The Sanctum was quiet, and Stephen hadn't thought to set his alarm—so he wasn't surprised that he'd slept later than he had in…well, probably since medical school. No, that's not quite right, he reminded himself; post-accident, they'd dosed him up for both pain and sleeplessness, but he had never awoken in the hospital feeling completely refreshed, as he had this morning. He'd battled depression, too, in those post-operative months, alternating between mourning his loss of purpose and angrily lashing out at the world for failing him where he just knew he would have succeeded in managing a cure enough so he could work again. He'd had plenty of days when he had slept twelve hours plus, feeling like there was no point in leaving his penthouse (growing emptier of furnishings week by week), let alone his bed. Discovering the world of the mystic arts had rejuvenated him, and he applied himself religiously to learning everything he could, soaking up knowledge and skills like the thirstiest of sponges—just as he had in his university days. Since the Ancient One's passing, he seldom slept more than five or six hours a night; so much to do, so much to still master, a Sanctum to oversee—but it was a life that he loved. Even more fiercely than his life in medicine.
Moreover, he knew exactly why he'd slept so soundly. He had needed to, certainly—and his young Hadeethan Healer had given him an unexpected peace with her understanding and unconditional forgiveness, effortlessly reading his truest need. Astounding, especially considering the burden of grief she was carrying. The grief he was sole witness to. He needed to find her at once.
Stephen dressed quickly, anxious to see how Teyla was faring. He stopped by her room; the door was open, so that he could see that she had made her bed, but she was nowhere in sight. He hurried down two floors to the common room, just off the kitchen, where most of Sanctum occupants took their meals. Two of the Sanctum retainers were clearing away the breakfast things, but they paused to greet him; one asked if he would care for something to eat, and he politely declined.
Stephen dressed quickly, anxious to see how Teyla was faring. He stopped by her room; the door was open, so that he could see that she had made her bed, but she was nowhere in sight. He hurried down two floors to the common room, just off the kitchen, where most of Sanctum occupants took their meals. Two of the Sanctum retainers were clearing away the breakfast things, but they paused to greet him; one asked if he would care for something to eat, and he politely declined.
"We have a guest staying with us for a few days," he told them, eager to locate her, "A young woman from off-world—she's been training at Kamar-Taj…"
One of the women was nodding in recognition, "Yes, Master Strange. Teyla, right?"
"Yes…you've seen her?" he asked, a sense of relief settling over him.
"She was here earlier. She had some tea and a little to eat. That was about…hmmm," the retainer looked to her partner for confirmation, "About an hour ago."
"Do you happen to know where she went?" Though Teyla was comfortable enough on the city streets the day before, Stephen would've preferred she wait for him before returning to her father's loft.
The women consulted silently, before the second answered him, "She told us to tell you not to worry, Master Strange—and that she would not leave the Sanctum without your permission."
"Oh." Surprised, but secretly pleased that Teyla had anticipated his concerns, Stephen thanked them, and then turned to leave. Since she had to be somewhere in the building, a quick locator charm would make her easy to find.
He discovered her in the rooftop greenhouse, speaking with an Adept who was tending to the plants, herbs and greenery that were vital to spell work. The hothouse also contained a modest assortment of fruits and vegetables—grown year-round to help meet the dietary needs of the Sanctum residents—as well as a bee hive, situated at the far end near a section of flower beds. Teyla seemed very absorbed in the conversation, with the Adept explaining in detail the uses of the various florae.
Stephen approached them quietly, not wishing to interrupt until a convenient moment arose. The Adept—a young man named Dominic-noticed his arrival, and broke off his lesson in order to tender a respectful greeting to the Sanctum Master. Teyla immediately looked to Stephen. The moment was sunny, warm, bright—and though he knew that she still mourned, there was a light in her eyes which spoke her gladness that he was near.
"Teyla," he said simply, a world of gratitude and affection compressed into two syllables. He felt his smile grow—nearly certain that he had to look like an utter goof—and she answered with a tilt of her head, and an endearing, bashful sort of smile. Stephen felt like he had stopped time, even though the Eye of Agamotto rested safely back in Kamar-Taj; his heightened awareness brought him the realization that something vital had changed between them. Though he was still Teyla's teacher and mentor, he couldn't help but think of her less as a student, and more as an equal…as a friend…as a soul who'd seen his past pain and ongoing insecurities and somehow…somehow understood. Without a need for words, without a call for explanations.
Amid those musings, he watched her eyes widen, and time began again–with Stephen well aware that she had read him once more. You've got to stop doing that, Teyla; some secrets need to be revealed slowly. He sent the thought her way, testing if she was actually reading his mind, or just his emotions. Her expression did not change, but she beckoned him closer, her voice echoing slightly in the confines of the greenhouse. "Are you well this morning, Doctor?" Her greeting was solicitous, her manner deferential.
"I am, Teyla. Very well, indeed," he grinned, "I had the best sleep of any I've had in many years." But you knew that already, didn't you, my dear? You gave that gift to me.
"I hope you do not mind, Doctor Strange, but I was impatient to explore your domain," she informed him, "And Dominic has been kind enough to show me about the garden. I had not expected to find such a lovely refuge atop a city building."
"Hmm...I never really thought of it that way, but I suppose that's true." He came to stand beside her, dismissing the Adept with a small nod. Dominic moved off, continuing his inspection and care of the next section of plants.
Stephen leaned close, lowering his voice for privacy sake, "How are you today, Teyla? Was your sleep restful at all? And is there anything I can do for you?"
"I am..." Teyla sighed softly, "I am...acclimating...to my new reality-one without the love and wisdom of my father to guide me." Her voice broke, but she mastered her tears before they could claim the day, "But I carry him with me now, as never before-and I believe his spirit survives, merely in another form, so that someday I will look upon his face again."
"That's a lovely thought, Teyla," Stephen said, astonished at her resiliency, "It took me decades to discover that truth." She looked to him, breathing in his sincerity as a comfort and as a fortification, "That we are so much more than random bits of material in an indifferent universe. That thought has given me strength in even the most dire circumstances."
She bowed her head, whispering so that he barely heard her, "Even so, it shall for me."
He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "You're not alone in this, honey. Whatever you need, you only have to ask. Even if it's just a shoulder to cry on."
Teyla raised her chin, her eyes focused on his. As soft as they were, Stephen also saw her resolve to move forward despite her sorrow. "Thank you, Doctor Strange. You have been a true friend to me-and I will remain forever grateful."
He shrugged modestly, "You are very welcome, Teyla of Hadeeth. Though I think I owe you a larger show of gratitude..."
Her brow creased slightly, annd her eyes flitted from his to look past him, drawing his attention away. "Something is wrong," she murmured, tilting her head toward Dominic.
The Adept stood several feet away, hands on hips, closely scrutinizing a row of berry bushes. He shook his head, snorting in frustration, then headed towards the far corner of the hothouse. A row of weathered gardening tolls leaned against the glass, beside an old wheelbarrow. Dominic retrieved a spade, and then returned to the plant he had been examining. Curious, Stephen went to join him, with Teyla following right behind him.
Dominic motioned to the bush, and Stephen saw that the fruit was badly discolored. "That's some kind of fungus," he informed the Sanctum Master, "I'll have to uproot it, or the rot will spread to the surrounding plants."
"Is that really necessary?"
"I'm afraid so, Master Strange. This one won't survive much longer," the younger man pronounced, "Just look at the currants—they're inedible. And they'd be useless as part of any potions or simples."
"Well…if that's our only option," Stephen conceded, "No use wasting time." He motioned for the young man to continue.
The Adept nodded, and turned to complete the chore. Teyla stepped forward and laid her hand upon the spade handle. "Wait but a moment please, Dominic. I believe I can work a cure upon this bush; I have seen similar sickness in fruit-bearing plants on my home world, and I may have a remedy." She looked to Stephen, eager yet respectful, "If you would allow it, Doctor Strange. There is a Hadeethan spell that may be of some use here. I have worked it at least a dozen times."
"You think it might work on an Earth plant?"
"We cannot know until I try-but I should act quickly, or the damage will be irreversible," she urged him confidently.
Curious to see a practical application of Hadeethan magic-and remembering the surprising charm of the floating flower petals which Teyla had created for the youngsters of Kamar-Taj-Stephen stepped back, allowing her the space to work. She took several deep breaths, and then kneeled before the bush, exploring the leaves and berries with the lightest of touches. Gingerly, she cupped a cluster of the pink currants in hand, and bent her face close, breathing them in as though seeking their scent. She exhaled softly over them a few times, and Stephen was amazed to see their mottled pink and grey skin turn lavender for several seconds, before reverting to their sickly color. "Yes," she said quietly, addressing the plant itself, "I see the ill and I believe that I can remedy your distress."
Stephen glanced at Dominic, who appeared equally impressed with the plant's response. "It's probably worth a shot, Master Strange. Otherwise it'll be a total loss."
"Alright then," Strange decided. "Teyla, please—do what you can."
She nodded, grateful for his trust, and then turned her attention to the task before her. Teyla placed her hands palm to palm, as though in prayer, while resting her fingertips against her lips. She began to hum a simple run of notes, repeating it several times before stretching her hands over the leaves and berries, and gliding them in a circular pattern which grew wider with each pass. The circle became a figure eight, her hands confidently weaving to and fro as the notes she hummed rose in pitch and volume. A pale blue light began to emanate from the narrow space between her hands and the currant berries. Stephen noted that it was less vivid than the blue that had accompanied the fall of flower petals which she had conjured for the young Novices, but coupled with her music, he realized it was a form of magic far different than that practiced by the sorcerers of Earth—a magic unfamiliar to him, even with his many forays across the multiverse.
Beads of perspiration had broken out upon Teyla's brow, yet her concentration remained unwavering. After several minutes of her sustained ministrations, her soothing melody rose in a crescendo, and then declined into silence, and the blue light pulsed several times before appearing to recede into the plant itself. Teyla breathed a heavy sigh as her hands fell to her sides, and her shoulders slumped enough that Stephen thought for a moment that she might collapse. "Teyla—are you alright."
Her head bowed, she raised a hand, stopping him as he approached her. "A moment please, Doctor," she responded, sounding as weak as she looked, "I need just a little more time to recover."
Stephen drew closer, thinking to help her to her feet, and Teyla turned to him with tired eyes and an ashy pallor. She took his offered hand lightly—aware of the near constant pain that lived there—while advising him, "Sir, I will be myself again in short order. But look, and you will see that the blight has been eradicated."
And indeed it was, for the currant berries already looked more wholesome, their dull, murky pink transformed to the appealing translucence of pink champagne, the leaves and stems grown to a healthier green—and remarkably, fresh tendrils were unfurling themselves along several branches.
"Incredible," he murmured, gently helping Teyla to stand, encouraging her to lean against him as she began to recuperate. "It's more than cured," he observed, "The whole plant looks…rejuvenated. What is this magic, Teyla—and will you teach it to me?"
Despite her weakness, she laughed softly, "Are you so eager, Stephen Strange, to be a student once again?"
"Learning is a lifetime adventure, Teyla—that's a truth I've been lucky enough to discover firsthand. I have never turned away the opportunity to learn something new. Never in medicine, and never in the mystic arts. But this," he declared, incredulously, "This is a combination of the two." He shook his head, imagining the things he might have accomplished as a doctor if he'd had such magic at his disposal. "When can we begin?"
"You flatter me, Stephen Strange, implying that I am fit to teach a Master any kind of magic." Her tone was gentle indulgence, and it occurred to him that that she might be teasing him just a bit. "But if that is your will, I will try the best I can, providing you are patient. Ever patient," she reiterated, "For the forests of Nalor did not spring to life in a mere cycle of the sister-moons."
"And Rome wasn't built in a day," he chuckled, drawing a pretty smile from her. The color was returning to her cheeks, and she drew away from him, no longer needing to lean against him to remain upright. Stephen would've let her linger there beyond her immediate need to, but Teyla had already turned away, moving to rejoin Dominic in his rounds.
Curious to confirm the full success of Teyla's cure, he plucked a few of the currants from the bush, and popped one into his mouth. It burst with bright, sweet flavor the moment he broke the skin, so that he quickly consumed the others-thinking they were among the sweetest berries he had tasted in his life.
Knowing that she would be well out of her depth dealing with the financial and legal matters left behind in her father's wake, Teyla had asked Stephen to contact her father's lawyers and the Columbia Art Department Chairman on her behalf, so that he had spent a couple hours consulting with them by phone. She also informed him that she felt strong enough to return to the loft unaccompanied; observing her carefully, he judged that she was ready enough to face whatever tasks lay ahead for her there—though he insisted she travel there via portal. Stephen felt doubly responsible for her now, and ensuring that she was only an easily conjured portal away, was the best compromise at hand.
After addressing a few vital Sanctum concerns, Stephen visited the kitchen to pack enough hot lunch for two (with the cook shooing him out of the way as she bustled about her mealtime preparations), and then used a portal to join Teyla at her father's place. She greeted him warmly, though he could tell she had been crying once again—as he had known she would need to, choosing to do so in the privacy of her home away from home. They dined at the kitchen table, with Stephen telling her that she must eat the full plate of chicken and pasta with pesto, which he doled out for her, reminding her that she had barely eaten in the time since they had arrived in New York. Obediently, she made her way through the meal, while he filled her in on the details of the financial and living arrangements her father had provided for her.
That done, he turned the topic back to her little morning miracle in the Sanctum's greenhouse—giving her a welcome distraction from the grief that lay beneath the surface waiting for a quiet moment to break fresh upon her heart.
"It is not a magic exclusive to Hadeeth," she started, "Though rarely found—according to my teachers-it is practiced by at least a few dozen cultures across the multiverse. Its primary purpose is for healing, although you were witness to that minor charm I demonstrated for the young ones of Kamar-Taj."
"That was a sweet little bit of magic, Teyla," he reminded her.
She lowered her lashes demurely, genuinely flattered. "It is quite elementary, Doctor…"
"Stephen, please, Teyla," he urged her, "After last night—how you helped me—we don't need to be so formal now, do we?"
She raised her eyes to meet his, surprised but clearly pleased, "As you wish…Stephen." Again, he found the familiarity of her use of his given name…quite pleasant…and the little smile that graced the corners of her mouth, gratifying. She nodded graciously, and then continued, "Such spell-making relies upon the practitioner to engage in what we call empathetic magic. To not only discern, but to feel the subject's condition and needs, and to bond with them enough to experience it themselves-to some degree at least."
Of course, Stephen realized, that's what makes it a perfect magic for you. "But there must be a cost of sorts to that," he surmised.
"Indeed," she admitted, "But oh, Stephen, it is a beautiful price to pay, to be of such service to those in need." For a heartbeat, Teyla nearly glowed with the joy of it.
"So break it down for me, Teyla. Tell me how to make a start." Stephen patted her hand, then left his atop hers, enjoying the soothing warmth which was ever present when his scarred flesh came in contact with her skin. "Teach me. Please."
She studied his face carefully, and nodded solemnly. "I will do my best, Stephen," she promised him, "For I see your desire to learn is honest and true."
"Now—as you surely know," she began, "All life—from the lowliest insect to the most accomplished and powerful Master of the mystic arts…"
He grinned at that, appreciating the humor of her not so subtle reference.
"…all life possesses a unique energy. By attuning one's own energy with that of the lifeform in need of healing, one can establish a harmonic resonance—a bond that enables a Healer to read exactly what injury or illness that lifeform suffers."
"Harmonic resonance," he repeated, making the connection, "The notes you hum?"
"Yes, in a large part, though there are other factors that bear upon the resonance as well."
"And once you've established that bond, how are you able to heal the damage?" he challenged her, "How do you set things right?"
Patiently, she expounded, "Well, that is…hmmm…that is somewhat trickier to explain. Let us call it a temporary exchange of energy. And by this means, the Healer takes unto themselves a fraction of the damage…a shadow of the symptoms…an echo of the pain, where necessary."
"That's why you were weakened after you healed the currant bush?"
Teyla nodded, "Though as you witnessed, I did recover swiftly."
"The side effects on the Healer—they're only temporary?" Stephen considered how revolutionary introducing such magic into regular training at Kamar-Taj might be, where those with the aptitude could make a difference in the suffering of hundreds of lives in the same span of time in which medical professionals might only help dozens.
Teyla hesitated, cautious in reply, "Most often, yes; they are brief and rarely debilitating."
"Which means there is a degree of risk?" He had wondered about the downside of the promise of miracle cures—knowing well enough that nothing in the mystic arts came without some cost.
"The relief we offer to those in need far outweighs that risk," she insisted, a little defensively, "At least for me and my fellow practitioners."
"Risk nevertheless," he asserted, easily reading her—for once—and what she left unspoken. "In extreme cases, I'm betting you'd be putting your health and life on the line."
Teyla nodded, "It is true. But the work that you do, Stephen…the work that you and your fellow sorcerers do…is already far from risk free." She gave him that small, knowing smile—the one that told him she knew much more about him than she had ever dared to say aloud—and asked frankly, "Did you not lay down your life a thousand times over to protect and preserve this world, and every living soul upon it, from a most ancient, implacable malevolence?"
Stunned to have her mention it, Stephen's mouth went dry. "How…how do you know this?" Was it something she had read in him—or something she'd been told about?
Her soft, brown eyes held infinite patience—and unabashed admiration. With a wisdom beyond her seeming years, she told him, "You may not speak of your ordeal at the hands of Dormammu, but the story is already legend in Kamar-Taj, and on worlds far flung from here. Yet you remain fully humble, even perplexed at times by the deference paid to by your peers…"
His mouth fell open, but he was speechless-transfixed by her gentle regard, and unable to muster his usual sort of blithe reply.
"…and even the lowliest student here holds you in high esteem for that great and painful sacrifice," she concluded. "Truly, Stephen, would you now claim that the cost you paid was not worth what you accomplished?"
Stephen closed his eyes; he could not deny those facts, though he did his best to avoid the memories of that time, and all the pain that it entailed. The truth was he had made that choice with no compunction, never factoring in the price that he would have to pay. And given that choice again today, he would do the same in a heartbeat.
Teyla brushed her fingertips across his knuckles, knowing his answer without him speaking a word. "So you do understand, Stephen—why there is no question of choice. Your example is an inspiration to all those who study at Kamar-Taj. To those who have learned of your deed across the many dimensions." She leaned nearer to him, her breath like a soft caress on his cheek, and his heart sped a little faster as he wondered if a third kiss was in the offing. Realizing that if it were, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from returning the favor.
Instead, she lowered her gaze, so that his heart lurched with disappointment—and she added shyly, "As you inspire me."
He was silent a moment, a mix of emotions swirling through his thoughts-not the least of which was berating himself for wanting to kiss a very vulnerable young woman. Not the time or place; he told himself-and certainly the most inappropriate thought I could have, given her condition. Stephen shook his head, declaring adamantly, "I'm no hero, Teyla-please believe me. I am, in fact, the farthest thing in all the worlds from that."
She sat back, her eyes narrowed in such keen study of him that he felt his heart was laid bare. "As you say, Stephen. Though I perceive a destiny for you, in which your courage, brilliance, and selflessness will become the stuff of legends."
"Well in the meantime," he scoffed, feeling the heated blush of embarassment (and shame at his fleeting thought) color his neck and cheeks, "I'm just a man reaching through a fog of uncertainty, to try my best to do the right thing."
"Of course," she smiled, her faith in him unfaltering, "One day at a time, one deed at a time. Your destiny will find you whether you believe in it or not"