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“I’m a little redundant here, don’t you think?” Stephen complains, cleaning the fiftieth cut and bruise of the day. And it’s far from being the last, judging from the steady pour of injured people coming through the ER doors.
“What do you mean?” Christine frowns, finishing setting up the cast on the patient’s left hand.
“I’m a neurosurgeon, Dr. Palmer. So I am both redundant and overqualified. I didn’t spend years on med school to do jobs a nurse in training is capable of. Turn your head,” he tells the patient so he can also get the bandaging over with.
“And the nurses are doing the job…so are the doctors, the EMT’s and even Dr. Drew is here!” she points at their resident psychiatrist at the back of the ER, wrestling with patients as well.
“Exactly. You don’t need me here.”
She looks at him with a frown that clearly says she doesn’t believe what she’s hearing. “We need everyone here.”
“Why? To smear some peroxide on bruised knees? Come now, a trained monkey could do that,” he rolls his eyes, adjusting the bandage on the patient’s head. “You’re good to go.”
Christine nods, helping the woman off the stool and giving her instructions to where to go next. “Have you missed that part where aliens from outer space attacked New York?!” she turns back to him,
“Ah, did they really? I thought everyone was joking about that. Clearly all these people got injured during garden barbeque gone wrong.”
She shakes her head, looking around the ER for the next patient. “Unbelievable. Just…go help some more people, why don’t you, Doctor Strange? Isn’t that why you became a doctor?”
“Not particularly, no,” he ignores her more than disappointed look and goes in search of another broken hand or cut forehead. And there’s plenty to pick from.
Great. So much for his plans tonight. God damned aliens and their invasions.
He spots a man leaning against the counter of the empty nurse’s station, clothes torn and covered with dirt and blood, a nasty gash on the side of his face. Probably concussed, disoriented…finally something he can work with a little.
“You,” he approaches the man. “You’re with me,” he prompts him, nodding at a bed that’s being emptied just then. Better grab it fast before he has to do concussion checks on the stairs.
The man gives him a quizzical look, glancing between Stephen and the nursing station, pointing a hand at his chest. “Me?”
Yep. Definitely disoriented. “Yes, you with the big bleeding cut on your head? Come on,” he makes a grab for the man’s arm, but he jerks back, distancing himself away.
“Uh, no thanks. I’m fine right here.”
Why does he always have to pick the difficult ones? “Of course you are,” he retorts with as much sarcasm as he can cram into just four words and gestures with his hands towards the bed. “After you.”
He tilts his head and looks Stephen over with an interested glint in his eyes. For a moment it looks like he’s going to complain some more but then he’s on the move. “Alright. I’ll allow that,” he says like it’s supposed to be some sort of great honor.
It’s a tone Stephen recognizes well, having used it on numerous occasions himself. Being on the receiving end of it is…new. He scoffs and follows him to the bed, letting him settle before grabbing a nearby tray with tools and bandages. “Do you know what date is it?” he asks, shining a light into the man’s brown eyes.
“Really? You want to test my state of consciousness with this easy ass textbook question?”
“Pupils are reactive, no bleeding there…unless sass can bleed into retinas, in that case I’m afraid you are terminal. What’s your name?” he opts for question number two, assessing the gash.
He frowns, the pained expression obviously not just due to Stephen messing with the wound. “Wow. Okay. I must look like hell,” he mumbles.
“That’s a weird name. And no, you look more like you’ve been dragged out of hell, in fact.”
The man chuckles but it doesn’t sound amused. “You’d be right about that part, doc. Anyway…up the game a little bit, come on. Date, name, whereabouts…give me a challenge or my brain might just die of boredom.”
“This will need stitches but first I’ll have to clean this…what is that even?” he touches the smears of black goo around the wound and the man’s face.
“Probably alien snot, I dunno. Was that supposed to be the challenging question?”
Stephen groans despite himself and starts cleaning the already infected injury. “Sit still…alright. Challenging, hm? Fine, give me six figures of pi.”
“Three point one, four, one, five, nine, two, six, five, three, five, eight, nine, seven, nine, three, two, three, eight, four, six, two…I could go on but we don’t have all day. I said up the game, not make it easier.”
Smartass. “I said six figures, not the whole thing…having troubles counting?”
“I have a lot of troubles,” he nods, watching Stephen work. “When counting becomes one of them I’ll know I’m doomed.”
“What are you, a math teacher? Accountant?” he mocks him, grabbing a needle and a thread.
He laughs again, this time with a lot more humor behind it. “A genius. Among other things.”
“Hm…a genius who came to a hospital and then didn’t want to be treated. Maybe you do have a brain injury after all.”
“You’re the one who assumed I came here to be treated,” he rolls his eyes, still watching him…not even flinching as the needle pierces skin.
“Do you normally go to hospitals in the middle of post-alien crises, injured and not wanting treatment?”
“Uh…yes. I do, actually. I was waiting for the Dean of Medicine…some lovely nurse told me he’s in the middle of re-piecing a man’s fibula and that I should either fuck off or wait. And I quote that.”
“And you chose to wait? Does he owe you money or something?” he scoffs, putting the sewing kit aside, satisfied with his work. Nice and clean. More than this jerk deserves.
“I didn’t choose to wait. I told her who I am and what I want and she flew off to find the guy. Ten minutes ago. He better be showing up soon, I’ve still got more work to do.”
Stephen doesn’t know what to make of this man…either he really did hit his head too hard or he’s just…well...naturally good at comebacks. That’s Stephen’s field of expertise! Other than neurosurgery of course.
And then this random idiot walks into the ER, makes up some unlikely story about him and the Dean and doesn’t even hesitate one second before shooting Stephen’s quips right back at him. Impressive…not sure he can tolerate such blatant competition for long though.
Back to doctor mode it is.
“You shouldn’t be doing much of any work in the next forty-eight hours. Your brain seems fine…although I do have my doubts,” he can’t help adding. “It’s a standard procedure. Do you live alone?”
“Not exactly, no. I’ve got someone to monitor my awesome brain in case something funky happens, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good. Any other injuries I should know about before letting you go? I do have a perfect score to maintain.”
The man slowly grins, his intense stare never leaving Stephen’s calculated face of boredom. “You’re a strange doctor, you know that?”
Stephen takes back everything he thought about the guy’s comebacks. “Seriously? The ‘strange’ joke? Like I haven’t heard that ten thousand times already,” he sighs…kinda disappointed actually. Maybe having a worthy adversary could be fun.
“What?” he asks confused all of a sudden.
“Making fun of my name is a little middle-school of you…I expected more, Mr. Genius.”
He folds his hands over his chest, his gaze turning into a glare. “You haven’t told me your name, asshole,” he says, sounding more amused than angry.
“What do you mean I haven’t told you my name, douchebag. It’s right here on my - ” Nametag. That he left in his office this afternoon. Oh.
“You sure I don’t have to check your state of mind?” he grins again, in victory this time.
Well-played.
“Uhm…Doctor Strange?” one of the nurses approaches him, looking between them with a frown.
“Waitwaitwait…your name actually is Strange? That’s fucking perfect,” he adds in a whisper.
“We’re all done here,” he says, ignoring another check-mate from the man. “You can point me to the next bruised face in need of my overqualified hands now,” he winks at him, not ready to give up that easily.
“Right, go find one yourself,” the nurse – Norma – says. No wonder she told the guy to fuck off. Norma is savage on good days. Today she’s the devil incarnate. “Mr. Stark? The Dean will see you now.”
“Finally. Don’t worry, I won’t bother him for too long. Wouldn’t dare to stand between a surgeon and a shattered fibula.”
Stephen hopes to all the gods in existence that he doesn’t let the shock show on his face…much. He dares to glance at the now standing man – Stark – and wonders if he maybe does need to be checked for brain injuries himself.
There’s not a person on Earth today who wouldn’t recognize Tony goddamn Stark on sight. Perhaps those island tribes living in seclusion somewhere in Malaysia…and even that’s questionable.
Leave it to Stephen Strange to be that guy. And also the idiot who asked what his name was! Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse…then again, Stark’s day was admittedly way worse than his, what with the aliens and falling off of outer space.
Seems like a clean 3:0 win for Stark.
“Thanks for the patch work, Doctor Strange,” he smirks as he passes by him. “Your overqualified hands might have just saved my pretty face...and brain,” he returns the wink and disappears in the ER doors with a very confused nurse Norma.
4:0
“You free now? I’ve got a multiple fracture over there I could use some help with, Doctor,” Christine jumps into his line of sight, disrupting his whirling thoughts.
“Sure,” he nods absentmindedly, staring over her shoulder.
“Bu…oh. Okay. That was easy,” she frowns, following his gaze into the hallway behind her. “Let’s go then.”
Shaking his head, he tears his gaze from where he last saw Stark and follows his colleague to the next mundane task. And the next…and the next…until the day and night go by, mixed up in a haze.
When he comes home the day after and collapses onto his bed, there’s one thing he remembers in clear, vivid focus though. That chance encounter with a man who could not only keep up with him and his abrasive snark, but also a man that cares to know more than four figures in pi.
“What a show-off…,” he mumbles into the pillows, a smile spreading over his tired face before falling asleep.
~