"Your thing, not mine," he tried joking, and almost managed a wry smirk. "I think it should be hyphenated, like the Strange-Palmer Technique. Or Palmer-Strange. Only because it's alphabetical."
Of course that's why. Because it's alphabetical.
Christine was right on all counts. Regardless of everything going horribly wrong, Stephen Strange didn't know the meaning of giving up, and would pursue everything with dogged determination when he set his mind to it. That dogged determination meant that sometimes he had trouble letting go. An oddity considering life and death once seemed so clear and simple before, as a surgeon. Before everything changed and the universe unfolded itself before his eyes, and nothing seemed the same anymore. Nothing, except for Christine. And maybe, just maybe, this broken universe was telling him that was better to keep her closer than trying to keep her far away. Their story wasn't over and done with, despite his best intentions to keep her outside of this insanity.
The distant sounds of time trying not to fall apart steadily began to encroach, shattering that brief moment of near silence. He reached out and took hold of her hand.