Chapter Text
“Now the next one”
Stephen sights internally. He managed Loki’s problem quite rapidly, thanks to Thor's assistance. Not so optimist about the next one.
The Ancient One never thought about making contact with any agency, state or not. Sorcerers are supposed to defend the whole world of course, but the most recent events are alarming enough to suppose there would be need for tighter collaboration, on every possible side.
And being him the Sorcerer Supreme and Protector of New York’s Sanctorum..
He visited a few governmental facilities at night during the last week -on the astral plane of course- and went through various files about personnel.
Finding someone with good position but without privileges. Someone who got the job done without being a loudmouth. Someone with good contacts. Impossible.
He has always been too demanding, Stephen kept thinking going through the papers.
Until his eyes fall on a particular subject. How unbelievably lucky.
Everett Ross, CIA agent, relocated in New York after a brief mission in Europe. Former pilot.
Agent working alongside former SHIELD, new SHIELD, Interpol, NATO, he had to deal with Captain Roger and some other Avengers. Quite recently.
Except for the trip in Europe, he never changed house despite the promotions.
Maybe he should spend some more time going through the rest of the curricula he planned to consult. Except for the fact that his mind has set on this one. Almost by hunch..
He could do, Stephen decides.
But this one, he has the impression he can’t summon in the Sanctorum.
Everett has been dealing with paperwork and meetings the whole morning and when his new secretary enters the office with a guilty expression, he can’t help a sight. She has been relocated here something like four days ago and still has problems keeping up with…well everything. Sometimes he misses all the action. Right now, he would give everything for a little adrenaline.
“Marthe, what is it?” he patiently inquires, resuming his work as he listens.
“Sir, something happened ..to your planner”
“Is it a gentle way to say you destroyed the bloody thing?”
“No Sir. I was checking your booked appointments when..” her tone took a disbelieving edge, “they disappeared.”
Everett lets out a laugh. He knows he is going to have a hell of a day. He is stuck in the whole day.
“Check again Marthe” he suggests, dodging her comments.
“I already double-checked Sir! They just-just cancelled themselves in front of me. Look” she approaches the desk, the note in his hands, “You have just one appointment for the rest of the day.” And the planner is on his desk to be seen.
He needs to check the date because how is it fucking possible? He remembers taking a look first thing in the morning. The page turned back blank. Except for a showy purple note, written in neither his or Marthe’s writing.
5pm Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. New York.
Ps. I suppose we’ll need at least one hour and half to get to know each other and see if we can make it work.
I need to be in Hong Kong by dinner’s time. I relocated your previous appointments next week.
“What the hell?” he murmurs, before glaring up at the woman and shutting the note closed.
“Is it a prank? Is it Greenberg’s idea?” He returns the planner and goes back to read his report, pissed by their joke.
“No Sir. Please, I-I don’t know what’s-” she tries to excuse herself.
Everett is not even listening at her. His eyes linger on the clock. 4:57pm.
“Well, he has never been good at these things. The name itself is too absurd to be real. Go back to work.”
She silently exits the room and Everett is about to resume his duties for real when another knock disturbs him.
“Marthe, you can tell Greenberg to go and put his-“ he raises his head and God himself is standing on his doorstep in a deep blue suite.
Well-finished beard. High cheekbones and a fierce glance.
Marthe’s tremulous voice wakes him up from his day-dreaming.
“Sir, your appointment. Doctor Strange from .. New York’s Sanctorum, is it?”
The secretary has just left them alone and the man has taken place in front of him, rather relaxed.
“How much did they pay you?”, Everett asks without waiting.
The man obviously is some kind of stripper or gigolo, a wrapped-up temptation delivered by his colleagues to torment him.
“I beg your pardon?” the other asks, an eyebrow turning up in confusion.
“Greenberg, how much did he promise? Listen, I’m sorry. They are jackass, all of them. I don’t know what they told you to do, so please don’t take it bad. I have work to do so just tell me how much they promise you so I’ll pay myself for the missed..interpretation.. and you ..can leave?”
If this is not the most embarrassing thing he has ever done, he has no idea what it could be. But the guy -dark haired, tall, amazing guy- has no part in this mess, he was just hired and work is work. Everett would feel guilty knowing he ruined someone else’s day, even if unwillingly.
The man stares at him in stupor, and Everett would gladly dig a grave and hide in it because it is clear as sun he has never been rejected. Who being sound of mind would do that?
“I’m afraid you misunderstood, Mr. Ross. I have no business with your colleagues. I have an appointment to discuss a possible collaboration between your agency – you in specific- and the institution I represent, here in New York. As I mentioned before, I need to be in Honk Kong later this evening so please, shall we get started?”
Silence answers him.
Strange keeps observing him as he slowly realize what has just happened. But the horror and the embarrassment almost immediately leave place to other thoughts, as he straightens up on his chair and observes him with new eyes.
The blond man is quite something, Stephen finds himself to think. He is in his forties, as he knew from reading his file, as himself, and yet he shows an undeniable, refreshing strength underneath the semblance of quiet pen-pusher. The gleam in his eyes is strangely captivating and for some reason Stephen finds himself leaning forward the desk standing between them.
“Where is your badge?” Everett asks sharply, interrupting his thoughts just in time. How inappropriate could he act sometimes. He straights up again.
“My badge?”
“Yes, the one they gave you when you entered the facility.”
“I do not. I come from the closet. I thought it would be more tactful. Appearing in the hall would bring all the soldiers you have at disposal to shoot at me and me summoning you in the Sanctorum would indispose you. Indisposed people are harder to cooperate with.”
Everett is not sure if he wants to punch him in the face, call the security – is it even possible that he entered the facility without them knowing?- or if the man in front of him simply needs to see a real doctor because he is clearly delusional.
“Mr.Strange..”
“It’s Doctor Strange. I’m a doctor-“
Everett slowly moves toward the phone, trying not to alarm his guest. Appearing? Sanctorum. He booked himself as Sorcerer Supreme. He is no stripper? Fine. Does he honestly believe to be..what..a wizard?
“.. I don’t know what your problem is but..I’m going to call the security now. And an ambulance. You might need some kind of assist-“
“Enough with it” Strange lets out rolling his eyes, before moving.
Everett is still reaching at the phone dial. He has just the time to register Strange’s hands moving in a funny kind of way, drawing invisible lines in the air. They are scarred, and yet he can’t help but notice they are beautiful hands, strong hands, with long and slim fingers. He could have made wonders with those, being a great pianist. Playing the violin. Whatever.
The hands move, he fixes on them and next thing he knows, the office is gone.
Well, he is gone. Gone from the office. Meaning, he is no longer in the office.
He is sitting on a brown leather Molinari lounge chair, a nice fireplace at his right side and Mr..no, Doctor Strange in front of him, still in his perfect one-piece.
“WHAT THE FUCKING HELL DID YOU JUST-”
“Please! Could you just…stop swearing? It’s disturbing.” An old butler appears on the doorstep but Strange dismisses him with a reassuring gesture before resuming his speech. “We are in a private club in London. I like to come here sometimes. I’d hate to be expelled.”
London.
Everett gets up and steps closer to the window. First floor. A few luxury cars parked outside. Undeniably, British number plates.
“How..?” he lets himself wonder if any of what he’s experiencing is real or if he’s having an ictus on the floor of his office and this is some kind of..waiting room for the end?
“I’m a sorcerer. So magic, if you want a synthesis. It’s more complicated than just that, but it’s enough for now.”
No. His brain is not that prolific. For how impossible it might seem, it’s probably real.
“So..are you an Inhuman?” He sits down again, alert.
“No, of course not. I just learned how to use it.” His hands move again and on the table in front of them makes its appearance a trail with a pot of tea and two cups. “And now I protect the Earth from a particular kind of threats. Which brought me to you.”
“You talked about collaboration”
“I did. I need some contact and I think we could work just fine.”
“Kidnapping me isn’t a good start” Everett can’t help it. The man could probably turn him into a teapot as well and yet he feels the need to regain some control over the conversation. He doesn’t like the trail of his thoughts. This man is obviously..distracting him. All magic’s fault, really. Nothing else, he tells himself. He just needs to get over the initial shock -like he did with Asgardian gods, enhanced soldiers and aliens – and it will be fine. All of it if he is not going to spend his last days as pottery in an English club.
Surprisingly, his scolding has a totally unexpected effect. The sorcerer’s guarding expression melts into a genuine smile as he laughs, amused.
“You can’t blame me when you were about to hand me to a psychiatric unit. I’m going to return you to your office as soon as we finish our meeting. Then you will decide if we can keep it going or not. No strings attached. How does it sound to you?”
Everett weights the other’s man words and expression. He is sincere. And having a seemingly powerful wizard as allied might be a nice card to play, if needed.
Also, a voice deep in his head adds for him, it would be interesting to get to know him better.
Stephen Strange.
He leans back on the chair, more self-confident. At least for now, he is going to have the upper hand.
“Start talking, Doctor”
Another smile cracks on the man’s lips and Everett needs all his self-control to avoid returning it they way he would have if it wasn’t work-related. And a security issue for the government, apparently.
“Excellent. Would you like some tea?”