The source of the contagion that had descended upon the once quiet, secluded Bavarian hamlet turned out to be more nefarious and ancient than even the wisest of the mystic brotherhood could have guessed; an object out of myth itself, buried for uncounted millennia beneath ice and snow and nearly impenetrable bedrock: Pandora's Box. Discovered by a band of inter-dimensional treasure hunters-who moved between realities in a constant search for precious metals, gems and any other prized objects that might find buyers wherever greed and lust for wealth ruled—they had been ignorant of the box's history, and wholly careless of its contents, concerned only for the profit it would bring to them. The leader of the band—a bit wiser than the rest, having been in the business most of his life—had threatened dismemberment to any of his crew that dared break the seal of the box, but two (currently one-handed) knuckleheads had been both curious and rapacious enough to dare to open it, thinking to abscond with the riches inside and set themselves up nicely in their own salvage operation. Disaster followed.
Half the crew had fallen ill before the rest had established a quarantine via force field around the village. Knowing that they were in way over their heads, some wanted to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Earth; others reckoned that the increased value of the artifact opened up a whole new market. They planned to showcase the village, held in stasis by their force field, as living proof of the box's efficacy.
Word eventually reached Kamar-Taj—via a loose network of informants and inter-dimensional spies-and a group of sorcerers went to investigate. The fix was a two-pronged effort; expulsion of the off-world miners and cures wherever possible for the ill. Several Masters from Kamar-Taj joined Doctor Strange to complete the clean-up, employing memory charms where needed to erase the incident from the villagers' awareness. An avalanche was blamed for the dozen plus deaths that had occurred before the mystic intervention.
The box proved indestructible, so that Stephen himself carried out the final, necessary task. After binding it in multiple layers of protection to keep it permanently sealed, he journeyed to a deep, deep space beyond the Milky Way, to within a safe distance of a small, seldom detected black hole, and cast it inside.
The mission had taken twice as long as he had anticipated—however, his hands remained pain free for the duration. And though his mind was fully focused on his vital priorities, there were moments—as he watched the magic flow from his own hands—that he felt Teyla's energy with him still. A warmth in his bones there, which he had carried since she had woven her spell—and which somehow reverberated as a comforting sensation in the center of his chest. Once all was set to right in Bavaria, he eagerly looked to return home.
In his absence, Teyla had resumed her studies at Kamar-Taj—which Stephen hoped meant that the pain she had taken on as a side effect of her spell on his behalf, had dissipated. Quietly disappointed to find her gone, he moved about his daily duties as Sanctum Master as efficiently as ever, but was restless in what little downtime he had, wishing for a valid reason-beyond checking up on her health and progress-to pay a visit to the compound in Kathmandu. Three full days found his patience for word of Teyla's wellbeing exhausted, so that he made an unscheduled trip back to Nepal.
He arrived mid-morning, to the familiar heat and humidity of late summer in a near equatorial zone. Several students and teachers greeted him as he hurried through the courtyard on his way to the library—his usual first stop on any return to Kamar-Taj.
The library was refreshingly cool, after the heat outside, and he found Wong taking inventory amidst the stacks, pulling out the odd book that sat out of order, to reshelve it in its proper place.
"Stephen, I didn't expect to see you so soon," Wong eyed him dubiously, "Is there some matter of urgency that brings you here?"
Stephen shrugged casually, "C'mon now, Wong—since when do I need an excuse to pay a visit to my favorite librarian?"
Wong pursed his lips and regarded Stephen silently.
"Ok, so…uh…things were just too quiet in New York," Stephen tried to explain. "I started to wonder if I was missing out on any fun here. You know, uh…a rash of demonic visitations on the locals…or disruptions on the astral plane…or maybe some unusual weather patterns caused by…sunspots," he sputtered, "…that kind of thing."
Wong turned back the shelf he'd been working on. "Really, Stephen," he grunted, crouching to grab a volume from the bottom shelf, "And you wouldn't be anxious for an update on your favorite protégé?"
"Uh-what?" Stephen scoffed, squinting and wagging his head, hoping to conceal the fact that that was the primary question on his mind.
Wong pointedly looked past Strange, and cocked his brow at someone behind him, so that before he had turned to look, Stephen just knew that it was Teyla. In that unguarded moment, he read her as swiftly as she so often read him. She panted softly, as though out of breath, and Stephen allowed himself the secret pleasure of believing that was on his account; that she had hastened to the library upon hearing of his return. And her honest, artless smile was surely just for him, and seemed the sunshine which he now realized he'd been missing since his time in Bavaria—and that the want of that same sunshine had been the most compelling of the reasons he had returned to Kamar-Taj this day.
Stephen glanced back at Wong, noted his quiet smirk, and understood that Wong had unerringly discerned those reasons.
"Master Wong," Teyla nodded her greeting, and then lifted her eyes to meet Stephen's, "And Doctor Strange. I was gladdened to hear that you had prevailed in your recent task." A flicker of hesitation crossed her face, before she added diffidently "And heartened, Sir, to see you well and safely returned to us now."
He remained very conscious of Wong at his back, but his growing smile gave his answer before he even made a sound. "Thank you, Teyla," Stephen replied, letting the warmth of her tender regard wash over him, "I am, uh…always happy to find my way back here." His eyes flitted to her hands, tracing the pale lines that were the remnant of the kindness she had done him, and his voice grew thick with gratitude, "I hope you are well, Teyla of Hadeeth."
"I am, Sir," she assured him, clasping her hands before her so he could see that she moved them easily and free of pain, "And suffer no ill effects from last you saw me."
Stephen nodded vigorously, relieved, "Good. Very good." He patted his chest, above his heart, "That's, uh…heartening to me."
Teyla bowed her head modestly, clearly understanding everything he had left unsaid, given Wong's presence. When she raised her face again, she was the picture of calm composure, with just a pretty trace of her former smile left to light the moment, "Now, if you will excuse me, Masters, I am due to meet with Master Salma shortly." Her eyes lingered upon Stephen's a second more, and then she had passed from the room.
Stephen exhaled, knowing he was grinning like a fool, and letting himself enjoy the feel of it before he turned to face Wong again. Wong was chuckling, as he so rarely did.
"What?" Stephen aimed for incredulity, though in truth he knew he had just earned Wong's reaction.
"You are 'heartened', Stephen?" Wong t'sked, shaking his head, "No wonder the girl has a crush on you."
Stephen huffed and rolled his eyes. "No, Wong—it's not like that at all. Something…something serious happened in New York. I helped her through it, is all…"
"Really?" Wong watched him skeptically.
"Yes," Stephen insisted, his voice deepening with emphasis, "We got to her dad's place, and…well…found out that he'd passed away a few years ago. She was pretty…devastated."
"I see," Wong nodded, "Pardon me, Stephen—I should not have implied…"
Stephen quickly waved off the apology, "No, no…its fine, Wong. It's all…good." But he felt obligated to add, "Truthfully, though, things have changed between us…between Teyla and I…"
"Oh?" Wong waited for Stephen's clarification.
But what could he say? It was far more than her father's passing. Certainly he had helped her through the early stages of her mourning—watching her then, and even now, as she carried her grief with a quiet dignity that shamed him for his behavior in the wake of his accident and loss. After New York, Stephen recognized that they shared a deeper bond than he ever would have expected; an unspoken understanding that was grounded in having seen—without a filter of any sort—one another's sorrow and grief, pain and remorse. Teyla had helped him far beyond the comfort he had given her, reckoning the guilt is kept compartmentalized, and showing him that he was worthy of forgiveness. That he must—even if it came slowly and gradually—learn to forgive himself. How was he to make Wong understand what was too dear to him right now to share with anyone?
"Look." Stephen extended his arms out, palms facing downward. "Look, Wong." His scarred hands were straight and rock-steady, no trace of tremor to be seen. "She worked a spell for me. A Hadeethan spell. Look," he insisted, flipping his hands over, and flexing them closed and open again several times. "I'm pain free right now, Wong. She told me it would be temporary—but do you have any idea what this means to me?"
"I think…I think I can imagine, Stephen," he answered, still conciliatory, "That's remarkable."
"It is," Stephen agreed. "She took a share of my pain into her own hands, Wong—for a time," he added swiftly, seeing the question arise on Wong's face, "Just for a time—and she's…she's fine now. I swear. I wouldn't have allowed it if I knew it would be otherwise."
"Of course, Stephen." Wong's eyes drifted toward the library doors, considering the young woman who had come and gone so quickly, "A remarkable student with a remarkable gift."
"Yes—that she is." Stephen grew distracted, musing how far different Teyla was from the unassuming, almost timid, stranger that had been sent for fostering at Kamar-Taj. In a relatively short time, her true nature had asserted itself, and he was lucky now to see her with eyes anew. Not a child or mere teen, but a grown woman who embodied patience, kindness, and compassion; a bright soul who lived fearlessly, even if it left her tender heart at hazard. He smiled wryly, as he admitted to Wong, "I think I've actually learned a helluva lot more from that remarkable young woman, then I've managed to teach her."
"If you say so," Wong replied, before turning back to his task, "I just hope you don't let that girl fall into the habit of hero worship. We both know you've got feet of clay."
"I know…believe me, Wong, I am painfully aware of my inadequacies," Stephen chuckled, "Continually aided by your willingness to point them out whenever possible."
"Always my pleasure, Stephen." Wong slid a book decisively home, "It's a service that I will unselfishly provide—for as long as you need me to."
Stephen reassumed the satisfying pattern of his life, continuing to shuffle between New York and Kathmandu—and if he was prone to visit Kamar-Taj more often than in the past, Wong made no comment. Immersed in her studies, Stephen rarely saw Teyla, usually only catching sight of her in the courtyard, where she always raised a hand in hello as their paths crossed, her sweet smile a beacon that beckoned him near, though he was seldom at liberty to stop and speak with her. The whole while, he continued to ponder just how he might thank her for the selfless favor she had done him. As he drifted off to sleep one night, the answer came to him in a flash of inspiration.
He met with her one afternoon, in the library again—which he had discovered was one of her favorite places to spend downtime in Kamar-Taj—ostensibly to go over her progress in recording and interpreting her dreams. They talked a little while, and she seemed pleased with how her understanding of that gift was growing, though she maintained that she had dreamed nothing truly prophetic in months. As their session drew to its close, Stephen finally broached the topic they had not spoken of since the miracle she worked for him.
"You know, Teyla," he told her, watching her pack her things into her straw sack, "I'm still pain free. And I don't think I ever adequately thanked you."
She kept her focus on her hands as she slid her dream journal into her bag, "There is no need to thank me, Stephen." He was pleased that—in private, at least—she didn't hesitate to use his given name. "Your wellbeing and the success of your work—those things are thank you enough." Her hair hung down around her face, obscuring her expression, but he heard her sincerity in every syllable.
"Well now, I don't quite think so, young lady," he insisted, and took her hand to garner her attention—and again, that spark of warmth that came on contact with her flesh, reminded him of their extraordinary connection. "And I found a way to show you—at least a bit—how much your gift means to me."
Teyla looked to him, curious yet cautious, "If that is your wish, Stephen, then…then how can I decline?"
"You can't," he laughed softly, patting her hand, "Because in this case, it's 'doctor's orders', as we say here on Earth-so I won't be taking no for an answer."
She nodded gratefully, speechless but looking relieved.
"Excellent," he told her, rising from his seat, "Meet me in the courtyard tonight at seven. Dress casually." Again she nodded, now looking intrigued, before she bid him goodbye.
"And, Teyla," he added, causing her to turn back to him at the doorway, "Be sure to wear some comfortable shoes. We'll be doing a bit of walking." Teyla grinned, her still brow knit inquisitively, and left him for the meantime.
The air was clear as crystal, the night cool enough after an oppressive day of heat, so that they walked comfortably through the garden dusk, close enough to touch, and yet not touching-unless one's arm might brush, by chance, against the other's. Stephen wore jeans and an open-collared, sapphire blue silk shirt, which he had conjured up just for the occasion; he knew he looked good-even though he knew he needn't give his appearance a second thought. Teyla had opted for simplicity as well, in a floral sundress and comfortable looking espadrilles. Stephen had needed to jumpstart their conversation several times, as Teyla was nervous at the beginning of their stroll, until he began to ask her about Hadeeth.
"…and mating rituals are somewhat different on my world," she was explaining, "Far less for pleasure—than is the custom here—more straightforward, with their purpose clearly for procreation. My mother had observed this…anachronism…recalling a time in our history when our people had allowed such hungers for physical satisfaction to rule our heads." Teyla lowered her eyes diffidently, "We were a people willing to disregard reason, common sense and—worst of all—compassion, in selfish pursuit of the carnal. Then came the great awakening, and we chose to direct those energies to more…altruistic…pursuits." She looked back to him, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of her mouth, "Mother grew curious enough to dare what was discouraged on our world. There was a man whom she found pleasing—not only to her eye, but to her heart..."
"Your father," he murmured, mesmerized by the soft cadence of her voice, and the little inflections that reminded him that English was not her native tongue.
Teyla nodded, "My father, yes. He was a good man, Stephen; and to his credit, he loved her dearly-as he did me." She closed her eyes a moment, clearly calling him forth in her mind, softening visibly as she did so. "He sheltered me at a time of peril and uncertainty on Hadeeth. And he did his best to educate me in the ways of humanity, allowing me to at least pass for an ordinary-albeit awkward-teenager."
"But you never quite fit in," he surmised, from other little things she had said regarding her years on Earth.
Teyla shrugged, not needing to dwell on the past, "It did not matter; I managed well enough, and if I had few friends, they were true-and judged me not that I was different." She laughed quietly, "Is that not the way for many adolescents of your world?"
Stephen chuckled in agreement, "I suppose it is." Recalling his own teenage angst, he added, "But most of us outgrow that awkwardness with time and experience." Then reckoning how very far his path had taken him, he told her, "And if we're very lucky, we turn out to be the people destiny intended us to be."
They had reached the far end of the garden, the moonlight casting a shimmer on the reflecting pool. Teyla took a seat upon a worn, marble bench, then inclined her head as invitation for him to join her. "A lovely night," she mused, then laid her hand on top of his. The pale scarring she had taken on when she worked her spell upon his damaged hands had all but vanished. "Thank you for bringing me here, Stephen. Such simple beauty leaves an imprint on the heart; a quiet, welcome comfort to savor now, and to remember well in days when we have trials to face."
"It's been my pleasure, Teyla—and the very least I can do to show my gratitude." He felt he should do more, far more, and yet he knew she expected nothing; her freely given gift had brought her pain, but such giving came as naturally to her as breathing. The only thing that she had asked was for him to use his own gifts well and wisely in the service of his world—something he had pledged to do long before they'd met. "Your mother mentioned you would face a test of sorts sometime in the future," he pondered. "Has that time grown near?"
Teyla sighed heavily, reluctantly reminded of the tasks that lay ahead for her. "No talk or thought of that tonight, Stephen. Tonight I long for the tranquility of a quiet garden and the companionship of a kind man." To her credit, she sounded light of heart.
"Then I will see you have exactly what you wish, my dear." Moved by her tender regard for him, Stephen raised her hand and kissed her knuckles, and then looked out upon the water-wondering if in this setting Teyla might find that little act too forward…or perhaps wish that he might be moved to more.
Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder, humming contentedly. Some unknown nightbird called out from the grove of fruit trees on the far side of the still pool; its sweet song was soon taken up by another. In such a setting, Stephen found it easy to imagine they were mates, their pleasant trilling the joyful greetings exchanged as they came together after being parted for too long. That he was indulging in such uncharacteristically soft musings perplexed him, like a language long forgotten from disuse—until he considered the light of the moon, the garden's perfume, and the gentle woman leaning against him.
"Your moon is quite enchanting, isn't it," she pondered, and he realized she was likely picking up on his emotions without even meaning to; second nature to her surely, but a marvel still to him. "But she pales in comparison to the moons of Hadeeth."
"Moons?" he asked, giving her the encouragement to tell him more; he could not read feelings nearly as well as was her wont, but the trace of longing in Teyla's voice spoke well enough that she was feeling at least a little homesick.
"Moons," she repeated, raising her head to look at him directly, eyes wide with delight, "Anya, the eldest, wise and steadfast in her orbit, ruler of the tides. Enya, middle child, ever brightest of the three, mistress of all nocturnal creatures; she speeds apace or lags behind as her stubborn nature dictates." Her voice had fallen into a storyteller's captivating rhythm; Stephen could picture a circle of Hadeethan children at her feet, listening raptly as she shared with them the folklore of her people. "And Nonya, wayward youngest of the three, ever eager to appear before the sun has fully set, and last to leave the sky each dawn." Teyla lowered her eyes shyly as she added, "Nonya is thought the patroness of lovers and their secret trysts."
Stephen chuckled softly, charmed by both her tale, and the bashfulness that had overtaken her at the mention of lovers' assignations. "That's far more exotic and appealing than some of earth's legends about the moon; there's one ridiculous one that maintains the moon is made of cheese."
"You can't be serious," she laughed, "Who would believe such an outlandish idea!" With narrowed eyes, Teyla studied his face, searching for any sign that he was teasing her, "Oh—but surely you jest?"
"I swear it's true, Teyla—though I like the poetry of your moons far more than the foolishness of mine."
That brought a pretty smile to her face, lighting her dark eyes with mirth. Stephen wondered if she even realized that she was flirting with him; he would swear it had been the furthest thing from his mind when he had invited her for an evening stroll through the National Botanical Gardens of Kathmandu. Recalling her love for green and growing things, he'd only thought it a good way to show some measure of his appreciation for the kindness she had done him—but Teyla's innate softness, her gentle guilelessness, coupled with the freshly risen moonlight, had him feeling more than gratitude. Had him curious if she would shiver were he to brush his fingertips lightly upon her cheek; had him contemplating how her lips might taste should she eventually yield them to his. He had not been prepared in the least for this sudden longing she'd awoken in him, having lived the purely ascetic life since his arrival at Kamar-Taj.
Unaware of his train of thought, Teyla carried on, "I would show you our moons, Stephen Strange. Should you find time to visit Hadeeth, you might be witness to a marvelous natural wonder."
"I should like that very much, Teyla of Hadeeth," he admitted, his voice grown dusky as he speculated if she'd meant to make him feel these things.
She either read it upon his face, or discerned his feelings on the light breeze that stirred between them, for she gasped and looked down. Stephen flushed with concern that he'd made her uncomfortable—a fear briefly confirmed when she raised her face again, frowning slightly…until she stammered an apology, "Stephen, forgive me please. I should not have waxed on so witlessly of the ancient superstitions of my people."
"Nonsense," he sought to assure her, "It's good to know our races are not so dissimilar after all; boys have sought kisses from girls in the moonlight, from well before recorded time on Earth as well." He took her hand again, squeezing it gently for emphasis, and leaned in to tell her confidentially, "I haven't always been a man this age, you know; as a boy I sought my fair share of moonlight kisses from pretty girls—as I'm sure you've received a good portion yourself, in your time here, if not on your home world. You needn't be ashamed to speak of as pleasant a thing as that."
Teyla opened her mouth to speak, then lowered her gaze again, quietly advising him, "I have not. I was never pretty enough to suit most boys of this world, nor was there ever opportunity on Hadeeth for me to engage in such…" She paused, as if searching for a word to justify her lack of experience, "…such…superfluous pursuits."
In his astonishment, he could not help but ask, "Not even once?"
"By moonlight, no," she answered, raising her chin proudly against feeling somehow inadequate, "But I'll have you know I have kissed several boys, whilst I lived with my father and attended secondary school." She shrugged, attempting to negate the value of the experience, "It seemed enough of a social convention that I had to, in order to be accepted among my peers." She studied his face intently, perhaps curious as to his reaction to the next. "In truth, Stephen, such kisses never struck me as worth the fuss that the other girls made of them."
"Perhaps because they were boys," he suggested wryly, moving his face close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on his skin, "Perhaps you would be better served to try again-with a man, not a boy."
"I…I know not," she gasped, surprised he'd moved so close, but brave enough to ask, "What…what man might seek such a taste of me?"
"Oh, Teyla," he said softly, cupping his hand along her cheek, "You pride yourself in how easily you can read others' emotions—can't you tell what I'm feeling right now?" Having come to the place-which he had been denying for some time was his truest destination-Stephen chose to face it fearlessly. As fearless in this, as he had seen the lovely woman beside him, face far less pleasant things. The voice of Wong tried to make him hit pause; it isn't right, she is your student, it told him—but Stephen silenced it with the assertion that his bond with Teyla had surpassed that stricture some time ago.
She closed her eyes and nestled her cheek against his palm, then moistened her slightly parted lips, possibly aware-at last-of his intention. Her reply was soft as a longing sigh. "I…uh…sometimes my own emotions cloud my understanding of another's. Perhaps you," Teyla exhaled slowly, striving a moment more to master the magnetic pull between them, and then looked up at him with fearless clarity, "Perhaps you could help me understand."
His mouth quirked into a half-smile as he brushed her hair behind her ear, leaving his hand to rest there. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my dear-though I've found that often actions speak more clearly than words," he told her patiently, "I would very much like to kiss you now, Teyla—but only if you want me to."
Stephen held his breath as she considered his request, reading her answer in her eyes before she spoke. "I…I would like that, Stephen. Very much, if…if you truly wish it so…" Teyla trailed off, while her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. He closed the little space left between them, laying his lips feather-soft upon hers, lingering a moment before brushing his lower lip against hers, gently nudging her to respond. Her lips relaxed in reply, allowing him to deepen the kiss, until she whimpered against his mouth.
Withdrawing only a little, he rested his forehead against hers. "That was nice, now, wasn't it," he asked her quietly, "And surely better than those fledgling kisses in your past?"
She only nodded her head against his, firmly enough to tell him he was more than right-and then surprised him as she laid one hand along his neck, and the other on his face, sliding her fingertips into his hair. "It was…hmmm…it was…delightful," she admitted, her doe-eyes warm and newly inviting "But somehow it seemed…incomplete." Smiling shyly, she offered a suggestion, "Perhaps…perhaps there is more you would show me?"
"Gladly," he rumbled, from a deep, satisfied place in his chest, tilting her face back and letting his mouth hover over hers, a delicious tease of what was to come. Now that they'd come to it, Stephen wanted to savor every moment; but even more, he wanted to show her the wonder he found her to be. Her untested lips were soft, modestly pink, and wholly willing to follow him; her trust in him palpable. It made for an intoxicating combination.
"My sweet Teyla," his whispered, before laying his lips gently against hers again and bestowing several chaste kisses upon her—while he still had the presence of mind to go slowly—and gaging her response. With each kiss, her lips grew more relaxed, her fingers in his hair pressing harder. He now cupped her face with both hands, delighting in the smooth warmth of her skin, and the little puffs of breath she gave between the tease of his gentle kisses.
"Those Earth boys were idiots," he murmured, kissing her cheeks as she sighed in reply, and then caressing along her cheekbones with his thumbs. Slowly, he worked his way back to her mouth, still pacing himself, wanting her to understand that he treasured her—and the amazing gift that she offered him now.
He paused long enough, his mouth a hairsbreadth from hers, so that she opened her eyes; deep, dark pools that invited him in, but also questioned what he was waiting upon. "For you to see me, Teyla," he answered, and she smiled a little that he had indeed read her thought, "For you to see that I see that you are beyond simply pretty. You are lovely in a rare and wonderful way. More lovely than the most beautiful of women—for their beauty is only skin deep…" Stephen felt unfamiliarly moved, in the way of a poet or artist at the point of discovering the rarest inspiration. "…but your beauty, Teyla, is soul-deep and eternal…and I thank god that I'm blessed enough to see it." He kissed her chastely one last time, and when she moaned his name, the need to possess her lips, her mouth, her very essence, obliterated his control at last.
And Teyla? She yielded to him without hesitation, melting beneath his open mouth, learning in full the secret of moonlight kisses, feeling cherished in his embrace while trusting completely in his intent-and happily, happily following his lead.