Reacquainted
On the corner of Bleecker and Sullivan, there lived a weirdo. Many weirdos, in fact, lived in that same building. The Sanctum Sanctorum housed many weird artifacts, many weird people, and it had many weird rooms. Under the Sanctum, individual lines of mystical power met, making the Greenwich Village townhouse a uniquely weird and truly interesting building. It was big on the outside, and even bigger on the inside. No one could ever tell Emilie how many rooms were inside the Sanctum. They couldn’t tell her how many sorcerers ever studied at Kamar-taj. They couldn’t tell her how many books were in the library, or how many different types of magic existed, or how New York came to be the place where everything took place. She could ask every question, but never get an answer. Upon first arrival, Emilie knew she could spend the rest of her life, on the corner of Bleecker and Sullivan. She also knew she could spend the rest of her life mourning Doctor Stephen Strange.
“Wong,” she called out, “Are you here?”
The Sanctum was quiet- yet again, and the emptiness made her feel lonely for a moment before she remembered how much work she had to do.
Emilie started her day but shuffling through the library, dragging her feet across thousand-year-old tile until she reached the section on cosmic manipulation. Skimming the binds until she found the right one, she plucked it off the shelf and went to find a good reading spot. On most occasions, Emilie was found on the couch by the main staircase, with the lit fireplace and a cup of warm tea. It was the perfect place to read, at least she thought so. Walking out of the library and into the entry way, she passed the front door when the sudden sound of a portal opening caused her to stop.
A gasp escaped her. The book in her had slowly slipped through her fingers, hitting the floor with a loud thud. Through the glowing orange ring stepped a ghost, no- Doctor fucking Strange.
“Comicus,” looking alive as ever, he pointed to the book on the ground.
Before she could register what Doctor Strange was referencing, he stepped towards her, bending down to pick the dusty book up. He had kept a firm grip on it, holding it and waiting for her to take it from him. But she didn’t. She just stared at him.
As shock surged through her, Emilie couldn’t help but remember the man that she was once infatuated with. Or was she still? Magic filled her bloodstreams at the sight of him. Blue robes, red cloak, perfectly trimmed goatee. She felt like this was a dream. The universe was playing a sick, cruel prank on her, giving her love then planning on taking it away again. But alas, he was real and here to stay.
“Hello,” he waved his free hand in front of her face, slightly concerned at how vacant her eyes looked. “Are you still with us?”
Strange still didn’t get a response. Taking two fingers to her neck, he attempted to find a pulse before she whipped her head back and looked disgusted.
He smirked, “so you are alive.”
“Why the hell are you touching me?” Emilie questioned
“I see you’re in a good mood today.”
Her eyes widened with shock at how causally he could step back into the Sanctum. Her shock turned into anger, a red-hot anger, thinking about how he could strut into her Sanctum, spitting sarcasm and flash that stupid smile.
“Five years, Strange. Don’t act like you saw me yesterday.” She pointed out, quickly grabbing the book from him.
All he could make out was the dark blue of her robes as she spun around and walked off. Strange started off in the same direction. Emilie ran up the main staircase, skipping every other step to outrun Strange, who was right behind her. She made it to the platform, going right up the other flight of stairs.
He said something behind her that she couldn’t make out. At the top of the staircase, her movements were halted as Strange grabbed her hand, spinning her to face him.
“You weren’t here when I came back,”
“I wasn’t aware you were coming back,” she seethed. Tears started to build up on her lower lash line. “I- we all thought you were dead.”
Strange held her hand tighter, gently squeezing to silently reassure her. It didn’t help. After years of thinking he was dead, it would take a lot more than holding hands to reassure her. Inside his chest, Strange knew it would take her some time to reopen herself. It had taken months when she first showed up to accept him.
The sorcerer stared into her eyes, remembering the grays and blues. To Strange, it felt like just yesterday she caught him staring all too long. He moved closer to his former apprentice, leaning in close enough to notice the red painting the whites of her eyes. Oh, he wished he had never left her alone all these years.
“How did you know?” She sniffled, trying to keep her sadness locked away
Strange looked down to the eye of Agamotto, an empty relic dangling around his neck. The gold canister that once held an almighty infinity stone was now hollow and, as Emilie saw it, useless.
“I used the stone to view every outcome in which we won.”
“You mean to tell me there was only one win?” Emilie scoffed, rolling her eyes, and pulling her hand back from Strange. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”
Strange sighed, “I had very little time to look at millions of possibilities. I had to not just find winners but look past the win to ensure reality stayed intact.” His words were strong.
Gripping her book tightly, Emilie glared at Strange before walking away, down the hall.
Doctor Strange stood alone at the top of the stairs, watching as she stepped into her room and slammed the door shut. He let out another sigh before going to his room, settling in the Sanctum Sanctorum once again.
Four hours, Emilie heard a rumble in her stomach. She looked to the clock on his desk.
8pm.
“Shit,” she rubbed her stomach. “I need to eat.”
Emilie placed a folded-up piece of paper in between the pages of the book, shutting it and pushing it aside. She got up, stretching her legs and arms before heading to the door. Quietly opening it, Emilie peered to the left and right, ensuring the hallway was clear of Doctor Strange. She could not be around that man right now.
When she first heard of the snap, she was alone with Wong, repairing the Sanctum after Strange had been abducted by aliens. Chaos ensued, cities fell apart, small countries crumbled, superheroes were dead, and lovers were abandoned.
Emilie assumed he was dead, gone like the rest. When the blip occurred, she stayed guarding the Sanctum as the rest of the sorcerers rushed to help the great battle. And then he came back, portaling in like he never left. To Doctor Strange, he was gone for a day, not five fucking years.
Conjuring a simple spell, Emilie’s robes transformed into a sweatshirt and jeans, which was deemed more appropriate for the public than sorcerer’s robes.
“When did you cut your hair?” The voice behind her caused the hair on her arms to stand up. He got closer and she felt him play with a few strands. “it’s blonder, too.”
“Don’t touch me,” Emilie snapped
Strange put his hands up defensively, and Emilie kept her eyes forward, set on getting downstairs.
“I haven’t eaten in a while,” Strange followed closely by her side as she walked down the steps. “care to join me?” He stuck out a hand, inviting her to go with him.
She paused, thinking about her options. It wouldn’t be too bad, would it?
“Only if you buy,”
Upon his lips, a smile grew. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to get her warmed up to him again.
“So,” Strange configured a jacket, bracing himself for the New York winter weather. “Where to?”
“Vandam and Sixth.”
“By the playhouse?” He inquired
“Playhouse closed last year, new deli moved next door and I’m craving a sandwich.”
Emilie had yet to look at him since she left her room.
“Portal?”
“It’s a short walk.”
“Em,” he let out of a deep chuckle, “it’s 30 degrees.”
Emilie swung her hand around, creating a coat for herself, then looked Strange up and down. “always peculiar about the weather.”
He huffed in defeat, turning his jacket into a puffer coat. Reaching into his pockets, he pulled some gloves out to cover his hands.
From the Sanctum to the deli, she never once said a word. Strange could only imagine the grief she went through, losing friends and family. He included himself in one of those categories, he just wasn’t sure which. The terms they left on were not the best, the unspoken relationship they had had been lost. Doctor Strange needed to fix this.
The deli looked nice, clean, and fresh compared to the other businesses on this corner. Strange hadn’t realized how much of the city deteriorated over the years, with a lack of people and a lack of workers, many places were left empty, to rot away.
The young boy at the front of the deli looked at the pair cautiously, from opening the door to standing in front of the counter. He obviously recognized the famed former sorcerer supreme, but eyeing Emilie was strictly because she was pretty. Before the kid could even ask what they wanted, Strange ordered for the two of them.
“Two muffulettas, extra provolone.” Strange handed the kid a $20 and put the change in the tip jar.
Emilie’s heart skipped a beat. He always knew what she liked. Strange knew every different order from every different restaurant. He knew how she liked coffee from Starbucks versus Dunkin versus the local place down the street. He knew what size shoe she wore (she accidentally set her only pair of shoes on fire once). And he knew she liked him. Rather, at one point in time she liked him.
“Can you stop staring at me?” She finally spoke, breaking the silence as they finished eating.
Taking a sip of his drink, “have you read anything interesting lately?”
“Lately as in the last five years, Strange?” She groaned, but he just nodded his head. “a lot of Poe.”
“I never took you as someone with an interest in gothic literature,” he stated
Emilie took a finishing bit of her sandwich, balling up wrapping paper with force. Their eyes met, but she quickly broke it. Strange focused on her face, silently praying he would give her another glance so he could admire the gray. Eyelashes fluttered, trying to avoid his stare but it caused her forehead to wrinkle. Feeling overcome with emotions he would never be able to put into words for the beauty sitting in front of him. A large warm hand landed on top of hers.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” Strange asked
“Touching my hand. You keep touching it.”
He pulled his hand back just an inch, so it was no longer wrapped around hers but close enough to feel the warmth she radiated. A moment passed and neither of them moved. She looked past him to a place where light snowflakes started to blow in the wind.
“Wong told me you went home. How was it?”
“it was nice. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”
His lips quirked up, though the smile did not appear to be out of happiness. Rather, Strange was forcing the emotion to sympathize with Emilie, though he knew he would never understand her struggle.
She noticed his gesture, and she tried to be warmer, after all she had been entirely too cold to the man she once loved. Emilie continued with a shaky voice.
“I wish I was there,” her voice cracked, “I wish I had been there to help. I didn’t know it would’ve- “
A lump was growing in Strange’s throat, feeling awful with the situation he left her in. The tears were trying to escape her eyes, but she forced them to stay still, blurring her waterline in the process. Abruptly, Strange jumped up from his seat, quickly throwing their trash away and pulling her with him.
“Let’s get out of here,” opening a portal in the middle of the deli, Strange pulled her through.
Sometimes the Sanctum felt like a haunted house. Cobwebs appeared in corners. Windows barely let in light. The ancient, dusty smell got overbearing. The lack of warm bodies in the vicinity made it feel cold.
Emilie found herself lost in doodling Sanskrit on journals and losing touch with the world. That was, until Doctor Strange found the young sorceress in her corner, hunched over on the floor. Hair covered her face as Strange observed her unique behavior. He noticed she was different since his reappearance. Before, she would recite lines of poetry over morning tea. Sometimes she would quiz him on music, then go to her room and listen to the new songs he introduced her too. Walking down the halls, he would hear the faint vocals of Van Morrison, someone he turned her on to.
A burning sensation pained her forehead, like someone was watching her. She looked up, seeing the doctor gaze down.
“I figured the chair would be more comfortable than hardwood,” he gestured to armchair on her left, and paused to see if she’d laughed. “Wong said you were advanced in transmutation.”
With a stoic expression, she said, “I am.”
“He said you’ve also become fluent in Sanskrit.” He pointed to her journal
“I am.”
He let out a chuckle, mainly due to nervousness. “I can tell you’re mad at me, and you can be, but I’m trying to get back to how it was, Em.”
She didn’t move. She stayed still, as if she was trying to see what was going on in that mind of his. Strange rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension her eyes bore into his.
“Ok,” he muttered, “Wong sent me to relay a message. He said he’s stuck in Kamar-taj, some of the students are getting sick and they’re going into lockdown. He is putting you in charge of the Sanctum.”
“Strange, I don’t think I’m ready to take over sanctum duties,” She confessed. “Why didn’t he pick you?”
“Something about being gone for five years.”
Without realizing it, Emilie started to smile. She could be mad all she wanted, but Strange was funny. And smart. And cute. It was nice to have him back, though she wished he never left. The nights she spent awake, mourning his death, all seemed meaningless. But that type of meaningless was a good feeling.
“And I got you something.” Strange added.
“What is it?” Emilie got up off the floor, stretching her legs in the process.
In front of her, Strange stuck out a hand, closing it then quickly reopening. Particles of orange and yellow twinkled in the air around a little brown rectangle. She knew the shape. It was a book, most likely something of interest if Strange wrapped it. He handed her the wrapped gift, disappearing back to his study to do research. Emilie kept it wrapped until she got to her room, shutting the door quickly then resting her back against it. She torn off the basic brown paper, letting it fall to the floor. A leatherbound copy of Le Comte de Monte-Cristo. Jumping up and down with glee, Emilie was absolutely thrilled at Strange’s kind gesture. The memory came to her with an abruptness, she had to lay on her bed. It was five years ago, either a Saturday or Sunday, she couldn’t be that specific. Strange sipped on a cup of tea in his study while Emilie recounted the story of Monte-Cristo, a childhood tale she would read back home. He expressed such an interest in her stories, never getting bored with the poetry or fiction. Lying on her bed, she opened the book to the cover page, where a message laid written for Emilie, and Emilie alone.
I’m sorry and I hope this makes up for lost time.
-Stephen
In the midnight hour, Emilie was fast asleep on her bed, still in her robes. Books had been left opened and scattered as she didn’t expect to fall asleep reading. She felt calm, relaxed, as dreams about magic filled her brain. Walking through a field of poppy, she leaned down to pick a flower and smell it. The color was vivid, bright red flowers with a gorgeous green stem. On the horizon layer a blue sky. This is what Monet dreamed of. Emilie and the poppies swayed with the wind.
When she went to pick another, the red shade lost all saturation, turning a grey, grayer than her eyes. The flowers wilted, petals falling off before the remaining flower crumbled in her hand. She let out a gasp.
The feeling was dreadful. Emilie tried to move, to run, but she was stuck in the same place. What the hell? She thought. Looking around, the entire field was colorless. This was no place she wanted to be. With her movements frozen, she started to panic, hyperventilating in the real world. A hand reached up from the field, searching for one of Emilie’s limbs to grab on to. It found her hand, digging into the flesh hard enough to break skin. Emilie cried out, looking to see trickles of blood. It was a horrible sight, the black stained fingertips and the ghostly hand tearing into her. She cried and cried.
Strange heard this. The noise from down the hall was alarming. Emilie. He took off running, quickly opening her door to find her in the fetal position, thrashing and wailing.
“Emilie!” He shouted, grabbing her shoulders, and shaking with enough force to wake her.
Emilie jumped up, seeing Strange above her. From instinct, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close so that the horrible dream would become a distant memory. She whimpered into his embrace. Tears were falling down her face, coming to grasp how the pain she felt in a dream seemed so real. Stroking her hair, he realized he wanted to make her pain go away. All the pain. The pain he caused by leaving her. The pain from her being alone all this time.
He would do anything for her.