Eye of the Moon

            They woke up in Steven’s bed.

            Marc sat up abruptly, his mind reeling, blinking hard. He looked around slowly, completely and utterly stunned to find himself in Steven’s apartment, which looked as though they’d never left at all. There wasn’t a single item out of place – absolutely nothing to explain how they’d gotten there. Even the fish were still there – both of them, Gus and his double-finned twin swimming lazy circles in their tank. But there was no way all of that had been a dream. It couldn’t be. Marc spied Steven’s phone on the desk, plugged into its charger. He sprang forward off the end of the bed to grab it –

            Thump! Marc was yanked violently backward the second his feet met the ground as he’d jumped over Steven’s ring of sand, the momentum nearly pulling his ankle clean off his body. He hit the wooden floorboards hard, face first (of course), letting out an elongated groan of pain, laying still for a moment as he tried to process the shock of the situation. Finally he pushed himself off the floor, unbuckling the restraint around his ankle.

            “Steven,” he murmured, simultaneously praying to and cursing every god he could think of, desperate for a response. “You there?”

            “Yeah,” Steven answered in his head. “Of course I’m – oh wait, what?” His shock was palpable. “Wait, how the bloody hell did we get here?”

            “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” Marc replied, trying to tamp down on the wave of panic beginning to rise in his chest. “But I’m guessing you didn’t take us for a joyride while I was out.”

Steven was stunned. “Not a chance, mate.”

Marc ran a hand down his face, forcing his heart to slow its hammering beat in his chest. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

            Steven hesitated, considering for a moment. “We were in the Great Pyramid, yeah? With Zara and Khonshu, after Harrow raised Ammit. There was a big battle – ”

            “And then Khonshu tried to make me kill Harrow,” Marc finished his sentence. He furrowed his brows, desperately sifting through his own mind for any other memories. “Do you remember anything after that?”

            “I – no,” Steven stammered, his tone matching the anxiety Marc was starting to feel at their predicament. “No, I don’t remember anything at all after that.”

            “So we both blacked out,” Marc muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in a mix of fear and frustration. “We were in Egypt, and we blacked out, and somehow we got here.”

            “Seems like it,” Steven agreed, and Marc cocked his head, surprised at how calm he suddenly sounded. “But how did we get all the way back to London?”

            “You’re weirdly calm about this,” Marc muttered, and Steven gave a wry laugh.

            “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my first rodeo, is it?”

            Marc could only nod his head in concession. “I guess I deserved that.”

            Finally Marc pulled himself up, snatching Steven’s phone off the desk. Whatever he’d been doing when he got here, at least he’d had the good sense to charge it. Marc fought down a wave of nausea at the thought – the last time he’d blacked out and gone into a fugue state, he’d been discharged from the military. That dark period of his life threatened to open up and swallow him whole as the memories (or frightening lack thereof) surged forward – but, no. No. He would not go through that again. And he sure as hell wouldn’t let Steven go through it. They’d both been through enough hell for a lifetime.

            He flipped open the phone to find a ridiculous amount of missed calls, almost all of them from none other than Zara herself. His breath caught in his throat, threatening to choke him. “What the hell?”

            “The dates,” Steven’s voice was frantic, echoing around his skull with such turmoil that Marc really thought he might throw up. “Marc – look at the dates of those phone calls.”

            Marc’s stomach dropped to his feet. “Shit.”

            “Call her!” Steven exclaimed. “Call Zara now, she might be able to tell us what – ”

            “Yeah, I’m on it.” Marc cut him off. His fingers felt numb as he dialled her number. She picked up immediately, and Marc released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Zara – ”

            “Oh my god, Marc,” her accented voice came clear down the line, brimming with disbelief. Vaguely Marc noticed the ambient noise from her end of the call – car horns, the hum of a crowd of people –  the sounds of a city. “Where the hell have you two been?”

            “So much for that,” Steven mumbled in his head, despairing. “Sounds like we must’ve ditched her.”

            “We’re – I’m, um…” Marc trailed off, and she huffed expectantly.

            “Well?”

            “Zara, I don’t know what to tell you.”

            “Seriously?” She interrogated, incredulous. “We save the world together, and then you shoot Harrow point-blank in the head right there in the chamber of the gods and then disappear without a trace for a month, and that’s all you have to – ”

            “Wait – what?” Marc almost dropped the phone, his body practically paralysed in shock. “I did what?”

            Suddenly she fell silent. Marc gripped the phone tighter, his voice coming out as a stammer. “Zara…”

            “You don’t remember any of what I just said, do you?” Her voice was quiet now, tentative. “You don’t remember what happened in the chamber?”

            “I – ” Marc’s voice had suddenly failed him, terror gripping his body like a vice. Steven’s voice permeated his mind, soothing and surprisingly calm.

            “I’ll take this one, Marc.”

            Steven pushed forward gently, his voice now leaving their lips as he tried to wrap his head around the situation. “Zara?”

            “Steven,” Zara breathed. “What happened to you guys?”

            “That’s the thing,” Steven tried to explain, but even he seemed to be coming up short. “We don’t know.”

            She paused, and Marc felt like even that moment of silence might swallow him whole. “Is there anything you do remember?”

            “We remember up to when Khonshu tried to get Marc to kill Harrow,” Steven explained, and Marc heard Zara hum in comprehension. “But we don’t…we don’t remember – ”

            “Killing him?”

            Steven released a breath, his revulsion at the concept clear as day. “Yeah. That.”

            “And you don’t remember leaving?” She queried, and Marc could tell she was trying to be gentle, for their sake. “Or where you’ve been for the past month?”

            “Marc thinks we blacked out.”

            “Okay…” Zara said slowly, mulling over Steven’s words. “And…where are you now?”

            Steven took a glance around the room, seeming to sway a little on his feet. “In my apartment.”

            “In London?” Zara was incredulous, and Steven merely nodded. “How – when did you get there? I looked for you there.”

            Marc felt himself lighten slightly, and Steven flushed. “You – you looked for us?”

            “What – of course I did,” Zara replied, and if Marc didn’t know better, he would’ve thought she sounded offended. “You both completely disappeared. Why wouldn’t I look for you?”

            “Oh, um, we just thought – ”

            “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Zara joked, and Marc felt a wave of appreciation for how she was handling the situation. It couldn’t have been easy to have the two of them disappear suddenly when they’d been at each other’s sides (and, in the case of Marc and Zara, at each other’s necks) for the better part of Harrow’s plot to raise Ammit, especially with absolutely no explanation. Especially after that…moment they’d shared. Marc allowed himself to be soothed by the lilted notes of her voice, but he knew as soon as she was gone the feelings of terror would flood forward again. But you’re not alone, he reminded himself, repeating the thoughts over and over like a mantra. You have Steven.

Zara spoke again. “Stay there, okay? It shouldn’t take me that long to get to JFK from here. I’ll catch a flight and be there by tonight.”

            JFK. She was coming all the way from New York just to help them.

            “We can’t let her do that, Steven,” Marc told him. “It’s not her job.”

            Steven seemed to heed his words, shaking his head. “You don’t have to – ”

            “I know,” she stated. “But I’m still coming. Besides, I have things to do, and London is as good a place to start as any.”

            “But that’s so far – ”

            “You’re not changing my mind on this.”

            The tone of her voice told him she meant it, too – there would be no arguing their way out of this, especially since Steven was the one talking to her. Secretly, Marc was glad it was him talking to Zara – Marc’s pride would’ve had him arguing the point with her, and it had already driven enough people away in his life. He needed Steven on this one, to make sure they didn’t lose her, too. “Okay, Zara,” Steven relented, as Marc knew he would – Steven’s soft spot for the former black widow had bloomed exponentially over the course of the time they’d spent together. “We’ll see you soon, then, yeah?”

            “You will.” Marc could practically see her smile in his mind’s eye as her voice came running down the line. “But before I go, can I ask you something?”

            Marc’s heart practically jumped into his throat, and he felt Steven freeze in anticipation. “Of course, anything.”

            She exhaled slowly. “What do you think happened to you that day? Why do you think you disappeared?”

            “I – I don’t know,” Steven admitted, his shoulders crumpling slightly. “I wish I could give you a one-hundred percent certain answer, but…”

            He trailed off, and Zara gently prompted him again. “But what?”

            Steven’s frame had stiffened, and his voice as taut as a tightrope.

            “I think we might have another alter.”

* * * 

            “How many?”

            Melina watched her expectantly, and Zara just shrugged. “It’s London, Melina. I’m probably going to need a fair few.”

            Melina huffed a laugh. “Well I can’t have you taking my whole stock. We still need some of them in New York, at least.”

            “There are a lot of sleeper operatives in London. And you can’t exactly mail these to me in the post.”

            “And you think you’ll be able to get a whole batch through the airport’s customs?” Melina eyed her, her brows raised. “You know how Americans are about their security.”

            Zara considered her, giving a roll of her eyes. “All right, I concede your point. How many am I allowed to take?” She flashed the older widow a cocky grin, walking up to her. “Keep in mind that I’m your third favourite widow.”

            Melina laughed, short and sharp. “Ten.”

            “Ten?” Zara balked. She spread her hands, ready to bargain. “Come on, ‘Lina. I have a big job ahead of me.”

            “Then you’ll just have to come back and get some more,” Melina chided, inclining her head. “You know you can’t get to them all at once, anyway.”

            Like hell she couldn’t. Zara eyed the refrigerator, shelf after shelf of empty vials sitting idle, waiting to be filled. The bright red tubes on the top shelf caught her gaze, the shifting colours almost mesmerising – but the concept of freedom often was just that, mesmerising. Zara pursed her lips. “I can try.”

            Melina sighed, exasperated. “Between you and Yelena – I don’t know what it is with your generation. You seem convinced the world can be changed in a day. Even Natasha – ”

            She cut off, and Zara looked at her then, tearing her eyes away from the vibrant vials. For the first time, Zara realised how tired she looked – her braided dark hair speckled with thin streaks of grey, the circles under her eyes deeper than Zara had ever seen them. A pang of agony sliced through her then and she closed the distance between them, putting a hand on the older widow’s shoulder. Her voice was low. “She was the best of us. I’m so sorry, Melina.”

            Melina set her jaw, looking away, but Zara did not miss the tears in her eyes. “I worry for Yelena. She isn’t coping, without her sister. We just got Natasha back before the blip – ”

            “Yelena is strong, Melina. And so are you,” Zara reassured her, her open palm rubbing circles on her shoulder. “It’s the way they built us.”

            Melina huffed a laugh again, but there was no warmth to it now. “They thought they could keep us in those cages forever. And if it weren’t for my girls, they might have.”

            Zara opened her mouth to reply but Melina turned to her, putting both hands on her shoulders, looking her dead in the eyes. “You get them out, okay?”

            “I will,” Zara promised, her hand coming to cover one of Melina’s on her shoulder. Melina nodded, turning away, swinging the refrigerator door wide. She came back with a batch of glowing crimson vials, binding them together.

            Zara smirked a little. “That’s definitely more than ten.”

            “Oh, don’t start with me, Zara.” Melina scolded her, but her eyes were warm. “I knew Yelena wasn’t a good influence on you, with all that attitude.”

            Zara laughed. “I think it goes both ways.”

            Melina packed the vials into her bag and handed it to Zara, the two black widows watching each other for a moment. Melina nodded to her, her brows furrowed in concern. “You take care of yourself, okay?”

            “Always,” Zara replied. Then she swung the bag over her shoulder. “Anyway, I better go.” Zara hugged Melina tight, before making for the exit, Steven and Marc at the forefront of her mind.

            “I’ve got a plane to catch.”