Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they belong to Marvel.
Author's Note: Rated T for some language and some...suggestiveness.
Shit. It hurt. Whatever the Zealot had stabbed him with, his body was not taking it well. Every breath was painful. Definitely punctured a lung. Fluid could be building up in his chest cavity...the projectile hadn't gone all the way through.
Doctor Stephen Strange needed a doctor of his own, or he'd bleed out all over the hall of the New York Sanctum.
He hoped he'd have enough energy to conjure the gateway, but there was a slight hitch. It wasn't like he could just appear in the hall. Then, he remembered a place. Somewhere out of the way, where he wouldn't be seen, and it would put him close to the ER. Close to Christine.
As he summoned the strength to raise his hands to make the gateway, Mordo's words echoed in his mind. "Visualize it. Picture every detail. The more detailed the picture, the easier the journey."
Detailed huh? His mind drifted...
Something hit the floor near his feet, but Stephen barely registered the clunk. He was totally focused on the task at hand. Just a little more...and...
Christine gasped, and Stephen smiled triumphantly.
...There.
He looked down at Christine. The normally put together Doctor Palmer looked decidedly disheveled. He gripped Christine by the shoulders and helped her to a standing position, then gently and feather light, tucked a loose stand of her hair back behind her ear and let one finger trail from her ear down to her chin before catching her in a final kiss.
"The things you can do with those hands of yours," Christine whispered breathlessly, her own hands flat against the wall for support. She looked up at him with a small smile.
Stephen held them up and wiggled his fingers. "What can I say? These are my moneymakers."
She hit him in the chest with an open palm, and he closed his hand over hers, keeping it pressed against him. "What fell?" Christine asked, her voice and composure mostly returning.
"Oh, that? That... Was the earth moving," Stephen's blue eyes crinkled at his own joke, and Christine rolled her eyes. He laughed and looked down. "Bottle of glass cleaner," he noted, picking it up and returning it to the shelf.
"Better make sure it's exactly where it goes," Christine warned. "You know how OCD Harry is. If it's not precisely in place, he'll know someone's been in here." Her face flushed at the thought.
"Doctor Palmer, you wound me," Stephen put a hand to his heart. He leaned down so his lips were right next to her ear, and Christine shivered at the proximity. "I am nothing if not..." His teeth nipped her earlobe. "Precise."
Focus, Stephen!
The magic swirled, and Stephen fell ungracefully through the gateway and onto the cold tile floor. He gasped from the impact. He'd done it. Janitor's closet. Tenth floor. He looked down as he tried to climb to his feet. Blood stained the pristine tile. Harry will have a fit. However, Stephen had more pressing things on his mind.
Christine. I need to find Christine...