So, I am getting busier (now that autumn is coming along) and to avoid WIP's suffering for it and getting forgotten, my stories have each gotten a date when they'll get updated every month. The monthly scheduled update for Doctor Strange will be the 21:st. Variations and the occasional extra chapter will occur (I do strive to update this particular story every third week, not just once a month) but I hope this will keep me from forgetting any story. This way, you will at least get monthly updates. (Except for the LotR WIP. I've given up on regularity with that one...)

No copyright infringement is intended.

TapTap

To anyone outside of the group itself, it might have made a very peculiar scene. There was Elice; the young, blond woman trying not to smirk as she watched the others. The magical Cloak of Levitation was swirling about as it very eagerly gathered up everything needed with the air of a specialist; an air rather spoilt by the puppy-like eagerness it was also displaying.

Next to them, there was Master Doctor Stephen Strange, his trembling fingers entwined as he watched his cloak's eagerness and his apprentice's assumption that there was only one way forward. This experienced medical man and sorcerer, he saw several. And lastly, there was the broken man, who had learnt to heal and then been broken again, by someone he thought was a brother in arms, at least. Not the most natural of groupings, or maybe they were.

Finally, the cloak fell back onto the shoulders of its chosen mortal, signalling to all three humans that they now had everything they needed to complete the ceremony. "You will really help me with this?" Pangborn asked, not willing to believe that it could be so simple.

"Of course! Why would we not? You're..." Elice looked over to Stephen, growing silent as she didn't see this emotion reflected in his eyes. "Stephen?" Her voice grew incredulous. "You're not going to let Mordo do this to him, are you? He's grown insane! You're letting him win!?"

"Yes," Stephen agreed easily, "he has. And it is my duty - some might say privilege, but I hope I will never grow so silly - to protect my people. My fellow sorcerers, be they here or at Kamar-Taj, in London or Hong-Kong. I wouldn't hesitate to do this for them. Any of them. But Pangborn... left. I cannot see any duty to perform this for someone who was only too happy to leave when it suited him. What do we owe him now?" There was something odd in his voice, something very thoughtful, not angry or judgemental, but more as if he was arguing not about a life, but for a metaphorical problem of some sort.

"So you refuse to aid me," Pangborn's jaw was like set in stone, as if he had been expecting this blow.

"I never said that." Stephen argued. He was still entirely calm and seemingly unaffected.

"Then you have a price." The other man guessed, but it sounded more like conviction.

"This is crazy!" Elice cut them off, making the cloak's collar tweak up from where it was resting against Stephen's cheek, as if to soothe him. "He's injured and in pain and you can help! It is barely even a strain for a sorcerer like you! Besides, you're a doctor! You swore to help people!" The novice's voice had gone high, both in volume and tone, and she was radiating upset in every way from every single fiber of her being.

"That is a good thought, I am proud of you for that one," Stephen replied calmly. "You'll make the world an excellent doctor yet. But it is not the right answer."

Drawing a deep breath, Elice finally replied. "There is a right answer for something like this?!" Her voice now expressed almost contempt, but Stephen's smile was fond anyway.

"Yes. The answer, Elice, is that while Pangborn made himself not be my responsibility, Mordo still is. And thus, I am responsible to try and right his wrongs, if possible, until such a time comes when I can stop him altogether. No, I am not letting him win. That is the answer to this."

"So, you will help me?" Pangborn looked a little puzzled at this argument about him in which he had considerably little part. It could more accurately be described as a lesson of some sort than anything else.

"I never said I would not help. I merely asked you not to be so obvious, both of you," Stephen replied easily. "Besides, I rather do consider myself owing you a favour..." he looked down on his still trembling hands, but he was smiling. Then, looking up, his smile got less whistful and more determined. "Well then, Crimson," he started, eyes filling with the strength of determination which had got him so successfully to the top of his field. Twice. "Where do you suggest we start?"