#angstember

You never thought you could be so lucky.

After dating the same guy throughout high school and most of the way through college, you finally broke up with him and took some time for yourself. You worked hard to finish in the top 2% of your class and went straight into post graduate work.

That’s where you met Steven. Doctor Grant.

You didn’t mean to fall for him but he was so charming, kind and sincere. You mesmerized him and the two of you fell in love with one another quickly. He told you about his alters: Jake, the quiet one and Marc, the reluctant one. Soon enough you got to know them too.

After completing your master's degree, Steven asked you to move in last month, just before your one-year anniversary. Elated didn't begin to describe how lucky you felt, nor how in love you were.

Twenty-seven days into relative domestic bliss, things began to change.

Marc came home late, stumbled through a shower and into bed with you, exhausted, but hardly willing to protest when you kissed a trail down his body and took him into your mouth. Damp curls flopped back on the pillow as his hips slowly responded to the hot velvet of your tongue and the way your lips wrapped hungrily around his thick length.

A sharp intake of breath alerted you to his pleasure, harsh pants escalating until his voice rumbled out, “Just like that honey, fuck…”

Gripping the nape of your neck, he worked himself in and out of your mouth. It didn't take him long to finish, the most delicious sounds of pleasure rumbling in his muscular chest as you licked your lips clean.

"Bet you'll sleep good tonight," you teased, climbing your way back up his body and draping yourself over him.

Marc groaned, body still buzzing with pleasure and mind hazy and satisfied. But your delicious, satin-covered body drove him crazy and he couldn't help but run his hands all over your curves.

"Nice surprise. Thought you'd be asleep."

"I took a little nap, but I wanted to see you..." voice fading away, your eyes fluttered closed as he dragged thick fingers between your thighs, pulling your panties aside so he could feel your slick. He slipped two fingers inside, smiling into your kiss at how your walls gripped his digits.

"So tight, baby," he breathed against your cheek, curling and twisting his hand harder inside you. "Open up for me. Wanna fuck you back to sleep."

Pushing the pad of his thumb over your throbbing clit, he swallowed your gasps and whimpers of pleasure in a salacious kiss, coaxing you steadily closer to the edge.

Back arching, you gushed all over his hand, your pretty lips parted and panting as you came. He loved to watch you fall apart.

After kissing and touching one another heatedly, he steadily grew harder in your grasp, again. Rolling you over onto your stomach, he dragged your delicate nightgown up over the swell of your hips, hands roaming liberally all over the curve of your ass. Marc squeezed both cheeks indulgently before pushing you down to the mattress and pressing his chest to your back, almost covering you like a blanket.

"You're so damn beautiful," he purred on your neck, nipping at the flesh roughly before soothing it with his tongue as you hissed.

You could feel his cock, heavy and hard, rubbing against the back of your thigh. "What's your color, baby?"

"Green," you gasped, lifting your ass up in the air to push back against him temptingly. "Fuck me. I want it."

Marc wasn't sure how he got so lucky. Steven met you at university and had you eating out of the palm of his hand in no time. He felt surprised his alter pursued a student, but at least you were about to finish your postgraduate work when you started seeing each other.

When Marc saw you, he couldn't help his body's natural response to you. Over ten years his junior, smart, so full of life. He could only hope you felt the same way. You let him fuck you on your first date and not a day passed since, without him thinking about the next time he could be inside you, cook dinner with you or take you out somewhere fun.

No one was more surprised than Steven at how fast Marc fell for you.

Now you were underneath him, hissing and gasping as he pushed his way slowly inside your core. It was a tight fit - so tight that Marc wondered, that first time, if you were a virgin.

"Come on, baby, let me in," he murmured against your ear. "So fucking tight, honey." Gripping your hips, he buried himself all the way inside, cock twitching at the sound and feel of your writhing and moaning.

The weight of Marc's body against yours - the heavy drag of his thick cock in and out lured obscene shrieks and moans from your throat. It almost stung but the stretch felt so good.

You loved when he took you like this. So strong and so needy and so good to you, all while uttering the filthiest words in your ear. You came fast, panting his name and he pulled out just in time to come all over your ass and thighs.

You were both exhausted, but managed to clean up and climb back into bed, passing out almost instantly.

Then it happened.

Nestled safely in your boyfriend's embrace, you began to thrash, whimper and sweat. Your disturbing motion instantly woke Marc, who assumed you were having a nightmare.

"Hey, hey, hey..." He cupped your cheek, whispering your name, trying to wake you without scaring you further.

Then you screamed. Blood-curdling, somebody-call-the-cops, heart-stopping, feature-film-style screaming that terrified Marc to his core. No matter how much he called your name or shook you, he couldn't wake you. He even called out to Khonshu for help.

Your head lolled to the side and you seemed to be awake, but you wouldn't respond.

...until you called his name, crying out for him, frantically.

"I'm right here, sweetheart, it's okay," he gasped, desperately attempting to get you to just look at him.

Finally, you stopped, but you were still sleeping as peacefully as before the whole incident began.

Marc's heart pounded and now he was sweating too. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he pushed his hands through his hair in exasperation and worry.

The next morning, as you shuffled out of the bathroom toward the kitchen, you found Marc sitting at the table, empty coffee cup in front of him, staring forlornly out the window.

"Hey." Leaning over, you pressed a kiss to his forehead before reaching to pour yourself a cup. "You okay?"

"Am I okay? Are you okay?" Worried eyes searched yours for any hint of an explanation.

Marc told you what happened, but you had no memory of it whatsoever. Both of you were left confused and you could tell Marc was upset by your nightmare, or whatever it was.

When he saw your wide, pleading eyes, he brushed his fingertips across your cheek. "It's okay, sweetheart. You just screamed and I-I couldn't help you. I couldn't wake you up."

"I didn't mean to scare you." Kneeling down in front of him, you grasped his hands. "I should probably tell you..."

You explained to Marc how you had night terrors as a child. They sounded terrifying to any onlookers, such as your parents, but you could never remember what happened once you woke up.

"I haven't had one in over ten years," you explained. "Most of the time, kids have them and grow out of them. That's what I did. But then the nightmares came. I had more like...'regular' nightmares all through high school. It got better in college."

"Come here." Marc pulled you across his lap and wrapped his arms around you. "You could've told me."

"I wasn't trying to keep it from you, I promise. I just thought they were over."

The next night, Marc remained with you. He seemed tense, but after a little coaxing, finally admitted he still worried about you.

"You sounded so scared and I couldn't help you." Running his hands over your soft body, he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Tell me what to do."

So you explained that if it happened again, to avoid trying to wake you, to speak softly and just sit with you and wait it out.

"Hopefully it won't happen again."

It didn't. Not that night. Instead, you had a regular old nightmare.

You are a child, in a boy's bedroom, not your own, seated on the carpet, playing with blocks. A little boy sits across from you, inky curls flopping carelessly across his forehead as he crashes a Star Wars action figure into your hastily constructed tower.

The action doesn't upset you - it's endearing. You laugh. But the little boy hurriedly picks the blocks up and starts to put them away.

"Can't make a mess," he says to himself.

Footsteps resound on the stairs. He freezes.

"No, no, no," he gasps, cleaning as fast as his fingers will fly.

Suddenly the door bursts open and in stumbles a woman in a nightgown, reeking of alcohol, glassed eyes struggling to focus on the boy.

"Look what you did," she spat. "You ruin everything you touch. Ungrateful, spoiled, selfish brat."

You tremble as you realize she's holding a belt. "You're gonna learn some respect."

You feel the first lash as if it snapped across your own skin. The little boy cries out, curling into a ball with his arms wrapped tightly around his head.

You try to speak, to tell her to stop, but the second lash lands, searing your back with white hot pain.

Finally finding your voice, you scream.

Your screaming startled Marc, snapping him out of slumber. Powerful images of this woman raging at him, hurting him, shook you to your core. Your eyes flew open as you gasped, jolting awake. Marc shushed you, tenderly stroking your face, finding tears on your cheeks.

"Marc," you hoarsely whispered. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head, confused. "Yeah, I'm okay. I think you were having one of those sleep terrors again."

"It was a nightmare. Or-or a memory, maybe?" Sitting up in bed with him, you touched your forehead to his, your brain a twisted fog of memory and dream. "What did she do you?"

"What are you talking about? I'm fine." Cupping your cheek, he eased back so he could look into your eyes. "That must've been a hell of a nightmare."

"I saw you," you insisted. "I think it was you. You were just a little boy and someone hurt you. Who did that to you?"

Marc's jaw tensed as his eyes went cold. "What are you talking about? What did Steven tell you?"

"Nothing," you assured him. "Did someone hurt you? I swear it felt so real."

Sighing loudly, Marc carded a hand through his curls. "It was just a dream. Don't worry about me."

You scooted close enough to feel the heat rolling off his skin, soothingly brushing your hand down his muscular arm. "I can feel your old pain. She hurt you, that woman. You can tell me."

Pushing off the bed suddenly, Marc's hands landed on his hips as he paced agitatedly. "That shit doesn't matter anymore." His gaze flew to you - the earthen warmth in his eyes simmering to something distantly cold. "Just leave it."

His dismissal squeezed the air out of your lungs and left your heart burning with questions and doubt.

Later that evening, the two of you prepared dinner in silence. Marc halted a chopping motion mid-pepper and turned to you. "I'm sorry."

You posture instantly softened toward him. "For what?"

He shrugged, knife in hand. "I don't know exactly. I just know I upset you."

"Try reversing that," you sadly replied. "I definitely struck a nerve, but I didn't mean to."

He resumed chopping, realizing this was coming out all wrong. He finished with the pepper and scraped it from the cutting board into the skillet, where it greeted the oil with a satisfying sizzle.

"All that was a long time ago. I'm fine now."

You nodded, mostly to yourself, realizing there must be a lot about Marc you didn't know, and apparently, he didn't feel ready to share.

"I won't bring it up again," you promised. "Not unless you want to talk. But I can't help my dreams. I didn't mean for it to happen."

"I know that."

He stared at you for a moment before mumbling that he needed to use the restroom. You waited only a beat before calling after him, following him to find the restroom door shut.

You heard talking. Steven must be here.

Sure enough, Steven emerged a few minutes later.

"Shit, I really upset him, huh?"

Steven granted you an eye-sparkling, sweet smile, kissing your cheek. "Nonsense, I just missed you, is all."

"It was a nightmare. I didn't know it was real," you tried to explain. "But I can feel that it is - real. So if it is, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

Steven took a diplomatic pause, chewing on his lip while his hands fidgeted. "Would you like to tell me about your dream, my love?"

So you and Steven returned to meal prepping and you explained to him what you saw during your nightmare.

"You must be a bit of an empath if you're dreaming 'bout our past. Have you dreamed about the past before?" He questioned.

You explained that you'd always been sensitive to others' emotions, and harsh realities often manifested in your dreams, but nothing like this.

You and Steven decided to watch a documentary series he'd been interested in trying out. But soon enough, you were an odd mix of sleepy and horny, which tended to happen when you got bored.

Easing down, you lay your head on Steven's lap, snuggling up to him as he brushed his fingers repeatedly up and down your arm. After a while longer, you turned over and buried your nose in his soft tummy, eliciting a groan from him as he shifted underneath you.

It didn't take him long to get hard, especially with the way you started mouthing him through his joggers. Your free hand slipped underneath him, toying with him as he grew harder and started leaking through the thin fabric.

"Let me suck you," you begged, even as you tugged the waistband of his pants down far enough for his dick to spring free, slapping against his stomach.

He muttered out a curse as you dragged your tongue all the way up his length, swirling it all over the leaking tip. Your lips wrapped around him, teasing as the tip of your tongue flicked back and forth.

He gasped out your name, desperately trying not to buck up into your mouth and gag you, but you saved him the trouble, opening your mouth wide. You took him deep, bobbing your head and laving your tongue all over his shaft, sucking almost too hard on his tip with every pass.

"Fucking hell," he moaned as you worked him in and out of your mouth, the sound of your slurping and reverberation of your moans on his dick enough to make him lose it. As much as he would'vd loved to come down your throat, he gently pushed you off him by the shoulder, lips crashing into yours as he reached for the hem of your t-shirt.

Making out sloppily, you took off his shirt and he yanked off yours, cupping your breasts eagerly, tweaking your nipples in the way that brought sweet, breathy moans from your lips. While he fondled you, your hands worked on pushing down your sweatpants.

Steven released you long enough for you to stand and completely disrobe, licking his lips at the sight of your naked body as he pushed his joggers the rest of the way off. You climbed back onto his lap, ready to ride him, when he stopped you.

"Turn around," he ordered and you bit your lip in anticipation. You complied, facing away from him and easing back onto his lap, sinking down fully on his cock as he chest pressed against your back.

Steven moaned out a filthy curse as he pushed all the way into your slick channel, obsessed with how the curve of your ass felt rubbing against him when you fucked him like this.

"Good girl," he purred against your ear. Strong hands caressed your curves, dragging up the tops of your thighs, squeezing your hips and moving you against him, back and forth, setting the pace commandingly. He shifted you a few times until he heard a certain gasp you would make - that's how he knew he hit the right spot.

"Right there, Steven, please," you whimpered, confirming his positioning and stroking his ego in the process. Fingers pushed up over the soft parts of your abdomen to your breasts. He cupped the soft flesh in his hands, palming you, using his grip to pull you down harder onto his length even while twisting and toying with your nipples.

"Remember the first time I had you like this, in my office," he panted against your neck, pushing your breasts together and sucking on your pulse point. You liquified in his arms, rocking your hips faster and faster until you were bouncing on his dick.

A scandalous reflection of the two of you fucking shone back at you from the paused, darkened television and something about the way he was commanding you and fondling you and the things he was saying had you so close already.

"I remember," you finally answered. Reaching for one of his hands, you guided his thick fingers down to your throbbing clit, working with him to rub firm circles there. "...fuck...Steven."

"No. Call me what you called that night. The first time you let me inside you," he directed, "Tell me what you want."

Just the thought of those first few salacious weeks together caused your walls flutter in response.

"Fuck me, professor."

At the sound of his title, he bit down on the meat of your shoulder, rubbing your clit faster until you exploded, shrieking in pleasure as your walls gripped him so hard he instantly followed, unloading inside you, filling you up until he made a mess of you both.

Collapsing against his chest, you came back to yourself as he harshly panted against your skin, holding you close.

That night, another nightmare happened. And the next night, and the next.

Always with the drunk, angry woman terrorizing a young boy.

And every morning, you cried, asking your boyfriend, "Who hurt you? Who did this?"

Steven finally admitted to you what he knew about their abusive past. But no one remembered it the way Marc did. No one lived it but him.

Marc woke up to the sound of you softly crying one morning, heart burning inside his chest, wishing he could comfort you somehow, but simultaneously feeling everything you were experiencing was somehow his fault alone.

"Baby," he whispered, pulling your back against his bare chest as you lay facing away from him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you sniffled. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he breathed, nuzzling your neck tenderly. "I'm the one..."

Turning over, you touched your forehead to his. "It hurts me so much that something so bad could've happened to you. And I respect your privacy, Marc. I do. I just wish you could let me in. I wish I could understand. Or help. Something."

You pressed ahead even when he flinched. "I'm trying to be patient. I just feel like there's something I'm supposed to know or understand here. Why else do I keep dreaming about it over and over?"

Pulling away roughly, Marc sat up in bed, pushing both hands through his hair. "I don't want this shit in our relationship."

"It is in our relationship. Look what it's doing to us," you argued passionately, sitting up beside him. "I haven't seen you in days, I-I can barely get any sleep. I keep seeing her face, seeing her hurt you, over and over. And I can't help you. I can't protect you." A choked sob interrupted you.

"I'm so fucking sorry," he whispered, pulling you into his arms, across his body, rocking you gently against his bare chest. "I don't want this for you. It's the last thing I could ever want."

You didn't even know how to respond to that, so you cherished the chance to be close to him for a few moments, quietly crying against his soft skin.

"What can I do?" He brokenly rasped.

But you said nothing, because he wouldn't talk to you anyway. He had a right to his privacy, and you felt cruel to insist he reveal to you what he wasn't ready to share. You only wished these dreams would stop so that you could carry on with your life and your relationship.

"Come here," he tried again, lying back down and bringing you with him, tucking you in beside him, folding you close. Terror gripped his heart as he realized all his mistakes would rip you from his life. "Tell me what you need. Please. Please, I...I don't know what to do."

"I don't know either," you finally whimpered. "I just want to sleep. I need to sleep and not see her face. She's there every time I close my eyes."

"Damn it," he hissed. "I fucking hate her so much."

"Because of what she did to you?"

"Because she's still fucking up my life," he growled, fists clenching against your skin. With a huff, he untangled his body from yours and climbed out of bed, pacing like a caged tiger.

With a roar of fury, he slammed his fist into the wall.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your shoulders shook as you quietly sobbed. Your stupid brain was stealing your relationship from you, making you miserable, not allowing you to get any sleep.

Worse, Marc was clearly not okay. This was hurting him, and you couldn't understand why it was happening.

You rolled on your side, facing away from him and buried your face in your pillow.

It was Jake who checked on you hours later, after you cried yourself back to sleep.

"¿Está todo bien, cariño?" He whispered gently, kneeling beside you on the floor. Taking your hand, he kissed your knuckles as you stirred, your eyes blinking open.

"Jake?" You choked out, desperately wrapping your arms around his neck. "You're here."

"Calmáte," he tenderly hushed you. "Está bien."

Jake got you out of bed and took you out for a drive. He had a talent for getting your mind off things. You ate your favorite drive thru in the car and listened to music for hours. He never once brought up your dreams.

His goal was apparently to keep you out late, give you an escape from the horrors, and make sure you were nice and sleepy when you returned home.

But the whole thing backfired when the nightmares intensified.

You saw Jake's hands covered in blood, bodies lifeless around him.

You saw him in military uniform, raging against four men restraining him.

A terrifying, skeletal figure with a booming voice and tattered robes threatening Marc.

You woke up screaming so loud, it scared even Jake.

And nothing scared Jake.

You couldn't get any rest. Your eyes were bloodshot, your skin was changing color, you could barely eat. Your work, your hobbies, your mere existence were all put on hold.

It was Steven who tenderly nursed you back to health, making sure you were hydrated, that you sipped broth to keep something in your stomach. And you found some fitful rest in his arms.

Steven asked Khonshu to intervene, but the old god's response chilled him to his core. He suggested that your empathic powers were so acute that you would make a perfect avatar. And that one of the gods might be afflicting you to somehow guide you toward this destiny.

Steven insisted Marc tell you the truth about their past. Marc was afraid you would get worse if you knew more information. But Steven would not relent, so Marc finally told you everything. It took days because the more he remembered, the angrier her grew and the more it brought Steven back to you.

But it worked. The more you understood what actually happened, how his own mother tormented and abused him for years, the less your mind attempted to decode through empathic dreams. The depth of your compassion and love for Marc grew deeper and more powerful than ever before.

"That's everything I can remember," Marc told you one night as you sat quietly together on the sofa after dinner.

"Thank you for telling me," you quietly voiced, reaching for his hand. "I know it's been hell for you to re-live it. I hate so much that you had to go through it. But not as much as I hate myself for doing this to you."

Shaking his head emphatically, Marc scooted closer, desperately grasping both your hands with his. "No, I'm sorry. I never wanted any of this shit to touch you, to ever come near you. I wanted to leave all that buried."

"But it was still hurting you, Marc, and that's what I was feeling so intensely," you reminded him. "Khonshu said that my empathetic tendencies were amplified because you're an avatar. He wants me to be an avatar too. He feels a god or goddess is drawing me to their service."

Marc's eyes flashed, his jaw clenching. "Absolutely not. It's bad enough that you had to hear all this shit from my past. I don't want Khonshu and his bullshit anywhere near you. You've been through enough."

"But what if he's right?" You questioned. "What if the reason all this is happening is so we can work together?"

Leaning in, his eyes widened with nothing short of pure terror. "You can never do what I do, do you understand? Enough of my shit is fucking up your life as it is."

Tentatively reaching out, you placed your palm soothingly on this flexing forearm. Even that small contact made him flinch.

"I'm sorry," you softened your voice, moving back.

Feeling as though he'd upset you terribly and possibly scared you, Marc swallowed hard, lips parting as he tried to form words.

"It's okay," you soothed. "I know you want to protect me, Marc, and I love you for it. I've never felt safer with anyone."

The tension in his shoulders eased, if only by a fraction, at your declaration. Easing closer, you looked right into his eyes, openly, tenderly, with no accusation. "Do you love me?"

With a terse nod, he choked out an affirmation.

"Me too." You smiled softly. "So much. But I think that maybe..."

His jaw clenched as moisture gathered in his eyes. You were going to ask him for space or a time out. He just knew it.

"I think maybe you're trying so hard to protect me from yourself that you're shutting me out. From your past, from your life as an avatar. Hey, look at me."

With the gentlest caress, you traced your fingertips over the back of his hand, which had clenched into a fist. Slowly, his gaze found yours again, anguish written all over his face.

"It's my choice," you went on. "To be with you and to love you." You shook your head sadly. "The avatar thing...it's up to me -"

"Baby, no." One tear slipped down his cheek.

"We don't have to work together," you conceded, barreling on. "I can see how I might be a liability to Moon Knight. But what I do is my choice. I have to see this through. Something is calling to me."

This silenced him, but didn't lessen the tension in the room. Gaze dropping to the floor, he scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin.

"You don't understand," he brokenly whispered. "We can't lose you. I can't do that to Steven. I've done enough."

"You've never done anything but survive. And you don't have to worry about Steven. I already talked to him," You told Marc, resolutely. "He's taking me to Cairo. I'm going to say yes."

Your health had finally improved enough to travel. You knew Steven had traveled to Cairo once before and Marc was more familiar with the area. Still, it did not stop Steven from guiding you there and checking you into a hotel before taking you out for your first dinner, which was delicious. The city was vibrant and alive and you felt as if you could breathe deeply for the first time since your nightmares began.

But it was Marc who woke up with you on your first full day in Cairo, explaining that he wanted to be there for you.

The truest test of a relationship could be when you wholeheartedly, fundamentally disagreed on a huge, potentially life-changing decision. Respecting the person you loved while honoring yourself, when those two things directly conflicted, could make or break your whole world.

Nothing would be worth losing Marc. Or Steven or Jake. Steven supported you. Jake understood the calling of an avatar. He spent the most time in Khonshu's armor, after all. But Marc held onto the assumption that anything bad that had ever befallen him, would also happen to you.

You could feel, deep in your soul, that an ancient power was calling to you, somehow cultivating and curating your emphatic tendencies into some sort of useful, tactical ability.

So it meant everything to you that Marc showed up for you. But if it came all the way down to choosing, you were absolutely certain you would choose your relationship over all this, even if you suffered for it.

You gathered supplies and Marc arranged a guide to a remote area, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The guide explained that he would go no further into the desert, but if you wanted to reach your destination, you needed to hike a couple more kilometers in the same direction.

He double checked your supplies before returning to a check point, letting you know he would wait for you there for a couple of days, since Marc paid him so well.

"Are you sure about all this?" Marc asked you once more. "That this is the place you're drawn to?"

You took his hand with a grateful smile and insisted it was. "This feels like the right thing to do, to me. But if I do this, will you ever be able to forgive me?" You asked him, earnestly.

Shaking his head, he reached for your arms, pulling you close. "There's nothing to forgive. This is your choice."

Throwing your arms around his neck, you thanked him, tears pooling in your eyes. "That means everything to me."

The two of you set up camp and waited for nightfall. Despite your lack of experience in the desert, it felt like an adventure. Something your relationship sorely needed after the recent horrors.

Too anxious to go to sleep, you simply held one another and talked, enjoying the cool night and its relief from the daytime sun.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Might as well."

"What made you change your mind about me? About all this?"

"I don't want to lose you," he quickly answered.

You pressed a tender kiss to his mouth. "I want you to know you can disagree with me, even over something big, without losing me. I don't want to lose you either."

"You won't," he reassured you.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Shoot."

"If you're so against being an avatar, why are you one?"

"Because I want to help people," Marc answered without hesitation.

"And do you feel like it's your choice to do so, or do you feel enslaved to it?"

"I used to," he carefully admitted. "I would...take lives in repayment for Khonshu saving my life. But after Steven, after we died and went to the Duat, and after Jake came along, it was different. Now we don't kill. Not unless we have to, to save life. It's important to Jake to do this. Steven too. So I carry on. For them, and to save people."

"I want to do that too," You confessed. "I feel as if I'm meant to do it."

After that, Marc told you more about his past. Nothing too heavy, just memories. The first time he knew Steven was there, when they were children. His favorite places in Chicago. The incredible cities he'd visited and worked in. Funny stories about his friend Frenchie.

You talked about your past too, the conversation sobering you as you realized how other guys pushed you away once they got too close. Once your empathy made them too vulnerable.

Once you finally started to rest, you heard a call. A voice as clear as Marc's, but deeper, reverberated through every cell in your body.

It was time.

You awakened Marc and dragged him toward what must have been a mirage. Somehow, a temple stood before you, having emerged from the sand.

You clung to Marc, terrified at the sight. Fear gripped him entirely differently. You were about to give yourself to the service of an avatar.

The suddenly-emerged temple had but one opening so, hand-in-hand, you trudged through.

Mystical air swirled around you as a haunting glow lit your stone path.

"This place can't be real, can it?" You mused aloud. "It appeared out of nowhere."

"I have no idea," Marc responded, his Moon Knight armor wrapping around his muscles reactively. Despite the glow of his haunting, white eyes, you honestly felt marginally safer, at least, with him ready for action.

"Is Khonshu with us?" You whispered, gripping his bandaged hand tightly.

"More often than you know," a deep voice boomed. You shrieked in surprise as a skeletal, looming bird-like figure appeared beside Marc, towering over him, and moving as if he were taking a stroll with the two of you.

"Oh god...is that...?"

"Yeah," Marc answered, nodding. "He does this."

You took in the god's appearance. Hollow eyes, long, pointy beak, and tattered robes that matched Marc's suit in almost every regard. He held a regal staff in his bony fingers.

"Any idea who's waiting for us in there?" Marc asked him.

"I do not."

"This isn't another one of your stunts, is it?"

Khonshu almost seemed to chuckle. "An avatar's calling is not to be taken lightly. She has been summoned."

"Summoned by nightmares? Why?"

"You were summoned by death," Khonshu reminded Marc. "Wounded, bleeding, ready to end your mortal suffering. An avatar's journey is not without trials."

"Why are you here?" Marc questioned.

"To protect you, of course."

Marc motioned to you. "Protect her."

"I will," Khonshu promised. "Proceed."

You arrived in some sort of chamber, adorned with symbols you recognized as being related to Khonshu. Moon disks, crescent moons, falcons and staffs of protection.

You stopped cold. "Does this temple belong to you?"

"It is a place that honors me," Khonshu explained, coming to the point. "Serve me. I will protect you, as I protect Marc."

Marc's mask disappeared as he glared up at the ancient being. "What is this? What do you want with her? You have an avatar."

"You limit my power," Khonshu bluntly stated. "You protect. You guard travelers of the night. And you have my gratitude."

His bony beak turned to you. "But with your capacity for empathy, my full power could finally be realized - the power of healing. The power to cure illness, even. Marc would be my fist of vengeance. You would be my healing touch. Two sides, making a perfect whole."

Marc's jaw clenched, eyes flashing with fury. "You did this to her? Gave her these dreams? Tormented her?"

"I did not," Khonshu assured him, turning back to you. "You are very powerful. You empathic dreams have a near-prophetic quality, which drew the attention of many deities wishing for a physical link to this earth. Every nightmare is a beacon. The wrong deity could endanger Marc, and so much more importantly, me."

Marc rolled his eyes. "How does this help her - serving you?"

"With your combined powers, in service to me, you will both be safe. You will protect and she will heal. You will make an unbreakable circle. Your love for one another will only strengthen this bond."

Marc looked to you for direction.

An incredibly powerful being could have summoned you. Any choice you made could prove dangerous. The god or goddess calling you could be an enemy of Khonshu. However, if you returned home, your nightmares may return, even stronger, and draw even more deities to you.

"Could I really heal people?" You questioned the old god. "Help them? Truly?"

"Say yes, as an act of faith. I will show you," Khonshu promised.

You took Marc's hands in your own, eyes fixed on his. "Now that I'm here, I know more than ever that nothing is worth losing you. If doing this would change the way you feel about me -"

"It won't," he assured you steadily. "Nothing could."

You nodded quickly, tears pooling in your eyes. "After all this, I understand why you were afraid. I'll go back if you want. I'll take the nightmares. I'll do anything for you."

"You do everything for me. Let me do this for you," he answered resolutely. "Let us do this with you." He kissed you fiercely.

You granted approval to Khonshu, who warned you to brace yourself for what was coming: a full display of his power.

Wind and light swirled around you in a terrifyingly stunning display. A force knocked you back while simultaneously lifting Marc's body into the air. A haunting glow enveloped his body. His Moon Knight armor unraveled, mummified strips loosely fluttering in the air around him as he floated, head thrown back, throat exposed, arms extended, muscles straining.

His eyes glowed so brightly you had to cover your face, even while you frantically called his name.

What had you done? What would Khonshu do?

On and on the display went, too bright to behold, with a force too powerful for you to stand or approach the man you loved.

After an agonizing eternity, everything ceased and you heard a sickening thud as Marc's body must've dropped to the stone floor.

You cried out his name, pushing yourself up to run to him, but stopped short at the sight of two bodies.

Two identical bodies.

Read Part 2

‘Don’t you get it?! This is just who I am! This is just what I do!’ He’d yelled.

‘Marc—that’s not true…’ She replied so softly, reaching for him.

As her fingers had grazed his arm, he’d torn it away. ‘Yes, it is, Emma!’

‘No…’ She’d insisted. ‘You’re just—’

‘Don’t you dare say different…’ He’d cut her off, pointing a finger at her, using their own words against her.

She’d flinched then, ‘I was gonna say ‘upset’…’

‘Just go! Leave! We both know you want to…’

She’d started crying then, and he’d only hated himself even more. She’d been patient up until then, in fact, she’d remained patient even after. She’d grabbed her bag, sniffling quietly and trying to conceal her tears. Her voice had shaken around the words, try as she had to say them clearly. The softest, “I love you…” and then she’d exited through the door.

It haunts him even now realizing that after she’d walked out that door, she’d had to call someone for a ride home at best, or order an Uber to come pick her up on the side of the road at worst.

That’s what he’d done to her—thrown her out in the street on a cold, rainy September night because he couldn’t deal. But it was worse than that. He hadn’t even told her he loved her back because he was so sure he didn’t deserve her love in the first place. He’d accused her of wanting to leave despite countless attempts to soothe him and remind him that she didn’t.

And he’d watched her go. Hadn’t even tried to go after her despite how desperately he’d wanted to.

What was worse – the other two hadn’t been around when he did it, leaving him to explain the next day why she wasn’t there; why he was so hungover.

That was another fight altogether.

‘Marc, if you don’t go right now, and fix this—’ Steven had said firmly, usually the one to be softer with Marc when things got hard.

Marc had looked in the reflection of their mirrored closet door, leaned over the side of the bed.

Jake had stood quietly, stern look across his features, ‘Don’t look at me, hermano—Steven’s right…’

‘You’re damn bloody right I am!’ Steven had released the bridge of his nose he was pinching.

‘She’s not gonna wanna see me guys—I really fucked up this time…’

‘You fucked up?’ Steven had repeated incredulously. ‘And how ‘re we gonna fix this if you don’t go talk t’ her…’

‘Maybe—one of you should—’

‘Oh no—no—I’ll be there for moral support an’ all but you’ve gotta fix this yourself…’

‘He’s right again, Marc—we can’t apologize for you—she doesn’t want to hear it from us—and she deserves to hear it from you…’

After that, he’d taken three ibuprofen, swallowed a whole glass of water, and taken a long, too hot shower. Thankfully, they’d supported him through that too. He felt awful to say the least. If he didn’t feel like throwing up because of the hangover, he felt it because of the nerves.

Images and soundbites from the night before replayed in his head over and over near to the point of madness. Thinking about that only made him feel worse. He could’ve done more damage than he’d previously realized. If she was even put into a situation that was too high stress it could cause her to go over the edge of psychosis.

At the idea, he’d begun to move much faster than he had been, worry suddenly spinning within him. He’d all but sped to her apartment, even if he knew she would only just be getting up. He’d stopped along the way at her favorite coffee shop, picking up breakfast and something to drink for them both. It felt like a cheap, shitty excuse for an apology, not enough after everything he’d put her through.

As he stood about to knock on her apartment door, his hand shook. He took a deep breath in but didn’t get a chance to even make contact with the door as her best friend opened it.

Caroline stood with her arms crossed all but blocking the way in. “Ya know?” She’d started, seeming to get so frustrated she’d forgotten what she’d been about to say. She’d sighed, softening as she glanced over her shoulder toward Emma’s bedroom. “Come in…--she’s awake but it’s gonna be like pulling teeth to get her out of bed…”

Marc had nodded, releasing a heavy sigh, “I’m so—”

“Ah! Don’t you dare apologize to me before you apologize to her…”

He’d nodded again and stepped inside.

“I’m gonna go to Cam’s—give you guys some privacy—” She’d paused, “please don’t make me pick her up on the side of the road at 10PM in the rain, again, Spector—” Her voice had gotten even softer, reaching to give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “—okay?”

“Okay…” He almost inaudibly replied.

She’d taken her leave and he’d taken another deep breath. He took off his jacket and shoes and made his way toward her room.

When he’d found her, she was curled up in a ball facing away from the doorway. She’d sniffed quietly, knowing he was there and doing what she could to again, hide any tears she’d shed because of the fight.

He moves now to set the drink tray on her bookshelf opposite the foot of her bed, placing the paper bag beside it. He rounds the corner of the empty side of her bed, his side of the bed.

His eyebrows squeeze tightly together, rising in the center as he sits in front of her. He looks as pained as she feels as her eyes rise slowly and timidly to his.

“Hey baby…” He starts, his voice tremoring as he fights off tears, himself. “I am so sorry…” He finishes in a whisper. He shakes his head slowly, struggling to hold her eyes. “Please don’t leave us…please don’t leave me…”

Almost before he can even finish, she’s sitting up and crawling into his lap, clinging to him.

His arms find their way snugly around her middle, cradling her firmly to him. His fingers sink deeply into her hair, pressing a series of firm kisses to her temple. “I love you so much, baby, I’m so sorry…”

Emma struggles to find her voice no matter how badly she wants to reply in kind. She withdraws just enough to look between his eyes, timidly pressing her lips to his.

His lips only catch hers, pulling strongly at them as he continues to cradle her against himself. He releases a deep sigh against her just before she pulls back. She shyly signs to him that it’s okay and that she loves him too.

Guilt clutches his heart again, when she doesn’t speak verbally. He strokes his fingers through her hair again, combing it back around her ear. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, his eyes slowly scaling her face.

She’s quick to nod, again signing that she is now. She chokes back a soft sob of a laugh, even as a few more tears slip down her face. She presses another grateful kiss to his lips and then points over toward the coffee, asking silently if he’s brought breakfast.

His lips bounce off of hers gently as he gives another long sigh of relief, brushing her tears away carefully. “It’s admittedly not homemade—but I was thinking we could at least have breakfast in bed…”

Her face brightens, shifting out of his lap and shooing him off the bed.

He doesn’t need her to say anything else—verbally or nonverbally—to know she wants him to get more comfortable. Though that doesn’t stop her from teasingly signing for him to ‘play the part.’ At which point he strips off his jeans and t-shirt, before grabbing the tray and the bag and bringing them back to where she sits animatedly waiting.

She pulls the blankets back so he can climb inside and then snuggles right back up to him, leaning in to press a slow kiss to his throat unable to resist inhaling his scent.

His muscles, once tense, begin to relax as her lips brush his skin. He hands her, her coffee and likewise can’t resist the urge to softly insist. “Y’know I really don’t deserve you…”

Emma takes the cup and immediately swats him in the stomach, scowling and wagging a finger in a not-so-formal way of telling him not to go there.

“A compliment—not an accusation, baby…” He defends.

She rolls her eyes and only holds onto him tighter.

‘Thank the bloody gods…’ Steven grumbles in his mind, looking at his wit’s ends in the reflection of her bedroom windows.

“Steven says hi…” He teases, his tone indicating just how much trouble he’s in.

Except Scott wasn’t stuck. Scott had the opposite problem, with a mangled jetpack that had taken the brunt of the damage for him, but not enough to prevent a smashed arm and a vacuum determined to fling him out into the far reaches of the void. From what John could tell, his brother’s suit had held, but there was a hairline crack across his oxygen supply. His own HUD was warning of damage, too. As it stood, neither of them had enough air left to wait for Thunderbird Three to launch and find them, even if they assumed EOS had alerted Alan the moment of the implosion.

The only free limb John had was fully extended, hand clutched like a vice around his brother’s and keeping him from being sucked away.

The problem was that they each only had one good arm. Scott’s broken arm was out of reach, too injured even for Scott to fight against the vacuum dragging it away. John only needed one arm to dig himself out and patch up wherever the breach in his suit was.

Except that one arm was the only thing tethering Scott in place. In order to free himself, to save himself, he’d have to let go.

The realisation occurred to them at the same time. John saw it in the widening of his big brother’s eyes, large and blue and a little afraid, for all that Scott would never admit it. A beat and sky blue hardened to sapphire in a way that was painfully familiar. Scott, big brother, Commander, had made a decision.

John’s anguished heart cried out.

“No!” he exploded, desperation lacing through the single syllable. “Don’t let go. Don’t you dare let go, Scott.” They’d find a way out of this. Together. They had to.

The fingers entwined with his slackened. Tracy Stubbornness ran through them all, but like so many things, Scott had inherited the lion’s share. Still, hard sapphire melted into something softer. No regret, because of course Scott didn’t have any room for that when there was a brother’s life on the line, but the same love that coursed through every action he made.

The love that would lead him to sacrifice himself, if it meant he could save a brother.

Scott’s lips moved, but there was blood rushing through John’s ears, drowning out everything else. Whatever Scott had to say was lost to the void of space, but he was smiling, the stupid, stupid idiot.

John tightened his grip on his brother’s fingers, white-knuckled below the neoprene gloves of his suit, but Gordon had learnt his slippery nature from somewhere. Strong fingers, safe fingers, seemed to vanish, ghosting out of his hold no matter how hard he tried to stop them, and then he was alone.

“Scott!” The scream that tore itself from his throat was raw, flooded with emotion – grief, fear, fury.

He couldn’t see his brother anywhere, the tall, strong figure that was always there gone in the blink of an eye, stolen by a venting ship and the unforgiving vacuum of space.

But John was a Tracy, through and through, and he had that same old Tracy Stubbornness. Self-sacrifice might have been the answer, but it was still the wrong answer, and John refused to let things end that way.

Refused to let Scott go the same way as Dad, lost forever without even a body to bury.

First, he needed to get himself out of the wreckage. With one hand stuck and the other gripping onto his brother’s hand, it had been impossible. Now, he had a hand free, and while the knowledge of why his hand was free made the nausea swell, John had always clung to logic.

Logic dictated that he use his free hand to dig the rest of him out.

The red lights blared across the HUD, reminding him that his suit was torn and would vent faster the moment there was no more pressure keeping it pinned. Patching that would take valuable time, time that was fleeing like sand from a broken hourglass. Could John risk it, explode on his way on empty lungs and not breathing until he’d caught up with Scott?

His gut said he had to.

Logic told him no.

His brain told him the longer he thought about it, the more time he wasted.

John’s family relied on their gut. Seat of the pants decisions was a requirement for International Rescue, when a split second made the difference between life and death. John himself could make logic-based decisions in a snap second, but a snap second still wasn’t a split second, and he didn’t have time.

He exhaled. Tensed.

Heaved.

The vacuum claimed him the moment he was free, hurtling him through the void of space faster than he could calculate. Far faster than he could control.

Immediately he could feel his oxygen depleting, suit venting atmosphere rapidly enough to kill him in seconds.

Time was not on John’s side.

Physics was.

The suction had hurtled Scott away. The same suction had control of John. A little extra momentum, a kick in the right direction…

His exosuit was battered and damaged, but just like John, it wasn’t dead yet. One final spurt, a splutter of a thrust, and the uncontrollable rocket that was John Tracy sped up.

Vision blurred, darkened, and that could be the lack of air or just space at high velocity. He didn’t have the mental processing available to decipher which it was. He had nothing, except Scott, somewhere in hopefully this direction. Had to be in this direction, because there were no second chances.

Was barely a first chance.

He didn’t see what he slammed into, but it was something and running on nothing but autopilot he clung on. His lungs were burning, he needed to breathe, needed to cut the exosuit’s acceleration, needed to patch the breached neoprene.