A Revelation of Rain

Seeking Hope

He rolled over in the huge bed, his pale blue-green eyes fixing on the digital display of the clock on the nightstand. 

3:00 am. Again. 

Once more, Stephen Strange was wide awake in the middle of the night. And he knew from experience that it would do no good to just burrow under the blankets again and try to return to sleep. Rest would not come. 

It rarely did anymore. With a sigh, he rose from the bed and padded barefoot to the window, where the high thin cirrus clouds caught the moonlight as they sailed overhead. The Sanctum was completely silent. Wong away with his new bride, Ming. Most of the staff dispatched back to Kamar Taj to help with the building of a new training wing. He was alone, save for one faithful servant. 

Making no sound, he walked to the door and out into the cold stone hall, then down the flight of stairs at the end to cross the foyer, tying on his robe, and entered into the darkness of the kitchen. Perhaps some warm milk. A cookie or two. Maybe something stronger than milk, if he could stomach it. His heart and mind were in turmoil, and he didn't know how that could ever be rectified. 

Tony Stark was dead. And he, the great Doctor Strange, had known what was to happen. Was powerless to avert the disaster. Not unless he wished to sacrifice half of the universe on the pyre of a mad Titan's vision. It had been a full year, and the entire world mourned the loss of their beloved Iron Man. Although he and Stephen had never exactly been friends, he was fond enough of the man that he mourned his passing. And he blamed himself. 

In the darkened kitchen, Stephen opened a few different cabinets, seeking any sort of bottle of alcohol. He wasn't much of a drinker, but Wong liked to imbibe upon occasion. Maybe he'd left something behind. Something to take the edge off the guilt, the exhaustion, the inability to sleep, the inexplicable sorrow that touched his soul. What a tragedy that death had been. What a monstrous and irreversible tragedy. A tragedy he felt to blame for. 

In the course of his searching, he dislodged a small teacup from its place on the shelf, and the fragile porcelain dish fell to the floor before he could react in time. The smashing sound seemed louder than a gunshot in the quiet night. With a groan, he stepped back to avoid the broken fragments, wondering if he even remembered where the broom was kept. 

"Master?" A light flicked on seconds later, and his personal servant stood in the entrance to the kitchen. In her shapeless work dress, hair neatly braided, slippers on her feet. Did she ever sleep? 

"Holly. Sorry to have woken you. I seem to have made a bit of a mess." 

Holly came fully into the kitchen, opening a small door set into the wall to get out the broom and dustpan. 'So that's where it is.' Stephen thought to himself. 

The young girl gestured to the kitchen table, bowing slightly. 

"Sit, Master, and relax. I'll clean this up. What can I get you? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Shall I make some tea?"

Stephen moved to the table and sat down in a chair, sighing. He didn't know what he was. Pensive? Worried? Guilt ridden? Angry? 

"I was looking for Wong's stash of brandy. Happen to know where he keeps it?"

Holly paused in her sweeping to look up at him. It was unusual for the Sorcerer Supreme to drink anything more potent than tea. But she rested the broom against the counter and knelt to draw out a bottle of brown liquid from beneath the counter. 

Quietly, she made a pot of strong tea and added brandy to it, bringing the steaming mug to the table along with the bottle in case he wanted more. 

"Forgive me, sir, but you seem unhappy. And not just tonight. You've been leaving your dinner trays untouched, been roaming the library until all hours of the morning, haven't smiled in months. Will you tell me what's troubling you? I would help alleviate it if I could."

Gratefully, Stephen accepted the mug and took a few deep swallows. The alcohol burned his throat, and he coughed slightly. Half a minute later, Holly was placing a ceramic plate of fresh buttered bread and oatmeal cookies near his left hand. Hiring her was the best decision he'd made to date. 

All at once, he decided to pour out his troubles to the girl. If nothing else, at least speaking them aloud might calm him down. 

"Tony Stark. You remember him? Iron Man. He died. A year ago tonight, in fact. He died to save the world, to save all worlds. He died, and I knew he would die, and I let it happen because it was the only way to save....everyone. But I should have done something. I should have tried harder to find a solution. I should have been right there to grab that Glove and..."

Holly came to the table, resting her hand on top of his. Her hazel eyes were serious.

"You would have died instead, sir. And the world would have been left without its Sorcerer Supreme."

"But he'd be alive."

"It's unlike you to be so final about death, sir. When you have such strong evidence of its impermanence." 

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, tilting his head.

"What do you mean?"

Holly picked up a cookie and put it into his hand, meaningfully. After a moment he obediently took a bite. Then she sat down at the table across from him. 

"When you want to study, but your body needs rest, what do you do?"

"Project my Astral Form, keep reading while the rest of me sleeps. Why?"

"Isn't that proof that there is some vital essence of the soul that exists independently from the body?"

All at once, he stopped chewing. 

"Say that again."

"The Astral Form proves that there is a soul. And if there is a soul, then the body is not all there is. And if the body is not all there is....then mightn't the soul be the only thing truly worth preserving?"

The room seemed to expand, the light seemed to grow brighter. Tossing down his cookie, the brandy-ladened tea untouched, Stephen rose to his feet and grabbed Holly's shoulders, shaking her. Smiling for the first time in ten months.

"YES! It DOES mean that! Holly, I could kiss you!"

"Not necessary, sir. Every Sunday off is all I really require."

But Stephen was already running from the room. Headed for his library, headed for the books he kept there. 

The books on finding this or that specific astral signature on other planes. The books on capturing them, bringing them back to the plane of your choosing without losing them. 

He didn't need to undo the past. He didn't need to resurrect Tony's body. That body was rotting in the ground, and of no use to anyone save the worms and the insects. The true essence of Tony COULD be found again! 

All he, Stephen, needed to do.....was find it.