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"Stephen?" Christine paused before the doors of the Sanctum and smiled politely. "Hello."
The doors opened for her, and she stepped into Stephen's home. Honestly, wrapping her mind around the fact that her ex-colleague had become a sorcerer had been easier than expected. She just had to think of it as entering a new field of science, and her brain scoffed.
Stephen, reaching new heights in an obscure field? It definitely sounded like him.
As always, Christine was polite to the Sanctum. She'd learned early on that the place was sentient, the same way a child or a dog may understand someone. So she asks politely for Stephen's whereabouts, and thanks the place when the vague image of the relic room appeared.
"Stephen?"
"Christine?" Stephen rounded a corner, and his face split into a warm smile. "It's nice to see you again. How's work?"
"Oh, you know." She sighed, dropping off her bag on a table and falling into the chair beside it. "Long shifts, long hours, so many stupid wounds."
"I'm sure you enjoy it in the ER though." Stephen chuckled and took a seat beside her. "I know I miss it."
"What, the forty hour shifts, the monstrous hours in the OR?" She teased, accepting the cup of tea that he levitated towards her. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. And yes, I do miss it." Stephen sounded wistful, but in a way, Christine was glad that this change had happened. She wasn't sure what had quite happened to him in the five years that he had Blipped, but when he came back, he seemed older.
"How's the cult going?"
Stephen sighed. "It's not a cult, and it's going fine."
"Oh come on. It really is a little bit like a cult." Christine smiled, but it fades away when she remembers what she's really here for. "Stephen, have you ever had a weird dream? Like, really, really weird?"
Stephen sent Christine a dry look. "Christine, please. Of course I have weird dreams. What kind are you having?"
"I don't know. I- I met you. Only this one seemed more... sad. Tired, maybe."
"Did he look like me, but paler, with eye bags?" Stephen asked.
"Yes, actually. Is this one of your magic things?" Christine asked, surprised. Stephen sighed, but he didn't look surprised.
"In a way. Have you ever heard of the multiverse?"
"Wait, so who I met was you... from another universe? Someone who lost me?" Christine asked.
"Yes, Christine." Stephen was endlessly patient, even though she had repeated that question at least three times already.
"That's- that's insane!"
Stephen raised an eyebrow and made a show of looking around at his surroundings. "Welcome to a little taste of my life."
"But... why? Why did my death cause all that?"
Stephen's face softened. "Christine, in this universe, the loss of my career devastated me. What do you think would happen if I lost you?"
That night, as Christine prepared for bed, she wondered if she should act any differently towards Stephen. The idea of being the object of Stephen Strange's fervent passion was... intriguing, to say the least. Stephen wasn't a good lover; he was practically married to his work as it was, forever seeking new heights to climb to.
But if Stephen concentrated all that intensity onto Christine... she entertained the idea for a short moment before abandoning it. No, it would end in disaster. It had ended in disaster. Stephen made a much better friend than a lover.
She fell asleep and woke up in the Sanctum again.
This time, she moves with purpose.
The Sanctum looked brighter, the windows overlooking beautiful nebulae and glowing stars, and there was definitely more... more life in the Sanctum.
Stephen was there, his back turned to her. He didn't seem to notice her, so she creeps closer and watches as he weaves his magic. Geometric mandalas spin into being, glowing softly. His hands were outstretched, and he made a complicated motion with his hands and slammed them onto the ground of the Sanctum.
The magic he was holding expands rapidly, sinking into the walls and the ceiling. The whole place rumbles, and Christine feels like she could breathe easier afterwards.
"Hello, Stephen." She greets the man, and then Stephen Strange, who was always unruffled, startles. He jumps, his expression almost comical as he turns to her.
"Christine?" He breathes. "You're back."
"Hello, Stephen." Christine tries for a smile. "I came here to talk."
"Well, that doesn't bode well for me." Stephen covers the distance between them, frowning when he catches sight of her face. "You haven't been sleeping well. Is the ER not treating you well?"
That startles a laugh out of Christine. "Well, I am sleeping now. My body is, anyway, I'm not too sure about my... whatever this is. How did you know that we had a recent influx of cases recently?"
Stephen nods. "You share similar traits with my Christine. Especially your deep compassion for your patients in the ER."
"Anything else I share with her?"
An inscrutable gaze was fixed onto her, and Christine had to work very hard to not shy away from his look. "You always look stunning." Stephen murmurs.
Christine opens her mouth, but words die before they even had the chance to leave her throat. What could she say to that? It was so easy to slide into her old habits of teasing Stephen, but with this one, he would say something that completely disarmed her and showed just how different her universe was.
Stephen seemed to realise something was wrong and started to hastily backtrack. "I- er, sorry for that. I overstepped. I won't do it again, it's just- I promise I'll try. To keep you two separate in my eyes."
Christine sighs internally. She wasn't a therapist, but even she could tell that Stephen probably had enough baggage and issues that could fill the Grand Canyon. She didn't know where to start, so she starts small.
"Tell me about your world." She says. "It sounds like a beautiful place."
Stephen shoots her a confused look. "My world?"
"Sure. You came from a parallel universe, right? That means that there must be some things that are different."
"But." Stephen says helplessly. "Why would you want to know about me?"
Christine takes a breath and holds it. Then releases it. Okay. Okay, she can do this. "Tell me about your Christine, then." She says gently. "It doesn't have to be anything big. In return, I tell you something about myself."
Stephen gives her a suspicious look, but something in him seems to soften when he sees her face. "My Christine... she was beautiful." He says wistfully. "Every time I took her out, it was like I was seeing her for the first time again."
Christine huffs out a laugh. "Stephen never took me out on dates. It was always talks, conferences, galas, charities. They were fun, at first, but then they became about him."
Stephen nods. "She was kind. Had amazing bedside manner, and she was always telling me about how I should have practiced my own." He grimaces. "It was the one thing I would never take her up on."
"It seems as though Stephen Strange is destined to have terrible bedside manner throughout the multiverse." Christine sighs loudly in exaggeration, smiling when Stephen chuckles.
"It certainly seems so." His eyes were alight with amusement, and it made him look decades younger. "Terrible bedside manner is a curse that us Stranges can never escape."
They settle into a routine.
Christine continues to visit in her dreams, and she admits to herself that she looks forward to these meetings more than she cares to say. Well, she does say. Mostly, they talk about inane things about their lives. Stephen tells her about the accidents in the hospital and the cases that they had to see and they laugh over that.
They share facts about Christine and tiptoe around the larger topic. At this point, Christine was convinced that Stephen was determinedly steering their conversation well away from his Christine. It was always "her" and "she", and well... Christine knows it wasn't healthy.
It slowly becomes clear how unhealthy.
As usual, she had stepped into the dream realm, but instead of Stephen greeting her, he had been withdrawn and snappish. At first, she chalks it up to grumpiness, or just a general agitation. But as it kept up, she was reminded of her Stephen. Pushing people away with his prickly walls, just because he was afraid.
Stephen cared too much. He always did, and always would. Christine was willing to bet that this was one constant trait that remained the same throughout the multiverse.
So she pushes back. She shoves her shoulder against the doors and stubbornly holds them open, talking to him, conjuring up food that she thought he might like. With any luck, he would break and tell her what was going on one day.
She didn't have to wait long.
One day, she wakes inside the Sanctum, except it wasn't the Sanctum. She wakes in a memory of her own.
It was a scene from earlier on, when she and Stephen were still trying to make it work. She watches as the Christine in the memory slid a thin, black box over to Stephen, starry-eyed and coy.
'Open it.' She smiled at Stephen. 'I got this for you.'
'I didn't know we had to prepare gifts for each other.' Stephen looked younger. Less like the arrogant neurosurgeon and the whimsical sorcerer, and more like a man. Just a man, going on a date, trying to be suave.
The watch looked exactly the same as Christine remembered it. Black leather strap, the inscription on the back of the watch. Looking back, it was silly, really. Time will tell how much I love you? Christine didn't know what had gotten into her. But Stephen had immediately swapped his own more expensive watch out for her gift, and she had been inordinately pleased at that.
"So it begins." Stephen was beside her, watching the memory with a conflicted look on his face. "The rise and fall of your relationship."
"Yeah." Christine thinks of the watch again. The face had been cracked, but she was sure that Stephen wore that whenever he could. "He liked the watch, though. At first I thought he'd sold it after the accident, but... well. It surprised me to know that he kept it."
"Christine, I..." Stephen turns to her. "I don't think I can keep this up anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"I... just can't." Stephen looks slightly panicked, like he hadn't realised he would be left alone after he made his heartfelt confession. "It wouldn't be fair for you."
"For me, or for her?" Christine asks.
"What?" Stephen looks slightly off-balance at this sudden question.
"You said this was unfair." Christine steps closer. "I may not be a therapist, Stephen, but I know you. You're guilty. So tell me, what did you promise me in your world?"
Stephen's eyes close briefly, as though he were in pain. When they open, he had a haunted look in his eyes.
"I promised her creme brûlée." He admits. "On the night of the accident. I've heard that sentence so many times, I don't think I could ever forget it."
Christine knows what she has to do, then. This wouldn't completely heal him, but it would set Stephen on the path of recovery. His trauma had gone unaddressed for so long, she was genuinely unsure if she could make any headway anymore. But she had to try.
She pulls the memory of a gala up. Most of them were generic enough that she could picture it, and she watches her surroundings melt and blend like watercolours. When it reformed, it wasn't the gala that Stephen had been speeding towards, but it was similar.
Her clothes had changed from her sleepwear to something more classy; a floor-length gown that was a deep, navy blue, with matching jewelry and her hair done up in an simple knot.
She turns to Stephen and smiles. "Evening, Stephen."
He always did clean up wonderfully. The Eye had become a tie pin, and he was dressed in a sleek suit that accentuated all of his best features. He was looking around in wonder, but Christine could detect something that ran deeper and darker.
Paranoia.
He had probably seen this scene a thousand times, and each time, Christine had died. That sort of thing conditioned you to think a certain way. She steps up to Stephen, taking his hands in hers.
"May I have this dance?" She asks, then adds in a lower tone: "Please tell me if I'm overstepping."
"No, this is... sorry, I'm just worried." Stephen's eyes dart around. "I keep seeing terrible things that might happen." To you, was left unsaid, but it rang loudly between them anyway.
"Stephen. Look at me." Christine cups his cheek, turning him to look at her. "This is my memory, yes? Do you trust me?"
Stephen shudders, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. "Always." He mumbles. "I trust you."
Christine nods. "Then trust that nothing will happen to me in this memory. Or you."
They dance in silence, quiet music playing in the background. Stephen hums along to it under his breath, until he spins Christine and she causes the place to change again, twisting into a table at the Sanctum.
"You can fulfil that creme brûlée promise here, Stephen." She says softly. "Come here."
Stephen follows her in a daze, his eyes fixed on the two dishes plated elegantly on the table. He did pull her chair out for her, so at least his senses hadn't taken complete leave of him, but he still looked jumpy and uncomfortable. They eat in silence for a while, Christine trusting that Stephen would open up to her.
"Why?" Stephen asks over the next bite of the dessert. "Why do all this for me?"
"You deserve good things too, Stephen. And I just wanted to give you a good memory to... well. If I keep this up, maybe you'll have more memories of me that aren't all bad."
He gives her a long look, and Christine holds his gaze, trying to silently convey her support for him.
"I don't remember her." Stephen says in a hushed voice, the kind one would use if they were confessing to a crime. And perhaps to him, it is. "You and her... you've become one and the same in my mind. It's... disconcerting."
"You feel unfaithful to Christine." She realises. "Oh, Stephen..."
"I'm sorry." He squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm so sorry. I know it's not rational, but you have to understand, I watched Christine die over a thousand times. I remember how desperate I was; I can still remember every way I tried."
"Stephen-"
"No, please... hear me out." He holds a hand up. "I- I have to do this."
He talks. He talks at length about Christine, and Christine listens.
That's all he needs, and that's what Christine will do.