Chapter Text
Surprisingly, Stephen was quite enjoying himself. The gala was not as dry as Doctor Richard, his senior neurosurgeon, had implied. Sure, the food was doing nothing to quell his hunger but it was excellent. The music -The Four Seasons, Summer, published in 1725 by Vivaldi was currently playing- was tasteful and not too loud. Most importantly, the people he'd talked to had looked suitably impressed with his track record. It always felt good to have his prowess appropriately recognized.
So yes, Stephen was enjoying himself. Christine, not so much. His best friend had accompanied him as a fellow promising doctor but did not enjoy the limelight as much as himself. It was a shame, Stephen thought privately, as Christine was just as much deserving of praise as he was.
He glanced up, trying to find her in the crowd. She had left for drinks and had yet to come back. It was quite early still, making finding her easy as most had yet to arrive. Stephen disengaged from his conversation as politely as he could to join her by the bar.
"Is everything alright?" He asked lightly as he neared her.
She huffed. "Yeah, sorry. I just needed some space. The man is drunk on his own importance. I don't get how you could stand speaking to him for so long."
Stephen chuckled. "He was, wasn't he? But his pockets are deep enough to fund our research. Securing his financial backing would be a huge step forward in developing our technique."
Christine made a face. "Well, at least you were charming enough for the both of us." A corner of her lips lifted in a small smile. "Which is not a sentence I thought I'd ever say about you."
"I take offense to that." He protested with no heat. "I can be plenty charming."
She chuckled. "I know you can. You just usually don't bother."
Well, Stephen could not deny that. "Most people don't deserve the extra effort. But this is important."
"I know." Christine may not be as career focused as he was, but she valued their work just as much as he did. Their research could help thousands of people, changing their lives for the better.
She opened her mouth to say something when they heard a commotion near the entrance. A man had walked into the hall, a woman on his arm and people fawning over him, all clamoring for his attention. The man laughed freely, charming the ladies and flattering the egos of fellow wealthy people. Stephen recognized him on sight even if he was wholly uninterested in the billionaire -his memory did not let him forget anything he'd read and Vogue had done two pieces on Tony Stark last year alone.
"Just look at him, strutting about like he owns the place." Stephen commented disparagingly.
"He do owns the place, Stephen." Christine, Stephen decided, was being altogether unhelpful and sounded entirely too amused for his taste.
No matter. Tony Stark was inconsequential. Stephen turned to Christine, holding his arm to link with hers. "Shall we get that drink?"
"We shall." She said regally as she took the offered arm.
Later, Christine having decided to slip into more confortable shoes and do whatever ladies did in the bathroom, Stephen headed back to the bar. They'd probably be leaving soon, having done as much networking as they could, and he wanted to enjoy one last drink -he could practically taste how expensive they were and figured he could indulge himself a little. They'd exhausted all avenues of fun to be had in this gala, the novelty of it having worn off a while ago. He took a seat on a bar stool, waiting for the barman to notice him.
Someone slid on the seat next to him but Stephen paid them no heed, focused on not missing his turn with the barman.
"What's a handsome man like you doing all alone at this hour?" The man next to him said suavely.
Stephen stiffened. "Excuse me?" He asked as he turned towards the stranger, intent on telling him off.
He froze as he recognized him. "A man like you staying all on his lonesome is a travesty. Allow me to rectify that." Tony Stark gave him an appreciative once over and waggled his eyebrow suggestively.
Stephen's eyebrow twitched as displeasure filled him. Admittedly, Stephen was not sure what exactly rubbed him the wrong way with Stark. His behavior was irksome, no doubt about it, but it didn't quite deserved the visceral animosity the man was provoking in him.
"I have a date already." He said icily, then went for the jugular. "And even if I didn't, I don't think a war profiteer would qualify as a better alternative than being alone."
Stark's smile fizzled out, his demeanor shifting from seductive to cool aloofness in a blink. "I understand why your date fled your presence. You're insufferable." With these words, he slid off his seat gracefully and seamlessly joined a group of people, smile as fake as his persona.
"Was that Tony Stark?" Christine asked with surprised awe. It seemed not even his best friend was impervious to the aura Stark exhibited, which exacerbated Stephen's negative feelings about said man.
"Yes." He answered curtly, trying to swallow back his anger. Christine didn't deserve his annoyance. "Are you ready to leave?" He asked her abruptly, all thoughts of having one last drink forgotten.
Christine blinked in surprise. "Yes, I suppose. But didn't you-"
"Not anymore," He interrupted her. "Let's leave."
Stephen was already annoyed at having been called for a simple check-up. The director had made it clear the patient was his top priority, even going as far as to tell Stephen to treat them like a king. Like Stephen was a valet instead of the most promising neurosurgeon this country had seen. Preposterous!
VIP patients were the worst. Obnoxious and demanding, they usually made life hell for the unlucky doctor stuck with them. Simply knowing he could be prepping for his upcoming surgery right now but was instead stuck asking stupid questions to some dimwitted wealthy man? That was enough to sour his entire day.
The surgery he would be undertaking was tricky. Most neurosurgeons would balk at the difficulty, but Stephen was confident he could pull it off. Still, he needed every bit of extra time he could grasp onto to make sure he actually succedeed. His time was more valuable than to waste on a job even a brainless intern was capable of accomplishing. But despite having the freedom of arranging his planning as he wished and choosing his own cases -courtesy of being one of the best-, he was not in a position to refuse a direct request from the hospital director. Yet.
Stephen paused right outside of the private room to compose himself. He would need every bit of his self-control to get through this check-up in a professional manner. Despite what others might say -spearheaded by West, who seemed intent on compensating his subpar skills by attacking others' capabilities-, Stephen tried not to let his mood affect his work.
He stepped foot inside the room and froze promptly, blinking at the scene in front of him. There stood Tony-fucking-Stark of all people, one foot through the window and sheets tied up in a rope like he was escaping jail. He resisted the urge to pinch himself to check if he was dreaming and rolled his eyes instead.
He had not seen Stark since that Gala four years ago and would have been happy keeping it that way. Following his scandals and blunders from afar had been quite enough, although Stephen was not heartless enough to not have felt pity at the man's kidnapping in Afghanistan. Still, he feared that little bit a goodwill towards Stark would not extend into having a pleasant encounter with the man.
"Where do you think you're going?" Stephen asked, not bothering to cover up the iciness from his tone. He might be willing to do the damn check-up, but no one said he should be pleasant about it. Given his patient was Stark, he was not even inclined to try.
Stark froze comically halfway through the window, then turned at Stephen. He scowled as he recognized him. "What's it to you? What are you even doing here?"
"You recognize me. I'm flattered." Stephen said in a deadpan tone that belied his words. "Stephen Strange, neurosurgeon and currently in charge of verifying your cognitive health." He paused, debating whether he should continue before he decided he didn't care. "And judging by what you were attempting, it's not looking good for you."
Stark went back into the room. Stephen very deliberately did not let his relief at that transpire on his face. He did not care for the paperwork he would have to deal with if Stark injured himself during his stupid stunt.
"I could have pulled it off." Stark declared petulantly like the child he was.
"We're on the third floor." Stephen pointed out, very obviously judging.
Stark rolled his eyes. "Hence the makeshift rope. Duh."
Stephen closed his eyes briefly as he prayed to whomever was listening for strengh. "Well, as your doctor, I cannot recommend you to leave without a check-up, especially when I can see from your right pupil being wider than your left that you've got a concussion."
Stark, infuriatingly, just shrugged, unbothered. "Not my first, probably won't be my last. Don't worry about it." He made for the door, apparently deciding to discard discretion and simply walk out. Why he did not go for that option first, Stephen did not know, nor did he particularly care to know either.
He was already at the door when Stephen spoke. "For a man praised for his intellect, you sure are callous with your brain. But go ahead, leave against medical advice. However, when you are unable to make short term memories, or use fine motor movement, or even make simple calculations because you didn't bother to let me examine you, don't go blaming me."
Stark paled slightly, naked fear showing in his eyes. "That's a concern?"
Stephen blinked, a little thrown off by the genuine crack in Stark's composure. For some reason, he'd thought Stark above vulnerability. The terror the man was letting through made him seem human in a way Stephen never considered him to be before. He would actually have felt a little guilty for scaring Stark if it hadn't made him reconsider leaving.
"Not necessarily." He found himself reassuring Stark before continuing firmly. "But I won't know that until I've examined you."
Stark deflated. Defeated, he sat back on his bed. "Alright, do your thing."
Stephen simply nodded and set to work. He flashed a light in Stark's eyes, noting the slightly delayed reaction. He pursed his lips. Definitely a concussion, but he'd already known that from the asymmetry in Stark's pupils. He did several additional physical tests, not detecting anything particularly concerning.
"Any nausea? Vertigo? Headache?" Stark shook his head in denegation each time, though Stephen noted the slight wince it caused. Stark was definitely feeling a little pain.
Stephen did not comment on it, instead moving on to the classic questions to assert Stark's memory. Stark answered them dutifully.
Stephen bit his lip. Somehow, he really disliked this subdued version of Stark. It felt wrong.
"All right," He concluded when he finished the check-up. "I'm confident I can clear you. The concussion is minor and should not result in major side effects, and all of them should be temporary." He started quickly typing on his tablet his conclusions as he spoke. "Should any symptoms worsen or persist for more than a day, call me and I'll fit you in for a follow-up. I mean it." He looked up at Stark until he nodded, then went back to his screen, satisfied. "I'll prescribe you with a painkiller, unless that's a concern?" Stark shook his head but Stephen had a feeling he would not touch them anyway. "Otherwise, ease off the screens and no strenuous activity, including intellectual ones. Any questions?"
"So no paperwork?"
Stephen huffed, surprised. It seemed paperwork was universally hated, even amongst billionaires. "Definitely no paperwork."
Stark let out a smile at that confirmation. "I'm free to go then?"
"You're free to go, no escaping through windows needed." Stephen confirmed dryly.
Stark barked a laugh. He got up and made for the door, turning to Stephen once he reached it. "Thanks, doc." And with that, he was gone.
Stephen sat there for a moment more, gathering his thoughts. It hadn't been the disaster he feared. And Stark... Stephen's mind flashed back to the vulnerability Stark showed earlier. Stark was not quite what he expected. He pondered on it for a couple minutes, before dismissing it. He had work to do. Besides, it was unlikely he would ever encounter Stark again.
Then he remembered what Stark did for fun and groaned.
They were bound to cross paths again, weren't they?