Act Three

Swimming in an ocean of black, Stephen heard the distant blur of someone, calling his name.

'Stephen. Stephen, I'm sorry. You have to wake up.'

Christine.

Realization of what had happened flooded back, and Stephen clawed his way free of the anesthesia. Opened his eyes, to see Christine bending over him, face twisted with concern.

He blinked, blearily, trying to clear away the fog.

She smiled, tenderly, apologized,

'I need to move you to a room. There are surgeries scheduled in this theater, today.'

Stephen shook his head, adamantly, mumbled,

'No, I need to go home.'

What he didn't say was that he feared the assassin might reappear.

He wasn't in any shape to battle whatever it was, and needed time to research a defense.

Christine shook her head, insisted,

'You need to stay here. You should be on monitors.'

Stephen offered a weak smile,

'Sorry, Christine, I can't.'

Seeing just how concerned she was, he offered, flippantly,

'You could make a house call. 177- A Bleecker Street. Greenwich Village. Just swing by, check on me,' pulling a smile to her face.

'No one just 'swings by' Greenwich Village,' she replied, a teasing tone, and he chuckled, agreement.

She pursed her lips, plainly wanting to ask a question. He waited, until she finally asked,

'Why here, this theater?'

He shrugged,

'I knew there would be no traffic in this part of the hospital, that time of night.'

Added, slyly, 'I can't keep arriving via the mop closet. Eventually, someone will get suspicious.'

Christine gave a snort of amusement, shook her head. He shared her smile, then grew serous.

Struggled to sit up, and Christine supported his efforts.

He perused his heavily bandaged chest, with a grimace. As the effects of the anesthetic wore off completely, it was going it hurt like Hell.

And, since every wound had been a puncture, heal very slowly.

As he sat, catching his breath, refastening his shirt, she suggested,

'Maybe you should stop doing whatever this is you're doing. It doesn't seem like you're very good at it.'

Stephen chuckled, then sucked a quick breath to cover the sharp stab of pain.

'There's definitely a learning curve,' he admitted, and Christine rolled her eyes, hands on hips.

'Practice makes perfect,' he reminded, and she amended,

'Only perfect practice makes perfect.'

'Boom!' Stephen replied, weakly, forcing her to smile, over the worry in her eyes.

'Do you want me to call you a cab?' she asked.

Stephen shook his head,

'Nope,' suddenly realizing he didn't see his Cloak, anywhere.

That wasn't normal.

'My Cloak? Where is it?' he asked, apprehensively, looking around the room.

Christine squinched her eyes tight, made a face, admitted,

'I left it in the hallway.'

Stephen just stared, uncomprehending, dropped his feet to the floor. His knees folded, but he caught his balance on the table, managed to get his feet under him. He staggered to the door, pushed it open, and looked out at an empty corridor.

Braced against the doorframe, he looked back at her, disbelief,

'You left it…in the hallway?'

Christine came to stand beside him, obviously upset,

'You know I needed help. How would I explain it?'

Stephen scanned the hallway, both directions, feeling panic growing in his chest.

Christine offered,

'Maybe it just left?' feeling ridiculous as the words left her mouth, but Stephen took her suggestion very seriously.

'No. Never,' he shot back, with a glare.

'Could someone have taken it?'

'Not without a fight,' he snarled.

Anger, and fear, rushed adrenaline into his system, and all at once, his mind seemed crystal clear.

Priorities.

First, and foremost, he needed to find out what had happened to Cloak.

He needed to identify the weapon, that could tear thru his cloak so readily.

He needed to identify his attacker, as well.

And, he needed to get his Cloak back.

'You need to send me the security footage, of this corridor. As in, now. Where are the shards you removed?'

She shook her head,

'Gone. I put them in the pan, and, when I finished, there were just bits of dust.'

Stephen growled, frustrated, chin to chest,

'I'll need to take that with me.'

Christine hurried to find a bag, checking her watch against the arrival time of the surgical prep team.

Stephen gathered his strength, straightened, but kept one shoulder leaned against the wall.

Christine stuffed the bag into his hand, and he jammed it into a pocket, raising hands to open a gateway.

As the sparkling ring widened, Christine assured,

'I'll go right to security, get that footage to you.'

Stephen nodded, too preoccupied to worry about the confusion on her face.

Just before stepping thru, into his study, he met her unhappy eyes, and his expression softened, briefly. He offered a gentle smile,

'Thank you, Christine.'

She shrugged, nodded,

'Of course.'

He stepped thru, then turned back, his features gone cold.

'I'll be fine. No need to come to Greenwich Village,' he said, over his shoulder, and the gateway snapped shut, sprinkling across the floor into oblivion.