You sighed as you flattened your last moving box. "Finally," you groaned. You'd spent the last two weeks moving into your new apartment in New York, and you were so exhausted.

Your apartment was nice, probably the most coveted in the complex. You'd been amazed that you even struck the deal. The original owner had moved in with her fiancee, so the apartment was just now up for grabs. You took the opportunity when it arose, and now here you were.

You stepped into your mixed dining room and living room and tucked away a visible kitchen knife. Considering your job was highly classified, it was probably was to keep all your work instruments put away. You know, in case someone random shows up.

Ding dong.

Well, speak of the devil and he appears. Who could that be?

You weren't expecting anyone. You grabbed the nearest unseemly weapon, 21 Ways to F*** up the Human Body, and tucked it under your arm. With caution, you lifted your weight onto your toes and peered through the peep hole in the front door.

A man, clad in a black suit with a red bowtie, stood in front of your door. His hair had flecks of grey throughout, and grey sideburns distracted you from the features on his face. He seemed anxious, his leg twisting back and forth as he waited for you to open the door. He had something tucked behind his back, but from the angle he was standing, you could see the outline of a bouquet of roses.

You had no clue who this guy was, but hey, at least he was attractive.

He reached up to knock on the door again when you pulled it open. He nearly stumbled forward, but swiftly caught himself. "Oh, thank God, Christine, I--" he froze upon seeing your smaller figure there. "Oh..."

You simply stood there and blinked at him.

He seemed embarrassed. "I-I am so sorry. I must have the wrong apartment number." He took a step back to read the number on your door, paused in confusion, then ran a hand through his hair. "This can't be... But... What?"

The book in your hand lowered just a tad. "I mean, I don't know who you're looking for, but I can assure you, I'm not her."

"You're not a new roommate?" he asked.

You shook your head. "Sorry. Granted, it'd help if I knew who this 'she' was."

"Palmer. Christine Palmer. She lives here. Or did, anyway..."

The name sounded a little bit familiar... "It rings a bell, but she doesn't live here. I'm sorry. I think she was the previous owner and moved out recently."

The man sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Of course."

You couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. "Um... I know it's not much, but would you maybe like to come in?"

He shot you a strange look, almost debating if you were serious.

"You seem a little stressed or anxious. I'll let you bum my wifi so you can find your girl's new address." You fidgeted with the book in your hands. "And maybe some tea would be in order."

He shifted from foot to foot, then finally shook his head. "That's very kind of you, ma'am, but I'm certain I've bothered you enough for one evening. I'll go ahead and go now, I'm sorry for..." He trailed off, his eyes falling to the book in your hands. His brow quirked at the sight of it. "Med student?"

You chuckled at the question. "No, just a curious mind and an avid reader. Dismantling the human body simply caught my attention at the right place and right time."

He nodded. "Fascinating. Any favorite fail you've found yet?"

"In the hands of the right person, a failure is simply an unknown weapon." Yeah, maybe you sounded like a learned sensei, but it was certainly something you came across the more you worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. "But, if you must know, the failure of the occipital lobe given the incorrect method of applying pressure has piqued my interest."

Your head tilted upon answering. "You seem a curious mind yourself. Avid reader, aspiring doctor, or author in disguise?"

The man smirked to himself and met your gaze. "Why not all three?" He put his hand out. "Dr. Steven Strange. A genuine pleasure, for once."

"Steven Strange..." Your eyes flicked to the cover of your book, then back at him, and you tried not to squeal. "Th-The pleasure is all mine." You took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "You've been quite the talk of the book world since your injury. Everyone has been wondering if you'll ever produce another book."

He flinched a little at your statement, and you try to think of a way to get off the subject. "But I digress. There's more important things to life than writing books and appeasing fans."

Dr. Strange stared at you for a moment, wondering just how you read him enough to move on from that sensitive topic. "Yes, of course."

"So, is there anything you enjoy doing aside from saving the world and practicing sorcery?" You couldn't help but ask. You already knew Doctor Strange was far more popular for being a superhero than a book writer.

The doctor looked a little sheepish. "Well, I can't say I have much time for hobbies considering New York has been absolutely barraged with criminal and magic activity lately. It's close to Halloween, so all the dark sorcerers have come out to play."

"Yikes. Bet that's exhausting."

"You don't know the half of it," he mumbled. "I guess if I were to say I had a hobby, I'd say I'm an avid reader. Not like I have time for much else."

"I can understand that. Work usually has me tied up most of the time. Makes the breaks all the more worth it, though." The book had fallen to your side by now. You figured you didn't need it, considering you were talking to a superhero.

Strange looked you up and down, almost sizing you up like a weird opponent. "And, uh, does having an intimate knowledge of how you can mess up the human body pertain to anything work related?"

Well, yes, but actually no.

"No, not really. My life could never be that exciting. I'm just a retail worker who does way too much overtime."

You were not a retail worker, but you couldn't exactly tell random people that you're an agent working for S.H.I.E.L.D. now, could you?

"You sure you don't want to come in for tea or coffee and just relax for a little bit?" you offered. Your legs were getting tired by this point, but you didn't want to just end the conversation.

Stephen glanced at the watch on his wrist, grinned, and sighed. "Sure. Tea sounds nice. Why not?"

-------------------

1150 words minus the post scriptum. It's been a while, but hey, at least I'm writing.

I finally graduated. Yay me! Now to get a job so I go back to having no time for longer!

Anyway, I'm getting bored without requests, so I've been working on other projects. I'll see if I can post some of that stuff when I get it finished. Here's hoping writer's block doesn't end my behind!