Marc’s not really paying much attention to the story, but listening to Kat's voice and letting it reassure him that she will be okay. After tightening the stitches and securing them with a knot, Marc presses a bandage to Kats temple with his fingers lingering there longer than necessarily needed.

“You're good at this, you would make a good dad.” Kat mutters sleepily around a yawn.

Marc's touch disappears in an instant as his face closes off again. Kats heart sinks as he turns away from her.

“Get some sleep.” Marc says shortly before climbing over the seat and into the passenger seat, leaving Kat alone.

Kat doesn't have the energy to argue, her head hurts and she feels like she got run over by a semi. Laying down so her back is too the from of the jeep and she doesn’t have to torture herself by seeing Marcs hurt, Kat closes her eyes and evens out her breathing, waiting for sleep to take her.