Chapter 10
Stephen begrudgingly woke the next day and set about his familiar routine; cappuccino and some fruit at home, catching a taxi to Metro and having a second coffee with his best friend Dr. Christine Palmer just as she was coming off from her night shift in the ER.
One of the highlights of his mornings was being able to sit in the hospital cafeteria and let her recount the disjointed details of the night before while she poured packet after packet of sugar substitute into her coffee. The morning of November the first was always a particularly spicy story-time.
“Halloween in the ER,” Christine sighed after regaling Stephen with the tale of the college kid in a flying squirrel kigurumi costume who thought it was a good idea (after eight beers) to dive off a tree branch and “glide” into a pool. Instead, the branch beneath him broke and he hit three more on the way down. “Remember how fun they were?”
“I think my brain has put a mental block on it to protect my sanity. Neurosurgery is so much easier.”
“With comments like that; I need you to promise me you’ll donate your brain to science.”
“Way ahead of you!”
“Well, since you now know how my Halloween went,” Christine began as she ripped open another packet of Sweet ‘n Low and dumped it into her coffee, “how was yours? Spend it with the new boyfriend?”
“And Peter too.”
Stephen did not know what came over him. The moment he mentioned Peter’s name, the normally reserved doctor launched into a robust retelling of the night before; the pizza, candy, Peter’s spider costume only having six legs. He even told Christine about Peter demonstrating how one was to properly trick-or-treat.
Christine listened to it all with a wistful smirk on her face.
“Never in a million years did I think I’d hear Stephen Strange talk about going trick-or-treating with a Little…”
“He’s amazing, Christine,” Stephen sighed, “he’s so sweet and funny; he loves to build sandcastles and knock down block towers. And, of course,” he found it hard to look at her as goofy smile spread across his face, “I’m head-over-heels for his dad…”
“Well, from what you’ve told me, I think Tony might feel the same.”
“Is it weird that…?” Stephen felt the words become stuck in his throat. He wondered if there was a name for the phenomenon of being able to think something but struggle to say it out loud. “I’ve never doubted my place in a relationship. Granted, I’ve never had one last this long, but I always felt like…I was the catch.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“Yeah, well…now, I feel like I’m so lucky to have Tony and Peter. Sometimes I just watch them while we’re out at the park or dinner and I literally think Do they even want me here? How long am I going to last? Tony could easily find someone better…”
“Stephen,” Christine suddenly sat up straight, her face wrought with concern, “what are you talking about?”
“I don’t know…”
“Stephen Vincent Strange-”
“Not the government name-”
“I am fucking exhausted,” Christine continued. “But here I am, sitting on this hard plastic chair, drinking this terrible coffee just so I can spend time with you. You’re a great catch! A little egotistical and a bit on the high maintenance side, but nothing that can’t be overlooked.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Stephen smiled.
“And, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like Tony and Peter are crazy about you.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m pretty sure I am.”
Coffee and aspartame could only carry poor Christine so far.
“If I don’t head home now…I’m going to fall asleep right at this table…”
As much as Stephen could have used just another twenty minutes of best-friend-time, he knew as well as anyone what life in the ER did to a doctor’s sleep schedule.
“I’ve got consultations anyway,” he told her with a smile, “we’ll catch up later.”
Consultations were always fairly straightforward. Patients did not want to know about the surgery, they wanted to know about the odds. Odds of brain damage, odds of death. Odds that Dr. Strange will remove the part of their brain that remembers their wedding day or the birth of their child. It was all a necessary evil that Stephen did not normally mind…except that his phone kept vibrating in his desk drawer.
It's just emails or someone added something to your calendar. Focus on what you’re doing!
But what if it was Tony? What if Peter was doing something painfully adorable and Tony was sending him pictures? He could have cute Peter pictures right now, on his phone!
Stephen’s patience was rewarded when he took a late lunch at three p.m. Tony had sent him a series of above shots of Peter in his crib, still dressed in his footed pajamas and pacifier in his mouth.
Nine a.m. and he’s still passed out <3 <3 <3
Stephen checked the time on the photos. Yup, they arrived in rapid succession between nine and nine-ten. A full six hours ago. Still, he felt like he needed to send something back.
Partied too hard! Thank goodness it’s Saturday!
And then he wondered if it would be weird to ask Tony for a picture of Peter to put on his desk.
Another flurry of consultations came and went. It was now seven and Stephen was more than ready to hang up his white coat for the night. Except…he didn’t want to go home.
He wanted to go to Tony’s home.
More and more, the beautiful brownstone felt like where he belonged. Stephen had come to love the big kitchen, the playroom that devoured the first floor, Peter’s nursery and (of course) Tony’s bedroom with its secret garden.
But two nights in a row?
“Hey Strange!”
Stephen looked up to see the smiling face of one of his colleagues, Dr. Patel.
“Oh, Jan, hey,” he smiled back.
“Bunch of us are going to grab some drinks at the Rail Spike; you in?”
“Sure, yeah; I could use one!”
No, two nights in a row was definitely too much. Tony will think he’s clingy; desperate. And that’s never a good look.
So instead, Stephen headed out to the local bar and threw back three old-fashioneds and conceded to a round of chilled tequila shots.
The only reason Stephen knew he got home just after ten was became his phone went off the minute he came in the door.
It was a FaceTime request from Tony.
“Hah’llo?” Stephen greeted the phone with a lop-sided smile as he collapsed onto his couch.
“Hey cutie!” Tony was lying on his back in bed; a wiggly, giggly Peter beside him.
“Heee-eey,” Stephen slurred back, “look who it is! All my favorite people…inside my phone…”
“Stee-ben!” Peter made a happy gurgle, “’Es Stee-ben!”
“What’re you doin’ up so late?”
“Eh, he’s been feeling a bit icky today,” said Tony, “woke up with sniffles and a cough. I just gave him a bath, set up the humidifier – you can probably see the mist - and put some vapor rub on his chest.” He then turned to Peter and put a kiss on the boy’s cheek, “Didn’t daddy?”
“Yeah!”
“Aww,” Stephen made a sad face, “I’m sorry to hear you’re sick.”
“Stee-ben dah-tah!”
“Stee-ben what?”
“He’s saying ‘Stephen doctor’,” Tony laughed, “he remembered you told him you were a doctor and even asked if I could take him to see you.”
“You…,” Stephen barked a laugh, “you wanted to come see me?”
Peter’s sweet little face broke into a smile.
“Stee-ben dah-tah! All bet’tah!”
“All better….,” Stephen sighed dreamily. His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, and the spot beside Tony in the bed was starting to look really good…
“Stephen? Have you been drinking?”
“Stee-ben din-kin’!” Peter chirruped.
“A little,” he said languidly, “maybe…a lot…not sure. There were shots, I do know that.”
“No shot!” Peter’s body wiggled from side to side as he pulled a large cardboard book about a puppy over his face. “Nooo…”
“No; no shots,” Tony laughed as he pulled the book away. “Daddy promises.”
“Kay…”
“You gotta book there?” Stephen then asked, “Is Daddy gonna you a bedtime story.”
“No,” Peter cooed as he began to flip the book around, presumably to show it to Stephen, “Stee-ben read!”
“I wish I could, but I can’t see it so good…”
“Stee-ben bed?” Peter asked a bit more hopefully.
“He’ll sleep in his bed,” Tony said before Stephen had a chance to process the Little’s words. “Remember; Stephen has his own house that he lives in.”
Though Stephen was not sure how it was possible, Peter’s eyes grew larger and rounder before he let out a whimper.
“Sorry…,” Stephen offered a sad expression, “but I’ll come back really soon, okay? And I’ll read you a million bedtime stories!”
Peter nodded and turned into Tony’s shoulder with a huff.
“I think my little duck is ready for bed,” he said, “when he’s feeling better I’ll give you a call and we can make some plans.”
“Sounds good…nighty-night…”
Stephen did not remember falling asleep.
What he did remember was Tony’s choice of words.
My little duck. Not ‘our’.
But why would it be ‘our’…?
Cappuccino, taxi…but coffee with Christine was canceled.
Instead, Stephen was whisked away to the OR to assist in an emergency cerebral angiogram. Something anyone in neurology could handle, but the patient in question was a big-wig from the New York Department of City Planning and only Stephen’s celebrated hands were deemed worthy enough to perform the procedure.
Christine though was there to assist, which was always nice. Especially considering his hangover…
After the dye found the bleed and the bleed was fixed, several local news outlets began to clamor for interviews with the doctor and an update on the big-wigs prognosis.
“Just tell them I can’t divulge any personal medical information,” Stephen said.
“When did HIPAA ever stop you from showboating?” Christine asked him with a smirk.
The two were lingering alone in the wash station, taking their time to scrub down to re-dree in a clean pair of teal scrubs. There was a mountain of post-surgery paperwork to follow-up on and neither were particularly in the mood to tackle it.
“I think I’m getting too old for this shit.”
“Too old or…,” Chritine paused for effect, “too in lo-o-o-ve. Is it time for Dr. Strange to hang up his scalpel for good? Settle down with a quaint starter home in Long Island? Adopt two golden doodles and name them Rex and Champ?”
“Gross; I can already feel the knit sweater wrapping itself around my shoulders…”
“Promise me I’ll be your best man at the wedding!” Christine slapped his arm.
“Tony and I have only been dating a few months,” Stephen said in a small voice, “and, honestly, until this cabin trip with Peter…I’m not sure how well I’ll handle non-stop exposure to a Little.”
“How long’s the trip for?”
“We leave on the twenty-third of December and don’t come back until after the New Year.”
“Wow…”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, uh, excuse me? Doctor Strange?” Stephen and Christine turned to see one of the young OR nurses at the door, “There’s someone in the Little’s ER asking for you.”
“Me?” Stephen began, “but-”
Oh no! Peter!