Author's Note:

And...I'm back! Thank you to all who viewed my first chapter, it really encouraged me!

I'm still in the market for a Beta Reader, please let me know if you're interested.

As I said before, I really would love any thoughts, critiques, or suggestions you guys have.

As I promised, here is the second chapter! Enjoy. :)

Do you remember that one Alicia Keys song?

"New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of…"

Well, she wasn't lying. About the concrete jungle thing, I mean.

As I stepped out from the gates of Grand Central Station, I was immediately engulfed in the shadow of skyscrapers, towering over me. People swarmed around me, pushing me back and forth like a ping-pong ball. I could barely hear myself think, which was surprising since I have a particularly loud subconsciousness.

Before I could be trampled to death, I managed to throw myself and my bags towards the edge of the street. So many excited thoughts danced around my head. Where's Central Park? Isn't Strawberry Fields there? Ooh, I think that's the Rockefeller! Do they really have hot dog vendors here?

I shook myself, giving a stern warning. No. I had to accomplish the basics before I let myself wander: 1.) Find out where I was 2.) Find out where the heck my new apartment was and 3.) Get to my apartment and sleep. And hopefully keep myself alive in the process.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, quickly entering my passcode, swiping through and getting onto Google Maps. Technology is great, isn't it? The glowing screen in my hand indicated I was in Midtown Manhattan. And from what I remembered, my apartment was in...Harlem.

I exhaled. Great. Half an hour away.

I heaved my duffle bag over my shoulder, standing on toes to peer into the street. The familiar yellow of cabs charged down the road. I waved, a little frantically, trying to best not to fall into the street. One of cabs slowly rolled to the side of the street, coming to a halt before me.

Quickly, I threw the door open, shoving my bag in before me. The door slammed shut behind me, and we rumbled off into the mid-day traffic.

"Where are you heading?"

I blinked, realizing I was too busy congratulating myself on successfully not dying and getting a cab to tell my driver why I was even here. "Oh, uh...Bradhurst Avenue, please."

"You're not from around here, aren't you?" The driver looked back at me, his dark eyes twinkling. "I can tell from your accent."

I raised an eyebrow. "Accent?"

"Midwestern. Very plain, very flat."

"Oh." Not sure if I should feel offended, I instead peered out the window. We were surrounded by honking cars, everyone in a hurry, but all stuck in the same place.

We sat in silence for only a few seconds before the driver began to speak again. "So, Harlem, huh? You'll have a great view of the old Avengers tower from there."

The Avengers tower. I had nearly forgotten all about them. Funny, considering that was the sole reason my mother was so adamant on me not moving. She worried constantly, but particularly about my safety. New York City always seemed to be stuck in the middle of some sticky situations, especially in these last few years. They were kind of ironic; they were meant to keep us safe, yet all they did was put us in danger.

Anyways.

The cabbie looked back at me again. "You know about them?"

"Who?" I asked. The driver laughed.

"The Avengers."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I do." Most of my friends were obsessed with them. My friend, Julia, strongly believed that one day she would be Mrs. Captain America.

"It's a shame the building is so beat-up." The driver frowned. He ran a calloused hand through his hair, but soon threw his hand on the passenger seat and looked back to me. I wondered briefly if he was Middle-Eastern, judging from his carmel-colored skin and ebony hair. "But let me ask you this, how does a girl like you find yourself in this place?"

I gave a small smile. I didn't think I looked too out of place, until I looked down and realized I had on my heavy University of Michigan sweatshirt on. "Well, I want to be a surgeon-a neurosurgeon, specifically, and I decided to do my residency at New York Hospital." I paused, but added a quick afterthought. "And hopefully study under Dr. Strange."

"Weird name. Never heard of him."

The conversation lulled after that. I took the opportunity to look outside the smudged glass again, taking in my surroundings. Wow. It was weird to finally understand that this was my new home. This huge city, with so many people, so many stories, so many places to explore and secrets to uncover. I closed my eyes, imagining my own future. I could just see myself walking on that cracked pavement, head held high and a smile on my face. I was probably doing some unordinary thing, like walking a little dog, or talking on the phone, or maybe even pushing a stroller-that was a definite maybe. But the point is, I never wanted anything more for myself than just a normal city-life. Yes, I wanted to succeed in what I did but I just wanted to be normal. The idea itself might seem odd, considering most of the people who leave their homes to come to the city desire for something big, like fame, or money, or even just love.

I just wanted to be happy.

"Here we are…Bradhurst Avenue!"

I gathered my bags into my arm, kicking the cab door open. "Thanks," I said as I threw a wad of bills into the backseat, "have a nice-"

The cab skidded away before I could finish, leaving behind tire tracks. Rude.

I looked behind me, taking in the sight. My apartment complex looked like a tall cinder-box with small, foggy windows. In fact, the whole street looked like that. There was no green, only gray and black.

Home, sweet home.

The rest of the day was a blur. My pint-sized apartment was filled to the brim with cardboard boxes (which I had decided to use for furniture). I spent the rest of my time attempting to organize my new life...and then giving up so I could eat take-out Chinese food. Around midnight, I finally fell asleep to the hum of the VCR, mixed with sirens, honking, and laughter echoing from the pub across the street. I instantly longed for the quiet nightlife of Michigan, but I eventually pulled it together to remind myself that this...this was me now.

In the morning I dragged myself out of the mattress on the floor, managing to take an ice-cold shower, braid my dripping hair, throw on some scrubs, and grab a red Solo cup filled with soggy oatmeal and head out the door in under 15 minutes (is there an Olympics for that sort of thing?).

The subway was a nightmare. Wedged between a hungover homeless man, and a mother with twins (both breast-feeding...at the same time), I realized that I really missed my old, trusty Volvo that I had cashed in so I could pay for my apartment. Anything is better that the New York subway system at 6:30 in the morning.

And then, I was there.

New York Hospital loomed over me. I should've felt excited, but as I stood, teetering in the entrance of the building, I suddenly felt like I could've thrown up. Right in the revolving doors.

I took a deep breath. Hey, Charlotte. You asked for this, I silently reprimanded myself, Don't give up on me now. We left your mother for this. Your mother.

After lurking in the doorway for almost four minutes, I somehow persuaded myself to hop in the rotating doors, and I was in.

The hospital stench hit me like a freight train. It smelled like a mixture of Lysol and puke, which was, I'll admit. This was my place, my environment. What I came here for.

"Charlotte Byers?"

A red-haired woman with a toothy smile had advanced upon me, clutching a clipboard. "You must be our new resident! I'm Christine, Christine Palmer."

I shook her extended hand, returning her smile. "Yeah, that's me." I paused, looking towards the clock. Crap. I was fifteen minutes late; so long to making a good first impression. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize I was-"

"Late? Yeah." Christine grinned, though it looked more like a grimace. "Too late for apologies, am I right?" She barked a laugh, but soon stopped to grab my wrist and began dragging me through the crowded lobby. "Anyways, we're behind, so let's just get you started."

We burst through a metallic set of doors, and into a long, LED-lit hallway. Doctors and nurses rushed by us, some chatting casually, and others pulling stretchers with various patients. Some looked just fine, others were obviously getting ready for surgery, and some were just...well, you don't come for hospitals for no reason. Let's just put it that way.

"I'm not the one in charge of telling you what and what not to do," Christine started. I jogged behind her, trying to keep up as turned sharply around a corner. God, I need to start working out. "But what I do know is you'll be with Strange for the first part of your residency. Like I said, no idea what you're doing but-" She halted in front of another set of double doors. I heard soft voices behind them, accompanied by... music? "You'll be just fine."

With a quick nudge, I was shoved through the doors. A flash of bright lights hit, nearly blinding me. Blinking hard, my eyesight slowly adjusted. I instantly recognized the shiny metal tools, glowing lamps, and beeping monitors; I was in an operation room. There were plenty of nurses and doctors in the large room, all hovering over the cadaver-or person, I suppose. And as for the music?

"I don't want to lose your love...tonight…!"

"Easy. 'Your Love' by the Outfield, 1985."

"Actually, I think it's '87…"

"Check it, then."

A pudgy man supervising the main computers huffed, quickly tapping his fingers on the keyboard. Seconds passed. "And it's…" His voice fell. "'85.'"

One of the doctors in the middle laughed, a scalpel hovering in his hand. His mouth was hidden behind a surgical mask, but by his twinkling blue eyes, I could tell he was smirking. "That's what I said. Give me something harder next time."

I didn't need to see his face to know who it was. That proud voice, his dusty gray hair, the mere precision with how he continued to carve into his patient, it was-

"Dr. Strange." I spat out. The room fell silent, and I could feel every eye on me. Usually, I would've been embarrassed by that, but the anticipation in me had burst like a bubble. "I'm Charlotte Byers," I continued, making a beeline to the doctor, "and I'm your new resident. Someone, or I guess Christine Palmer, told me to report to you. I'm just really…" I exhaled, realizing I had been holding my breath. "Really...honored."

Strange observed me silently, one of his bushy eyebrows raising. After a moment of silence he nodded understanding, passing his scalpel off to an assistant. He pulled his surgical mask down, letting me get a good look at him. Dr. Strange looked just the same as he did seven years ago; tall with a long, sharp face, hooded eyes, thin lips, and a high forehead. The only thing that seemed to have changed was the addition of a few gray hairs on the side of his head. "Charlotte, yes." His voice was low and warm. "I was told you'd show up one of these days. Remind me, what's your experience?"

I blinked. "Oh, experience. Uh, yeah…" I grabbed for the satchel bag that hung off my hip, digging around in the contents. "I think I have my resume around here somewhere… Um, well, I did my undergraduate at Indiana University, then moved to the University of Michigan for medical school… I'm aiming for neuroscience, but I've interned at lots of surgical clinics and have just as much experience with general surgery." Giving up with my search for the resume, I let my arms flop to my side and looked back to Strange, beaming. "You know, you're the reason I decided to go through with med school."

The room erupted into quiet aww's, but Doctor Strange stayed silent. He looked me over, as if assessing every one of my details, from head to toe. Finally, he spoke. "So I take it you're almost overqualified for this position then."

"Well, I wouldn't-"

"We need someone like you." Strange interrupted. I could practically feel my smile widening like the opening of curtains. I had dreamed of something like this for years, and here I was. Receiving praise from the one person I wanted to like me, to appreciate all the hard work I had put into this career. The stress, the late nights, the piles of books, all of it, was finally worth it.

"Let's see…" The doctor gazed at me thoughtfully, almost like he was looking through me. "What can you do?"

"I-I can do anything, I could be your assistant, I could track the patient's vital signs, I could-" He held his hand up, silencing me.

"You can mop the floors."