[ The doctor doesn't rush, even though this is agony. Because memory loss is a kind of death, and he can't afford any slip-ups here. His hands might not be steady anymore, but his magical senses are firm and unwavering as he combs through Julia's mind with methodical attention-to-detail, until in the end, he has to call it and decide that that's enough. That he thinks he's eradicated every last shred of it. That he believes in himself enough to conclude it's done.
So he lets go, and that pain finally subsides. Unthinkingly, and mirroring her motion of weeks and months before, he brushes some disheveled hair back from Julia's forehead. And he finally unclenches his jaw and sinks back into one of the wooden library chairs, his elbows against the table beside her, his quivering hands scrubbing at his face. He looks more harrowed than he would've ordinarily let someone see, but it's been a while — years now — since he's had to plumb through someone's mind with so much delicacy, even while he was razing and burning. It's the closest thing to surgery that he's done since becoming a sorcerer.
And then, because despite Stephen's belief in himself, he does still have a trembling fear that maybe he went too far and ripped out too much and left her vegetative and with no memory after all, he has to check: ]
Name? Where were you born? Where are you now? Can you name a few items in this room?
[ When the pain ends, it's like flipping a switch. It just stops, leaving a sensation like an afterimage of looking directly at light — she remembers the impression of it but the source has vanished as if it was never there, to begin with.
Or maybe she was just in too much pain before the magical brain surgery that she doesn't notice the addition of any lingering effects. Either way, it's suddenly easier to breathe and think and be. Her muscles loosen and tremble slightly as the tension seeps from her body. ]
Julia Wicker. [ Because of course, she answers his questions, her voice quiet and a little hoarse. ] Montclair, New Jersey. The Sanctum Sanctorum. Stephen Strange, the Cloak of Levitation, and a very uncomfortable table.
[ Turning her head to look at him properly, the smile she offers him is a ghost of what she usually manages but at least it's something. ] You did it. Thank you.
[ Bone-deep relief, which comes out as a touch of levity: lowering his hands and clasping them in front of him, scrutinising her from his (bedside? tableside?) seat. She'd remembered who she was. She's still cognisant. Good. ]
I actually haven't done magical surgery like that before. I guess there's a first time for everything.
[ Maybe Stephen shouldn't admit to that vulnerability, that gap in his expertise — he certainly wouldn't have if this were a regular operation and a regular surgery and his realm of expertise, lord of his domain at MGH — but they're already past the crux of it, so whatever's gonna happen now is gonna happen. What's done is done. ]
[ There's that sense of humor she's been missing fiercely all these months away. It hadn't all been doom and gloom, but as the quest progressed, things had gotten... hard, especially on her own quest, if that's what you could even call it. Her journey toward becoming what she is now. Or was. She's not quite sure what she is after Blackspire. ]
You're the only person I trusted to do it.
[ He's the only person she trusts, period, right now. Wong and some of the other sorcerers, sure, but only on a superficial level. When it really mattered and the stakes were astronomically high, only Stephen makes that list. But she can't just leave it at that; the corners of her lips turn up in a smirk and she lets her own humor peek out. ]
[ Mind magic was one of the most delicate and precarious and dangerous to toy around with. He'd fucked up spells before: a rushed job with the Runes of Kof-Kol, the multiverse ripping at the seams, an ensuing strange blank spot in his own memory that remained annoyingly vague no matter how much he raked it over the coals. So if he's actually managed it this time, and saved Julia from an even worse fate and an even worse blank slate? Thank god. ]
"Not fucking it up" is a fantastic celebratory toast. It's so universally-applicable. I'll have to keep that one in mind and break it out whenever relevant.
[ He reaches out, rests his hand on hers. I missed you, he thinks, but pivots and amends the phrasing at the last second: ]
It's good to see you. I'd wondered how you were doing. [ I worried. ] Should we get you to a more comfortable bed and then you can tell me who the hell spiked you with an amnesia potion?
[ Another quick adjustment, oh god, he keeps shoving his foot in his mouth when he's frazzled like this: ]
To your bed, I mean. The Sanctum left it untouched. Your room is still here.
[ Fuck, she's missed him. Even with him sitting right beside her, she can feel the ache of his absence still lingering, that emptiness she hadn't realized was so profound until now. Focusing on the quest had kept her moving forward, distracting her from that hole in herself, and now that she's back, the idea of leaving again is devastating. ]
Bed sounds good.
[ She can't help but smile at his quick scramble to correct course — he's so cute whenever he does that. Turning her hand over beneath his, she wraps her fingers around his scarred ones and gives a gentle squeeze before struggling to sit up. She's halfway up when a thought suddenly occurs to her and she looks at him with fear and worry written across her expression. ]
Is it safe for me to stay here? Not for me, but— The people who did this, it's the Library and Irene McAllistair. If they come looking for me...
[ Will they come looking for her? They couldn't possibly expect her to come here, of all places. And even if they do realize where she fled to, would they really come knocking at the Sanctum's door and risk stirring up trouble with the Masters of the Mystic Arts when they would be certain their spell worked and she wouldn't remember a thing about what they'd done?
The Library is powerful, even more so now that they apparently control the Wellspring. Honestly, Julia doesn't believe the Order will risk damaging any relationship they have with the Masters by hunting down one wayward magician. Irene McAllistair, though... She's one of the rich and powerful among magicians and Julia's really fucked with her shit lately, and since the entitled tend to feel like they can do whatever the hell they want and get away with it, who knows when she might go off the rails. ]
I don't want to cause problems for you and the other Masters.
[ Surprise flickers across his face at actually recognising the players involved. Fillory and its denizens was largely a blank spot for him, but the Library of the Neitherlands was a valuable resource, a relatively close multiversal partner; the Masters occasionally made use of their facilities for research. But at Julia's doubt, he instantly shakes his head, not a question in his mind. ]
If they come looking for you, they'll find a closed and locked door and a barricade. The Sanctum and the Masters take our role as sanctuary seriously. We've taken people in and sheltered them from worse than the McAllistairs.
[ He thinks of America, sheltering at Kamar-Taj and all of the sorcerers banding together to protect her, regardless of the fact that they didn't even know her yet. It hadn't gone well, but... Irene McAllistair might be a talented magician and a known name (her family was the sort of rich moneyed echeleon Stephen might have recognised even before being steeped in magic), but at the end of the day, she was still just a magician. She wasn't the Scarlet Witch. ]
Trust me: as far as bogeymen go, we can handle them. And if the worse comes to worst, the Sanctum temporarily relocates. It's not actually just a building in Greenwich Village. [ Which was probably apparent by the fact that it was bigger on the inside than out, occupying a pocket dimension of its own — he could move it to the moon, if he liked — but it's worth saying aloud. ]
[ Some part of Julia wants to protest, insist it's too much trouble and risk just for her, but another part of her sinks into the comfort of being protected. She wraps it around herself like a warm blanket and, for the first time since she stepped into the Sanctum tonight, she really feels like she's home. ]
Thank you.
[ To Stephen. To the Sanctum. To the cloak. To every single Master and apprentice who has devoted themselves to the protection of those who need it most. The universe is a better place because of them and so few will ever know it. Their good deeds with go unacknowledged and they know that — that's not why they do it. She'd been so close to being able to live a life like that, but now...
Shaking herself out of those thoughts, Julia forces herself the rest of the way upright, struggling a little but still managing. She swings her legs over the side of the table, looking down at her boots that dangle above the floor, and then sighs heavily. ]
I don't think I can walk on my own. Would you mind...?
[ Whether she's talking to Stephen or the cloak, it doesn't really matter. She needs help and she's reaching out for it, just like he had that night with the spider. ]
[ And they're not just dependent on the cloak or the portals. Now that no one's bleeding or having their sense of self dribbling out through their ears, and it's safer to operate the spells (parameters, sometimes it does all come down to parameters, just like the magic she's used to), Stephen stands up and sets his hand on her shoulder. He doesn't need the physical contact, but it's mostly just to steady her. Because he concentrates, and then without even a visible gesture, it's like he tugs the universe just a few inches to the left —
The Sanctum simply rearranges itself around them in a small gust of displaced air, and instead of sitting on the edge of the library table, Julia's suddenly sitting on the soft edge of her bed instead. Familiar bedspread made and tucked in at the corners, the room a little musty from long inattention, but otherwise looking exactly as she left it (and still, as ever, those trees in the wallpaper). Stephen's standing beside her bed now, and his hand is still braced against her shoulder so she doesn't just wobble and fall over.
He'd been more brusque and inconsiderate when doing the same thing with the Asgardians' visit, like yanking the rug out from under Thor and just letting the god reel and trip over himself into bookcases and down the stairs — Stephen can be spiteful at times, it's a character flaw — but he tried to make the transition easier for Julia. It's a little disorienting, having the entire world simply shuffle itself around you and finding yourself in a new location between heartbeats. ]
[ It is disorienting, but mainly for the fact that she hadn't initiated the shift herself. For the last few weeks, she'd been able to transport herself and others in the blink of an eye, moving much like a Traveler but with infinitely better control because she'd been able to see where she was going before she arrived. She'd been able to see everything, she'd been connected to everything...
She's not connected to anything anymore. Julia is a tiny speck on a rock floating in space once more, her ability to be more and do more torn away by her own hand. The universe had been at her fingertips and she'd given it up of her own free will. ]
Showoff.
[ She doesn't regret her decision — how could she? Even with the Library taking control of the Wellspring, magic is back in the world and the power imbalance isn't an impossible problem to solve. But there's still sadness in her voice where she intended gently jibing humor, and she can feel her throat tightening with emotion. ]
I'm sorry.
[ What is she apologizing for? Not being strong enough to take her fate without tears? Because there they are, blurring her vision and burning her skin as they slip down her cheeks. For placing her pain upon him again, the way she'd done months ago? Because she reaches up to grasp his hand on her shoulder, taking away his easy escape route in her silent request for his continued presence. Or is she apologizing to herself for all she could have been and now never will be?
[ While she reaches for his hand, he leans in with the other one and carefully swipes the tears from her cheeks with curled knuckles. Brushing them from her skin with a tender touch that perhaps not everyone might've expected from the aloof doctor. ]
Don't apologise.
[ Stephen doesn't even know what she's apologising for, but he delivers the command decisively anyway, granting her a direction. He takes a guess at what might lie behind her apologies, and manages to land on at least one of the reasons: ]
Truly, I've brought far worse things chasing my heels to this building's doorstep. Believe me. If you thought that spider-demon was a problem...
[ He's trying to cheer Julia up with that levity, that downplaying of the Library potentially nipping at her heels, but his voice softens and turns serious again a moment later. And he lets go of her hand, but he exchanges it for sinking to the mattress himself, perching on it beside her, shoulder-to-shoulder. ]
[ His knuckles against her cheek feel almost like a blessing, some form of grace being bestowed upon her to soothe her weary soul. It gives her the strength, along with his order, to pull herself out of the hole before she can spiral too deep.
She'll have to ask him for some of those stories later, maybe when she's headed toward another dive into self-pity and needs a good distraction. He can be pretty good at that when he puts his mind to it. ]
We did it. [ She looks at his knees beside hers, feeling too tired to turn to look at him properly. ] It took a while, and it didn't happen like we'd planned, but we did it. Magic's back.
[ Funny, she doesn't sound happy about it. Magic being back is a good thing, she'd done this because she'd believed that with her entire being, and yet... The darkest part of her has to wonder if it was worth the cost. ]
[ And likely just as expected, Stephen sounds puzzled. This was everything she'd been working towards for so long; it was the culmination of what she'd been fighting and studying and striving for, and yet she doesn't sound anywhere near as triumphant or happy about it as he expected. His question is slow, prompting: ]
So you succeeded? It was a victory?
[ But even as he says it, he immediately knows that there's something he doesn't know yet. Some wrinkle in the plan, some catch in how it played out. Be careful what you wish for, he thinks. He'd seen it over and over in his own life: success, but at what cost. ]
Seven keys unlocked the backdoor to magic. Prometheus created them because he knew one day it would be needed, but it took all his divine power to do it. The quest was to find the keys and we did it. We were so close, and then—
[ Q's pain in the face of what Alice had done still reverberates through her, the memory ingrained in her soul. His anguish had called to her with such strength it had been impossible to ignore. Iris had told her to let go of her connections but that was the one thing Julia was incapable of doing. She sighs heavily and lifts a hand to wearily rub at her eyes. ]
The keys were destroyed by someone who thought she was doing the right thing, and the only way to remake them was with the power of a god.
[ There are specks of glitter on her fingertips as her hand falls to her lap and she realizes how ridiculous she must look. Like she'd gone somewhere in costume, a lowly hedge witch pretending at being a goddess. ]
[ If Julia were still in possession of her full godly powers, Stephen would have been able to pick up on it. Like when his general monitoring had picked up on Thor and Loki's arrival on Earth, all the magical sensors clamouring and wailing at the weight of the gods' presence, so he'd been able to reach out and contact them and bring them to 177A Bleecker Street. But now, with Julia — the specks of glitter, that low radiant light when he'd peered into her aura, like a campfire which had been violently doused with water, nothing but smouldering embers left behind — he can't fully put his finger on what's different. He hadn't seen her in her complete radiance, and now, diminished, her signature is back to regular mortality. Similar to what they'd worked with during her whole tenure at the Sanctum, when she'd been a magician with only that little golden spark left behind, that touch of godliness... and now there isn't even that. ]
You didn't have another run-in with Our Lady of the Underground, did you? Or her— son?
[ Julia huffs something that might have been a laugh in another life, tipping her head back to look up at the ceiling. It's not a particularly interesting view. ]
Yeah, actually, but not at the end. It was...
[ Where is she supposed to start? In all the months since she'd left, so much has happened, all of it messy and intertwined with the quest, a destiny she'd been heading toward ever since Jane Chatwin decided she would be the one thing altered in this timeline. By keeping her from Brakebills, everything changed. ]
The reason I could do magic was because OLU gave me his spark. She gave me the seed of his power to grow and I did. I saved fairies from slavery. I healed Dean Fogg's eyes. I restored the forest and grew crops for starving farmers.
[ It feels like an ax swinging through the air as she turns to look at Stephen, a sense of finality in the room that she can almost reach out and touch. Once she says it out loud, it will be undeniably real. ]
He's a shell now, living in a shitty apartment and delivering pizzas. He's powerless but he's still a god. I wonder if I'm like that now. If I'll have to live like this forever or—
[ It's a very serious situation, he is trying to take this seriously, but Stephen Strange can't help that baffled lilt to his voice. Her description of her activities, which sounds very much like performing miracles and answering prayers. Still a god. Wonder if I'm like that now. Live like this.
He resists the urge to just dig into her aura again and go rifling for information, searching for that divine spark, when he can just be a normal person and ask her. ]
I mean, just for absolute crystal-clarity. To be sure we're using the same vocabulary here. You became a full-fledged goddess? You're a goddess now? An actual, real-life goddess?
[ He doesn't say anything about her appearance: the smeared mascara, the spilled glitter, the general look of Julia having stumbled into the Sanctum from an all-nighter masquerade party, rumpled and wrung-out and tired. But if she says it right-out, then he'll believe her. ]
[ It sounds crazy when it puts it like that, but crazy is what they do, isn't it? They live in a universe with magic and aliens, time travel and fictional worlds they can visit. All of it is absolutely bonkers but that doesn't make it any less real. So she nods with grave seriousness. ]
Yes. At least, I was. I don't know what I am now. [ She looks down at their knees again, the joy and excitement over being a goddess now long gone. ] They called me Our Lady of the Tree, which was very formal but... I was going to create new worlds. I was going to be better than the others, do what gods are supposed to and help people.
[ And she did. She did help people, and she's going to continue helping them. She's just... not sure how yet. ]
[ Compared to the way Julia had rattled off her life story to him, once upon a time, this retelling is more scattershot and halting, the details coming wrenched out of her in meandering detours.
But Stephen's smart, and he can connect the dots. The trailing gaps she hasn't said aloud but where the connotations and the implications still sit, weighty with significance. And he draws that straight line from A to B to C, around what Julia is both saying and isn't saying, and he inhales a breath. ]
You said it took all of Prometheus' divine power to create the keys, and that remaking them took the power of a god.
[ If she weren't exhausted and didn't feel like someone had scraped magic out of her with a rusty spoon, she might be a good deal more coherent. But after the last few hours ago, she's lucky she can string together two sentences at all, so it's a good thing he's a very smart man with skill in connecting dots. ]
Yep. [ With a little pop on the p. ] I horcruxed myself to bring back magic. [ And there's a tiny hint of humor in there, though it's tinged with unshed tears. ] I had to. It was the only way.
[ Holding up her hands in front of her, she looks at her palms, her fingertips, and the bits of glitter on her left hand that represent the life she can no longer have. Her arms tremble slightly with the effort of holding them up, her body pushed nearly to its breaking point. She'll be okay, she knows she'll get through this, but how much more will it cost her? ]
And that, suddenly, explains so much of what he'd seen in Julia's skull: that burned-out landscape, all the connections severed, the hot metal of the keys, the sense of seeing an empty hillside after a wildfire's passed through. Her magic scoured out of her, gone up in flames to power something greater than herself. What she sacrificed to accomplish bringing the Wellspring back for everyone else, no matter what it cost her— ]
Hey.
[ As Julia holds up her trembling hands (another thing he knows so well), Stephen reaches out and catches her left hand with that dusting of gold. He cups her palm between both of his, interlacing his own fingers through hers. Yet another echo and a mirror of what she'd done for him, what now feels like a lifetime ago; and for this moment he shoves all of his self-consciousness about his hands aside, the ugliness of those scars, the bent and crooked angles. Instead, he offers that solid touch, that physical connection. ]
Here. You're still connected here.
[ He considers just fishing his personal sling ring out of his pocket and dropping it into her palm, but she's so worn-out that the magic probably wouldn't work anyway and then the Learning Moment™ would wind up being even more disheartening. So, that'll be for another day. Instead, he fishes around for the right words. ]
Trees grow back after wildfires. And the fires are actually good for the environment— they clear out dead material, the decay, and it helps bring nutrients back to the soil faster. Some pine tree seeds need to be melted by fire in order to be released. [ Why does he know so much goddamn trivia about ecology? — right, his photographic memory, his mind like a steel trap. ] Okay, this has run away with me, you'll have to bear with my stupid extended metaphor, but: things grow back. Nerves can re-grow. You've just suffered some quite literal burnout. Give it time. We'll fix this too.
[ Sometimes Strange's arrogance and self-assurance — his innate assumption that he knows the answer — can be very irritating. Other times, that authority is reassuring; it's a solid foundation you could build a wall on.
He's hoping this time, it's more like the latter. ]
[ He takes her hand in his and it's everything she didn't know she needed. The warmth of his skin, the fragile strength of his grip, the gentleness of his touch. It lasts longer than a few fleeting seconds, which speaks volumes when she knows how he feels about his hands. Does he know how much this means to her? Does he understand the lifeline he's giving her?
The metaphor is an appropriate one, of course, and an accurate one on multiple levels, but she still hates it. Describing what she'd done with the forest in burning it to the ground and then restoring it, it also fits with what she's experienced in her life again and again. With learning magic leading to her assault, with becoming a goddess leading to her present state — she's so tired of being burned in order to grow stronger. Can't she just be for a little while?
But he sounds so sure. So unwaveringly certain... ]
"We'll fix this too."
[ Julia quietly repeats the words like a far-off echo, her thoughts chasing after them as the sound dissipated into the air. We'll fix this. We. Once again, Stephen Strange is offering to help her, to change her life for the better. And after the weeks they'd spent together before, she has no doubt of how fiercely he'll try. It makes her want to cry but in relief instead of pain. Because this is what she needs. Even if it turns out to be a promise he can't keep, she needs that spark of hope to hold on to and he's the only one who can give it to her.
Sighing tiredly, she tilts her head to the side, leaning just enough to rest her temple against his shoulder. She doesn't let go of his hand and doesn't intend to until he makes that move. Holding Stephen Strange's hand is too rare a thing to not savor every second of it. ]
I've missed home.
[ Because the Sanctum is home now... and so is he. ]
[ And that, right there, surprises him. Because of course Stephen considers the Sanctum home by now — the penthouse had been like something out of an interior design magazine but it had been cold and impersonal, and then he'd sold it off for more liquid cash in the end — but he finds his heart twisting in his chest, a sharp warmth at the idea that this manor has, in this amount of time, done the same for Julia. Offered not just sanctuary and a place to land, not just a temporary spot to catch your breath, but an actual home.
It had helped piece him back together, and all he'd ever wanted was to pass on the favour. Pay it forward. ]
And it's missed you. It'll be nice having someone else around again to help me bully the novices.
I should show you Kamar-Taj someday, [ he muses after a second. Letting her tip her head against his shoulder, still clasping her hand. ] It's where I stayed for my training before eventually winding up here. It's beautiful. But as far as homes go, I do prefer this one.
[ He should probably let Julia rest and settle back in, but it's— nice, sitting here like this, feeling the warmth of her beside him, and so he's selfishly determined to savour it. Finally having the knowledge that she's back and safe and alive, albeit wrung-out. He hadn't been able to monitor her even from afar, so long as she was in other dimensions. ]
[ The list of places Julia considers home has narrowed down to one singular address: 177A Bleecker Street. Her childhood home was left behind long ago for numerous reasons. Her once-beloved city apartment will forever be tainted by the trickster's actions. And while she'd found sanctuary in the Physical Kids' cottage for so many months, Brakebills could never feel like anything else but the place that had rejected her.
The Sanctum Sanctorum has become the beating heart of hope for her, with its denizens serving as shining examples of the type of person she is striving to be. That she managed to find a friend like Stephen Strange within its walls... She'll forever be grateful to both him and the beautiful sanctuary he guards.
She's not bullying the novices, though. He's on his own with that one. (She will, however, probably still delight in his efforts.) ]
I'd love to see Kamar-Taj. I've heard some of the others talk about it and it sounds wonderful.
[ Leaning against him just a little more, she can feel exhaustion pulling at her, a heavy warmth settling into her limbs as her body comes down from the extended adrenaline high and finally accepts that it's safe here. She should probably sleep, she won't have much choice in the battle soon, but she isn't ready to be alone. If she could, she would stay with Stephen the whole night, just breathing the same air and drinking in his steady presence. ]
I don't have anything quite like that, but maybe one day I could show you Fillory. It's different from the books, and some parts of it are actually pretty fucked up, but some parts of it are beautiful too. [ A beat, then she adds with a smile: ] Plus, the air is 0.2% opium, so that's kind of fun.
Oh, yes please. [ He perks up in excitement, and finally lets his hands fall from hers and back into his lap. ] Not just because of the opium thing — although that sounds far more enjoyable than a dimension I experienced where you're made of paint — but because I've been curious in general. We know that the astral plane and the mirror realm and dream dimension spans the multiverse, but do you think Fillory does, too? Or is it more tethered to this particular universe, this particular plane? It sounds like its physical laws behave mostly like ours, with a few amendments, so I could see it being like an ancillary dimension rather than—
[ Stephen, evidently, has had his theories for a while. He realises he's getting carried away and about to disappear down a metaphorical rabbit hole, so he shakes his head, cuts himself off. Julia's already teetering, which is absolutely not the time for him to go on an academic tangent. ]
We can get into it another day. Instead...
[ He executes another twist of his hands, a gesture. (Despite his fingers' innate clumsiness, the spellwork which comes from them is still as quick and neat and precise as any Brakebills-trained magician — because, of course, the Ancient One and the armless Master Hamir had shown him that the literal accuracy didn't matter, and his splintered nerves didn't matter, and wouldn't be an impediment to his magic. It was the belief, it was the intent. In this way, the sorcerers' abilities are more forgiving than the Wellspring's magic.)
So. A fine bone china tea-set appears on the endtable beside Julia's bed: a teapot already filled with hot water and steeping with an infused brew, two empty cups on saucers. The aromatic smell is familiar from late nights at the Sanctum, when Stephen was actually trying to fall asleep for once instead of loading himself up with espresso: chamomile, spearmint, blackberry leaves, hawthorn. ]
It's basically Sleepytime tea, but I'm adding a magical infusion to help rebuild your strength. Just consider it a bolstering, or a tonic. It's good for the spirit.
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ourladytrees) wrote2022-06-18 12:21 am
no subject
So he lets go, and that pain finally subsides. Unthinkingly, and mirroring her motion of weeks and months before, he brushes some disheveled hair back from Julia's forehead. And he finally unclenches his jaw and sinks back into one of the wooden library chairs, his elbows against the table beside her, his quivering hands scrubbing at his face. He looks more harrowed than he would've ordinarily let someone see, but it's been a while — years now — since he's had to plumb through someone's mind with so much delicacy, even while he was razing and burning. It's the closest thing to surgery that he's done since becoming a sorcerer.
And then, because despite Stephen's belief in himself, he does still have a trembling fear that maybe he went too far and ripped out too much and left her vegetative and with no memory after all, he has to check: ]
Name? Where were you born? Where are you now? Can you name a few items in this room?
no subject
Or maybe she was just in too much pain before the magical brain surgery that she doesn't notice the addition of any lingering effects. Either way, it's suddenly easier to breathe and think and be. Her muscles loosen and tremble slightly as the tension seeps from her body. ]
Julia Wicker. [ Because of course, she answers his questions, her voice quiet and a little hoarse. ] Montclair, New Jersey. The Sanctum Sanctorum. Stephen Strange, the Cloak of Levitation, and a very uncomfortable table.
[ Turning her head to look at him properly, the smile she offers him is a ghost of what she usually manages but at least it's something. ] You did it. Thank you.
no subject
[ Bone-deep relief, which comes out as a touch of levity: lowering his hands and clasping them in front of him, scrutinising her from his (bedside? tableside?) seat. She'd remembered who she was. She's still cognisant. Good. ]
I actually haven't done magical surgery like that before. I guess there's a first time for everything.
[ Maybe Stephen shouldn't admit to that vulnerability, that gap in his expertise — he certainly wouldn't have if this were a regular operation and a regular surgery and his realm of expertise, lord of his domain at MGH — but they're already past the crux of it, so whatever's gonna happen now is gonna happen. What's done is done. ]
no subject
You're the only person I trusted to do it.
[ He's the only person she trusts, period, right now. Wong and some of the other sorcerers, sure, but only on a superficial level. When it really mattered and the stakes were astronomically high, only Stephen makes that list. But she can't just leave it at that; the corners of her lips turn up in a smirk and she lets her own humor peek out. ]
So that's for not fucking it up.
no subject
"Not fucking it up" is a fantastic celebratory toast. It's so universally-applicable. I'll have to keep that one in mind and break it out whenever relevant.
[ He reaches out, rests his hand on hers. I missed you, he thinks, but pivots and amends the phrasing at the last second: ]
It's good to see you. I'd wondered how you were doing. [ I worried. ] Should we get you to a more comfortable bed and then you can tell me who the hell spiked you with an amnesia potion?
[ Another quick adjustment, oh god, he keeps shoving his foot in his mouth when he's frazzled like this: ]
To your bed, I mean. The Sanctum left it untouched. Your room is still here.
no subject
Bed sounds good.
[ She can't help but smile at his quick scramble to correct course — he's so cute whenever he does that. Turning her hand over beneath his, she wraps her fingers around his scarred ones and gives a gentle squeeze before struggling to sit up. She's halfway up when a thought suddenly occurs to her and she looks at him with fear and worry written across her expression. ]
Is it safe for me to stay here? Not for me, but— The people who did this, it's the Library and Irene McAllistair. If they come looking for me...
[ Will they come looking for her? They couldn't possibly expect her to come here, of all places. And even if they do realize where she fled to, would they really come knocking at the Sanctum's door and risk stirring up trouble with the Masters of the Mystic Arts when they would be certain their spell worked and she wouldn't remember a thing about what they'd done?
The Library is powerful, even more so now that they apparently control the Wellspring. Honestly, Julia doesn't believe the Order will risk damaging any relationship they have with the Masters by hunting down one wayward magician. Irene McAllistair, though... She's one of the rich and powerful among magicians and Julia's really fucked with her shit lately, and since the entitled tend to feel like they can do whatever the hell they want and get away with it, who knows when she might go off the rails. ]
I don't want to cause problems for you and the other Masters.
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If they come looking for you, they'll find a closed and locked door and a barricade. The Sanctum and the Masters take our role as sanctuary seriously. We've taken people in and sheltered them from worse than the McAllistairs.
[ He thinks of America, sheltering at Kamar-Taj and all of the sorcerers banding together to protect her, regardless of the fact that they didn't even know her yet. It hadn't gone well, but... Irene McAllistair might be a talented magician and a known name (her family was the sort of rich moneyed echeleon Stephen might have recognised even before being steeped in magic), but at the end of the day, she was still just a magician. She wasn't the Scarlet Witch. ]
Trust me: as far as bogeymen go, we can handle them. And if the worse comes to worst, the Sanctum temporarily relocates. It's not actually just a building in Greenwich Village. [ Which was probably apparent by the fact that it was bigger on the inside than out, occupying a pocket dimension of its own — he could move it to the moon, if he liked — but it's worth saying aloud. ]
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Thank you.
[ To Stephen. To the Sanctum. To the cloak. To every single Master and apprentice who has devoted themselves to the protection of those who need it most. The universe is a better place because of them and so few will ever know it. Their good deeds with go unacknowledged and they know that — that's not why they do it. She'd been so close to being able to live a life like that, but now...
Shaking herself out of those thoughts, Julia forces herself the rest of the way upright, struggling a little but still managing. She swings her legs over the side of the table, looking down at her boots that dangle above the floor, and then sighs heavily. ]
I don't think I can walk on my own. Would you mind...?
[ Whether she's talking to Stephen or the cloak, it doesn't really matter. She needs help and she's reaching out for it, just like he had that night with the spider. ]
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[ And they're not just dependent on the cloak or the portals. Now that no one's bleeding or having their sense of self dribbling out through their ears, and it's safer to operate the spells (parameters, sometimes it does all come down to parameters, just like the magic she's used to), Stephen stands up and sets his hand on her shoulder. He doesn't need the physical contact, but it's mostly just to steady her. Because he concentrates, and then without even a visible gesture, it's like he tugs the universe just a few inches to the left —
The Sanctum simply rearranges itself around them in a small gust of displaced air, and instead of sitting on the edge of the library table, Julia's suddenly sitting on the soft edge of her bed instead. Familiar bedspread made and tucked in at the corners, the room a little musty from long inattention, but otherwise looking exactly as she left it (and still, as ever, those trees in the wallpaper). Stephen's standing beside her bed now, and his hand is still braced against her shoulder so she doesn't just wobble and fall over.
He'd been more brusque and inconsiderate when doing the same thing with the Asgardians' visit, like yanking the rug out from under Thor and just letting the god reel and trip over himself into bookcases and down the stairs — Stephen can be spiteful at times, it's a character flaw — but he tried to make the transition easier for Julia. It's a little disorienting, having the entire world simply shuffle itself around you and finding yourself in a new location between heartbeats. ]
There.
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She's not connected to anything anymore. Julia is a tiny speck on a rock floating in space once more, her ability to be more and do more torn away by her own hand. The universe had been at her fingertips and she'd given it up of her own free will. ]
Showoff.
[ She doesn't regret her decision — how could she? Even with the Library taking control of the Wellspring, magic is back in the world and the power imbalance isn't an impossible problem to solve. But there's still sadness in her voice where she intended gently jibing humor, and she can feel her throat tightening with emotion. ]
I'm sorry.
[ What is she apologizing for? Not being strong enough to take her fate without tears? Because there they are, blurring her vision and burning her skin as they slip down her cheeks. For placing her pain upon him again, the way she'd done months ago? Because she reaches up to grasp his hand on her shoulder, taking away his easy escape route in her silent request for his continued presence. Or is she apologizing to herself for all she could have been and now never will be?
It's probably all of the above. ]
I'm so sorry.
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Don't apologise.
[ Stephen doesn't even know what she's apologising for, but he delivers the command decisively anyway, granting her a direction. He takes a guess at what might lie behind her apologies, and manages to land on at least one of the reasons: ]
Truly, I've brought far worse things chasing my heels to this building's doorstep. Believe me. If you thought that spider-demon was a problem...
[ He's trying to cheer Julia up with that levity, that downplaying of the Library potentially nipping at her heels, but his voice softens and turns serious again a moment later. And he lets go of her hand, but he exchanges it for sinking to the mattress himself, perching on it beside her, shoulder-to-shoulder. ]
So... What happened? How did your quest go?
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She'll have to ask him for some of those stories later, maybe when she's headed toward another dive into self-pity and needs a good distraction. He can be pretty good at that when he puts his mind to it. ]
We did it. [ She looks at his knees beside hers, feeling too tired to turn to look at him properly. ] It took a while, and it didn't happen like we'd planned, but we did it. Magic's back.
[ Funny, she doesn't sound happy about it. Magic being back is a good thing, she'd done this because she'd believed that with her entire being, and yet... The darkest part of her has to wonder if it was worth the cost. ]
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So you succeeded? It was a victory?
[ But even as he says it, he immediately knows that there's something he doesn't know yet. Some wrinkle in the plan, some catch in how it played out. Be careful what you wish for, he thinks. He'd seen it over and over in his own life: success, but at what cost. ]
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[ Q's pain in the face of what Alice had done still reverberates through her, the memory ingrained in her soul. His anguish had called to her with such strength it had been impossible to ignore. Iris had told her to let go of her connections but that was the one thing Julia was incapable of doing. She sighs heavily and lifts a hand to wearily rub at her eyes. ]
The keys were destroyed by someone who thought she was doing the right thing, and the only way to remake them was with the power of a god.
[ There are specks of glitter on her fingertips as her hand falls to her lap and she realizes how ridiculous she must look. Like she'd gone somewhere in costume, a lowly hedge witch pretending at being a goddess. ]
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You didn't have another run-in with Our Lady of the Underground, did you? Or her— son?
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Yeah, actually, but not at the end. It was...
[ Where is she supposed to start? In all the months since she'd left, so much has happened, all of it messy and intertwined with the quest, a destiny she'd been heading toward ever since Jane Chatwin decided she would be the one thing altered in this timeline. By keeping her from Brakebills, everything changed. ]
The reason I could do magic was because OLU gave me his spark. She gave me the seed of his power to grow and I did. I saved fairies from slavery. I healed Dean Fogg's eyes. I restored the forest and grew crops for starving farmers.
[ It feels like an ax swinging through the air as she turns to look at Stephen, a sense of finality in the room that she can almost reach out and touch. Once she says it out loud, it will be undeniably real. ]
He's a shell now, living in a shitty apartment and delivering pizzas. He's powerless but he's still a god. I wonder if I'm like that now. If I'll have to live like this forever or—
[ Or if she'll die like everyone else. ]
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[ It's a very serious situation, he is trying to take this seriously, but Stephen Strange can't help that baffled lilt to his voice. Her description of her activities, which sounds very much like performing miracles and answering prayers. Still a god. Wonder if I'm like that now. Live like this.
He resists the urge to just dig into her aura again and go rifling for information, searching for that divine spark, when he can just be a normal person and ask her. ]
I mean, just for absolute crystal-clarity. To be sure we're using the same vocabulary here. You became a full-fledged goddess? You're a goddess now? An actual, real-life goddess?
[ He doesn't say anything about her appearance: the smeared mascara, the spilled glitter, the general look of Julia having stumbled into the Sanctum from an all-nighter masquerade party, rumpled and wrung-out and tired. But if she says it right-out, then he'll believe her. ]
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Yes. At least, I was. I don't know what I am now. [ She looks down at their knees again, the joy and excitement over being a goddess now long gone. ] They called me Our Lady of the Tree, which was very formal but... I was going to create new worlds. I was going to be better than the others, do what gods are supposed to and help people.
[ And she did. She did help people, and she's going to continue helping them. She's just... not sure how yet. ]
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But Stephen's smart, and he can connect the dots. The trailing gaps she hasn't said aloud but where the connotations and the implications still sit, weighty with significance. And he draws that straight line from A to B to C, around what Julia is both saying and isn't saying, and he inhales a breath. ]
You said it took all of Prometheus' divine power to create the keys, and that remaking them took the power of a god.
Did you pull a Prometheus?
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Yep. [ With a little pop on the p. ] I horcruxed myself to bring back magic. [ And there's a tiny hint of humor in there, though it's tinged with unshed tears. ] I had to. It was the only way.
[ Holding up her hands in front of her, she looks at her palms, her fingertips, and the bits of glitter on her left hand that represent the life she can no longer have. Her arms tremble slightly with the effort of holding them up, her body pushed nearly to its breaking point. She'll be okay, she knows she'll get through this, but how much more will it cost her? ]
I'm not connected to anything anymore.
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And that, suddenly, explains so much of what he'd seen in Julia's skull: that burned-out landscape, all the connections severed, the hot metal of the keys, the sense of seeing an empty hillside after a wildfire's passed through. Her magic scoured out of her, gone up in flames to power something greater than herself. What she sacrificed to accomplish bringing the Wellspring back for everyone else, no matter what it cost her— ]
Hey.
[ As Julia holds up her trembling hands (another thing he knows so well), Stephen reaches out and catches her left hand with that dusting of gold. He cups her palm between both of his, interlacing his own fingers through hers. Yet another echo and a mirror of what she'd done for him, what now feels like a lifetime ago; and for this moment he shoves all of his self-consciousness about his hands aside, the ugliness of those scars, the bent and crooked angles. Instead, he offers that solid touch, that physical connection. ]
Here. You're still connected here.
[ He considers just fishing his personal sling ring out of his pocket and dropping it into her palm, but she's so worn-out that the magic probably wouldn't work anyway and then the Learning Moment™ would wind up being even more disheartening. So, that'll be for another day. Instead, he fishes around for the right words. ]
Trees grow back after wildfires. And the fires are actually good for the environment— they clear out dead material, the decay, and it helps bring nutrients back to the soil faster. Some pine tree seeds need to be melted by fire in order to be released. [ Why does he know so much goddamn trivia about ecology? — right, his photographic memory, his mind like a steel trap. ] Okay, this has run away with me, you'll have to bear with my stupid extended metaphor, but: things grow back. Nerves can re-grow. You've just suffered some quite literal burnout. Give it time. We'll fix this too.
[ Sometimes Strange's arrogance and self-assurance — his innate assumption that he knows the answer — can be very irritating. Other times, that authority is reassuring; it's a solid foundation you could build a wall on.
He's hoping this time, it's more like the latter. ]
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The metaphor is an appropriate one, of course, and an accurate one on multiple levels, but she still hates it. Describing what she'd done with the forest in burning it to the ground and then restoring it, it also fits with what she's experienced in her life again and again. With learning magic leading to her assault, with becoming a goddess leading to her present state — she's so tired of being burned in order to grow stronger. Can't she just be for a little while?
But he sounds so sure. So unwaveringly certain... ]
"We'll fix this too."
[ Julia quietly repeats the words like a far-off echo, her thoughts chasing after them as the sound dissipated into the air. We'll fix this. We. Once again, Stephen Strange is offering to help her, to change her life for the better. And after the weeks they'd spent together before, she has no doubt of how fiercely he'll try. It makes her want to cry but in relief instead of pain. Because this is what she needs. Even if it turns out to be a promise he can't keep, she needs that spark of hope to hold on to and he's the only one who can give it to her.
Sighing tiredly, she tilts her head to the side, leaning just enough to rest her temple against his shoulder. She doesn't let go of his hand and doesn't intend to until he makes that move. Holding Stephen Strange's hand is too rare a thing to not savor every second of it. ]
I've missed home.
[ Because the Sanctum is home now... and so is he. ]
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It had helped piece him back together, and all he'd ever wanted was to pass on the favour. Pay it forward. ]
And it's missed you. It'll be nice having someone else around again to help me bully the novices.
I should show you Kamar-Taj someday, [ he muses after a second. Letting her tip her head against his shoulder, still clasping her hand. ] It's where I stayed for my training before eventually winding up here. It's beautiful. But as far as homes go, I do prefer this one.
[ He should probably let Julia rest and settle back in, but it's— nice, sitting here like this, feeling the warmth of her beside him, and so he's selfishly determined to savour it. Finally having the knowledge that she's back and safe and alive, albeit wrung-out. He hadn't been able to monitor her even from afar, so long as she was in other dimensions. ]
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The Sanctum Sanctorum has become the beating heart of hope for her, with its denizens serving as shining examples of the type of person she is striving to be. That she managed to find a friend like Stephen Strange within its walls... She'll forever be grateful to both him and the beautiful sanctuary he guards.
She's not bullying the novices, though. He's on his own with that one. (She will, however, probably still delight in his efforts.) ]
I'd love to see Kamar-Taj. I've heard some of the others talk about it and it sounds wonderful.
[ Leaning against him just a little more, she can feel exhaustion pulling at her, a heavy warmth settling into her limbs as her body comes down from the extended adrenaline high and finally accepts that it's safe here. She should probably sleep, she won't have much choice in the battle soon, but she isn't ready to be alone. If she could, she would stay with Stephen the whole night, just breathing the same air and drinking in his steady presence. ]
I don't have anything quite like that, but maybe one day I could show you Fillory. It's different from the books, and some parts of it are actually pretty fucked up, but some parts of it are beautiful too. [ A beat, then she adds with a smile: ] Plus, the air is 0.2% opium, so that's kind of fun.
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[ Stephen, evidently, has had his theories for a while. He realises he's getting carried away and about to disappear down a metaphorical rabbit hole, so he shakes his head, cuts himself off. Julia's already teetering, which is absolutely not the time for him to go on an academic tangent. ]
We can get into it another day. Instead...
[ He executes another twist of his hands, a gesture. (Despite his fingers' innate clumsiness, the spellwork which comes from them is still as quick and neat and precise as any Brakebills-trained magician — because, of course, the Ancient One and the armless Master Hamir had shown him that the literal accuracy didn't matter, and his splintered nerves didn't matter, and wouldn't be an impediment to his magic. It was the belief, it was the intent. In this way, the sorcerers' abilities are more forgiving than the Wellspring's magic.)
So. A fine bone china tea-set appears on the endtable beside Julia's bed: a teapot already filled with hot water and steeping with an infused brew, two empty cups on saucers. The aromatic smell is familiar from late nights at the Sanctum, when Stephen was actually trying to fall asleep for once instead of loading himself up with espresso: chamomile, spearmint, blackberry leaves, hawthorn. ]
It's basically Sleepytime tea, but I'm adding a magical infusion to help rebuild your strength. Just consider it a bolstering, or a tonic. It's good for the spirit.
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