Act Five

A freezing whirlwind whipped around Cloak, spun it into a dizzying vortex, swirling it thru the noiseless dark, toward a speck of light.

Spitting it out, into the light, reborn into the world from which it had been taken, what seemed like years ago.

Barely cognizant of it surroundings, numb from its' time in the Gyve, it crumpled to the floor, unable to do anything more.

Then, it felt the trembling, gentle touch of its' Chosen, gathering it up onto his lap.

When Stephens' distraught voice registered in its' consciousness, it realized its' Chosen had never given up searching for it. It reached out a ragged hem to wrap around Stephens hand, gave a feeble ruffle, almost like a sigh. It was home, and its' Chosen would care for it.

Stephens' fingers ran across the battered surface of his Cloak, alarmed by its' lack of response. Tears and stains marred its once beautiful crimson. It had always felt warm, but now, it was cold, limp, inanimate.

He realized that Wong and Christine had come to stand beside him, and Christine laid a hand to his shoulder,

'Stephen. You're bleeding. Let me change your bandages.'

'I'm fine,' he snapped, causing her to back away, and then he closed his eyes, apologized,

'I'm sorry. But, I need to take care of my Cloak, first.'

He gathered Cloak into his arms, found his feet, realized just how frightened and confused she looked. Kicked himself, mentally.

This was semi-normal stuff for his life, but ultra weird for hers.

'Ah, I'm sorry…Doctor Christine Palmer, this is Wong. Wong, Doctor Palmer.'

'Just Wong?' Christine wondered, brow furrowed, 'Like, Adele?'

Wong, still holding a Wand of Watoomb at the ready, gave an 'are you kidding me?' look, and Stephen interrupted,

'Moving on….Christine, I promise I'll explain…all this…at least, as much as I can. I'll get you home, if you could just, please, wait until…'

Christine waved away his concern, assured,

'Its fine, really. Maybe I can help?'

Stephens face collapsed into a grateful smile, and he said, gratefully,

'Please.'

She nodded, added firmly,

'Then, you let me take care of you.'

Wong had built a fire in the giant fireplace in Stephens' bedroom, turned on more lights to chase the shadows away, and then disappeared somewhere in the Sanctum, on some unnamed errand.

Stephen carried Cloak, still damp from its much needed bath, to sit with it in his lap. He'd moved the tall backed chair into the room, to set close by the warming flames.

Sadly, he examined the tears made by the shards it had blocked, now raveling. Its' once soft surface appeared rough, abraded, as if it had endured years of harsh weather. Its' edges were tattered, along the hem and collar.

Cloak curled into his arms, and lay there, shivering, but otherwise unmoving, clinging to its' Chosen.

Christine busied herself readying bandages, piling them along with other medical supplies onto the large table that sat close by.

'Christine, would you mind…turning on that speaker?' Stephen asked, softly, and Christine leaned across the table, tapped it on. Music filtered into the air, accenting the crackle of flames from the fireplace.

'Now, your turn,' she insisted, facing him, hands on hips, indicating he remove his shirt.

Stephen scowled, wanted to refuse, but had no basis for denying her request, so he complied, careful not to disturb Cloak.

Unwrapping his bandages, she made a face over the state of his wounds, but decided not to make a fuss.

Instead, she just quietly tended what needed done, watching Stephens concerned face as he examined his Cloaks' damage.

He was silent, wincing occasionally. When she leaned in close to wrap the bandages around his chest, he met her eyes. His gaze was so intense she paused, not certain what to expect, and her breath shortened.

Stephen leaned his face close, eyes closed, brushed her cheek with his, a sigh, then looked back down at Cloak.

Confused, she waited a few seconds, then continued, her composure more than a little rattled.

She was finishing up when he blurted out,

'I'm not sure what to do,' an edge of despair in his voice.

Christine shook her head, a grin touching her lips, she teased, relaxing slightly,

'That's not the Stephen I know.'

He glanced at her, a flicker of amusement, quickly lost.

'Can't you stitch it up?' she offered, as she stood, but Stephen shook his head,

'It's not that simple, I'm sure. This isn't just a piece of fabric.'

'So I've noticed.'

'You can't use normal needle and thread,' Wong verified, as he came into the room, drawing their attention to him.

Handing Stephen what appeared to be a sewing kit, he explained,

'You will have to use this. It hasn't been needed for some time, but, occasionally, even relics require repair.'

Stephen pulled out the large bobbin of scarlet thread, examined the assortment of sparkling platinum needles. Looked at his trembling fingers, then clenched them into fists, eyes tight. Recalling the days when the task of a few hundred delicate stitches was a welcome challenge.

Not a terrifying prospect.

'I'll thread that, for you,' Christine offered, a catch in her voice, the glitter of tears in her eyes, and Stephen handed everything to her.

After a moment, she returned the needle, trailing a length of crimson thread, and offered a quivering smile.

Stephen took a deep breath, summoned every ounce of will in an attempt to lessen the shake of his hands as he gathered tight the edges of the first slash, ready to stitch.

A simple task he'd performed hundreds of times before, no longer simple.

He sat, long moments, summoning the courage to insert the needle, knot the first stitch.

Slowly, Cloak curled one edge of its' hem around his forearm, the first real movement since it had returned, drawing a sad chuckle from Stephen.

'I should let you do this, Christine,' Stephen admitted, suddenly, 'I'll only make a mess of it,' and held the needle toward her. She stepped up, with a nod, but, as she reached for the needle, Cloak calmly, but firmly, pulled Stephens' hand back.

Surprised, he looked at his scarlet companion, asked,

'You're sure? Her sutures are as beautiful as a DaVinci. Mine will be more like a Picasso.'

Cloak kept its' hem wrapped around its Chosen's wrist, a moment longer, then released its hold with a soft stroke along the back of his hand.

Christine gave a wobbly smile around the sadness on her face, and shrugged, observed,

'Patients' rights.'

Stephen drew a deep breath, nodded,

'Picasso, it is,' and bent to his task.

The initial stitches weren't at all pretty, but once he got into a rhythm of working with the shake of his hands, instead of against it, things went more smoothly.

When Christine stepped into the study to put away the medical supplies, Wong came to stand alongside Stephen.

'He is not defeated,' Wong rumbled, and his tone was accusatory.

Irritated, Stephen focused on his needlework, scowled, agreed, shortly,

'Nope.'

`He'll be back.'

Stephen glanced up at Wong, said, shortly,

'Yup. He said he swore an oath to kill me,' then looked back down to his stitching.

'You are outmatched. You need help,'

Wong warned, wearing his most fierce Wong face.

Stephen bit his lip, forced a smile, gave a small shake of his head, but didn't look up, didn't reply.

Finishing the last stitch, he knotted the thread, cut it as close as he could, returned the needle to its place in the kit.

Annoyed by Stephen's silence, Wong squared his shoulders, observed,

'It seems as long as there is light, you will remain undisturbed. I will return to Kamar-Taj, consult with the Masters, gather suggestions.'

Stephen nodded, but made no comment, just looked toward Christine as she came back into the room.

'I've held Christine up, long enough. I need to get her home,' he said, changing the subject as he stood, carefully laid Cloak back into the chair.

'Oh, I'll just call a cab,' she assured him, but Stephen shook his head, went to stand by her.

'We can discuss this more, tomorrow,' he suggested to Wong, who nodded, irritably, and, with a small bow to Christine, left for the gateway in the downstairs foyer.

Stephen pulled his sling ring from his belt, faced the room, and opened a gateway to her loft.

She slanted him an odd, look, asked,

'How…did you know I still live here?'

He gave her a warm smile, and a wink.

'I'm not completely out of the loop, Christine.'

A shrug, 'I want to make sure you're safe.'

She laughed, absolutely lost as to what was going on, but hoped that she could find all that out, later.

He took her hand, stepped toward the gateway, prepared to guide her through, when she stopped, asked, fear underlying her tone,

'Do you think there are any more of those things out there?'

Stephen laughed, admiring how her eyes sparkled in the glittering orange light of the gateway. Admitted,

'Honestly, I have no idea what's out there.'

'That's my brutally honest Stephen,' she smiled, dropped her gaze, shyly, made an extra adjustment to the bandages around his chest.

Stephen took her hand in his, placed a tender kiss to its back.

'Maybe, in a couple nights, I could drop by, with, say, some wine, and cheese? Make an attempt to explain?'

She met his earnest expression, and, after a moments hesitation, nodded,

'All right.'

Just as he was about to allow her to step thru, Stephen offered, by way of explanation,

'We take care of each other. Cloak, and I.'

A tiny frown between her brows, she searched his eyes, and gave a nod,

'I can see that,' she agreed, and stepped into her loft, watching as the gateway swirled shut, and Stephen was left watching it sprinkle into nothing across his floor.

He gave a sigh, paused briefly to turn the volume up on the speaker now that he and Cloak were alone. Then, returned to lift Cloak back into his lap as he settled down in front of the fireplace.

Briefly, he examined his stitch work on the over half dozen injuries, a small grimace over its lack of beauty. As he did, he noticed Cloak felt warmer, and its' rich appearance seemed somewhat restored as it had dried.

Then, on his forearm,

Tap, tap.

A huge grin split his face, and he smoothed Cloak, draped across his arm, informed,

'French Letter. J-Walk.'

Cloak gave a ripple, a gentle pass of its cloth over its' Chosens' bandaged chest, and Stephen looked into the fireplace flames, with a fierce scowl, muttered,

'Yes, my friend, the creature Sable has a lot to answer for. I hope I'm up to it. I hope you're up to it.'

Cloak gave a small, insulted fluff, and made as if it would float up, but Stephen laughed, quietly, curled his scarlet comrade back into his arms, murmured ,

'Tomorrow. Tomorrow, is soon enough.'