A Fickle Thing
Chapter 8: Burned
Sweat runs into Dr. Strange's eyes.
In the training center of the Sanctorum, the doctor gives in to pure physical exertion. Not overly fond of working out, he does find pleasure in the flexibility it allows his mind. For most of his spell work (and obviously during meditation) his thoughts must be precisely focused. However, when he's running laps or practicing defensive maneuvers, his brain can shift to autopilot. It's a rare respite for a mind that has always been overworked.
Usually, his physical limitations eventually catch up with him during a work out, or the doctor gets bored, but this particular session extends for over an hour as he takes assessment of his skill set and makes a mental checklist of all the possible things he needs to do today: write to Professor Xavier (re: the Kolkata dilemma), interview a new set of recruits for the training center in Tibet, finish reading The Ars Notoria, and somehow coerce Wong into dusting the relics kept in the library so he doesn't have to. And maybe, possibly, potentially…..get Wong a Christmas present.
Does Wong even celebrate Christmas?
There are always a million things to do and seemingly a million global concerns that acquire his attention at any given moment. But it didn't take him long to learn to balance his time between the physical and mental tasks that fill up each of his days. He's Dr. Strange, after all. He's always been a fast learner.
All of these thoughts flit through Stephen's mind until he hears the unmistakable rumble of his phone vibrating on a nearby bench. He wipes sweat off his upper lip with the front of his shirt and checks the text message.
It's Tony Stark.
NEED YOU TO SOLVE A LITTLE PROBLEM DEVELOPING. COOPER POWER PLANT, NEBRASKA.
Strange considers the text, unsteady fingers stumbling over the touch screen buttons.
IS IT SERIOUS?
Bubbled red dots appear at the bottom of his screen, signaling Stark's forthcoming reply:
YEAH, KINDA. WOULD'VE FIGURED YOU SAW THIS ONE COMING IN YOUR CRYSTAL BALL.
IT'S NOT A CRYSTAL BALL. IT'S THE ORB OF AGAMOTTO.
WHATEVER. I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IT. SOME KOOK CALLED MISTER M IS TRYING TO TAP INTO THE NUCLEAR REACTOR. MUST BE A MUTANT.
Strange can't help but pick on Iron Man a bit more, his ire up after being teased.
IS THERE A REASON YOU CAN'T HELP? HAVING THE SUIT OILED TODAY?
VERY FUNNY. I'M A LITTLE BUSY RIGHT NOW. IN SHANGHAI. GOT THE REST OF THE TEAM HERE. AND I'D SEND THE HULK, BUT HE'S GOT THIS THING AGAINST RADIATION. YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.
Stephen regards the text message silently before answering. He tells himself that he has nothing to prove to these people, these larger-than-life heroes who frequently grace the front pages of the newspaper with scenes equally compassionate and destructive. He tells himself that he has his own agenda of keeping watch over the world, which includes manipulations of time and space so complex that to experience them first hand would make Tony Stark need iron diapers. Where were the Avengers during the Dormammu incident, after all? Strange tells himself that he's a consultant. A consulting Avenger who doesn't get mixed up in the politics and chaos the ragtag group inculcates. The doctor tells himself that he's still learning, and he shouldn't push himself too far just yet.
On the other hand, it is clear that his reputation as a valuable member of the elite Avengers group is on the line. And he can't resist Stark's challenge. He has worked for over a year in near-solitude, securely tucked away in his fortress on Bleecker Street. Perhaps it is time to flex his muscles a bit, as well as demonstrate his ability to be something he would have been offended to be labeled during his medical career: a team player.
His hands shake more from excitement than his past injury as he texts a response:
I'LL BE THERE IN FIVE MINUTES.
He barely has time to change. There are too many thoughts whirling through Strange's mind as he runs his hands over his standard blue suit. New spells mix with recipes mix with memories of past foes. Despite his extensive fieldwork over the past year, and numerous dangerous situations, Stephen cannot help but feel anxious. Every job is different—every situation requiring a completely different set of tools, some lodged away in his photographic memory, some in the ever-expanding array of magical objects in his possession.
Sling ring. Check. Eye of Agamotto. Check.
He has already begun turning the dial on one of the portals of the Sanctum when he hears a decidedly irate swish swish swish behind him.
The doctor turns around, feeling his eyes grow wide.
"Wow. I really must be scattered today. Cloak—I'm… I'm so sorry!"
The cloak hangs, shimmering in full burgundy glory, directly in front of him. If it had arms, it would be crossing them.
Dr. Strange bites his lip, realizing the fabric is going to need some sincere acts of contrition on its behalf later, but now he doesn't have the time.
"Shall we…?"
Reluctantly, the cloak drifts towards him, securely fastening its collar around his neck (perhaps a bit more snug than usual) and flutters past his knees, enclosing itself around him in a half-circle. The act is familiar, comforting.
They are ready. Strange turns the knob until it hits the spot he was searching for: a nuclear plant in Nebraska. A light dusting of snow coats a wide-open field as the sun sinks in a hazy orange blaze across the horizon. The cloak bristles, and, together, they leap through the portal.
By the time they reach the Cooper Plant, twenty-three miles south of Nebraska City, it is dark outside and stars contrast against a black sky. Strange notes that the place has been evacuated due to the assortment of military vehicles strategically positioned around the facility and the whine of sirens ringing through the air, spotlights positioned on its entrance. He gages the mood—pensive and scared. Scared as hell.
He has no idea what to expect.
Stark must have called ahead for him because the sorcerer is allowed in without fuss, past gates and barbed wire and padlocks that are so thick the Hulk might sprain his wrists trying to break through.
The entryway beckons, and Strange steps inside. He notes the pervading hum of the plant that surrounds them, the blinking lights, and smell of ozone. Stephen continues, not entirely sure where he is going, but allowing his intuition to guide him towards the source of the drone, knowing that this will also be where the mysterious Mister M awaits them.
"What if his name is actually Mister Mister?" Strange says to himself, and the cloak ruffles along his back. He jerks momentarily, having forgotten the other being was there. It is the second time that Strange has forgotten about the cloak, and it makes him bow his head with guilt.
"We okay?" the doctor whispers to it.
The cloak flutters noiselessly against him in response, and the air grows colder around them as they walk through an increasing amount of thick grey doors that have crumpled, as if they were made of cardboard and not lead. Red WARNING signs painted on the front of them have eerily melted. Stephen swallows and thinks: At least I'm not alone.
They approach the main compartment of the plant, the closest they dare step to the core without risking radiation exposure. Strange mumbles a spell, barely audible, and a pale green glow surrounds his body from the Eye of Agamotto. He doesn't think the protection spell can protect against radiation, but it couldn't hurt.
A long metal platform awaits them, hanging suspended. Although relatively high up, Strange and his magical overgarment stand at the base of an immense dome-like containment structure. Through the green glow of the force field that protects them, the doctor can just make out the figure of a man standing at the opposite end of the platform.
The man is lost in shadow, and it takes Strange a moment to realize that his back is to them. The figure wears a black fedora with a silver band, a black blazer and black pants.
Well, at least I approve of his wardrobe…
"Dr. Strange, I presume?" comes a slightly accented voice that is soft yet echoes through the voluminous dome.
"You presume correctly, Mister M," Stephen says, his senses keen, his defenses sharp. He's prepared for any attack, any maneuver. He breathes out with sudden relief to realize that he caught the villain in the process of breaking into the radiated area, and he hasn't done too much damage. Good thing Stark texted him when he did.
Strange begins walking at a snail's pace down the long corridor, his boots clanking on the meshed metal, causing him to cringe. He edges closer to the figure in the hat, the other man's back still to him.
"Now, I would much rather get to know you somewhere quiet rather than in this noisy facility," the doctor says, calm voice masking the fear he feels. Like speaking to a frightened animal, he continues: "Let's step outside. You can tell me what you want, and I can try to help."
Then the other man presses against the door to the reactor, but instead of gruffly pushing it aside, his hand goes through it, as if the metal were nothing more than silk. Stephen stops dead in his tracks; the cloak quavers. And as easily as Mister M places his hand through the door, he brings it back out again and leisurely faces them, hips turning and body following suit. His fedora tilts downwards, throwing a shadow across half of his moon-pale face, like a character in black and white from a film noir of the 1930's.
The villain grins, his voice barely above a whisper. "I got what I wanted ten minutes ago."
At this, the lights in the entire facility go out, and Strange and the cloak are thrown into darkness. The drone of the machinery ceases immediately, and a shudder runs through the plant, causing Stephen to grasp the railings beside him for support.
This isn't possible…
The cloak sweeps up behind him, creating a third leg to stabilize its chosen. Muttering a spell, the Eye around his neck dims its force field, instead sending quick green pulses throughout the dome, searching for Mister M.
Strange stops the Eye's frantic search with a wave of his hand when a piercingly bright light appears at the end of the corridor, cupped in the left hand of his adversary. The man hadn't moved an inch from before. Now he huddles over the light in his paw, eyes gleaming, feverish with devotion.
What kind of being are you?
Stephen swallows back a sick feeling as he steps closer to the man and the tiny sphere of immense energy he carries. And when Mister M speaks, his voice trembles with that power.
"There is a famous painting in the town of my birthplace, Ghent. It is called 'The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb,' and in it, the lamb is the focus. Its head is surrounded by spikes of light; the halo of a sun shines above it. No wonder all the people in the painting and in real life cannot take their eyes off it. It is too pure, too dazzling, and almost too calm as it pours out its blood into a golden chalice. One red stream. I imagine that is what you must feel like, Dr. Strange. You are mesmerized and horrified. Because I feel as if I'm holding that lamb in the palm of my hand. It is so bright and beautiful and scorching. And now it will become part of me."
The light spreads throughout his hand, as if soaking into his skin. Stephen squints, able to make out each vein, glowing unnaturally red in the mutant's hands, before the light fades away, plunging them into darkness once more.
Dr. Strange moves quickly, like a silhouette, emitting a burst of green light from the Eye, but Mister M blocks if deftly, dissolving through the floor of the platform only to pop back up seconds later. But Strange persists, and his second energy pulse hits its target. The mutant flies backwards, striking the door to the reactor with a sickening crack before bouncing back up and hurling himself at the sorcerer.
The cloak flits left and right, dragging Strange back by the heels to prevent a blow to his abdomen. Mister M groans as another powerful burst of energy from one of Stephen's spells sends him spinning along the platform.
Grimacing, the mutant stands stiffly, his face glowing a sickly green from the Eye's light. "You know," he says, "I could kill you this very moment if I wanted to." At this, his body once again melts into metal beneath him, disappearing from view.
Dr. Strange breathes heavily and urges the cloak upwards. Together, they hover in the air, searching the facility for any trace of the villain.
"But I'm just too fun, right?" Strange calls, his voice echoing. "Tell me the truth. I'm stronger than you expected, Mister M."
"Call me Absolon."
Stephen does not see the arm appear through the metal mesh directly beneath him until it is too late. A hand grabs the tip of the cloak and tugs it violently downwards. Off balance, Stephen is jerked back.
Great…
Strange pivots the Eye to the floor of the platform, but before he can find his target, a wave of crackling electricity from his opponent slams into him with such force that he is knocked off the platform, crashing against the side of the dome.
The doctor's sight dims around the edges. He feels the sensation of falling, but it is quickly replaced by floating. How is that possible? His fuzzy mind struggles to formulate rational thoughts. It is not until he feels the cold metal mesh of the corridor against his side as he is gently set down that he realizes that it is the cloak.
It saved me again…
"Not that… I'm keeping track," the doctor murmurs to his friend. "But we seem… to be in the middle of a contest…called 'How Many Times Can I Save Your Life…"
The cloak responds by running its edges along his arms, tapping him lightly, as if to comfort and rouse him simultaneously. Dr. Strange wants to oblige it, but his temples still pound mercilessly, and he does not seem to have complete control of his legs. The cloak continues coaxing him up, supporting his arms as Stephen groans, forcing himself into a sitting position.
But just as his vision clears, a sudden tightness around his throat sends Strange to his knees, choking noises escaping his mouth.
Mister M.
The cloak soundlessly disengages from his body and hurls itself at the figure standing fifteen feet in front of them. With a flick of his wrist, the mutant sends the cloak zooming away, pressed up against the wall of the dome by some invisible hand. Stephen wants to cry out to it, but his eyes are watering, and he can't breathe. Just as he can feel his sight darkening permanently, the pressure around his throat vanishes, and the doctor collapses to the floor. Gasping gratefully for air, filling his starved lungs, he is vaguely aware of the metal clasp around his neck breaking.
When he has the strength to look up, he sees Mister M holding the Eye of Agamotto. The villain flicks the brim of his fedora up to examine the relic with a glow emanating from one of his palms.
"Pretty little thing," he says before pocketing it. Then he bends down, whispering into Stephen's ear. "Shall we go outside now?"
Mister M holds the weakened doctor's arm in a vice-like grip, and they are flying away. Dr. Strange is only able to view a flash of crimson that must be the cloak before he feels a chill pass through him, like stepping through a waterfall. Suddenly, the hold on his arm is released, and Stephen tumbles onto the cold hard ground.
Gritting his teeth with pain, the sorcerer gets to his knees shakily then stands. He immediately feels vulnerable without the cloak, incomplete. Mister M also stands several feet away, observing him. They are outside in a field, several hundred feet from the power plant. If not for the moonlight glinting off the frosted tips of grass, Stephen would not be able to see anything. Gone is the glow from the plant.
How many people are without power in this state? Stephen wonders. How many hospitals?
"I'm not completely heartless," says Mister M. "I stored back-up supplies for the hospitals, schools, and shelters. They will be fine until an alternative energy is established."
Strange's voice is rough from the mutant's attack on his throat. His tone matches his mood: livid. "So you can read my mind as well."
Mister M just smiles.
Well, read THIS, jerk—
Flames pour from Mister M's fingertips. Stephen counters with a spell, looping his sling ring in golden circles. Both man and mutant break off then lash out again, their attacks timed perfectly, a deadly dance beneath a canopy of glittering stars. Whereas Mister M seems to grow more powerful as the fighting continues, Strange's strength is waning. Every spell he uses Mister M counters with a wave of orange fire even more powerful than the last. Stephen finds himself on his knees once more, his rapid breaths like puffs of white smoke in the frigid night.
His adversary stands bold, triumphant.
"Radiation is one thing. But fire is so much purer, don't you think? Goodbye, Dr. Strange."
Stephen flinches as a wall of fire races towards him. In that split second before the flames reach him, Dr. Stephen Strange reflects on his life, and flashes of things he loved pass through his thoughts: successful surgeries, time spent in meditation, favorite piano pieces of the Romantic period, roasted kale, his family, the Ancient One, Christine, Wong, and one magical piece of red fabric he could have sworn he saw out of the corner of his eye—
"Cloak?"
The cloak swoops in front of him at the last second, covering Dr. Strange completely like a red shield as the fire pours into it. Stephen flinches, shielding his face instinctively, heat lapping in waves on either side of him, threatening to singe his beard. On contact, the cloak shivers, flapping against itself wildly to put out the flames as they dissipate.
"CLOAK!" Stephen looks up, uncertain what to do.
A shudder runs through it before it collapses, smoking, into the doctor's arms.
"No…" the choked exclamation escapes from Stephen's throat before his mind has the chance to process what happened. Sweat stings his eyes as he rises from a crouched position and swiftly cradles the cloak to his chest. He lays the cloak gently on the ground before looking up at Mister M.
But the villain is gone.
Strange delicately runs his fingers over the smooth velvety fabric, burnt in patches—and blackened. He places thumb to forefinger through at least three holes in the red cloth. The cloak doesn't even rustle in response.
"No, dammit! NO!"
Anger gives way to grief, which gives way to a spell. He utters it quickly, consonants flicking off his tongue like an often-recited poem. His shaking feeble hands stretch outwards, and a golden magic pours over the charred fabric like honey. The sorcerer continues, spurred on, despite his growing weakness, with equal parts desperation and hope. The spell will work. It has to work.
As the amber light glows brighter, it blinds Dr. Strange. He sinks backwards, hands in front of his eyes to shield them. And when he removes them, his mouth drops open in wonder to view the cloak, glowing with a faint golden shimmer, hovering in the air, as good as brand new.
"You know that contest I mentioned earlier?" Stephen mutters weakly, voice breaking. "Well, you're definitely winning."
Then the cloak rushes towards him, circling his body, flying upwards and dropping low. Stephen finds himself chuckling despite how cold and tired and defeated he feels. He tells himself: But both of you are okay. That's what matters.
"Stark will not be happy. How am I gonna find this guy?"
The cloak pauses in its merriment and swings up one side of its cape, as if to say: Wait a sec. From the folds of its robes, it produces one black fedora with a silver band.
Strange's jaw drops open for the second time that night.
"You stole his hat?"
The cloak's collar bobs up and down.
"How the heck did you do that?!"
The cloak wavers in the air, its cloth rustling, and it produces a second object that falls right into the sorcerer's hands, gleaming gold…
The Eye of Agamotto.
"Okay, that takes the cake," says Strange as he places the medallion with the broken clasp inside his blue tunic. "I'm not sure I'm even needed anymore on these Avengers missions." He pokes the fabric. "I should just send you. I can picture the newspaper headline now: 'Stylish Shield and Pickpocket Extraordinaire.'"
The cloak ripples with pleasure. Strange is dubious that he'll be able to find Mister M with only a beloved hat for a clue, but it's a start.
As Dr. Strange stands, the cloak attaches itself to him, fluttering behind his back in the cold breeze.
"You sure you're okay?" Stephen asks, head cocked to one side. He pulls one edge of the cloak closer to him, bunching it up in one hand as if he never wants to let it go. The cloak tugs away from his grip teasingly. "I just… I almost lost you."
When he leans back on his heels, the cloak supports him, rubbing along his back soothingly, as if to say: But you didn't. They share a moment of calm silence.
Dr. Strange stirs. "Shall we take the long way home?"
Soundlessly, the cloak lifts him in the air, gaining speed and height until they are flying just beneath the wisps of clouds, soaring through the star-studded sky back to New York.
A/N: Just for the record, I'm not a scientist and have no clue how nuclear reactors work, so apologies if I made some major errors there.
I felt like this chapter was a lesson for Strange in not getting what he wants (or what he expects) but rather being reminded of all that he has. He's testing the waters and trying to help out the Avengers, but also learning that his powers are directly affected by his physical limitations. Anyways, I was in the action-y mood, so thank you for indulging my need to have some fighting interspersed with the fluff.
Next chapter features Sick!Stephen for all you cats who enjoy sickfics.
Continual hugs and virtual hot chocolate (with extra marshmallows) for my awesomely splendiferous followers and reviewers. In the immortal words of Misha Collins, "It warms the cockles of my heart." Your reviews truly do just that, readers. Thank you!
TheWayfaringStra: Thanks for reading! Haha—yesssh, I love the friendship feels too. Haha What's not to love about a man and his cloak?
The Magic Within: Aww shucks! Your reviews are too kind, and I appreciate how detailed and constructive they are. I'm so glad that I made your day with the last chapter! Hope you liked this one. I'm also glad that you like my interpretation of the cloak. I don't want to make it too human, but striking a balance is important.
PinkChaos: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you're enjoying the Stephen and cloak fluffiness as much as I am.
Honey: Thank you for reading! I've been so focused on writing this fic that I stopped thinking about "Far Away From Nowhere" and "Rush of Blood," but with an upcoming vacation, I'll (hopefully) have more time to update those stories.
~Ista