#we love layla here

apotheosis // marc spector x reader

summary: Harrow’s efforts are thwarted when an unsuspecting hero takes control.

pairing: Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings: angst, violence, spoilers for episode 6.

quick links: masterlist // “part 1” resolutions—can be read as a stand alone but… why not read both :)

He hated when the moon slipped its ugly crescent between the curtains.

It made him feel as though death followed him everywhere; that he was indeed a killer when it was the last thing he ever wanted to think about.

And the sheets felt like they were suffocating him because of it.

Gripping, grabbing, grappling with what they could to choke the life from him and the memories of the evening not some three hours before begging to be heard and voiced—but they fell to deaf ears. How could he just lay there? Still… silent in the darkness of a desolate apartment in Chicago, comforted by the wounds of survival and the promise of another day.

His tired eyes hated that moon.

It’s silver sliver breaking the pane of glass into two—one for each of him that he knew; building up the reflection casting to the floor, to the bed’s edge, and to the white sheets stained with his sweat. Eventually the moon met him. Shining on his bare arms and cascading across this chest as he laid motionless, empty.

Marc Spector was a man of many things, but not known to kindness.

The emptiness inside of him fulfilled by nothing sans a void of darkness that broke open for Konshu, allowing for his deeds to be done from the bloody hands of one who claims to be broken, lost, and hopeless yet was chosen by a God. He’d never truly understand, Marc, how Konshu chose his victims.

And by victims he meant avatar’s, not the people finding judgement at Marc’s fists.

The task bestowed upon him became a mask. An opportunity to hide the man he truly is for one who isn’t scared of himself, of his past, or the memories that plagued him in the deepest hours of the night where the moon crept into his most sacred of spaces.

At some point, Marc’s mind had decided the reminder was enough.

The bed frame creaked—shifting under Marc’s weight and releasing to its supports and reverberating into the wood below. His bare feet wavered the nearly-warped floor, hastily making way to the curtains and feeling the textured fabric between his finger tips as he grasped each edge.

Rough. The texture was rough, like sand. Not kind, or forgiving, or pleasant. The moon stared at him closer through the glass; the curtains open for him to stand in between and holding them tightly, Marc closed his eyes.

‘One night. One night.’ He thought to himself. ‘Just let me have this one night.’ Throwing the curtains closed, the moon disappeared.

The light in the room was gone. He was no longer basking in its white light—but standing in the silent night to peace. He needn’t escape to protection when the world was silent.

“Marc?”

The world was never truly silent, however.

“When did you get in?”

The bed was so far away in that moment. As though a camera was pulling far from its subject, Marc felt the calls going unanswered—but not listening to his mind to speak.

“Marc?”

The voice was tired at first. The kind where a deep sleep is disrupted suddenly and there is nothing but words that come tumbling out for the sake of a better alternative. And then it grew more concerned. He could hear it. Growing in confidence and volume, the second time was the most alert of the calls.

“…Marc?” The third was uncertain. Was it him? Was it your eyes playing tricks on you or did you judge the man terribly upon your first meeting years ago. 20/20 never did anyone good.

It was hindsight, after all.

There was no call of his name the fourth time. Just the distinct sound of a lamp switching on and a golden glow emitting from beside the right side of the bed.

Marc’s feet were frozen to the ground—in some kind of way.

For one night, Konshu was not whispering in his ear. How did he know? The moment the moon went away and his silent pleas had been manifested, a disgruntled voice called out:

‘Fine.’ One night. Not a commitment to be dealt with pain; a sweet symphony of peace had washed over him and Marc Spector—alien to that feeling—was not sure what to do.

“Marc, what’s wrong?”

The ex-mercenary shook his head, unable to form words to describe the feeling. A weight lifted from his shoulder; pulling him to the surface for air while it’s impending return hangs tightly on his leg, but a brief moment of reprieve is enough.

“I just…” Marc trailed off, remaining stuck in a realm of uncertainty. Something was itching, scratching beyond Konshu’s presence and asking to be said.

The quietness took over and his mind repeated one name: Layla; all reiterated with a guilty conscious.

In the still of the night, a golden lamplight illuminating the room, Marc saw your tired face. The last few years had been hectic—his own travels, Konshu, and what set it all off, half of the world gone—you included. That’s where he found Layla and when things returned to a relative normal, he found himself unable to admit the double life he had been living—both physically and in some terms, mentally, but he thought he had everything under control.

Until he had returned from Konshu’s bidding that evening. You believed his lies. That he had taken up odd jobs for old military buddies that lived in the area and it was not always guaranteed to be a classic 9 to 5.

Some days, Marc would see the way you looked at him and think you had figured it out—that he was with someone else and not the man you had known. However, you never said anything. You always gave a smile and when he asked “what?” You’d respond “nothing, just looking at you.”

It broke his heart to know how devoted you were.

With that same unwavering stare, you held your hand out to him from the bed.

“Come back?” You never demanded. How could he refuse?

Marc’s bare feet padded against the wooden floor—still creaking with every step but eventually his knees hit the mattress; taking your hand in his, you helped him settle in bed before switching off the light once more.

“Thank you.” Marc whispered as time slowly ticked past. His lips ghosted your forehead as you laid with your head on his shoulder.

“For what?” You responded so quietly he thought you had already returned to sleep.

“For understanding.” He needed the quiet to decide. He never got to decide for himself.

You didn’t know exactly what he meant.

But when you woke up the next morning, he was gone.

The next time you saw him was his mothers shiva and then he had left for good. The news was the one thing that brought you back.

As Arthur Harrow descended deeper into the pyramid, the hotter it became.

You had never been to Egypt before; it’s sights not unfamiliar but the land itself was. Seeing things, like a ancient structure cracked open by the purple light emanating from the man’s staff, questioned what you knew.

The world had nearly gone crazy from the time you were a kid until now. Everything was woven with mythology or other-worldly beings and it was hard to believe—until you saw it.

You stood amongst his followers with your hands bound. Feeling like a piece of meat for sacrifice, the nerves of what Harrow wanted were building. How did he know of you? You thought you acquainted what was an “average person” but here, beside the great structures of the past, Harrow had deemed you important to be there.

A part of you already knew it had something to do with Marc, you just hadn’t seen him yet.

After the purple glow had faded, the stones were parted enough to pass and a rough hand shoved your shoulder.

“Move.” You didn’t know his name. He was a henchmen of Harrow who sold his life away for the purpose of what? You could barely comprehend what was happening in front of you that, understanding their purpose was another pill that wouldn’t be easy to swallow.

“Come on.” He shoved again when your feet didn’t move.

The glaring sun met your eyes as you turned and looked over your shoulder at him. His face made you believe he was born angry. A heavy brow, critical eyes, and hands ready to be balled into fists. Men like him were convinced that their purpose was to save when it was really to kill.

“I said MOVE!” He shouted in your face, ready to pounce when a hand came in between your body and his, sticking out in protection, blocking you from his wrath.

“I got it from here. Go on.” The voice was feminine, stern and demanding. The man looked at her uncertain but said nothing as he huffed away, following after Harrow and the others.

The woman who intervened had a cloth covering her face, her hood over her hair. Her eyes were curious, yet filled with a frenzy that the others didn’t have. She waited until all others past before following with you, her hand on your elbow.

“Not going to yell at me to walk faster?” You didn’t know what made you speak out. The halls were suffocating, dark but growing hot; the heat from the sun beating down on the structure and making beads form on your hairline. The woman shook her head, the curls on her forehead bouncing with every step.

“No, just keep quiet.” She wasn’t angry; that was different from the rest of them.

“You have a name at least?”

The person walking in front of you turned, shushing you before continuing on with the convoy. The woman gripped your arm a little tighter, pulling her face closer to yours and whispering:

“Why does Harrow have you?”

“What?” You mumbled back with a furrowed brow. Her question was beyond what you believed she would ask. None of these people cared, why should she?

“Who are you to him? A sacrifice?”

“No!” You shook your head, fearing that your thoughts and her words could come true as everyone slowly descended further into darkness. “He just…” You trailed off, not sure if she would believe Harrow knocked you out and the next thing you knew you were in Egypt. “I was just looking for someone and he got to me before I could.”

The woman’s eyes behind her mask narrowed, confused, in a sense.

“He was on the news. Some security guard at a museum leaked a video of him acting strange and it went viral… I didn’t know where he was.”

“Marc?”

“You know him?”

She nodded her head before looking away to the group in front of the both of you. Everyone had stopped walking as Harrow lifted his staff and the purple glow emitted from it again. It rumbled the rocks before you, shooting cracks through them until they broke apart and the inside of the pyramid, the chamber, was revealed.

The woman pushed you to follow beside her as the group descended the steps and into the chamber–defenders already assembling in their forms to protect the structure they served, but you did not know that.

As Harrow prepared to engage in a fight, the woman turned to you in a rushed panic.

“You want to help Marc? Then come with me.”

She ran as fast as she could to the hall that broke away from the chamber on the left. You needn’t look back at Arthur Harrow killing innocent people to know that you needed to follow her.

She walked fast.

Her feet taking her speeding through the halls as fast as she could and in her consciousness, her head continued to look back for both the reality that Harrow’s followers would soon indeed follow, and that you were with her.

You made her curious. A single prisoner bound to Harrow’s crew without a reason and someone who knew her Marc.

Her mind could only think of a number of scenarios that would bring you here—not wanting to believe the one that came to mind first.

But that would have to wait. The wall of Gods cast in stone was quickly approaching. The woman pulled her mask down, turning to you once more.

“I don’t know how you know Marc, but this is the only way we can help him. Khonshu has been cast away and we have to set him free. What ever you do, do not let him choose you as his avatar.”

“His what!?”

“Marc will die if not for Khonshu, don’t limit those chances.”

“He’s dying!?” Your eyes went wide, not able to understand her completely. Egyptian Gods, avatars… the only avatar you knew of was Aang, and he was a cartoon.

“Just…” she huffed, frustrated. “Follow my lead. Don’t say anything.”

That you could do.

She turned and scaled the wall with her eyes for this so-called ‘Khonshu.’ A God, supposedly. Nothing should surprise you, however. You were blipped away by the snap of one man’s fingers and stranger things have happened in the world. But because it had to do with Marc, it’s surprised you. It put you near the center and you hated it.

The woman stopped when she found the statue and grasped it tightly.

“Remember, don’t let him choose you.”

“I remember.” You told her.

She walked further to a gap in the wall between a pillar and the end of it. Placing the statue on the ground, she stepped on it, crushing it to pieces as smoke began to fill the area around her. Suddenly, a massive being with the structure of a bird made solely out of bones appeared before the both of you.

“I do not sense Marc Spector in this world.” The tone was deep and unsettling. You meekly shrunk behind the woman as the God spoke. Without eyes to see, it looked at her and in extension, you.

“He died fighting, no doubt.”

“Marc’sdead.” You whispered beside her in disbelief.

“Fighting your war.” The woman responded in anger, ignoring you.

“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…”

The God did not finish. The woman, Layla, spat at him.

“Are you joking!? You turned Marc’s life into a waking nightmare. Why would I ever sign up for that?”

Khonshu was unimpressed. So it played dirty, as many Gods did.

“Then what of you, Y/n L/n, will you protect the travelers of the night as Marc did? It is far more fitting for the woman he trusted most to follow him in service.”

Layla was hurt.

But you knew the response.

You knew there was only one answer. Layla told you so, she knew what she was doing. The answer was no.

“Even if Marc is dead,” your voice felt more powerful than you thought—it wavered with sadness, however. “No tragedy could convince me this is what he would have wanted.”

“You won’t win against Harrow and Ammit alone.”

“We’ll take our chances.” Layla told him, defying the bird’s expectations.

“Marc was in crisis over you both… is lack of focus got him killed. You need a plan, little bugs… what I offer…”

“I don’t care what you can offer! Neither of us do!” Layla responded again. “Marc didn’t trust you. I don’t trust you. She doesn’t trust you. We’ll work together without either of us enslaving ourselves to you.”

The God needed no convincing. Layla was not giving her or your body to Khonshu to do his bidding, those hands belonged to someone else.

“We must rebind Ammit.”

“How?” You asked from behind her and making your stance in the situation heard. If Harrow brought you for a purpose, then you would pave that path.

“Only an avatar can do it.” Of course.

“I said no.” Layla reaffirmed and in an instant Khonshu was gone. He wasn’t going to win here, and certainly not by going back and forth with two women who did not want to be an avatar of him.

“Where did he go?” You asked, looking over your shoulder as if he would reappear again.

“To Harrow. Come on,” she set off once more. “They’ll know we did this.”

“Where are we supposed to go? It’s a pyramid!”

“There are a million paths. But we need to get out of here.”

“Wait!” You called after her, trying to catch her arm as she tried to avoid a silence. “Wait, Layla, please!” You cried out.

“We don’t have time to sit around and chat, alright?” Layla called out behind her.

“I don’t need a chat… how do you know Marc?” You asked her, keeping up with her speed and following in step beside her. She laughed and you furrowed your brows.

“I’m his wife.”

Wife.

Layla was Marc’s wife.

YourMarc.

Has a wife.

“I assume you didn’t know.” She said after the fact.

“Of course not.”

“Well I didn’t know he had a… girlfriend either.”

You were the girlfriend… you could have cried.

“I didn’t know he had a wife.”

Layla stopped her movements and you stuttered to a halt. She looked at you, truly, for the first time in that moment.

How different you and her were.

The faces, the hair, the eyes, nose, and lips. From the few minutes she had in your presence she knew you were nothing like her, but that didn’t make you a bad person.

It’s not your fault Marc has his secrets.

“How did you meet him?” She asked, her chest rising and falling quickly as she caught her breath.

“We grew up together. Went to the same school.”

She nodded her head, beginning to feel as though she was the ‘other woman’ yet she was the one he swore fidelity to.

“Do you live in London with him?” That made it seem like there could be more.

“No… I live in Chicago… I work there too.”

“And where were you six years ago?”

“I wasn’t…” you shook your head, trying to ease her pain as yours grew too. It was complicated, beyond means. And somehow, you were both choosing to understand rather than hate. “I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” She understood—that snap.

“I don’t know what’s going on, really. I just went looking for him because he disappeared two months ago and I’m scared for him.”

“Do you know about Steven?”

The difference between Layla and you was that she didn’t know about his DID. He had confided in you, found solace in it, but never let you see it. For a long while, Marc could control it well. He knew himself and the situations he put himself into but his mothers Shiva was too much and they began to merge—his alters.

There was nothing wrong with that, of course, but Marc wasn’t willing to risk the thought of his alters hating you or being something you disliked about him.

It was self preservation.

It was protection.

And you understood it.

“To an extent.” You replied and she nodded her head.

“We’re, um,” she cleared her throat. “Separated… Marc has demons he needed to deal with and we just never got around to signing the papers.”

“Oh.” Was all you could say now.

“It’s not our fault, hisdecisions. Marc’s a good guy and I’ll do what I can, as I know you will too, but it’s dangerous out there. Harrow is… a killer. A born one and there is no mercy from him nor Ammit. I need you to know that.”

“I could gather that.”

Above you, the ceilings shook with a fury and sand came filtering out of its cracks.

“There are good Gods. If it comes to it, go back to that hall—where those statues are, and find the one with the crescent headdress. They imprisoned him for a reason, but he’s good. If the Gods need avatars, we need good ones.”

“Me? An avatar of a God?” You laughed, not willing to accept her logic. “I am just a regular person, Layla… my life is not meant to be bound to a God.

“If we are chosen to lead, then we do.”

“But I am not meant to! I have a life! I have people who depend on me everyday—“

“—then you know exactly what it’s like to be called to lead. If not for yourself, then do it for Marc. Harrow brought you here to pawn you. Take that and make it his end, for Marc.”

In the heated halls of the great pyramid, Layla stared at you with pleading eyes. She loved Marc even though they were not on the best terms, she forgave you without blame because the one who brought you together was faulted. She needed you to be a hero—a trait you must have experience before but never self-admitted it because pride is often vain.

You needed to be a hero.

For Layla and Marc.

“Fine.” You agreed. “I’ll do it.”

It did not take long for Layla to send you back.

In the chamber of the Gods, the avatars of those still lingering to life laid nearly still. A man tried to crawl to safety and as Layla helped him, he detailed the ways to defeat Ammit but again, avatars were the only answer.

“What do we do?” You asked her, the man falling to the floor dead and you tried not look at him.

“We need more avatars.” She looked to the ceiling as though she was looking to the heavens. “Go to the wall but don’t go into the chamber. If Harrow sees you, there is no telling what he’d do.”

You nodded your head, but your feet stayed planted. She sensed the fear, she could see it in your eyes.

“Go…” she whispered, grasping your arm. “For Marc, right?”

The thought of Marc watching from whatever land laid beyond made you want to crumble and cry but you knew there was only one way. If Layla was going to do the same, you had to too.

So you sprinted off down the hall and moved as quickly as you could behind the pillars and crumbling stone.

Not a minute into your trek, Layla’s name screeched through the hair in a high pitched tone. It had to have been heard by Harrow because immediately, the entire structure began to shake. The walls getting thinner, the pyramid collapsing within itself.

“Keep going…” you mumbled to yourself. “Keep going.”

A stone fell from the ceiling as you turned a tight corner, halting your movement with the fright that you’d be crushed. But you kept going.

Within seconds, you could see the amber glow of the candles where the journey began. Each statue shaking from the pyramid’s movement, the flames behind them wavering too.

The one with the crescent headdress.

The one with the crescent headdress.

You searched row by row until your trembling fingers came upon a figure in the headdress Layla had told you and held a pen-like object in its hand.

“Please don’t be bad.” You whispered. “Please please please.”

Pulling it from its resting place, you placed it gingerly on the ground.

“And don’t be fucking scary.”

You stepped on it and the statue crumbled to pieces, emitting a green and yellow glow along the fog.

Like Khonshu had, a figure with the head of an Ibis, rose tall before you.

“To whom do I owe my gratitude for setting me free?”

The voice was masculine, deep. The head turned and looked down at you with eyes blinking green.

“A woman.”

“Y-yes.” You stuttered, beyond your element in that moment. “Yes. I am Y/n, the one who… released you.”

“It has been many years since I’ve seen these walls.” The God felt the crumbling stone with delicate finger tips. The talons scraping the walls with a deafening scrawl. “Do you know who I am?”

“Would it be wrong to admit no?” You felt silly talking to a God. Who were you to do so?

“No, no it would not.” Like a wind, the creature moved from the small space it had been given and around to the entryway of the small hall. “A wise decision for a mortal to make.”

It circled you like prey.

“I am Thoth, God of wisdom, magic, and judgement. And what hath your judgement be?”

“I do not wish to be judged.”

“Do you need wisdom?”

“No.” You rolled your shoulders back as the crumbling stopped around you. “But I am something you need.”

“And I need you for what?”

“An avatar.”

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