Despacito (Slowly)

Tawaret looked at the Moon God calmly sitting in the prison onboard Anubis’ ship and shook her head.

Part of Khonshu’s trial for, well, everything, was that he was not to have contact with anyone until the other Gods decided their fate, and that would usually mean everyone at all. But Tawaret had surprised everyone when she had announced she’d be Khonshu’s defense. That she would speak up for him, if he wasn’t allowed to.

To her and Khonshu’s surprise? Osiris and Ra had agreed with her request.

So now there she was, sitting in front of the God whose unusual actions regarding the Human World had put her in contact with the most adorable Avatar, and whose own Avatar was fascinating and brave. And even though she knew Khonshu for millennia, from when he had tried to solve every conflict by eating the lesser gods, to when he had changed and pledged himself to protect humanity: not just his own followers, but all humanity; she had no idea what he was thinking.

In fact, she considered, no one knew what had made Khonshu change. In the past, the very early days, he had been almost as bad as Ammut when it came to judgment of those who crossed his path. Ammut herself had thought that Khonshu was on her side and had been completely shocked when she found out that it had been the Moon God the one who warned the rest of the Ennead of her original plan to judge humanity immediately, instead of waiting for each individual soul, in order to take Osiris’ throne by ensuring her followers were far more numerous than his.

Khonshu had betrayed Ammut, and his reward then? Had been exile from the Ennead. Tawaret knew this well, but back then, she had remained silent and uncurious. She had a lot of work to do on her own to worry about why Khonshu had decided to change his tune.

And changed it he had. She remembered, when the souls of whom she guided to the field of reeds told her of the huge bird god who had tried to protect them, who had sent a warrior to defend their villages, a warrior dressed in white like the moon, who tried to make their passage through the night safer and less terrifying. She remembered the way in which Khonshu would try to speak to the others, try to convince them that they needed to protect the Earth more directly, as their worshipers’ numbers grew smaller and humanity gave them up for newer, shinier, more hands-off Gods.

“Why are you doing this?” Both of them asked, at the same time and Tawaret couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. She was nervous and there was no cue card in her collection that deal with this situation.

“Ladies first,” Khonshu said, still not moving from his seating position.

“You were trying to do the right thing,” Tawaret said, her ears flopping sadly. “Helping humanity is what we used to do, what we should do even if not all of them believe in us now. So yes, maybe you are a bit extreme… but you weren’t trying to overthrow Osiris and set yourself as the ruler of the Ennead. And… you look like you need a friend.”

Not for the first time, Tawaret wished that Khonshu hadn’t lost his flesh and feathers when he had been exiled. Because it was impossible to know what he was thinking now, as his skull was always expressionless.

“You are always here, in the othervoid,” Khonshu finally said, looking away. “I wonder… was there a rain of souls five years ago? As if thousands upon thousands of souls were thrown to the Duat without judgment, without warning? Because none of the others saw anything, and I believe they would’ve not noticed nothing amiss had it not been for Hathor’s Avatar being among the missing.”

Tawaret frowned, confused. She knew, yes, that Hathor’s Avatar had disappeared without a trace one day, only to return confused and unharmed five years later, not knowing time had passed. But she had never knew what had happened then, as the Othervoid didn’t normally connect with the plane of reality where Earth stood.

“Since my Exile… I’ve walked the Earth,” Khonshu continued. “I saw pieces of the cosmos arrive to our plane, creating unbalance of powers among the mortals; as the Aasgardians claimed protection on the planet, and as new heroes rose to protect those who we should have been taking care of.  And I saw an alien, a mad titan, snap his fingers and bring the judgment of the Duat to earth… I saw as half of Egypt’s population suddenly and without warning turned to gray sand, and how every one of their souls’ bright light disappeared. I saw Arthur Harrow, my former fri… avatar, skin’s flake and flutter away in the desert sky, as he looked at me for a protection I couldn’t provide him with. And when that was undone, five years later? I swore to myself I would never let it happen again, even as Harrow turned his back on me for my perceived betrayal.”

Tawaret gasped, her hands going to cover her mouth unbidden. The image Khonshu was painting was horrifying and she knew deep down that he couldn’t be lying. Because while there had been no extra souls arriving to Anubis’s vessels, the pain on his voice was too raw, too real to be a lie.

“Is… is that why you choose Marc  and Steven as his replacement?” she ventured. She knew that part of the reason why Khonshu was there now was the accusation made by Harrow, that the other god had abused of their condition in order to force Marc Spector into servitude. She just… wasn’t sure now.

“Marc Spector and Steven Grant…” Khonshu took a deep breath, before looking back at Tawaret, his empty eye sockets seemingly focused on her and her alone. “I’d appreciate if they, nor your lovely Avatar,  weren’t informed about this. Or anyone else close to them.”

“But…” Tawaret protested, but Khonshu interrupted her, lifting his hand.

“They shouldn’t be more involved than they were,” Khonshu insisted. “I figure… I owe them as much.”

Tawaret huffed, but she finally accepted. She’d need Khonshu’s cooperation if she was going to defend him against the others, and the truth was that she thought none of the boys had much love left for Khonshu after all that had happened. Of course, they probably weren’t aware of what he had just shared with her, of his reason to be so desperate to insure Ammut wouldn’t walk free. So she decided to change the subject.

“Arthur Harrow was judged not a week ago… his scales were unbalanced,” she said, trying to gauge his reaction to the news.

“That is another thing I’d appreciate if you kept to yourself,” Khonshu replied to her unending frustration. “After all, he made his choice when he allied himself with Her.”

Tawaret took a deep breath, and then shook her head. She was not equipped to deal with this, but she couldn’t just abandon Khonshu to his luck. Truth was, the Ennead also needed him, even if Osiris was being a bit of a unsufferable stubborn ass about it at the time.

*          *          *

Steven sighed in the inner world, trying to figure out where Jake was hiding.

Layla’s news about Khonshu had him conflicted. On one hand, he felt happy. If Khonshu was with the Ennead, if the old pigeon was really volunteering to be stoned again? It meant Jake would be free too, no extra bartering or negotiation needed. They would be completely free too, Steven and Marc, because Khonshu wouldn’t have a claim to their body.  

But when they had heard the news, the pang of pain/sadness/loss that Steven had felt, strong enough to break his control over the body without warning made him reconsider.

When Jake first made himself known, Steven had believed that maybe the reason why the third was so secretive about his existence was because he had been forgotten, ignored by Steven and Marc so long, that Steven hadn’t even thought of negotiating his freedom too. And Steven knew he didn’t have any excuse for that. Sure, they hadn’t met Jake then, they didn’t even know his name.

But Steven had seen the third sarcophagus. The red burial box hidden in Tawaret’s ship/Their inner mental asylum.  And even as they were running away, even as they were trying to balance their scales, Steven had known what it meant.

He had just chosen to ignore it. To, and he had to forgive himself for the expression after all that had happened, bury his head in the sand.

However, as time passed, it was obvious at least to Steven that Jake didn’t mean them any harm. Sure, he wasn’t exactly subtle about his intentions either -even before he knew exactly what Despacito mean? Steven had been very aware of the effect his Alter’s Spanish accent had on his being. And if HE was aware, and Marc was aware -because Marc had gone on long rants about Jake’s intentions towards them, right after they found out what Despacito meant. And he had been quite shaken after the impromptu dance lesson, in a way that even Steven’s heart had been beating so hard that it was impossible not to admit that yes, hearing Jake’s whispers? Made them instantly hard.

But that was not a bad thing. It was strange, sure, being seduced by someone who lived in your mind but was still not showing themselves. Marc and Steven loved each other, but it hadn’t been love at first sight, not really. It had come fast, but it hadn’t been easy.

Steven now had the impression that Jake had been aware of them for far, far longer than they had been of him… and perhaps his feelings ran deeper and were older too.

Even if Marc, at first, insisted that “the pervert” only wanted to get in their metaphorical pants. Steven didn’t think that was it. After all, if all what Jake wanted was a quick wank with the body? He could have it and Marc and Steven would not need to know.

But Jake was working with Khonshu still. He couldn’t deny that. And he didn’t know what their third did with the god, but even if neither Marc nor Steven trusted the pigeon… that feeling of desperation, of raw loss, was almost physically painful. It reminded Steven of how he had felt back in “Dr. Harrow”’s office, when faced with the truth that his mother was dead… that she had never existed as he remembered in the first place.

What was Jake’s relationship with Khonshu?

A new surge of anger from nowhere enveloped him and he stopped in the middle of the apartment he shared with Marc in their inner world.  He had been looking for a door, a window, something that indicated an area besides Marc’s, his own, or the communal area, with no luck, when he felt a sharp pain in his left hand.

“Marc? What’s going on?” He asked out loud, looking at the closest mirror. There, he could see Marc holding said hand, as Layla came closer carrying their first aid kit.

“I think Jake doesn’t like when I badmouth the bastard,” Marc replied, meeting his eyes at the same time he flinched and Steven felt pain again, sharper, angrier.

“Then stop doing it!” Both Layla and Steven said at the same time, even if Layla couldn’t hear Steven.

Layla looked up to the mirror Marc was looking at, and Steven knew she understood he was talking to him. Even if she couldn’t see or hear him, Steven really appreciated the way in which she always tried to make him part of their shared conversations.

“Marc, if you’re going to tell Steven what happened, do it in your head. I need to focus to get all the glass splinters out.”  Layla scolded their lover and Steven could see that yes, the body left hand was bleeding profusely.

“What happened?” Steven asked again, looking down at his own hand. It wasn’t bleeding, but it hurt a lot.  They were all stressed, if they could feel each other pain like that. Usually, Steven didn’t feel the body’s wounds unless he was fronting.

Even when co-fronting? Marc always tried to shield him from the worst so unless he was controlling the body part in question? He didn’t feel a thing. Not like this.

“I was drinking water, said that good riddance to the bastard and may he rot in the Duat,” Marc’s voice reverberated in the inner space, but he didn’t say anything in the outer world. And no pain came. Steven made a mental note of it. It could mean that Jake couldn’t hear what Marc and Steven said to each other in the innerworld, but he was aware of their outside conversations. “And our hand tensed so hard on the glass, we broke it.”

“Was it… like when you danced together?” Steven asked, sitting down on the couch, massaging his hand. Part of him wanted to go forward, to co-front with Marc to try and take part of the pain even if he knew Marc wouldn’t want him to. But he also felt he was needed there, he needed to find Jake and bring him out of wherever he was hiding. Especially if Jake was so angry about this.

“No,” Marc sighed, then hissed as Layla put some alcohol in the body’s hand. “It was more like… I didn’t notice? Not until Layla pointed out I was bleeding. I didn’t feel the pain, just the anger.”

“I felt the pain,” Steven confessed. “And the anger. Wherever he is? Jake must be close then.”

“But why he cares for the Pigeon?” Marc insisted. “All he did was ruin our lives!”

Steven sighed. He wanted to agree but… they had to figure out Jake’s position first and why it felt so different from theirs. “I agree but… I’d suggest we don’t say that out loud? I don’t think he’s hearing us now, but if it sets him off? We need to be careful.”

“So now we’re walking on eggshells around him when he…”

“You did the same for me,” Steven pointed out, interrupting his love’s tirade. Because he knew they couldn’t afford to get distracted once again with an argument about the effect Jake had on both. “For years. And, apparently, he also did it for us, since he stayed hidden for so long.”

“Fine, but the second you need help? You call me!”

“Marc, if all of us are here? The body will go unconscious. Someone has to stay fronting,” Steven chuckled a bit at Marc’s protectiveness. It was one of the sweetest traits of his lovers.

“Layla is here, she’ll keep us safe,” Marc replied, and well, yes, Steven had to admit. If anyone could keep them safe while the two… no, the three of them solved their inner issues? Was Layla El-Faouly.

“Probably. But right now? I think we’d overwhelm Jake if we both go after him,” Steven felt Marc’s agreement and continue. “So… I’m going to stop paying attention to outside, ok? I promise, I’ll yell if we need you.”

Steven waited until he was sure he felt Marc’s agreement, and then focused on remaining in the innerworld. It was complicated, something he hadn’t done since, well, since Cairo, when he still was trying to ignore Marc, when he thought Marc was an invader, someone to be rejected.

It was not something he wanted to revisit, he liked to know what was going on outside. But he knew that having his attention divided was not helping him find Jake, and now? He had the impression that time was ticking. That they had to reach Jake as soon as possible, before their third did something drastic.

Like what? Steven didn’t know. But he was going to listen to his gut and not wait around to find out.

He sat in their communal space, looking around. Marc had made it look a lot like their apartment because he insisted that it was more lively than the places where he had been living back when they were completely separated.  While at first sight one could think it was a perfect blend of both their interests and personalities, Steven knew that his stuff was mostly on the right side still, closer to his room’s door. Same with Marc, bits and trinkets of his travels were all over, but his collection of Tomb Buster movies and books (And Steven couldn’t believe there were FIVE movies -although Marc insisted the last two weren’t as good as they had changed Steven’s actor- of that rot) were on the left side.

So… what didn’t belong? What was not Marc’s or Steven’s?

More importantly… what did they know about Jake, that could point Steven in the right direction?

And then it came to him. Music.

Jake had introduced himself to them singing. Every interaction he had with them, even with Layla, had been through music. And now that Steven thought hard about it, there had been many times, even before he knew about Marc, when he’d be sure he was hearing a song coming from far away, songs that would cheer him up even if he couldn’t quite make the words, just the melodies, that he had been sure were coming from some other apartment where the person living there didn’t realize that sound travelled.

“Was that you, Jake?” he wondered out loud. “Were you with us, even then?”

There was no answer, of course. Steven hadn’t waited for one. But, remembering those days, when he was sure that the music came from a neighbor and not inside his mind, he walked to the big window of their apartment and opened it, not to the outer world, but to the endless galaxy sky that was their inner world. Galaxies and stars that didn’t, couldn’t exist anywhere but that spot within them. And, closing his eyes, Steven strained his ears.

Silence surrounded him.

Absolute silence.

He was about to give up and return inside when, from below, he caught a faint note.

A word… then two…

                                 ...desastre   ….ti….

Steven opened his eyes, not daring to breathe. It was soft, it was almost unnoticeable, but it was there. Music. From probably a radio? And someone was singing along.

Hoy me doy cuenta…

Que me haces falta…

Y me pregunto…

Que pasaría…

Si de repente tu te marcharas

Para siempre de mi vida.

Steven looked around, until he found the emergency exit ladder, right next to the window. The one that mirrored the one that Layla had used to escape from Harrow’s men, and that Marc had probably used more than once to fool Steven’s attempts to keep the body in the apartment or at least know when it left the place. He grabbed it, climbing down as the song continued and he realized that, although the song itself was upbeat, the man singing along was heartbroken, his usually gravel voice breaking in places, slurred as if he had been drinking.

And then he was looking through a new window, and Steven’s heart broke.

The window looked into what seemed like an old abandoned apartment. The paint on the walls was flaking, there were cracks where he could see the concrete behind it. There was a cot there, not much different from the one Marc had once kept in his storage unit, only that this one looked slept in, as it was still unmade. A wooden, unpainted table stood next to it, filled completely with empty bottles, some standing, some laying down.  In the middle of them all, a very old transistor radio stood, playing the song that led Steven there.

If anyone really drank all that alcohol in real life? Steven would be calling an ambulance for their body.

There was very little decoration there. A guitar,  leaning against the wall next to the cot. A small poster of Tomb Buster, so of course Marc and Jake had something in common. A few photographs taped next to the cot, that Steven couldn’t really see from were he was. But in general, it felt as if all those stuff was there because Jake felt that he’d have to move at some point, and move fast. As if he thought he didn’t belong, a squatter holding a place in an abandoned building.

It broke Steven’s heart, when he thought of the far more welcoming apartment just upstairs.

His heart broke even more when he realized there was no other doors in that room, and the only other window was boarded up. Jake was really isolated there.

And the man himself? Oh, now Steven saw him. And not the cocky, self-assured man he had seen in that CCTV footage. No.

Jake was leaning against the cot, openly crying and singing and drinking from yet another bottle. And Steven could see even more empty bottles around. He was wearing a black t-shirt, jeans, brown leather boots, and a newsboy gray cap. And… unlike Marc and Steven, who were clean shaved, he had a mustache. And from Steven’s point of view, Jake wasn’t dealing well with anything, and it was tugging at Steven’s protective nature. He wanted to hug Jake, to tell him that whatever that was going on, they could fix it. They could help.

But he couldn’t enter the room. As he moved his hand to enter the open window, he found himself touching invisible glass. He couldn’t reach Jake.

Desperate, because he didn’t want to see the other man break even more, Steven stared pounding on the invisible barrier, yelling Jake’s name. He didn’t know how loud the music was inside, he didn’t care. He just wanted to call Jake’s attention.

After a long, long minute that felt like an eternity to Steven, Jake lifted his head and looked out from under the cap’s visor and met Steven’s eyes. For a moment, time seemed to stop. And then, finally, Jake spoke.

“¿Estebancito?”