It's Not About You

Strange Days Ahead

   Time will tell how much I love you.
   Christine.

   He'd read those words so many times he'd all but lost count.

   Standing there in the attic of the New York sanctum, nothing but his Cloak of Levitation for company, Strange continues to stare at his broken wristwatch. A thousand different emotions play tag through his mind, but above all he just feels tired. Thoroughly exhausted.

   It's not a new feeling for him; being in the operating theater for hours at a time, painstakingly performing lifesaving surgery can have the same effect. But this time Strange isn't burdened with the responsibility of saving just one life. This time he carries the fate of millions in his scarred and crooked hands.

   With a worn fingertip Strange touches the back of the watch, where Christine's message is engraved into the steel.

   What I wouldn't give to just feel normal again.

   Strange scowls; the cuts and bruises on his face sting in protest.

   Maybe she'll forgive me then.

   The thought of Christine eases some of the tension from his shoulders. He wonders if she's worried about him. Ever since he left her at the hospital and ran off to stop Dormammu, Strange couldn't get her off his mind. He just saved the world; would she even care?

   Uncertainties colour his thoughts.

   His arrogance had always made things tense between them. For so long he'd been a fool, obsessed with his work, always convinced that he was right in each and every situation. It never once occurred to him that there was an entire world outside of his own ego.

   Christine, in her own fussy way, often told him how selfish he is.

   Of course, he brushed her off, scoffing.

   How could he, the greatest neurosurgeon on the planet, ever be called selfish when his job was to save people's lives?

   Strange pensively stares out the window by his side.

   His time at Kamar-Taj finally taught him how blind he'd been. Life suddenly had an entirely new side to it, but even then Strange had been so caught up with his training, spellwork, and a massive load of guilt, that he never made time to talk to Christine. Really talk to her.

   Strange glances down at the cracked watch face in his trembling fingers.

   He likes Christine. A lot. He hasn't quite mustered the courage to say that he loves her, but the thought of her once more brings a flurry of questions to the forefront of his thoughts.

   What if she is worried about him? Maybe she's still at the hospital, doing paperwork, but unable to focus because he hadn't stopped by to say everything's alright. He did make it sound like he was off to do something dangerous when they last spoke; heck, he was supposed to fend off an invasion that would've destroyed the planet. Did she care about whether or not he got hurt?

   A frown gathers on his brow.

   He recalls how she freaked out that one time he was stabbed in the chest. Will she act the same way if she saw him now, bruised and beaten from his battle with Kaecillius? What would she do if he told her he bargained with a ruthless, tyrannical being that lives outside of time in a place called the Dark Dimension?

   Strange grins wryly.

   No way she'll believe me.

   If anything, she would listen to his story with narrowed eyes, and when he'd finished, she'd point accusingly at him and say, "Everything's about you, Stephen, isn't it?"