Pick up the pace, worm! He is getting away!
"Is the name calling really necessary?" Steven huffed, rounding a corner at breakneck speed. It wasn't his fault that this guy seemed to run 10k marathons in his spare time. Besides, Steven didn't exactly make it a habit to chase people through the twisting alleyways of the industrial block of London, where none of the street lights have ever worked. So, excuse him for not being able to keep up.
The guy he was tailing was always ten steps ahead and seemed to know these back alleys like the back of his hand. He would've lost Steven by now if he didn't keep checking to see if he was still being followed by the bright white suit of Mr. Knight. The guy had been caught trying to smuggle some artifacts that, in typical superhero-ing fashion, probably shouldn't fall into the wrong hands. And if he got away, they probably would.
"Oi, mate, let's slow down and have a chat, yeah?" Called Steven, taking stone stairs two at a time.
"Fuck you!" The other man responded, knocking over a trash can with a loud bang.
'And what made you think he would listen to you, bud?' Piped up Marc, who had been relatively quiet the whole chase. They both, he and Marc, had an agreement to allow Steven to try his hand at the whole avatar thing. While Marc had been hesitant about the idea, his alter was adamant, tired of feeling like he was just getting in the way and not pulling his weight when it came to the body. Besides, it was his job to protect Marc, and this was one way he could do so.
Steven shrugged and hopped over the trash can, "Eh, worth a shot."
Idiots, you are losing him! Khonshu snapped.
"Crabby old bird," Steven muttered under his breath and kicked it into high gear.
He narrowed his eyes and focused all of his attention on the bad guy. Bandage-wrapped shoes slapped against the old stone streets, near-silent steps thanks to the magic of the suit. Jumping over the garbage knocked in his way became like second nature to him, something he needn't think too hard about. There was a gentle tug in the back of his mind, Marc's way of showing that he was cheering him on.
Slowly, he began gaining on the fleeing man, almost close enough to reach out and yank on the hood of his jacket.
The guy threw down another trash can in his way and the yowl that came from the can had Steven stopping dead in his tracks, coming to a halt so fast that his feet slipped out from underneath him and he was knocked on his ass. A mangy creature crawled out of the garbage, looking around with sharp yellow eyes and hunched shoulders. His heart pounded as he realized what it was, their eyes meeting - a cat.
He felt like he couldn't breath.
Marc's voice called out in his mind, 'Steven, what's wrong?', as Khonshu demanded to know what he thought he was doing.
But Steven couldn't hear them over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
The cat slowly stalked closer, as if it realized its mere presence was enough to disarm what would normally be a threat. A growl rattled in its throat, old and hollow and horrendous.
Once his body allowed him to breath, it came all too quick. He was hyperventilating, his chest growing tight as he sucked in rapid shallow pants. He didn't blink. He couldn't blink, eyes trained on the cat. He scrambled back, white gloves catching on the old jagged stones of the London streets.
Slowly, painfully, his eyes rolled back into his head, as Steven slipped from the front.
Marc came forward to find the body pinched tight with panic and his palms scraped through the gloves. Steven had retreated far into the back of his mind, so far he could hardly feel him there.
What is the matter with the worm? Khonshu demanded as the tailored suit of Mr. Knight unraveled to reveal the cloth wraps of Moon Knight.
"Don't know, I've never seen him react like that before," Marc cracked his neck and began the chase again, "guess he's afraid of cats."
What a frivolous thing to be scared of - he could cause more harm to it than it could to him. Utterly ridiculous, no avatar should be weighed down by silly things such as fears. The old god chastised, popping up on the roof tops of London as Marc dashed past on the streets below.
Ripping a crescent dart from the chest of the suit, Marc rounded the corner on the other guy, who had idiotically stopped not far from where Steven had fell to check and see if he was still being followed. The man jumped, startled to see a seemly new masked man chasing him. But before he could take off again, the crescent dart sliced his leg, dropping him to the ground with a shriek of pain.
"Lay off him, would you? Fears can be paralyzing, obviously." Responded Marc, ignoring the insults thrown his way by the petty criminal in favor of defending his alter, "I'll talk to him about it later, if it'll get you off our ass."
Khonshu scoffed, I do not care what you do, Marc Spector. Do not allow it to happen again. He slammed his staff against the ground and pointed it at the terrified man in front of them, Now finish the job.
Marc rolled his eyes and raised the crescent dart above his head, then struck.
He didn't bother trying to contact Steven until they were back safe in the apartment. As soon as the mission had ended, Khonshu had disappeared without a word, though the promise of another mission soon didn't need to stated anymore.
Kicking off his shoes at the door and dropping his bag of retrieved artifacts for Layla to come by and pick up later on the table, Marc walked further into the flat to a floor length mirror and planted himself in front of it. The dim light of dawn passed through the parted curtains and reflected off the glass of the mirror, a recent investment to allow the two men to talk a bit more easily instead of standing hunched in the bathroom to see each other as they communicated. "Steven, you in there?"
His reflection stared back at him unflinchingly, no movement insight other than the mirrored rise and fall of his chest. Marc sighed, sinking to the floor and crossed his legs. "Come on, buddy, we gotta talk about earlier," he tried again. There was no judgement in his words, no bite or gruffness, just a soft tenderness he reserved just for two people - his wife and his alter.
He sat there for what felt like hours, his back growing sore. Just as he was about to call it quits and head to bed, his reflection shifted; head down and eyes low.
"Hey Steven," Marc greeted.
'Hi,' Steven didn't look up.
"What happened out there today? You were doing so good and then you just clammed up outta nowhere. You wanna tell me what that was about?"
'Not really, but I don't suppose I get much of a choice, do I?'
Marc shook his head - he didn't mean to pry, but freezing like that on a mission could put the body in serious danger and cost them their life. Plus, Khonshu would bitch about it until the end of times if he could.
Steven sighed, seeming to steel himself up for whatever he was going to say, and began, 'I have a fear of cats.'
"I gathered as much," Marc quipped, but quickly shut up when Steven shot him a dirty look. "Sorry, continue."
'It's okay. Anyway, I have a fear of cats. A deep, intense fear that paralyzes me if I even so much as see one.' Steven shifted a bit, ringing his hands over and over again, 'I've been this way for as long as I can remember. My memories are a bit blurry - as you know - but one thing I can still see clear as day is why I'm like this.
'I was in the garden, back at mum and dad's place. I don't know how I got there, out in the garden, or even why I was out there. But it was like I suddenly became aware of everything around me; the feeling of dew-covered grass on my legs, the chirps of songbirds, the sweet smell of the honeysuckles that grew along the fence. But, more than anything, a sharp stinging on my hand. I look down and there was a cat - white and fluffy, a neighborhood stray. And it was hissing at me, all hunched up and tail puffed out. I looked at my hand and it had scratched me pretty good, long thin cuts that bled heavily.'
Steven raised his hand in the mirror to show him, but Marc didn't need to see. He knew the wound like... Well, like the back of his hand. On the back of his right hand, trailing from the webbing between his index and middle finger down to where his hand met his wrist, were five thin scars. Even all these years later the scars remained, a reminder of a moment Steven couldn't forget even if he wanted to.
Marc couldn't forget either. But for a different reason.
He chuckled as he was hit with a memory of his own, not because it was particularly funny - quite the opposite - but because it explained some of the missing details of his alter's story. Of course, Steven didn't know this and looked hurt by the sound; his eyes widened and his posture sunk further in on himself.
"Sorry bud, I'm not meaning to laugh at you. It's just that, I realized, I think I'm a part of the reason you're scared of cats."
'What?' Steven asked, dumfounded and a little hurt. 'Are you having a laugh?'
"Not exactly. Lemme explain," Marc scooted closer towards the mirror and his reflection, who stayed stock still - or at least as still as Steven can manage. Brown eyes tracked his movement as he slid forward.
"I recognize the story you told, because I was present for it. Or, at least I was present for the beginning and a little of the end - the middle is all new to me. Because I had been petting the cat in the backyard that day. It happened just after you started coming around; I hadn't figured out yet how to control you - well, not quite control you. I couldn't control when you came around. Even back then, you had a mind of your own.
"Anyway, I loved cats when I was younger, but we couldn't keep any because mom..." Marc let out a shaky breath, even all these years later he had a difficult time talking about her. "Mom was allergic to them. So we couldn't keep them. But there was a cat, like you said, a neighborhood stray, who used to wander into the backyard all the time. I was stoked about it at the time, it was like I had my own secret pet. It was great, it was the one thing I had that I could look forward to when things started getting bad.
"But what happened that day was, mom was in a mood. A worse one than usual. I had retreated to the backyard after she had lost her cool on me, because that was the one place I felt safe. It was so open out there and the people next door were constantly outside, so nothing could happen out there without someone - anyone - noticing. The cat came around, silly thing could probably sense I was upset. I was just crying, and I- I couldn't stop. But petting the cat usually helped me feel better. I don't know, I guess it has something to do with the repetitive nature or being a mindless task, or whatever. I was petting the cat and mom, she dropped or threw something inside, and it shattered. Scared the living shit out of me and the cat."
Marc shifted again, drawing his legs close to his chest and resting his crossed arms on top. Steven remained the same in the mirror, but now he stared at Marc with a new, solemn understanding.
"The noise startled the stray so much, it lashed out," the unsaid 'like I do' hung heavily in the air like a cartoon fog, "and scratched me. And I was so scared and confused and hurt, that you just showed up, fronting on accident. I hadn't meant to run away like that, but I did. And you got hurt. You developed a severe phobia that shuts down our body because I couldn't handle it."
Steven's eyes bore into him, saw through him and right into his - their, whatever - soul. Maybe he shouldn't have told the story, maybe he should have just left things alone and resigned himself to avoiding every cat in the foreseeable future. It couldn't be that hard, right? How many cats did the streets of London house? He would just steer of all cats - that would be a lot easy than having Steven stare at him like this. Like he saw how much of a fuck-up Marc really was, how much of a sad sack of shit the former mercenary had turned out to be.
'I'm going to say this, and I know it's going to sound cheesy, but just listen, yeah?' Steven said softly, tapping out a silent beat on his ankle - float like a butterfly, sting like a bee Marc thought faintly.
'It's not your fault,' his attention was drawn away from the movement and his eyes met his alter's, 'Marc, it's not your fault.'
"Don't say that."
'It's true, Marc. It's not your fault. You can't control how I react to things. You couldn't have known that something like that would happen. Everyone was hurt in that situation; you, me, and the stray cat. It is not your fault.'
Just like the last time Steven had comforted him with similar words, his eyes stung and it became difficult to see clearly. His body began to move on its own, taking in deep breaths through his nose and slowly blowing them out in a steady stream through his mouth - Steven's doing, no doubt.
Marc chuckled again, but his reflection didn't flinch back with hurt this time. :"When did this go from me trying to comfort you to you comforting me?"
Smiling with a lopsided easy grin, Steven replied, 'I think we're starting to realize that we're not that different, you and I. We share a lot of things in common, like pain.'
"And memories, it seems."
Without giving it much thought, Marc raised his hand and pressed it against the glass of the mirror.
His reflection followed his lead, looking at him with something unknown and personal.
'The flat being mum's, real or fake?'
"Well, it would be a little difficult for the apartment to be hers, considering she's been dead for a while. So, no, fake."
'Really?'
"I've been paying for it for years without you realizing."
They had been at this little game of theirs all morning, trying to determine where their memories lined up and where there was gaps - as well as, where Marc had fooled Steven into believe something back when it seemed like the necessary thing to do. Had it revealed anything earthshattering? No, not really. But it kept them preoccupied while they completed mindless tasks in order to go out for the day.
"You being a vegan, real or not." Marc dug around his backpack, looking for a missing item he was sure had been in there when they got home yesterday, "Where's my wallet?"
'I saw it earlier on the nightstand, and real.' Steven answered with ease, hardly having to think about it. He continued as Marc nodded and wandered off towards the nightstand, 'I've been a vegan for as long as I can remember. Can't bring myself to eat anything from an animal, makes me upset when I think about it too hard. And I have issues with dairy, so that helps sort that out. Plus, there's quite a bit of overlap between vegan food and kosher food!'
Marc hummed in agreement. "Yeah, that does help it." Finally, he spotted the missing wallet, right where Steven had said he saw it. Which was weird, because he rarely took it out of his backpack. And Steven wouldn't have moved it, he had his own - a light blue fabric one with a little fish embroidered on the front that he had found at a farmers market stall. He picked his up and his fingers brushed against something dried and sticky. Frowning, Marc flipped it over to find something red flaking off on the clear plastic over his license. Blood. His eyes widened as he stared at it. "Why is my wallet over here?"
'I dunno. Anyway, it's my turn.' Steven must not of seen the blood, because he breezed right past the question in favor of the silly game. 'Um, let's see... Oh! I know! Gus is the only fish of mine you've killed, real or fake?'
Cringing at the question, Marc shoved his wallet in his backpack and chose not to think too hard about where the blood could of come from, not to mention the fact it had been there long enough to dry. "First of all, that was accidental. I didn't set out to kill your fish, I was just busy dealing with Khonshu breathing down to my neck and it slipped my mind. And secondly, no sadly, Gus is not the first fish I accidently killed. Actually, the one that was replace with a goldfish with two fins was your second fish. I wasn't able to find one with only one fin for a third time, so I did the best I could do. Sorry."
The gasp that came out of Steven was comedically large and loud, though Marc knew his alter wasn't doing it to be funny. He was genuinely surprised and upset by the discovery. 'What? You're telling me that my fish, my beloved Gus, was actually Gus II this whole time!'
"Yeah."
'Oh my days, I feel like such a terrible fish dad! I couldn't even tell the difference between my fish and a fraud. Poor Gus must be so upset up there in fishy heaven, hearing me call another else by his name.'
"Right, that's what he's upset about; you thinking a fish I got specifically because it looked like him was him, and not the fact that he got left behind to starve to death because Khonshu needed me to be his justice or whatever." It seemed like Steven had his priorities straight.
Steven huffed, the sound tickling Marc's ear. 'I still can't believe you got my fish killed.'
It was Marc's turn to huff, "Again, it was an accident. And I've done a pretty good job making sure the two we have now are alive, haven't I? Not to mention keeping us alive." There was a pinch at the back his mind, like a nerve had been twisted. "Ow." He rubbed the back of his head and looked at Steven in the reflection of the fish tank. Was it really necessary pinching him like that over his comments? His alter just stared back at him, looking a little lost at the accusing glance. "Whatever, can we get back to getting ready?"
'Yes, let's. Did you pack your noise cancelling headphones?' Steven asked. 'It's going to be noisy on the metro without them. Especially if you're not getting back until late, it's always mostly drunk Uni kids on the tube after ten o'clock. And they really don't understand that not everyone wants to listen to them laughing obnoxiously at the same joke over and over again for the two hour long trip.'
Marc nodded, fishing out the large black headphones. "Yep, got 'em right here. Anything else?"
Tapping his lips in contemplation, Steven paced a small circle in the tank glass - the movement helped him think, he had told Marc once before. 'Yeah! Pack my headphones. They're the teal ones on the dresser.'
"What, why? Why do I need to take two sets?"
'Well, yours are just for blocking out noise, yeah? What if you get bored and want to listen to something? I downloaded some podcasts on my phone I thought you'd like. I find that sometimes when I'm overwhelmed, listening to someone talk about something I'm interested in helps me calm down.' Steven rambled, overexplaining his idea. 'I mean, you don't have to, it was just an idea I had. I thought that maybe you'd like it. I picked out some that I thought you'd really like. But, uh, it's just a suggestion.'
During what was essentially word vomit on Steven's end, Marc couldn't help but stare. He hung onto every movement Steven made in the reflection of the glass - the waving of arms to help emphasize a point, the rocking back and front on the balls of feet - all of it captured Marc's attention like a spell, mesmerizing him. He was feeling something, some kind of emotion that was there, locked up but so so close to breaking out. Maybe it had a name, maybe it didn't. He didn't like to linger on things like that, terrified he'd find something he didn't like.
Steven caught on Marc's unintentional staring and ceased his movement all at once, though he still buzzed with an anxious energy that seemed to eat away at him.
'It's silly, innit?'
Marc shook his head, it was all he could manage to do, "No. Um, actually, that was really thoughtful of you. Thank you, Steven."
'You are welcome, Marc'
"You need to talk to her, mate," Steven says, staring at the door exiting their flat. Just like Marc had for several minutes right after Layla left, before retreating deeper into the mind and pushing Steven forward to front.
'Didn't ask, Steven.' Marc replied flatly.
Most of their conversations around things like this - feelings and fun stuff like that - went about like this.
Layla had shown up to the flat to collect the stolen artifacts Marc and Steven had saved earlier in the week, so she could take them to Cairo and return them to their correct resting places. Marc and her had exchanged pleasantries, and then parted ways. It was clear that Layla had more she wanted to say, from the way her stares lingered on her husband/ex-husband's face and she bit her lip like it was the only thing keeping her questions at bay.
Steven knew what she wanted to ask - it was pretty obvious - but Marc refused to acknowledge it, refused to even humor the thought.
"Marc." He tried.
'Steven.'
"Can we just-"
'No.'
Exhaling sharply through his nose, Steven spun on his heel and marched away from their spot in front of the door. "You know, you are damn near impossible to talk to sometimes."
'There's nothing to talk about.'
"Clearly Layla thinks there is. And so do I." Stopping swiftly in front of the mirror in the bathroom, he leveled his reflection with an unimpressed look.
His alter returned the look with a glare of his own, frown hard-set on his face. 'Oh, so now my marriage concerns you? You a part of my marriage? I don't remember you signing the documents, entitling you to an opinion on it. Last I checked, this doesn't concern you.'
"Pretty sure that since, hey, we share a body, it does kind of concern me, yeah." He crossed his arms. He didn't understand why Marc had to make this so difficult. "The first time I met her, she was in my flat presenting me with divorce papers to a marriage I wasn't even privy to! And I get that you have your hang-ups, mate, I really do. But you're not even giving Layla the chance to have this conversation with you. She wants to talk to you, and you're making it impossible. You can't keep leaving her in the dark, shutting her - and everyone - out!"
What started as simple frustrations had blossomed into a full blown argument.
Marc stared Steven dead in his face. 'I'm not having this conversation with you.' He answered coldly, and began to turn away.
Fed-up, Steven threw his arms in the air. "What are you so afraid of!"
His reflection stopped, his back to him, going completely still. He didn't even look like he was breathing, almost like he was a statue -or still out there in the sands of the Duat. 'You wanna ask questions?' Marc challenged, turning slowly to face Steven again. 'Well, since you're so fond of questions, let's pick up our stupid game again, shall we? You kissed my wife and now you have feelings for her, real or fake?'
Steven flushed, his face going red. "Wha- What does that have to do with anything?" He stammered, shoulders tensed and hunched now.
'Answer the question, Steven.'
"Alright, I'll answer yours, but first I'll do you one better; your marriage to Layla, real or fake?"
Marc bristled. 'Don't,' he warned, giving his alter a glare so intense it would kill if it could.
Luckily for Steven, he had never been good at reading faces.
"Oh, so when you ask me something, I have to answer. But when I do the same to you, you don't have to. Well, which is it, Marc?" Steven demanded, face hot. Normally, he would never respond like this; he couldn't handle raised voices and harsh words, for reasons that had only just become obvious recently. But he was so fed-up with the constant stop and go with Marc that it seeped into his reactions, annoyance bleeding through into his questions. "Is your relationship with Layla real or not? Because you seemed so eager to get out of it, and now you're refusing to decide what you want and you're leaving your wife in a limbo. And you were even setting up dates for yourself with my coworkers, who mistook me for you, and then you leave them high and dry, and ruin what could have been a perfectly lovely friendship."
He was yelling now, he knew, but he couldn't control his volume when he got worked up like this. His chested heaved with quick breaths, somehow feeling both lighter and weighted now after his rant.
Marc raised an eyebrow, anger replaced with confusion, 'What the fuck are you talking about?'
Steven gaped at his reflection, their fish swimming lazily in the background, seemingly unfazed by the argument that had been happening. "Have you gone batty? Dylan! From the Museum!"
'Bud, I'm going to be completely honest with you - I have no idea what you're talking about.'
Now it was Steven's turn to be confused, "What?"
'I haven't set up any dates with your old coworkers. In fact, on the couple of occasions that I've had to go in for you at the Museum, I've gone out of my way to avoid them because my English accent sucks.' After running a hand through his hair, Marc added; 'And I wouldn't date again if Layla and I ended up going through with the divorce. She's it for me, she just can't help that I am how I am.'
"So, wait," Steven shook his head, trying to put the puzzle pieces together even though it felt like he only had the corner pieces, "if you didn't set up the date with Dylan, and I didn't set up the date with her-"
'Did you?' Marc interrupted, the argument that started this conversation long forgotten.
"It was at a steak house, Marc." He explained flatly.
'Ah, yeah. Continue.'
"If it wasn't you or me, then who..."
The look they shared said everything, grim and unsure, yet beginning to understand.
God, the headache Steven was developing was going to take him out before he finished the puzzle that was their mind.
"I don't think I can do this," Steven whispered, shifting in the uncomfortable chair he was sat on.
'Yes you can, buddy. You can do it, I believe in you.' Encouraged his alter as they waited.
Steven was sat in a local animal shelter, waiting to be led to the back by one of the workers. To try and help overcome his fear, or at least not be so paralyzed by it, he had talked himself into meeting a cat. Exposure therapy, and all that. What had seemed like a good idea yesterday now became the world's most daunting task. Now that he was here, moments away from facing something that broke him out in a cold sweat, he was having second thoughts.
"What if I freeze up again? What if the cat doesn't like me? What if it hisses, or scratches me, or-" He cut himself off, chest becoming tight as he rocked back and forth slightly in his chair.
'Alright, Steven? Breath with me, okay?' Marc began to run through breathing exercises with Steven, just like Steven had done for him when they had their conversation surrounding where the cat phobia came from. 'There you go, that's it. You've got this.'
Steven didn't respond, focusing on his breathing.
'Here's what's going to happen, okay? You're going to go in there and the vet is going to hand you a cat that's calm, they won't give you one that'll attack - that's bad business and a lotta paperwork afterwards. You're gonna to pet the cat, or just watch it, or whatever you want to do. And I will be there with you the whole time. If it becomes too much, I'll take over for you. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you this time, I promise.' He explained calmly, not condescending but understanding.
"You do?"
'I'd pinky promise if I could.'
That earned a laugh out of Steven, the image of stern-faced Marc holding out his pinky for him to link his own with over petting a cat was enough to shake off some of the jitters he had.
"Steven Grant?" A vet called, a nice lady who had them fill out paperwork when they arrived, as she walked towards him.
"Yes?" He got up abruptly, causing the chair to scoot back with a shriek. "Sorry," he apologized and moved to back into place.
"That's alright. Are you ready to meet a kitty?" She asked kindly with a smile.
"Um," he sucked in a deep breath and blow it back out, "yeah. Yeah, I think I am."
The vet nodded, "Then follow me."
She led him down a long hallway, the cream-colored walls decorated with painted rainbow pawprints and pictures of the vets who worked there with an assortment from animals. From Dobermans to iguanas to, Steven had to admit, adorable little kittens, all of the people in the photos shared enormous grins, even caught mid-laugh in some pictures by licks from the animals.
"Just in here, sir." The kind vet held open a door for him to walk through.
He entered and she followed, closing the door quietly behind them. The room they were in was a little on the small size, the large kennels stacked on top of each other on two adjacent walls made him feel boxed in and a bit claustrophobic - like he was back in the sarcophagus in the psych ward in Marc's mind.
"I can tell you're a tad nervous, love, so I have the perfect cat for you to meet." She said to Steven, stepping past him to a kennel against the wall. Undoing the lock, she reached in and pulled out a short-haired cream-colored (or maybe yellow?) cat with a crescent shaped smudge on her forehead and the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen. "This is Lola, she is an absolute sweetheart. A bit older than some of the other cats we have, so she's nice and calm - perfect for first time cat-owners, or anyone who's anxious around cats."
She set the cat down, who just stared up at Steven with curious eyes.
"I have to go finish up some paperwork for my boss, so I'll be back in about five minutes or so to check in on you two, okay love?"
Steven nodded, not breaking eye contact with the cat.
With a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the vet took her leave, closing the door gently.
'So... What do you think?' Marc asked, piping up once Steven was able to talk to him aloud.
"She's missing her tail."
Sure enough, the cat in front of him was indeed missing a tail. She let out a curious sound, a cross between a meow and a chirp, and stepped closer.
Steven took a step back.
'It's okay, she just wants to meet you,' reassured Marc, 'the vet said she was nice.'
Lola meowed again and rubbed up against his pantleg, blinking up at him. His heart pounded in his chest. Despite the fact that this had been his idea, he was still nervous.
"H-hi," Steven greeted, reaching out a shaky hand with hesitation. Lola met him half way, jumping up to press her head into his outstretched hand with a purr that echoed in the impossibly quiet room.
Steven giggled, a little bit on the hysterical side, and softly scratched behind the cat's ears. She purred louder, eyes closed happily.
"Look, Marc! I'm doing it, Marc!" Steven cried with a laugh bubbling in his chest. He sat down with his legs crossed, Lola wandering into his lap and pressing her nose against his other hand. He brought it down so he could pet her with both hands, one on her crescent smudge and the other on her back.
'Look at you go, bud! You're doing amazing!' Marc exclaimed, smiling along with his alter.
Maybe somewhere deep in his mind, there was a third person smiling too, but Marc focused on Steven for now. He could worry about that later.