#streyla

As ever, Teyla showed him a regard that left him feeling both exalted and humbled. “And I wonder what I could possibly teach that could be of any value to a sorcerer of such surpassing skill.”

“Oh, Teyla,” Stephen smiled softly in the face of her honest humility and reticence, “Don’t underestimate yourself, honey. You’ve taught me countless things since we met. Things I might never have had the eyes to see, if not for your kindness and patience and belief in me.”

Made momentarily shy by his claim, she lowered her lashes, considering his entreaty before she met his eyes again. “How can I decline such an eloquent request? Your words are as the taste of some sweet honey on my tongue. Pleasing yes, yet leaving me with the need for more.”

“That’s exactly how you make me feel,” he husked, “Filled up with your sweetness, but always, always wanting more."

Thus, having secured Teyla’s acquiescence, Stephen found that she wasted no time in proceeding. The incantation was indeed rudimentary, and he easily tapped into the energy needed to perform the magic.

But despite his encyclopedic knowledge of popular music and his former mastery of the piano, it was properly humming the run of notes that proved a challenge. She did her best not to laugh at his first attempts, which yielded only plantlike materials and nothing remotely like flower petals. "Hum it from here," she instructed him, laying her palm over his heart, "The exact tone of the notes is not as vital as the...hmmm...as the joy that you allow to fill your chest and then let flow outward."

"Joy," he scoffed lightly.

Teyla remained patient in the face of his skepticism. “Yes, my love---have you never sung out loud with no care as to who might be listening, simply for the joy of it?”

“Well, yeah,” he nodded, “Which is why it’s a good thing the Sanctum is soundproofed.”

She chuckled softly. “Well, it is the same with harmonic resonance. We take joy not only in the music but in the creation of something of beauty, even if it may only be fleeting...”

“And when you use it as a Healer?”

“We take joy in the gift of being able to heal, of course,” she replied, looking puzzled that he needed to ask, “Just as you must have as a surgeon.”

Leave it to Teyla to remind me of those happy memories, he realized, when I still look back too often with regret instead of gratitude.

After that it was easy---and the joy that Stephen let fill his chest was that which she had brought to his life with the gift of her unconditional love. Stephen played with the charm a while, gaining quick proficiency, while Teyla applauded his success, giggling and twirling beneath his colorful, prolific shower of petals. Though soon he found himself dissatisfied with how quickly they popped out of existence---enough so that he set his mind upon a small improvement.

"What’s this,” she exclaimed as the petals that landed on her hair and brushed her skin did not dissolve on contact, as the original magic worked. “How are you doing this?”

“Just a little modification, honey,” he grinned as petals covered the ground all around her feet like a soft, colorful carpet. “Dunno how long they will last, but they’re awfully pretty, don’t you think?” Pretty enough for my lady fair, he sent her way, picturing the sight of her hair spread out upon the grass, like a flower strewn halo about her head. Pretty enough to tempt her to lay upon them with me?

Oh, Stephen,” she answered breathlessly, eyes bright with happiness as the fragrant petals continued to cascade from the thin air all around her, even as he caught her in his arms. You need no pretty magic to tempt me, she whispered in his mind, but to simply lay me down. Teyla slid her arms around his back, her cheek pressed to his as she breathed against his ear, “Lay me down, Beloved, and work the magic inside of me, which only you can do.”

This is just a small part of Stephen & Teyla’s story. Their lives intersect in such unexpected ways that this makes Stephen believe they are fated for one another. Before he realizes his heart is falling, Teyla, as a talented Healer among her people, even provides him with a period of relief from the daily pain in his hands--by taking it on, in part, as her own.

(related works: Lady in Red, Though There Be Pain Love Still Endures)

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

Doctor Stephen Strange's life has settled into a fulfilling pattern; even as Master of the New York Sanctum, he continues his studies in the mystic arts, self-training with the library that the Ancient One amassed in her years as Sorcerer Supreme. An old alliance forged by the Ancient One brings an unexpected request to him, and he is duty bound to fulfill it. Along the way he meets with some pleasant surprises--and discovers that his heart is not immune to the effects of the gentlest sorts of magic.

moodboard by @strangelock221b

Seraphina DiPietro is wise in the ways of the world; she has to be, as she travels the California coast as a torch singer in pubs, bars and nightclubs. She knows how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble--most of the time. When trouble comes, it's usually because her kind heart overrides her common sense. Stopping to check on a handsome stranger, stranded roadside in the Mojave Desert, her curiosity is piqued as much by the classic, mint-looking Mustang, as by the driver--a tall, dark mysterious drink of water, whom she quickly learns is so much more than what he appears.

moodboard by @mel-loves-all

Major Jamie Stewart is a survivor--but sometimes he just needs to escape. The guilt, the pain, the despair; his bitter fall due to folly and hubris. It helps to survive if one has a sanctuary to turn to, a dream to hold onto. A vision of a day--and a woman--that might grant him the salvation he desperately craves.

bookcover for The One That Got Away created by @onebuttscratcher

An actress making her name for herself on the London stage, Virgilia (Vicki) Gordon vows not to follow her usual pattern: falling in love with her leading man. The work comes first and foremost--or so she plans. She never expects to develop feelings for her co-star in "The Taming of the Shrew", but with his stellar talent matched by his charm, kindness and intellect, Vicki learns all too soon that, despite one's best intentions, the heart goes where it will. Still, all might be well--but he is far from free enough to return her affections.

moodboard by @strangelock221b

He clapped Stephen on the shoulder, “Accept that you’re destined for this bit of diplomacy, Stephen.  It can’t be anywhere near as complicated as navigating your way through the human brain to excise a pin point sized tumor.”

Strange rose to his feet, favoring Wong with a scowl, “As usual, Wong, your vote of confidence is underwhelming—but I will do my best not to provoke a diplomatic incident with an ally that has had Earth’s back for hundreds of years, and in some hairy situations.”

A young attendant placed the tray with fresh-brewed tea and a sampling of Nepalese delicacies on the low table before him.  Without a word, she filled a cup with the hot liquid, and set it down beside the pot, before sliding a plate of almond honey cakes closer at hand to him.  Stephen nodded, murmuring his thanks—though he was a little too nervous to partake of one of his favorite dishes.  Instead, he stirred a bit of honey into his tea, briefly reflecting on the first cup of honeyed tea he had partaken in this very room, barely more than a year ago.  With a shock to his system, he had been quickly educated as to how very much he did not know about the world, the universe, and the human mind and spirit; and since then, he had learned much more than he would ever had imagined of things he’d never even entertained as plausible.  He considered himself a work in progress, truly humbled for the first time in his life, when he took into account how much he still did not know.

Yet, he had earned the respect of his peers here and—just moments before her death--the Ancient One had appointed him Master of the New York Sanctum.  Strange took that responsibility ever seriously, having seen and experienced for himself the sort of assaults from other dimensions which Earth would be prey to were it not for the ancient protections provided by the band of sorcerers, bound in service to mankind.

The man he once was—before the accident that had deprived him of his livelihood, and the purpose by which he defined himself—Doctor Stephen Strange had the hubris to consider himself the best his specialty had ever known, and the ambition to pursue the loftiest positions of influence and power in his field.  Now, as he split his time between New York and Nepal, he was in a constant quest for knowledge that would enable him to do this job to the best of his ability, while never seeking glory for himself.  He would not—could not, in fact—allow himself to aspire to the title of Sorcerer Supreme…although more often than not these days, he was given--by some silent agreement (to which he was no party)--the deference and the responsibilities that came with that designation.  Today, he would prefer to be a mere rank and file mage—but he could not turn his back upon the service that was asked of him.

Stephen rose when Wong appeared in the entrance way, ushering a stately, robed woman into the room.  “Master Strange, allow me to present Mistress Moraine of Clan Kayolo, member of the Hadeethan Ruling Council,” Wong gave her a nod of respect, before moving to Stephen’s side.    

Following the formal protocol which the Ancient One had chronicled, Strange bowed at the waist before speaking.  “Welcome to Kamar-Taj, Mistress Moraine of Hadeeth.  We are honored by your presence, and offer hospitality and friendship to you, and any others under your protection, for however long you sojourn here.”

She bowed in reply, and recited her opening remarks smoothly, her rich voice that of a woman accustomed to oratory, “The honor is mine, Sir.  On behalf of my people, and in the name of our alliance, I accept your hospitality, Master Strange.”  Moraine paused, studying him closely, before adding, “May the worlds we serve continue to benefit from our partnership.”

Strange motioned her to take a seat, then sat himself, while Wong moved forward to pour tea for the Hadeethan woman; the ensuing silence enough to allow Stephen an observation or two.  She was definitely dignified (royalty was the first word that came to his mind), aloof and otherworldly; she wore her thick, silver hair loose and unadorned, for surely nothing could flatter her more than it’s natural glory; and the only subtle sign of age he could discern, were small crinkles at the corners of her pale grey eyes--but since he knew the average Hadeethan lifespan was upwards of 150 Earth years, they gave no clue regarding her actual age.  There was a palpable feel of strength of will about her, as though her spine were made of steel.  Moraine appeared—in short—to be a power to be reckoned with.  He vowed to tread carefully regarding whatever topic she had arrived to discuss.

She sipped her tea, then nodded her approval, “Ah…it’s been far too long since I sampled this welcoming taste of Kamar-Taj.  Though I regret I shall never raise my cup with the Ancient One again.”

“Her loss remains a heavy one for us to bear, Mistress Moraine,” he replied, a truth he felt most keenly every day, “And nothing would make me happier than for her to be here in my place.”

“I bear the condolences of my people for the dread passing of a wise leader and constant ally,” she told him, “And for myself, I share in your grief; for I had known the Sorcerer Supreme from my youth—as a teacher, then a mentor, and at the last, a friend.”

“I envy you that,” he admitted, “We all miss her guidance—but we have done our best to go forward as we believe she would see fit.”

Moraine narrowed her eyes, looking for the truth in his reaction, “And you do not seek to guide in her place?  To bear the mantle she wore for centuries?”

Stephen shook his head vehemently, “I assure you, I am not that man.  And honestly, I can’t think of anyone who could fill her shoes.”

She nodded, pleased with his reply, than raised her cup.  “It is always so with the best of leaders.  May we all do her proud in the service we provide to our worlds.”

“May we indeed,” he echoed, drinking from his cup as well.

Formalities now aside, Moraine was swift to reveal the surprising purpose of her visit.  “I come on a personal matter, Master Strange.  ‘Tis my hope you will entertain my request, if not for the sake of relations between our worlds, but for she whom we both miss.”

“I am certain we can accommodate you, Mistress Moraine.  The resources of Kamar-Taj are at your service.” 

“Even as I had anticipated,” she asserted, wearing a small relieved smile, “As you may know, Hadeeth has a good share of practitioners of the mystic arts.  And in our culture, this is a thing well-known, even aspired to.  In fact, by long standing tradition, the majority of those who sit on our ruling council are skilled in magic.”

Strange nodded, having gleaned those facts from the Ancient One’s notes, “Magic being the primary reason our worlds are well-suited as allies.”

Moraine bobbed her head in a brief acknowledgement, then continued, “On Hadeeth, we have found that the aptitude for magic, and the strength to wield it properly, are most prevalent in certain bloodlines.  As a result, it is not uncommon for a particular clan to hold a council seat for several generations.”

“I take it that is your own experience,” he inferred.

“It is, Master Strange.  But seats are not granted automatically—and those aspiring to them must pass a series of tests, unique to the individual.”

“And these tests involve the use of magic?”

“Exactly so—and thus arises my need for your assistance,” she admitted.

A bit perplexed, he might’ve asked, but Moraine had anticipated his question.  “Not for myself, Master Strange—for my daughter, Teyla.”  And then surprising him, she added, “A daughter of both our worlds.”

Not having known such a mingling of their races was even possible, it took a moment for him to respond, “You’re asking that we train her here, in Kamar-Taj?”

Moraine’s face took on a pleasant sort of softness, clear sign of the depth of her feelings for her child.  “She has ever been my greatest treasure, and from the moment in which I discerned that she possessed aptitude for the mystical arts, I had planned to entrust my own best teacher with her tutelage.”  She lowered her eyes, her voice become sorrow-tinged, “Who could have anticipated that such a plan would go unrealized?”

Stephen remained speechless, moved by her quiet show of grief.  In the months since the Ancient One fell, he had learned things about her he had never expected—always making him long for the fruits of the wisdom she might have shared with him.

Having set aside her sorrow, Moraine looked to him again, firm of purpose, “Teyla’s skill--her strength—lies in the healing of body, mind, and heart.  And though this ability is a miracle in itself, it does not suit well the sort of trials she is likely to face in the fullness of time.”

The doctor in him wanted to ask more of Hadeethan healing magic, but the situation would not allow for it—though he made a promise to himself to learn more of their practices when possible, with an eye towards the exchange of knowledge that might enable him to fulfill again that purpose of more than half his lifetime.  “What training would best prepare your daughter for these future trials?”

Moraine looked please at his show of willingness, “She will need to develop defensive skills, for both her own safety, and for those who may someday fall under her protection.”  She paused, gauging his reaction, and then concluded, “Teyla also possesses a small degree of prescience, although she is not yet capable of employing it at will.  She dreams, yet cannot tell when the images may come to pass; she has strong, yet unpredictable, flashes of intuition, which she finds difficult to interpret.  This gift is useless to her until she can cultivate the proper wisdom and discipline.”

“There are no teachers on Hadeeth that might guide her?” he asked, “Seers are rare, even in Kamar-Taj.  I can’t guarantee our knowledge is enough to guide her beyond the most rudimentary training.”

“They are rarer still, on Hadeeth,” Moraine shrugged, “So rare they come but a handful of times in each generation.  Though I am her mother, I haven’t even a touch of that gift.”   

Stephen nodded, considering her request a moment.  “We will do our best, Mistress Moraine—but in this case, I can make no promise.”

“I understand, Master Strange.  And with this understanding, I will entrust you with Teyla’s further education.  For the sake of our alliance,” she reminded him, “And for all the hopes a parent has for their child’s safety and happiness.”

They had concluded their meeting by settling upon three Earth days as the interval until Teyla would arrive at Kamar-Taj.  “Of course, we’ll need to see what magic your daughter is already capable of, before we proceed with any training plan,” he cautioned her, as he and Wong escorted her back to the courtyard for her departure.  “Please be sure she understands what lies ahead.”

“Oh, she is already more than prepared for that,” Moraine told him gratefully, “And she has spent a share of time on Earth--living with her father for several years--so you should find she will easily acclimate to your world.”  With that, she drew on her sling ring—the magical tool which the Ancient One had shared with the Hadeethans, in consideration of their partnership—and conjured a portal back to her home world.  Stephen could discern very little of what lay on the other side; a room half lit with what could be daylight, vague shapes that were likely Hadeethan furniture.

Moraine turned his way, and bowed low, and then rose to meet his eye.  “Please keep in mind, Master Strange, that some of the tests Teyla may come to face are dangerous.  I beg you to see she is properly prepared to survive, beyond the training I have already given her.  I will be in your debt, and Earth’s, for the remainder of my days—and look forward to the day when I can be of service to your world, in return.”  She stepped into the portal, and raised her hand in farewell, closing the circle before he could utter a word in reply.

“Well, this should prove interesting,” Wong observed, “How much experience do you have dealing with teenagers?”

“Barely to none,” Stephen confessed, “And I hadn’t counted on being asked to play a schoolmaster to a rookie sorcerer.”

Wong chuckled, amused at Strange’s befuddlement, “I’m thinking diplomacy will turn out to be child’s play, compared to the task you have ahead of you.”

“Yes,” Steven agreed grimly, heading back to the library to continue his studies of earlier. “And I’d much rather be navigating my way through the human brain, then babysit an angsty adolescent.”

Feedback/Reblogs are incredibly meaningful. Please support content creators by doing us the honor. Thank you!

If you enjoyed this and would like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know.

How relaxed he felt, how at peace, thinking this was as close to a vacation that he’d likely get in a very, very long time.  He wasn’t even wearing his usual tunic and breeches; just the same sort of casual attire he adopted on the nights when he and Teyla stole what time they could with one another, away from the confines of compound and sanctum.  It occurred to him that the moment lacked only one thing—the most important thing—the one thing that was the most crucial of all to his happiness.

As if summoned by that thought alone, Teyla called out his name; Stephen smiled, hearing her as much in his mind and heart as with his ears--as he so often did these days.  He opened his eyes to look for her, and saw her approaching from a distance, with a dreamlike grace that made his knees weak.  The bright sunlight streamed through the flower-laden branches, painting her skin with a soft, healthy glow; the wind stirred the trees gently, wafting the pale lavender petals around her, leaving some to be caught in her unbound hair.  Stephen covered his heart with his right hand; it felt so full of love and joy at the vision of his sweet woman that it seemed like it might burst, if he allowed it to.

Clad in a pale blue shift that was gathered beneath her breasts and fell in soft ripples mid-calf, Teyla walked barefoot through the drifts of fallen keyanna blossoms.  Her eyes were set upon him, and she was smiling a beckoning smile, pure with her love for him, as she held out her arms to motion him closer.   “Stephen… Beloved,” she called to him, like a perfect piece of music meant for his ears alone, and as an irresistible whisper in his mind.  “This is the place, my Beloved; the place where I would lay with thee, beneath the bright sun, beneath the sister-moons and diamond-stars.”  Stephen swallowed hard, awe-struck, love-struck, feeling her quiet beauty in his blood, recognizing his weakness for her, and happy that of all the souls in the cosmos, she was the one that had claimed his heart.  “This, Stephen; this is the place where I would gladly give myself to thee.” 

His dream-self recognized with a soft pang of regret that she had meant it to be the place, and thus was surely no small part of the reason that Teyla had brought him to the grove, so vividly awash in Nonya’s beneficent light.  Once there, she had revealed that she’d dreamed of them together in this place; dreams in which they lay together skin-on-skin.  And swept up in that longing, she had then shown him her desire.

As he pondered the meaning of his vision—astounded at how real it felt--Teyla closed the distance between them easily, and stood before him, soft and sweet and oh so willing.  Why, Stephen could taste her willingness on the very breeze that caressed his skin, feel it in the way the sunlight danced through the keyanna leaves, hear it in the rapid beating of his heart.  She smiled serenely, and with perfect understanding of everything he was feeling—including his suspicion that something, or someone, might prevent her from returning to Earth—she whispered his name as she draped her arms around his neck.  “Dismiss that fear, Beloved, for I will return to thee—no force in the universe can keep me from your side for long.”  Teyla rose up on her toes—as she so often needed to do when she faced him in the flesh--to reach his lips and kiss him tenderly.

“Of course; how could I think otherwise?” he answered, relief flooding his veins--finding her dream-form substantial enough to embrace; not the mist of some sweet reverie, but the real woman whom he ached for with every breath he drew.  “Am I dreaming this, or are we somehow here together?”

“We are together, my love, in a realm somewhere between dreams and waking.”  How wise she was, how patient and loving; his Teyla, his beloved one, and in that moment he knew he’d be willing to sell his soul to have her be his forever.  “Oh, my love, my Stephen—know you not that I already am?”  Her smile dazzled him, as he accepted the knowledge from her mind to his, that come what may, her heart had chosen him, had committed to him eternally as was the ancient way of her people; only later, as he considered his dream-vision upon waking, did he realize that Teyla’s mother had bonded in the same way with Walter Charles--which had to account for much of the beauty in his creations featuring her.

“Yes.  My sweet Teyla,” he smiled, drawing her against him, patient enough for the future that awaited them together.  He let his face hover over hers, drinking in the purity of the love and trust reflected in her eyes, and letting it fill him to the brim, refreshing him as no twelve-hour sleep ever could.  He took her offered lips with his, slowly and softly to begin with, tasting all that she promised, her devotion, her desire.  Tasting all that she offered him; a lifetime spent at his side as lover and helpmate; as his ‘better half’ in the parlance of Earth.  Stephen had never desired such a profound connection to another soul in his old life—but now, it seemed essential not only to his existence, but to the accomplishment of his mystical purpose.

When he broke from their kiss, Teyla sighed against his lips, then buried her face against his neck, breathing him in, humming contentedly.  “What comes next, honey?”  Stephen stroked her hair, soothing himself as much as he did her, “How long do you think it will take until can rejoin me on Earth?”

She sighed hard this time, delivering regretful news, “I cannot say with certainty, Beloved.  To fulfill my obligation, and for the sake of my people, it may be several days.”  Teyla hesitated briefly, before quietly admitting that Moraine might present a further obstacle to her departure from Hadeeth.  “She will use every entreaty at her disposal to keep me close—but I will show her, Stephen—I will show her that I know my own mind and heart, and that I will not be dissuaded from the course I have chosen.”  She spoke gently, but with full conviction against his ear, “The course that you and I have chosen together.”

Despite her avowal, Stephen wanted to hold onto her tighter than ever—but strangely, he began to feel their embrace weakening.  Teyla answered before he could ask.  “I will be called to Council chambers shortly.  I regret I must turn my focus from thee now.”  She backed out of his arms just enough to face him squarely, “And you, my love, must rest yourself, return to your world, and focus on the duties that await you.”  She kissed him once more, and faced him with a knowing smile, before brushing her fingertips from the edge of his hairline to between his eyebrows, tracing a wee circle there.  His sight began to dim, as true sleep overtook him, and as he exhaled his exhaustion, he fell away from her arms.

Upon awakening—and after mulling over his dream-vision, wishing with heartfelt immediacy to find his way back to the keyanna grove--Stephen’s first impulse was to check the Sanctum library for any texts that might explain his extraordinary experience.  It had been far too real to be the mere fantasy of a man missing his lover, every sensory detail vivid enough that it seemed he could still taste Teyla’s kisses on his tongue and feel her tender caress against his cheek, while he swore that his room retained traces of scent from the keyanna trees.  But as ever, his needs and wants were secondary to his duties, forcing him to set that quest aside until far later in the day.

Instead, he made his first order of business sending messages along to Wong and Master Salma, explaining Teyla’s absence from Kamar-Taj, and that he could not give them a timeframe for how long she might be detained upon Hadeeth.  Though she had assured him in his dream that she would return, Stephen was left to wait—just as they were--with no clear idea of when to expect her.

His daily duties kept Stephen busy for a good part of the afternoon and early evening, so that he didn’t see himself clear to visit the library until after wolfing down a late supper.  Fortunately, his gift of eidetic memory was crucial to his research, and in less than a couple of hours, he thought he had answers enough to understand what he’d experienced.

Lucid dreaming.  That seemed to be the closest explanation for what had happened.  Certainly Teyla had initiated it, across the immeasurable distances between them, enabled by her empathic gifts to reach out to him in spirit as he never could have imagined possible.  In his studies since his first day at Kamar-Taj, and through a multitude of experiences since becoming a Master, Stephen had learned how powerful pure thought could be, capable of bridging time and vast distances beyond even the speed of light.  But he had never imagined it affecting him so personally, so intimately.  And now that he knew it was possible, he hoped he might reach out to Teyla in return.

Each night that followed, he settled into bed, relaxed enough from meditation to practice the techniques he had studied, his mind and heart focused on reaching her, spirit to spirit.  But each night, to his disappointment, sleep took him before he even came close to succeeding.

By the fourth morning, Stephen’s exasperation with such failures—coupled with frustration that their separation seemed to be stretching on indefinitely—left him irritable, to carry out his responsibilities perfunctorily, while being uncharacteristically curt with those around him.  Watching over the multiverse from his privileged vantage point of the Window of the World, he was tempted for the first time to use that auspicious tool for his own benefit, to hone in on Hadeeth and discover how Teyla was faring, and if indeed there was any hope she’d be free to return to Earth soon.  Wisely, Stephen denied himself that urge, knowing that the use of magic for such a selfish purpose would ultimately rebound bitterly upon the user, and sometimes even exact unanticipated collateral damage.

On day five, his concern for her welfare far surpassed his need to have her at his side, as he imagined Moraine holding her daughter hostage of sorts, believing she was doing a mother’s service to a misguided child’s heart.    Intellectually he knew it couldn’t be so, but the tender heart Teyla had awakened within him worried all the same.  Even knowing that he might cause damage to Earth’s alliance with Hadeeth by acting rashly, Stephen had to tap into a lifetime habit of discipline—the selfsame that had forged his brilliant path to medical supremacy--to resist conjuring a portal directly to the People’s Citadel, or to the homey little cottage which Teyla called home.  This fifth day, as he went about a Master’s tasks and continued his perpetual watch for threats against humanity--all while waiting for the night to come again--felt like the longest in his memory.

Exhausted in spirit and low on optimism Stephen took to his bed, thoughts of Teyla fixed in his mind’s eye, sending everything he felt for her out into the universe.  Not trying to force his way to achieve his aim, and expecting nothing from the universe in return.  And perhaps that was the simple, missing element needed to span the realities that lay between them.

His dream-self opened his eyes, and she was finally there before him, making his doubts and concerns evaporate like thin wisps of mist by day’s new light. They stood in a moonlit meadow, surrounded by Teyla’s talat akeylum, countless fragrant blossoms fully opened and nodding almost imperceptibly in the light breeze.  The night was deep around them, filled with the lulling nighttime sounds of whatever small Hadeethan creatures and insects called the meadow home.  The three moons rode high and brightly in the sky, one full, one half, and one a silvery crescent, their combined light painting the scene with lovely clarity—though that loveliness paled for him, as his eyes drank in the bewitching sight of his woman, the most exquisite blossom of them all.  His Teyla.  

For a moment, Stephen forgot how to breathe, overcome with awe, his heart beating like a trip-hammer in his chest.  Even clad in the simple homespun robe she had worn at their first meeting, her hair piled up in a loose bun once again, Teyla stole his ability to reason.  “Oh god,” he whispered, memorizing the details of her face as though he’d hadn’t already committed them to memory dozens of time; he breathed hard to keep his voice from breaking with emotion, “I miss you so much, honey…it feels like years since I’ve touched you…held you.  Why haven’t you returned to me?”

She smiled and gave a little sigh before she answered.  “My love--though I tarry here, all my soul is bent upon returning to your side.  To your arms.”  She stepped into him, and though Stephen knew they met in a realm of dreams, of spirit, the sweet, familiar scent of her hair and skin filled each breath he drew, putting to shame the fragrance of the moon blossoms around them.  He wanted to taste her scent on his tongue, wear it on his skin, embed it in his very cells.  “Stephen…Beloved…our time draws near, and I swear that your patience with me will find true fruition.”  She lowered her lashes as she moved in to brush her lips on his, laying both hands against his chest.

How blessedly real it felt—and how he ached for more!  He took her face in his hands, kissing her soundly, sinking into the dream as deeply as he could.  The silk of her tongue against his, the little sounds she made in reply to his bold advances, the press of her body against him blessedly, sinfully real. 

Soon enough, he had loosed the knot on the neck of her robe and tucked his fingers beneath the material to slide it from her shoulders.  Teyla lowered her arms and shimmied the cloth away, leaving her robe to hang loose around her waist, laying her torso bare to him.  Stephen nearly growled, grown desperate with hunger, grown rougher than he meant to be, raining fierce kisses on her dainty neck and slim shoulders, relishing her surprised gasps and how readily she yielded herself to his raw need.

He planted one hand against the small of her back, trapping Teyla against him, while she wove her fingers in his hair, purring deep in her throat when he cupped her breast in his free hand.  He was certain the fury of his kisses had to be bruising her tender flesh, but she offered no complaint; she began to kiss his neck instead, her lips ever soft but insistent.  She drifted one hand down to slide beneath the sleeve of his tee shirt, massaging his flesh firmly and surprising him when she murmured against his hair, “Please, Stephen…let me feel your skin against mine…I need to feel you…I need… you…”

He released her for only as long as it took to pull his shirt over his head, greedy to have her softness against him at last, no longer questioning how she could feel so real in his arms, nor how this dream, not-a-dream, surpassed any erotic dream he had ever had.   

He pulled her to him, losing himself in the heated press of her naked flesh against his, in the divine sensation of her flawless little breasts rubbing against his chest, her tightened nipples evidencing her desire for him.  Teyla moaned and let her head fall back as Stephen laid open mouthed kisses upon her throat, tasting the salt of her skin upon his tongue.  She shuddered his name, sliding her arms beneath his to grip his shoulders, becoming her softest self, softly pliant as he lowered her onto a bed of moon blossoms.

He paused, hovering over her, mesmerized by her half-lidded eyes, her sweet parted lips, the quickened pant of her breath, nearly convinced that he had somehow transported bodily to her, and that Teyla lay beneath him at last, and for real.  “I would I were, Beloved,” she told him, her smile bittersweet and piercing his heart, “I would couple with thee now, have you sate yourself inside of me…”  Stephen took her welcoming mouth with his, a frisson of lust hastening through his blood when she slowly traced her tongue along the inner edge of his lips.  The small part of his brain that remained rational, that knew this encounter was closer to dream than truth, was clouded by his desperate desire to know Teyla in every possible way.

“So beautiful, so perfect,” he panted as he kissed a path down her neck to her sternum, while she arched into his hands, whimpering softly at the greedy insistence of his grasp, and crying out when he circled her areola with the tip of his tongue, then tickled the stiff bud of her nipple before drawing it into his mouth.  Teyla laid one palm on his cheek, and anchored her other hand in his hair, encouraging his play to continue.

He felt her beneath him as fully substantial; she moved against him as he touched her, arched into his caresses as lovers do, and he wondered how far they might actually go in this dream-like state—and if it was fair to Teyla to do so.  She was touching him now as she never had before, sweeping her hands across his bare skin, sparking every nerve of his body with the ache to sink himself inside her.  Stephen groaned hard, impatiently grinding his hips into hers, the thin material of his pajama bottoms unable to conceal his lust.  Frustrated as much by the layers of cloth between them as by the knowledge of the actual physical distance separating them, he exclaimed shamelessly, “I want you…all of you…so badly, baby,” then licked his lips, craving her every flavor.

“I know, my love,” she assured him, “Even in my sleep, I have felt you wanting me, as far away as you are—and as I have longed for thee as well.”

Wanting her to comprehend the depth of his hunger, of his keen thirst for her, he raised his head enough to look into her eyes.  “Teyla, my darling…my dear one...this is so much more than physical.”  He read eager, equal desire in her soft, dark eyes.  “I need you, honey.  I need your presence.  Need you at my side, filling my days with your patience and kindness…filling my heart with…with the wonder of your love.”

She nodded in quiet understanding, drawing his face close, and kissing him tenderly, “Even so, Stephen; you have become the cool shadow wherein I find my soul’s ease.”  She murmured against his lips, “I shall have no peace of mind, no rest until I am with thee again.”   

She drew his tongue into her mouth, giving such patient, gentle suction that the sensation surged through his solar plexus, his loins, his throbbing erection.  Stephen grunted into her mouth, concentrating on stilling himself, fighting the urge to come—knowing that Teyla, in her innocence, was likely unaware of the power she held over him.

He rolled to her side, pulling her along with him, allowing some small space between them as they lay face to face, space enough for him to catch his breath and to restore his reason.  Teyla blinked open her eyes, the trust there unwavering, silently signaling she would follow his lead wherever he wished.  Stephen kissed her brow, as she snuggled against him, the raging of his blood receding a bit as he traced small, soothing circles along her cheek and the side of her neck.  When he had calmed a bit more, he trusted himself to speak.  “When, honey?”  He sounded exhausted to his own ears, worn and ready for the oblivion of sleep.  “When will you return to me, Teyla?  Give me some hope I can hold you…and love you…for real, sometime soon.”

She was silent a moment, considering the most honest way to answer him.  “No more than two days, Beloved.  I have submitted to the repeated questioning of the Council, and they have gleaned all they can from my vision.”  She did not mention that Moraine had applied what pressure she could to keep her on Hadeeth, but Stephen felt the truth from her nevertheless.  “I am certain there is no more that I can do to provide for the safety of my people.”  She moved in to kiss his jaw, unable to resist that smallest affection, while pressing one warm, soft hand against his chest.  “I shall leave it to their wisdom, and follow my heart back to its home.”  Her voice quavered, and Stephen knew that she was staving off tears for his sake.  Teyla slid her hand to rest over his heart, adding softly, “Here, my love, is my heart’s true home.  I will not be fully myself until you hold me in your strong, loving arms.”

He threaded his fingers in her hair, kissing her brow, feeling himself start to fade from her side, “I don’t want to leave you yet,” he whispered, “I’d just be happy to sleep here with you in my arms.”

“I know,” she sniffled, moving her hand into his hair as well, preparing to kiss him farewell, “But you are weary, Stephen, and cannot hold this form much longer.  I have not the strength to hold you here myself, though I would if I could—believe me, love, I would!”  Her kiss was pure and powerful, and sent visions into his mind of all the sweetness that they would share once she returned to Earth.

A few stolen minutes more was all they had, and Stephen—his blood fully cooled--held her chastely, exchanging quiet kisses and reassurances of what the near future held for them.  Though he could feel himself withdrawing slowly from their shared dream as a sort of numbness overtook him, Stephen was surprised that Teyla faded away completely before he did—perhaps because the brunt of sustaining their connection had fallen upon her, and drained her more vitally.  But she managed in those final moments, to charge him with preparing a special place for them, a bower that might suit a hungry suitor and his willing, waiting lover.  Still caught halfway between the dream-world, and his own reality, Stephen rolled onto his back, watching wisps of clouds pass across the full moon, breathing deep the sweetness of the talat akeylum—and as sleep finally stole him completely back to his body on Earth, he began to imagine what sort of place might be worthy of the sweet gift that was Teyla’s promise to him.

Feedback/Reblogs are incredibly meaningful. Please support content creators by doing us the honor. Thank you!

@mousedetective

Not tagging anyone else today - simply offering this to anyone longing for taste of Romance.

“Th…th…thank you, Sir,” she managed, sounding shy and more than a little embarrassed, “I…I think I can manage it now.”  Her speech had a slight lilt to it, reminding him that English was not her native tongue.  Teyla kept her eyes lowered as she worked to regain her composure.

Stephen released her, backing up a few steps, frowning at the unavoidable need to abruptly invade her personal space.  “You’re welcome, Miss…”  What should he call her?  Miss Teyla might sound a bit awkward—but Mistress surely didn’t fit; he settled on changing the subject, helpfully suggesting, “Why don’t you set that down?  I can have someone collect it for you later, and leave it in your quarters.”

She nodded, and murmured her thanks again, allowing the basket to slide from her shoulders, onto the ground.  She took a deep breath, bracing herself to address him, and finally met his eyes.  “You are Master Strange, I take it?”  Teyla spoke softly, quietly contrite, “Please forgive my clumsiness.  I am normally not such a…klutz.” 

Despite the initial awkwardness between them, Stephen smiled at her use of the Earth colloquialism.  Surprise colored her soft brown eyes, as if she had expected a stern reaction to her artlessness.  Though her face was rather ordinary (and so unlike her mother’s, he mused again) her widened, doe-like eyes, shaded by a thick fringe of lashes, were lovely—and very expressive.  At the moment, they made her seem a little sad (perhaps she is, he thought, in leaving her familiar world behind), the total effect softening what might otherwise seem plain--and stirring him to a bit of sympathy.  

“No need to apologize,” he told her kindly, “And you are very welcome here, in Kamar-Taj.”

A little smile crept upon the corners of her mouth, “I thank you for your hospitality and kindness, Master Strange.”  A bit of confidence restored, she offered him her right hand, in another show of familiarity with the customs of her father. “I am Teyla of Hadeeth—but I suppose you know that already,” she shrugged, diffident but clearly well-mannered.

Stephen reached to shake her hand, and as their hands met, she breathed in sharply.  Though it often nettled him to see strangers’ reactions to his scars, he had learned to let it pass unanswered—unless they outright gawked.  Telya’s grasp was light, so he guessed she might be concerned a firmer hold would cause him pain.  She studied their hands together, flipping them a bit so she could see the back of his.  He swore he heard her whisper, ‘oh…they are yours’, before she looked up to study his face, shock and curiosity evident upon her simple features. 

“Pardon me.”  Brusquely, he withdrew his hand, having tempered his statement with a bit of latitude—as rude as her reaction seemed, he believed no ill had been intended.  “An old injury,” he added, “And one that brought me to Kamar-Taj.  In the greater scheme of things, these scars have no bearing on the work we do here—but I would ask you, kindly, not to stare.”

“Of…of course, Master Strange.”  Teyla bowed her head, embarrassed again at her faux pas, “I meant no disrespect, Sir.”

Stephen nodded, certain of her sincerity, and ready to move along to more important things.  “Well then…your mother has tasked us with furthering your education in the mystic arts.”  She nodded, so that he continued, “But before we proceed, we need to evaluate what skills you have mastered.”

“Yes.  Yes, I understand.”  She had visibly brightened at the change of topic.  “My mother told me it would be so.”

“Good.  Excellent, in fact,” he replied, adopting the not so welcome role as mentor, “We have several Masters in residence, and I have made arrangements for you to see them.  No rush, so if you need some time to get your bearings here…”

“No, that will not be necessary, Master Strange,” she told him eagerly, “I am prepared for whatever tests you have planned.”

“Alright then—if you would follow me,” Stephen motioned to the archway to his right, “We’ll get you started right away.”

Stephen had left his charge in one of the smaller practice rooms, allowing for Masters of the various disciplines to put her through her paces without unnecessary distractions.  As he knew himself not to be as expert in some disciplines as his peers, he thought it best to rely on their judgement, rather than assess Teyla himself; and a variety of opinions would certainly provide a more complete appraisal of her overall skill level and potential, than that of a single teacher.  Wong soon joined Strange in the Sanctuary Room, to wait for the Masters to report their findings.

The results were mixed, but at least gave Stephen a handle on where they needed to concentrate their efforts.  Teyla had managed a portal, after some effort, marking her halfway between a Novice and an Adept.  She handily moved--even levitated-- small objects, and did so with very little effort.  But she had no training in hand-to-hand combat, and no skill—or seeming interest—in conjuring weapons, let alone items she might use in self-defense.  Exactly the skills her mother hoped we would foster in her, Steven concluded, and therein lies our challenge.

On the upside, Master Salma had been astounded at Teyla’s ability to read people’s emotional states; she reported that the young Hadeethan’s skill was well beyond any that she had encountered since becoming Master of that discipline.  “She doesn’t even require physical contact to accurately read someone; she worked wonders just in the proximity of the test subjects,” she informed Strange, visibly excited at the discovery, “And when I placed several objects on a table across the room from her, Teyla successfully read how each item had been last used, by the emotional residue left behind by the user.  Allowing her to handle the objects enabled her to pick up on further details—beyond the most recent user.”

“Incredible.  Could you tell if her abilities were innate, or the product of some intensive training?”  If the later, Stephen believed it would be worth an exchange of knowledge with the Hadeethans to develop such a program for Kamar-Taj.

Salma shook her head, “Best I can tell is she’s a natural empath—and someone must have recognized it in her early on, because her skills are off the charts.”

“That good, eh?”

“Frankly, her abilities far surpass anything Kamar-Taj has seen in a student or a teacher in…well, centuries,” Salma grinned, “When time allows, I’d love to see what she can do reading someone from another room.”

Strange took a moment, mulling over the new information.  “Hmm…sounds to me like she should be teaching us, rather than us training her.”

“We could see about that--eventually,” Salma replied wryly, “Though I’m not ready to be replaced quite yet, Stephen.  But for now, there are a few things we can do to help her foster and refine her skills.”

“Such as?”

“Well, one of the pitfalls of this sort of empathy is a kind of…bleed, if you will--when reading in especially intense situations--which can influence and effect the empath’s own emotional health and mental state.  But that is something we can help her with,” she revealed confidently, “We can show her how to screen out those things that might impair objectivity of mind—and the things that could play havoc with her heart.”

Stephen nodded, satisfied with the thoroughness of her assessment.  “One thing, though, Master Salma.  Teyla’s mother charged us with building on her daughter’s raw ability for divination—or at least giving her some guidance in its practical use.”

Salma shook her head, “I wish I had better to offer her, but all we can manage right now is an education in dream interpretation.  Beyond that is territory that few here have any experience with.”  She bobbed her head in a small bow, “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen—I’ve a group of Adepts awaiting my guidance this afternoon.” 

“Of course—and thank you, Salma.  You’ve given us much to think about.”   

Strange watched her leave, considering their limited options, and then looked to Wong, “There must be something in our library, or in the Ancient One’s collection, that we can use to give this young woman the instruction she needs.”

“There are,” Wong offered, “Dusty old scrolls, arcane texts--that seldom see the light of day.  You’ll have some heavy reading to do to bring yourself up to speed, Stephen.” 

“I hope you’re joking, Wong,” Strange replied, “I can’t be the best man for the job.”

“I’m afraid so.  You’re the quickest study we’ve got,” Wong chuckled, enjoying the irony that’s Strange’s strengths had him cornered, “And that unbeatable memory of yours is bound to come in handy.” 

Stephen frowned, sighing hard as he recognized the futility of any protest he might make, “I’m not getting out of this one, am I?”

“Nope.”  Wong favored him with a rare smile, “I’ll have those texts ready for you by the end of the day.”  He laughed quietly to himself, leaving Stephen behind, muttering under his breath.

Stephen looked up at the sound of gentle rapping, to see Teyla pop her head through the entryway of the Sanctuary Room.  “Hello?  Master Strange?  You summoned me?”  Patiently, she waited in place for him to acknowledge her.

“Yes,” he stood and motioned her forward, “Please—have a seat.”  Again, her appearance was not as he’d anticipated; she had changed from her Hadeethan robe into an over-sized tee shirt and well-worn denim leggings, and had pulled her hair back into a ponytail.  The look knocked at least a half a dozen years from her age.  Now, she looked like a typical freshman from any American university—and though her alien heritage was equal to her human blood, for a few moments she was like an unexpected taste of home. 

He couldn’t suppress a grin as she neared him, “Blue Oyster Cult.  Nice.”

“Oh…yes,” she replied, surprised at his reference, “Do you know of them, Master Strange?”

“I do indeed,” he nodded.  “In fact, they were a part of the…” Stephen chuckled at the memories, “…soundtrack of my youth.”

“I have enjoyed their poetry at times, although it is often quite somber—but they were among my father’s favorite performance groups.”  Her admission was a pleasant surprise.  Teyla took a seat across from him.  “This garment was my father’s,” her voice grew soft with sentimentality, “He made a gift of it to me, at our last parting.  I do not wear it publically on Hadeeth—there are those on my home world who lack tolerance regarding my patrimony.”  She shrugged shyly, and smiled—though Stephen noted it did not reach her eyes.

“I take it that it’s been some time since you’ve seen him,” he prompted her, curious as to the time she’d spent on Earth.

She took a breath, seeming to do a calculation before she answered, “Why yes…it’s been…hmm…nearly six Earth years.  But I hope to find some time to visit him, once my training here is complete.”

“Well then, we will do our best to move things along so that you can do that as soon as possible.”  Her smile in reply was far more sincere than her last, leaving Stephen glad to have given her the cause.  “So,” he continued, getting down to the most important business at hand, “Ideally, your training here will involve several disciplines; defensive spells, and the conjuring of defensive tools, as well as helping you to control and tap into your gift for divination.”  She looked down at the mention of the later, as though uncomfortable with the topic—and when she raised her eyes, he could swear she was looking at his hands again.  He shook it off, telling himself he was being overly self-conscious due to her blunder at their initial meeting.

“And healing spells,” she asked, “That way my future lies--so they would be the most welcome lesson of all.”

Healing.  That had been his life and his own future, once upon a time—and though he could never return to those days, Stephen would forever think of himself as Doctor, before any other title he would ever bear.  He appreciated that such a vocation was her top priority.

“We will offer what we can, Teyla.  Though the bulk of your time will be spent working towards proficiency in those elements that are the backbone of the mystic arts.

“As my mother wills it,” she replied, resigned to the plan that Moraine had intended for her.

“Yes,” he nodded, “And beginning in the morning, you will have a minimum two hours training, daily, in physical defense and combat…”

“No…wait…there is no need for that.”  Teyla’s humble, placid expression dissolved into a stubborn mien.  “My work is as a healer.  I thought you understood this…”

“Yes,” he replied again, holding up one hand to signal her to quiet a moment and allow for an explanation, “Please, Teyla—there are sound reasons for this…”

Though her eyes flashed defiantly, she pursed her lips into silence, ceding the moment to him.  Stephen continued, calling on what skill for diplomacy was his, “I promise you will understand this necessity as you advance in your education here.  Concentrating first on developing physical discipline is a stepping stone to nurturing mental discipline.  Master your body, and the path is clear to master your mind.”  Stephen paused, watching her expression soften, pleased that he was getting his message across to her.  “Once you have mastered mental discipline, you can achieve nearly anything, as long as you have the will for it.”

Teyla sighed hard, and rolled her eyes (damn, that’s a purely human habit, he thought, trying not to smile at how much it made her look like an impatient teenager), “As you say, Master Strange.”  She tilted her head, offering an apology, “Please forgive my rash words, Sir.  I only just…well, you see, I feel my purpose so strongly, and any delay is a source of frustration.  I promise I will do, faithfully, whatever is required of me to complete my training.”

Stephen leaned across the table, seeking to put her at ease.  “I understand your passion, Teyla of Hadeeth.  Would you believe I’ve felt the same myself?”  Her eyes went wide as she listened.  “I was…I am…a healer myself.  A doctor.  My specialty was neurosurgery.  I spent half my life studying, learning, training, searching for greater knowledge, because I knew without a doubt that these hands were meant precisely for that work.”  He held them up to her, making no effort to conceal their shaking, let alone the painful map of scars that symbolized all that he had lost, “These hands, Teyla, worked medical miracles; I helped thousands to lead better, longer lives.  I know the desire to heal, and I know the sweet satisfaction of that service done well.  But I never would have reached that pinnacle without the beginning baby steps.  Trust me when I say, you will get there.”

Teyla’s soft, doe-eyes had misted up as he told his story.  He hadn’t meant to make her feel sorry for him—never, never did he intend that with anyone in this new life.  He only needed to make his point clear.  Stephen would have spoken more, but that she took his took one of his hands, studying it even more intently than when they’d shaken hands in the courtyard.  “I understand…Doctor.  Doctor Strange.”  She smiled sadly, “You have lived through much, to come to this place.  But your journey has been worth the cost.” She released his hand—which tingled warmly afterwards—and told him, “I will follow whatever path you deem most wise, Doctor Strange.  I will put my future in your hands.”  She rose, and made a little bow, bidding him goodnight.         

Stephen sat in silence a while longer, considering the puzzle Teyla presented.  She seemed soft and unassuming, yet she spoke her mind without compunction.  She had a share of unexpected wisdom for her age (although he actually wasn’t even sure yet, how old she was), and she was passionate about her purpose in life.  He had to respect that—and that her heart seemed bent toward service to others, made him like her even more.  He found he didn’t dread so much, the research he would have to put in to help her refine her divination skills; perhaps he’d even learn a thing or two that might be of use to him someday.

Wong—ever true to his word—had sent a selection of scrolls and texts to Stephen’s room, so that the eager student in him couldn’t resist getting a start in researching the rare art he was obliged to tutor Teyla in.  He read for about an hour—until his eyes were bleary—making mental notes of key ideas he would revisit when his mind was fresher.  All the while, though, his thoughts would drift back to those final moments of their conversation.  How Teyla had responded so sympathetically to his story; how she had taken his hand.  Under normal circumstances, he would have found that far too familiar, especially on so short of an acquaintance—yet she had breached that personal barrier so gently, he hadn’t even thought to protest.

Only when he’d set his head upon his pillow and closed his eyes, winding down to sleep, did the realization hit him.  Master Salma had told him the young woman was an empath of extraordinary skill—and that’s exactly what she’d done to him.  She’d read his feelings as casually as one might read a street sign; read his feelings and understood with a kind of quiet intimacy, his struggle.  And when she touched his hand, he was willing to bet she gained some understanding of the physical cost his accident had wreaked upon him.  Stephen wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it; it wasn’t an intentional violation of his privacy, and certainly she’d meant no harm.  In fact, he wondered if that warm tingle her touch had left behind was some trace of healing magic—and if so, was it even possible that she could offer some relief to him, when he had long accepted that he and the lingering pain of his damaged hands were meant to be lifetime companions.

Feedback/Reblogs are incredibly meaningful. Please support content creators by doing us the honor. Thank you!

If you enjoyed this and would like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know.

tagging: @bakerstreethound @strangelock221b @stewardofningishzida @icytrickster17 @i-blame-this-on-sherlock @mary-johnlocked @just-a-strange-boy @identityunsure @lostgirl1428