Moral Of The Story

Chapter Two

One Year Ago.

Marc gripped his hair by the roots as he tried to piece the rushed Arabic coming through the speaker of his cell phone. He only caught a few words that he had learnt over the years he'd been in Egypt. The rest he deciphered from the man's fiery tone.

"Okay, uh, I–" He squeezed his eyes hut as he tried to translate his words into Arabic. "Ana... mal 'iirsal. You get that? You will get your money," he emphasised.

The man started up again, faster than before.

Marc pushed open the flap of the tent, locking eyes with Layla to send a distressed expression. She placed an apologetic hand on the shoulder of the woman she was talking to before she jogged over. He placed a hand over the mic.

"I should talk."

"You should talk," he agreed desperately.

She took the phone from his hand, slipping into a firm tone as she quieted the man on the other end.

Marc shook his head exaggeratedly. "Wow, he was killing me. What would I–" Layla waved her hand to quieten him, but he continued on. "–ever do without my beautifully smart girlfriend?"

She suppressed a laugh, pressing a finger to his lips. Marc kissed her finger, watching her talk through a smile as she reassured the man that he would be paid handsomely for the tip. She started to walk away but not before looking back at a relieved Marc, who sent her a kiss. Layla rolled her eyes with a silent laugh as she caught it.

He watched her lean against the Jeep, one arm crossed as it always did during negotiations. Her brows low beneath her curls as she listened.

Of all the antiques and relics he had encountered, none could compare to her.

Marc returned to the safety of the tent, reaching into his jacket. His fingers caught smooth, warm metal. It was still safe, even after trekking through miles of tunnel for Thutmose's tomb. The beating of his heart fluttered with the weight of his decision.

He wanted to do this. They had even discussed it, briefly, a few times. They were going strong. She even knew about the suit. But everything else...

The sound of the sand being disturbed was like a whisper. With it, came the overwhelming sense of fatigue.

"I watched you bleed, Marc Spector."

He grimaced at the dark voice, turning to face a leering skull. Khonshu stood over him, the empty space of his eyes looking through Marc.

"So, you keep reminding me."

"It was pitiful, watching you suffer. You could have ended it." Khonshu's tone turned petulant. "Yet, you swore yourself to serve me in exchange for your life."

"What's your point?"

"That woman is a means to end, Marc."

"Don't talk about her like that," he said lowly.

"You are losing sight of your purpose," Khonshu snapped. "Pretending that you can have life with her? You belong... To me."

His nostrils flared. "Without her, you lose the scarab. Isn't that a good enough reason for you?"

Khonshu laughed, slamming down his crescent moon staff to punctuate it. "Don't be childish, Marc. She has no place in the work I have for you."

"Layla has a place in my life." Marc walked closer, his eyes stony. "You can't change that."

"Perhaps not." Khonshu looked away contemplatively towards Layla. "Though it seems I won't have to look too far for my next candidate, should we part."

"Are you – Is that a threat?"

Khonshu turned to him, ominously. "Do not forget what led you to my tomb that night, Marc Spector."

He watched Khonshu disappear, the sand unsettling as he did. Waves of dread crashed into him as he stood there, face twisted in agony. The ring burned a hole through his pocket.

The tent flap swished open and he turned to see Layla standing there, grinning with the phone in her hand.

"We got it! I mean we almost lost it with your terrible Arabic but... We got Hapshetsut's tomb!" She watched him for a moment, her excitement dropping. He tried to recover.

"That's amazing," he said flatly.

"That's all you got for me. Come on, we didn't spend two years of our lives to not celebrate this!"

"Yeah. Yeah, just..." He cleared his throat, looking down. It shamed him how easy it was to cover his feelings with lies. "Took us so long to get here. What if it's a dead end?"

"What are you talking about? We've only just begun." She stepped closer to him, showing the text message on the cell phone. "We found Hatshepsut's tomb. We're going to find her body and that means we find the scarab."

"We've been close before."

Layla snapped the cell phone shut, sighing. "Yeah, but this feels different. I just know if my father were here, he'd feel it too."

He could hear Khonshu's words in his head. No, he wouldn't let it get to him.

Marc nodded his head, solemnly. "We do this for him, then."

"Together."

"Together," he echoed hopefully.

There was a ghost of a smile on her lips before she pressed them against his. And it was the small moments with her, he realised, that made him feel whole again.

He would propose to her tonight. Khonshu be damned.