A/N: Sorry for the super long wait. Holidays really slowed my writing down but here's a couple updates for you. Okay these next few chapters have a lot of good stuff in them. Hope ya'll like :)
Warning: There is a lot of angst and depression in this one.
PS: The reason I write these stories is so that I can share and portray how I understand Dr. Strange, and help people to better understand him themselves. I know that a lot of people don't really get him so I hope that my stories can help people gain a better perspective of him.
"Some days, I start off draggin' my feet... Some days I wanna fly...
Some days all make sense to me... Some days, I just don't wanna know why...
Hey, hey, I'm not givin' up no, I'm gonna stand up and shout it... Oh yeah, I'm workin' it out, " -Hilary Duff
Astrid hardly slept a wink that night. She tossed and turned, her mind running a million miles a minute trying to remember every detail of her encounter with Dr. Strange. It was a relief to finally stumble out of bed at 6 AM.
She hoped that work would provide a pleasant distraction for her. It did not. When she first clocked in Astrid knew she had nine solid hours of complete and utter boredom before she'd be free. The minutes ticked by. Astrid had trouble focusing on her work. She kept glancing at her watch or at the overhead clock, praying that time would go faster. All she wanted to do was follow the instructions imparted unto her and go to the address indicated on the white business card. The anticipation was driving her crazy. She'd never been good at waiting.
Astrid was growing restless. Her job was so... ordinary. Unchanging. Day in and day out it was the same. Every day she went to work, did her job, tolerated her co-workers, and earned a paycheck. Is this what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life? Work this job for forty years and then... you die. Time went on, painfully slowly. The monotony of daily life was beyond frustrating. If it weren't for her nightlife as a vigilante Astrid might have gone insane a long time ago.
She rubbed wearily at her eyes, wishing that time would go faster. She'd brought the business card to work with her and it was just eating a hole in her pocket. As soon as Astrid got off work she was going to that address. This mystery had been played out for long enough and Astrid was done with the games. She wanted solid, hardcore answers. And she was damn well going to get them.
The hours crawled by, with Astrid barely hanging on to her sanity. So far, her day wasn't going so well. The printer had run out of color again and Astrid hadn't been able to find the new cartridges. She had accidentally messed up some of their newest headline photos, which turned the people's skin tones a sickly green. Jameson, not surprisingly, hadn't seen it as an accident at all, and had chewed her out for her "practical joke". Peter had stopped by, made a funny comment about their nice "Hulk" shades, then had departed for the rest of the afternoon to do who knows what. Then, when her lunch break finally came around, Astrid had tripped over her own feet and nearly broken her neck on the stairs.
Yep, her day was going just peachy. It was just one of those days where Astrid really hated her life.
Her afternoon didn't go much better. Since her computer wasn't installed with antivirus programs yet, it contracted an online virus, several actually, and decided to crash on her. Astrid still had four hours remaining on her shift though so she spent the rest of the time running errands and doing odd jobs for people, namely fetching coffee for Jameson.
Time continued to move slower than molasses. Would her day never end?
Fortunately, it did. Astrid was pretty worn out by the end of her shift. She couldn't wait to get home and take a shower, to wash all the dirt and grime of her bad day away. Always though, waiting at the back of her mind like a hidden gem, was the thought of going to visit Strange tonight. More importantly, the thought of getting the answers she needed. Her exhaustion from work quickly ebbed and was replaced by anticipation for what she had planned that night.
When Astrid pulled up to her apartment a woman she had never seen before quickly exited the building and hurried down the stone steps. Astrid shouldered her purse, slowly exiting her car and keeping an eye trained on the dark-haired woman clad all in black clothing and a trenchcoat. Was that the glint of a white skull emblazoned on her shirt? Curiosity sparked up. Something about the woman's retreat, the way she had her shoulders set and she kept her gaze locked ahead, suggested that this was a woman you wouldn't want to mess with. Warning bells went off in Astrid's head. Naturally, that made Astrid want to get closer to the woman. When it came to these things, she was never known for her sensibility.
"Hey!" Astrid jogged up to the woman, her purse banging a rhythm into her thigh. The dark-haired woman stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder, a look of surprise etched on her face. Then just as quickly it was replaced by cold indifference.
"What do you want?" she asked wearily, her voice coming out sad and husky.
That was a good question. Now that Astrid had her attention, what did she want? Astrid shoved her hands in her pockets to keep the winter chill off of them. Her eyes quickly took in the woman's worn clothes, scuffed combat boots, grimy dirt-stained fingernails, and the slight bulge in her trenchcoat where a weapon might be concealed. What struck Astrid the most was the look of pure exhaustion in the woman's ice-blue eyes. It was a look that said there was no end to her hell on earth. It took Astrid mere seconds to take all this in. With a woman like this there would be no use beating around the bush. The most direct route would be the safest.
"You look like you're in some sort of trouble," Astrid said bluntly. She relaxed her stance, hoping to set the woman at ease and get her to talk to her.
"I'm always in trouble," she replied calmly. "But what's that to you?" Her eyes flashed red as she balled up her fists.
Astrid didn't even flinch. "You've got that look about you, the look of the hunted. The look of the hunter. It's something only a fellow vigilante can recognize." Astrid glanced again at the familiar skull symbol on the woman's black shirt. So Frank had a partner now? Or more like a wannabe tagalong? From what Astrid could see, this woman was anything but a wannabe. Wherever she went, she meant business.
Slowly the woman unclenched her fists. She eyed Astrid warily as though she were a grenade that might go off in her face.
Astrid continued, speaking softly. "I have no idea why I feel compelled to speak to you. Sometimes I get these, pulses, in my head, telling me what I should do, where I should go, or even when I need to do these things. They never tell me why. I've learned to trust my instincts though," Astrid shrugged, suddenly feeling slightly defensive about her oddity. "I don't know, maybe it's my conscience. Or maybe it's something more. A gift. All I know is that whatever caused this, it was no accident." Words kept flowing from her lips. Astrid couldn't stop them. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was what she needed to say.
"I would know a lot about accidents," she continued. "I know that they suck at the time, and we hate it and hate it when it happens, but there's a reason for it. There always is." Astrid thought of Miranda, feeling a fresh wave of regret wash over her. Astrid had stayed in Miranda's place, though not a day went by that Astrid didn't wish they could have switched places. What was the reason for this? Why should one live and the other die? Would good ever truly come of it?
"Stop." The lone word came out sounding parched and strangled, as though the woman didn't talk much. She probably didn't. "I don't want to hear it. No matter how good your intentions, no matter how righteous you think you are, You. Don't. Know. Me." she bit off each word, anger and self-loathing evident in her tone of voice. Astrid was failing her, failing her like so many other people she'd failed. "If you did then you'd know there was no helping me."
The woman turned her back on Astrid, trenchcoat flapping about her like a dark flag in the wind. She stormed away.
Failure. The word bit into Astrid's mind like a sharp knife. You are a failure.
"I'm sorry!" Astrid cried out after her, so much emotion evident in those two words. I'm sorry for your loss... For your pain... I'm sorry I can't help... Sorry I'm a failure... Sorry... sorry... sorry...
I'm sorry Miranda.
Astrid sucked in a breath at the unbidden thought. The breeze picked up, scattering red and brown leaves about the sidewalk. Astrid's hair whipped into her face, the red-gold strands tangling in the sudden gale. She brushed it back furiously, then hunched her shoulders against the chill and ascended the steps to her apartment.
Astrid felt like such a failure. The encounter she'd had only moments ago was a blunt reminder of how often she'd failed somebody. She could have done better, should have tried harder... but in the end she would always fail. The look in the woman's eyes said that clear enough. You can't help me.
Frustration reached its boiling point in Astrid and bubbled over. She flung her purse across the room, contents spilling out all over the floor. She slammed the door behind her.
"WHAT IS THE POINT OF MY EXISTENCE?" she screamed, tearing at her hair. Astrid's form shook with pent-up rage. She balled up her fists, suddenly needing to hurt something. She punched the wall, over and over again, until her knuckles were raw and bloody.
"Useless!" she screamed. Her knuckles bruised and split, thick blood oozed from the wounds. "You useless waste of space!" Voices screamed their accusations at her. Her stepmother spoke, face twisted with her disappointment of Astrid. You're such a disappointment. You should have done better in life. You are a failure and you will never be good enough. For anyone.
Astrid collapsed from the weight of those words. She leaned back, her head resting against the wall, her bloodied hands resting in her lap. "It's true," she whispered. Not for the first time, she contemplated death. Surely that would be a better option. If she was such a failure then what was the point of living?
No. A still quiet voice said from the back of her mind. The hair on her neck stood up, and shivers ran up and down her spine. Astrid placed a hand over her face. She shut her eyes tight, breathing heavily.
"Don't. God, don't try to argue with me. Please." She wasn't in the mood for it right now.
You are worth more to Me than the sun, moon, or stars in the heavens. You are Beloved.
Despite her denial, Astrid felt something in her respond to the tender words. A warmth spread through her, like she was being wrapped in a hug. She knew she didn't deserve it, she didn't want to feel it, but she did. She felt loved. Loved with a love that transcends all understanding.
An hour and a half later Astrid had showered, changed, and composed herself. She headed back out the door of her apartment, excitement renewed for her newest adventure. Greenwich Village awaited her. She still carried the white business card around, now shoved in the back pocket of her denim jeans. It was kept more as a keepsake than anything else at this point, since she already had the address burned into memory.
Astrid tossed her battered purse into the passenger seat then started up the engine. White exhaust fumes billowed up from the rear end. The worn and ill-used engine complained loudly of the bitter cold that froze its insides. Astrid uttered a foul word and banged her hand on the dash, urging the vehicle to work. The car sputtered to life with a harsh cough. Astrid offered up a prayer of thanks and backed the car out into the street, double-checking to make sure she didn't run over any jaywalkers. As screwed up as her day had already been, that was certainly the last thing she needed. Still, she sighed to herself, At least I'm finally going to get answers from that Strange guy. Her hands tightened around the wheel, knuckles screaming in protest as her fresh scabs split and blood oozed from the cracks and scrapes on her skin. The makeshift cloth bandages she had wrapped on either hand didn't offer much comfort, but at least it covered up the self-inflicted damage.
Pain shot up Astrid's arm. She gasped, jerking the wheel in order to make the right turn. She narrowly missed the oncoming van. Astrid swore again, loudly and vehemently. Her ears stung from all the bad language she'd been using of late.
Ten hairpin turns later, and one time spent asking for directions because she'd gotten lost, Astrid at last turned onto Bleecker Street. She found a parking spot a few houses down from her target address. From the safety and warmth of her car Astrid peered out at the building. It looked... ordinary. Disappointingly so. It was just a regular two-story white townhouse slapped together cheek-and-jowl style in between the other homes. What else had she been expecting? Astrid tried to contain her rising disappointment. Don't judge a book by its cover, they say. Or in this case, don't judge a person by his house. Wait... What?
Astrid shook her head and got back on track with why she was here. Without further ado she shouldered her purse and stepped out of her car. The sun had only just set, the light from the dying rays casting streaks of red and orange in the blue-purple twilight. Astrid tried not to shiver as she walked down the sidewalk and then ascended the steps to the door of 177A Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village.
"Somebody better be home," Astrid muttered into the chilly air. "Or I swear I'll rip him a new one. No more mysteries, stranger." She rapped on the door.
And waited.