"Right!" The Doctors watched Doctor Strange with some trepidation. He had always been both a force of nature and more than a bit peculiar, but this was up there, even for his eccentricities. A moment ago he had been about to hit the floor, for a completely unknown reason, and now he was reaching for a scalpel, hands perfectly steady, walking up to their dying patient. They were losing her, quickly, and they needed to act fast, but if anyone could do it, it was him.

At least, without the nerve damage which had ended his career and seen him disappear, he had been the obvious choise. Not that there was any evidence of said nerve damage at all visible at the moment.

"Strange!" Doctor West protested, as Strange stepped up close to their patient. Their patient who had just flatlined, at that. "It is perfectly fine," Doctor Strange replied, letting Doctor Palmer continue what she was doing with the heartstarters without interfering. After less than a minute she stepped back, giving Strange room. When she reported on the patient's status, West noted with some resentment that she was talking to Strange and not to him. "She has a pulse but it won't last long."

"I won't need long," Strange replied, turning to the patient, setting the scalpel to where he needed to cut immediately. West looked at his hands as Strange started to work, quickly but securely, as if the man somehow knew just how long he had to work with. His hands were perfectly steady. Even though it had only been half a second, Strange's focus was perfect already. West had always envied that, though he'd never tell Strange as much, the arrogant sod.

West picked up on a strange look between Strange and Palmer, and that was all the warning they had before Palmer started to shoo them all away, as if Strange needed the OR all to himself and they weren't all as most useful where they were!

The argument lasted for perhaps three quarters of a minute, before Doctor Strange's voice cut them off. "It Is fine. Christine, will take over, please?" West found himself turning back abruptly at this, looking at how Strange put his scalpel away, hands once more trembling as they would for someone with his level of nerve damage. "You cannot possibly be done already!"

Strange just smiled, blinking at Christine. Then he left the theatre, and West didn't see him again for months.

The Cloak watched its new chosen Sorcerer attentively. The strange human, who insisted to be titled as "Doctor", not "Master", not even by the ancient human who knew so much, was washing his hands of blood as red as the cloak was itself.

It had not been allowed to come, not into that room where everyone wore strange robes in what the Cloak refused to even refer to as clothing, much less proper fabric.

Short as their partnership had been, the Cloak enjoyed the feeling of resting on this new chosen human's shoulders, but it had not minded being left behind, just this once. Strange, because that was his name, the Cloak gathered, the name of his new human, had put it down gently, and there had been no danger in the place he walked into without it. It did not insist on coming everywhere, not if there was no danger. It could guard him perfectly adequately from where he'd left it, for the time being. It would be guarding: humans were so fragile, they always needed plenty of looking after.

Now, though, after its own human had returned, and was through washing his hands and his arms in a rather odd fashion, in the Cloak's opinion, he was finally changing back into proper clothing which would actually keep him warm. Not to mention that, in the Cloak's opinion, there was such a thing as dignity to be upheld. It liked to give in to a little bit of dramatic effect and flair at times, too, and judging by how he'd studiously turn, when there was time for such indulgences, this young - still fairly arrogant and with a lot to learn - human was just the same. The Cloak liked this about him, too.

Dressed once more in decent clothing, the Cloak's human reached out for it, giving a very tiny smile, seemingly entirely in surprise, as it floated into his hand without him having to touch it. Giving it another one of those delightful, snappy movements, he helped it take its just position, folded around his neck and resting upon his shoulders. As it ought to be. Maybe, the Cloak thought, it had underrestimated him, just a little bit. This human clearly knew to what he belonged, at least. Not many humans did.

It swooped the edge of its high collar across high, elegant cheekbones, just to check, but they were perfectly smooth, almost cold, and entirely dry. The Cloak was amused when its human swatted at the fabric to make it go away. So young, so proud. Well, if the Cloak just got some time, it would make a great Sorcerer indeed of this human.

"That wound was one of the oddest ones I've ever seen," Christine noted, leaning against the wall of Strange's (apparent) favourite supply closet with her coffee, "and not just the way your wound was strange. Though that too." She smiled to him. Strange chuckled where he was leaning against the wall, letting his red cloak, which was apparently moving by itself, stroke across those sharp cheekbones of his. She sympatised with it - and you knew your life was crazy when you sympathised with a cloak - in this; she had frequently done so herself, back when she was still allowed to.

At the beginning of their conversation, going over the patient's status, Stephen had tried to make the Cloak stop caressing him, but he had given up a few minutes in, probably from forgetting it in his focus of matters at hand, as she knew that subbornness of his far too well to believe he had simply given up.

Their patient was going to live, they'd established that before he'd left the OR, but Christine had checked up on her where West continued what looked like it might be an extended surgery while Stephen changed back into looking utterly unlike Strange, as it were. Christine was not quite sure how, exactly, their patient had made it through, except Stephen must have been brilliant again. That, and the mystery woman he had brought in dying from stab wounds must be stronger and more stubborn than anyone she'd ever treated before. Then again, maybe she was magical, too. Probably, actually.

"You can use magic to inflict harm upon someone, as you know," he nodded to her, repsonding to a question she'd almost forgotten she'd asked, in the middle of all her confusing thoughts. "I used some to help the healing process. I decided it was a good time to test out a hypothesis. I was right." Doctor Palmer rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything. As far as Stephen's arrogance went, this was not a case which even made it to the top ten list.

"And your hands," Christine stated with some worry, reaching out to take one. It said something, to her at least, about how much he had grown in the months they'd been apart, that he didn't try and stop her. The hand shook in her grip, but Stephen did nothing to hide it. It didn't seem to bother him. Maybe he was no longer quite so foolishly proud. She would not allow herself to hope, just yet, that he had finally grown up. All she knew was that he did not try to move away.

To the opposite, he came slightly closer to let her look. "I used magic to keep them steady. She told me how to do it, just before. In our astral forms," he added for an explanation. "Was that... why you almost fell?" He nodded in responce, his eyes unsually soft.

"Does it... hurt? To do that to your hands? You stopped when... well, as soon as you had stabilised her." Strange shook his head slightly. "She told my about a case I heard of when still living here in New York. The first time, I mean." He added with a smile to her, pressing down a little with his fingers, as she still held his hand. "While I... well, while I was falling."

"It was about a badly injured man who learnt how to walk again. He uses his arts to walk, so it can be done continuously. But I have better things to do with my magic!" He smirked at her, as she looked up from his trembling hand, seemingly to say that he knew himself that he was arrogant. From what she'd seen, maybe he had the right to be. Sometimes. A little bit.

"Must have been a short conversation," she said a little dryly, making him smile just as dryly back, repeating, it sounded like, someone else's words. "Time can be relative."

"Perhaps it can," she agreed, letting go of his hand and gently pushing him towards the wall by putting her palms against his shoulders. He had used to be very guarded of his space, arrogant in every aspect of his life, but now he let her, just somewhat nervously looking at her face, his eyes flickering between hers... and her mouth.

As he hit the wall, she smiled, bent closer, paused for a moment and then pulled away, backing up. "Maybe in your cult, but I am on call. I will see you around." With that, she smiled and walked out of the supply closet. She could hear him laugh behind her... somewhat to her surprise. Maybe, and she had not believed that for a long time, there was still hope for them.

Inside the supply closet, Doctor Strange chuckled for himself and adjusted his sling ring to open a portal. He had work to do.

Sometimes, I like to fix film endings, and when I saw this (wonderful) film, I saw something I knew I needed to make right. So stay tuned, and I shall do so.

No copyright infringement is intended.

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