Chapter 29

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Several days passed, each minute feeling like it stretched on for hours. Every time she turned on her television, looked at her phone, or logged on to her computer, her heart started to race. She trembled at the sight of every headline, fearing the worst. The words she dreaded to hear.

But they never came. There was no story, no journalist solemnly delivering the news of Doctor Stephen Strange's tragic demise. The world continued to turn on like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed. Slowly, the crushing weight upon her chest began to dissipate, and she could finally breathe again.

Still, something inside her insisted that she see him for herself. She had to make sure. No longer could she endure this torturous silence.

So late one afternoon when she left Oscorp Tower, Janet hailed a taxi and told the driver to take her to 177A Bleecker Street. Darkness had fallen early, and the lights of the city had ignited in response. They streaked past her window in neon blurs, but she did not see them. Her stare was vacant, her thoughts distant.

What would she say? How could she look at him after—?

Sniffing, Janet turned away from the lines of traffic and crowded sidewalks, shutting her eyes and trying to forget. Everything reminded her of him. The music, the decorations, the dusting of snow on asphalt. It was only November, but people always did like to start their holiday activities early.

All too soon, the cab rolled to a stop, and she had no choice but to climb out of it. She had been twiddling her gloved thumbs throughout the duration of the drive, and now she shoved them deep into the pockets of her long coat as she ascended the familiar steps of the Sanctum. They were slick and wet with mostly melted snow, and the doorbell was stiff with cold when she rang.

Caught up by a sudden gust of wind, her hair blew across her face, and she swept the stubborn strands behind her ear with an irritated sigh. Her legs were shaking, her teeth chattering. She told herself that it was just the weather, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to catch her breath.

A door creaked open. Janet froze. And there he stood, one scarred hand grasping its wooden frame and the other pressed to his abdomen. He swallowed and blinked several times, looking as though he had not slept for weeks.

"Janet," he croaked.

"Stephen," she gasped with feigned surprise. "What happened? You look terrible."

He nodded slowly, undisguised sarcasm passing over his tired features. "Thanks."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... Is this a bad time? Should I just—?"

"No," he interrupted, more firmly than she had anticipated. "Come in. It's cold out, and I kept you waiting."

"You don't have to apologize," Janet assured him as she crossed the threshold, guilt welling up inside her.

Strange closed the door and turned to face her. He was unable to conceal the grimace that followed even the slightest movement he made.

"Took me a while to get down here," he muttered, limping past her. "I was in the library when—gah!"

Cursing, he doubled over, and Janet instinctively moved to assist him. Stephen glanced up at her, his eyes suddenly flashing. He abruptly straightened and flinched back, avoiding her touch. Concern clouded her gaze as she stopped and frowned. Her outstretched hand drifted slowly back to her side.

"Stephen?"

His chest was rising and falling heavily, and though his shoulders slumped forward with exhaustion, he had immediately dropped into a combat-ready stance. Janet tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it refused to budge. He knew. Somehow he knew.

"Stephen, is there something you would like to tell me?"

"No." He shook his head, fingers uncurling. "I think I'd rather show you."

She didn't know how it happened. One moment, they were standing in the entry hall, and the next—the library. Everything was exactly as she had last seen it, chaotic and littered with debris. Splintered wood and scattered papers, books with broken spines and pages half-torn out of them.

Struggling to reorient herself, Janet saw Strange catch himself against a nearby desk—the same one where she had found the Darkhold. The spell had taken a lot out of him in his already weakened state, and he swayed unsteadily as he raised his head and met her gaze once more. His hand was reaching for something on the mahogany surface, something small and—

Her breath caught, her heart beating so loudly that it was pounding in her ears.

"I believe...this belongs to you," he said, grasping a small pistol with both hands and holding it out to her.

She shook her head insistently, still in denial. "I've never seen—"

"Janet."

A chill ran down her spine at the sound of his low and unnervingly calm voice, and she fell silent.

"You carried this same weapon with you the day we boarded the quinjet to search for the Darkhold—your target. The prize you've been seeking this whole time."

She felt sick. Her insides were twisting into painful knots with each word he spoke.

"That's why you came here. Oscorp was looking for it. Norman was looking for it. And you took it to him, didn't you?"

"We didn't know what we would find," Janet retorted, her voice trembling uncontrollably.

"But you were searching for something," Stephen pressed, "and you used me to find it."

She lowered her head, her gaze falling to the floor. "Yes."

A shaking exhale escaped his lungs, and she heard the I.C.E.R. clunk onto the desk.

"I knew that you weren't telling me everything, Janet. But this?" Wearily, he ran a hand down his face and closed his eyes.

Her breaths became shallow and rapid, as if she were dragging each one painfully from her lungs. She rocked forward and then back onto her heels. "What I did to you, Stephen...it was an accident."

His eyes met hers, the lump in her throat threatening to strangle her.

"The mission was to steal the Darkhold. But then...you got in my way."

"Huh," he laughed dryly, moving around the edge of the desk and taking two steps toward her. "So that's it then? I got in your way, so you decided to stab me."

"I couldn't let you find out who I was," Janet choked. "It will ruin everything I've worked so hard for."

"But it's not just about you, is it? You're protecting Norman."

Blinking rapidly, she clenched her jaw in a vain attempt to steady her voice. "You know what he's done for me and for Jack."

"I don't care what he did," Stephen persisted, taking another step closer. "He doesn't own you."

"No one owns me," she growled. "All of this was my choice."

"Even your powers?"

Janet faltered, her lips parting. He advanced further, leaving so little space between them that she was tempted to retreat.

"What happened to you, Janet?"

Her eyes flared. "I don't need or want your pity, Stephen. I've been getting by just fine without you for thirteen years."

"Ah of course," he nodded, gesturing broadly. "I was starting to wonder how long we could hold a conversation without you bringing that up."

"Don't pretend to know me," she responded in a voice that was both quiet and deadly. "Don't pretend to care. Then, maybe I won't have to remind you."

"It's not pretend, Janet," he replied simply. "It never was."

She shook her head, her lip curling. "You're unbelievable."

Turning sharply on her heel, she started to walk away.

"Janet."

Reluctantly, she stopped, her back still facing him.

"I told you all those years ago that I meant what I said, and I did. I still do."

There was the slightest tremble in his voice, and she suddenly felt as if her heart had stopped beating. It was like she had been punched in the gut and all breath had been driven from her lungs. She shut her eyes, turned slowly to face him, then opened them again.

"It's too late, Stephen."

"It doesn't have to be."

Janet pressed her lips tightly together, fighting to keep control. She swallowed and averted her gaze as tears burned in her eyes. "Are you going to report me to the authorities?"

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his sleek black hair. "No. You told me that you wouldn't talk, and so far, you've kept your word. So...I'll return the favor."

Her eyes raised to his, relief flooding through her, and the corners of his lips curved into a small smile. She made a weak attempt to return it, but the pain his words caused her had become too much to bear. So she ran like she always did, escaping the confines of the library before he could utter another word.

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