The Universe's Mixer

The first time he saw the building, Jean-Paul wasn't sure if it was just the city playing tricks on him again. But the second time he went by, it was still there, managing to look neatly tucked away while standing out at the same time. Or perhaps it only stood out because it was the one place Jean-Paul's really recognized since his arrival.

Regardless of the reasoning, when he passed by for the third time, Jean-Paul stopped. This building - at least on the outside - was identical to the one Dr. Strange lived and worked in. Part of Jean-Paul knew that this could be a trap, that the familiarity was only on the outside, but if Dr. Strange was here, he could tell Jean-Paul what had happened. He probably still didn't know where Aurora was, but finding a way out of this world was the only possible step towards finding her right now.

He was on the doorstep almost before he knew it, knocking sharply on the door. He was sure the rapid noise made it sound like he was in a tremendous rush - or very angry - and while neither was particularly true (he wanted to leave as quickly as possible, of course, but if Dr. Strange was in, that meant he probably couldn't get out either), Jean-Paul cheerfully encouraged the illusion. The sooner he could get some of his questions answered, the better.

Zoe had been sleeping, or dozing; her dream, what there was of it, had been lovely, calm, and warm. She was safely in the arms of a man who loved her, but then it all changed. Things went dark. There was this sound in the distance. It sounded as if the whole world were looking to come down, or with the metallic crunch and screams, it sounded as if she were back in the trenches. She didn't want to leave the dream, wonderfully loving dream, but the sounds demanded attention.

The warrior woman sat up, reaching instinctively for the weapon that had recently been replaced by a spork. She wasn't sure what the sounds were out in the hall, but she knew the way the people cried out in pain that something very bad was going on. ( The spork and her wits were all she had to protect herself and others. )

They had changed his medication again. Maybe to keep him from getting overexcited and taking out the TV and security monitors. There was no camera in Harry's room - the device hadn't survived Harry's first glare at it. It wasn't as though he was trying to cause a disruption... only when he was. Just in little ways. To remind himself that he was, in fact, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, Professional Wizard.

But the medication now made him pretty damn exhausted, and loopy as hell. He couldn't have turned cereal into breakfast in this state. It was a good thing he was in his room, because laying facedown on the bed, his too-long legs hanging off the end, was about the only thing he could muster the energy for.

Until he remembered the small parcel the doctor had given him. Something about positive interaction with a known reclusive that Harry hadn't paid much attention to. A minor reward for good behavior. Save the world a few times, Harry thought, and I didn't get so much as an honorable mention. Talk to a fun girl, get a present. Maybe being a loony isn't so bad.

He grunted his way onto his back, groaned into a sitting position, and took the plain white-paper-wrapped item from his pocket, opening it slowly. Something glittered, and Harry paused, then tore the paper away. Inside was a silver necklace, with a battered silver pentacle amulet. The circle had been hammered in and out and back into shape, but it still fit snugly against the dark, uncut ruby inserted in the back. He held the pendant in his palm, the silver strands of the chain hanging behind his hand, and gently touched the pendant. His mother's amulet. The only possession of hers that Harry had ever known.

Harry became aware of someone looking at him. He hunched, instinctively protecting the necklace, and looked at the doorway. Another patient stood there, this one unfamiliar - but they all were, apart from Fred. Harry glared at the intruder, and gently caressed the pendant in his hand. "A visitor, preciousss," he murmured, his voice coming out like a wheeze from a rasping throat. "What has it got in its pocketses? We finds it, yes. We finds it, and we takes it, precious." The patient widened his eyes and ran off.

[Come on. Wizards can't always fall back on the "Thou Shalt Not Pass" cliche.]

"Doctor."

"Doctor."

"Doctor."

"Doctor....Wait a minute. He's not a doctor."

"Just humor him." The staff seemed more than willing to play along with one of the inmates. One who seemed to believe he really was a doctor. ( Actually he was, but that was a whole other kettle of fish. )