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They're free now. What Steven would like more than anything else is to not think about anything important for a month, but he can't do that, because Marc won't stop.
Even in their moments of downtime, he's always moving. While Steven spends his time off reading his books or learning to crochet or simply sitting in front of the telly to watch Eastenders, Marc spends it shadow-boxing and jogging and doing press-ups till his muscles are tight and sore. Now, Steven's got nothing against fitness enthusiasts, everyone's got their hobby, but this feels different from working out to relax. Steven can feel what Marc feels, and what Marc feels is akin to having a bucket of live ants poured down one's spine.
He's agitated, on-edge, tense, whatever other way there is to put it. He goes a little too hard and a little too fast, and he can't sit down. When Steven gently enquires if he's okay, he merely shrugs and pushes himself even harder. And... it worries Steven.
Yes, there's the small matter that whatever happens to Marc's body happens to his, but that's not the problem. What he wants is for Marc to be okay.
So when Marc pulls himself up from a push-up session and stretches in front of the mirror, he finally says something.
"You know we're not fighting anyone anymore, right?" he says, and Marc pauses in a particularly painful looking position. "Because you look like you're getting ready for a fight."
"Who's fighting?" Marc grunts, resuming his stretch. "I'm doing a workout. Someone's gotta keep us in shape, and it doesn't look like it'll be you."
"That was uncalled for," Steven mumbles. "I'm the reason we've got a good diet, a nice, healthy vegan one-"
"Like you didn't eat seven vegan brownies in one sitting last week-"
"It wasn't seven!"
"Steven, I might not be as academic as you, but I can count. It was seven." Marc shoots him a wry smile. "Seven and a half, if you count the trimmings."
Steven wishes he could walk right out of the mirror. "You know what? I was about to show you brotherly concern, but you deserve nothing but contempt. I'm finished with you."
"Yeah, yeah." Marc pulls his leg up to his back. "What's this about concern, anyway? What have you got to be concerned about?"
"Where do I even begin?" Steven huffs. "For starters, I'm sharing a body with a royal bellend-"
"- aw, thanks-"
"- who's also an arsehole-"
"- I love you too-"
"- who's working himself to the bone." Marc's cheeky grin fades, and Steven's scowl softens. "Yeah, you'd better look guilty. You can't get anything past me."
"That's why you're the brains and I'm the brawn, right?" Marc says with a snort.
"Got it one," Steven says. "You're stressed about something, Marc. You're constantly on the go. I feel like you don't sit down at all when you take over."
"Because you do all the sitting down for me," Marc mutters, turning away from the mirror as he places his hands on the back of his head.
Not letting this faze him, Steven asks, "Are you okay, Marc?"
The quiet that follows doesn't concern Steven. He's usually the chatty one out of the two of them, the rambling Steven versus the withdrawn Marc. Though he doesn't speak as much, Marc thinks long and hard, and Steven knows he's doing it now.
"I like to stay active. That's all," Marc says finally. Steven sighs.
"There's being active, and there's tiring yourself out," Steven says. "Don't you think you should rest once in a while? Take some time out for... mindfulness, or whatever?"
"Mindfulness?" This cracks Marc's stoic mask, and he snorts. "Where'd you pick that one up? You been going to yoga classes behind my back?"
"You laugh, but maybe I should sign us up for some!" Steven says sternly. "I reckon it'd do you some good, you uptight git!"
Sighing, Marc turns back to the mirror, lowering himself to the floor and crossing his legs. "God, Steven, if you of all people are calling me uptight, maybe I do have a problem."
"Stop the press," Steven says. "Is that self awareness I'm hearing?"
Marc presses his hand against his chin, staring at the layer of dust against the floorboards.
"Haven't you ever had a hobby?" Steven asks, frowning at him. "Something you do to take your mind off things?"
"Well, my hobby used to be beating people up," Marc says with a shrug. "Enacting Khonshu's justice, risking my life, getting injured, you know how it goes."
"Unfortunately, I do now," Steven sniffs. "But that wasn't a hobby, that was the theft of your free will. I meant something like... rowing."
Marc tilts his head, now looking Steven in the eye. "Rowing? Well, I did row a boat down a river while escaping from a crime syndicate once- they were shootin' at me from a bigger boat, and I got a bullet in my-"
"Right!" Steven interrupts him, certain he doesn't want to hear the rest of that story, especially because Marc is gesturing below his torso. "We're going to find you a non-aggressive outlet. You really need to branch out more."
Marc looks about as fond of that idea as he would the idea of root canal treatment. "What the hell will that involve?"
"Something more pleasurable than getting a bullet in an undisclosed body part- and no, I don't want you to disclose which part it was!" Steven shudders, feeling a phantom pain in the lower half of his body. "You don't need to look so miserable, I'm trying to help you."
"And why are you doing that?" Marc grumbles. "I never asked you to."
"Because you've done the same for me," Steven says, and despite the moodiness of his companion, he smiles gently. "I want to repay the favour."
Though he still somewhat resembles a sullen teenager, the hard lines of Marc's face soften. The two gaze at each other, and after a few seconds of twisting his hands together, Marc gives a single, curt nod.
"Fine," he mutters. "I'll let you hook me up. But I'm not doing any boring bullshit. I don't want to go to a museum, I don't want to learn how to play chess, I don't want to do a gardening class, I don't want to-"
"So demanding," Steven says with an eye-roll. "You'll do whatever I decide without any complaints. And I'll have you know that gardening classes are very soothing and a great way to engage the mind-"
"Steven. If we end up in a gardening class, I'm gonna sign us up for a 10k marathon."
"Okay, no gardening. Got it."
***
They don't end up in a gardening class, but at a boating lake.
It's a lovely evening, something Marc didn't realise when he was holed up in his and Steven's apartment. Warm and clear with a tinge of gold. And quiet. Not in the infuriating way that Marc's become accustomed to, like the calm before the storm, where it feels like something is lurking in the silence, but a still way. Standing out here, looking at the glint of the dipping sun against the water's surface, Marc can't imagine anything of interest happening.
And he quite likes it.
... but he isn't willing to admit it.
"So... your heart was really set on rowing, huh?" he says, looking from the single boat that's been hired for him to his reflection in the lake. Steven's arms are folded, and he wears a proud grin. "This was your grand idea? Me sitting alone in the middle of a lake?"
"Oi! What did I tell you about complaining?" Steven chides him. "You've got an hour and a half with the boat, so get a move on."
"An hour and a half?" Marc says in disbelief. "There ain't that much ground to cover with this lake."
Ignoring him, Steven jerks his head towards the boat. "Get in and start rowing, Spector."
"This is so fuckin' stupid," Marc informs him, flagrantly disregarding the 'no complaints' rule as he steps onto the little boat. "I'm just a grown man, sitting on a boat with my silly little oars-"
"Do you want me to take over and throw us into the lake?"
"I'd like to see you try." Marc settles down, feeling the boat wobble beneath him. "Now what?"
"What do you bloody think? Oars!"
Sighing, Marc reaches out to take them. He knows full well what to do, so has no trouble setting off into the expanse of blue. His eyes flicker around- there are barely any other people around, apart from one couple in the distance, yet he still feels silly.
Marc Spector, rowing across a lake like middle-aged couples do. He was in the hands of a god not long ago, and now look at him. He's watching the sky change colour and dragging oars through water.
It really is a nice day. Marc tilts his head, frowning.
"So?" Steven says, breaking him out of his reverie. "How is it?"
Marc doesn't want to give him any satisfaction. "I've never moved so slowly. I'm ageing. I've got grey hairs now."
"You are the biggest infant," Steven scolds him. "This is a good thing, Marc. You've needed to put the brakes on for a while."
"So you say," Marc mutters. "I think I've been doin' just fine."
"Yeah, you would think that, wouldn't you?"
Marc doesn't respond, instead focusing on pulling the oars through the water. The rhythm is so simple that it should be mind-numbing, but he finds himself focusing on it more than he expects.
A breeze ripples through his hair, and involuntarily, Marc closes his eyes to enjoy it. It's so quiet here, so much so that he can hear everything- the oars dipping in the water, pigeons cooing, faint laughter in the distance.
He exhales slowly. This is so stupid. He's been a mercenary, he's been Moon Knight, and now he's Marc on a boat.
Stupid.
There's someone he needs to fight. Surely.
He breathes out again. The breeze returns, loosening the muscles in his shoulders as it brushes over him.
There's nobody to fight. He's just Marc on a boat.
It doesn't make sense.
"Let me help," Steven says, and Marc realises he said those last words out loud.
Opening his eyes, he leans over the side of the boat and watches Steven in the water. "There's nothing to help with."
"Marc," Steven says quietly. "Let me help. Please."
Silence returns, the boat bobs along, and Marc thinks.
"Okay," he says finally.
Steven's patient. In the same way Marc can listen to him talking a mile a minute, he can wait minutes for Marc to come up with a single word.
"Basically," Marc says. "I've... I've never felt like this. Like nothing's going on. Like I can just... be calm."
Steven hums.
"When I was a kid, there was Mom." Marc's gaze becomes distant. "Every day I was scared of what she'd do to me. Or I was hurting from what she did to me. There wasn't much time to take a breather."
His hands tighten on the oars.
"When I was a teenager, I moved out. So I was scared of different things. I had to find a way to cope with living on my own. Every day it was 'what am I gonna eat, how do I budget these last few dollars, am I gonna have to work extra shifts at that minimum wage job..."
"Go on," Steven says softly.
"When I was an adult, there was me nearly dying, and Khonshu, and Layla, and fighting. So much fighting. And death." Marc rests his elbow against the edge of the boat, staring back down at Steven. "There was always this big mission, there was always something to do. You were the one who got to take it easy."
There's real pain in Steven's eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. That's what I wanted for you," Marc mumbles. "Basically... It's just... Now we're free, and we've got our lives back, I don't know what to do with myself. It feels like I still have to fight. So when I sit on this goddamn little boat, on this nice fuckin' summer evening, it... it feels like I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here, should I?"
He should still be suffering. Struggling. That's who he is.
"You're wrong," Steven says. "I know you're used to me saying that, but I've never meant that more than I do now."
Despite himself, Marc smiles. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. You are." His voice is so kind that Marc decides he'll do anything for Steven at that moment. Anything. "You're free, Marc. You might not realise it now, but you will soon. There's no more fighting. This is you now."
"Steven..."
"Look around you."
"Steven-"
"Look around you, Marc."
Marc obliges, casting his gaze around the lake. It's beautiful.
"Who's going to take this away from you?" Steven asks. "Tell me, who?"
"... Nobody."
"Exactly," Marc can hear the smile in his voice. "You're free, Marc. Enjoy it. There's no more abuse, no more manipulation, no more burdens, nobody in control- it's just you."
Marc inhales.
"You're here too."
"Oh yeah, I am, aren't I?" Steven says. "So you won't get that much peace. Sorry about that."
"No," Marc says. "I'm... really happy like this. I- I..."
He can't say anything more, but he can tell Steven understands. "Well, that's good. Because I'm here to stay."
Good, Marc thinks. He doesn't need to say that out loud, either. But he does say, "Thank you."
Steven chuckles. "You're welcome, Marc."
Before Marc can say anything else, he clears his throat.
"Now," he says brightly. "I think it's time for me to unveil my evil intentions."
"Evil intentions, yeah?" Marc says, and when he begins rowing again, it's with renewed energy. "What's this, you've got my guard down, and now you're gonna hit me where it hurts?"
"Precisely," Steven chirps. "Now, because I have officially become your closest friend and the most important person in your life, you can't deny what I ask you without it being immoral-"
"Since when did I give a shit about morals?" Marc snorts.
"- the local university is hosting a lecture series about pre-Dynastic Egypt-"
"Wow," Marc says, in a tone that suggests anything but.
"- and I will die if we don't go. So we should book a ticket!"
"How long are these lectures?" Marc sighs. Steven's silence is very conspicuous. "Steven."
"It'll only be three hours-"
"Absolutely not."
"But-"
"Steven, if you think I'm gonna sit in a lecture hall for three hours, you've got a screw loose."
"Oh, come on, at least give it a chance!"
Marc's laughter at Steven's indignation dances across the water. As he listens to him complain, he thinks about how nice it is that they can argue about silly things now, rather than trauma and danger and death. He's never been more grateful.