Chasing Tornadoes - Stephen Strange

Sound Echoes

"God, you're insufferable!" You slammed your clipboard into Stephen's chest, it was surprisingly firm in a subtle way. You swallowed.

Stephen grabbed your wrist, not tightly, but firm enough to lock you in his grasp. He tugged, you moved forward against your wishes.

"And you're so goddamn stubborn," he whispered.

You shook your head, "I can't believe you went around my back and interfered with my patient! That wasn't your call. If I wanted your help, I'd ask for it!"

Stephen inched you towards the wall, back pressed to the familiar hospital walls. "You and I both know, I was the more qualified to handle this one."

Why is he being so blasé about all this? Your breath hitched when he moved in a little closer. Why is he so close?

"Steph—"

He cut you off, lips prompting a rise in euphoria as soon as they met yours. They were soft, supple. But there was a boldness beneath it. You whimpered, finding it strikingly good. Deliciously good. And then while your head spun and Stephen stole your breaths, your surroundings changed to the familiar navy blue of the OR.

You gasped and pushed Stephen softly, "How did we...?"

Stephen followed your gaze.

A group of surgeons, masked up and gloved up, were performing surgery on a banana. You stuttered, at a loss for words. Stephen shrugged, unphased and then moved his attention back to you. Lips a mere millimetre away.

You recoiled, "Stephen."

"What?" He asked, somewhat disappointed.

You pointed your ring finger at the operating table, "The banana."

"Oh, right," He turned. "How's our patient?"

A beeping noise sounded out. A fellow spoke: "He's going into cardiac arrest." The beeping stopped. "He's gone."

"I'm calling it, time of death—"

You were shaken from your sleep by the sudden reorientation. With a loud thud, you landed hard on your ass, the sheets tangling one foot.

You rubbed your eyes, vision coming back blurry and spotted, "What the hell kind of dream was that?" Your fingers trailed over your lips. Dry and chapped and sorely missing the softness of the dream. You groaned, in no mood to deal with some romance drama in the workplace.

You were roused from the floor by the sound of something breaking. With heavy eye-lids and noodle arms, you hoisted yourself up and walked towards the kitchen, the source of the sound.

Rich loam soil and four fragmented pieces of a flower pot lay scattered on the floor. A small root system was peeking out from under the stove; it belonged to a cactus. The last cactus you owned.

You groaned as your eyes trailed up to the former resting place of the now destroyed flower pot and saw Spike's fat reptilian body trying to slink away.

"Oh no you don't, you leathery cat," you hopped over the mess on the floor and grabbed Spike. You held him close to your face so you could stare into his eyes. "What is it with you and cactuses?"

Spikes tongue slithered out then in again before he let out a whiny growl.

You rolled your eyes and scolded him, "If you keep this up I'll put you up for adoption." You clicked your tongue in annoyance as you opened up the balcony door and let Spike down next to the arbour. "You stay out here and think about what you've done while I make breakfast."