( what is real? )
In the end, she goes with simple—a nice silk blue button-up shirt that brings out the grey in her eyes nicely, a grey skirt that’s dressy and fun to twirl and not too confining because she hates pencil skirts with a passion, a blue silk scarf, and some rather beautiful grey dress boots that she’s tempted to use on a daily basis until she remember the ichor present in some of the idiotic monsters that love to attack Earth.
The Mirror World only protects architecture and people, not clothing. Unfortunately.
She doesn’t miss the impressed surprise from Chris as she opens the door when he knocks. He’s suddenly shy and dumbfounded again and it’s a nice feeling.
The Cloak is sulking, but is slightly mollified by the fact that it’s Chris. Wang is doing her library work from the Sanctum Sanctorum, as there’s been no others assigned to this Sanctum yet and no one feels comfortable with leaving one unguarded so soon after—
She swallows. After Dormammu.
Chris notices her sudden tension and takes her hand, lacing his fingers through her own. It’s more reassuring than she remembered.
She’s glad that he chose to do their little date after Valentine’s. She’s not sure she can handle the crowds yet. At least she’s admitting that now. And that, rather than driving her anywhere, he’d opted for ‘a romantic walk’. She’s sure that it’s a concession to her fear of cars, now, and equally grateful that he’s not saying a word about it.
He brings her up to date on the latest hospital gossip, which includes West looking stupid all of her own volution. He listens patiently and doesn’t interrupt as she explains several of the creatures she’s fought since then, though his grip on her hand tightens slightly. He’s more at ease with the few stories she has of some of the novices at Kamar Taj. Actually asks about possibly visiting, to which she smiles shyly. “Well, it’s not like I don’t visit you at work often enough,” she responds dryly.
They have to stop at the park for Chris to sit in one of the benches long enough to stop giggling helplessly.
And then they reach their destination, and one of her eyebrows raises. “Santiago’s? Really?”
“It’s expensive, I remember, though my salary has gone up since you…retired?” He almost swallows the last word, but she waves him on. “I have been eating ramen for a few days to save the room,” he admits, and that earns one of Strange’s deep, resonant laughs, and they step forward together, ready for the world, and Palmer thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful.
(Strange privately agrees.)
( Finally Ready ) Stephen.
I’m not going to apologize.
Funny, I’ve heard that before.
I saved lives.
What about your life?
That was you.
…I don’t expect you to apologize for that, either.
The Cloak comes back, and the two humans are talking. The Doctor is speaking haltingly, but she is talking, which is more than she’s done in a long time.
They try not to look smug, but Steph rolls her eyes at them. “I can see you there,” she points out, sounding slightly more alive, and they preen anyway, handing both cups. The Doctor has the strength to look sarcastic again and it’s nice. Still, she looks grateful. All in all it’s a good day.
“Tea?” Palmer looks confused. “You never used to like tea.”
Strange laughs. It’s an actual laugh and startles them all, but that’s definitely a smirk now. “It was too normal for me. I didn’t want to be the woman daintily sipping tea.” She sighs quietly. “The ginger helps the pain, though, and tea is wonderful for helping with recharging from magic use.”
Palmer looks uncomfortable, but to his credit doesn’t shy away from it. “I think I’m owed an explanation on that front. How’d you go from a woman who wouldn’t give the fortune-teller at the circus the time of day to being a sorceress in a cult?”
“It’s not a cult!” she responds automatically and then sighs. “For one thing, no sign of those stupid suicide pacts or ‘dues to the Masters’ or anything. We’ve dealt with enough casualties being dropped by the hospital to notice those signs.” She’s quiet for a full minute. “…I’ll admit that I had my worries, a lone woman traveling halfway across the world in search of a promised miracle cure. The Ancient One worried me a little before I realized that he was more interested in treating us all like wayward lost children than anything nefarious. And now that he’s dead…”
“The man in the hospital?” Chris asks, confirming, and Steph nods.
“I suppose if you want to categorize the Avengers as a cult, then you might have a point. Especially with what Stark’s been doing lately, treating any dissention as a sacrilege. I think of cults as empty, unable to fulfill their promises. We actually practice magic, and I haven’t seen kool-aid at a single meeting.” The Cloak doesn’t understand all the words, but Chris laughs.
“But your hands—” He’s staring blatantly.
The Cloak freezes, shivering a little.
“There’s so much.” Her voice shakes like her hands, so she sets the cup down on the table. “I’ve been telling myself that I don’t want to make a mistake, that I could make it worse. I have the power. I could turn back time, regain these beautiful masterpieces, but there are consequences for meddling with time and I’m not sure that I want to pay any more than I already have, but it’s more than that.” She crosses her arms defensively and tries not to shiver. The Cloak swoops in and cuddles her shoulders, feeling her shake. It’s hard to tell whether it’s fear or cold. “I don’t want to go back to who I was. I don’t want to forget the lessons I’ve learned. Your watch is a reminder of that. Just because I have the power doesn’t mean I should use it.”
Chris frowns, then smiles. “You mean, magic doesn’t offer the magic pill any more than those fools on TV?”
That earns a grin. “Everything has side effects. Everything has consequences.”
“Well, I’m glad you could learn that. And that it’s not all about you. And that you’re still alive, you idiot,” he responds, and wraps Steph in a hug, and the Cloak wriggles out and joins in, covering them both in warmth and affection.
Strange is screaming.
Oh, not outwardly. Even in this, her lowest hour, she does what she can to maintain her dignity, even when keeping silent involves biting her lip so hard she’s drawing blood and by the look on Chris’s face, he’s worried that she’s going to bite clear through her lips. In a moment of sheer morbid anger she thinks, well, why not. She’s already messed up her hands, what good is she?
All the more reason to cling to what she has left, really.
She knows that despite the disavowal of any sexism on the part of the hospital…anyone affiliated, really…they’re rejoicing. She’s no longer there to ruin their little boy’s club. No longer making them insecure in their masculinity (and really, if it takes one brilliant woman to do that, they deserve it) by her very presence. Not with the cars and the watches and the salary that makes her every bit one of them. They love to watch her fall like this. Some of them are probably thinking about a raise, a restructuring, the fact that she won’t be there to flaunt her skill in their faces and make them all look bad.
It shouldn’t be how it works. Really it shouldn’t. They should get extra prestige from working at the same hospital as Doctor Strange (and they do, in fact, they’re just so blinded by everything else that they can’t see what they actually get out of it).
At least Chris isn’t like that. He’s straightforward and open, and despite the fact that he doesn’t always believe in himself, he’s not made insecure by her. Or, well, he is, a little, but that doesn’t lead to resentment or anger. She drives him crazy sometimes with the showing off, but she’s fairly certain a part of him loves that, too.
Still, passing out is better than dealing with this reality, so she elects to do that.
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timeasmymeasure
