Khonshu's Bitch

Monday.

You nearly jump out of your skin when Steven shouts out of nowhere. Realising he's in a bus filled with judging eyes, his fear quickly turns into embarrassment, his face burning. Regaining your composure, you shoot them each a dirty look, before turning your attention to him.

        “ Hey, hey, hey, Steven. Steven? “

You grab his shoulder, trying to calm him down. He looks at you, confusion evident in his eyes. Weird. Wasn’t he just fine a couple of seconds ago? He turns his head to look out of the window, and you do too, out of curiosity. You spot his expression contort into one of fear, upon seeing Him. 

Khonshu. Standing in the middle of the road in true pigeon fashion. 

You hold back a snort at the thought, raising an eyebrow at the bird-headed god, before remembering Steven could see him too. Turning back, someone catches your eye. A man dressed in a maroon shirt, with a cane and shoulder-length hair. One you hoped you wouldn’t need to see so soon. 

Harrow. 

And in that very same moment, to your disgruntlement, he spots you as well. 

And, as the universe was on your side, the bus reaches your stop. Steven scurries off the bus, and you do too. Just as the bus door closes, you see Harrow again, his gaze lingering on Steven. You exhale, relieved. You knew meeting Harrow would give him the chance to single-handedly dismantle the whole 'performance' you've been putting on in front of Steven.

        " Oh my god, he's real. " 

You hear Steven mutter to himself. You ask him if he knows the man. He's hesitant to explain in fear of sounding like he's delusional, but you assure him that you'll believe whatever he says. It takes a fair bit of convincing until he finally relents, and explains everything on the way into the museum. You pick up on the uncertainty in his tone when he waves it off as a strange dream. When he finishes telling you about almost everything that's been happening to him, you make sure that he knows you're there for him. It's the least you can do. 

You give him a hug and tell him you're willing to help him through this, and Steven swears no one he's met has ever treated him so well like you have.

And you remembered his name, time and again. You called him Steven. Not Scotty, not Stevie, but Steven. He didn't want to sound cliche, but it made his heart flip in happiness and his eyes light up in appreciation.

You accompany him into the museum, and Steven tries to make sure Harrow doesn't follow him again. You can hear the frustration threatening to cut through his polite tone as he pleads with JB to 'keep a lookout for anyone dodgy.' Donna arrives with a boxful of scarab plushes before Steven can convince the security guard to help him out. She cuts you off rudely when you offer to help.

         " Don't make excuses for the lazy sod. Aren't you supposed to be at the café? "

She retorts, before continuing to not-so-politely request Steven's help. You walk off reluctantly, before she can get a chance to put you on inventory duty too.

You can faintly hear a distant 'I don't give a monkey's!' as you walk away. You reach the café, and prepare for your shift. Customers are already flooding in, but the gift shop counter is still Steven-less. 

You try to go and investigate, but an impatient patron stops you. You frown, quickly serving him his drink. Another few minutes pass, and Steven still isn't there. Strange. 

Your suspicions are confirmed when a familiar bird-ish presence appears beside you. Lights flicker throughout the museum.

        " Harrow is here. "

The mention of Harrow alone is enough to set off alarms in your head. You slip out of the café, under the guise of a toilet break and past the gift shop, looking for Steven. 

-- 

        " Are you going to kill me? " 

Steven asks, fear starting to overtake his senses. The lights flicker again. He's frozen to the spot. Cornered. Everyone he knows has that damn tattoo on their wrist. Everyone's on his side. He backs up, trying to get out of this dangerous situation, but Harrow keeps coming closer and closer. 

-- 

You watch the whole scene unfold from behind a pillar, out of sight of his followers. You weren't that far away, but you weren't that close either. Close enough to spy on them, but too far away to interfere. Great. 

Harrow approaches him. You're forced to do nothing but watch as he rolls up his sleeves, positioning Steven's hands together and placing that stupid tacky cane on his palms. 

You wish that were you, huh? You grumble to yourself in your head, the little inner you narrating your thoughts mocking you. Shut up. This isn't the time, dumbass.

You watch as the cane swivels, dread filling your heart as you realise there isn't anything you can do without causing a big scene. Eyes flicking from object to object, you tried your hardest to think of a solution, a distraction, whatever would get Steven out of that sticky situation. The fact that you could feel Khonshu bristle with anxiousness wasn’t helping at all either.

Then your gaze landed on the closed door behind them.

–

        “ I saw you kill that woman in the Alps. “ 

Steven gulps, the gaunt and hollowed out face of that poor lady still fresh in his mind. His palms are sweating. He prays, hoping for whatever god that was out there to come and save him. Even that bird-headed terror would’ve been better han this. He watches as the crocodile-looking scale tilts back and forth on the wrist of the man before him. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, sounding fake footsteps in his ears as he swallows once more as the cane swings like a pendulum. 

– 

You try to inch closer, sweat forming on your forehead as you try to get within range. You push past a group of tourists, weaving through the crowd.

Come on, come on!

You duck behind a pillar just as Ronnie looks in your direction, sussing strange looks from passers-by. 

Hurry up!

Peeking out, you reach out with all your desperation and pull.

–

        “ There’s chaos in you. “ Harrow whispers, expression unreadable.

        “ There’s wha- “ 

Steven’s confusion is thrown to the side as the door behind them swings open with a loud boom, announcing his escape route. He takes a couple of steps backward, glances at Harrow one last time, and breaks into a duck-footed run. 

Another close call. You let out a sigh of relief, closing your eyes. You start making your way back, not noticing that Harrow had spotted you. A slight scowl makes its way to his face.

Back at the cafe, you put your apron on again, waving to Steven who was now at the cashier. He waves back, heart still pounding, a forced smile on his face. 

They probably think I'm mental. Steven thinks to himself, wasting no time in getting to work. until the cartoony and colourful logo of the museum cafe printed on your apron suddenly shows up in front of him.

        “ Are you okay? You took quite a while to get to the gift shop. Did Donna lose her marbles at you again? “ 

Steven, hair slightly messed up and appearance somewhat dishevelled from trying to get away from Harrow, decides to lie, reassuring you with another forced smile. Little did he know, he wasn’t the only one lying through his teeth. You immediately saw through his little made-up tale about Donna making him count a new batch of scarab plushies that had just arrived. He didn’t want to drag you any further into this than he already did. You didn’t deserve to be tangled up in his mess of scarabs, creepy old men and crusty mummies with bird skulls for heads. 

A heavy sigh leaves his mouth when you get out of earshot, and he picks up the barcode scanner once more. 

You run a hand through your hair as you get back to work. Thank Khonshu you were able to get there in time, or almost in time anyway. Steven’s scales seemed to have balanced, judging by how very much alive and un-skeletal he was right now. You were fully expecting Khonshu to blow the light fuses with how much he was breathing down your neck. You were pretty sure Marc would’ve lost his shit too. You crack your knuckles, and get back to work.

– 

The rest of the day goes by smoothly. You laugh at a joke your colleague tells you, and wave goodbye to them as they leave for the day. As soon as they turn their back, the smile on your face is gone, and you look around, making sure you’re alone.

        “ Psst. Big bird, you there? “ 

You whisper, seemingly to no one. If a janitor were to walk by, they would see you, talking to a coffee machine, like you were a lunatic that had escaped the local asylum. They wouldn’t be able to see the almost 7 foot tall-ish horror that was Khonshu. The hollow sockets of the bird skull peer down at you. 

        " Don't leave just yet. I sense it too. He's still here. "

And by ‘he’, Khonshu meant Harrow. You still felt the presence of that Ammit-worshipping twit in the museum. You fold your apron, placing it neatly before you grab your bag and head out of the locker room. The lights dim and turn off, the darkness settling like a heavy blanket over the exhibits. You spot Steven wandering around the museum. Worry immediately settles in your heart. It doesn’t help to ease your nerves when you hear a distant whimpering of what sounds to be a dog. 

        “ Steven! The museum’s closed, what are you still doing here? “ 

You pretend to have run into him by accident. Steven tenses up at the sound of your voice, but relaxes when he sees it’s you. He admits sheepishly that Donna put him in charge of inventory again for being late, and he scans his surroundings as if looking for something before he says, 

        “ Well, I was going to leave but then I heard this little sound, sounded like a dog, and I thought there might be one in the museum. I mean, now that you’re here…perhaps we could check it out together? I-I mean, you don’t have to, and now I probably sound like I’m scared, and-”

        You cut him off with a call of his name, and you agree to go check it out together, with Steven calling out for the dog, and you keeping a lookout for Harrow. A dog? Your suspicion only grows the further the two of you go into the museum without a dog in sight. The doglike whimpers echo throughout the halls, bouncing off the tiles and glass.

Strange. Steven thinks to himself. Where could that little bugger be?

Meanwhile, you peek around the corners, glancing every so often at Steven, careful not to let him out of your sight. It would be difficult to escape an encounter with Harrow again. 

Sadly, the universe just loves to fuck with you, the spiteful bitch the universe tended to be, and you couldn’t ever just have a peaceful night. The sound of Steven bumping into and crouching behind a nearby display grabs your attention. He frantically mouths to you ‘Hide!’, clutching his bag in front of his chest. The looming shadow across the hallway and the menacing growl that follows after is enough to make you duck behind the pillar next to where Steven was. 

You can hear the heavy thumps of the jackal get closer and closer, and you make eye contact with Steven, his terror-filled eyes a huge contrast to your own expression. There was no way you’d be able to hide the truth any longer. 

        “ Steven Grant of the gift shop. Give me the scarab, and you won’t be torn apart. “

Oh, how you missed that voice. You roll your eyes. You glance over to Steven as he chucks his bag in an attempt to throw the bloodthirsty jackal off his track. You look back around the other side of the pillar to see a silhouette pounce onto the bag, ripping it to shreds. Steven takes this as a cue to escape, and you follow after. He backs up slowly, and you try to warn him about the vase on display behind him, but it’s too late. 

He knocks into the stand, and manages to catch it, but not before alerting the ugly beast of a jackal with the telltale ‘ping’ that echoes from the vase upon Steven’s blunder and immediate make-up. You freeze. 

An animalistic growl bounces off the tiles, followed by the immediate sounds of pounding footsteps, four at a time. You nearly slip as you begin to run, following close behind him.

        “ Shit, shit, shit! “

You curse, scowling in the direction of the vase for revealing your location. 

You can hear the debris of the wall crumble and hit the tiled floor as the jackal hits the wall and chases after you, much like predator and prey, which was exactly what it was. It pounces from the wall and nearly catches Steven, leaving long gashes on his arm. You dodge a clawed swipe and continue to sprint down the hallways while your mind races to find a way to save the both of you. 

Fuck hiding your identity. There was no other way to solve this. You were prepared to fight if you had to. Steven turns a corner, narrowly avoiding the beast. 

He pushes open the door into a narrow hallway in hopes of losing it. He tries to block it off by pulling down the nearest shelf he sees, but it doesn’t work. The cold metal frame presses onto his hands and the wounds on his arm make their presence obvious by almost widening, forcing a whimper out of Steven, who drops his hands from the cold metal as if it burned him, clutching his injured arm, the wound trickled blood as if to say ‘You’re trying to pull that shelf down? Ha! Not with me around!’. You grab his access card and try to open a door, any door, as long as the two of you could hide in it. The door to the bathroom opens and you shout his name, gesturing to get in. He doesn’t hesitate to sprint in, and you do so too, but the jackal seems to have gotten tired of the pathetic attempts to stop it, and it renders the shelf obsolete, and pounces. Straight for you. The last thing Steven sees before the door swings closed is you getting tackled to the floor by the beast.

Your name leaves his mouth in a yell, and his heart drops as he hears the resounding thuds of what sounded like your untimely and undoubtedly gruesome death. 

–

Your back hits the floor as its claws make contact with your flesh. The door swings shut with a soft click as it locks again. 

Perfect. Now it was just the two of you. 

You deliver a swift kick to the jackal’s bony stomach and send it flying off of you. Standing up, you crack your knuckles, bracing yourself for the fight to come. 

        “ My turn now, bitch. “ 

The scratches and gashes on your body sting but you clench your jaw, ignoring the fresh wave of pain that shoots through them when you land a hit on your opponent. You dodge its sharp claws, making use of the items lying around to beat the absolute shit out of the ugly bastard. You give it a hefty uppercut with the metal covering of the ceiling light that fell off when the jackal had scaled the ceiling to get past the impromptu barricade of a bookshelf. 

And just as you stab one through the chest with a piece of splintered wood from a smashed crate, another one comes running. Great. Harrow knew you’d put up a fight. 

The second one manages to catch you off guard, slamming you into the door that was the only thing between Steven and the bloodthirsty jackals. You feel the dented metal of the door against your back, the scratches and dents in the material a result of your whole ‘sparring session’.

– 

        “ You need to give me control, do you understand? That thing’s about to break through the door. We’re out of time. I can save us. All of us. “ 

Steven can’t believe his eyes when he sees his own reflection talking to him. He doesn’t dare to look, trying to convince himself it isn’t real. 

        “ All right, hey, listen to me. “ 

He tries to drown out what the version of him in his mirror is saying with his own thoughts, repeatedly slapping himself. 

        “ No! No, this is not real, it’s not real! “ 

Desperation is clear in his voice. Marc tries to convince Steven, his words echoing and feeding into the absolute mess of fear and denial that Steven’s mind is in. There’s no way you’re dead. None of this is real. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. He’ll just wake up, completely fine, no gash, no wound, no jackals- 

         “ You…Steven. Look at me.” 

Marc’s voice cuts clear through his haze of frenzy. Steven’s gaze comes back into focus on the man before him. Every thought that has been racing in his mind is silenced as he forces himself to focus on this very moment. 

         “ You’re not gonna die. Let me save us. “

– 

The impact of your body hitting the door is strong enough to blow the door off its hinges. You land painfully on your back, groaning in pain. 

Fuck. I'm so sorry, Steven. Marc, it's all up to you.

The jackal doesn’t waste time in leaping right for them. You wince as you hear a thud, looking away in fear of seeing their mangled body, but instead of the sickly sound of flesh being sliced and torn apart, you hear the resounding impacts of punches and a sink that whizzes past, nearly grazing your left ear. You look up, and there he was. 

Marc Spector. In the ceremonial armour. You place all of your weight on a nearby sink, steadying yourself as you get up. You hiss as your wounds practically sing ‘Don’t forget about me!’, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The now motionless body of the jackal begins to disintegrate into dust, leaving nothing behind. How convenient for Harrow. A hand finds its way to your waist and your other arm is lifted onto a pair of broad shoulders. 

        “ Cutting it a little close, huh? Please tell me Steven didn’t see my face. “ 

You laugh weakly. Marc helps you to the nearest surface, hoisting you up onto a tabletop. 

        “ Could it kill you to be more careful? Hm? “ 

Classic Marc, jumping straight to the reprimanding. Didn’t even answer my question. Rude.

The mask of his suit unravels, revealing his face, topped off with a pissed expression. You had to admit, you missed that grumpy face of his. You feel his gaze run over your body, picking up on the numerous wounds you had sustained from the fight. You huff, jumping to defend yourself.

        “ Hey, the door closed before I could get in, and I did you both a favour, that jackal would’ve broken through the door in seconds without me. Plus, I can walk on my own, you walking pile of bandages. “ 

Marc opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off.

        “ Ah- No. I’m not done. We need to talk about your contact names. “ 

You fold your arms. 

        “ I’d like you to kindly explain why you’ve saved my number as ‘Khonshu’s Bitch’. I’m positively dying to know. “

        “ Why do you have my number saved as ‘Marcochondria’?” 

Marc deflects the question. How did he know about that? 

        “ Listen- “

        “ One day I’ll beat the shit out of you, I swear. “ 

You threaten halfheartedly, hopping off the table. A laugh sounds from Marc’s throat. 

        “ Do your worst, sweetheart. “

He taunts back. 

The nickname almost makes you blush. You clear your throat, trying to change the subject. 

        “ Yeah, fuck you. How are you gonna cover this up now? “ 

Marc shrugs, making an excuse before offering to help dress the more severe wounds on your side, waving it off as 'payback for all the other times'. 

You relent, laughing, then you grab his shoulder and teleport the two of you to his apartment. 

-- 

You wince as Marc patches up another cut. Most of the time it was you patching Marc's wounds. You wondered why gods weren't invincible. 

Oh. Right. You weren't fully one yet. 

You bit your cheek as the alcohol stung your injuries. 

        " ...Thanks. For saving us. " 

Marc finally admits, breaking the silence and catching you off guard with his sincerity. You weren't expecting that. His head is bowed down, his gaze focused on your forearm where a huge gash resided. 

The rest of the night goes by with you helping to 'reset' everything in the apartment, making it look like everything in the museum was a dream. You help Marc sprinkle sand, covering up footprints. 

Marc mumbles a goodnight to you before you leave, and he's left alone with his thoughts once more. He spends a few minutes thinking. About his life, about you, everything. He falls onto the bed, careful not to get sand in the sheets. He felt horrible. Just his luck that he left Layla to protect her. He’d started a new life only to fall in love with you.