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America opened her eyes to the sound of quiet mumbling.
It took her a moment to register that she was in the New York Sanctum’s library, stretched out on the couch beside the fireplace that crackled gently. The Cloak of Levitation was wrapped snugly around her middle, keeping her warm. Slowly, she lifted a hand and scratched its collar, which moved forward to nuzzle against her chin.
The last thing she remembered, she’d been practicing her magic with Stephen - she must have fallen asleep when he wasn’t looking. Still looking at the cloak, she smiled slightly. “Did you bring me to the couch?” It nodded. She continued to pet it. “Thanks, buddy.”
Slowly, she sat up, and the cloak unraveled itself from her, floating quietly beside the couch. Blinking the remaining sleep out of her eyes, she glanced over, finding the source of the mumbling.
Stephen sat at one of the desks, his hair a mess from how often he ran his hands through it. There was a pen in one hand and his brow was furrowed, seemingly frustrated by something. She couldn’t make out any of the words he was saying, but she noticed that the hand that held the pen was shaking profusely.
Glancing toward the cloak, she stood up quietly and walked over to him, tilting her head slightly. “…You okay?”
As the words left her lips, he jumped a little, startled by the sudden presence of another person. “Oh, kid,” he murmured, relieved to see it was just her. “Yes, I’m fine. Just trying to take care of some of this transcribing since our training session was cut short.”
America felt heat rush to her face. “Hey, you could have woken me up,” she said defensively. He just chuckled.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” His gaze returned to the papers, and she pulled up the seat she had been sitting in earlier, peering over the desk. To her surprise, she found the paper in front of him mostly blank, save for a couple of very messily written words that she could barely make out.
“Did you know there’s a stereotype that doctors have terrible handwriting?” she joked.
“Ha, ha,” he said sarcastically, but there was something in his eyes. He turned his gaze away from her before she could figure out what it was. “…I can’t transcribe this with magic. It’s too delicate, so I’m doing it by hand.” His voice was quiet.
Slowly, she looked back toward the paper on the desk, at the words that looked like they had been written by a child. Her gaze fell upon his hand that held the pen tightly, noticing the scars that snaked around his fingers. She’d seen them before, of course, but only briefly. It wasn’t that he tried to hide them or anything, but whenever he used his hands for magic, it was brief.
Stephen cleared his throat, looking back at the papers on his desk, reaching forward to smooth out the page of the book he was transcribing from. “It’s boring work. Maybe you should go back to Kamar-Taj, you can show Wong your progress.”
America didn’t budge, still staring down at the hand that held the pen, watching it tremble slightly. She remembered the x-rays Christine Palmer from Earth 838 had: hands from both of the Stephen Stranges - different, but similar. And now that she thought about it, Stephen’s hands were never still. They always shook just a little. She could imagine that would make it difficult to write.
Slowly, she reached forward, gently taking the pen from his hand and rested her hand on his, trying to quell the shake. “What happened, Stephen?”
Maybe it wasn’t her business to know. Maybe she shouldn’t pry. But she wanted to help, and she knew he would understand that.
He sighed softly, but didn’t pull his hand away from her. Keeping his gaze down, he shook his head. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, America,” he answered quietly. “I have a lot of regrets. I didn’t become a sorcerer for the greater good. I was selfish.” There was something else unsaid there. She had a feeling it had something to do with Christine, but she didn’t say anything about that.
Instead, she lifted her gaze from his hand to instead rest on his face, noticing he looked tired all of a sudden. Did he ever get any rest? She didn’t know if she’d ever seen him relax, but she had to push those thoughts away to continue listening to him.
“I prided myself on my work as a doctor. I was pompous and arrogant, and I loved my job. I was on track to becoming one of the most famous neurosurgeons in New York until that night.” He paused to swallow, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I was in a bad accident. My hands were crushed between the wheel, so by the time I was taken to the hospital, the nerves were irreparably damaged…I couldn’t be a neurosurgeon without steady hands.”
He took a shaky breath. America had a feeling he hadn’t had to recount these memories in a long time. Slowly, she began rubbing her thumb along his knuckles, silently encouraging him to continue.
“I said some things I regret. I pushed away everyone who cared about me.” A flicker of pain passed his expression. She knew that meant Christine. “I heard about a man who had once been paralyzed from the neck down, but he learned to walk again. I was desperate, so I tracked down the temple.”
“Kamar-Taj?” she guessed, and he nodded.
“I was taught by the Sorcerer Supreme. She was incredibly powerful, but she saw my selfishness right away and almost refused to teach me. It was a long road. You actually picked it up a lot faster than me, kid,” he said with a breathy chuckle. “A lot happened after that. Details don’t matter.” Slowly, he pulled his hand out from under hers, holding it up in front of him. It still trembled slightly. “They don’t hurt anymore. Some days I forget. Other days, everything seems hard. It’s been a while since I’ve had to do anything without magic.”
America let it wash over her. It seemed that Stephen used to be like the other Stephens she had met, but the difference was that he no longer was like them. Gently, she nudged his shoulder with her own. “Well, you’re not selfish anymore, that’s for sure. And nothing you say will ever get rid of me. You’re stuck with me.”
For the first time since he started speaking, Stephen looked at her, then chuckled lightly to himself. “Is that so?“
“Yeah. It is so.” She smiled, then glanced back toward the papers, leaning forward a bit in her seat. “Let me transcribe these for you.”
“What?” The word was immediate, tearing from his mouth in shock. She just smiled a bit wider and repeated herself.
“Let me transcribe them. I can do it for you.”
His brow furrowed and he stared at her, shaking his head. “America, I can’t ask you to do that.”
Rolling her eyes, she picked up the pen, turning the paper over so it was blank. “Look, you let me nap on your couch, the least I can do is help you out. Besides, I hate to say it, but your writing isn’t very legible. That just proves you’re a good doctor.”
Stephen blinked a few times, looking from her, to the paper, then back to her. Then he sighed, leaning back in his seat, somewhat defeated but a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Okay, okay. You can do a few pages. Here.” He pointed to the book, and she looked at it, then began writing. It had been a while since she’d written anything at all, but Stephen needed her help, even if he wouldn’t admit it, so she would. She would do anything for him, because she knew he would do anything for her.
A part of her still wondered, though. Did he really think so low of himself these days, or was he glad that he had changed for the better? She just hoped he could see himself the way that she saw him: amazing.
“Okay, I’m done these two pages. Should I keep going?” Glancing over, she found Stephen laying back in his chair with his eyes closed, his lips parted and his chest rising and falling softly. His hands, scarred but loved, rested over his stomach. She supposed this answered her question of whether or not he ever rested. She wondered when the last time he had slept had been.
Looking toward the couch, she found the cloak still laying there, seemingly enjoying its break. She caught its attention with her hand, and it rushed over to cover Stephen’s torso. After petting its collar gently, she was filled with a determination that hadn’t been there before. She continued on with transcribing until her hand cramped up. It was worth it.
When Stephen woke an hour later, dazed and disoriented, she had finished the transcription completely. Unable to fully articulate his thanks, he’d simply portaled them down the street to an ice cream shop.
America figured this was a pretty sweet deal.