Chapter Text
"You can choose this moment to set your life on a new path. If you love her, then tell her. I get that you're afraid; it's only natural to be afraid of being vulnerable with someone. But what's worse, the possibility of getting hurt? Or living with a what if for the rest of your life?"
***
Stephen watched the portal America had created disappear, and just like that, Christine was gone. Well, 838 Christine, he's universes Christine was probably enjoying her honeymoon with her new husband, oblivious to everything that had happened.
Could he do that to her? Should he? She'd said she was happy, and Stephen had maintained that as long as she was, he wouldn't interfere even if he wasn't. He'd had his chance, and he'd been the one to blow it.
In fact, he can pinpoint the exact moment when he lost her. He was at his lowest, so filled with pure misery and self-loathing, he'd sneered out the words "like you." He'd seen her face, and he'd known. Christine would never be his, and he only had himself to blame.
Now she was married; to a guy, she claimed to love. Could he blow up her life simply because he'd finally realised that he didn't always want to be the guy holding the knife? Hell, he'd let her take the knife and drive away for all he cared.
"What are you going to do now?" America asked, standing beside him. She, too, was staring at the spot where the portal had been not minutes ago.
Good question; what was he going to do now? He turned to face the young girl, biting his lower lip. The two had formed an unlikely bond, and Stephen wanted to see that she was settled at Kamar-Taj before making a decision on what to do about Christine.
"Not entirely sure," he said, making a clucking sound with his tongue. "But first. Let's talk about you."
"Me?" America asked softly, pointing to herself.
Stephen nodded, "Wong's offered to train you here at Kamar-Taj if that's something you'd be interested in. What do you say, kid?"
America shrugged, attempting a carefree attitude, but failing. "I guess that would be okay."
***
Stephen was resolved. He needed to know one way or another what Christine would say if he told her how he really felt. If she told him it was too late, then he'd finally be able to move on.
So he'd headed over to Christine's apartment, well, he assumed it was now Christine and Charlie's apartment. That was a detail he tried his best not to think about.
He stood in front of the door for longer than he'd care to admit. But finally, when he couldn't stand it any longer. He knocked hard to save himself from having to repeat the motion.
At first, there was no response, leaving Stephen to assume no one was in. However, just when he turned to leave, the door swung open, revealing Charlie, Christine's husband.
The man's mouth hung open in shock at the sight of him. On the spectrum of fan reactions, it was pretty tame. But then Stephen had had a fan break into his apartment to "declare their love' for him. Things had gotten wild there for a second after the snap.
People either loved him or hated him; there seemed to be no in between. Stephen cleared his throat, his mouth going dry; the situation was laughable. Facing off against the Scarlett Witch, no problem, telling Christine how he really felt? Terrifying.
Clearly, his brain needed rewiring.
"Oh god, I knew it. You're here to tell me she's dead, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry, what?" Stephen took the time to survey the man's face. He had bag's under his eyes; he'd clearly not slept in a while. He looked... well, as terrified as he had felt.
Charlie frowned. "Wait, she's not with you. But- the message. She'd left as soon she'd seen it- I tried to stop her. I told her you'd be okay, but-"
Stephen interrupted him. Not able to put up with the man's gibberish any longer. "What the hell are you talking about. Where's Christine?" He attempted to keep his voice even, but it took every fibre of his body not to reach forward and shake him.
"She's been missing for ten days. She got a message from you, asking for her help. She packed up and left." Stephen picked up the double meaning of that sentence. Christine had left him because she thought Stephen needed him.
"Did she say where she was going?"
"Wait.. so the message wasn't from you?"
"No." Both men fell into an uncomfortable silence. It couldn't have been Wanda if it had been the witch would have used it against him by now.
That meant it was someone else, someone who knew that she would heed Stephen's call. The only question now was who and what he would do to them when he found them.
***
Christine placed the teacup on the coffee table and sat down on the couch opposite the man. She felt weird. Like herself but somehow not at the same time.
The doctor couldn't for the life of her remember how she got there, which would have normally scared her, but for some reason, it didn't. She felt safe, which wasn't a feeling she'd felt much in her life.
Her father had been an unkind man, her mother too frail to defend her. She always looked as if she wanted to, but when push came to shove, she'd always just leave the room as if she did, that meant she could pretend it wasn't happening.
"I brought you some tea," Christine said, addressing the wheel-chair bound man stationed by the fire. He'd been waiting for her when she arrived, introducing himself as Derek Porter.
She hadn't remembered anything before that, just that he'd been waiting for her outside the sea-cliff manor. He'd said he was in need of a doctor, and well, she was already there, so what would the harm be?
As soon as she'd entered the manor, a sort of chemical haze had come over her. She'd been there for ten days. They mostly just talked; sometimes, she'd take a book from the library and read. Every once in a while, she'd check his vitals; help administer his medication.
"You're happy here, aren't you, Christine?" Derek asked.
The man didn't turn around, so she addressed the back of his head. "I don't know," she replied unevenly.
"Do you want to leave?" he pressed.
Christine shook her head. "No." It was the truth. She had only ever felt safe one other time in her life, and that's when she'd been with Stephen. She felt terrible to admit it wasn't when she was with Charlie. He was kind and lovely, and she often admonished herself for not being as happy with the man as she pretended to be to the rest of the world.
Are you happy? Funny, Derek would ask her that. It's what she'd asked Stephen at her wedding reception. A part of her, a big part, had hoped he'd say no. Then she could confess the same, and they could end the game they had been playing with each other for decades.
But he'd said yes because he was Stephen, and he could never make things damn easy, so Christine was forced to say yes back.
"Good," Derek said.
Christine wanted to ask why? Why did he want her to stay? Why did he care if she was happy or not? But before she could ask, Derek wheeled himself out of the room.
She could hear him humming from the kitchen. It sounded familiar, but Christine couldn't pinpoint where she had heard it before.
"Your tea will go cold," Christine warned. He didn't answer her, just left her sitting there, twiddling her thumbs.
She should leave. But she couldn't.
***
Dinner was served promptly at seven each evening. So ten minutes to, Christine emerged from her designated room and descended the staircase, making her way to the dining room.
Derek was already there, just as he always was. Christine walked around the man and sat down to his left in her usual place.
"I think it's going to snow soon," Derek mused.
Christine frowned, confused. "It's spring," she reminded the man. The snowy season had long passed, and the temperature had risen considerably over the last few weeks.
"Still," Derek said, speaking as if he knew something she didn't. "I can feel it in my bones; the snow is coming."
Christine suddenly felt cold. The feeling of safety she'd felt mere moments ago was gone instead replaced with weariness.
It was such a biennial comment too. Out of all the things he could have said, Christine would never have imagined that him speaking about the weather would have snapped her out of her trance.
Yet something about the way he had said it felt wrong. His words sent a shiver down her spine, and her brain shouted run.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Christine stood up, looking towards the door. The man used a wheelchair; he couldn't possibly stop her from leaving.
She pushed her chair back in one swift motion and fleed the room. Derek muttered something under his breath as she passed, but it was illegible.
The doctor made a beeline for the door, yanking it open. It was cold, nothing like the April air she had felt earlier that day.
She raced down the steps, heading for her car, which was still parked in the driveway where she'd left it. However, as she attempted to open the driver's side door, she realised she didn't have her car keys.
Christine didn't think she could risk going back into the manor. She was going to have to make the journey on foot. She was sure she'd come across a hotel or gas station on the way. Then she'd be able to call Charlie and figure out what the hell was going on.
She walked out of the front gate and onto the street. There was a chill in the air, and then to Christine's horror, snowflakes began to fall.
Derek was right. It was snowing.
***
"You should do it," Stephen demanded, tapping his foot impatiently as he stared Wong down. Didn't he want to be the damn Sourcer Supreme? Then it was his job to remain calm and collected as Stephen slowly unravelled.
Please don't be dead, he thought, closing his eyes for a brief moment to compose himself. "What I mean is," he began, breathing through his nose. "My head's all over the place. I can't concentrate; you better do it."
Wong nodded, giving him a sombre smile. "I'll forgo the please, just this once."
Stephen wanted to offer back a quip, but he couldn't think of one in his state. Hadn't a part of why he'd left been because he didn't want to put Christine in danger? Yet it seemed trouble was determined to find her regardless of what he did or didn't do.
He watched as Wong performed the spell, and for a total of three minutes and thirty-five seconds, he watched the man he considered to be his closest friend locate Christine.
Then out of nowhere, he said, "she's at some manor outside of Jersey. She looked fine, but something about the whole thing felt off."
A manor in Jersey? Stephen could deal with that. "Well, that's less ominous than I was expecting."
"There was something in the air, though," Wong warned.
"Magic?"
The Sourcer Supreme shook his head. "No, this felt different. New even. I've never felt it before."
"Great, that's all we need, something that feels new," he grumbled.
"Want me to come with you?"
Stephen shook his head, "it's okay; I think I can handle a manor in Jersey."
Just then, a book fell from the table by the door, and America tumbled to the crowd after it. She stood up, looking like a kid who'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
"Anyone ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop?"
America heaved herself up. "All the time. Never stopped me, though." The girl stood in the doorway, wearing a determined expression. "You're not going alone."
"I'll be fine," he assured.
"That's what the Illuminati said, and look what happened to them."
Fair point. Underestimating the enemy was something the old Doctor Strange would have done, and Stephen was attempting to turn over a new leaf.
He sighed. "I assume you wanna come?"
America grinned. "Who else is going to make sure you don't get Christine killed."
***
It was dark and difficult to make out where she was going. The street lamps provided virtually no light, so the situation felt perilous.
Every so often, Christine found herself looking back; she didn't know why but she kept getting the feeling she was being followed.
Then almost as if somebody had heard her prayers, she spotted a car heading in her direction. Knowing this could be her only chance and feeling the cold seep into her bones, she began to wave her hands above her head to get the driver to stop.
The vehicle came to a halt a few feet away from her. However, when she made eye contact with the driver, she paled.
It was Derek. Christine, a voice whispered. His voice. Don't try and run; you can't fight your destiny.
But she ran any away, going as far as her lungs would allow her. Until she tripped, smacking her forehead against the tarmac.
Stop fighting it.