Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The man’s been sitting at the two top for about an hour and a half now. Vivienne’s been serving him since he was led over to the table. Seems like a nice guy. Clearly he’s on a date; gussied up as he is in a sharp button up and pressed slacks, box of fancy chocolate and about a half-dozen roses wrapped in soft brown paper at his side. Vivienne glances at him out of the corner of her eye as she serves another couple their steak and beer. He looks balefully at his phone, hurt plain on his face as he puts it back on the table face-down. 

“Can I get you two anything else?” Vivienne asks, paying full attention fully to the couple. 

They shake their heads at her, more interested in their own conversation. Which is fine. Vivienne’s worked at enough restaurants that this isn’t an offensive act by any means. She smiles politely as she steps away, canting her body toward the man waiting on his date and finds him talking quietly on the phone. Looks like things aren’t going well for him. Vivienne decides to give him a minute before coming back and slips inside. Alice smiles when Vivienne slips into the little section of kitchen where some of the employees linger when they’re getting drinks or just trying to avoid shit customers. Big step up from the deep freeze Vivienne used to hide in at the last place she worked. 

“Hey Alice.” Vivienne greets as she smooths some fly aways out of her face. 

“That guy’s date ever show?” Alice asks, because the two of them have been talking about it between bussing tables, serving, and complaining about the dude at table three that keeps trying to feel Alice up. 

“Not yet.” 

“Bummer, he’s cute.”

Yeah, stupid cute. 

Despite how exhausted he looks - and he does look fucking exhausted with his wane face and the blossoming violet beneath his dark eyes - the man at the two top outside is pretty… and Vivienne’s always had a thing for pretty men. 

“Wonder why the date never showed.” Alice murmurs before she wraps her lips around the straw in her soda. 

“Yeah, same.”
Because he could be a complete freak. 

Plenty of pretty people have come to this restaurant to impress their dates with steak and wine and end up being complete fucking weirdos. Vivienne tries to act as a buffer when the recipient of the creepy behavior starts to look uncomfortable, but there’s only so much she can do and, honestly, being stood up on a date isn’t all that bad if the pretty man outside is like a Ted Bundy type. 

“You should ask,” Alice tells her as she sets her glass down. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Why not? He’s a total babe and you need to get out.” 

“Get out with the dude that just got stood up?” Vivienne asks with a raised eyebrow. 

Alice smiles and asks, “Why not?”

"It's tacky." 

"Hey, her loss, your gain." Alice smiles, "He looks like the type who thinks he has something to prove." 

At the grill Hector barks a laugh. Tittering loudly with Mike. Vivienne rolls her eyes but laughs a bit herself. Alice means well, she knows, but sometimes Vivienne thinks her friend's gotten it in her head that she needs to mother Vivienne... and if not mother, then guide through life. As if Vivienne isn't twenty-eight years old and perfectly capable of navigating her own life. Some of it might have to do with the circumstances that drove Vivienne to leave her hometown and settle in a completely different country. 

“You’re incorrigible.” Vivienne says before spinning on her heel and leaving.

Alice’s laughter follows her just through the swinging door of the kitchen; sharp and distinct. 

Vivienne finds herself busy with the customers fairly quickly. Friday nights are always busy.  People get off work, they've got nothing to do tomorrow, and they decide to go out for dates with their partners or friends or even business associates. Vivienne wouldn't say this is the busiest Friday she's ever worked, but it's pretty busy none-the-less. Soon enough she finds herself falling into a routine of refilling waters, getting cocktails from the bar, running food orders back to the kitchen for corrections and back to a few tables, and once the inside of the small steak house seems settled for the time, Vivienne steps back out onto the patio where the man is still waiting for his date... though, he looks a lot more dejected now then he had when she'd last seen him.

Vivienne is quick to make her way over, pushing the ends of her hair behind her ear and hopes she doesn’t look like a complete idiot in her uniform. This is the shortest her hair has ever been and while Alice has assured her it’s adorable, Vivienne isn’t sure how she feels about the French bob she’d let herself get talked into getting. But, ya know, new life, new look and all that jazz. 

“Hi, are you ready to order?” Vivienne asks as she comes to a stop at the pretty man’s side and she feels like a bitch for asking but it’s out of her mouth before she even realizes it, “or would you like a few more moments to look the menu over?” 

He blinks slowly at her, looks a bit surprised, and fumbles for a moment as he messes with the dinner menu. It’s tiny. Only a handful of steak options, sides, and desserts. It’s what works for them. Delmonica’s isn’t a big space and having a menu that’s too big doesn’t really work for them. Their selection is set up for a person to look it over, decide quickly, and then get their meal quickly. Delmonica’s is designed to ensure a quicker turnover rate while maintaining food quality and service as opposed to having an overly complex menu.

It shouldn’t take a man an hour to an hour and a half to order a drink and a steak. 

“Do you have anything vegan?” The man asks, British, Vivienne isn’t exactly surprised by that - she’s the American - but she is surprised that someone who keeps vegan would chose a fucking steak house for dinner. 

Her confusion must show because the man begins to stammer. 

“I’m supposed to be on a date,” he rushes out, rambles, “but, I, uh, I mixed up the times.” 

That’s rough, buddy.

“Oh,” Vivienne glances across the patio to make sure no one’s trying to get her attention, “if you want, I could get you a drink?” 

Because she isn't quite sure what to say to him. 

“Oh, uh, no you don’t have to do that.” the man says, pink bringing a little life to his cheeks, like he's embarrased. 

Vivienne smiles, feeling a little bad, and trying to be nice assures, “It’s not a bother.” 

Bashfully, the man messes with the heart shaped box on the table. 

Movement at the table across the patio catches her eye and Vivienne turns to see the man sitting there with his partner raise his hand in a little wave. She nods, still smiling, and then turns back to the man sitting in front of her.

“I’ll let you think it over if you change your mind let me know.” 

He nods quickly, eyes wide, and Vivienne nods once before making her way over to the table she’d brought steaks to not long ago to get the man’s drink order. When she comes back the man at the two top is gone and Vivienne can’t say she blames him, but she’s a bit disappointed. Making a habit out of flirting with cute customers isn’t a good idea. Vivienne would never risk her safety or her job to hit on a random man she’s only met once, but he was cute, and she still feels a bit bad for his situation despite being complete strangers. 

However, this isn’t the first time Vivienne’s ever met a pretty stranger while serving and it won’t be the last. It isn’t even all that long until the pretty man who mixed up the times for his date is an afterthought and then almost completely forgotten by the time she curls up in her bed at the end of the night.

Chapter Text

It is, perhaps, an act of God and the universe that leads to Steven Grant running into the waitress from the truly disastrous date.

Everything starts with the alter Steve Grant isn’t even aware he shares a body with. Technically, it starts with a giant ancient Egyptian God and a an act of violence which ends with Jake Lockley falling seven stories from a building’s roof and landing on top of a closed dumpster lid. Plastic bowing and then cracking open like a ribcage to dump the white clad body in an empty container that smells like rotten meat and piss. The suit saves him from the worst damage, but his body still aches as he clambers out of the filthy bin and flops like a mass of jelly onto the wet pavement below. As he clambers to his feet - blood heavy on his tongue - Khonshu appears. 

“Return to your home, my Knight, the opportunity has passed.” That rumbling, ancient voice emits from the shadows where Jake can only just make out the edge of a silvery beak. 

And like a good soldier, Jake Lockley does as he’s told. 

Once tucked away in the safety of his - no, Steven’s - apartment, Jake strips out of his clothes and bathes in icy water to help alleviate some of the ache the body will feel when the sun rises. He washes with Steven’s soap, puts Steven’s product in his hair, shaves the stubble on his jaw because Steve prefers it, and the  clambers into bed in nothing but a pair of the Steven’s boxers. 

Steven’s… 

Steven’s… 

Steven’s… 

Jake blinks as he watches Gus the fish amble about his tank and carefully eases Steven’s sleeping mind forward. Tucking himself into the hollows so deep even Marc wouldn’t think to look there.

And Steven wakes up an hour late. 

Blind panic sends him scrambling up out of bed. Desperation driving his mind so viciously that he fails to notice the state of himself and the bruises that wouldn’t have been bruises but severe internal bleeding if not For Khonshu. He brushes his teeth, puts on wrinkles clothes, and shoves his feet into his loafers before charging oht the door with his work bag in hand. 

He misses the first bus. 

Barely manages to squeeze into the second. 

Nerves so frayed that his hands go slick and nausea begins to crawl up his throat. Somewhere in the back of his mind something shifts, like a hibernating bear lifting it’s head to see what idiotic rabbit has crawled into its den, and doesn’t settle as Steven continues to glance at his watch. 

“Please let Donna be sick.” He mutters to himself, trembling with the weight of his exhaustion. 

One more time, he remembers his boss saying, and you’re done. 

He cannot lose this job. 

When the bus comes to a stop at his drop off, Steven shoves almost violently through the crowd and takes off at a job. Pressure building in his chest and behind his eyes, pressing harder and harder until black begins to bleed in around the edges. 

Steven Grant cannot lose th- 

A soft voice jolts him out of his thoughts seconds after he barrels into some poor woman. The force of the hit sends then both careening toward the ground. Muscle memory not truly his own has Steven reaching out to wrap his arm around the woman and twisting in such a way that the brunt of the fall lands on him and not her. 

“I’m sorry,” he babbles, hands shaking as he attempts to help the girl up. “I didn’t see you otherwise I wouldn’t have run into you like that, I swear! Are you alright?” 

“Hey, man, no worries.” A voice, familiar and soft and enough to make that sleepy beast shift in the hollow of its cavern, says, “I’m not hurt.” 

“Are you sure? That was a horrible spill.” 

It’s then that the moonglow fingers of fate still in their weaving. A piece slotting into place and knotted in quickly as Steven lays eyes on the woman be knocked into. Horrified, he realizes That his victim is the pretty American woman with brown hair that brushed her chin, too-sharp feathers, thick brows, and bright hazel eyes who had smiled so sweetly at him the night of his botched date with Dylan. 

Staggering to his knees, Steven scrambles to help the woman collect the items from her purse that have spilled across the pavement. 

“I am so, so sorry. Again.” Steven prattles as he carefully offers a handful of sanitary items, a tube of lipstick, and a coin purse. The woman lets him dump the items into the belly of her purse without even a himt that she might be bothered my Steven handling her items and then tucks the straps up onto her shoulder. 

“Awfully sorry.” Steven says as he scrambles to his feet and offers his hand to help her up, “If anything is damaged I’ll replace it! Are you hurt?” 

And taking pity on him, the girl brushes the front of her pretty pink jacket down and shakes her head. 

“I’m fine, really. Bit rattled maybe, but what better what to start a Saturday then get swept off your feet right?” She says it like a joke, laughing softly at the end, and Steven’s stomach drops to his toes. 

Saturday? 

That can’t be right. 

It was Wednesday yesterday. He remembers getting off work and Donna’s tart remarks that he not be late the next day. Panicked - for a new reason now - Steven fumbles his phone out of his pocket and checks the date. 

Saturday.

Steven’s shoulders rise up to his ears. 

Two days. He’s missed two bleeding days. Does he still have a job? Did he even make it to work? Is he going to go in for his next shift and realize he’s out a job? Steven’s chest starts to ache, throat closing up and choking him on his panic. 

A soft hand on his arm rips him out of it for a moment. 

“Are you alright?” The girl asks, a look of concern pinching her eyebrows together and Steven swallows. 

“Uh, yeah, I just, um, yeah… sorry.” He mumbles, sweat slicking across the back of his neck. 

The woman tucks short hair behind her ear, eyes squinting a bit when the front bits slip out and fall back around her cheeks. 

“Tell ya what, you can pay me back for pain and damages by buying me a coffee if you want.” She suggests and Steven finds himself nodding. 

“Uh, yeah, that sounds,” he swallows the lump down in his throat. “That sounds great.” 

“Great.” The woman holds out a hand, “Vivienne Hale.” 

“Steven Grant. Steven-with-a-V.” 

Her hand is warm and soft in his, a bit calloused at the tips of her fingers where they brush the back of his hand but soft all the same. Steven drops her hand the moment it’s polite to not hold on longer than he should, and shoves his hands into his pocket. 

“Well, Steven-with-V, you don’t have anywhere to be do you? Cause I’ll probably talk your ear off if you let me.” Vivienne tells him. 

And Steven feels just a touch warmer. Not much warmer. The fear of having potentially lost his job is like a vice around his throat. He cannot lose his job. Possibility of promotion may be slim but it’s still a possibility and Steven doesn’t want to work in the gift shop for the rest of his life but it’s a solid gig and if he plays his cards right he could be able to get a position as a tour guide soon. Which will be shot if he gets too many marks against him. But the woman standing in front of him is pretty and Steven knows it’s wrong but he doesn’t exactly have many dating prospects. Dylan was the first time he’d been asked out in, God, when was the last time he’d even went on a date? Before the blip? Probably. So this isn’t a date, he knows that, but it’s nice… to think that maybe this woman with her pretty smiles and pretty eyes thinks Steven’s worth at least talking to… even if it’s just her being polite. Steven suspects he looks quite the mess. 

Despite it all Steven allows Vivienne to guide him down the street. 

She's got her hands tucked into the pockets of her own jacket, arm pressing down tightly on the bag wedged between it and her body. Neither of them touch as they wander to a little cafe with a green awning and a handful of tables tucked beneath it. Steven's quick to get the door, cheeks flaming when Vivienne smiles as she passes and thanks him prettily. He follows at her heels like a dog desperate for its master's attention. 

The man at the till greets Vivienne with bright eyes and a brighter smile, making it abundantly clear that she comes often enough to know the staff by name. When he asks for her regular Vivienne nods and thanks him before turning to Steven, who stutters out a halting order for a jasmine tea. While Steven fumbles for his wallet in the mess of his work bag, a handful of bills are passed from Vivienne to the man behind the till and Steven nearly chokes. 

This isn't a date. 

He knows that... but it could have been a date. Maybe... if Steven hadn't lost two days, panicked about losing his job, and ploughed into her in his mad dash to work. Though Steven recognizes how silly that is. he hadn't had any real intention of asking her out. Not even when he'd briefly considered asking her if she wanted to get a drink after her shift several days before. He'd like the idea of it, loved it, really, call him a hopeless romantic but it was almost like something out of one of his favorite movies. Now he's fumbling the opportunity. Because if this is a date then he should pay, shouldn't he? And even if it's not then he should pay just for the trouble he's caused her today. 

Steven swallows as Vivienne takes her change. 

"I would have been happy to pay." He says, choking a bit on the tail end of the sentence. 

Vivienne shrugs and settles at a table near the counter. 

"Yeah, but you looked a bit frazzled. Figured you could use a friendly gesture." Vivienne tells him and laughs at whatever she sees in Steven's face, "What? You think I just randomly invite strange men to get coffee with me?" 

Well, yes, actually. 

"No." 

Vivienne snorts and it's not exactly mean. Not like Donna's derisive little snorts. It sounds more amused than anything and Steven finds himself smiling. 

"Well, I'd like to make it up to you," he swallows, fiddles with the hem of his own jacket, "if you'd like." 

Dark hair shines as Vivienne tips her head a bit to the side and drags her eyes across him. Steven doesn't know what she's looking for or at, but whatever Vivienne sees she must find acceptable because she nods. 

"I'd like that." She tells him. 

The knot that had wound tight in Steven's chest loosens slightly and the beast in its cave closes its eyes once more. 

Chapter Text

Steven-with-a-V Grant is, as a matter of fact, not a total freak. Color Vivienne pleasantly surprised. Because she’d kind of expected him to be weird at best and a raging lunatic at worst, and, sure, he’s a bit odd but whatever’s going on in his head isn’t really an issue because Steven’s nice. 

Asking him to coffee had initially been a sort of emergency, spur of the moment decision. Poor guy looked like he’d been about to cry or crawl right out of his skin. Which Vivienne had been sympathetic to because God knows she’s suffered more than her fair share of full blown panic attacks. So, inviting him to coffee had been her way of making sure Steven wouldn’t throw himself out in front of a cab on accident. It was supposed to be a quick thing. In and out with a serving of see-if-he’s-a-secret-serial-killer on the side. But then he’d been funny. 

Rattling off a quippy little joke about coffee ans Americans that had somehow not sounded like a jab. Vivienne stuck around longer than she should have. Long enough that she didn’t quite have enough time to get back to her apartment, grab her cello, and make it to rehearsal in time. 

She texted Alice everything she thought might appease the other woman and promised to call her after rehearsals. They’d gone over everything. Picked apart and looked at the remains like they might find the meaning of life in Steven’s little Steven-isms. The babbling, the blushing, the way he had laughed and scratched the back of his head and scrambled to hold the door open for her when they walked out of the cafe. 

“He’s so into you.” Alice had said and Vivienne had rolled her eyes. 

But it does lead to another coffee date.

Then a dinner. 

Steven is sweet and charming and offers a sense of calm that Vivienne hasn’t really had since before the Blip. 

Which is how she finds herself climbing the stairs to the National Gallery one evening. They’ve got a new exhibit on Egypt that Steven has been chatting her ear off about. Vivienne might not be Steven’s official girlfriend- they haven’t talked about exclusivity or expectations but they’re going on dates and Vivienne’s started wearing her prettiest sets of underwear to them… just in case - but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t show interest in his interests.

So, she goes to the Gallery. 

Steven’s at work and Vivienne thinks it might be weird to go into the gift shop and ambush him. She’ll swing through before she leaves. Buy herself a magnet to the fridge or something, that way it won't be weird, and she can still swing through and see him and not make it weird. Yeah, not making it weird is paramount. God forbid Vivienne come on too strong to the possibly flighty, but super-hot nerd that she's interested in.  Shaking her head at her own internal monologue, Vivienne shoves her hands into the pocket of her favorite pink coat and follows the signs directing her to the newest exhibit. 

“The afterlife for the ancient Egyptians was The Field of Reeds, which was a perfect reflection of the life one had lived on earth.” Vivienne overhears a tour guide saying and it sounds like she’s spitting google facts. 

Facts About Ancient Egyptian Burial. 

Vivienne steps into the exhibit and immediately wishes Steven was with her. In part because she enjoys his company… but also because Steven has already told her so much about this exhibit, babbling and waving his hands and absolutely beaming when Vivienne asks a question. She gets it though. Vivienne's the same way. She started playing the cello when she was nine, made it her personality for years and hyper focused on it to the point of social detriment. Making friends was weird. Not hard. She had friends, obviously, but keeping them was tricky. Vivienne didn't want to go to random house parties on campus when some of her friends got invited to college parties, she couldn't make dinners or movies or shopping trips because she had rehearsals, and generally Vivienne didn't have an interest in sports - and the band didn't have any string instruments so there went the opportunity to be in the band - so she didn't go to homecoming or home games. It didn't totally fuck her over. Vivienne had a handful of close friends that she did go out with from time to time, people she ate with at school and got together to do homework with, but she wanted to be The Best. So, yeah, in a way it was harder for her to connect with peers who didn't share similar passion.

Steven might have been the same way. 

Which is understandable, Vivienne thinks as she stares into the eyes of a gilded sarcophagus. 

She might not be Evelyn O'Connell, but she can appreciate the beauty of this exhibit... and the bitterness of it too. Funny to think about how she paid to see someone's final resting place that got dug up = and likely robbed - by someone who didn't care about its history beyond what it could bring them. Evelyn taps her foot against the polished tile beneath her feet before continuing on her way through the exhibit. 

Perfume bottles rest inside their own glass coffins. 

Jewelry glitters under cold museum lighting. 

Wax figures stand forever frozen in the act of filling a canopic jar. 

It's lovely. 

Whoever curated this exhibit put in the effort to make it look very pretty. Vivienne pulls her hand out of her pocket to brush her hair out of her face and moves on to the next exhibit, which is smaller but features the impressionist movement, and as she makes her way down a hall she runs into someone familiar. Or rather, they run into her; though not as literally as their previous meeting. 

"Vivienne?" 

The accent is off. 

Tweaked and pitched in a way that doesn't sound quite natural, forced, and Vivienne jerks a bit as she comes to a stop. Twisting to look away from the art hanging from the wall and toward the man staring balefully at her front just a bit down the way. 

"Oh, Steven, I thought you were working today." She says with a smile as she makes her way across the floor to stand in front of her not-quite-boyfriend. 

He smiles and it isn't the one Vivienne's used to. This one is slightly too sharp? Maybe a bit to smug? Something about it doesn't really sit well with Vivienne and not because it's mean or carrying an edge of danger, but because it isn't... Steven... but that's silly. Vivienne shakes the thought off as Steven rocks a bit forward on his feet. 

"I am, technically, I'm on break." He keeps smiling as he asks, "What are you doing here?" 

"Would you be freaked out if I said I was coming to see you?" She asks. 

The smile turns a bit cool. 

Not cold. 

Not cruel. 

Just cool. 

Vivienne wants to wince. 

Of course it's weird. They're not even dating and coming to visit your partner while they're at work is something that happens in one of two instances. Either it's a planned meet up because schedules don't mix and the party is either getting lunch together or dropping something important off, or there's an element of jealousy to it. Vivienne can only imagine what Steven must be thinking. Weirdo American girl he picked up off the street turns out to be a creepy ass stalker with nothing better to do with her life but follow him around his place of work. Fuck this was a bad idea. A bad fucking idea indeed... but was it? Vivienne had wanted to see the gallery because Steven had been excited about it and their work schedules don't really allow for them to go to the exhibit together. 

"Not at all." Steven finally says and a band eases up off her chest a bit. "Though I'd have offered to show you around over lunch if you'd have let me know." 

"I didn't want to bother you." Vivienne tries to laugh it off, tries to ease the tension locking up her shoulders. 

This is Steven, she tries to remind herself, he doesn't mean anything bad by it. 

But she supposes this is the type of shit past toxic relationships will leave you with, self-doubt and anxiety. 

"It's not an issue." But the way he says it kind of makes it feel like an issue. 

Vivienne bites into her bottom lip, peels away the dry skin there. Steven frowns at her, dark eyes narrowing a bit, and Vivienne stops biting her lip immediately. 

"Are you feeling ok? You sound a little." she waves a hand around her nose because nasally isn't the right word for it but it's the only one that doesn't sound like Vivienne's making a jab. 

Steven clears his throat and drops his shoulders, hunching a little bit and looking more Steven than he has this entire interaction. 

"Uh, yeah, sorry. I think I'm catching something." Steven tells her and Vivienne frowns. 

"Do you need anything? I have to swing by the store anyway, I can pick something up for you?" Vivienne offers and Steven's entire demeaner softens just a bit. 

And in return Vivienne feels less like a cornered animal. 

"No it's alr-" "-There you are Stevie, you're break ended five minutes ago." 

Both of them whip around to stare at the woman marching down the hall. 

"Donna," Steven bites out with more vitriol than Vivienne's ever heard, "sorry about that. I was just saying hi." 

"Your job isn't to harass customers, Stevie, we've had this talk before. Get back to work before I have to write you up." Donna - and Vivienne gets the vitriol now - spits out. 

Vivienne steps in quickly, unbothered by the woman's attitude or the way she narrows her eyes at Vivienne. 

"Sorry to keep you busy, Steven, I just wanted to surprise you, yeah? Let me know when you get off work and we can meet up for dinner." Vivienne says before she rocks forward to press a kiss to Steven's cheek, the glossy imprint left behind a bit embarrassing. But it seems to stun Donna enough that she doesn't say anything when Steven promises to text her and then books it back the way Donna had come. 

Vivienne doesn't even say anything to the blonde woman as she turns and makes her way toward the exit herself. 

Chapter Text

Marc isn't really sure what he thinks about Steven's lady friend. Vivienne Hale seems normal enough. American, born and raised in one of the burbs around Chicago, because the accent's similar enough to Marc's own that isn't hard to guess. Though, he'd be willing to put money on her living in a Polish neighborhood because every once in a while, she'll say something, and it sounds distinctly Polish. So, either she grew up somewhere with a lot of Poles and as a result picked up a bit of the accent or she has Polish family... Marc isn't entirely sure. It doesn't really matter... but there's something about the situation that doesn't sit quite right with Marc and can't figure out what it is. 

Shitty as it sounds - and Marc's self-aware enough to acknowledge that it's shitty - Steven isn't exactly bold when it comes to women. Especially pretty woman and the only thing Marc and Steven really share is their taste in woman. Vivienne Hale checks all of the little boxes Marc, and Steven subsequently, have laid out in their brain. She's tall, she's aesthetically striking, and she's ambitious. Marc had managed to get Layla to go out on a date with him by sheer dumb luck. Layla had known better than to fuck around with stupid American men and Marc still isn't sure how the fuck their relationship got to the point it did - and maybe it shouldn't have gotten father than some playful flirting seeing as it ended with both of them hurt and emotionally wrecked - but it got there because Marc knows how to talk to women, how to please women, how to interact with woman. Steven doesn't. For all the attractiveness Marc's genetics have given them, Steven doesn't know how to use those assets. He's awkward, he talks too much about himself, doesn't pick up the social cues thrown at him, and then leans too much on propriety when it's obvious that the woman he's talking to would rather be doing something highly inappropriate. So, yeah, Marc doesn't understand the relationship budding between Vivienne and Steven. 

And maybe... that's not quite true. 

Marc was there for Steven's date, more out of curiosity than anything. Watching like some sort of creepy voyeur as Steven fiddled with his silverware and glanced at his watch. It had become abundantly clear to Marc that his date wasn't going to show and he'd felt kind of bad about it. More than likely, Steven had missed the date - something that was confirmed as the second hour mark came closer - because Marc had wrestled control out of his hands. While Marc wouldn't have necessarily gone on the date, he wouldn't have totally left Steven out to dry either. He'd have let Steven go on the date if only to assure himself that once the deal with the Bird was completed and his end of the bargain upheld that Steven would be able to function normally in society without him. Because Marc might not be able to swan dive off a building and actually, you know, die, but he can slip off in Steven's head, and if he does it right? It's quiet. Marc doesn't have to think about anything or do anything or relive any of shit memories. He doesn't have to regret. So, no, he might not date for Steven but he also doesn't want Steven to be alone once Marc's gone... so he would have, probably, let Steven go on the date if he'd known about it. 

But he hadn't known about it. 

Hadn't known Steven even bucked up the courage to ask someone until he was buying a half dozen roses and a box of Belgian chocolates. 

Honestly, Marc had been pretty excited about it. 

Good for Steven! 

Until good for Steven turned into a really ugly round of 'poor Steven'ing that almost had Marc taking over the body just to get the poor guy the fuck out of that restaurant. 

If it hadn't been for Vivienne - who at the time was little more than a pretty waitress who didn't treat Steven like something to pity - coming over to talk to them, Marc probably would have taken over the body, found a pub somewhere with enough drunk people that they wouldn't notice his patchy accent, and got Steven a hook up for the evening.... well, it would have been Marc's hookup, but everyone involved would have thought it was Steven. That was the plan. It was a bad plan, absolutely, but a plan none-the-less... and then the pretty waitress flustered Steven and he bolted. Which was, honestly, the best thing he could have done. 

Now, they're dating. 

But not dating dating because Steven's too much of a chicken shit to ask the girl who clearly likes him to be his girlfriend. 

Which also works for Marc. 

Because - and this is the kicker - he likes Vivienne. 

She's funny, she's nice to Steven, she's patient as a goddamn saint, and Marc likes how she listens to Steven without a hint of annoyance when he starts prattling on about Ancient Egypt. Marc wonders how long that will last though. Steven's kept her out of the apartment for fear of her seeing his little chain-and-sand set up and totally freaking out. Marc would freak out if someone took him to her place and he saw it. Cause at that point it isn't even kinky, it's just fucking weird. Like, you can't explain away a single ankle chain and sand circle around the bed. What kind of kink is that anyway? So, yeah, good thing he hasn't brought her to the house but still doesn't explain why she's never brought it up. That's the weird thing. That's what Marc can't quite wrap his head around. 

Vivienne is pretty. 

Vivienne's the first-chair cellist with the Aurora Orchestra. 

Vivienne makes good enough money that she lives in a pretty nice apartment (yeah, Marc did a little stalking, sue him). 

Vivienne Hale is accomplished. Vivienne Hale is absolutely out of Marc's league, without a doubt out of Steven's. But Vivienne Hale, who seems like she knows how to handle herself, doesn't seem interested in pushing Steven? Which isn't the best way to put it, because it's not a desire to not push, but she clearly wants to be in a relationship with him - why would she put up with half of his Steven-isms if she didn't - so why aren't they progressing? Marc gets why Steven isn't progressing. Steven's a little more timid than Marc. Steven hasn't had great luck with women in his life. Vivienne, on the other hand, is hot as fuck and Marc doesn't get why she's basically slumming it with them. 

And she is slumming it with them because what type of woman would look at someone like Marc Spector and think to themselves, "Ah, yeah, that's a real quality specimen. Husband material right there!" 

No one would. 

But Marc's willing to let her figure it out and dump them in her own time if it means Steven comes out of his shell a bit and learns from all this... or, he was willing to... until Arthur Harrow showed up at the museum where Steven works. Meaning, he knows all about Steven's personal life. The life Marc scraped together with owed favors and several thousand stolen dollars. Arthur Harrow - who wants to burn this world to the fucking ground and release a sociopath goddess with a real twisted sense of good and evil - knows where Steven works, which probably means he knows where Steven lives, and if he knows where Steven lives then he knows where Vivienne lives. Because there's no way in hell Arthur Harrow doesn't know about Steven's not-yet girlfriend. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck. And another fuck for good measure. 

"Steven," Marc urges, only kind of glad that Harrow seems more interested in tormenting his terrified counterpart than the pretty cellist, "Steven I can save us, but I can't have you fighting me this time." 

Because now that he knows about Marc it's been increasingly difficult to take the body. Even before this moment. Before Harrow arrived in London, before the stupid call from Layla - but god it had been good to hear her voice again, divorced or not Marc still cherishes the memories he has with Layla - that triggered all of Steven's doubts, before the fucking creature Harrow summoned, Steven had been fighting him. Subconsciously, yeah, but he'd still been making it difficult for Marc to take over the body without ripping control from Steven's hands. Unfortunately, Marc doesn't have the ability to stay hidden anymore. Not if he wants to keep them alive. 

"You need to give me control. You understand?" Marc asks, staring out at his counterpart through the mirror. 

"Control? Control of what? What are you talking about?" 

For a second Marc feels guilt. 

"That thing's about to break through the door. We're almost out of time," Marc says and then backtracks to calm the alter currently freaking out in a museum bathroom, "Hey listen to me! Look at me!" 

"This isn't real!" 

"This is real!" 

"No! No you're not real!" 

"Yes." He tries for calm and collected, "Steven. You gotta give me control, it's the only way we're walking out of here." 

"I'm gonna die." Steven begins to chant, panic rising and making his pupils narrow and his breaths come out in rapid puffs. 

"Steven!" Marc snaps, causing the man to look at him, "Let me save us." 

Beyond the door the creature yowls, throwing itself into the metal and making the room shake. 

Steven looks at him, fingers curled around his bag, hair falling in his face, and suddenly Marc can feel them again. The body. He nods once and eases Steven into the back of their mind, careful not to blank him out again because now that the cat's out of the bag - so to speak - there's no reason to hide it. Them. No reason to keep him in the dark. 

Back in the body, back in control, Marc yanks on the cord connecting himself to the Bird. Pulls magic around himself like a blanket and falls back into the silvery chill of Khonshu's blessing. It wraps around him, locks into place and cements itself around him, and Marc breathes a sigh of relief as the door is ripped off its hinges and sent across the polished floor. This time the creature isn't staring down a terrified shop attendant. This time the creature is staring down a man forged from death and violence and betrayal. Marc wonders if it knows its going to die. Wonders if it even knows what death is. Judging by the deadened edge to its gaze Marc's willing to bet it doesn't, which is all the better for him... means he doesn't have to worry about any more blood on his hands as he drives his fist into its twisted face over and over again until it stops moving on the ruined bathroom floor. 

Chapter Text

Hey, the text reads, are you home? 

Vivienne rearranges her things so that she can get a better grip on the phone, propping her cello case against the bench beside her as she waits for the bus to come and take her to her apartment. It's dark out, the golden light from the lights around them doing little to cut through the haze. Everything looks like something out of a dream and Vivienne adjusts the hood of her raincoat so that she can get a better view of her screen as she texts Steven back.

I just got out of rehearsals, waiting for the bus now. Everything ok? she asks, shivering a bit as a light breeze whips through the bus stop shelter.

The cellist looks away from the bubbles bouncing away at the bottom of her screen to check to see if the bus or any unsavory characters are making their way toward her. The bus stop near Southbank Center isn't usually that dangerous. Sometimes Vivienne'll keeps an eye out for random men lurking about but usually anyone taking the evening buses aren't awful. Chatty, occasionally, but no one's ever jumped her before. Vivienne notes a taller man with a cane sitting on the other bench, but his focus is on the book in his hands not Vivienne or her cello. Though he does glance at her and Vivienne - having been caught - smiles apologetically and turns her attention back to her phone.

Let me know when you get home. I'm going to be out of town for a few weeks. Some family stuff came up and I won't have my phone on me much, I'll be back before you can miss me though. 

Promises, promises, Steven. 

But she will miss him. 

They haven't seen much of each other these past couple days. It's almost like Steven's been avoiding her. But he'd texted her after they'd met at the Museum, had apologetically said he wouldn't be able to make it to dinner but had promised to make it up to her later when his schedule freed up. Apparently, Donna hadn't taken too kindly to him getting chatty with the gallery visitors and had put him on inventory duty that night, which sounded like a load of crap to Vivienne but what would she know about it? Donna seems like a real bitch in her humble opinion. 

Be safe and let me know if you need anything. I hope everything goes well on your trip. 

It's something of an afterthought. 

Because the bus is making its way down the street and getting her cello on it and situated without bumping anyone is always a pain. Definitely a two hands free type of task. Her phone pings in her pocket. Vivienne ignores it as she makes sure all of her things are gathered. Her bag is accounted for, wallet and keys to her apartment, phone - obviously - in her pocket, cello on the bench. Is she forgetting anything? Vivienne pats down the front of her coat like it might provide an answer as the bus rolls to a stop in front of the stop. In her peripheral vision, Vivienne can see the man sitting at the other bench rise and make for the bus. Vivienne follows, letting him on first with a smile before wrangling herself and her cello on. Once on the bus Vivienne drags her cello toward the middle of the bus where there's a bit more room for her instrument and settles in. 

She digs out her phone to text Steven back, not wanting to leave him on delivered if he's going through it - and maybe a little excited that he's not completely freaked out by her impromptu visit to the museum only a couple days before - but before she can even unlock her phone a polite clearing of the throat draws her attention to the man sitting a few rows ahead of her. 

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," he says in a lower-toned, slightly gravely American accent. "By chance are you with the Aurora Orchestra?"  

Vivienne smiles politely, shoves her phone into her pocket. Steven momentarily put on hold. Her mother might have warned her about stranger danger if she were still alive, might have pinched Vivienne's arm and whispered about keeping her head down when strange men talk to her in environments like this. But Vivienne's parents have been dead a long time and even if they weren't that little warning bell in her mind doesn't ting when she meets the other American's eyes. 

"I am, yeah!" Vivienne affirms cheerily. 

The man nods slowly, smiles slowly, shifts to better look at her slowly. 

Everything about what he does seems slow and Vivienne doesn't know fi he's just one of those steady-as-they-go types that doesn't rush anything or not. But the bell isn't tinging and Vivienne keeps smiling despite the increasing frequency of the text message alerts going off in her pocket. 

"I thought you might be. I, uh, I saw the orchestra's performance of Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique." the man gestures to one of the seats empty beside Vivienne, "May I?" 

Pulling her things in closer to herself, Vivienne gives the man the go ahead to change seats and watches him do so carefully. He smiles as he settles in the seat beside her. 

"Arthur Harrow." He greets. 

"Vivienne," his hand is warm and trembles slightly in her hold, "did you enjoy it?" 

Arthur is glancing at his cane. Running has thumb along the intricately carved silver crocodile head beneath his palm. He looks contemplative, maybe a bit relieved. Vivienne doesn't really know what that's about, but she thinks the cane's pretty. 

"I did. I thought you all performed beautifully." The man says dark eyes a bit watery as he takes her in, smile bright.

And it warms something in Vivienne. 

Isn't this the whole point of joining an orchestra? To get people involved and fuel their love of the arts? Vivienne has a couple of kids that she's teaching how to play the cello on the side because their parents are rich and want 'cultured children' which means its good money, but this is different almost. Because this is an adult taking interest in something Vivienne loves as opposed to a child trying to appease their parents. The phone goes off again in her pocket and Vivienne flusters a bit as she apologizes and fishes it out. 

You too. 

Do you want me to call you a cab?

Let me know when you get on the bus. 

Did you make it? 

If anyone gives you any trouble let me know, yeah? 

Silent treatment, huh? I promise I won't be gone long. We'll do dinner when I get back. I want to talk to you about some stuff anyway. 

Querida? 

Vivienne, answer the phone, you're freaking me out. 

Some are spread out; some have come in right after the other... all the same it has Vivienne wincing a bit. 

Steven's always been good about texting her during her late-night commutes despite his difficulties sleeping. Even exhausted Steven will call her or text her, talk to her until she's let him know that she's gotten home safe. So this almost frantic barrage of text messages really isn't new to Vivienne, though it does make her feel a little bad for not replying. She thinks Steven might have a bit of an anxiety disorder. Not that she's, like, a licensed psychologist or anything. But Vivienne's brother was diagnosed with one when they were teenagers, and Vivienne sometimes sees similar behaviors in Steven that she saw in Thomas. 

Sorry! Made it on the bus, talking to someone about the orchestra! Got distracted. I'll let you know when I get home! 

She puts the phone back in her pocket when the little heart reaction pops up over her message. 

"Am I interrupting?" Arthur asks kindly and Vivienne shakes her head. 

"Oh, no, just my friend wanting to make sure I got on the bus." She assures. 

"Good friend." Arthur says, "The world needs more good people." 

Vivienne shrugs, "I suppose, yeah." 

Arthur clears his throat as the bus stops and another couple passengers board. Men. Vivienne notices that none of the three who board so much as glance at her or her companion as they take their seats toward the front. Two of them are in suits, one is wearing a jumper and a pair of waterlogged Adidas sneakers. Vivienne turns back to Arthur who has pulled out his phone. 

"Would you mind taking a picture? I'd had brought my playbill from fantastique." 

"Oh, uh, sure!" Vivienne says, a bit weirded out but not overly so? 

The warning bell rattles but doesn't go off completely. She’s suddenly hyper aware of the men in the bus with her. Each one of them distracted but too still and too quiet. The man beside her still has his phone out. He’s still smiling at her. Vivienne tries to stomp down the sudden surge of panic that wells up in her chest. 

Odd that he'd want a picture, right? But if he was a fan of their performance of Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique then it's safe to assume he would have recognized at least some of the performers. Vivienne's first chair, she's usually front and center when it comes to the cello line up and her dress requirements for the performance had been a bit striking. Her memory with names isn't so great but she remembers faces and drink orders really well from her time bartending back in the States. It isn't impossible for him to recognize her. Chastising herself a bit for wanting to jump to conclusions, Vivienne nods and scoots closer to Arthur as he holds up his phone. 

He smells like cedar and jasmine. 

Vivienne smiles as the shudder goes off and keeps smiling until Arthur puts his phone back in his pocket. 

"Thank you," he says and his own smile slips, "I'm terribly sorry for any inconvenience this caused." 

"Oh, none at all!" She assures. 

Arthur nods and rises as the bus slows to a stop. 

Vivienne's stop. 

The cellist slowly gathers her things and stands. 

"I hope you have a good evening." She tells the man as the bus doors open for her. 

"You as well, Miss. Hale," Arthur says with a small bow of the head, "Thank you for indulging me." 

And Vivienne nods once more before scrambling to get off the bus. Apologizing profusely when her cello knocks into a man, missing the fact that the boy in the waterlogged adidas shoes slips a small air tag into one of the pockets of her purse as she turns her back to him, and then slips off the bus entirely. She spares it one last glance as she begins making her way toward her apartment. Offering the man watching her from the window one last - suddenly uncomfortable - wave before he disappears with the bus into the rainy dark. 

Chapter Text

Running into his - no, Marc's - ex-wife isn't how Steven thought his day was going to kick off. She's nice, Layla, Steven wishes she'd stop calling him Marc, though. Wishes she's stop talking to him like he's going to suddenly remember everything about the life of the American man in his head. Layla El-Faouly is nice to him despite being clearly frustrated, patient with him despite her growing irritation at his cluelessness, calm in spite of his panic. Steven gets why Marc likes her. But clearly things hadn't worked out quite so well for them because the entire time Layla moves around his flat, checking books and battered journals Steven's been keeping, Marc has been screaming at him to get her out of the flat. That the reason they divorced was because things were getting bad and that if Steven let her linger here - or got her involved in their mess - that she would likely be killed. So, Steven hadn't said anything to Layla about the scarab or Khonshu or Arthur Harrow. 

Kind of regretting it, though. 

Nervous as he is, ridding around in the back of some stranger's car isn't how Steven thought his evening was going to end either. 

Getting help turns out to be impossible. The only person who approaches the car after it's been parked and the two officers have left is a pretty woman with long braids and a brand on her wrist marking her as one of the cult followers of Arthur Harrow. Steven tries the handle on the door again despite knowing the child locks are keeping him in. Cuffed as he is, there isn't really anywhere for him to go. He could probably shuffle up into the driver's seat and then out but without his hands there's not much Steven can do to defend himself or even maneuver through whatever part of the city he's found himself in. The reflection of his American counterpart doesn't make the situation any better. 

"You don't need to fight me, Steven. Surrender control." Marc says like some sort of creep. 

But Steven won't surrender control to Marc. 

Not after seeing what he's capable of. 

Marc Spector is dangerous, he doesn't have any regard for other people's wellness or safety, and while Steven recognizes that Marc had been acting in self-defense the times Steven has witness him in action the fact that he's comfortable brutalizing people doesn't sit well with Steven. What if it was Vivienne? Steven doesn't like to think that Marc would hurt her, but at the end of the day he doesn't really know Marc, does he? For all Steven knows, Marc is the type to get angry and lash out. So, between his anger at Marc for killing people and his uncertainty about Marc when it comes to Vivienne's safety Steven isn't overly fond of the idea of surrendering control to Marc. Not now. Not after what Steven has witnessed. 

"I'm never," Steven spits out unsteadily, "giving you control again. Ever. Do you hear me?" 

And Marc's eyes narrow in the rearview mirror but before he can say anything to Steven there's a click and a rasping, "I hear you loud and clear, Steven Grant of the gift shop." 

At his back the door opens and Steven flounders as gravity pulls him backward. Stopped seconds later by rough cobblestone. Steven pants as Arthur Harrow steps around him, cane click-click-clicking as he travels behind Steven. 

"I'm sorry for the wait," Arthur begins and the coolness of his tone has Steven tensing, "we just needed a chance to better understand your situation. Do you have the keys? Let's get you out of those cuffs. There you go." 

Steven's on his feet the second the metal around his wrists comes loose. 

Arthur Harrow stares at him. Steven stares back and tries not to flinch when the two maybe-not-actually-cops go walking by. 

"Well, no wonder your scales don't balance. It must be very difficult having all those voices in one head... Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Khonshu." A surprisingly steady hand - given how frail Arthur Harrow appears - lands on Steven's shoulder, "I'm curious. Do you think Khonshu chose you as his avatar because your mind would be so easy to break or because it was already broken?" 

"No," it's immediate and defensive, "I'm not broken... just need some help, maybe." 

The man across from him smiles, "That's right. That's why I'm here. To help." 

But Steven isn't paying attention to Arthur. His attention captured instead by the ancient, cosmic being observing them. Everything about Khonshu's body language screams danger. Steven doesn't have much interaction with the God. He's really only met him once and Steven still isn't sure this isn't some sort of psychosis episode... but even before this moment Khonshu had never seemed dangerous. He is, obviously, Steven's not stupid, but this is different? His regard for Arthur Harrow is different. Mean and ugly and unbending. Steven shudders as Arthur pulls his attention away from the God. 

"Kill him!" Khonshu snarls, fist curling at his side. 

"What's he saying?" Harrow asks with a grin, "Is he telling you to kill me?" 

"Break his windpipe!" The God demands, suddenly so close Steven could reach out and stroke his beak. 

"Uh, yeah." Steven admits and Arthur laughs. 

"Just remember you don't have to do everything he asks. Before you get excited and put on the cape, I'd love to take this opportunity to show you around." 

And Khonshu's rage shows itself through blustering winds and a tin garbage bin shooting across the pavement. Arthur seems unbothered, placing his hand on Steven's shoulder and guiding him through the little town he's managed to, what, save? He keeps going on about extremely high crime rates and violence and people living in fear and how he turned all that around with the help of his own god. Ammit, Goddess of judgement and retribution... not completely dissimilar from Khonshu, whom Arthur has compared to a child throwing a tantrum on more than one occasion. 

Steven eats his soup and tries to fight back nausea as he eats. 

The food itself is amazing. Absolutely ace. But Arthur is making him uncomfortable, and Khonshu isn't making him feel safe either. So he eats his soup and listens to Arthur Harrow prattle on about how Khonshu only punishes those who have walked an evil path, that his justice doesn't come soon enough and the world is never truly safe from violence and fear and pain... but with Ammit it's different. Or so Arthur claims. Steven doesn't really think he personally buys into the whole stopping people who will do evil before they actually do it bit. 

"But isn't that a bit... dodgy? Trusting the opinion of a weird crocodile lady?" Steven asks and Arthur's smile twitches. 

"You don't need to doubt her judgement. Ammit will light the path to good by eradicating the choice of evil, which brings us to the scarab." 

"Ask him about Vivienne." Khonshu says and Steven's tongue turns to lead in his mouth, "How did she fair, having faced Ammit's judgement?" 

"What?" Steven asks, looking away from Arthur briefly. 

Khonshu tips his bear in the direction of Arthur's cane. 

Around him people are rising, chairs scraping against the floor as the men and women in the room with them prepare to do as Arthur Harrow demands. Steven can't bring himself to care. 

Heart pounding in his chest, Steven turns to Harrow. 

"That scarab acts as a kind of compass leading us to Ammit's tomb. She's out there, longing to be freed. While the cruel masses deserve to face her judgement. And in the wake of their screams? Evil eradicated." Arthur leans closer, "Steven, to exist at that moment? Heaven on Earth. So, the scarab, where is it?" 

"Oh, I don't have it." Steven tells him honestly. 

"No?" 

"Honestly, I don't have it." 

Arthur nods slowly, reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, and pulls out his phone. Steven watches him nervously, eyes shifting to the people amassing around them, and then goes still when he looks at the screen now being presented to him. Because there's Arthur Harrow looking just as frail and unassuming as ever... but he's not frail or unassuming and he's sitting next to Vivienne on her bus. Cello case propped against her side, hair a bit damp from the rain, smiling a bit coolly at the camera completely unaware of the glowing eyes of Arthur Harrow's staff pointing in her direction. 

Something in Steven's chest goes still. 

"Well, maybe you know someone who does?" Arthur asks and Steven's mouth tastes like iron. "Maybe Marc?" 

There's a ringing starting between his ears. 

"Don't you do it," Marc tells him. "Give me the body." 

But what would he do? Why would he care about Vivienne? Would he even try to protect her? Can Steven run the risk of giving him the body and Marc leaving Vivienne out to dry? 

"If you hurt her..." 

"I didn't. I assure you. Eradication comes to only those who are deserving. Vivienne Hale has proven her worth in the eyes of Ammit." 

That doesn't make Steven feel better. Not at all. If anything it makes him feel worse before Steven had known Arthur might come after him, had known he was in a sticky situation, and he hadn't even told Vivienne that she might need to keep an eye out for any potentially shifty characters. Oh God, what if Ammit hadn't deemed her worthy or whatever Arthur is talking about? Would he have killed her? Would Steven have lost her so quickly due to his own idiocy? 

"May I speak to Marc?" Arthur is asking. "Marc? What has Khonshu promised you? That this is your last mission? Then you'll be free... trust me when I tell you Khonshu is a liar. There is always something else." 

And Marc's face in the reflection of Steven's spoon is livid, murderous even, a sudden cast of the eyebrow and clench of the jaw that has Steven shooting straight into a flight or fight response. 

"If Ammit is judging people pre-evil?" Steven finds himself asking, a strange sort of calm settling over his bones, "like before the fact? Then isn't she just judging innocent people? I mean, a thought can't be evil can it? I think about killing my boss all the time but I wouldn't actually do it." 

Because he loathes Donna, but he would never hurt her. 

"Steven..." 

"What about a child? Would she kill a child for something she might do in thirty years?" 

Arthur looks away as he says, "I'm glad you mention that... sometimes the cure is a little taste of the disease. The difference between medicine and poison is sometimes only a dosage." 

But he would have killed Vivienne. 

Vivienne, with her snorting laughter. 

Vivienne, who gives free cello lessons to some of the kids in her building so that their parents don't have to pay for a babysitter.

Vivienne, who is so incredibly patient with the people around her. 

Ammit would have slaughtered Vivienne for a possibility and no one would have been able to stop her because Steven wasn't there - hell, Marc wasn't there - no one was there to defend Vivienne and now god knows what Arthur has planned for her if he doesn't get his way. That something that had gone still in Steven's chest begins to writhe furiously. And the man won't shut up. Going on about cutting off a diseased limb to save the rest of the body and how in Ammit's eyes the death of an infant is justifiable as long as the potential for evil is wiped away. Steven snarls and snaps at Arthur, throws accusations about him and his cult being baby killers and tries to put himself as close to an exit as possible while Arthur begins explaining the ability of his staff. Which only makes Steven sick because he'd known it was special in that photo with Vivienne but the fact that one of the aligator heads had been resting on her knee and could have killed her. Steven wants to throw up.

A desire that becomes more prominent as Layla steps into the crowd with the scarab held aloft in her hand. 

No... no, no, no, no, no. 

Steven's panic is matched very suddenly by Marc's. 

"Summon the suit." Layla tells him as she puts herself between Harrow and him. 

"Suit?" He asks, because what the bloody hell does a suit have to do with this? 

But Steven doesn't know how to summon the suit - whatever that is - and soon as Layla realizes that she's grabbing his hand and dragging Steven off while Arthur's cult and the power from his cane follows after them. 

Turns out getting thrown from a window works as a pretty solid reason to learn how to summon a suit. Steven still doesn't really know how he did it, but as Khonshu's magic weaves tight around his body Steven realizes something sort of awful. He can't do this alone. He doesn't want to do this at all but when it comes down to it Steven isn't cut out for street fights. He wants to be back on his couch in his shitty flat with Vivienne tucked against the end of the couch with her feet on his thigh and a book in both their hands. He wants quiet sunday mornings and dinners full of laughter... not blood and fear and death threats. So Steven reluctantly hands over the reins to the body when it becomes abundantly clear that if he doesn't, he probably won't be alive long enough to get sunday mornings or dinners or anything else. 

And it isn't until later when Marc is driving his foot into the mirror that Steven is staring at him from that the British man realizes that maybe he should have just taken his chances. 

Chapter Text

Someone has been in her apartment. 

Nothing's missing. 

The jewelry in the little decorative box on her dresser is still there - so is the box of more expensive and sentimental pieces tucked away in her sock drawer - and nothing's been broken or damaged. There aren't any muddy footprints or items out of place. Nothing to prove anyone has been in her house... Vivienne wouldn't know anyone had been here if it weren't for the fact that she knows someone has been following her. Nothing obvious. Hell, Vivienne thinks she might be going crazy. Everything started the other night after the incident at the bus. No one has accosted her in the street, no one's jumped out of the shadow of an alley attempting to take her bag, no one's done anything to her... not even the creep who sometimes comes into Delmonica's to leer at her and Alice doesn't show. By all rights, Vivienne doesn't have any reason to believe she's being followed or that someone is in her house. That's silly. Stupid even. And Vivienne would have shaken the feeling off if it weren't for the fact that she's seen them. 

Glimpses anyway. 

A bit of white fabric in the corner of her peripheral. 

The sound of something scraping across the pavement behind her as she walks to the bus stops or to her apartment. 

Soft rumbling like thunder in the distance whenever she tries to duck into an alley to cut her commute short or when she goes to step into an elevator alone with a woman she doesn't recognize or something equally as stupid throughout the day. 

After a while she can't brush it off as figments of her imagination or stress induced hallucinations - because that's what she tries to convince herself is happening when it first happens - and that leads her to paranoia. Which in turn leads her calling Steven, who doesn't answer but that doesn't stop Vivienne from leaving a message as she shuffles her way up the three flights of stairs to her apartment because the idea of being crowded in an elevator is just too much.

"Hey, Steven, just wanted to make sure everything was ok? Today's been kind of weird, feel like I'm losing my mind... uh, anyway, call me when you get a chance?" She asks then hangs up, fishing her keys out of her purse while trying to juggle the items she'd bought from the Tesco down the street. 

All she wants to do is take off her shoes, lay down on her couch, and binge eat some ice cream out of the container like a freak. Just go ham on it, because, frankly, she deserves to eat the whole carton without feeling judged... by anyone... especially herself. But, as she's kicking the door closed behind her and slipping the bolt back into place to lock herself in, Vivienne becomes aware of the fact that something isn't right. Which in turn spurs her into going through all of her secret hidden places looking for her valuables. It isn't the first time she's had an apartment get robbed. The first time was back when she first moved out of her parents' house and whoever had broken in had taken her TV and her Folger's coffee container full of coins, because at the time those were the only things worth much of a damn in her apartment. But now she's older, more financially secure, and she's got this bad habit of buying things she thinks are pretty that will make her look pretty. 

Which is why she goes looking through her jewelry. 

But, again, nothing is missing. 

Nothing's gone. 

And Vivienne frowns as she pops open her ice cream and sits down on the couch. 

Someone has definitely been in her apartment. 

It's a sort of gut deep know that has the fine hair on Vivienne's arms and the back of her neck standing on end. 

Turning on all the lights in her apartment and putting on cartoons doesn't help drive away the sensation of being watched. Sure, it comes and goes, but it's still there. Even as Vivienne does her bedtime routine. The entire time she brushes her hair and teeth, takes off her makeup, washes her face, even puts on her pajamas it feels like someone is watching her and Vivienne finds herself doing one more check of her apartment just to make sure she didn't miss someone hiding under her bed or in her closet. She should call the police. Like, that would be the smart choice, wouldn't it? Call the police and have them come out so that even if they don't find anything there's a paper trail of some sort saying Vivienne tried to not end up on the evening news if she does go missing? 

Good thought, but it doesn't go much further than that because as Vivienne is stepping out of the bathroom, fully intending to get her phone from the couch where she left it, a gentle knocking starts at her door. 

Distant thunder rumbles. 

Vivienne pauses, frowns, glances around the room and finds nothing. 

Her phone goes off on the couch and Vivienne takes a couple steps toward it, stopped almost immediately by a more insistent pounding at her door. 

The rumbling grows louder and this time Vivienne ignores it as she makes for the door. 

In the hall stands a man and woman. Both look out of place in her hallway. Everything about them a bit too sharp in the light. Vivienne tugs anxiously at the hem of her satin shorts and moves so that she's mostly blocked by the door. Not because her pajamas are scandalous, they're really not, but Vivienne feels like she probably shouldn't have opened the door. Keeping it someone between herself and the duo in the hall makes her feel a touch better. More secure maybe. 

"Can I help?" She asks. 

"We're with the London Police Department, we were hoping you could answer a few questions about one Steven Grant?" The woman asks and Vivienne frowns. 

What would the police be wanting Steven for? 

"I'm sorry? I don't understand? What's going on?" 

"Mr. Grant was involved in a theft." The man says, "We only have a couple of questions, may we come in?" 

Do not let them in, little plover. 

Oh-kay, definitely going crazy. 

Vivienne's fingers twitch on the doorknob. 

"Do you have a warrant?" Vivienne asks because she's never been picked up by the police in any of the countries she's been to, but she's pretty sure that a warrant is a sort of universal thing. 

Isn't it? 

Oh, God, what if it isn't? 

The woman smiles at her. 

"It's only a few questions. Have you spoken to Mr. Grant?" 

"Look, I'm not comfortable talking to you in my pajamas at my house without a warrant." Vivienne doubles down, "You can come back with one and we'll talk but until then I think it's time for you to leave." 

Across from her the man and woman share a look and Vivienne's skin crawls. In a matter of seconds she's thrown into a flight or fight response that has her slamming the door on the duos face and taking off across the flat. She doesn't even have time to slide her feet into her sandals - though she does have the presence of mind to snag her phone off the couch as she passes it - before the door is being thrown open and the man, who probably isn't a cop at all, is tear through the apartment after her. The sound of her cello hitting the floor makes Vivienne shudder violently, but she doesn't stop in her mad dash for the fire escape. She almost makes it too. The latch on the window isn't great - something she knows she needs to get fixed - so sliding it out of place and getting the window up isn't the issue. The issue is, Vivienne doesn't manage to throw herself out onto the fire escape landing before the man grabs her by the back of her shirt and hauls her away from the window. 

"Now none of that!" He barks when Vivienne tries to sink her teeth into the hand her brings closer to her jaw. 

Vivienne thrashes as she's manhandled into position. One hulking arm binding tight around her arms and waist and the other looping around her head in such a way that when the man tugs her to the side it leaves her neck open for the woman, who approaches with a grim sort of silence and a syringe. 

"This could have been a lot easier on you," the woman says, like it's supposed to make Vivienne feel better. 

"Fuck you, you crazy bitches!" Vivienne chokes out around the elbow wedged beneath her jaw. 

Neither of the other two people in her apartment say anything, they don't even look offended, they just remain silent as the woman shoves a needle into Vivienne's neck and presses down on the plunger. For a second, after the drug finally starts to work and the apartment begins to go topsy-turvy, Vivienne thinks she sees a giant bird man lingering in the corner of her apartment. Not a great hallucination, all things considered, but he places a heavy hand on her head and the desire to hurl dissipates as she's tugged beneath the surface of consciousness.  

Chapter Text

Jake feels like he's going to crawl out of his skin. Marc's skin. Their skin. It isn’t Cairo. Jake Lockley had loved this city once, had wrapped it around himself like a blanket and reveled in the warmth of it. The culture, the people. the antiminority it offered him when Marc finally fell asleep and Jake was able to slip his skin on like a worn-down winter jacket. Mark had had Layla. Jake had Cairo. So, it isn’t the bustling crowds and blaring car horns and people shouting at him - at Mark - as though he were little more than a slobbering tourist that has Jake feeling twitchy. Nor is it the presence of his God appearing and disappearing in the corner of his vision, just always out of sight and never there when Jake turns his head. It isn’t even the fact that he has to wrestle control of the body out of Mark’s hands in order to get anything done. 

What has Jake wanting to peel off his own skin like an itchy, ugly sweater that someone's grandma made is the fact that Kohnshu has so cheerily informed him that Arthur Harrow has kidnapped Steven’s girlfriend. Vivienne. She might not be Jake’s girlfriend, and she might not be Jake’s responsibility, but Vivienne absolutely fucking is both of those things in Jake’s egg-scramble of a brain. He’ll be damned if Arthur Harrow mussed so much as a strand of that cute little bob of hers. Panic and something darker clawing up his throat as he struggles between doing as Khonshu commands and tracking down Arthur Harrow to beat the living shit out of him for trying to use Vivienne as a piece of leverage against him.

It's funny, really, when Jake had first learned about Vivienne and her involvement with Steven, Jake had started following her. Justified his stalking as a sort of recon. Jake's roll in the system is to keep Marc and Steven - mostly Steven though - safe. He's the boogie man. He's the one that drips blood onto the hardwood floor of their apartment as he trudges to the bathroom after a long night of delivering Khonshu's justice. At the time it had seen mighty convenient that Steven would just run into a girl that didn't shy away from his quirks and was willing to spent hours listening to him prattle on about the Ennead and Ancient Egypt around the same time Arthur Harrow and his cult followers were looking for the scarab. She hadn't given any indication that she was one of Arthur's people, but Jake still wondered. Didn't trust that she was real or that she seemed genuinely unperturbed by how quickly Steven latched on to her. 

Steven hadn't even been quasi-dating Vivienne for a week, and the man had already decided he was head over heels for her, which justifiably worried Jake because who the does that after a week? So, he'd followed her. Learned her habits and her schedule so that he could conveniently observe her as she served ungrateful assholes their steaks or wait for her bus after a late rehearsal. She never did anything crazy and the one time he'd ever seen her go out she'd been too drunk to recognize him as the cabbie but hadn't been too drunk to ardently defend Tchaikovsky when one of her friends - smiling too wide and too smugly - had said he was overplayed. While it had amused Jake to listen to her prattle on about how, "Yes, Tchaikovsky is overplayed, but it's because he's good!" he thinks the moment Vivienne became a person to him - as opposed to the random entity Steven was beginning to deify - was one night after a patrol from Khonshu had left him near her apartment. 

He hadn't meant to linger. 

Deciding to check in on Steven's not-really-girlfriend had led to him sitting on the edge of the roof, staring into her apartment and watching as she taught some chubby cheeked kid to play her cello. The one she'd told Steven meant more than the world to her. Despite Khonshu enhancing his body, Jake still wouldn't have been able to hear what was happening in the apartment even if he wanted to - which he kind of did - but it didn't stop him from seeing. Jake watched it all. Saw Vivienne stand up to get something from another room, saw the kid lift the cello from where Vivienne had propped it up, watched as the kid began to spin it on the wooden rod sticking out the bottom of the cello, and he saw the moment the kid's eyes widened as the cello slipped from their hands and clattered to the floor. Jake had winced as something popped off the cello and went spinning across the floor. When Vivienne had come back her eyes had been wide, and Jake grimaced as she assessed not only the cello laid out on the ground but the child likely stuttering their way through an apology. Jake could almost feel the kid's panic, the swelling pressure in their chest, and he'd bit back the instinctual flinch as Vivienne stepped closer... and ruffled the kid's hair. 

Having been born beneath the pain of his mother's hand Jake had been expecting the worst. 

With the way he'd heard Vivienne talk about that damn cello he'd expected screaming and wild, angry eyes and a hand wrapped around the collar of a superman shirt. He hadn't expected Vivienne to laugh it off and go pick up whatever had popped off the cello without so much as a single irritated shout. He certainly hadn't expected her to pick the cello up, screw whatever had popped off back into place, and then help adjust it so the kid could hold it properly. 

In that moment Vivienne Hale had managed to worm her way under his skin with an ease that had worried Jake at the time. 

Why does he even care so much? He shouldn't.

He shouldn't care about Vivienne... because at the end of the day Vivienne's just a girl. Steven's maybe girlfriend, sure, but still just a girl. There are plenty in London. Plenty in the world. Vivienne isn't the only soft eyed, soft smiled woman living in London... but she is the first soft eyed, soft smiled girl to give either of those things to Jake. 

Even if she didn't know it was him as they stood outside of a shitty exhibit full of too-bright artificial light and stolen relics. 

Vivienne hadn't known it was Jake - hadn't even known he'd clawed his way to the surface when Steven had caught sight of her - but he knew she didn't feel quite as comfortable with him as she did with Steven, but she'd still given him her smiles and her soft protection and her gentle promises. She'd even given him a handful of late-night text messages and quiet phone calls where she'd been too tired to realize his accent wasn't perfect. Mumbling dazedly into the phone and 'mhm'ing softly whenever Jake asked her a question, fingers curled around her phone even as sleep pulled her back under. Jake watching it all like some unholy terror from the roof of the building across from her apartment. 

Now, he's in Cairo trying to hunt down a crazy bastard who wants to awaken an immortal sociopath, all the while Jake thinks he might puke because said crazy has his girlfriend. 

Fucking fantastic. 

His worry makes his job harder. 

His worry makes protecting Steven and Marc harder. 

Jake can’t worry about Vivienne and whether that little bitch Harrow has tried to “level her scales” again and keep Marc alive at the same time. 

Grunting, he rips control from Marc's hands. Momentarily taken aback by the searing heat of the midday sun as it beats down upon him as Marc slips into the darkness of their shared subconscious. He tosses the blade in his hand to the ground and drives his fist into that soft spot along the jaw of the man pinned between him and the wall. He steps away quickly as the other man's knees give out beneath him, eyes rolling as he drops like one of those horrific little wooden puppets people seem to like. Jake leaves him on the ground, pivoting to turn his attention to the teenager hovering off to the side. He looks terrified. It's not well hidden beneath the false confidence and gelled mohawk. Jake drives forward into a lunge, silently amusing himself with the boy's full-bodied flinch, and palms his face. Shoving hard, Jake keeps his hand on the boy's face as his feet are swept out from under him and his body is dragged to the ground, back hitting with enough force that it knocks the wind from his lungs. 

Jake doesn't linger. 

His target is dead. 

Vivienne is missing. 

Khonshu is... wherever the fuck Khonshu is. 

Jake needs to regroup. 

He barrels through the building of the roof he left the three men on and hails a cab. 

"اصطحبني إلى المطار," Jake demands as he slides into the backseat, gritting his teeth in an attempt to beat back Marc as the other alter claws his way out of the shadows and into the light. 

Jake's vision tunnels. 

Goes dark. 

And Jake wakes up on the ground, dust and grit plastered to his skin as he rolls out of the way of a boot that would have driven into his temple. 

It isn't a blur. 

It isn't some cliche fight in the middle of the streets like Marc had engaged in. 

Jake simply runs... slow enough that the three men who had attacked Marc will chase.

The potential of getting rid of Arthur Harrow's greatest enemy and appeasing their murderous God too good for them to resist. They follow like sheep behind a farmer with a bucket full of corn and don't realize they're going to the slaughterhouse until Jake's gotten them out of the main bustle of the city and to one of the lesser-known viewpoints where the tourists aren't as thick. Nonexistent really, there's no one else in sight as Jake pivots to face his attackers. He lets the man with the long hair get in close, lets him brandish a knife too big for his slender hands, and drives his elbow into the other man's temple as he steals it for his own shorter, broader hand. The balding man attacks next, lunging with a hand outstretched and unprepared to deflect as Jake pivots around him and drives the blade into his neck. Skin splits like hot butter beneath the blade and Jake pulls it free to leave the man choke and gurgling in the rocky sand as he makes for the original owner of the knife as he stumbles to his feet. The teenager charges him. Easily handled by Jake driving his foot into the boy's knee, the crunch and shriek that follows enough to tell the older man he won't be attacking him again anytime soon. 

His vision begins to tunnel once more. 

Khonshu appearing in his peripheral. 

And Jake knows this is Khonshu's doing as he grabs the other man by the hair and drives the blade deep into the space just below the sternum. 

Khonshu knows that Jake - for all of his past loyalty - is a liability now. A fucking flake. Bending beneath the pressure of a possibility. Frothing at the mouth and gnashing at the bit to get away from his handler despite the very real fact that at the end of the day Vivienne is probably safer with Harrow than she would be with Jake or Marc, absolutely safer with the other avatar than she would be with Steven. It's better to use her as leverage than anything else and why would Arthur hurt her when she's already proven herself worthy of Ammit's mercy once? But why take her at all if he isn't planning on following through with whatever threat he might throw down at Jake's feet. Jake's an idiot. What did he think was going to happen? He'd get the airport, fly back to London, save someone else's girl? Be a hero instead of someone's nightmare? If Vivienne's even in London still. For all Jake knows she's here in Cairo or freezing her pretty little fingers off at the top of Mount Everest. He laughs in the face of the dying man as Khonshu tugs him out of Marc Spector's way and dunks him into the well of unless darkness. 

It isn't until later - after stars have burst across his vision and the world has painted itself with the glow of ancient stars - that Jake manages to claw his way out of that darkness. 

A pit where Khonshu used to dwell sits empty in his chest. 

He calls to the God as Marc's body trembles, too-soft fingers pressing gently into his face and hair as a woman calls for Steven and Marc. Jake remains still. Assessing. Khonshu is gone... he can't even feel that little kernel of power that Khonshu had given him. Jake shakes as the realization that they're alone grips him tight by the throat. They're vulnerable. Killable. That'll make Marc happy - the suicidal fucker - but it doesn't make Jake happy at all. He needs to reassess. Plan. Can't keep the system alive and save Vivienne and kill Arthur Harrow if he gets himself killed. Fuck. God fucking dammit. Jake swallows his pain as he pushes one of the other alters forward to talk to Layla and takes the opportunity to lick his wounds and get his head on straight. 

Chapter Text

Vivienne wakes up in a tent. 

Mouth dry, eyes crusty, and memory foggy. It takes Vivienne longer than she'd like to admit to realize why she's in a tent. Because she's not a camper. The last time she went camping was when she was ten with her parents and brother and she'd gotten bitten by tics. It was the last time she ever entertained the idea of going. So, waking up in a tent surprises her. She blinks absently at the off-white wall in front of her and frowns as she adjusts on the cot to get herself propped up on her hip. Her hands aren't bound behind her back, her ankle isn't shackled to the frame of the cot, and there's no one else in the little tent with her. At first, Vivienne wonders if this is some sort of fucked up prank but Alice wouldn't do something like this, and she can't imagine Steven would either, so it's safe to assume that she has actually been kidnapped. Which makes her want to puke because the very real possibility of ending up on an episode of Dateline is growing by the second. At least Lester Holt will be the guy narrating her murder case. 

Slowly, quietly, Vivienne slips off the cot and assesses herself. 

Pajama shorts and panties are still the same set she'd been wearing and thankfully don't appear to have been moved; her pajama shirt is a bit sticky with her own sweat but also accounted for. Her body hurts. Mind's a bit sluggish... but all in all there isn't anything about her person that makes Vivienne immediately freak out. Creeping to the flap of the tent, Vivienne peaks out through the crack and wilts. 

There are vehicles everywhere. The off-road type that tells Vivienne that even if she did manage to slip out of the tent undetected and into the wild, she'd probably get about a mile out before someone realized she was missing and found her. Vivienne likes to think she could totally outrun a speeding vehicle, but she knows that's not actually going to happen. Not just because of the vehicle either. It's hotter than fuck even in this little tent and Vivienne can't imagine it'll be any better running through the fucking desert. A desert! Vivienne looks at her feet and frowns. Yeah, definitely not outrunning any cars with burning feet. Ok, so, maybe running's not a good option. She might be able to steal a car but where even is she? Does it have gps? Vivienne jumps back as a hand slips through the crack of the tent flap and opens to reveal the same woman who had shown up at her apartment. 

"Good morning." The woman greets as she moves to put a bundle of clothes and a pair of shoes at the end of the cot, "Mr. Harrow would like a word with you." 

Vivienne glances at the entrance of the tent. 

"You are more than welcome to try, but I fear you won't get very far." The woman informs her before motioning to the clothes, "Change quickly, I'm sure you're hungry." 

Then she's gone. 

Slipping out of the tent without another glance at Vivienne, who suspects the other woman is still lingering. 

She's got two options. 

Either she can play along and find an actual opportunity to get the fuck out or she can test her luck and make a run for it after she's changed. Given the fact her kidnapper doesn't seem overly worried about her running that's probably not a good idea. Something about the woman telling her she can run makes Vivienne not want to. Who does that? Who kidnaps a person, goes through the trouble of getting them over country borders, and then just lets them go? A bit nauseous, Vivienne begins sifting through the clothes. The sensation grows stronger when she recognizes them. A pair of panties and a bra she'd bought not long ago, a pair of cotton sweatpants, a button up shirt she'd stolen off an ex-boyfriend a few years back, and her boots. They'd gone through her fucking clothes. 

A gentle clearing of the throat from beyond the tent has Vivienne scrambling to change out of her once favorite satin pajama set and into the more modest clothes provided for her. She bundles her pajamas up and leaves them on the ground next to the corner of the cot - unaware that in a handful of hours Steven will stumble across them in his search for supplies - and shoves her feet into her boots. Vivienne feels clammy despite the heat as she steps out of the tent. The woman that greets her nods once before motioning her to follow, which Vivienne does because what else is she supposed to do? Run? Not like she'll get very far with that. With as many people as there are milling about it would be pretty hard for her to dodge them and get to a vehicle if the woman guiding her through the camp doesn't want her to go... but they're working. Excavating from the looks of it. Vivienne doesn't know what they're looking for or how she could possibly help them, but she thinks that maybe a crazy conspiracy is better than wrong place wrong time. 

Maybe Steven got caught up in some shady online forum where they were talking about ancient Egyptian relics and made some hint about a Pharoah's lost treasure or something and it got him in a pickle when people started looking for him so he could take them to it... yeah... that's so stupid but that's totally it. Still doesn't explain why Vivienne's caught up in this, but the silliness of it all eases a bit of the anxiety coiling through her body. 

The little tour stops at the yawning mouth of a hole in the earth. Vivienne casts a suspicious look at the other woman as she motions toward the hole. 

"I'm not a good climber." Vivienne says. 

The woman looks at her and says, "Charles will catch you if you fall. Isn't that right, Charles?!" 

There's a muffled shout of, "Yes ma'am." from the pit and Vivienne thinks she should run. 

Just turn and bolt. 

But before she gets the chance the woman is grabbing her by the arm and shoving her forward with enough strength to make Vivienne stumble. So, yeah, no running. Fuck. Ok. This is totally fine. Vivienne thinks as she crouches next to the opening of the whole and wraps trembling fingers around the rope laying there. How is she even supposed to do this? The movies make it look so easy, but Vivienne remembers gym class when she had to try climbing the rope strung up from the ceiling and how she only got about a foot off the ground before the rope had started irritating her skin enough that she'd let go and gave up. Now she's been kidnapped and her kidnapper wants to her climb into a pit? Oh God, she's absolutely going to be on an episode of Dateline. Vivienne swallows. Looks to the woman behind her. There's nothing soft in the woman's gaze but she doesn't look upset either. Vivienne swallows as she eases herself into the pit. 

Thankfully there seems to be some sort of scaffolding that gives her a bit of foothold as she eases down the rope, though it doesn't do much when a pair of hands latch onto her hips and pulls her back until her feet and hands lose their purchase. Charles. Vivienne blinks the spots out of her vision as she glowers at a burly man she doesn't recognize and waits for everything to adjust to the dimness of the cave. First thing she really gets a good look at after is the giant - ancient - sphinx stature staring back at her. Tightly wound as she is, Vivienne can't help but jerk back and into the man who had stepped behind her. 

"Easy there, it doesn't bite." He says as he goes to help the other woman down into the pit. 

"Come on, he's waited long enough." The woman says once she has her feet under her. 

A flashlight is pulled from her back pocket and Vivienne fights a bit as the man grabs her by the arm and begins dragging her into the darkness of the tunnel. 

God she's an idiot. 

Shouldn't have gone into the pit. 

Should have run. 

Vivienne pants as the walls begin to close in on her, feet slipping as she fights for purchase against the man dragging her to her possible death. 

"Don't worry," the man dragging her along says, "we cleared the tunnels out while you were sleeping, nothing's gonna get you down here." 

Gut feeling tells Vivienne the man's trying to blow smoke up her ass. 

After a while Vivienne just focuses on paying attention to where they're going. It won't be perfect but she thinks if she can recognize landmarks she should be able to either slip off and get out of this place while they're distracted or hide from them for a while if she manages to get away. Though hiding in this place is probably a worse idea than running barefoot into the desert. Vivienne's starting to feel a bit manic. Laughter lodging in her throat as she's walked through rooms with different items and decorative bits. She's not the Egypt enthusiast but she remembers some of the stuff Steven has told her in the past and bits she's picked up through movies and books... but it doesn't take a genius to recognize a murder when they stumble across it. 

First, it's the smell of iron as they step into another room. 

Then it's a flash of a table covered in viscera and blood, which is still fresh enough to drip from the congealing mess across the table and onto the canopic jars beneath. 

Vivienne gags loudly enough that it makes the man dragging her pull her faster through the room and off to a side area in time for her to empty her stomach into the sand covering the floor. Mostly stomach bile and what little water had been in her stomach. Vivienne continues to gag for a bit as she tries to compartmentalize what she got a glimpse of. 

"Best to keep going." The woman offers as Vivienne spits and rises to her full height. 

A water bottle is held out to her and Vivienne's half tempted to tell her to shove that water bottle up her ass, but the taste of bile clings to her tongue and Vivienne's parched. So she cracks the thankfully untouched plastic open and sips the water... because safety first? But when has she done anything safe the entire time she's been here? Vivienne's in so much trouble. 

Then they're off. Traipsing through the tunnels. The occasional pop of gunfire in the distance making this entire thing so much worse. Vivienne can't even pretend she's ok with it. Like, before the gunfire she'd at least been able to somewhat delude herself into thinking everything was fine, right? Vivienne swallows thickly, clenching the plastic water bottle in her hand, and follows her two new buddies into the thick of it. Things get a touch less terrifying when they find themselves in a small antechamber. It's full of light and people and Vivienne's never been so relieved to see a group of crazy people in her life. So she might be a little too eager when the man holding her guides her through the mess of people and pulls her to a stop in front of a man Vivienne vaguely recognizes. 

"Miss Hale," he greets in that soft, slow voice of his, "I apologize for the circumstances of this meeting. Had I any other option I wouldn't have gotten you involved." 

"Will that be all, Mr. Harrow?" The man holding her asks. 

"Thank you, Charles, Annita, you may go." 

And then Vivienne's being released and the two people who had gotten her through the passages disappear. 

"Walk with me." The man - Harrow? - says. 

"I'd rather not." Vivienne admits quietly. 

The smile she receives is soft and warm and totally out of place. 

"You're safer with me than you are with them." Harrow says before motioning idly to the men with literal guns. 

"I don't believe that." 

He laughs. 

"Fair enough, I suppose... this must all be very frightening to you." 

Vivienne licks her bottom lip and glances around the antechamber. 

"What do you want with me?" She asks, figuring that if he's the leader of this operation then he's the one that ordered her kidnapping. 

Harrow fiddles with his cane, fingers drifting almost lovingly along the two crocodile heads at the top, and something about the way he looks at her makes every hair on Vivienne's body stand on end. Run, a little voice says, run fast and hope to god he doesn't catch you. But running is an equally bad idea given the fact there's something in the tomb that people are actively shooting at. Which is better? The right hand of the Devil or whatever the right hand is running from? Vivienne figures he hasn't done anything bad to her yet... drugging aside... maybe if she can just appeal to whatever humanity he has she can get out of here in one piece. 

"Personally, I don't want anything from you." Harrow tells her softly, "You're just an unfortunate victim in this." 

"So why am I here then?" 

"Because you're special to Marc Spector." 

"I don't know a Marc Spector." 

Harrow chuckles, "Steven. Forgive me. It's so terribly difficult to remember which one you met." 

What? 

Vivienne frowns. 

"Steven Grant had something of mine, I took it back, unfortunately he's a very dangerous man and I'm afraid I needed something to leverage against him as Layla El-Faouly no longer holds quite as much sway as I had hoped." Harrow informs her softly. 

Marc Spector. 

Layla El-Faouly. 

Vivienne doesn't know either of those people and saying Steven Grant is dangerous is probably the funniest thing she's heard this year. 

At this point she doesn't even try hiding her disbelief. 

"Steven Grant's about as dangerous as a wet sock." Vivienne informs Harrow. 

"On his own... but between the others living in his head I wouldn't be so sure." 

Vivienne scowls, opens her mouth to say something, and stops when a man appears at Harrow's side and begins to whisper. The two exchange words in quiet Arabic before Harrow nods in her direction. Vivienne swears as the new arrival takes a step in her direction and tries to run only to be snatched up by Charles, who materializes out of the shadows and wraps his arms around her body so that the only thing she has to really defend herself with is her feet. Which isn't that great of a defense because she manages to kick the man coming at her, but it doesn't stop another man from wedging his hand between Charles' body and her own to get at her arms and cuff her wrists together behind her back. 

"There now, don't fuss, all will be well." Harrow informs her, reaching out to brush soft knuckles across her cheek, "Steven Grant and Marc Spector will find the Ushabti containing Ammit and once he has, we will make the world new again." 

"What are you talking about." Vivienne demands, voice strident and head tipping backward as Charles pulls at her hair. 

"Ammit will purge the world of evil." Harrow tells her but it sounds like he's reciting some sort of scripture. "And we her devoted will know no fear, no terror, no pain." 

"You're fucking crazy." Vivienne lets out in a horrified sort of huff. 

"Perhaps... come, it's time to introduce you to Marc Spector." 

Then she's being dragged off. Shoved back through the tunnels. Guided to the room where someone had been murdered and now looks wrecked, up a ladder to a platform where more bodies are laid out, and through a smaller - though brighter - tunnel. The men who go ahead of her, Charles, and Harrow have guns. Each one up and ready should they run into trouble... but what's trouble? Marc Spector? Whoever he is he apparently knows Steven and apparently that's a bad thing? Must be a bad thing. Vivienne thinks that if she makes it out of this she and Steven are going to have to have a talk about his friends because getting kidnapped because Steven's online bestie is a psychopath is gonna probably be a deal breaker. But benefit of the doubt because one crazy person calling another person crazy does not a crazy person make. Vivienne's willing to talk this one out. 

Or, she was. 

Right up until Charles pressed a knife to her throat and marched her into another antechamber where she saw Steven - her Steven - standing at the foot of a dead person's tomb brandishing a gilded axe. 

He doesn't look like her Steven though. 

The man standing at the foot of the tomb before her is hard. His eyes are flinty, his brow is furrowed, his lips are twisted in a snarl, and for a second Vivienne doesn't recognize the man standing in front of her. Then he casts her wild gaze across the group of gun wielding men, catches sight of her, and softens a bit. Not much. But enough that Vivienne sees something of Steven in the man and it makes her shiver. 

"Just you?" Harrow asks, a strange buzzing coming from him, "The rest is silence. I remember the first morning I woke up knowing that Khonshu was gone. The quiet was liberating. You're a free man! And, of course, with that freedom comes choice. And right now you have a very important decision to make." 

Dark eyes flit about the room beneath a heavy brow. First to Harrow, then to the men with guns, then to Vivienne where they narrow slightly. His jaw tightens. Vivienne bites down a grunt as Charles grabs her by the hair - too far from her scalp to not cause a fair amount of pain - and tilts her head further back so he can press the blade against the underside of her jaw, forcing Vivienne's view of Steven to distort a bit as her head is tipped toward the ceiling. 

"...Ok..." Steven says, and Vivienne frowns at the confidence there and the thick American accent. 

Midwest. 

If a gun was to her head Vivienne would say Chicagoland or possibly even Milwaukee or Indianapolis. 

As it stands, Vivienne doesn't really have time to delve too deep into the lack of accent. Mostly due to the fact that two of the men with guns are approaching Steven, inching closer with hands outstretched. Vivienne wonders what they're reaching for. The axe or the little crocodile lady figuring in Steven's hand. Whichever they're after, they don't get it, because as soon as one of the men gets close enough Steven is grabbing the gun in the man's hand, jerking him forward to get him off balance, and swinging the axe down on the back of his head. Vivienne jerks, the scrape of the blade across her neck and the hot, wet sensation that follows ignored as she watched Steven - her Steven who had gone pale as a ghost once when Vivienne had accidentally ripped a nail down into the nailbed on one of their dates - kills another man and then proceeds to throw the axe at Harrow. But it doesn't hit. Vivienne can't quite tell what's happening given the way her head is being held, but she watches a man in front of Harrow go down from the edge of her vision and then hears the crack of a gun going off. 

"Steven!" She shouts as the dark-eyed man stumbles backward, blood staining the creme fabric covering his chest. 

Harrow steps up onto the platform. 

The gun goes off again. 

Steven's body jerks once and then disappear as his legs go out from under him and he falls off the platform. 

"Steven! Let go of me! Steven!" Vivienne screams, thrashing against the man holding her. 

Harrow leans down to pluck something off the ground and Vivienne catches a glimpse of the crocodile lady figurine as he strokes it almost lovingly. He looks calm... like all of this is inconsequential to him, like he hadn't just shot and killed Vivienne's boyfriend. And it's all too much. The kidnapping, the pit, the stumbling through an ancient tomb she only knows anything about because of Steven, the man gripping her hair, the blood. Vivienne wonders if she's going to die too. Given the fact Harrow seems to have gone to so much trouble to keep her at least somewhat comfortable - which is honestly a subjective thought considering - through hall of this Vivienne's going to go out on a limb and say he probably doesn't want to kill her. Which pings in the back of her mind as something to worry about as Charles drags her backward out of the tomb upon Harrow's signal. 

Chapter Text

"Right young man, brakes are on. You're favorite spot." An orderly tells him, smile curling across his face. 

Marc blinks at him. 

Blinks against the harsh light of the clinic, the pristine white glare of the world around him, the man he sees reflected back at him in the window across from him. 

Blinks. 

Blinks. 

Blinks. 

A woman with curly brunette hair and pretty eyes slips by him talking about how she changed the movie on the television not far from where Marc's been parked. She wears the same outfit he does, has the same paper bracelet denoting her as a patient on her wrist. Marc stares at her as the woman goes to put a new photo on the magnet board. Marc doesn't really understand what she's saying to him, her words are jumbled, and when he goes to speak all that comes out is a sort of agonized grunt that pulls her attention away from the whiteboard. The woman is biting into a marshmallow, for a second Marc thinks it's a magnet. White and circular like the ones on the whiteboard. 

"Did I startle you?" She asks, then her face twists and she's making her way closer, pushing her hair out of her face and saying, "Oh no! I'm sorry, I'm sorry... oh, look at that! You won!" 

She plucks a bingo card out of his lap, 

Blue ink peppers the page. 

"We won." She says with a grin. 

She turns away from Marc and looks across the room. 

"I won!" she calls to the man announcing numbers, then she comes back to Marc, "I'll share it with you this time, I swear." 

Then she's gone, skipping across the room and leaving Marc to his lonesome. 

He stares at his reflection in the glass. 

"Steven?" He whispers, his reflection doesn't respond, "Steven?!" 

He's up and out of his wheelchair, calling for the other man that had lived in his head. He makes it about a half a step before his legs give out beneath him and Marc hits the floor, the little white-clad figuring falling from the tight clutch of his hand. Looking back, he finds his ankle shackled to the wheelchair by a safety restraint. 

"You're alright! Come on, come on. There you go, alright." the orderly from before says as he grabs hold of Marc's shoulders and drags him up and then once he's got Marc back in the chair he says, "Marc, you can't keep doing this." 

But Marc isn't listening to him, too focused on the caped toy laying where Marc had dropped it. He knows that figure, but he can't seem to place why. It's like every time he gets close to where he recognizes the toy from the thought slips away like water through open fingers. Marc stares and stares and stares at the toy. Mind drifting through the turbulent waters of his thoughts. Doesn't even realize he's being moved until he's being left in a new room with a man sitting behind a big white desk. 

"Good morning, Marc, how have you been feeling today?" The doctor asks softly. 

He remains silent. 

Remains silent and still through the other standard questions the doctor asks him. 

"I know that you're having great deal of difficulty being able to differentiate between what's real and what's in your head. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of borrowing the film you brought," the doctor chuckles, "It was fun to see that my old VHS player still works... how many times would you say you've seen that movie?" 

Marc blinks sluggishly at the Steven Grant: Tomb Buster tape laying between him and the doctor. 

When he doesn't say anything, the doctor continues, "I liked the villain. "No tree can ascent to the light of heaven if it doesn't descend to the depths of hell." that's a good line. Yeah. The plot makes a real meal out of a lunar god... and didn't you say that you worked for one? What do you make of the similarities? Given the production value of that film, I can't imagine too many other people have seen it. What do you think? Is that a coincidence?" 

Everything is blurry. 

Out of focus. 

Marc's been drugged before. He knows the feel of sedatives. He knows how they cloud his mind and make anything seem too slow all at once. He wants to shake his head, slap his palm against his temple until focus slots back into place and he can see again. 

"I don't... think..." He pants, voice ragged. 

"What?" The doctor asks. 

"I think someone..." He gasps a couple of rough breaths, "I think someone..." 

"I know," the doctor interrupts, "I'm sorry about that. But remember, you're only sedated because of your own behavior and the effects will wear off soon." 

He wants something. 

Someone. 

Soft hands with rough finger pads and short hair and bright eyes. 

He stumbles over the name. Tongue heavy as an anchor in his mouth. He can't think of her name, but he can see her. The nameless woman he wants is lingering at the edge of this thought. Curled up on a battered couch with a blanket tossed over her lap and sheet music in her hands, fingers tapping a tune against the armrest she leans on. The thought of her brings warmth. Soft and sweet like the first warm day of spring after a brutal winter. Unaware of his presence or his attention and still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life.

"Marc, we don't live in the material world. We live in the psychic world. We're only able to make indirect inferences about the nature of society. Like, take for example, this pen, right?" The doctor holds up an ink well pen, the custom-made type, and tapes it against his glasses, "To me this is a writing utensil, right? To my dog, it's a chew toy. Both are accurate. It's just a question of context and perspective. And all I'm asking of you is an honest assessment of your situation." 

The cane leaning against the desk is... wrong. 

He frowns at it. 

Rage bubbles up in Marc;s chest. 

Why is he mad at the cane? Why does the smooth mother-of-pearl handle bother him? He scrapes through the mess of his memories - fractured, untrustworthy things that they are - until he catches something. His girl sitting on a bus beside the doctor, smiling and unaware of the crocodile teeth pressed against her knee. Glowing purple eyes. Danger, danger, danger. His girl in danger.

"Everything reminds me..." he mumbles, distracted by the fly that lands on his hand. "It reminds me." 

"Reminds you of what? Of your past? Of Steven?" 

The fly buzzes off. 

Marc looks to the doctor. 

"You know Steven?" He asks. 

"Of course, I know Steven." He reassures softly, "But, Marc, I want to talk to you right now. And I have noticed, alright, in our sessions a pattern developing. Every time I ask you direct questions, you are triggered, you are overwhelmed, and that's normal, all right? For many of us, when asked to look into our innermost experiences, into the nucleus of our personalities, we close our eyes. It's understandable." 

Marc isn't listening. 

The other man's words are a faint gurgle in the back of his mind. 

The painting on the wall reminds him of something. Marc can't say what. 

The glass pyramid on the desk reminds him of something. Marc can't say why. 

Doctor Harrows black crocks and his checkered linen pants a jarring contrast to his sweater vest and slicked back hair. 

Why? 

Marc's heart begins to pound in his chest.

All he knows is it's important. They're important. Something isn't right and the sedatives aren't helping him make it through the much of his thoughts. 

"I can't help you if you don't help yourself." The doctor tells him. 

Suddenly he hears shouting. A terrified, high-pitched wail that makes his skin crawl and his blood run like ice in his veins. Steven! He knows the voice, likes that voice, and now it carries a desperate, horrified edge to it that makes Marc panic. Steven! 

Then there's clarity. 

"You shot me." Marc mumbles accusingly at the man across from him. "You shot me!" 

Trembling, weak, Marc twists to stare at the door behind him. 

He could make it. 

He could absolutely make it. 

Even drugged he thinks he'd still be faster than Harrow. He could make it to the door and out into the hall. Escape this hellhole and find a way out, claw his way back to... where? Her? He was shot. Arthur Harrow shot him in the chest and left him for dead. Even is Layla maned to... oh God, Layla. Did Harrow shoot her too? Did he shoot Marc's girl as well? Sweat breaks out across his body, makes his clothes sticky and uncomfortable. He throws himself out of the chair. Legs shaky and uncooperative as he crawls toward the door. Harrow rising from his own chair and begging Marc to settle. But he won't. He can't. Steven is missing from his head, Layla could be hurt, and he doesn't even want to think about what could be happening to Vivienne. 

Vivienne. 

Marc swallows bile as it rises up to coat his tongue and claws his way closer to the door. 

"Stay away from me!" Marc shouts at the man slowly making his way closer.

Murderer. Kidnapper. Murderer. Kidnapper. 

It's an ugly song that keeps repeating in Marc's head as stumbles to his feet and slips back to the floor. 

The gilded heads of ancient beings surround him, watch him, judge him as he rises and falls over and over in his desperate bid to get to the door. To get out of the office and away from Harrow. He gets to the door but the knob won't twist, the damn thing won't budge, and Marc is trapped in the room with Arthur Harrow approaching, blathering on about mental illness and understanding as if he didn't shoot Marc or kidnap his girlfriend. Like he doesn't have plans to unleash an immortal psychopath on a bunch of innocent people. 

Break the glass. 

Break the glass! 

Skin on his elbow splits as he drives it into the glass and fumbles with the lock on the other side of the door. 

"Stay away from me!" He shouts, fingers slipping. 

"Marc," Harrow pleads, "don't do this. You're only going to-" 

But Marc has the lock undone and he's out of the office before Harrow can finish his sentence.

Orderlies grab him. 

Strong hands wrapping around his body and dragging him back into the office. 

Marc won't go. 

Panic and fear has him driving his injured elbow into the groin of an orderly as hard as he can. A grunt and then the orderly is dropping him, allowing Marc to twist and sink his teeth into the hand of the other one. She shouts, lets him go, and Marc runs before either of them can get their bearings again. He sprints, the effects of the sedative beginning to wear off as he stumbles into walls and slips on too-slick tile. But once he's got his feet truly under him Marc's off. Tearing through the facility like his life depends on it - which, it does - and shaking the sensation of unsteady ground out of his head. It feels like he's on a boat. The steady to-and-fro of waves pushing the world this way and that throwing him off. But he keeps running, looking over his shoulder for orderlies, terror choking him as he finally ducks into an empty room to catch his breath and figure out his next steps. 

Loud knocking startles him. 

Pulls Marc's attention away from the frosted glass of the window as the orderlies go sprinting past. 

A dusty sarcophagus waits in the room with him. Marc watches as the lid rocks beneath the force of something trying to break free. And he doesn't know why he does it, or what possesses him to think it's even a good idea, but he's at the side of the sarcophagus in seconds. 

"Let me out!" a muffled voice shouts, "Let me out! Let me out! Please someone let me out!" 

Marc slips his fingers beneath the lip of the sarcophagus and pushes, watches as the heavy stone moves away like paper to reveal a terrified, red-faced Steven, who hauls himself out of the sarcophagus panting and panicked. Marc has never been so happy to see anyone in his life. 

"Steven?" He calls, unsure if he should trust what he's seeing. 

The man looks at him with wild dark eyes and says, "Marc." 

And Marc pushes forward. Relief and joy beating out his growing fear as he embraces the other man. Never realizing how much he'd actually missed the presence of Steven in his mind until he was gone. Marc clings to him, fingers balling up the dark blue shirt he wears, and shakes as he latches on tighter. Releasing his grip only when the British man goes to pull away. 

"How is this possible?" He asks and Marc shakes his head. 

"I have no idea." Marc pulls himself together and points to Steven, "What's the last thing that you remember?" 

Steven frowns, eyes flicking down before they meet Steven's once more as he says, "Harrow shot us." 

"Yes!" Marc laughs. 

He isn't crazy! 

He isn't fucking crazy. 

It happened. Harrow shot them - killed them, but not? - and now they're here... wherever here is. Which means they might have a chance of getting back. Waking up. Which means they also have a chance of stopping Harrow and defeating Ammit and making sure Vivienne and Layla haven't been killed too. Ok... ok... they can figure this out. 

"Alright, we gotta get out of here." Marc says as he goes to open the door, "Follow me. Come on, Steven!" 

The other man looks horrified. Marc wonders, and tries not to linger on this, if he's remembering Vivienne. If he saw the blade slice into her neck and the blood that had welled up after it. Shallow though it may have been, Marc had still had enough presence of mind to be horrified as the second bullet hit him. Had Steven seen that? Marc hopes not. He's not even dating Vivienne. Can't imagine how Steven would react to it as he actually is dating the pretty cellist. 

Thankfully, Steven doesn't say anything as he follows Marc out into the hallway. 

It's empty of people which means the orderlies haven't really started looking through individual rooms and offices. Good. That's good... but that doesn't mean they're alone, either. Because as they pass an open-door Marc catches sight of another sarcophagus. This one standing upright and rocking more violently like Steven's had. But it isn't Steven's sarcophagus, and Marc has a bad feeling about opening it. Whatever's in there is angry. Enraged. The way the dusty stone rocks and sways and rattles makes Marc frown as he by passed the door with Steven hot on his tail. They need to avoid the orderlies. They don't have time to deal with whatever mess that is. 

They have to make it out of here and they don't have long before... before... Marc frowns at the shadowy figure slowly materializing on the other side of the frosted glass across from him and Steven. 

Before he can tell the other man to bolt the doors swing open to reveal a tall... hippo? Marc stares, brain trying to process what he's seeing. A femine body with a hippo's head decorated in gold and lapis lazuli and shimmering silk. 

The three of them stare at each other. 

The hippo raises a very human looking hand. 

"Hi!" she chirps. 

And Marc screams. 

Steven screams too. 

The sound of it echoing down the hall and drowning out the sound of stone rocking against tile. 

Chapter Text

They sit her in the backseat of a white truck beside the man who murdered her boyfriend. Someone was smart enough to gag her. Vivienne's hands might be cuffed behind her back still, but she doesn't know what she would do sitting this close to Steven's murderer. She doesn't think she'd kill him... not really... but she's numb. Caught somewhere between rage and grief that makes her feel strung out and empty. Would she try to fill the growing pit in her chest with Harrow's blood? Sink her teeth in deep and tear away flesh and tendon like some sort of wild dog? Vivienne cries. She's not numb enough for that to have been taken from her. But what is she crying about? Overwhelmed, terrified, a victim of someone else's crazy. All things that justify a full mental breakdown in the backseat of a battered white truck but she thinks it's more than that... she's crying for Steven. 

Obviously, something's going on with him. 

Between the accent and the fact that he'd handled that axe like he was used to using them... god, is she stupid? She likes to think she has a good sense of character. Steven never once struck her as the violent type. He isn't the violent type. This isn't a judgement of his character, Vivienne thinks she could very easily love Steven for all his imperfections and stuttering compliments and eagerness to share the knowledge he loves that Vivienne doesn't really understand, but he's not exactly a macho man type. Oh, he'd defend her if he had to. Vivienne doesn't think he'd go belly up if they were ever in a situation where Vivienne could get hurt... but she's seen the way he demurs to others. She's seen the way he took Donna's vitriol... right? Had she? Had that been Steven? Vivienne tries to think back on the little details of the day they met in the museum and can't really come up with anything out of the norm. 

Well, that's a lie. 

His smile had been odd. 

She remembers thinking that there was something off about him that day. 

Had it all been a lie? What would he gain from lying to her like that? What did he want from her?

Vivienne thinks she might be sick, curling slightly to rest her head on the back of the seat in front of her and takes deep breaths through her nose. 

"I'm sorry." the man beside her says quietly, "this must be very hard for you... it hadn't been my intention to kill Marc Spector and Steven Grant, nor had it been my intention to get you involved in this." 

Liar, Vivienne thinks waspishly. 

Unable to speak around the cloth in her mouth, Vivienne opts to glare at the man across from her and the axe he's carrying.

Thankfully, Harrow doesn't continue talking to her. Though, that's probably more due to the reason that they're coming up on a traffic stop than him trying to give Vivienne space to process. Seems pretty bold of him to go right up to the traffic stop when he's got an obviously kidnapped woman in the backseat with him. Doesn't make her feel good about the situation. She starts to panic a little when the truck rolls to a stop and a military man with a gun comes striding toward their line of vehicles. She can't understand a word he's saying but she doesn't need to because there's one thing a language barrier can't hinder and that's an understanding that shit's about to hit the fan. It starts when Harrow steps out of the truck with his axe and people start shouting. Vivienne tries to hunker down so that she doesn't get hit with any bullets that might start flying, debating whether she should try to make a run for it or not. 

"It's alright!" he calls to the aggravated military men - one of which Vivienne knows catches sight of her through the open door of the truck - and the people climbing out of their vehicles to stand with Harrow. "It's alright! " 

Harrow shuts the truck door. 

Muffled shouting is all Vivienne can make out of whatever conversation Harrow is having. She hunkers down in the seat a bit more as Harrow lifts the axe above his head, purple mist swirling around the blade and cracking down the shaft like lightning. Vivienne shouts as Harrow slams it into the ground and the military men are lifted into the air by whatever power Harrow holds. And then it starts clicking for Vivienne that this is well above her paygrade. So, fucking far above it that it's laughable. This is Avengers level shit and Vivienne has absolutely no reason to be here. But she is here, and she watches as the military men's bodies twitch and break, something pulling from beneath their flesh and feeding into the eerie purple glow that's flooding the truck. 

Once the screaming stops and the purple glow fades, Vivienne can make out the shuffle of people as they move away from the vehicles. 

Holy shit... she thinks dazedly as she tries to compartmentalize what she just witnessed, Holy shit. 

She almost screams as the truck door pops open and Harrow gets back in the truck. 

They share a look and whatever he sees in her face - horror, probably, because what the fuck was that? - makes him frown. It comes as a relief when the truck starts and ambles off without Harrow turning his powers on her. Though, she wishes someone would start talking. Because no one is. The driver just speeds down the road toward their destination and Harrow looks contemplatively at the figure in his hand. Vivienne takes the opportunity to reassess her situation. 

Harrow has powers. 

Ok, great, not actually great but, like, great to know she isn't crazy. Also, great because it means that if she's going to slip away, she's going to have to do so while Harrow's distracted. As good as he's been to her, and he has been good given the fact he can apparently kill people with purple mist, Vivienne does not want to be stuck with him longer than absolutely necessary. So, she plots as they drive and tries not to panic. It's like her dad said when she first expressed interest in moving to New York City all those years ago. Panic gets people killed in dangerous situations. 

Vivienne is, very much, in a bad situation and the only person that might have saved her is dead. 

Eventually the car slows to a stop. 

Vivienne looks out the window to find herself facing a pyramid. She'd already assumed she was in Egypt given the tomb Marc had died in, but the confirmation doesn't make her feel good. She feels a little sicker to her stomach as Harrow turns to her and smiles. 

"You're a good person, Miss Hale, and it would be unfair of me to rob you of this experience. I hope you understand when this is over that we're doing something good." 

Ok you fucking psychopath. 

Vivienne doesn't even grunt as she's pulled from the truck and passed to a shorter member of their party wearing a protective cloth around their face. Their hands are gentle on her though. Soft and warm as they curl almost tenderly around Vivienne's fingers. Which, honestly, startles her. Because it feels more like a touch of reassurance than one of restraint and Vivienne can't help but furrow her brows at the person holding her. Whoever it is raises a finger to their mouth before dropping their hand to their side just as quickly. Vivienne looks around, wondering if anyone saw the small interaction, and realizes that the majority of the people around them are more interested in whatever Harrow is doing than some kidnapped girl and her possible rescuer? Possible killer maybe? Vivienne's honestly not sure which way's up at this point. The person holding Vivienne helps her up the side of the pyramid as Harrow leads his followers. Hands still gentle, though firm as Vivienne is pulled this way and that. She can work with this over Charles dragging her around with a hand in her hair and his arms bruising around her biceps. At least she thinks this person would let her run if she tried. As stupid as running in the desert would be when you don't speak Arabic and have no idea where you really are.

Ahead of them, Harrow is muttering under his breath and waving his axe around like an idiot. 

But maybe not a total idiot because when he slams the staff against the ground the pyramid begins to split open to reveal a dark cavern. 

The person holding her leans in close. 

"When we go in," a heavily accented, feminine voice, "you and I are going to split off from the group. I know a way to help marc... and Steven." 

And Steven. 

Like they're two different people. 

Vivienne feels queasy but she nods slowly to show she understands. 

At this point, anything to get away from Harrow. 

The woman holding her rubs her thumb along Vivienne's wrist before adjusting her grip and pushing them both forward to follow the line of people following after Harrow. 

Unlike the first pit Vivienne had walked into, this one is clean and covered in art. Hieroglyphs, gilded statues, gems and precious stones pressed into the walls and figurines and carved to look like ancient Gods. Vivienne takes it all in but keeps the majority of her attention on the woman behind her. They walk together at the back of the group. Unassuming and quiet as Harrow marches ahead, talking about Gods and what they've hidden from mankind. It isn't until they're in a larger chamber full of people and relics that the woman holding her begins shoving her off to the side. Vivienne allows it. Tries to follow as best she can. But she hasn't got any idea where she's going and it isn't until the other woman seems satisfied that their our of the way that she even turns to Vivienne. 

"You're judges, not warriors!" She hears Harrow shout as the woman pulls down the fabric covering her own face and smiles thinly at Vivienne. 

She thinks it's supposed to be comforting. 

What she finds more comforting is the fact that the woman is working out the knot wedged between her teeth. 

"My name is Layla El-Faouly, I'm a friend. This is the plan." The woman whispers to her, "We can save Steven and Marc, but we have to release Khonshu from his ushabti." 

"Who is Marc?" Vivienne asks and then frowns. "Who is Khonshu." 

"We have a lot to talk about, but we don't have time right now. Let's go." 

And then she's being dragged off again. 

Only this time she doesn't feel like she's in danger. 

The tunnels Layla drags her through aren't covered in blood or viscera and the other woman makes sure to slow down when Vivienne stumbles seeing as she hasn't gotten the cuffs off her. When they get to a smaller chamber filled with little stone figurines, Vivienne turns to Layla expectantly because what is she supposed to do? What are they looking for? This seems a lot less insane than Harrow's purple mist of death, but she still feels like she's about two seconds from a permanent stay in a grippy sock hospital. Layla's smile is still thin but it's clear she's trying to get Vivienne through this. So, Vivienne will try. Whatever insane plan she has for stopping Harrow, Vivienne will try to help with because she might be literally powerless, but Harrow killed Steven... and he might be gone but Vivienne thinks she can at least put a dent in Harrow's plans if it means even a little bit of vengeance for Steven. 

"We're looking for a statue of a man with a bird head." Layla tells her. 

"Khonshu?" Vivienne asks, repeating the other unfamiliar name she'd heard. 

"Yeah, if you find it, call me. Do not break anything." 

Ominous. But Vivienne nods and shuffles off. 

She wishes her hands weren't cuffed behind her back. Not being cuffed at all would be awesome but she'll take them being cuffed in front of her if she can't be free. At least that would give her the use of her hands. As it stands. Vivienne is forced to squint at the little figures in their individual alcoves. 

"Are you Khonshu?" She asks a bird-headed statue with a headdress and a staff in his hand.

Something tells Vivienne it isn't.

A sort of instinctual affront that isn't her own. 

"Sorry, didn't mean to offend you." Vivienne mutters before shuffling off. 

The sound of roaring winds and moaning echos down the hall from the other chamber and Vivienne freezes before whipping around to face Layla. 

"What was that?" She hisses at the other woman who has a little figurine in her hand. 

"A problem." Layla says as she moves to grab Vivienne's arm and pull her away.

They make their way down another hall, and then another, further and further from the chamber Harrow and his people occupy. Vivienne doesn't fight against Layla despite the panic that builds in her chest when they stop in a dark alcove that reminds her too much of the pit. Vivienne tries to regulate her breathing as Layla places the figurine on the ground and stomps on it. The creature that materializes before them moments after the stone has been stomped to dust is familiar. Vivienne say it - him? - in her apartment when she was kidnapped.  

Khonshu. 

Vivienne shivers as the giant skull of the bird-God-creature-thing turns to her. 

"I do not sense Marc Spector in this world." He says, "He died fighting no doubt." 

"Fighting your war." Layla tells him sharply. 

Vivienne is not getting involved in that. 

Nope. 

Nuh-uh. 

Not a snowball's chance in hell. 

"And it's far from over. If Marc is truly gone, I am in need of an avatar. Would you, Layla El-Faouly, protect the travelers of the night-" 

"-Are you joking? You turned Marc's life into a waking nightmare. Why would I ever sign up for that?" 

"Because you won't win against Harrow and Ammit alone." 

"I'll take my chances." 

Khonshu 'hmms' quietly before turning to Vivienne. 

"And you? Would you allow the world to suffer as you have? As Steven Grant and Marc Spector have?" 

"I don't know Marc Spector." 

This earns her a gut-deep laugh from the being before her. 

And a wince from Layla. 

Clearly, she's out of the loop on something. 

"Marc Spector was in crisis over you," the bird man tells Vivienne, still chortling, "His lack of focus got him killed. You need a plan, little plover, what I offer..." 

"Sounds like a shit deal. You didn't even try to stop Harrow's men from taking me, why would I sign over my life to you? You don't even care that Steven's dead? Or Marc." 

Whoever he is. 

Obviously, someone who worked for Khonshu at one point. 

"I cared more than you know, little plover." 

"Clearly." Vivienne bites out. 

"We don't care what you can offer." Layla cuts in, "Marc didn't trust you. We don't trust you... we'll work together, without either of us enslaving ourselves to you." 

Khonshu is quiet for a long moment. 

"We must rebind Ammit." he finally says. 

"How?" 

"Only an Avatar can do it." 

"What is an avatar... exactly?" Vivienne asks quietly. 

"A voice of a God. The divine right hand, their sword and their gavel." 

"Their executioner, essentially." Vivienne says. 

Khonshu doesn't' deny it. 

"Yeah, you can find someone else... please?" Vivienne tacks on nervously when Khonshu fucking growls at her. 

And then he's gone. 

Disappearing in a whorl of white and grey, leaving Vivienne and Layla alone in the chamber. 

The two women stand there quietly for a long moment just staring at each other. Then Layla nods and motions for her to spin around, which Vivienne does without hesitation. While the other woman works on getting Vivienne out of her cuffs, she sits and contemplates the situation as a whole. Vivienne had known about aliens for a while now. The Bottle of New York had been live streamed on most news channels and it was pretty much impossible for the government to sweep that under the rug. The Avengers had been presented as a shield against the world's most savage evils and after that more and more things had popped up. Made themselves known. Aliens and Gods really shouldn't be a surprise at this point... they aren't... what surprised Vivienne is that she's the one involved in it. Her and Steven. Jesus. 

Metal releases and Vivienne whips around to face Layla. 

"Thank you." She says to the other woman who smiles softly at her. 

"You're welcome," Layla tells her before stepping out of the alcove. "We have to hurry. If we're going to stop Ammit we need the help of Gods." 

Which isn't daunting at all. 

Vivienne's a musician, not a god-fighter. 

She's literally not prepared for this. 

But she follows Layla back to the big chamber where there are now dead bodies strewn about at the feet of Harrow and his men and Vivienne realizes she doesn't really get a choice. She's involved now. So, she tries to pull herself together as she creeps along after Layla to the man trying to claw his way across the ground. Getting him up on his feet is harder than Vivienne expected, likely due to the fact that his leg is dislocated at the hip and dragging awkwardly as Vivienne tries to move without stepping on the injured appendage or kicking it on accident. How they manage to get him out of the chamber without being spotted is beyond Vivienne. 

"Are you the one who released Khonshu?" The man asks them, fingers digging into Vivienne's shoulder as she and Layla carry him away from the massacre. 

"Yes." Layla grunts. 

The three of them struggle through the halls of the pyramid. Because the man they're helping is heavy and basically unable to really hold his own weight. Vivienne almost drops him when Layla stops and tries to prop him up on the wall so they can all catch their breath. 

"How do we stop Ammit?" She asks, dark eyes glinting in the low light of the dim hall. 

"This chamber," the man says around rasping gasps, "is our most powerful place. From here we need to imprison Ammit in a mortal form." 

"A body instead of a statue." Layla clarifies for Vivienne's sake, "She'd be vulnerable." 

"We could kill her." Vivienne says, which makes the man propped against the wall nod. 

"Ok," Layla says, sounding a bit more confident than she looks. "How do we do it?" 

"We need more avatars than we have left." The man mumbles seconds before his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses. 

Vivienne lunges. Rolls the man onto his back and checks for a pulse as Layla tries to wake him with gentle pats. Chest compressions wouldn't do anything at this point. Not really. Neither Vivienne nor Layla are medical professionals and while Vivienne's CPR certified there's only so much, she can do... besides, the man doesn't even have a pulse. Vivienne runs a hand through her hair and frowns. 

"What do we do?" She asks Layla.

Layla looks at her. 

Something hardens in her gaze. 

"We need more avatars." 

That doesn't sound good. 

"Ok.. so, what, we just hand ourselves over to gods?" 

Layla frowns and says, "We don't have much of a choice." 

And then she closes her eyes. 

"Taweret are you there?" Layla asks the air. 

Nothing happens for a long moment. 

Then suddenly the body at their knees jerks, chest bulging and moth opening to release a high pitched and incredibly excited, "Layla! I'm so thrilled! We're going to have so much fun together!" that echos off the walls and absolutely alerts Harrow and his men to their presence. Because how could it not. 

"Shit," Vivienne swears as she scrambles to her feet, 'We have to go!" 

Running seems like a great idea at first. But then the rumbling starts, soon followed by bits of stone cracking off of the walls and falling down around them. The pyramid is coming down on them and Vivienne's horrified because they have no idea how to get out of here. How to get away. They're trapped like rats in a fucking cage and Vivienne shouts as she runs into Layla's back. The other woman jerking and twitching as the walls around them quake. 

"Oh!" A voice that isn't Layla's says, "You changed your mind. I would be delighted to accept you as my avatar!" 

"Temporary avatar." Layla pants. 

And Vivienne feels like a full-on crazy person watching this all go down. 

"Yes, of course!" the other voice chirps, "Oh your father is going to be over the moon when he hears." 

Pebbles hit Vivienne in the head as Layla continues her conversation with the god currently taking up space in her body. Not her business. So, so, totally not her business. Vivienne focuses on trying to find a way out as opposed to eavesdropping on a sensitive conversation. Not that she isn't hearing it, because there's no real way to give Layla privacy to talk about her father with the god, but Vivienne's trying. Mostly because she wants absolutely nothing to do with this whole avatar thing. Sounds sketchy as hell. 

"Layla, please, we have to go!" Vivienne shouts as the tunnel behind them collapses. 

"I have a fabulous costume in mind!" The other voice cries. 

Vivienne shouts as she ducks down to avoid the rubble as the ceiling above her splits open and rains down on her and Layla. 

Warm arms wrap around her ribs, pulling her up and against an armored chest. The rubble doesn't crush them only because Layla manages to use whatever godly powers she's been given to kick a hole through the stone slab to their left and drag them both through the hole and into a larger chamber that looks relatively undamaged. Vivienne steps back to observe her. Watches as Layla takes in her new getup, reaches behind her back, and extends her arms to reveal not only a pair of wicked sharp looking knifes, but gilded wings as well. 

Layla looks at her and smiles. 

Vivienne's answering smile feels hollow as hell, and she can't bring herself to do anything as Layla grabs her by the arm and drags her off once more. 

Chapter Text

War is a funny thing. 

Steven's never been involved in one but he knows all about them. He's watched news broadcastings on them, read about them in the paper, delved into books about ancient wars and the effect they've had on people and culture. But he's never been in a war. Until recently Steven never thought he would be in a position where he'd even have to fight another person. Of the two, Marc's the one better suited for all of this fighting business. But he also never though he'd meet actual Gods. Knowing there's a potential for them to exist and actually seeing them in the flesh is two very different things and Steven wishes he'd gotten to enjoy meeting them as opposed to the terror and panic that has consumed his life these last few days. But waking up in the same room he'd died in, choking on the water he'd bled into, breathing stale air and dust, all the while clinging to the memory of an afterlife he'd been able to escape... well, Steven can't not fight. 

Not after his body had shed the bullets that had killed him and Khonshu's rooted in deep between his bones and soft tissue. 

Steven binds himself to Khonshu once more knowing full well he'll fight for him. 

Doesn't mean he doesn't have a word or two to say to the bird before then, though. 

"Khonshu!" Marc calls out to the god as climb out of Alexander the Great's tomb and breathe fresh air. 

"I knew you'd miss me." the God says to him, them. 

"Layla turned you down, didn't she?" Marc asks and there's an edge to it that makes Steven feel guilty... despite everything he'd learned about Marc - and himself - in the Duat. 

Feels a bit like a betrayal in a way. 

Because they have Vivienne, who's sweet and kind. Vivienne who had watches Marc murder three men and had still screamed for him when he was shot. While she'd technically been screaming for Steven, the fact that she'd screamed for him at all is testament to how much they probably mean to her, right? She doesn't' know about the system and while Steven has every intention of changing that when he finds her again, neither he nor Marc can be upset about her reaction in that tomb. She'd cried for them. Looked to them for help and had tried to fight the first time they'd been shot. It means something. 

"So too did the little plover." 

Plover... shore birds. 

He feels Marc's aggravation.

"Ammit has been freed. I was not strong enough to stop her." Khonshu says to them and then, "Marc Spector, I need your help." 

Close as it is to a God begging, Steven shoulders the other man in their head aside to confront Khonshu. 

"Ah, just curious about something. How is this whole new arrangement gonna work?" He asks. 

"Steven Grant," Khonshu groans, "I was not speaking to you." 

"Yeah, alright, but we do come as a package deal now, so you are gonna have to deal with me." Steven says, and then he points at the bird. "And we did just save your life, so, you're welcome for that. But I do think that you should answer my question though. How's this deal gonna work?" 

"You would negotiate now? With so much at stake?" Khonshu snarls, "With the little plover's live at stake?" 

Steven has a sneaking suspicion that this 'little plover' is his girlfriend, and he doesn't think he likes Khonshu giving her nicknames when he's part of the reason she was kidnapped by Harrow in the first place. But he doesn't say anything about that right now. Because he needs Khonshu to give, even if just a little bit, so that he and Marc can walk away from this and actually have a chance at a happy life. Steven won't drag Vivienne into any more of this mess but he won't let her go either. Knows Marc won't let her go. So he sits on a large rock and crosses his ankle over his knee and tries to pretend he isn't a bit sick at the thought of Vivienne spending any more time with Harrow than she already has. 

"Well, we did learn from the best, you silly old bird." Steven says. 

A moment passes. 

A second. 

"I will release you both. You have my word." Khonshu says. 

And Steven doesn't think about how quickly he relented, how quickly he bent to Steven's wants. It doesn't cross his mind as something he or even Marc should worry about because he wants that freedom so badly and he needs to find Vivienne and Layla. Make sure they're both alright. He doesn't think to question the loss of consciousness he and Marc have suffered or the raging violence that has left people dead at their hands. He just takes the God's word for what it is and doesn't think more of it. 

"Mmm. I like the sound of that." Steven says with a grin. "Glad we got that all sorted out... now how the heck are we going to get to Cairo?" 

Around them the world begins to darken. 

"You forget, little worm-" and it isn't as nice as being compared to a cute little bird but at least Khonshu's consistent "- I am still the God of the Night Sky!" 

Rough gusts of wind cause the sand at their feel to swirl and kick up. The sun disappearing below the horizon far too quickly to be natural. Steven shivers. Not liking it one bit. 

"You know what, I think you should take this one, Marc." He says before handing the body back to the other man. 

Unlike previous times, Steven can still see everything. He can feel it too. The power that pools in his body as it launches itself into the sky, the bite of the wind as it tears at his clothing, the sound of the world as Marc flies - actually flies! - them across the desert to Cairo. It isn't a long flight, all things considered, but it's long enough that he has time to sit and worry about Vivienne. About what Harrow has done to her or what he plans to do to her? Steven doesn't like to think about what might have happened since she was kidnapped. Has been beating back nausea ever since he found her pajamas in that tent while hunting for supplies. He doesn't think Harrow would hurt her, not now that she's proven she's a good person, but can he be certain of that? Steven doesn't trust Harrow and he certainly doesn't trust his intentions. 

In the distance the purple mist of Arthur Harrow's power acts like a beacon, though it doesn't bode well. 

Marc catches sight of purple light floating through the air and Steven watches through his eyes as they converge on an ever-growing crocodile lady. Souls, he realizes with a touch of horror. They weren't fast enough to stop Harrow from signaling an attack but if they're quick they might be able to stop it before too many people die. They have to try at the very least. Steven doesn't even know how they're going to stop Ammit though. Stopping Harrow won't necessarily stop her, and he doesn't know if Khonshu will be strong enough on his own to do it given the fact, he'd admitted to not being strong enough earlier. Marc lands on the side of the pyramid Harrow has claimed for himself 

There's no villainous monologue, no declarations of free will and choice and the greater good when Harrow catches sight of him. 

Steven is momentarily startled by how fiercely the other avatar fights. Given the man's penchant for docility and crooning about the horrors of violence and evil, Steven hadn't thought he'd be this vicious in his fighting. But he was an avatar of Khonshu once wasn't he? Harrow had been the same thing Marc and Steven are now. An arrow directed at another and sent forth to deliver justice. 

At one point during their brawl Harrow manages to get a firm enough grip on Marc that he can't easily shake the other man off. So they take to the sky, flying high and fast over the desert and then into the outskirts of Cairo. Struggling to get the better of one another. Marc and Steven flip-flopping between control in order to shake Harrow off at one point. It doesn't work. Eventually Harrow gets a hand around Marc's head and pulls it violently to the side, throwing the two of them off course and into the pavement below. Steven's glad he can't feel whatever pain Marc is currently in. Doesn't mean the two of them won't be feeling it tomorrow, though. Must be bad, Steven thinks, watching as Harrow gets his feet under him before Marc does. 

"Get up Marc!" he shouts as Harrow approaches, staff glowing a violent purple. 

He doesn't. 

The only thing that really saves him from Harrow's attack is that the other man didn't use the blade side of his staff to hit Marc. Simply drove the single crocodile head still visible on the staff into Marc's temple and smiled faintly he prepared to level his power upon Marc. Steven tries to grapple control from the other man. Figuring that at the very least he might be able to roll them out of the way or kick out Harrow's leg. Anything to get them a bit of time. But as Harrow raises his staff and Steven still hasn't gotten control of the body it's another figure that swings in and saves the day. A blue of white, crimson, and gold. Steven hardly believes he sees it. Wouldn't believe it if it weren't for the fact that Harrow is sent flying and Layla is left standing in his place. 

Steven tries to shout a warning as Harrow gets back up and points his staff at Marc's old flame. 

Doesn't do any good though and the warning would have been useless anyway because Layla simply turns to face Harrow, raises the gilded wings on her back to black her chest, and reflects the jet of purple magic back at Harrow. Which has enough umph behind it to send him careening down the street where he lays for a moment, likely breathless. 

"Marc!" Layla calls as the man struggles to his feet. 

"Layla, Jesus, are you ok?" He asks, stumbling forward to meet her in the street. 

They don't embrace. 

At one point Steven might have thought they would given how protective Marc had seemed of the woman. But he doesn't embrace her, doesn't stroke his hand over her hair, doesn't pull away and look at her like she's the most precious thing he's ever seen and it eases a tension that's been growing in Steven since he met Layla. She's amazing. Steven understands why Marc married her, why he loved her. Hell, Steven could have loved her had he not met Vivienne. But he had met Vivienne and he can't see himself giving her up for Marc. So, selfish as this may sound, it's good to know he won't make Steven chose between his happiness and Marc's. 

"How did you get back?" Layla asks, grabbing hold of Marc's shoulders and giving him a couple once overs. 

Steven budges the man out of the way, the suit changing to the pristine white thing Marc had mocked him for only a few days ago, and smiles tightly at Layla. 

"You look amazing, who are you wearing?" cause that's an avatar's suit, not something she would just have in her closet. "Where is Vivienne?" 

Layla smiles. 

"She's fine. I left her somewhere safe." 

"Safe, where?" He asks, because from his understanding Vivienne doesn't speak a lick of Arabic and leaving her to wonder the streets of Cairo with a bunch of psychopaths roaming about seems like a horrible idea to Steven. 

Before she gets an opportunity to respond movement out of the corner of his eye has Steven looking off to where Harrow had been tossed. Finds the man rising to his feet with a flinty sort of quality to his face and staff glowing. Ok. Safe. Vivienne is safe wherever she is. Layla wouldn't have left her with Harrow's goons or anywhere she would have been picked up by them. Steven trusts Layla with his life, he can trust her with Vivienne's too. Once all of this is over he'll have Layla help him find Vivienne, make sure she isn't hurt. But for right now he needs to focus on Harrow and Ammit. 

"I'm really jazzed about showing you these new skillsets we have." Steven says to Layla, eyes never leaving Harrow. 

"Alright," Layla says, a breathless little laugh following, "show me what you got." 

"Yeah?" Steven asks with a laugh before the mask slips around his face. 

Fighting is surprisingly easy. 

Ever since he and Marc overcame their differences and bonded during their time in the realm of the Duat, it's like Steven feels more comfortable in his own body. He might not really know the finer elements of fighting but between muscle memory and Marc quietly feeding him little bits - and, ok, maybe Khonshu added a little pizazz too but Steven isn't going to thank the bloody bird - he can get by well enough. Though sometimes he has to make room for Marc. Suit shifting, batons morphing into gleaming crescent darts, the flip easy and painless. 

Harrow's people are easily handled. None of them have are avatars. None of them can fight like Steven, Marc, and Harrow can fight. So, handling them is easy enough. Some get a couple good hits in from time to time but for the most part Steven and Marc handle them without issue. Harrow, on the other hand, is a little different. Even fighting alongside Layla, Steven and Marc have a hard time handling Harrow. Between the power he's gained from Ammit for his physical body and then the power for the staff, really getting the drop on Harrow is harder than Steven likes to admit. Even Marc struggles to fight him. Every time they get blasted by a touch of that purple mist it burns like battery acid against their skin. Sinks in deep and chars the bones. That's not even taking into consideration the hell Steven and Marc put their body through as they're shoved around and tossed into walls or thrown into car window shields. 

Occasionally he catches glimpses of giant figures in the distance. The white of Khonshu's three-piece suit bright in the moonlight, the angry golden hue of crocodile scales, a yowl of something feline. Neither Marc nor Steven can really make out the fight between the different Gods but it's good to know that at least there's someone else from the Ennead helping them fight Ammit. 

At one point Layla manages to get her hands on Harrow's staff. Uses her body to pin his arm to the wall and let Marc press in close to beat the other man bloody. 

Though it doesn't last long thanks to a poorly timed move on both his and Layla's part where both attempted to swing at Harrow with their weapons and got tangled up with each other instead. It gives Harrow the opportunity to shove them away and slip farther back so he can launch another attack on the two of them. Swinging his staff with enough force that it rattles their bones when they manage to grab hold of it as well. Between him and Layla, they manage to keep Harrow's movements restricted, but they can't rip the staff out of his hands. So they struggle, pushing him back and trying to avoid the heat of that purple mist as it pools around them. Blasting into buildings and people who haven't managed to find someplace safe to slip off too. He even manages to hit a van full of civilians. Which sends Layla running to intervene and leaves Marc to deal with Harrow. 

Harrow manages to sweep Marc off his feet at one point. 

Uses Marc's grip on his staff to flip him over onto his back in the middle of the wrecked street. 

Marc only has seconds to get back on his feet before Harrow is blasting him with Ammit's magic. Heat and agony racing through him as he takes the brunt of the attack on his forearms where Khonshu's bracers act as a bit of a barrier between him and that purple hell. 

"Had Ammit been allowed to rule," Harrow growls, angrier than Marc or Steven have ever seen him, "young Randal's life would have been saved! You're family would've been happy! She need only remove one weed from the garden! You!" 

On his knees, Marc gasps for breath and tries to get his bearings. Disoriented from the blast and in a fair bit of pain, he doesn't move quickly enough to drive the razor-sharp points of the crescent darks into Harrow's side and instead finds himself wrapped up in that power once more. Only this time it isn't quite as agonizing. It isn't attempting to suck his soul from his body. This time Arthur Harrow's power wraps around Marc's hand and attempts to move his body like a puppet. To the point that Marc has to latch onto his own arm with his free hand in an attempt to keep himself from driving his own weapon into his throat. 

Struggling makes it worse though. 

One second Marc is handling himself and the next Harrow's power is surging, sending the crescent dart zipping through the air where it miraculously pins Layla to an overturned van. Miraculous only because it didn't kill her. Miraculous because she's still alive, just pinned to the undercarriage of a vehicle she can't get away from. And in his distraction Marc misses the next surge of power that hits him. 

Winds him. 

Knocks him right off his feet and lays him down in the rubble. 

Marc gasps and wheezes, chokes as he tries to breathe, watches as Ammit and Khonshu's individual figures come into better focus as Ammit plunges Khonshu's staff into his chest. It's a mess. This war between Gods. Marc wonders if it would have been different if the council had believed them when he'd tried to warn them. His view of the two gods is blocked as Harrow appears in his line of sight, staff raised high and glowing bright. He brings it down on the center of Marc's chest, driving it into the silver and leather that lay there until both split and the staff sinks into his skin. 

Yowling, Mark writhes and twists, fights against the pressure building in his body, catches sight of Layla being shot at as he thrashes. She's safe enough for the time being. Shielded by her wings. But for how long? How long will she be able to hold out against those guns? Will her God save her? Heal her? What about Marc? Will he survive? Will be be able to shake off Harrow's power, survive this attempt to balance his scales once more? What about the rest of the people in Cairo? Vivienne? What will happen to them? To her? Marc's vision flickers, the drumming of his heartbeat too loud in his head. It's agony. 

Agony. 

Agony. 

His vision flickers. 

Marc wakes up with Arthur Harrow's limp body in one hand, axe in the other, blade mere seconds from sinking deep into the man's head. And it's quiet. Harrow is still, his men are dead, Layla is staring at him like she's never seen him before - like she's scared - and that doesn't sit well with Marc. Divorced though they are, Marc doesn't want Layla to be scared of him. Doesn't like that he's given her a reason to. Hates that he has no idea what happened more. 

"That wasn't you, was it Steven?" Marc asks the empty air, eyes drifting from the ruined building to the little fires peppered here and there. 

"Not a chance, mate." Steven utters as he takes over the body, equally as horrified with what he's seeing as Marc had been. 

It's silent. 

The pop of fire eating away at bits of wood and rubble the only sound aside from his gasping breaths. 

"Marc?" Layla asks, finally managing to get herself unpinned form the van, "What the hell was that?" 

And Marc - who slips back into the spotlight - shakes his head. 

"I blacked out." He tells her honestly. 

He has no idea what happened between Harrow blasting him and Marc almost killing him but it clearly wasn't pretty. 

Layla doesn't get the opportunity to ask any more questions because a loud thud and a snarl has them looking up to the sky just in time to see Ammit grab Khonshu by his skull and drag him upward. She doesn't get very far in whatever attack she's planning on dealing him as a large being with a lion's head and thick leather armor sinks gilded claws into Ammit's shoulder and rakes downward. Ichor spilling from her wound and causing her to shout. 

"Get Harrow, I know how to stop Ammit." Layla says and who is Marc to question her? 

Without hesitation, Marc scoops the unconscious man up and tosses him over a shoulder. Careful to balance him so that when he takes off into the sky after Layla the man doesn't tumble off. Not that he would particularly care if Arthur Harrow fell. Marc wouldn't. But he'd rather not have to stop and get him again or run the risk of the fall killing him because they apparently need him to stop Ammit. Hilarious, isn't it? Like the world's least funny dad joke. Marc hates the irony of it but doesn't say anything as he hauls Harrow back toward the pyramids. 

Chapter Text

Layla leaves Vivienne in the main chamber. Guides her through the pyramid and tells her not to move as she pushes her to stand behind a thick pillar. The other woman offers a reassuring smile before she leaves, promising that she'll be back once Harrow is handled and Vivienne - despite how frayed her nerves are at this point - doesn't doubt her. In the silence of the pyramid in the moments after Layla disappears, Vivienne wonders if this is all just a fever dream. Maybe she'll wake up in a few hours in the back of someone's van. All of this just a bad dream brought on by whatever she was drugged with. Delusional. That's what she is. While, yes, it would be nice to be able to say all of this is a dream, Vivienne knows she can't. 

Steven is dead. 

Layla is the avatar of a God Vivienne didn't even know existed. 

Vivienne's stuck in a tomb. 

Can Layla even handle Harrow on her own? The guy they'd tried to save earlier said they needed more avatars in order to stop Harrow and seal Ammit. As far as Vivienne's aware, Layla's the only avatar here. The rest are laying dead across the chamber on the other side of the pillar Vivienne is leaning against. 

Above her the stones rattles. Muffled words sinking through the thick stone, impossible to understand, but just loud enough to hear. It's all followed by thudding and dust falling across her hair and the ominous groan of rocks as they're put under too much pressure. Vivienne doubts it's Layla. Having been left in an antechamber with a slew of dead bodies and who knows what waiting beyond, Vivienne isn't all that fond of the idea of testing her luck as a mere mortal. Layla has badass metal wings that'll keep her relatively safe. What does Vivienne have? Cotton and a soft belly? Vivienne thumps her head against the stone behind her. Sitting here doing nothing seems like a worse idea than trying to help. Weird as that seems. It feels like she should be doing something. Vivienne remembers watching news broadcasts of the Avengers or other lesser-known heroes saving people and the pedestrians who tried to help. Vivienne remembers thinking they were stupid... she kind of gets them now. 

At least if she were helping - even weak and soft as she is - she'd be able to focus on something other than the nausea bubbling up in her stomach as a result of her mounting anxiety. 

But what can she do? 

Legitimately? 

Going against literal Gods with zero skills under her belt seems like a pretty stupid idea... what pops into her head seconds later seems like an even dumber one. 

"We need more avatars than we have left." That's what the man had told her and Layla before he'd died. 

More avatars. 

More gods able to slip into a human being's skin and... what? Channel their magic? Vivienne doesn't quite understand the theory behind all of it but does she really have to? Layla had said that Khonshu had made Marc's life hell. Vivienne doesn't know him - though she's starting to think Steven either has an evil twin or that's a fake identity, a way for Marc to lay low and hide - but every time anyone talks about him they bring up Steven and Vivienne's willing to bet Khonshu made Steven's life hell too. But it's not like she would be saying yes to Khonshu. Vivienne could probably find a god willing to abandon her once Ammit is stopped. Maybe a sort of you-scratch-my-back-I-scratch-your-back type thing. Vivienne can let someone ride around in her body for a couple hours and then go home and pretend none of it ever happened.

A loud crack toward the entrance of the pyramid has Vivienne instinctively whipping around and checking to see if something has entered the antechamber with her. 

The only thing she sees is rubble and dead people. 

Dead people everywhere. 

Legs and arms and necks bent the wrong way. 

Their open, unseeing eyes more disturbing than their wrecked bodies. 

Vivienne hates it.

Would she end up like them if she let one of their gods into her body? Would they let her die like that? Vivienne likes to think the reason Harrow had been able to defeat all of them was because he'd snuck up on them. Sneak attacked them and just managed to get his evil plan underway before they'd had a chance to rally and stop him. With a moment to prep and a bit of a plan maybe things will go differently... even if they don't, does she have a choice? 

Harrow killed people before Ammit was free. Sucked their souls out of their body because... why? Vivienne doesn't even really know. She remembers him prattling on about the good in the world and the end of all evil, but he'd also murdered people so isn't that a bit hypocritical? Isn't that contradictory to his plans? Vivienne doesn't think super villains really need a solid reason to do bad things as long as their reason makes sense to them. Even if Harrow had a good reason for killing people... he's still killing people. Ammit will kill people. Innocent people. Vivienne might not understand his powers or why he's using them the way he is but innocent people always get hurt in situations like this. Can Vivienne genuinely sit here in this chamber when there are innocent men and women out there that might be dying? Children? Can Vivienne sit here, relatively safe for the most part, and ignore the fact that Harrow might be willing to kill kids? At least adults can run, at least they have enough presence of mind to know they need to bolt and get as far from the danger as possible... kids don't. They don't think the same way adults think. They don't have the same physical abilities. Vivienne closes her eyes. 

Road to hell's paved with good intentions, sweet pea, she remembers her dad saying, sometimes you just have to accept the consequences of your actions, shitty or not. 

Ex-army man, her dad. 

Vivienne's like ninety-nine percent sure he saw some shit when he was deployed but just never asked about it. A sort of unspoken understanding in the house that no one asked about or mentioned her dad's deployment to Vietnam. Which suited Vivienne just fine. She never quite got along with her dad. Didn't really agree with his politics or the way he saw things, but the one thing they did agree on was the United States' involvement in the Vietnam War. Most wars, actually. Her dad came back from his deployment pretty fucking jaded. Still, of all the advice her dad had given her in life - good and bad alike - the road to hell one seems to stick out to her the most...

Closing her eyes, Vivienne tries to reach out to whatever god might be listening. 

It feels pretty stupid if she's being honest. She isn't sure if she should actually be talking or not. Seems like it wouldn't matter one way or the other but what does she know? Feeling stupid, Vivienne thumps her head against the pillar softly and opens her eyes. Damn near leaping out her skin when she catches sight of the woman standing not far from her... being, might be a better description. Because the tall, buxom woman with a cow's head is very obviously not human. But she isn't someone Vivienne recognizes from her conversations with Steven either. The cow head might have been a giveaway - especially with the horns and the golden disk pinned between them - because there is something familiar about that specific combination, but there are other aspects about the woman that confuse her. Make it hard to identify the being in front of her. Like the long arms corded with muscle and covered in the tan fur of something very much not bovine in nature, which pairs rather well with the golden claws piercing through blue tipped fingers. There's also a tail that flicks behind the woman. It moves like a cat's might, covered in that tawny colored fur like her arms but with a tuff at the end that Vivienne might have seen on a cow. Confused, Vivienne doesn't initially say anything to the woman - Goddess, holy shit - standing before her. 

Not until whispered words begin promising help in defeating Harrow. 

"I won't let you steal my life from me." Vivienne says, shaking, clinging to the memory of Layla's cool anger on Steven's behalf when Khonshu had asked her to be his new avatar. 

Still, she trembles under the burning red gaze of the goddess before her.

"I will not steal your life form you," the woman says, "I am an observer, and I will not treat you cruelly for my own pleasure." 

"How can I trust that?" Vivienne demands. 

The woman looks at her feet to the woman in a grey-blue dress sprawled out on the steps below her. Ears dipping and head bowing. It looks like mourning. Like genuine sorrow in the face of a precious life lost. Vivienne wonders if Khonshu or the others would have mourned their avatars or if this is a sick joke. Then she wonders if this is a sick joke, a way for the being across from her to wiggle in deep and manipulate Vivienne's empathy for the dead people in the room with her. 

"Trust that I have erred." The woman says, "I have allowed my anger with an old friend to cloud my judgement and innocents have been hurt because of it. If you become my avatar, it will give me the ability to fight alongside Khonshu to rid the world of Ammit and atone for the role I played in her freedom." 

That sounds genuine. 

As genuine as a being who doesn’t prescribe to human conventions surrounding morality and guilt can sound anyway. 

Vivienne looks at the dead people littering the ground of the antechamber, steadfastly avoiding hollow eyes. Vivienne swallows hard and looks at the goddess before her. 

“If I say yes to you, I want my life. I don’t want to be your judge, jury, and executioner. I want to live my life the way I want to live it.” 

“If you become my avatar, I will not exploit you the way Khonshu has his.” 

It’s a jab. 

Of all the people to name and point out she chose Steven’s god? Dirty… but Vivienne appreciates it. Might seem a bit hollow for this woman to promise her a good life when Vivienne's heard how horrible someone else's avatar was treated. Beyond the ancient walls of the pyramid Vivienne can hear screaming, grunting, and the general sounds of a fight. Despite how close it sounds - despite the goddess' apparent desire to atone for her part in this whole shitstorm - Vivienne doesn't feel rushed by the other woman. 

“Do you accept?” The goddess asks and Vivienne flinches as something cracks against the outer wall and sends buts of rubble falling down around her. 

“Yes,” she says a bit too quickly, “I accept.” 

And seals her fate. 

Fire licks at her veins, fills her with heat and makes her feel too big for her skin. She grunts. Twisting as something else slots into place in the empty spaces of her being. Vivienne’s back bows, her arms twitch, her eyes roll back in her head and in a way it’s almost orgasmic. A sort of out if body experience that makes her sweat and pant and tremble as she comes down from the high. And when she catches her breath she’s alone in the tomb. Mostly. She isn’t truly alone now. Filled as she is with the power of a goddess… her goddess. Vivienne stumbles forward, unsure of what she’s doing until she actually gets to the tunnel leading out. 

A hand with long, dexterous fingers tipped with razon sharp claws card carefully through her hair. 

"Remain in this chamber, my avatar." the goddess says, voice entirely different then it had been before. 

When Vivenne glances up, she finds herself staring into the blazing red eyes of a lioness. No longer the softer, bovine features of the woman from before. The being standing before her now is nothing but corded muscle, red-and-brown armor, and danger. Vivienne shies away from the goddess for a brief moment. Mostly because of the claws that trace her neck as the woman pulls away. But then she's left alone in the antechamber and beyond a ferocious yowl splits the air. 

She had been told to stay. 

So, she does. 

Vivienne isn’t a fighter. 

Vivienne isn’t a warrior or a killer.

What is she expecting to happen? Had she expected her new goddess to tell her to don some mystical armor and fight alongside Layla, her god, and Khonshu? That she’d somehow been expected to crack open Harrow’s skull and feat upon his grey matter? Jesus what kind of thought is that? A good one. Apparently. It makes something wicked and fierce that isn’t entirely her purr. 

Ok. 

What is she supposed to do though? The only reason she'd even allowed this bond to happen is because she'd figured she'd have to step in and help. God, don't get her wrong, she's glad she's not expected to run into the thick of it and possibly get herself killed but this is a bit less than she was expecting. It seems almost wrong in a way. Layla hadn't seemed much of a fighter and maybe that's a shitty thing to think considering Layla had saved her life but it's kind of true. Layla might be able to hold her own in a fight but is she really a soldier? Does she have that experience? Shit, for all Vivienne knows she might. Slowly, Vivienne steps out from behind the pillar and takes slow, shuffling steps toward the tunnel leading out of the antechamber. Biting her lip hard enough that she breaks the skin as she steps around the splayed, broken bodies of other avatars. 

It's as she's first preparing to step into the dark tunnel that Vivienne feels the first itch of true discomfort. And it takes her a bit too long to realize her body isn't her own anymore... it's funny... having someone else in her head. Feels like a loose tooth almost. She's still there, still perfectly able to see through her own eyes, but her body isn't hers anymore. She moves at the command of another, easing away from the entrance of the tunnel and making her way slowly to a stretch of intricately carved stone that has fallen to the floor and made something of an angled table. She stands at the foot of it. Stares up at the hieroglyphs carved into the walls and traces the cracks that now cut through them. Vivienne doesn't even have it in her to thrash to fight. Everything seem sticky like it's been dripped in honey and bathed in sunlight. Warm and fuzzy. 

How long she stands in front of that slab of stone Vivienne isn't sure. 

Time passes slowly. 

Beyond the walls of the antechamber there's roaring and screaming and the sound of thunder as bodies collide against one another. Vivienne remains in the chamber relatively unaware of the passing of it all around her. Even the bodies on the floor behind her have stopped bothering her. Vivienne is simply too caught up in the cadence of the voice murmuring in her head. Her goddess tells her stories, explains the writing on the walls around her, Ammit's history and her own with Khonshu. Gives her a name - Hathor - and another that goes hand-in-hand -Sekhmet - and gives her a promise of security Vivienne thinks might be a lie. But worst of all - perhaps best of all - Vivienne's goddess reveals to her the one thing Vivienne's been unable to truly sus out. Who is Marc Spector? And what does he want with Steven Grant? What she learns makes her feel guilt. This isn't something she should be learning from a stranger who, realistically, doesn't care about her... but her goddess murmurs the answer to all of Vivienne's questions as they slip through their shared consciousness and it's... nice. Maybe that isn't a good word. A relief. Vivienne isn't crazy. Steven isn't intentionally hiding a second life of crime from her... all of this has been, for the most part, a horrible misunderstanding. 

"Vivienne?" The general tone is familiar, deep and soft, but the accent is different and this time the words are pitched differently. 

Hathor turns her body, Vivienne finds Layla and Steven staring at her. 

They blink. 

"Put him here." Hathor says through Vivienne, motioning to the slab of stone behind her. 

A wrinkle appears between Steven's eyebrows as he marches over to the stone Vivienne has motioned to and tosses the unconscious Arthur Harrow off of his shoulder. Light from a crack in the stone around them cleaves the limp man's face in half, reveals the blood and sunken eyes. They stare at him. Bites back the unfamiliar rage burning in her chest. Murderer. She lost Yatzil to this man... no... Vivienne didn't lose anyone. A hand on her shoulder makes her turn sharply to Marc Spector. 

"Viv, you ok?" He asks slowly, fingers curling tight around the fabric of her shirt. 

Simple pleasure curls through her at the nickname but it's swallowed up quickly by the sudden need to move as Layla calls them together. 

Like a puppet Vivienne takes Marc's hand in her own, white leather supple and warm beneath her fingers as she reaches for Layla's outstretched limb. The three of them lock on to one another. Hold tight as the power of their gods fills them, moves through them, uses them. Vivienne doesn't understand a word that comes out of her mouth. Doesn't have to. Doesn't even have to worry about mispronouncing the words of an ancient language she would have never dreamed of being fluent in before this moment, because it's not her voice. It's Hathor's and it's full of power as it spills out of Vivienne and drives the binding spell forth. Captivated, Vivienne watches as thick purple tinted smoke spills from the crack above them, descending into Arthur Harrow's body, causing him to bow and thrash similarly to Vivienne the first time her goddess slipped into her skin... just a fair bit more violently. When he stops thrashing Harrow's eyes are open and pale. Manic. His face twisted in anger. Vivienne simply stares back at him. 

"You can never contain me." Ammit snarls, "I'll never stop." 

Then Harrow goes limp. 

Even his eyes seem hollow. 

Vivienne might have felt sick to her stomach over it if it weren't for the fact that he's a terrible person. 

It feels like being punched in the gut when Hathor's power slips from her body. The other being shrugging out of Vivienne as if she were a winter coat and leaving her to pant and stumble. Strong hands latching onto her hips to keep her from slipping on the loose grit beneath her feet. 

"Finish him!" Khonshu snaps, appearing at their side as another being steps forth from the shadows. 

The two Gods couldn't be any more different. 

Khonshu is moonglow. Skeletal frame covered in strips of linen. Vivienne's sure there's a proper word for each piece that covers him but she wouldn't be able to provide them if a gun was pressed to her head and her life depended on it. Khonshu is moonglow and shadow, hollowed out in some places and too beautiful to bear in others. Whereas Hathor is sublime. She wears a dress of creme silk that's given shape by an outer garment that's made of golden netting covered in beads of precious gems ranging in shades of blue and green. Her skin is dark and warm, the fur covering her head and ears dark to match. Hathor is covered in gold. It's in her sandals, it covers her fingers, it drips from her ears and bands around her horns, glints like the sun between them. She is everything Vivienne might expect of a goddess of music and love. 

"Leave neither of them alive." Khonshu commands. 

Vivienne watches as Marc's face twists, eyes hardening as he drops his hands from her hips and moves to step up onto the slab. Hovering over Harrow's prone form like some sort of carrion bird. He pulls a wickedly sharp looking metal crescent from his chest before reaching down to grab Harrow by his collar and haul him up. The man's mouth gapes a bit but other than that he gives no reaction. Vivienne feels sick to her stomach. Harrow deserves to die - probably - but Vivienne doesn't know if she can be the one to do it... or watch as her boyfriend does it. 

"While he lives," Khonshu says, "so too does she." 

It almost sounds like he's trying to comfort his avatar. 

Vivienne frowns as her own steps closer. 

"I have to finish this," Marc - midwestern accent and hard eyes, Vivienne commits him to memory - murmurs to himself, "if not, I'll never be free." 

Is that what he wants? Freedom from Khonshu? 

Will he actually get it if he kills Harrow? 

Vivienne's learned from her incredibly brief stint sharing a body with Hathor that gods rarely give up their avatars. Sometimes, yes, if the conditions are right. But usually, they're chosen for specific reasons and purposes, and it isn't often that a god will give up an avatar that fits them as well as Marc Spector seems to fit Khonshu. Vivienne has a sickening feeling that Hathor won't give her up so easily either. Vivienne watches as Marc raises his weapon and jerks when he goes to drive the sharpened points into Harrow's chest. The movement seems to catch his attention. Pulls him away from his singular focus on Harrow and settles it on Vivienne. This is the first the two of them are really meeting and it would be kind of funny if the situation wasn't completely fucked. Vivienne doesn't know this man. Doesn't have any idea what he likes or what his hobbies are or if he even likes her like Steven seems to. But his eyes are familiar and that softness that creeps in is familiar. 

"He has a choice, old friend." Hathor says slowly, milk and honey tone, "You have given him this." 

"The choice is vengeance." Khonshu barks. 

"The choice," Vivienne's goddess cuts in sharply, "is not yours." 

"We cannot take a chance that Ammit finds a way out. She will kill again," Khonshu informs them a bit too smugly for Vivienne's liking. 

Marc twists to stare at the bird, the brief glimpse Vivienne gets of his face full of conflict. 

"Now you sound just like her," Marc tells Khonshu slowly, disappointment dripping from ever word. His statement is followed by the sound of Harrow's body hitting the slab beneath him and then a firm, "You want them dead... do it yourself." 

But Khonshu cannot kill Harrow. Not without Marc. It's the whole point of needing an avatar. Gods are powerful, they can influence the mortal world, but to truly hold physical power over a human they need a conduit. A way to slip through the binds that keep them from affecting this modern world. Marc Spector knows this. Vivienne knows it too. They all know Khonshu cannot kill Arthur Harrow without his avatar doing it for him and oh how it must burn him to know Marc Spector won't do it. 

"Now release us." Marc growls, eyes on Khonshu, body language promising a fight. 

The massive bird skull twists and Vivienne gets the sense that he's looking at them all. 

It's tense for a long moment before he turns back to Marc and murmurs a firm, "As you wish." 

And then Khonshu is disappearing in a whorl of sand and silver smoke. Leaving Marc behind as he begins to twitch and shudder, Khonshu's power leaving him. Vivienne watches as the suit fades and his body sags, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the prospect of getting too close to the man who might not want her to touch him but unable to not as she watches him go down. Because at the end of the day her brain can't quite disconnect Steven and Marc. So, as soon as his knees give beneath him Vivienne is there at his side, hands fluttering about him as she debates whether or not she can touch him. Before she can't truly decide what to do, a blast of white light has her stumbling backward into Layla and careening into darkness. 

Chapter Text

Steven wakes up in his bedroom. The smell of old books and the gurgle of a water filter lulling him into that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness. On the shelf built into the wall above him the radio spits out a crooning tune. Had he forgotten to turn it off the night before? That isn’t really like him to forget something like that, but he might have… depends on when he got home the night before. From the way he's positioned his bed, Steven can see the entirety of the flat from the living room to the kitchen. The only thing giving him even a smidgeon of privacy are the bookcases filled to bursting with books. Nothing is out of place. Aside from his shoes, anyway, those are laying haphazardly in the middle of the flat like he'd kicked them off on his way to the bed the evening before instead of leaving them by the door. 

"Steven?" He hears Marc asks, "You there?" 

Glancing over to the fishtank, Steven can make out the vague outline of Marc's form. His reflection cut off by the goldfish swimming lazily through the clear blue water. 

In the quiet of the flat Steven takes a minute to assess himself. 

His body aches. Mostly his knees and shoulders. Other than that, however, Steven feels about as good as one can expect given everything that's happened these past few weeks. Having been chased down, kidnapped, used like a squeak toy by an Egyptian God, and then left to fight another one Steven really shouldn't feel as good as he does. He thinks the majority of the reason he feels even half as good as he does is because he'd been able to stop Harrow. 

"Can't believe it worked," Steven says, referencing the little bind they managed to put on Harrow. 

Khonshu's parting gift, really. 

Steven rolls his shoulder. 

Marc pokes at his consciousness and Steven lets him take over, positively giddy. 

"I can't believe you live in this fucking mess." Marc mutters, rising from the bed and pulling his sweatpants higher up on his hips. 

Steven watches the other man take a step and drop; his legs swept out from under him by the heavy chain Steven doesn't remember putting on either. There are stranger things, he thinks, than forgetting. Steven spent so long putting that cuff on that at this point it's almost uncomfortable sleeping without it. Makes sense that he probably slipped the thing around his ankle and forgot about it before going to bed. So watching Marc slip and fall really is amusing. Steven can't help but laugh. 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." Marc groans out as he moves to undo the safety latch on the cuff, "won't be so funny if we're hurt and you can't go find Viv." 

If Steven wasn't intimately familiar with the inner working of Marc Spector's mind, he might have been threatened by the use of nickname. As it stands, Steven's relieved the other man likes Vivienne enough to give her one. Been a little touch and go for a second there. Now it's odd. Because Steven likes that Marc has given Vivienne a nickname and that he seems comfortable with the idea of talking to her about his - their? - trauma... enough to explain what's happened over the past few days anyway. Which they need to do. Who knows what Hathor has told her or what the Goddess might know. Best to explain everything to Vivienne on their own terms. 

Problem is Steven hasn't seen Vivienne since Cairo. 

Steven can't even remember getting home.

Which is a problem in and of itself. 

"Sorry, mate." He mutters at Marc, who grunts and kicks the cuff and a good amount of sand under the bed. 

Marc grunts at him before making his way to the dresser. Digging out a pair of denim trousers and a t-shirt. Both his. Steven remembers buying both items of clothing, but he wonders if Marc had been able to influence his decision to purchase them as Steven hadn't worn either item on his own merit. When Marc pulls out other items from the drawers Steven stops himself from asking if they'll be designating drawers and clothing items in the future. Splitting Marc's things from Steven's and giving them their own place in the flat. It's a conversation they need to have, soon, and the resolve to have it and not let Marc brush it off solidifies in Steven's chest as he watches Marc pull a small bag of toiletries out of the back of the closet. 

Everything in the small leather bag has to be tiny in order to make it as inconspicuous as possible. 

This is proven correct when Marc settles in the bathroom to shower and change and then begins plucking itty bitty containers of deodorant, aftershave, and sampler size cologne from the bag. 

It makes Steven a bit uncomfortable watching Marc go through his shower routine because it makes him realize that despite paying for the flat nothing in it is to Marc's preference. While Steven will never allow the other man to get rid of his books or the photos Steven's put up... there's nothing of Marc's in the flat. Shirts and trousers don't count. Neither does the little travel size bag of toiletries. Steven thinks that even if things don't go south with Vivienne he'll see if she'd be willing to help him gather up some things for Marc. At least it would be a start, right? Some clothes that aren't Steven's and maybe some toiletries in their full sizes? 

"Do you even know where Vivienne is?" Steven asks softly

"Only a couple places she could be, Steven." Marc mutters as he plucks a container of dental floss out from the drawer under the sink. 

"So, we're just going to stalk her? Check her work and then what?" 

Marc ignores him as he goes through his dental routine. Steven frets all the while. 

Will Vivienne think they're obsessive? Does she even want them around after everything that happened? If he were in Vivienne's shoes, Steven can't imagine he'd ever willingly speak to Vivienne again if she'd kept things from him, got him kidnapped, and then ultimately lead to her being bound to a God. The only thing Steven really has to comfort himself with is the fact that she had cried for him when he'd died. Cause it means she cares right? Steven watches Marc from various spots in the flat as Marc makes his way over to their shoes. 

"How do you know where Vivienne lives anyway?" Steven asks. 

Marc ignores him. 

"How long have you been following her, Marc?" Steven demands. 

Still, no response. 

The British man huffs. 

"Please tell me you haven't been stalking my girlfriend?" Steven begs. 

"Not your girlfriend if you haven't made it official, Steven." Marc mutters. 

Steven sputters, "I was going to make it official! Before... all of this nonsense with Harrow!" 

He was too. 

Made plans to take Vivienne to a really nice restaurant with a variety of options for both of them, got himself a nicer button up, had even debated getting her a necklace in case she said yes but then thought better of it. Point is, Steven made plans to ask Vivienne to be his official girlfriend - had even started dreaming up a life with a shared flat and a pet aside from Gus and maybe late nights listening to her play her cello as she rehearsed for a show - and it had all gone down the toilet because of Khonshu's crusade against Arthur Harrow. Justifiable crusade, honestly, but still threw a wrench in all of Steven's plans. And now he's just trying to find a way to convince Vivienne to talk to him again. 

"Maybe wait until we get a chance to talk to her before you get all bend out of shape." Marc mutters before stomping to the closet to grab Steven's jacket out of the back. "I'll talk to Viv, ok?" 

Steven frowns, but doesn't really get a chance to say anything to Marc before he's out the door. 

Watching the other man through the shiny surfaces surrounding their flat is relatively easy now that he's actually allowed to do it. He follows Marc from their flat to Delmonica's first, watching Marc through shop windows. Thankfully Marc's generous enough to get a seat at the bar so Steven can listen in on his conversation with the man behind it through the large mirror pinned to the back wall. While Delmonica's is the best place to check for Vivienne, neither man really expected here to be here. Mostly due to the fact that it seems unlikely she would opt to come to work after being kidnapped and taken to Cairo. Still, Steven - Marc, really - needs to look like a clueless boyfriend and how better to do that than to go to her work and look like he just got in from his family emergency and hasn't talked to her? The guy behind the bar doesn't seem to care much. Tells Marc Vivienne called in sick and was probably at her flat sleeping, which makes Steven seethe. He'd never had anyone come in to the museum gift shop looking for anyone but if he had - and the girl being looked for was living alone - Steven wouldn't have said anything about there whereabouts or potential location. Even Marc seems upset about it, but he just smiles and thanks the man before he leaves Delmonica's. 

They end up having to take the cab to Vivienne's. 

Technically, they could have taken the bus, but the streets are busy and at least the buses are consistent. Besides, it gives them just a bit longer to figure out exactly what they're going to say to Viviene and how they're going to explain everything to her. If they're going to explain everything to her. Steven only knows about Marc's past and his relationship with his mother due to the time they spent in the Duat. Marc's life had been horrible. Full of guilt and pain and suffering. It isn't his fault, none of it was, and Steven understands why he wouldn't want to talk about it... but Vivienne deserves to know, doesn't she? How else will they explain Marc's presence to her without explaining the reason why Steven's around in the first place? Marc clamps up about it whenever Steven asks and he doesn't know if it's because they're on the bus and there are people around or if it's because Marc absolutely refuses to talk about it. So by the time they get off their bus at the stop that will apparently take them to Vivienne's flat - and Steven's gearing up for a big conversation with Marc because this is insane that he knows where he needs to go - neither of them have really gotten anywhere. 

But any trepidation or anger Steven might have been feeling about seeing Vivienne or about Marc knowing where she lives leaves him when Marc enters a fancier building, climbs the six flights of stairs, and knocks on a heavy wood door. Well, actually, he feels both trepidation and anger right up until Vivienne opens the door. She's wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top. Not the prettiest choice but Steven thinks she's the prettiest thing he's seen in ages. Almost shoves Marc out of the way so that he can gather her up and hold her. 

"Steven," She sounds relieved, even takes a step toward them like she's going to embrace them before rocking back. 

"Hey Viv, you got a moment?" Marc asks and Steven frets as he watches Vivienne frown. 

"Uh, yeah... yes, uh, come in." She says, stepping aside to allow them entry into her flat. 

It's very Vivienne. 

There's a dark blue velvet couch in the living room space covered in bright green throw pillows and a white-and-tan crocheted throw blanket. It clashes almost violently with the yellow armchair beside it and the glass coffee table. There's also a small bookshelf shoved against the wall. Looks like it might be filled with fantasy books and a couple horror novels. Not really anything Steven would have chosen on his own but he'd absolutely read them now just to talk to Vivienne about them. The flat's a bit smaller than his but it's nicer. Built better. Marc follows Vivienne into the kitchen and Steven takes in what he can of her space. 

"I have coffee going..." Vivenne offers quietly. 

"Coffee's good." Marc tells her. 

They both watch as she plucks a brightly colored mug from the cupboard and pours him some coffee. 

"How are you feeling?" She asks. "You were pretty out of it for a while there. Felt bad about leaving you at your place but figured you'd probably want to some alone time after... everything." 

"You took us home?" Marc asks, looking as surprised as Steven feels. 

"Well, Layla made sure we both got home but, yeah, I dropped your off at your apartment." 

Steven watches Marc swallow. 

"Thanks for that." he says softly and Vivienne nods. 

"Uh, yeah, of course." 

There's silence for a long moment and Steven isn't sure how this is going to go. Neither looks particularly thrilled to be there and neither looks like they're going to be the one to break the ice. Steven hates it. Hates that this might be the make-or-break point of their relationship, and he never even really got a chance to have one with Vivienne. And Marc isn't helping. He doesn't look like he even wants to be there let alone help Steven salvage his relationship with the girl he likes. It's insane given the fact that most of this is Marc's fault. 

"Talk to her, Marc," Steven begs, "please!" 

And the man in question glowers at Steven's reflection in the glass of the stove door. 

"Look, Viv, I'm sorry to drop in on you... I just wanted to talk." Marc finally says and Vivienne nods. 

"I'm glad you came." she runs her tongue over the split in her lip where she's worried it bloody with her teeth, "maybe we should do this in the living room?" 

Marc nods. 

"Probably a good idea," he admits before saying, "but before all of that I think introductions are in order. "Marc Spector." 

Steven watches Vivienne watch Marc for a long moment before she takes the hand he's outstretched between them. 

"Vivienne Hale." 

"It's good to meet you Vivienne," Marc's smile is hesitant as he says, "real good." 

But Vivienne's is beautiful and soft and eases something sharp in Steven's chest. 

"It's good to meet you too, Marc." She offers quietly. 

And even if things don't go perfectly Steven thinks that it'll be ok. He hasn't completely lost Vivienne and even if Marc and her just remain friends there's a bit of comfort to be had in knowing she doesn't seem to hate either of them for the roll they played in her kidnapping. Partially reassured, Steven settles back to simply listen to Marc as he begins quietly explaining their situation in Vivienne's brightly colored living room, swept up in the familiar way she listens to Marc and nods when he speaks. It isn't a lot. Isn't even an assurance that they're going to be ok, but Vivienne not screaming and throwing them out - her just listening to them explain - eases some of the worry Steven has been feeling and allows him to focus on more important things... like how they're going to make them work. Because they will work, Steven isn't quite sure how, but he knows they will. And he smiles at Marc from the reflection of a framed family photo Vivienne has on her bookshelf as the two talk. 

Chapter Text

"It's not like you haven't been on a date with him before, though." Alice calls from the living room as Vivienne shuffles through the clothes lining her closet.

The majority of her clothes are in the dresser by the door and Vivienne had absolutely ransacked it before deciding to turn her attention on her nicer items. Bits and pieces she's worn to performances, interviews, dinner parties, and nights out that ended with her too hung over the next morning to function. The pieces in her closet are nicer, but not nice, none of them are expensive and none of them are well and truly fancy... but Steven - or maybe Marc, she still hasn't learned their texting styles yet - had told her to get dressed up for their date. First one since everything with Harrow went down and they'd had their talk. 

A whole week has passed since Marc Spector introduced himself and settled down on her couch to explain the parts of his life that lead them all to that moment in Vivienne's apartment. 

Which is why she'd asked Alice to come over and help her find out what she's going to wear. But how do you tell your friend, who doesn't know anything about the shitshow that went down, that this is your first official date with a guy you really like and another you think you could? Vivienne plucks a little black dress out of the closet and walks into the living room, uncaring of the fact that she's in a set of lacy undergarments and sheer black panty hose. Alice blinks at her as Vivienne holds up the dress. 

"No, but I think he's going to ask us to be official." Vivienne lies and feels mildly guilty about it. 

"You aren't official?" 

"I mean, not exactly? I don't think Steven's really the type to sleep around on a girl he's taking on dates," this is not a lie, "but I'd like to have that conversation." 

"Better safe than sorry I suppose." Alice mutters. 

Vivienne takes the dress off the hanger and tosses it back into the bedroom where it hits the edge of the bed and bounces to the floor. She ignores it as she tugs the zipper down and steps into the dress, pulling it up until it sits properly around her shoulders and then turns her back to Alice. The other girl rises from the couch and makes her way over to do up the back of the dress and Vivienne turns to the mirror hanging on the wall. This is one of her favorite dresses, honestly. Too short for any concert performances but absolutely worth the money she spent on it. The dress itself is made of some sort of cotton blend with no sleeves and a boat neckline, it covers from her collarbones to about mid-thigh and isn't so clingy it's restrictive... just enough to be appealing. Vivienne hasn't gotten many opportunities of late to wear it and she thinks tonight might be the night. It's a date. Steven asked her to go out on a date with him so they could have a sort of fresh start and Vivienne wants to look good. Because, yeah, she'd absolutely tried on their coffee outings and quiet dinner dates, but this feels different. 

Steven told her to dress up. 

"So where are you two going?" Alice asks as Vivienne makes her way back into the bedroom to grab her makeup, some jewelry, and her heels. 

"No idea." Vivienne tells her. 

"Is he picking you up?" 

"At eleventh." 

Vivienne has about forty-five minutes to get ready. 

Plenty of time... but also it's really not. 

Vivienne tries not to fret as she begins doing her makeup. Tries to ignore Alice's presence in the bathroom as she washes her face, pats it dry, and applies a bit of moisturizer. But Alice's presence is hard to ignore, and Vivienne begins to wonder if her friend is trying to sniff out her lies as she begins applying her eyeshadow and liner. For the most part it's all very tame. No bright colors, no glitter, no little jewels. Just a smoked-out shadow that Vivienne then blends into the eyeliner she applied to darken the space around her lashes. Even her base is muted. Relatively natural compared to the cherry red lipstick she applies. 

"Does any of this have to do with why you disappeared?" 

Vivienne shakes her head as she recaps her lipstick and sets it aside to be placed in her bag along with her wallet. 

"I was sicker than a dog, Alice." She repeats the lie she's been telling everyone these past few days, "Steven had a family emergency. This is just the only time we've been able to see each other." 

"Alright... be careful then, yeah?" 

Vivienne smiles as she slips a pair of octagonal jade quasi-hoop earrings her grandmother left her into her hears. The dress doesn't really allow for necklaces so Jade settles on the earrings and a matching bracelet. Makeup done, jewelry on, deodorant applied, Vivienne turns to Alice and smiles. 

"I will be so careful." She promises, "And if anything goes wrong, I'll call you." 

That presence in her head shifts. 

Hathor wouldn't let anything bad happen... probably wouldn't let Vivienne go on this date if she thought something bad was going to happen. Vivienne remembers her presence in the apartment. Unassuming and quiet in the back corner behind Marc. Just because she hasn't pushed for Vivienne to go gallivanting through the city doesn't mean she couldn't or that she would let Vivienne walk into something nasty. They might not have been bound to one another long but Vivienne gets the feeling her goddess is more of an observer than a fighter, but that doesn't make her passive. Vivienne really isn't worried about tonight, not really, but Alice is a bit and she loves Alice. 

"Well," Alice tugs playfully at the fabric running across Vivienne's shoulder, "you're hot as hell so I have to look out for you, ya know?" 

"If you're lucky I'll give Steven a coronary before he even gets me to the restaurant." 

Alice laughs, "Go put your shoes on, you heathen." 

Once she's dressed and ready, Vivienne does one last lap around the apartment to make sure she has everything before turning to Alice. 

"Want me to walk you to the lobby?" She asks and the other woman waves her off. 

It isn't long after she leaves that three soft knocks on her apartment door have Vivienne scrambling to meet Steven. She peaks through the peephole to make sure it's actually him and then pulls the door open. Steven's got on a pair of tan trousers Vivienne can't remember seeing before and a blue-and-grey button up shirt that she also doesn't recognize, but what draws her eyes are the pink and orange tulips wrapped in brown paper tucked into the bend of his elbow. 

"Well, you look nice." Vivienne compliments with a small laugh as Steven offers her the flower arrangement with a blush. 

"You look stunning." Steven manages to say around a couple stumbling words. 

Vivienne holds the door open a bit farther and says, "Come in. I'll put these in a vase and we can pop off, ok?" 

"Oh, yeah, aces!" Steven smiles as he steps into the apartment and it's so good to see that smile again. 

Vivienne's quick to pull the blue-and-gold porcelain ewer she's been using as a vase out from under the kitchen sink. It isn't too often she gets flowers from others. She buys them for herself fairly often... but she thinks the tulips Steven has bought her look a fair bit prettier in the decorative ewer than any of Vivienne's self-bought flowers have in the past. She makes sure to put them on the coffee table in the living room and then turns to Steven. 

"Shall we?" She asks as she walks over grabs her purse off the hook by the door. 

"Yes, please, I'm really excited about today." He tells her, "Have it all planned out." 

Smiling, Vivienne ushers Steven out of the apartment, locks her door, and then slips her hand into Steven's - absolutely thrilled by the darkening of his cheeks - in a move that might have been a bit forward before today. Steven doesn't object, though, he simply adjusts his grip on her hand and smiles. 

"Lead on then, Steven, I'm all yours for the foreseeable future." She says, laughing when his blush darkens. 

Dark eyes flick briefly to the emergency glass housing the fire extinguisher and Vivienne wonders what Marc is saying to him. Doesn't push him to tell her, though, figuring she and Marc will make their progress with one another later. Whatever's being said between him and Steven really isn't her business at the moment. Maybe one day it will be. But not tonight. Right now it's just about her and Steven and their attempts to fix some of the fracturing that's happened between them since Cairo. Vivienne doesn't think he has much to apologize for, personally, but he'd seemed a bit hung up on it and if this makes him feel less guilty then Vivienne's not going to hound him. Besides, this is an official date. 

And it's a good one. 

Steven's such a gentleman throughout their date. He opens the lobby doors for her, hails a cab and waits until she's scooted in and settled before getting in himself, when they get to the restaurant - a fancy vegan place Vivienne hasn't heard of before - Steven holds her chair out for her and everything. It's nice. Vivienne enjoys herself over an espresso martini, laughs when Steven tells jokes, and gets to share a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. They spend way too much time in the restaurant itself, Vivienne wouldn't mind staying longer but when Steven catches sight of the time he starts stuttering about other plans for the evening and rushes to pay the bill. While Vivienne hadn't really planned on running through the streets of London in her heels, she finds herself laughing as Steven gently pulls her along to the street to hail another cab so they can get to their next destination. Which ends up being the British Museum. 

"Figured that since I'm not allowed at the National Gallery anymore I might take you somewhere nice." Steven explains as they make their way to the front doors. 

"Finally giving me that tour then?" She asks, adjusting the strap of her bag. 

Her date blushes but his smile is soft and bright. 

"Yeah, can't promise I'll be the best tour guide thiugh.” He tells her with a shrug. 

Vivienne nudges him with her shoulder. 

"I bet you're going to be fantastic." She says, and what do you know... she's right. 

Steven is a great tour guide. 

He's excited about the exhibits. Points out specific things, techniques, or materials and gives a brief rundown about the historical significance of each. Doesn't matter if he's talking about Egyptian artifacts or not. Steven's joy is infection, his bright eyes and beaming smile enough to make Vivienne fall a little in love. By the time the museum starts closing down and they're essentially kicked out into the night, Vivienne decides that despite everything that's happened Steven - and Marc too, really - is a good person and she enjoys spending time with him. 

Especially enjoys the way he huddles closer to her as they amble down the steps of the museum. 

"Can I ask you something, Steven?" Vivienne asks. 

Steven hesitates. 

Blinks owlishly at her and then nods very, very slowly as he murmurs a soft, "Course, luv." 

"What are we doing?" 

"What do you mean?" 

Vivienne smiles and tucks loose hair behind her ear. 

"I like you, a lot. I want to date you, a lot... but with everything that's been happening I feel like we might have gotten a bit mixed up." She tells him softly. 

Steven deflates, relief slipping across his face as a small giggle escapes him. he scratches the back of his head bashfully and then reaches out for Vivienne's hand. 

"I like you, too," he tells her, "and I'd really like to make this official between us... if you want." 

"Good," Vivienne tugs gently on his hand, pulls him closer. 

Steven's eyes are dark. Coffee bean kind of eyes, deep and warm. Vivienne's smile turns a little dumb as Steven reaches up to brush her cheek with his knuckles. 

"You gonna kiss me, Steven?" Vivienne asks, suggests really, because she'd really like to kiss him… but the way he chokes and stutters when she asks makes her snort softly. 

So, taking pity on the man, Vivienne reaches out to cup the back of his neck and rocks forward to press her lips against his. It’s chaste. As far as first kisses go it’s perfect. Steven’s a bit clumsy, sure. Not quite certain where to put his hands, but the little whimpering groan be makes does things for Vivienne. And when she pulls away there’s a red stain on his mouth that she cleans up with her thumb. 

“That was…” Steven clears his throat, “That was nice.” 

Vivienne smiles, links her arm through Steven’s, and nods as she agrees, “Yeah. You really know how to plan a date, Steven.” 

Chapter Text

There are fingers in his hair. 

Short fingernails scraping gently across his scalp, fingers tangling in wayward knots and tugging just enough be pleasant. Drowsy, tongue heavy in his mouth, Marc turns his head and burrows deeper into the pillow beneath him. Fingers curling tight around the rich coconut-vanilla scent of the fabric. It's soft on his cheeks. Softer than anything he can remember being in the house. Silky and warm, catching on the stubble covering his jaw and riding up until his lips graze supple flesh. At first, Marc doesn't realize anything's amiss. He's warm, his knee doesn't ache, his jaw isn't clenched so tight it gives him a headache. The world is bathed in the sharp pitter-patter of rain against the windows of the apartment and the roar of thunder overhead. But it's warm here and Marc nuzzles deeper into the plush softness beneath him. It isn't until the fingers in his hair move down to scratch at the back of Marc's neck that his brain kickstarts. 

The pillow under his head isn't a pillow at all and cracking open an eye gives Marc a clear look at a pale thigh and pink cotton shorts. It's almost vulgar how quickly the sight makes his mouth water. Reacting like a starving street dog to a bit of fresh meat left out by someone too sweet to know better than to offer him scraps. Marc wants to drag his tongue along the seam of those shorts where they brush pale skin. Wants to nibble and lick his way between plush thighs and moan into slick, swollen flesh. 

“Steven, sweetheart?” His pillow asks and Marc glances up to find Vivienne smiling down at him. 

He grunts lowly and hauls himself away from her to settle back on the couch. Vivienne watches him, curled up on his couch with a book spread out over the arm of the chair. The picture of domesticity dressed in rumpled loungewear and mussed hair. One of Steven's sweaters is wrapped around her shoulders. Marc runs his tongue over his teeth. 

"You hungry? We could order takeout." Vivienne offers and Marc frowns. 

Out of respect for his head mate and his girlfriend - and in part because of his own guilt over everything that's happened - Marc has been trying to keep out of Vivienne's way. Only fronting when Steven hasn't made plans with her or when he knows Vivienne is busy. Without Khonshu around, Marc's able to skulk in the shadows and hide in the darker recesses of his mind. It's as close to dead as Marc's getting for a while and the quiet that comes with it is nice. He hardly misses fronting. Absolutely doesn't miss being the one in charge. Which is why it throws him off when he wakes up on Vivienne's lap without so much as a peep from Steven. 

"Steven?" He asks, glancing toward the mirror on the bookshelf blearily. 

"Oh," Vivienne perks up, "Marc, hey, how are you?" 

When the other man in his head doesn't reply Marc runs a hand through his hair and says, "I'm good, Viv." 

"Been a while... are you hungry?" 

His mouth is dry, tastes a bit like a dirty sock, and he absolutely refuses to tell her that. But Vivienne's looking at him expectantly and Marc's always been a sucker for pretty girls. 

"I could eat." He says and Vivienne nods. 

"Are you vegan?" Vivienne asks as she places the book on the coffee table and rises, tugging lightly at her shorts to pull them into place further down her thighs. 

"No." Marc tells her before looking out the window. 

It's pouring. Rain pelting the glass violently enough Marc's amazed nothing's broken yet. He can't see anything beyond the window either. Usually, he can catch sight of some of the other buildings when it rains hard. Today all Marc can see is ran and grey. He frowns as he follows Vivienne into his kitchen. Had the storm kept her in? Steven wouldn't let her wander home on her own in this weather. Hell, neither would Marc. It would be a good reason to offer her their place as a crash pad until the storm passed, but why would Steven shove him into the light? Marc frowns as Vivienne begins ruffling through the drawer full of takeout menus from the places closest to the flat. 

"Bit shitty out to order food, isn't it?" He asks slowly and Vivienne turns to him. 

Marc tries not to be defensive about it. 

Back when he was still living with his parents, Marc had worked at a pizza shop. He'd been sixteen and looking for a job that would keep him out of the house and running pizza's to people's houses had done that. Kept him out of trouble and out of his mom's line of fire. But it hadn't been perfect, and Marc can name a handful of times the weather had been shitty enough to warrant genuine complaint. As an adult he tries to be mindful of that when he's ordering out. Sort of a weird game of chicken with Karma, like it would do anything for him to not make some pimply eighteen-year-old drop his pizza off. 

"This your way of asking for a home cooked meal?" Vivienne asks a bit slyly, already shoving the menus back into the drawer. 

Marc frowns. 

"I can cook." 

"Nu-uh, too late, no take backs." Vivienne says as she begins raiding the kitchen. 

Steven's the cook in the house. Usually keeps the kitchen well stocked with bits and pieces. Even when Marc was doing a number on their body, Steven made sure to feed them proper. Marc might not be a vegan himself but it had been pretty easy to hide little things around the kitchen that Steven wouldn't notice. Now that he's aware of Marc's presence there's a part of the fridge assigned to him and his food choices. Which means bacon and eggs and a handful of other items Marc knows are probably driving Steven up a wall. So, it isn't much of a shock when Vivienne begins pulling leeks, potatoes, and a handful of other items from the depths of the fridge. She waves an unopened container of bacon at him. 

"God bless you, Marc Spector," she says as she begins laying her spoils out on the counter. "Between you and Steven, I'll never run out of goods." 

"Pans are in the cupboard under the counter behind you." Marc offers quietly as he settles into one of the chairs on the other side of the lip making up the quasi-island. "Didn't know you knew how to cook." 

Vivienne smiles as she puts a soup pot on the stove and begins chopping bacon into chunks. The raw meat is tossed into the pan on low heat while Viviene goes about cleaning her hands as well as the tools she used. The bacon is wrapped back up and put in its place in the fridge before she turns to him. 

"My brother and I used to cook with our mom." Vivienne smiles and it's a bit sad. "Miles ended up going to culinary school. Dad was a real proud of us." 

The way she says it makes it sound like her father was, in fact, not proud at all. Marc can't quite grasp why. Vivienne is brilliant. She's made a life for herself making art in a foreign city halfway across the world. Marc's honestly impressed with how well adjusted she is. God knows every once in a while, London makes his skin itch, some deep-rooted need for home calling for him to go back to the corn and bean fields around Chicago. Marc would rather pull his teeth out than go back to Oglesby but to each their own. 

"I didn't realize you have a brother." Marc turns the subject to something a little safer than potentially abusive parents. 

Not every parent is abusive. 

Not every other kid living in a somewhat unhappy home lived in the shadow of someone like his mother. 

Vivienne pours chicken broth into the pan along with the potatoes and shrugs as she turns to chopping the leaks. 

"It's complicated. Miles and I haven't seen each other in years." Vivienne tells him softly. 

Marc knows better. 

Knows he shouldn't ask. 

But Vivienne's eyes are sad, and her face is losing a bit of that rosy flush it had had, and Marc feels like he can't not ask. Because how shitty would that be? To poke and prod at the parts of her life she might have wanted to keep hidden only to backtrack the moment he found a wound. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Marc asks and Vivienne snorts. 

"Doubt you want to hear my sob story." 

"Dunno," Marc murmurs quietly, "you got to listen to mine." 

The whole ugly truth of it. From Randal's death to the birth of Steven to the moment Marc became a mercenary and got caught up with Khonshu. Tames down, of course. Marc hadn't been trying to terrorize Vivienne, he'd just wanted her to understand... for Steven's sake. Marc had gotten used to the bitter twinge that would rattle through him upon thoughts of his mother and father. His father more specifically. Marc could almost forgive his mother. She'd been unstable long before Randal's death and the loss of her baby boy had just been final straw... his father on the other hand... he hadn't been unstable. He'd watched his wife beat Marc, listened to his screaming as his own mother took a belt to him, and hadn't done anything to stop it. Hadn't even tried until Marc was eighteen, enlisted, and getting ready to leave the man with his broken wife in an empty house full of ghosts. 

Vivienne runs her tongue over her bottom lip and checks a potato to see how tender it is. 

"Mom always wanted to see Paris. It was like her whole thing when we were growing up. Her parents met there and I guess she wanted to see it in real life. Well, we didn't have a whole lot of money growing up, so she never got to go," Vivienne begins explaining. "After she retired, dad bought them tickets. Asked me drive them to O'Hare. I remember arguing with Dad about the exit we needed to take and then I was waking up on the side of the interstate." 

Marc frowns. 

"Turns out I was one of the lucky few to get blipped. My parents were not. The car wrecked. Mom died on the scene, dad died a few weeks later, and Miles was the only one still around. When I was brought back I was taken to the hospital, one of the nurses called Miles, and he told me what happened." 

"Did he blame you?" Marc hedges, a bit worried. 

He hadn't been blipped himself, but he remembers how horrifying it had been to watch people just up and turn to dust around him. Marc can't imagine how scary that must have been for Vivienne's parents in the moment or how that would have affected her later on. 

"No, no.. uh, Miles never blamed me for it, but things have been tense." Vivienne stirs the contents of her pot, "We exchange emails every couple of months. I send my nephew birthday cash. We basically pretend it didn't happen." 

"I'm sorry, Viv." Marc tells her, genuinely remorseful. 

The smile she gives him is sad. 

“I miss them.” She says, then she’s turning and grabbing bowls from their cupboard, “But I like to think they’d be proud of me.” 

“I think they would have.” Marc tells her, heart pounding against his chest as she chuckles. 

“I think they’d have liked you, Marc. Mom would have absolutely adored Steven, don’t get me wrong, but I think they’d have really enjoyed your company.” 

Marc doesn’t really know why but the statement makes him feel fuzzy. 

Would Vivienne’s parents like him? Marc can’t exactly imagine either of them would be happy about their daughter dating a - thankfully not dishonorably- discharged marine with a fractured psyche and very little to offer their daughter in way of a stable life. Marc can’t imagine they would have liked him at all, but Vivienne knew her parents and the confidence in how she said it… Marc clears his throat and looks away. 

“Mom would’ve absolutely complained anout how skinny you are though.” Vivienne remarks. 

“That so?” Mark snorts, “Don’t think anyone’s ever called me skinny.” 

Corded with muscle ans scar tissue as he is. 

Vivienne smiles and pushes a bowl of soup his way. 

“Believe it. Mom would’ve loved the absolute shit outta you.” 

And with that the conversation is dropped. The two of them falling into companionable silence in Steven’s crappy kitchen, the storm causing the lights to flicker occasionally, and the taste of home heavy on his tongue as Marc crunches down on bacon. It’s good. The soup. Vivienne waves him off when he says it but it’s true. Probably the best soup he’s ever put in his mouth… doesn’t matter if Vivienne believes him or not. Marc’s a liar but he’s not gonna eat something he doesn’t like for the sake of politeness. 

After the meal, Marc helps Vivienne clean up. Makes a mental note to sharpen Steven’s knives so that if Vivienne ever cooks for them again she doesn’t accidentally slice herself open because of a dull blade. At one point he looks up to ask Vivienne a question and finds her taking a pen to a sticky note which is then stuck to the container the soup has been put into and popped in the fridge. He doesn’t get a look at the note before Vivienne is ushering him into the living room to watch movies while they still have power.

Later that night when thunder pulls Marc out of his fitful sleep on the couch, he finds himself craving soup. He checks on Vivienne first to make sure the storm hasn’t disturbed her sleep and finds her tucked peacefully in their bed. She’s curled around Steven’s pillow and Marc can’t help but smile as he makes his way into the kitchen. 

In the golden glow of the fridge light Marc catches sight of the note Vivienne left and pulls it closer so he can read it. 

Thanks for eating my food and listening to me, Marc. Hope you liked mom’s soup, been a while since I made it. Glad it was for you - Viv <3

And it isn’t some profound note. There isn’t a love confession. Not a single letter on that sticky note warrants the watery sensation around his eyelashes. Marc sniffles a bit as be bowls up some more soup and pops it into the microwave. Two minutes later he’s shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth and picking apart Vivienne’s note, something warm and soft coiling around his spine.

Marc Spector falls in one blustery July evening. A bit of parsley stuck in his teeth and the smell of garlic clinging to the back of his nose. He doesn’t realize it at first. Shoves Vivienne’s note into the pocket of his sweatpants and guards it viciously as he meanders back to his makeshift bed on the couch. 

It isn’t until Steven’s gentle inquiry of, “Isn’t she something, Marc?” reaches him that Marc realizes his head mate has walked him right into a trap. 

That’s ok. 

Marc can’t even be mad. 

Because Marc’s a starving dog that Vivienne’s been naive enough to feed. Sustaining him on sunshine smiles ans soft eyes and softer words. Smoothing feathers he hadn’t even known were ruffled with just a fee quiet comments. Sealing her fate with thay damn note. Because Marc isn’t a good man. He’s never been a good man. He covets things that aren’t his and guards what is with an intensity that has driven away the few people he’s let get close. He craves love and gentility. Hunts for it in the kiss of a blade or the press if a fist. Violence the only thing he’s ever been able to think of when he’s thought about love. Even Layla had fallen into that bkurry middle ground. 

They’d never raised hands to one another, but they fought. They lied to each other. Butted heads until one of them got their way. Softness there, of course, but followed closely but Marc’s demons. 

Now there’s Vivienne. 

His soft girl. 

Full of sunshine and tenderness. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs softly, voice dying beneath a distant growl of thunder, “She is.” 

Chapter Text

Having a god in her head isn’t really that bad. Hathor doesn’t necessarily interfere with Vivienne’s life. At most she’ll occasionally pop in - so to speak - and whisper a few things in Vivienne’s ears before disappearing again. Well, disappearing’s a bad word. Hathor never truly leaves Vivienne. Her goddess is an observer, she watches the world through Vivienne’s eyes and while the human in the pair doesn’t know what the goddess gets from it… she isn’t being asked to go out into the streets and fight crime like Marc and Steven had. 

Sometimes though it’s hard.

Like when Vivienne's at rehearsals and she catches on to new music a little too easily. Fingers and bow flying across the strings of her cello with an ease that kind of scares her. Because Vivienne worked hard to get where she's at now. She hadn't been lying to Marc when she'd told him her family didn't have a lot of money. They weren't exactly poor, but both of her parents worked, and her dad usually picked up as much overtime as he could. As kids Vivienne and Miles were allowed one after school event a piece. Miles threw himself into football. Vivienne found herself leaning toward music. Started with piano because their neighbor played it and offered lessons for cheap, but eventually Vivienne had drifted to string instruments. It had been her mom who had gotten the money together to get Vivienne lessons and her mom who encouraged her to keep going when she'd struggled in the beginning. Vivienne had thrown herself into the cello throughout her life - determined to make a career of it even if she had to take on secondary jobs to keep herself afloat - because it had been something she and her mom shared. So, while she's gained her place as a musician through her own merit, it's becoming more and more difficult to shake the thought that her current comfortability with the instrument is because of the Goddess living in her head. 

Hathor, Goddess of Love and Music. 

For the most part the goddess doesn't really bother her. 

Vivienne knows she's there, can feel her taking up space in her own heard... but for the most part their interactions are limited. It's more sensations Vivienne gets from the Goddess. Like a warm fuzzy feeling when she sees a young couple holding hands on the bus, or something like heartbreak when she witnesses a breakup at the restaurant, or even elation when one of the kids Vivienne babysits starts catching on to the music they're practicing and can play it all the way through without missing a note. Sensations, which are more like conversations than anything. Sometimes Vivienne dreams too. Golden glow dreams where everything is milk and honey and soft. Hathor talks to her there, asks her about the world and life and things that might upset here that neither of them would talk about in the waking world where Hathor leaves her be for the most part. Vivienne thinks a lot of that is just the Goddess letting her acclimate. With nothing happening that needs her attention, or her presence why would Hathor poke and prod and harass the avatar that she's claimed for herself? For the most part, their relationship isn't bad... which is why Vivienne hates the uncertainty that's beginning to sprout because of it. 

Vivienne drums her fingers along her thigh to an unfamiliar beat as she waits for the elevator to come and carry her up to Steven's apartment. 

Most nights one of them will make their way to the other's apartment for dinner if they don't have plans to go out. It isn't every night, of course, but more often than not either apartment ends up housing the two of them for the evening. It's a rare occurrence when they'll spend the night in each other's apartments due to their jobs and varying schedules, but despite that clothes and bath products have slowly accumulated in the apartments. Vivienne doesn't know if she'll end up staying the night given the fact that she has to be at Delmonica's by ten tomorrow morning for opening duties, but she might. Depends on the weather and how late they end up talking. When the elevator opens Vivienne steps into the dimly lit space and hits the button for Steven's floor. 

Her new work shoes are starting to pinch the back of her heel and Vivienne can't wait to get them off. Limping a bit as she tries to ease the pressure off the blister that's likely forming. 

Thankfully Steven answers the door after her second know. Ruddy cheeked and bright eyed, he steps back to allow Vivienne entry into his apartment and waits until she's kicked her shoes off and put her bag down to pull her into a hug. Vivienne buries her nose in the soft cotton covering his shoulder. Breathes in the cologne he likes. Vivienne pulls away when Steven loosens his hold of her and lets him reach up to tuck her hair behind her ear. It's gotten a bit longer. Not quite that French bob Vivienne had been so unsure about. 

"Are you alright, luv?" Steven asks as he drops his hand to his side. 

Vivienne nods. 

"Work was rough." She answers softly, lying just a bit. 

Work was rough, but she's had rough days at work before. It really isn't anything new. 

"Come on," Steven says with a sunny smile despite his eyes flicking to the new mirror hung on the wall by the door, "I'll make you a cuppa." 

The man pulls her into the apartment with gentle hands. He ushers her onto the couch and chatters about his new job at the National Gallery as a tour guide. Vivienne still isn't sure how he got the job in the first place seeing as he was fired. When she had first heard about his rehire Vivienne had obviously asked about how he not only got the position but also got out of the lawsuit being filed against him and Steven had just shrugged and said he assumed it was a bit of luck on his part. Vivienne hadn't really believed that and the skepticism from the goddess occupying space in her head had sort of solidified that. But with no reason to really press it, Vivienne had just shrugged and taken his word for it all. And it's a good thing she did, honestly. Vivienne likes hearing Steven talk about the tours he gives because he looks genuinely happy when he does it. 

Which is why she finds herself smiling as he tells her about the kids that came in to see the exhibit he's been assigned to. 

"Maybe if you get the chance, I could run you through the tour, yeah?" Steven asks her as the kettle begins to whistle. "Antoine is switching me over to the Robert Adams exhibit when it opens in May." 

Vivienne has no idea who Robert Adams is. 

"Yeah, I'd love to." Vivienne says. 

Steven walks into the designated living room space and hands her a mug of tea. Green tea, to be specific. Because despite Steven's best attempts she can't stand the taste of chamomile. So, Steven always makes her green tea when he's trying to get her to relax, throwing in a bit of honey to appease Vivienne's hellacious sweet tooth. Vivienne curls up on the couch as Steven settles down beside her, twisting so that her side is pressed against the back of the couch and one leg is tucked up so she can rest her chin on her knee. The other leg is promptly grabbed and laid cross Steven's lap while Vivienne sips at her own drink. 

"I was thinking sometime after your next performance maybe? I have some lines I want to run by you. Adams is all about silence in nature, yeah, and I have a couple jokes I want to make sure don't come off as tasteless." 

Oh God. 

Vivienne can't stop the frown before it pulls at her mouth, but she hopes Steven didn't catch it. Distracted as he is tracing patterns into her calve and sipping his own tea. Problem isn't Steven, though. It's Marc. Vivienne doesn't really understand how Marc and Steven's shared consciousness works but she knows they communicate through reflective surfaces. She hasn't missed the steady accumulation of mirrors in Steven's apartment since she's become a steady presence in their space. There aren't a lot of them, no, but there are more now than there had been the first time Steven had tentatively invited Vivienne into his apartment. Usually, Steven and Marc - who has become more present in her life since they had dinner together - are good about keeping her in the loop. Vivienne doesn't need to know what they're saying, it isn't her business usually, but they do make sure to indicate that they're no longer strictly paying attention to her. Which Vivienne kind of hates in this moment because Steven goes quiet and his head tips toward the black screen of the tv. 

Steven's fingers tighten around Vivienne's knee. 

"You alright, luv?" He asks her, "You don't really seem like yourself." 

And knowing he won't drop it now that Marc's involved, Vivienne signs and says, "I don't know. I'm just kind of out of it this week, I guess." 

"Is it work?" 

"I mean, kind of? My boss is a twat and Tyler never showed up for closing last night so I got to work his shift too and I'm just tired." Vivienne admits. 

Steven traces circles into the inside of her knee as he says, "I'm sorry, luv... but you have the orchestra right? That's going well. You have a show coming up." 

"Yeah." Vivienne agrees and Steven frowns at her so she continues, "When you were with Khonshu did you ever feel like you weren't you?" 

"All the time," Steven says with a high-pitched laugh. 

"Yeah, sorry, that was a stupid question." Vivienne mutters before looking at her mug. 

Steven pulls her a bit closer.

Drags her across the couch until she's tucked into his side and her bent leg is sort of trapped against his hip. It's not a comfortable position by any means, but she appreciates the way it allows Steven to wrap his arm around her and pull her close so he can wrap an arm around her shoulders. 

"Are you," he swallows, "are you losing time?" 

"No. No nothing like that I just... I don't know, sometimes I feel like I'm not me anymore. Like sometimes when I'm at rehearsals it doesn't feel like it used to. Sometimes it feels like it's too easy, I guess? I just... I'm having a hard time figuring out if I'm still me or if it's her." 

Steven hums quietly against her hair and then kisses her forehead. 

"Has rehearsal been more difficult for you with the performance coming up?" Steven asks her. 

"No, it's easy. And it feels wrong for it to be that easy." Vivienne admits quietly, "I don't feel like I should be picking this up this quickly. It feels too easy." 

"If it makes you feel any better, I think you're amazing." Steven murmurs against her skin, "You are so incredibly talented, Vivienne, and I don't think I know another person who can do what you do. And even if Hathor is playing a part in all this - and I don't think she is - you're still so talented. Vivienne, you earned your spot at Aurora, and I don't think it's fair to yourself for you to disregard all of your achievements leading up to now." 

Vivienne blinks hard to wick away some of the wetness gathering on her lash line. 

"I know, but it doesn't feel right." Vivienne tells the man holding her, a bit ashamed when her voice waivers. 

Steven holds her tighter. 

"I wouldn't think about it too hard, luv... if she was trying to take over your life it would be more obvious than you picking up one sheet music a bit easier than before. Maybe being her avatar has enhanced your talents a bit, yeah, but if she was really taking over your life it wouldn't just be your cello. it would be everything, Vivienne. I don't mean to sound like a tosser when I say this but I think you're overthinking it." 

And maybe she is. 

Steven would know, wouldn't he? 

He's the one who got to live with Khonshu and which is worse? A goddess who, generally, doesn't bother her avatar? A god that manhandles you like a puppet and pushes you through your life like a toy? Vivienne thinks Steven might have a point. He would know all about a God invading his life. And here Vivienne is bitching about finding the sheet music she's supposed to be learning... easy. Jesus she's a bad girlfriend. 

"You're right," She says softly, "I'm sorry." 

"Hey now, none of that." Steven commands as he tips her chin up, "You have every right to be upset about this. It's your life and now you get to share it with someone older than dirt. You don't have to apologize to me for being upset, yeah?" 

Vivienne nods slowly. 

Steven smiles and everything about him is soft, full of understanding and gentle care. It eases some of the tension in Vivienne's chest. Cloying, sticky sweet warmth filling her. Steven really is an amazing person. Vivienne doesn't know how she got this lucky. Slowly, she takes Steven's mug and puts it with her own on the coffee table before carefully climbing into the man's lap. He curls his hand around her hips, fingers flexing and digging in slightly to the denim covering her legs. Vivienne takes him in. The lack of bruising under his eyes, the curling brown hair, the coffee-bean eyes, the craw on his lip that's almost too faint to see. He's so goddamn pretty it hurts. Vivienne smiles at him. 

"Thanks Steven," She whispers before curling into him, tucking her body against the soft heat of him. 

The man lets out a quiet breath, turning his face into her hair to press chaste kisses above her ear. 

Slowly, he moves them so they're laid out on the couch. Steven tucked against the back and Vivienne clasped tightly against his chest, their legs intertwined beneath the blanket thrown haphazardly across them. At some point Steven fumbles with the tv remote and puts on National Geographic. The low, steady trill of David Attenborough's voice paired with the way Steven toys idly with her hair lulls Vivienne to sleep embarrassingly quick and when she wakes up again, she's curled into Steven's chest in his bed, surrounded by blankets and the spicy scent of someone's cologne. When she murmurs groggily into Steven's shoulder about dinner plans they'd had it isn't Steven's soothing croon that shushes her. 

"Don't worry about it, baby," a familiar, though differently accented, voice coos at her, "we'll get dinner another time." 

And Vivienne's too tired to question it, too tired too think, so tired that she utters a slurred, "Promises, promises," before she's back to drooling all over Marc Spector's shoulder. 

Chapter Text

As promised Marc takes Vivienne to dinner. Well, he plans on it anyway. It isn't supposed to be anything fancy like Delmonica’s tries to be or that vegan place Steven took her to for their date. Marc hasn't been on a date since before his divorce - any one night stands usually kicking off in a bar that smells like smoke and skunky beer - and the more he tries to plan something nice the more anxious it makes him. Steven tries to be helpful, claiming Vivienne won't care about dancing or outdoor music or hundred-dollar cocktails, and there's probably some merit to that but it's still... Marc still struggles. So, he opts for something casual. Picks out the Thai place not far from Vivienne's apartment. It's a bit on the pricier side but nothing that would warrant a stiff dress code. No starched jeans or slacks or pressed button ups. Marc still tries though, of course he does, this is his first date with a girl he's genuinely liked since Layla, and he wants to make a good impression. So, he fishes out a neutral-colored shirt and pair of dark wash jeans, pairing both with the leather jacket he'd shoved in the very back of the closer behind some of the items Steven never wears but refuses to get rid of. Given the fact he finds a pack of Marlboros tucked in the inner breast pocket - something he hasn’t smoked since before he relocated to England - it’s safe to say he hasn’t worn it in a while. 

He tosses the pack of cigarettes and the plastic lighter in the trashcan on the sidewalk before hailing a cab and making his way to Vivienne's apartment to pick her up for dinner. 

Unlike Steven, Marc doesn’t get the pleasure of making it to her apartment door. Barely makes it halfway through the lobby before he catches sight of her at the mail slots. Vivienne’s wearing a little green dress that brushes her knees and the material looks soft enough Marc suspects it would catch on the rough skin of his palms. It hugs her like a glove, clinging to her breasts and rips before flaring out enough to fall loose around her knees. Marc swallows as he makes his way over to her. 

“Hey Viv,” he greets slowly, stepping back when she flinches and whips around to face him. 

She lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree when she catches sight of him. Lips pulling up in a grin, eyes big and delighted, fingers fumbling with her mail slot as she shoves the letters back into their metal prison and then throws her arms around him. Marc isn’t sure what to think of it. He absolutely does not deserve this unadulterated joy. Burying his face very briefly in her hair, Marc tries to ignore the buzzing in his head, that ugly little instinct telling him to fight or fly. He pulls away from Vivienne quicker than he’d like and smiles when she moves to latch her fingers around his own. 

“Oh my god, Marc, hi! Are you ready to go?” She never stops smiling, “I’ve literally been waiting for this all day.” 

“Have you?” He asks uncertainly. 

Vivienne’s fingers squeeze gently around his as she smiles and says, “Oh absolutely! I’m getting Thai food and an opportunity to spend time with one of my favorite guys? What more could a girl ask for?” 

A lot, actually. 

She should ask for better than him. 

But Marc is a selfish bastard and he lets the sticky sweetness of Vivienne’s affection wash over him like a drug. 

“Well,” he clears his throat, “let’s not keep you waiting then.” 

Their walk is relatively quiet. It’s warm out - warm enough that Vivienne comments on it while stretching like a cat - and because it’s the first genuinely pleasant day of spring, there are quite a few people out. Enough people that when they get to the restaurant and find it packed full of people, Marc begins to panic a little. There isn’t a table anywhere in sight and Marc knows it’ll likely be a while before one opens up. People like to chat when it’s nice out. Most people take days like this for leisure and with nothing pressing them for time, there isn’t any demand for them to leave as long as they’re spending money. Which isn't a bad thing... it's just so crowded and Marc isn't all that great with crowds. Doesn't like the way people press in on him, eyes seeming to focus in and track him through the building. The more time he spends in crowded rooms the more his skin begins to itch. More often than not he can ignore it, pretend the eyes don't bother him, but he'd wanted this to be him and Vivienne not him, Viv, and an entire restaurant full of people. 

“Looks like there’s a wait.” Vivienne says absolutely and Marc’s stomach twists. 

“Yeah,” he swallows and continues slowly, “didn’t realize so many people would be out.” 

Vivienne blinks at him and Marc wonders what she sees. Starts to sweat under that unwavering gaze before a slow smile curls across her mouth and eases the anxiety clawing at him eases a touch, “Want to see if we can order take out and then we can just eat it in the park?” 

"Yeah, we can do that." Marc tells her before easing her up to the host stand. 

He asks about ordering out and the teenager behind the stand nods and tells him there would still be a fifteen-to-twenty-minute wait on the food. Marc orders spicy Pad Thai while Vivienne asks for an order of Pad Woon Sen, both decide to share a thing of red curry fried rice. With their order placed, the two stand off to the side murmuring quietly to one another until the hostess comes over with their food. Marc carries it, grasps the plastic handles of the bag tight between his fingers and ushers Vivienne out the door. There's a park not too far - they'd checked during the wait - and there isn't nearly as many people there despite the warm weather. Mark tosses his jacket on the ground for Vivienne to sit on so she doesn't get grass stains or damp patches on her dress and then starts passing out food. 

It's nice. 

Marc had worried at first when she'd suggested the park but it's nice. 

They talk about all kind of things but mostly Vivienne. Marc likes listening to her talk about rehearsals and the drama at Delmonica's. Tosses in his two cents when she makes a comment about one of the line cooks' girlfriends coming in with a mason jar full of marshmallows covered in tin foil. Apparently, it caused some issues with their GM. Vivienne snort and leans closer to whisper about potential drugs and nefarious plans to get high and overcook the steaks and it's absolutely a joke, she's kidding, but Marc catches a whiff of her perfume and his brain short circuits. Jasmine and ginger. Marc's mouth waters so he shovels rice into his mouth and pretends that's the reason. Eventually they run out of food, though, leaving Marc with nothing to distract himself with. So, he focuses on Vivienne, the line of her throat, the little dimple in her chin, the way baby hairs cling to her sweat dampened forehead. He wants to trace the hollow of her throat with his tongue. Vivienne doesn't help when she groans and stretches, arms raised high over her head and fingers twisting up toward the sky. When she drops her arms and reclines back on her hands, turning her face to look at him, Marc's convinced she's doing all of this on purpose. 

Trying to kill him is what she's doing. 

"Is it bad that I want something sweet?" She asks, head tipping slightly to the side like some sort of pretty bird. 

Marc shakes his head, "Not at all." 

"I've got ice cream back at my place." Vivienne offers, "We could binge watch The Great British Baking Show." 

"I hope you know I'm going to mock everyone." Marc tells her, mostly joking. 

"That's literally the whole point of watching baking shows... that and pretending you'd have made something better." Vivienne replies with a laugh as she hauls herself off his jacket. 

Together, they gather their trash. Vivienne shoving items into the plastic bag while Marc slips into his jacket. He takes the mess from her after, wrapping his unoccupied fingers around her hand and leading her over to the trash bins where he drops their garbage. Seeing as it's still nice out, they opt to walk to Vivienne's apartment. It isn't a long walk but it seems like it takes forever and a day to reach her building. Probably because Vivienne is pressed against his side, dress soft against his skin when it brushes his fingers, her perfume seeping in to the leather of his jacket and driving out the faint lingering smell of cigarette smoke. This close Marc can see the faint piercing scar in her nostril and the slight smudging of her mascara under her left eye. God she's pretty. Marc thinks it the entire walk back to her apartment and wonders why she's with him - and Steven - when she could very easily do better than a man with a fucked head. Continues thinking it as she dishes them up the strawberry ice cream Marc barely remembers telling her he likes and offers him a bowl.

On his way to the living room Marc catches sight of Steven in the hallway mirror. He's grinning like an idiot and giving Marc a thumbs up. The encouragement's supposed to be nice, he knows, but it feels a little demeaning to have his head mate treat him like a teenager.  

"The texture of your flapjack," a man's voice intones as Vivienne turns on the tv, Marc settling on the couch, "is a bit off... it looks a bit wet." 

"Ha!" Vivienne snorts as she settles onto the couch, "Bet that's not the first time he's heard that." 

Marc chokes on his ice cream which only makes Vivienne laugh harder. 

Her laughter turns into seal noises when the skinny little British man pulls his tin out of the oven to reveal soggy, half-baked batter. Mark has to put his ice-cream down on the coffee table as Vivienne starts cracking some of the raunchiest jokes he's ever heard in his life. They're funny. Really funny. Soon enough Marc's cracking jokes alongside her and laughing hard enough that his stomach hurts. 

"Started baking it," the skinny British man says on the tv, "had a breakdown, bon appetite." 

Over the course of the show the two of them have scooted closer on the couch. Vivienne now pressed into his ribs, his arm around her shoulders. Marc glances at her, thinking she's about to crack some half-baked - ha, get it? - joke around the words that just came out of the man's mouth. She's gotten really good at the wordplay bit. But when he turns his head, Marc catches sight of Vivienne holding her ice cream bowl away from her body, index finger of her free hand dragging along the plush skin of her breast revealed by her dress, melted pink goo leaving a shiny residue behind. From the way their sitting on the couch Marc gets a peek of periwinkle lace as her bodice puckers. Marc's mouth goes dry. And he should look away. He absolutely should. But before he can really look away Vivienne is glancing at him, finger tucked in her mouth, eyes wide. 

Apologies settle on his tongue, his body tensing as he's tangled up in what could very well be an ugly mess. He shouldn't be looking at her like that. Vivienne hasn't given them any indication that she's ready for sex. That she even wants it. Marc does. God he does. Went out and got himself tested just so he could have the results ready for her if she ever asked because he's found the assurance of a partner taking that initiative tends to ease his partners. He's clean. Nothing to worry about on his end, but it's not like he's shoving those papers in her face in an attempt to get Vivienne to fuck him either. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He's so fucking stupid... but Vivienne is smiling at him. Something sharper than the soft grins and wide smiles he's been getting before this moment. 

"Like the view do you?" She asks before sucking the melting ice cream off her finger. 

Marc's mouth floods with saliva. 

"Yeah," he tells her, "prettiest view in London." 

Probably the world. 

Vivienne shifts away and places her empty bowl on the coffee table before twisting back to look at him. 

"Want a better look?" She asks and all Marc can manage is a nod. 

Grinning wickedly, Vivienne pulls her skirt up a bit and moves until she's sitting in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. Marc's not sure what she's got planned or how far she's willing to take this, but he's not pushing her. Doesn't rush her as she takes his hands and leads them to the little strips of cloth pulling the neckline of her dress together. Marc rubs the thin cords between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I’m clean.” He tells her because if they’re going to this she needs to know. 

Vivienne’s smile is soft. 

“So am I.” Then she asks, “Are you allergic to latex?” 

“No.” 

“Good, I’ve got condoms in the bedroom.” 

Marc’s cock stiffens in his jeans. 

“Probably a good idea.” He tells her, tongue heavy in his mouth.

Because Vivienne’s tugged the bow out, letting the fabric of her dress gape a bit. Not much… just enough that Marc gets a proper peak at her. Periwinkle lace covers her breasts, clings to them like a second skin. The dusky shade of her areola just barely visible through the fabric.

Marc doesn’t go for her breasts. He might have if this wasn’t their first time doing something like this. With a bit more comfortability under his belt Mark might have tugged the neckline of her dress further down and latched onto the stiffening peak of her breast. Sucked at her through the lace as he hiked her skirt up to see if her panties matched… but right now? Marc cradles her face between his hands and kisses her softly, reverently. Licks the residual taste of strawberries from her mouth and moans softly when she grinds down on his thigh. 

“God you’re so pretty.” Vivienne murmurs as she tugs gently at his hair, Marc’s hands drifting to rest on her hips. “Do you like your gift, Marc? I bought it special for you.” 

It takes him a minute to realize she’s talking about the bra. 

“Do you want to see if my underwear matches?” Vivienne asks, nipping and kissing at his jaw and neck, “You can. I want you to, Marc.” 

Hurriedly, Marc rucks her skirt up. Fingers skimming along the soft, warm flesh of her thighs and then up over her hips and ribs as he pushes the skirt up. 

“Jesus Christ.” He moans, bucking slightly at the sight of her spread across his lap. 

Vivienne’s panties do, as a matter of fact, match her bra. Periwinkle lace covering her. The dark shade of her pubic hair does something for Marc. He wants to bury his face between her legs, nose at her clit and lick his way to paradise. Vivienne shifts, thighs spreading a bit wider so she can sink down a bit further and properly grind against his thigh. Tugging at the collar of his shirt as she kisses him.

Marc wishes he wasn’t wearing his jeans so he could feel how slick she is against the lace. 

He contents himself with the fact that she’s probably going to leave a damp mark where she’s pressing and rubbing herself against him. 

Fingers spasm around her. Marc helping guide her pace and doing most of the heavy lifting so she doesn’t tire herself out. And while he would absolutely love to watch her come apart from rutting against his thigh, Marc wants something else even more desperately. 

“Please,” he gasps out as her tongue drags hot and wet across his collarbone. “Please can I eat you out? Baby, please?” 

Vivienne pulls away and Marc sucks in a breath. Jasmine, ginger, arousal. God she’s amazing. Marc rubs his thumbs across the little crease along where her hipbone and tights press together.

”You want to?” She asks and Marc isn’t sure if she’s disbelieving or not, but he decides he doesn’t like the implications. 

Fuck that. 

“Yes,” he moans softly, pressing her down a bit on his thigh and shifting until she shuts her eyes and lets out a gasping cry, “God, yes. Please let me! I’ll be so good to you.” 

Vivienne tugs a tough harder at the hair on his nape. 

“God. Fuck, ok.” She breathes. 

Marc knows he should move her to the bed. Knows she deserves better than being eaten out on her couch with a fucking baking Show droning on in the background, but he’s a selfish man. Wretched. Marc wants Vivienne to come apart on his tongue, wants her to tug at his hair and threaten to pop his head open with her thighs. He’s a dog and Vivienne’s given him too much slack. 

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t careful with his girl. 

Easing her back until she’s sitting on the couch before slipping to his knees on the floor in front of her. Vivienne moans softly as Marc eases her panties down her legs. Spreads her legs for him as he tosses the fabric to the floor. 

“You’re so pretty,” he tells her, thumb moving to stroke along her slick labia, the way she buck and moans strokes Marc’s ego. 

“Marc, please!” Vivienne gasps, bowing and rocking into his hand. 

And who is Marc to deny his pretty girl? 

Burying his face between her soft thighs, Marc feasts. It’s messy. Marc’s always eaten pussy like his life depended on it. He enjoys eating pussy. But he thinks he loves eating Vivienne’s even more. It’s the taste of her, the way her legs press into his shoulders, the way she tugs at his hair when she likes something he did, the soft little moans and sharper cries when Marc sucks her clit into his mouth and uses his fingers to work that fucking magical little spongy tissue just inside her vagina. Marc loves the soft sweep if Vivienne’s pubic hair across his cheek as he turns to kiss her thigh and the way she bows under him. 

Marc’s jeans press almost painfully tight against his straining cock. Each whimpering cry and soft command and gentle tug causing him to buck and shift, but he never takes his hands off her. Never drags his fingers out of her to press beneath his own waistband and use her slick to get himself off. Doesn’t need to.

“Fuck, Marc, sweetheart,” she gasps, “I’m so close!” 

And never one to disappoint, Marc drags his tongue across hot, slick flesh, traces a circle around the moaning woman’s clit before sucking it into his mouth. The way she tenses, legs spasming around his head, thighs pressing tight to his ears, and the high, breathy moan signaling Vivienne’s orgasm triggers Marc’s own. 

He comes with his tongue against Vivienne’s clit and his fingers rubbing softly against her g-spot. He bucks and moans as he comes in his pants like a one pump chump. But Vivienne doesn’t seem to mind… slumped back as she is, pupils blown wide, lazy smile like a flame drawing the idiot moth in. Her fingers are gentle as she strokes hair out of Marc’s forehead. 

“Want to move this to the bedroom, sweetheart?” Vivienne asks and Marc clambers to his feet so he can haul her up off the couch and into his arms. 

“Might need a second to recover.” He tells her as he makes his way through the apartment- ignoring Steven’s affronted expression as they pass the window - and to the bedroom. 

Vivienne grunts softly as Marc settles her on her lavender duvet. 

“Not gonna lie to you, Marc, you’re stroking my ego.” She says softly, tiredly, eyes trailing him as he grabs some pajamas from the space in the drawer she made for them. 

Marc smiles at her as he goes to the bathroom to change. Door left open a bit so he can talk to her. Dirty clothes are thrown into the hamper - he’ll do the laundry for her tomorrow before he goes back to his place - and cleans himself up before he turns the tap to run the hot water and change. He grabs a rag and wets it when the water’s warm enough. Returning to the bedroom where Vivienne has managed to turn down the covers. 

Easing her thighs apart, Marc gently wipes away the remnants of sweat, slick, and soit that linger on her curls and across her thighs. Tosses the rag back into the bathroom when he’s done. 

“Trust me. Pretty girl making pretty noises as she comes on my fingers? Nothing more erotic.” Marc tells her as he climbs into bed with her and pulls her closer. 

Vivienne hums softly in acknowledgment as she traces her finger across his chest in swirling motions… it’s intimate. More intimate than the sex. Marc shakes a bit as Vivienne wraps her arms around his chest and holds him tight. If she notices the shaking breath be tries to hide in her hair, Vivienne thankfully doesn’t say. 

Marc tugs her closer. 

“You know they’re airing a new episode of the Great British Baking Show tonight.” Vivienne tells him after a while and Marc snorts as he cuddles her closer, eyes closing, warmth seeping into his bones. 

The pretty girl in his arms doesn’t stop tracing patterns into his skin. Marc doesn’t stop playing with her hair. Eventually the two fall asleep tangled around one another… and a stranger wakes up not too long after. Shuffling carefully to move Vivienne without waking her and brushing dark hair from her cheek before he slips from the bedroom. 

Chapter Text

Flowers start showing up Vivienne's apartment. 

First, it's a bouquet of peach-colored tulips with grape hyacinth peppered throughout. Vivienne smiles when she reads the card and finds that they're from Steven, telling by the cute poem scrawled across the white cardstock in messy French. Vivienne's got the day off but she's supposed to meet Steven for a movie after work. She wears a cute little bra and panty set in a similar shade of blue to the hyacinth because it's the only matching set in her closet that works... and isn't the same one she bought specifically for Marc. Seems a bit shitty to wear the underwear she bought for Marc to try and seduce Steven? Or maybe that's all in her head. Vivienne isn't entirely sure, but she thinks there needs to be a touch of separation there.  Mostly because she wants her first time with Steven to be special for him. For them. 

They deserve that much after everything. 

So, she wears a matching blue set and goes to work. By the time she's set to meet Steven for the movie Vivienne's absolutely exhausted, and her left ankle is killing her. Not really feeling that sexy and definitely not feeling like risqué touching in the dark theatre, Vivienne curls up against Steven's side and leans her head on his shoulder as she watches some independent film that kind of reminds her of the Mummy with Brendan Fraser but just a bit. After, they decide to go to Steven's place and the two of them end up crashing before Vivienne can rouse up the motivation to do anything beyond kicking her shoes off and changing into the sweats Steven offers. 

A few days after the first bouquet withers and dies a new one appears. White irises this time. Vivienne smiles as she thumbs one of the velveteen petals and checks the card. Another poem. Arabic. Vivienne has to look up a translation and doesn't think it's quite right. She'll have to ask Steven about it... though, she didn't realize he spoke Arabic. She knows Marc does, but she hadn't thought Steven did... maybe Marc helped him with it. Vivienne puts the card in a little keepsake box she has acting as a small bookend and texts Steven a thank you. 

He doesn't respond right away but when he does text back it's a bit stiff. Vivienne must have caught him at a bad time and not wanting to bother him if he's busy at work, she asks if he wants to meet up for dinner or movies or a night in. There's also a street art fest that Vivienne's been eying because she thinks Steven might like it. When Steven doesn't respond back Vivienne tries not to let it hurt her feelings and goes to work feeling a bit disjointed. Work is a mess and three customers yell at her. One so badly that Vivienne has to step into the walk-in for a bit of privacy as she wipes at her eyes and tries to keep her makeup from smudging. She doesn't hear from Steven that night even though she texts him asking if it would be ok for her to come over. Just needing a little touch connection and Steven's personal brand of comfort. He's good at it. Comforting people. His hugs are firm but not suffocating and Vivienne likes the way he kisses her hairline before he tucks her head under his chin. Vivienne doesn't hear from Steven until later the next afternoon when he calls her to apologize and tell her he's caught something. Considering he genuinely sounds like shit Vivienne gives him a pass. Asks if he'd like her to come over. 

When he declines Vivienne doesn't feel so bad about it... mostly because she can't really afford to get sick right now. 

Not with everything going on. 

After the irises there's a bouquet of daffodils delivered to her door. It's the biggest bouquet so far and the card carries an apology for being a 'shit boyfriend' which makes Vivienne laugh. The warmth that bubbles up in her chest is more than her, though, and that makes some of her delight wither. 

Hathor's been good to her. 

Hasn't pressed. 

Hasn't demanded she go out and pummel bad guys into pulp. 

For the most part Vivienne thinks she's pretty lucky to be bound to a Goddess who mostly seems content to see the world through her. 

Doesn't mean she has to like the way Hathor pops in and responds to romantic gestures from Vivienne's boys. 

Seeing as she's running late to rehearsals, Vivienne pops the daffodils into some water and promises herself that she'll find a better place to set them than in the kitchen sink when she gets back. But she quickly forgets about them when she realizes she's missed her bus and has to hail a cab to take her to the theatre. Which is hell considering she has her cello with her. But she finds an older gentleman willing to drive her and Vivienne makes idle chit chat with him about his daughter getting accepted into Cambridge. 

Rehearsals are rehearsals and given the fact they're only a month away from a show it goes better than Vivienne expected. 

One of the flutists, Marianne, offers Vivienne a ride home and Vivienne takes it. Not too keen on taking the buses at night after her last encounter with strangers which lead to her being kidnapped and her boyfriend shot in front of her. Marianne's nice too, quiet, and she's a bit of a timid driver. They chat about what they're planning on wearing for the performances and Vivienne occasionally finds herself distracted by the flutter of white at the edge of her vision. 

The cycle repeats itself for a while. 

She gets a new bouquet of flowers and the moment they start to wilt or loose leaves begin to fall a new one appears. 

Steven doesn't bring it up to her in person, but he always acknowledges her texts of thanks with a quick little, 'anything for my girl' and Vivienne doesn't bring it up to him in the future because she doesn't feel the need to. Maybe she should have though. Might have cleared things up earlier if she would just thank him for the flowers in person... but she doesn't, and it isn't until they two of them are both making dinner in Vivienne's apartment that she even thinks she probably should. 

They're making vegan Lemon Risotto when Vivienne gets another bouquet. 

Steven is adding shallots, garlic, and some salt and pepper to a saucepan with warm olive oil in it. He looks focused and Vivienne doesn't bother to say anything to him when the buzzer goes off announcing someone at her door. Her neighbor - elderly man named Tom who lost his wife last year to a heart attack - is standing on the other side of the door, his mail tucked under his arm and large assortment of pink blooms in his hands. 

"Evening, Vivienne," Tom greets softly, "was down getting the mail when these were dropped off." 

"Oh, thank you, Tom! You didn't have to bring these up for me." Vivienne says as she takes the flowers. 

Tom smiles at her and it's sad. 

His smiles are always sad now and it's bittersweet. He loved Heidi. He still loves Heidi. Vivienne wants what they had but she doesn't want to see anyone she loves - or herself - where he's at now. Alone and sad and stuck. His kids don't visit... which Vivienne isn't sure if there's a story there or not. But it's sad all the same. 

"It's no trouble." Tom tips his chin toward her apartment, "From your beau I take it?" 

"Steven, yes," Vivienne smiles and motions inside. "Would you like to have dinner with us?" 

Tom shakes his head. 

"No thank you." He says slowly, "Game's on and I'm not feeling much for crowds tonight." 

"Alright, well, if that changes, we're making more than enough for three." Vivienne promises and Tom smiles. 

"Have a nice evening, Vivienne." He says to her before turning to make his way into his own apartment. 

Vivienne waits until he's inside before closing the door and making her way back into the kitchen with her flowers. 

Steven looks up from where he's setting the table and stills when he sees her. Brown eyes big and a bit shocked looking. Vivienne smiles as she steps around him to snag the decorative ewer she's been using for the flowers. She strips the flowers of their brown paper clothing and snips the string keeping them all together before popping them in the ewer and turning on the faucet to get them watered. Once she's got them set up on the little table in her quasi-dining room, Vivienne returns to Steven and strokes his hair out of his face and kisses his cheek. 

"Thanks for the flowers, Steven, they're lovely." She murmurs against his flushed skin before she slips into the kitchen proper to check the risotto. 

"Uh, yeah, of course... glad you like them." Steven mutters and Vivienne frowns. 

"Everything alright?" She asks, because he sounds upset. 

When she comes back from checking the food with two wine glasses and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, Steven is staring at the card like it personally offends him. 

"These are... nice." Steven offers when she sets the glasses down, trying and failing to smile brightly at her, "Yellow primrose is prettier than the pinks but..." 

Ah, so that's it. 

The florist must have messed up the order. 

Vivienne smiles as she pours their wine. 

"I don't have much of an opinion on flowers. I think they're lovely." 

"I am glad you like them," Steven tells her before handing her the card. 

It's covered in that messy scrawl. Vivienne tucks it in her pants pocket for the time being and continues to smile as she sips her wine. 

Steven doesn't say anything more about the flowers. Not at first anyway. He busies himself with dishing up their food and sets the pan off to the cooler side of the stove so that it hopefully cools down enough that by the end of its Vivienne can dish some up in a Tupperware container for Tom. The two of them enjoy their meal, talk about Steven's job and Vivienne's coworkers and their plans to go to York because Vivienne hasn't been in all the time she's lived in England. The night is full of laughter and soft smiles, but Vivienne doesn't miss the way Steven will occasionally stare at the flowers and work his jaw or smile through a frown. They get through the dinner and the desert Steven made without issue. It's one of the best meals Vivienne's ever had. But it's when they're washing up that things hit a bump. 

Because Steven won't stop staring at the flowers and the more he stares the more uncomfortable Vivienne begins to feel. 

After taking a wet plate to dry off and putting it to the side, Vivienne takes Steven's sudsy hand and steps closer to him. 

"You alright?" She asks.

Steven nods slowly and tries to smile, but it quickly turns into a defeated sigh and a bit of wilting at his shoulders. 

"I'm rubbish at this." Steven motions to the flowers with his free hand, "I didn't even think to get you flowers, but Marc did, and I should have because we made plans to do dinner and that's what boyfriends do innit? Bring their girls flowers?" 

Vivienne nods slowly. 

Guess it explains the messy handwriting. 

"Are you upset that Marc got me flowers?" She asks, because she's curious mostly... they haven't really sat down and talked about how all of this makes everyone feel and they probably should. 

Actually, they will. 

Vivienne doesn't like the way Steven's clearly feeling left out and incompetent and it isn't even his fault. Not that it's Marc's either. It's not either of their faults, but they need to have a conversation about this. Them. Sooner rather than later. 

"Yes," Steven sighs, "and no..." 

"You know you can talk to me, Steven, I'm not going to judge you for anything." She tells him. 

His eyes are big and baleful. 

He sighs. 

"I just feel like Marc is better at all of this. He's done it before. Marc's been married and he knows how to navigate relationships, and this is... this is my first. I've never dated anyone before and the dates I've been on in the past have all gone poorly." Steven still isn't looking at her but at the flowers, "You deserve better than someone who doesn't know what they're doing." 

"I think I can decide what I deserve and what I don't, Steven." Vivienne offers softly but not unkindly.

"But it isn't fair for me to use you like some sort of experiment. I don't want you to feel like the only bloke in this relationship putting any effort in is Marc!" 

"And I don't," Vivienne promises as she rubs her thumb along his index finger. "You and Marc and very different people and I don't look at one and expect the same behavior from the other." 

"But he got you flowers." 

"I thought it was you, and I'm not upset that it wasn't. Steven, this relationship is a first for everyone. There are three people in this relationship and it's not perfect. There isn't a rulebook to dating and sex that makes building a partnership easy." 

Steven looks away from the flowers finally. 

"I just feel like you deserve better." 

"You want to know what I thought the first time I saw you?" she doesn't give him time to answer, "I thought you were so goddamn pretty... and you had those flowers and the chocolate, and you brought a girl who wasn't vegan to a steak restaurant because you wanted to make the night special for her. I thought it was sweet. Now you're doing the same thing for me and it's not fair to yourself to look at how Marc and I operate within this relationship and compare it to us." 

Steven's cheeks are ruddy, and his pupils are a bit blown. He twists his hand so he can hold hers too.

Dishes forgotten in the soapy water between them, Steven and Vivienne hash out this little kink in their relationship. 

"I'm scared I'm going to make a mess of it." Steven tells her quietly. "You're so amazing. I don't even know how I managed to end up here with you." 

Vivienne smiles and to cut some of the tension asks, "You think I'm amazing?" 

"You're the most amazing woman I've ever had the pleasure of meeting, and while I haven't met many of them, I have met Gods, and I can very confidently say that if someone told me to choose between picking some ancient bird-man's brain and spending the rest of my life with you? I'd choose you in a bleeding heartbeat." 

And that's a lot. 

Steven's whole thing is Ancient Egypt... well, not his whole thing but a lot of Steven's life revolves around Ancient Egyptian mythology, culture, and structure. For Steven to say he'd always chose Vivienne if given the option to talk to her or one of the Gods he's studied and for her to believe it? 

Kissing Steven is always soft and sweet. He isn't aggressive like Marc, he doesn't hold Vivienne like he's trying to crawl into her skin. Steven kisses slowly, a bit hesitantly, but he's always enthusiastic about kissing Vivienne which makes it all so much better. Of the two of them, Vivienne's the most assertive one. It isn't any different now despite the little bite of jealousy she's pretty sure Steven is feeling. Vivienne kisses Steven, threads her fingers in his hair and delights when he whimpers and wraps wet fingers around the back of her neck. Pulling away, Vivienne tucks one of Steven's loose curls out of his eye and smiles. 

"I, uh, I haven't ever..." Steven stammers and freezes, eyes wide. 

Vivienne pulls back enough to give him space. 

"Do you want to?" She asks, because she will never ever push him into that if he isn't interest. 

But given the blown pupils and the way he nods and says, "Yeah," she doesn't think she has much to worry about. 

They make their way into the bedroom. Steven very deliberately avoiding looking in mirrors or reflective surfaces in an attempt to avoid Marc. Vivienne can't see the other man like Steven can, but that doesn't stop her from trying. It certainly doesn't stop her from purposefully moving them to the foot of the bed where Steven's less likely to catch sight of Marc in the windows or the full body mirror in the corner of the room that Vivienne uses to check her outfits. She doesn't know if it'll stop him from hearing Marc - doubts it - but she's trying to make this as comfortable for Steven as possible. 

"Are you sure about this Steven?" Vivienne asks. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for." 

"I want this, you, I want this with you." He rushes out and Vivienne nods. 

"Good, cause I want this with you too." She says before she reaches for Steven's fly. 

Getting him out of his pants is pretty easy. He's an eager participant in the removal of both the denim covering his legs and the softer cotton covering his thighs. Though he does seem a bit self-conscious about being naked in front of her. Curling his fingers up in the duvet and blushing scarlet clear up to his hairline. Vivienne coos at him, murmurs something sweet about how pretty he is and isn't even lying about it. 

Steven Grant is pretty. 

He's tall and strong, body corded with muscle but he's still soft enough around his stomach and thighs that the he doesn't look like some sort of Greek Adonis cut out of marble. Cold and untouchable. Vivienne thinks he's very much touchable. From his soft curls to his slightly chapped lips to the sparse hair covering his chest to the appendage between his legs. Penises aren't the necessarily the prettiest thing in the world... but Steven's is thick and not long enough to hurt. That, paired with the way he shivers and bows when Vivienne runs a nail up the inside of his thigh... he's pretty. Steven is pretty and Vivienne's going to eat him alive. 

"Can I blow you?" she asks as strokes Steven's thighs.  

Bit ironic, she knows, that her first time with Steven might be a mirror to her first time being intimate with Marc... it's kind of fucked on her end, isn't it? She'll worry about that later though. Because right now Steven looks absolutely wrecked and they haven't even started yet. It's a goddamn power trip is what it is. Vivienne knows that Steven could easily overpower her if he wanted to. Vivienne's not a fighter and the closest she has to formal self-defense training is her dad teaching her to throw a punch and a can of pepper spray. If Steven wanted to he could easily flip their positions... but he doesn't want to. He seems to like Vivienne being in charge of this and if that's what he likes Vivienne is more than fucking happy to deliver. 

"I won't," he pants and swallows hard, "I won't last." 

"That's ok, sweetheart," Vivienne tells him, smiling. "Want to help me out of my clothes?" 

That has him pressing into her personal bubble in an instant. Fingers soft and quick to hook under the hem of her shirt and drag it up over her head with her help. Vivienne works the button of her jeans out and lets Steven tug them down her legs as she slips out of her bra. Steven, for all his earlier eagerness, hesitates to tug her panties down. They aren't the cute lacy things she'd worn for Marc. Vivienne hadn't thought they'd be having sex tonight so it's a mismatched set consisting of an old bra that the underwire is starting to try escaping from and a pair of black cotton panties. Steven seems to appreciate it though. 

"I didn't bring condoms." He stammers, fingers tracing the edge of her underwear. 

I have some in the top drawer." Vivienne tells him, "Lay down and I'll grab one." 

She doesn't wait to see if he follows her command, knows he will, and she's proven correct by the sound of rustling as she opens the drawer of her nightstand and pulls out a rubber. She'd gotten an IUD not long before she first met Steven because she'd been fooling around with a guy and it was easier and more reassuring to have the IUD than run the risk of the condom breaking of her forgetting to take the pill. Steven probably doesn't have a whole lot of kinks but how would she know without a proper conversation? Besides, this is their first time and condoms have a tendency to take a bit of the edge off. No one's worrying about a pregnancy scare when a rubber's on. Vivienne carefully tears open the package, tosses the foil onto the nightstand, and turns to Steven. 

Stretched out over the bed and looking faintly awkward laid back against her pillows. 

"Do you want to put it on or do you want me to do it?" Vivienne asks, mostly for his comfort. 

"I can," he clears his throat, "I can do it." 

Vivienne tosses the bit of latex to him and watches him roll the condom down the length of himself. While he's doing that, Vivienne slips out of her panties, lets them drop to the floor and crawls up onto the bed. She straddles Steven's lap, smiles when he places his hands on her thighs. He looks nervous. Vivienne smiles reassuringly and then leans down to kiss him. The noise he makes has Vivienne wondering if he thought she was just going to go to town on him. Maybe on day. Vivienne thinks it might be fun to try something a bit kinkier with Marc or Steven... but this isn't that. Vivienne doesn't want this to be an exploration of kink and depravity. This is for her and Steven and she wants it to be special. So, she kisses her boyfriend and grinds down on his lap and moans sweetly when he dips hesitant fingers between her thighs. 

"Oh God, Steven," Vivienne moans as she grinds down on exploring fingers. 

His brushes his knuckles over her clit and it makes her jerk, has her sucking a bruise into the tan skin of Steven's neck and moaning breathlessly in his ear when he bucks up against her as a result. 

In all reality it's over pretty quickly. 

Vivienne sits up, maneuvers herself and Steven so that when she can ride him comfortably, hands on his chest to give her a bit of leverage. Steven is loud. More vocal than Marc to be sure. Babbling about how pretty she is and how good she feels and how lucky he is to have her in his life. Vivienne smiles, moves to kiss him, grinds down on his lap to try and help guide his own rhythm. At one point Steven's thumb ends up against her clit. A bit firmer than Vivienne tends to prefer but it's good. Really good. Vivienne moans and whines just as much and just as loudly as Steven, offering praise in breathless smiles and babbles words. But at the end of the day Steven is still technically a virgin and Vivienne is not. 

Steven orgasms first. 

Hips stuttering, head tossed back, choked moans forcing their way up out of his mouth as he digs his fingers into her hip and holds her down against him. 

Vivienne takes the opportunity to get herself off. Not quite there with just the penetration but not far off thanks to how hot Steven's moaning and babbling and dark eyes have her. Besides, this is the best time to do it... when he's distracted with his own orgasm. Vivienne knows he'll feel bad if he finds out he didn't make her come. She knows Steven and he's very much a people pleaser. While, yes, she would have liked to have come first, the reality of the situation is that wasn't likely to happen. She knew that when they started and this isn't about her anyway. So, she gets herself off with quick, practiced fingers and then slumps onto the bed beside Steven. 

The two lay there panting for a long moment before Steven gets up to remove the condom. Vivienne knows she should get up and clean up herself, so she swings her feet over the bed and goes to do so. Uses the bathroom and proceeds to brush her teeth alongside Steven in the cramped bathroom before making her way back to the bed that's been stripped of it's duvet and replaced with her grandma Fern's quilt. Vivienne smiles as she crawls into bed beside Steven. With her head on his chest, one leg tossed over his thighs, and his arms curled around her, Vivienne almost feels too warm under the blankets covering her bed. Post coital exhaustion hits hard not soon after. 

"I love you." Steven says however many minutes later. 

Vivienne snorts. 

"It's true." he tells her, an edge of worry creeping into his tone. 

Vivienne cracks an eye open and for once thanks bright wash of moonlight that illuminates his face. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

Vivienne smiles stupidly. 

"Tell me again when we aren't in the post sex glow." Vivienne commands because she wants to say it too. 

And maybe it's too early. 

Maybe they haven't had enough experience or know each other well enough but... it's not a lie. 

Vivienne loves her boys. Which is good considering all the shit they've been through. But saying I love you to someone right after you have sex with them isn't usually the best course of action. Vivienne knows it, Steven probably knows it too given the fact that he hums softly and kisses her hairline. Vivienne smiles widely as she curls around him tighter and lulls off to sleep to the soft garble of Steven's snoring. 

A few days later Vivienne comes home to a new bouquet sitting on her coffee table already in the ewer she uses. They're pretty things, delicate and pale lavender, some type of orchid. Laelia Orchids, she learns when she looks them up on the internet. Native to central and south America. Vivienne - probably stupidly - suspects they're from Steven because he and Marc are the only ones with the spare key and how else would they have gotten in? She does fish out a card, however, and finds a very simple set of words scratched down in careful penmanship. 

Love you. 

Vivienne smiles like an idiot as she tucks the note away, completely unaware of the dark eyes watching her from the building across the street. 

Chapter Text

Jake knows what he's doing is stupid. It was one thing for him to take control from Marc or Steven before either of them was aware of the other. Back then, Marc would blame the brief moments of lost time on himself, shrug away the strangeness of the situation because he was happy to leave Steven to his own devices when Khonshu wasn't in need of his Knight. Steven, poor fucker, wasn't even aware of Marc at the time. So whenever Jake ripped control from the British alter Steven didn't even think to question if it wasn't a sleeping disorder. Back before Ammit, Jake had an easier time taking control from the others. Now, it isn't as easy... and it isn't even because Marc and Steven know about each other now. Sure, it's harder to steal time when they can talk to each other, but Jake's learned that when it comes to their private lives Marc and Steven are good about offering the illusion of privacy. Neither pushes into the other's space when their not wanted, either slipping off into the darker recesses of the consciousness they share or purposefully not 'checking in on the other' so to speak. 

Why? 

Because they have a girlfriend. 

Which makes things hard for a number of reasons. 

Marc and Steven think they're normal now. Have convinced themselves that Khonshu would actually let his best Knight go and have settled into a somewhat normal civilian life. They go to the grocery store, they go to work, they've coordinated a schedule, and all of these things make it harder for Jake to weasel his way into the light. They notice lost time now and as a result Jake has been reduced to sneaking out of the house once they've all fallen asleep and back in before any of them wake up. Which pisses Khonshu off to no end, but even the bird's willing to recognize how much of a hassle it would be if Steven or Marc knew about Jake's arrangement with the God. Probably wouldn't have been able to put a bullet in Harrow's skull if Steven and Marc knew he was around. They'd see it. Protest. Manage to wrangle control out of Jake's hands and then find some way to keep him out of the driver's seat. Everything Jake does for Khonshu is only possible because Steven and Marc aren't aware of him. It's easier for Jake. 

Easier and harder. 

Harder because of Vivienne. 

It was one thing when she was just a girl Steven liked. 

Before Jake started watching her, before he grew attached, before she managed to slip into the little chink in his armor he didn't know about and root deep like a weed. She's part of him now, like Marc and Steven are, and Jake's bound and determined to protect her the same way he protects them... which makes everything harder. His attachment is making a mess of his life. Vivienne doesn't even know he exists, doesn't even acknowledge his presence, but Jake's unable to stop thinking about her.

He likes the way she fits against his side; leg pressed between his, one arm tossed across his ribs while the other is curled awkwardly between them, head propped up on his shoulder. She's a drooler. If he were to pull his collar up and press his nose into the fabric he'd probably catch of whiff of her perfume. Sometimes Jake thinks he can smell it on the ceremonial armor he dons when she's asleep and curled around a pillow. 

He likes the way she plays with his hair when Marc falls asleep with his head in her lap and she's too busy watching that stupid baking show of hers to notice that the man in her lap isn't her man. Jake likes staring up at her from beneath his lashes, body lax and brain quiet, as she twirls his curls around her slender musician's fingers. It's the moments like that Jake craves. Too early to slip off to do Khonshu's bidding, so he's allowed to lay in his girl's lap and soak up the warmth of her like a fat little housecat basking in the sun. 

Jake likes the way Vivienne makes him feel human and she isn't even aware of his presence. 

None of them are. 

Jake never had any intention of telling them he was there. Not Marc, Not Steven. Absolutely not Vivienne, who has taken all of this surprisingly well so now Jake's just waiting for that inevitable freak out. He'll be goddamned if he's the reason she breaks up with them. Let Marc and Steven fuck up their relationship. Jake's not going to give her any reason to leave... which is why he sends the flowers. A silent apology for leaving her after Marc ate her out on the couch. Having participated in enough one night stands to know sex and intimacy aren't always the same thing, Jake had felt out of sorts the entire time he had been stalking one of Khonshu's targets. Would Vivienne wake up and realize he was gone? Would she think he left her? Would she be mad at them? Marc, specifically, but all of them as well? Jake had placed the order for the damn tulips because he couldn't go up to her personally and offer his own fucked sort of apology. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. But then Vivienne had smiled at those damn flowers like they were more than a dying cluster of pigmented organic matter and Jake had been buying her flowers for everything. 

Then Jake had told Vivienne that he loved her. 

Fucking idiot. 

She hadn't thought much of it and Jake hadn't lied. 

He does love her. 

He loves her. He loves how soft Vivienne is. How sweet she is. How she talks about music and art and indulges Steven even when she doesn't know what he's talking about. Loves how she laughs at all of Marc's stupid jokes and steals his sweater. But most of all Jake loves Vivienne. 

So, he follows her. Lurks at the edges of Marc and Steven's consciousness whenever the two of them are with her and dons the armor with single-minded focus when they're not. He goes on dates, enjoys quiet evenings tucked away at home, cooks meals with his girl and eats them at her too small table or the rickety one Marc bought for the apartment years ago. Jake enjoys the simple luxuries of watching Vivienne wash her face and gets to play with the silken ends of her hair and every moment he spends with her feels like a knife in the gut because she doesn't know it's him. But Jake has no intention of ever revealing himself. Easier to protect Vivienne and the boys if none of them are aware of his presence... it's hard though. 

Jake has always been a solitary creature. Comforts and needs met in the slips of time he's able to steal for himself. This has been his existence since Marc was a teenager, his rage and aggression and his mother's fist dragging Jake Lockley into the light kicking and screaming. He's a creature built of rage and violence, and he'll ruin his girl if he touches her. So, he takes what he can get where he can get it and for a while it's enough. It's enough. Jake's satisfied with watching her perform on stage in a pretty black dress from the recesses of Steven's conscious. He's ok licking her off his fingers in the bathroom like a mutt when Marc slips off to get a wet towel. Jake's ok being an entity in her life that she isn't aware of as long as she's safe. 

Which is how he's found himself here. 

Watching Vivienne as she finishes closing duties at Delmonica's. Jake's ribs hurt and the way he's crouched at the edge of a building across the street doesn't help. Khonshu's list of evil doers had been long tonight. Jake thinks the bird's trying to make up for the lack of justice being delivered while he and his knights were attempting to stop Arthur Harrow. The amount of people Jake has handled for Khonshu this month alone is staggering. Though, the majority of them Jake has left alive. He can only recall two that he's killed upon Khonshu's order. Neither one of them were the type of people someone would miss. 

Grunting, Jake rubs his hand over his ribs and wills the armor to heal him faster. The damage will be gone by the end of the night but that doesn't change the fact that Jake is still having to work around the pain, which is aggravating because he usually doesn't get to do this. Walk Vivienne home. Her shifts usually don't involve the closing shift. Jake had a talking-to with her boss about scheduling her late and Marc had convinced her to ask for earlier shifts due to their conflicting schedules. Sometimes Marc or Steven are able to get away from the museum early enough to walk their girl home but sometimes they aren't. The only reason Jake doesn't have a complete meltdown over her taking the buses or walking home later at night is because of her own god... but given Hathor's unwillingness to involve herself in Vivienne's life without permission that isn't much of a comfort. So, Jake steps in when he can and takes a weird satisfaction in watching out for his girl like this. 

It's usually a quiet gig. Vivienne's route home is pretty dependable. She gets off, her coworker Alice walks her to the bus stop, they board the same bus and then Alice gets off two stops later while Vivienne continues on to the stop about two and a half blocks from her place. Tonight, the routine doesn't change all that much except for the fact that the bus comes late, and Alice isn't working tonight. Vivienne sits at the bus stop with her phone pressed to her ear and begins chattering as the bus pulls up. 

She boards. 

Jake chases the bus across the city, flinging himself onto roofs and dropping down onto lower buildings. Grunting at the pain that shoots through his body when he lands improperly or twinges his already battered ribs. 

Unfortunately, he's a bit slower than the bus. 

But it's always in his line of sight. 

When it rolls to a groaning halt at Vivienne's stop, Jake's about a block behind the bus and preparing to fling himself across a gap between two buildings. He tries to keep his eyes on her at all times though. Finds her when she steps onto the sidewalk and adjusts her bag, finds himself momentarily entranced by how pretty she is in the harsh glow of the streetlamps. 

"My Knight." The bird's voice echos through the darkness, "There is another in need of your attention." 

"Yeah, yeah, give me a minute." Jake mutters, casting the bird a sideways glance. 

Khonshu tips his head to the side, fingers curling tight around his staff, and says, "It is imperative that you go now." 

"I'll go in a minute." Jake snaps before he turns his attention back to Vivienne, who is digging through her purse like a fucking idiot. 

Jesus he's going to have to wrestle control away from Marc so they can have a chat about her not paying attention to what's going on around her on her walk. Didn't she learn anything from her first encounter with Harrow? Jesus, shit, ok, that might be a bit harsh. Vivienne's a sweet girl. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it isn't great either. She's too trusting. Jake knows she's going to give him an ulcer at some point walking home the way she does. 

The bird makes a noise behind him. 

Something angry and guttural before he slams his staff against the ground and disappears. 

Jake looks back at where the God had been, a bit startled by the display because he and Khonshu have something of an easy-going relationship. Jake has a lot of rage. Khonshu knows how to channel it. The two of them don't have the spats that Khonshu and Marc used to have. Jake isn't squeamish or hung up on morals the way Marc is. Khonshu and Jake just mesh better, their methods and ideas aligning in a way that makes their work relationship amicable. Khonshu rarely raises his voice to Jake. The fact that he has tonight is mildly upsetting. Jake shrugs it off though. Anyone waiting for Khonshu's justice to be delivered can wait just a bit longer. Just until Vivienne's in her apartment and Jake knows she's safe behind the locked door. He turns his attention back to the street. 

His head drops to his ass. 

Vivienne is gone. 

She isn't waiting at the corner of the street to cross over to the next block, she hasn't somehow magically gotten to her apartment building quicker, she's just gone... and Jake's pretty sure he knows where his girl has disappeared to. An alley lays between the bus stop and the end of the block where Vivienne would cross the street, its entrance yawning open like the mouth of some terrible beast waiting to drag unsuspecting victims into its belly. 

Jake swears and springs into action.

Leaping across roofs and dropping down to the pavement so that he can sprint to the alley's opening. 

What he sees puts him into a strange sort of calm. 

A man has Vivienne pressed against the dirty alley wall, a pocketknife pressed threateningly against her neck, dirty fingers wrapped tight in her white dress shirt as he tries to drag her bag off her shoulder. Vivienne remains relatively calm through it all. Her breathing is fast, her mouth a hard line, but she doesn't try fighting the bigger man off as he takes her purse. Not that Jake's going to give him the opportunity to take the bag and then get confident enough in himself to feel like he can take something else from Vivienne. 

He's to them in an instant. Prying the man who had dragged Vivienne into the alley off with an ease that probably startles the other man given how big he is. Jake hauls the man away from Vivienne, tosses him around like a ragdoll, drives his fist into the man's face when he tries to swing his knife at Jake. The pale fabric covering his knuckles is quickly stained red as Jake beats the man bloody. It'd be so easy to kill him. So fucking easy to take that knife at drive it into the man's neck, sever the artery there and leave him to bleed out in the dirty alley. Would he have done that to Vivienne? Would he have done worse? Was this the man Khonshu wanted him to go after? Was this the man Jake had waved off and promised to deal with later. What if Jake hadn't been here? What if Jake had been too late? 

Jake would kill him if Vivienne wasn't stuck in the alley with them. 

The fight - one sided as it is - has put Jake and the other man between the entrance of the alley and Vivienne. With a wall at her back and two men brawling in front of her, there's nowhere for her to run and Jake's a lot of things, a bad man included, but he would never force her to witness that. So, he drives his fist into the man's face one last time and stands. Turning to Vivienne slowly. 

She looks absolutely terrified of him. 

Her cheeks have lost all color, her pupils are pinpricks in the middle of her eyes, her breathing is fast, and sweat covers her forehead. She's scared of him and it's Jake's fault. Nausea latches on like a viper. Jake tries to convince himself it's because she doesn't know who's under the mask. For all she knows it's some random man who might be trying to kill two birds with one stone. 

"Estás bien, cariño. No te voy a hacer daño." He tells her, inching a bit closer just to see if he can. 

When she doesn't go scuttling backwards like a terrified animal Jake takes it as a win. 

He shouldn't have. 

"Marc?" Vivienne asks, squinting at his armored figure, "What the fuck?" 

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Jake tenses. 

He has two choices. One, really, but two available to him. Either Jake can pretend she's crazy and try convincing her that she's mistaking him for someone, which is unlikely to work because she clearly knows his voice well enough that him lying to her about who he is isn't going to work... or he can tell her everything. Jake's decision isn't made for anything other than selfish reasons. If he weren't a selfish man, Jake would just leave. Let her think she's gone a bit crazy and confront Marc about it, the two of them will have a spat and make up and decide Khonshu must have found another avatar. It'll go back to the way it was and it'll be fine but... Jake doesn't want it to go back to the way it was. He doesn't want to go back to eating scraps out fo someone else's bowl. 

Like it has a mind of its own the armor pulls away from his face. 

The tension drains out of Vivienne and she looks like she might cry. Before Jake can say anything to her about who he is, Vivienne is across the space between them and throwing herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest, and sniffling like she's trying not to cry. 

"Not Marc, querida." He tells her softly.  

Vivienne goes still in his arms. 

Jake waits for the screaming, the yelling, the freak out. 

He waits for it to come crashing down around him. 

Vivienne steps away from him, dragging the palm of her hand across her cheek to get rid of the tears that had fallen there and stares at him through blood-shot eyes. She's not a pretty crier. Her skin is blotchy and her eyes puffy and she looks like she's just been through the wringer.. a lot of that is likely because of the man laid out on the dirty alley floor behind him. 

"Who are you?" Vivienne eventually asks. 

"Jake Lockley." 

Vivienne nods slowly. 

"We need to talk." 

"Probably, yeah." 

Vivienne steps closer to him and Jake hesitantly reaches out to brush away the lingering wetness around her eyes. 

"Vamos a llevarte a casa cosa bonita." Jake murmurs as he guides Vivienne around the unconscious man on the ground. 

Too trusting, Jake thinks as the armor slips off of his body leaving him in the jeans and t-shirt Marc had chosen for himself this morning. Vivienne doesn't even flinch when he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her against his side. The walk to her apartment is quiet. None of the few people meandering about in the streets bother them and the man behind the counter in the lobby of Vivienne's building doesn't so much as give them a second glance when they pass through. It's quiet enough Jake thinks he can hear Vivienne's heart thundering away in her chest. But she doesn't say anything until they've reached her apartment, and Jake is ushered into the space he's been haunting these past months. 

"Do you want anything to drink?" Vivienne asks. 

"Whatever you're having." He says and Vivienne nods slowly before going to the kitchen to pour two glasses of the dry red bullshit wine she and Steven like so well. 

She hands him a glass and sips at her own for a long moment before she sighs and puts the glass down. 

"Start from the beginning." Vivienne demands and Jake twists the stem of the wine glass in his hands. 

"You won't like everything I tell you." 

"I don't like that Khonshu is still manhandling my boyfriend either but sometimes you just have to roll with the bullshit." 

Jake snorts. 

"Yeah," he agrees, "I guess you do." 

And a look at Vivienne's face doesn't show anger or rage or distrust. Just exhaustion and worry. Enough of both to make Jake fret a bit over it all. But she deserves the truth if it'll make her feel better and Jake is... so tired of lying. So tired of pretending he doesn't exist when he has something to look forward to living for. Jake doesn't protect when Vivienne ushers him into the living room, though he does feel a bit of a pang at the fact that she takes the armchair instead of the other couch cushion. Jake shakes it off. There's going to be time for reconciliation and all that gushy shit later. Right now he just has to get Vivienne to trust him. To at least tolerate his presence. Clearing his throat, Jake starts from the beginning, occasionally sending dark looks at the giant bird lingering in the shadows of the fire escape. 

Chapter Text

“You know I have to tell them about this, right?” Vivienne asks the man sitting across from her. “They deserve to know about you…” 

They deserve to know about Khonshu too. 

Jake Lockley huffs at her. He looks exactly like Marc and Steven but different too. Jake’s eyes are tired and bloodshot, the purple bruises below one of many tells hinting st exhaustion. There’s also a way he carries himself that makes Vivienne’s stomach churn. Slouched over so he can rest his forearms on his knees, shoulders pressed close to his ears, eyes bouncing from her to the fire escape window like he’s going to bolt. Like he’s waiting for her to start screaming… and stupid as it might be given the fact she doesn’t know him, Vivienne isn’t going to do that. 

Mostly because Jake’s been in her life from the start. From the moment she invited Steven to coffee to the moment Harrow kidnapped her to this moment in her apartment. He’s given her flowers and watched her rehearse on her cello and he’s made sure she’s made it home safe any time she works a late shift… realistically, Vivienne knows he’s been interacting with her in more ways that that. He isn’t strictly observing. But he hasn’t hurt her either. 

Isn’t he part of Marc? 

The research articles she’s read on DID doesn’t really explain Marc’s relationship with his alters. They’re all so different. Which, yeah, totally normal for someone with DID but this isn’t quite like what she’s read. While it seems insensitive to reduce Steven, and now Jake, to simple “parts of Marc Spector” Vivienne can’t think of a better way to explain what she’s feeling right now. 

Because it’s Marc’s body sitting in front of her but it isn’t Marc. It’s Jake Lockley, a man who is currently moonlighting as Khonshu’s avatar and just pummeled a guy for dragging her into an alley. But Jake Lockley is part of Marc Spector and Marc Spector is her boy. Which in turn makes Steven her boy… it makes Jake her boy. Vivienne loves Marc, she loves Steven, and while she doesn’t know Jake enough to love him, she still loves him. Watching him wince and shift and look like he’s waiting for her to start swinging makes Vivienne sick to her stomach. 

“They don’t need to know, querida.” Jake tells her, fingers fumbling a pack of smokes and a lighter out of his jacket pocket . 

Vivienne always wondered where the subtle, lingering smell of cigarette smoke came from as Marc had claimed to have quit years ago and Steven swore he never picked the habit up. 

”They do. It isn’t fair to anyone for you to keep going like this.” Vivienne explains. 

Jake smirks at her and asks, “Ah, if you want me around more all you have to do is ask. I never say no to a pretty girl.” 

“We’re gonna unpack that,” she informs him softly. “I can't not tell them, Jake. I don't feel right about not telling them what's happening." 

The man stretches out on her couch, leaning backward and fucking with the pack of cigarettes. Tap, tap, tapping them against his thigh as he moves to settle his free hand behind his head. The way he's shifted causes his shirt to ride up and display an ugly mix of yellow, brown, and pale green. Healing bruises along his ribs means he can't be bad off. Vivienne knows his god is probably healing him as they speak, but the realization that he's been putting his body through the wringer and no one's noticed until now unsettles her.  

“You’re taking this well.” Jake remarks blandly.

“You aren’t the first alter I’ve met, Jake. Kind of loses its shock value after a while.” Vivienne explains as she crosses her arms over her chest. 

The man sitting across from her snorts and nods as he mutters, "Suppose it does." 

It's silent in the apartment. 

Vivienne curls up in her chair and watches him watch her. 

Something about it feels almost domestic. 

Like they've been doing this for a while... just sitting in silence together... which they probably have given Jake's been very upfront about how he's made time to insert himself in Vivienne's life. Anyone else and it would be absolutely horrific, but Vivienne's come to terms with the fact that her boyfriend's body houses two - three - different people. Hearing that Jake has been cuddling with her on the couch and lying awake with her in their bed isn't as creepy as it could be for two reasons. The first being that he's actively working for Khonshu and him laying around waiting for her to fall asleep isn't malicious, and the second being that if she was squirrelly about the idea of falling asleep in the arms of one man and waking up in the arms of another she wouldn't be dating Marc and Steven. Besides, Jake's been so brutally honest about everything that she can't bring herself to hate him or be angry at him. Sure, it's a little creepy. But it's not creepy. 

Creepy would have been Jake taking every opportunity he could to riffle through Vivienne's dirty laundry and sniff her panties, not him laying on her lap and letting her play with his hair. 

Really, Jake could be worse... which is why Vivienne feels a bit of fondness for him. Neither of her boys lied to her. Steven didn't know about Marc and Marc was just trying to keep himself safe. Vivienne can't be mad at an act of self-preservation. So, no, neither of her boys lied to her. Jake had an opportunity to. He could have lied about who he was, his involvement in Marc's life, his current position as Khonshu's avatar. He's absolutely not telling her everything. Vivienne isn't stupid. But he's not lying to her and that means the world. The consistency. Vivienne rests her chin on her knee and blinks at the man on her couch. 

"You need a shower." She tells him. 

Jake looks at her, dark eyes darker beneath pitch black eyelashes that anyone in their right mind would kill for. 

"You saying I stink?" Jake asks with a smirk. 

"Like sweat and blood." 

He wrinkles his nose at her. 

"Disculpas a tu sofá, supongo," he mutters before rolling up to sit at the edge of the cushion. "I'll take a shower at the apartment." 

"Just take one here, Jake. I have some clothes you can borrow." 

"Probably best if I go home." He says to her. 

Vivienne frowns. 

"Jake, you look dead on your feet, and you're beat to shit. I'm not letting you walk home like that." 

"Who said I was walking?" 

"And I'm definitely not letting you parkour your way across London." Vivienne sighs, rubs the grit out of the corner of her eye. "Just take a shower here and get some rest. We can talk about what we're going to tell Marc and Steven in the morning." 

Jake glowers at her. 

It isn't mean, really, just displeased. 

Vivienne raises an eyebrow at him before swishing her fingers in front of her nose with a slightly bitchy, "Pee-yoo." 

It gets her a belly laugh as Jake rises from the couch. 

"Alright, querida, I'll take a shower. Use all your fancy soaps and shit." 

Vivienne hopes he likes lavender. 

“There are new toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet.” Vivienne calls after him, watching as Jake hesitates slightly before slipping into the bathroom. 

Once the door has clicked shut behind him, Vivienne is moving. Fresh clothes are gathered from the dresser drawer and laid carefully on the sink. Vivienne keeps her eyes very firmly down as she slips into the bathroom despite the colorful shower curtain blocking Jake from her line of sight.  With the clothes delivered, Vivienne goes to the kitchen to make some tea. There’s a whole arrangement of it in one of her cupboards thanks to Steven and each is labeled with whatever the tea is made of and what it’s supposed to do. 

Despite being an avid coffee drinker, Vivienne has made a point of learning how to make tea for Steven. 

With a silent apology, Vivienne plucks his “sleepy time blend” out of the cupboard. Valerian root, passion flower, lavender, and skull cap. Vivienne sets the container to the side and fills a kettle with water. Hopefully by the time Jake is done the tea will be too.

She isn’t quite that lucky. 

Jake lingers at the edge of her kitchen like a stranger. Vivienne’s so used to Marc coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her or Steven tucking his head into her shoulder that Jake’s distance makes her nervous. She’s half tempted to hug him. Drag him in and make him cuddle her. Given everything she’s heard she thinks he’d be ok with it, like it even, but Vivienne isn’t quite ready for that right now. Not yet. 

Not until she talks to Steven and Marc.

”What are you making?” Jake asks. 

“Tea.” 

Jake hums softly before going to pluck a couple mugs and spoons out. Vivienne watches the ease in which he navigates her kitchen and frowns. 

“Honey? Milk?” Jake asks as he sets her mug beside her. 

“Honey, please.” 

Nodding, Jake grabs the honey and dollops a spoonful into both their mugs. Taking the kettle from her when it whistles and pouring water into both their mugs. Stirring the honey in slowly before popping in the prepared tea into the mugs. He scoots Vivienne's mug across the counter to her, smiling thinly as she plucks it up and takes a sip. Awkward and a little uncertain, Vivienne makes her way to the bedroom to get some blankets and a pillow for Jake. Stops when she sees how short the blankets she pulls out are. They won't even cover him from shoulder to ankle. Fuck. Ok. Vivienne lays the blanket out across her bed, rolling one of the corners diagonally across until a long, thick noodle of fabric is before her. She pulls back the blankets on her bed and lays the noddle in the middle of the mattress. It won't really stop either of them from rolling around on the bed or invading each other's personal space, but at least it's an attempt. 

"¿Tienes miedo de morder, cariño?" Jake's laughter is biting. 

Vivienne lobs a pillow at his head.

"I feel like you're doing this to mock me." Vivienne snips as she goes to dig out her own pajamas. 

"Pule tu español y esto no sería un problema." The man snarks at her. 

Vivienne flips him off, grabs her pajamas and makes her way to the bathroom. 

A pair of cotton shorts and one of Steven's shirts later, Vivienne is back in her bedroom staring at the man curled up in her bed. He looks comfortable. Which is good. Vivienne rolls her shoulders and finishes off the rest of the tea in the mug on her nightstand and crawls into bed on the other side of the barrier. It's weird not curling up against his side. Vivienne's gotten so used to tucking herself into Steven or Marc's warmth when they go to bed that actively sleeping at the other side of the bed - practically on the edge - is making it difficult for her to sleep. 

"I can sleep on the couch." Jake offers after a while. 

Vivienne looks over her shoulder to the man laid flat on his back with his eyes closed and the hand farthest from her tucked under his head. 

"No," she murmurs into the quiet, "it's just weird." 

"Sleeping with me?" 

"Not sleeping with you, I guess." 

"Wanting to cuddle then?" Jake asks with a snort. 

Vivienne twists to look out the window as she admits, "A bit." 

It's silent. 

Jake doesn't move to pull her closer, doesn't mock her for wanting to cuddle, doesn't offer to hold her until she's asleep. He doesn't acknowledge what she'd said at all. Just drops it. And Vivienne's happier for it because she's glad it's quiet. Which is good. Vivienne doesn't think she wants Jake acknowledging her hang ups. 

Hours seem to pass. 

Jake falls asleep.

Vivienne only knows because he snores a bit. 

She's left to stare out the window into the hazy glow seeping up from the ground into the ink-dark sky. Counting sheep and over thinking what she's going to say to Steven and Marc tomorrow when she finally gets the opportunity to tell them about Jake. There's a brief moment where it feels like someone is stroking her head, warmth seeping into her bones as blunt nails scrape carefully across the crown of her head and down to the nape of her neck. Soft and slow and steady. Vivienne yawns. Her eyes grow heavy. And in the seconds before she falls asleep, she thinks she sees a woman crouching beside her bed. 

Chapter Text

"So," Marc rakes his fingers through his hair, "so, there's another guy skulking around in my head? And he's what? Just running around playing superhero in my body?" 

Vivienne is sitting on her couch looking uncomfortable. Curled up in such a way that the hem of her little cotton shorts ride up her thigh and if Marc wasn't quite as irritated as he is...  

Marc pivots to glower at the mirror hanging in the living room. Steven stares back at him through big brown eyes. The other one - Jake, Vivienne had said - is nowhere to be found. Fucking coward. Marc wants to scream and rage, grab the edge of the frame and shake it until the glass fractures. He was supposed to be out. Free. He and Steven made the deal with that bloody bird and Marc was finally starting to enjoy his life. Beginning to settle into the milk-and-honey sensation of his relationship with Vivienne and the steadiness of a job that doesn't require him to level a gun at someone's head and put a bullet between their eyes. Marc takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself and turns to Vivienne when she clears her throat. 

"If it's any consolation, Jake probably saved my life." Vivienne offers up. 

Ah, yes, the fucking knight in shiny white armor. 

Marc's jaw clenches hard enough that his teeth ache. 

And it isn't even Vivienne's fault. 

He's not mad at her. Never. Getting dragged into an alley and threatened at knife point is not her fault. Sure, Marc and her are going to spend a couple hours on a padded mat when he gets settled so that she can hopefully learn how to get herself out of a situation like that... but it isn't her fault someone decided to prey on her... and he thinks the reason he's as mad as he is, is because of the fact that Marc would have never known. If Vivienne hadn't said something to him about what happened Marc wouldn't have known that some fucker dragged his girl into a dirty alley and could have done something worse than hold a knife to her throat. At the end of the day having another alter isn't all that surprising. Sure, he's pissed - livid, really - that said alter is still helping Khonshu... but Vivienne could have gotten hurt last night and it Marc might have never known. Aggravated, he moves to squat in front of her, tipping her chin this way and that in an attempt to get a look at any damage. There's a scrape under her jaw. Hardly anything worth worrying about. But it still pisses Marc off. 

Bastard didn't even patch her up properly. 

"It's not." Marc admits, before tucking dark hair behind Vivienne's ear. 

She nods. 

"I didn't figure it would be... but I didn't want to not tell you after I found out." She tells him. 

Marc presses a soft kiss to her forehead. 

"Thank you for telling me." Marc swallows, "I'm not upset with you." 

"I know." 

She's quick with it and that makes Marc uncomfortable. 

Something about it striking an all too familiar chord. 

Slowly, he pulls Vivienne into an awkward hug and tucks his forehead under her chin. Humming softly when she wraps her arms around him and begins playing with his hair. 

"Cosita dulce, ¿no? Tan confiada." 

Marc pulls back enough to twist his head to the side and scowl at the mirror. 

His own face smiles back at him. It isn't timid or soothing, there's nothing soft in the man in the mirror. Nothing that suggest he's ashamed of how he handled himself last night or how he's been playing Marc like a goddamn fiddle. Marc very much ignores the irony of it all, not liking how he's suddenly being faced with the injustice of Steven's treatment only a few months ago. It stings. So, Marc focuses on other things. Like the differences between himself and the man in the mirror. Jake Lockley looks bored. Unbothered. Dark circles under dark eyes and a set to the jaw that immediately pisses Marc off. While he's self aware enough to recognize that of the three of them, Steven's the only soft one, Marc doesn't like how stony the man in front of him is. 

Especially as his eyes only seem to soften when they brush over Vivienne. 

That? Marc absolutely does not like that. 

"You squirrelly motherfu-" 

Jake interrupts with a sing-songy, "Idioma. No querría ofender a la bonita dama." 

Marc's mother had been Jewish, his father had been third generation Mexican American. They'd spoken Spanish and Hebrew in the house, but Marc had tried distancing himself from his father as much as possible after he'd left that house. Yeah, he still speaks Spanish... but he finds a certain cruelty in the fact that this version of himself seems so much more comfortable speaking it than Marc has in years. It's shameful to admit - and he wouldn't admit this to even Vivienne - but Jake Lockley is more comfortable with the language than Marc is... and Marc should be equally as comfortable with it... given everything. 

"Don't tell me to watch my mouth you stupid shit." Marc snaps, pushing away from the couch and storming over to the mirror. 

Sabotage. 

That's what this is. 

Jake wants Marc to look like a fucking crazy person in front of Vivienne. 

Because it's one thing to witness brief conversations and prolonged stares in a mirror. It's another thing entirely to watch your boyfriend snap and snarl and rage at his reflection. Which only makes Marc angrier. Because he couldn't have had this conversation in the privacy of his own apartment, God forbid, Jake's making him have this whole confrontation in front of his girlfriend. Annoyed, Marc glances at Vivienne through the mirror and finds her making herself busy. Slipping off the couch and muttering about needing to pee before she hurries off to the bathroom to offer them privacy. 

Sweet thing. 

Jake was right about that at least. 

Sonofabitch. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Marc demands, finger pointed at the glass. 

Jake shrugs, eyebrows raising slightly, and says, "Enjoying the view." 

"Yeah? Enjoy this-“ and like a child Marc flips the other man off. 

“You’re awfully testy.” Jake remarks. 

“Yeah, well, you try learning you have someone sneaking around in your head and see how you like it.” 

The smirk seemingly slides off Jake’s face. Wiped away by whatever emotion Marc’s managed to unearth in him. 

“Don’t be fucking obtuse. You’ve always suspected it was more than you and Steven lurking in here.” He points to his temple. 

This is not, unfortunately, a lie. 

Marc isn’t prone to fits of violence. Bottles up his anger - the genuine, true anger that could lead him to say or do something he can’t take back - and shoves it as far down as he can… he’d always thought he’d been good about keeping a lid on everything. Tried so fucking hard not to be his mother. And when someone would make a passing comment about a bar fight or how he’d freaked them out… it made Marc nervous. 

His discharge from the military comes to mind. 

He’d blacked out and gone MIA for a couple weeks. Stumbled back to base confused, disoriented, and covered in bruises. He’d spent a couple days in the hospital on base and then got marched up in front of Command before he'd been discharged. Marc had been too ashamed to admit at the time that maybe it wasn’t just Steven that his psyche had come up with to protect him from his shit childhood… even if he’d suspected. It only got worse as he got older, became a fucking merc, and the blackouts kept happening. Less frequent than when he was a teen… but often enough. Marc should have looked into it. Thought it over. Worried about why and what and how and possibly who was causing the black outs. Cause it wasn't Steven.

Delusional. 

That’s what he is. 

Spends the first half of his life pretending his mind wasn't a fucking mine field and now he's playing house with Vivienne like he actually deserves this life. Raking a hand through his hair, Marc whips his head around to stare at the bathroom door. He can just make out the sound of the faucet in the tub running. Vivienne likely waiting for the water to get hot before she hops in. Not much of a bath person. Though Marc wouldn't put it past her to take one just to give him a little more time with Jake. God, she's trusting. So fucking confident that Marc won't hightail it out of her apartment and run... probably because she's right. Marc won't. This is the first bit of stability, genuine stability, he's had in his life and he'll be damned if he loses it because of Jake Lockley. 

"Why now, huh?" Marc demands, twisting to stare at the other man, "You've had years, why show yourself now?" 

Jake sucks on his teeth and shrugs. 

"You were always so good at finding excuses for the blackouts: booze, drugs, bitches. You always knew I was there, Marc, you just didn't want to admit it." 

"Yeah? Why not let me keep excusing the blackouts?" He pushes, because in a way he knows. 

Deep down he knows exactly why Jake's out and about now. Strutting like a fucking peacock through Marc's head and smirking like he doesn't have a care in the world. He'd bet good money that if Vivienne hadn't been half as accepting of Steven - and therefore Jake - that the motherfucker in the mirror wouldn't be smiling right now. 

"Well, I like playing hero." 

It burns. 

A cool rage that festers up from his toes and licks through his veins. 

I like playing hero. 

"Yeah," Marc spits, "I bet you do." 

Jake scoffs. 

"Dios mío. Y pensé que Steven era un maldito idiota." He smiles, "Look, my job is to protect you and Steven. That has always been my job. To make sure you, specifically, walk out of all the stupid situations you get us in... and I have. My whole fucking life dedicated to saving your ass. You don't get to be angry at me making sure we survive, and you absolutely don't get to be angry about me making sure she survives either. Cause last time I checked you were perfectly content to let her run around with pepper spray and little fuckin' else." 

"Don't bring Vivienne into this." 

"You already brought her into this. Do you think Khonshu was ever going to let you go? You're lucky she's an avatar, because otherwise Khonshu would be riding her ass in an attempt to make you nervous enough to let him put his leash back on you." 

"Big words coming from a Khonshu's bitch." Marc snaps. 

Jake's face turns stormy and dark and he says, "If I wasn't Khonshu's bitch, I wouldn't have been able to get you out of Bosqueverde or North Sudan. Definitely wouldn't have been able to get her out of that alley before that fucker stabbed, or worse. So don't you fucking look down on me from your high horse just because your feelings are hurt." 

It's silent in the apartment. 

Marc is surrounded by soft things. 

Soft couch, soft blankets, soft colors, soft-petaled flowers he thought Steven had been buying. And for a brief, ugly, second Marc wonders if Vivienne had known about Jake before last night. Had she known it wasn't Steven ro Marc sending the flowers? Had she known it wasn't Steven or Marc telling her to go back to sleep when he snuck out of their bed? The thought that Jake might have taken liberties with their knowing girlfriend sparks muted anger, but it's nothing to the flaming rage that consumes him at the thought of Jake touching an unaware Vivienne. Which is worse? Vivienne not knowing Jake has been slipping in and out of their life or her knowing and not saying anything until now?

The answer comes swift. 

Marc couldn't give less of a fuck about Vivienne knowing. 

"If you put your hands on her when she didn't know it was you..." 

"Relax," Jake snaps, "I've kept my hands to myself... mostly." 

"Mostly? Fuck you, you stupid sonofa1" 

"Marc!" Steven shouts from black screen of the tv, "That's enough, you need to calm down." 

"Of course you'd take his side." Marc bites out, not taking his eyes off Jake. 

Steven's noise of complaint is followed by a sharp, "I'm not taking sides, mate. I'm just saying you need to calm down. If anyone understands being upset about not knowing you were sharing a headspace it's me! I've gone my whole bloody life like this, Marc." 

That makes Marc feel a touch bad, honestly. 

"So what? We just let him in?" 

"He's already in. Bloody hell. Vivienne knows about him, you know she's not going to ice him out and it's not like we can either." 

"I sure as shit can, actually." Marc replies, already thinking it over in his head. 

Jake smiles, "joder, pruébalo." 

Marc'll start by breaking the mirrors in both goddamn apartments. Tape newspaper to the windows. Have Vivienne hogtie him in the bathroom. And as if he can hear Marc's thoughts Jake smiles wide and vicious while Steven continues to fret in the background. 

"Marc, be reasonable about this," Steven urges, "you can't predict or stop the blackouts, mate, and maybe it'll be a good thing for all of us to be aware of each other." 

"Really?" March asks, twisting to look at Steven over his shoulder, "A good thing?" 

"It'll make Vivienne happy, won't it? I mean, she cared enough to break the news and stuck around to make sure he didn't run off and leave us both in the dark." 

Muscles in Marc's shoulders twinge as he tries to roll the tension out of his arms. Ok. Fuck. Steven has a point with that one. Vivienne is the type that won't let this slide. She'll expect the three of them to come to some sort of an agreement and hash out their issues well before the end of the day. Might even offer to play mediator. Marc's never been happier that she isn't privy to the conversations between alters like he is. Might get a bit embarrassing... or maybe not. Marc thinks he'd do a lot of crazy shit for Vivienne if it would make her smile. 

"I don't like this. Not one bit." Marc says to steven. 

"You don't have to like it, but you do need to deal with it." Steven snaps back. 

Glowering, Marc turns to point his finger at Jake's throat. 

"You do anything stupid and I'll make sure you never see the light of day again." Marc threatens. 

Jake shrugs and raises both hands, "Whatever you say, brother." 

Somehow, the little show of submission doesn't make Marc feel any better. He storms away from the mirror before Jake can say anything else that might piss him off though. Storming toward the bathroom and pausing just long enough to force the tension and harsh lines out of his body before knocking on the door. Vivienne pops into view seconds later with a soft lemon colored towel wrapped around her frame. Marc likes these towels... mostly because they're not wide enough to really cover her and so the hem of the fabric usually brushes the underside of her ass. Marc swallows the lump in his throat as he reaches out to tuck wet hair out of her eyes. 

"I'm gonna head back to mine for a little while, ok? Sort some things out." He tells her. 

Vivienne frowns. 

"You're not leaving are you?" 

It honestly kind of guts him that she thinks he's leaving, her tone implying she doesn't think she's ever going to see him again. But Marc's a lot of things and he's given up a lot of shit in his life... he's not giving up her. Even if the idea of Jake ever getting the chance to put his hands on her makes his stomach roll. 

"Nah, I'm just... I just need some time to sort out my head." He tells her. 

"Ok." Vivienne's smile is soft and a bit sad as she reaches out to wrap her arms around him, "Call me if you need anything." 

"Yeah, I will." Marc mumbles into damp hair. 

"I'm serious, Marc, I didn't tell you this so that you'd shut yourself down." 

She smells like jasmine and some sort of new lotion that has a hint of... oranges in it? Maybe? It's sweet. Marc presses a soft kiss to her shoulder and pulls away. 

"I''ll call you." He murmurs, "Promise. I just need some time." 

"Ok... I love you, be safe." 

Marc's throat feels tight, pressure building around his eyes. He clears his throat and steps back. Doesn't even say I love you back to his girl before he's out the door and storming down the hall to the elevator. 

Chapter Text

Vivienne doesn’t hear much from Marc or Steven or even Jake in the week following the third man's existence. There are brief, obligatory ‘Good morning. I’m alive,’ messages every morning but beyond that? Radio silence. Vivienne tries not to over think it. Marc just had a life changing revelation about himself thrown at his feet and she doesn’t have a right to be angry at him for needing time to process. Still wishes he wouldn’t ice her out though. The first day after the revelation worries her. No one answers the phone when she calls, they don't answer her texts, and Vivienne backs off for a little while because in a way she gets it. Marc needs space. But then the second day rolls around with nothing but that stupid text message from him. Then a third day. 

By the fourth the radio silence and obvious avoidance really starts to piss her off. So, she goes to Steven's apartment. Probably looks like a crazy person knocking on his front door and trying to call him. Eventually one of his neighbors comes out to basically tell her to get lost, that Steven isn't home. Which honestly hurts. Vivienne manages to thank the other man without crying but spends the whole ride back to her apartment sniffling and staring up at the smudgy bus ceiling. When she gets back to her place Vivienne pulls out her computer and emails Layla. Because she needs someone to talk to and she can't go to Alice because, well, the other girl doesn't know about Steven having DID... or about him moonlighting as a superhero. 

Layla doesn't respond right away and Vivienne ends up having to go to work. 

She shuffles through her shift feeling like crap and fends off inquiries about if she's sick or if she's having trouble at home. Most of her coworkers well-meaning but too nosy. By the end of the night, she feels worse than she had when she first emailed Layla. All she wants to do is go home, curl up in bed, and sleep until her shift tomorrow afternoon. Exhausted as she is, Vivienne doesn't miss the shift in the air behind her, the subtle tugging of a thread wrapped tight around her spine. It forces her to come to an immediate stop and looks over her shoulder to the Goddess standing resplendent under the milky glow of a streetlamp. 

"Hello, my Avatar." Hathor greets, soft and sweet and low. 

"Hathor." Vivienne murmurs back before glancing up and down the street. 

It's still early enough that there are people milling about enjoying their evening, but late enough that the street isn't exactly crammed. No one is paying her a lick of attention. Which is probably a good thing. Wouldn't look all that great for one of her regulars to holding a full conversation with this air. 

"I take it this isn't a social visit." Vivienne remarks slowly. 

The Goddess that's bound herself to Vivienne is good about staying out of her life for the most part. Sure, Vivienne feels her presence. Sometimes can't tell the difference between herself and her goddess when they're on dates with Steven or when they've got an instrument in their hands, but for the most part Hathor lets Vivienne live a non-vigilante lifestyle. Doesn't ask her to get up and fight or spy on people. Hathor is simply an observer in her head for the most part... except for now it would seem. 

"It is not," Hathor replies as she makes her way across the pavement to stand beside Vivienne, "We are being summoned." 

"Summoned?" 

"Yes, Osiris has found himself another Avatar. As have Horus, Tefnut, and Isis." large, dark eyes drift toward the sky, "it is time for the Ennead Council to convene once more."  

"Been an awfully long time for them to go without Avatars, isn't it?" Vivienne asks as she shoves her hands into her pockets. 

"Perhaps, but we have learned to be meticulous in our choosing of an Avatar in the wake of Arthur Harrow's betrayal." 

Vivienne wonders if Hathor and the other Gods are just so unused to betrayal that they hadn't thought the humans bound to them would turn traitor... or if they were so used to seeing it in other Gods that they had dismissed a smaller threat in favor of keeping a better on those a little closer to home. Sighing, Vivienne adjusts her bag on her shoulder. 

"I have work tomorrow." She offers hesitantly. 

The disk above Hathor's head burns like the sun and Vivienne has to keep her gaze very firmly between the woman's eyes so as not to blind herself. Thankfully, Vivienne doesn't think the other woman is angry. She's just... bright. Vivienne could probably wax poetic about her being aglow and how apt it is for a goddess of love and music to shine so brightly in the middle of the night. But she doesn't. She keeps that very firmly to herself as Hathor moves closer. 

"In this, I cannot bend, my Avatar." Hathor tells her softly, gentle hand coming to rest on the smaller woman's head. 

At least the weight of it is more comforting than oppressive. 

Vivienne sighs, nods, resigns herself to whatever ass chewing her boss is going to give her tomorrow if she misses her shift. 

Hathor's hand remains on the crown of her head as the wall to their left begins to shift. Something like the heat haze that rises off of streets when the summers turn blistering and cruel sifts through the air, disrupts Vivienne's view for a moment before the wall begins to slip. Cracking open like some sort of crude maw to reveal the decorative walls of a chamber Vivienne doesn't think she could ever forget. As Hathor leads her through, Vivienne observes her surroundings as best she can. The damage Ammit had done is long repaired, not even the scars of her presence linger across the gilded walls. Vivienne allows herself to be guided further into the chamber where other avatars are beginning to line up around the room. Each distinct in their own way but none of them familiar to her... well, no one until a pretty, curly haired woman steps into the room and settles sort of catty-corner to Vivienne, whom she smiles and waves at. Vivienne doesn't get much time to respond to Layla's wave before the world goes a bit fuzzy. Familiar as the sensation of being possessed is... Vivienne doesn't care for it. While it doesn't hurt or cause her any real discomfort, the fact that she can feel herself being resettled within her own body is... unpleasant. 

To say the least. 

But it doesn't hurt. 

And Vivienne allows herself to settle into the pocket of being Hathor has designated her to while the Ennead talk to one another. 

Half of what they're saying Vivienne doesn't quite understand. 

She picks up Ammit's name and Harrow's and then catches that someone has murdered Arthur Harrow and thus Ammit. With neither posing any sort of threat to the Ennead now there are discussions being had about other bound Gods. This is when Vivienne starts slipping. 

Around her words are spit out like, "dangerous" and "traitor" and "enemy" which means about jack squat to Vivienne given she lacks any real context. Steven would probably be able to tell her something about what's going on, but as it stands it's just Vivienne trying to sus out bits of conversation she doesn't really understand while trying not to feel too violated when Hathor stands her up in front of the Ennead to speak in the defense of someone named Thoth. Well, perhaps defense isn't quite the right word. 

Hathor argues for his unbinding but doesn't say much when a pretty woman with long hair and pale eyes and deep skin begins listing reasons why he shouldn't be released. Which in turn sparks probably the calmest argument Vivienne has ever born witness to. She'd have thought that they'd all be screaming at one another... but she supposes this is probably them taking swings at a long-dead horse. Not much to fight over at this point. Not that they don't continue to fight over it, of course. Because they do eventually break out into a shouting match. Vivienne just can't quite understand why. 

It has to do with Ammit. 

She knows that. 

Possibly even her boys, but that's not as clear. 

The longer she's out of control of her own body, however, the harder it is for her to pay attention. Almost like when she'd been a kid and had tried to fight to stay away during long car rides or boring movies with her parents. Her body feels heavy. Leaden. Present but slipping further and further away as the minutes pass. 

Until, finally, she's back to herself. 

Slipped back into her own body as the meeting of the Ennead Council draws to an end and the other Avatars make their way back into the world. 

Vivienne stands for a long moment at her place on the stairs trying to blink the spots out of her eyes when Layla appears. All smiles and bright eyes as she pulls Vivienne into a tight hug. The other girl returns the enthusiastic embrace easily. Breathes in the scent of amber, cinnamon, and cedar that clings to Layla's hair and skin. When they pull apart, Vivienne feels less discombobulated than she had only a few moments before. 

"I got your email," Layla is saying to her, "I'm sorry I never got a chance to respond." 

"It's alright, it really isn't that important." 

Layla's smile dims a touch as her dark eyes rove over Vivienne's face. Eventually she nods to herself and loops and arm through Vivienne's. 

"We'll get breakfast and talk. Then we can get you home, yes?" 

Vivienne nods slowly. What's another hour or two? She wanted to talk to Layla anyway, hash everything that went down with Marc out with someone who isn't really tangled up in everything the way she is. Getting breakfast - or even lunch depending on what time it is - won't hurt her any. So, she follows Layla out of the antechamber and down one of the long halls. Watches from the corner of her eye as the woman seems to react to something someone is saying. Taweret most likely. Vivienne isn't entirely sure how the whole thing works but she thinks the Gods can pick and choose when they show themselves to others. That doesn't really sit all that well with Vivienne either because it implies that Khonshu had been... what? Trying to help her that day in her apartment? Why? Vivienne can't imagine the ancient god liking her, shit, he didn't even seem to like his own avatar at the time... but clearly he did, right? Why else would he had kept them? 

Absently, Vivienne follows Layla through a shimmering door like the one she had initially crawled through and steps out into the bright, bustling streets of Cairo. The side alley they pop out in makes it pretty easy for them to slip out into the foot traffic without being seen. Vivienne keeps close to Layla, practically glues herself to the other woman's side so as not to accidentally lose her in the crowd. Not speaking any sort of Arabic is really going to bite her in the ass if this hopping back and forth from London to Cairo is going to become a full-time thing. Thankfully, Layla doesn't seem too upset about the barnacle she's got attached to her shoulder. Just glances back every once in a while, to check on Vivienne, smiles, and keeps on walking. Eventually Layla tugs her into a little building off the busier street. Up a flight of stairs they go and stop at a door. Layla's apartment, Vivienne assumes. Turns out she's correct when she ducks through the door into the brightly lit space. 

"You ever had shakshuka?" Layla asks as she kicks off her shoes and makes her way deeper into the apartment. 

Vivienne slips her own off, putting them on the matt next to Layla's, and follows the other girl after shutting and locking the apartment door. 

The apartment is lovely. Airy and well decorated, full of bits and bobs and artifacts Vivienne's sure are legitimate and not the cheap replicas people sell to tourists looking for something to take back to their families when they get back from their vacations. 

There's basil growing in a brightly colored ceramic pot on the kitchen windowsill. Vivienne watches as Layla plucks some of the leaves off of it. They're tossed into a little bowl on the side of the stove where a pan is waiting along with a handful of other ingredients. Vivienne quietly leans against the counter as she watches Layla move through the space. 

"Can I help you with anything?" Vivienne asks, feeling a bit uncomfortable just standing. 

Layla shakes her head as she lays out a heavy wooden chopping board and begins dicing her onion. 

"Don't worry about it, you're a guest... I don't get to cook for other people much, kind of miss it." Layla smiles at her, eyes dry and Vivienne's honestly jealous as fuck, "You wanted to talk about Marc?"

Sighing, Vivienne nods. 

"I might have fucked up." 

"What happened?" 

Should she tell Layla? 

Back when she'd sent the email Vivienne hadn't really thought about how uncomfortable it would be. Sure, it had run through her head that asking her boyfriend's ex-wife for advice would be weird, but she hadn't really thought about how much doing so would feel like some sort of betrayal. Like she's almost cheating on Marc for talking to Layla about this issue between them instead of her actual boyfriend. But she's here now. The email has been sent, received, and responded to... besides, Vivienne does need an unbiased opinion and Layla hasn't ever really struck her as the biased type. Which is ironic as fuck given the fact they've only met each other in person a grand total of three times in the same day. Layla's nice though. She has kind eyes. 

And Vivienne really needs to know she isn't being a total psycho. 

"Marc and I got into a fight." 

Layla moves on to chopping her bell peppers and garlic, dark eyes soft as she glances Vivienne's way. 

"Is this about Jake?" 

Vivienne stiffens. 

"You know about Jake?" She asks and Layla sighs. 

"Marc got ahold of me the other day. Said he needed to talk." 

It shouldn't feel like a betrayal. 

Realistically, it isn't. 

Vivienne would be a giant fucking hypocrite if she got angry about Marc calling Layla to hash out the whole third alter ego situation because she's doing the same fucking thing. She’s also going to someone outside of their relationship to talk about this issue instead of going to her boyfriend, so it shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t. But it honestly kind of does. 

Mostly because Layla is Marc’s ex-wife. 

And Vivienne’s never been insecure of their friendship but there’s something intimate about Marc going to Layla for advice. For help. God, is she being a psycho girlfriend? Is she projecting her own bullshit onto Layla?

”Does that bother you?” Layla asks and Vivienne shakes her head. 

“Honestly? Yes and no. I’m glad he’s talking to someone but I haven’t gotten more than a I’m alive text from him so… it’s a mess.” 

Eggs are cracked open and dropped into the tomato paste. A lid slid into place on top of the pan soon after. 

Layla wipes her hands on a kitchen rag and turns to her. 

“Sucks doesn’t it?” The other woman asks and Vivienne can’t help but wince. 

Jesus. 

Ok, fair. 

She hadn’t thought about what this conversation might mean for Layla. Marc had dipped out of her life without so much as a goodbye. Just left behind signed divorce papers and a hurt ex. 

Vivienne’s a fucking asshole. 

“I’m so sorry,” she begins, stuttering a bit, “I didn’t mean to-“ 

“-don’t worry about it. I’ve had a lot of time to get over it.” Layla checks the contents of her pan and continues, “I met his parents you know.” 

Vivienne blinks. 

“You did?” Vivienne asks. 

Layla nods slowly and says, “Wendy and Elias. The two of them were something else. Only went because I kept pestering Marc to introduce us. My dad had died not too long before and… I don’t know. I thought I could help Marc reconnect. I won’t bore you with all the nasty details, but we didn’t stay long, and Marc disappeared for a few weeks after we got home.” 

So, this whole disappearing thing is a habit. Great. Fantastic. Vivienne wants to bash her head against the countertops. 

“If it’s any consolation, he always shows up again.” Layla murmurs softly.

“That doesn’t make me feel all that great if I’m being honest.” Vivienne mutters, to which Layla smiles. 

“Hey, cut yourself some slack, Marc deserved to know about Jake. I honestly think he’s more upset about his deal with Khonshu not falling through than anything else and there’s not anything you can do about that.” 

Vivienne nods. 

“Yeah, I guess, I still feel like a dick though.” 

Layla snorts as she grabs a couple plates and some silverware. Dishing up a generous serving of shakshuka for herself and Vivienne, Layla smiles. 

“Marc probably feels like a bigger one.” 

It doesn’t comfort her. 

Vivienne doesn’t want Marc to feel like a dick. She doesn’t want him to worry over his treatment of her. Because at the end of the day Marc might have gone AWOL, bur Vivienne’s the reason he did. Maybe not directly, but her insistence that he learn about Jake is kind of the spark that lit the fuse. She doesn't feel bad about telling him, he needed to know, but in general the whole situation is fucked up. And now she's sitting in his ex's kitchen, eating breakfast, trying to get advice on how to navigate a situation Layla doesn't have to be involved in. Dragging a hand over her face, Vivienne wonders how she's going to get this figured out. How she's going to fix the mess she's helped make of her and Marc's life. 

After breakfast she helps Layal clean up. Takes the container she offers full of leftovers and tucks it carefully into her work bag. 

Layla's kind enough to walk her to the door, either unaware of Hathor's presence as the Goddess follows them or good at ignoring it. She gives Vivienne a hug before she leaves, tells her not to be too hard on herself and to reach out any time for any reason. Vivienne can't help the swell of affection for the other girl. Because even though the two of them didn't really hash anything out the ability to talk about the situation with Marc without having to worry about judgement has been incredibly helpful. Vivienne's less angry about being ignored. So, she hugs Layla back and offers her apartment up if Layla ever needs a place to crash before slipping out into the hall to follow the ever-glowing figure of her goddess. 

Another shimmering door cracks open in what might be a service closet. Vivienne isn't really sure. All she knows is that when the wall peels open and Vivienne steps through at Hathor's urging, she comes out the other end in her own hallway. Sagging, Vivienne drags her exhausted body to her front door and fiddles with the key until the lock slides out of place. Every second she takes to get into the apartment is another second that her body begins to fade under the weight of the past few days. She wants to take a shower. Just curl up in her bed and go to sleep. Kicking off her shoes, Vivienne blinks hard as she shuffles into the kitchen to put away the leftovers and then continues to shuffle as she makes her way to the bedroom where she pauses just outside the open door.

Someone is in her bed. 

Sprawled out beneath brightly colored blankets, arms folded around satin-covered pillows. 

If it weren't for the soft snoring Vivienne might have lost her cool, but she recognizes the little wheeze of Marc's snoring that has resulted of several deviated septums over the years. Relief that he's home wins out over annoyance that he's been avoiding her and Vivienne quietly begins stripping out of her work clothes and shuffles closer to the bed. She doesn't even bother trying to dig out pajamas from her dresser. God knows when the last time Marc got a decent night's sleep in him was. Why risk waking him up? It's the perfect time to take a fat nap and Vivienne's not even worried about the fact that she's about to massively fuck her sleep schedule seeing as it's only 1:43. Vivienne doesn't care that she's going to bed with the dirt of the last twenty-four hours still on her body or that she's probably going to be bright eyed and bushy tailed at three in the morning. She's just happy to be home with Marc. She's even a bit too careful as she eases back the covers and slides into bed. A bit scared that this is all a fever dream and she's going to wake up alone in a handful of minutes. 

Practically jumps out of her skin when Marc's arm snakes around her stomach and drags her against his side. 

"Hey baby," he murmurs into her shoulder, messy curls tickling her chin. 

The low, rough drag of his voice makes Vivienne feel hot all over. Any other time and she'd absolutely initiate... but she's so fucking tired. To the point that she's starting to get the shivers. She just wants to curl up in bed with her boyfriend and go to sleep.

"Hi honey." Vivienne whispers, fingernails scraping gently against the back of his neck, "go back to bed." 

Marc blinks at her, dark eyes piercing as he looks her over. Vivienne doesn't know what he sees but she suspects it isn't great. Between fretting over him, dealing with the posh-wanna-be-assholes that come to Delmonica's, and getting dragged to Cairo through magical doorways... Vivienne's willing to bet she looks a little rough around the edges.  

"You ok?" He asks, fingers tightening around her hip. 

Vivienne's body begins to shiver a bit more violently. 

Exhaustion trying to force her eyelids together. 

Slowly, Vivienne moves so that she can tuck herself more fully into Marc's body. Helps him shuffle so that she's tucked beneath the bulk and warm of him. Then she lets the tension drain out of her. Mumbles something about work running late and Hathor being called and breakfast with Layla. Misses whatever Marc says in response as she slips off into sleep, coherent only long enough to press a sloppy kiss to Marc's temple before she's down for the count.  

Chapter Text

Marc's an asshole. 

A hastily put together breakfast won't make up for a week of radio silence and bad self-regulation. Self-awareness has always been one of his strong suits, and as he pours whisked eggs into a hot pan Marc thinks to himself that maybe he should be doing more than playing chef. Running out had never been his intention. Learned a lot from his failed marriage. Knows he would never leave anyone high and dry like that ever again... but that doesn't mean shit when he's avoiding his girlfriend like the plague. Wasn't even her fault, either. Marc hadn't intended to dip out on her like that. Sure, he'd needed a little time to work out his head but that wasn't because of Vivienne... or... it hadn't been. Still isn't, really, Vivienne hadn't had anything to do with Marc's decision to avoid her and the flat he's been spending so much of his time in. It's Jake. 

Jake, who wouldn't stop talking about how sweet Vivienne is, how soft she is. 

Jake, whose gaze had been dark and intense when he'd informed Marc that he was only trying to protect her. 

That he would always protect her.

Something about it had struck Marc the wrong way. A hand rubbing against the grain of his being and doing nothing to smooth the edges after. He knows it was Jake's tone. That underlying heat. Marc's gotten used to hearing it from Steven but that's different. The relationship between him and Vivienne and Steven and Vivienne has been something the three of them have painstakingly worked out. Steven insisting on designated date nights and Vivienne putting a stop to him assigning days in which he and Marc can split her attention. It's unconventional as hell but it works for them, and Marc - who has never even entertained the idea of sharing his girlfriends in the past - doesn't mind it so much now because he and Steven are so intrinsically tied to one another... what the fuck has Jake ever done for him? Them? Motherfucker claims he's been protecting them all these years and yet Marc can't think of a single time when he wasn't the one getting himself out of shit situations. No black outs, no lost days, no lost hours. But Jake claims he's been protecting Marc. As fucking if. Asshole's also been pretty quiet in his head since Marc realized Vivienne had gone missing. The silence of his absence a little too smug for Marc's tastes. 

Scoffing, Marc shakes the pan so the gooey center of the omelet spreads before reaching for the sausage and various vegetables he's prepared for it. Vivienne likes vegetarian omelets with lots of cheese and some sausage thrown in. Claims she likes everything that comes in the vegetarian omelet and might as well ask them to add sausage because asking to add everything to a sausage omelet is a dick move. Marc thinks she worries too much about inconveniencing people. 

Hot breath passes across the nape of his neck as arms coil around his hips, a chin digging slightly into his shoulder. The scent of mint and stale perfume wafts up around him just as chapped lips press against the skin below his jaw. Vivienne needs to drink more water. Marc thinks he'll let Steven know when he gets a chance, the other alter always seems to have an easier time convincing Vivienne to take care of herself. 

"Morning," Vivienne's voice is rough, slightly painful, "Layla made shakshuka. I put it int he fridge." 

Marc folds the omelet in on itself and puts the lid on the pan before unhooking Vivienne's grip on him so he can turn and face her. 

Takes a good long minute to look her over as he reaches up to hold her face between his hands. 

Dark circles under the eyes, blood shot through the whites, but not sallow or genuinely sickly in appearance. Ok. She's ok. Marc sighs as he pulls her in for a hug. 

"I know, I ate it already." he murmurs into her hair. 

"You ate my food? That was such a dick move," she's amused, "Layla made that specially for me." 

"And I'm making you my very special omelets." Marc brushes the hair out of her face and says, "Go sit down, it's almost done." 

Vivienne does as she's told. Slipping away from Marc and making her way to the table. He isn't ashamed to admit he watches her the entire time, eyeing the way his t-shirt from the day before hangs on her, falling to brush the middle of her butt, not even hiding the bright pink cotton panties she's changed into. Marc feels like a damn dirty dog staring at her the way he is but... can anyone really blame him? With one last lingering look at his girlfriend's ass, Marc turns around and pulls a plate from the cupboard and then loads it full of omelet. Coffee is exchanged for a glass of water and - thankfully - Vivienne doesn't even comment on the lack of caffeine as Marc lays the plate in front of her. Marc wishes she had, because the conversation they have instead isn't great. 

"We gonna talk about what happened?" Vivienne asks. 

Marc works his jaw. 

"sí, ¿vas a hablar de eso? ¿De todos tus pequeños problemas?" Jake asks, appearing in the mirror on the wall like a ghost to haunt him. 

It's why Marc likes the kitchen so much. 

The reflective surfaces in there really aren't that reflective. Muddled images may catch his eye, but it's too distorted and he can usually make enough noise to drown out the sound of voices. But in the rest of her house? Vivienne likes mirrors. If Marc were a crueler man, he might say that Vivienne likes looking at herself too much. He might claim she hangs mirrors in her house to catch sight of herself and ogle... but he knows that isn't the case. He's never caught her pausing in front of mirrors to admire herself more than once or twice, and usually those times are when she's getting ready to go out. Marc doesn't think Vivienne's desire to hang mirrors in her apartment has anything to do with ogling herself and perhaps everything to do with aesthetics. Normally, it wouldn't bother him. Why would Marc care about Steven lingering in the spaces available to him while Marc and Vivienne enjoy their time together? Problem is, it isn't just Steven. It's Jake too. 

And the mother fucker can't keep his mouth shut. 

"I'm sorry," Marc says to her first thing, because he needs to apologize and she needs to know he means it, "I was an ass." 

He watches Vivienne take a deep breath and nod, "You were. I get why you did it and I'm thankful that you kept me in the loop about you being alive, but what you did wasn't ok." 

Marc nods, throat tight. 

"I know," it's almost pathetic how dejected he sounds. 

Thankfully, Vivienne spares him from the oncoming self-pitying by reaching out and grabbing hold of his hand. 

"You were upset and you needed space, I'm not upset about that... but in the future you can't be bouncing in and out like that." 

He grips her fingers tight between his own and brings them to his lips, presses a chaste kiss to the chipped green nail polish. 

"Are you feeling better about everything?" Vivienne asks softly, "Working everything out with Jake? And Khonshu?" 

Marc swallows. 

Khonshu. 

As much as he'd rather not regale Vivienne with tales of the fight he'd had with the giant bird and his alter, Marc knows he can't not tell her something. It wouldn't be fair. Vivienne was just as much a part of this as Marc was. Jake had been as active in her life as he'd been in Marc's. It's not like she's some random person on the street who happens to be dating Steven, completely unaware of the mess his life is. She knows about Khonshu and Marc's deal with him... and now she knows about Jake despite how badly Marc wishes she didn't. He doesn't think she'd push if he decided not to tell her all the juicy bits of the last week... but it doesn't seem fair not to tell her. 

"Yeah... worked some of it out. Khonshu broke his contract with me and made one with Lockley, which means Jake Lockley is officially his avatar now." 

"Not you." 

"Not me... so, I don't really have a say in whether we stay avatars or not." 

Vivienne frowns but nods. 

"Have you spoken to Jake at all?" She asks, obviously skirting the touchier subject of his renewed tie to Khonshu. 

Marc scowls. 

"He never shuts up. Always running his mouth. You'd think he'd get bored of listening to the sound of his own voice, but I guess he's just that desperate for validation." 

Across the room there's a sharp, "Oi!" and an even softer, "Jake, mate, leave it." 

Still thinks it's bullshit that Jake and Steven get along so well. Probably due to the fact that Steven and Jake share some sort of experience. A little moment of 'Ha! He did to you what you did to me, Marc! Innit funny?' that really isn't at all funny to Marc. While they aren't buddy-buddy, the two of them get on easier than Marc and Jake do. Some of that could also be the fact that Jake won't stop making heart eyes at Marc's girl, though. Jake's an annoying fucker, but Marc's realistic, he could be a lot worse given the fact he's basically born of all Marc's hatred and animosity. As it stands, he'd really like Jake to stop making comments about Vivienne. 

"Aside from him being a talker," Vivienne hedges, "how are you guys getting along? Better?" 

Glancing up toward the ceiling, Marc shrugs and says, "Sure. Can't really do anything about him being in my head so, uh, yeah. I'd say we're peachy." 

"Marc. Seriously. How are you doing?" 

The dark circles under Vivienne's eyes seem darker than they had in the kitchen when the light from the window had leaned in to kiss her cheeks. Guilt gnaws at him. How much of that is from him? Marc and Steven had tried to keep an eye on Vivienne while he'd kept them all away from her. Swung by Delmonica's during her shifts, lingered across the street to watch for the light to come on in her apartment, generally just tried to keep an eye out for anything shady going on in her life. But they'd gotten busy. Caught up in Khonshu's desire to rid the world of evil doers and Jake's lack of desire to say no. Which sits funny with Marc seeing as he's had to put a stop to Jake sneaking into Vivienne's apartment to drool over her like a hungry dog in the wee hours of the morning. 

Fucking perv. 

"I could be better." he swallows and pulls away, crosses his arms over his chest, "A little pissed off, honestly." 

"That's fair." 

Marc doesn't think she gets it. 

How could she? 

They haven't talked about his childhood outside of what she needed to know. 

Vivienne's aware of Randall's death and his mother's resulting cruelty, his father's indifference, aware Marc suffered all sorts of abuse under the roof in Chicago. But she doesn't know about the cigarettes his mother put out on his arms or how Elias Spector would patch him up after. She's aware of the abuse and neglect in a general sense... she doesn't really know what happened in that house. 

Fair is putting it mildly. 

"Could be worse, I guess." Marc mutters and Vivienne nods slowly. 

It's silent in that little kitchen for a long while. Long enough that Vivienne finishes her glass of water and her omelet without a word being shared between the two of them all the while. Marc takes her plate when she's done and cleans up the mess he's made of her kitchen. Taking longer than necessary to dry everything and put it away because when it's done there won't be anything to keep him busy and then what are they going to talk about? Jake? Where Vivienne got dragged off to with Hathor? The fact that Layla must have told her about him reaching out because she sent Vivienne home with breakfast and that's just... god... it's all a mess. 

Cold hands slide under his shirt and settle against his sides. 

"Want to go grocery shopping with me? I've been putting it off." Vivienne asks. 

Marc nods. 

Anything to get them out of the apartment, even if grocery shopping is usually a task Steven and Vivienne do together. Marc turns and nods. 

"Yeah," he says, "I'd like that." 

"Good. I'll hop in the shower. Are we having dinner at yours, mine, or are we going out?" She asks as she leans her cheek against his shoulder. 

"Mine works." 

"Ok, I'm going to go take a shower." 

"Want me to toss the sheet in the wash?" 

"No point. We won't be back before they're done and I don't want to deal with the mildew smell." 

And just like that the two of them are good. 

Fine. 

Acting like nothing happened. Like Marc didn't freak out and leave. Acting like all of this is completely normal which, unfortunately enough, it is. Normal. Their entire relationship is based on situations like this and Marc honestly kind of hates it. Back when Steven first started dating Vivienne it hadn't mattered to Marc because he hadn't planned on being around long enough to know - or care about - her. Vivienne was just some girl Steven was kind of dating and while Marc was surprised he'd managed to lock down someone as far out of their league as she is... it didn't matter that she wouldn't know about him or the fucked childhood that left Marc with an emotional support Brit... Marc hadn't thought he'd ever be involved with Vivienne himself and now he's kicking himself for not. Because Vivienne deserves better than this... and Marc's too selfish to give her up. Another reason he hates Jake. Vivienne seems to be the one thing they can agree on. 

Settling in the living room, Marc turns on the tv and flips through the channels while he waits for his girl to get done in the shower. Barely listens to the nature documentary he ends up watching. Just keeps glancing at the bathroom door wondering if Vivienne would let him step into the shower with her and crawl under her skin. His answer comes in a cloud of steam - he really needs to fix the fan - as Vivienne steps out of the bathroom in a pair of shorts and a red tank. 

Marc's tongue feels too thick in his mouth as he watches his girl slip into a pair of sandals. 

"You ready?" She asks. 

Nodding slowly, Marc rises and makes his way over to where she's standing so he can wrap her up in his arms and pull her close. 

"I love you," he murmurs into the crown of her head, "I'm sorry." 

I'm sorry I'm a horrible person. 

I'm sorry I failed you. 

I'm sorry I couldn't keep my shit together enough to stay. 

Vivienne's lips are soft against his collar bone as she kisses the only spot he's given her room to reach. 

"I love you too," she tells his softly, "and I forgive you. I wasn't ever mad at you, Marc, not really, just worried as hell." 

"I won't do it again." He promises, means it. 

Even if he had to crawl to crawl across broken glass on his belly to get back to her... he would do it... they would do it. 

Loathe as he is to include the newest addition to his headspace. 

Vivienne's smiling as she pulls away, soft and sweet and kind of sad. 

"Thank you... come on, I've got something special planned for tonight." 

And Marc just nods and follows her out of the apartment without a word. 

Chapter Text

It isn't often that Alice convinces Vivienne to go clubbing. Bars are one thing. Vivienne generally doesn't mind the bar scene in London. They really aren't that much different from the ones in Chicago and in a way they provide a familiar sort of comfort. Usually, when Alice says to Vivienne, "Let's go out," the two of them end up in jeans and nice tops, sitting at the end of a bar shooting the shit and watching soccer on grainy televisions. This time, however, Alice manages to convince Vivienne to go to some new night club that's opened up. Claiming that she doesn't want to go alone but that she also really wants to go and they haven't spent much time together since she started dating Steven... which, Jesus, that one made Vivienne feel like shit.

Because she's had those friends. 

The ones who get a boyfriend and suddenly don't have time for the girls they claimed were their best friend only a week or two before. 

Vivienne never wants to be that girl, ever, so she tells Alice she'll meet her at the club and proceeds to absolutely decimate her closet in search of something appropriate to wear. Miraculously, she manages to find the perfect dress in a garment bag at the back of her closet. A dark green number that barely covers her ass and glitters like a star thanks to the beading, which Vivienne very resolutely tries not to notice look like beetle wings. The dress is hung on the back of her door, digs a handful of gold rings and a matching anklet out of her jewelry box, and places the black heels she chooses to accompany the outfit by the door before slipping into the bathroom to shower. All in all, it's a process. She scrubs herself raw, takes longer than she needs to in order to shave her legs because there's nothing worse than an ER visit to ruin a mood, and uses copious amounts of lotion and body oil to make sure she's well moisturized. After that, she detangles her hair, blows it out so that it has something of a Monica Geller thing going on, and then does her makeup. Keeps everything relatively soft save for the dark, plummy lipstick she applies to her lips and the maroon mascara to her eyelashes. 

Getting changes, comparatively, is pretty quick. 

It isn't long after that Alice shows up toting a bottle of vodka in one hand a pack of small orange juice bottles in the other. They pregame at Vivienne's apartment while the brunette makes them a couple of snacks so they have something to soak up the alcohol. Hopefully they don't get too wasted. Vivienne doesn't really have high hopes for them, though, seeing as neither of them work tomorrow. The one thing that would have kept the two of them in line is the fact that their manager's kind of a raging bitch. So, the two of them do shots and giggle as they stuff their faces with chips and some of the granola bars Vivienne has on hand. By the time they decide to head to the club Vivienne's already feeling a little tipsy, but not enough to worry her. Without a care in the world she's grabbing her bag - checking to make sure her ID and cash are present - and is out the door, shooting Marc a text telling him that she's going out with Alice and not to wait up. He tells her to call if they need a ride home at the end of the night and to have a good time otherwise and it makes Vivienne smile. She slips her phone into her purse and pretty much forgets about it as she trots after Alice to hail a cab. 

Vivienne makes conversation with the man driving them as Alice gets hold of a couple other people who may or may not be meeting them at the club. Friends of Alice's, she thinks. The man tells her about how his son got into the University of Manchester for Law. Vivienne - maybe a little drunk - smiles and congratulates the man, keeps conversation running until he pulls up to drop them off at the curb. Alice clambers out first, still on the phone but smiling apologetically at the man as Vivienne hands him the money to cover their ride, he thanks her, tells her to have a good evening, and even waits until Vivienne has settled into the line with Alice before he pulls off. Nice guy. 

Getting into the club is pretty standard. 

They wait in line for about an hour before the bouncer clears them. Vivienne smiles at the metallic smiley face stamped onto her hand as she slips through the door. Alice guides her down a dark hallway lit with colorful LED lights on the ground, the pulse of music seeping through the walls around them and into Vivienne's bones, and then through another door which deposits them in the club itself. 

"Let's get a drink!" Alice shouts over the roar of the music. 

Nodding, Vivienne follows close as the other girl's back as she tries to adjust to the feel of the bass. It makes her chest hurt a little bit. Always has. It's why she doesn't usually go to them... just takes a bit longer than she'd like to settle and in that time the person she's with usually wants to talk, dance, engage and Vivienne just... can't. Not at first. But it's always made her feel bad, which is why she's thankful for Alice. The two of them have gone out together enough now that the other girl gets Vivienne's quirks. 

Together the girls make their way through the crowded club to the bar where they each order themselves a drink before shuffling off to find someplace to linger. Vivienne sways side to side as she drinks, eyes darting around the club, careful to not look directly at the lights that move around the stage. 

She downs her first drink, follows Alice to the bar for another one and downs that one too before Alice jerks her to a stop. 

"Is that fucking ABBA?" Alice asks her, eyes big and bright. 

Vivienne pauses, listens, puts her empty glass on the bar top. 

"Sure is!" She calls over the opening tunes of Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! 

Laughing, Alice drags her out onto the dance floor. Pushing through the screaming crowd to the middle of the dance floor. And dancing with Alice is easy, it's fun, neither of them worrying about the men and women pressing in around them to dance to a classic. The DJ at the club is good. Keeps the people on the dance floor out there until the heat drives them back to the bar where they all end up buying a couple of shots to do before hitting the dance floor. Vivienne isn't ashamed to admit she's one of them. A little drunk, she casts her eyes across the club, pausing momentarily when a tall man with perfectly coifed blonde hair and startlingly pale skin - likely a result of the harsh strobe - catches her eye. Vivienne offers him a tight smile and a nod and then curses herself for it. Isn't that a signal of some sort? Vivienne absolutely does not want the pale blonde man in her business. 

"Hey, I want to introduce you to some people!" Alice says, leaning in close so that her breach warms Vivienne's ear. 

With a nod, Vivienne follows the other girl away from the bar and to one of the tables toward the back where a group of people have settled. A few of them smile and wave when they catch sight of her and Alice, patting the top of pristine white cushions. While it's still loud the close proximity the chairs force makes it easier to hear everyone as Alice introduces her. 

"Guys, this is Vivienne," Alice says and the other girl waves, "she's a cellist." 

"Seo-yun!" A girl with a dark shag says, eyes a warm brown in the pulsing lights of the club as she offers a smile. 

"Andrew." A broad man with orange eyeshadow introduces himself. 

Another girl - this one with long, curling red hair and pale eyes - leans forward around Alice to say, "Devyn." 

Alice's friends. 

All equally beautiful. 

All equally as friendly, 

They talk a lot, occasionally slipping off to go dance when another song they like pops up, but for the most part they stay at the table and drink. Bounce stories around the table and laugh when someone says something particularly funny. Vivienne gets their numbers and gives up hers in return. It's nice. Vivienne isn't lonely by any means, but she likes the group of friends Alice has introduced her to for the most part. Doesn't really know them well enough to say whether they'll be best friends forever or not.  But it's fun being around them. More fun when Devyn grabs Vivienne's hand and pulls her up onto the dance floor. 

The night quickly becomes a blur. 

Too much liquor and not enough sense. 

Vivienne is drunk, Alice is drunk, they're all drunk, but when Andrew pulls her aside however many hours later and quietly informs her that Seo-yun is calling a cab for Devyn and Alice, asking if she's like them to call her a cab as well, Vivienne has enough sense of mind to make sure the other two girls are ok before waving of both Seo-yun and Andrew's concern. I can call my boyfriend to come pick me up, she says, insisting she's fine when the only two relatively sober people in the group continue to ask if she's sure. 

Of course, she's sure. 

Her boys wouldn't leave her to wander alone at night and Marc told her to call him if she needed a ride. 

So, she slips into the bathroom as Alice and Devyn are carefully lead from the club to send her boyfriend a texts. 

Come get me, she texts Marc from a bathroom stall, squatting over the toilet with her panties around her knees, and then tacks on a, please. 

Figuring she has about twenty to thirty minutes before Marc comes to get her, Vivienne decides to sit by the bar and sober up with a water. Beats sitting outside the club where it's cold and nasty. Panties back in place, skirt adjusted, hands washed, and lipstick touched up, Vivienne makes her way to the bar to order a water. The bartender is nice enough about it seeing as he's slammed and the club's understaffed. As she waits for her water, Vivienne hums and taps her fingers against the bar top. Smiles when a callused hand lands on her shoulder. 

Only, it isn't Marc that has his hand on her. 

Vivienne jerks away from the pale eyes and paler hair and even paler skin. 

He looks like a ghost in the pulsing lights of the club... a pretty ghost, sure, but a ghost all the same. 

"Hi, my name's Howard." the pale man says, a slim hand extended, which Vivienne refuses to take.

"Lauren." Vivienne says, something in her gut telling her not to give the man her real name. 

"Crowned with Laurel or Sweet of Honor," the man recites before smiling charmingly at her and adding "I was a classics major. Really into the Greeks for a while." 

She didn't ask. 

"That's nice." 

The man presses closer and Vivienne tries to step back. 

"Let me buy you a drink." 

"Oh, no thank you, I'm done for tonight." She tells the man. 

"Come on, just one and I promise if you don't like the company I'll leave," and it sends so many alarm bells ringing through Vivienne's head that that ever-soft presence in the back of her head shifts into something sharp and full of wrath. 

"No." Vivienne bites out, fingers tight around the open water bottle she has every intention of pouring over the man's head if he doesn't leave her alone. 

Of course, the man ignores her. One arm thrown casually over her shoulder as he leans forward to flag down an overworked bartender. Vivienne swallows hard. Takes several deep breaths in her attempt to manage the sudden jolt of rage that lances up her spine. Before that other being in her head can do anything about the man currently touching her, a body presses between them, effectively forcing the blonde man to let her go. Vivienne gives herself a second to observe the figure standing between them. Big and broad and achingly familiar. Vivienne hooks her fingers into a beltloop on Marc's pants and pulls him back a bit toward her, more than a little relieved when he eases out of the other man's face.  

"She's not interested, asshole," Marc snaps, but it isn't Marc, the accent isn't quite right. 

Jake. 

That's Jake. 

Vivienne eases her grip on the bit of denim hooked around her pinky. 

"And who are you?" Richard asks waspishly. 

"Her boyfriend," Jake snaps. 

Pale eyes bounce from Vivienne to Jake and back again. 

"Didn't know she had one. Shaking her ass the way she was I figured she was... didn't realize she was just a little slut." The words are barbed, sinking below the skin and hooking into the muscle. 

Slut. 

It happens so quickly. 

One second the blonde man is smirking, eyes sharp in his narrow face, and the next Jake's fingers are tangling in his hair and his head is being pressed into the sticky bar top. Vivienne jumps, hands hovering near her mouth, and watches as Jake leans in close to whisper something in the man's ear before he puts more weight on the blonde's head to shove himself away with. The bartender is calling for security as Jake hooks an arm around Vivienne's waste and guides her out of the club. Somehow, they manage to miss the bouncers and the moment they're outside Jake is rushing her down the street and around the corner. Stopping next to a sleek black taxi parked in a tow-away zone. 

"You good, Viv?" Jake asks, hands warm on either side of her face, thumb smudging gently under her eye.

"Yeah, I'm good." Vivienne murmurs, a bit slurred even to her own ears. 

Jake's tongue clicks against his teeth. 

"debí haberle sacado los dientes a ese estúpido." he sighs, looks off toward the club and then back to Vivienne before shrugging off his jacket and sliding it around her shoulders. "Come on, let's get you home." 

"How we gettin' home?" Vivienne asks and Jake blinks at her before reaching out to pop the front passenger door open. 

"Hop in, querida." Jake tells her, the insides of the car dark and looming. 

Vivienne stands on the curb for a moment before she shuffles to get into the car. Curling into the soft leather seats as Jake shuts the door behind her. He's behind the wheel not long after, twisting the key in the ignition and reaching out to adjust the volume on the stereo before it can blast her ears off. Vivienne takes in the car. It's very clean. Too clean, she thinks, for a taxi. There aren't any stains on the matts, no smudges on the windows, no trash left in the seat from asshole customers. All in all, it looks like a car coming straight off the lot... which it isn't... she doesn't think. 

"Put your seatbelt on." Jake's voice drags her out of her thoughts. 

"You're a cabbie?" She asks, twisting an arm behind her to grab the seatbelt. 

Jake cuts her a look from under the brim of his cap. 

"That a problem?" 

She's shaking her head before he can finish his question. 

"No," she tells him softly, "just didn't expect it." 

Across from her Jake hums and the light at the intersection carves his face into something sharp. The clench of his jaw, the purse of his lips, the narrow cast of his eyes, all stained in a red wash that's softened only by the curl that's managed to escape the band of his cap and hang around his ear. Without much thought Vivienne reaches out to tuck it back into place and leans back in the seat when Jake looks at her. 

"I like people watching." Jake informs her as the light changes, "Most people ignore you when they're in the backseat of your car. You learn a lot about them." 

"Like what?" 

Jake shakes his head, "Lots of stuff. Failed marriages, graduations, celebrations, funerals. I think it's nice to see people being people." 

How much of that is impacted by Khonshu? How much of that is impacted by his childhood. 

Vivienne doesn't ask. 

"How long have you been doing this?" 

"Since Marc lived in New York right after he got discharged. Good gig. Kept some of the bills paid before we got into... better business." 

She doesn't ask about that either. 

Just hums softly and turns her head to stare at the city lights blurring by through the window. She needs to text Alice and let her know she got home safe. She also needs to take her heels off, damn things are starting to pinch her toes, the soles of her feet already feeling puffy and tight. Water would also be good. And a pizza. 

Chicago style. 

Goddamn she misses Chicago style pizza. 

"We should get pizza." Vivienne says. 

"Little late for that, Viv, but I can swing you through Manni's." 

Grunting, Vivienne positions herself so one shoulder is wedged into the back of the seat and she can look Jake dead in the eye as she says, "I toastido's pizza rolls in my freezer!" 

"You mean fucking Totino's?" 

"Same thing." 

"They're not," but the correction and whatever response he might have gotten from Vivienne about it is ignored, because he's laughing. "How'd you even get them?"

A full, deep belly laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes watery at the edges. It has Vivienne smiling dumbly as she says, "Marc left them in my freezer." 

Very likely an apology gift for the whole not talking to her thing. It's the only reason she can think that he would go out of his way to get pizza rolls shipped to him when they have a variation of it here in London... though, the ones she found in the grocery store aren't as good as Totino's. God she wants those pizza rolls. And Jake - angel that he is - pulls into one of the guest parking spaces her building has and very gallantly opens the car door for her. 

"Let's go get you those pizza rolls, princesa." 

With the promise of food to empower her, Vivienne manages to brave the long walk from the guest parking to the front door where she Jake holds the lobby door open for her. Once inside, she hesitates at the stairs for a moment before beginning the climb with Jake at her side. They talk idly about her night out, if she had fun, and when they reach the landing of the second floor and Vivienne has to pause because her toes are legit killing her, Jake easily scoops her up with an arm around her back and one under her knees. It forces her to cling to him. Hooking her arms around his neck and pressing close even as she tells him that he doesn't have to carry her. While he ignores that particular comment, he makes it very clear that she's not bothering him as he just smooths his thumb over the skin of her thigh and keeps on climbing. Only putting her down at her door so she can unlock it and usher him in. 

Her shoes are off the second she in her apartment, kicked somewhere across the floor and forgotten about. 

"I'll start the oven," Jake tells her, "go change." 

A light pat on her ass makes her blush, but she smiles as she does exactly that. Hobbling into the bedroom and laying Jake's borrowed jacket carefully across the bed before she begins wiggling out of her dress. Jewelry is tossed back in the jewelry box, beetle-wing dress a puddle on the floor, makeup wipes carefully tossed in the little trash can in the corner of her room. Vivienne doesn't even think of the mess as she slips on a cute little satin nightgown - which totally has everything to do with the man in her kitchen because normally after a night of drinking she pulls out the oversized hoodie for comfort - and ambles back into the living room just in time to watch Jake slide the cookie sheet covered in pizza rolls into the oven. 

"Oh my god, I love you." Vivienne groans as she hops up onto the counter. 

Jake pauses. 

Freezes in place for a second before he shuts the oven door with a soft click and turns to her. 

"Oh yeah?" 

"Oh yeah." Vivienne offers a firm nod, "hundred percent." 

The smirk she gets is absolutely feral. Smug and full of glee. 

"Your boyfriend's not gonna like that, sweetheart." 

In the morning she'll probably regret it. Look back and think about how much of a dick move what she's about to say is... but is it really? 

"I thought you said you were my boyfriend?" 

Because he had. 

And, technically, Steven was Vivienne's boyfriend first. Marc sort of fell into the mix after and now Vivienne's not above pulling Jake in too... it's not really cheating because they're all aware of each other and Vivienne knows she should have a talk with the boys but there's so much cross over between them and their interactions with each other that isn't it sort of safe to assume that this relationship of theirs is developing into something beyond social conventions? Rough hands on her cheeks has Vivienne blinking sluggishly at Jake. 

"You are super drunk right now." Jake says with a laugh. 

"Little bit... but I'm serious." 

"We'll talk about it when you're not drunk." 

"So tomorrow?" 

"And when you're not hungover." 

"I'm never hungover." 

"You know," Jake kisses her forehead, "you're kind of an idiot." 

"Ouch?" 

Jake laughs, softer this time than in the car, and pulls away to get her a glass of water. 

He makes her drink two glasses as he flips the pizza rolls and puts them back in the oven for the last few minutes. Vivienne watches him through heavy eyes as he putters around in her kitchen to grab plates. Almost feels bad about how tired she is because this is nice. Domestic as hell. Vivienne loves it. Wants more of it. Almost says as much but stops when Jake hands her a plate of pizza rolls and her hunger overpowers her senses. She shovels the slightly too hot pizza rolls into her mouth and listens to Jake talk about New York and a man who had a Ziplock bag full of Totino's pizza rolls and marshmallows in his pockets. Apparently, apparently the man was also drunk and tried paying Jake in his Ziplock goods. The story almost makes Vivienne choke from how hard she giggles. 

And then, when she's eaten her fill and has drunk another glass of water, Jake ushers her back to her bedroom and makes sure she's comfortable. Puts another glass of water by her bed before turning to go. Which makes Vivienne... sad. Weirdly enough. The idea of Jake's absence more upsetting than it probably should be given they don't really know each other. Half-asleep, Vivienne pats the empty side of the bed. 

"You should stay the night." She garbles out around a yawn. 

"I'm not sure that's such a great idea," Jake tells her, shoulder pressed against the door frame where he's leaning. 

"It's late. I'll be sad if you go." 

She pats the bed again. 

Jake sighs. 

Shoes are toed off and left by the door, cap removed and put on the dresser, jeans carefully folded but shirt left on. He even digs out a pair of pajamas from Marc and Steven's side of the dresser before laying down on top of the covers. Slowly, Vivienne reaches to hit the button on her lamp. 

"You're gonna get cold." Vivienne warns him. 

"No te preocupes por mí, cariño," Jake murmurs into the dark, "go to sleep." 

With it biting at her heels, Vivienne turns and curls around Jake's form. If he isn't going to get under the covers with her then she's just going to have to make sure he doesn't freeze to death in her old ass apartment. He stiffens for a second before going limp under her. Vivienne smiles as she tucks herself tighter against his side. 

"Night, Jake, thanks for getting me." 

Lips brush her hair, "Anytime, Viv." 

She falls asleep to the steady thrum of Jake's heart against her ear and the gentle pull of his fingers tracing patterns across the top of her hand. She has no idea where his jacket it, she realizes in those last seconds of clarity before she slips off, but for some reason she doesn't think he'll mind all that much if she wears it from time to time once she finds it again. 

Chapter Text

"What was New York like?" Steven asks him, face distorted in the reflective hood of the car. 

Jake shrugs and slips his fingers beneath the little gap revealing the hood latch. Steven's face disappears as Jake props the hood up, through his voice floats to his ears all the same as he grabs hold of the dipstick for the oil tank and slides it out. He wipes it off on his work shirt, a grimy thing he's had for ages. Something he picked up at a Walmart or something when he was still trying to hide from Marc. 

"Fine, I guess." Jake mutters as he slides the stick back into the tank and pulls it out again. 

The car isn't due for a proper change yet. Jake drums dirty fingers across the top of the hood as he stares down into the guts of the engine. Power of steering fluid needs to be changed out though... and it wouldn't hurt to top off the coolant either. He also needs to change the filters and check the serpentine belt. Gotta rotate the tires today too. He's put it off because it's easier to do general maintenance on the car than a whole work over. Marc's never been the wiser to oil remnants under his fingernails but now that Jake doesn't have to hide from him then he might as well take the opportunity for what it is. 

Nodding to himself, Jake gets to work. 

Marching over to the shelving unit on the far wall, Jake begins pulling out everything he might need. 

"I didn't know you worked on cars." Steven remarks from the mirror above the shop sink. 

Jake shrugs and tells him, "Easier to take care of my own car than waste money on some fuck up." 

Steven hums. 

"You're pretty good at it then?" He asks amicably, "Fixing things?" 

"Suppose." 

The quiet alter is awfully fucking chatty lately. 

Jake's gotten used to hesitant commentary or none at all from Steven. Sure, the fucker likes to yap at Mark but he's good at keeping his tongue behind his teeth when it comes to Jake. Gettin' a bit bolder in the past few weeks though. And if Jake's being honest with himself, he doesn't really mind Steven's chatter. It's mindless for the most part. Sort of like when he used to put on NatGeoWild after a rough night driving people around and David Attenborough's voice would lull him to sleep. Sure, he learned something from it, but the man was never disruptive. Steven's just like that. Present but not pushy. He doesn't shove his way into Jake's space like Marc does. He doesn't scratch and claw and struggle for dominance like Marc does. 

"Did you learn to do that in New York too?" 

"No, picked it up here and there after Marc got discharged." He offers up. 

Across the room Steven hums quietly. A happy little noise that makes it sound like he's learned something fascinating, which it really isn't. Jake learned how to maintain his car because he had to learn how to maintain his car. Cheaper to do his own maintenance on it than it would have been to take it into the shop. Marc could probably do this too. It isn't exactly hard work. Jake rolls his shoulders and drops his head low. Easy for him and Marc doesn't necessarily mean easy for Steven, he knows. 

Steven's made of softer stuff than Jake and Marc. 

There isn't grease and blood caked under his fingernails, there aren't any nightmares to plague his nights. He's a historian. Someone who surrounds themselves with research and artifacts, the most dangerous part of his day being the potential papercut he might get turning pages. 

Pushing off the car, Jake makes his way to the mirror and pulls it off the wall before making his way back over to the car where be props the bit of glass and plastic up so that Steven can see into the mess under the hood. 

"That's the air filter," he says to Steven, "it keeps shit from entering the engine. Normally you need to change it two or three times a year." 

"How do that?" Steven asks and Jake reaches for the snaps on the housing unit. 

"Open the box, the filter will pop out," Jake digs out loose debris from the housing unit and tosses it onto the floor of the storage unit he's been renting for the car. "Filter goes in the same way it came out, snap the latch down." 

Steven blinks at him, eyes big as an owl and just as clueless. 

"Look man, it's easy." 

Shoving Steven into the body's driver's seat is easy. 

Watching him handle Jake's car is... less so. 

But Jake walks him through various processes. 

Changing the air filter is pretty easy for Steven once he actually gets his hands on it. 

Adding more oil is pretty easy for him too. 

So is topping off the coolant and windshield wiper fluid. 

Jake thinks Steven’s biggest issue is his lack of confidence. He’s gotten better about it, sure, but he’s still a fuckin’ mess most of the time. Frazzled. Crude as it is, Jake wonders if a blowy would unwind him a little bit. Not that he’d suggest it. One thing to work Marc up, be another to say something crass about Vivienne to Steven and babe the little fucker fly off the handle. 

So instead, Jake tells him he’s doing a good job. 

“You’ll get the hang of it.” Jake tells him as he takes back the body so he can rotate the tires. 

“Have you always kept the car here? Seems a bit, I dunno, dingy?” Steven asks hesitantly. 

Jake shrugs and says, “Better than keeping it out in the street. Might’ve looked suspicious.” 

Steven’s quiet for a long while and Jake doesn’t press. 

Eventually the British alter clears his throat and asks, "Are there any other cars you're keeping hidden?" 

"Got a 1977 Dodge Aspen tucked away in Chicago." 

Steven makes a low noise. 

"That a good one?" He asks and Jake shrugs as he wipes his hands down on his shirt. 

"Sure." 

Silence is comfortable with Steven. 

Not oppressive like it can be with Marc, who glowers and huffs at him whenever he decides Jake's presence annoys him. Which is fairly often given the fact they share a head and a girlfriend. Sighing, Jake drops the hood back into place and does a once over around the car to make sure he hasn't left anything scattered around or forgotten to put anything back in place. Things have gotten better between the three of them. Not perfect by any means, but quiet. Easier. A lot of that, he thinks, has to do with Vivienne... and maybe a little bit of the shit she gets herself into. Jake's usually the one pulling her out of the bigger messes. The man in the alley and the one in the club. Marc hadn't been the one to keep her safe either of those times and while Jake thinks that might play into Marc's dislike of him, he knows it's also the only reason Marc hasn't tried stealing control of the body on a permanent basis. 

The mirror containing Steven's image is slid back into place and Jake washes his hands in the sink, careful to get the oil and grime caked under his nails out. 

Once his hands are sufficiently clean Jake removes the soiled shirt, tosses it into the little laundry bag on the floor, puts on a clear one from the stack he keeps on the shelves, and combs his fingers through his hair with one lass glance in the mirror back above the sink before he makes for his car. 

The drive back to the apartment is quiet... for the most part. Steven chatters in the rearview mirror about nothing important. Dinner plans. He wants to make some sort of vegan pasta dish that he's apparently never made before. Hopes he can test it on Jake and Marc before dragging Vivienne over to eat it. Steven's overthinking it. Food could be absolute dogshit, and Vivienne would grin and bear it and then politely find a way to make sure Steven never makes it again. She's too nice. Jake scratches his chin, remembers he forgot to grab razors at the store, and decides to steal one from the pack Vivienne keeps in the medicine cabinet in their bathroom. She won't notice one missing... not before Jake replaces the pack in any case. 

Making his way back to his apartment is a lonely affair. 

There aren't many reflective surfaces in their building. Grimy and dull as it is. Jake's forced to make the journey to his shared apartment alone. Which he's generally unbothered by. Jake likes the quiet, momentary as it is, because the moment he steps through that front door into the apartment decorated with various new mirrors and shiny surfaces he knows there isn't going to be a moment's peace. Not between Steven and Marc - wherever he's hiding - chattering at each other through the house. 

There's a ticket on the fridge. 

New. 

White paper, black letters, glossy in the yellow light of the kitchen and stark against the dark surface behind it. 

Carefully, Jake moves the magnet keeping it in place and reads the ticket. 

"Vivienne swung through to pick up her cello this morning," Steven tells him softly, "probably left it for us then." 

Jake puts it back on the fridge. 

They're going. All of them... but only one can front and selfish as it sounds, Jake wants it to be him. Knows it should probably be Marc or Steven though. Someone less intense, someone who would make sense standing beside Vivienne in her pretty black dress. 

"I'll pick up some roses tomorrow." Marc says, materializing in the little hand mirror propped up on the counter. 

Gone all day but around when he feels the need to stake a claim. 

Jake rolls his eyes as he turns to Marc.

"She doesn't like roses." Jake tells Marc. 

"Sure she does," Marc informs him, "gushed about the ones you got her." 

"Primroses and roses aren't the same. Roses'll make her eyes water." 

Jake knows because one night while he was perched on the neighboring building's fire escape like a gargoyle he'd watched as Vivienne had returned home from her show, set her cello down by the door, and tossed the bouquet of bright red flowers she'd received in the trash. He'd thought it was a bitchy move for a minute until he'd caught her rubbing at her eyes and uselessly rinsing them in the sink. Spent the rest of the evening patchy and irritated looking. Figures it's probably a mild allergy. 

"Ok, so you know flowers then?" Marc snaps. 

"I know our girl will keep those flowers in that vase of hers because you gave them to her and be miserable for it. Get her lilies." 

"Why don't you get her lilies you dick." he catches Marc muttering under his breath. 

It takes everything not to smash the fucking hand mirror on the countertop. 

Instead, he turns to glare at Marc and asks, "You have a fuckin problem?" 

"Yeah, you're trying to hit on my girl!" 

"Our girl," Jake snaps back. "Or did you forget we all agreed to that?"

Marc huffs. 

Disappears. 

Steven clears his throat from the other side of the room. 

"Well," he says with false cheer, "that was eventful." 

Jake ignores the British man and stomps off to the bathroom for a proper shower. 

Chapter Text

Things come to a head about three weeks after the concert where Marc had presented her with a bouquet of stargazer lilies. 

She's not blind to the rising tension between Marc and Jake. While neither of them are outwardly snippy or rude with each other in her presence, the glaring at reflective surfaces and eyerolling is a pretty good tell that something is happening between them. Vivienne had tried bringing it up to Marc, quietly asking if there was something going on with him and Jake, but he'd brushed her off. Reassuring her that it wasn't anything to worry about before kissing her and telling her that they should get lunch before he dropped her off for her shift at Delmonica's. Vivienne hadn't pressed. Mostly because she isn't qualified to play therapist and she thinks the root cause of Marc's irritation with Jake is something he needs to talk about. Hell, therapy probably isn't a bad idea. But that had been another not-really-argument between them. Vivienne had brought it up quietly to Marc once and he'd absolutely shut down the idea. Wouldn't listen when Vivienne suggested it and told her that he didn't need therapy. 

Which, you know, Vivienne would beg to differ. 

Between the abuse her endured in his childhood, whatever the fuck happened between him leaving home and them meeting, and then the whole Harrow Incident... yeah, therapy probably wouldn't hurt him... if only so Marc could rant and rave to an unbiased ear. He's pretty open with Vivienne now, but she's not a therapist and even if she were there'd be a conflict of interest. But it's one of those situations that makes Vivienne slightly uncomfortable bringing up randomly during brunch or in the middle of a date. 

Probably should have insisted though... might have saved them from the situation they find themselves in. 

Her and Steven are apartment hunting. 

Considering they've gone through so much together these past couple of months and practically live together anyway, it makes sense for them to take this step together. Normally, Vivienne would wait at least a year before moving in with someone. Personal ticks and all that. But Steven had brought the idea up so hesitantly, like he'd been afraid she'd outright refuse, that Vivienne hadn't even thought about that little personal rule she has for herself as she'd nodded and told Steven that she'd like that. It had taken about a week of the two of them sitting down and hammering out details. Mostly splitting of the bills, which Steven had seemed a bit unsure of because every time Vivienne would say she could pay for something Steven would furrow his brows at the mirror and then quietly tell her they could really lock everything down once they'd figured out where they were living. Which had been a debate in and of itself. 

Vivienne's apartment is newer, a bit nicer aesthetically, with a few more amenities than Steven's place. But it's smaller than the apartment Steven has been renting and it's more expensive too. Vivienne had suggested they move into Steven's apartment but between the two of them even Steven's place would be a touch small. While she certainly doesn't mind selling things or putting items in storage, Steven had quietly told her that he'd liked the idea of choosing a place together. Something for them. 

"I like the thought of it, yeah?" Steven had murmured into her hair as they'd been curled up on his couch, "Us getting a place together." 

"We'll probably argue the entire time." Vivienne had laughed. 

"I like the thought of that too.' Steven told her and Vivienne had settled into the warmth of him as she'd decided that, you know what, yeah, she liked the idea of that too. 

Which is how they find themselves looking at a place in Richmond. Not as aesthetically pleasing as Steven's apartment or quite as modern as Vivienne's, but there's a yard in the back and it's a little closer to the museum Steven works at. Bit of a longer trip to Delmonica's but Vivienne's willing to overlook that in favor of the bedroom, which is larger than both of theirs in the apartments they currently have. Vivienne shoves her hands into her back pockets and continues to walk through the rooms while Steven chats with the lady giving them the tour. This is the third rental they've gone to look at today and Vivienne's starting to get a little overstimulated. Each place so far has had something she really likes and she has a feeling that it's going to end up being Steven's favorite that she ends up picking because... Jesus this is a lot. 

She's trying to be considerate of Marc and Jake too. 

Not like the two of them can exactly flip flop with Steven and tour the houses with her. 

So, Vivienne tries to keep what she knows about Marc and Jake's preferences in mind as she looks at each place... which she quickly comes to realize isn't a whole lot. Marc's never complained about anything specific in either of their apartments and Jake complains about anything that annoys him, which usually ends up being the landlord note fixing shit he should fix. Vivienne just hopes they're keeping in contact with Steven during all of this because she's up the creek with a broken paddle at this point. 

Hands on her hips has Vivienne jumping and turning to face Steven, who smiles brightly at her before he pecks a soft kiss against her temple. 

"I think I like this one better than the last." 

Vivienne hums softly. 

"I kind of liked the brownstone in Barnes." Vivienne tells him, "Plenty of space for the four of us either way." 

Dark eyes drift to the window to their left. It's rainy, dark enough that they can see the outline of their reflection in the glass. Vivienne wonders if Steven's talking to Marc or Jake and what they're saying, because clearly someone isn't happy. 

"Still have a couple to look at," Steven finally turns his attention back to her, "Marylebone, Clapham, and Notting Hill have some places." 

Vivienne nods. 

"Yeah, might as well take a look at them if we have time." 

"I've gotten in touch with a leasing agent in Marylebone and Clapham, but we might have to wait on the flat in Notting Hill." Steven tells her quietly, fingertips tracing soft patterns into her rib. 

Smiling, Vivienne steps away from Steven and makes her way through the house one last time. Steadfastly ignoring the agent standing quietly by the door. Cute place. She makes a note of the apartment and the included amenities in her phone before shoving it into her pocket and allowing Steven to sling his arm over her shoulder and walk her out. 

They take the tube to Marylebone and it's disappointing because neither of them are overly excited about the apartment there. 

They find a fantastic fish and chips place though, so she supposes it works out. 

Clapham is a bit better. The apartment is cute but maybe a bit smaller than either of them wanted. Not really the end of the world, but it doesn't really justify the trip. Vivienne doesn't say as much though as she and Steven make their way back home, quietly discussing the various apartments and flipping through photos on their phone that they'd taken. Pros and cons are uttered between the two in soft tones so as not to bother the people around them. Steven seems to get more and more aggravated, shoulders tensing, jaw clenched, eyes repeatedly darting to the window behind Vivienne. So either Marc or Jake have something to say. Must be pretty serious if they keep pestering Steven like they are. 

"Everything ok?" Vivienne asks, dropping her voice lower so the two women in the seat in front of them don't overhear. 

"Marc and Jake are just butting heads is all." 

"About the apartment?" 

"Part of the reason, sure." 

Vivienne sighs heavily through her nose. So, it's definitely a Marc and Jake issue. Vivienne knows now isn't the time to poke at Steven or demand she speak to Marc. Too many people around them and Vivienne would never do something to embarrass any of her boys... well, maliciously anyway. Might accidentally embarrass them... but thankfully their stop isn't far and when they finally make it to their platform Steven is quick to escort her off the tube like he knows she's going to start asking questions and wants to get her home that someone else can answer them. Together they make it back to Steven's apartment with very little fanfare or issue. Vivienne kicks her flats off the moment she's through the door. Twisting her foot slightly to look at the blister blooming across the back of her heel where her shoe rubber her wrong. 

"Oh love," Steven gasps as he crouches down to get a look at her foot, "I'll get a plaster." 

He's off before Vivienne can tell him the blister isn't bad enough to justify using one of the special blister Band-Aids she'd gotten from the drugstore. Probably a good thing to put one on though seeing as she's working a double shift tomorrow and her foot's going to be on fire by the end of it. So, she shuffles into the bathroom to wet a paper towel to dab at the area around the blister. She's tossing the wet towel into the trash when hands land on her hips. 

"Alright, up you go," a distinctly Chicagoan accent sounds before Vivienne is being turned and hoisted up onto the counter to sit. 

Vivienne watches as Marc reaches down for her foot, tan fingers warm and rough against her ankle as he lifts her foot, following the bend Vivienne creates when she moves to adjust her knee so he can get a better look at the blister. The way he handles her is clinical. Practiced. The paper is pulled off the back of the adhesive, the blister positioned at the center of the Band-Aid, the edges carefully smoothed down so that they lay flat against the skin. He even pats her knee and tells her she did a good job as he straightens up. 

"Should've been a nurse, Marc." She says. 

Marc snorts, "Yeah, Nurse Marc here to treat your ailments and woes." 

He helps her off the counter, hands firm against her hips as he lifts her up and sets her back down. 

"Does it feel tight?" He asks and Vivienne moves her foot around to see if the Band-Aid tugs any. 

"No." She tells him. 

Marc shakes his head at her and says, "Should've work better shoes, Viv." 

"But they're so cute with my dress." She responds, which earns her a roll of the eyes. "So? See anything you liked?" 

"Aside from you?" Marc asks. 

"Yeah, obviously you ding bat." 

"Didn't see much, honestly. Helped Steven look them up though. Good neighborhoods." Marc says, and it doesn't surprise Vivienne that that's what he focuses on. 

His apartment now is in a pretty safe area. Vivienne's never really had any issues and generally there isn't a lot of violent crime. Now, how much of that is the area itself or Khonshu and his avatar? Vivienne can't say but she knows Marc would be insistent on living in a quiet neighborhood... likely because it's easier to keep an eye on things in a quiet neighborhood where there isn't much happening. Easier to keep an eye out for unfamiliar faces looking specifically for you. 

"Lots of space too." Vivienne hedges and Marc clamps up almost immediately after she says it. 

"Yeah," he mutters, "lots of space." 

He steps away from her. Mouth pressed tight as he goes to get a glass from one of the cupboards.

"Is everything ok, Marc?" Vivienne asks. 

"Why wouldn't it be?" 

Vivienne shrugs, "I feel like you've been a little upset these past couple weeks." 

"I'm not." He snaps. 

Hesitantly Vivienne tells him, "Steven said you and Jake were arguing." 

"Well Steven can butt out!" Marc snaps at her before his mouth closes with the sharp click of his teeth hitting one another. 

"What's going Marc?" 

"Nothing, Vivienne, drop it ok?!" 

There's silence in the kitchen. 

Marc looks like a deer in the headlights. Big eyes and gaped mouth and hands raised up near his hips like he wants to reach out but isn't sure if he's allowed to. Vivienne runs her tongue over her teeth before she nods. This is a spat. They're spatting. Probably over something asinine and stupid. Vivienne takes a deep breath to try and self-regulate. Marc doesn't deserve to get yelled at. Just like Vivienne didn't deserve him snapping at her like he had. Blowing this into a fight will go very, very badly she knows, which is why she nods once and levels Marc with a look. 

"I'm going to go get ready for bed, you're going to get your shit together." Vivienne tells him before she scoots past him and makes for the bathroom. 

Usually, a pre-work bedtime routine is done with no small amount of indulgence. Vivienne plays music, takes a too-hot shower, exfoliates, shaves, uses a hair mask. Primps and preens until she's satisfied because the double shifts at Delmonica's that she's been trying to pull to get a bit more money for a pre-move safety net are grueling and make her feel less like a human at the end of them. Tonight, it's less self-care and more required maintenance, which pisses her off more. By the time she's done in the shower she's nicked herself with the razor twice, Hathor's magic healing the lacerations as the blood washes down the drain, and she's gotten soap in her eyes. 

Shoving into the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, Vivienne goes to dry her hair and finish off her routine. 

She's in the middle of flossing - cheeks oily with moisturizer and eyes still burning from her shampoo - when the bathroom door creaks open. Vivienne continues to floss as Marc steps in, pajamas in hand. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you." 

Vivienne continues to floss, shoves her fingers deep into her mouth to get her molars so she doesn't have to respond right away. 

"I don't like Jake. I spent years with Steven. I know Steven. I don't know him." Marc sighs and puts her pajamas on the edge of the sink. "I don't know anything about him and I don't know if I can trust him. I don't like that no one else is bothered by him." 

Vivienne spits the saliva that's pooled in her mouth into the basin and turns the tap on to rinse it down the drain before turning to Marc. 

"He saved my life, Marc." She tells him, "I don't what you want me to say." 

"You don't have to say anything." 

"Clearly I do, because you've been upset about this for weeks now. Did you think I didn't notice?" Vivienne asks. 

"I know." 

"Then what the hell, Marc? Have I ever given you a reason to think you couldn't talk to me?" 

"No." 

"Then why wouldn't you tell me this earlier? We could have sat down and talked about this like adults." She insists a little angrily, because they're about to move in together and Marc's still keeping things from her? 

Vivienne knows it isn't being done maliciously but it still hurts. 

Marc steps closer. 

"I didn't want to bother you with it." 

"So, you snapped at me instead?" 

"I know," Marc breathes, "I'm so sorry." 

He looks sorry too. 

Curled in on himself, eyes big and baleful, lax. 

Tired too. 

The anger drains out of Vivienne pretty quick once she notices it. 

"I'm sorry too," she says, "I shouldn't have walked away like that." 

Because realistically it would have been better to just talk it out right then and there as opposed to going around stewing in the anger the spat had caused. Vivienne doesn't fight when Marc goes to pull her in for a hug. Doesn't even scrunch her nose when he cards his fingers through her still slightly damp hair and locks her against his chest where the neck of his shirt smears through her moisturizer. They stand like that for a long moment before Vivienne pulls back and reaches up to comb back some of the curls that have fallen into his face. He needs a trim... so does she. 

"I love you." He murmurs, fingers soft as they continue to hold her skull.  

"I love you too." She tells him and then leans forward to kiss him. 

It's a soft thing. 

A lot of their kisses are soft. Marc's soft. Despite his rugged outward appearance. He's gentle with her, careful, always knows where to put his hands when he grabs her, always knows how hard he can tug and push without hurting her. There are very few true rough edges to Marc Spector and Vivienne loves him for it because it's different from Steven's softness. Steven is quiet, almost fragile in some ways, sweet as honey and shy to boot. Vivienne loves Steven too but there's something about Marc's softness that sinks in deep and hooks into the meat of her soul. 

The kiss takes on a certain edge. A rawness that accompanies a low groan from Marc and the spasming of his fingers along her back. Vivienne doesn't complain or protest when Marc softly tugs at the fabric tie keeping her bathrobe on, knows that if she did he'd stop immediately and wait for her to get dressed before curling into bed with her... but she doesn't want that. She wants Marc, all of him, the good and the ugly and the raw. So, she lets him pull the panels of terry cloth aside and ease them off her shoulders without any complaint. Continues to kiss him as he moves a hand so that his thumb can ghost across her breast. The only noise she does make is a little startled gasp when Marc hooks his hands under her thighs and hoists her up to carry her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The fishtank in the corner offering just enough light to see by as Marc goes her lay her out on top of the sheets. 

There's a pause as he goes to pull his shirt off, Vivienne uses it to scooch a bit further up the bed. 

Marc settles over her not long after she's gotten arranged on the bed, curls around her on his elbows with one arm slipped beneath her own and the other positioned so he can cup the back of her head as he kisses her. Vivienne hums softly into the kiss and reaches up to scrape her nails along Marc's shoulders, liking the way he shivers. 

"I love you." He tells her as he kisses her jaw. 

Shifting, Marc stabilizes himself on his knees and uses it to touch her as he kisses her. Reverent and slow as he breathes sweet promises into bare skin and sucks careful bruises along her collarbone and the curve of her breast. Viviene whines as he tweaks her nipple, back bowing to chase the touch. 

"Pretty girl," Marc slurs in her ear, lips pressing against her sternum so that Vivienne can feel the faintest scrape of his teeth as he speaks, "My pretty girl." 

"Marc." Vivienne insists, fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair and pull. 

His answering moan is filthy. 

The flared pupils and heavy breathing and the way his skin is ruddy... god he's pretty. So fucking pretty. 

"Please." She begs, legs spreading further as he drags himself down the bed. 

"I've got you," he promises as he settles between her legs, shifting so that he can slide his arms beneath her bent knees and grasp her hips with his fingers, giving himself just enough leverage to hold her steady as he kisses her hip bone. "I've got you." 

Then he's pressing close. Warm tongue and hot breath and dazed gaze looking up at her from where he's settled. All gentle, sucking pressure and firm movements. They've done this so often that it doesn't take long for Marc to work her up. Eating pussy's one of his favorite activities, Vivienne can say that with confidence. Steven's not exactly a slouch himself but Marc's a different beast entirely. Vivienne throws back her head and bucks when he adjusts so that he can slip two fingers inside of her and press firmly against her g-spot while he sucks her clit into his mouth. 

"Fuck, Marc, please." She moans, "Need you." 

Like it triggers something - a need to please, perhaps - Marc is pressing harder, sucking harder, looking at her with those pretty brown eyes and moaning lewdly against her. 

The orgasm hits quick and hard. Vivienne shakes and tugs at Marc's hair until he pulls away from her and Vivienne doesn't know if she wants to whine that he pulled away or that him for doing so. She's left shaking on the bed as Marc rises to pull off his pants and boxers, cock hard and leaking as he kicks them aside. Vivienne goes to touch him but stops when Marc grabs her wrist and moves her hand so he can kiss her palm. 

"Later." He promises as he goes to hitch one of her legs up and slightly to the side, spreading her open to his gaze. "You can play later." 

She'd have been embarrassed as fuck about this months ago. But in the time they've been dating - and fucking - Vivienne's learned a lot about Marc's tastes. He likes to be led, he likes to lead, he likes to look at the mess he makes of her, he likes to leave marks. For his eyes only, of course, but the first time she'd seen the hickeys he'd left on her they'd had to have a talk because the man's like a goddamn dog after a bone... though... Vivienne isn't much better. 

"Marc stop being a tease." Vivienne moans, fingers working quickly against her clit. 

Marc blinks at her slowly, a bit dazed looking, before he crawls over her. It isn't long before he's inside of her, the stretch of him familiar and the way he groans in her ear more so. Vivienne isn't normally a huge fan of missionary. Just never really enjoyed it with other partners, not for lack of trying either. She'd just never enjoyed it as much as she'd have liked... and even now it isn't her favorite position in terms of what it does for her... but she loves the fact that she gets to see every micro expression Marc makes as he slides home. Smiling, Vivienne tugs Marc down to kiss him as he fucks into her. 

An arm snakes around the back of her shoulders, pulls her close as nibbles along her jaw, breathing hard and murmuring praise. 

"So good," he murmurs, breath hitching when Vivienne shifts so that she can get more stimulation against her clit, "So wet. Pretty girl. I love you, I love you, I love you." 

"Fuck, Marc," Vivienne whimpers as he moves to shove the hand that had been holding her between their bodies so he can grope at her breasts for a second before reaching down to play with her clit. "I love you." 

"Yeah?" He asks and Vivienne tosses her head back and moans. 

"Uh-huh." she gasps seconds before Marc shifts to get his mouth around a nipple. 

It's a lot. 

The emotional whiplash of the day, the exhaustion the comes with apartment touring, the sensitivity from her first orgasm. It isn't long before Vivienne is babbling, telling Marc she's going to come, bucking and twitching and moaning as it crashes over her. Marc lets her ride it out for a moment, breathing heavily against her chest and rutting against her, before he pulls out, straightens up, and jerks himself off until he comes across her lower abdomen. He flops down on top of her, careful not to put his full weight against her, and the two of them lay there for a long moment. 

Vivienne nods off a couple times. 

Watches groggily as Marc climbs out of bed and makes for the bathroom. The towel he comes back with is warm and his touch is soft, and Vivienne can't even find it in herself to tell him not to toss the damp rag onto the floor - hardwood, Marc! she's screeched at him once while he laughed - and curls back into his side when he settles back beside her. Falls asleep to the gentle drag of his fingers tracing along her spine. 

Chapter Text

Jake dated a girl back in New York... well, dated is putting it kindly. They fucked. A lot. To the point that Jake even had a bag in her apartment full of clothes and toiletries, which for him was as close to moving in with someone as Jake ever thought he'd get. A razor in the bathroom, a duffel bag shoved in the back of the closet, a set of boxers in a drawer that he could wear in between fucking. It hadn't occurred to him to be bothered that he wouldn't be able to have an actual girlfriend of his own, have these experiences, and it hadn't occurred to him that he even wanted those things. Marc had wanted those things, gotten them, enjoyed them, and Jake had enjoyed them through him... but for himself? Yeah, no, he hadn't really thought of having anything like that for himself. 

Now look at him. 

Has a girlfriend, a stable source of income - thanks Steven! - and he has a place himself. 

Like something out of his wildest imagination. 

Jake shifts slightly, turns to observe the living room him and Vivienne had painstakingly put together the week before. Steven's bookcases line every available space, her couch and chair are set up in the living room along with Marc's entertainment center, a coffee table they'd all chosen together sits in the center of it all. The four of them are scattered throughout the apartment. Steven's favorite throw blanket is on the back of the couch, Vivienne has a fucking shoe rack by the front door, Marc has a goddamn painting hanging on the wall. Sickeningly domestic is what it is... but Jake doesn't have much room to complain. Vivienne had sold half of her bedroom furniture because she'd insisted Jake deserved to decorate in some way. As a result he'd felt obligated to fill the space with rosewood. 

Rosewood dresser. 

Rosewood tables for the beside. 

Rosewood headboard. 

Jake had used his own money to buy them too, ignored the cash Vivienne had offered up when she suggested the two of them buy something together. Like he'd take her money for something he was buying. Jake barely let her cough over money for apartment expenses, something that had caused a bit of a fight between him and Steven... though, that was probably less due to the fact that Jake had the money to cover their rent and didn't want Vivienne doing it and more because of how he got that money. Blood money, it would seem, is Steven's hard line in the sand. Would probably be Vivienne's too but there's something of a silent agreement between the two that they're not ever going to bring up where or how Jake - and Marc, because it's his too - got the money. 

Personally, he thinks they probably could have gotten a nicer place. Should've probably committed to buying a house. A cottage in Painswick wouldn't have flown with Khonshu given the fact that the giant bird is still wanting them to handle criminals and evil doers, but they could have bought something cute in London. Though, maybe the apartment they've got is better suited for them. There are only two physical bodies in the house after all and neither she nor the rest of them tend to have visitors over. Their place has two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and dining room situation, a bathroom, a washer and dryer in a closet, and a sort of built in balcony that the two of them can sit on in the morning and drink their coffee. It's nice. Quiet. Jake's honestly kind of excited that he doesn't have to go down into the basement to wash his bloody clothes. 

Vivienne's probably not going to be too happy about him washing them in the apartment but they'll get to that when it happens. 

Jake breaks down the last of the cardboard boxes that had been holding kitchen utensils and tosses it in the little pile growing near the refrigerator. 

"Well, that's the last of them!" He calls to Vivienne, who he can hear puttering around in the living room. 

She appears not a moment later and Jake doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as pretty. 

Having taken a week off work to assist in the move Vivienne's temporarily put away the black slacks and white button-ups or the meticulously pressed dresses she wears for performances. Jake's grown ridiculously fond of her little cotton shorts and terrycloth tank tops. Items she's taken to wearing around the house while she helps organize Steven's books or put away Marc's records - the ones she'd pestered him into pulling out of storage - or assembling furniture with Jake. 

It's like she knows what it does to him. 

A tease. 

That's what she is. 

Flouncing around in her little cotton shorts and thin tank tops. Acting like she doesn't notice Jake's eyes on her. Just like she does now. Appearing in the kitchen with sweat gleaming across her skin and her eyes brighter than her smile.  Jake can't help but return it as she whistles. 

"Look at you go," she praises.

Jake rises up from where he's squatted by the piled-up cardboard. Easily side stepping it in his advance toward the pretty brunette standing just out of reach. When he's finally close enough, she reaches up to rest her arms on his shoulders, fingers playing absently with the hair at the back of his neck while he takes the opportunity to rest both hands on her hips and wiggle his thumbs beneath the hem of her shirt so that he can stroke the little stretch of skin it gives him access too.

These little touches are what he's been settling for of late. 

A stroke of his lips across the bottom of her jaw here. 

A hesitant pat on the ass there. 

Dragging her closer at night when they crawl into bed and tucking her against his side, angling them both so that there's really no where for the other to go. 

Never once has she objected to his touch, but Jake feels like a bit of a perve for trying to initiate it sometimes.  

Jake thought he was struggling before. Lurking like some sort of dirty voyeur at the edge of Marc or Steven's mind whenever either were intimate with Vivienne... mostly before she ever knew about him. It was easier to justify listening to her moaning and begging when he wasn't even a ghost in her life. Bit harder to justify it now though, and while Jake doesn't make it a habit to listen, he can't forget it either. Can't help but want it either. And God does he want it. But she's known him less time than she's known Marc and Steven and it had been months into their relationship before she had ever even tried to initiate sex. Jake's an asshole, yeah, but he's not a monster. The thought of potentially pressuring Vivienne into feeling like she has to have sex with him is enough to make his dick shrivel up in his pants. 

"You want anything special for dinner tonight? We can celebrate officially moving in." Vivienne tells him, nails scraping softly against his neck. 

He likes that Vivienne likes touching him. Not even in a sexual way. 

Violence is something Jake Lockley is intimately familiar with. Born beneath his mother's fist, forged beneath the agony of an aggressor's knuckles, cradled between the teeth of a lover's jaw. Gentility isn't the norm for Jake, but it is for Vivienne. Every time she touches him it's gentle. Even when she's angry. Vivienne never rakes her nails across his skin, she never strikes him with open palm, never uses her words to sink her teeth into his muscle. She's soft. Even when she's mad. Especially when she's mad. Jake's pretty sure she takes very deliberate steps not to scream at any of them or respond with vitriol. Any time they've fought Vivienne has seemingly gone out of her way to stay collected and calm. Jake appreciates it... if only because he had stepped in so often to take the worst of the abuse Wendy Spector had delt them. It's nice knowing he doesn't have to worry about Vivienne. 

It's a comfort to know she won't immediately respond to her anger with fists. 

Realistically, he knows it isn't fair to expect her to never get angry enough to yell. Jake can handle yelling. Marc and Steven can handle yelling too. Shit, Jake thinks she was a little too calm about everything post Cairo. A little bit of yelling and raging was probably justified given the fact she got kidnapped, watched Marc die, and then sold herself to an immortal goddess in order to defeat the man who kidnapped her and shot her not-really-dead boyfriend. Lot's of fun, Jake's sure, to go through all of that and then actively try to keep your cool about it later on. 

"I'm not picky. I'll eat whatever you make." He promises. 

"That's good to know, but I don't mind making something if you're craving it." Vivienne tells him. 

Jake smiles, fiddles with the hem of her shirt, fingers pressing into the soft skin under her ribs. 

"We could always order take out." Jake suggests. "Easier. Less to clean up." 

"Oh yeah, want to have a movie date with me then?" 

"Sure, querida, whatever you want." 

So, they order pizza and while they wait Jake cracks open a beer, pours Vivienne a glass of wine, and settles in for an evening of leisure.

Khonshu suspiciously quiet. 

When the pizza comes Jake pays, leaving Vivienne in the living room to scroll through Neftlix in her attempt to find something for them to watch. When he gets back with the pizza, Jake finds Vivienne's settled on some Korean zombie show. Not to Jake's tastes personally, but Vivienne's excited to watch it so he settles down on the couch with her and resolves to actually pay attention. It's not that he doesn't like zombie shows, ok, he just thinks they're repetitive. He watched the first handful of seasons when The Walking Dead came out because the premise had interested him but after a while it felt like the show was just recycling ideas and themes. He'd officially given up watching after Carl was killed and hadn't really gotten into anything zombie related since. 

Now, pizza gone, three beers in, Jake is sitting gap jawed as he watches some pissant businessman lead his daughter away from a heavily pregnant woman as he attempts to get them both to safety. 

"Foul play!" He shouts. 

He watches, a bit satisfied, as one of the military men meant to protect the businessman and his kid stumbles into frame. Sweating, bleeding from the neck, begging for help seconds before a hoard of his zombified brothers-in-arms descend upon him. And it isn't funny that the little girl might die. Not at all. Jake just thinks it's funny that given how much of a douche Seok-woo had been by abandoning the pregnant woman and her husband to fend for themselves, it had been them who had protected him and his daughter. 

Jake watches a little dispassionately as the older woman is killed. 

Rages a bit when the small group who had managed to survive the train as ushered into a separate car to be quarantined and basically left for dead by the other passengers. Which, he gets on a realistic level. Despite how quickly the virus seems to take hold once someone's been bitten it's pretty easy to tell who has been infected and who hasn't... but when people in groups panic the rational flies out the window. They don't have the presence of mind to put two-and-two together to determine that the people who had made it through the cars likely aren't infected and when the older businessman steps forward to take charge of the situation of course they're going to listen. 

It's still a little satisfying when the older woman's sister lets the zombies into the car. Sure, it kills everyone there, but Jake thinks that's all part of the poetic justice of it. 

"If I was a zombie would you still love me?" Vivienne asks, humor laced through her tone. 

"Mhm, and I'd kill you quick." He informs her before taking a swig of beer. 

A scandalized gasp has him looking away from the teenagers as they crawl beneath a flatbed pickup and to Vivienne, whose sitting in front of his slack-jawed and big eyed. 

"You would kill me? You wouldn't even hide me in the bathroom and feed me unsuspecting survivors?" She demands. 

"That's so specific." He tells her.

"So, what? You'd just," she raises a finger gun at his head and said, "Pew."  

"Yeah." 

"That's horrible. I would keep you in the bathroom and feed you people until I found a cure!" 

"What if I bit you?" 

Vivienne reaches across the couch and takes his hand as she informs him, "Then we could wander around and eat people together." 

Jake shakes his head and laughs. 

"Wooooooow, guess I'll just have to find someone else who'll keep me in their bathroom and feed me." Vivienne is smirking, "Maybe Steven." 

"You trying to make me jealous?" He asks. 

"Is it working?" 

"Not at all, I'd let Steven deal with your cannibalizing ass." 

Vivienne shifts, scoots across the couch until she's pressing against his side. She clicks off the tv. Jake sets his beer on the coaster laying atop the coffee table and gives her his undivided attention. 

"I bet Steven would be the best zombie caretaker. Very dedicated to a task, him." 

There's an undertone there. Something playful and specific. Jake spreads his feet and leans back into the couch a bit as he watches his girlfriend. One of her sleeves has slipped over her shoulder, leaving behind a stretch of skin from her jaw to the top of her breast that makes Jake's mouth go dry for all of two seconds before saliva floods back in. He watches as Vivienne slinks closer. 

"But Steven's always been so good at taking care of me, you know?" She smiles as she slips closer. "You do an ok job though too, I guess." 

Quick as a snack she's striking. Leaning in and pressing soft lips to the corner of his mouth before she's up off the couch and ambling off toward the bedroom. 

"Night Jake!" She calls over her shoulder as she reaches up to readjust the strap of her tank top. 

He sits there for all of two seconds before he's up and after her. Vivienne makes it into the bedroom before he gets to her, turning with big eyes trained on him like she's shocked he followed her. 

"Everything ok?" She asks, faux innocence dripping from her lips. 

If it weren't for that damn smile he'd think she was oblivious.

"Eres una mocosa" He tells her as he presses close, taking a bit of enjoyment in the way she pauses to try and come up with what he just called her. 

Vivienne's Spanish is getting better. She struggles a bit with masculine and feminine forms, but she's getting better and Jake's proud of her for it... but that doesn't mean he's above teasing her with it. Before she gets a chance to truly translate what he said, Jake's in her space. Pressing her back against the wall and threading fingers through her hair in order to pull her in for a kiss. He's soft with her. Careful. Familiar as he is with rougher handling in the bedroom, Jake tries hard not to cross any boundaries she might have. Marc's pulled her hair in the past. Not hard. But Jake knows she likes it and he's comfortable using that. To practice, he tightens his hold closer to the root of her hair and gently pulls her head back until her chest presses into his and her neck bared in a pretty little arch. The little whimper she lets out is sinful. 

Jake groans into her neck and releases his hold on her hair. 

Vivienne shouts as Jake hauls her up. Flinging her over his shoulder like she doesn't weigh a thing and dropping her carefully onto the bed moments later. As she straightens up, Jake pulls off his shirt and undoes his belt. Vivienne turns to watch him as he strips down to his boxers, dick straining against the cotton. Vivienne shifts, thighs pressing together, fingers curling into the duvet cover. Jake smirks, grabs her by an ankle, and drags her across the bed to him. The action makes her shirt ride up. Hem bunched up beneath her breasts. Jake reaches out to thumb a pebbled nipple through the cloth and chuckles then his girl leans up into the touch. He's quick to pull his hand away, quick to shush her. 

"Don't worry, querida, I'll take care of you." 

He helps her out of her shirt. Kisses her briefly before making his way down to her breast where he sucks a handful of small bruises into the tender flesh before turning his attention to her nipples. He sucks one into his mouth, laves his tongue across the erect bud, and hums softly when he reaches up to pinch and pull at the other and earns himself a high-pitched whine as a result. Beneath him, Vivienne shifts, hips undulating slightly and thighs pressed tight together. Sensitive. He'd known that before, but he hadn't realized just how sensitive she was. 

Delighted, he pulls away and hooks his fingers under her shorts. Pulls them down and off without any hesitance or resistance from Vivienne. 

With her clothes removed, Jake hooks his hands under both of her knees and spreads her out for him. 

"Needy girl." He praises, fingers skimming through slick folds and rising to his mouth. 

Vivienne flushes scarlet when he sucks his fingers into his mouth and moans. 

Fingers wet, Jake removes them from his mouth and trails them from her knee down to her thigh and then to that glistening heat between them where he carefully pulls the hood of her clit back with his thumb and smiles. Jake keeps eye contact with Vivienne as he leans down and drags his tongue up the length of her slit. She keeps her legs spread open for him despite the way her back bows and her feet slip a bit on the bedding. Jake shakes his head and can't help but tease. 

"Doesn't seem like Steven's been taking very good care of you, querida." He murmurs as he peppers kisses against her inner thigh, "Letting her get needy like this. Not very gentlemanly of him." 

Somewhere in the distance he thinks there's a cry of disagreement. 

Jake ignores it in favor of shifting so that he can properly get his mouth on Vivienne. 

He plays with her. Toys with her clit, sucks it into his mouth and presses his fingers into her g-spot in firm come hither motions, waits until she's gasping and writhing to pull away and let her settle. Then he's back at it. Only this time his thumb is rubbing slow circles against her clit and he's pressing his tongue into her. Jake builds Vivienne up and lets her settle, over and over until she's begging, indulging in a type of play he'd never really gotten around to trying when he was having quickies with girls he'd pick up at bars and clubs and the occasional job site. 

"Jake," Vivienne is gasping, thighs shaking and chest rising and falling with rapid breath, "please, I can't. Please, please, Jake!" 

"Shh, está bien, cariño, estoy contigo. ven hacia mí, chica hermosa." He coos into her thigh before sealing his lips around her clit. 

Vivienne comes with a shout. Body rocking and thighs snapping to clamp right around his head, hips grinding against his mouth to chase the sensation of fingers and tongue. Jake lets her ride him through it. Shoves her off the precipice and keeps a hand on her so that he can ease her down. By the time her legs fall apart and Jake's able to pull away his jaw is slick and he's full of the taste of her. Tongue running across his lips to gather up what he can, unwilling to pull his fingers out of her in order to suck them clean. 

She looks so pretty like this. 

Fucked out and sweating, breathing hard, pupils blown. 

Cunt spasming lazily around his fingers. 

Pretty girl. 

Carefully, Jake pulls his hand out and rubs her thigh. 

"How you feelin?" He asks. 

"Mmm." Vivienne moans. "Good." 

"Do you want to go another round?" 

He'll back off if she doesn't. Run her a bath and get her a glass of water and hold her until the water runs cold and her legs feel less like jelly. He can get himself off in the shower after she's fallen asleep. But he waits. Watches her blink lazily at him before she nods. 

"Yeah." She says. 

He pats her hip. 

"Hands and knees, querida." He urges her and like a champ she shuffles to do as she's told. 

Shifting and shuffling until she's propped up on her knees with her head resting on her forearms. Not quite what he had in mind but goddamn if the image she paints isn't something divine. Vivienne's position has her in perfect display for him. Slick and heat and dark hair and sultry eyes as she turns her head to look at him over her shoulder. Jake runs the pad of his thumb over the seam of her labia and follows the path he's made with his tongue. Savors not only the taste of her but the sound of the hitch in her breath. 

"You don't have to wear the condom," Vivienne tells him when she catches him going for the beside drawer, "Marc and Steven usually don't." 

Fuckin stupid of them not too, really. They just moved in together. Bit early for them to be risking pregnancy scares even with how quickly they've progressed in the relationship. Jake smiles as he pulls a condom out and tears the foil open. He slips his boxers off and kicks them over to the side as he makes his way back to where she's kneeling on the bed. 

"Conversation for another time, sweetheart." He tells her as he rolls it on. 

Jake ignores the disappointed look she gives him and settles behind her on the bed. Vivienne shimmies, knees spreading a bit more, hips thrusting back ever so slightly. Jake stills her with a hand on her hip while he slips two fingers into her, fucking her on his fingers a few times - until she's whining again - before he pulls his fingers out and uses the slick on them as lube. He strokes himself twice before he lines up and thrusts home. It's slow. Vivienne grips him like a fucking vice and that paired with her moaning 'uh-uh-uh's are almost enough to set him off. Once he's settled with her ass against his pelvis, Jake takes a second to breathe. Then he's fucking her. Slow, hard thrusts that move her forward, the grip Jake has on her hips enough to steady her - and himself - before he uses it to pull her back onto his cock. 

Sensitive as she is, it doesn't take long for Vivienne to start shaking. Thighs quivering and fingers curling into the covers beneath her as she rocks back to meet him. Jake groans loudly and reaches under her to rub her clit. Shoving her closer to another orgasm as his own draws closer. 

"Buena chica. Joder. ¿Vas a venir por mí? ¿Vas a seguir siendo una buena chica y venir?" Jake moans, thrusts irratic and fingers tight around her hips. 

Vivienne responds with a high, keening cry and then she's coming. Jake gets one more thrust in before he's coming too. At some point during it Vivienne's legs slip out from beneath her and they both go pitching forward. Jake barely catching himself before all of his weight presses down on her. But he stays close. Stays pressed against her, hips lightly thrusting, as they ride out their orgasms and come down from the high. 

After a while - when Jake's caught his breath and his legs don't feel like his bones are made of chenille wire - he presses a soft kiss to Vivienne's shoulder and stumbles to the bathroom where he starts a bath and makes his way back to Vivienne. He finds her dozing. Slowly, he eases her over onto her back and helps her sit, brushes her hair out of her eyes and smiles at her when she blinks up at him. 

"Come one, querida, let's get you in the bath." 

As soon as he says it he's scooping her up, holding her close and murmuring praise into her ear as he makes for the bathroom. 

Jake eases her into the tub first, makes sure she's settled before reaching out to turn off the tap. Vivienne hums at him and scoots forward, knees bent and pressed against her chest, to free up space in the tub behind her. Jake smooths his hand over the back of her head before he slips into the tub behind her and shifts so that she can lay back against his chest. 

"How are you feeling?" He asks, fingers massaging the muscles in her arms. 

"Good." She mumbles, eyes closed and head tipped off to the side. 

"Anything hurt?"

He only gets a soft hum in response. 

"Words sweetheart." He urges softly. 

"No," Vivienne says, "nothing hurts." 

"Good, that's good." Jake kisses her shoulder. "You need to drink something." 

"In a little bit. Let's just sit here for a while." She says, voice light and distant. 

Dozing. 

Jake shifts so that she's laying back a bit more comfortably and reaches for the body wash on the inner corner lip of the tub. He washes the sweat off of her, checks on her bruises, whispers soft praise against her shoulder as he scoops up water to rinse the soap away. A shower would be best, he thinks, but neither of them really have the presence of mind for a proper bath. So, Jake cleans them both up as best he can and settles with Vivienne in the tub once he's done. Waits for the water to go lukewarm before he rouses her and helps her back to the bedroom where he slips her into an oversized t-shirt and tucks them both into bed. 

Chapter Text

Vivienne really isn't expecting the email from Miles when it comes. Ok, well, technically she had been expecting an email given September 1st is quickly approaching and Vivienne's been in brief contact with her brother about what Barry might be wanting for his birthday. Normally Vivienne would send money to Miles and his wife Sloane, let them do whatever they wanted or needed with the cash as Barry would still be too young to really appreciate it or want to use it for anything. But he's turning seven now and Vivienne thinks that she should probably do more than just send over a couple hundred dollars and a birthday card. So, she'd reached out to Miles. Asked what Barry wanted and then had been patiently waiting for the response. 

So, yeah, Vivienne was expecting an email... she just wasn't expecting an invitation to Barry's birthday party. 

Miles and Sloane live in Grant Park now. Vivienne's happy they found a place they like, kind of sad that a stranger is living in her childhood home though. Vivienne drums her fingers along the top of the coffee table and stares at her phone. The invitation is awkward. Informal. Miles is asking her if she'd like to come visit, meet Barry, catch up. It's the first time the two of them have really brought up potentially seeing each other since she woke up and things just haven't really been normal. It's awkward between them. Neither knowing what to say to the other. How do you apologize for something you couldn't control? How do you comfort someone who mourned and found a way to deal and for the scar picked open again? Vivienne puts her phone down and plays with the coffee mug in front of her. 

"Everything alright, luv?" Steven asks, appearing in the living room with his pajama bottoms slung low on his hips and a towel pressed to the sodden mess of his hair. 

Vivienne nods, locks her phone. 

"Everything's fine." The lie comes quick. 

Steven frowns at her. 

"You sure?" 

"Uh, yeah, just an email from Miles about Barry's birthday." 

Steven hums and comes to sit on the couch beside her, calloused hand coming to rest on her knee. The smile he offers her is reassuring but Vivienne still feels anxious. 

The invitation isn't a trap. 

It isn't some sort of weird plot to make her feel guilty for taking Barry's grandparents away from him or not being an active part in her nephew's life up to this point. Miles is just as to blame for Vivienne's absence in his life as she is. Though, maybe not quite. It wasn't like Vivienne tried all that hard to mend the gap between her and Miles when her brother told her that he needed space. No. Vivienne had heard those words, gotten a little offended, and run off to England. Jesus. Ok. Vivienne runs a hand through her hair and turns away from Steven. I was grieving too, she reminds herself, Miles wasn't the only one who lost his parents. 

He wasn't the only one who had the right to grieve them. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Steven asks and Vivienne turns back to look at him. 

"Miles invited me to Barry's birthday." She quietly informs him, throat tight. 

Steven nods slowly. 

"Do you want to go?" Steven's hand never leaves her knee, his touch just as soft as the look he gives her. 

"I should, shouldn't I?" 

"You could always be the cool estranged aunt that everyone is sort of jealous of." Steven jokes. 

When Vivienne doesn't laugh, he tosses the towel onto the rug and pulls her close against his chest so that he can tuck her head under his chin. 

"Do you want one of us to go with you?" He asks, jaw digging into the crown of Vivienne's head just slightly. 

Steven's never been to Chicago or the area around it. The occasional bouts of consciousness throughout Marc's childhood doesn't really count. Marc would probably be willing to go with her but then there would always be a potential risk of running into someone who knows him as Chicagoland is big, yes, but the world as a whole tends to be pretty small when you're trying to avoid someone. Vivienne thinks she could ask Jake to go with her but figures that might end badly if she and Miles have a fight about something. Nive to know her boys would step up to bat for her if the situation called for it... but of the three Steven's a touch softer and perhaps better fitted for being introduced to her estranged brother and his wife. 

Besides, Vivienne really doesn't want to be alone when she goes to Barry's party. 

Because she is going. Of course she's going. After Miles sent her that email how could she not go? Vivienne pulls away from Steven. 

"Will you go with me?" She asks. 

To which he nods quickly and reaches out to wipe a thumb across the skin under her eye as he murmurs a soft, "Of course, luv, just tell me when so I can get the time off." 

And that's how she finds herself driving through a quiet Chicago suburb street one sunny Friday morning. Last Friday before school starts up again. Vivienne eases into a parking spot between a bright red Subaru and a black Honda CR-V that are lined up alongside the road. Once the car is in park Vivienne stares out the windshield at the house awaiting her. It doesn't stand out against the cookie-cutter homes around it. There's no wrap around porch or seemingly ancient magnolia tree in the front yard. No bright red front door. No rose bushes. Just an average white-sided home with black features and a cement path leading up to a standard black door with golden numbers shining brightly over a mail slot. 

Steven nudges her shoulder. 

"Do you want to sit here for a minute?" He asks. 

Vivienne watches a couple around Miles' age amble up to the house. They have a gift bag in one hand and a little girl with braided hair trotting along beside them. They're all smiling. Vivienne's chest starts to feel tight. Will they still be smiling when she comes? When it becomes obvious that Miles and she are on not-so-great terms? Will they watch and whisper, gather what they can to throw at the gossip mill? Is she going to ruin Barry's birthday by being here? Vivienne's grip on the steering wheel causes the leather to squeak as she adjusts her grip. 

"Hey, Viv, luv, look at me." Steven urges and Vivienne drags her gaze away from the house to find him staring at her, brow furrowed. 

"We do not have to walk into that house if you aren't ready." Steven asserts, fingers coming up to gently pry hers away from the steering wheel. 

It's so tempting to take him up on that. The idea of just going back to the hotel they've rented and spending the rest of their week in Chicago touring around eases a lot of Vivienne's growing anxiety. She already has plans to the Art Institute and the Field Museum of Natural History, maybe even the Museum of Contemporary Art if she can swing it around everything else, she and Marc had quietly planned in an attempt to make Vivienne feel better about this trip. It isn't just about her going to this birthday party. It isn't just about her seeing Miles again after years of strained contact. It's about her visiting her nephew and then spending time with her boyfriend on their first vacation that doesn't revolve around Gods and threats to the world... but first she has to see her nephew and say hello to her brother. 

"No, uh, it's ok. Sorry. I was just... sorry." Vivienne mutters before she kills the engine and reaches back to grab the birthday present, she and Steven had picked out the night before during their little first-time-to-Chicago shopping trip. 

Steven stops her with a hand on her shoulder and a soft smile as he says, "Viv, I love you. It's going to be alright, yeah?" 

Vivienne nods. 

"Yeah," she agrees. 

Her boyfriend nods once before he gets out of the car and rounds the hood to open her door for her. Ever the gentleman as he shuts it behind her and takes the gift bag from her before taking her hand with his free one. If Vivienne's grip hurts him any Steven doesn't say. He just continues to hold her hand as they make their way from their car, up the driveway, and to the front door where they linger for a moment before Vivienne knocks. 

A moment passes. 

Vivienne can hear children squealing and laughing in the back yard. 

Two. 

A dog barks on the other side of the door. 

Vivienne holds Steven's hand tighter as the door begins to slide open. 

Sloane blinks slowly at them, maybe a little surprised, before a smile spreads across her face. The taller woman brushes curling red hair out of her face as she steps across the threshold to hug Vivienne which takes the other woman by surprise. 

"You made it!" Sloane says, pulling away but leaving both of her hands on Vivienne's biceps. "Miles is out back with the kids. Come on in!" 

Vivienne fumbles. 

Turns to Steven balefully and says, "This is Steven!" 

Thank God for him too because he swoops in with that charming little grin of his, adjusting the giftbag to the hand still holding Vivienne's so he can offer it to Sloane. 

"Steven Grant." 

"Oh! You're Steven!" Sloane is still smiling, still seemingly happy. "It's nice to meet you!" 

"It's wonderful to meet you as well." He replies as he gently guides Vivienne into the house. 

Sloane and Steven kick up conversation as they make their way to the kitchen, which gives Vivienne an opportunity to look around. Take everything in. A lot of her mother's antique furniture has managed to find places within her brother's home, family photos line the walls, kids shoes are scattered near the stairs, a dog bowl sits in the kitchen. Vivienne tries not to think too hard about how it all makes her feel. Fine. She's fine. Why would she feel any type of way about Miles and his life? Vivienne releases Steven's hand and wipes hers on the back of her jeans. 

"So, what is it you do again, Steven?" Sloane is asking. 

"I'm a tour guide for the British National Gallery." Steven tells her, all smiles and British cheer. 

Vivienne feels like she might puke. 

"Oh, that's nice! Are you and Vivienne planning on visiting any of the museums in Chicago while you're here?" 

"Yes, I believe we'll be seeing a few." Steven says. 

Sloane nods. Turns to Vivienne. 

"Barry and Miles are out back if you'd like to go on through. I have to finish up on the cake." She says and her eyes are kind. 

Vivienne hopes her smile isn't as thin as it feels. 

"Thanks Sloane," Vivienne shuffles, adjusts her grip on the bag before she slips out the back door. 

Steven stays glued to her side. Hand pressing against the small of her back. For a second Vivienne wonders what the two of them look like. Strangers, yeah, unfamiliar faces in a sea of school children who grew up together and their parents who became friends because of that. Vivienne hadn't known what to wear to this and so she'd settled for jeans and a nice blouse with flats that matched and carefully chosen jewelry that had belonged to her mother. Steven, bless him, looks like he walked right out of some sort of museum archeologist magazine. Curly hair and glasses and tan linen slacks with a white linen button up and a dark brown belt to match the loafers. Pretty. Vivienne leans her shoulder against his when she catches sight of Miles by the grill. 

It doesn't take her brother long to spot her either. 

Miles hasn't changed all that much since the last time Vivienne saw him. He's growing his facial hair out and his hair's a little longer, but generally speaking he still looks like he's walked out of her memory. Vivienne freezes when Miles turns to the other man standing beside him and passes over the grill tongs before he steps away from whatever's cooking there to make his way over to Vivienne and Steven. His smile's a bit thin but it's friendly. Vivienne shifts a bit as he comes closer. 

"Vivienne, you came." 

Neither of them hug and Vivienne's thankful for that, a little less thankful when Miles turns his attention to Steven and frowns like he hadn't been expecting Vivienne to actually bring her boyfriend with. Steven smiles like he doesn't notice, like he doesn't care, and Vivienne clears her throat to break the tension. 

"I brought a gift." She says as she holds up the bag containing it. 

Miles takes it from her with a hasty nod and a, "Thank you. I'll put it with the others... how was your flight?" 

"Fine." 

"Traffic wasn't too bad?" 

"Once we got further from O'hare it wasn't terrible." 

"Good." Miles nods, "Uh, I'll go put this on the table... you're staying for supper, right?" 

Vivienne nods and Miles smiles. 

"Good, Barry'll be really excited that you're here." Miles says, pointing in the direction of the children lobbing water balloons at one another. 

She and Steven are so fucking over dressed for this. Oh God. Steven's thumb presses into her back, kneads the tight muscle along her spine. Cool as a cucumber, him. Not bothered by the screaming kids or the adults staring at them or Miles' grasping small talk. By the time Miles wonders off to dish out hotdogs and hamburger patties to various kids, Vivienne is feeling a little less anxious. 

"You alright, luv?" Steven murmurs against her hair as they find a place to sit.

Before she gets a chance to respond a little boy with Sloane's hair and Miles' eyes and their dad's chin appears in front of them. Vivienne snaps to attention. Barry is wearing a superman swim shirt and neon green trunks, his hair is sopping wet and dripping down his face, and his cheeks are ruddy from chasing after the other kids. 

"Are you my aunt?" Barry asks, eyes shrewd. 

Vivienne nods. 

"My name's Vivienne." 

The little boy steps closer until he's practically glued to her side. Vivienne leans back a little to get a good look at him. 

"Do you want to see my water gun?" Barry asks. 

"Sure" 

She lets her nephew take her hand and drag her across the yard. She gets pelted by a couple of stray water balloons, the kids who threw them squealing and laughing over the fact that they tagged one of the adults only to be reprimanded by their parents. Vivienne ignores it in favor of following Barry over to the plastic folding table where various tubs of water balloons and a handful of NERF Super Soaker water guns are laid out. Miles really went all out for this. As Barry excitedly explains the reason each Super Soaker is different and why the one with the green water cartridge is better than the one with the orange, Vivienne glances across the yard and finds Steven talking animatedly with some of the other parents. Vivienne gives her attention back to Barry once she's sure Steven hasn't been left totally defenseless. How she ends up involved in something of a one-on-twelve with herself and Barry's friends, Vivienne hasn't got a fucking clue... but Barry is laughing and Vivienne feels lighter being involved with the children than she had been sitting off to the side waiting to talk to Miles. So what if the wet clothes are overstimulating and her hair is plastered to the back of her neck in a way that makes her skin crawl? She'd much rather the temporary discomfort of being wet and hot than the anxiety induced by her spiraling thoughts. 

Besides, the kids are cute. 

"I'm proud of you." Steven tells her once they're back in the car. 

Vivienne tugs at the dress Sloane had leant her to go back to the hotel in and smiles at Steven. 

"It went better than I thought it would." 

Miles and Sloane invited her and Steven to lunch on Monday when Barry's back at school. Gives them all time to talk and get to know one another better she supposes. The thought of it doesn't make her all that uncomfortable, but some of that is probably due to the fact that Vivienne's gotten over the initial first-contact discomfort. 

Steven smiles, reaches out to take her hand, and kisses her palm before he starts talking about exhibits he's excited to see at the Art Institute. Vivienne can't help but smile as she puts the directions to the hotel into the gps and puts the car in gear and drives away. 

Chapter Text

Halloween isn't one of Marc's favorite holidays. Seems a little asinine to celebrate it, honestly. Between being possessed by a God, being a mercenary, and enduring the abuse he did as a kid there really isn't a lot of appeal to dressing up like an axe murderer and handing out candy to kids. Most Halloweens pass in a blur of cheesy, B-rated horror movies and sleep. Marc can't remember the last time he'd celebrated Halloween... but he finds himself celebrating it now. 

It starts with a performance that the Aurora Orchestra puts on. Basically, a homage to every great Halloween adjacent film with an iconic music score. Jaws, Beetlejuice, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Ghostbusters, to name some of the films they pull music from. It's a smaller event. Well-advertised for the most part but not part of their bigger shows. Something fun, as Vivienne had explained it, bent slightly over the bathroom sink carefully applying crimson lipstick. 

A few nights later Vivienne had convinced him to go to some party her friend Alice had been hosting. Costume party. Vivienne had sat in his lap when she'd talked him into going, smiling down at him and playing with his hair and asking what his favorite movie had been growing up. He'd immediately told her that it was Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan and then had joked that he'd had a crush on Kirstie Alley. How Vivienne managed to find the pieces to throw together a Saavik costume on such short, Marc will never know, but she had. And how was Marc supposed to say no to her after she came strutting out of the bedroom with a little red uniform and her hair pulled back to reveal the curved, pointed prosthetic ears she's painstakingly applied. She'd held a costume out for him - a Starfleet one made of black slacks, black shoes, and a bright red sweater which she had bought a Starfleet badge for - and Marc had put it on willingly despite knowing it would mean he'd end up at a crowded flat with too much liquor, cheesy party games, and bad Halloween costumes. But Vivienne had been happy and later that night Marc had, quote unquote, gotten to roleplay with his fantasy crush. It was the dumbest shit ever, but Marc can't think of a time he'd had more fun during sex. 

Now, Halloween upon them, Marc watches as Vivienne slips a mossy green knitted hat onto her head. It matches the oversized sweater she's wearing beneath the tan Carhart that had been Marc's before Vivienne had asked to borrow it and he'd decided she looked cute enough in it that he'd forget to ask for it back. Overall, she looks comfortable. Flared jeans, sturdy boots, sweater, jacket, hat. Marc knows she has a pair of mittens - crocheted to look like goose heads - and a brightly colored crochet scarf that's way too long and always ends up brushing her knees even when it's wrapped around her neck. 

"Don't mock my silly goose mittens or my grandam scarf, Marc." She'd told him when she'd first pulled them out of the closet along with her other winter clothes. "You're just jealous you don't have a pair." 

Marc smiles as he shrugs into his own jacket, watching as Vivienne easily winding the length of stripped yarn around her neck. The ends brush her knees despite how she's looped the scarf around her neck twice and Marc's oddly disappointed that there isn't tassel at the end. She looks like one of those stereotypical grandmas that the neighborhood kids are either scared of or entranced by. Marc reaches out to adjust the loops so that they aren't quite as tight around her neck and lay more across her chest - which pulls up some of the length of the ends so that they brush her thighs instead - and adjusts his coat so that it sits neatly over the yarn. 

"You ready to go?" He asks as he steps away and shoves his wallet into the inner pocket of his replacement jacket. 

Vivienne's smile is big and bright and makes her face light up as she says, "Yes! I'm super excited!" 

Marc chuckles. Slings an arm around Vivienne's shoulders and pulls her close so he can pepper a couple of kisses across her face and then ushers her out the door with a soft, "Let's go then. Don't want to be late." 

Honestly, Steven would probably be best to do all of the touristy Halloween things with given the fact he's more involved in the what's happenings of London. But Vivienne had asked him specifically if he'd want to do things with her for Halloween and having seen the way she'd lit up when asking about some ghost bus tour ride and some potion making experience how was Marc supposed to say no? So, they have a day planned. Brunch at Kuro Eatery, then a walk around Notting Hill and Kensington to look at the decorations, then off they're going to Leadenhall Market because apparently there are guided tours, and then they're going to get dinner somewhere - they haven't decided where yet - and then a couple of drinks, and finally the Ghost bus tour. 

Busy day. 

Marc knows they might not be able to see everything, but he plans on taking Vivienne to as much of the touristy shit she wants to do as he can before they inevitably end up heading home.

So, they meander to Kuro Eatery where Vivienne gets herself an everything bagel with chive cream cheese, tomato, and olive oil. She also gets herself a latte with too much sugar for Marc's taste while he orders a plain everything bagel with a black coffee. Vivienne teases him about his boring taste in brunch items as Marc holds out a chair for her. They enjoy their brunch in a room that smells like cloves and ginger, coffee hot enough to burn his tongue, but company soft enough to soothe it. She's always been sweet, Marc isn't going to deny that, but something about her trip to Chicago has softened her further. Smoothed down some of the rougher edges that used to catch and snag at her moods. 

Vivienne's happier. Marc's just glad he didn't have to make Miles Hale swallow their teeth. Though, he supposes there's a lot more to why they hadn't spoken than Vivienne let on. Survivor's guilt is a hell of a thing and Marc knows all too well what it can and will do to a person. Dinner with Miles and the email conversations that have followed over the past few months have helped Vivienne a lot. Marc still isn't a huge fan of Miles, thinks that if he really wanted to mend bridges with Vivienne he would have reached out and invited her to meet with him sooner, but at the end of the day Vivienne is happy and Marc can't complain about that. Not when she's smiling at him and explaining why Creature from the Black Lagoon is one of the best Halloween movies ever. 

"It basically kicked off the concept of monster fucking as an acceptable film genre and it's not given enough credit." 

Marc had choked on his coffee when she'd said it and Vivienne had laughed so hard, she'd snorted. 

By the time they finish their brunch and get another coffee to replace the one Marc had practically inhaled, the wind has died down enough to make their stroll through Notting Hill and Kensington a bit more pleasant. But because it is a bit nippy out, Marc slings an arm around Vivienne's waist and pulls her snug against his side, which allows them to share body heat while also giving Marc the opportunity to press his nose into her hair and murmur softly against her ear or kiss her temple whenever the mood strikes him. 

He very pointedly ignores the giant asshole bird slipping through the decorations. The white, three-piece suit not standing out all that much against the synthetic spiderwebs, blow up monsters, and plastic skeletons... it makes Marc smile a bit to think that Khonshu looks more like a Halloween decoration himself than an all-powerful God of Old. Vivienne can't see Khonshu. Just like Marc can't see Hathor. But he wonders if her own god is stalking her through the streets of London or if it's just Marc's. 

"Oh, that's pretty!" Vivienne says as she points to a house that's artfully decorated with carved jack-o-lanterns, potted orange Mums, and a big black cauldron that spews forth blue-tinged smoke.

Marc hums along whenever she points out a house. Not particularly invested in the decorations but unwilling to say anything that might kill Vivienne's enthusiasm over them. But he does make a note of the types of decorations she likes. They don't have anything really set up at the apartment in terms of holiday decor, but Marc thinks next year he'll get some stuff put together so that Vivienne can decorate however she likes. No better place to start than Leadenhall Market. 

Vivienne drags him into stores. 

Little boutiques and cafes. 

At one point she drags them over to get caricatures done to make them look like monsters and Marc has to fight the growing panic he feels when Khonshu slinks through the crowded market. Slipping behind stores and disappearing in the blink of an eye. Here and gone and back again before Marc has a change to steady himself. 

What the fuck, Lockley? He thinks at the other man in his head, eyes spinning toward any reflective surface he might catch a glimpse of the alter in. 

But the windows are empty of his face and the wind fails to carry his voice. 

Marc swallows hard as he pays the man for the drawing and smiles thinly when Vivienne shows it off to him. 

He looks ghoulish. 

Thin faced and sallow, hollowed out eyes, mouth twisted into a snarl. Vivienne looks like a classic bride of Dracula type. Pretty as a dream with lips stretched wide over serrated teeth. Marc runs his tongue over his own and jumps when Vivienne grabs his arm. 

"Marc, you ok?" She asks. 

"Uh, yeah, just feelin a little funny." 

Khonshu hovers at Vivienne's shoulder. Bends at the hips at stretches his beak over Vivienne's arm, eye socket so close to her head that Marc's almost afraid it will swallow her up if she moves too much. 

"Do you want to go home?" Vivienne is putting the drawing away, no longer invested in it, and Marc feel like an asshole. 

Say yes, my Knight. I have work for you, Khonshu whispers, breath ruffling Vivienne's hair. 

"No, it's ok. Just a headache." Marc clears his throat and pulls Vivienne away from the bird, "You want to get something to drink?" 

And before Vivienne can really reply Marc is ushering her away from Khonshu and toward one of the little cafes bustling with people. It won't stop Khonshu from following them he knows. Khonshu has a job for him, and the longer Marc ignores him the more insistent he'll be about someone - anyone - taking over the body to carry out his will since Marc won't. The worst part about it is he doesn't think Vivienne would be upset with him if he told her that Khonshu was there. She'd be upset he knows, of course she would, but Marc knows she wouldn't be upset with him and that makes him feel like a complete jackass... because there's nothing he can do about Khonshu or the deal Jake made with him. 

Which means he can't fix the hurt he might cause Vivienne in the process of following orders. 

And it's like she knows something is going on because she continues to smile at him and it's honestly a little sad. 

It doesn't get any better from then on out either. 

Like Khonshu is purposefully trying to sabotage his date, the bird shows up everywhere. 

Outside the cab Marc hails to drive him and Vivienne over to the ghost tours. 

Hovering on the sidewalk and at the corner of Marc's vision. Always there. Always watching. 

Jake's silence doesn't make him feel any better either. His alter doesn't appear in the reflection of the window, his voice doesn't whisp through the cab. It's silent in his head for the first time in years and Marc knows that's very likely Khonshu's doing. He wants Marc. Not Jake. 

Khonshu wants Marc to don the suit. 

He wants Marc to bloody his knuckles and enact his vengeance. 

Marc glances at the girl in the cab beside him, faze lit with flashing neon and the pale wash of moonglow. His stomach knots and Marc reaches out to take Vivienne's hand and brings it to his lips. The smile she offers is full of confusion and Marc tries to reassure her with one of his own. Knows it falls a bit flat though. Wonders if he's going to be able to salvage their evening as he's helping her out of the cab. Marc feels like his skin is going to crawl off. He feels sick to his stomach. 

Stretched thin. 

This is Jake's fault. 

If Jake hadn't made that deal with Khonshu they wouldn't be in this situation right now. 

If Jake had just been... he jerks to a stop as Vivienne stops walking. 

Khonshu flickers at the edge of his vision. 

"What's wrong?" Vivienne asks, face serious and pinched. 

Marc swallows. 

"Khonshu's..." he trails off. 

Not sure what to say. 

Not sure how to admit fault. 

Vivienne's fingers are steady on his arm as she rubs out some of the tension there and smiles. 

"Go." 

"No, baby, it's ok. I'm staying." Marc insists. 

Across the street Khonshu stands beneath a streetlight, leaning up against the metal like he isn't uprooting Marc's life. Bone moon-pale despite the golden glow of the lamp. Marc can hear the click, click, click, of his cane tapping against cement. Unhurried, but insistent. He knows he's going to win tonight. He knows Marc is coming with him. And he isn't at all worried about Marc's resulting anger. 

Vivienne is shaking her head, smiling, understanding, Marc kind of hates how easy going she is. 

"It's ok. My shoes are pinching my toes anyway and I'm honestly ready to go home." 

Liar. 

He doesn't call her on it. 

Instead, Marc pulls her close and buries his face in her neck so that he can breathe in the scent of her perfume. 

By the time he pulls away Vivienne's smile is a little less forced but still very sad and Marc feels like a fucking asshole as he moves to hail a cab. An uber would probably be the best option, but Marc doesn't like the idea of having to leave her to wait for the driver to pick her up. Already feels like he's going to lose his shit about loading her up into a car with a stranger despite the fact that he knows she's done it before. Once Vivienne is settled in the backseat - a wad of cash for the driver in her pocket - Marc waits for the cab to disappear around the corner before he whips around and stomps into the shadowed alley not far away. 

Khonshu's magic feels like water as it wraps around him. Ceremonial armor settling heavily across his body, anchoring deep into his soul to protect him against bodily harm. 

It feels like slipping on a pair of old shoes that have broken down to fit your foot. 

It feels like being stabbed in the back. 

The bird's presence is heavy at his back and Marc whips around to face him. 

"You make sure she gets home." He commands the God. 

"Your little plover will return to her nest unbothered." Khonshu says. 

Marc sneers at him, knows he only gets away with it because his face is hidden. 

"I want you to make sure." He snarls. 

And the God pauses for a long moment before he tips his head and disappears, leaving Marc along in the dingy alley with nothing but a feeling and a need to enact divine justice. With Khonshu gone and Marc itching to get home, he's unwilling to waste time in the alley. So, he pivots on his heel and uses a dumpster to jump up onto an overhang, which he uses to haul himself up onto a roof. Once steady, Marc looks of the Thames and the boats doing ghost rides, at the bus on the street going over the bridge that he should have been on with Vivienne. Pain settles in his chest, roots down between his ribcage and blossoms in his lunges. Marc takes a deep breath to steady himself, looks out across the sparkle of evening lights, and falls back into the familiar act of launching himself from one roof to another as he searches for those worty of a Gods' intervention and wrath. 

By the time he slinks back into the apartment the sun is beginning to rise and Marc's body feels like he dislocated every join he has. 

Shuffling through the house, he kicks off his shoes and leaves clothes along the path he takes from the front door to the bedroom. Moaning softly when he settles into the bed beside Vivienne, who snores softly and mumbles in her sleep as Marc's weight shifts the mattress. He tries not to bother her too much. Tries to ease into bed without waking her. He does a pretty decent job of it. Vivienne only wakes long enough to shuffle closer and tuck herself into his side, curling until she's got one leg wrapped around his and fingers knotted in his shirt. Marc breathes for a moment. 

Deep breaths. 

In... 

Out... 

In... 

Out... 

"Marc?" Vivienne mumbles. 

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart." He murmurs against her hair. 

Vivienne curls into him tighter, latches on like a barnacle and refuses to let go. 

Marc has to shift them both slightly when his back starts to twinge. 

But he doesn't push her away. Won't. Not even when he knows that sleeping like this is going to end up with him waking up stiff and sore and maybe even blistered. Tonight was hell. Pure and simple hell... but he did some good, he supposes. Stopped a kidnapping. Intervened on a murder. Knocked the shit out of a guy who tried dragging a clearly drunk teenager into an alley. He did good tonight... genuine good... Marc shifts slightly, just enough so that he can curl around Vivienne. :Press kisses to her cheek. Eyelids growing heavier and heavier as the sun begins to drive away the dark. 

He ignores the shadowed figure lingering in the corner of the bedroom. 

Falls asleep to the click of a cane against hardwood. 

Click... 

Click...

Click... 

Chapter Text

October bleeds into November and Vivienne finds herself making Steven a "traditional American Thanksgiving meal" despite not really having any desire to celebrate the holiday. Marc had griped at her the whole time as he'd helped her prep ingredients. Vivienne thinks it's mostly because Steven had seemed so fascinated by something she and Marc had had shoved down their throats since they were little. Commercialized as Thanksgiving is, there are very few traditions around the holiday Vivienne takes any real value from. But Steven had shown interest and Vivienne enjoys making him happy. So she busts out some of her mom's vegan friendly recipes, finds a recording from one of the many football games she'd been forced to watch with her dad as well as the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, and curls up on the couch with Steven as they eat and enjoy each other's company. It's nice. Steven helps her clean up and thanks her for the experience before he kisses her temple and ushers her out of the kitchen so that he can finish the dishes and she can relax. 

Then December comes and Vivienne feels... weird about it. 

With Christmas around the corner, London seems overflowing with Holiday cheer. The city puts out decorative light displays, shops play cheeky music, ribbon and tinsel seem to cover everything, and the streets no longer smell entirely of exhaust fumes what with the overwhelming presence of cloves and cinnamon permeating the air.  Everyone seems relatively happy. Even some of the surlier customers who come to Delmonica's are a touch nicer to the servers. Vivienne hasn't really celebrated it since she moved to London. That first Christmas after waking up on the side of the interstate had been intense. Vivienne had spent the majority of the holiday curled up in her bed, snotting and crying all over her pillows, unable to drag herself out from beneath the too-warm cocoon she'd made of her blankets. She thinks Miles had come to check on her at one point, knocking tentatively at her apartment door before ultimately shuffling off and leaving her be. 

After she moved to London, Vivienne hadn't really celebrated the holiday. Sure, she'd play in the orchestra any time a ballet put on The Nutcracker, she'd go to little white elephant parties when she was invited, she'd get dinner with Alice and exchange gifts... but for the most part she didn't celebrate Christmas. It was always just a day where she would sit in her apartment and watch action movies and play her cello and get takeout if she wasn't feeling like cooking. But she hasn't actively celebrated Christmas in years. Probably won't celebrate it again. Not the way she used to when she was kid and her mom was insistent on giving them experiences. 

Shoving whole cloves into oranges and leaving them to dry out. 

Making gingerbread houses with homemade dough and a special clay tray that her mom had stowed away the other eleven months of the year. 

Wearing bulky, hand decorated Christmas sweaters to get family pictures done at the mall and getting hot chocolate after. 

Even before her parents died, as an adult Vivienne hadn't held the same value to Christmas traditions that she had as a kid... but with them dead and gone it feels like a lead weight on her chest whenever she tries to do something Christmas-y. So the clay molds Miles had given her have remained tucked away in the back of the cabinet where she keeps baking supplies, Ornaments that have been split between the two remaining siblings collecting dust in the closet where she and Steven keep the cleaning supplies, the whole cloves Vivienne had bought on a whim unopened in the cupboard and the oranges left in the trash after they'd gone soft.

Vivienne hasn't celebrated Christmas in years. 

So, it's a bit of a relief that Steven and the boys don't celebrate the holiday. 

Marc sits her down one night and asks her if she'd feel comfortable celebrating Hanukkah with him, pupils tiny as he'd explained that she wouldn't be expected to participate in prayers or any religious aspects of it. Vivienne - having been raised Methodist - had told Marc that she'd be happy to celebrate with him if it would make him happy and the smile she'd gotten from Marc had been a bit sad as he'd reached out to hug her. 

Between the two of them, there's more than enough trauma to shake a stick at. So, Vivienne tries to lighten whatever load Marc is carrying by doing copious amounts of research online and asking - probably - asinine questions that are more likely to annoy Marc than anything. But he bears with her through it all and answers her questions with so much patience it makes her melt a little. And while she's far from a religious person and has no intention of converting anytime soon, watching Marc light the Menorah and sing the blessings is nice. Vivienne isn't sure how else to describe it. She has a lot of feelings about Christmas and there's some bleed over despite Hanukkah being a completely different celebration and it makes her feel a bit unsteady. But Marc is happy, and he doesn't get frustrated with her when Vivienne gets a little snappish with him. 

It's a weird time for both of them, she suspects, and when December finally bleeds into January things feel a little steadier. 

Well, until Hathor summons her for another council meeting with the Ennead. 

One after the other. 

Vivienne sits in that gilded chamber, full to bursting with the presence of her Goddess. 

Hathor is far from the worst God Vivienne could have lurking in her head. For the most part the two of them hardly interact, though Vivienne does wonder if being Hathor's avatar also means she carries the Goddess' blessing and how that affects her personally. Is she a good musician because Hathor is a God of music? Does she find her life less stressful because she's managing herself and her time better or is it Hathor intervening when she deems necessary? Vivienne isn't sure and Jake quietly telling her not to dwell on those thoughts makes her a bit uncomfortable... even if she does follow his advice. 

Really, in the blink of an eye a year has passed since she's met Steven and then some. 

A whole marker in their relationship coming and going quietly as a mouse in a dark kitchen. 

They celebrate three weeks late with dinner at the Thai place she and Marc went to for their first date before going to see some Mission Impossible knock off movie that Jake had wanted to go see. Steven walks her home, one arm around her shoulder, smiling like he can't think of anything better to do that meander down a busy London street with his girlfriend. And it's just generally a good time. Vivienne doesn't think anything about the way Steven keeps playing with her fingers or the way Marc holds her later that evening after they've had sex. Doesn't think much of the way Jake always seems to have something to distract her with whenever she's in the apartment. It's not necessarily weird. It isn't anything out of the usual for them, so Vivienne doesn't pay it much mind. 

Not for a while anyway. 

It starts when Alice pulls her aside at work one day, snatches up her hand, and tells her that she needs to get her nails done. Vivienne brushes her off with an explanation that she'd missed her last appointment and laughs when Alice tells her to get one set up because her nails are grown out as hell. Doesn't think much of it outside of a passing sort of awareness that Alice usually doesn't comment on her nails before she's sucked into work. But she does set an appointment to get her nails done. the usual soft pink manicure that she gets because it's neutral enough that no one will notice it when she's performing. Like, the whole interaction in and of itself is a bit odd but not enough for Vivienne to really think about it after the fact. 

Then Steven asks if she'd like to go with him to Cairo for a sort of impromptu vacation because Layla found something interesting on a dig that she had called Marc about. Because he's going out anyway he'd wanted to ask Vivienne if she'd like to go as well. Seeing as Vivienne hasn't been to Cairo since she was kidnapped the thought of going sparks a bit of anxiety. Normal... given the fact that she was literally kidnapped and watched her boyfriend die the last time she was there... so she hesitates a bit but ultimately agrees to go. Which is how she finds herself on a five-hour flight from London to Cairo. Layla is waiting for them at the airport, smiling and waving and chatting excitedly at them as she guides them through the airport to a car waiting for them. Vivienne notes the looks shared between her and Steven, excited, wide-eyed things that don't make Vivienne's stomach roll like they might have earlier in their relationship. 

Vivienne trusts her boys. 

Vivienne trusts Layla. 

Trusts them all enough that she doesn't even blink when Marc quietly tells her one evening - late enough that he has to wake Vivienne up - that he's going with Layla to the dig site and that he'll be back before lunch. She just nods sleepily, kisses him, and curls back around the downy soft white hotel pillow. She doesn't even worry when Marc doesn't arrive back before lunch. Just takes a bath, orders herself something off the room service menu, and enjoys her brunch on the little balcony overlooking the city. 

"Shit went a little sideways." Marc tells her when he finally gets back to the hotel room. "I'm gonna make it up to you, ok, sweetheart?" 

"I'm not upset, Marc, you don't have to explain anything to me." Vivienne promises, means it too. 

Marc squats down in front of her, fingers pressing into her thighs where he's holding her, and smiles. Vivienne reaches out to brush wayward curls out of his face and laughs when he moves his head to kiss the inside of her arm. It's all very sweet... if a little weird. 

"Still, I want to make it up to you." Marc continues to smile as he pats her thigh, "Wear something nice." 

"You taking me on a date, Spector?" Vivienne asks, leaning forward a bit in her chair so that she can pull down the collar of Marc's shirt and press feather light kisses to the skin there. 

"Figured you'd want to do something fun." Marc says, head tipped slightly back. 

Vivienne pulls away with a smile and tells him, "I'd like that." 

He pats her thigh. 

"Get dressed then, sweetheart, times ticking." 

And that specific comment should strike Vivienne as odd. Of the boys, Steven is the one most likely to be anxious about missed plans. Sure, Marc likes to be prompt and keep to a schedule, but he's never rushed Vivienne or made her feel like they were running late... and while that isn't really happening now, it is odd that he's doing it now... in a way. Vivienne just chalks it up to him feeling bad and doesn't comment on it as she gets up to go rummaging through her suitcase. She's brought two dresses with her and neither are necessarily fancy... they're cute, sure, but nothing fancy. So, instead of either dress Vivienne pulls out a pair of coffee colored linen pants, a black sleeveless turtleneck thin enough that it won't absolutely kill her, and the only pair of black flats she brought. The outfit is cute and Marc smiles at her as she walks out of the bathroom after doing her makeup. 

They spend the day doing the standard tourist shit. 

Marc takes her to a late lunch at a restaurant along the Nile and quietly tells her about the dig site Layla is looking into. Apparently, there was some sort of statuary like the one that had sealed Khonshu that had been disturbed. Not broken, thankfully, but unearthed. Layla had gone looking for it to make sure whatever God had been sealed away inside didn't get out lest they have another Ammit situation on their hands. Vivienne listens to him talk about the dig site though, Steven slowly bleeding through until it's the British man chattering at her instead of her gruffer American boyfriend. By the time their lunch comes to an end and Marc slips back into the driver's seat to lead Vivienne off to their next location, she's gotten a whole informative lecture on how the ancient Egyptians forged the earliest peace treaty on record. Which doesn't have much of a relation to why Marc went to that dig site with Layla but it's still interesting. 

Their date continues with a felucca ride along the Nile, a guide happily pointing out different landmarks and explaining historical significance as Marc plays with the ends of Vivienne's hair. It's interesting to say the least, she learns a lot, and by the time the tour comes to an end Vivienne's feet ache just a touch and she's ready for food. So, Marc - the angel that he is - gets them a cab. When they're dropped off in a less touristy part of Cairo, Vivienne glances at Marc, who explains that he's taking her to get falafels at probably the best falafel place in Cairo. Vivienne doesn't fight him on the descriptor, just follows him through the crowded streets for a small shop where Marc orders them a handful of things because Vivienne is in no way shape or form fluent in Arabic the way Marc is. 

With their food in hand, Marc leads Vivienne at a slightly slower pace through the streets, chatting and smiling as they eat their falafels. 

"I have one last thing for us to do." He tells her once they've eaten. 

Vivienne pauses when she catches the tinge of nervousness in his tone but doesn't say anything about it as Marc takes her hand and starts leading her along. They cut down streets and narrow alleys, take sharp enough turns often enough that Vivienne quickly loses track of where they are. 

"Where are you taking me?" Vivienne asks, laughing. 

Marc twists to smile at her and steps closer, reaching up to brush hair behind her ears. 

"You trust me?" He asks and Vivienne rolls her eyes as fondly as she can. 

"I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't, Marc." She informs him seriously to which he nods. 

He doesn't offer up an explanation. 

They end up stealing someone's truck. 

"Marc," Vivienne hisses, "we're going to get arrested." 

Beside her, Marc laughs and says, "You trust me, right?" 

Vivienne's groan turns into a somewhat hysterical laugh as Marc rushes them out of the city. Vivienne flips her attention from the roads Marc is driving them down - some busy, some vacant - to the man in the driver's seat. He's smiling wide, continuously glancing at Vivienne and reaching out to touch her in some way. A brush of his fingers along her thigh, a kiss to her knuckles, a firm grip on her knee. It's cute. Vivienne still wants to know where the hell he's taking her.

She gets her answer not long after when Marc kills the lights on the truck and drives a few more miles with nothing but the moon to guide him before he pulls over to the side and kills the engine. When he gets out of the car, Vivienne does the same, shutting the door behind her as quietly as she can because the stillness around them is peaceful and it seems almost dangerous to disrupt it. 

"Close your eyes, sweetheart." Marc tells her, gone is the linen button up and dark slacks he'd been wearing, replaced by ceremonial armor and ancient magic. 

Though the mask Vivienne remembers is no longer present to cover his smile as he inches closer and wraps his arms around her. Vivienne does as he says because she trusts Marc more than she trusts anyone... well, she trusts her boys more than she trusts anyone. Vivienne knows Marc wouldn't hurt her so even though this is weird and she doesn't really like being in the middle of nowhere in a stolen truck... she trusts him to take care of her. So, she shuts her eyes and leans into his touch. 

"Hold on, sweetheart." He says and gives Vivienne time to get a firm grip on him before he leaps up into the air. 

It's as close to flying as Vivienne ever hopes to get without an airplane and it makes her stomach roll a bit. But Marc doesn't make fun of her when she presses her face into his neck, and he doesn't let go when they land until Vivienne pulls away first. He lets his suit slide away from his body and wipes his hands over the front of his jeans, seeming a bit releaved. 

"Come here," Marc urges as he takes her hand and leads her over to the edge of the flat summit, "I wanted to show you the view." 

It's a pretty one too. 

Stunning, one might say. 

They're high enough up that Vivienne gets a clear view of what feels like the entire city of Cairo. All twinkling lights and hazy neon. They're close enough that Vivienne thinks she can hear music playing. Distantly though. It isn't clear. Might be in her own head if she's being honest, but it wouldn't surprise her given the view. A sort of nagging feeling begins building in Vivienne's stomach. 

Alice commenting on her nails. 

Steven asking her on this vacation. 

Marc's nervousness. 

The looks he and Layla had shared. 

"It's beautiful." Vivienne murmurs, glancing at Marc to find his staring at her. 

His eyes are soft and warm, and Vivienne's breath catches a bit in her chest as she looks at him. 

"Viv, I love you." 

"I love you too." She tells him. 

Marc swallows. 

"You know when Steven first started dating you, I thought you were completely out of his league. Still do, actually... but you made him happy, and I was in a really dark place in my life, so I just sort of figured he'd get himself together enough that you wouldn't think he was a total freak," Marc snorts, shakes his head, Vivienne's palms are sweaty, "and I didn't have any plans to get involved with you but it was so easy to love you. You're funny and you're kind and God knows why but you stuck it out with us through everything despite having every right to walk away. I love you, I don't think you realize how happy I am when I'm with you or how often I think about a future with you." 

His smile is soft, and Vivienne thinks she might cry when he takes a knee, fingers uncurling from around an engagement ring. 

"I want a future with you, Vivienne. I want to buy a house and have stupid arguments about what color we're going to paint the kitchen. I want to grow old and grey with you. I can't think of a single moment of my life I want to spend without you... Vivienne, will you marry me?" 

She's crying now. 

Nodding, Vivienne lets out a garbled, "Yes," before she's being swooped up. 

Marc spins her, arms around her ribs, and kisses her hard when he comes to a stop and sets her down. The engagement ring is slid onto her finger with ease and Vivienne offers a watery sort of laugh as she goes to kiss Marc again. 

"I love you." She tells him as she pulls away long enough to wipe at her eyes. 

Her fiancé smiles, kisses her again, and then leads her over to the edge of the pyramid to they can sit and watch the city for a little while as they murmur quietly about how long Marc has been planning this. He quietly informs her that he's been trying to find the right time since around January. Hadn't wanted to use any major holidays as an excuse because it made him feel like a twat and then none of the guys could settle on a ring. Had to get something custom made to fit all their preferences, which makes Vivienne smile. It's a stunning piece though.

Thick yellow gold band with little star engravings here and there, small diamonds set in the center of each star and not flashy enough to take away from the larger, milky white stone in the center of the ring. 

"Moonstone." Marc quietly tells her when she asks what the stone is. "Bit on the nose, I think."

"I like it." Vivienne informs him before she kisses him. 

Marc just laughs, rises, and holds out a hand to her with a quiet comment that they should probably go before anyone gets wise to the missing truck. It feels like a quick drive back to the hotel. Marc drops the truck off where they stole it, hails a cab to take them back to the hotel, and then when the two of them are tucked away in their hotel room Vivienne kisses Marc hard, nips and sucks her way down his neck and plays with the button of his slacks. Smiles wide when he drops his head back against the hotel room door with a moan.

He's quick to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Vivienne doing the same and laughing when Marc scoops her up and drops her on the bed so that he can take off her pans. Vivienne wiggles out of her bra and panties as he kicks his shoes off and meets Marc halfway when he comes back to kiss her. The sex is soft. Marc holds her tight to him as he fucks her, hooks a leg over his hips and murmurs soft praise into her hair as he slips a hand between them to toy with Vivienne's clit. 

It doesn't last long. 

Vivienne doesn't really expect it to. 

But Marc doesn't let go of her throughout and Vivienne doesn't want him too. At the end she curls against his chest and runs her fingers through is hair and laughs when he smiles at her like he can't believe she said yes. 

"I can't believe you kept it a secret." Vivienne giggles as Marc traces patterns along her back. 

"We were incredibly sneaky about it." Marc informs her sagely. 

Vivienne smiles, buries her face in Marc's shoulder, moans wantonly when his fingers slip inside her and press hard on her g-spot. 

They spend the rest of their week in Cairo doing a little bit of everything. Steven drags her to museums and various historical sites. Jake takes her dancing and shows her spots around Cairo that are more intimate than some of the other tourist spots around the city. It's nice. In the down time Vivienne sends out emails to Alice and her brother about the engagement, attaching a picture of the ring for Alice knowing her friend will get more enjoyment out of it than her brother will. Both congratulate her and Marc on their engagement. When Layla sees them a few days later she smiles and tells Vivienne that she's happy for both of them before she passes her a large envelope. it's full of pictures from the night Marc proposed. 

Her and Marc on the felucca, her and Marc getting falafels, her and Marc stealing that fucking truck. 

Vivienne's favorite, though, are the ones of her and Marc on the pyramid. 

The photo ends up framed and put on the bookcase with some of Steven's books when they get back to London. Right in the middle of everything where Vivienne and any guests can see it. 

Neither of them talk about the wedding. Neither of them talk about what their life will look like with Hathor and Khonshu bound to them like they are. Conversations Vivienne knows need to happen. The two of them have so much they need to discuss between family plans and what they expect from one another in a marriage. Lines need to be redrawn, expectations set, little ways to communicate if something comes up because of Khonshu or Hathor in the future. But those are conversations that can happen a little further down the line. For now, Vivienne finds herself content to just be. To bask in the happiness the engagement has brought her and the joy she feels every time she catches Marc or Steven or Jake looking at that photo Layla had given her. 

Who would have thought that getting ploughed over in the street would lead to her being this happy? 

When she asks Steven that at dinner one evening he flushes bright red and flounders for a moment or two before Vivienne puts him out of his misery with a few soft words and a kiss. 

They'll get married in the fall. The cooler temperatures making an outdoor wedding more comfortable for both of them. Marc will wear a black suit with a matching kippah, Vivienne will wear a white dress with colorful beaded flowers along the bodice. It'll be a small ceremony, just their closest friends and family, and both will ignore the missing parents and the two Gods hovering at the back of the crowd, focusing instead on the promise of tomorrow and the promise of endless days after.