Stephen nodded, and then hung his head, “Yes.  I’ve tried and tried and tried, Hope…so damn hard…with every power at my command…with every…”  He gritted his teeth, exasperated by his own uselessness, “…with every breath I’ve taken since first seeing that outcome…with the full scope of my imagination…to find a solution that won’t cost Tony Stark his life.”  Stephen let his shoulders sag, the sting of his shame refreshed as he spoke his failure aloud. 

“No,” Hope whispered, clasping both of his hands in hers.  "No, Stephen—you have nothing to be ashamed of,” she insisted, her voice growing with conviction, "You’ve done infinitely more than any mortal man could…”

“But it wasn’t enough,” he groaned, shaking his head in denial, “I even explored more than a million outcomes, specifically looking for one where Stark’s fate would fall on me instead—but I could never make it work.”  Stephen finally let his tears fall freely, grateful that he was safe in sharing the true depth of his heartache with his ever-gentle confessor.  He looked to Hope again, saw only understanding and sweet mercy writ upon her face, and knew he had chosen well to trust in her.  "In my old life, I took an oath to do no harm, but when I return to Titan, I’m going to have to save his life, only to ensure that this good man—this father and husband…“

In his mind’s eye, a series of images flickered at the speed of thought, from a newborn baby Morgan in her father’s arms, to her parents joy at each new milestone their child reached, through years of laughter, love, and the challenges of parenthood, and ending with the upbeat farewell that Tony had made to them both, before leaving their secluded haven to head to the Avengers compound in New York.  Pepper had calmly kept her tears at bay, not wanting to alarm their precocious little girl; Tony had put on his most casual, cavalier face, but when Morgan tucked her head into the crook of his neck and reminded him that she loved him ‘3,000’, the look he’d exchanged with his wife had devastated Stephen seeing it the first time—and now, just remembering it as well, knowing it was inevitably the last time that Stark would ever hold her.

“…and true hero—will not only craft the method of our salvation, but also die to save the world,” he finished bleakly.

"Oh god,” Hope’s voice cracked with sorrow for his pain.  "Stephen, please…please…believe me,” she ran her fingers through the streak of white at his temple, trying her best to assuage him, "You mustn’t do this to yourself…”  She closed the little gap between them, drawing his head against her shoulder, sighing hard as she stroked his hair.  

“My darling,” she crooned, the first time she had ever used such an endearment for him, “You’ve borne far too much, far too alone, for far too long.  If I could just take a little of this burden from you, I’d consider myself blessed.”  Through tears of compassion, she repeated his name, “Stephen…my darling, darling Stephen…you mustn’t torture yourself so.”

Soundlessly, he clung to her, his heart grown greedy for the softness she offered by simply being herself.  Between this solitary, bitter journey, and the time spent in the loop with Dormammu, Stephen had lived out thousands of years apart from any companionship, let alone understanding and mercy.  He had never asked for help or succor in all that time, being only ever focused on protecting and saving lives—nor had he ever expected thanks or any sort of recompense.  But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, here was someone who recognized the price he paid to wear the mantle of Master of the Mystic Arts, Time-Stone Wielder and Protector, and guardian of this reality—and often even more.

“Yes, dear,” she murmured, feeling him relax in her arms, while laying the softest kisses he’d ever known on his cheek and near his ear, “Let it go for at least a little while.  Know that you’ve done your best, Stephen; that no man could possibly do, or give more, than you already have.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” he husked against the tender flesh of her neck, breathing in her sunshine warmth and the pale, citrusy scent of her skin.  Another memory he would be sure to carry with him into the inescapable future.

“I know, darling,” she whispered against his ear, “I know—but trust me in this, okay?”

Stephen nodded and inhaled deeply, feeling her calm start to fill his lungs, replacing a share of his guilt with relief.  When he finally felt ready, he sat back in his chair; Hope was quick to smooth the tears from his cheeks, “You are the best man I've ever known, Stephen Strange. Strong. And kind. And good."  Words that felt to him like they came straight from her tender heart.  She exhaled slowly, and the knot of anxiety and despair that had been lodged in his chest for a thousand years, began to unclench as he read the truth on her sweet face.  "Now, my darling, beautiful, Stephen," she continued calmly.  Gently. Lovingly.  "There’s something you need to remember…something you might not have thought of…okay?”

He cupped one of her hands against his cheek and nodded again, even managing the ghost of a smile in answer to her request.

“Good.”  She gave him the same sort of smile back.  "Two things, really.  First, that because of you, Tony Stark is going to survive Titan, and have those five beautiful years with Pepper and their daughter.  From what you’ve described, it sounds like the life they have, the love they share, is something most people never even get to experience.”

"Alright,” he agreed, for she echoed what the small voice in the back of his mind had been insisting for some time now.  "And?”

"And…” she informed him firmly, yet with the same gentleness that marked her regard for him at every turn, “…from everything you’ve told me about Tony Stark, I’m absolutely certain that if given the choice, he would step up to save the world for their sake alone.  Don’t you think so?”

He had been so exhausted for so long, and so immersed in his guilt and desperation, that such an idea had not really occurred to Stephen.  Now he could almost hear how Stark might exclaim it:  If the only way they survive—and that Earth survives—is for me to lose…well, hell, I gotta be on board with that.  Stephen closed his eyes, and his breathing slowed and steadied, as he shed another share of the guilt that had become his unflagging companion on this ponderous quest.

"Yes," Hope urged him, "Your burden is heavy enough already without piling on the responsibility for the choice which Stark is bound by his own nature, to make."

He nodded, the warmth of her palm against his cheek soothing him in equal measure to the wisdom of her words.  "I don't think I realized until just now how much I needed to hear someone say that," he admitted, looking into her eyes once more, and seeing the gentlest of affirmations there.

Hope's brow furrowed a moment, as though she was perplexed, though her voice held no reproach, "You mean I haven't told you this already, in your previous visits here?"

"I never gave you the chance to," he confessed, regretting that choice in light of her merciful, sympathetic response.  "I never confided the entire story to you before." 

She hummed softly at that revelation, mulling it over.  "Okay...I, uh...I guess I can understand that.  But, um..." she lowered her eyes and hesitated a moment, "...what makes this time so different?"

Although Stephen was sure that she had already guessed the reason, he knew he owed her the answer.  "Because this time, when I go back," his voice broke with the sad truth of it, "It's going to be for good.

Hope nodded and a couple of tears spilled from beneath her lowered lashes, sympathetic tears for the inevitability of his burden.  "I kinda figured that was...that was why."  When she met his eyes again, hers shone bright with further tears withheld.  "I'm so sorry, Stephen.  I wish there was more I could do than just...offer you words...I..." she sighed, "I wish you didn't have to face this all alone."

An unexpected sense of peace filled his chest, and spread throughout his body like the warm flow of blood in his veins.  "Oh, honey," he promised her, "I won't be entirely alone.  Not anymore.  Stephen gathered her other hand in his, and lightly traced his thumb back and forth along the heart and life lines on her palm.  "That's your gift to me, Hope.  I'm here right now because I knew that you could grant me that last little bit...," he gave her a quiet, bittersweet smile, "...of very human, very humane magic.  And that's exactly what I've been needing to see me through to the end of this battle."

Her smile at that was sunshine breaking through thunderheads, so lovely and purely for him that his heart felt like to burst with the bloom of love---the seeds of which had lain dormant since his life had been stolen from him in the shadow of that invading spaceship, too long ago for him to even reckon properly now.

Hope bit her lip, eyeing him with curiosity and her ready humor.  "So, tell me, Mr. Remarkable---what comes next?"

"Well," he began, grinning at the nickname she had given him on the day they had met, "I was hoping you would stay with me a while longer.  Now that I've nearly reached the end, I believe I can afford a little time to just...be.  To simply enjoy your company.  Maybe we can sit beneath that silver maple in Washington Square Park again, and I can finally breathe air clean of the haze of battle and feel the sun shine on my face after so much smoke and darkness."  And death, he might have added, but for the happiness his suggestion had brought to her face.  "And I'm going to take a long, hot shower, because it's been literally a thousand years since I had that luxury."

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything," she teased him, "But you might wanna do just that."

Stephen narrowed his eyes, enjoying her return to playfulness, for it was a form of healing that he had prayed to find in her.  Cherishing every moment of their now, while his heart stored all of them up for future comfort---for he still did not know what future awaited him, let alone Hope, once the endgame of this epic, universal struggle played out in full.

“Alright then,” Hope concluded, rising and beginning to clear the dishes away, rinsing them quickly before depositing them in the dishwasher, “Whatever the Master of the Mystic Arts needs, I’m more than happy to provide---it’s the very least that I can do for the salvation of the universe.”

Silently, Stephen stood up while she went about her task, fascinated with---and grateful for---her resiliency, and thanking the universe that had seemed to be so unendurably cruel since Bruce Banner had come crashing through the Sanctum roof, for finally giving him a measure of mercy.  He took Hope by surprise, sliding an arm around her waist, and turning her to face him.  “Just leave the salvation of the universe in my hands, honey.  It’s enough for me that you’re seeing to my own.”  With that, he kissed her breathless, before they left the Sanctum arm in arm, in search of sunshine enough to ward off the darkness that awaited him once he resumed his dread task.

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tagging: @dutystricken @mousedetective

He had opened his mouth, meaning to speak the proper platitude for the moment--my pleasure--but realized there should be more than just a polite nicety to this first interaction between them. “I’m happy to help.” And he found that he truly was, broken sleep and brief adventure in freezing temperatures notwithstanding. “Please, make yourself as comfortable as you can,” he urged her gently. Hope had bit her lip and bowed her head as aknowledgement, and it had felt to Stephen as though she only refrained from answering so to keep herself from breaking into tears. That silent nobility summoned a sympathetic ache on her behalf, to join the sudden fondness in his chest.

“Here, let me take this,” he had told her, prompting her to surrender the blanket wrapped about her.  When she unbuttoned her hooded, wool coat (she would tell him later it was secondhand, from a local church’s St.Vincent DePaul Society), he was quick to circle behind her to help her shrug it off. This close, he could feel her shiver, and he had to fight the impulse to wrap her up in a comforting embrace. It would do nothing to allay her skittishness and would probably send her bolting away from him instead, as quickly as she was able. Stephen backed away and laid her things on the bottom of the bed.

Hope turned to him and he was swift to fill in the gap. “I can fix you something to eat if you're hungry, or at least something hot to drink to help you warm up...”

She braved meeting his eyes, clearing her throat before she spoke. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d love some orange juice. I, um...I can’t remember the last time I had some.”

“Sure,” he nodded, “Right away. And how about a little snack or something?”

She gave him a brave little smile, “Nah. The juice will be enough for now. If you have some.”

“Alright,” Stephen answered with his own small smile, then moved past her to open the bathroom door to flick on the light, leaving the door ajar enough to spill a wedge of warm light across the floor. “You can wash up, if you wish. There’s plenty of towels, and a whirlpool tub. Bathroom connects on the other side with the master bedroom.”

“Thanks. Um...if it’s alright, I’d like to lay down right now. You can’t imagine how the body craves laying down when you haven’t had the chance in...well, in days and days...” Though her voice cracked on the last few words, Hope held his gaze without flinching. "I'm just so incredibly...weary. And that bed looks really inviting..."

“I’m sure it does,” he replied softly. “Please...make yourself at home, Hope. And I’ll go grab that juice for you.” Stephen paused a moment, until she acknowledged him with a bob of her head, before he departed on his errand.

Before the juice, though, he had stopped to get something comfortable for her to change into, from his dresser. Neither he nor his other self, had even thought to grab some of Hope’s personal belongings before ending up in his apartment. Stephen supposed they’d need to retrieve some items at some point the next day. That other him had advised a week’s stay--not only for Hope’s sake, but for his own. Plus, they’d eventually need to move her car to his second space in the building’s parking garage.

He returned to find Hope had propped a couple of pillows against the headboard, having slipped beneath the covers. She had taken the care of folding what looked to be a couple layers of clothing, and left them (along with her coat, blanket, and knit cap) in a neat pile on the chaise at the foot of the bed. She wore a simple, white camisole, trimmed in a thin band of lace across the swell of her breasts. It would have been rude to let his eyes linger, but by the light from the bathroom, Stephen had enough time to notice the light freckling along and beneath her collarbone echoed the pretty spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. How...fetching, he had thought, wondering that such a rarely used word had popped into his mind.

Setting the orange juice on the bedside table, Stephen added a chocolate chip muffin that he’d hastily swathed in plastic wrap, a fresh washed apple, and a banana. “Just in case you wake up feeling peckish,” he told her, then placed the small bundle of clothes he’d grabbed from his room, next to her own on the chaise. “It’s just a tee shirt and some flannel pajama bottoms--they cinch at the waist, so they shouldn’t fall off--but they’ll be a little long for you. Oh, and an old hoodie of mine.” It was, in fact, his well worn, favorite Columbia hoodie; he hadn’t hesitated in including it, for it somehow made his proffer of help more personal. More sincere.

Hope’s tired eyes were warm with gratitude while she did her best to stifle a yawn. “If there’s anything more you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m a pretty light sleeper," he told her, "and I’ll just be on the other side of the bathroom door...” Stephen shrugged as he trailed off, hoping he had done enough to put the woman at ease.  

“Thank you for your kindness, Stephen. You’ve already done far more than most people might’ve. Easpecially given the...extraordinary...circumstances...”

He chuckled, despite the gravity of the moment. “Extraordinary beyond belief...”

“I know, right,” she almost giggled, so that he wondered how long it had been since Hope had enjoyed the opportunity to laugh. “I keep pinching myself to test if this is all real.”

“Yeah, me too,” he admitted, “And if not, it’s the trippiest dream I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, me too,” she repeated, then gave a little shiver.

“Hey, you okay?” Concerned, Stephen dared to perch on the edge of the bed beside her, slipping back into physician mode, but stopping short of the urge to lay his hand against her forehead, as she might find that act as being too familiar. “Are you having chills? Do you feel feverish?”

Shaking her head, Hope tugged the blanket a bit higher, “No...no, I’m fine. Just really tired and...and truthfully?” The corners of her mouth framed a wee smile, “Most of me still thinks I’m dreaming...or hallucinating...” Her eyes seemed to plead with Stephen to give her some assurance she was wrong. “But right now, I have no will except to let whatever this is, just sweep me along.” 

And that was enough for him. Stephen did touch her, as much for himself as to answer her concern. Just his hand against her cheek, his voice gone low, and as soft as her flesh. “Hope...do you remember a dream, ever in your life, with warmth this real?” 

"Never. Not ever." Hope closed her eyes, exhaling the quietest little sigh of relief as she parted her lips and nestled her cheek against his palm. They seemed to freeze in place that way, while a thousand thoughts swirled through Stephen’s mind, not the least of which was wondering how such a sweet soul--for already, she felt as such to him--could have come to such desperate straits.

By the time he lowered his hand, Hope’s breathing had slowed to that of a sleeper’s, but he waited a minute more before rising from the bed, so as not to jostle her awake. Tomorrow would do for pondering the slew of questions they must have in common regarding the unbelievable visitation from a stranger-not-stranger, whose force of will had somehow bound their fates together, for at least a little while.

If you read the whole piece through, thank you most kindly!💙 If you reblog, you'll truly make my day!!🥰

Hope is homeless in this fiction, as I have been since July 2022--a condition I had never imagined for her or for myself. I've been blessed to get through this long, difficult, and very enlightening journey with much help from friends here on tumblr. And I am ever hopeful to finally find a permanent home, especially lately, as I've been having to sleep in my car more and more often--which has been detrimental to my health. Perhaps by the time I can write a happy ending for this version of Hope & Stephen, I may find a better ending of my own!