Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The strange man headed for the door.

“No. No—we don’t know a thing about each other. I don’t know where we’re meeting. I don’t even know your name.” Ross crossed his arms, waiting. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

With a whirl of—God—that ridiculous bright cloak, the man rounded ’bout. “I know you’re a CIA agent, you used to be the Deputy Task Force commander, and you’ve just returned from Wakanda with an injury to your spine. That’s enough for now, don’t you think? By the way, the name’s Stephen Strange, and the address is 177a Bleecker Street.” He tossed a wink, drew up—a portal—and disappeared in a flick of red.

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“So, this is where you live and practice your…wizard spells.” The agent’s gaze wandered from place to place as he turned full circle in the entrance hall.

“Essentially.”

“And you—uh, protect the Earth from otherworldly threats?”

“More or less.”

The agent folded his arms, still taking things in, noticing the Sanctum’s symbolic window. “Huh. Well. That is impressive.”

Strange blinked. O-kay…odd choice of words. “That’s not usually what people say.”

“And what do people usually say?” The agent turned his way. Anyone else, Strange would have thought they were being sarcastic. But this man, he seemed genuinely curious.

“Freak. Weirdo. Strange.”

The agent—he chuckled, and shook his head. And Strange found that he liked the way this Everett Ross’s face relaxed when he smiled.

“Well, I’m sorry to rain on you, Strange, but you’re not that special. I’ve seen weirder, believe me.” Now this was sarcasm paired with a grin.

Strange couldn’t help it, the quirk that played at his mouth. “I highly doubt they can do wizard spells, Agent Ross. It comes with having a perfectly-shaped goatee.”

The agent rolled his eyes, but Strange was pleased to see that the grin remained.

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“So?”

“…So?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

The agent crossed his arms and looked him straight in the eye. “How you got your magic. So, what was it—dead parents, dead uncle?”

Strange raised his chin. “I got in a car accident that shattered my hands and—quite literally—shattered my entire world.”

But there came neither scoffs nor mocks. The agent hung his head and said in a soft voice,

“I’m so sorry.”

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His brow furrowed together, concentrating hard—just a little bit, just a little bit more…

“There you are, Strange! Been looking all over for you.”

His hand slipped. Shit.

“Strange, what’re you doing?”

Defeated, he held out the mug, sighing. “For you. Though I couldn’t get the water ratio right because of my han—…because of my condition.”

Ross sniffed the mug. Sipped. Wrinkled his nose. Took another sip. Raised the mug, as if to toast. “Actually not bad, Strange. But tell me, how did you know I like my coffee black?”

Strange shrugged, a faraway look in his eyes.

“Somehow, I just knew.”

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“No, no—stay put!” Strange hissed, pointing at the sleeping figure hunched over the desk.

Cloak gave a defeated, silent sigh, then floated over and gently laid down.

Beneath the soft fabric, Ross smiled in his sleep, safe in the knowledge that all was well as he dreamed on in the warm embrace of his favourite person.

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“You’re very small, Agent Ross.”

Ross stopped, necktie halfway looped. He sighed at the ceiling. “Some of us weren’t blessed with elegant height, Mr Strange.”

“No, but…” Abandoning his post against the bedroom door, he went over and encircled the agent’s waist, chin resting into soft blond hair. “It allows me to do this.”

“Oh, shut up, Strange.” Reflected in the mirror, Ross blushed.

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“I meant it. What I said last night.”

Ross stopped walking, but didn’t turn around; he couldn’t care less what this arrogant idiot had to say.

“I don’t have friends, Ross. Just one—”

“Yeah, I know. Wong’s a great guy—”

“—and one other, who’s become far more to me than just a friend.”

Slowly, Ross finally turned.

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Champagne popped! Everyone cheered! The happy couple embraced lovingly, swaying to the music in each other’s arms.

And he. He watched. He played: the violin's song beautiful to all, but sorrowful to him. Watched with a smile as his heart wept, watched as his heart drifted away in the arms of another—

Strange woke.

Blinking.

Taking in the dark. Breathing. Breathing.

Earlier he had been practicing in the mirror dimension, and normally the effects didn’t linger into sleep. But the dream…

It had felt so real. Had it only been a dream? Or had it been…a memory?

Something from another life?

Nothing about it was familiar, yet everything was. Why did it wrench his heart so?

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. He craned to see the form asleep beside him.

He looked so peaceful, Ross. Hair like a halo from the soft moon. His heart lay against Strange, beating steadily like a loyal clock.

Strange pulled him close, breathing the soft scent of his hair.

Perhaps it really had been a glimpse of another life. A glimpse of something not meant to be. But right now, right here—he pressed a kiss to Ross’s head—he was holding all the happiness in the world to last him a thousand different lives.

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A rose on his pillow.

A daisy by the sink.

Tulips in his car.

Lilies in his office.

“Oh~ Agent Ross has a secret admirer!” The girl passing by his office cooed.

“No. Yes. I mean—No. No. I don’t. He—He’s no one.”

“Hmm…but if he’s not with the agency, how does he keep getting in?”

*

Portalling was certainly convenient.

Initially, he had been worried the agent would dislike the gifts. But after secretly watching him take them home, he felt triumphant. Almost pleased.

He watched Ross, now home, quietly watering the little garden in his yard. The agent hummed as he tended and pruned, passing to caress the lilies and run his fingers softly down the petals. Strange grinned, happy.

He got up, flipped the collar of Cloak, and waved his fingers. A portal appeared, its view a lush meadow of beautiful wildflowers stretching as far as the sky.

Ross was going to need a bigger backyard. Because anything that made him smile, Strange would keep on doing.

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One night, Ross was sound asleep at home when Cloak burst through a window and slapped him awake.

“Ow! What the f…? Cloak? Stop that. Hey, put me down!!”

In nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, he was out the window. A thousand twinkling lights rushed below, as if the sky had been flipped over and the city was alive with stars.

Cloak flapped from his shoulders, guiding him forward and steering him over and under and left and right. If he hadn’t thought his stomach was hurtling up his throat, he might’ve actually enjoyed the ride. Until he realized he was no longer in Virginia.

Cloak breezed him through the Sanctum’s highest window, gliding down a hall, past a storm of snoring that could only be Wong’s from behind a closed door, and finally, to a simple room with a single bed.

“Cloak, what am I doing here?” he hissed, once Cloak released her hold. “If this turns out to be another of his stupid jokes, I swear to god—”

But Cloak only flapped frantically and indicated towards the bed. And it was then that Ross noticed it contained a sleeping Strange. Who—Ross bent closer—was tossing and turning in restless pain.

Ross spun to Cloak. “Is he…should I…?” Cloak bobbed her head and gave him a little push.

Ross turned back to the bed. “And I thought wizards don’t get nightmares,” he muttered. And he gently leaned in. 

The kiss was…quick. To say the least. He made sure of it. He felt awkward, as if he—plain Ross—was supposed to be saving Strange. The idiot didn’t need saving. Not from Ross, no. Why did Cloak think Strange needed him? Why was he even here?

Like a flick of magic, the thrashing stopped. To his amazement, Strange’s breathing lulled down quietly, and he shifted comfortably onto his side. A lock of hair fell over his eyes.

“Right. Um. If you could take me back now,” he began, but Cloak lifted one side of Strange’s blanket and motioned excitedly at the empty space on the bed.

“Oh, no. No no no, I’ll be on my way now. I— Cloak, put me down!”

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“Why do you even care? You don’t know anything about me!” Strange shouted. All around, his watches lay smashed on the floor of his apartment, glass and shards and heartache broken beyond repair.

He sank to his knees. A shuddering breath ripped through him as the tears finally spilled, dampening the sheet of paper clutched in his shaking hand and blotching a dozen messy scrawls of two words, scribbled over and over—Stephen Strange.

“Just leave me alone!” He hated this. Hated himself. Hated that night. The car. The world. Everything. Everyone.

“No, you’re right. I don’t know you at all.” The agent spoke with a voice that was gentle and fierce all at once. “And I know I can’t fix anything, but…” He knelt and wrapped his arms tenderly over Strange. “I know you’ve been hurt,” he said softly. “And I will stay with you. For as long as you need, as much as you want. Even if the whole world goes up in flames, I will shield you from the fire.” 

And he lifted those scared, trembling hands to his lips and gently pressed into them courage that was as big and brave as the universe itself.

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“And no, Cloak, you can tell him he’s being the world’s biggest dick.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cloak would never do that. She’s loyal to me— Oh, is that how it’s going to be now, you traitorous carpet?”

Cloak took a bow, pleased her imitation of flipping the bird had been well-received. She breezed over and cuddled the smugly grinning agent.

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“No, no. That sounds corny…ugh.” He started to backspace. “What am I supposed to wri—”

“Hello, Agent Ross.”

Ross yelped, nearly jumping from the baritone voice by his ear. He caught his phone just in time, fingers smudging the screen. A bright ding! told him he accidentally pressed something.

“Strange! For god’s sake. You have to stop appearing like that!”

The sorcerer stepped out, chuckling, the portal shrinking close behind. “Ready, Everett?”

Ross swallowed, pulled his tie and tried to loosen the damn thing so he doesn’t suffocate to death during their first dinner date. He put away his phone and glanced just once more for the time.

✓ Message Sent

Eyes snapped wide. “Oh, my god.”

Ding!

He watched, horrified, mortified—god, he’d take a bullet to the spine right now—as Strange floated out his phone, letting it hover. He tapped the screen, looked at Ross with a questioning eyebrow, It’s from you? He scanned the message, murmuring aloud:

“My dearest Stephen…wanted you to know…that day at the planetarium—yadda dadda da—when we kissed…felt the world on your lips, the stars in your smile—corny, but I’ll take it—my soul, safe in your hands…” He stopped.

“If I really were myself,” he said quietly, “with these… hands, I’d have no magic. No ability to do anything for you. I—”

Ross practically threw himself forward as he wrapped the big dumbass in his arms. However much he would fit in his arms anyway.

“Idiot. Magic or no, I’d love you all the same.”

Strange gave a dry laugh. “Is sorcerer seducing something they trained you at the agency?”

“Maybe.” Ross pulled him down and kissed his cheek. “I’ve got lots more hidden away, Doctor Strange.”

“Mm. Pity neither of us has the ability to, oh, slow down time. I could spend all night, learning everything you’ve hidden away.”

Ross couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “How they ever trusted you with that stone, I’ll never know.” Still, the corners of his mouth lifted.

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Strange stayed by his side, holding his hand as the machines hummed quietly, their steady beeps keeping him alive.

“...S...Stephen…”

He looked up. A sleep-mumble, hardly meaning anything; nevertheless, it sounded lovely in his voice, just as he always imagined it would.

Strange lifted his hand to his lips, and whispered,

“I’m here, Everett.”

Chapter Text

Rain pelted softly against the window of the Sanctum, steady and quiet and comforting in the moonlit night.

Strange guided Ross’s hand, letting the agent know he had wanted this, oh, had wanted this for so long, to feel his touch, his warmth, lingering his body and soul.

Ross moved underneath his garment, ever carefully, fingers trailing across plains of toned abs, and Strange moaned softly, almost light-headed; he had imagined this so many times, had peered into the future and saw them this day, but of course it wasn’t the same. He leaned in closer to Ross, trying to control the trembling in his hands as he reached up to caress the face of the one meant for him, and brushed his lips over Ross.

Ross pushed him down onto the bed, lifting his robes swiftly, breath hot and yearning and never far from the skin at Strange’s neck, and Strange in all the haze and smoke dizzying his senses, fumbled for Ross’s shirt and tie, preferring to protect this moment and pull loose his clothes without magic; and Ross wasted no time and leaned down, hands cupping protectively around his cheekbones and kissed him and oh it was like being kissed by the grace of stars, loyal and determined and always there as his very own guiding light, and Strange soared, soared, absolutely into the night and free-falling and flying and never needing Cloak again, as he wrapped his arms and pulled him closer and requited deeply his Ross with all the intensity and passion of the entire universe held within his heart.

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“Go ahead,” Ross commanded. “Say it—what are you?”

“An idiot sandwich!” Strange wailed, head caught between two slices of bread smacked by Ross.

Chapter Text

“So…how’re things with Mr Ross?”

Strange thought for a minute. “Good. We’re good, actually.” He was surprised at his own honesty. “How’re you and…?”

“MJ,” said Peter. “And—we’re good. We’re really good too.”

“I’m happy for you, Peter.”

“I’m happy for you too, Mr Strange.”

“It’s Stephen.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

Chapter Text

Strange walked in. “How was lunch?”

Wong avoided his eyes casually. “It was…fine.”

In one swift motion Strange whirled on Cloak, whom he had left at the Sanctum.

He paused. Picked up a corner. Sniffed. Sniff sniff. Sniff sniff sniff sniff. Snifffff.

He frowned at Cloak. “Why do you smell like tuna?”

Wong’s stomach grumbled. He smiled sheepishly as Strange, unamused, began turning back time to one hour ago…

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“Just relax, dear Ross…and steep in my passion. Mmm…that’s it, darling…take your time…there’s no rush. It’s just you and me…here…together… You’re perfect…you’re radiant… I must have y—”

“What the HELL, Strange. Get off me! For god’s sake, are you sleep-talking again?”

But Strange only rolled back, ignoring the protests, and snuggled blissfully against his favourite person in the world.

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Wong couldn’t take it anymore. “You should just apologize, Strange.”

“Yeah, well.” Strange swiped the air with a finger and the page in his book flipped. “Worked so well the last few times.”

* * *

T’Challa really had other things to tend to. “Ross, I am sure if you just apologized, everything would be as it once was.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing! It won’t be. He’s Mister I-am-always-right-and-Ross-needs-protecting. I am sick of— What?”

“Nothing.” T’Challa couldn’t hide the smile.

Ross crossed his arms.

“It’s just…” T’Challa indicated him up and down, smile apologetic. “You do need protecting sometimes.”

Ross threw up his hands.

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Ross fluttered with annoyingly shy excitement as he strolled into the hospital. He was starting to feel if maybe he had overdone it, bouquet in hand, but it was too late now, dammit, and where would he even dump these flowers—

He spotted a brunette in scrubs, probably one of the doctors, laughing with someone, and started making his way over, intent on asking for Strange, when the busy crowd parted and he caught a flap of red—

They embraced. Strange and the brunette. Cloak billowed around them. The smile on Strange’s face…

Ross spun on his heels and strode out the way he’d come, but not before jamming the entire bouquet into a vending machine garbage can, and marched out of the sliding doors.

The voice that called after him—confused, desperate—made him wish he hadn’t caused such a scene, but also glad that he had—he was too busy thinking that in the end, he did find a place to dump those flowers.

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Sherlock was…good. Surprisingly gentle in bed.

But then again, Sherlock was always the unpredictable type. Then again, that’s why John loved him so.

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“You do realize, John, that you cheated on Mary with my sister?” Sherlock was smug around his tea.

John sighed and declared to the ceiling, “For the last time, it was just texting.”

“It was the eyes, wasn’t it,” Sherlock smirked behind the cup. “I’ve been told my eyes are quite captivating, as are the rest of me. Of course, it seems they were put to the test upon the female face, as evident, when all she did was glance, just glance at you, John, and you swooned, right there.”

“…I hate you.”

“I know, John. I love you too.”

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“Are you alright, Strange? I saw the news, something crashed into the Sanctum.”

“It was Banner. Or—the green Banner.” There was a pause. “Were you worried about me, Ross? That’s very unlike you.”

Ross gripped the phone tighter, his cheeks starting to burn. “You flatter yourself, Strange. I just don’t wanna fly all the way over and report on your dead body.” And he hung up, but not before catching a snatch of baritone chuckle.

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“Strange has been what?” Impossible. No. For god’s sake, he has magic.

“The others have already gone after him, so I wouldn’t worry,” Wong said calmly. The portal sparked behind him. “Master Strange isn’t new to otherworldly beings, and I can assure you he can take care of himself.”

Ross nodded, dumbly, numbly.

Strange had been captured, and he, Everett Ross, couldn’t even do a damn thing because Strange was already way up god knows where in space.

He ran a hand over his face. “Just, please, let me know if you hear anything.”

Wong nodded solemnly. He turned to leave—paused.

“And Agent Ross?”

Ross looked up. “Yeah?”

“Take care of yourself. He’d want you to be safe.”

Chapter Text

All at once, the fighting stopped.

“Do you think we won? Your Highness—” He whirled around, but one look at the pile of fluttering dust where Shuri stood only a heartbeat ago, the grin fell from his face.

“Oh, god…”

*

Racing out of the Wakandan palace, Ross was horrified to discover the same ghostly dust covering half the battleground.

That Thanos…  He… He really did it…

Ross looked towards the sky. Somewhere out there, on another planet, that idiot better be alright.

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“Five years, Strange. Five, long, goddamn, YEARS.”

“Technically, it was only five hours for me.” But he never got to finish because he was pulled into a tight hug.

“It’s good to see you, Stephen,” Ross murmured.

Strange closed his eyes and allowed himself a smile.

When they pulled apart, Strange couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “But are you seriously gonna keep that mustache?”

Ross flushed. “Shut up, Strange.”

Chapter Text

“Sherlock? Where are y—what the hell are you doing!”

Sherlock, splashing in the sink, squeaked cheerfully as John yanked the hand-towel and hastily scooped the sodding otter.

“How many times have I told you, I’ve no time to take you to the pond!” Damn Sherlock, slippery creature. Sherlock was helping enormously by trying to wriggle free and cuddle him.

“Mrs Hudson’s got my hide”—John hissed, shushing Sherlock, but of course nothing shushes Sherlock—“if your fur clogs up the plumbing again. Now hold st— hey!”

Free of the clutches of the towel at last, Sherlock shimmied out and slipped up John and curled around his shoulder. Nuzzled John, whiskers prickly. Meowed. Innocently.

John’s heart reluctantly began to soften. He scratched Sherlock’s chin, sighing. “Alright, naughty otter. But don’t think I’ve forgiven you just yet!”

Sherlock purred.