Work Text:
When Stephen turns away, eyes crinkling in fondness and smirk soft near the edges, America tries her best not to call out to him again.
She succeeds. Surprisingly. Instead of calling out to him again, probably with some useless quip or lame excuse to stall for time, she watches him leave through the portal he opens and clamps down on the disappointment that surges through her almost immediately when it closes behind him.
“Stupid.” She rubs at her cheek with the back of her hand, as if it’ll wipe away the embarrassment. It’s not like he has any obligation to stay, and really, for what? She didn’t even know what she would have said if she had opened her mouth again, only that the instinct to just make sure he didn’t leave had reared it’s head so intensely that she’d felt her mouth open on instinct.
Whatever. She looks up and sees Wong nod over to her, the smile on his lips giving way to his eyebrows as they raise at her in question. She smiles back and ignores the way her chest is still a little tight, instead opting to move back towards her training group. It’s fine.
It’s not like she had anything to say in the first place, really.
She’s not disappointed.
Really. She isn’t.
“America, you need to focus on timing your own reaction to his; you’re always 4 seconds behind and it’s limiting your progress.” Her teacher, some stupid old woman, her face perpetually twisted into a frown of disapproval, stares at America in, oh what’s that? Disapproval, how new of her. America scowls.
“America, are you listening to me?” No.
“Yes, ma’am, sorry. I’m— just a little tired, is all.” It’s not a lie really, and she’s embarrassed to admit it — clearly all her interdimensional running throughout her entire life has not prepared her in the slightest for the training conducted at Kamar-Taj. The way her body trembles from exhaustion and her muscles burn with weakness is really annoying, honestly. It’d be very nice if her body just. Didn’t do that, maybe?
“Well, clearly, if you’re tired enough to have it interrupting your own training, perhaps you should take the rest of the day off.”
Wait, really?
“Wait, really?” Too late does she realize her mistake in being so quick, the relief flowing through her freezing at the way Ms. What’s-Her-Name blinks at her blankly. Even Cavar, her sparring partner winces and America nearly snaps at him with a Oh, don’t pretend you wouldn’t feel the same before she shuts that idea down just as quickly as it comes to her.
Instead, she tries her best to formally bow to both her partner and teacher, shoving the Special-Fighting-Stick (or training staff, if you want to be boring like Wong) behind her back as she does so. “Thank you, Ms. Alba, Cavar. I won’t take this for granted.”
“Hmm.” Ms. Alba’s face wavers between reluctant acceptance and discontent, but America can’t bring it in her to really care as she turns on her heel to speed walk off in the direction of the main building. Kamar-Taj’s newly renovated walls are bathed in the glow of the sunset as she waves instinctively to the passing new friends she’s made, and an unexpected swell of fondness rises in her chest as she looks around the place she’s come to call ‘home’ for the past month. The guilt is still there, tucked away and always ready to leer it’s head when she least expects it, but it’s overpowered for once and she lets the unfamiliar yet comforting feeling of something like ‘home’ soothe her.
Well. As much as it can without one key piece of what a ‘home’ would be like for her.
Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since he last showed his stupid face. And the last time he visited shouldn’t even count considering he barely waved to America during her training before he disappeared off, no doubt, into some secret hide-y corner of Kamar-Taj. The gods only know how many must be scattered across the premises.
She briefly casts a lingering glance at once of the corridors she passes— really, they could be anywhere…
She blinks. Right. Not the goal.
Her goal is—
“Wong!”
“Ah!”
The man throws himself against the door to his room, a hand over his heart as he stares at America in fear and she can’t help the wide grin that overtakes her initial shock because that was incredibly close to a shriek of terror if she’s ever heard one. “Um. Sorry?”
“America! You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days, y’know!” He frowns and America relaxes, the tension she didn’t realize that was still freezing her body leaving her as she takes in the almighty Sorcerer Supreme; a man who she’s seen cry over one of his pupils the day they learned how to perform a top tier-level spell and has now also witnessed be terrified by a fourteen-year old.
“Oh, c’mon, Wong, you’re not that old.”
“Excuse me? Young lady, do you realize that you are talking to one of the most all-powerful magic-wielders of Earth?” He crosses his arms, as if it makes him look any more intimidating to her and because she just can’t help it—
“Hmm, the same man who I caught having a meltdown last week because he couldn’t catch the tickets to the next Beyoncé tour?“ His face contorts strangely, flying through several emotions in an instant before landing on indignation. “Listen, she is a legend. If you were as close as I was to getting those tickets, I think you’d understand!”
“Hmm, sure, Wong, whatever you say,” she feigns the smugness of superiority, but she can’t help the way the beam still slides into place because really, it’s Wong, and no matter how much she may tease him, she can’t deny the warmth of happiness that fills her when they banter like this. It feels…nice.
Wong sighs in defeat before leveling her with a flat stare. “Why were you headed in this direction anyways, America? Did you need something or did you just want to inflict your daily terrorizing on me?”
“I mean, I could still do that if you want,” she drawls and chuckles when Wong’s face twists again, “but, uh, I was just—“ Abruptly, she feels her face heat. What? Why? She has nothing to feel flustered over, it’s just—
“I was just. Um. Wondering if you’d talked to Stephen today?” She glances up sparingly and feels a little part of her wither up and die at the quick change that comes over Wong, his confusion bleeding away to something softer and oh she’s so obvious isn’t she. She’s opening her mouth before she can stop it.
“I mean! Like, in the past few days actually, just, y’know. Have you heard from him at all? Just asking.” That look is still on his face, his eyes much too knowing for America’s liking and listen, she’s not needy, okay. She just…wishes he came around more often. That’s it. Who needs stupid Doctor Stephen Strange anyways? It’s not like she cares that much.
“I have actually. He checks in pretty frequently, but it’s usually not for very long.” Oh. Okay. That makes sense. America swallows down the disappointment because oh, he’s apparently been checking in this entire time and just…hasn’t bothered to come see her. Right.
“Oh.” It’s lame and too small, too revealing, but her throat is dry and she can’t really seem to think of anything else other than that. Of course, he obviously has other obligations. He couldn’t have stayed around forever, at least, not for her sake. She’s just a dumb kid. One who’s put him through enough grief as it is. Problem child, in an unknown voice echoes and she feels like a balloon that’s been popped really really suddenly.
“America, listen, Strange is—“
“No, no, I get it. He’s busy, right? Probably somewhere fighting frog-legged…trees or something.”
“No, he—“
“Thanks anyways. I mean. Thank you.” And she feels the dull prick of guilt poke at her, because she’s even taking up Wong’s time too.
“Yeah, I think I should probably get back.” Nevermind that she actually has the rest of the day off, she really just wants to go back to her room and sulk. Maybe hide. Forever. She hasn’t looked back to Wong once, can’t bring it in her, so she just waves bye before she turns back down the hallway, not once looking back up.
Right. “Stupid.”
She’s not even thinking about him the day he finally shows up.
It’s been a little over a week since she last asked for him, and she’d been adamant to herself that she wouldn’t think of him at all for the rest of…her life, maybe. No, not really. But just that she wouldn’t think of him as being in any level of priority; she had her studies to worry about after all. And practicing at managing her powers, too.
And also catching up on the latest things that Earth-616 had to offer in terms of media; well, maybe not “latest”. Was more than 4 decades ago “recent”?
It didn’t matter. Jaws, as it was turning out, was actually not as overrated as she’d thought it’d be.
“Shit.” The gray form of the shark disappears into the blue of the open ocean and Hooper shakily takes the bottle stopper off of the needle as he floats in the cage. She curls her knee up just a little tighter against herself as sits in front of the laptop Stephen had graciously given her only a few days after the renovation of Kamar-Taj had finished. Only for studying purposes, he’d claimed with that serious voice but she’d seen the way his lips had tilted at the edges up into a concealed smirk. Well, America was technically studying. Studying the new environment she’s been living in for the past couple of months, that is. None of the other Earth’s she’d stumbled her way through had had Jaws after all— she had to experience all that she could to gain more knowledge, didn’t she? Yes, yes, it was only necessary.
America watches as Hooper turns, the emptiness of the ocean greeting him past the steel bars and she nearly grabs her laptop and shakes it in frustration; she knows there’s going to be a jumpscare of sorts that happens, she can tell, she just needs it to hurry up and happen already so that she can stop bein-
“Yeah, there’s no way he’s surviving that.”
She shrieks.
“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, it’s just me!” Stephen.
Her heart pounds in her throat as she stares up at him from where she’d swiveled in her seat, having hit the edge of the desk and cowered back in the cushions as she did and ohholyshitthatscaredher. It doesn’t help that she’d turned all the lights off in her room. Or that it’s nearly midnight.
His hands are up placatingly, calming and the orange glow of the portal that sizzles behind him lights him up enough for her to see that he’s wearing the same attire as always, if not for it being a bit dirty. Do you just have multiple pairs of the same clothes so you can look cool? She’d asked once and he’d glared at her like she’d somehow personally offended him before his face had evened out and he’d replied back with So you admit you think I look cool?
Needless to say, she hadn’t won that argument.
“Are you crazy? What’s wrong with you?” She breathlessly screeches it, and vaguely registers the intensity of the music that’s blared up and the thrashing of water going on on her laptop screen. Oh shit, maybe he isn’t going to survive it.
“Sorry, I didn't think I’d scare you that badly.” He’s only half-apologetic, she can tell just from the way she sees that signature smirk pull at his lips. Jerk.
“In all fairness, I thought you’d notice me the second I walked in. Going through a bright orange portal isn’t exactly subtle, y’know.” He raises his eyebrows to her and she huffs, frowning at him while her heart finally settles back into place. Leaning over her desk, she quickly flicks her lamplight on, though it’s not very well needed as much anymore; the light of the New York Sanctum combined with the light of the portal streams in enough for her room not to be a pit of abyss anymore.
Catching her breath, she looks at him and really looks at him this time. He looks like he’s okay; well, not in immediate danger, at least. There’s a tiredness to him that greys him despite how hard he looks like he’s trying to mask it and she instantly zeroes in on the recent scrapes on his cheek and head. A fight?
She gets up, working her way out of the ball she’d curled in to on her chair and leans forward to graze her fingers against the one on his forehead, her heart seizing up a little at the idea of him being in danger. “What happened?”
The mischief fades away from him, leaving his eyes gazing down at her in a gentled way. “Nothing. It was just a few bad guys. A few frog-legged trees, if you’d believe it.”
She freezes.
“Wong.”
The mischief is back and he pulls back from the half hunched over position she didn’t even realize he’d drawn in to when she pulls her own hands back to cross them against her chest.
“Wong.” He repeats in a much more self-satisfied tone of voice, and America scowls, glaring down at the floorboards as if Wong will feel it through them. Traitor.
“If it makes you feel better, it made me laugh when he told me. I mean, really? Frog-legged trees?” She bristles. “Listen, it may not be my best…concept, but considering what we’ve seen from the multiverse, is it really that hard to believe those could exist somewhere out there?”
He pauses for a moment. “…no. I guess not.”
“Yeah, exactly.” They both stop for a moment, just staring at each other fondly like a couple of idiots and the silence is comfortable enough to make her aware of the intensity of the sheer relief that’s relaxed her body, as if she’d been tightly wound like a spring the entire last three weeks. She was worried about him. And because she has no sense of filter-
“I was worried about you.” Crap. She regrets saying it as soon as she says it aloud, but Stephen’s already heard it, already blinked at her blankly as if it’s some alien language she’s just spoken and not English(he doesn’t even speak Spanish, she doubts he knows any actual alien languages anyways).
“Oh. You…” She shrinks away, a knot forming in her stomach. She feels stupid. Still, she can’t force herself to take it back or make an excuse either; not with him. What a paradox; to trust someone and yet still be terrified of their answer when you bare yourself open.
Does that mean you really trust them then?
She thinks of him, watches the way he stares at her dumbfounded and thinks yes, yes it does. He wouldn’t hurt her. Not on purpose. Never without regret.
(She knew that even with her other Stephen. The regret that had pained his voice even as he’d betrayed her, even as her heart had broken. She knew it then too; that he had not died without regret.)
It’s not that she doesn’t trust him. She’s just afraid.
“…I missed you too, kid.”
His voice is soft, and stupidly, her eyes burn. And stupidly, she feels a childish anger come up in her, hot and upset and heavy because-
“Why didn’t you say anything then?”
Stephen has every right to scoff at her. To wave her anger away. To scold her. Or even to just…not care. He shouldn’t have to care about the complaints of a girl he only met a couple of months ago. Who he had to sacrifice his well-being for the sake of fixing her mistakes.
She waits for it. Waits for the cold steel to infiltrate his eyes, for his patience to finally wear up, for him to leave her.
“I’m sorry. I…I made the wrong assumption. I thought that by leaving you be, you’d— well, that you’d be happier.”
She looks up. (She didn’t even realize she’d lowered her gaze down in the first place.)
In true Doctor-Sophisticated-and-Composure fashion, Stephen rubs his hands together idly as his gaze moves from America to somewhere past her. His words come out slow. Meaningful, like he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t say anything wrong.
“I stayed away. For what, I believed, to be…your sake. Of course, I couldn’t stop myself from asking Wong how you were doing nearly every day— I swear at some point, he was definitely ready to drop me off into a portal that led to outer space or something just to get rid of me.” He chuckles and the image of Stephen bothering Wong so much about asking about her draws a small, nasally laugh out of her too. She sniffs.
“I thought since everything had come to pass, that you wouldn’t ne— want me around anymore. You’re safe right now. I can make sure of it from afar. I didn’t realize…I wouldn’t have if I— had known…” She digs her hands into her arms harshly. Forces herself to stay rooted to the spot and nods once, so intensely she’s sure she hears her neck crack.
“O—oh. Okay. Well. I mean. You’re stupid.” Stephen laughs then, a bursting noise that surprises her just as much as it soothes her and she finds herself unable to stop looking, to stop searching for any sign of a lie, a terrible terrible lie. But there’s none, only the laughter lines that wrinkle faintly as he smiles at her, a genuine one, though small as it may be.
He takes a step closer, slowly like he’s letting her back away if she wants to— she doesn’t. Relaxed, there’s a tenderness to his actions as he raises a hand up and places it on her head. The weight is grounding, and the unbidden images of her Mom and Mama doing the same, smiling the same way he is, arise in her mind and make her vision go blurry.
“I’m sorry for being stupid. I’ll try not to do it again.”
She lets out a single watery laugh and then she’s barreling into him, wounding her arms tightly around his torso. Startled, she feels his hesitation— and then she feels his muscles slacken and his arms are wrapping around her. She squeezes her eyes shut and shakily breathes in. Mama’s eyes sparkle as they stare at her, We love you so much, mijita, and Mom hugging her, we’ll always be here with you.
And she knows they wouldn’t judge her. Not for the way she melts into Stephen’s embrace and not for the way his chin lands on her head as he faintly rocks them.
No. They would be happy.
She hopes one day she gets to introduce them to each other. Mom and Mama to Stephen. Distantly the image is funny but comforting to her and she sighs.
Don’t leave me.
And Mom and Mama’s smiles say We won’t and Stephen’s arms say I won’t.
That’s all she wants.