June 27th - 2009
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The sleek glass doors of Tony Stark's Malibu mansion slid open, revealing Pepper Potts leading Christine Everhart inside. Christine carried her notebook and recorder, her expression a mix of professional curiosity and subtle skepticism as she glanced around the opulent space. The late-afternoon sun cast long golden streaks across the polished floors, and the gentle hum of the ocean outside added a serene backdrop.
Pepper was already in full briefing mode, her tone calm and professional. "The story is about Dr. Stephen Strange. He's recently stepped forward with the intention of re-entering the public sphere. His past accomplishments as a renowned neurosurgeon speak for themselves, but what's more important is his journey since then. We're focusing on the work he's planning to do now."
Christine raised an eyebrow, jotting down a few notes. "So, why come to me? I'm flattered, of course, but isn't a press release more Stark Industries' style for a story like this?"
Pepper's polite smile didn't falter. "Tony felt that a personal story would be more impactful. And after your previous reporting, we thought you'd appreciate the exclusive."
Christine glanced at Tony, who stood a few feet away, casually leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He gave her a lazy grin but said nothing, letting Pepper take the reins.
"Well," Christine said, tucking her pen behind her ear, "I've heard the basics from the press. Tony Stark's 'mysterious companion' suddenly emerging with a story about a shared ordeal in the Middle East. But I have to admit, I'm intrigued. What's the angle here? Sympathy, redemption, or innovation?"
Pepper's expression sharpened slightly, though her tone remained even. "The angle is truth, Ms. Everhart. Dr. Strange has a story worth telling, and we're here to support him in telling it."
Christine gave a faint nod, though her eyes flicked briefly toward Tony, clearly wondering how much of this was his influence. "All right, let's meet the man of the hour."
Pepper led her deeper into the mansion, into a spacious, sunlit sitting area. Stephen was already there, seated on one of the couches with the ocean shimmering behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He wore a tailored yet understated black suit, his tie slightly loose, giving him the look of someone who was effortlessly brilliant but not overly polished. His demeanor matched perfectly: brooding yet composed, with a quiet intensity that seemed to draw the room's attention without him trying.
Tony stayed near the back, observing but not interrupting, his casual posture hiding the quiet intensity of his support. Pepper gestured toward Stephen as she introduced him.
"Christine, this is Dr. Stephen Strange."
Stephen stood, extending a hand with a faint but genuine smile. "Ms. Everhart. Thank you for coming."
Christine shook his hand, her sharp eyes taking him in. "Dr. Strange. The pleasure's mine. You've been making quite the impression lately."
Stephen's smile didn't waver, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "I suppose disappearing off the radar for months and then reappearing tends to do that."
Pepper gestured for everyone to sit. As Stephen and Christine settled on the couch, Pepper handed Christine a small folder. "I've prepared some background for you, including key points about Dr. Strange's work and his vision for the future. Feel free to refer to it as we go along."
Christine flipped through the folder briefly, then set it aside. "Thank you, but I prefer to let the conversation flow naturally." She looked at Stephen, her recorder now resting on the table between them. "Shall we get started?"
Stephen nodded, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. "Of course."
Christine leaned forward slightly, her pen poised above her notebook. "Let's start with the obvious question. Why come forward now? Why not stay in the shadows and leave the spotlight to Stark Industries?"
Stephen took a moment, his gaze briefly drifting toward the ocean before returning to Christine. "Because hiding doesn't help anyone. For years, I stayed out of the public eye because I was ashamed—ashamed of what I'd lost, of what I'd become. My hands, my career, my identity as a surgeon... all of it was gone. But I've realized that shame doesn't serve anyone, least of all the people I could still help."
Christine's pen scratched across the page. "And how do you plan to help now? You're obviously not returning to surgery," she said, glancing subtly at his trembling and scarred hands.
Stephen's expression softened, but his voice remained steady. "No, I'm not. But there's more than one way to heal people. I've been working closely with Stark Industries on projects that merge medicine and technology. Specifically, prosthetics that connect directly to the nervous system, allowing for greater control and functionality. The goal is to give people their independence back—to give them hope."
Christine glanced briefly at Tony, who remained quiet but was clearly listening intently. She turned back to Stephen. "So this is a partnership between you and Stark Industries?"
Stephen nodded. "Tony's been instrumental in pushing the boundaries of what's possible with this technology. His vision, combined with my knowledge of the human body and nervous system, has the potential to revolutionize prosthetics. We're not just building devices—we're building futures."
Tony couldn't resist chiming in, his tone light but sincere. "Basically, he's the brains, and I'm the guy with the toys."
Stephen shot him a dry look, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It's a bit more complicated than that."
Christine's pen moved quickly as she captured their dynamic. "And what about your shared ordeal in the Middle East? The story goes that you were kidnapped by the same terrorists who held Mr. Stark captive. Can you tell me more about that?"
Stephen's gaze darkened slightly, though his voice remained even. "It's true. I was taken because of my medical expertise. They wanted me to heal Tony, to keep him alive long enough to build their weapon. My hands were injured in an accident during my own kidnapping. After that, they brought in Dr. Yinsen, and together, we kept Tony alive while planning our way out."
Christine leaned forward. "And why haven't we heard about you until now?"
Stephen hesitated, his hands tightening briefly before he forced himself to relax. "Because I didn't want to be seen. My injuries... they felt like a failure. And in some ways, they were. But I've realized that hiding wasn't helping anyone—not me, and not the people who could benefit from what I can still do."
Christine's voice softened slightly, sensing the weight of his words. "It sounds like you've come a long way."
Stephen nodded slowly. "I'd like to think so."
The interview continued, touching on Stephen's plans for the future and his partnership with Stark Industries. By the end, Christine seemed genuinely impressed, her skepticism replaced with something closer to admiration.
As she packed up her notebook and recorder, she glanced between Stephen and Tony. "I have to admit, I wasn't expecting this. Dr. Strange, you have quite the story. I think people are going to be very interested in hearing it."
Stephen inclined his head. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share it."
Christine turned to Tony, smirking faintly. "And you—quiet for once. That's a first."
Tony grinned, his hand resting casually on the back of Stephen's chair. "Hey, I know when to let the spotlight shine on someone else. Sometimes."
Christine chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, I'll have the article ready soon. You'll get a preview before it goes live."
Pepper escorted Christine to the door, leaving Stephen and Tony alone in the sitting room. Tony leaned back, studying Stephen with a thoughtful expression.
"Not bad," Tony said, his tone teasing but warm. "You really leaned into the whole 'brooding genius' thing. Very on-brand."
Stephen rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his face. "I told the truth. Mostly."
Tony's grin widened. "And you nailed it. Welcome back to the muggle world, Dr. Strange."
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Stephen stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up a casual but neat shirt, his suit from the interview discarded on the bed behind him. The weight of what he was about to do sat heavy on his shoulders. Facing Christine Palmer was something he had been postponing, but the Ancient One's words still echoed in his mind: Those who cared for the Stephen Strange of this universe deserve the truth from you.
As he adjusted the cuffs, the door creaked open, and Tony leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a casual stance that didn't match the sharp glint in his eyes.
"So," Tony began, his tone deceptively light. "Big night, huh?"
Stephen sighed without looking at him, his fingers fumbling slightly with a button. "It's not a 'big night.' It's a conversation."
Tony stepped further into the room, leaning against the dresser with an air of forced nonchalance. "Oh, come on. You're about to see your old flame. The one that got away. The mysterious sorcerer knocking on her door—very romantic. Just promise me one thing: try not to spout some dramatic line about destiny when you see her. It's cliché."
Stephen paused mid-adjustment, glancing at Tony with a dry look. "It's not like that."
Tony raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Sure it's not."
"It's not," Stephen repeated firmly, turning to face him fully. "I just want to explain myself, to give her some closure. That's all."
Tony waved a hand, his smirk widening. "Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say. Next thing you know, sparks are flying, she's crying, you're brooding handsomely, and suddenly—bam—you're conquering her heart."
Stephen turned to glare at him, his expression caught between amusement and exasperation. "Are you done?"
"Not even close," Tony shot back, his smirk faltering just a fraction. He pushed off the dresser, pacing a little as if he couldn't stand still. "You're seriously going to stand there and tell me you're not even a little interested in picking things back up with her?"
Stephen sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That ship sailed long ago, Tony. In my universe, Christine moved on. She married someone else—happily. She had two children and a life she loved."
Tony stopped pacing, his shoulders relaxing visibly. "Oh," he said, the word coming out softer than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to cover the sudden ease in his voice. "Well, uh, that's good. For her. Great, even."
Stephen's sharp eyes didn't miss the subtle change in Tony's demeanor. He tilted his head slightly, studying him. "You seem... relieved."
Tony blinked, quickly masking his reaction with a casual shrug. "What? Me? Nah. I just, you know, didn't want you complicating your whole 'master of the mystical arts' gig with some messy romance."
Stephen's eyes narrowed slightly, catching the subtle change in Tony's demeanor. His brow furrowed as he studied him, but Tony quickly plastered on a smirk and leaned casually against the wall.
"Why does it matter to you?" Stephen asked, his tone deceptively calm.
Tony scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "It doesn't. I mean, hey, if you want to play the brooding romantic lead, be my guest. Just saying, you've got other things to worry about—like, I don't know, saving the world? Or keeping me from blowing myself up in the lab?"
Stephen stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Are you jealous?"
"Jealous?" Tony laughed, the sound just a little too forced. "Me? Of what? A former flame who may or may not still think you're dead? Please."
Stephen crossed his arms, one eyebrow arching. "Your reaction says otherwise."
Tony pointed a finger at him, his smirk returning, though his eyes didn't quite meet Stephen's. "Don't flatter yourself, Strange. I'm just looking out for you. Someone has to make sure you don't do anything stupid."
Stephen shook his head, a faint chuckle escaping him. "You're impossible."
"Yeah, well, you keep me around anyway," Tony shot back, his tone lighter now. He leaned against the doorframe, watching as Stephen grabbed his jacket. "Just... don't take too long, okay? I might need someone to stop me from redesigning the entire mansion while you're gone."
Stephen paused, one hand on the jacket, as he glanced at Tony. There was something unspoken in his gaze, a flicker of uncertainty and... something else he wasn't ready to name. He cleared his throat, breaking the moment.
"I won't be long," he said, pulling on the jacket. "Don't blow anything up."
"No promises," Tony said with a smirk, though his eyes lingered on Stephen a moment longer than usual. "Also, good luck, Steph. And hey, if you end up babysitting her kids, let me know how that goes. I'm picturing you awkwardly holding a toddler, and it's hilarious."
Stephen huffed, pulling on his jacket. "Your sense of humor is as predictable as ever."
With a swirl of golden sparks, Stephen conjured a portal to the outside of Christine's apartment. Before stepping through, he cast one last glance at Tony, who was still leaning against the doorframe, watching him with an expression Stephen couldn't quite place.
"Try to behave while I'm gone," Stephen said dryly.
"That's my line," Tony shot back, his smirk softening into something warmer.
With that, Stephen turned and stepped through the portal, emerging in a quiet hallway outside Christine Palmer's apartment.
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