Eye of the Moon

“You know, Marc and I were joking about all this James Bond stuff, but now I’m starting to think we were actually onto something.”

            Zara glanced back at him as she opened the door of the safehouse, practically yanking Steven through with her other hand in his. When he was through she deadbolted it, leaning back on it with an amused huff of breath. “Well, I was a spy.”

            “True,” he admitted, watching her intently. Zara pulled a knife, and Steven’s eyes widened. “What’s that for?”

            “Stay right there, I’ll be back in a second. Just need to check there’s no-one else here,” she muttered in response, systematically checking each room. She glanced back at him briefly. “And besides, the gun’s out of ammunition, and I don’t have another magazine.”

            “Oh, well, that’s no good,” Steven responded supportively, though he didn’t sound particularly disappointed. “I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got two avatars – ” he cut off, correcting himself as she completed her check of the apartment. “Well, I guess only one now.”

            “Yeah, about that – ” Zara turned back to him, beckoning him forward. “I don’t think Khonshu’s done with you, yet.”

            “Well, that’s bloody brilliant.” Steven remarked, wringing his hands together as they entered the kitchen. “You said he could summon the suit, right? The other bloke?”

            Zara swung the pantry door open. “Yeah. He had the same suit that Marc wears. He summoned it when I took the gun from him – oh, fuck yes.” Zara reached into the cupboard, displaying her new discovery with a grin, the packet of chips crinkling in her hand. “Salt and vinegar – hands down, the best flavour.”

            She popped a chip in her mouth, grimacing. “Oof, that’s stale. Probably been a while since anyone’s been in here.” She slowed her chewing when she looked back at him, Steven watching her as if he’d just seen a ghost.

            “He…he pulled the gun on you?” He sounded like someone had just punched him in the gut, and he was fighting for air.

            Slowly Zara put down the packet, giving a shrug. “It wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve had a gun to my head – ”

            “To your head?”

            Shit, she thought, mentally slapping herself. Me and my big mouth.

Steven looked like he might pass out, sitting back on a bar stool. “He…he put a gun to your – ”

“It’s fine, Steven. I’m fine, see?” Zara tried to assure him, but he just shook his head, refusing to look at her. “You don’t need to worry about me – ”

“He was going to kill you, wasn’t he?”

His voice was small as he stared at the kitchen bench. Zara opened her mouth to respond, but her words felt trapped in her throat like debris. Steven looked up at her. “The other alter. He was going to kill you.”

“Steven, I don’t – ”

“Please,” he murmured, his eyes misty. “Please, Zara. Don’t lie to protect me.”

 “I wouldn’t lie to you,” Zara promised, and she meant it, leaning forward on the bench. “He did put a gun to my head, but only after I took a bullet for the person who attacked you. He thought I was on their side.”

Steven furrowed his brows, but the colour stopped draining from his face. “Why did you do that?”

“Because,” Zara sighed, dropping her gaze. “Because, I couldn’t let him kill another widow. Even though I don’t know who it was, they’re still my family. I mean, if I hadn’t been rescued from the mind control, that very well could’ve been me who attacked you.” She looked at him then, straight into those beautiful, dark eyes. “Those of us from the Red Room – we’re usually all we have in the world. And besides, there’s also a very good chance that she has no say in what she’s doing. If I can figure out who it is, I can use this to pull her out.” She pulled one of the vials out of her pocket then, handing the glowing red tube to Steven.

His eyes widened even further. “That’s mental.”

“It’s the antidote to the chemical subjugation the Red Room had us under,” Zara informed him, watching as he turned it over in his hands. He held it like it was a grenade, and she smiled. “I was helping another widow out of it today, when I came to find you.”

Steven rolled the vial between his fingers, looking up at her. “You’re like a saint.”

She laughed then, short and sharp. “Trust me Steven, I am no saint.”

“I don’t think I believe you on that one,” he replied, a warm grin lighting up his face. Then he frowned, nodding at something. Zara raised her eyebrows, and he lowered his voice. “Marc is worried.”

“Marc’s always worried about something,” Zara joked, trying to keep the conversation from taking another dive. “Tell him he needs to relax.”

Steven furrowed his brows, looking at her like sad puppy. “He thinks we’re putting you in danger, what with this other bloke trying to kill you and what-not.” He sighed. “He thinks we should leave.”

“No.” Zara shook her head, firm. “You have a black widow after you. I’m not letting you go off on your own.”

“But he says – ”

“You wouldn’t have protection.”

“He says we don’t – oh, bollocks, you know what?” Steven shook his head incredulously. “I’m not getting in the middle of this one. You wanna fight her on the subject, Marc? Go for it.”

Suddenly his features shifted, Marc watching her with that steely gaze of his. “We can’t stay with you.”

“Because of the other alter?” Zara straightened, challenging. “I can handle him.”

“Like you handled him tonight?” Marc interrogated. “You said he had a gun to your head, Zara.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Zara shrugged, and she saw him stiffen. “And he hasn’t come back to kill me since.”

“Please don’t fight me on this.” Marc shook his head, and she was thrown by the way he was pleading with her. Marc Spector did not plead. “You know I can’t take that chance. He could come back at any point – ”

“So could that black widow agent trying to murder you,” she retorted, unrelenting. “So, you know, apples and pears.”

Marc blinked, taking a moment to register her words. “It’s apples and oranges. But – ”

“What?”

“The saying,” Marc explained, and she could see him forcing down a smirk despite himself. “It’s apples and oranges. But anyway – ”

“I’m not letting you go out on your own with no protection, Marc,” Zara stated, narrowing her eyes. “Not against a black widow. She’ll find you in two seconds flat.”

“I can protect us just fine,” he retorted, folding his arms.

“Really?” Zara raised her eyebrows, stalking towards him. “Because the last time you faced up with the widow trying to kill you, she shot you.”

The muscles in his jaw jumped, and Marc exhaled slowly. “I’ve dealt with contract-killers before, Zara.”

“Not like this.” She argued, her resolve turning to stone in her chest. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. I do.”

A conflicted look passed over his features, and Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re not gonna change my mind.”

Zara glared at him. “You’re smarter than this, Marc. Don’t put Steven in danger just because you’re too proud to let me help you.”

Marc bristled, staring back at her. “This isn’t about my pride.”

“Then what? What is it?” Zara interrogated, closing the distance between them. “What – you’re afraid I can’t handle seeing another widow, or something?”

Marc was incredulous, his frustration coming to a boil. “What – no. It’s not – ”

“Then what – ”

“Because I don’t want him to kill you!” Marc snapped, breathing hard. Zara stepped back, and he rambled on. “Because if this other alter wants to he could front, and he could come after you, and I can’t protect you if that happens! Don’t you get that?”

Marc turned away from her then, collapsing on the couch with his head in his hands. Zara gaped for a moment, the silence stretching on between them, weighed down by Marc’s outburst. Slowly Zara approached him, Marc not looking up from his hands as she sat down next to him, tentatively putting a hand on his shoulder, as if he might burn her. Zara’s voice was low. “I don’t think he wants to kill me. I don’t think that’s what he was there for.”

Marc didn’t look at her. “How can you possibly know that?”

“Because I talked to him,” she stated. “He only showed up when you were in mortal danger, right? And he only turned on me when I took a bullet for the other widow, and even then, he still didn’t shoot until I took the gun from him. He knew everything about me, everything I’ve told you, or Steven. I think he listens.” Marc seemed to flinch and she leaned forward, her hands taking his, gently pulling them away from his face. His hands were warm and rough, and she held them as she spoke, Marc watching their fingers intertwine as though they weren’t even his. “He called you his brothers.”

Marc’s gaze snapped up to hers then, shock written all over his features. “My…”

“Mis hermanos, he said,” Zara recalled, and Marc paled. “I think he thinks he’s protecting you. Both of you.”

“And the suit?” Marc queried, seeming far away. “He could summon it?”

Zara nodded. “Yes.”

“Khonshu,” Marc’s voice was a hiss now, full of contempt. “He’s using him. I wouldn’t do what he wanted, so he used another alter.” Marc shook his head, a wry laugh falling from his lips. “That piece of shit.”

            Zara considered for a moment, giving his hands a squeeze. She loosened her grip, but to her surprise, Marc did not let go. “If Khonshu’s manipulating him, we need a way to talk to him.”

            “I don’t hear him like I hear Steven,” Marc admitted, releasing a ragged breath. “He doesn’t share the space with us – he just comes out when he wants. And I…I don’t know how to talk to him. I’m not even there when he fronts. With Steven, it’s like I’m in the backseat, and he’s driving – I can still see and hear everything, but I’m not the one controlling the body. With this guy – ” He shuddered, gripping her hands tighter. “It’s like I’m not even there at all.”

            They both went quiet for a moment, the silence stretching on between them as Marc’s words hung heavily in the air.

Zara cocked her head, considering. “I don’t think he’s going to listen to me, somehow. I think I might’ve…pissed him off.” She raised one hand as she scrunched her nose, pinching her fingers together. “Just a little.”

            Marc let out a dry laugh. “We could never be that lucky.”

* * * 

            Of course, Marc slept like shit that night.

For once, there’d actually been two beds, and Marc knew before his head even hit the pillow that he’d be in for a long night of nightmares – so he shut the door tight, hoping that Zara wouldn’t hear him during the night. Steven was questioning him, of course – but he couldn’t explain himself without dragging up memories he’d rather keep buried. Marc paced around the room, staring at the bed, knowing full well that he was going to have to give in at some point. But what if she heard him? What if the other guy came back, and tried to hurt her? What if he took off into the night, leaving them to wake up, covered in blood?

Despite the onslaught of fears threatening to choke him up, Marc did eventually give in. The ceiling seemed far away as he laid on the bed, forcing himself to close his eyes, to breathe normally. He told himself that when the dreams came, he’d be ready for them. He was expecting them, and he’d be ready.

Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.

The first one started out as it usually did – visions of him going on killing sprees, blood covering his hands, getting discharged from the military. Then the job that went wrong – his partner gunning down innocents, the lifeless eyes of Abdallah El-Faouly staring back up at him as he knelt over his body, trying desperately to save him. His partner turning on him, the ring of bullets, the feeling of them tearing him apart. Crawling into the temple of Khonshu, a trail of red in his wake, the god of the moon bargaining with him for his life. Rising from the ashes of death, as the Moon Knight.

But then the scene shifted, the coarse desert sands falling away, the night turning into day, the heat of the sun shining down on them. Marc was on a roof across from her, Zara covered head to toe in the armour of Sekhmet, her dark hair framing her face like a shroud in the noon light. The glowing orb of the sun shone behind her, illuminating her like a halo. She grinned at him, the armour falling away as she walked towards him. “It’s okay to admit you missed me, Marc.” She lowered her voice. “I won’t tell anyone.”

His body moved forward of its own volition, and Marc fought to get the word out. “Zara…”

“I won’t leave,” she murmured as she closed the distance between them, her hand tracing his jaw. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

“You will.” The voice came from his mouth, but it wasn’t his. Zara didn’t react, she just kept looking up at him with those eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes. Marc’s hands moved on their own, one arm pulling her in. Something cold materialised in his other hand and it moved forward, the barrel pressing into her stomach.

No!

Marc tried to shout, but no sound came out. He fought desperately to pull his hand away from her, to drop the gun, but his body would not obey. He felt his finger tighten on the trigger, Zara still looking up at him as if he were the only person in the world. Run! He tried to scream, but his lips would not budge. Zara, run!

His finger squeezed the trigger and she gasped, but the gun made no sound. Zara staggered back and he ran forward, catching her as she fell, blood seeping out of her abdomen and staining her clothes a horrid crimson. She was gasping now, looking up at him in horror, her voice barely a whisper. “You…you – ”

“No – no!” His voice worked now, coming out taut and cracked. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – ”

“Marc,” she gasped, her voice stronger now, though her eyes were closing. “Marc, wake up – ”

Suddenly Marc bolted upright in the bed, wheezing for air. The sheets were twisted in his white-knuckled grip, his lungs feeling like they were on fire.

“Marc,” the gentle voice came through the dark, snapping him to attention. Zara turned on the lamp and he stared at her, dumbstruck. “Marc, it’s okay. It was just a dream.”

“Zara?” he gasped, taking her in. Her dark hair was dishevelled as she leaned over the bed, the oversized shirt she was wearing a pale blue, and completely – miraculously –  free of blood. Marc reached forward before he even thought about it, his hand on her shirt, staring at it in disbelief. “You’re…you’re – ”

Her eyes widened for a moment, the pieces seeming to fall together in her mind. She sat down, the bed sinking a little as she sat next to him. Her hand met his, pushing it on her stomach. “I’m all right, Marc, see? I’m okay.”

He stared at their hands a moment longer, before blinking himself out of the trance, looking up at her. “I woke you up.”

“You were screaming,” she murmured, giving his hand on her stomach a little squeeze. “I came in to make sure you were all right.”

Marc came back to himself completely then, her words jarring him into clarity. “Shit, Zara. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to hear that – ”

“Don’t,” Zara rebuked, deadly serious. “Don’t apologise for that. Don’t ever apologise for that. Do you understand me?”

Marc shook his head. “But I woke you – ”

“I don’t care,” she stated, not dropping her gaze. “I don’t care if you wake me up every night, as long as you’re all right. Understand?”

He dropped his gaze. “But – ”

“Marc.” Zara pulled his chin up gently with her other hand, so that he was forced to look at her. Her voice was firm, but her eyes were soft. “I get them, too.”

Marc felt the air leave his lungs, her words hitting him as though he’d been struck. Of course. Of course, she had nightmares too. Of course she would understand – she was raised to become a killer by a bunch of psychopaths, who’d probably put her through horrors that would make even a mercenary flinch. And yet here she was – still holding his hand to her stomach, her beautiful face full of empathy, assuring him that she was okay and he was too and that he had nothing to be sorry for. Marc shuddered as she watched him, the words poised, right on the tip of his tongue. So why couldn’t he say them?

Instead, he squeezed her hand, dropping his eyes in shame. “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” she replied instantly, her voice soft. “I’ll be right here, okay? I promise.”

Slowly Marc laid back down, and unlike the last time he’d shared a bed with her he just couldn’t bring himself to care that she was so close to him, seeing him so vulnerable. He felt like an open wound, his heart still pounding in his chest as she lay next to him. Her fingers ran through his hair, her other hand tracing circles on his bare shoulder. Her voice was low. “Is this okay?”

Marc hummed in affirmation, her rhythmic hands slowly helping him relax, as though she was physically removing the tension from his body. His eyes closed and he focused only on the feeling of her fingers through his hair, on his skin, the knot in his chest gradually loosening as the night went on. Finally he turned to face her, his arm resting over her waist, his voice low with fatigue. “Thank you for staying.”

Vaguely he heard her breath catch, the mattress shifting slightly as she leaned forward, gently pressing her lips to his forehead. Her voice just barely made it through the heavy exhaustion weighing on him, soothing and sweet. “I’ll always stay.”

The darkness swallowed him up again, but for once, it wasn’t filled with horrors.