Collateral Damage
“So, how is it?”
Marc nodded slowly, the corner of his lip twitching slightly as he swallowed the food, deliberately avoiding Zara’s eyes. “It’s uh…it’s good. Real good.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” Jake’s voice rang through his head, not even trying to hide his enjoyment at Marc’s discomfort. “Just tell her the truth – it tastes like a dirty sock.”
“Oh, don’t be an ass, Jake,” Steven chided him. “She put in all that effort for us.”
Jake snorted. “Effort and talent are not the same.”
Marc tried to ignore them, glancing down at his food with a barely concealed grimace. Zara was watching him like a hawk, and he knew if he looked up, she’d see straight through him. She always did.
“You don’t like it.”
“No, no.” Marc cleared his throat. “I do – ”
“Really?” Zara cut in, and he knew that tone. It was her you’re-full-of-shit tone. “Look me in the eye and tell me you like it.”
Marc groaned, slowly dragging his eyes up to meet hers. “I said, I like it.”
For a moment, she held his gaze, and he actually thought he’d gotten away with it. Then she snorted. “You’re a terrible liar, Spector.”
Jake snickered in his head, and Marc wanted to punch him. “Told you.”
“I mean, it’s my first time making Kushari, so maybe I just didn’t quite get the flavours right – ” Zara stabbed at her own plate with her fork, scooping the dish into her mouth. Suddenly she dropped her fork, grimacing. “Eugh.” Her nose crinkled up, and Marc almost spat out his drink. “Why didn’t you tell me this tasted like a boot?”
Marc had to focus on swallowing his drink to avoid choking with laughter. “Because I didn’t want you to murder me.”
“Didn’t want to rain on your mortal enemy’s parade, whoever they are,” Zara joked, and Marc heard Jake bark a laugh. “But seriously, I don’t know what I did wrong here,” she muttered, squinting at the pan still sitting on the bench. Her brows furrowed, and Marc had to mentally slap himself to keep from staring. “I followed all the instructions.”
To his surprise, she actually seemed truly deflated, and Marc felt a surge of affection for her as she stared at the dish. He knew a little of what it was to be disconnected from your culture – it hit him like a slap every time Jake spoke a word in Spanish that he, for whatever reason, couldn’t remember. He shrugged. “You’ll get it next time.”
The corner of her mouth twitched up. “I guess even I can’t be good at everything, right?”
Marc sighed dramatically, shaking his head at her. “Modest as always.”
“Oh, of course,” Zara agreed, her brows knitting together very seriously. “Someone has to up the performance average around here.”
“You know, you should be nicer to me,” Marc told her, leaning over the bench. “I’m the only one who supports your cooking.”
Zara cocked her head. “The other boys didn’t like it either, huh?”
“Jake thinks it tastes like a mouldy sock,” Marc confided, and he heard Jake scoff at him. “Steven hasn’t given a comment, but it’s safe to assume he’d be a kiss-ass about it.”
Zara raised a brow. “Sounds like Steven also supports me. Jake on the other hand – ” She grinned. “Tell him to shove it.”
Jake tutted. “She’s just mad because I’m right.”
Steven, however, was mildly offended. “I am not a kiss-ass – ”
“Oh, por favor,” Jake retorted. “You are the biggest kiss-ass.”
Now Steven was really offended. “I am not – ”
Steven was cut off by Jake’s incessant kissing noises, and Marc suddenly wished he was back in the Duat, where he could physically knock their heads together. He sighed, shaking his head. Never a moment of peace.
Zara was watching him intently, with curious eyes. “Noisy in there?”
“You have no idea,” he muttered, but there was no malice in it. He pointed to his forehead. “Arguing like a married couple.”
Zara grinned, opening her mouth to reply, before she was cut off by a buzzing sound. She pulled out her phone, a smile lighting her face like a lantern as she read whatever was on the screen. Marc nodded to her phone. “What is it?”
“You might want to order something in. I now have plans for the night,” she announced, practically buzzing with excitement. “I made a friend today, at the markets. She’s just invited me to meet her out.”
“Making friends already?” Marc couldn’t stifle the smile that traced his face, and he didn’t want to – not when she looked so happy. “Didn’t know people actually liked you.”
“Oh, bite me,” Zara snapped back, but her eyes were warm. She tugged at her braids, pulling them out, sending her dark hair in a waving cascade down her shoulders. “How do I look?”
Like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Marc thought, but the words never left his mouth. They stayed put, jammed like debris in his throat as he stared at her for a moment. Finally he cleared his throat. “You look nice.”
“Nice?” Steven was incredulous. “That’s what you’re going with?”
Jake tutted. “Come on, pendejo. Even Steven’s awkward ass can do better than that.”
He should’ve smacked their heads together while he had the chance.
Zara was already headed for the door and he caught her arm, pulling her back towards him. She whirled in surprise, and Marc didn’t give himself time to think about it, pulling her in for a kiss. Her hand cupped his cheek, her fingers somehow cool in the warm, dry air of the safe house. “Beautiful.”
She looked at him quizzically. “What?”
“You,” he murmured, the words finally in motion. “You look beautiful. You…you are beautiful.”
Her mouth opened in surprise and she blushed, the colour lighting up her cheeks. Then her expression smoothed over, giving him that shit-eating smirk that he used to hate. He couldn’t believe he really used to hate it. “Don’t get all soft on me now, Marc.”
Later, he would be glad that he said them – the words he’d been trying to say for a long time. But a part of him would come to regret the things he didn’t say, the things that he hadn’t mustered up the courage to place before her.
Marc didn’t yet know it, but the next time he saw Zara, he’d be fighting for his life.
* * *
Summoning the suit again was strange. If he was completely honest, Marc hadn’t been truly sure Khonshu would even let him do it. If his years with the old bird had taught him anything, it was that Khonshu was fuelled almost purely by spite.
The voice had come from the depths of the night, the yells for help the only sound Marc could focus on as he scanned his surroundings. The suit felt as familiar as ever, literally bound around him – but somehow, it didn’t feel so suffocating anymore. Becoming the Moon Knight was an extension of him, now.
“Where the bloody hell is that even coming from?” Steven’s voice came through, breaking the silence in his head. He heard Jake cluck his tongue.
“Probably wouldn’t be so hard to find if el pájaro would just tell us where they are.”
Khonshu appeared then, materialising out of the darkness. Maybe if any of you were paying attention, you’d be able to find the source. He shook his bird skull, jutting his beak in the direction of the building across the street. Try looking up once in a blue moon.
“The roof?” Marc balked. “Weird place to attack someone.”
Khonshu didn’t even spare him a glance. You took an oath to protect the travellers of the night. I didn’t say they had to be intelligent to be protected.
Jake chuckled. “Or to be the protector.”
Khonshu did turn then, and though the god didn’t have eyes, Marc knew he was glaring daggers at them. To his genuine surprise, Marc had to bite back a laugh. Steven, however, didn’t even bother.
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, you walked right into that one.”
Marc sprang upwards before Khonshu could reply, and undoubtedly make the whole situation worse – the cape of the suit billowing around him as he landed on the roof. A swift glance around him told him…nothing. Marc shook his head. “There’s no one here.”
Khonshu had gone strangely silent. Jake let out a low whistle. “I don’t like this, hermanos. Something’s up.”
Marc turned on his heels, the dimly lit roof stretching around him, silent and completely empty. He frowned, and Steven sighed.
“Not to be a downer, but I think Jake might be right.” Steven admitted, and Marc felt his anxiety like a simmering in his chest. “This feels a bit dodgy.”
Something isn’t right. Khonshu agreed, and Marc whirled on him. If he was agreeing with Steven, then –
Suddenly Marc’s head snapped forward, the blow knocking him to his knees. He just managed to turn as the second strike hit him – a kick to his chest, sending him flying back across the roof. He felt Jake surge forward, but Marc forced him back – he wasn’t going to let him take over, especially when he didn’t even know who was attacking them. Marc had meant it when he’d said he was done with killing. That went for all of them.
His assailant strode forward, seeming to materialise out of the darkness. The first thing he saw was her hair – a headful of curls that fell to her shoulders, which were adorned with what he could only describe as armour.
Steven gasped, his voice bouncing around Marc’s head. “She’s an avatar. The symbols, on her armour – I think she’s – ”
The sound of metal grating on metal cut him off, echoing through the air as the woman reached behind her, pulling a long sword out of seemingly nowhere. Her eyes never left his, her mouth pulled into a grim line on her face. Whoever she was, she wasn’t going away peacefully.
Marc glanced sideways at Khonshu, hissing his words through gritted teeth. “Which other god did you piss off?”
Khonshu’s voice was grave. She is not here for me.
Marc sprang to his feet, before the realisation could knock him down again and keep him there. This was her, then – the one who’d sent the black widow assassin after him, who’d sent him on the run – but he’d never seen this woman in his life. Marc raised his hands. “Whatever this is about – we don’t have to fight.”
The woman watched him, and Marc saw the muscle in her jaw flick over. Her voice was low, dangerous. “You don’t know who I am.”
“Should I?” Marc kept his hands up, stepping forward, allowing the mask of his suit to fall away. “Should I know you?”
The woman laughed now, but it was devoid of warmth. “You will soon enough.”
Suddenly something flashed before his face, her sword just barely missing his head as he sprung back. She came at him then, as swift as lightning, and it was all Marc could do to parry her strikes as she forced him backward, cornering him against the wall. She yelled as she brought her sword down in a fatal arc that he just barely managed to dodge – Jake momentarily seizing control as he pinned her sword to the wall, disarming her. Marc pushed back and managed to kick the sword away – more to prevent Jake from reaching it then the woman attacking him. Jake’s ferocity surged through their limbs again as she swung at him – catching her arm, snatching a crescent dagger from their chest as she fought him, preparing to end the fight for good with the blade in his grip.
“No!” Marc and Steven both surged forward desperately, Marc just barely regaining control of their arms as he released her, pushing her away and dropping the dagger. The crescent moon lodged itself in the concrete of the roof as both Marc and his attacker staggered back. She looked at him then, her eyes flickering dangerously in the light of the moon.
“So you do know what mercy looks like,” she snarled. “Too little, too late.”
Steven reeled, his voice rising in Marc’s head. “Who the hell is this, Marc? What did you do to her?”
“Pendejos,” Jake hissed, and Marc felt the urge to push him back further. “You’re going to get us killed. This is what I’m good for. Let me finish this.”
This couldn’t continue. Marc’s gaze flicked to Khonshu and he shook his head, breathing hard. His own voice rang through his head, directed at Jake. “We are done with killing. All of us.”
His assailant was still staring him down, calculated rage coming off of her like an aura. Marc stepped forward, his hands up. “I don’t wanna hurt you – ”
“Don’t you?” The woman cocked her head, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “Isn’t that what you do? Isn’t that all you know how to do?”
She may as well have slapped him. Marc stepped back as if she’d struck him again, but she followed, stalking forwards. “You don’t know me because we’ve never met, but I know you. I’ve seen so many like you – killers for hire, men without morals.” Her fists clenched at her sides, her body taut as a wire as she approached, coiling like a viper. “Taking away innocent life, just because you feel like it.”
Marc reeled, but she didn’t give him the chance to speak as she continued forwards, a cat stalking its prey. “You don’t know who I am because you don’t care to know, Marc Spector. You don’t care to know about the damage people like you leave in their wake. But that ends tonight.” Finally she stilled, looking him dead in the eye. “My name is Layla El-Faouly. My father was Abdallah El-Faouly. You murdered him in cold blood.”
El-Faouly.
Desert sands. The massacre.
The partner who went rogue.
She may as well have taken a knife to his chest, and carved his heart right out. Marc felt his frame crumple inward, folding forward, the air leaving his lungs as if he’d taken a blow to the stomach. Both the voices in his head went completely silent as his vision swam, the memory of that fateful day flooding forward, threatening to drown him. The day Bushman turned on him, turning a simple raid into a merciless bloodbath. The day he’d fought to save those archaeologists, the day that he’d almost died in the temple of Khonshu. The name El-Faouly had stayed branded on his memory, the lifeless eyes of Abdallah following him wherever he went – joining the ghosts that followed him, the ones he couldn’t save, the ones he’d led to slaughter. And now here she was – the daughter of the man he’d let die, his retribution in human form. It had been all his fault. His mother’s voice rang through his head, circulating on its incessant loop. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.
You let him die!
So when she struck him again, he didn’t stop her.
He welcomed the pain.