"We have a new student joining us today," The Ancient One announces calmly at the end of meditation. "Everyone, this is Mister Stephen Strange," she introduces.
A tall, slightly unkempt man steps forward and gives an awkward wave. "It's Doctor Stephen Strange, actually," he corrects. You can't help but roll your eyes from the back row. Greeeat, you think to yourself. This one's not only broken, but pretentious.
"Y/N," The Ancient One calls, startling you. "A word please. The rest of you are free to go."
With wide eyes, you obey, quickly scrambling to your feet from your cross-legged position on the floor. "Yes Master?" you step forward and inquire with respect.
"I'd like for Mister Strange to shadow you while he gets his bearings," she explains. "Show him around. Answer any questions he might have to the best of your ability."
You sneak a glance at the gentleman standing to your left. This should be fun, you think sarcastically, eyeing him up and down. The last thing you needed was some fragile skeptic looking to you for answers.
"I'll do my best," you say in the most convincing voice you can manage.
"Thank you, Y/N," The Ancient One replies. "Oh, and- don't let him give you too much trouble," she adds discreetly with a hint of amusement in her expression.
You force a smile and nod. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
As The Ancient Once departs, you turn your attention to the newest addition of Kamar-Taj. If the implications made by The Sorcerer Supreme were any indication, he must have a difficult personality. Keeping him at arm's length seems like the best approach.
"Strange," you address him in a calm, detached tone. And before he can even open his mouth to reply, you firmly add- "I'm not calling you 'Doctor'." And then you promptly turn on your heels and begin walking away. "Follow me," you call out behind you.
Stephen furrows his brow, a bit dumbstruck by your attitude. "Nice to meet you too," he remarks derisively. His voice is much deeper than expected. In fact, you'd never heard anything quite like it before.
"So where are we going?" he asks, striding up alongside you almost immediately. Your haste is no match for his long legs. So much for feeling authoritative...
"To the training grounds," you reply simply, and from there the two of you make your way across the compound in silence.
You stop off at the linen closet. It's a small room, lined floor to ceiling with shelves of traditional clothing in various colors and sizes. You turn and look at him to gauge his measurements and Stephen cocks his head in confusion.
"I thought we were going to train."
"We are. But first, we need to get you into appropriate attire."
You pull a set of generic white robes from the top shelf.
"Put these on," you order, holding the items out in front of him.
Stephen hesitates, his eyes meeting yours as if asking "do I have to?"
"It's the standard uniform of Kamar-Taj," you explain. "There's a changing stall down the hall past the laundry facilities. I'll be waiting outside."
When Stephen rejoins you in full attire, his discomfort is apparent. However, you can't help but admire the way the fabric hugs and elongates his lean, muscular form. You didn't have to like this guy, but he certainly had one of the nicest bodies you'd seen in awhile. Not that you'd ever admit it out loud.
"Much better," you state matter-of-factly. "Now we can begin."
The training grounds were just around the corner, beyond a small set of stairs. It was a large exterior space, littered with a handful of students practicing various kinds martial arts.
You lead Stephen to a quiet space in the corner of the courtyard, tying up your hair in preparation for what was to come.
"Alright Strange, you may be a doctor, but I'm assuming you don't know the first thing about hand to hand combat."
"There's not much use for it in a medical setting," Stephen responds snarkily.
"Well that's about to change."
You throw a sudden and unexpected punch, making contact with one of his very prominent cheekbones.
Strange recoils, more out of surprise than pain. After all, you hadn't hit him terribly hard.
"What the hell was that for?!"
"One of the most basic human instincts is self-defense," you reply ambiguously. "You wanna tap in to your true spirit? Defend yourself Strange."
You begin circling him as a panther would its prey. Stephen keeps his eyes locked on you, anticipating your next move. And yet, he makes almost no effort to dodge the blow when you side kick him in the stomach.
"Ahh," Stephen grunts in frustration.
"What's wrong?" you ask, your voice laced with teasing amusement. "Afraid to hit a woman?"
Your words irritate him enough to make him swing at you in annoyance.
You block his ill-conceived punch with little effort, dancing around him light on your feet.
"You know, most people think fighting is all about strength and power," you explain breathlessly. "But they're wrong. All you need is precision. I'm sure that's something you can relate to in your line of work."
Stephen swings at you again, and this time, you duck down to avoid contact, spinning around with the intention of kicking his legs out from under him. However Strange catches you off-guard as he grabs you by your ponytail, winding your hair around his hand and pulling you into a choke hold with his other arm.
"Ah, so you're a strategist," you note aloud as he holds your body firmly against his own. "Maybe that brain of yours will come in handy after all, Strange."
He laughs, a deep rumbling snicker. "You know, there's a certain irony to complementing the mind of a neurosurgeon."
You elbow him in the stomach forcefully, escaping his grasp.
Neurosurgeon? Your body goes momentarily rigid. Is this some kind of sick joke?
Strange capitalizes on your hesitation, landing a satisfied punch to your jaw. You retaliate in kind, using your signature roundhouse kick and knocking him straight to the ground.
You rub the side of your face, regaining your composure and without a word, you walk over and offer your opponent a hand. Reluctantly, he accepts it and you help him to his feet. Stephen's fingers shake beneath your grasp, and you resist the urge to study his multitude of scars as you let go.
"That's enough for today," you declare. "Come on, I'll show you around."
"So how was his first day of training?" The Ancient One inquires with curiosity later that evening.
"It was fine," you reply vaguely, suppressing your irritation.
She looks at you with persistent eyes, coaxing an elaboration without so much as a word.
"Okay, why me?" you finally ask with an earnest sigh. "You could've asked anybody to look after Strange. Why did it have to be me?"
The Ancient One smiles lightly. "Balance," she responds, as if it were obvious. "Certain personalities- certain energies- counter one another more productively than others. I thought you would be an appropriate match for his boundless intellect. And to be perfectly honest, I think his stubbornness and persistence will ultimately aid you in your own journey towards self-healing."
"Really?" you retort, unconvinced. "So it has nothing to do with the fact that he's a neurosurgeon?"
The Ancient One remains perfectly collected. "As I said, I think the two of you can learn from one another."
"There is nothing to be learned from that man," you remark all-too-quickly.
Your master's eyes widen in disappointment. "That's an incredibly closed-minded attitude, Y/N. Every life has value that can be passed from one to another. Strange is no more broken than you were when you first arrived at Kamar-Taj. Have you forgotten everything I've taught you?"
You exhale deeply, regaining your composure. "No, I haven't," you admit in respectful defeat.