This chapter is short, sorry about that - but there will be another one tomorrow, so think of it more as a tease for that! :)

I do not own anything other than my original ideas.

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Christine had always meant to come back and check on Stephen in the next few days, but as it happened the hospital ended up being incredibly busy and she had to content herself with calling. Several times she called while he slept, her call being taken by Elice instead, or - more commonly and also more amazingly - the cloak.

Smart as it was, the cloak always selected to start video conversations instead of mere calls, waving at her and showing her the peacefully sleeping Stephen. She had to commend Elice on her creativity in showing the cloak how to the first time. Stephen had shaken his head at his pupil teaching his cloak how to do video calls, but he hadn't objected, as far as Christine understood.

What sort of life was this, doctor Palmer sometimes asked herself, that she engaged in video calls with a magical piece of fabric? She didn't even believe in magic! Then again, neither did Stephen, and he not only used magic, he had used it to sacrifice himself in order to save the earth. Repeatedly. It was technically impossible, but it was possibly even more bizarre that she had had to hear as much from Elice, because bragging rights aside, he had not even told her.

Christine smiled where she stood, picking up a patient's chart. Stephen really hadn't changed that much. He was still the same caring, basically compassionate, helpful, skillful person he had been since the first time she met him, but somehow he seemed to have lost all his worst qualities during his time in that cult. If it was a cult. As far as she understood, if it was, Stephen was now the cult leader. If there was a cult leader. Not that any of the people she'd met from that organisation this far seemed like typical cult members, if there was such a thing as typical cult members.

She sort of doubted that there was, really. There was typical behaviour, though, for any organisations with power over anybody, like cults usually had, and neither Stephen, Elice or that cloak displayed any of the signs that she knew of. Whoever these people were, they'd rid Stephen of his obsession to cure his hands. Which certainly was an influence, but not a kind she could possibly object much to. He himself had told her that as a sorcerer he could use magic on his hands to compensate for the nerve damage, but Stephen was clearly beyond that. That surprised her more than anything. And anything included what was essentially a sentient overgrown scarf.

His arrogance was also nearly gone. Responsible as he'd always been when presented with a chart of someone ill, it was his very irresponsible behaviour which had landed him in that car crash in the first place. He had always had shining leadership abilities, and his interns and residents had worshipped the ground he walked on, but now, if Elice was any indication, he had become a genuinely good leader. So maybe it was cult after all.

Christine gathered herself and focused on the chart instead, something which quickly eradicated any last remnants she might harbour of the will to smile. This patient was terminal. The tumour located just under the temporal lobe had been analysed and confirmed as benign - not cancerous in the least. Its mere placement, however, meant that this wouldn't do the patient any good. It wasn't strictly speaking inoperable, but close to it, and even a hospital as formidable as theirs had no one on staff capable of performing such surgery. Stephen would have breezed through it, but... Stephen.

Almost before she knew what she was doing, she was dialing him. "Christine! Hello!" He answered her at the first ring, sounding eager. Good - he sounded like he was well again.

"Hi Stephen," she let her smile, brought on by his voice, surface again knowing that he could hear it. "Could you do me a favour?"