[ He hadn't been expecting to have the full story already, but perhaps it's like ripping off a band-aid: getting it all out there in one rush, rather than Julia having to mete out her story in drips and drabs over the next several weeks or months. Maybe it's better to get it all done with at once.
She's standing just beside him, dispassionately working on his shoulder, and Stephen understands how useful it is that he can't see her face from this angle, and that he doesn't have to think about how to rearrange his own expression upon hearing these horrors. 'I'm sorry that happened to you' doesn't encompass it. He can't even conceive of it. So instead, when he finally speaks, his voice has a thread of sympathetic anger: ]
Fuck those gods. It sounds like you did the right thing, even if they retaliated. If there's one universal constant causing misery, it's beings who carry an inordinate power over others. They treat humans like ants. They misuse our desires. I've seen a man gone half-mad with grief over losing his family, trying to summon a god to be reunited with them, even if it would destroy our dimension— that god brought him to more misery in the end. I'm starting to suspect they always do.
[ He swivels in his seat, reaches up and catches her elbow; just enough to draw her attention back to him. ]
Julia. Listen. You'll always have a home here, if you need it. I grouse about them sometimes, but the Masters of the Mystic Arts can and do do good. They can be annoyingly principled, even, but I'd rather that over the alternative. They took me in when I was at loose ends and didn't have anywhere else to go. So if I can at all offer the same to you—
[ Because in one dizzying moment, it feels like he's looking at an even more shattered and broken version of himself. A chance to reach out the same helping hand which had lifted him up from the dirt. ]
[ Now that it's out there, she feels better for it. No more skirting around secrets and keeping things carefully out of context. There's no taking it back, she'll have to live with whatever the consequences of her confession might be, but at least she doesn't feel like she's hiding anymore.
Stephen's response surprises her in the best way. Fuck those gods, indeed. Gods are assholes, there's not anything that could convince her otherwise, and his agreement on that point just raises her estimation of him.
And then he breaks her heart and puts it back together in a way that hurts a little less. She can feel her soul healing with every uttered syllable and it makes her feel... ]
Thank you.
[ Wonder and gratitude fill her voice, giving more importance to two very simple words. She can't follow them with the typical you have no idea what that means to me because he does know. More than possibly anyone else on this entire planet, he knows how much those words mean to her, and because of that, she knows he doesn't say them lightly.
Lifting her free hand to rest gently on the back of his head, she leans in and presses a kiss to his hair. Normally, she'd hug him, but since he was just filleted by a giant spider, this will have to do instead. ]
[ After having doors being slammed in their face over and over, he knows the value of an open door, a turned key. He knows the value of having a place to land, and somewhere which promises answers. He'd latched onto it as a safety line for a drowning man, in a way he wouldn't have been able to predict beforehand. The Sanctum Sanctorum's name was more true for these two than most: a sanctuary, a sacred location.
That kiss to the top of his head is unexpected, too, but he finds it warming some old and forgotten hearth in his chest. Stephen was often so prickly and acerbic that casual physical affection didn't come easily to him, or others often didn't feel comfortable offering it. So he shifts on the chaise— a little skittish, like a cat unaccustomed to the fond contact, but he flashes her a reassuring smile to show it wasn't unwelcome.
He's still reeling from all that information, spinning loose as he jots it into his mental catalogue on Julia Wicker. And he has his own addendums they haven't covered yet — did I ever tell you about the time I died fourteen million times? — but they've probably plumbed enough awful shit for today. There's time.
Which reminds him— ]
I really did think I'd get us a bottle of wine or something before we had to talk about any of that.
[ That smiles helps. It clues her in that it wasn't a misstep, just maybe a little too much for the moment. She can work with that, factor it in, and change course accordingly. Which is easy to do when he shifts the subject like that.
Giving him a bright smile in return, she grabs the disinfectant for his shoulder. ]
Rain check. [ A pause, then her expression shifts into a smirk with just a hint of mischief. ] Unless you need something now to take the edge off. I'm sure these hurt like a bitch.
[ Though his tolerance is probably very different than it used to be, given what he went through with his hands. She can't even imagine the months he must have spent in constant pain as he went through one surgery and treatment after another.
[ Pain is an old friend, he thinks, as he girds himself for that acrid sting of disinfectant in the shoulder.. ]
It's fine. I'm used to it.
[ Because she's right: considering those long helpless months after the accident, and even the daily throb of nerve damage in his hands and which doesn't respond to average painkillers... these gouges were nothing. One of the most recurring tools in Stephen's arsenal was his ability to weather pain, and to suffer. It turned out that dying well was a skill like any other. ]
But there's a difference between need and want. I'll fetch us something after you're done here. What's your poison?
[ He's right, there is a big different between need and want. She's glad to know he realizes that — for more reasons than one. ]
If we're going straight: whiskey. Mixed: vodka gibson.
[ Julia knows her way around a bar, okay? She's tried just about every type of alcohol there is and experienced a full exciting array of hangover symptoms in the process. (The latter hadn't been nearly as much fun as the former.) Visiting the Physical Kids' cottage at Brakebills was always nice because even if everything was going to shit, the alcohol always flowed freely. ]
But I'm really not that picky. I'll drink anything that isn't super sweet. What about you?
Martinis in general. But if you really want to get on my good side, I'm partial to a lemon drop martini. Once we get you to the Bar With No Doors, [ and it was once, not if, because somewhere along the way he'd simply decided that he was going to score her an invitation to the exclusive, magic-users-only Manhattan bar, ] then you'll find that the menu there is all mai tais and tiki drinks. I've grown partial to them as a result. You might hate it if you're avoiding sweet things, though.
[ When Julia finally starts to apply the antiseptic, despite his insistence that he was fine, Stephen recoils a little; neck stiffening and shoulders curling in on himself, muscles tightening with the pain as he hisses. His fingers dig into the overpadded cushions of the chaise. It's always a shock, even if you're used to it and even if you're expecting it. ]
Remind me to bring more supplies next time someone calls me up talking about a spider. I thought it would be much smaller.
[ The Bar With No Doors. Of course he had an invitation to the swanky exclusive bar she'd only ever heard about in hushed conversations between those denied access. She'd always found their bitterness amusing, truth be told, and never really questioned why a magic bar had to be ultra-exclusive — she'd grown up rich in NYC; exclusivity is a way of life for her mother's people. ]
Sorry...
[ She murmurs the apology as she continues applying a generous coating of antiseptic, not wanting to take any chances after his earlier mention of toxins because, really, there's no telling what kind of germs that thing might have. But even with the practicality of the measure, she hates seeing the physical signs of the pain it's causing him. So, distraction time. Keep him talking through the worst of it. ]
What exactly were you expecting? A dog-sized spider monster? Something you could catch with a net?
Well... yes. A spider isn't typically larger than a fist, so dog- or wolf-sized would already be larger by several orders of magnitude. I wasn't expecting bison-sized.
[ Keeping the patter going is a perfect distraction while Stephen runs with it, his mouth still nattering away while Julia works; he sounds mildly aggrieved and maybe even a little affronted by the size of the creature, but there's a laugh hidden somewhere behind the complaint. ]
[ Sorry, Stephen, but she can't not laugh. Shelob nonsense. That's not something she would be a fan of either, and suddenly she has to wonder if those books are true too, and— Nope. One not-so-fictional world from her childhood is really all she can handle, thanks. ]
Maybe I've spent too much time in Fillory, but when I hear "monster" I expect it to be house-sized and require some ridiculously hard-to-find magical weapon to kill it.
[ Shaking her head in amusement, she caps the disinfectant and returns it to the table. ]
You'd make a good nurse. The bossiness goes hand-in-hand.
[ Stephen shifts on the chaise again, removing the gauze pad from his arm and then obligingly holding out his bare arm to be wrapped up in bandages. It wouldn't look much different from the arm-wraps he already wore as a sorcerer; the material just differed.
But, more to the point, his expression had rearranged itself into amused incredulity at her other comment. ]
Julia Wicker, have you fought house-sized monsters with hard-to-find magical weapons?
[ She's not surprised to hear that nurses tend to be on the bossy side. They're the ones who deal with patients on a regular basis, after all, and the ones who have to Get Shit Done when the doctors are off... doing their doctory things. It's not something she'll ever mention to Stephen but she's always had more respect for nurses than doctors for that very reason.
Removing a sterile bandage pad, she sets it over the wounds and then with a smirk starts wrapping the rolled gauze around his arm. ]
Well, he had a house-sized ego. But no, I've missed most of the actual monster fights so far. It's just been gods and goblins for me. And the occasional batshit evil magician.
Oh, I've got one of those too! His name is Mordo and he's dedicated his life to eradicating sorcerers.
[ Stephen says it lightly enough, managing to skim over it and make it sound like a joke, even if the other man's betrayal still stings. They had been friends; they had been brothers.
He holds himself still while Julia winds the gauze, but he really can't help but ask: ] What are goblins like?
[ Oh, wow, he really does have one of those. They'll have to compare notes on the evil magic users they've encountered sometime — maybe when they're already very drunk and the stories won't hit quite as hard. For now, light topics. ]
Invisible. Strong. And apparently obsessed with wooden spoons as weapons.
[ She'd never actually looked into whether it had to be spoons or if something else would have worked. Another kitchen utensil, perhaps? ]
Is this tight enough? It's been a couple years since I had to do this.
[ Stephen curls his fingers into a fist once more, flexing and twisting his arm, testing the range of motion before he says, ] You can go a little tighter.
[ Most people were a bit too wary of overdoing it, and they could always push it a little more than they thought. He still could've done this part himself, probably — his other arm was fine — but it turned out that it just felt nice letting someone else fuss over him for once. That light physical contact, the brush of her fingertips against his bare skin.
[ She makes a quiet hum of acknowledgment before unwinding the last bit and rewrapping it a little tighter. The act itself feels good. Being able to take care of someone else is nice. It's a connection, something she can do for someone she cares about, and it's something she knows how to do. Sort of. To an extent. ]
I don't really know much more than this. Q's always been pretty clumsy and he used to get into a lot of scrapes when we were growing up. Someone had to patch him up.
[ There's a warm fondness when she talks about her best friend, the most important person in her life who she's so grateful she hasn't lost despite her best efforts to fuck everything up. But miraculously, he's still on her side and she's still on his. ]
You've mentioned your friend a lot. Q. Tell me about him.
[ More amiable conversation, more distractions.
Over the last few weeks, Stephen has been open and talkative about Wong, the Ancient One, and scattered mentions of other masters, although he'd never talked much about his life or anyone he knew before becoming a sorcerer. Now she understands why a little better, although not whether it's from genuine caginess or if there just weren't that many friends to speak of — or, most likely, a mix of both. For all that he'd saved so many lives as a surgeon, his impact as a person had been negligible; forgettable.
From her mentions of the people she's known, he can already tell that Julia's had a different influence. She's younger than him but she's already moved between so many circles, touched so many lives. ]
[ She has mentioned Q a lot; talking about him is as natural as breathing. He's been a massive part of her life for so long that it felt like something had been carved out of her chest when she'd lost him. If anything like that ever happens again, she's not sure she'll survive it. ]
Quentin Coldwater. He's your typical socially awkward nerd but I've always loved that about him. We met when we were kids. I was obsessed with the Fillory books, reading them over and over, so Q did too. We used to pretend we were the Chatwins, planning our trip to Fillory — we actually drew a map of Fillory under a table and we'd just stay under there for hours.
[ Tying off the bandage on his forearm, she moves to his shoulder, which takes a bit more work. ]
Q's always suffered from depression. Before Brakebills, he'd check himself into clinics all the time, and he'd seriously considered... Some part of me always knew that I could lose him. [ She takes a deep breath, stilling with her hands holding the roll of gauze. ] Magic saved Q's life. It gave him hope, a reason to believe there was more to life than the boring everyday life he couldn't find joy in. He's why I'm doing this, him and everyone else who need that hope to keep going.
[ No matter what it takes, she'll keep trying. Even if it takes years, even if it takes everything she has, she will bring magic back. She doesn't have any other choice. ]
[ The corners of Stephen's eyes crinkle into a smile. Once again, it's so painfully familiar. The source of his own depression had been far more clear-cut — one single evening, a single mistake and a tumbling shell of rending metal and blood — but the same lifeline had given him hope. Had gotten him back up to his feet. ]
It seems there's more than a few of us like that. I think that's what drew me to magic, too, besides the obvious. It seems incompatible with cold hard science, but it's just another way of expanding your worldview, understanding more about what's happening under the hood. Microscopic germ particles causing disease seemed nigh-magical to people once upon a time, so who's to say that auras aren't the same? People can suffer from psychic parasites just like physical ones.
[ He leans forward, elbows propped against his knees, giving her better access to his wounded shoulder. ]
Once that door was open and I'd gotten that glimpse into the other room, so to speak, I couldn't close it again. Once you realise there's more to life than what you knew, it's hard to go back. Impossible, maybe.
That's how it was for me. Once I knew magic was real, I couldn't just forget. I couldn't go back to regular life knowing what was out there.
[ The roll of gauze is slowly unwound and wrapped around his shoulder, looping the bandage under his arm and around his chest to make sure it's well anchored. It might seem like a bit overkill but she doesn't want to risk the wound being too exposed or the bandage not applying proper pressure. Her movements become more confident as she goes, her fingers spreading out the gauze with ease before long. ]
I think I only could have gone back to a normal life if magic wasn't still out there. That's why I tried law school — I thought magic was gone. But when I figured out it wasn't... Well, here I am.
I think I could see you as a lawyer, to be honest. [ Smart as a whip, argumentative, doesn't take anyone's bullshit. ] But I'm glad you wound up back in magic, even if the current circumstances are— less than ideal.
[ Julia was learning her new language, picking up the masters' training, learning how to harness that energy drawn from other dimensions of the multiverse... which didn't bring them any closer to turning it on for the entire rest of her magician cadre, but at least it was something, and Doctor Strange was still researching it when he could. And in the meantime, that brightness in her eyes whenever she successfully cast another spell was certainly a thing to see.
Stephen rotates his arm, testing the flexibility on the gauze; it was a good fit. ]
Well done. Thank you. I could've gotten one of the apprentices to help out, most likely, but I wanted them to still take me seriously the next time I tell them to mop the foyer.
[ Law school wouldn't have been her choice a year ago; she'd considered it, sure, but it wasn't a Dream or anything. After everything she's been through, though, Julia has developed a need to do something with her life. She has to fight and put good out into the world and being a lawyer seemed like an easy way to do that.
She'd withdrawn from the program the same night she first made those sparks and her textbooks have been gathering dust ever since. ]
Mhmm, you mean you like them being nervous around you.
[ Yeah, she's noticed the way the apprentices seem just a bit terrified in his presence. He doesn't do anything to actively make them fear him, of course, but his aloof arrogance doesn't discourage it either. And she's pretty sure she's seen a twinkle in his eye a time or two when he gave instructions and they scrambled to follow them.
Shaking her head in exasperated amusement, she returns the leftover gauze to the pile of supplies before sitting next to him on the chaise, a bit more space between them than before. A comfortable distance, not too far but not too close. ]
Gasp, what are you talking about, I would never. [ Stephen makes his voice exaggeratedly deadpan-horrified, clearly taking the piss, although he's amused at the fact that she noticed. And then, because propriety is propriety, he makes a gesture like he's plucking a string out of midair and pulling it towards him: one of the heavy wardrobes opens, and a clean Columbia hoodie flies across the room, hitting him in the chest. He drags it slowly over his head with a grunt of effort, carefully tugging it over his injured shoulder and arms, and then he sinks back into the chaise. A shimmering light ripples over his combat-weathered trousers and changes them into sweatpants.
He offers an offhanded narration about the spell a moment later, unprompted, because he might have turned down Fogg's guest lecturer invites but he really does like to explain things: ]
The key is transforming something which is already there. It's a neat trick; I usually use it for getting suited up for a mission quickly, but it works the other way around too.
[ Julia's caught glimpses of him around the Sanctum in jeans and long-sleeved shirts, pared down, but full-on Weekend Stephen™ in sweatpants is another level down (or up?) in terms of comfort, and him relenting a bit in that careful curation of his appearance. Setting that mantle of the aloof sorcerer aside, because she's already seen past that brittle shell. ]
[ That mock-horrified protest has her grinning because of how completely ridiculous he sounds. Moments like these are some of her favorite that they've shared — when he lets his sense of humor really show. She'd love to see more of it.
It's with conscious effort that she specifically doesn't offer him help while he pulls on the sweatshirt. He'd already made a pretty big concession in asking her to help with his shirt earlier; she can let him have this one. And really, if she were in his shoes, she wouldn't want someone babying her and treating her like an invalid all the time when she was perfectly capable of a task. So she just watches, ready to swoop in if he really needs her to.
He doesn't. ]
I can definitely see the usefulness of that one.
[ Turning to face him, she pulls her legs up with her shoes hanging over the edge and props her arm on the lower back of her part of the chaise. She gives him an assessing once-over, then gestures at his outfit. ]
What, this? Lazy Weekend Chic? My old self would've been horrified to let you see it. [ He had been... high-maintenance in his past life, to put it mildly: expensive preening, meticulous coiffure, designer clothing, keeping up appearances. Somewhere after hitting rock-bottom, though, he'd stopped caring as much. Stephen still fussed over his looks for special occasions and as needed, but within the walls of the Sanctum Sanctorum was another matter entirely; it was home. He could let the guard down. ]
I can get us those drinks, too. Least I could do to repay you for responding on such short notice.
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ourladytrees) wrote2022-06-18 12:21 am
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She's standing just beside him, dispassionately working on his shoulder, and Stephen understands how useful it is that he can't see her face from this angle, and that he doesn't have to think about how to rearrange his own expression upon hearing these horrors. 'I'm sorry that happened to you' doesn't encompass it. He can't even conceive of it. So instead, when he finally speaks, his voice has a thread of sympathetic anger: ]
Fuck those gods. It sounds like you did the right thing, even if they retaliated. If there's one universal constant causing misery, it's beings who carry an inordinate power over others. They treat humans like ants. They misuse our desires. I've seen a man gone half-mad with grief over losing his family, trying to summon a god to be reunited with them, even if it would destroy our dimension— that god brought him to more misery in the end. I'm starting to suspect they always do.
[ He swivels in his seat, reaches up and catches her elbow; just enough to draw her attention back to him. ]
Julia. Listen. You'll always have a home here, if you need it. I grouse about them sometimes, but the Masters of the Mystic Arts can and do do good. They can be annoyingly principled, even, but I'd rather that over the alternative. They took me in when I was at loose ends and didn't have anywhere else to go. So if I can at all offer the same to you—
[ Because in one dizzying moment, it feels like he's looking at an even more shattered and broken version of himself. A chance to reach out the same helping hand which had lifted him up from the dirt. ]
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Stephen's response surprises her in the best way. Fuck those gods, indeed. Gods are assholes, there's not anything that could convince her otherwise, and his agreement on that point just raises her estimation of him.
And then he breaks her heart and puts it back together in a way that hurts a little less. She can feel her soul healing with every uttered syllable and it makes her feel... ]
Thank you.
[ Wonder and gratitude fill her voice, giving more importance to two very simple words. She can't follow them with the typical you have no idea what that means to me because he does know. More than possibly anyone else on this entire planet, he knows how much those words mean to her, and because of that, she knows he doesn't say them lightly.
Lifting her free hand to rest gently on the back of his head, she leans in and presses a kiss to his hair. Normally, she'd hug him, but since he was just filleted by a giant spider, this will have to do instead. ]
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That kiss to the top of his head is unexpected, too, but he finds it warming some old and forgotten hearth in his chest. Stephen was often so prickly and acerbic that casual physical affection didn't come easily to him, or others often didn't feel comfortable offering it. So he shifts on the chaise— a little skittish, like a cat unaccustomed to the fond contact, but he flashes her a reassuring smile to show it wasn't unwelcome.
He's still reeling from all that information, spinning loose as he jots it into his mental catalogue on Julia Wicker. And he has his own addendums they haven't covered yet — did I ever tell you about the time I died fourteen million times? — but they've probably plumbed enough awful shit for today. There's time.
Which reminds him— ]
I really did think I'd get us a bottle of wine or something before we had to talk about any of that.
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Giving him a bright smile in return, she grabs the disinfectant for his shoulder. ]
Rain check. [ A pause, then her expression shifts into a smirk with just a hint of mischief. ] Unless you need something now to take the edge off. I'm sure these hurt like a bitch.
[ Though his tolerance is probably very different than it used to be, given what he went through with his hands. She can't even imagine the months he must have spent in constant pain as he went through one surgery and treatment after another.
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It's fine. I'm used to it.
[ Because she's right: considering those long helpless months after the accident, and even the daily throb of nerve damage in his hands and which doesn't respond to average painkillers... these gouges were nothing. One of the most recurring tools in Stephen's arsenal was his ability to weather pain, and to suffer. It turned out that dying well was a skill like any other. ]
But there's a difference between need and want. I'll fetch us something after you're done here. What's your poison?
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If we're going straight: whiskey. Mixed: vodka gibson.
[ Julia knows her way around a bar, okay? She's tried just about every type of alcohol there is and experienced a full exciting array of hangover symptoms in the process. (The latter hadn't been nearly as much fun as the former.) Visiting the Physical Kids' cottage at Brakebills was always nice because even if everything was going to shit, the alcohol always flowed freely. ]
But I'm really not that picky. I'll drink anything that isn't super sweet. What about you?
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[ When Julia finally starts to apply the antiseptic, despite his insistence that he was fine, Stephen recoils a little; neck stiffening and shoulders curling in on himself, muscles tightening with the pain as he hisses. His fingers dig into the overpadded cushions of the chaise. It's always a shock, even if you're used to it and even if you're expecting it. ]
Remind me to bring more supplies next time someone calls me up talking about a spider. I thought it would be much smaller.
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Sorry...
[ She murmurs the apology as she continues applying a generous coating of antiseptic, not wanting to take any chances after his earlier mention of toxins because, really, there's no telling what kind of germs that thing might have. But even with the practicality of the measure, she hates seeing the physical signs of the pain it's causing him. So, distraction time. Keep him talking through the worst of it. ]
What exactly were you expecting? A dog-sized spider monster? Something you could catch with a net?
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[ Keeping the patter going is a perfect distraction while Stephen runs with it, his mouth still nattering away while Julia works; he sounds mildly aggrieved and maybe even a little affronted by the size of the creature, but there's a laugh hidden somewhere behind the complaint. ]
Absolute Shelob nonsense. I'm not a fan.
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Maybe I've spent too much time in Fillory, but when I hear "monster" I expect it to be house-sized and require some ridiculously hard-to-find magical weapon to kill it.
[ Shaking her head in amusement, she caps the disinfectant and returns it to the table. ]
All done with that part. Bandage time.
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[ Stephen shifts on the chaise again, removing the gauze pad from his arm and then obligingly holding out his bare arm to be wrapped up in bandages. It wouldn't look much different from the arm-wraps he already wore as a sorcerer; the material just differed.
But, more to the point, his expression had rearranged itself into amused incredulity at her other comment. ]
Julia Wicker, have you fought house-sized monsters with hard-to-find magical weapons?
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Removing a sterile bandage pad, she sets it over the wounds and then with a smirk starts wrapping the rolled gauze around his arm. ]
Well, he had a house-sized ego. But no, I've missed most of the actual monster fights so far. It's just been gods and goblins for me. And the occasional batshit evil magician.
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[ Stephen says it lightly enough, managing to skim over it and make it sound like a joke, even if the other man's betrayal still stings. They had been friends; they had been brothers.
He holds himself still while Julia winds the gauze, but he really can't help but ask: ] What are goblins like?
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Invisible. Strong. And apparently obsessed with wooden spoons as weapons.
[ She'd never actually looked into whether it had to be spoons or if something else would have worked. Another kitchen utensil, perhaps? ]
Is this tight enough? It's been a couple years since I had to do this.
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[ Most people were a bit too wary of overdoing it, and they could always push it a little more than they thought. He still could've done this part himself, probably — his other arm was fine — but it turned out that it just felt nice letting someone else fuss over him for once. That light physical contact, the brush of her fingertips against his bare skin.
As Julia tucked in the edges again: ]
Where did you pick up first aid?
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I don't really know much more than this. Q's always been pretty clumsy and he used to get into a lot of scrapes when we were growing up. Someone had to patch him up.
[ There's a warm fondness when she talks about her best friend, the most important person in her life who she's so grateful she hasn't lost despite her best efforts to fuck everything up. But miraculously, he's still on her side and she's still on his. ]
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[ More amiable conversation, more distractions.
Over the last few weeks, Stephen has been open and talkative about Wong, the Ancient One, and scattered mentions of other masters, although he'd never talked much about his life or anyone he knew before becoming a sorcerer. Now she understands why a little better, although not whether it's from genuine caginess or if there just weren't that many friends to speak of — or, most likely, a mix of both. For all that he'd saved so many lives as a surgeon, his impact as a person had been negligible; forgettable.
From her mentions of the people she's known, he can already tell that Julia's had a different influence. She's younger than him but she's already moved between so many circles, touched so many lives. ]
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Quentin Coldwater. He's your typical socially awkward nerd but I've always loved that about him. We met when we were kids. I was obsessed with the Fillory books, reading them over and over, so Q did too. We used to pretend we were the Chatwins, planning our trip to Fillory — we actually drew a map of Fillory under a table and we'd just stay under there for hours.
[ Tying off the bandage on his forearm, she moves to his shoulder, which takes a bit more work. ]
Q's always suffered from depression. Before Brakebills, he'd check himself into clinics all the time, and he'd seriously considered... Some part of me always knew that I could lose him. [ She takes a deep breath, stilling with her hands holding the roll of gauze. ] Magic saved Q's life. It gave him hope, a reason to believe there was more to life than the boring everyday life he couldn't find joy in. He's why I'm doing this, him and everyone else who need that hope to keep going.
[ No matter what it takes, she'll keep trying. Even if it takes years, even if it takes everything she has, she will bring magic back. She doesn't have any other choice. ]
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It seems there's more than a few of us like that. I think that's what drew me to magic, too, besides the obvious. It seems incompatible with cold hard science, but it's just another way of expanding your worldview, understanding more about what's happening under the hood. Microscopic germ particles causing disease seemed nigh-magical to people once upon a time, so who's to say that auras aren't the same? People can suffer from psychic parasites just like physical ones.
[ He leans forward, elbows propped against his knees, giving her better access to his wounded shoulder. ]
Once that door was open and I'd gotten that glimpse into the other room, so to speak, I couldn't close it again. Once you realise there's more to life than what you knew, it's hard to go back. Impossible, maybe.
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[ The roll of gauze is slowly unwound and wrapped around his shoulder, looping the bandage under his arm and around his chest to make sure it's well anchored. It might seem like a bit overkill but she doesn't want to risk the wound being too exposed or the bandage not applying proper pressure. Her movements become more confident as she goes, her fingers spreading out the gauze with ease before long. ]
I think I only could have gone back to a normal life if magic wasn't still out there. That's why I tried law school — I thought magic was gone. But when I figured out it wasn't... Well, here I am.
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[ Julia was learning her new language, picking up the masters' training, learning how to harness that energy drawn from other dimensions of the multiverse... which didn't bring them any closer to turning it on for the entire rest of her magician cadre, but at least it was something, and Doctor Strange was still researching it when he could. And in the meantime, that brightness in her eyes whenever she successfully cast another spell was certainly a thing to see.
Stephen rotates his arm, testing the flexibility on the gauze; it was a good fit. ]
Well done. Thank you. I could've gotten one of the apprentices to help out, most likely, but I wanted them to still take me seriously the next time I tell them to mop the foyer.
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She'd withdrawn from the program the same night she first made those sparks and her textbooks have been gathering dust ever since. ]
Mhmm, you mean you like them being nervous around you.
[ Yeah, she's noticed the way the apprentices seem just a bit terrified in his presence. He doesn't do anything to actively make them fear him, of course, but his aloof arrogance doesn't discourage it either. And she's pretty sure she's seen a twinkle in his eye a time or two when he gave instructions and they scrambled to follow them.
Shaking her head in exasperated amusement, she returns the leftover gauze to the pile of supplies before sitting next to him on the chaise, a bit more space between them than before. A comfortable distance, not too far but not too close. ]
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He offers an offhanded narration about the spell a moment later, unprompted, because he might have turned down Fogg's guest lecturer invites but he really does like to explain things: ]
The key is transforming something which is already there. It's a neat trick; I usually use it for getting suited up for a mission quickly, but it works the other way around too.
[ Julia's caught glimpses of him around the Sanctum in jeans and long-sleeved shirts, pared down, but full-on Weekend Stephen™ in sweatpants is another level down (or up?) in terms of comfort, and him relenting a bit in that careful curation of his appearance. Setting that mantle of the aloof sorcerer aside, because she's already seen past that brittle shell. ]
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It's with conscious effort that she specifically doesn't offer him help while he pulls on the sweatshirt. He'd already made a pretty big concession in asking her to help with his shirt earlier; she can let him have this one. And really, if she were in his shoes, she wouldn't want someone babying her and treating her like an invalid all the time when she was perfectly capable of a task. So she just watches, ready to swoop in if he really needs her to.
He doesn't. ]
I can definitely see the usefulness of that one.
[ Turning to face him, she pulls her legs up with her shoes hanging over the edge and props her arm on the lower back of her part of the chaise. She gives him an assessing once-over, then gestures at his outfit. ]
I like this look on you. You look comfortable.
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I can get us those drinks, too. Least I could do to repay you for responding on such short notice.
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