A/N - This takes place after Multiverse of Madness and after Loki Season 1. Season 2 is not out as of yet. There are events described (starting in chapter 2) that have happened in this story that have not happened in the series, basically an alternate season 2. I WILL FINISH THIS LONGFIC IF IT KILLS ME because I have to get it out before Loki Season 2 airs. Please enjoy! :)

The Battle of New York: May 4, 2012

Dr. Strange couldn't even make his way through the tangle of traffic trying to escape the carnage downtown. He abandoned his Lamborghini in the middle of the street and ran as fast as he could towards the hospital. Every ambulance that would have gone somewhere further south was redirected north, and Metro-General, where he worked, was the closest stop that hadn't been blown up. His pager hadn't stopped beeping the entire time. He would have been running just as fast even if it hadn't beeped at all. His mind kept going to Christine: was she all right? Would she be at the hospital as a doctor, or-God, please no-as a patient? A loud boom came from the distance, followed by a roar that sounded like Godzilla tearing up the city.

Past the streets clogged with screaming people and wailing ambulances, Stephen made his way into the lobby of the hospital, not bothering to talk to any of the completely frazzled nurses at the front desk. The floor of the ER was washed with blood. He saw patients bleeding out in the hallways, heard their screams like souls tortured in Hell. An orderly rolled a man past him on a gurney without a blanket to cover him, moaning in pain with his head bashed open by falling debris. He'd never seen anything like it, and there had once been a gang fight directly in front of Metro-General that killed a dozen people.

No one had any idea what was happening yet, only that terrorists had descended on Manhattan and were making their way north. No one ever could have imagined the entire, terrifying truth, not then.

Georgia Jenkins, normally the night shift lead nurse, power walked towards him in her signature hot pink scrubs. If it was any other day, he'd have been dreading her approach, expecting something snarky and sadistic out of her mouth, but today she had a look of determination on her face that he'd never seen before. It was as if she'd been created to withstand this moment. Her neon scrubs were painted with dark, dried blood, like a painter's apron.

"Dr. Strange," she called out to him above the din of crying and moaning. Before she could get another word in, though, he was swarmed by a dozen other doctors and nurses, all with patients that needed him right that second. They crowded around, talking over each other, making him delirious.

"Dr. Strange, there's a woman prepped on the third floor, she's got a head fracture, brain bleeding-"

"-we've got a kid with a severed arm-"

"-a lot of arteries cut, severe neck trauma-"

"-Dr. Strange, we need you in room 450 now-"

"Enough!" he shouted, throwing up his hands. "Will someone please get me some scrubs! One thing at a time!"

"Dr. Strange?" Nurse Jenkins repeated. He gave her his full attention. "There's a woman in operating room 14 with a crushed spine, pregnant with twins at 30 weeks. If you go now, you might be able to save the babies."

He sucked in a breath. "Thank you Georgia."

She only nodded, handing him the woman's file. There was some kind of understanding between everyone working there at that moment, that they were soldiers on the front line who had never volunteered. Georgia had made herself a corporal, it seemed, and if the situation wasn't so dire, it would have earned his respect.

The pregnant woman had bled out by the time he'd gotten to the room. It was much too late for her. Unfortunately, one of the twins had also been impaled by the woman's broken vertebrae. The other survived. He cut the baby out of his dead mother and the infant wailed over the bedlam of people just outside the door.

"Time of death?" asked a very young resident he'd never seen before. They'd even recruited the college students. It was truly all hands on deck.

"Four-forty-three for both of them," he said with a sigh. "Someone help me scrub up and bring in the next one."

The patients kept coming, one after the other after the other, some dying, some living, and some not even worth trying to save.

After twenty straight hours of hopelessly sewing people back together, Christine caught Stephen in the hallway and told him to go to the main lobby, to his surprise. He thought she was a hallucination, at first.

"Why?" he asked. His voice sounded coarse and alien to him. Christine had somehow kept her hair in a nice bun, had somehow kept herself together for a day of utter horror.

"Mayor Vieri. He's here."

In the lobby, dozens of tired, dirty hospital staff were gathered in a mass of demoralized humanity. No one even seemed interested in whatever the mayor of New York had to tell them. An orderly shuddered and cried in a corner, her eyes in a thousand yard stare, locked on all the press and police gathering outside. He and Christine took a place near the front of the crowd, in between the staff and a line of reporters. Cameras flashed in the mayor's face, outlining his deepened wrinkles and thinning hairline which he kept dabbing with a handkerchief.

Stephen could barely concentrate on Vieri's speech. Something about an attack by … aliens? Gods? No, that didn't make sense at all. Out of pure sleep-deprived insanity, he chuckled loudly, mirthlessly, enough to make a few reporters turn around. Christine's eyes went wide with horror.

"Gods?" he said, his voice scratchy. "Egyptian or Greek?"

"Stephen!" Christine hissed, but he barely realized she was there at that point.

"Norse," replied the mayor, without missing a beat. "It was a Norse god who led the alien attack." Once again addressing the crowd, he continued. "I have word that he's been captured and that the aliens have been completely eradicated. The whole world changed yesterday, and I want you to know that everyone here is a hero."

The crowd stared at him, as despondent as room full of dogs about to be euthanized. The stupid smirk on Stephen's face melted away as he understood that it everything the mayor was saying was real. The reporters, either to break the awkward silence or out of a real sense of gratitude, started to applaud. Stephen looked to the frightened orderly, still shuddering and staring out the window, as if waiting for an alien to burst through it and kill them all. Stephen couldn't hear the applause anymore. It was utterly banal.

New York: Present Day

Ting, ting, ting, ting, ting.

Stephen Strange let the fork balance loosely between his second and third finger, judging the shakiness of his own hand as the fork rattled wildly against his appetizer plate. His sigh probably came off to Christine as one of impatience, but it was really of frustration. After every monster he'd fought, every spell he'd cast, it felt completely unfair to still not be able to button his own pants or hold a fork steady without the aid of magic. He'd put the universe back together with duct tape, for God's sake, he felt like it owed him a break.

The little familiar bistro Christine had picked for their-get together? It wasn't a date, obviously-was bustling with the usual Sunday afternoon crowd. Bright mid-morning light streamed through the large windows and heated the place naturally. Waitresses and bussers hurried around the restaurant, ignoring their table. Stephen couldn't see the one who had seated them anywhere. They all looked the same to him anyway: bright eyed, college aged girls with flushed red faces. The place was getting a little too humid with all the people stuffed inside, so he took off his Cloak of Levitation, which he'd disguised as a plain woolen pea coat, and hung it over the back of his chair. He never went anywhere without it, anymore. The rest of his outfit was real. Not too showy, just a grey button down shirt and nice black khakis, nothing to draw attention to himself, but not too shabby either. He'd disguised his beard and the distinguishing gray streak in his hair too. He was sick of people asking for pictures and autographs. He had no clue how the Avengers put up with that crap constantly.

He put his fork down and laced his fingers together to stop them from shaking so badly. Not that Christine cared, of course. She looked as if she had something weighing heavily on her mind. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun, strands falling down to frame her cheeks. He loved how her light eyebrows scrunched together and she bit her bottom lip when she was concentrating hard on something. He nipped that thought in the bud, hard. She had moved on quite a while ago. They were friends, he told himself, and they couldn't be anything more, ever. A little pang stung his heart, but it dissipated when he forced an annoyed scoff out of his mouth.

"I'm pretty sure they forgot about us, Dr. Palmer," he said, immediately wincing. Doctor Palmer. As if they both still worked at the hospital. As if he was still a surgeon.

"It's busy in here," she said distractedly, cradling her mug of tea without taking a sip. It had to be cold by now.

The conversation needed to get going soon or he was going to jump out of his skin. He had come at her invitation anyway, but she was pretending like she didn't want to be there. Classic Christine. Beautiful, frustrating Christine.

He leaned back in his chair, attempting to seem nonchalant even though he was about to sound like an utter lunatic. "So did I tell you about the latest weird universe I visited with America? The girl, not the country."

She gave a curt little sigh. A bad sign. "No," she said, taking a sip of cold tea and making a face as she set it down. "Did it have horrifying tentacle monsters in it?"

That stung. It was one of those tentacle monsters that had crashed her wedding. Even though he'd technically saved her and her new husband, Charlie, from the beast, she probably felt like it was his fault by association.

"No," he replied. "This one was actually kind of amusing. To me, at least. So I had to babysit America for a day or two because they were having the Full Moon festival at Kamar-Taj, and she's not old enough for the festivities, if you know what I mean."

Christine kept her face expressionless, stirring sugar into her tea so slowly he wondered if she was deliberately taunting him.

"Anyway, it was exactly like this universe. Down to the street lights, the history, the cultures, the celebrities, everything, except-" he leaned forward again, giving her a slightly crazed look that would have sent anyone else out the door, "- except that they know all about everything that has happened in this universe since Steve Rogers became Captain America, but they think it isn't real."

She raised one eyebrow but kept silent.

"I have absolutely no idea how they got the information," he continued, deciding to ignore the look of concern growing on Christine's face. "I guess someone's been spying on this universe in their dreams. But it's like this global pop culture phenomenon."

She stopped stirring. "Pop culture?" she interjected. "It's a pop culture phenomenon here too. The character actors on the street corners and Halloween costumes and lunchboxes? That stupid Steve Rogers musical that everyone loves for some reason?"

"Even bigger. I think they're more popular as fiction there than the are as reality here. There are decades of comic books. Incredibly popular movies. Freaking conventions."

He paused thoughtfully. "Okay, well, I heard there's going to be some kind of Avengers convention in Jersey City soon too, but that universe has had conventions for at least a decade, maybe more, all over the country. There's one in San Diego that's so big it clogs up the city for a week. The movie actors look just like the real Avengers. It is uncanny. But it's just stories to them. Stuff that kids and adults with too much time on their hands are totally obsessed with."

"Mmm." Christine looked into her cold tea and gripped the mug tightly, as if she was trying to choke it.

He laughed, unfazed. "And get this." He put up one finger, as if he was about to disclose the biggest secret of the universe to mankind. "There's a theme park-"

"No," groaned Christine, and not in an amused way.

"-with rides-"

"Stop it…"

"And it's actually pretty fun."

"Shut up, Stephen!"

Her shout jerked him out of his amused reverie. She was serious, more serious than he'd ever seen her.

"I'm sorry Christine, I didn't mean-"

"You never mean anything, do you?"

Oof. A direct hit. And not undeserved.

"I don't want to hear about a universe that thinks that the most traumatic events of human history are just stories. I cannot imagine talking to people who think the Blip was a fairytale, who take their kids on rides based on the Battle of New York."

Her voice broke at that, and he felt an involuntary catch in his throat at the mention of that battle, too. At that moment, in the crowded little corner bistro where he and Christine had spent so many long lunch breaks together, it felt as if everyone had forgotten that it had ever happened, or any of the number of cataclysmic events that had followed. He was amazed at humanity, how eager they were to have something normal, to go to church and go to their favorite restaurant and do the things they always did even when the world kept being ripped apart in front of them. Did that make humans incredibly adaptable, or just stupid, like little ants that kept rebuilding their smashed anthill over and over?

Finally their waitress appeared in front of them, looking sweaty with an overfriendly smile beneath tired eyes.

"So sorry you guys," she said with an accent that screamed 'Midwest girl with Broadway dreams'. "Here's your salads."

She put the wrong salads in front of them, and Christine switched them around before Stephen could complain. She smiled politely at their young waitress and started stabbing at her chicken Cesar salad as if she was actually stabbing Cesar himself. He fiddled around with his Green Goddess salad, like he'd find the right words to say hiding under a block of tofu. The fork trembled again. His hands weren't going to enjoy all this fine motor function today. He should have gotten a panini, something easier.

The waitress didn't leave, though. She stared quizzically at Stephen, and in an instant, he knew exactly where this was going.

"Are you … Dr. Strange?" she whispered his name, thank God, so no one else would turn around and cause a scene.

He sighed heavily before answering. "If I say yes, will you promise to not take a selfie right now? I'm trying really hard to have a nice time with my lady friend-my friend, here." He caught himself quickly, but not quickly enough. Christine's eyebrows perked up and he truly wanted to die for a second.

The waitress made a little zipping motion across her mouth and threw away the imaginary key. "We've gotten Avengers here a lot. Bruce Banner comes in all the time … he is so nice … and I've met Hawkeye and his family. Ant-man was here once."

"You know he's not an Avenger, right?"

She blinked at him. "Are you sure? He's an Avenger in the musical."

Stephen sucked in a breath, trying with every fiber of his being not to explode.

"You know, I think I'm going to order dessert now," said Christine. "Strawberry shortcake, please."

The waitress, thankfully distracted, jotted down her order and finally left.

"Thanks for the save," he said. "And I'm so sorry I said … well, you heard what I said."

With a clank, Christine put her fork down on her plate, her head resting in one hand, hiding her eyes from him.

"Jesus, Christine," he muttered. "I said I was sorry."

"It's not that," she replied. She took a few deep breaths, looking downward, not letting him see the expression on her face. The words finally bubbled out of her like a pot boiling over.

"Charlie and I got a divorce."

Stephen's heart sank.

"Oh God," he said. "I'm really sorry."

She lifted her head, wiping away tears, and he'd never wanted to hold her so badly in his whole life, let her cry into his chest.

"That gigantic monster crashing our wedding … it changed everything between us."

Stephen stared at her dumbly.

"Uh … how?"

"I thought I was ready to start a family, Stephen. I wanted one with Charlie, and he wanted it even more. I was making plans, even, counting out my cycle. But then … that octopus thing came out of nowhere, and I realized how horrifying it was to think about putting a child in a world that is so utterly unpredictable and unstable and insane."

"No." Stephen's heart broke for her, and she was pulling it out of him like bits of gangrenous tissue. "No, you can't think that way."

"How can I not?" she shrugged. "I should have figured it out right after the Incident, but I thought humanity would be okay after that. I thought we'd bounce back. Then there was the Blip. There's not even a way to describe it. People just whisper about it to each other. No one could deal with it. And then after you fought that witch … a freaking witch … the news started talking about incursions, and how reality could just fall apart and … "

Tears were streaming down her face now. He held out his hands to her across the table, but she didn't take them. She held herself tightly across the chest, as if to guard herself from him.

"Reality won't fall apart, Christine," he said. "Not as long as I'm here. Nothing could ever happen to you."

"The safety of the universe shouldn't rest on one person, should it?" She looked so lost, like she'd suddenly regressed into a girl who couldn't find her parents.

"But you and Charlie love each other, don't you?"

"When we were on the same page, yes. We both knew exactly what we wanted. But then I changed my mind, and he didn't. He still wanted kids, no matter what. He thought it was unfair of me to deprive him of a family, that I was the one being selfish. He wouldn't budge. We fought about it. We couldn't get through it. So I left."

"Christine," he whispered, still aching for her to take his hand, to make any move towards him. "I just don't know what to say. You've still got everything ahead of you. Whatever you want to do with your life. And you don't have to worry because-"

"Because you'll be there," she said snidely. He was surprised by her vitriol. "You're going to be there, no matter what. You're going to be there, whether I want you to be there or not. You're just, always there, all the time, just for me."

She threw her napkin on top of her salad. They had had a few spats in the past but he'd never felt so hurt by her before. She was throwing daggers left and right.

A pit growing in his stomach, he chose his words carefully, terrified of her answer. "Christine, are you telling me that you don't want me around anymore?"

She stared at her salad, breathing heavily, like she would let out a scream at any moment.

"That's not going to solve anything. You need more friends after breaking up with your fiancé, not fewer."

"There's something wrong with me."

"No."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one that can't get over the horror of the world. Everyone else can just keep trucking, like little busy bees, like-"

"Ants?" He gave her a smile he hoped looked reassuring. She finally met his eye then. Her tears had stopped, but the sadness lingered on her face.

"We are kind of just ants, in a way," he said thoughtfully. "Some of us have pincers though. Some of us protect the hill, and most of us rebuild it. And some of us are Ant-Man. We all keep doing what we have to do because well, that's what life is, I guess."

"How can you handle any of this, Stephen? Mentally, I mean."

He chuckled. "That's my secret, Christine," he whispered, then leaned forward, eyes wide with mock insanity, "I don't."

That got a little chuckle out of her, to his relief. She relaxed her shoulders and put her hands on the table, tantalizingly close to his. He forced himself to draw back instead of gripping her hands in his shaky ones and waxing poetically, like some romantic idiot.

A few strands of hair fell out of her messy bun, catching the light and shining like threads of gold for a moment. Sunlight grew so bright through the windows it was as if the sun was aching to touch her just as much as he was. She opened her mouth, he imagined to say something of such beauty and poignance that it would make the world stop turning.

Instead, suddenly, her face fell and her eyes grew wide.

"What is it?" He surreptitiously felt his forehead, hoping to god that his new third eye hadn't suddenly reappeared.

"Stephen?" she said, the color draining out of her face. "Turn around."