𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 — maybe i deserve this

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 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 Stephen and Mordo went just as Emilia, and Stephen for that matter, thought; Stephen was thoroughly beaten by Mordo within minutes. Perhaps that was harsh, Stephen did hold his own for a short while, primarily defending rather than counter-attacking, but within five minutes, Stephen was on the ground with Mordo spouting words that surely struck fear into the former surgeon's heart.

 "Fight like your life depends on it, because one day it might!"

 Now, Mordo wasn't exactly incorrect, nor was he wrong to point out such a fact to the sorcerer in training, for enemies came with the job. If the world encountered enemies of such magnitude that even the Avengers couldn't take them on, the role of being the Earth's protectors fell to the sorcerers that lived across the planet.

 Be them young, old, experienced or not, they would all come together and fight. Tao Mandala's would cover the surface of the earth and shield it from outer invasion, each sorcerer was expected to fight; they could refuse, turn away and leave, but a majority would band together and protect their home, to protect their people.

 That was what Mordo had tried to mean, yet he seemingly missed the mark and instead further added to the ever-growing list of reasons for Stephen to leave, that he should run and forget about his time within the Kamar-Taj.

 Emilia had swiftly helped the man to his feet and dragged him off to his room; and rather than dwell on the ominous words that Mordo had spouted, the two simply laid beside one another as they read.

 Stephen had stacks upon stacks of books cluttering his already tiny room, books that Wong would most certainly chase down with ferocity unlike any other. The former surgeon had no personal belongings to make his room his own, and thus on some occasion or another Emilia had managed to leave behind various blankets and pillows that had once cluttered her own room.

 Stephen had noticed, obviously, considering his dull room was now littered with fluffy pink and grey blankets as well as matching pillows, yet he didn't say a word.

 Later that same night, Stephen had finally managed to make his way back to his room from dropping off as many books as he could carry to a rather aggravated Wong, he had all intents to simply fall onto his bed and allow the night to overtake him into a deep slumber... Yet there was a single light on across the hall.

 It was beyond late... If anything, it was just ridiculously early, and still, Emilia's light shone through the cracks surrounding her door. Now Stephen knew that at some point, late nights and early mornings would have very much been a thing for the woman, with being a physicist with unforgiving deadlines and all, but not once had she been awake so late.

 She'd often leave his room, or vice versa, at around eleven in the evening and her light would be out within the hour. But it was three in the morning.

 Perhaps it was against his better judgement to stride towards her door and outstretch a hand to knock, but he did it nonetheless.

 On the other side of the old wooden door was the sound of sniffing, a single heaving chest that barely allowed her to breathe.

 It had been yet another night filled with nightmares that awoke her, and this time, she gave in to them and fell into the pit of despair that she always tried so hard to stay away from. Flashing images of amber flames taunted her mind. The clear image of her parent's faces contorted with pain as fire licked at their searing skin had jolted her awake with salted tears trailing down her cheeks like a waterfall.

 Her body had been covered with a sheen of sweat, heavily illuminated by the moonlight that crawled through her small window. Her chest was heaving, her heart threatening to burst from her chest as she clawed at her throat.

 It had taken close to an hour for her breathing to regulate, an hour before she could finally tear her hands away from her neck and assess the red lines her nails had carved into it. She couldn't keep doing it. Every single night her mind turned against her and it made her want to scream.

 The following hours had consisted of numerous tears falling from her cheeks, dropping onto the dark quilt she had buried herself in. Silent hiccups clogged her throat as she sobbed over her past actions.

 She knew they'd never go away, but she had always thought it would get easier, isn't that what people said? That time heals all wounds? They were wrong. It had been over two years since her parents and their home had crumbled to ashes before her and yet nothing had gotten easier.

 She still couldn't control her abilities. She still couldn't sleep soundly at night. And she still couldn't forgive herself for the atrocities she'd once committed.

 Her entire form was shaking as her nails clawed at her sheets, the tears never ceased and the silence was horrible. It was suffocating. It felt as though the flames she saw in her dreams were going to eat her alive, it felt as though the darkness was going to swallow her, and in all honesty, she wished it would.

 It was so hard to live with the thought that she killed her own parents, to see their terrified faces every night, and to remember that the last thing they had done together, was argue.

 A knock sounded at her door and Emilia simply didn't have the energy to respond or move, instead, her hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the sobs further; the Ancient One knew of her dreams, of her utter despair and the cloud that hung over her head every evening after a day of pretending to be the happiest person alive.

 But nobody else knew. Not even Mordo, nor Stephen who had been by her side for countless months now.

 "Emilia?" Came a hoarse voice, Stephens. It was a mere whisper, and yet it shattered through the darkness in her head like a shrill scream. "Are you alright? You're never awake this late."

 Another knock sounded, even despite the lack of a response. Emilia should have known better than to think Stephen would simply be on his way. He was nothing if not stubborn and persistent, especially when it came to her.

 "Stephen..." Her cracking voice responded. It was hard for him to hear it, it sounded raw, muffled by her covers, "Please leave me alone."

 He was going to listen to her, to abide by her wishes, but the mere sound of her voice shattering midway through her sentence banished such a thought from his mind. How could he possibly walk away when his one of few friends was cowering away, no doubt bundled in blankets as she cried through a raw throat.

 She had always been there for him. In moments where time escaped him and his eyes refused to move from his scarred fingers, she'd reach over and silently clasp one. She wouldn't utter a word as she did, instead, she'd flip a page of her book with her free hand.

 In times of his frustration, Emilia would usually utter something sarcastic that would cause his stupor to break and allow a laugh to slip from his lips, even if her comment was at his own expense. She'd taught him, listened to him, and she'd changed him. Whilst she might have wanted him to turn away and go back the way he came, he couldn't.

 His trembling fingers clasped the faded doorknob, a shiver crawling up his spine, and with a single movement, the creaky door opened.

 The sight was pitiful, and yet he didn't pity her at all. Her features were facing the wall her bed was positioned against, her covers were pulled to her chin and obscured her wobbling lower lip, and the pink plush pillow that laid beneath her flushed face was soaked in tears.

 He could see the sheen of sweat covering her skin, he could see her shaking beneath the covers, and he easily caught her movement as she tried to hide her face from him.

 "Emilia." He breathed, unwilling to allow pity into his tone, for he knew Emilia well enough to know it'd make her worse. "What happened?"

 Emilia felt numb. Her mind was filled with thoughts nobody should ever have to experience, but she was numb. It was as though — when times like these came — she was nothing but a shell of a human being.

 When she stood beneath the beams of the midday sunlight, with light bouncing from her hair and alighting her emerald-coloured eyes, she was determined to become better. As she surveyed students training their hardest, she wished she could do the same. She wanted to be better. She wanted better control, a better life. But sometimes, she wanted nothing.

 Now was one of those 'sometimes'. She wanted to disappear, she wanted to leave everything she knew behind and become but a distant memory to those that know her. Her mind taunted her, telling her she'd leave nothing but a bitter taste on people's tongues whenever they thought of her.

 She was so utterly broken.

 The sadness and ever-present feeling of hopelessness that crawled over her skin had rendered her frozen.

 She didn't care, not right now anyway. After a night of terror, panic and tears, she was numb to the consequences of sharing her story.

 A trembling breath tumbled from her shaking lips, "What happens every night."

 Stephen swallowed, his brows cinching together at the sound of her dull, lifeless voice. His heart slumped further as her eyes met his. That familiar shine of hope, happiness and mischief was gone. They were completely faded; a dull, bottomless pit. 

 She wasn't a piece of broken glass, Stephen didn't think so, at least. So treating her as though she'd crumble to ashes wasn't on his to-do list. He wouldn't coddle or baby her; neither of them desired that. But he was softer. Every harsh edge of his face seemed to smoothen out, becoming further inviting.

 He had approached her slower than usual, but not as though he were approaching a wild, scared animal. She was still Emilia. "And what does happen every night?"

 "I told you I came here to be fixed." Emilia spoke, swallowing back another hoarse cry, "But I don't think that'll ever happen."

 "Why would you ever think that?"

 A wobbly smile was painted on her lips as she stared at him, tears continuing to roll down her cheeks, "I've hurt so many people, Stephen, and every single night they come back to me and haunt me. Every night." Her voice trailed off in a broken whisper as her chest shuddered.

 Stephen shook his head; she'd said such a thing before, about hurting people, but he never truly believed she could have ever hurt somebody so badly, that her dreams forced her to suffer. Whatever had brought her to the Kamar-Taj was torturing her, and she was forcing herself to suffer alone.

 It was in their nature it seemed, tackling problems alone, allowing nobody to see them in such a state.

 Yet even despite such a fact, Stephen had once shown himself to Emilia during a state similar to her current one; It had been a trifling day of trying to complete simple tasks with his stubborn hands, and they hurt. His hands were throbbing by the time the sun was setting, and he couldn't even pick up a book to proceed with his studies.

 Anger and frustration had spurred tears to roll down his own cheeks, until Emilia strolled in. She hadn't uttered a word, nor given a look of pity as she picked up the book and flicked it to his page. She hadn't ridiculed him as she silently swiped his remaining tears from his flustered cheekbones, and all she did was offer that Emilia smile when he had asked her to help him remove his shirt.

 She'd complied, her usual teasing self had remained; making his fluster grow ever-redder, and yet she never made a joke at his hand's expense.

 "Will you..." Stephen bit his tongue painfully, to the point his eyes watered. It was a bad question, a stupid one to ask her whilst she laid there with sullen eyes, dark circles and tears flowing like a river desperate to meet the sea.

 "Tell you what happened?" Emilia guessed; for now Stephen's emotions, his expressions were an open book to her. She would have shaken her head furiously, refusing to even mention the atrocities she had committed. But now, now she just couldn't find it within her tired, numb body to care at all.

 And so, she nodded towards the edge of her bed, signalling Stephen to take a seat. He easily and swiftly obeyed, perching on the edge of her rigid bed as he twisted himself to face the woman obscured by slated tears and soaked sheets.

 "The explosion in New York? The one that created the Hulk? I was there, I was Bruce's partner... And somehow I survived the blast without a single scratch. But I was an idiot and I brushed it off." Emilia shook her head, struggling to do so in her binding of covers that were wrapped around her broken form like a set of bandages, "Then, months later when I was trying to help... Trying to help Bruce find a cure, and one day... One day when I was sat in my lab, my... Powers flipped the gas switch, and I never noticed. Then the light shattered, within seconds flames surrounded me, and there was another explosion, another explosion that I survived... But so many people died because of me —"

 "— Emilia —" Stephen tried to interrupt, an attempt to begin soothing her mind, an attempt to tell her that it wasn't her fault. How could she have known? But Emilia shook her head wildly before he could utter another word.

 "Please let me finish." Upon Stephen offering a hesitant nod, Emilia sighed deeply, her chest just as heavy as it had been all night. "After that, things were okay for a while, I struggled with the nightmares then, all I saw were flames, and screaming filled my head every night... But it wasn't as bad... Until I murdered my own parents."

 Everything Emilia had uttered up until that point had made Stephen completely understand why such plagued dreams visited Emilia at night, but those final six words had made him freeze.

 Emilia heaved a breath and had to force herself to sit upwards as she struggled to fill her lungs. Her heart felt as though it'd fall from her chest, and her lungs felt as though The Hulk himself had his hands tightened around them, ready to pull them from her.

 Her hands were trembling fiercely, making Stephens look as though they were entirely still. Her voice cracked the moment she tried to utter another word, and yet she forced her sentence onwards, "It was months later, I thought things were getting better; I was getting so successful... We were on poorer side growing up, and I was in the position to give back to my parents; I brought them a home, but my Mami didn't want help. We argued, and once again —" She sucked in a harsh breath, her lips trembling as she finally made eye contact with Stephen, "— Once again my powers, they took on a life of their own. The knob on the stove turned, and before I knew it, my mother was being burned alive."

 Stephen couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut as a raw sob spilled from Emilia, her shoulders shaking as she clutched at the covers surrounding her legs.

 "My father pushed me away, a neighbour dragged me out of the house as my parents' screams echoed in my ears, and I had to sit there and watch as my childhood home burned to ashes, as my parents died right before my eyes... And it was all because of me."

 Emilia shook and gasped as further sobs clawed their way up her throat and demanded to be released into the night, her knuckles were white as she practically tore at the covers surrounding her legs.

 Stephen Strange was not a man that offered comfort to others, it had been a long time since he could stand to find kindness within his body and offer it out to another, but he'd changed. Since coming to Kamar-Taj he'd learned discipline, he had learnt that his arrogance and his ego would prevent him from moving on in life... And he'd learnt that Emilia was rather important to him.

 His hand gently fell to her shaking shoulder, and he tugged her towards him as he shifted onto the bed. It took little effort for Emilia to give up on fighting and simply allow herself to fall into him as harsh rasps pushed through her mouth.

 Warmth encased her as Stephen's arms held her against him; but it wasn't the kind of warmth that made her mind flash with fire and spur forth shrill screams, it was just... comfort. Her tears steadily soaked into the crimson coloured robes that he had yet to change from, but he didn't care at all.

 The bed creaked as Stephen moved again, his arms still wrapped around the woman who had helped to open his eyes, the person who had made him care, as he brought himself to lean against the wall.

 He swallowed as his thumb rubbed mindless patterns into Emilia's back. What could he possibly say to her to make things better? You didn't mean to. It wasn't your fault. I'm sorry? Neither would offer her peace of mind, neither would ever heal the damage on her heart.

 But he simply couldn't stay silent as he held her shaking form against him.

 "Emilia, it wasn't your fault," Stephen muttered, his chin resting atop her head as he felt the warmth of her tears trail through the material of his robes.

 She released a mixture of a sob and a scoff, her throat constricting the moment she began to speak, "I killed them all, Stephen. It was my powers that did it, and it's my fault."

 "You couldn't control them... Hell, you didn't know you had them, so how on earth could you have stopped it from happening?"

 "I knew there was something wrong with me. It was all happening too often, and I ignored it."

 Her tears had stilled, but the shivering that wracked her spine was still there, and her fingers were still clutching at Stephen's robes. Before the man could offer another word, Emilia shook her head, her hair frizzing up as it tangled further, "You don't have to do this, comfort me, I don't —"

 "— I know I don't have to, but I want to, Emilia." He quickly, yet softly spoke, knowing that Emilia was sure to say something along the lines of 'I don't deserve it' She couldn't have been more wrong. His raspy voice seemingly deepened as he muttered; "I don't like seeing you like this."

 There was a beat of silence; she hadn't had this for quite some time, somebody to care for her in such a way. Of course the Ancient One and Mordo cared for Emilia as though they'd known her for years, but it was also their responsibility to keep her, and her abilities in check.

 And Emilia felt... Uncomfortable with the mere thought of the Sorcerer Supreme patting her back as tears trail down her cheeks or the thought of her combat teacher uttering words of comfort on the nights her dreams kept her awake.

 In complete honesty, she hadn't expected that from Stephen. She had, however, expected him to knock and to enter, his intrigue and stubbornness wouldn't have allowed him to walk away; but never had she thought he'd scoop her up and lay with her as she cried and thought of the terrors of her past.

 Perhaps she should have expected him to, after all, in the recent months, the man had changed a lot... And the pair had become closer. They squabbled and teased relentlessly, but it was obvious from the way that they treated one another, they cared a lot more than either would dare admit.

 Emilia gulped, her throat was burning painfully from the harsh sobs that had rippled through her, he didn't like seeing her like this. Yet this was Emilia. Emilia was broken, she was scared, and she wasn't in control.

 "Have you ever..." Stephen trailed off, thinking of the way he'd once responded to his next question. Rage and exasperation had alighted inside of him, the mere thought insigting a deep wave of rage. Emilia lightly patted him with her fingers, spurring him to continue. He sighed, eyes clamping shut, "... Spoken about this with a professional?"

 "No. I know I should because —" Her shoulders slumped as she curled closer. A wave of mild discomfort and embarrassment washed over her as she trained her eyes on her hand, the hand that clutched ever so tightly onto Stephens robe, hoping for some semblance of peace and grounding. "Because this happens almost every night, I have panic attacks, I get so... sad that I —"

 Her words faded and her teeth clamped together painfully. The cut-off sentence left a bitter twang on Emilia's tongue, and little did she know that the words, the implication... It had stopped Stephens heart for a single moment as his breath lodged in his throat. He willed his eyes shut for a moment, a hand drifting to Emilia's tangled locks as he moved his trembling fingers in mindless patterns, "Emilia..."

 "I know." She whispered in response, eyes clamping shut. The hollowness in her gut was fading, but even still, the sensation was overwhelming. She felt sick, her throat was sore, there were furious crescent-shaped marks on the skin of her palms, as well as scrapes on her neck that blazed with every swallow, "I'm going to see somebody, get some help... When I can control my abilities, because if I can't control the thing that's hurt so many people... Then maybe I deserve this."

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07-09-2021

besties, firstly, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you did, please vote AND comment, but more importantly; if you are ever feeling the way Emilia's does in this chapter, please reach out to me, to a friend, to a family member or a professional. You do not have to suffer alone, you do not have to suffer in silence; you deserve better than that. ily all very much <3