Chapter Three

When Temperance rounded the corner from her entryway, she was expecting to see a run-of-the-mill burglar or petty thief. She was prepared for a confrontation, but not one that would produce much alarm - at least not on her end. She assumed that the intruder didn't know whose home they had entered without permission. The sight she was met with instead was certainly not the average cat burglar.

"You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before I throw you out that window," She said in a low tone, eyeing the stranger standing in her living room. "It's a long fall, trust me."

The man in the red cloak turned to greet her, unstartled by her address. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd encountered someone so strangely dressed, and her life tended to get more interesting every time it happened. Whether the interest he'd bring was good or bad, she couldn't immediately determine. The man was taller than her, with carefully groomed hair, graying at the sides, and his facial hair was styled into an outdated van dyke style. A giant amulet hung from his neck. He looked like a formidable opponent, and Temperance straightened to make herself taller, unwilling to show that she thought so.

"Temperance Ward, I assure you, I pose no threat." He told her. His voice had a deep, lilting quality. She glanced at the windows, which were unbroken. Her security system would have alerted her if he'd gone through them, anyway.

"How did you get in here?" She questioned, her voice demanding. His arms raised slowly, and she balled her fists, preparing for a confrontation. He held his palms out toward her for a moment, as if telling her to relax, and then he waved them around, curling them into fists. Sparks of yellow appeared and formed into a portal at the command of his hands.

The portal was facing her, and she could see a completely different room within, filled with mahogany furniture and old books. She turned to look behind her for a moment, her brain reacting as if it were a mirror, and then turned back to it. Her curiosity had brought her a few steps closer, but she abruptly stopped when she remembered the stranger who'd created the portal. She glanced up to see him watching her, studying her reaction.

"It's alright, you can go through." He told her. Temperance scoffed, forcing herself to take a step back despite her curiosity.

"Who are you?" She asked.

"My name is Doctor Stephen Strange." He replied.

"Naturally." Temperance murmured, giving him another once-over, "Can you turn that thing off, Doctor Strange?" She asked, nodding at the portal. She wasn't going to have this conversation worrying about whether or not he would push her through at any moment. He did as she requested, and her posture relaxed slightly when the portal disappeared.

"I'm the sorcerer supreme for this realm," he explained, "I keep a watchlist of individuals and beings from other realms who may be a threat to this world."

Temperance considered the information. After a moment, she asked "Why have I never heard of you before?"

"My job isn't quite as public as yours," He replied. Temperance quirked an eyebrow.

"Where were you when Loki strolled into Manhattan? Was he not on your watchlist?"

Strange's jaw clenched, and he spoke the next words with a great deal of effort, "I'm relatively new."

"Ah," Temp said, as if enlightened, though it really didn't explain much, "Well, I can see why I'd be a confusing case, but I've never been to any realm besides this one, so..." she trailed off, her silence clearly inviting him to wrap up the interview.

"Of course," He agreed, "but there's the matter of yesterday."

Temperance crossed her arms, more out of discomfort than anger, and shifted on her feet. Yesterday. "Yesterday was...an isolated incident," she said quietly.

He watched her squirm and asked with uncertainty, "Are you...alright?"

The Sorcerer Supreme sounded supremely uncomfortable.

"Yes," She said, her pride bouncing back, "So, you saw the news and decided to pay this little visit to make sure I wasn't a danger to anyone. Fair enough."

It was reasonable enough, and she knew that, but it hit on her deepest insecurities of being seen as a threat instead of a protector. This man was here to make sure that she wasn't going to be a problem.

"I'm sure that you have no intentions of hurting anyone," He assured her, "But it's important for me to know who in this realm is using magic and what they're using it for."

Magic. She hadn't heard her ability referred to as magic in a long time - not since Thor had tried to explain it to her years ago. She certainly hadn't been conceiving of it as magic - at least not in the traditional sense of magic that she'd understood from books and movies.

"Trust me, if I could never use it again, I'd be the happiest person in the world," Temp said. His brow furrowed.

"So it's a matter of control?" He asked.

"I'm handling it," She assured him. She didn't even like talking about this stuff with Tony, let alone a stranger. Thor had been a lot easier of a confidant on matters like this, since she knew that he was predisposed to believe the best about everyone, even his own brother, but she hadn't had the privilege of his sympathetic ear in a long time. The man nodded thoughtfully.

"How does your magic work?" He asked.

"I don't know." She admitted. "I see people's will, and I sort of grab on to it. Like pulling the reins on a horse to guide it one way or the other. I used to do it by accident before I realized I could. Now I can control it. Well, mostly."

"That's a lot of power." He said. To his credit, it sounded more sympathetic than accusatory.

"Yeah," She agreed. Her shoulders slumped a little more, giving her the appearance of curling into herself, as images of Steve's face in Siberia - when she'd taken away his free will- flashed through her mind. She pushed them away.

"What else can you do?" Strange asked.

"I'm strong," She said, shrugging a shoulder, "Combat comes naturally to me. Other than that, nothing really. Now that the Avengers have disbanded, I don't do much. Tony Stark is the only Avenger I stay in contact with, and I don't do vigilante work. Yesterday was just a hiccup. It won't happen again."

He was quiet for a long moment, still studying her.

"It wasn't my intention to offend you." He said.

"You didn't." She said with a tight-lipped, less-than-convincing smile. He glanced around, clearing his throat. It was clear he wasn't sure how to conclude their first meeting.

"Is there...do you have any questions for me?" He asked. She glanced to the side and back at him in an uncomfortably silent moment.

"Nope." This, of course, wasn't true - there was so much she didn't understand about his title and his sudden appearance, but she hadn't liked the way he'd shown up, uninvited, to dredge up all of the business she'd been trying to put to bed. Still, she supposed that it was kind enough for him to even the playing field by offering to answer her questions, too.

"Well, I'm sorry I had to intrude like this." He told her, finally, "I shouldn't have to bother you again."

Temperance nodded, resisting the urge to tell him it was okay - it wasn't. Though he seemed good-natured enough, she couldn't be sure, and there was no reason he couldn't have knocked on the door. He made another portal, which seemed to extend to the same location as before, and paused before walking through. He handed her a card and she accepted it, studying the fancy script. 177a Bleecker St.

"In case you find you need to get in touch," he said before disappearing.

Stephen Strange was restless. He'd already been restless in the week since he'd met Temperance Ward, but now he could barely keep himself from pacing the hardwood floors of the Sanctum.

It had started out innocently enough - he'd just wanted to know a little bit more about her. He shouldn't have - he didn't need to. She'd told him everything he needed to know. But there had still been this niggling voice telling him it was his job, his prerogative, to do just a little bit of snooping.

So he'd poured over the records from the last Sorcerer Supreme, records from the last 30 years, looking for any sign of her. After a few days of frustrated page-flipping and slamming books shut, he'd been forced to tell Wong what he was looking for. The man hadn't said anything, but the look on his face told him that he was judging the sorcerer, at least a tiny bit. Nonetheless, Wong helped him, and his work went quicker.

Wong had actually been the one to find her. She wasn't in the records by the name of Temperance Ward, but Stephen was sure it was her - it had to be. And that had been what put him in the middle of his current quandary. In his enthusiasm to learn more about her, he'd learned a little bit too much - probably more than she knew.

And it wasn't his business to tell her - he had no obligation. But she'd just looked so sad. Perhaps giving her some information about her past would remedy it somehow.

Temperance opted not to leave her apartment very much that week. The convenient excuse was of course that she wanted to wait for her very public mistake to blow over. In truth, she also didn't feel much like facing the world. She had been keeping her distance from people when she did leave, for fear of finding herself in another crowd. She was feeling better (or happily exhausted, rather, after the expenditure of her power), but she feared that even just the association of the memory of Times Square could be enough to make her lose control.

She'd spent most of her time holed up in her apartment reviewing applications for scholarships and binge-watching television shows, only emerging to attend her first therapy appointment, which May had asked her friend to put on the schedule as soon as possible. Dr. Whitefield had seemed kind and empathetic enough, though Temperance wasn't convinced that the match would produce much fruit. Still, it felt good to be taking a step in any direction, even if it was one she wasn't fully comfortable with yet. Dr. Whitefield had asked her if there was any history of depression or anxiety in the family, and she hadn't been able to answer with any sense of certainty. For all she knew, her mother could have been a sociopath. Her father had a tendency to not take the best care of himself, but that had always seemed more of an eccentricity - a result of his being a deep and rapid thinker.

She didn't like to think that there was a chance he'd ever been depressed. It caused her to think about how many opportunities to spend time with him she'd squandered and feel intense guilt over any misery he might have suffered because of her. Dr. Whitefield had successfully drawn this observation out of her and asked her if she felt guilty often. While she downplayed the answer, Temperance couldn't help but feel that it would be easier to single out the few circumstances in which she didn't feel guilty.

Despite the discomfort of having her feelings addressed so directly, Temperance left with the feeling that she had made a little bit of progress, even if it was just from an increase in self-awareness. She wasn't looking forward to the next appointment, per se, but she could admit to the importance of keeping it.

The second time Stephen Strange visited Temperance's apartment, he knocked on the door. He'd paced outside of the apartment building for ten whole minutes before choosing to go upstairs. He generally liked to mind his own business, and had at some point adamantly decided that he wouldn't go back to see her again, but he must've changed his mind at some point, because he found himself now standing at her door.

Temperance opened it after looking through the peephole, her expression much more open and inviting than it had been the first time. He had already prepared what he was going to say in greeting, but her casual reception threw him off, and instead, he shifted from one foot to the other, clearing his throat.

"Doctor Strange, was it?" She asked, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, "thank you for using the door this time."

He made a mental note to continue doing so in the future.

"I know I said that I wouldn't bother you again-" He began.

Temperance pushed the door open with a playful roll of her eyes, inviting him in. "It's alright, I'm free."

He'd caught her in a much better mood this time around, and if she was being honest, she was glad to see him again. No matter how much she tried to deny it, there was still a large part of her that yearned to know what was happening in the world she'd left behind - what kinds of threats and excitements existed in a universe that seemed to get bigger every day. Perhaps he was coming to tell her that he needed her help with something. She'd been bored out of her mind, and boredom meant dwelling on what happened in Times Square, or, worse, dwelling on everything that had gone wrong with the Avengers.

"What brings you here, Doctor?" She asked, going to the fridge and pulling out two bottled waters. He followed her to the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar on the side near the living space. He accepted the water with a small nod, and she sat on a stool on the other side of the counter, facing him.

"Stephen, please," He insisted. In answer to her question, he put the large book he'd had tucked under his arm on the counter between them. She leaned forward on her elbows, looking at it with furrowed eyebrows.

"What is it?"

"Census record. Of sorts." He replied, eyeing her reaction as she put the pieces together.

"For the 'beings from other realms'," she added, half question and half statement.

"Exactly."

"Alright. What has it got to do with me?" She asked, suddenly becoming unsure of herself. Stephen opened the old tome to a bookmarked page. Temperance noticed his hands shaking as he turned a page and wondered if he was nervous about something. It made her nervous in turn.

"What was your mother's name?" He asked her, not looking up from the page his eyes were scanning.

"Amora." She answered, her tone interested but wary.

"I thought so." He replied. She was about to press him further, but he turned the large volume around and slid it toward her. He watched her expression as she read the entry he pointed out.

Amora

Asgardian

Arrived on Earth August 12th, 1990 with an infant child.

Reason for coming to earth: banishment from Asgard.

Known on Asgard as "The Enchantress." Able to bend men to her own will. Not compliant - Amora poses a serious threat to earth. Sorcerer Supreme cast her away from earth. Child was permitted to stay, and has been placed in the care of Alan Ward, who has been vetted by the Sorcerer Supreme as a proper guardian. The child should pose no threat raised on Earth. The girl will be checked on every few years to ensure that her heritage does not surface in a way that poses a threat to this realm.

"Who wrote this?" She whispered as she finished reading, not lifting her eyes from the page.

"Either the last Sorcerer Supreme or her assistant." Stephen replied softly, unsure how to judge her reaction.

"So," she began, processing the information, "you came back here to tell me that my father is not my father."

Stephen wasn't sure what to say - it was clear now that she wasn't receiving the news well.

"Well, no I - I thought you'd want to know." He said. He was already beating himself up for not foreseeing that this would be troublesome news to her. He had never considered that maybe she didn't want to know more about her past. He had thought he was helping her.

"Does it say anything else about me?" She asked, slowly flipping over the page. It was clear she was working hard to keep her tone calm, "Does it say who my biological father is?"

The words biological father tasted like bile in her mouth.

"No, that's all I've found." He told her, his tone apologetic, "Perhaps you could see what your father knows."

She didn't respond for a long moment before she replied in a firm and matter-of-fact tone, "He's dead."

Stephen wanted to crawl into a portal to Timubktu but refrained. Here he'd thought that coming to talk to her would be helpful. That it would make her happy. He could tell that he'd just broken her heart.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have -"

"No." She cut him off. "It's okay, I - I would've wanted to know. Thank you."

"Is there anything I can do to...help?" He asked, uncomfortable.

"No, I don't think so. I just - I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I think I want to be alone." She told him honestly.

"Of course." He agreed, jumping to his feet. She closed the book and handed it back to him. He wasn't sure how to end the interaction. After having just stopped by to drop a bomb, it seemed wrong to leave so abruptly. She followed him to the door and held onto it as he stepped back into the hallway.

"You're sure you don't want to...talk about it?" He gave one last awkward attempt. She gave a small but less-than-reassuring smile and nodded.

"Yes, thank you. I'll be okay. I'll contact you if I have any questions." She insisted, shutting the door in his face before he could give any more parting words.

Stephen sighed. He didn't think he could make a worse impression than his first, but it seemed he had.