“Steven, look at me. Steven, look at me now. Steven...Please.”
“Marc, I gotta do this man, they can't get away with it.”
“Steven, let me handle this.”
“No. It's not right.”
“Steven. STEVEN!”
'Bedoop!'
You glanced in the direction of your phone as you chewed half-heartedly on the tip of your fingernail as you watched yet another repeat of some American hospital drama you'd seen at least twice.
'Bedoop!'
Picking it up and checking it was a Whatsapp message, from Marc.
You knew he was back in the country, but always waited for him to contact you before you made contact. His job, and his role as the hand of Khonshu (yep, that part still blew your mind) made life dangerous and he didn't want you involved in that.
You tapped on the message to read it and immediately felt a strange jerk in your stomach behind your navel.
'Call me'- 11.22pm.
'PLEASE' 11.22pm.
You immediately clicked on your contacts short-cut and pulled up Marc's number. Your hands becoming uncomfortably clammy as you waited for him to pick up.
A small infinity later, the rings paused and you heard a heavy, ragged breath answer.
“Marc?”
“Hey baby...” he grunted.
Oh God, was that pain in his voice?
“Marc, what's going on?” You asked with apprehension.
“Babe, you need to...do as I ask and not ask...any questions, okay? There's....There's no time...You need to get over to Steven's place...and take care of him.”
Your eyebrows met as your brow furrowed in confusion. Take care of Steven?
“Marc, I..I don't understand?”
“No questions. Steven's place. I'll...I'll leave the door unlocked.”
“Okay, Okay!” You nodded, getting up and pulling on a hoody. “I'll be there asap.”
You booked an Uber to get you to Steven's place the second you had hung up.
This made no sense. Why had Marc asked you to check on Steven?
Marc, was in pain. But he needed you to check on Steven?
It made no sense. They shared the body, surely if Marc was in pain, he needed your attention as well as Steven, where the hell was he going? Was he unable to hold on and Steven wanted to front?
You had learned about Marc not long after you had met Steven when he made an appearance after coming back from the toilet on your date at Convent Garden.
Steven had took you there to watch the Freemasons head into their meetings while you dined and with obvious excitement, telling you all about the ancient society and it's presumed beginnings and modern observances of old practices that dated back to an ancient time.
But by the time he had come back from the bathroom, he was sporting an American accent, and seemed to move with a fluidity that Steven, as much as you loved him, could not replicate in a hundred years.
He introduced himself as Marc and said that he was part of Steven, and that Steven and he shared the body.
Thankfully, you had some idea of DID from your psychology A level you did at college and accepted that Marc, was going to finish off your date with Steven.
It was strange, of course it was, being met with roses by a nervous Steven at the tube station and being pecked on the lips by a far too smooth Marc at the end of the evening at the taxi rank, but the next day, when Steven called to apologise for not being there the entire date, he asked if it was going to be an issue. Marc sharing you with him ('because if it is, I really understand, I mean it's weird, right? Its weird,' he had muttered quickly after).
You told him that it had been a lovely night, and that you would like to see how things go.
That was 6 months ago, and now you, Steven and Marc were dating-- and occasionally an ancient, unseen Egyptian Deity granted them a special suit to fight in.-- yep, that...was gonna take some getting used to still.
The whole Uber ride there, which was only a matter of 20 minutes across London seemed to be a chain of red lights and hold ups as you waited to find out Steven's situation.
Hopping out of the cab, you dashed through the gate that led to the communal door for Steven's apartment building, and letting yourself in with the key, you dashed up the stairs and pushed his front door open. Hoping Marc had held on long enough to tell you what was going on.
Your eyes quickly scanned the tidy apartment space that Steven kept, looking for him.
A familiar heap of grey and white clothes was thrown onto the couch unceremoniously. But it wasn't laundry.
It was Steven.
Laid back as if he had just crashed on there, his clothing stained with God knows what, blood and dirt.
You quickly closed the door behind you and dashed over, dropping to your knees beside him.
Your fingers finding his face as you traced from the temple which was cut open with a laceration, down to the corner of his lip that had been bleeding and had formed a thick dark clot.
He was unconscious by the looks of it, or maybe sleeping, it was hard to tell, but he'd been beaten up. Badly.
How? How was this even possible?
You'd seen Steven in the suit getting the shit beaten out of him, taking on an entire car to the shoulder and watching the car crumple with him standing just moments later, shaking it off as if it had been a rugby tackle.
“St-Steven?” you whispered quietly, trying to get him to rouse, to speak to you. “Steven, my love?”
But he remained there, his lips held in a loose pout, his eyes closed, blackened and swollen.
“God, Steven.” you almost whimpered and resting your head against his chest, you closed your eyes, hoping to God this wasn't something worse.
Gathering yourself, you stood up, looking for a tea towel to make a improvised ice pack with, or something to wipe up the blood. Calling 999 was not an option. Anything that involved authorities was not an option.
It was then you saw a piece of paper on the dining table, written on the back of an overdue library fine letter, in Marc's messy handwriting with your name at the top.
Picking it up, you eyes quickly moved over the page.
“Steven did something stupid tonight, and I let him. I'm sorry. He saw a woman getting attacked at the tube station on Tottenham court road and wouldn't let me deal with it. He still doesn't know how the suit works, and couldn't summon it without Khonshu's approval. I managed to get control back, but he's bruised up pretty bad.
He will heal over night, Khonshu doesn't like us being out of action for long. Take care of him for me, please. Marc.”
Putting the letter down, you looked over at Steven again, your heart sinking at the sight of him so hurt.
“Oh Steven,” you murmured, moving back over to sit next to him again, taking his hand and cradling it, the knuckles red, skinned and bloody. The usually perfectly clean nails red and filthy.
You rested the fist, that had been clenched with Khonshu's might so often, against your lips and pressed soft kisses to it, trying to heal some of the damage with sheer determination. But you knew you needed to do something much more proactive.
“Steven, darling, I'll be right back, alright?”
Grabbing a bowl from the kitchen, some warm water, a little bit of TCP from the bathroom cabinet and a flannel, you knelt beside Steven to gently clean him up.
You started by brushing the dried blood from the side of his face. He had such beautiful skin. The softest sand on the warmest beach couldn't do it justice and whenever Steven smiled, it was like the first time you had ever seen the sun.
Seeing it bruised, scraped. It was heartbreaking.
Steven was the gentlest man you had ever known. Apologised for being in the path of a Bee (after doing the initial panicked dance), excused himself when he sneezed, and once ran into the path of a London bus to rescue a pigeon that had been dazed by colliding with another pigeon. When you learned that he and Marc were actually vigilantes at night, you couldn't believe your ears. Or your eyes, the first time you saw Steven in the suit, punching the ever loving crap out of someone who had been trafficking girls.
Seeing him like this, was awful.
Running the corner of the flannel around his lip, you chipped away at some of the dried blood, and wiped away the excess.
His lip twitched, and his chest and stomach rolled as he began to regain consciousness.
“Steven? Steven darling?” you murmur, moving your hand to hold his.
His eyes rolled slightly under the thin, puffy lids and then opened. Brown, warm, and looking unfocused.
“Steven?” you asked again, softer this time.
He focused on you, and for a moment, he was trying to regain his bearings. You weren't yet sure if you were speaking to Marc or Steven.
His lips parted slightly, saying your name faintly as he recognised you.
“Steven...” you smiled back, happy that he was back with you in this lonely little flat.
His eyes closed again and seemed to roll up, as if he were either switching, or perhaps falling back into unconsciousness.
“Steven, look at me, you're okay. You're safe. I'm here.”
His eyes opened again and creased with concern now, filling with tears that looked like pain and then and met yours and the faint smile that flitted across his lips told you, that he was glad you were there.
His hand moved to touch your chin, and you supported it with your own, bringing it in close and cradling it to your cheek.
“You're a sight for sore eyes, aren't ya?” he croaks with a crooked smile.
You smile, your heart trembling with love for this man, he tried to move, to allow you some room to sit on the couch, before giving a soft wail and flexing inward, trying to hold his stomach in, breathing shallowly in his gut.
You supported his side, pressing your hand to it firmly.
“Try not to move. I think you've probably busted a rib or something.”
“Oh Shit...Oh Shit, oh, I don't like that, that doesn't feel right.” he murmured, his voice quavering in panic.
His eyes moved around the surroundings, further processing and understanding where he was and then, ever perceptive, he asked in a broken voice. “Wait a minute, How did you--?”
“Marc left the door unlocked, told me to get over here and check on you.” You said quickly as his eyes wandered around, no doubt trying to find a reflection to check in on Marc. “He said, you were a bit silly.”
His eyes moved back. to you, the purple hued skin around them wrinkling in discomfort.
Silly perhaps wasn't the right word.
“Nothing silly about stopping someone laying into someone.” he murmured a note of defence in his voice. “'Specially a grown man taking on a young girl.”
“Why didn't you let Marc take it?”
“'Cos it wasn't his fight, love.” he explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “He's always taking the punches.”
His eyes moved to the television that was off.
“It's nothing to do with 'being the hero' Marc. It's about doing what's right, innit?” he began, starting to sit up.
“Steven, stay down. Marc, “ You began, turning to face the TV, as you had learned to do when addressing the other alter. “Leave him be. He doesn't need this right now.”
Steven lay back down obediently, hissing slightly as he did and gritting his teeth, the unshed tear dribbling over the swollen rim of his right eye and onto his cheek.
“Steven, I know you wanted to do the right thing, and I'm proud of you darling.” you whispered as you caressed the tear away with your thumb. “But you can't fight without the suit.”
Steven looked pained, and you knew it was nothing to do with his injuries. It hurt, and you tried to quickly rectify it.
“You're smart, smarter than anyone I've ever met, and you're really good at solving puzzles, and riddles, and doing codebreakers and stuff. But Marc has trained for this in the military. So next time, maybe let him get the first few punches in?”
Steven closed his eyes again, probably not wanting to see Marc give him the 'told you so' look. (You knew that look).
Taking your hand and placing it on his forehead, he opened his eyes to look at you.
“Steven, I could have lost you tonight.”
His brow wrinkled, and for a moment you thought he might start crying, or perhaps Marc might come back but instead, he nodded.
“...I'm sorry.”
You ran your fingers through his curly hair and smiled before pressing a kiss to his nose which he flinched at slightly.
“Don't think I'm cut out for the big action hero, love.”
“I think you look dashing. Kind of like Rick O Connell...”
“I don't think he got flung head first into a cash convertors shutters.”
You laughed and pressed another kiss to his forehead, stroking his hair soothingly as he closed his eyes.
“Love?” he murmured.
“Yes, Steven?”
“...Really bloody hurts.”
You pressed your cheek against his forehead and tried to cradle him to you, feeling his hands grip onto any folds of his clothing he could to gain comfort, relief, anything to distract himself from now.
“I know.” You soothed, caressing the back of his head with your fingers. “Sleep, let Khonshu take care of the pain, and I'll watch over you.”
He soon drifted off back to sleep. Perhaps not the safest thing to do as anyone who had been unconscious would usually have to stay awake, but you had an idea that Khonshu was keeping an eye on his avatar.
You glanced up into the apartment room, wondering if the great big bird God was looking down on you both.
Draping a blanket, designed after the Rosetta stone over Steven, and giving him a pillow to hug to his bruised stomach, you made yourself comfortable and zapped a text to your boss telling her you'd come down with food poisoning and wouldn't be able to make it into work the next morning.
It was the first few rays of sunshine that came in through the murky, dusty window of Steven's first floor apartment that woke you. Your neck was stiff, and your shoulder from the way you had slept, curled up on the rarely used armchair in Steven's living room.
Stretching, you looked over to the couch, making sure he was still there.
He was.
His bruises and cuts now almost completely faded, sleeping like a baby.
You got up, feeling life (and circulation returning to your limbs that had been folded up beneath you for most of the night) and walked over to check him over.
The swelling was down, the discolouration returned back to its normal brownish tinge around his eyes, and peeling away the gauze around his knuckles, you saw that they were now just reddish and rough feeling.
You closed your eyes and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his brown curls before feeling a hand creep around your middle.
Pulling back, you saw a familiar looking sleepy, self assured smirk.
“Mornin' baby, you been here all night?”
Marc.
“You told me to look after him.” You replied, sitting back as much as you could with his hand claiming your waist.
“You did a good job...Real good job.” he murmured, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes. “I'm gonna go grab a shower, bite to eat, and then maybe try and convince you to slack off work and keep us company in bed?”
“Way ahead of you, Spector.” you playfully teased. “I got food poisoning last night.”
“Gross. Lets hope it lingers, huh?”