Control | Moon Knight

7.0

Steven's gaze lingers on her, his concern etched across his face like fine lines of worry. He wants to reach out, to offer his support and lend her his strength, but Cleo's walls stand tall, impenetrable. She insists on shouldering her burdens alone, afraid to burden others with her troubles. It's a familiar battle he's fought himself, but now he yearns to break through the barriers and show Cleo that she doesn't have to face her demons alone.

At that moment, a flicker ignites within Steven. He understands that Cleo might resist his help, but he can't stand idly by while she suffers in silence. He silently vows to be there for her, to offer his unwavering support, even if she's not ready to accept it just yet.

As Cleo holds his gaze, her eyes glistening with a mix of vulnerability and strength, Steven sees the depths of her struggle. The weight of her constant vigilance, the fear that gnaws at her, and the invisible presence that haunts her every move. It fills him with a profound sense of protectiveness, an urge to shield her from harm and provide her with the peace she so desperately needs.

He leans forward, brushing his lips against her forehead in a tender gesture. It's a silent reassurance, a promise that he's there for her, no matter what. Cleo closes her eyes, savoring the fleeting touch, feeling a glimmer of hope bloom within her chest. In that brief moment of connection, she realizes that she doesn't have to bear the weight of her fears alone.

But it's not enough for Marc. He wants to go deeper, to reveal the truth so he can fix whatever problems exist in her mind or out of it. Marc desperately wants to fix it, but Cleo is reluctant to even tell him what is wrong. He knows that they're not alone and he knows that Cleo is not as okay as she verbally announces. He spent too long as a slave of Khonshu to not pick up on the differences in reality. He's too observant for his perspective to be oblivious.

Though he longed for freedom, he never thought it would feel quite like this. He expected to feel the same as he did before he entered the temple on the brink of death... yet he feels the same. His clothes hang the same way on his body. His hair feels the same against his skin, and his head is still heavy with burden as if there are too many entities hiding within.

It makes him second guess even going to Cairo. He has no powers, no God sanding on his shoulder, and no way of protecting Cleo. He is a trained fighter still, but something tells him to stay here. To stay away from Cairo and to not go on the dig. It's a pit in the bottom of his stomach, one filled with dread and horror that he cannot explain. It festers and grows, creating a bubble of panic, even as he drags the bags into the car to take them to the airfield.

Stop the car.

Turn around.

The intrusive thoughts linger in his mind. They shout at him, begging him to do something, to do anything as his eyes roam around the road around them. On the way to the airfield, Marc swears the same bird flies alongside the car for the entire trip. He does not know if he is dreaming, or perhaps imagining the entire thing, but there the bird is, right outside the passenger window, flapping its wings in the wind and following the car till they arrive at the airfield.

Cleo and Marc then step outside of the car and grab their bags. They step through the gates of the airfield and go to the hangar, where a familiar face emerges, smiling with his white and yellow teeth.

" Hola, loca," Diego remarks as he begins prepping the plane.

" Hola, bastardo," Cleo sighs as she takes their bags and begins tossing them in the plane.

" Hola, mi vida."

Cleo pauses.

That name, that nickname. It sounds so familiar in her ear, yet the Spanish leaving her boy's mouth isn't. It's something that tickles her brain with familiarity, yet she has no idea why.