Chapter 9: Storms over Missouri: Part Two
I was cold, I was tired, and I ached. I looked the Creature from the Black Lagoon after a bad night out. What I needed was a shower, a change of clothes, and a nice stiff drink, but the little voice inside was telling me that there were more important things than worrying about chiselling off all this mud. For a start, I had to find out what had happened to poor Bulgakov. Given Thera's horrified reaction and Caleb's threats I had a pretty good idea what had happened, but part of me just needed to know.
Clint, for his part, seemed to be more concerned with the handling of my would-be experimental optometrist. Although neither of the injuries I had inflicted were immediately life threatening, shock, blood loss and infection were all still possibilities, and my husband was clearly not willing to let the man pass out until some answers were forthcoming.
"Can you go find Thera, hon?" he said, as he roughly hauled the quietly sobbing Caleb to his feet, "These arrows need to come out ASAP, and I don't think he'd be particularly happy if I did it."
"At this point? He'd probably go nuclear," I said, and gave the man another disgusted look, "What're you going to do with him?"
"Like I said, I'm going to toss him in the shower, get these arrows removed, and then chain him to the strongest thing I can find until he starts singing."
"Find out what he knows about someone called 'Keame'," I said, "I think they might be his boss."
"Keame? Simon Keame? Are you sure?" Clint said, and I nodded, "That's not possible."
"Why not?"
"He was murdered in his bathroom last year."
"Oh?" I caught his intent look, "Oh - right."
"He was a monster - a total sociopath," my husband went on, "'Ruled by fear and violence, and was up to his neck in just about anything you could care to name. The worse it was, the more he was involved."
"Good riddance, then," I said, and a faint smile flickered across Clint's face, "But that doesn't explain why Caleb here was out for Bulgakov. Settling an old score?"
"What, from before the Blip?" Clint gave the man a hard look, "It's possible, I guess...I mean, I don't know, but we ain't going to learn anything by standing here guessing."
"Yeah. I'll go see how Thera's doing and bring him back to the reception building. Once you've gotten him chained down can you get my spare clothes out the car? I'm pretty sure this outfit's done for."
"Will do," my husband said, "I didn't bring you back just to have you die of hypothermia!"
With a 'hah!' I squelched off through the mud back to Bulgakov's unit. The rain continued to hammer down, while lightning rent the otherwise night-black air with a flash and a vicious crack. I was no stranger to Missouri storms, but this one was brutal even by state standards, and the ominous moaning and creaking of the containers around me did little to calm the shivers running down my spine.
In the distance, the brilliant red lights of the ambulance parked in the street made for a blinding beacon, and a forest of chattering umbrellas was beginning to form around the paramedics as they dragged a stretcher out of the back. As I approached, the unit door creaked open and Thera emerged, arm in arm with a balding, rather dumpy middle-aged man. All over his arms and legs pieces of cloth had been pressed into service as makeshift bandages, and a long, grey scarf had been wrapped tightly around his eyes and scalp. Rather strangely, or possibly in accordance with Thera being Thera, he was still wearing his glasses, perched precariously on his exposed ears.
The hubbub died, and was replaced with a grim silence as Thera and Bulkagov began to make their way down the spiral staircase. Thera moved slowly and carefully, apparently uncaring of the torrential downpour, and his expression was one of tender concern as he gently helped Bulgakov navigate the slick metal down to the waiting arms of the paramedics. They got to work with a brisk professionalism, and strapped him into the stretcher while the therapist continued to hold his hand and murmur gentle encouragement. There was a brief exchange between Thera and the paramedics, during which Thera shook his head once, and then Bulgakov vanished into the back of the ambulance. With a sudden blare of sirens and a spray of mud, it rumbled off into the storm and was soon lost to view.
Once it was clear that the show was over the umbrellas, and their owners, quickly dispersed and went back to their nice, dry units. Within moments, the street was empty again barring myself and Thera, who was staring off after the ambulance with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Thera?" I said, "Thera!"
When he didn't respond I touched him lightly on the shoulder, and jumped back as he returned to reality with a sudden start.
"Sodding hel-!" he exclaimed, and then there was a spark of recognition, "Ah, Laura. Sorry, I was miles away."
"With Bulgakov, I'd expect. Is he-"
"He'll be fine," Thera said curtly, "Good as new. Possibly better."
"Really?" I said dubiously, "C'mon, you don't expect me to believe that."
"To be frank? I don't really care if you do or don't," he said bluntly, "Right now we have more immediate things to worry about, like getting out of this storm and finding a change of clothes."
"He's deflecting," said my little inner voice, and for once I agreed, "I'm not even sure he's aware he's doing it."
"C'mon, you can use the staff showers," he said, and gestured for me to follow him, "And I'm sure I can rustle you up some spare clothes. It might not be the latest fashion, but it'd be dry, at least."
"I have some spare clothes in the car. Anyway, Clint-"
"Oh, even better. I'll also get you an ice pack and some high-strength anti-inflammatories," he must have seen my puzzled expression through the mud, because he then added, "For your neck."
"My neck? It doesn't hurt."
"It will," he said, with an ominous level of confidence, "Don't think I didn't see your little headbutting competition with our torturer friend."
"I didn't think you were seeing much of anything," I responded, "You seemed pretty out of it."
"...yeah."
"What you saw must have been pretty bad. I thought you'd seen it all."
Thera was silent for a long time, and when he spoke his voice was thick and unsteady, "Torture is a...it's a special kind of horrible, Laura. I mean, I've seen people burned, cut to ribbons, exploded - even half digested, but that's by accident. For someone to actually go and carefully, clinically inflict those kinds of wounds on someone…I...it's..."
He broke off, and even in the heavy rain I could see tears welling in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," I said, sincerely, "You shouldn't have had to deal with that."
"No, I'm sorry," he replied, and wiped a hand across his face, "I've been a complete arse to you and Clint ever since you arrived. If you hadn't turned up, and if Clint hadn't bought his bow then that...that gentleman would've tortured Bulgakov to death right under my nose and we all could've been shot to death in the street. So - sorry, and, y'know, thanks."
"Thanks?" I raised an eyebrow, "That's it?"
"Well, I'm fresh out of medals," he said, "But I could have Vi draw you one."
"I'll pass - but where is she, anyway?"
"Busy," Thera said, simply, "It's too bad. If she'd been here Caleb wouldn't have gotten away."
"He didn't get away," I said, "I got him!"
"I'm sorry - what?" he paused, and looked at me with a mixture of surprise and respect, "You. You stopped the crazy man with the holdout handcannon and those electric stunballs?"
"I hammered an arrow through his hand," I said, and then added, "What, you didn't think I couldn't do it?"
"What, go up against a reasonably big guy with violent tendencies and combat experience and live to tell the tale?" he raised an eyebrow, "I mean, I've been the underdog in more match-ups than I care to count, but that guy was out for blood and you're a fairly small woman who's own fighting experience extends to playground punch-ups. That doesn't make for great odds."
"Hey, I have experience!"
"What you get up to with Clint doesn't count, for obvious reasons," Thera said flatly, "But I'll admit, I am impressed. Just please don't do it again."
"I didn't want to do it the first time!" I protested, "It just happened!"
"Yeah, 'it just happened' is something I've heard far, far too often," he said, "Anyway, if you've really hammered an arrow through his hand-"
"-which I have-"
"-then I'd better go get my things. I'm sure you've got some questions to ask him, and in my experience people tend to talk more when they're still conscious."
After everything that had happened a simple warm shower was paradise, and I could feel the cold leach from my bones as the mud swirled down the plughole. As warmth returned, though, my muscles began to signal their displeasure and a dull, throbbing ache began to spread through my body. My shoulders screamed for attention as I gingerly worked clods of silt and slop out of my knotted hair; from the feel of it, I was lucky if I was going to be able to move tomorrow at all.
By the time I emerged into the Spartan offices, fully clothed and with a towel wrapped around my head, Clint was waiting with a steaming cup of coffee. He had also changed; while before he was wearing clothes that could just about be described as 'casual', he was now wearing his full 'Hawkeye' gear; matte black and cut just so show off his athletic physique. When he saw me his face broke open into a warm smile, and I felt a sudden rush of dizziness that probably had nothing to do with my accumulated blunt head trauma.
"Would you like to take a picture?" he said, with a rather self-satisfied smile.
"I'm burning all your string vests, Clint," I said firmly, as he handed me my coffee, "There's no way I'm having you slouching around the house in those when this is available. It's not fair. It's not right."
"I'll tell you what's not right," Thera said, as he slipped past me carrying a gently fizzing tumbler filled with water, which he set down on a nearby coffee table, "It's you drooling all over my nice clean floor."
"I'm not drooling!"
"Uh-huh, and I'm not mopping up after you or wiping all those condensed pheromones off the glass. Anyway-" he reached into his pocket and produced a small pack of pills, "These're for you; take one now and then one every four hours. I've found a box of ice packs that you can take home as well - just make sure you wrap 'em in a towel before you use them."
"Oh," I said, and took the proffered medicine, "Thanks, Thera."
"No worries. In a couple of days you might find that a warm bath'll help with the pain. Maybe Commando Clint here-" he nodded at my besuited husband, "-can give you a neck massage as well."
"That would be nice," I said, and gave Clint an aside glance, "You haven't given me a neck massage in over five years."
"In fairness to him, you haven't had a neck," Thera said tartly, "I'd say a gentle massage for thirty minutes should do the trick, but I'm not sure that you two have that kind of self-discipline. At least try to get the pain down before the debauchery gets underway, okay?"
"No promises," my husband said with a wry grin. Thera rolled his eyes in response..
"Any more of this and I'll have you two separated and spayed," he said with a smile, "Now, Clint, I believe you had something that you wanted to share with the class?"
"Oh, yeah-" Clint dug around in his shirt pocket for a moment, and produced a phone, a piece of rather sodden scrap paper, and a rather dented, mysterious object that looked like a silver crocus with a broken brown bulb in the centre. He set all three down on the table and stepped back.
"The paper's got something written on it," he said, "Kinda hard to tell, but it looks like a number. Two hundred and seventy three? Eight? Not sure."
"Does that mean anything to either of you?" Thera asked curiously. Clint and I exchanged a glance and shook our heads, although I did have a feeling I'd seen it somewhere before.
"Is it Bulgakov's unit number?" Clint said, and the therapist shook his head.
"Wrong format; those have letters at the start," he said, "Look; just keep it in mind. He obviously wrote it down for a reason."
"Sure - anyway; what's that thing?" I asked, pointing at the busted crocus.
"It looks like Stark tech," my husband said, "He developed something called the 'Wide Area Active Acoustic Dampener', but we just used to call it the 'Muffler'. No prizes for guessing what it does."
"It makes things quiet?"
"It soundproofs an entire room. Completely," he said, "Great if you want to talk without anyone eavesdropping on you...or if you want to do something without anyone around you knowing."
"I guess that would explain why nobody came to help Bulgakov," Thera said, "He was gagged when I got there, but...the kinds of things Caleb did to him aren't things you can keep quiet."
"That's better than people hearing and not caring, though," I said, "I mean, this device..."
"Yeah," Clint said, "It was always a pretty handy tool to have on an op."
"Stark's tech always is, though, isn't it. It's the answer to bloody everything!" Thera laughed bitterly, "'How do you fight an Asgardian one-on-one?' Stark tech! 'How did a self-aware robot almost shatter the planet?' Stark tech! 'How could a two bit thug torture someone half to death right under my bloody nose?' Sodding-Stark-sodding-tech! Did it never occur to him to take a day off?"
There was a sudden crack of lightning, and the lights in the staff room flickered and hummed before settling down once again.
"If he had, you and Laura wouldn't be here now," Clint said, eventually.
"I know that!"
"And you can't blame him for people misusing his tech."
"Except that it happens all the sodding time!" Thera snapped, "Half his career seems to have been putting down inventions that have gone haywire or...or terrorists wreaking havoc with his tech! At what point does he become wilfully negligent?"
"Beats me," Clint gave the wild-eyed man a wary look, "I'm not a lawyer."
"Okay, so let's try something simpler. How many of these Muffler things are there out there?"
"I don't know! We only had one."
"Yeah, but you said that this looks like Stark tech," Thera said intently, "Therefore, it isn't actually Stark tech, right?"
In that instant, Clint looked like he could have kicked himself, "...right."
"So we can therefore conclude that someone else is producing these, possibly copying a stolen blueprint or one that Stark donated to a charity shop!" he said, "How do we know that what happened to Bulgakov isn't playing out across Missouri - or even the United States?"
"That seems pretty unlikely."
"Is it, though? How do you know?" Thera's words were tumbling out one after the other in a half-babble, "We could have another victim here on site right now and we wouldn't have a bloody clue! How do we know that Bulgakov was the only one that Caleb visited? How-"
"Enough, Thera," I said, kindly but firmly, "Caleb torturing Bulgakov was terrible - don't let him torture you as well. You've done everything you can. We all have."
"It's just...we can't let this happen again. I can't let…" the therapist fell silent, his face etched with pain and anxiety. Clint and I exchanged a worried look.
"You have to admit, he's not exactly the poster-child for his own cause," my inner voice said, harshly, "If stepping up turns you into an exhausted, fragile burn-out jumping at shadows, I think we'll pass."
"It won't happen again," I said reassuringly, and forced myself to ignore the dark little whisper, "We'll make sure of it."
"Yeah," Clint agreed, although he shot me a look that just screamed 'what are you getting us into here?', "We've Caleb - but we've also got his phone. If we can trick him into unlocking it, then we'll know a whole lot more about who he is, who he's working for, and how he came by this Muffler. Got it?"
Thera nodded, silently.
"But so's we can do that, we're gonna need you to remove those arrows. That's all you need to do, Thera. Remove those arrows. Can you do that?"
"...yeah," Thera nodded again, more determined this time, "Yeah, I can. Just give me five minutes to grab my stuff and...compose myself, and we'll be in business."
Caleb, it had to be said, didn't look a whole lot better than when I had last seen him. While Clint and his little posse had cleaned him up as best they were able, there wasn't much they could do beyond rinse the mud off and provide basic first aid He had been stripped to the waist and someone had wrapped bandages around the arrows embedded in his hand and his side. In the cold, harsh light of the Blip Centre offices his injuries seemed far worse than they did out in the rain, and I felt a pang of regret as I saw rich, red blood slowly begin to seep through the gauze.
"Like what you see, Brown Eyes?" Caleb sneered, as Clint hauled him roughly to a chair and forced him to sit. He was sweating profusely, and his complexion had become an unhealthy pallor, "These are your fault, you crazy bitch."
"My name is Laura," I said coldly, "Maybe you should remember it."
"Oh, I'll be sure to," he said, with a nasty chuckle, "Every night, I'll be thinkin' of you, and what I'm going to do to you when I finally track you down and make you pay. You got kids, Laura?"
"Strong words, coming from you," I snorted, partly to hide the chill running up my spine, "What do you think the sentence is for torturing someone? Ten years? Twenty?"
Caleb's chuckle was low and unpleasant, "Do ya really think I'll be goin' to prison, Laura? This ain't even gonna reach a courthouse!"
"You got that right," Clint said. The tone was level, but threat dripped from every syllable, "Keep this up and you won't even reach the front gate."
"If you were goin' to kill me, you would've done it outside. You want something from me, and I...want something from you."
"Is it my eyeballs? 'Cause I'm starting to see a pattern here."
"Why did you torture Bulgakov?" I cut in. The man paused, and then his mouth broke open into a chilling smile.
"For fun," he said simply, "His face annoyed me, so I improved it."
"Yeah, right," I said, "I mean, I'm sure you did do it for fun, but there had to be a reason you picked him."
"Not sayin'," Caleb said, "And there's nothing you can do that'll make me talk. I know my rights, and by the time my lawyer's through with you two you'll be begging me to just take your eyes!"
"You're confident, aren't you?" my husband said, "I reckon you must work for someone pretty powerful to think you can just skip out on torturing someone. There's also this little thing-" he held up the Muffler for Caleb's inspection, "-which isn't something you see every day. Someone gave you a target, gave you the tools, and then just turned you loose, didn't they?"
"And what if they did?"
"Well, I reckon we should think about this," Clint said, casually, and then he started slowly circling the seated man, "Laura?"
"Yeah?"
"Imagine you're a crime lord - a real piece of scum. The kind who'd demand that a nobody like Bulgakov'd be tortured to death just 'cause you wanted to make an example of him. You got that?"
"Got it."
"Now, let's say that you send someone like Caleb here. You get him some fancy tech that you've stolen from Stark Industries, you send him into the Blip Centre to go cut up ol' Pete...but oh, no," Clint gave Caleb a shocked look, "He got caught! Not only did he get caught, but he got the tar beaten out of him by some random passerby! That's pretty embarrassing, isn't it?"
Caleb gave Clint a hateful look, "You shut up, you-"
"What d'ya think about this, Crime Lord Laura? How're you feeling?"
"Well…" I surveyed Caleb with a disgusted eye, "I'd be pretty angry - I mean, I am angry!"
"Damn right you are," Clint agreed, "Thanks to this idiot, you've now got the police and the FBI breathing down your neck, and you've got to do a ton of stuff just to be sure that nobody connects you to that whole torturing business. That's a lot of paperwork!"
"I hate paperwork!" I said angrily, "You can never find a pen when you need one, and-"
"It's worse than that!" Clint said quickly, "Now you look like a weak fool to all your crime lord buddies. Oh, sure, they're all friendly when you meet them at the fundraisers, but you can bet that they'll be looking for any sign of weakness in your organisation so they can start clipping off little bits and pieces for themselves. This guy could cost you everything!"
"Goddamnit!" I shouted, and both Clint and Caleb jumped as I slammed my hands down on the table, "This is simply unacceptable! I'm not going to stand here and have my empire taken away by that damn governess at the PTA meeting!"
"Well…" even my husband seemed slightly taken aback at my outburst, "Luckily, we can fix this."
"Oh, you'd better," I said, and gave him an evil look, "You'd better make this whole damn problem go away, because if I'm being kicked off the school fete committee then you can be damn sure that I'm taking you down with me!"
"But you aren't on-"
"Clint!" I stepped forwards threateningly, and they both drew back as one.
"It's going to be fine, babe," Clint said quickly, "Y'see, Caleb here's right when he said this ain't ever going to reach a courthouse. Don't worry; when the police come and take him away, the next thing you'll hear is that he hung himself in his cell with his arms tied behind his back."
"You're...you're wrong!" Caleb burst out, "Reggie ain't like that!"
"Oh, he isn't, is he?" I said, coldly, "'Cause I've been a crime lord for all of two minutes and your failure's already making my blood boil. You say Reggie 'ain't like that'? I'm a stay-at-home mom and I just hammered a goddamn arrow through your hand 'cause you pissed me off! Believe me, mister-" I grabbed Caleb by the shoulder, and pulled him so close our noses were almost touching, "-when he discovers that you haven't killed Bulgakov, being hung in a police cell is going to be the least of your problems!"
There was a cough from behind me, and I turned to see Thera surveying the scene with a perplexed expression. Clearly, taking five minutes out to compose himself had worked wonders, although his eyes were now slightly red and puffy. He was carrying a small leather satchel, in which I assumed was all the stuff he needed to work his magic.
"From the novels left 'round my hospital, I'm pretty sure that being hung in a police cell is the subject of quite a large number of fantasies," he said, "You probably mean 'hanged'."
"There's a difference?"
"Only if you finished secondary education," he said, and gave me a rather irritating little smile, "That aside, I see you've managed to get acquainted with our little interloper. But...well, whenever you're ready."
"Oh, um - yeah," I said, and stepped back to join Clint, who put his arm protectively across my shoulders.
"Alright then, Caleb," Thera said, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, "You already know who I am, so we can dispense with the introductions."
"Yeah," the man said, his defiant tone back in full force, "You're that hippy dippy limey doctor who's always volunteering for shit."
Clint snorted, and when I glanced at him he gave me a look that screamed 'I told you so'. Neither Thera nor Caleb seemed to notice.
"Close enough," said Thera, "Well-"
"Where's that woman who's always clinging to you?" Caleb went on, "You know, the one with the skunk hair?"
"She's busy, but I'll be sure to let her know you sent your regards. Now, would you like me to get these arrows out or not?"
"Yeah, go on," Caleb said, and gave me a long, lecherous look, "The sooner I get better, the sooner Brown Eyes over there an' I can get...better acquainted."
"Of course you can, mate," Thera shook his head wearily, before handing him the still-fizzing drink that he had prepared earlier, "Drink up."
"What, you think I won't?" Caleb challenged, "When I'm better, you'd better just pray to God that I don't decide to come for you as well!"
"If you want to come for me, I'm afraid you'll have to take a number," Thera said, "And I don't pray to a god; I pray to a goddess. Now drink up."
Caleb regarded the drink with some suspicion, "What's in this, anyway? You're trying to poison me, aren't you."
"What? No!" Thera's eyes flashed with sudden anger, "That would be against my vows! That's actually a potent painkiller - you know, for the pain that you're clearly in."
"Yeah, right."
"If you don't believe me, you don't have to drink it, but-" Thera nodded at the arrow embedded in Caleb's side, "-if you want those arrows out, it'd probably be a good idea. Your choice."
The torturer stared at the drink, and then back at Thera.
"You know what? I will drink it," he said, and took a big gulp of the fizzing fluid, "'Cause I want to. An' then after you've treated me, I'll be coming for those glorious emeralds of yours. I've never seen a pair quite like 'em."
"You still haven't; these are contacts," Thera said curtly. Working quickly, he opened his satchel and pulled out a piece of white cloth which he placed on a nearby table. Scalpels, tweezers, and other more complicated instruments soon followed, and Caleb's face turned even more pale as he stared at the small forest of sharp, steel objects arrayed before him.
"Recognise some of these? You probably should," the therapist said, and there was an unmistakable chill in his voice, "You just use them to hurt people."
"And so what?" Caleb sneered, "Maybe some people need to be hurt."
Thera froze, and for a long, dangerous moment he stared at torturer while the storm rumbled on ominously overhead. When he finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm, "That's a view, I suppose. It's not one that I agree with, and maybe it isn't a wise one to advance at this point, but...let's see…"
The therapist knelt down beside the torturer and gazed inquisitively into his eyes. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Thera took a firm but gentle grip on the man's wrist and began carefully unwrapping the gauze surrounding the arrow.
"You see," he continued, in the same level, almost soporific tone, "The order I work for has a motto; 'misericordia et fortitudine'. It can be interpreted -good heavens, Clint, this bandaging is awful- in a tonne of ways, but here I'm choosing to interpret it as 'to have the strength to have mercy'. You see, sometimes we have to deal with people who are...colossal arses, shall we say, and it's important that we're strong enough not to lose our sense of compassion and-"
The last piece of bandaging fell away, and Thera's hands were suddenly a blur. There was a loud 'crack' as he snapped the arrow shaft in two and pulled from both ends. With an unpleasant grating noise and a spurt of blood the two halves came free, and he placed them carefully on the cloth before unrolling a bandage with a practiced flick of the wrist. For a moment, the pristine white dressing almost seemed to dance in the air, and in a flash he was making the final adjustments to the knots.
"-keep them distracted from the pain with long winded, pretentious speeches about mottos, values and whatnot," he concluded, before giving Clint a sideways look, "Remind me to show you apply a dressing properly, would you? It's easy to get out of practice."
"Aren't you going to stitch that arrow hole?" my husband pointed out, "He's just going to bleed out even faster now."
"Clint," Thera said irritably, "Your specialty is putting arrows in things at ranges normally reserved for naval artillery. My specialty is digging those same arrows back out again. Do I stand behind you and criticise your technique? No? Good - then be quiet and let me get this other arrow out. You'll have to stand up for me, Caleb."
"What's in that juice? It doesn't hurt at all," Caleb said, as Thera helped him carefully to his feet.
"Oh. it will," Thera said, "Like I told Bulgakov, that painkiller doesn't last forever - or even very long. Just...long enough."
"That's bullshit; Bulgakov's dead. I made sure of it!"
"In that case, I just walked a dead guy to an ambulance in front of fifteen people. I must be even better than I thought."
"He's right," I said, and quickly added, "About the first bit, anyway. I saw it myself. Still think that ol' Reggie's going to be forgiving of your little screwup?"
"I have proof!" Caleb protested.
"Yeah, right," I said, making sure to sound as dubious as possible. Whether he knew it or not, Thera had given me an opening here, "Where - on your phone?"
"Yes!"
"Okay then," I picked up his phone and shoved it under his nose, "Show me. Now."
Slightly disbelievingly, Clint, Thera and I watched in silence as Caleb punched in his phone's unlock code with a single hand. As he went to hand it over, my husband snatched it from his grasp and held it close to his face, out of view.
"Hey!" I snapped, "Clin-"
"Hold on, hon," he said, firmly, "I reckon we all know what his 'proof' is going to be, and you ain't gonna want to see it."
"He's right," Thera said, "I've seen some pretty nasty things in my career, and Caleb's work is easily in the top...ooh, fifty. If I had an opportunity not to see it, I'd probably take it."
"Only the top fifty?" Clint said, as he swiped left and right, presumably looking for the camera roll, "What d'ya have to do to get in the top twenty?"
"Get blown up, shredded...granulated in one case," Thera said, and shuddered, "Basically, whenever the chalk outline is more of a scattered collection of circles and everyone who saw it is traumatised for life. I'm always surprised at how much body you can get out of a body."
"That sounds hor-" Clint stopped suddenly, and blanched, "Oh..."
"Can I see?" Thera craned his neck to look and then quickly averted his eyes, "Yeah...that about what I remember."
Caleb had been watching Clint's reaction with some interest, and an evil smile spread across his face.
"I told you I had proof," he said, in a mocking voice, "Impressed yet?"
My husband had fallen uncharacteristically silent, his expression grim as he swiped slowly through the images, taking in each fully in turn. I'd seen him like this only once before, and I knew exactly where it was going. From the way Thera was slowly moving to place himself between the two men, it was clear he knew as well. Any moment now-
Clint looked up, caught my wary eye, and gave me a roguish wink.
"Y'know what? I am impressed," my husband said, "Good composition, excellent use of lighting. You didn't say you were a photographer, Caleb!"
Whatever response Caleb had been expecting, it clearly wasn't that. His smug smile wavered, and crinkles of disappointment began to creep in around the edges.
"I mean, look at this one-" Clint flashed the phone towards Thera, who glanced and then looked away with a grimace, "I mean, he's really captured Bulkagov's agonised scream - and the way the light plays off that puddle? Genius."
"Yeah, okay-" Thera said, but Clint wasn't done yet.
"And this one? Great depth of field. I'm really impressed at how you managed to make sure that all of the butchery was in focus!"
"Clint!" Thera snapped. There was an almighty crash of lightning, and yet again the lights flickered and hummed before coming back to life. The therapist took a deep, trembling breath, and said, "Please - enough. Not all of us are hardened warriors."
"Yeah," said Caleb, in a rather childish tone, "We'd hate for you to upset the good doctor."
"That'd be the good doctor who just got your death warrant signed," Clint said, "'Cause without these photos, all anyone is going to hear about is how you couldn't even stop Bulkagov from walking down some stairs. Your boss ain't gonna like that."
"Keame-" Caleb began.
"Keame's dead, buddy!" Clint said, "He died last year!"
"Oh yeah?" Thera gave my husband an arch look, "What happened?"
"Well...I heard he accidentally stabbed himself to death while brushing his teeth."
"Really?" the therapist considered this, and then said, "Well, those electric toothbrushes can be tricky."
"Then who'd I speak to last week?" Caleb demanded, "And how did he die last year if he Blipped?"
"He...what?" Clint blinked in surprise, "That's not possible."
There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of rain hammering on the roof.
"Must be another 'Keame', then," I said, eventually, "Wait. You called your boss 'Reggie' earlier. So..."
"Reggie Keame...Reggie Keame...where have I heard that name- hold on," Thera frowned, "You don't mean Reginald Keame, do you? Off've the radio?"
"Who's that?"
"He's a local politician, I think. Apparently he's attempting to make his name as an advocate for 'the Lost', by which he means people like-"
"-you and me, yeah."
"I'm not his biggest fan, but he's definitely starting to gain traction 'round these parts. He's talking about things like forcing people to give the Lost back their homes, preferential job treatment, compensation packages…"
"So he wants to force everyone to pretend the Blip never happened?" I said, "But it did."
Thera's eyebrows shot up, and he gave me a long, appraising look, "I didn't expect to hear that from you, Laura. You've come a long way."
"I…had a lot of help," I admitted, and gave Clint an affectionate smile, "And someone who didn't give up on me even when I was acting like a total madwoman."
"How touching," Caleb said sarcastically. I ignored him.
"But even if I Blipped back and found that another family was living in my farmhouse... I'm not sure I could force them to move out!"
"What if the alternative was living here?" Thera said, "The guy's got some radical ideas, but there's a lot of people here who think just like you did only a couple weeks ago. He's promising to turn back the clock, and that must be pretty enticing to some people."
"You seem to know a lot about this guy," Clint observed. Thera shrugged.
"I'm a volunteer in a Blip Centre were literally nobody is sick," he said, "Until today I've been spending a lot of time sitting on my hands, drinking tea, and listening to the radio. Anyway, if this is the same Reginald Keame, then that's...interesting. Thank you, Caleb."
Caleb now looked a little ill, but met Thera's gaze defiantly, "It's not gonna do you any good, you limey runt. I know you're lookin' for som-"
The rest of his sentence was cut off in a strangled yelp as Thera swiftly excised the embedded arrow, and then bandaged the bleeding wound with the same practised ease as before.
"So sorry," he said, with a bright, insincere smile, "Could you repeat that?"
"Screw you, doc."
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Thera said, and then turned to myself and Clint, "Well, my work here is done. He's all yours...although I have genuinely no idea what you're going to do about him."
"...and what're you gonna do, then?" Clint said.
"Me? I'm going to tidy this stuff up, dispose of these 'ere bloodstained arrows, and then have a bloody nap," he yawned, "I'm on empty, guys. Seriously; if I don't get some shuteye in the next ten minutes I'll probably just straight up collapse."
Right on cue, there was a light knock at the door.
"Oh, for goodness sake-" Thera began, but cut his curse short as the door swung open to reveal a slim, rather drenched girl with curly brown hair. In the gloom of the storm she was the spitting image of Lila, and my breath caught in my throat as she staggered inside and closed the door behind her. I felt my husband's fingers tighten suddenly around my shoulder.
"Poppy?" Thera looked quickly at Caleb, and then moved swiftly round the table to block him from view, "You shouldn't have come out in this storm, sweetheart. You're soaked!"
"It's okay," she smiled brightly. Her train track braces gleamed brightly in the electric lights, and I felt my heart skip yet another beat, "Kostas said you were over here."
"Yes, but…you know what? Never mind," Thera smiled gently, "We'll find you a towel. What did you need?"
"Oh, oh, I was just wondering if Manny and Jacinta were okay?" Poppy said, a little nervously, "I heard that they were sick..."
"They're fine," the therapist said reassuringly, "But would you feel better if we went to check on them? They're just in the infirmary."
"Okay!" she said, and then she looked down and shuffled her feet nervously, "I, um...was also wondering if…"
"I'm sorry, darling," Thera shook his head, "We haven't found your parents yet - but I promise you that Vi is out there right now following up every lead we have."
"I know," Poppy said, but her expression was downcast, "Do...you think they're still looking for me?"
There was no way she could have seen the anguish that flickered across Thera's face, but the catch in his voice was obvious, "If...if I were them, Poppy, I'd be frantically searching high and low for you, and I'd never give up until I'd..." he stopped, and gave her a rather forced smile, "You know what? Let's go and see how those two are doing, shall we? Clint? Laura?"
"I, uh, yeah?" Clint had clearly been transfixed by Poppy's appearance, and shook himself back to reality with an effort.
"I'm just going to do this one other thing and then I'm going to take a nap. Caleb is your responsibility-" Thera paused, and then added pointedly, "Do not let anything happen to him, okay?"
"Who's Caleb?" Poppy tried to get a view of the strange man but was expertly fielded by Thera, who proceeded to quickly shepherd her out the door with a quick 'doesn't matter!'. The door clicked shut behind them, and my husband released a sudden, explosive breath.
"Jesus," he said, "That kid…"
"I know," I said.
"Did you see what was on her T-shirt?" he went on, "That's Lila's favourite show!"
"And no parents," I could feel the tears welling up, "The poor girl. She must be so afraid..."
"This is a mess," Clint said grimly, "A goddamn mess. If it's not her, it's those other kids, or that woman, or Bulgakov. This isn't what we wanted, Laura."
"This isn't your fault, hon."
"Isn't it? Are you sure?"
"Yes!" I said, "You didn't know this was going to happen."
"We had two of the smartest people in the world working to bring you guys back. They must've known, but...even if they'd told me, I don't think I would've cared," my husband's voice dropped to a whisper, "I was so desperate to see you and the kids that I didn't think about what that'd mean for everyone else."
"Do you…" I paused, unsure if I really wanted to hear the answer, "Do you regret bringing us back?"
"No!" Clint said instantly, "I'll never regret that. I did the right thing for myself and my family...it's just-"
"-you wonder if you did the right thing for all these people?" I said, "It was all or nothing, hon, you know that. Even if it wasn't, who would be the person to judge who should and shouldn't be resurrected?"
"I suppose," he said, "But it's hard, seeing what's going on here. I've got everything I've ever dreamed of and they're paying my bill. I feel so...selfish."
"It'll get better, Clint," I promised, and squeezed his hand reassuringly, "It will."
"...yeah," he said, rather unconvincingly, "I just need to see that happen, I guess."
"Well, would a coffee help?" I said, "I'm pretty sure I saw some instant stuff behind reception."
"I suppose," he said, and smiled crookedly, "I'll stay here and watch our friend...y'know, until we decide what to do with him."
"Doesn't look like he's going anywhere," I remarked. Following Thera's departure, the man had slumped down further in his seat, and the greyish pallor had returned, "I guess those painkillers wore off, huh."
"It could be a trick," Clint said, and indicated one of the small burn marks on his arm, "I'll be careful."
"Please do, hon," I said, "I didn't come back just to have you get stabbed to death by a crazy eye fetishist!"
There was a 'hah' from somewhere behind me as I stepped out of the little staff room and onto the covered walkway that led to reception. The wind howled and the rain continued to hammer down as I picked my way carefully across the sodden gravel, and judging from the inky black storm clouds overhead there were no signs of it breaking. WIth a muttered curse, I drew my damp coat about myself and tried to think of sunny beaches and hot tubs.
With a loud creak the door at the far end opened wide, and bright yellow light spilled out onto the walkway. Three silhouettes emerged, talking and giggling amongst themselves, and as I drew closer they resolved themselves into Poppy and two other, smaller children. The trio walked hand in hand down the walkway, apparently oblivious to the terrible weather, but suddenly came to a screeching halt when they spotted me coming the other way.
"Hi Laura!" Poppy said, cheerfully. The other children quickly hid behind her legs, "Did you get bored of watching that man? It's okay, I get bored of things too."
"God, how unfair is this?" my mind said, "She even talks like Lila."
"H-Hi, Poppy," I said, a little shakily, "Are you okay? Are you warm enough?"
"Yup!" she said, "I was just taking Manny and Jacinta back to our room. They got sick, but Thera made them all better with this magic fizzy drink! It was really cool."
"That's great!" I enthused, "But kids, you have to stay out of the medicine cabinet in the future, yeah? Those are for grownups only!"
"'th," said the one that I assumed was Manny, "Thera was very cross with us."
"He said that if he caught us in there again, we wouldn't get any sweeties for a month!" said Jacinta.
"You're lucky," I said sternly, "If I was in charge then you wouldn't get any sweeties for a year. And you wouldn't get any television!"
"See? I told you that the grownups would be angry at you," Poppy cut in, "I told you. Now let's get you home before you catch your death of cold!"
"And that's the sound of a child copying her parents," my mind sighed, "Are we really okay with this being the price for us being brought back?"
"Do you want me to walk with you?" I offered, "I-"
"It's okay," Poppy said, "I'll…"
She trailed off, and suddenly the gazes of all three children were fixated on something over my left shoulder. With a nervous fluttering in the pit of my stomach, I turned to see a small, swirling yellow light hovering about ten meters away. Whatever it was, it was hissing gently in the downpour, but seemed to be making no effort to move or investigate its surroundings. It didn't seem threatening, but having been killed once I was in no mood to make cavalier judgements.
"What is that, Laura?" Poppy asked nervously, and every maternal klaxon went off at once.
"I don't know," I said, and looked around for something that I might be able to swing or throw, "Get behind me, kids, and we'll head back to-"
There was a much louder hiss, and then with a 'whump' and a cloud of steam the light expanded to form a swirling circle. Although the centre of the circle was dark, I was pretty sure that I could see pair of flickering lights in the middle distance that I was pretty sure were burning torches. Before I could be sure, though, they were obscured from view as a tall, cloaked shadow stepped through the portal and immediately sank up to its ankles with a squelch of mud. Apparently surprised by this turn of events, the shadow half-waded, half staggered to the comparatively stable ground of the covered walkway where it stood, surveying the chaotic weather with a distinct air of disgust
The portal snapped shut, plunging us all back into the stormy gloom. Quietly, I motioned to Poppy and the other kids to move back towards reception, while I dug desperately in my pocket for my phone. If I could just text Clint, he-
"Hello?" Jacinta called into the dark, "Mister Stranger? Hello!"
The shadow jumped with surprise, and then whipped around to face us with a billow of its cloak. There was a 'click', a sudden flare of light, and then-
"Mrs Barton?" the shadow spoke, with a deep, smooth British accent, "Laura Barton?"
"...yes?" I said, squinting against the glare, "Who're you?"
The shadow stepped forwards, and reorientated the flashlight to reveal a handsome face with well-defined cheekbones, a goatee, and a mop of brown, wavy hair that was touched with grey at the temples.
"Strange," he said, and extended a hand, "Doctor Stephen Strange. We met briefly - at Stark's funeral?"
"Oh," I said in a rather noncommittal tone, but accepted the proffered hand regardless, "You'll have to forgive me; I met a lot of people at Stark's funeral, and - well, I'd just discovered I'd been dead for five years. I was really just there to support Clint."
"That's okay," Strange said, with a slightly patronising air, "I have an eidetic memory. Not everyone does."
"Mmm," I said, forcing down a little wave of irritation, "So, what're you doing here?"
"I could ask the same about you," Strange raised an eyebrow, "I was under the impression that you were still in possession of your family home."
"Oh, I don't live here," I said quickly, "Clint and I were just-"
"Hawkeye's around?" Strange perked up suddenly, "Good - maybe he'll be able to help. Can you direct me to him?"
"Ouch," said my mind "That's an impressively fast time-to-chopped liver, even by our standards."
"He's busy," I said, a little curtly, "What do you need?"
Strange was a little taken aback, but recovered quickly, "I'm just following up on a couple of leads. There's been some unusual...readings coming from around here, and considering recent events I thought I should investigate sooner rather than later."
"This is about the wizard camouflage, isn't it?"
"How did you hear about that?" Strange didn't look amused, "I only mentioned it to Fury-"
"-who mentioned it to Clint, because he trusts Clint," I said, and then added with a touch of smugness, "Who mentioned it to me, because he trusts me."
"In that case, since we're all being so trusting-" the word hung in the air, icy cold and dangerous, "-perhaps you can tell me if you've seen anything that might be of interest. It might help prevent another disaster."
"How would I know what's interesting to you?" I asked, "I'm not a wizard."
"Well, no," he said, and again there was that patronising edge to his voice, "But anything out of the ordinary would help. Hawkeye would definitely have more experience in this area-"
"You should talk to Thera!" piped up Manny.
"Yeah!" said Jacinta, "Thera knows everything!"
Strange looked at the children as if seeing them for the first time, "Thera, you say?"
"Yeah!"
"And where can I find...Thera?"
"In the infirmary," said Poppy, indicating the main reception building, "But-"
"Thank you," Strange said, and acknowledged me with a nod of his head, "Good day, Laura. If you see Hawkeye, please be sure to send him my way."
Before I could object he was gone, his cloak whipping in the wind as he headed towards the reception with long, purposeful strides.
"Oops," said Jacinta, "Thera isn't going to like that."
"You'd better get after him," Poppy said warningly, "Thera's pretty cranky when he's sleepy, an' I don't think I've ever seen him this sleepy."
"Yeah," I said, "Are you sure you're going to be okay getting back? On your own? Do you want me to come and check on you later?"
"What?" she giggled, "I don't need you to check on me. I'm a big girl now!"
"Even so…" I paused, and decided that I'd deal with it later, "Actually - go find Clint! Stay there until I get back!"
The gravel crunched and slid under my feet as I hurried after Strange. Whether or not Jacinta knew it, she was right. After everything that had happened, the last thing we needed was Strange kicking down every door in the complex looking for clues. If nothing else it probably would send Thera over the edge, and I had no particular desire to try and separate him and the supposed Master of the Mystic Arts.
"Strange! Wait!" I shouted. The ground shifted underfoot and I slammed hard into the door jamb before staggering into the reception area. Before I could do any further damage to myself a restraining hand shot out and caught me by the arm, and I whirled to find myself face to face with the awkward doctor.
"Good catch," I said breathlessly.
"Please do be careful, Laura," he said, releasing his grip and stepping back, "Is your shoulder okay? That looked like a pretty nasty wallop."
"It's fine, I think," I gave it an experimental flex, and winced as it protested slightly, "Well, it's no worse off than the rest of me."
"Make sure you get it looked at," he said, "In any case, what were you so concerned about?"
"Oh? Oh - yeah," I said, "Look. Thera's been through hell and really needs some downtime. It's been one horror after another here, and-"
"-I am an exceptionally busy man, Laura," he interrupted me, "And I am attempting to locate an entity that is doing its level best to not be located. Given the potential severity of the situation, I am sure that Thera would understand if I were to request a couple of minutes of her time. She can always 'nap' later."
"I'm really not sure that-" I paused, as a neuron belatedly waved a flag, "Wait a minute - 'she'?"
"Indeed," Strange said absently. His gaze alighted on a white door with a green cross stuck to it and his eyes lit up, "Ah! If you would please excuse me."
"Would you just listen for a second?" I growled, but he had already brushed past me and was headed for the door, "Damnit, Strange! Stephen!"
It was too late. Before I could stop him, Strange twisted the doorknob, threw open the door and strode confidently into the infirmary.
"Pardon the interruption," he began in a bluntly unapologetic tone, "My- oh."
"Sorry, Thera-" I said, poking my head around the corner, "I tried to stop him, but…"
My apology died on my lips as I took in the scene. The infirmary was a small, rudimentary affair - effectively two beds, a sink, and a medicine cabinet crammed into what had probably started out life as a broom cupboard. Thera was sitting on one of the beds, hugging his knees and with his head buried in his legs. He looked up at Strange's entrance with a defeated expression, and I felt a wrench deep inside as I saw the tears streaming down his cheeks.
"What...what fresh hell is this?" he said, in an exhausted tone, "What's going on now?"
"I'm sorry," I tried again, "Strange-"
"You're... a man," Strange said, with some confusion.
"...yes?" Thera's expression was equally confused, "And you felt the need to tell me this why, exactly?"
"Thera is a girl's name," said the doctor, "A Greek girl's name. You're a Brit."
"Actually, he's not a Brit." I said, and Thera inclined his head thankfully in my direction.
"What she said," he said, and there was now a bit of iron in his voice, "Now, who are you?"
"I'm Strange," Strange said, and extended his hand. Thera looked him up and down.
"Agreed," he said flatly.
"No - I'm Dr. Strange. Dr. Stephen Strange." the doctor said wearily, "Master of the Mystic Arts. For some reason, you seem strangely familiar."
"I'm glad for you - for us," Thera said, "Now go away."
"Excuse me?" Strange seemed genuinely surprised, "But I'm Dr. Stran-"
"I don't care if you're an envoy of the Goddess herself, mate! Nothing gives you the right to burst in here bellowing 'Pardon the interruption' in a bloody R.P. accent loud enough to wake the dead!" Thera considered this, and added, "Although if you did want to do that, you've come to the right place."
"I am looking for an entity of tremendous mystical ability-"
"I don't care! I'm sorry, but am I not communicating my disinterest plainly enough to you? Is it not clear? I have had a sodding bad day, Strange! I've had children go down with paracetamol poisoning, a woman try to kill herself, torture...and..." Thera ran his hand across his beanie, and added quietly, "I'm sitting here crying for someone who I barely know. Just please leave us alone. Please."
"We should go now, Strange," I said, and gave Thera a sympathetic smile, "'Give him some space."
Strange looked from myself to Thera, "I suppose that I'm not going to get any useful information from this individual. Is there anyone else available? Someone else who might have seen anything unusual?"
"I don't think so," I conceded, "Maybe you should come back another time."
"Don't waste your time, or ours," said Thera, "We have enough on our plate as it is."
"I beg your pardon?" said Strange, with a disbelieving little smile, "I am tasked with defending this planet from mystical threats, and-"
"That's a fact which I wouldn't advertise too loudly, if I were you," said Thera, icily, "Not when you're standing in a monument to your abject failure."
"-as I was going to say, we have what could be a highly dangerous entity operating in this area. I need to find it, and if I have to ask everyone in this complex to do that then that's exactly what I'll do."
"No, you won't!" the tears were gone, and in a flash Thera was on his feet and advancing dangerously towards the doctor, "How is it that someone as smart as you can be such a cretin when dealing with people? You didn't listen to Laura, you aren't listening to me, and from that I'm pretty sure that the only thing you're going to end up doing is setting them against each other."
"That's not my intenti-"
"I don't care if it's your bloody intention, you...twit!" Thera paused, apparently searching for the right words, "Okay, let me put it like this. For people like Laura and myself here, what do you think our first experience with the mystic world was? It was when, out of the blue, we got disintegrated by some complete arse with a magic glove! What was our second experience? Oh, right - when we was spontaneously reassembled five years in the future by a completely different arse who had -wait for it- another magic glove! Those people out there? They've lost homes, jobs, entire families to magic, and now you want to go out there and start a literal witch-hunt? How stupid are you?"
"Well-"
"And another thing-" having started, Thera clearly had no intention of stopping, "If you are going to start punching holes in the space-time continuum, do not punch them in major thoroughfares! If I hear about one of the residents here being bisected because you didn't want to get your steps in, then I swear that I will do my level best to make you thoroughly regret not having gone into teaching instead."
The last word echoed up and down the hall while Thera stared defiantly at the Master of the Mystic Arts. Strange stared back, and after a moment his expression changed from one of shock to sudden, triumphant recognition.
"Ah...now I recognise you," he said, snapping his fingers, "That expression isn't one I'm likely to forget in a hurry."
"We have never met, Strange," Thera said, "Never. Ever ever."
"Oh, you and I have never met," said Strange, in the self-satisfied tones of someone about to lay down a royal flush, "But remember, I've seen over fourteen million different futures, and I have a photographic memory."
There was a brief pause while Thera considered this implications of this, and then his eyes suddenly went wide with alarm.
"Wait," he said, "How many times-"
"Enough."
"Enough?"
"Enough," Strange said firmly, and Thera's jaw went tight, "So...do I have your attention?"
"I...suppose," Thera glowered at him, "You know, using alternate timelines to gather dirt on people is really low."
"I don't recall ever promising to play fair. I play to win," Strange said, "Something we have in common, I believe."
"Okay, you've made your point," Thera said acidly, "What is it that you want, exactly?"
"Nothing that significant," Strange said, "I'm pretty sure that the entity I'm looking for is somewhere in the immediate vicinity, and from what I hear you seem to have your finger on the local pulse. All you need to do is ensure that it understands that it is allowed to remain here entirely at my pleasure. As long as it keeps its head down, exercises some self-control, and stops affecting local weather systems, then we won't have a problem."
"Hang on," I said, "Are you saying that this storm isn't natural?"
"Indeed. An eight mile diameter storm of this intensity? Not very likely."
"And you want Thera to track this thing down and talk to it? But he's, well-" I gestured at Thera, "-he's not exactly a monster hunter. I'm sure that Clint would be more than happy to help."
"For a fee, I suspect."
"Arrows don't come cheap," I pointed out, "Neither do good archers."
"Hopefully, it won't come to that," said Strange, "Whatever it is, I believe it has relatively benign intentions and hopefully some measure of common sense. However, I will keep your generous offer in mind."
"Mmm. So...you don't want it dead, then?" Thera said, with some surprise, "You're sure about that?"
"When I became a doctor I swore an oath to do no harm. I'd like to keep that vow if at all possible," Strange said, and then smiled slightly, "Besides, it might be useful to have around in the future."
Thera smiled, or at the very least showed his teeth, "Well, that remains to be seen. Tell you what; you do me a favour and...if I find what you're looking for, then I'll be sure to pass your generous offer along."
"And why would I do you a favour?"
"Because when people resort to blackmail, there's inevitably a point when they end up having to pay for it," Thera said, and the threat hung implicitly in the air, "Karmic backlash is a bit of a bugger - and I'm sure you've seen 'enough' to know that you don't want any part of that."
The sorcerer scratched at his goatee for a moment, and then said, "Well, that depends on what the favour is, of course."
"Oh, it's pretty simple. Laura here captured a man who severely injured a resident," there was a pause, and Strange regarded me with some surprise, "I'm a little worried about the long-term implications of releasing him into police custody."
"And what do you propose that I do about it?"
"When you go, I want you to take him with you," Thera said, "I don't really care where you take him, so long as it's a long way away from here and precludes his return. I would be quite...unhappy if I encountered him a second time."
"I won't send him anywhere lethal, you understand," Strange said.
"Of course not; you took a vow to preserve life," said Thera, "I took a vow to show mercy and compassion. Also, I'm a pacifist."
"My goodness, really?" Strange said, "You've certainly stretched the definition of that word to breaking point."
"If you don't zip it, it won't be the only thing around here that gets stretched to breaking point," Thera said threateningly, "By which I mean your face."
"Yes. I understood the implication."
"Excellent. Now follow me."
Thera and I led Doctor Strange back under the covered walkway to the staff area. The rain was still hammering down with some force, but at least the wind, thunder, and lightning appeared to have petered out for now. Even so, the ground was now becoming extremely treacherous, and where it wasn't just slick, wet mud there were little rivulets carrying silt and stones towards the central meeting spot.
Thera marched on with the slightly unfocused gaze of the terminally exhausted, but the tension across his shoulders and his eyes was unmistakable. Every so often, he cast a glance back towards the taller doctor following on behind, and a dark shadow passed across his face. Whatever Strange had on him, it was clearly sensitive enough to force him to dance to the sorcerer's tune, and that fact was both scary and deeply annoying in equal measure. While the idea of Thera actually being a therapist had long been a total fiction, his bearing and character didn't strike me as the kind of person who would be particularly good at hunting down and talking with storm-generating mystical entities, whatever form those might take.
"Face it, you're just sour that Strange so casually outclassed you and Clint's little fly-by-night intelligence gathering exercise," said my mind, "Who could've predicted that a well-trained, highly intelligent sorcerer would be able to do better than an ex-waitress and an archer?"
"He's just so smug about it," I muttered, "And do we really think that Thera is that capable?"
"What do we really know about him? He might dress like he's been dragged through a hedge backwards, and he might act like a gentle, vulnerable guy - but that could easily be just that - an act. You saw how quickly those tears vanished."
"The guy's exhausted. Give him a break."
"Look; if he gets vapourised following Strange's orders then we'll just have to find a new therapist. This isn't our problem."
"You sure about that? Thera's our-"
"-therapist, at least supposedly. We're his client. Don't get too attached."
Presently, we reached the staff room, and Clint looked up as we piled in quickly out of the rain.
"Did you manage to find any coffee-" he began, but stopped when he spotted Doctor Strange, "Stephen?"
"Clint," Strange inclined his head, and then shook Clint's hand, "Are you keeping well?"
"Better than I have been in years," Clint said, with a smile, "And you? Are you following up on...what Fury was talking about?"
"Yes," Strange said, "Thank you for taking the liberty to share that with your dear lady wife. It certainly saves time when everyone knows what I'm doing."
"Sorry," Clint winced, "Fury didn't say it was confidential, so-"
"It's fine," Strange waved it aside, "Besides, I've outsourced to...Thera, here. It turns out that we have a long association with each other."
"You," Clint said, "You know Thera? How?"
"Oh, we've spent a long time together," said Strange, "Technically speaking, so have you - but I'm the only one here with a-"
"Photographic memory, yeah," Thera said, and yawned again, "Change the record, mate."
"I was going to say 'experience of alternate timelines', but yes."
"Thera? I thought you were going to take a nap," Clint pointed out, "You're barely standing upright as it is."
"I was going to take a nap before you and Laura showed up," Thera said, "It turns out that every time I think about doing so, we have a new arrival - so I figure that if I hold out for a little longer then maybe a marching band'll come knocking at the gate. Maybe some elephants, too. I like elephants."
"Maybe you should sit down. You're starting to look a little crazy around the eyes."
"In just a second; where's my good friend Caleb?" Thera espied the hunched over man, and walked over to clap him firmly on the back, "Caleb, mate! How are we?"
"Doin' just fine, thanks," The torturer glanced up at Thera with undisguised contempt, "Did you have a good cry?"
"Passable, thanks," said Thera briskly, "Anyway, the good news is that we've decided what we're going to do with you! Here's a hint; it doesn't involve releasing you to the police."
"So, what," Caleb said, "You gonna kill me?"
"I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't considered that in some detail," Thera said, "I had some pretty innovative ideas that involved tearing you limb from limb and scattering the parts over a wide area...but then I remembered that I'd spent all that time bandaging you and, unlike you, my time and those bandages are actually worth something. Also, Doctor Strange here has made a vow not to kill anyone and he's technically blackmailing me, so I should probably do what he says. Did you know he has a photographic memory?"
"So, what...you're gonna turn me into a frog?"
"Oooh, now that's a good idea. Can you do that?" Thera looked over at Strange, who shook his head slightly, "No, didn't think so. See - the trouble is you're quite big, and a frog is quite small, and so there's a bit of a discrepancy in the whole mass-energy balance thing. Chances are, you'd either be turned into a Caleb-sized frog, a whole bunch of smaller frogs, or a single small frog and an almighty explosion as the rest of you is converted to pure energy! Isn't magic fun?"
"That isn't magic," said Strange, "That's gibberish."
"Details, details. Anyway!" Thera clapped his hands together excitedly, "We put our heads together for a while and you know what we decided to do? We're going to send you on holiday! Somewhere far away. Very far away indeed."
"...what?" Caleb blinked.
"Oh, yes. Y'see, Strange has been to all these...strange places-" Thera snorted, "-and we think you'd just love to visit some of them! Like the dimension where everything is feet! The ground is feet, the trees are feet, and even the feet are feet! It's wild, man. How'd you like the sound of that? Because honestly, it's down to a choice between that one and the one where you grow fingers on your fingers, and I'd imagine that you'd get bored of that pretty quickly. Fingers aren't as exciting as feet."
"I...don't want to go to either of those," Caleb said, and gave Strange a wild, terrified look, "Please don't-"
"Well, you probably should've thought about that before you tortured Bulgakov," Thera said, and his smile sent a chill up my spine, "Don't worry; you won't die. You'll probably just wish you had."
"Oh, definitely," said Strange, "I was only passing through and it almost drove me mad."
"Please!" Caleb said frantically, and tears suddenly sprang to his eyes, "I'll tell you everything about Keame! Please! Don't…"
Thera stared at the terrified man for a moment longer, and then his smile faded and his shoulders slumped.
"I can't do it," he said, and gave Strange a helpless look, "I just can't. Not while he's begging for mercy."
"He is a torturer, Thera," Strange said, "He's the opposite of everything you -we- vowed to uphold."
"Yeah...but I'm me," Thera sighed, "Do you have any non-lethal, non-appendage related alternatives?"
"Well, there is one," said Strange, with a curiously even tone, "Let's see-"
There was a flare of orange flame under Caleb's chair, and with a sudden scream he dropped from view. I craned my neck to look, but could only get a sense of absolute darkness before the portal snapped shut, taking the scream with it.
"Where...where did that go?" Clint said, a little nervously, "It looked dark."
"Just a little holding area. He'll keep falling until I let him out, but no harm will come to him," said the doctor, "Normally, people are quite talkative when they're released."
"It's not great," Thera said, begrudgingly, "But it'll do."
"Let it be a warning to you too, Thera," Strange added ominously, "Don't push your luck."
"Likewise, mate," the air crackled between the two men for just a moment, and then Strange turned away.
"Well, this has been a very interesting fact finding mission, and I look forward to hearing about your successes in due course," the doctor brought up his hand and gestured in a whirling motion towards the back wall, and another portal swirled into existence. While it was still dark on the other side I could make out what looked to be a large library, with heavy tomes chained to large metal lattices, "So I will bid you good day. Laura? Clint? It was good to see you again. We'll have to catch up under less...pressing circumstances."
"Sure thing," said Clint, and shook his hand with another smile, "Cya 'round."
"Of course," Strange said, and then a nasty little smirk crossed his face as he glanced at Thera, "And Sparky? It was definitely...interesting to see you again. Please give your sister my regards."
The portal irised shut and then a tumbler bounced against the wall, right where Strange's head would have been.
"Sparky? Oh, I am going to sodding kill him," Thera snarled, advancing on the inoffensive plasterboard, "Do you hear me, Strange? Strang-"
It was as if someone had flipped a switch. One second, Thera was stalking towards the wall with his hackles raised, and then, suddenly, he collapsed limply to the floor. Somehow, Clint moved fast enough to catch him before he cracked his head on a nearby chair, and then lowered him carefully to the floor.
"Quick! Help me turn him over," Clint said, "He's heavier than he looks."
"What's happened? What's going on?" I said, surprising myself at how calm I was as I helped Clint shift Thera into the recovery position.
Clint lowered his ear to Thera's mouth, and then quickly felt for a pulse.
"Exhaustion, I think," he said, with some relief, I saw this happen with Wanda once. She over-extended herself and poof - out like a light. I guess he just doesn't know his limits."
"Or he ignored them," I said, "So...what do we do?"
"What can we do?" Clint shrugged, "He needs to rest, so...let him rest. We'll have to leave him with Kostas and make sure he keeps an eye on him. Vi, too."
"That's it? We're just going to leave him?"
"He'll probably be sleeping for quite a while, babe. Wanda was out for three days - and we've got an actual life and kids to get back to. I reckon we've probably found out everything we're going to here, anyways."
"By which you mean...more questions?"
"That's about how these things go, yeah," Clint said, "We'll have to leave it for now - but when Thera wakes up? I'm going to want some answers."