Blood Moon

It should be noted that Eyvor had never been in an actual battle before, not like Tyr had trained her for. She and Jake had only ever handled, at most, ten people at a time. That left five for each of them, depending on how quickly they handled them. That was normal. This? There were way more than ten, and that meant that, for once, Eyvor could actually move in the way that she was taught.

“Which of you shot my boyfriends?” she asked, her smirk widening. She, of course, didn’t get an answer, and she didn’t really expect one. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll all see Hel one way or another.” With that, faster than she had ever let Jake see her move, she lunged towards the first of Ammit’s followers, the tattoo on their forearm glaring at her in the street lights. An ax through their collarbone and another into their side, and she was leaving them to fall, jumping to the next person, axes not even slowing down. The second person barely had time to react before they too met their end.

In the times when Asgardians had walked on Midgard regularly, the people had warriors called berserkir. Eyvor had always been fascinated with their speed and strength, their brutality, their agility. Tyr had been surprised when she’d asked, but he’d taught her, and if someone else had been around from that time, they would have told anyone that asked that Eyvor looked like one of those berserkir now. She grinned and growled as she carved her way through the mass of people coming after her, leaving a river of blood behind her and dripping down the blades of her axes. There was no fire of rage in her eyes, but a cool determination. Bullets bounced off of deceptively tough leather armor, and the ones that aimed for her head found her moving too fast to do more than graze her, often finding their guns torn from their hands before they received an ax to the chest. No one was safe, because they had spared no one. They made their choice; she didn’t have to make hers. 

When she had cleared out the last of the people she was fighting, she stood, spattered with red and sand and breathing heavily, surrounded by those she’d sent to Hel. Not even taking a moment to revel in her small victory, she set off to find her boys. Eyvor couldn’t see them up above her anywhere, so they must be on the ground, but that meant she had to go look for them. More people ran past her, jerking in fear at the sight of her, but when they had no tattoos on their arms, she motioned them past, urging them to get to safety. It was okay if they were afraid of her. She would be too, if she were them. But she wasn’t. And she had a promise to keep. 

“Hey!” Eyvor turned her head in the direction of the call to find a woman with curly hair in shining gold armor standing at the entrance to a street. “I gotta worry about you? You with them?” Eyvor laughed.

“Eyvor,” she introduced herself. “I’m not with them.”

“Layla,” the woman replied. “I’m not either.”

“Oh, Marc’s wife,” Eyvor said with a smile and giving her a nod in greeting. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You know Marc?” Layla asked, tilting her head a bit and looking at her with a skeptic brow raised.

“And Steven. Have you seen them?”

“Yeah. I’m heading–”

“Talk and walk, Layla.” The women hurried down the street, Eyvor slowing her pace a bit to let the other keep up.

“How do you know Steven?” Layla asked. “He didn’t mention you.”

“In his defense, he didn’t know I could and would help him if he’d asked. He only met me a few days ago.”

“And yet you’re here?”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Eyvor replied, not wanting to tell her something that Marc/Steve/Jake would want to keep from her or explain, “but I made a promise to protect them, so that’s what I’m doing. Which one is Harrow?”

“You know about Harrow?”

“Yep. Marc told me. But I don’t know which one he is.”

“He has a cane, a black one.”

“I can work with that.” They reached a square of the city, or at least an intersection of some kind, and Eyvor found her boys on the ground. Oh look, the man had a black cane. Perfect.

“You get him. I got Harrow,” Eyvor said to Layla, setting off into a sprint and jumping over Marc, slamming into Harrow and sending him flying back down a street. She didn’t stop there, though. This was personal. She’d never had something like this be personal, but it was now. She chased after him, kicking him further down the street, away from her boys and giving Marc and Laya time to get themselves figured out. When they were far enough away, she let Harrow get to his feet, because she was going to enjoy this fight.

“You fight as if I have done something to you, but I do not know you,” the man said. His voice was much softer than she would have expected. Easy to see how he got so many people to follow him. His voice was like Loki’s, but she knew for a fact that he spoke more lies than Thor’s brother ever did. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to be the last face you ever see.”

“Why is there so much hatred in your heart?” Eyvor laughed. She would entertain this one moment, and then it was over.

“Hatred? No. I don’t hate you.” She grinned at him, her mouth full of blood, and laughed again. “You shot my boyfriends.” His face shifted into one of surprise, but that was all the time she gave him. He wasn’t worth that much, in her opinion. She was in his face, and he barely had time to react before she kicked him solidly in the chest, sending him flying again. This time, when he landed, Marc was standing behind him.

“Eyvor!”

“Hi!” she answered, smiling brightly and waving. “Bit busy, kjæreste. But found him!” A beam of purple energy shot towards a van, and Layla dove past them to get to the people trapped inside. Eyvor growled, cracking her neck and running at him again. The purple energy turned on her, and she grunted, frozen where she stood. She felt as if her very being was tugged and yanked at, the energy sapping her of her breath, her strength, her existence. She couldn’t—moving, even thinking was difficult.

“Hey! Harrow! Your fight’s with me!” Marc yelled, grabbing him from the back and pulling him so the beam wasn’t pointed at her any more. With a gasp, Eyvor stumbled, heaving in air and blinking hard to reorient herself. Harrow elbowed Marc in the stomach and broke away, backing up several feet and pointing the beam at him this time.

“If Ammit had been released sooner, Randall would have been saved!” he yelled at Marc, and Eyvor growled from where she was recovering her breath from the energy beam, whatever it was. It was cold and chilling, and she hated it, but she was gathering her strength quickly. “She need only remove one weed from the garden. You.” Eyvor couldn’t move fast enough, for once. Marc was knocked to the ground, and Harrow drove the base of the staff into his chest. Marc started screaming in pain, and Eyvor didn’t know where Layla was, nor did she care. Those were her boys, and she wasn’t going to stand by and let them be killed again. Not when she could save them from the pain she had just experienced: not when she was there to take care of it.

Her axes hooked on her belt, she ran again, slamming into Harrow and knocking him to the ground, pinning him with her arms and legs.

“What did I tell you? You shot my boyfriends. I’m not going to sit here and let you kill them,” she sneered. “He is not a weed. You are.” She squeezed, breaking Harrow’s wrist and for once, enjoying the scream of pain he let out, and then she pulled the staff from his heavy, uncoordinated fingers.

“Marc is married. He loves her. He wouldn’t be in a relationship with you,” Harrow gasped through the pain. She smirked and looked back towards her boys. She knew that scowl.

“Tvillingsjel?”

“Sí, mi hermosa rosa de sangre?” Jake replied as he got to his feet, a snarl on his face. Eyvor smiled and looked back at Harrow, to watch the surprise bloom on his face. Satisfaction and smugness bloomed in her chest; he thought he was so wise, to do all of this. He didn’t know everything, though. 

“I got a present for you.” She tossed Jake the staff, not bothering to look because she knew he would catch it.

“Gracias, gota de sangre.” Eyvor squeezed again, breaking the other wrist before she stood to her feet, snarling down at the man before her.

“Måtte Hel være snillere mot deg enn oss.” She left Jake to deal with Harrow while she turned and ran for the people that were attacking Layla where she was pinned to the underside of a car. Eyvor didn’t have to look to know Jake was winning. He always won. The men going after Layla didn’t even get the chance to run. She cut them down where they stood. Layla was watching, horrified, as the person she thought was Marc moved in a way that definitely wasn’t Marc. Eyvor didn’t explain. It wasn’t her story to tell.

Then, there was silence. Eyvor pulled her axe out of the chest of a follower of Ammit to watch Marc take back control right as the sharp part of the staff was about to go through Harrow’s head.

The timing this man had. Unbelievable. She was a little bit impressed, but she was also disappointed. She wanted that for Jake.

Everyone else in the area was dead, except for the three of them, and Harrow, who was unconscious. 

“Marc?” Layla asked, pulling herself free from where she was pinned. Marc got to his feet, looking around at the area, and he stared at Eyvor for a second. She waited. “Marc?” Layla repeated, getting his attention. “What the hell was that?”

“I–I blacked out,” Marc answered, looking back at Eyvor, who said nothing. If he didn’t want to tell Layla about Jake, she wasn’t going to make him. It wasn’t her secret to tell. 

“Well, come on. I know a way to stop Ammit. Bring him.” Marc started to pick up Harrow’s unconscious form, but Eyvor stopped him.

“Let me,” she said, slinging him over her shoulder. With Layla leading the way, they hurried through the empty streets.

“Hey,” Marc said quietly, and Eyvor glanced over at him.

“Yes?”

“Did–you and–”

“I’ve told you already,” she answered. “I made a promise to protect you and Steven. More importantly, he shot you, and there wasn’t time to do anything. He made it personal, and you’re surprised?” Marc sighed.

“Just–I didn’t expect it, I guess.” Eyvor glanced towards Layla, who was soaring through the air above them with her golden wings.

“We love you, Marc Spector. All of us in our own ways. Don’t be surprised when you see what that means.” Marc blinked at her, a bit like an owl, honestly, and it made her smile. “Time for that later, though. Crocodile lady to deal with. Which I don’t like, by the way. I thought Fenrir had big teeth.”

“You’ve seen Fenrir?” Steven asked, and Eyvor nodded.

“Sure. Bit mean, if I’m honest, but who wouldn’t be, chained up just for existing?”

“How big is he?”

“Makes the old bird look like a chickadee.” Steven’s eyes grew wide.

“Blimey. Glad he’s not ‘round here, huh?”

“Yes, I am. He’d almost definitely try to eat us, and then I’d have to kill him for it.”

“Just like that? You’d kill the big wolf just for trying to eat us?”

“For trying to eat you, Steven. He tried to eat me already.”

“Oh.” She laughed, and Layla landed in front of them before motioning to an opening in a wall.

“In here.” Eyvor leaned over and kissed Steven’s cheek before ducking inside and following Layla. 

“You’re gonna short out his brain if you keep doing that,” Marc said, and Eyvor laughed.

“Just you wait, kjæreste. I haven’t even started messing with you yet.” They walked out of the dark hallway into a large chamber, full of rubble and debris, with openings in the ceiling that let in beams of moonlight.

“Put him here,” Layla instructed, and Eyvor laid the man unceremoniously out on the largest piece of rubble before stepping back. 

“Not gonna help?” Marc asked.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she answered with a shrug.

“It has to be Avatars,” Layla said to Marc. “She can’t help anyway.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eyvor reassured him. “Just reinforcements if something happens.” Layla and Marc grabbed hands before they started chanting, and blue-purple light began to glow in their eyes. Eyvor watched curiously as smoke of the same color began to swirl around them before more of it poured in through the opening in the ceiling going straight for Harrow. With a gasp, Harrow’s eyes shot open, staring right at Marc.

“You can never contain me,” he said, but another voice was overlapping with his. “I’ll never stop.” Marc gasped and groaned for a moment before Eyvor felt movement to her left, turning with one of her still-bloody axes to find Khonshu standing next to her.

“Finish it, and leave neither of them alive,” he commanded Marc. Eyvor watched Marc step up onto the rubble, grip Harrow by the front of his shirt, and pull out one of the moon-shaped daggers in his chest.

Eyvor hadn’t known Marc long, but she observed. She was a trained warrior, after all. More importantly, she knew how tired Marc was of killing, of serving Khonshu, of everything. 

He wasn’t going to do it. She knew he wasn’t. She didn’t blame him or look down on him, especially after seeing the glimpses of his life that she’d peeked into in the Duat. Marc deserved peace; she believed that as much as she believed that Jake and Steven deserved it.

The old bird, however, didn’t seem to get that; maybe he didn’t know his Avatar as well as he thought. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

“While he lives, so too does she.”

Marc was heaving breaths. “I have to finish this. If not, I’ll never be free.” Eyvor wasn’t certain if he knew he was talking out loud, or if he even knew who he was talking to. He pulled back, and Eyvor was surprised to see how far he’d gotten.

“Marc!” Layla called, and Marc froze, looking back at her. “You have a choice. You are free.”

“The choice is vengeance. We cannot take the chance that Ammit finds a way out. She will kill again.”

“Now you sound just like her,” Marc said, and Eyvor, silent still, watched as Marc dropped Harrow and stood up taller, facing Khonshu. “You want them dead?” He threw the dagger in his hand away, tossing it into the sand. “Do it yourself.” She was proud of him for standing up to the bird. Good for him, taking control of his life. “Now, release us.”

The bird looked at Layla, who Eyvor noticed appeared to be on the verge of crying, and then at her, and Eyvor, fully aware that she was covered in blood, grinned savagely at him, baring her bloody teeth at him to make sure he remembered her promise from earlier that day. The bird looked back at Marc.

“As you wish,” he said, before flying away and disappearing into a trail of dust and sand. Eyvor looked back at Marc to watch the robes and armor disappear, before a bright light blinded all of them, and when it faded, Marc sagged, tilting over and off the rubble, and Eyvor jumped forward to catch him.

“Easy, boys,” she said, gently lowering them off the debris and to the ground. “Let’s not get a concussion right after sending away the bird with healing stuff, okay?”

“Eyvor?” Marc mumbled, exhaustion clear in his tone.

“I’ve got you, kjæreste,” Eyvor replied. “Rest. We’ll handle everything.” He sagged into unconsciousness, and Eyvor shifted to put him on her back, like she’d carried them so many times before. She and Layla met each other’s gaze.

“Go. I’ll handle him,” Layla said, motioning with her head for Eyvor to leave. Eyvor nodded, getting to her feet and hiking her boys higher up on her back before starting to leave. “And Eyvor?” She paused, looking back. Layla took a deep breath, looking fondly at the unconscious form on her back, before meeting Eyvor’s eyes again. “Take care of them?” Eyvor smiled, this time hiding the blood in her mouth.

“Until my dying day,” she replied. “Don’t be a stranger, though. They do care about you.”

“I know,” Layla answered. “Tell Marc to charge his phone.” Eyvor smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Layla.”

“You too.” Layla turned back to Harrow, and Eyvor continued walking, away from the ruined chamber, and out into the empty streets. She carried her boys through the streets until they were out in the sands, no one around and the night peaceful.

“Heimdall? Can you get us to London? I’ll come home for a visit soon, I promise, but–I need to take care of them first.”

The familiar tug of the Bifrost made her grip onto the boys tightly, and then they were standing in the warehouse Jake used to hide his cab. She smiled.

“Thank you.” Carefully, she stepped out into the streets of London, locking the door behind her. “Come on, boys. Let’s go home.”

London was never a quiet city, but Eyvor was glad to find that the streets were emptier than usual as she made her way to Steven’s apartment. Her apartment was farther away, and much, much smaller. She nudged them with her shoulder the closer she got.

“Hey, you boys awake?”

She got a groan in response.

“Are the keys in your pocket? Or am I breaking in?”

If she got an answer in a language she spoke, it was hopelessly mumbled to the point she couldn’t understand it.

“It’s okay.” She went down the small alley next to Steven’s building, finding the fire escape, her usual method of sneaking into the apartment, and, once she was sure no one was paying attention, started climbing. It was a little harder, given the limp weight on her back, but she could manage, and she apologized to Steven under her breath when she had to break the lock on his window to get it open. Hopefully, Marc or Jake knew how to fix it.

Setting them down on the couch, she smacked their face gently, rousing them. “Hey, wake up. Come on.” A tired groan. “I know, but are any of you boys ready for me to see you naked? Because I’m not putting you to bed covered in all that sand and sweat. You’ll be miserable.” She smacked them again, and then, out of options, she licked their cheek, making them jerk, and she got a tired frown in response. “That you, kjæreste? Come on.”

“What?” Marc mumbled at her.

“Go shower. Come on. I’ll make sure nothing happens, but you’re filthy. You know Steven hates going to bed dirty.” Marc grumbled, but he heaved himself to his feet, and Eyvor shadowed him as he stumbled into the bathroom, fighting to get his shirt off. She giggled quietly. “Come here. Let me help. Arms up, please.” She tugged off the shirt, throwing it into the hamper in the corner. “Can you handle the rest? I’ll be right back.” Jake had walked her through this so many times, making sure that Marc or Steven were taken care of in the aftermath of Moon Knight things, just in case he couldn’t do it for them. She knew what to do, what needed to happen. It was just a matter of if she could keep them conscious for it. 

“I got it,” Marc muttered, turning on the shower. She kissed his cheek and left the bathroom. 

“Leave the door open!” she called over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen, opening one of the bottom cabinets and finding the sports drinks Marc/Jake kept hidden there. It wasn’t cold, but she’d seen Jake drain one at room temperature, so she just had to assume it would be alright. She grabbed some clean clothes, soft sweaters and sweatpants for comfort, and turned down the blankets on the bed for them. Food was probably asking a bit too much of Marc right now, but she’d make sure there was something for them in the morning. Once that was done, she stepped back in the bathroom to find the rest of Marc’s clothes strewn across the floor, but the water was running, so she knew where he was.

“Hey, I got clothes for you,” she said, settling on the closed lid of the toilet. “And something to drink.”

“Th’nks.” Ah, he was getting more exhausted by the second.

“I’ll make breakfast in the morning. I’m thinking croissants from that place on the corner Steven likes. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” The water shut off, and Eyvor passed a fresh towel overhead.

“Here. Dry off. How’s your balance right now?”

A beat of silence.

“Meh.” She snorted.

“I’ll help you get out. Just don’t flash me, Spector. We don’t know each other that well yet.” She got a tired laugh in response before he pulled the curtain away, and Eyvor provided a steady support as he toweled off and got dressed, keeping him from falling over. He kept yawning, to the point where tears were trickling out of his eyes from how frequently and deeply the yawns were. She laughed fondly, wiping them away with gentle fingers and handing him the sports drink. “Here. Drink this, and then I’ll stop bothering you.”

“Not a bother,” he mumbled, almost entirely supported by her. She half-pulled, half-carried him to the bed, making him sit down to drink. He drained the entire thing in three gulps, and she shook her head fondly.

“Goodnight, Marc. Sleep well. I’ll be here if you need anything, okay?” He nodded, his eyes half-open, and she kissed his cheek before getting up to clean the bathroom. When she stepped out to check on him, he was sound asleep, his face buried underneath the blankets and snoring softly. She smiled before raiding their closet for more clothes to get cleaned up in. It was time for her to take a shower too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eyvor stepped into Steven’s apartment the next morning to find them lying on the ground, groaning. “What happened?” she exclaimed, putting her bags down on the counter and hurrying to their side. “Hey, are you okay?” There was a groan.

“Ankle restraint,” Marc groaned, and she looked behind him to find his leg stretched out behind him, caught in the restraint Steven had used for his “sleeping disorder.” She snorted.

“Why would you put that on, kjæreste? You were Steven’s sleeping disorder.”

“Habit, I guess,” Marc answered. Eyvor moved to unlatch the restraint and untangled it from the beam entirely. It’s not like they needed it anymore. Marc got to his feet, limping slightly.

“Are you okay?” Eyvor asked again.

“Yeah.”

“I brought breakfast. How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” Marc answered, rolling his neck and shoulders a bit to wake up. “I feel–good, yeah.” She smiled.

“Glad to hear it.” She walked back to his side, poking him in the arm. “Lemme talk to the others too.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know how to tell if you’re lying to me or not just yet, and I wanna talk to my boyfriends, kjæreste.” Marc flushed, looking away from her. “Hey, I told you, whatever you want, I’m here for you. We only met yesterday. It’s okay.”

“Yeah, I know. Just–weird.” She ducked her head a bit, meeting his gaze.

“We’re friends, okay? Everything else, you can worry about later. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” She smiled and kissed his cheek. 

“Good morning, Marc.”

“Morning, Eyvor.” His head tilted, and his body language shifted, and Eyvor smiled wider.

“Good morning, Jake.”

“Buenas días, rosa de sangre,” he replied, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer until they were breathing the same air. “Is that my shirt?” She shrugged.

“I got blood on my clothes.” She squealed when he squeezed her hips and kissed her, breaking down into giggles while trying to kiss him back.

“Me gusta verte en mi ropa,” he rumbled, nipping her lip when he pulled away. She laughed, looping her arms around his neck.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Wear my clothes more often, gotita.” Eyvor gave him a peck and nodded.

“Alright. If you want.”

“Sí.”

“Elsker deg.”

“Te amo.” He released her, but Eyvor didn’t step back, and she grinned when Steven’s eyes widened at how close she was.

“Good morning, Steven.”

“Mornin’. Uh–” He looked her up and down before meeting her eyes again. “Could–” Eyvor raised an amused eyebrow, waiting patiently. “Don’t have to, but–”

“Just ask me, solskinn,” she replied, giving him a smile.

“Well, don’t want Jake gettin’ mad at me or nothin’. Did just meet him and all that.” She giggled.

“Jake won’t get mad at you, solskinn. And if he does, you let me handle him. Ask.”

“I’d like to kiss you good morning too.” She smiled.

“Of course.” She kissed him, and she liked how different it was from kissing Jake. 

Jake kissed passionately, as if he was trying to pour every bit of himself into her and pull every bit of her into himself. She called him “twin soul,” not that he knew that, for a reason. They were so alike in so many ways, and they both desperately wanted to keep the other as close as possible, to keep them safe and because being apart just wasn’t as good. Eyvor knew that both of them loved fiercely and selfishly, and they kissed like it, each clawing and grasping for every bit of love they could get, as if they could pull the other into themselves and never have to be separated again.

Steven didn’t kiss like that. He kissed gently, as if she was some precious artifact in the museum he loved so much that he was unworthy to touch. As if he would scare her off if he was too eager. Like he was afraid to break her. She was beginning to understand that he loved as if she were something to be treasured, precious and rare and oh so special. He wasn’t hesitant. He committed to the kiss instantly. He was reverent, and–that did something to her, made her heart skip a beat, made her adore him that much more. She was beginning to understand all those songs that her father wrote about her mother, just from kissing Steven alone.

They broke apart, and Eyvor smiled at Steven while he gasped for air.

“Good morning, Steven.”

“Morning, love.” She grinned even wider. 

“I brought breakfast. From that place on the corner you like.”

“Brilliant. Join me for a bite, then?” She kissed his nose.

“I would love to.”