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There was nothing special about the battle. There had been hundreds like it before, minor incursions from other dimensions, upstart sorcerers or straying demonic overlords. As usual, Master Strange had been in the midst of it. Their Sorcerer Supreme had never been one to lead from behind.
The fight had been swiftly concluded, with minimal casualties among the masters and disciples of the mystic arts. A few minor injuries, physical and magical, but nothing a cup of tea and a night in the healer’s wing wouldn’t cure. The news that Master Strange had collapsed after he returned to Kamar-Taj was unexpected, and sent ripples of agitation through their small community.
The healers were surprisingly tight-lipped, but their grim faces did not go unnoticed. Nor did Master Rasputin’s arrival from London. Only serious business could draw a Master away from the stewardship of his or her Sanctum.
Master Rasputin did not share any news when she emerged many hours later, retiring to one of the rooms in the visitors’ quarters without so much as sitting down for dinner in the commissary. Those who saw her remarked that they had never seen the Sanctum master--who had a reputation for being quite passionate, and a formidable opponent--look so solemn.
But of course, nothing remained a secret for very long when so many people lived in each other’s pockets. No one knew who had first shared the news, but by morning it had spread through the compound like wildfire. Master Strange was dying.
Not of any nefarious causes. Although he did not have his predecessor’s tenure, it had been many decades since the former surgeon had assumed the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme. There had been rumors about a deal with Death itself, and a very curious ankh-shaped mark that would sometimes appear when the man was injured. Most assumed that it also bore some relation to the fact that he looked scarcely a decade older than upon his arrival at Kamar-Taj, instead of the nearly half-a-century it had actually been.
But apparently there was a limit even on bargains with Death. And so it came to pass that the inhabitants of Kamar-Taj (and quite a number of practitioners the world over) gathered in the compound’s courtyard on a mild autumn morning, to bid farewell to a man who had guided their order for longer than most of them had been a part of it. The crowd was surprisingly quiet, given its magnitude.
Master Strange could have come out on one of the balconies that overlooked the courtyard. No one would have blamed him if he had. But instead he made a slow journey through the midst of those gathered. Master Rasputin walked to his one side, and Master Wong at his other. Master Wong had been at Kamar-Taj for even longer than Master Strange. Apparently, that had been part of the bargain as well.
There were many fond, though sorrowful, words of parting. All were careful not to shake one of those always tremoring hands, or jostle the man too roughly. Although neither the Cloak of Levitation nor his two companions would have permitted that. But all too soon, their Sorcerer Supreme stood at the side of a portal that opened at the edge of the courtyard. It framed a winding path up a gently sloping mountainside, not far in geographical terms from Kamar-Taj itself. A short distance along the path stood a small cottage.
For a moment, he paused. Then he smiled, and quietly gestured Master Rasputin to stand in front of him. The gathered sorcerers watched as he carefully doffed the Eye of Agamotto, leaving behind only a simple brass ring on an equally unadorned chain. He settled the pendant (and the Infinity Stone it held) over Master Rasputin’s bowed head, before the younger master embraced her mentor.
Then, with Wong at his side, Stephen Strange walked through the portal and out of Kamar-Taj for the last time.
--
Morgan Stark was a busy woman. But she had learned at a very young age that it was important to make time for the truly meaningful things in life. She thought perhaps that this had been a lesson her father taught her, although she could not quite remember for certain.
“Morgan! Hey, wait up!” She slowed her steps, heels clicking more slowly against the tile flooring of the corridor outside her office. She smiled fondly as she glanced over her shoulder.
“How’s it going, boss?” The words were spoken with an equally fond tone, and a familiarity tempered with respect. Peter Parker had never outgrown either his traditional upbringing or his naturally agreeable personality. Morgan wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Well enough. How’s my favorite research scientist today?”
Peter loped genially alongside her, the human equivalent of a vivacious Golden Retriever. “Pretty good! We’ve had a breakthrough with the new biofuel recovery system, cut our losses by at least 37 percent. Oh, and MJ and the kids send their love, and hope you’ll be able to join us this weekend. Ben’s in town, and Antonia’s home from college.”
Puppy dog eyes would be a good description of the hopeful gaze the inventor sent her way. Morgan laughed. “Sure, tell MJ to save me a seat.”
“Will do.” Peter cleared his throat, hands retreating into his pants’ pockets and shoe of one converse--something else he had never grown out of--scuffing nervously at the tile.
They had arrived outside of Morgan’s office. She darted a brief look at the circlet on her left wrist, ignoring the scrolling data to focus on the small numbers that signified the current time. 7:58 AM, Eastern Standard Time. Morgan took a deep breath, and reached out a hand to pat her friend and colleague reassuringly on the arm.
“Hey. You alright?”
Peter smiled wryly. “Yeah. It’s just...it never gets any easier, you know?”
“I know.” And she did. But this was an obligation they could not shirk, not that either of them truly wanted to do so. “But he’s lived a long life, and done a lot of good for a lot of people. Don’t let them see you cry, Parker.”
Peter nodded resolutely. In a way, they both knew how fortunate it was to even have the chance to say goodbye. Sometimes, fate wasn’t so kind. Squaring her shoulders, Morgan pushed open the door to her office.
The portal was already spinning to life inside, golden sparks falling to the plush carpet below. With a sense of wonder that never faded, Morgan watched as the image of a place half a world away formed within the fiery circle. For the hundredth time, she added ‘working out the physics of stable wormhole formation’ to her to-do list. She and Peter shared a glance, then without hesitation stepped through the portal, Morgan a half-stride in front.
The tranquility of the tiny abode they stepped into was an almost palpable thing. Warm afternoon sunlight glinted off dust motes that danced lazily through the air. The front door of the cottage stood open, and through it could be heard the distant ringing of prayer bells. The scent of some unidentifiable Nepalese flower--Morgan was an Avenger and Fortune 500 CEO, thank you very much, not a botanist--drifted in with the breeze.
“Morgan. Peter. Thank you for coming.”
“Master Wong. It’s good to see you.” Morgan vaguely recalled when she had tugged on this man’s robes, and asked in a child’s hushed whisper whether he could do magic. It was hard to stand on formality in the light of those memories, and she wrapped the sorcerer in an affectionate embrace. After a moment, she felt one of his hands come up to pat her back gently.
Moving away, she held the librarian at arms’ length, searching his face questioningly. “How are you holding up?”
“Well enough.” Taciturn as ever, although Morgan knew the sorcerer was genuinely grateful for their presence. “He’ll be glad that you were able to make it.”
“We have nowhere else we’d rather be right now.” Wong nodded, and gestured with his chin across the room. With another glance at Peter, Morgan led the way, her heels almost silent on the woven rug that covered the rough-hewn floorboards.
“Master Strange? Stephen?”
Morgan’s first memory of Stephen Strange was nothing more than an impression, a fleeting glimpse of a tall man in a plain black suit standing somberly at a lakeside. Her second memory was far more distinct. The Avengers had been in the midst of a pitched battle, and certainly not on the winning side of it. Then a portal had opened overhead, and a man who looked like he had escaped from the local ren faire *levitated* down from it, lightning spitting from his fingertips. Morgan’s surprise had nearly gotten her tossed into the nearest skyscraper, in the ten seconds it took the sorcerer to bind every single one of their foes and heave them back into their home dimension.
The man sitting before her now didn’t look that much older than the one in either of her memories. There was a little more silver at his temples, a few streaks of grey in his beard, a few more laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. But somehow, head pillowed against the side of his armchair and sound asleep in the sunshine, he looked--for the first time, in Morgan’s recollection--fragile. Like old porcelain, translucent and so readily shattered in a careless fall.
“Stephen.” Wong had come up beside her so silently that Morgan nearly jumped. He moved far too quietly for someone who was pushing a century, although like Strange he scarcely looked his age. Ever so gently, as if handling the most cherished but breakable of treasures, he shook the other sorcerer’s shoulder.
Pale blue eyes blinked open slowly. “Stephen, we have visitors. I will make tea.” But Wong did not lift his hand, until Morgan saw recognition flash in Strange’s eyes.
“Forgive me.” Morgan was relieved to see no lack of the former doctor’s usual perceptiveness, as he graced them with a small, self-deprecating grin and motioned towards the chairs opposite. “It seems that all I do these days is sleep.”
“Well, it’s not as though you don’t deserve a vacation, after...after everything.” Peter trailed off somewhat awkwardly, but his smile was heartfelt. Strange chuckled quietly.
“Enough about me. Tell me how you have been. Mmm, Antonia should have started college by now, yes? And Morgan, how have Billy’s recruits been integrating with the Avengers?”
Morgan caught Wong’s eye over the simple wooden countertop, as he assembled cups and pastries on a tray while a teakettle hissed softly in the background. So that was how this would be, then. Peter’s animated ramblings served as a pleasant counterpoint to the faint clink of porcelain, and the soft sighing of the breeze through the grasses outside.
Morgan watched as Strange’s eyes crinkled, and he smiled fondly at Peter’s antics. Her heart felt heavy and glad all at the same time. They would share stories, drink tea, and then take their leave, as they had done more than once in the past. Except this would be their final goodbye. But if that was what Strange wanted, they would do him the honor of this last thank you.
--
Wong busied himself with the task of tidying their small kitchen space, as across the cottage Morgan and Peter prepared to depart. Morgan stood, waiting patiently, as Peter gently grasped Stephen’s forearm. The Cloak wrapped itself around the younger man’s wrist, and his pleased laughter drifted across the room. Then Morgan bent to carefully embrace the sorcerer, whispering something in his ear that brought forth the endearingly ridiculous grin that always made Wong’s chest warm.
Wong finished drying the last of the teacups, walking across the room to meet Morgan and Peter as they turned away, their visit having finally wound to its close. He was not sure if Peter had noticed, but Morgan had certainly marked Stephen’s quickly flagging energy. Even as Wong watched, his partner’s head nodded downwards, eyes closing, then blinking open again as he roused himself. Perhaps if he was lucky, Wong would be able to get some dinner into the other man before he fell asleep for the evening.
But he needed to escort their guests out first. “Morgan. Peter. Thank you again for coming.”
Morgan smiled, a dazzling flash of charisma that was a perfect amalgamation of her parents. “It was our pleasure, Master Wong.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks again for letting us...having us come by.” Peter shook Wong’s hand enthusiastically. Morgan reached out to envelop him in a brief hug, as she had Stephen.
“Take care, Master Wong.”
“Always. It has been an honor, Miss Stark. Mister Parker.” Morgan locked eyes with him for just a moment, and he saw in them her understanding. Then both of them were gone, halfway around the world as the portal collapsed on their heels.
Wong turned back towards the armchairs, and then heaved a sigh. Apparently, dinner was not in the cards for today. Stephen had already fallen back asleep. Shaking his head minutely, Wong first moved towards the front door, closing it softly against the evening’s growing chill. The sun had set, and the moon was already rising over the mountains to the east.
Then he trod tiredly across the few yards of carpeted floor, coming to a stop at the side of Stephen’s chair. The Cloak raised one hem, waving it quietly in greeting, and Wong acknowledged it with a nod. As he had done several hours earlier, he placed a hand against one thin shoulder.
“Stephen?” It took a few moments, but eventually blue-green eyes sought and found his.
“Ah. Did it again, huh?”
“Just for a minute. Morgan and Peter are gone. Dinner?”
Stephen considered the question, then shook his head minutely. “Not tonight, sorry.”
Wong knew by now not to push the issue. And besides, he was fatigued as well. Perhaps an early night would be best. “Bed then.”
After so many decades, there was an economy of words between them, not out of contempt bred by familiarity, but by a lack of necessity. Wong braced the slightly taller man under one elbow until he found his feet, and both he and the Cloak hovered unobtrusively as Stephen shuffled the few feet to a bed set in one corner of the cottage.
The trip was uneventful, and the Cloak curled itself into a cat-like ball on the blankets with an almost audible exhalation. Perhaps the relic was tired, too. As Stephen settled himself on one side of the bed, Wong watched with more than visual sight. As the other sorcerer had grown physically weaker over the past few weeks, Wong had expected that his aura might show signs of waning as well.
But in fact, the opposite was true. The vibrant blues of Stephen’s life force were almost painfully bright. It was as if they were less hidden or contained, the frailer their physical vessel became. Wong was interrupted from his introspection by Stephen pointedly clearing his throat.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me all night? It’s a little creepy, to be honest.”
Wong frowned in mock affront, and conjured a chair to sit to Stephen’s side of the bed. “Perhaps I will sit and stare at you instead. That is more comfortable.”
Stephen snorted. Good. At least he had the energy to still enjoy Wong’s not always appreciated brand of humor. “I mean, to each their own. And it’s not as though you didn’t earn the right.” Stephen’s hand, shaking as always with the finest of tremors, brushed softly over the brass band that adorned Wong’s ring finger.
With equal gentleness, Wong brushed his thumb along a silvery-white scar that stretched along one trembling digit. Stephen was silent for a long moment, and Wong thought that perhaps he might have drifted off again. But then he spoke, eyes finding Wong’s in the pale moonlight and the faint glow of a single lit lantern.
“Will you stay with me, tonight?” It was a somewhat odd question, but Wong did not hesitate.
“Tonight, and always.”
“Thank you. For everything.” Stephen’s eyes were solemn pools of nostalgia, poignant and bittersweet. “We’ve had a good life, haven’t we?”
“Yes. We have.”
This time, when Stephen did not reply, it was because his eyes had closed, breaths deepening into the steady rise and fall of slumber. Wong cradled that still trembling hand in his own, and settled in his chair to watch the azure flames that danced in the darkness.
--
When Stephen opened his eyes, it was to a sky full of stars. They wheeled overhead in a silent dance, faint pinpricks and whorls of light that had been born hundreds or thousands of years ago. The long grasses, black beneath the midnight blue of the heavens, rippled gently in the wind, while the mountains loomed like imposing spectres far above.
Behind him, a single light shone in the window of the cottage. But there was no sense of urgency to return. And for perhaps the first time in months, his joints didn’t ache. For the first time in weeks, he could stand for more than a minute without needing to sit down. Perhaps this should have bothered him, but there was no sense of urgency about that either. Stephen simply stood, head tilted back in wonder as a shooting star made its way across the firmament.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” There had been no sound of anyone approaching, but Stephen felt no surprise when he turned to find the source of those words.
Tony Stark stood to his right, head likewise inclined backwards to contemplate the heavens. He was not quite as Stephen recalled. For one, his face and arm bore no trace of radiation damage. But even the grey that had colored his hair and trademark goatee had vanished, and the lines that time had worn on his countenance were smoothed away.
“Stark.”
“Strange.” The engineer nodded in greeting. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?”
Stephen shrugged, watching the dark grasses bend towards the earth, cresting like ocean waves before the breeze. “I figured you would get around to it, eventually.”
Tony snorted, amused. “You haven’t changed much, have you? Might as well cut straight to the punchline. I’m here to help you move on.”
The shorter man took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. His tone now was serious, almost somber. “You’ve sacrificed much. Learned much, given much, and taught much. But you’ve also lost much, and regret much.”
Stephen realized in passing that the Cloak did not occupy its usual place around his shoulders, and for a moment he felt a greater sense of loss than was warranted by its absence. “Failing to save a life--any life--is always regrettable.”
“And I was one of your first, wasn’t I?” But Tony’s words were without judgement. “Perhaps you’re right. But I’m grateful, Strange. Grateful that my death had meaning. And even if I didn’t know it then, there is so much more than this mortal coil.”
Tony bumped his shoulder against Stephen’s, his tone lighter. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, and Morgan and Peter. And Pepper, Rhodey...we’re together again, as long as we want to be. Sure, I don’t get to save the world anymore, but the world has new defenders now, right?”
Stephen did not speak. It had been nearly fifty years since his much younger and less wise self had stood on the dusty red surface of an alien world, and called on the might of an Infinity Stone for guidance. Nearly fifty years since he had set in motion the strategy that would bring a billion pieces into position for the only choices that would save so many lives...and end others. Since then he had made many more such decisions, enacted many more plans on both a smaller and grander scale. But the responsibility never grew lighter.
“Hey, Houdini. Don’t get lost in that noggin of yours.” Tony had turned to face Stephen now, arms crossed but with the warmth of understanding in his eyes. Stephen shook his head.
“I don't think I’m able to *not* feel sorrow that I could find no other way.” Stephen held up a hand as the other man bristled, heading off what he imagined would be an impassioned rebuttal. “I wish more than almost anything that you had had the chance to raise your daughter; she’s an incredible person, Tony. If I could have taken your place, I would have. But at the same time, I can respect your sacrifice. Ultimately, the choice was yours, and you could have made none better.”
“Aww shucks, Doc. Maybe you have changed, just a little.” Then Tony’s eyes pinned him in place, his gaze sharp and knowing. “And that’s good enough for me, has been all along. Question is, is it good enough for you? Are you ready?”
Stephen paused for a moment, contemplating. He was tired, but he had been tired before. But now there were others who were prepared, instructed and guided vigilantly over the years to take up the mantle of the Earth’s defense when the time came. He had made his decisions, some good and some bad, and had lived with their consequences. And he knew with a sense that had not failed him over the years, some remnant of his contact with the Time Stone, that the moment had come for others to make those decisions. It was time to rest.
But still, he lingered. Sensing his hesitation, Tony appraised him questioningly. “What are you waiting for, Doc?” A moment later, his confusion cleared, brown eyes lighting with comprehension and an amused grin quirking his lips. “Oh. Yeah. Congrats on that, by the way. He’s a good guy.”
Stephen shifted his weight self-consciously, fingers fidgeting with the brass chain around his neck and eyes glancing longingly towards the darkened cottage. “We had a lifetime together. It’s selfish, but still…”
Tony waved a hand to interrupt him, chuckling softly. “No, no, it’s alright. I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll both have plenty of time where we’re going.”
“Both?”
Tony smirked, raising his chin in the air to nod towards something behind Stephen. “Hey, Wong! Long time, no see.”
And Stephen’s heart leaped, as he spun to see the recipient of Tony’s greeting striding towards them along the path. Wong’s steps were as surefooted as when he had paced through rows of students in Kamar-Taj, yelling out instructions, so many decades ago. The former librarian squinted dubiously at the engineer’s enthusiastic hello, but he hailed him with a nod nonetheless.
“Stark.”
“What? Wong? How?” Stephen spluttered, and Tony laughed, the sound ringing in the stillness of the mountain night. But Wong seemed to understand despite Stephen’s stunned incoherence.
“You didn’t think I would let you go off on your own, did you? And before you blame yourself, I've been ready for awhile. But there was no need for haste. All things happen in their own time.”
“Oh, I forgot how much I like this one, Doc. Now I can see why you’ve changed. Shall we, gentlemen?”
Almost shyly, Wong reached out a hand, spanning the distance between them. Stephen took it gratefully. For a moment, he thought he could hear the song to which the stars danced, as they wove through the velvet heavens above them. Then, together as in all things, Stephen and Wong followed their guide, forms vanishing from the meadow like smoke as they embarked on the next step of their journey.
--
The novice from Kamar-Taj who brought breakfast the next morning wondered how Master Rasputin had known to accompany him to the cottage, on that day of all days. He watched as the Cloak settled around her shoulders. Then he hurried back through the portal to spread the news that both masters had passed on peacefully in their sleep, still holding hands.
FINIS