[11 - THE LIBERTY OF ESCAPE]

♆

The tresspasser twitches once. Twice. His writhes are timed to his unmistakable howls of pain. And he plunges to his knees, his head in his fisted hands.

The swathing dirty bandages disperse in a flash, the angular cowl vanishes, and what's left behind is an unfathomable man. Just a surface breather struggling to tap into his consciousness. When he manages a glance up at Namor, his wide eyes are haunted and sleepless. He attempts to move, but it's like he's been disconnected from his psyche. He falls back to the floor.

"My mission... needs me," he rasps, rubbing a hand down his face. His posture gets hunched like he has just taken the world's greatest beating. 

"You play games with a king!" Namor reacts, threatened by his audacity. His aggressive tone makes Mira shrink, her hands tight over the skin on his neck. 

"Okay, shit. I'm sorry about the... that—that wasn't me." He shuts his eyes, mortified. When he opens them, he is doubtless. He knows what he wants. "Look, my name is Marc Spector," the trespasser announces, his eyes flickering to Mira tactfully. "And I am, technically, the Fist of Khonshu. I am here to bring about an—your understanding of the situation." His flick is almost unnoticeable as if a voice had just yelled a curse in his ear. 

"Peacefully," he presses.

"You don't speak of peace and take the law into your hands, Marc Spector," Namor warns, testing the name. "These are still my lands, my seas, and the child you want is one of my people."

"I know, I know." Marc pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. "But it's not like you guys have a telephone around here. I couldn't exactly drop a line to a subterrene cave—"

Namor raises an impeding hand. Marc clicks his jaw close, nodding.

"Alright, great. We're understood." He, then, motions to the baby. "The girl. She's the complication. She isn't protected here. I need you to give her to me—hey, back off. Can we all, please, just...? I don't want to hurt anyone."

Attuma appears from beyond the hut, his hands bearing his immense axe, cleaving through the tension. He bares his teeth at the intruder behind his rebreather, putting himself in front of his king to bear the brunt. 

"This foolish worm has come to die," he growls in his mother tongue. Marc has his arms lifted in defence, assessing the commotion and observing the king. Namor doesn't move a muscle. 

"Wait, wait, I know you're angry. Just please hear me out. I know the kid's mother," Marc says, breathing out loud. "Kinara Emani. I know her, okay?"

"That's my ma!" Mira instantly elates to Namor, his first step in placing faith. She is smiling wide while Marc tilts his head in awareness. He waves at Mira hesitantly with a quiet 'hi'. 

"Do you know this man, Mira?" Attuma asks her, his voice easing off the wrath. 

She makes a quizzical moue. "No. But, I've heard mommy say his name sometimes. On the phone."

"That's me," Marc quips in time. "We had to keep it that way. No loose ends."

"Are you her lover?" Namor growls.

Marc's eyes widen in shock. "What? No. No way. That's crazy—"

"But you know of this child's ailment?" Attuma asks, choosing to favour Mira. He unfixes his axe's aim, but he doesn't loosen his grip. With Namor's lidless eye, he doesn't take his chances. 

"The water," Marc admits softly; pained. "It's killing her."

"And you offer us a solution?" Namor eventually triumphs.

"I offer," he thinks for a moment, "something like that."

"Can you fix her?" Attuma asks.

"Look, I can help you understand what this could cause. Khonshu watches all, and I came here as soon as I connected the dots. Mira, the tides, the imbalance. It all came together."

"You speak of the tides," Namor notes. "How would you know of our tidal patterns?"

"I know of the surges you're facing. The creatures in your oceans. I told you," Marc sighs, "Khonshu knows all."

☾

FOUR YEARS AGO.

Marc Spector was never the kind of person to get up at this hour while aware of his consciousness. His working arrangement was to get violently ripped out of his waking dreams to work out the never-ending demands of a vindictive bird god. It wasn't even ultimata anymore, it was the inexplicable frustration of never being good enough for Khonshu.

On a midnight mission to track down a glass of milk, Steven's persuasive grumble got as clear as the day straight ahead. Marc rolled his eyes—with alters like this in his head, it's no wonder therapists don't work on him. He'll have to call up a medicine man.

"And you know who would love to chat with me about the bracelet of Nimlot?"

"C'mon, man."

"Kinara."

Marc twisted the cap on the milk. "Urgh."

Steven was too far gone, mooning over a fantasy. "She's amazing. I could talk to her for days."

"What is with you," Marc looked at Steven's reflection on the shining fridge door, "and married women?"

"Except Kinara's divorced."

"That hasn't stopped you before. Exhibit A: Layla."

"Don't be ridiculous, I don't like her like that. I only admire her philosophies. Why would someone so bloody smart not work where they belong?"

Marc shook his head, taking a long swig from the bottle. He bit his lip. "Not my problem."

See, that's the thing: he wanted it to be, once upon a time. 

Marc became acquainted with Kinara from their first and only year together in university, and through cautious, sincere discussions, he had increasingly developed a fondness for her. It wasn't a dour infatuation, he just wanted to call something his own for once. Marc never truly gathered the courage to ask her out—she was too out of his league—and that was until Kinara, quite unbeknownst to his feelings, explicitly made it known that she had no plans to be spoken for anytime soon. That didn't break his spirit, though. 

Orion Carter did. That lonesome, green-eyed overachiever and his South-Park-esque humour, his giant headphones, his carved beard, his everpresent labcoat, his droopy bouquets, his dirty looks. He had Kinara falling hook, line and sinker; the only way he would ever describe the intentions of that boy. Or maybe that was his jealousy talking. 

"He feels kinda off to me," Marc would tell her. 

And she had only given him a playful punch on the arm. "Hey, now. You just haven't talked to him that much. When you get to know him, he's lovely."

Marc understood it then: when you grow up lacking something, you spend the rest of your life trying to win more of it. That was what Kinara did, but none of it was for her own good.

And Marc did get over her eventually, but that was it—he never saw her around afterwards. She had upped and disappeared with the boy without a word to her friends. The last he had heard of her through the grapevine, Kinara had happily settled uptown with her gilded college sweetheart in a penthouse flat that was too oversized to be called a home. He imagined her with a big family, she had always wanted to feel like she belonged. Marc was glad when he heard she was living it up just the way she had dreamed it.

So you can imagine Marc's surprise when this impression of twelve years ago walked past him on the deafening streets of Covent Garden, too lifeless to be his memory. It couldn't be her, could it?

"Kia?" he'd called out to her, a few fond recalls prompting him on. It was impossible to reassign this reality to a dream. 

"It's me. Marc Spector. Remember freshmen year?"

As if awakened from a trance, she had blinked up at him. Awareness was like a slow drip into her memory and she burst out into jubilant laughter. Right there, on the cold winter pavement, Kinara's warm arms opened wide to swallow him with a hug. 

"Omigosh, Marc!"

"Hey," he breathed, too dumbstruck to say anything more. Why would she make it so personal? Like he was some knight on a white charger who had finally come to her aid?

"How are—" Upon his quick once-over, Marc's stomach twisted at the sight of her swollen abdomen under her overcoat. Of course, this was the bottom line.

It only made sense for someone as affectionate and selfless as her to have taken on the role of a mother. He cupped the back of his neck, no clue as to what made him this unsettled. 

He couldn't find the words. "You... wow. Congratulations."

"Oh, yes. Thank you." Her gentle hands went one on top and one under her belly, cradling it. She hesitated; her face, glinting from the eerie headlamp flashes, looked grieved. It vanished with a large inhale and in its place was a forbearing smile. 

"It's so good to see you, Marc. You have no idea," she spoke throatily.

It's not like he wanted to give a shit. Those times were in the past. There must be some predetermined clause in the inventory of the puppy-love-turned-compassionate friend, but he was not ready to accept it. The scent of bad news radiated off her, and Marc was all about bad news.

The last reserves of his emotional transparency allowed him to step forward and ask—"If you're free right now, I'd love to catch up with you. Talk about old times."

She bit her lip, still cagey to the idea of being in Marc's presence. He should've known that the moneyed husband of hers would've set a moral quota on her. Look at what he'd done to that lighthearted girl from college. 

Marc continued to rest his gaze on her, darting a weak smile. "I work at a museum now, y'know? Just got promoted to a temporary tour guide. It's a necktie party, but at least I get reimbursed."

It worked; she was diverted from her priority. She let out a flustered giggle. "You? At a museum? I thought you'd end up with the corps or something."

Well, she wasn't wrong about that. He tilted his head ahead of the street. "C'mon, I'll tell you about it."

It was hard to encourage conversation, especially when Kia held herself with such reserve and Marc's only companions were all inside his screwed-up head. Steven was practised in picking out social cues unlike Marc, and something had spurred him on to help him out. The bruising abrasions that peeked out her wrists, the hollowness under her eyes, her eyes always glancing to the nearest exit, picking at the skin on her neck—Kinara had been ravaged by a nightmare. 

"Okay, fuck this, Kia. Stick to the facts and talk to me," he rushed to say when they started hedging topics, unable to curb his curiosity. 

"Marc," she warned quietly. 

He leaned forward to make a point. "No, you are not yourself. He did something, didn't he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, you're gonna play dumb?" he urged.

"It's," she sighed, "not like that."

"It is like that. I can tell." His voice turned to a whisper. "So, tell me."

He could feel the fever of delirium curl around his fingertips when she gradually, albeit dubiously chronicled her last five years. It made him wonder if the trauma was working around her realities. Orion's accusations, his accedence to his breakthrough, her severe biopsies. The numbing loneliness that pursued her pregnancy. The more Kia said, the more he wished Khonshu would give him the signal.

"I can't stay for long," Kinara eventually trusted him enough to whisper to him, vigilant of her surroundings. "I don't know who to trust, Marc. It's like he's watching my every move. I'm in my last trimester and I can't hide it any more. I don't even know if I'll get to meet my—"

"Don't," Marc interrupted. 

She ran her fingers into her hair, exhausted. "I have nothing left except this baby. She's my last circumstance. If Ri finds out about this, I'm afraid for both our lives."

"Why?"

"It just feels like he wants something from me. The other day, he called me up and pestered me to meet him in person. And then shows up at my doorway the next minute! Thank goodness I wasn't showing that much then."

"And that scared you?"

She appeared spooked. The words came out in a rush, jumbled with her reflections. "He just sounded so savage. He was literally interrogating me. Why did you go to meet the OB again? What did she tell you? Did she give you a folic acid pill? Like, how did he know that, right? I know it, Marc, he's had someone following me. And you see, he gets... obsessive. As if he'll turn me into his lab animal for the sake of humanity's advancement or something."

Marc looked away, frustrated. No likely causes, just plain old mania. The greatest evil, Khonshu would say, was the fortified ideologies of a good man. Unrelenting and foolish. Kinara had been subject to that and now look at her, too consumed to fight back. Only enough to escape.

The pieces slowly fall into place. It clicked and Marc lifted his eyes back to hers. He couldn't help himself—this could be something good to make up for the horrible decisions of his past. 

"Okay." He rubbed his forehead and continued in a hushed tone, "Let's say, I get you out of here. In two days. Where would you go?"

Kinara considered it for a moment, probably wondering how a tour guide would have access to such surreptitious affairs. Then shook her head cluelessly. At least she was playing along, Marc was optimistic but kept it casual. 

"Don't you have someone to inform?" he insisted, his expression softening.

She shook her head again. "No one. Only me."

"And me." Kinara's lips curved into an instinctive smile at that. "I've got your back." He eyed the little bun in the oven. "Both of yours."

Her eyes sought out his, full of questions. "Why are you helping me?"

"I'm following my conscience," he said simply.

"Bullshit."

"Fine," he shrugged, brushing her off. "But it's not up to you to make the judgment call here. We see it through till the end, clear?"

Marc was the first person to know that escape was a commodity like nothing else. And if it was up to him to offer it to another, he couldn't think of anyone else's dire straits that were truly this desperate. And to leave her holding the baby would mean him being the world's grandest dickhead. 

"Thank you," Kinara told him, earnest with gratitude. She reached forward to squeeze his hand. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"By not questioning how I'm going to pull this off," he admitted. "And maybe some hard cash for the rest of it."

"Anything. I'll have you know Orion has me well compensated." She rolled her eyes. "His way of throwing back the radioactive residue, that was our marriage. I think he assumes it's to make me feel guilty about leaving him."

"Jesus," Marc muttered, snickering. 

"I'm serious. Six zeroes on that check. I counted."

"I'd be happy to take it off your hands, ma'am."

Kinara stuck her tongue out at him playfully, and before he knew it, flashes of the old Kinara were already shining through. It was relieving to know that a familiar part of her persisted despite the bitterness she faced. 

"But, Marc, how will you... what are you..." She paused and pressed her lips together. Then she nodded with a convinced glimpse at him. 

"No questions asked," he bargained.

"No questions asked," she approved. She held up a finger. "Except one."

He laughed under his breath. "Yeah, I'll bite."

She tapped on the wedding band on his ring finger with a genuine smile. "When do I get to meet the lucky person?"

A second life would not be effortless. Not to a woman so heavily pregnant, grasping at straws to keep two lives safe. Marc tried his best, the farther the better. A place that was the most distant from their timezone. A whole future away. Kia was unquestionably ecstatic about Japan, however it was quite the reality check once she made it home. She was alone, this was her life now. Safety would not be a concern. And moneyward, there were no issues—he had bought her a stately home, out of the prying eyes of youths, teeming with elderly. It was the perfect getaway.

"Hey, so, didja get the parcel yet?" Marc asked through the webcam, sidetracking her anxious objections about baby-proofing stairs. He was worried; it was his first baby shower present. 

Kia shifted her laptop toward the entrance where the brown package with the evident markings of a bassinet waited. Her contented laugh echoed out his speakers.

"You didn't have to," she said. She walked to it and gave the box a sad knock. "I wish I knew how to fix it. I'm not exactly handy with a wrench."

Marc snickered. "Then don't bother picking one up. You'll have your handyman there next week."

She whipped her head to the webcam with widened eyes. "What?"

"Yeesh, baby momma. You got big. Look at you." Immediately, Kia's eyes softened and she went to nestle her belly fondly. "Layla will shoot me dead if I let you go through the delivery alone."

"You shouldn't have to do all this for me," she stated quietly while walking to the dining table and shifting the camera back into focus. 

"Try and stop me."

Marc could see her in the daylight, noticeably glowing. Pregnancy glow, as Layla had called it. Kia had finally put on some healthy weight and started taking care of her skin, going so far as to apply some perfume before going out. He made sure either he or Layla kept in touch with her every week as Kia chronicled her comings and goings.

Marc went to Kia, a little reluctant and hopeless, not knowing what to expect. It was awkward for him to be around her, assuming the interim role of the spouse in the home. It was all Steven, of course, he couldn't be a caregiver for jackshit. Protector, yes. He could not grasp the idea: in a matter of days, Marc's substantial responsibility would extend to a tiny baby. A helpless, small human with nothing to her name but her mother. This was what it must be like to be a parent. 

So when Kia appeared at his side at three am, shaking him awake with a giant smile, Marc allowed himself to feel more freely. She had no inhibitions around him, she welcomed him like a brother. 

"Marc, do you feel her? She's kicking!" she squealed, grabbing his hand to place it over her stomach. "Oh, I love you, my Mira. Mommy loves you so much, baby girl."

If he were standing, he would've fallen to his knees. It was such an immense rush upon sensing the surge from underneath, like a ripple over water. Surreal. He felt his vision blur—fucking sensitive Steven.

"Mira," Marc echoed softly and felt another push against his palm. "Mira Emani."

☾

THREE MONTHS AGO.

Dear Marc and Layla,

I can't do it. I can't watch Mira suffer anymore. It is getting so much worse, and it pains me. As her mother, I have to find a way to heal her. Something. Anything. Anybody.

I've been doing a little research these past few weeks, and I believe I can find some answers with the tribes in Yucatán. I have learned that their experience with illnesses like this expands generations. I attached some of my notes for your reference, but I doubt it makes sense to you. I know it sounds insane, but I have to try. 

Which is why Mira and I are leaving Kyoto tonight. 

All I ask from you is that you keep Mira's father away. I can only assume my newest undertaking has already gotten through to him. He'll be on my case in no time. 

To avoid the worst, I will be unreachable after, so this is to let you know before I contact you next time - thank you. It won't suffice, I know. Thank you for this quiet life and everything you've done for my baby girl. 

You're a good man, Marc, with a generous heart. I am sending all my love to you and Layla. I urge you not to worry. I know what's at stake, and I can handle this. 

I hope you will soon understand why I need to do this. 

Until we meet again. 

Love, Kinara.

∞