Chapter Text
Metro-General Hospital cast a wide shadow over the parking lot, looming tall and impressive even in a landscape of tall skyscrapers. Stephen knew the moment he stepped outside of his warm, snug car he’d be hit by the bone-deep chill. January in New York was nothing to sniff at. He drove the well-practiced path to where his allocated space was, briefly checked his mirrors, moved his hand down to set the car in reverse and… lowered his window.
“Hey, you! That’s my space,” Stephen called out, brow furled, eyes narrowed.
The man was dressed poorly for the weather, Stephen noted. A coat on, sure, but stupid brown-leather dress shoes and no hat. He was, however, wearing sunglasses. What a douche.
“If it was your space, it isn’t currently your space, since I am all kinds of parked there right now.”
Stephen just wanted to go inside. January in New York was hardly a beach holiday. He didn’t want to deal with idiots trying to call dibs on a sparking space that wasn’t even theirs.
“Excuse me?”
The other man gestured to the sign, out of sight of Stephen from his low driving position. “It seems it has my name on it.”
“Is your name also Dr. Stephen Strange?” Stephen asked, arching an eyebrow very proficiently.
“No. I’m Tony Stark, and if you don’t move your car and let me enter the hospital, I’ll sue you.”
“For what?” Stephen snapped, fingers gripping the wheel. How dare he, how dare this asshole even suggest he’d sue when Stephen was the wronged party here. It wasn’t even like he’d intentionally blocked Stark in either, he’d pulled in close with the intention of swinging his car around to park .
“False imprisonment? Being a dick? I don’t know, you pick.”
Stephen’s car chose that moment to automatically turn off the engine as it had been idling for too long. Unfortunately, this appeared to Stark as if Stephen was just growing more belligerent.
“Well, Mr . Stark,” Strange snarled, “I’m late for an operation to save a life. Get back in your vehicle and move it so I can park and get on with my work .”
Stark clearly had enough and walked back towards his car door. Stephen huffed impatiently but was glad to see Stark was finally listening. Except, he didn’t stop at the driver door, he kept walking and then edged his way behind the car badly parked next to his, walked up between the tightly packed spaces, and was free without having to get Stephen to move at all.
“Actually, it’s Doctor Stark, Doctor , if we’re going to get pedantic about it,” Stark smirked and walked off to the hospital entrance, a happy jiggle in his hips that Stephen would refuse to admit he found himself watching.
***
“You gave away my parking space?” Stephen snarled at the administrator. He should know her name. Should, but didn’t.
“Mr. Stark donated very charitably to the hospital recently, we’re setting up a whole new children’s rehabilitation ward purely on his donation, as well as renewing many pieces of equipment in other areas of the hospital. Many badly needed pieces of equipment.”
“And that means he’s entitled to a better parking spot than I am?”
“We’re simply trying to–”
“Kiss Tony Stark’s butt so he’ll give you more money. How many times a year do you expect he’ll visit that it justifies him having one of the best parking spots going?”
“He’s actually come a few times in the last month alone to spend time with the children, so we thought it was time he had somewhere safe to keep his vehicle. They have a robotics group he's been supervising. Among other–”
But Stephen had heard enough.
“Give. Me. My. Parking. Spot. Back!” Stephen slammed his hands on the desk and leaned in menacingly.
He could see the subtle twitch of the woman’s eye and already accepted he was going to get written up by someone for this. But some battles were worth fighting for. He’d earned that spot.
“I’m not in charge of assigning them, Doctor. But if you continue to talk to me in that tone I’ll have you escorted from the premises.”
“This is an utter outrage!”
“I can see about getting you a different spot if you aren’t happy with the new one you were assigned.”
He didn’t even know where he’d been assigned to really. He’d just parked at the next place he could find. That too was most likely going to cost him dearly later, but it was a worry for future him to deal with. Stephen drew in a deep breath to continue his verbal onslaught to get his space back when his beeper decided to go off instead.
Huffing, he checked it and realized he needed to leave right then.
“Give me my space back,” he threw back at the administrator. “I don’t care how much money Stark has given, you know I’m worth more to you.”
“Are you sure about that?” she raised an eyebrow and he found himself pausing a moment and turning back to face her.
“What has he given you?” Stephen reached for his phone. “Whatever it was, I’ll double it.”
The administrator laughed. Straight up laughed. “You’re very well paid, Dr. Strange, I have no doubt, but Tony Stark has just donated $20 million to the hospital.”
What the hell was Stark doing donating $20 million to a hospital?
His eyes flicked down to the name plaque on her desk. Shirley Benson. A name he now had to remember in order to remember to avoid her. Christine wouldn’t be pleased to hear that she had been out on maternity leave for one week and he was already threatening members of staff. Oops.
***
When his space was free the next day, Stephen felt relieved more than anything. He pulled in, parked up, and got out to go see for himself exactly whose name was on there now.
Tony Stark , read the plaque, taunting him. So Stark hadn’t been lying when he said the plaque had been changed over.
With a screwdriver and some patience later, Stephen had removed the plaque and made a note to himself to find out where they’d put his name so he could restore it. Stark could have that spot for the once a year he pretended to turn up at the hospital, if he ever came again. But Stephen didn’t see the point in the space having Stark’s name on it for the other 364 days of the year.
See, Christine, he thought to himself proudly, I can share.
When the wonderful Shirley knocked on his office door later, Stephen knew he’d soon have a headache.
“Dr. Strange?” she asked, having given up and just stuck her head around the door.
“I’m in surgery,” he replied, flicking over another page of his book, refusing to look up at her.
She walked further in, frowning down at her. His finger slowed momentarily before he went to flick again to the next page, eyes taking in nothing of the text before him.
“I know you miss Christine–”
“I don’t miss her.”
“Clearly without your normal emotional support in place you’re finding new ways to act out.”
His lip curled as he turned the page. He was not upset that Christine wasn’t here. She was having a baby, not moving to the other side of the world. And she was happy and he was going to be a good friend and support her.
Or so Christine’s sister had told him at the dinner Christine and Chris ( urgh ) had revealed they were expecting.
It was his own fault really, he’d fallen into the trap of trusting and relying on someone else. And now she wasn’t here, who was he supposed to complain to about the idiots they worked with? About the people who parked in his spot just because they happened to donate what probably amounted to pocket change to them?
“The plaque has been put back and I will have your car towed if you park there again. Mr. Stark is due back in tomorrow and every day for the foreseeable future.”
Stephen dropped the book onto the table and finally turned to face the intruder.
“Am I being punished for something here?”
The administrator rolled her eyes. “No. But you can be sure as hell I am being punished for having to be the one to tell you this.
On that note, you will also be doing a shift at the free clinic tonight to make up for your behavior towards me this morning. And you should be lucky you aren’t getting a week’s suspension. I won’t accept threats towards me, Dr. Strange.”
Stephen quickly weighed up his choices. He had, indeed, screwed up and by all means should be at least in a conduct hearing.
“I accept.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “To the clinic hours or to not parking in that space again?”
His hand twitched.
“The first one?”
Shirley narrowed her eyes at him.
“The first one,” he tried again, “followed by the second one?”
Shirley nodded, turning on the ball of her left foot to march out of his office again. “7pm at the clinic, Dr. Strange,” she informed him sharply.
Christine probably would have covered his clinic hours for him if she’d been there. Or at least she would have kept him company. He sighed and slumped in his chair.
No parking space. No Christine. No interesting surgeries coming up. What was even the point?
Well. Other than saving lives, Stephen mused to himself. That was probably important.
Since he had nothing better to do that evening, Stephen did indeed go to the clinic, and left 10 minutes early. There were only so many STDs and snotty noses he could look at in a day. And it wasn’t like dear Shirley was going to notice, was it?
***
Stephen arrived at the hospital late the next day. His one and only surgery wasn’t due to start until mid-afternoon and had the potential to go on for a couple of hours if things didn’t go in his favor. So really, he considered he was acting with considerable grace as he parked elsewhere, noticing Tony Stark was yet again parked in his spot.
With a magnanimous air, Stephen turned off his engine in a far inferior parking spot and walked into the hospital. Somewhere in the parking lot was his newly assigned official space, but out of spite Stephen had decided to park wherever looked best that day. He was just keeping the administration on their toes for once, he reasoned.
Nothing could break his focus from the operation in front of him. Not if he wanted his reputation to precede him.
It was spinal stenosis surgery, a laminectomy he could probably do in his sleep. The most common surgery for a neurosurgeon and so one he never usually agreed to carry out personally. The reputation of the patient was what had attracted him to take on the case. Derick Carter was the current artistic director for the New York City Ballet and had already offered Stephen tickets whenever he wanted them for the upcoming season in thanks for his help.
There had been a small photo opportunity beforehand in which Stephen confidently told them that the surgery, though not without risk, was very common and would hopefully help alleviate the pain Derick had been in. He’d pose for some photos with Derick while he was in recovery and smile and tell his family what an amazing patient the ex-ballet dancer had been.
He ate lunch alone before joining his team to set out what was about to happen.
It was standard, standard, boring, boring all the way. But the ballet tickets would be worth it. Maybe he’d even attempt to take a date? No, that was… that was, no. He didn’t need a date. Didn’t need someone who didn’t appreciate the ballet.
“I’m sorry,” Stephen found himself telling the family 14 hours after the start of surgery. The wife (third wife of his patient, he’d noted) and his daughter (who was possibly older than the wife) had been waiting for hours. “We encountered a complication.”
“A complication?” The wife looked confused but the daughter was already breaking down, already understanding where this was going. Understanding that there was no way the operation would have gone on for this long if the end result had been favorable.
“There was a vascular growth in your husband’s lumbar area. He bled out as we tried to tackle the tumor–”
The mother fell to the ground next.
It was a simple surgery.
Derick had experienced some back pain and numbness in one foot when he presented originally.
Stephen felt himself talking, but it didn’t make any sense to him. Even if logically he knew: every surgery has a risk. Even though logically he understood that you couldn’t always see everything you’re going to encounter until you’re in there look at it. The tumor hadn’t been visible on the scan done for the spinal surgery as they hadn’t been looking in the right place. The radiographer had messed up – potentially. Stephen clenched his fists as a councilor from the hospital’s staff took over to help the family.
There’d be an inquest later to weigh up if Derek would have survived if he hadn’t had the surgery. But they hadn’t known enough going in and he’d bled out faster than they could have expected. They’d also later discover the base problem had been prostate cancer that had spread to the spine already. Derek had been on his way to death – but it shouldn’t have happened so fast.
Stephen’s eyes were itchy and gritty by the time the sun came up the morning after Derek’s death. He had notes to finish dictating and reports to write while it was still fresh, still painful in his mind. And then once he left the building finally, he could remind himself that he couldn’t carry the weight of every life he touched on his shoulders.
Derek’s death would be in the news and Stephen knew as a result he wouldn’t be turning on his TV for a while.
Shirley managed to catch him on his way out of the building.
“You still owe me 10 minutes in the free clinic, Dr. Strange, don’t think I didn’t find out you left early.”
“Bite me,” he shot back over his shoulder. He wasn’t feeling anger, but it was easier to pretend he did than acknowledge the sorrow. The failure.
“You want to get fired this badly?”
He turned about and walked up to her. “My patient died last night I really don’t give a–”
Out of the corner of his eye Stephen spotted him, Stark, walking in like he owned the place, that annoying bounce in his step, whistling away and he strolled towards the reception desk. He was dressed in a finely fitted three-piece suit, a silvery gray that brought out the potentially artificial highlights of gray in his hair and beard.
Stephen was scowling before he knew it and took a step towards Stark, only for a hand to anchor him back.
“You’ve had a trying time, but please don’t do something you regret,” Shirley insisted. “You’re an exceptionally gifted surgeon, Dr. Strange, but you need sleep more than anything right now. Do you need me to call you an Uber?”
Probably, Stephen thought. His thoughts were disconnected and floating around his head like it was suddenly too large and yet too small all at once. A part of him thought he would probably be cured if he could just punch Stark, just the once. Just a little punch. But no. Shirley was right. And punching someone was a very stupid idea when your entire career, entire life , was based on the dexterity of your hands.
Stephen turned back to Shirley. “Are you still sure I can’t have my parking space back?”
She firmly shook her head in the negative.
“I’ll take that taxi then,” he sighed finally. It probably was for the best if he didn’t drive right now.
“Are you okay to–”
“Am I okay to get my own taxi? I think I can just about manage that.”
Wearily he moved to the door and was back home before he realized it, sinking into the sheets his housemaid must have changed recently.
When he woke up things would feel better.
Maybe in the morning he could even get his parking space back, and then everything would be right with the world again.