Ask For the Moon - Part One

Layla is determined to save her marriage to Marc, but will Steven and Jake help or hinder her plans?

Welcome to my first fanfiction for the series Moon Knight! This story has been rattling around in my head literally since the First Season ended, and I finally found the energy to write it down. It's from Layla's POV, and it not only details Marc and Steven's coming to accept their 3rd alter, Jake, but how Layla helps and learns to live with them all.

Because it is a multi-chapter fic, you're going to get smut; it's inevitable on my long fics, I think. So, the rating it NC-17.

******

Layla El-Faouly walked along the hallway, her pace slowing as she neared the door to the fifth floor flat. She had been here only once before, just over two months ago, and while she had entered the apartment via the door that day, she had ended up leaving it through the window. That had been only the beginning of some of the most confusing and exciting days of her life. She was hoping for a much more peaceful visit this time.

As she walked up to the door, she wondered if he was even here. They, she amended. Not he. When she had last seen her husband Marc Spector, they had agreed that he and Steven, his alter who she had only just learned about, would need some time to themselves to work out how to share their life now that Steven knew the whole situation. Layla had agreed to give them that time, but no set date had been decided to when she should come back into their lives. Hell, she wasn’t even sure Marc wanted her back. While they had come to an understanding after the battle with Harrow and his followers in Cairo, they really hadn’t discussed anything about the future. They needed to talk about her father, his mother, their marriage…

Now, here she was, ready to do all that, but unsure if he would be ready. She hadn’t called, not only because she would rather catch him a bit off guard, but because there really hadn’t been time. After all, she wasn’t here just because she was ready to confront her husband, but because she had news for both him and Steven. The thought that they might not even be here hadn’t occurred to her until the ride up on the elevator. But Steven wouldn’t have allowed Marc to run, would he? They had to be here.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

She could hear footsteps, the creaking of floorboards, then the flipping of a dead bolt. Just one, though. That was a good sign, right? Last time she had been here she had seen at least a half-dozen different bolts on this door. As she thought this, the door swung open. The familiar handsome features and beautiful brown eyes of her husband appeared, and her heart gave a quick lurch, but then her gaze noted the subtle differences. The hair style, the clothing, the look in his eyes.

“Hi, Steven,” she said softly with a smile. While she was here to see Marc, she couldn’t deny she was happy to see his alter, too. They had become quite the team while in Egypt together, and no matter what happened between her and her husband, she would always consider Steven a friend.

Steven’s eyes lit up as they focused on her and a beautiful smile bloomed, the kind of smile she had never seen grace Marc’s face. “Layla!” he gasped, her name sounding almost musical thanks to his accent. He stepped forward to embrace her and she didn’t discourage him, taking comfort in his strong arms. She squeezed him back, feeling her throat get thick and her eyes start to water. She sniffled slightly as he pulled back suddenly, keeping a hold of her arms. “Come in, come in!”

She allowed him to pull her into the apartment, glancing around as he did so. It hadn’t changed much, though there were two fish in the large aquarium in the center of the room now. There was a reading light on over the desk and Steven’s glasses lay on top of a hardcover book, which told her what he had been doing before she had arrived. As she scanned the room, her eyes caught sight of the leg restraint still attached to a support beam next to the bed. That answered one of the questions she had.

“Did Marc know you were coming?” Steven asked, and Layla turned to face him. “Because if he did, he didn’t tell me!”

She shook her head. “No, he didn’t know. It was a last-minute thing.”

“Oh,” Steven said, nodding, but he looked a bit worried. “Bad news or good news?”

“That depends,” Layla said with a tight grin. “Is Marc here?” she asked. “Can he hear me?”

She watched as Steven seemed to turn his gaze inward, then he focused on her again, his own gaze still worried. “Yeah, he’s here.”

Layla gave a sharp nod. “Good. I have something I need to talk to the both of you about, but first…” She pulled her large carryall off of her shoulder, reached in, and pulled out several sheets of paper neatly tri-folded. She held the small packet up. “The divorce papers Marc never signed.” She licked her lips, then turned and walked to the small table next to the door. She tucked them between a small vase and the wall, then turned back to Steven, whose eyes had gone wide. “Whenever he’s ready.” Her voice caught a bit, so she cleared her throat, hoping to hide the sob she was holding back.

“Layla,” Steven whispered.

She didn’t let him continue. “As for the news you both need to hear. Harrow’s dead.”

“What?!” Steven’s expression turned from sorrowful to shocked.

“As per our deal about it only being temporary, I am no longer Taweret’s avatar. However, her new avatar still comes to me with information. Just yesterday, she told me Arthur Harrow was dead.”

“How?” Steven’s voice was soft.

“Apparently, he was checked out of the hospital and killed execution style. Two orderlies were killed as well, but it turns out they were recent hires and formerly part of Harrow’s cult. They were probably there to protect him.” She shrugged. “They failed.”

Steven’s gaze turned inward once more. “Marc?”

Layla watched as the man before her literally transformed without physically looking any different. Suddenly, it was her husband looking at her from those brown eyes she loved so much. However, his expression wasn’t one of affection.

“Khonshu found a new avatar.” It wasn’t a question.

Layla nodded nonetheless. “Yes. Taweret says that most of the gods have finally found new avatars, and she also said that she caught a glimpse of Khonshu’s just the other day.” She paused. “She said he looked just like you.”

She hadn’t thought Marc’s expression could get any harder, but it did. He shifted his eyes, looking away from her, and she thought she recognized shame beneath the anger.

“You still don’t know who he is, do you?” she asked. “You and Steven still lose time, don’t you? Wake up in the morning knowing you weren’t asleep in bed all night?”

Marc met her eyes with his own, and she saw the worry and strain in them. He nodded.

“Marc, you need to find out who he is. You and Steven both made a deal with Khonshu, but your alter did not. As long as he’s Khonshu’s avatar, you will never be free of him.”

Marc swung away from her with a grimace. “Don’t you think I know that?” he groaned. “But I’ve tried. Steven has tried. He won’t surface for us.”

“Then let me try.”

Marc turned toward her sharply. “What?”

“Let me stay here. Let me be here when he fronts. Let me confront him.”

“No!” her husband said forcefully. “He’s dangerous. He’s a killer.”

Layla moved toward him, facing him and looking at him intently. “I know what he is,” she said, her own voice hard. “I’ve seen him in action. He was almost robotic, focused solely on killing everyone that threatened him. His eyes were…” she paused. “They were cruel. But not empty.” She paused. “I could see recognition in his face when he looked at me. He could have killed me along with those around me, but he didn’t. He knew I was important to you.” She took a deep breath. “I can get him to talk. Find out what he calls himself. Why he keeps himself hidden from you.”

Marc shook his head. “He’ll hurt you.”

“He won’t,” Layla argued. “I know he won’t.”

“Layla…”

“Let me stay,” she continued. She glanced over to the left of the bed at the settee. “I’m small enough I can sleep there. You won’t even have to do anything for me. I’ll cook my own meals and do my own laundry and clean up after myself. Just consider me a roommate.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“Let me help you,” she challenged. “Steven would let me.”

Marc shook his head, giving her a sharp laugh. “No, he wouldn’t. He’s as scared for you as I am.”

Layla sighed. “Please, Marc. Let’s fix this. And when it’s resolved…” she looked behind her at the table next to the door, and the papers she had placed there. “You can sign those and be completely free.”

******

When Layla opened her eyes the next morning to bright sunlight and a strange room, she felt a brief moment of panic. But then her eyes caught sight of the familiar shape of her husband (but she knew it wasn’t her husband) moving around the kitchen area, and the events of the day before came back to her. She sighed and closed her eyes again. At least she had gotten a couple of hours of sleep.

It hadn’t been the strange place or the settee that had kept her awake most of the night; she had spent many a night in strange locales, and the little couch was actually pretty comfortable. No, it had been the tossing and turning of the man in the bed that had kept her awake.

Marc had given up trying to convince her to leave the third alter alone fairly quickly yesterday evening, giving her one last glare before sinking into the background and pushing a flustered and confused Steven back to the front. She knew Marc was right in that Steven didn’t want her to meet with their ‘third’ either, but he wouldn’t argue with her like Marc would. Instead, after collecting himself, he offered to order take-out for dinner. While he did that, Layla had gotten the rest of her belongings from the car she had borrowed from Lagaro and made herself at home in the corner where the settee sat.

She and Steven had eaten and slowly the man began to relax, telling her all about what had been going on in his life since they last spoke. Marc had pretended to be Steven’s new doctor and through phone calls and official looking paperwork had managed to help Steven get his job back at the museum. It was only part-time, Steven explained, as he and Marc had agreed to take turns fronting every three days. Marc had told Steven he didn’t need to work, as he had more than enough money tucked away from his past mercenary jobs to keep them comfortable for years to come, but Steven loved the museum and really wanted to go back. Even better than getting his job in the gift shop back, his former manager, Donna, had been promoted and was no longer his boss. The new manager, a young man named Rodney, was friendly and enthusiastic and Steven got along with him very well. Layla was happy that Steven was happy.

He spent a great portion of the evening after dinner trying to talk her into taking the bed, telling her he was more than willing to sleep on the settee, but Layla refused every attempt he made. It was her decision to stay here, and she didn’t want either him or Marc to make any changes in their routine; she didn’t want to ‘tip off’ the mysterious alter that she was waiting to meet him.

When it came time for bed, Layla couldn’t help but be amused by Steven’s nervousness. Apparently, he was unaccustomed to having a woman sleeping over, she thought. She dressed in a comfortable oversized t-shirt and joggers, not realizing until she settled on the settee that not only was Steven wearing a similar sleep outfit, but that the shirt she was wearing used to belong to Marc. As she tried to relax, waiting for Steven to turn off the light, she heard an odd noise. She looked up to see Steven strapping the leg restraint around his ankle.

“Steven?”

“Yeah?” He looked at her, his eyes huge and luminous in the low light.

“You realize that doesn’t do anything, right?” she asked, nodding at the leather cuff. “It didn’t work with Marc. The other alter, should he front, will just take it off and put it back on when he’s done… if you or Marc don’t ‘wake up’ somewhere else.”

Steven looked at her, then down at the restraint. “I guess I’m just so used to sleeping with it.” He sighed. “But you’re right.” He undid the strap he had already buckled and lay the cuff off to the side, then he scooched himself under the covers, turned off the light, and lay down.

Unfortunately, he didn’t sleep, and so neither did Layla. She wondered as she lay there the next morning, the sun shining so bright through the east window that even with closed eyes she saw it, if he would have slept better with the restraint on.

Finally, she opened her eyes and sat up, looking toward the kitchen and Steven, who immediately looked her way.

“Good morning!” he told her with a smile. His eyes were tired looking and she could see the circles underneath, but his grin was bright. “Would you like some breakfast?” he asked. “I don’t have to be to work until ten.”

Layla slid her legs off the settee, yawning. “I could eat.”

Steven smiled again. “I’ll let you get dressed while I fix something up.”

She grabbed her bag and headed for the loo, getting ready quickly as was her habit when she traveled. When she stepped out her stomach grumbled at the smells that filled the flat. She set her bag by the settee and folded the blanket she had used, wondering if – no, when – she would be able to start sleeping in the bed with her husband. The settee would still be here when Steven fronted. She wandered into the kitchen, looking at the food Steven was setting out curiously.

“Homemade baked beans, toast, and tempeh bacon,” he told her proudly.

She nodded. “That’s right. You’re vegan.”

His expression dropped and he looked concerned. “Is that bad?” He looked around the kitchen. “I know Marc has some other…”

“No, no, no!” Layla interrupted him. “This is fine! It smells amazing!”

Looking relieved, Steven nodded and they both sat at the table and began eating. While Layla wasn’t vegan herself, she had traveled to so many countries and eaten so many different foods, she wasn’t at all disturbed by Steven’s choices.

As they finished eating, Steven cleared his throat. “So, uh, what are you planning to do while I’m at work?” he asked, fiddling with his napkin. “You aren’t planning on following me there, are you? Waiting for Number Three to take over?”

Layla laughed softly. “No, I’m not going to spy on you. Unless you’ve been having black outs while at work?”

Steven shook his head. “Not since I came back. No, he usually takes over when we’re asleep.”

Layla nodded. “That’s what I suspected. He would want to try and stay hidden, I think.”

Steven frowned at her. “Why do you think he’s still Khonshu’s avatar? He must know Marc and I don’t want anything to do with that old bird anymore.”

Layla shrugged. “Admit it, having Khonshu’s strength and abilities made you feel powerful. Maybe that’s the only way he feels like he has any control. I mean, it’s obvious he doesn’t front that often or for very long compared to you and Marc.”

Steven looked troubled. “But we would give him equal time to front if he would just let us know him,” he told her. “I mean, as long as he isn’t dangerous and going around killing people all the time.”

Layla couldn’t help letting out a humorous snort. “Do you think he’s bad, Steven?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I know Marc does. But I feel he’s got his reasons for doing what he’s done.”

“Reasons?”

“Well, he always seemed to front when either Marc or I were in deep, deep trouble. Except for recently, when he’s obviously been at Khonshu’s beck and call.”

Layla tilted her head. “You mean, you think he was protecting you?”

“Marc’s always protected me,” Steven said wistfully. “Maybe he’s protecting Marc?”

She considered his words for a moment. “Then why is he still with Khonshu?” she whispered.

Steven shrugged again.

They were silent for a while, each focused on their own thoughts, then Layla asked the main question on her mind. “When does Marc front again?”

“Midnight tonight,” Steven said without hesitation. Then he frowned. “If he decides to, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t think he’s eager to confront you again,” he said with a bit of a smirk. Then he became serious. “Truth be told, I’ve been waiting for him to just disappear.”

“What?”

“He’s threatened it before,” Steven continued. “Mostly back when I first became aware of him, but he still does from time to time. He often says he has no reason to stick around, that I at least have a life.”

Layla felt her heart start racing. “But he takes care of you,” she said softly. “He wouldn’t leave you alone, would he?”

“Well, now that we know Number Three is still Khonshu’s avatar, no, I don’t think he’ll leave me alone.” She saw his eyes drift over to the table by the door. Where the divorce papers she had brought yesterday still sat. “Do you really want him to sign those?”

Layla stared at the papers for a while, then shrugged, turning back to face Steven but not looking him in the eye. “Well, if he has no reason to stick around, why not?” Her voice cracked.

“Layla.” Steven’s voice was soft and worried.

She looked up at him. “No, Steven. I don’t want him to sign them. But I won’t stop him if he does. I… I still love him.” She bit her lip then took a deep breath. “But if he doesn’t still love me, then…”

“He does, Layla,” Steven told her vehemently. “I know he does.” He tilted his head at her. “You need to tell him. You need to let him know how you feel.”

Layla nodded. “I know,” she replied. “That’s why I’m really here.”

******

After Steven went to work for the day, Layla pulled out her laptop and settled into her new job, one she had just taken recently for two reasons. First, she was getting more than a little tired of her old life; since the dangerous episode in Egypt not so long ago, her taste for adventure had greatly diminished. Second, she really felt that if she could convince Marc to give their marriage another go, that maybe they could truly settle down. Maybe even start a family of their own.

How they could do that with Steven, and now this third alter, would be the challenge.

So, she had started working for one of the auction houses she had done recovery for many times in the past. She was in charge of organizing various on-line auctions, informing potential buyers of historical facts and making sure all of the artifacts and artwork were authentic. And not stolen, of course.

She also did some research on Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Steven called her when he got off work and asked if she wanted to meet him at one of his favorite restaurants for dinner, and they spent an enjoyable meal together, Steven sharing funny stories about people he had met during the day. They walked back to the flat together as the sun set, the winter weather now damp and dreary, but both of them were perfectly content with it. London always seemed odd when there was too much sunshine.

They watched the television for a while once they were home, and Steven asked her about her new job. “So, you work from home, then?” he asked.

Layla nodded. “I can pretty much work from anywhere, as long as I have Internet access.”

“That’s great!” he told her, and his enthusiasm was contagious.

Eventually, it was once more time for bed. Layla felt unusually nervous. “Marc will be here in the morning, right?”

Steven nodded. “If he’s… coming back. Yeah.”

“Right.” What if he didn’t want to ‘come back,’ Layla wondered? “So, I’ll see you when I see you?”

He gave her a soft smile and nodded again. “Yeah. Goodnight, Layla.”

“Goodnight, Steven.”

It took her a while to get to sleep again, but this time it wasn’t because Steven’s restlessness was keeping her awake. He actually seemed to fall asleep quickly and stay asleep. Layla found herself attuned to him, wondering if she would notice when Marc fronted. But her exhaustion was overwhelming, and soon she was asleep.

When she woke the next morning, the smell of bacon filled the flat. Turkey bacon. Her heart jumped and she felt a smile overtake her face.

Marc was here.

She sat up on the settee and looked toward the kitchen. Marc noticed immediately and looked at her, his face expressionless. Layla grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom. As she did so, her eyes found the divorce papers, still tucked where she had put them on the table near the door. Untouched. She took a deep breath in relief.

A few minutes later, she sat at the table as Marc put a plate of bacon, a plate of toast, and a bowl of scrambled eggs on the table in front of her. A good old American breakfast, she thought. It was about the only thing he liked to cook. They set out eating, still without speaking. Layla was very aware of the glances he cast her, and she finally broke the silence.

“This is good,” she said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had scrambled eggs.”

“Well, who knows what Steven fed you yesterday,” he said wryly. “Thought you might like some real food.”

She cocked her head at him. “He happens to be a very good cook,” she told him. “His breakfast was delicious.”

Marc just grunted in response.

“So, what are you doing these days?” she asked him. “Other than impersonating Steven’s doctor.”

He glanced at her as he finished his food, his look almost abashed. “I’ve been writing,” he finally said.

“Writing?” She took a drink of her orange juice. “Like a novel?”

He shook his head. “No, although it could probably pass as one.”

Layla cocked her head. “You’re writing your biography, aren’t you?”

Almost immediately, she saw his cheeks darken, as a subtle blush appeared under his olive skin. “Sounds pretty egotistical, doesn’t it?”

She shook her head. “No! Actually, I think it’s a great idea!” She wiped her fingers on her napkin. “You’ve led an amazing life,” she continued. “It should be documented. But you know that your story is far from over, right?”

He watched her, his expression serious, but he didn’t say anything.

“Steven told me you were thinking of not coming back,” she said. “That you were just going to fade into the background.” She paused. “Would you really do that to him? To me?”

He looked down, swallowing. “Not while this third alter is a threat,” he said softly.

“Oh,” she replied. “And if he isn’t? If he turns out to be a sweetheart like Steven?”

Marc scoffed. “Sweetheart? You should hear Steven talk to Khonshu.”

Layla couldn’t help but grin. “Marc?” she pushed.

He took a deep breath. “I’ll do what I think is best.”

“Best for whom?”

He looked at her again, his gaze intense, but didn’t answer.

Layla proceeded to pick up the dishes, taking them to the sink, and prepared to wash them and the pan Marc had used to make their breakfast. She could feel him watching her, but eventually he got up and moved to the computer. After she was done, she brought her laptop to the table and also began her own work. For most of the day, they worked in relatively companionable silence, with Layla making them both sandwiches for their lunch, and both stopping mid-afternoon for tea, as they had both become used to since living in London. As the day progressed, they started conversing more comfortably, often bringing up light-hearted moments from their past, and Layla began to think that maybe, just maybe, there was hope. When she suggested they go out to eat as she and Steven had the night before, he closed back up. “I shouldn’t,” he told her. “People around here know Steven. I don’t like to be seen.”

“So, you stay cooped up in here all the time?” she asked, concerned.

He shrugged. “I go for walks at night or head out of the city sometimes,” he told her.

They ended up ordering in, and watched the television while they ate. Layla was amused to see that his entertainment preferences were far different than Steven’s. She was simply happy that he was more comfortable with her than this morning.

At bedtime, Marc showed how much he and Steven were alike. “You know, you can have the bed,” he told her. “Steven would agree with me.”

Layla laughed. “I know he does,” she told him. “He’s been trying to get me to switch the last two nights. As I told him, I don’t want to disturb your regular habits and tip off your alter,” she told him. “I’m fine on the couch.”

Marc grimaced, but nodded. Soon, lights were off, the only illumination being the light over the fish tank, and Layla tried her best to ignore the man in the bed. Eventually, she fell asleep.

She wasn’t sure what time it was when she woke suddenly, her instincts telling her something was off. She slowly opened her eyes, keeping still, and watched as Marc moved quietly around the flat. He was already dressed in black slacks and a black turtle neck, and had grabbed up a black leather jacket she had not seen before. Her heart began to race as she realized that the man she was watching was not her husband. Or Steven.

She sat up and saw the man spin toward her, his whole body tense and his posture defensive. He obviously hadn’t realized she was there.

Layla took a deep breath.

“Who are you?”

******

“Who are you?” Layla demanded a second time.

The man straightened, relaxing from his defensive semi-crouch, and she watched as his expression changed. He widened his eyes and the corner of his mouth curled up. “What do you mean?” he asked. “It’s me. Marc.”

The accent was right, but the inflection was wrong, and despite his attempt to mimic Marc’s expression and mannerisms, Layla was easily able to see through it.

“The hell you are,” she growled, swinging her legs off the settee and standing. “You are not my husband. Or Steven.” She took a step forward. “Who are you?”

The man before her frowned, but it wasn’t the familiar ‘grumpy face’ Marc usually wore. There was far more anger in this expression. “What are you doing here, Mamacita?”

Layla tilted her head at him, immediately noticing the change in his voice. Though the accent wasn’t fully recognizable, his use of Spanish seemed natural for him. “I live here, now,” she said, raising her chin defiantly. “With my husband.”

“And that’s why you’re sleeping on the sofa?” he countered, his eyes narrowing as he smirked at her.

She took another step toward him. “They know about you,” she told him. “They know you killed Harrow and they know you’re Khonshu’s avatar. Why do you keep hiding from them?”

His smirk disappeared. “They don’t need to know me,” he told her. “They’ve been doing fine not knowing about me for years.”

“But they know about you now,” she argued. “They want to know you.”

He turned away from her, grabbing a small tote bag from the top of the counter in the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and started putting food inside the bag.

Layla moved into the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“Go back to bed, niña,” he grumbled.

“Why are you doing this to them?” she asked, softer. If this man indeed shared the same soul as his two alters, then maybe she could reach him using compassion. Both Marc and Steven loved with everything in them. They cared, often too much, about people. And about each other. Could this man be much different?

The strange alter looked back at her over his shoulder, glaring, but didn’t say anything.

“You’re going off to do something for Khonshu, aren’t you?” she pushed. “You must know how important it was for Marc to get free from him? How badly Steven never wanted to be a part of him? How could you do this to them?

He turned on her, the anger in his face almost frightening. “I am doing this for them!”

Layla stepped back, stunned by his sudden vehemence. She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“The suit. It protects us,” he continued, closing the bag and the fridge. “If one of them should get hurt, I can front and summon the suit.” He seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth, almost as if he didn’t want to tell her anything but couldn’t help himself.

Layla scoffed. “They wouldn’t need that kind of protection if Khonshu was completely out of their lives,” she argued. “Which you are denying them!”

He turned suddenly and stepped forward into her space, his expression menacing. Layla didn’t back down, however. She stood still, looking up at him. Marc wasn’t a tall man, but he was still a few inches taller than her, and right now she was standing barefoot facing his alter who was wearing boots. She felt small, and her mind quickly ran through the best defensive techniques to use if she needed to. But he didn’t come any closer.

“Do you forget what Marc used to do, even before he became Khonshu’s avatar?” the man inquired softly. “How many enemies he’s most likely made in his life?” He leaned back a bit as Layla absorbed his words. “And let’s not forget about your past? You do know that the man who killed your father is still alive, don’t you?”

Layla felt her breath catch and she looked away briefly. She had promised herself that she would get Marc to tell her about what happened, in detail, as soon as he became comfortable enough to let her in. That obviously hadn’t happened, yet.

She focused on the man in front of her again. “How is it you know all this?” she asked. “How can you be aware of what’s going on in their lives without them having even known about you until recently?”

The anger left his eyes, and for a moment he looked… lost. “I’m aware of most things,” he said softly. “Or at least, I used to be. Now that they know about me, they…” he paused, and Layla saw a mixture of hurt and anger cross his face. “Now they block me. I can still front when I need to, but it’s harder than it used to be.”

“Let them in,” she told him. “If you let them in, if you revealed yourself to them, you could front more. You wouldn’t have to fight them!”

He was shaking his head and backing away from her. He shouldered the bag and turned toward the door.

“So, what? You’ll get yourself killed slaving away for Khonshu?” she pressed. “Or more likely, kill.” He stopped short, not looking at her, but not moving, either. “That’s what he asks you to do, isn’t it? Kill? And from what I’ve seen, you’re good at it. Maybe even enjoy it.”

He looked back over his shoulder, his gaze hard. “And that’s why they will never know me,” he growled. But there was pain in his voice; she recognized it. He moved toward the door.

“Please?” she cried, following him. “They have found peace, even a modicum of happiness now. You’re preventing them from living a fulfilling, happy life.”

He spun on her. “With you?” he demanded. “Is that why you’re here? Because you think you can share Marc with Steven, now?” He stepped back, a mischievous smirk on his face. “Or are you hoping they’ll share you?”  

Layla glared at him, a combination of anger and embarrassment filling her. She knew Steven had a crush on her, but her goal was her husband. Her focus was Marc. She hadn’t really thought much past saving her marriage.

The man before her looked her up and down, his expression flirtatious. “They’d be lucky men, if they didn’t try to kill each other,” he said, one eyebrow raised.

Layla couldn’t stop the blush she could feel in her cheeks. “Please,” she tried again. “Please, talk to them. Let them meet you. Know you. Be a part of their lives, I beg you.”

His expression darkened again, anger and sadness filling his eyes. “I can’t, hermana.” He turned back to the door.

“Can you promise to keep them safe?”

“That’s my job,” he grumbled softly as he opened the door.

“At least tell me your name!”

He paused. “Jake,” he said, his voice rough. “Jake Lockley.”

And with that, he was gone.

******

Layla tried not to worry the rest of that day, but she wasn’t able to concentrate on her job, and she found it hard to get to sleep that night. She had always worried about Marc whenever he set out to do Khonshu’s bidding back in the day, but she had believed at the time that he was essentially indestructible when he was in the ceremonial armor. Now she knew better. Yes, the suit made him stronger and faster and healed even the worst injuries, but it did not make the wearer immortal.

Not to mention she did not trust this Jake one bit.

She finally drifted off, once more sleeping on the settee, sometime after Midnight, only to wake around three in the morning with a raging migraine. She had dealt with migraines most of her life, and she carried rescue meds with her at all times, but they only worked if she took them in the early stages. When they came in her sleep, there wasn’t much she could do to prevent them, and taking meds was difficult due to the nausea. This morning, she managed to pop one of the pills with a couple of gulps of orange juice, then she sat on the settee with her legs curled under her and a blanket wrapped around her. Lying down often made the pain worse, but sitting only made her muscles tighter, which created its own kind of pain.

She was rocking slowly back and forth with her eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain, when she heard a key in the lock. She opened her eyes, noting the early morning light coming through the window. It was just after dawn. She eyed the man coming through the door carefully. Who would it be?

She felt relief flow through her as her husband made eye contact with her from across the room, the worry on his face easing as he focused on her. Ignoring the pain and nausea, she rose and moved quickly to meet him, burying her face in his neck as his arms wrapped around her. He held her tight, his mouth against her hair.

“I was so worried,” she whispered.

“Ditto,” he said, a tinge of humor in his voice.

“Where were you?”

“When I came to, I was in Soho,” he told her. “At least he’s staying in country,” he added wryly. “Poor Steven woke up in Italy, once.”

Layla huffed a bit of a laugh, all she could manage as the migraine began to once more take charge. She felt comfortable in Marc’s arms. Safe.

“He talked to you, didn’t he?” Marc asked softly.

She nodded without raising her head. “He didn’t tell me much. Said his name was Jake Lockley and that he was doing this to protect you and Steven.”

He made a sound of disbelief, but then he stepped back, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking at her with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong? You sound…” He frowned. “Migraine?” Marc had helped her through more than one during their time together.

She nodded, feeling tears well in her eyes. For some reason, having Marc here made it better, even if the pain was still as intense as before he came.

“Have you taken your meds?”

She nodded again. “I woke with it. I don’t know what good they will do.”

He nodded back. “Then let’s get you to bed.”

She protested. “Marc, you just got back from doing who-knows-what. You need to shower and eat and take care of yourself.”

He led her toward the bed, rolling his eyes. “I feel fine. Whatever happened, it was a quick and easy job. I’m tired, but that’s it. You sleep, I sleep. Win-win.”

Layla tried to lead him to the settee, but he steered her to the bed. “Nope. You need a decent bed.” He sat on the edge, hitching his hip up and patting the area of the bed in front of him.

Blinking back more tears, she brought her own leg up and sat with her back facing him. Immediately, his hands were on her neck, his thumbs carefully but firmly pressing into her muscles. “Steven, you should probably learn this,” he said softly. She tensed as she realized he was inviting Steven to observe what he was doing, but Marc ignored her, slowly working his way up the back of her neck to the base of her skull. She dropped her head forward, taking deep breaths. He worked his way back down, finding every pressure point along her upper spine, pushing against the edges of her shoulder blades, then rubbing carefully all along her shoulders, massaging the muscles he had just been pushing into. Then he would start all over again. Slowly but surely, her muscles relaxed and the pain eased ever so slightly. Her eyes drooped and her breathing slowed. Before she knew it, he had eased her down onto her side on the bed, propping pillows under her head. She let sleep take her.

When she opened her eyes, the light in the room had changed. A watery sun was streaming through the kitchen window, letting her know it was late afternoon. Though her head still felt foggy, the pain and nausea were gone. She turned over, her body stiff from lying in one position for hours, and found Marc sleeping soundly next to her. He was lying on top of the blankets, shirtless and wearing an old pair of joggers. It was apparent he had showered since he had helped her to sleep, and his face was relaxed and worry free. He was beautiful.

Without thinking, she reached her hand out and touched his lips with the tip of her index finger. With the speed of a striking snake, Marc reached up and grabbed her wrist. She gasped, startled, and she tried to pull away. His grip, though gentle, was firm, and when his eyes opened about half-way and he turned his head slightly to look at her, she stopped struggling. He closed his eyes once more and began to kiss her finger tips, one by one. Then the center of her palm, then her wrist right next to where he was holding her. She felt his tongue touch her pulse point, and she knew he could feel the increase in her heart rate.

She licked her lips and shifted closer to him. He opened his eyes once more and looked fully at her, setting her arm down on his chest. “How are you feeling?”

She smiled. “Much better, thanks to you.”

He huffed. “You would have gotten through it no matter what.”

“Not so quickly or comfortably,” Layla argued. She moved even closer, her face hovering next to his. “So, accept my thanks,” she whispered, then closed the last little bit of distance between them, placing her lips on his.

It was a gamble. He could not respond to her kiss. Or he could pull away from her. Or…

He could open his mouth and meet her tongue with his, the hand that had been holding her wrist moving to the back of her head, his fingers sinking into her curls.

And that’s exactly what he did.

Layla moaned into his mouth, arousal immediately flooding her senses. This man had always affected her this way. He had been her first lover. Her only lover. She had never even felt an iota of the passion with anyone else as she did with this man. It was as if he had cast a spell over her. She had even asked him once, shortly after they married, if Khonshu was using some kind of power to make her feel so strongly for his avatar. Marc had looked at her, horrified by the idea. “He can’t control people in that way,” Marc had told her. “And even if he could, I doubt he could control someone as strong-willed as you.”

Marc moved into her, and suddenly he was on top of her, his arms bracketing her head, his tongue still dancing with hers. She wrapped her arms around his back, letting her fingers slide up and down the powerful muscles, reveling in his smooth, heated skin. She arched her hips up, telling him without words what she wanted, and he responded with his own little thrust. He pulled back and groaned, then brought his lips down to her neck.

“God, I missed this,” he whispered harshly against her skin. “I missed you. So much.”

“Make love to me, Marc,” she responded, her own voice breathy. “Please?”

He nodded, and began to push the blanket that was still over her down and out of the way. She shoved at him to get him off of her and sat up, pulling off the sleep shirt she had never changed out of from the night before. She felt Marc’s gaze drift down to her bare chest and swore she saw a flash of fire in his eyes as he admired her. He reached out with his hand to cup her right breast, squeezing it gently in his large hand. Layla moaned.

She saw her husband’s eyes shift to the side, and they suddenly widened. She turned her head to see what he was looking at, and realized he was focused on a mirror. He frowned and pushed himself up and over her, jumping out of the bed. He grabbed up a small blanket from the end of the bed and threw it over the mirror. He then proceeded to cover every reflective surface, no matter how small, in the room.

She watched him, baffled, until she remembered how he always used a mirror or some other object that showed his reflection to talk to Steven.

His expression satisfied, he climbed back onto the bed.

“Steven?” she asked softly.

He scoffed. “Steven’s not anywhere near us right now,” he said. “He hid in embarrassment as soon as we started kissing.” His eyes met hers, and Layla realized whose gaze he was hiding them from.

Jake.

“Now, where were we?” he asked, his face relaxing as he sat back on his heels before her. “Do you still have your IUD?”

Layla nodded. Not that she had needed it recently, but she just hadn’t had the time to have it removed. Not to mention she had still been hoping upon hope that her husband would return to her.

“Good,” he said softly, and moved his head toward her.

She stopped him with a hand on his chest, a sudden thought hitting her. “What about you?”

He looked confused for a moment, then he smiled and shook his head. “I haven’t been with anyone else since I married you, Layla.”

His reassurance made her feel a brief spurt of joy, but then she was reminded of her thought. “You haven’t been with anyone else.”

It took a moment for him to realize what she meant by emphasizing the ‘you.’

“Shit.” He looked around, his expression almost desperate. He crawled off the bed and stepped up to the dresser. He pulled open the drawer and pulled out a box of condoms.

Layla couldn’t help it. “Steven has condoms?”

Marc grinned and showed her the box. “Unopened,” he said. “I think they were a gag gift from work. But it’s been a while…” He looked at the box carefully, then smiled as he found the expiration date. “Still good.”

“Then get yourself and that box over here, Mr. Spector,” she said with a smile.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

******

Layla scooched back as Marc crawled toward her, box in hand. She grinned as she let herself fall back onto the pillows, and his lips quirked up in response. He continued toward her until his upper body was over hers, his arms bracing himself, his free hand smoothing back her hair off of her forehead. His expression became serious as he focused on her, and her own smile faded as she watched him, worried he would turn this light-hearted bit of foreplay into something dark. There was too much darkness in him as it was, she thought. She had spent a great deal of her marriage to him trying to help him find some joy and light; she was never sure of what kind of demons he carried back then, though she knew some of them now.

Her father. Marc had been there. He had tried to save Abdallah El-Faouly and his team in the desert and had almost died himself. While Layla still didn’t know the details, she did know that Marc had found her intentionally, most likely out of guilt, to insure she was doing okay.

But he had fallen in love, of that she had no doubt. And as he gazed at her now, she could see that love still in his eyes. The guilt was still trying to win, but she wasn’t going to let it.

She reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the new growth of his beard already rough on her fingers. He had probably shaved after his shower only a few short hours ago, but she knew his beard grew in fast and thick. There had been times she knew he shaved twice a day just to keep up with it.

He turned his head slightly, moving toward her touch, and she brought her thumb over to stroke his lower lip. His eyes closed and he breathed in deep.

“I love you,” she whispered.  

His eyes popped open and he focused on her again, then with a soft groan he dropped his head and brought his mouth to hers. She opened up underneath him, letting herself be devoured. God, she had missed this! She brought the hand that had been on his face up to burrow in his thick hair, moaning softly at the combined feeling of his soft curls in between her fingers and his wet demanding tongue in her mouth. He shifted so that he was completely over her now, and she spread her legs, inviting him to settle into the cradle of her hips. He fit perfectly.

They kissed for an interminable amount of time, but eventually Marc’s mouth drifted down to her jaw, then her neck, licking her skin, sucking gently on her. She threw her head back against the pillow, arching her hips up, and he responded with soft thrusts against her, his erection pressing into her. She knew her panties were getting soaked, and she wouldn’t be surprised if the joggers she wore were also getting damp from his insistent rutting. As he continued, she felt an orgasm rise quickly toward completion. She had not had anything but unsatisfying solo events in the last several months; it was no surprise her body was responding so strongly to this man’s touch, his scent, his very presence.

She pushed at his bare shoulder and he lifted his head, his eyes half-lidded and dark. “Enough,” she gasped. “I need you now!”

He groaned and lifted himself up off of her. She immediately reached for the waistband of her sweats, pulling them and her panties down and off her legs as quick as she could. She fumbled as they got caught on the socks on her feet, but she managed to push them off with her clothing. She looked at Marc, who had also stripped himself of his sweatpants and was currently focused on the condom he was currently rolling on. Apparently, he hadn’t had any underwear or socks to worry about.

She shifted over, laying back against the pillow. She and Marc had played with several different positions in the past, but right now she just wanted him in the easiest way possible. His weight on her, their bodies flush against each other’s, able to look into each other’s eyes. There was so much to love about the so-called missionary position, Layla never understood why it got such a bad rap.

Marc finished with the condom and lifted his eyes to hers once more. His expression was a combination of excitement and disbelief, but when his eyes raked her naked body his face changed once more, and the desire she had seen earlier was back. “Fuck, baby, you are so beautiful,” he rasped.

“Please,” she whispered back, spreading her legs invitingly.

His gaze dropped down to her pussy, and his fingers followed. Layla moaned and lifted her hips into his touch, then took a deep, shuddering breath as he slipped his index finger into her folds, swirling it around gently. “So wet,” he breathed. “So perfect.”

“Marc!” she gasped, wriggling her hips. “Hurry!”

He obeyed, bringing his knees in between her spread thighs and falling forward so that he was balanced over her once more. He reached down and aligned his cock with her entrance, then pushed in, slowly but steadily, watching her face intently.

Layla felt her eyes roll back at the feeling of his large girth filling her full. While it had been months since they had come together like this, he slid in with no resistance, and the sensation was amazing. It felt like it had been forever since the last time, and yet it felt as if it had been just yesterday.

“Fuck, you take me so good,” he muttered, his lips against her cheek as his body settled more firmly on top of hers.

Layla licked her lips, one hand smoothing along his back, the other once more delving into his hair. “Oh, Marc,” she said on a moan. “So good. You belong here. I’ve missed you so much.”  

He brought his mouth to hers and began to kiss her again as his hips began to thrust, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed. They were both too far into this already to go slow. Layla lifted her knees, changing his angle of entry and opening herself up more, then began moving her hips to match his rhythm. She reveled in the feeling of his body sliding against hers, his hot wet breath against her neck, one of his hands cupped over her head, his fingers gripping her hair from time to time. She smoothed her hands down his back, curving them over his fantastic ass, then bringing them back up, her nails scratching him lightly. His thrusts increased and she found herself encouraging him. “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted, her voice getting louder.

Her orgasm crashed through her, stronger than any she had felt in a very long time, and she felt her body seize up, then start convulsing, her legs tremoring as she let herself ride the incredible feeling washing over her. “Oh, God, Marc!”

“Fuck, yes, baby, yes!” he responded, and she felt his body also tense, the muscles on his back becoming as taut as a bowstring, then the pulse of his hips as he emptied himself. She had the fleeting thought that she was missing the feel of his ejaculation thanks to the condom, but an aftershock caught her by surprise and she grasped a hold of the man above her once more, gasping in awe.

Eventually, they both sank down, bodies limp and sated, but Marc only stayed on top of her for a moment. He soon pushed himself off with a groan, sliding out of her and immediately taking care of the condom. But then he settled himself next to her again, wrapping his arms around her. She allowed him to pull her into his body, laying her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow as they both caught their breath. She needed to get cleaned up, but it could wait. Right now, she wanted the assurance that this was real, that Marc was here in her arms once more.

And she was determined to never let him go again.

******

They came together once more later that evening, after taking a break to order delivery from Chu Chin Chow, and this time Marc insisted that Layla be on top. She wasn’t about to deny him.

It was slow and sweet and perfect.

As they lay together in bed, Layla felt more content than she had felt in a very long time. She was almost asleep when Marc’s voice, soft and low, got her attention.

“Steven is supposed to take over at midnight,” he said. “He has to work in the morning.”

Layla nodded, taking a deep breath. Now that she and Marc seemed to be on the same page once more, she didn’t want him to go, but she wouldn’t deny Steven his time fronting. “I’ll move back to the settee,” she told him.

Marc’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “No. I’ll move.” He shook his head when she started to argue. “Steven would agree with me. We’ll take the couch the rest of the night.”

“Okay,” she finally agreed and settled down once more against him. It wasn’t even ten o’clock. He didn’t need to move, yet, and she had put her sleep clothes back on after cleaning up so she didn’t need to move at all. She let herself focus on the soft stroke of Marc’s fingers on her arm when he spoke once more, his voice tentative and rough.

“I had a little brother.”

She tensed. She had never known that. Why had she never known that? More importantly, why was he telling her now?

When he didn’t continue, she decided to push. There was a reason he had started this, and she felt she needed to encourage him to continue.

“What was his name?”

“Randall, but my mom called him Ro-Ro.” He paused. “She spoiled him. And she expected me and my father to spoil him, too.”

“How much younger was he?” she asked, trying to encourage him with easy questions.

“Almost three years,” Marc answered. “Young enough that I was expected to look after him.”

Layla decided to push some more. “Did you resent that?”

“No,” Marc answered easily. “I loved him. I wanted to take care of him.” He sighed. “But even then, I recognized that my brother was more important to her.”

Layla didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. “Is that why Steven..?” she paused, unsure how to ask.

“Is that why Steven came about?” he finished. “I think he was there, underneath everything, even then, but I didn’t really become aware of him until…” he stopped. Layla waited silently. “Until after Randall died. She… she blamed me.”

Layla felt her heart stop. “What happened?” she whispered.

“He drowned. We were playing in the caves on the other side of the meadow and it started raining. We got stuck as it started to flood. I tried to reach him. But then all I could do was keep my own head above the water. When it went down enough to get to him…”

Layla lifted her head and looked at him, tears in her eyes. She brought her hand up to run her fingers along his forehead, brushing back his mussed hair. “How old were you?”

He took a deep breath. “Ten.”

“Oh, God. So young.” She moved up to kiss his forehead. “How could she blame you? You were a child!” She started to feel a surge of anger at this unknown woman. “And Steven thought she was a good person?”

Marc gave a soft huff of laughter. “I made sure of it. I wanted everything to be perfect for him. I wanted him to have everything I didn’t.” He wiped a tear from his eye and licked his lips. “It was easier to do when we moved to London. Far away from them. It was her death that messed things up in my head even more. Steven started figuring things out, then.”

Layla realized what else he was saying. “That’s when you left me, isn’t it?”

He looked at her, meeting her gaze for the first time since he had started telling her his story. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you. All of it.”

She shook her head, stroking his hair once more. “You’re telling me now.” She tilted her head. “What about your father?”

“I don’t talk to him. I can’t.” He rolled his eyes slightly. “He’s got plenty of family in Chicago. He’s not alone.”

“He didn’t do anything to help you, did he?”

Marc shrugged. “He tried. In his own way, he tried to make things better for me.” His expression hardened. “But he did nothing to stop her from taking her drunken anger out on me. I’ll never forgive him for that.”

Layla nodded, quickly wiping away another tear from her cheek. “What about Jake?” she asked. “When did you first become aware of him?”

He frowned. “I think… there were times I would black out, back when she started beating me. I knew it wasn’t Steven, but I just assumed maybe I was… blankly disassociating.” He looked at her again. “Maybe it was him, even then.”

“Protecting you,” Layla said softly. “Even then.”

Marc grimaced. “Don’t defend him.”

Layla scoffed. “He’s a part of you, Marc. We’re going to have to learn how to deal with him. All of us,” she finished, including Steven in her statement. She kissed his forehead again, then lay her had back down on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna move before I fall asleep,” he told her after a while. “I don’t want Steven to have a heart attack waking up with you in the same bed.”

Layla laughed softly as he moved to get out of the bed. He stopped to give her a gentle kiss before he slid out completely and moved over to the settee. Layla watched him in the dim light, then closed her eyes and fell asleep.

She woke when she heard someone moving quietly around the flat, and she opened her eyes slightly to see the familiar shape of her husband. Steven, she thought. She should get up to tell him good morning. Despite his waking on the settee, she was pretty sure he knew what had been going on between her and Marc last night. However, she was so comfortable and still sleepy, her body feeling lethargic and sore in a pleasurable way. She smiled and closed her eyes. She would visit the museum on Steven’s lunch break, finding comfort in the thought. Despite her joy in reconnecting with Marc, she had missed Steven, too.

Without much effort, she once more fell asleep.

When she woke again, the flat was colored with the typical grey light of a London winter. The two goldfish were swimming about happily in their aquarium, and the light in the kitchen was on. Stretching, Layla smiled to herself. She was ready to settle into this eclectic flat, with her husband and two roommates. It would be… odd, but she was more than happy to share space with Steven as well as Marc. Now, if she could just get Jake to open up to his alters.

She finally crawled out of the bed and headed for the loo, glancing at the settee as she did so. She would insist on taking that again tonight. She wouldn’t mind sleeping there when Steven fronted, especially since she knew she would be sharing the bed with Marc from now on.

She showered and dressed and did her best to tame her curls after the adventurous night they had, then headed to the kitchen to find something to eat. She should go shopping, today. There really wasn’t a lot of ‘Marc’ food here, as he still seemed to defer to Steven’s choices; she figured he was still trying to become accustomed to living without having to keep his existence a secret. She knew what he liked, and since she was staying, she could get some of her favorites, too. She would ask Steven at lunch if he needed anything as well. If she was going to live here now, she was going to pull her weight.

As she neared the counter, her eye caught on something by the door. She stopped and stared for a moment. The papers she had brought the day she had arrived here, the papers she had already signed, the papers that had caused more than a few tears since they had arrived by courier all those months ago. The papers her husband had forgotten to sign before sending them.

She moved toward the table next to the door. She had tucked them up against the wall and they had not moved since then, but now they lay on the table, open and facing up, with a sticky note attached. As she got closer, she could read the two words written on the sticky note in Marc’s familiar sprawling handwriting.

I’m sorry.

Her heart racing, Layla picked up the papers and quickly scanned them, disbelieving but knowing she wasn’t imagining it. Every spot where the little sticky note saying ‘sign here’ with an arrow was filled in with the same familiar signature.

Marc had signed the divorce papers.

******

Layla felt as if she was sleep-walking through the rest of the morning. She managed to e-mail her boss, lying and telling them that she still had the migraine from the day before, and she made some toast for herself, barely tasting it as she ate it with some juice. Her mind kept going over the events of yesterday and last night. The way Marc had taken care of her. The way he had kissed her. Touched her. The unmistakable love in his eyes as he watched her come undone in his arms.

Or was that her imagination? Was she seeing something more than was there? Was his passion just lust? Was he simply a man who hadn’t had sex in months taking advantage of a woman who he knew would give him what he needed? Then why had he opened up to her? She remembered telling him she loved him.

He had not said it back to her.

Steven texted her during his lunch break, which reminded her that she had planned to meet him and have lunch with him, then go shopping. The idea of doing that now made her shake her head; why bother, if she wasn’t going to stay? She opened Steven’s text.

Layla! I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you this morning. I’m going to assume everything went well with Marc and that you’ll be staying? wink emoji I thought I would bring home a pizza from Stem and Glory. The Hawaiian sound good? Let me know! Cheers! Steven several heart emojis

The text made Layla smile, but tears formed in her eyes almost immediately afterward. If she left, if she sent the papers back to the lawyer they originated from and finalized this divorce, she would not only be saying goodbye to Marc forever, but to Steven. How could she do that? How could Marc ask her to do that? But how could she stay knowing Marc didn’t want her?

She wiped her eyes again and took a deep breath. She sent a quick text back to Steven, approving his choice of dinner, then sent a second one.

We need to talk

There was no response right away, and Layla wondered if she had been too blunt. She didn’t want to scare Steven, but she really needed to talk to him about what Marc had done. If there was anyone who knew Marc better than her it was Steven. When no response seemed forthcoming, she decided he had probably just put his phone away to go back to work; the staff of the museum were not allowed to carry their phones on them while on the clock.

Taking a deep breath, Layla stripped the bed she and Marc had shared so she could wash the sheets, then set out to clean the kitchen. It wasn’t really that dirty, but she needed to keep busy so she wouldn’t think too much. She played music on her phone. American Country music. Because Marc hated it.

Finally, shortly after 6pm, she heard the door to the flat open and watched as Steven slipped in, his messenger bag over his shoulder and a large pizza box in his hands. He looked at her warily, and she knew he had read her last text, but the genuine smile she gave him must have comforted him somewhat, and he smiled back, closing the door behind him with his foot.

“How was your day?” she asked brightly as he carried the box over to the small table in the kitchen.

“It was good,” he told her with his head bouncing in quick nods, a trait she knew was all Steven. “Yours?”

“I…uh… took the day off. Did some cleaning.”

“Aw, you should have slept in, love,” he told her, winking. “I’m sure you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Layla couldn’t help but give a soft laugh as she felt her face heat. Marc had said Steven had made himself scarce when he realized they were kissing, and he had covered all the reflective surfaces that seemed to aid in their being able to communicate and share each other’s lives, but the fact that Steven knew what she and Marc had done was a bit disconcerting.

“So, vegan pizza?” she asked as she grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

“It’s great,” Steven told her. “Everything from Stem and Glory is great.”

A few minutes later, Layla had to agree. “I tell you what, Steven. I’ve always considered myself a meat lover, but if you keep feeding me food like this, I might just go for the vegan lifestyle.”

Layla encouraged Steven to talk about his day, and he did so with enthusiasm. While his dream was to someday become a tour guide at the museum, he loved working there in any capacity, and now that Donna wasn’t around to pick on him, he was thoroughly enjoying his job again. He did admit, however, that he tended to avoid any display that included images of Ammit or Khonshu.

Finally, the meal was over and the dishes had been washed and put away. Steven turned and leaned back on the counter, his arms folded in front of him and a serious look on his face. He looked more like Marc than he ever had, which unnerved Layla a bit.

“So, what do we need to talk about?” He swallowed, and Layla realized he was more nervous than he appeared.

She moved to where she had put the divorce papers, grabbed them, and brought them to Steven. His eyes widened as he looked at them. He didn’t need his glasses to know what they were. He glanced back at her, then squinted down at the top page. “What? Wait.” He sounded disbelieving. He grabbed his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered, flipping through the pages.

“I woke up to that,” she said softly. “After last night, it was a… bit of a surprise.”

He looked at her, his expression grief-stricken. “Everything went well? I mean…” He looked abashed for a moment. “He seemed happy when I was last connected to him.”

“I thought so, too,” Layla shrugged. “He moved to the settee, telling me you were fronting at midnight, and I fell asleep in the bed. I heard you moving around this morning, but fell back to sleep right away. You didn’t see them before you left for work?”

“Ahhh… actually, I wasn’t here this morning,” Steven told her. “I fronted while on the bus heading to work.”

“So, he signed them this morning.” Layla felt her eyes fill with tears once more. “I don’t know what happened, Steven,” she whispered. “I thought… I thought everything was going to be okay.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steven said soothingly, reaching for her. She let herself fall against him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. His hug was firm and comforting. “There has to be some explanation,” he said softly as he rubbed her back with the hand not holding the papers. “I’ll try and reach him. Talk to him.”

“I don’t want to leave, Steven,” she said, closing her eyes. “I don’t want to leave either of you.”

His hold on her tightened at her words. “I don’t want you to leave, either, love.”

They stood holding each other for a long while, but finally Layla pulled away, wiping her eyes.

Keeping a hand on her shoulder, Steven shook the papers slightly. “I know he loves you. I just can’t believe he would do this. It’s almost like someone forged his signature or something.”

Layla gasped. Forged his signature?

“Jake!”

“Who’s Jake?” Steven said, his brow furrowed.

“Jake Lockley, your mysterious third alter.”

Steven’s eyes widened. “You met him?”

Layla nodded. “Yes. He tried to sneak out early one morning, not knowing I was here, as I had hoped. I confronted him.”

“He didn’t try to hurt you, did he?”

Layla shook her head. “No, I really don’t think he would. But he doesn’t like me, either.” She took the papers from Steven. “What better way to get me to leave than to make me think Marc didn’t want me? I’m sure he’s had plenty of practice forging Marc’s signature.” She tilted her head at Steven. “Yours, too, probably.”

“Oh, isn’t that a wonderful thought?” Steven said sarcastically.

“Marc will front again on Saturday, right?”

Steven nodded. “Again, I can try and talk to him, have him front and talk to you directly.” He shrugged. “But we’ve gotten into the habit of kind of staying out of each other’s way when the other is fronting. It might be a while before I can get his attention.”

Layla shook his head. “There’s no rush,” she said. “I don’t want you to miss any work and now that I’m almost sure it wasn’t him that signed these, I can wait to see him when it’s his turn.” She turned away, tapping the papers thoughtfully against her other hand. “And as for Jake, if he should appear first…” She turned and gave Steven a wicked smile. “I’ll be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Steven’s eyes were huge. Guileless.

“Ready to let him know that we will not be controlled by him. Or Khonshu.”

******

Steven and Layla settled in to watch a movie later that night, but twice Steven left to go to the loo, and Layla could hear him talking to himself while there. Once upon a time, she might have thought he had gone crazy, but she knew what he was doing now. He was trying to reach Marc. Both times he came out looking a bit self-conscious, shaking his head softly.

After the second failed attempt, when he sat back down next to her, he turned his head to look at her. “I’m sure he’s not doing this on purpose,” he said. “He just isn’t expecting to be needed, so he isn’t connected with me right now.”

Layla looked at him, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What’s it like?” she asked, the movie forgotten.

“What’s what like?”

“What does it feel like when you’re not connected or when you’re not fronting?”

He shrugged. “Nothing,” he said simply. “You feel nothing. I guess it’s like a dreamless sleep?” He shifted on the sofa and turned his body toward her. “Before things changed, before I became aware of Marc, he was able to… subliminally put memories in my head. So, that when I fronted again, I was never aware of any lost time. He fudged things over at my job, made sure I kept getting post cards from our mother, created memories of actually talking to her… things like that. But when things changed, and I was able to force myself to the front, he couldn’t do that anymore.”

“And you became aware of lost time?” Layla concluded.

He nodded. “Yeah. What’s nerve-wracking is when you’re connected to the person fronting, but can’t front yourself. It’s like you’re watching from behind a locked door. Able to communicate with the alter, but do nothing else.”

“And Jake?” she asked. “He mentioned that the only time he can front now is when you or Marc are asleep.”

His eyes widened. “I imagine he was behind that door a lot, waiting for his moment to break out. Now, he can only do that when we’re not guarding it. All because of…” he paused, glancing at her nervously.

“Because of your mother dying,” Layla finished.

“Marc told you then?” Steven looked relieved.

She nodded. “He told me that it was her death that confused things. He told me about Randall, and how… how she abused Marc after his death.”

Steven shrugged sadly. “I think she was hard on him long before his brother died, she just got a lot worse afterwards.” Then a smile took over the frown on his face. “But see! That’s more proof he didn’t sign those papers! He would never have told you all that if he didn’t want you to stay!”

Layla nodded and gave him a soft smile. “Yeah.” She furrowed her brow. “But what about Jake? Obviously, Marc hiding himself from you also hid Jake from you, but how did he hide himself from Marc? He couldn’t manipulate Marc’s memories, could he?”

Steven shook his head. “No, unless he was asleep, Marc was always aware of the missing time when this Jake fronted. The thing is, Marc told me that whenever it happened, it was usually for very short periods, like less than an hour. Very rarely it would be for a few days.”

“I imagine that for the short stretches he was protecting you both from something,” Layla thought aloud. “I wonder what he was doing for those long periods of time?”

“You still think he’s our protector?

“He all but admitted it to me,” she said. “And from what I saw in Cairo, he’s good at it.”

Steven looked thoughtful for a long moment, then they both became aware that the end credits to the movie had started rolling.

“Oh, well,” Steven sighed. “Good thing I wasn’t really invested.”

Layla laughed.

They turned in for the night, with Layla insisting on taking the settee once more. “I’m comfortable here,” she said. “And besides, I’ll be able to sleep in the bed when Marc’s fronting now.” She winked and Steven’s cheeks darkened.

The next day, they both returned to their respective jobs, and Layla was able to focus once more without either a migraine or heartbreak distracting her. As she had planned the day before, she met Steven for lunch, then did some shopping. She made dinner that night, doing her best to follow a vegan recipe she found during her trip to the market. She thought it turned out fairly well, and was happy to see that Steven seemed to thoroughly enjoy it, though she guessed he was easy to please most of the time.

It was shortly after they had said their ‘goodnights’ and gone to bed that Layla heard mumbling coming from the bed. A light turned on, and Steven stepped around the bookcase that almost acted like a barrier between the settee and the bed. Only it wasn’t Steven.

Layla sat up, recognizing Marc’s posture and way of moving even in the dim light coming from the other side of the room. “Marc?” she gasped, reaching over to turn on the lamp next to the couch.

Marc’s expression was apprehensive. “Hey,” he said softly. “Steven said you needed to talk to me? Is everything okay?”

Layla couldn’t help but smile at his words, jumping up and moving over to him. He opened his arms without hesitation and she stepped into them. “It’s nothing serious. It could have waited until it was your turn to front.” She squeezed him, then stepped back. He released her, his expression still wary. “Steven works a half-day tomorrow,” she continued. “We were going to go to the park in the afternoon.”

Marc nodded. “I’ll give the body back.” His expression hardened. “Once I find out what has him so worried.”

Layla took a deep breath, then went to her bag, where she had tucked the papers. She took them out and handed them to Marc. His eyes widened as he took them, recognition in his expression. He looked at her again, his brows furrowed, the all-too-familiar deep crease between them. He opened the folded papers. Immediately, his expression changed to obvious shock. He flipped through them, shaking his head. “I didn’t…” He glanced up at her. “I didn’t sign these!”

Layla nodded, the final confirmation a balm to her heart. “I know.”

He focused on her. “But you thought I did. That’s why Steven was so worried.”

She nodded, looking away. “I did. But then Steven helped me realize it was Jake.”

He held the papers up in one hand and she focused on him once more. “After our night together, you thought I could do this?”

Layla took a deep breath. “I thought maybe that was your way of saying goodbye.”

A pained expression crossed his face. He bit his lower lip and shook his head. “You don’t trust me.”

“Can you blame me?” she argued. “You left me once before. No warning. No reason.”

He nodded and took a deep breath of his own. Suddenly he turned back into the main room. Layla followed, watching as he headed for the kitchen. He opened a drawer and pulled out a long butane lighter. He glanced at her, walked over to the metal wastebasket by the door, then promptly set the papers on fire, dropping them in the basket. Layla wrapped her arms around herself as she watched the divorce papers burn along with the handful of tissues that had already been in the basket.

Marc also watched it, his face expressionless, but once the flame began to die, he turned to look at her, one eyebrow arched.  

“Any more questions?”

Giving him a wry smile, Layla shook her head.

He smirked. “Good.” He walked over to her, grasped her shoulders firmly, and kissed her. Soft and sweet, but with an underlying passion that Layla felt him working hard to control. He stepped back and let her go. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

Layla watched, fascinated as his face transformed without changing at all.

Steven focused on her, then glanced at the wastebasket, where smoke was still drifting up from the remains of the papers. He looked back at Layla. “Everything okay, love?”

“Everything’s perfect.”

******

Steven was the first one to make a positive connection with Jake.

Layla saw him twice more in the next six weeks, both in the middle of the night. The first time, she woke on the settee with him obviously trying to be quiet after taking over a sleeping Steven. She was up immediately, asking him questions. “Why did you sign those papers?” “Why won’t you talk to Marc or Steven?” “What is Khonshu making you do this time?”

He ignored her completely as he finished dressing in Marc’s clothing, grabbing up protein bars and bottled water from the kitchen and shoving them in the same bag he had used before. As he pushed past her heading for the door, his face like a stone mask, she called out one last time.

“You better not make Steven late for work tomorrow.”

He stopped and turned to glare at her in the doorway.

“He loves his job and he’s doing so well right now,” Layla continued. “Don’t you mess that up for him.”

His brows furrowed even more, and he cocked his head for a moment, his dark gaze looking distant, as if he was listening to something. Or someone.

Layla felt a chill creep up her spine when she realized that Khonshu was probably in the room right now, talking to Jake. She could almost hear his voice in her head, the memory of finally being able to see and hear him in Giza coming back to her. She focused on Jake. “Jake!” she said, and his eyes met hers. “Please!”

He sighed deeply, his frown deepening, then he turned and left.

Layla didn’t sleep well that night, but she did get a call from the museum around lunch the next day. Fearing it was Steven’s manager looking for him, she answered, ready to cover for him. She was surprised when it was Steven himself on the other line.

“Hey!” he told her. “I’m okay. When I fronted, I was already here at the museum. Felt a bit weird, ‘cause I’m in Marc’s clothing, but only a couple people here seem to notice. I don’t have my phone or lunch. Think you could swing by with some take-out?”

Relieved, Layla grabbed lunch, then met Steven at the museum.

After they ate, Layla looked him over carefully. Even in Marc’s clothing, she could tell it was Steven. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. What time did he front?”

Layla noticed he didn’t say ‘Jake.’ “Shortly after midnight,” she told him. “He wouldn’t talk to me. But I told him he better not make you late for work.” She gave him a soft smile.

Steven grinned back. “Yeah, must have been close. I got here just as my shift started. No time to go home and change, I guess.” He shifted in his chair, his grin becoming mischievous. “Guess what?”

“What?” Layla asked, leaning forward.

“He was still connected after I fronted,” Steven said. “I could still ‘feel’ him. I talked to him. Thanked him for getting me to work on time. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t ‘hide’ from me, either. I’d say that’s progress.”

“Yeah,” Layla said, smiling softly back. “Yeah, it is.”

Steven had a couple more ‘events’ where he could feel Jake’s presence and talked to him. Though Jake never answered back, there was a sense that Jake was enjoying the one-sided conversation. “He’s got to be so lonely,” Steven said. “He’s never fronted long enough to make friends or real relationships, has he? He’s only got us.”

Marc wasn’t as sympathetic, but he never tried to dissuade Steven from encouraging Jake to ‘come out.’

The second time Jake fronted was a lot different. He took over from Marc this time, and she and Marc had been occupied with each other earlier in the evening. So occupied that neither of them had thought to put on any clothing afterwards, falling asleep naked in each other’s arms. Layla woke to Jake throwing himself out of the bed, grabbing up clothing, and heading for the loo without looking back at her. While she was embarrassed, she found his reaction quite funny. Not for the first time, she wondered exactly what kind of personal experiences Jake had. As Steven had pointed out, he never fronted for very long. 

Pulling on a robe, Layla got up and decided to make some coffee, something only Marc usually drank. But if Jake was American, too…

When he came out of the loo, again dressed in Marc’s clothing, he stared at her, his expression baffled.

“Coffee?”

She watched as his jaw shifted. “I need to be somewhere,” he finally ground out.

“Well, this means you won’t have to stop somewhere to get some.” She poured a cup and handed it to him. “Do you want anything in it? Marc likes it black. Or so he says.”

He took the cup, then took a deep breath. “Some cream, por favor.”

Layla nodded and pulled out the heavy cream that Marc kept on hand for cooking, though she suspected he put it in his coffee when no one was looking. She added a dollop to Jake’s coffee, then another when he just looked at her. He nodded after the second one and she put it back in the refrigerator.  

She watched as he drank the coffee slowly. He in turn watched her with wary eyes, but said nothing. With a sigh, she went back to the fridge and grabbed out some juice. Since she obviously wasn’t having breakfast with Marc this morning, as she had planned, she would just make some toast for herself. “How long will you be gone?” she asked over her shoulder as she popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. “Or do you know? Does Khonshu even give you that much before he takes you away from us?” She glanced over her shoulder. He was glaring at her now.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, his voice a low grumble.

She turned to face him, folding her arms over her chest. “I live here, now, Jake. With my husband. Deal with it.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, looking away from her.

“It was a nice try,” she continued. “Signing those papers and trying to make me think Marc signed them. It almost worked.”

He looked back at her. “You won’t stay,” he argued. “Why are you making both him and Steven think you will?”

Layla felt her anger grow. “Why do you think I won’t stay?” she asked.

“You didn’t before.”

“Marc was the one that left before,” she countered. “Not me. I happen to be quite happy and content both in my job and my personal life right now. Marc and I are still sorting things out about our future, and he needs a lot of reassurance still, but I have no plans on ever leaving him.” She cocked her head at him and gave him a perky smile. “Which means I’m not leaving Steven or you, either.”

He shook his head again and set down the still half full cup of coffee. He turned to leave, grabbing his bag.

“Thank you for taking care of Steven,” she called out, not wanting to have their conversation end with him mad. “He likes to talk to you,” she continued when he paused. “He’d be thrilled if you talked back to him.”

Without looking at her, he gave an ever so slight nod, then left the flat.

Marc was back in the late afternoon, he looked tired and a bit ruffled, but otherwise okay. Layla met him with a hug and a long kiss.

“Are you okay?” They both asked each other at the same time, laughing.

“I feel like I got a bit beat up, but there’s nothing broke,” Marc answered first. “I’m just glad he’s staying close to home. I have a feeling he’s not Khonshu’s only avatar, just his London rep.”

Layla tilted her head. “Can Khonshu have more than one avatar?”

Marc shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have several if the council let him.” He cocked his head. “Did he talk to you this time?”

“A bit. Enough to know he doesn’t trust me. He’s convinced I’m going to leave and hurt you.”

Marc drew back dramatically. “Are you?” He was smirking a bit, but Layla could see real fear in his eyes. He was still, deep down, absolutely sure no one could love him forever. If his own mother couldn’t then why would Layla?

Layla brought her face up close to his, letting her nose rub his gently. “Never,” she whispered firmly. “I will never willingly leave you, Marc Spector. I promise.”

His expression softened, and she could see his jaw move as emotion filled those beautiful brown eyes. Then his lips were on hers and there were no more words.

******

Layla’s job became more demanding as the dates for two major auctions, one in London and one in New York City, came close. She would need to be present for both events, arriving the day before to help authenticate the items, and then staying for the actual auction itself. Though most of the bidding would be from people live-streaming on-line from various countries, there would be a few in the house. Layla would aid in the security of the items during the actual auction before they were handed off to the company that would pack them up to ship to their new owners; the idea of her being tasked with protecting these valuable artifacts when once upon a time she was the one stealing such things amused her, but she was long past that part of her life and felt no desire to return to it.

The London auction allowed her to come home every night, but the one in New York would mean she had to leave Marc and Steven on their own for the weekend. Marc dropped her off at the airport, acting very much like a mother hen as he continued to ask her if she had everything she needed and reminding her to call him as soon as she had landed and again when she was settled into the hotel the auction was being held at, no matter the time difference. She did as requested, then tried her best to get rest before the long day of authenticating took place; jet lag was never easy, but especially when she hadn’t had to deal with it for several months.

The next time she checked in, Steven had fronted, and after they talked about all the interesting artifacts she had seen, he told her about his latest encounter with Jake.

“I was in the park eating my lunch, yeah? And I felt him. It’s such a weird feeling, you know?”

Layla acknowledged his question with a soft “uh-hmmm,” encouraging him to keep talking.

“He didn’t seem like he wanted anything or was trying to get my attention. He was just… there. So, I started talking. I told him about my new boss and I talked about the new silly candies that we got for the gift shop today and told him about your trip to New York and how I was so happy you and Marc were getting on. And of course, that led me to talk about how much Khonshu had used Marc, threatening him by talking about using you next, and really messing with Marc’s head after he’d already been through so much in his life and how much I hated that we had thought we were done with the old bird. I was kind of expecting him to disappear when I said that, you know? But he didn’t. I can’t imagine he wasn’t hearing me, but he didn’t leave and he didn’t argue, so that gives me hope that maybe he’ll rethink his connection to the pigeon. Do you think?”

Layla was smiling as Steven finally stopped and took a deep breath. She loved it when he started chattering on like this, even if she worried that his mouth was having trouble keeping up with his brain. He was so damn smart, and whatever he had to say always interested her, even if it was a subject she’d had no interest in before. She wondered if Jake felt the same. “I hope so,” she responded, realizing that Steven was waiting for an answer to his question.

“So,” Steven continued. “I told him I had to get back to work and that I hope I could chat with him again soon, and you know what?”

“What?” Layla asked, feeling a smile take over once more.

“He said ‘hasta luego, hermano’,” Steven’s voice was a bit breathless sounding, as if he was still in shock. “He called me ‘hermano.’ You know that means ‘brother’ in Spanish, right? He called me brother!”

Layla let out a soft laugh at Steven’s joyful exclamation.

“Has he spoken Spanish to you?” he asked suddenly.

Layla nodded, even knowing Steven couldn’t see her. “Yes, actually. He has used some Spanish words when I talk to him. He seems very comfortable with the language.”

Steven huffed a breath. “That’s so weird, because I don’t know Spanish, except for a few words.”

Layla thought the difference between all the alters was fascinating. “I bet he doesn’t know French,” she told him.

There was a long pause. “Wow. I bet you’re right!”

She hung up from her conversation with Steven soon after, knowing it was after midnight there and he had to get up for work early in the morning, her mind rolling around with thoughts of Jake. If anyone could get through to the reclusive alter, it would be Steven, and she hoped his hinting that Khonshu was not wanted in their lives would help Jake decide to leave the service of the god.

The fact that Jake had called Steven ‘brother’ thrilled her to no end.

She had her dinner delivered and watched TV, not really paying attention to the show as her mind began to wander back to her conversation with Steven. She loved talking with him. She loved being with him. If she really let herself think about it, she had to admit she loved him.

As a brother, she quickly thought to herself. Marc’s twin brother. Right?

She frowned. It didn’t matter if her feelings for her husband’s alter were confusing, because she loved Marc with everything in her and had worked too hard to get him back to mess it up now. She would just have to keep reminding herself that while she could allow herself to love Steven, it could only ever be in a platonic way. She would not let the longing glances he occasionally sent her way make her feel anything different.

Too bad her subconscious wouldn’t listen to that logic.

When Layla dreamed that night, she dreamed of her husband making love to her. Of his familiar body and smell and touch. Of his soft words of praise and adoration, encouraging her to climax. “That’s it. Just like that, baby. You take me so good. Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Only it wasn’t Marc’s voice she heard, but Steven’s lilting accent instead.

“Come for me, love.”

******

Part Two