Who: Christine & Stephen What: Catching up When: days ago. Notes/Warnings: n/a
That Stephen was an introvert was a known fact. He was often traveling alone though the astral plane while meditating, or reading a book. Any book, he wasn’t choosy and he could just as easily swap between a grimoire to fantasy fiction. He grew accustomed to the steady ticking of clocks in the Sanctum. He went out to capture magical creatures or rogue sorcerers throughout the universe, or on different planes of existence. Life became routine, and it was routine that he was used to. The sort where hours bled into one another, because his mind was occupied where his hands could no longer manage to move like they once did.
Sometimes, albeit rarely, even Steven Strange grew bored with quietude. When that happened, he usually sought out Christine.
It had been a while. He popped into her uptown apartment and an unfamiliar scream sent him stepping back through the portal quickly, ducking just in time as a cup was lobbed at his head. After the portal closed and his cloak stopped flailing, he used a spell to locate Christine.
The Tower. Of course.
He opened a portal, but instead of the medical clinic, the locating spell opened before an apartment door. He knocked on it and waited for an answer, wondering when this happened, and how he missed it.
Then again, he also forgot what month it was.
This is what made Stephen a not very good friend. A lot of the time.
Christine was happily asleep on her couch, a lame Hallmark movie playing in the background (she was fairly certain it involved an accidental pumpkin farm purchase by a high powered executive who was now in love with a candle stick maker) when her door knocked.
This surprised Christine because since moving into the Tower, she’d already started not locking the door. Why bother? The security was top notch, and the reality was, she had no friends that weren’t in the tower already. Her parents didn’t visit, and on the off chance she went out with work colleagues or old college roommates, she preferred to get drunk and wasted at their homes. It was a matter of principle, really. She didn’t want to clean up after everyone else.
“Come in,” she called out, slowly rolling to her side and rubbing a hand on her face. “If I don’t know you, say your name. That’ll help me know who murdered me.”
At least he knocked. This time. The door opened and Stephen walked into the apartment, looking around. It was filled with Christine's things, which at least offered some familiarity.
He quickly found her and eyed the television.
"Hallmark movies. Either you're hungover or you had a bad night in the clinic." He conjured her a cup of coffee, since it looked like she needed it. It floated over until it could set down within reach. "You didn't tell me you moved."
It was both a statement and a subdued accusation.
"Since when do I have to tell you things?" she asked, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee. She resisted pouring some Bailey's in -- he didn't need to know that it was neither. She was feeling a strange sense of homesickness brought on by not visiting her parents for the first time at Christmas.
"Seriously, a legitimate question. How are you able to keep track of univereses but not of me?" She took a sjp. Of course he'd added Bailey's. The fucker.
There was a precise 50/50 Bailey's to coffee ratio there.
"Here’s where I launch a legitimate rebuttal," he countered, “why are you harder to keep track of than multiple universes and dimensions?"
After the cloak flew off to hover by the tv - almost as though it was watching the movie - Stephen moved Christine's feet aside as he sat down on the couch by her.
"Did you see your parents this year," he asked, since he hadn't gotten the usual text to go for a Christmas dinner that was more akin to torture.
Christine didn’t have an answer to that. There were three places she could be -- Metro General, the clinic or her apartment. True, there was no rhyme or reason to any of that, and it wasn’t about to get any better now that she had taken over full time from Bruce. … but still. “I’m not hard to find. You just have to try harder.”
At his question about her parents, she got quiet and sipped her drink again some more, her eyes fixated on the tv. The candlestick maker’s shirt had gotten wet. He was definitely getting naked soon. “And as for my parents….no…” She cleared her throat. “I couldn’t swing it. With the clinic, and Genosha refugees, and Metro and it just being Xmas and other people legitimately wanting time off that had families they really wanted to see…” She gave him a terse smile that was clearly at odds with how she was feeling. “I’ll go at Easter. You and I both know they go full Catholic and celebrate for the entire week. They’ll probably appreciate that more...and my mother’s ham is slightly less dry than her turkey.”
Another lame smile.
“My parents send their hellos though. I’m sure my father misses you.”
Not.
None of that sounded good, and he squinted a little as he watched the television as well. He made a mental note to 'try harder' but honed in on the content of what she was watching and what she was saying.
"Your father doesn't miss me. He'd rather drill a hole in his own head," he pointed out. "It's probably good you got a break from them. They seemed ready to throw bibles at me last year. I was ready to throw a few grimoires back at them."
He stared with an expression as flat and bland as cardboard as the candlemaker's shirt came off.
"You only watch Hallmark movies when you're so fed up with everything that you can't hack anything else." He looked over at her, gaze unwavering. "Do you need help in the clinic? You can't do it all by yourself."
Says the guy who does everything mystical by himself.
The mental image of her father dodging grimoires was priceless. Unfortunately, her father would probably comment on how those evil tomes didn’t exist and would stay in place, being pummeled rather than acknowledge it. Sigh.
Christine gave him a side eyed look before nudging him with her shoulder. A little bit of the tension went out of her body as she slowly leaned on him. “Careful, Stephen,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Keep that up, and I’ll think you care. We can’t have that.”
With her free hand, she placed it on his thigh, lightly stroking it.
“I did mean to call you. I actually remember pulling my phone out to tell you you were right like always, and it made way more sense for me to move into the tower than to keep pretenses that I’m an independent woman who don’t need no man. Instead, I sent you that meme, remember? The one with the chocolate breaking where it wants to break because again, independence?” She shook her head with a chuckle. “I thought you’d understand the subtext.”
She didn’t. It was just a funny mental image and now she was wondering if he’d believe her. “And I’m okay. I can do it all. It’s the only way I can keep eating and drinking the way I do, and not gain weight. Intermittent fasting, and all that jazz.” She paused. “But thanks. Again. Starting to think you care or something.”
It would be difficult to dodge the books that bite. Although only a few of them had actual teeth. It wasn't wise to physically turn the pages, or fingers would be lost. The more that he mused about it, the more appealing that it seemed…
He leaned a little against her in response, a wry smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. It was hard for him not to reek of smugness, to make a timely quip about how at least the meme was as amusing as the topless pics she’d sometimes sent. But it didn't seem like the time for it either. She seemed quieter and more contemplative. Soon enough, they'd be back to being sarcastic again in no time at all. No need to pop this bubble too soon.
"Nothing can break you, Christine," he said, resting one hand over hers. It wasn't to stop her, but he did need to let her know one thing. "Because I care about you, I'm letting you know that this isn't a booty call. I meant to call you too, and I got sidetracked. Being an independent learner."
More like 'independent overachiever' but he had an existential crisis complex that might possibly rival Stark's, as far as trying to prepare for any impending threats went.
Christine gave him a look followed by a smirk and a squint.
“Okay, are you the right universe Stephen? Should I be asking you a question only you know?” She grinned and leaned over, giving him a quick kiss and a nuzzle into the neck. “Actually nope, I don’t want to know. I like this Stephen. He has emotions and expresses himself. Or is that what you’ve been studying? How to make friends and influence people?”
On the TV, the scene faded to black, and now a grandmother had discovered the two in flagrante delicto. “I haven’t read a book in so long … I wish I had time. Same as just relax. I mean, you know as well as I do -- when things slow down, they also get busier. I’m so worried about all the Genosha people, and our own little group..” She trailed off.
“And then I think about my parents and how clueless they are in everything…. It’s been a weird pensive holiday for me too. I’m glad you’re here though. I missed you.”
Stephen stared straight forward with an absolutely blank expression as grandma discovered the two main characters doing the horizontal limbo. That image was going to burn into the old woman's brain during any subsequent holiday movie sequels that Hallmark might greenlight.
Since she might suspect him of actually being somewhat normal, he cut that off at the pass with, "More like several methods of turning combative mystical creatures from the inside out. Boiling digestive juices is always an option."
Despite that disclosure, he took her hand in his own and held it, with as much pressure as he could manage without the familiar old pain in his hands beginning to intensify.
"I missed you too. But you can't save everyone by yourself," he said, knowing he was being a hypocrite saying so. He did a lot of his work alone, but he had Wong to fall back on too. He was also the only one who could do what he was doing, and that Christine still had some options so she could read and relax from time to time. "You already know, you're going to have to ask for an assistant to see your parents. With Bruce gone, it's going to be too much for you to do. Especially during emergencies."
Being no stranger to comfortable silences, he let it set in. Christine might appreciate it from the old days when he used to talk about himself too much.
It also meant she could watch this Hallmark movie travesty in relative peace.
Christine smirked at his comment about his reading. There was the snark and the backpedaling. Typical Stephen. It was also in his nature to try to problem solve before there even was a problem, and she hadn’t honestly thought about how she didn’t even have a nurse. There were a few high school kids kicking around, maybe she could do some First Aid training for them, get them to learn how to work the system so they could at least hold down the fort until she could be portaled there.
Hmm…
That was something to worry about later. Instead, she would focus on this awful movie, the fact that her life-mate thing was snuggled up next to her (okay, she was the one snuggling but whatever) and later, she’d convince him to get naked with her. That was enough for today.