Late the next morning, Tvania welcomed not one, but two new citizens into the world. Danae had surprised everyone with two small, but healthy twin girls. Stephen and Christine, completely exhausted and covered in blood and fluids, washed the crying babies with warm water and swaddled them, and then scrubbed themselves down as best they could with what precious little soap the village could spare.

Danae and Chuluun each held one baby, the proud father strutting around the room with his new daughter, unable to take his eyes off of her. Danae laid in the bed, gently placing her other little one at her breast.

Christine took off her pants, which were stained heavily with blood, and changed into a long skirt Danae had given her.

"Well, Mom, Dad," said Stephen, exhausted but beaming. "What are their names?"

Danae laughed brightly, making her cheeks dimple and dark eyes sparkle. Her olive skin glowed with hard earned sweat and the beauty of new motherhood.

"I thought for sure we would only have one! And I was also absolutely certain it would be a boy."

"You don't have anything picked out?" asked Christine.

"I know exactly what to call them, now," she said, stroking the dark tuft of hair on her newborn daughter's head. "I would love to name them after you two, if you don't mind."

Christine and Stephen shot each other a surprised glance. Stephen stuttered, then said, "We'd be more than honored, but I don't know if Stephen is a great name for a little girl."

"Oh, no," Danae chuckled. "This one will be Foinika, and the other-" she nodded towards the baby in Chuluun's arms "-she'll be Xena."

"Perfect," said Chuluun, sitting down at the edge of the bed, his grin as wide as his face. "I love it. I love them. I love you. I love everything right now … " Chuluun trailed off and started to sob incoherently, which made Xena mewl and fuss.

Christine paused for a long, confused moment before reacting. "Oh!" she said, trying to sound excited and failing. "Um, how exactly are they named after us?"

"I'm Greek-or I was Greek," she answered. "'Foinikas' means palm tree, and Foinika sounds beautiful. The word for stranger is 'Xenos', so, Xena."

Stephen smiled at Christine as she leaned back into an armchair on the other side of the room.

"Well," he told Christine, "It's not quite the same as having your own medical technique named after you, but it's not chopped liver, either."

"What are you talking about?" said Christine. "It's a thousand times better than that."

Stephen and Christine cleaned up the room, changing bedsheets and tossing bloody towels, scrubbing what they could from the floor. They were both about ready to pass out when a timid knock came from the bedroom door. Sylvie's head poked around the edge, a warm smile on her face.

"I heard the baby cry this morning," she said in a singsong voice. "Can we come in? Do you mind?"

Danae nodded, and Sylvie and Loki both came through the door. Sylvie wasn't just holding Loki's hand as much as she was dragging him. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he squinted painfully at a bright ray of sunlight that burst through the window. He was absolutely hung over. Stephen tried to hide his smile as he imagined Sylvie attempting to pull Loki out of bed that morning. He certainly looked like he didn't want to be there, or standing, or awake. Mobius sauntered through the door a moment later. He'd fared better than Loki, but still looked tired.

"Oh, twins?" said Mobius, with a wide grin. "Congratulations!"

Sylvie and Mobius admired the new babies, while Loki coughed and tried to sound as officious as possible, despite his hoarse, tired throat.

"We've just come to give our blessings to the first naturally born citizen-sorry, citizens-of Tvania." Loki continued, muttering, "And then we're going to go back to sleep."

"Come here and look at them Loki! Look how darling they are!" squealed Sylvie. Loki sighed and dragged himself over to the bedside, where Danae held both of her daughters in either arm, almost resting right next to each other.

Stephen noticed something change in Loki's face. His expression slowly went from exhausted disinterest to full of wonder as he looked at the two little infants squirming and gurgling in their mother's arms. Cautiously, as if he was afraid they'd bite, he put out a finger in front of one of the babies, who reached for it and held it tightly in her tiny grip. Not to be left out, her sister reached out and grabbed Loki's thumb.

A huge smile melted across Loki's face. "Well, look at that," he said quietly. "I had no idea human babies were so … tiny."

"They didn't feel tiny," mumbled Danae.

Sylvie stared at the babies with a distant wistfulness in her eyes that made her look almost like an entirely different person, kneeling down to Danae's level and cradling her head in one palm. The second Loki noticed her face, the smile disappeared from his own.

Mobius chuckled and gave Loki a light jab with his elbow. "Better look out, Loki, or you're going to have an heir, soon."

Sylvie's expression turned into terror as she whipped her head around to face Mobius.

"What? You think I want to give birth to one? Oh my God, no! All the pain and bleeding and hormones … " Sylvie shuddered.

She stood up quickly, then glanced around the room at everyone and tugged gently at Loki's shirt, signaling it was time to go.

"Congratulations all around," she said with a curt, uncomfortable nod, "and good job, Doctor Strange."

"It was all Doctor Palmer," said Stephen. "I just helped."

Christine gave a small smile and nod, less to say, 'thank you,' than, 'damn straight.'

Sylvie left in a hurry, dragging Loki back out again, Mobius staying behind.

Christine stood and told Danae, "Remember, bleeding for a little while is normal, but if it gets heavy, you have someone let me know. One of us will come by to check up on you during the day."

Danae nodded, then Stephen and Christine left the two new parents alone with Mobius.

Stephen's leg wound had looked worse than it actually was. He didn't feel it much as they walked back to their house, though he'd developed a nasty bruise around the cut. Stephen couldn't help but notice the same wistful look on Christine's face that had been on Sylvie's, except hers was tinged with deep sadness in her eyes. He knew only one thing could be on her mind, but hesitated to bring it up.

"So," he said casually, "There's going to be quite a few more pregnancies soon, I bet, with all the … recreational activity. We'll have our work cut out for us, huh?"

"Yeah," was all Christine said in reply.

After an agonizingly long silence, Stephen let out a deep sigh. He might as well cut the tension in the air, even if it hurt.

"I know you and Charlie didn't work out, but if you had … you would have been a great mom, Christine."

She stopped in her tracks and stared ahead of her at nothing. Stephen regretted opening his mouth yet again, and braced for whatever she might say.

Instead, to his surprise, she just kept on walking back to the house. Her expression didn't change one bit.

As they took turns checking up on Danae throughout the day, neither of them had the courage to bring the subject up again.

The weeks went by, the heat died slightly, Stephen let his scraggly beard grow out, and the doctors continued to help anyone who needed their services, which happened quite often, it seemed. Every other day, someone showed up on the porch of Loki's house with a terrible cough, or a wound that needed stitches, or a nasty burn that needed cleaned and bandaged. They ran out of the rest of their supplies quickly. They'd had to turn to using clean cloth for bandages and what herbal remedies they could research in the Plant Field Guide Stephen had taken from the library, plus the folk knowledge that scattered villagers remembered. He'd written lots of notes in the guide about remedies that might do some good, as nutty as they seemed.

Evgenia said her grandmother would use vinegar and spider webs to help wounds heal. It sounded utterly disgusting to Stephen, but once they'd run out of sterile bandages and gauze, Christine tried it out on a willing patient, and it seemed to help staunch the bleeding quite a bit.

"I get the vinegar, but feel like we should, I don't know, boil the cobwebs next time?" said Stephen, with a shudder.

"I know, I know, we just have to work with what we've got," said Christine.

There wasn't another house that they could move into together, either, like Loki had suggested, at least not one that still had a roof. It was just as well. It would have been too much to have to live with Christine alone. The temptation, that craving for intimacy with her, was too strong as it was, living in a house with five people in it.

Christine moved out of the den and took the living room for the first week, sleeping on the couch with the open windows blowing all around her. The village brought Christine a real bed, which some skilled carpenter had made out of well fitting pieces of wood and rope held taught like a net to hold the mattress. Stephen was a little jealous. It was more comfortable than his rickety cot. They'd also made a curtain for her so she could cordon off a bit of the room for her own privacy. It wasn't a bad setup, really. It looked no worse than a run down dorm house.

As the days wore on with no shortage of work to do, Stephen's grief started to go numb, then dissipate, only popping up on those too-quiet nights when he had nothing else but his thoughts. Occasionally, a flash of beautiful Kamar-Taj would come to him on the edge of sleep, or his family, or something silly America had told him, and he'd feel the back of his throat close up. After a while, though, he could swallow his pain and sleep, looking to the future, and not his memories.

On one of those still, sleepless nights, Stephen got up to use the bathroom outside and heard Christine quietly sobbing on the other side of the curtain in the living room. He hadn't seen her cry since the night they'd gotten stuck in that universe permanently. It made his heart sink, and made him feel extraordinarily guilty on top of that. He'd thought Christine was managing, too, but she was just much better at hiding her feelings behind a brave mask.

"Christine?" he whispered into the darkness. She sniffled once, then seemed to hold her breath, waiting for him to pass.

"I know you're crying," said Stephen gently, quietly making his way across the living room until he felt her curtains. He wouldn't dare just rip them open. He waited patiently on the other side until he heard her rustle around, her bed squeaking.

"I'm too old to have a baby, Stephen," she said, her voice hoarse and cracking. "I'm too old to have one here, even if I had the perfect opportunity and everything, no more crazy demons and witches attacking the world. I'm forty, no previous pregnancies. Elderly gravida. There might be dangerous complications even with the best medical equipment. It could be a death sentence here. I didn't know what I wanted and now it's too late."

He felt a slight breeze as the curtain opened, then Christine's hand, tentatively touching his chest in the darkness to see how close he was, then pulling away. They couldn't see each other, but he felt her breath, her warmth, her presence.

"It's not your fault," he said. "It's an enormous decision. There's no right answer, really, except what you want. You couldn't have ever expected this to happen."

"I know. I'm just so terrified of living with regret for the rest of my life."

"There's nothing to regret. You've changed so many lives, Christine."

He moved his hand cautiously towards her until it brushed her neck, then brought her close to him. She didn't protest, but didn't embrace him either, quietly weeping into his shoulder.

Stephen's heart pounded in his chest so loud, he wondered if she could hear it. Finally, after a grueling silence, he couldn't take anymore and lifted his hand to her hot, damp face, pressing his lips to hers.

She pulled away instantly. "No, Stephen," she said, quiet but firm, her crying stopped.

He felt the numb horror of humiliation creep across his entire body like a wave of shock, turning his face and hands cold. He couldn't even apologize as he removed his hand from her face and stepped away.

The curtain fluttered again as she closed the curtains on him. It may as well have been a brick wall.

Stephen had a pit in his stomach all night. It followed him into the next morning, and felt like an ulcer every time he looked at Christine. A flurry of emotions ran through his head, ranging from desperation to shame. Christine, he noticed, looked perfectly put together, clean and fresh, her bun nice and neat on her head. She'd looked the same in the middle of the Battle of New York, too. That had to be some kind of superpower, or a very effective defense mechanism.

Minco came to the front porch that morning after breakfast, clutching his arm and dripping blood. He'd sustained a pretty bad cut from a hunting accident that needed several stitches. Christine boiled some thin fishing line in strong vinegar and threaded a needle while Stephen did his best to staunch the blood with clean rags.

"Here." Stephen handed a cup of especially fermented corn-based alcohol and strip of leather to Minco as he looked on, horrified.

It took Mobius and Stephen both to hold Minco down as Christine stitched him up, the leather barely muffling his screams, the alcohol hardly numbing the pain. Several morbidly fascinated Tvanians stopped by to watch the commotion.

"Opium would be a great help right now," said John over Stephen's shoulder. "Or even ether."

"Unless you have either of those things, John, you're really not helping," Stephen grumbled, sweat dripping down his face.

Christine's stitches were swift and even, and she closed the wound in one neat tug. Stephen's shaky hands would have been less than useless for so many stitches.

Minco laid down on the porch, quietly moaning and recovering, dousing his sweaty forehead with a bottle of water.

"Can you watch him for a minute, Mobius?" Stephen asked. He nodded, sitting cross legged on the porch next to their patient.

Christine had gone to the back of the house to wash up in a basin of rainwater, and Stephen followed. He knew his face was red, and he knew she saw it. She'd get a look on her face when she was trying hard not to notice something.

Stephen took a deep breath and broke the silence.

"Can we talk about last night, please?"

She stopped washing, then flicked water off her hands and dried them on her shirt, but didn't answer.

"Are you mad at me, Stephen?" she asked flatly, with an almost salty tone to her voice.

"No, not mad, just … " he shrugged, unable to find the right word to fit the menagerie of emotions parading in his head.

She looked up to the sky and squinted in the sunlight.

"I have a confession to make," she said, stumbling through her words. "The second time you-died-I … I kissed you. I did it because I thought for sure you weren't coming back."

"I knew about that. That's not really a confession."

She looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. "Oh," was all she replied for a minute, looking completely off guard. "Is … is that why you kissed me last night? Because I did?"

"It felt like the right thing to do at the time, for some reason," he mumbled, running his fingers through his greasy hair. "I'm pretty sure every variant of you has told every variant of me that we're not a thing. I wonder how many Stephens can actually accept that."

"I know a few can," said Christine, giving him a cynical glance. "I know some variants of me don't make it as clear as day all the time. Maybe because some variants of me are tired of repeating themselves. Or, I don't know … maybe some variants of me don't know what they want all the time."

Stephen blinked at her, unsure what she meant by that, and too afraid to ask.

"The point is, we're both adults. We care about each other. We've saved each other's lives several times. But that doesn't automatically equal … you know. I'm sorry I was defensive when we talked at the restaurant. I don't want you out of my life, Stephen. I'd never tell you that."

"Good," he said, the knots in his stomach beginning to untie themselves. "Because I'm definitely not going anywhere, now. You're stuck with me."

"God, without all this drama, my life would be so utterly boring," she said, with a playfully sarcastic smile.

Stephen washed some of Minco's dried blood off his arm, though he hadn't gotten nearly as dirty as Christine.

"We're totally out of painkillers, aren't we?" he asked, happy to change the subject.

"Yeah, we are. I gave out the last of the Excedrin a week ago."

"I read in the plant guide that people in ancient times used to chew on willow bark to relieve pain. It has salicin in it: acetylsalicilic acid."

"That's what aspirin is, right?"

"Exactly," he answered. "I think I saw a couple of willow trees next to the pond." He stood and dried his hands on his pants.

"You want me to come with?"

"No, I'm all right. Just stay with Minco and make sure he's okay. It won't take long."

Stephen took a small hatchet with him, then left the village on his own. His dirty boots crunched along the broken asphalt, sending a young buck deer further up the road running back into the safety of the forest. It was a beautiful day, as so many of the days on that Earth had been since he'd arrived. Some primal urge made him sing to himself as he walked, knowing no one was around to hear him. He reached out his hand and brushed by the tall, wild black-eyed Susans and Queen Anne's lace along the edge of the road, the petals of their flowers tickling his palm as he passed.

He reached the pond, where a flock of ducks floated among the reeds and plants, not taking off with Stephen's arrival, but cautiously making their way to the center of the pond, quacking nervously. As Stephen ripped some bark from the base of the willow tree and cut it off with his hatchet, something about that moment struck him. It wasn't just the natural beauty and peace, living in the moment with sunlight on his face and the breeze on his skin, nor the soothing sound of ducks and frogs and crickets. He was alone. Perfectly alone, physically and romantically. Christine had told him as much. And yet, there was no sadness in his heart, no regret whatsoever. He just wanted to clear the air with her, and felt instantly better when he had.

With that last tie severed, he thought for sure he'd be a mess, or angry, or anything other than tranquil. He looked out on to the stagnant pond and watched the ducks milling about, bobbing for food, fluffing their feathers, preening.

Stephen was so distracted in his own zen that he didn't see the butterfly floating around his head. It alighted on his hand, its tiny feet tickling him. It was a black and blue swallowtail, just like the one in his dream, shimmering in the sunlight. The beautiful insect crawled around on Stephen's shaking hand, undisturbed, probably attracted to the pollen he'd rubbed off on his hand from the flowers, or the sweat on his skin.

Stephen smiled to himself, lifting the butterfly to eye level as it crawled all over his hand and slowly flexed its wings.

The butterfly suddenly took off, fluttered madly around Stephen a few times, then went on its merry way across the pond.

Stephen came down from that moment of beautiful providence, remembering with slight disappointment that he had work that had nothing to do with appreciating the universe and watching ducks and admiring butterflies. He peeled and chopped a few more strips of bark, not knowing how many he'd need, but figuring he should take what he could for everyone else that would need it later.

Off in the distant forest, a faint, odd noise floated through the air, almost like an animal's cry. Stephen stopped and listened through the drone of frogs and crickets, waiting, then heard it again. It was like no animal he'd ever heard, changing pitch and volume seemingly randomly. He decided to investigate, carrying the long strips of bark under his armpit and keeping his hatchet ready, just in case.

In the forest behind the golf course, Stephen walked through the underbrush as quietly as his boots would allow, careful not to step on any sticks and scare the creature away. The strange mewling got louder until it became something Stephen recognized instantly: a woman singing, and not well. He could have left it there, relieved that it wasn't another horrible monster, but something else kept him following the sound of her voice. It was so frustratingly familiar, not just the voice, but the song she was singing, too. He had to make sure, put his mind at ease, show himself that he was wrong so he could get back to work. It couldn't possibly be her.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw a flash of light blue appear behind a tree. A young woman dressed in denim with a head of long, dark hair danced to herself and sang. Facing away from him, shining like a bullseye on her back, was a white star.

Stephen sucked in a shuddering breath, knowing she had to be some kind of mirage, imagined out of desperation. She continued to sing loudly, totally oblivious to his presence. Finally unable to keep quiet any longer, Stephen dropped the bark and the hatchet with a thud and stumbled out of the trees.

"Bill Withers," he said, tears streaming down his face as America Chavez yelped and turned around, "Lovely Day."

Her eyes lit up white for a split second, as if she was about to open another multiversal portal, then she blinked a few times until her natural brown eyes returned. She took a white airpod out of her ear.

"Stephen?" she whispered uncertainly.

"America!" he blubbered. He took a few steps towards her, arms wide for a hug, but she put out her hands defensively and backed away.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said. "How do I know you're my Stephen?"

"I'm the only Stephen Strange who knows who you are, aren't I? The only living one, at least."

She still stared at him untrustingly. "Maybe you're not actually Stephen. Maybe you're a witch in disguise."

"Oh come on!"

"Tell me something only my Stephen would know," she said, narrowing her eyes.

Stephen rolled his own eyes and shook his head, trying to think of anything at all that would satisfy her, then snapped his fingers as he came up with something.

"Okay, you remember when I took you to Disneyland in a different universe? I ordered you a salad instead of pizza and you wouldn't eat it unless I added pepperoni?"

"Stephen!" she gasped, running to him and throwing her arms around him. Overjoyed, they both laughed as he held her tight and swung her around, completely off her feet.

She had a sudden coughing fit in his arms. "Dios mio, you smell so bad!" she shouted, trying to pry herself away from him like he was Pepe LePew.

Embarrassed, knowing she was definitely right even if he couldn't smell his own stink anymore, he finally let go of her and shook her gently by her shoulders.

"How are you here? Why? When? What?"

"Uh, same for you, Stephen," she replied in her incredulous teenage way, but smiling and wiping away happy tears. "You've been gone for two months. Everyone thought you were dead. Wong built a shrine at Kamar-Taj … "

With that, America's smile faded and her happy tears turned into sobs. He felt a catch at the back of his throat and hugged her again, gentler this time.

"I got stuck here with Christine and Loki and … it's a very long story. But why in the world are you here?"

She stopped crying to answer him. "I come here sometimes to just, I don't know, sing or dance or just be by myself. There's zero privacy at Kamar-Taj. I didn't think there was anyone else on this Earth at all."

"Oh, there definitely is," he said picking up the hatchet and bark with one hand and throwing his other arm over her shoulder. "Let's go meet them."

As they walked back to Tvania, Stephen tried to explain everything they'd been through in that universe, skipping around in the story and going back to fill in parts he'd missed in his excitement. America just nodded and smiled indulgently, though he was pretty sure she didn't understand a thing. When they got back to the village, Christine stood from Minco's side and stared wonderingly at them, glancing back and forth from America to Stephen.

"Is … that's not … " stammered Christine, eyes growing wide.

"America," said Stephen, with a knowing smile, "this is my good friend, Christine Palmer. Christine, America Chavez."

Christine was silent for several seconds, then she made a sort of unsettling squealing noise, came close to America and hugged her tightly. America gave Stephen a slightly uncomfortable glance.

"She's squishing me," she whispered as Christine began to sob. "Oh, God, she stinks too … everyone stinks … "

Several curious Tvanians came to greet them and see what all the fuss was about, including Loki, Sylvie, and Mobius. Mobius tilted his head and pointed at America.

"Is this the portal girl?"

"Yep, that's me," said America, still locked in Christine's smelly, ironclad bear hug. "That's my name. Portal Girl."

Stephen gave Christine a light tap on the shoulder and she finally released America, wiping tears from her eyes.

"We can go home!" she repeated over and over.

"Home?" said Loki, looking surprised and slightly desperate. "But … you're part of the village now."

"Loki! How dare you not let them leave?" hissed Sylvie.

"I never said that," he replied sheepishly. "But perhaps just one of them could stay?"

Sylvie gave him such an intense glare that it made him recoil from her in fear.

The rest of Tvania looked at them and each other with a mixture of bittersweet expressions, whispering to each other, some of them very deeply concerned.

"Guys, don't worry," Stephen told them. "We can come back and visit, sometimes. We won't disappear forever."

That didn't seem to do much to comfort them. They weren't just bidding their doctor farewell, they were suddenly, unexpectedly losing their hero. The looks on their faces almost made him want to stay just a little longer.

With a deep sigh, Loki stepped forward and faced the rest of Tvania. Stephen knew even before he'd opened his mouth that he meant to make a long-winded speech for the ages and mentally braced himself.

"It's with our deepest, most sincere regret that we bid farewell to Doctor Strange and Doctor Palmer," he began, gesturing widely to the doctors and America, who looked more confused than ever. "We cannot, will not forget their bravery, their service, their persistence in the face of adversity, their-"

"Loki," muttered Mobius, cutting him off with the most withering look Stephen had ever seen. "Please just let them go home."

Loki grumbled indignantly. "Fine, fine," he said. "Long story short, thank you, and … good luck, I suppose."

He held out his hand and Stephen shook it firmly.

"It's been an honor, your majesty."

Loki grinned at that, then shook Christine and America's hand as well.

"I knew not all you Doctor Stranges were assholes," said Mobius with a smirk, while Sylvie simply gave Stephen a wordless hug.

Stephen felt a lump in his throat as the rest of Tvania wished him a heartfelt, tearful goodbye, waving to them as everyone backed away and America punched her portal into the multiverse. The outline of the lightning-white star crackled and buzzed, with the streets of New York on the other side beckoning to them, a place he never thought he'd see again. Home.

With one last look at their adoptive village, Stephen, Christine, and America stepped from the warm sun and birdsong of Tvania to the sizzling heat and city noises of New York. Her portal snapped shut, and they were gone, like a flash. As much as he'd wished for and dreamed of home, seeing that tribe simply vanish left an even bigger hole in his heart, somehow.

A few pedestrians stood around them, gawking at the scene they'd just witnessed, recording them with their phones. Stephen didn't have the energy to shoo them away. They were already at 177A Bleecker Street, the Sanctum's huge door looming in front of them.

Suddenly, Christine gasped and covered her mouth.

"What is it?" he asked. "Did you leave something?"

"No," she said, tears forming in her eyes. "My cat. Truffle. Oh no …"

Stephen winced. They'd been gone for two months, and most likely no one had been feeding her cat for that long.

He waved off America, making her stand by the door while he opened a portal out of her line of sight.

"You might not want to see this," he told her over his shoulder.

Bracing for the worst, Stephen opened the portal into Christine's kitchen. To his surprise, Truffle was just fine, though awfully skinny, munching kibble from an enormous bag of cat food scattered all over the floor. He'd also left several puddles and piles all over the place.

Stephen and Christine gagged. They couldn't smell themselves, but they could sure smell Truffle.

The cat leapt straight up into the air when he saw the portal, then screeched and dashed off into the living room, tail fluffed up like a bottle brush.

Stephen closed the portal again and gave Christine an apologetic look.

"I might know a couple of spells that can clean your apartment," he said, helpfully. Christine simply stared into the distance, mortified.

"I need a new apartment," she muttered.

"You want to stay here tonight? We have several guest bedrooms."

Christine just nodded silently.

America threw open the doors to the Sanctum, where a surprised Wong looked up from his cup of tea. His eyes grew wide, he stood, and dropped his tea to the floor with a crash, all at the same time.

"Ta-da!" said America, arms wide as she gestured to the disheveled doctors behind her. "Look who I found!"

"Wong!" said Stephen, a warm smile on his face. "Long time, no see!"

Wong simply stared at Stephen, uncomprehending, very slowly moving towards him with what looked like an angry frown forming on his face.

"Wong?"

The Sorcerer Supreme was right in front of Stephen now, with such a serious, stormy look, Stephen feared he would start screaming at him. He supposed he deserved it for leaving so suddenly without letting Wong know.

Just as Stephen was about to apologize, Wong's lip quivered and he burst into tears.

"Stephen!" he cried, then threw his arms around him, knocking the wind out of him. His greeting was even more enthusiastic than America's.

"I thought you were dead," he whimpered, as Christine and America looked on in amazement. "I made a shrine … it's a very nice shrine … "

"Aw, Wong," said Stephen, embarrassed, maneuvering his arm out of Wong's grip just enough to pat him on the back. "I promise, if you die before me, I'll do the same for you."

All of a sudden, Wong let go of him, his face scrunched up into a disgusted expression.

"Aiya, Stephen. You smell awful."

"I know."

"Please, before you do anything else, go upstairs and shower."

"Glady."

"And you, young lady … " Wong pointed to America, eyebrow raised, then sighed. "Thank you. Now get your butt back to Kamar-Taj."

America bowed respectfully, then brought her clenched fist back to make her star-shaped portal.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Wong stopped her, finger raised sanctimoniously. "Use the sling ring."

"Yes Sorcerer Supreme," she said, with another terse bow, then took the ring from her back pocket and made a very shoddy, wobbly, tiny portal that was only a little bigger than a hula hoop, floating a couple of feet in the air.

Wong grunted unapprovingly, but before he could reprimand her, she stuck her foot through and squeezed into the pathetic portal. It fizzled out of existence like a dying sparkler.

Wong shook his head and addressed Stephen again.

"I'm sure you have lots of explaining to do, Strange," he said, "But I'll let you get settled in. Christine, you're welcome to use the other shower in the west wing. Welcome home."

Stephen had never been happier to feel warm water in his life. He used an indulgently wasteful amount of shampoo and soap all over himself, lathering until the tub looked like a bubble bath instead of a shower.

After toweling off, he laid down on his bed with the air conditioning blowing over him. The simplest creature comforts felt like blissful luxury; clean sheets, electricity, any kind of food he could want at the bodega down the street. He would miss Hasan's cooking, though. Not for long, hopefully. He planned on coming back, and bringing supplies in tow next time, like salt and soap and medicine. Stephen smiled to himself. It sounded like he was about to strike out on a pioneer adventure or something.

He knew, deep down, that he already missed that place, no matter the number of modern luxuries his home universe could give him.

Stephen rolled over, got dressed, and made a mental list of all the things he needed to do, barring any other Earth-shattering events that needed his immediate attention. First, explain himself to Wong, then help Christine un-stink her house, then make a grocery list for the Tvanians.

Another item popped into his mind, one he really should have thought of before. Thor. He needed to tell Thor his brother was alive.

That heavy realization made him sit down on the edge of his bed. Thor had mourned for years. He'd accepted his brother's death. Not only that, but at the moment, nobody knew exactly where he was. Strange could find him again … at least he hoped he could, unless he'd somehow gotten into a different universe.

That would have to wait for a little while, at least. He sat down at a desk near the windows, looking out on the streets below, when he noticed a pigeon had made its bare nest on the window ledge with nothing but a few sticks. A mother pigeon looked up at him curiously, blinking at him through the window and cooing. Months ago, he would have cleared the nest and shooed the pigeon away without a second thought, but now he could only admire the little bird as it thrived in such an unforgiving, unnatural place.

He leaned back in his chair. Life always seemed to find a way, no matter what.

THE END

Thanks everyone so much for following and reading my story! I hope to make a prequel and a sequel someday, but no promises on when those might come.