ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

[ It's not something she'd admit aloud, but she really enjoys whenever she manages to put that look on Stephen's face. After everything he's seen and done, to know that she can still surprise him... That kind of rush is addictive, and she has to hope that eventually, she'll find ways to surprise him that don't involve their messed-up pasts. ]

It's okay. Our pasts make us who we are — you and I know that better than most.

[ She takes another bigger-than-a-sip of her drink to steel herself for the elaboration on her own complicated situation. ]

In this timeline, Penny was with Kady, who's a friend. My best friend, really, next to the Q. But that Penny died not long after we lost magic and Kady took it really hard. Having him around again and not being her Penny — I can see how hard it is for her. And I know she's told him everything that makes me different from his Julia, but it's still...

I'd rather be with someone who knows and cares about me, not just the idea of me in their head. So while it's nice having someone interested in the whole trauma-filled package, I don't know that I can trust that when he's looking at me, he's not seeing her.

[ Oh, how that feels like such a well-needed indictment, even if she might not have meant it like that for him. But it's saying the thing aloud which he'd been telling himself, too. The corner of Stephen's mouth flickers in a kind of rueful smile. ]

Speaking from extremely personal experience... I'm sorry, hopefully this isn't overstepping to say, but I do think he would be. It's goddamn messy. There's so much projection: you just can't unsee the version that you know, and forgetting that history is so much harder. I eventually found myself talking to her as if she was my Christine. Even though you look slightly different and act slightly different from your other self, but then there'll be moments where a tic or a mannerism is exactly the same, and it just throws your pattern recognition into complete chaos. You're still not actually the same person. It would be like dating your ex's identical twin except, I don't know, worse.

... Also, the fabric of reality would have unraveled if either of us stayed in the wrong universe, so there wasn't any way I could've stayed or vice versa, but that's besides the actual point. It was unfair. For me to project my history onto her when we didn't actually have that shared history together. So, I understand.

[ He's probably right. It's something that's been on her mind pretty constantly over the past few weeks while she's been processing everything and coming to terms with her life and the decisions that had to be made. But as much as she's come to care for Penny-23 and has truly appreciated his support and friendship... there would always be that insurmountable something between them.

Draining the last of her drink, she sets the humorous mug on the table and sighs heavily. ]

You know, sometimes I wish there was one normal thing in our lives. Just one, to remind us what it feels like.

[ Stephen glances over at the rest of the semi-crowded bar, which really just reminds him that it's the absolute opposite of normalcy, even as he combs through a mental inventory of his life, searching for just one thing he could name. He's a sorcerer who lives in a haunted house and goes to places like this for fun. Is there anything whatsoever in his life, and thus Julia's by extension, which counts as 'normal'?

And he really has to scrape the bottom of the barrel, but he offers up: ]

I had a bacon-egg-and-cheese from the bodega this morning for breakfast. And we updated the Sanctum's wifi router last week. That's pretty normal.

[ Okay, they'd had to upgrade to a better router because all the occult energies were interfering with the wifi signal, but still. ]

[ A breakfast sandwich and a wifi upgrade. Those are the best he could come up with, and while the sandwich might be a fairly regular occurrence, she's fairly certain there isn't much to fill in for the other. Which isn't surprising, really — she knows what his life is like. But all the same, it hits differently since it's kind of her life now too. Partly, anyway.

She'd been ready to leave this realm and go off to be a full-time goddess, yet this is the realization that gets to her. Brains and emotions are strange things. ]

Thanks for reaching with those. I appreciate it.

[ And she really does, as evidenced by her genuinely affectionate smile. She's just also going to try to work a few more "normal" things into their routine, even if it's just a trip to the farmers market or something. Anything.

Grabbing her cup, she slides to the end of her seat, doing that awkward scoot that everyone who's ever sat in a booth has experienced. ]

I'm gonna get us another round; you stay here and guard the booth. You want the same or something different?

Same as before. I'm a creature of habit.

[ It had been a small coping mechanism while he was a doctor: always wearing the same clothes even when he was out of his scrubs, his wardrobe stacked with identical versions of the exact same outfit. It meant he had fewer decisions to make throughout the week, so he could just pull out a suit like a uniform and then make his one careful selection of which wristwatch to accessorise. He might have expanded his wardrobe more as a sorcerer now (just with fewer buttons and clasps where possible), but the habit still rears its head sometimes; he still sticks to the drinks he knows he likes.

Stephen stays in the booth while she's at the bar, fingers tapping against the table as he waits. Another warlock wanders over to say hello and they exchange a few words, eventually heatedly discussing their differing approaches for an exorcism in the Lower East Side. When Julia returns, he gestures between them. ]

Jericho Drumm, AKA Doctor Voodoo. Julia Wicker, magician. [ Former goddess? He's not sure whether to mention or not, so he omits it, letting her fill in the introduction if she wants to. ] I'd tried to help her with that Wellspring situation, but it turns out she's entirely capable of solving her own problems.

[ A creature of habit. That's good to know. Julia's more the adventurous type when it comes to her daily life — she enjoys going through a cafe's entire menu and having a closet full of pieces to mix and match into outfits. The choice itself is what she finds liberating about the process; so much of her life has been out of her control that she cherishes each and every opportunity to exercise her own agency.

Weaving her way through the crowd of vividly assorted characters to reach the bar, she places her order and then passes the time chatting with one of the Asgardian witches while they wait for their drinks (they are, in fact, out for a hen do). It's an extremely surreal experience and she loves absolutely every second of it. She's almost disappointed when they go their separate ways.

With Stephen's Painkiller in hand and her Deep Sea Diver made with three types of rum, Cointreau, and lime, the way back to their table is infinitely more treacherous as she does her best not to spill either drink. She doesn't expect to find Stephen engaged in a vibrant conversation with someone, but damn is she glad to see it. ]

It's nice to meet you.

[ Said with a smile that is entirely because of Stephen's compliment, whether he intended it as such or not. Stepping over to Stephen's side, she sets his drink down before gesturing to the open side of the booth. ]

Would you like to join us? You two seemed to be having a pretty good discussion.

[ The witch doctor waves a dismissive hand, almost spilling some of his drink, but then he pauses to take a sip to lower the level of liquid in the glass. ]

No, it's alright, I have other people to catch up with. But Doctor Strange, you are coming to next month's magic consortium? We can talk more business then.

[ Stephen makes a disgruntled affirming noise, a kind of ugh yes of course I'll be there, and then Jericho makes his polite goodbyes, murmuring that it was lovely to see a new face like Julia's at their gathering, and hopefully they would be seeing more of her around in general, and hopefully she would be a good influence on the sorcerer. Stephen crinkled his nose after the other man as he departed, leaving the two of them to their booth again. ]

See? Warms right up as soon as you meet him. Me, he's annoyed with — he didn't think I should've incinerated the spirit who was haunting this LES boarding house last month, but honestly, once you eat someone's pet Maltese, then there just isn't much I can do for you.

[ This is the first time Julia's really seeing the professional side of the magical community. A consortium? Talking business? It's like the glimpses she'd gotten at Brakebills, except less... pretentious. She gets the feeling that the people here could come to each other with problems and be presented with actual solutions, whereas with the Brakebills community, it was a toss-up of whether you'd get a solution or someone telling you to go fuck yourself. Finally, with complete certainty, Julia can say that she's glad she wasn't accepted to Brakebills in this timeline. This is where she's supposed to be.

Smiling softly to herself, she slides back into her seat across from Stephen before giving him a look. ]

And I thought you didn't have any interesting adventures while I was gone.

What, a haunting? A haunting is run-of-the-mill. A haunting is any other Tuesday.

[ He tips his head in thanks as he pulls his drink closer, drawing it back to within reach on the tlable. ]

It pales in comparison to building worlds or saving worlds or crafting ineffable magical artifacts or shattering memory spells on your friends to rescue them from a complete overwriting of their psyche. A haunting is… I don’t know, the pest extermination of the magic world. Might as well be roaches.

It's more interesting than that.

[ Hearing him list out the main points of her life over the past few months... Well, it's no wonder she'd been stressed out and exhausted all the time. The fact that she doesn't still feel that way seems almost wrong, she'd gotten so used to it being her permanent state. And he'd played a part in her journey, whether he saw it or not. ]

Even if it seems rote or mundane to you now, I know it wasn't always that way. The first time you dealt with a haunting: what was it like?

[ Despite everything he’s been through and all the things he’s seen and the uncountable timelines he’s lived, Stephen does still remember his first. You always remember your first. ]

Hm. Well, I had just recently been anointed Sorcerer Supreme, when we had a call from someone asking for help.

[ He’d told her before about the complications with the title of Sorcerer Supreme: the years he’d held it, and then how he’d lost it to Wong in a technicality. The first time Julia had been filled in, it had suddenly contextualised so much of the petty yet goodnatured griping between the two men. ]

Wong had been ready to offer assistance with the exorcism, but then I got on his nerves and he told me to handle it myself then. And it was, I kid you not, in an actual firehouse. I thought the Ghostbusters theme would start playing, or for something like Slimer to appear, but it turned out to be the spirit of a deceased fireman who went back to his place of work. They sleep there so often that it felt more like home than home, maybe.

I tried to convince him to let go of this mortal coil and move on to the next realm already, but he got mad and sprayed ectoplasm all over me with a spectral firehose. I eventually had to use a spell to cut the threads and forcibly remove him. Wong told me it served me right for not asking for advice.

[ This is the most quintessentially Stephen Strange anecdote ever. ]

[ It's the way he always has a particular tone in his voice when he talks about when he was the Sorcerer Supreme. She knows there are still some negative feelings there, and there probably always will be, but she's seen that the friendship and respect between the two men run deep. Deep enough that she knows Wong wouldn't have let Stephen wander off to his death at the hands of whatever specter he'd been called to deal with, so she's able to laugh at his story in all the right parts.

(It's the mental image of Stephen watching Ghostbusters that really gets her, though. There will definitely be a movie night in their future now.) ]

You, not asking for advice? I'm shocked. [ The teasing is laid on thick and her grin is so big that it hurts her cheeks. But then she sobers just a little, reaching across the table to touch his arm again. ]

But do you see how you made a difference that day? How you keep making a difference even with these "little" things? It might not be saving the world but it is changing someone's world and making their life better. What you do now has the same impact as when you used to perform surgery. It's not always pioneering new methods and big fancy parties, sometimes it's just a single life.

[ It’s the same sort of thinking Stephen had done when he first chose this path: weighing one profession against the other, and seeing where he could do the most good. And so his reply is quick, off the cuff, casual but unthinking: ]

I know. A sorcerer can protect an entire plane of existence rather than one-off patients. I already did that math, actually. Sometimes it’s trillions.

[ Oh, he shouldn’t have downed his cocktail so quickly. These tiki drinks are deceptive: they taste like sugary sweetness, but they pack such a boozy punch. His blue-green eyes flicker, almost a little caught off-guard by how he’d tripped into this particular subject. The snap, and that terrible choice he made, isn’t something he wants to discuss on such a fun and carefree evening. So he hesitates. ]

Sorry. That's not— exactly casual drinks conversation.

Edited 2022-08-03 02:32 (UTC)

It's okay.

[ She answers just as quickly, though her thoughts are already racing. He'd missed the point she'd been trying to make — though maybe she hadn't been making it very well, to begin with. It's too important to leave unsaid; she'll have to try again. So, after taking a big gulp of her drink to steel herself, she slides out of the booth and moves the few steps over to his side. ]

Scoot over.

[ Stephen watches and follows her movements, an eyebrow arched in bemused curiosity, but then gamely slides a little further down so she can join him on his side of the booth.

It's a small shift, but it still feels significant: closing that distance, crossing over to the entirely uncustomary seat, broaching the barrier made by the table between them. So Stephen twists a little sideways, one elbow still propped against the table, shoulders tilted so he can look at Julia a little better, wondering where this is going. ]

[ That distance bridged, there's no way he can avoid or brush off what she has to say. This is personal and it's big, so she lowers her voice slightly and turns the same way he has. There's hardly any space between them now, but she bridges that distance too, setting her hand on his wrist, so close to those scars he's self-conscious about. ]

When you helped me, why did you do it? I'm just one person, the impact is nothing like that of defending a planet from a crazy alien or protecting an entire plane of existence. You didn't know me or the journey I was on, so why?

[ Stephen considers that question, examining it from all angles. Because you reminded me of myself is his initial thought, but he also thinks that only came later, after he’d learned more and more about her. But at the very start? Before he knew anything, when she’d walked in and he’d been the one to receive their new guest, and her introduction had been so simple: My name’s Julia and I’m here because I’m having a little… magical problem. ]

Because that’s what we do. The Masters of the Mystic Arts have the remit of safeguarding the world against mystical threats, on the large- or the small-scale. People come to our door asking for assistance, and we provide it. I mean, obviously I can’t help if someone has a clog in their plumbing or whatever, but if it’s a relevant issue— and you said you had a magical problem. So it was relevant.

[ The question itself seems so self-evident to him — of course a sorcerer would help — that he’s not quite tracking the point Julia’s making, looking at her steadily and a little quizzically. And even when discussing something personal and big, Stephen still can’t help that occasional jovial lilt to his voice, a joke slipping in. He’d still be cracking jokes even at the end of the world, and had in fact done so. ]

The Masters of the Mystic Arts protect against threats large and small.

[ She paraphrases his answer, saying each word slowly as if tasting them on her tongue or judging the weight of their meaning. The shape of each syllable hangs between them as she nods her understanding of that mission. ]

So it's like what a doctor does. You followed the Hippocratic Oath when you were a surgeon, vowing to help others where you could. On a small scale, you helped a single person with each surgery, but on a larger scale — did you help in the aftermath of the Battle of New York? Or would you now, if you could go back and do it over?

[ Julia wants to believe that he did help in the aftermath of that first alien invasion, that he'd been one of the thousands of people who came together in those first days to help those who'd been injured, but she knows he'd been a different person back then, just as she'd been a different person not too long ago. They are both better than they were for the hardships they've faced and she won't judge him for that. ]

In an emergency, yes, absolutely. The ERs were overwhelmed that day, and they pulled anyone with trauma surgery experience into the rotation. I was operating for hours.

[ He's remembering now, though, the particular details of the phonecall he'd been on when he crashed his car. It's like a single perfect snapshot of everything that had been wrong with him back then. So Stephen takes a deep breath, and tries to explain. ]

But under normal, non-extenuating circumstances, outside of things like the Battle of New York? I was... arrogant. I would turn down cases if they were too simple and other people could perform them; not out of some sense of staffing and resourcing efficiency, but because I thought it was a waste of my time. I looked for interesting cases, stimulating ones, ones that excited me. [ He tries to wring this confession loose, picking his way through the right way to describe this and his uglier sides. ] I had the luxury of choosing who I helped, and I was picky. I maintained a perfect record on the table because I didn't take on impossible and hopeless cases, either. Towards the end, it probably became more about the artistry of the work than about the patients themselves.

So. I just want to be honest. You have a— very nice image of me as some heroic do-gooder, I think, and it's very flattering, it'd be easy for me to just sit back and bask in that, but— honestly, Julia, plainly put, I was a goddamn asshole back then. Nurses actually say that a lot about surgeons, too: we help people, but we can be callous. You get removed from the human element. I'm trying to be better now. It's better with more face-to-face contact, and I know I'm better now because the Ancient One wouldn't have allowed me to take on the mantle otherwise, but I just don't want you to have an inaccurate image of me. Back then. I was saving lives but the lives had become incidental.

[ He takes a deep swig of his drink. ]

Sorry, I talked a lot.

Edited 2022-08-03 22:57 (UTC)

[ Everything Stephen says fills in the gaps she'd had in her picture of him Before. He had been the man sitting beside her but a much worse version who was too wrapped up in his own ego. The glimpses she'd been given of that version of him are nothing compared to hearing his painfully stark appraisal of himself. But, in the end, it doesn't change a single thing in the way Julia sees him. ]

You always talk a lot. And honestly, Stephen, I'd already kind of guessed you were an asshole back then.

[ She smiles to soften the serious tone of the joke and moves her hand to his, gently covering those ridges of scar tissue that changed his entire life. He can pull away easily if he wants but she's hoping he doesn't. ]

Even more honestly, I don't care who you were back then. You're not that person now. Hell, if you'd met me when I started on this path, you wouldn't have liked me, and I wouldn't have deserved your friendship, but I'm not that person now either.

[ Sighing, she looks to the side briefly, using the moment to choose her next step. ]

Before I came to you, but after I'd learned I still had magic, I ran into a friend at a party. Well, he wasn't a friend back then, but we knew each other, so we talked. He was so lost without magic, it was like his entire world had been ripped away from him. So I decided I needed to show him — I did a silly trick with smoke rings. I thought it wouldn't mean anything, that it might just cheer him up a bit, but it gave him hope and got him back in the fight. He was part of our quest and he helped us bring back magic.

It might sound ridiculous, but— That simple act means more to me than remaking the keys. Making a difference in a single life means more.

[ She pulls her hands back to her lap, suddenly feeling like she's fucked this entire thing up and missed her point entirely. Instead of leaving him with something uplifting to hold onto, she's just led him to dredge up horrible feelings about himself. ]

That's the point I was trying to make, though I think I've done a shit job of it. I just wanted to make sure you knew that making a single life better could mean as much as saving a world if you let it.

Don't worry. I think I do know what you're getting at: it's the little things. The fact that the pest extermination matters too.

[ All of a sudden, Stephen wants to ask her about the trolley problem. He wants to ask her about trillions of lives. He wants to ask her about Tony Stark's death. It's the more brutally pragmatic side of the sorcerers and the calculus they're taught to balance: they save lives, they help anyone who comes to them, but they also sacrifice the few for the many if necessary. It's what they'd taught him to do: throwing Tony Stark into the fire like a lamb to the slaughter; being ready to kill Spider-man's multiversal visitors; a version of himself being ready to kill America, and even Wong encouraging it when the chips were down. It's ugly but it's necessary. When all of reality is at stake.

It's a sticky moral question he's been wondering about lately, ever since managing to avoid swinging that metaphorical axe with America.

But it'd be unfair to force Julia to be his conscience, so he bites back the question. They can talk about it another time. Maybe he just doesn't want to see how it might finally change the way Julia looks at him, the way she believes in him so wholeheartedly. ]

Thank you for trying.

[ There's no hiding the way her smile is a little more forced this time, the strain showing around the edges, the emotion not quite reaching her eyes. Thank you for trying. She'd wanted to help and had failed in the attempt — it's hard to remember that you can't change a person's worldview with a single conversation. ]

You're welcome.

[ But even if she failed this time, she'll keep trying. Somehow, she'll find a way to help him to repay the way he's helped her. It might take years to manage it, but they've got the time.

Giving a light pat to Stephen's knee, she rises to move back to the other side of the booth. Heart-to-heart's over, no reason to stay. ]

[ It turns out that he knows Julia Wicker well enough by now, and knows exactly what one of her genuine incorrigible smiles looks like, that he now realises when it’s strained and forced. So as she starts to shy away, with the skittishness of a gift spurned and an overture shot down — although that wasn’t exactly what he’d meant, at all — Stephen instinctively reaches out. He catches her elbow through those gauzy sleeves, then slips his grip lower so he isn’t grabbing at the delicate material of her dress. He catches her hand instead, halting her movement, to draw her back to him and to keep her seat.

To stay. ]

You haven’t done a shit job of anything. For the record.

[ It's exactly what she needs to hear. They've known each other for such a relatively short time and yet he knows her well enough to understand that fear she could never give proper voice to. With fewer than a dozen words, he heals the wound they'd both caused and leaves her better than before.

She settles back beside him, staring into those mesmerizing eyes for a long moment... And then she leans in, crossing those few inches between them to wrap her free arm around his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. It's not precisely what she's yearning for, what her heart is screaming for, but it's the next best thing. ]

Thank you.

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