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Wondering if Wanda Maximoff might still be alive was his first mistake.
Looking for Wanda amidst the rubble and utter chaos of Mount Wundagore was his second mistake.
Finding Wanda, who was somehow barely alive, and bringing her to the Sanctum Sanctorum was his third mistake.
---
Letting her stay indefinitely is his biggest mistake.
---
“Don’t go back to Mount Wundagore. I’m saying this as a friend.”
If looks could kill, Stephen thinks. Instead, he tells Wong that he’ll be all right. He’s only going to Mount Wundagore to make sure that Wanda is truly dead. Of course, they wouldn’t be here if he had half-assed his job.
But what if she’s still alive somehow? After all, she's chaos personified.
There are too many unknown variables. He needs to go back. Just to make sure. There’s an ancient entombing spell from the masters of the mystic arts in Egypt that he’s itching to try out.
Sure. An entombing spell. Great excuse, idiot.
“It’s not a big deal, Wong. Just making sure she's really dead. Gotta double check and triple check. You know how that goes.”
Wong gives him that chastising dad look as he shakes his head.
---
Mount Wundagore is a mess of boulders and broken relics. An undignified grave for a woman that was… Stephen’s not really sure how to describe her, truly.
She was an extraordinary woman, sure. Evil? Definitely not. More like misguided, maybe.
But in all honesty, he couldn’t blame her. He’ll never understand the power and pain of a mother’s love. But then again, he’s still human. He can sympathize. He feels a slight bit of that parental… Affection? Is that the right word? Well, he feels something for America and Peter. Not quite fatherly love. He’d never go that far. But they’re young and impressionable and he feels a certain responsibility for their wellbeing.
---
Carrying the heavy Ancient Egyptian spell book in one arm, Stephen begins the arduous task of removing the heavy rocks from the devastated Darkhold Castle. Even using magic, it’s such a tedious job. He ends up putting the spell book next to him on the ground, so he can shove the boulders and pieces of the castle aside with quick jerks of his hand movements while he directs his magic like a maestro. It’s tiring, but he knows what he wants. Forbidden ground be damned.
When a pathway finally clears to the middle of the once sacrificial chamber, everything is as he remembers. The large, intricate stone table is now gone, smashed to small pieces. But that’s not where he’s headed.
Stephen closes his eyes and feels for that singular thread of magic that has always connected them to each other. Despite space and time and the multiverse, it never wavers.
He knows she has felt it too, in those looks she’s given him. He knows he should’ve broken that thread a long time ago, but he feels a strange kinship with Wanda that he’s never felt with anyone else before. It’s an indescribable sensation and it’s been gnawing at him for a while now.
She could’ve severed their connection, but she never did. He thinks he knows why, but he never asked. Wanda had too many problems of her own to consider something so insignificant and so innocuous in the grand scheme of things.
Using their fragile connection, Stephen knows exactly where she’s buried. He picks up the Ancient Egyptian spell book and walks to the colossal statue of the Scarlet Witch that’s somehow still standing at the end of the chamber.
---
I didn’t think you’d come, Stephen.
Wanda looks like a shell of herself, her skin ashen, purple shadows under her eyes, her figure skeletal. She’s used up all traces of her chaos magic to keep herself preserved under the rubble of Mount Wundagore.
Stephen slaps himself mentally for comparing her to Sleeping Beauty. Such childish notions. She’s anything but. Even with no magic left, the witch is somehow alive.
I’m not Sleeping Beauty, Stephen. You don’t have to kiss me to wake me up.
Even though her eyes are closed in what looks like a restful slumber, her voice is still in his head. He knows that it’s only his imagination running wild, but she sounds so real, like she’s still alive. Is she still alive? Hell, this might end up being easier than he thought it’d be.
Stephen raises the spell book in front of him, letting it float in the air and open to the particular page that he’s bookmarked. Taking a deep breath to ready himself for the long incantation, he raises his arms and starts chanting in Ancient Egyptian.
---
Stephen performs a spell around his bedroom that’ll mask her presence from any prying masters of the mystic arts. Well, namely Wong.
But to Stephen’s luck, Wong never bothers to drop by the Sanctum Sanctorum anymore, preferring the cold walls of Kamar-Taj. Stephen doesn’t question it. He doesn’t want to push his luck.
---
When Wanda wakes up in Stephen’s bed, he isn’t there. Instead, he’s halfway across the world helping the Hong Kong Sanctum with research on planet-wide wards for multiversal threats. Stephen has never been more bored in his life.
But as soon as the New York Sanctum alerts him with Wanda’s status, he leaves Hong Kong immediately. He doesn’t say goodbye to his colleagues.
---
“Wanda.”
Stephen tamps down the excitement in his voice, trying his hardest not to sound too eager. It’s been about a week since he’s brought her back, and every single day, he’s been monitoring her condition. Drawing from both his medical and magical knowledge, he finds out that she has used all of her chaos magic to keep herself in a magical coma. He hadn’t realized that such a thing was possible. Even with his extensive knowledge, he doubts he can pull off such a feat.
Chaos magic is a beautiful and deadly thing.
“Stephen? Is that you? Where am I?” Wanda tries to sit up, painfully struggling with such a simple task. He rushes to his bed to lay a few pillows against her back, helping her lean against the headboard.
“Do you need anything? Water? Food? I’ll conjure up some never-ending water. For food, we can order takeout.”
Wanda closes her eyes tightly, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyelids. “I have a horrible headache,” she mutters.
“Headache? I know a spell.” Stephen waves his hand and flicks his fingers in an elaborate dance, aiming the spell in her direction.
But nothing happens.
Wanda winces, squeezing the sides of her temples with her palms now. “I don’t think it’s working,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Why isn’t it… Damn it, let me just get you some water first.” Much to his surprise and utter dismay, his go-to never-ending glass of water spell also fails to materialize. He tries conjuring a jug of water instead. It doesn’t work. He’s now frustrated enough to create a damn portal to the kitchen and bring her water from the fridge. He waves his hand in a circle, waiting for the portal to open. It rarely takes this long.
No portal appears.
When Wanda lets out an exhausted scream, Stephen braces himself for the inevitable impact of her chaos magic.
But nothing happens.
---
“There’s an absence of magic around you that I can’t quite explain,” Stephen says.
He’s seated in a chair by his bed, eating Chinese takeout, wearing sweats and a t-shirt. Wanda is still in his bed, picking at her chicken salad on the tray table. She’s barely taken two bites of her food. Instead, she grabs her glass of orange juice and takes the smallest of sips.
He’s been urging her to eat some more. She still looks unhealthy, both in body and mind. She barely looks at him when they talk. Just stares into space, as if he isn’t right there beside her.
“Stephen, I can’t feel my magic anymore.”
“I think your body tried to preserve itself when you... Uh… Died.”
“Killed myself, you mean.”
“Semantics.”
“Committed suicide,” she whispers as she takes a bite of lettuce. “Is that why you’re here all the time now? Am I on suicide watch?”
“Well…” Stephen sets his bowl down as he tries to find a nicer way to word the situation.
“Guess you’re lucky. I have no magic left in me. And you can’t use your magic around me. Maybe you should take my fork away before I stab myself.”
“Wanda—”
“Why did you do it?” Wanda turns her head to look at him. The hollow bags underneath her eyes look ghastly. Her red hair is thinning. That spark in her eyes that he loves so much is gone. She looks as lifeless as a ghost.
“I… I couldn’t leave you there. I could feel it—I felt you there. You were still alive.”
“No, I wasn’t. You resurrected me out of your own hubris.”
“I didn’t! I still felt that thread of magic between us.”
“My magic is gone.”
“Maybe I’m wrong and it wasn’t magic. Maybe it was something unexplainable. Something bigger than either of us.”
“The great Dr. Stephen Strange doesn’t know the answer?” Wanda’s tone is condescending as she lets out a sarcastic huff.
“You’re lying to yourself if you say that you didn’t feel it too.”
Wanda pushes the tray to one side and lies down on the bed, turning her back to him. “I’m not hungry anymore. Leave me alone. I’m tired.”
Stephen sighs as he takes the tray away.
---
“You weren’t really dead, you know,” Stephen says softly as he sits at the foot of his bed.
Wanda’s lying on his bed with her back turned to him, but he knows that she’s awake.
“Your chaos magic saved you. It was done out of self-preservation, I think.”
Silence.
“I didn’t resurrect you. You were still alive, so the spell didn’t work. Imagine my surprise.”
Still, there’s only silence.
“I’m sorry, Wanda. Maybe you’re right, and I was just being selfish. I thought… Never mind.”
But when Stephen stands up to leave, Wanda finally turns around and looks at him. “No, stay.”
---
“Tell me what happened,” Wanda says in a whisper. She’s lying on her side, looking at him sitting next to her on the bed. Out of respect, he’s sitting on top of the comforter, leaning his back against the headboard, twiddling his thumbs because he’s not sure what to do with his hands.
When she reaches out with one hand to grasp his restless fingers, his heart skips a beat. She runs her thumb against the back of his hand in a gentle back-and-forth motion that almost stills his heart.
“I’m sorry for—” Wanda says, but he turns to her and shushes her.
“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should beg for forgiveness.”
Wanda smiles as she pulls his hand closer to her. “Imagine that. Stephen Strange begging for forgiveness.”
“I’ll even get on my knees if you want.” He laughs nervously. When he turns to look at her, he sees that she’s bringing his hand to her lips.
“No, really. I’m sorry for being so stubborn earlier. And I’m sorry for… everything.”
He’s not sure how to respond. Her warm breath against his hand is distracting him and it feels so nice. He’s not exactly sure what’s going on here, but he’s not opposed to any of it.
“This is your bed, Stephen. You should lie down. If you want to, I mean. You don’t have to. Oh, crap. What am I saying?”
Seeing her all flustered makes him chuckle. He’s never seen her like this before and it gives him butterflies in his stomach. It’s like he’s in elementary school all over again and his crush is giving him all of her attention.
When Stephen lies down on his side to look at her, she makes a big fuss about the covers. “Get under the blankets. It’s cold tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He’s not cold at all, but he does as he's told. The way she’s avoiding eye contact with him, while a pink tinge spreads from her cheeks to her neck and chest, makes him think it’s just a ploy to get them closer.
When she intertwines their fingers together, he looks at her with a quiet fondness. When he reaches out with his free hand to place his fingers on her chin, she quickly tilts her head up and looks at him so fiercely he swears he can lose himself in her eyes forever.
He’s the first one to break the silence. “You don’t have to apologize. I’ve already forgiven you.”
“For everything?”
“For a lot of things. Not quite everything. At least, not yet. But someday. Maybe sooner rather than later, I think.”
“That’s more than what I’ve forgiven myself for.”
“Be gentle with yourself, Wanda.” Stephen moves closer to her so he can lay his hand on her cheek. “Life hasn’t been easy for you.”
“Then why bring me back?” Her voice comes out in a whisper.
“I believe in second chances.”
“You’re too good for me, you know,” she says as she looks away for a second.
"Trust me, Wanda. I'm no saint."
When she looks at him again, he leans in towards her. He thinks she can probably hear his heart beating rapidly. They’re so close now, their breathing quickening. Nothing but a couple of inches of empty space between them. He wants to kiss her, but he’s a gentleman first and foremost, so he asks, “May I?”
In response, she kisses him first.
---
“Did you feel it too, Wanda? That thing between us. Like a thread. Not magic. I don’t know what it was.”
“It was magic.”
“What? How do you know?”
“It was a combination of our magic. Something new and unique. I thought you knew.”
“That’s an interesting theory.”
“It’s not a theory, Dr. Stephen Strange. If you looked closely, really looked closely, then you’ll see that I’m right.”
---
“I don’t feel it anymore. That thread you mentioned before.”
“Because your magic is gone?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’m so sorry, Wanda.”
"It's not your fault, Stephen."
---
“But I feel something else between us,” Wanda whispers in his ear.
Stephen replies with a passionate kiss, full of desire and urgency. When a moan escapes from her lips, it's the loveliest sound he's ever heard.