xXx

They casually skirted pools of gurgling, snarling lava as they headed for an empty stretch of Illyana's vast Limbo. From the moment they arrived, her legs had transformed below the knees, her shins graced with fetlocks, her feet replaced by dainty cloven hooves. A thin slick of ever-renewing blood and ichor perpetually burned off the lava, creating a dense mass of unwholesome smoke that curled and clung to everything.

"This abandoned enough for you?" she asked, looking at him with a peculiar grin.

"It will do," he said, nodding. "Now, let's see you make a throne."

She smiled. "We're in my world now," she said. "I can do whatever I want."

"Indeed," Strange said. "Show me."

She reached out, her arm and fingers stiff, and flexed. Shimmering eldritch armor slithered up her arm from her fingertips, and the earth trembled. Then a throne thrust itself up through the rock, its proportions magnificent, huge and solid and hulking on a dais over the gory lava pools. She sipped the air a little faster than she had before, but her eyes were bright with victory as she looked at Strange.

He smiled, but his smile seemed a bit sad. Her expression faded into wariness.

"Reshaping is much simpler," he said softly, "when the clay is yet unformed. Watch." He turned his back to her. "You can feel everything the land feels, just as it can feel everything that you are. Pay close attention," he said. Then his hands moved slightly, a reflexive echo of his thought. He was not as powerful here; Illyana felt that, she felt her power swelled to tremendous proportions and his diminished a great deal, so far from Prime, from the Earth that was commonly known. Her smile was almost a leer.

His fingers moved rapidly, and two pools of gory magma flinched then rose as pillars. As she watched, the pillars split and expanded, split and expanded, surface curling and coiling with magma. The pillars resolved into trees, and as she watched they branched and leafed out with the energies of her realm. They began to cool as the ground around them shifted, flexing. Their angry red began to crust into the darkness of cooled rock.

One of his hands gentled toward the new trees, the other cranked into an impossible position and pinched ever so carefully at the sky. Strange stood, bowed, his shoulders flexed as though under a great burden. The sky began to shift and coil. Where before it had reflected the eternal roiling burn of otherspace, now it began to smooth, to darken. As she watched, coils and waves of flame were compressed to circles, then to brilliant shining pinpoints of light and swathes of the texture of space. Clouds formed, first black and full of the foulness of the land's reek, then shifting and becoming pale, billowing cumulus.

Strange shifted and murmured soft words of binding over the reverberating silence of his magics. Then he shifted position again.

"Now for life," he whispered in English. Then he put his hands together, carefully, and the very air shimmered with a twist of refined power. The ground creaked as antlers slid up on either side of the throne, then they fused and wove together forming an intricate pale pattern behind the dark blocks of stone. The base of the throne smoothed, shimmered, paled, formed steps. Twisting and curling from the cracks of the shattered dark stone, blades of grass sprang free and stretched. Trees and grass and stone began to copy themselves, flowing out, gathering momentum as they gathered mass and space.

Strange turned to Illyana, his hands lowered. She felt the magic still twisting around him, but somehow he had given it momentum and now he simply shaped that momentum. She took a halting step to the side, and she stepped in a mat of grass.

"But," she said, and she gestured helplessly.

"I did not shape what is," he said softly, not even winded. "I felt the shape of what could be. Power is nothing without vision. Without vision, you cannot make the world anything but what it already is, and more so. That which can forget its shape has much more power than that which is trapped by its belief in its own nature. That which has a strong sense of its nature can bend itself to become more."

"That's a paradox," she said.

"Everything that matters is," Strange said, his smile twisting and for just a moment frightening. A faint witch-light drifted clear of the branches of the tree and wove through the air behind him.

She heard the cough of water and turned to see a spring spit once and then begin to flow from the base of her throne down the dais, then one on the other side, sending rippling water down to frame the steps up to the seat. Behind the seat was a delicate screen of filmy thin branches interwoven into mystic symbols. Illyana looked around at the shaped earth, the trees, the grass. Here and there, a confused demon crouched behind the trees or sniffed at the witch-lights.

Her world had grown beautiful.

Strange gestured, and the magic halted, poised, then lost momentum and slid back into itself.

The eldritch wood glimmered and shone with its own inner light. The stars far above sparked in the deep night. Illyana looked around, breathless.

"It's beautiful," she said.

Strange looked at the ground, then looked at her. "The past can be reshaped in only one way," he said.

She looked at him.

"It must be smashed," he said, "then ground up into powder and mixed with the elements that make your future. You'll recognize the texture," he said, "but you'll be free to make something new with it."

"How did you do that?" she asked, not yet able to demand.

"This world, this dimension is malleable," Strange said. "It is eager to be bent to your will. You are its Sorcerer Supreme, now that Belasco is gone. This world aches to fulfill your whim."

"How do I make it do this?" she asked.

"Vision," Strange said. "And the art of asking and not taking; guiding, and not forcing; giving and not imposing. Everything longs to be something," he said, "and the greatest power you can ever possess is to give form to the wholesome longings of those you meet."

She stared at him. A part of her mind noticed that his hands were trembling slightly.

"I think that's enough for today," he said. "I have my own studies to attend to. I'll be interested," he said with half a smile as he looked at her, "to see what you learned today." Then he gestured, transporting himself back to Prime without her help.

She stood staring at the trees, the grass, the spring. The delicate, filigree patterning. She caught a whiff of cigar smoke.

"Sym," she said automatically. The big demon behind her bowed at the waist, then stood and took a deep elaborate puff on his cigar.

She knew what he longed to do right now.

"Burn it," she said, her eyes cold and harsh. "Burn it all. Burn it to the ground."

Demons squealed in fierce unholy joy and tore into the scenery. Illyana, the Swordbearer, stared up at the sky as roiling sheets of flame swept away the unreachable galaxies above.

xXx

Illyana trudged through the front door of the apartment, glancing over to the couch where Valeria relaxed with a book. Valeria looked up and smiled.

"You look like I feel," she said. "Rough lesson today?"

"I don't get it," Illyana said, kicking off her clogs and shrugging off her coat. "Strange is teaching me magic, so I have to stay, but what do you get out of the deal? Why do you stick around him?"

"Because I said I would," Valeria said, putting up one finger, "and because he's paying me," at which Illyana made a rude snorting noise, "and finally," Valeria added with a mock stern look raising a third finger, "because he offers me belonging."

"Belonging?" Illyana walked over and flopped down on the couch.

"Belonging," Valeria said with a nod. She shifted, lowering her book and facing Illyana. "When I first came here, I knew no one, had no grasp of what it was like to live in a world with intact governments. In the place where I am from—" she stopped abruptly, and shook her head once. Her eyes were haunted. "When Strange pulled me from the ether, when he brought me here, I wondered if this was better than death." She looked Illyana in the eye, and the younger woman's neck prickled.

"Strange is a man of many worlds," Valeria continued, her voice soft. "He found me in between them. What's more, he knows a world you and I may never fully understand. He started out as a normal man, with the sorrows and joys of a normal man. But then, later, he became something… more. He became powerful, on a scale that only a few on this plane can comprehend. In short," Valeria said, leaning back, "he knows the life of a mortal, and he knows the life of one from the stars. He has found a way to balance them without sacrificing either wholly. When I seek a skill I do not have, how better to learn it than to watch one who is accomplished in its use?"

"Sounds thin," Illyana said skeptically.

Valeria couldn't help but smile. "That's because you are young and foolish. Observe the wisdom of your elders, and benefit from their wells of depthless knowledge."

"I'll give you depthless knowledge," Illyana said with a grin, scooping a pillow off the couch. She flung it at Valeria, who was on her feet in a moment, deflecting the missile. Illyana closed with a swift kick, which Valeria also deflected, spinning, pushing the red-head back to bounce on the couch.

"Now, young grasshopper," Valeria said with a grin, "You will see the benefit of learning to use great power with subtlety. You will see the true meaning of gentleness."

"What's that?" Illyana said, clumsy as she hauled herself off the couch and balanced.

"Strength under control," Valeria said with a smile. "That is true gentleness. That is what we're here to learn."

For a moment they forgot they were playing and they stood looking into each other's eyes.

The phone rang. Illyana turned and picked it up. "Power Pad, this is Goddess," she said.

"Hey, Yana," said an amused voice on the other end. "Just seeing if we're on for dinner tonight, the three of us. I was about to start cooking."

"You bet, Doug," Illyana said. "When should we show up?"

"Whenever you like," Doug replied. "I'll be cooking for about half an hour. You can feel free to come over and watch me cook if you want, or you can take your time. Just don't let it get cold, okay?"

"We'll be there," Illyana said. "Bye."

"Chou," Doug said, and he hung up. Illyana looked at Valeria and grinned.

xXx

Doug hung up, shaking his head and raising his eyebrows. "Power Pad. Really." Just then there was a sharp knock at the door. He walked over and opened it.

"Hi," Illyana said with a brilliant grin. "We're early."

"Hey, come on in," Doug said, chuckling and turning his back. Valeria and Illyana stepped in and closed the door.

"Water's ready to boil," Doug said. "Make yourselves comfortable."

Illyana glanced around his apartment. The mini-kitchen was in the same area as the living room. A short hallway led back to the bathroom and the two bedrooms. All the doors were open, and the luminous glow of computer screens filtered into the hallway from the guest bedroom. Illyana found a comfortable couch and seated herself. Valeria leaned on the counter.

"You ladies don't waste any time," Doug said.

"It's been a long day," Valeria sighed. "It's good to unwind with dinner."

"I agree," Doug nodded. "No activity is more social than eating." He quickly and expertly sliced a loaf.

"Where's your tv?" Illyana asked, glancing around.

"No use for one," Doug said. "It's too slow. Plus, I can't suspend my disbelief," he said. "Not even a little bit. Not even for the duration of a stupid story. Not even for CNN's version of the truth. I see too much," he said, gesturing out from his eyes. "No good." He expertly spread half-melted butter between the slices, followed with a dash of garlic salt.

"I think we're boiling," Valeria said. Doug tossed a handful of raw spaghetti wands into the hot water, where they spun around into a fan before beginning to soften.

"In a past age," Doug grinned, "I would have been an oracle, a soothsayer. I can throw spaghetti and read the future," he said. He quickly began to stir the noodles.

"What does the future hold?" Valeria asked, something sad in her eyes as she looked at him.

He looked down into the pot. "The future has true knowledge, knowledge that can save the world and save a soul, but the cost is dear. The cost is always dear."

There was a long moment of silence.

"You really a prophet?" Illyana asked.

Doug glanced up and grinned, shrugging. "We're all prophets," he said. "Some of us are just a bit more accurate, that's all."

"Hey, Illyana," Valeria said. "Why don't you make the sauce?"

"Saucy wench!" Doug said, his smile threatening to engulf his whole face. "I'll direct you as we go."

"Gimmie that frypan, I'll show you saucy wench," Illyana said, jutting her jaw out and narrowing her eyes in mock consternation. She sashayed into the kitchen.

"Just dump the wet stuff on the hot stuff, spice it up, and serve hot on a bed of noodles," Doug said, his shoulders bouncing with contained laughter.

"I thought tonight was family programming," Illyana said, glancing at Doug and grinning mischievously.

"A tv edit doesn't change reality," Doug said, sighing. "Much as we sometimes wish it would."

Ten minutes later the bread was out of the oven, the noodles were strained and buttered, and the sauce was heated and soothed and spiced. The rest was just a quick and graceful ballet of food collection, then the three sat down on pillows around the coffee table in the living room.

Talk was thin amid the eating, and the food was good. Ten minutes of quiet was all the time it took for most of the food to meet a quick and thorough end.

"Well," Valeria said, stretching, "Thank you for a positively lovely evening, Doug."

"It's my pleasure," he said, nodding. "I don't get a lot of company. You two have made my week tonight."

"Maybe we should do this weekly then," Illyana said, looking at him directly.

"I wouldn't think of disrupting the schedules of a couple of jet setting goddesses like yourself," Doug grinned, leaning back on his palms.

"Speaking of which," Valeria said apologetically, glancing at her watch. "Catch you at work tomorrow, Doug."

"See you," Doug said, watching her go.

"I'll catch up, if that's alright," Illyana said as Valeria shrugged into her coat and kicked on her shoes. Valeria nodded, smiled, waved, and was out the door. It closed behind her.

Doug and Illyana looked at each other. Illyana smiled and shrugged. "Thought I'd help clean up."

A few short minutes later Illyana was washing and Doug was wiping the dishes and putting them back in the cupboards.

"Thanks for helping out," Doug said. "I don't have a dishwasher."

"No problem," she said, smiling. "I don't have anything to rush home to."

"I like you too," Doug said, "but we'll never be an item. I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?" Illyana said sharply, looking at him. He didn't meet her eyes.

"I break code," Doug said simply. "I've done it since puberty. Any encoded information, I can cipher it out. Languages, military encryption, visual basic, html, you name it. That includes social pattern and body language." He shrugged. "I read people like you'd read an email. You think I'm cute and you're working out your chances. You figure you'll invite me to oh, not a movie, a walk in the park might work. After that a cup of coffee. That would give you the chance to see how we look together. I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head and looking down at the increasingly dry plate in his grip, "I don't ask for this information, it comes to me."

"That's incredible," Illyana whispered.

"Gets better," Doug said, turning away from her and slowly putting the dish in the cupboard. "You hate Strange, but you need him. You're trying to decide what to do, how to keep your feelings secret, but you're scared of him, of what he knows, of what he can do. Mostly your feelings, good and bad, revolve around the fact you can't control him."

Doug turned and finally looked her in the eye. "Don't worry about it, I don't tell everyone what I see. I'm a man made of secrets, body and soul. I like you. I think you're cute. But we'll never be together. Because I drive people crazy, and they drive me crazy. I need fourteen hours all to myself in every twenty four hour period. Because if I don't get my time away from people, bad things happen. There's less of me and more of what I'm seeing and feeling and understanding. When it gets bigger than me," he said, shaking his head. He stopped talking, his eyes meeting hers.

She reached out and gently touched his face. "You know what that says?" she asked.

He stood, breathing hard, unblinking. "It's been a great night," he managed. "Maybe…"

"I don't need any special talent," she said, a certain sadness in her eyes, "to know what you're saying."

She turned, picked up her coat and slipped on her shoes, and left without looking back. Doug was alone. He let out a deep breath and sagged back onto a barstool, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, his merciless hungry senses playing back every nuance.