*hopeful tone* Moon Knight mood? Moon Knight fic?
Marc’s seen plenty of aliens in his time. This isjust…rather more of one than he’s used to seeing, all at once.
With a heave, the alien hauls himself up out of the water,shaking out the tangle of thick tentacles growing from his head in place ofhair, and then turns, offering a hand to a clone trooper in diving gear as hesurfaces. Jedi, then, Marc thinks, and takes a deliberate step back, only torun right up against plastoid armor that might as well be an immovable wall.
“Reinforcements,” Rex says, and the relief in his voicealmost makes Marc wince. Suddenly, this whole charade just got a hell of a lotmore complicated.
He can hear Khonshu laughing from here, and it’s a goddamn pain.
“They actually sent General Fisto?” Waxer asks, stunned.“But he’s beaten Grievous.”
“Maybe Grievous is about to make an appearance of his own,then.” Rex doesn’t sound pleased by the idea, but he steps past Marc, droppinga hand on his shoulder as he goes, and offers him a reassuring smile. “If theysent a Council member out, you should be able to tell him your whole story inperson, sir.”
Council member. Of fucking course. Marc eyes thedistance between the edge of the sea and the strange, twisted trees that dotUmbara’s surface, and reluctantly concludes that bolting for the treeline is abad idea.
“Why,” he says, aggrieved, “is he naked.”
Waxer coughs, and Boil, attached to his elbow the way he’sbeen since Khonshu brought Waxer back from the brink of death, snickers audibly.“Sir, you ended the raid on the Sep base in your cloak and nothing else. Idon’t think you have room to talk.”
Marc rolls his eyes, but years of ending up fighting crimein his boxers at least once every few months has left him more or less immuneto the embarrassment of the memory. “Whatever. I need my—”
His white cloak lands on his head, and Fives helpfullydrags it down to fasten it for him even when Marc hisses at him in annoyance.“No problem, sir,” he says, and grins. “We wouldn’t want anyone forgetting thatour general’s a shiny.” He gives the cloak a friendly pat, smoothing itover Marc’s shoulder, and says, “Got your lightsaber?”
It’s worse than working with Steve Rogers, thebiggest mother hen to ever live. Marc rolls his eyes, batting his hands away,and says dryly, “I even remembered to comb my hair, don’t worry.”
Fives smirks. “I couldn’t tell,” he says, and laughs at theface Marc makes at him. “Don’t worry, sir. If General Fisto and his men aremean to you, we’ll toss them right back into the ocean.”
“My hero.” Marc tugs his hood up, then takes a breath. He’dfeel better about all of this if he had his mask, or his armor, but—borrowedthermals and his cloak are going to have to do. It’s not like Khonshu left himanything else when he dumped him headlong into this dimension.
Marc doesn’t exactly mind, given where he landed—war zonessuit him, and being able to save a whole host of dying clone troopers made ahell of a first impression—but he’d have stocked up on crescent darts if he’dknown he was about to be booted through realities.
Steeling himself, Marc resigns himself to the ruse he’sgotten embedded in finally coming undone. After all, a Jedi who’s on theCouncil definitely isn’t going to buy the excuse he gave Pong Krell to getclose enough to kill him. I’m a new Knight, the Council sent me won’t work a second time,and—Marc has no idea where he’ll go or what he’ll do if he has to run, buthe’ll figure something out.
“Sir?” Waxer asks quietly, still leaning on Boil a little,still wounded, but also still kind. Coming back didn’t seem to hurt him any,and that’s almost as impressive as how he’s managed to keep his faith. Marcknows better than most how much dying can suck.
“I’m fine,” he says curtly, but takes a step forward, thenanother. The Jedi, talking with Rex, flicks a glance past the captain and cockshis head, and Marc bows to him, perfunctory, and then tips his chin towards astand of viney trees in a particularly upsetting shade of magenta.
Huge dark eyes narrow, and the alien inclines his head inreturn, then turns a bright, warm smile on Rex and claps him on the shoulder.Rex smiles back, and the Jedi says something that makes him laugh, then slipsaway from him, approaches Marc with quick steps. He’s only wearing swim trunks—skintightswim trunks—and a few leather bands around his head tentacles, but he moveseasily, unselfconsciously.
He’s also hot. Marc suddenly finds himself in the unprecedented and rather awkwardposition of understanding exactly why people might find mermaids—even theman-eating kind—sexy.
It’s aggravating.
“Well met,” the Jedi offers as he approaches, and his voiceis warm, steady. “I do not know all the Jedi in the field, but I would have tosay you do not strike me as a Pong Krell, my friend.”
Marc grimaces, twisting his fingers into the edges of hiscloak. “I’m not,” he says. “Pong Krell was forcing troopers to kill othertroopers.” Remembers Khonshu’s vicious glee when he pulled Pong Krell’s heartfrom his chest, and says, “He fell. To the Dark Side.”
There’s a long, long moment of silence as the Jedi watcheshim, and then a breath. “And you dealt with him.”
It’s not a question, but Marc inclines his head. “They weredying,” he says, and opens his mouth to confess, to tell the Jedi that he’sjust an impostor and won’t stick around—
And finds a hand over his mouth, cool, damp, and salty.Freezes there, unsure what to do, and it makes the Jedi chuckle.
“I am Jedi Master Kit Fisto,” he says, and there’s a lightin his eyes that Marc knows means nothing good for his sanity. “Forgivemy spotty memory. You are…?”
“Marc Spector,” Marc says, a little wary.
The feeling of bony fingers closing around his shoulderdoesn’t help at all.
“What a pure heart,” Khonshu says, hungry. “Don’tyou want to touch it, my knight? Possess it?”
With the ease of long practice ignoring his god, Marccontrols the blush he wants to have, dismisses the clutch of talons against hiscloak, and says, “You have wounded.” After all, healing the 212thand the 501st helped put him firmly in their captains’ good graces;there’s no saying the same method won’t work again.
“A healer, then?” Kit asks warmly, and steps close, clappinga hand on his shoulder. His fingers go right through Khonshu’s. “How fortunate!Our medic was lost in the last attack, and several of the men are sufferingfrom more than a bacta patch can cure.” He pauses, smile going crooked, andsays, “I confess I have little talent with Force healing, myself.”
That puts him head and shoulders above Marc, who doesn’thave any. Still, he at least has a god in his head, and Khonshu can earn hiskeep for once.
“I can handle anything more serious,” he says, and hopeshe’s telling the truth.
Kit is watching him, close, quiet. His smile is small, alittle odd, but when Marc eyes him warily, it splits into something far moregenuine. “I believe you can,” he says, and squeezes Marc’s shoulder lightly,then steps back. His head tentacles sway, and he cocks his head curiously.
Perfectly unwavering, perfectly aware, Kit’s eyes fall onKhonshu, still looming behind Marc, and—
He smiles.
“Glad to have you,” he says, and Marc notices what’s missingfrom that statement more than what’s in it.
Kit hasn’t called him a Jedi even once.
