Chapter Text
The mantle of Sorcerer Supreme was not a title handed out lightly to any old magician, despite what films may suggest. Yet it is a responsibility Stephen Strange has put on hold for a while. Just a short time. Nothing too serious to worry about, besides, Wong deserves his moment in the limelight, and it would be nice to not have to save the bloody multiverse every five minutes because some fool decided the space-time continuum was actually a snowglobe.
“So you have fourteen year absence in your employment,” Jennifer Kale smiles politely across the desk. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and she tilts her head towards Stephen with a faux-pretence of curiosity. Perhaps eldritch horrors would have been preferable to dealing with Human Resources. “Do you care to explain?” she asks after a moment of silence.
“I was the Sorcerer Supreme,” he answers, “Master of the Mystic Arts, I was saving the world.”
Jen looks at him with an unmoving expression, that abominable smile still carved across her lips. It is Stephen who breaks first.
“Do you remember the Snap? Thanos? The Avengers? I was one of them.”
“I see,” Jen smiles, her eyes widening as she scrawls a note on her paperwork. *Liar or a loser?* “Now, the issue of your medical license.” Jen lowers her head, her brows knitting together in a performance of concern. “You stated in your application that you have been renewing your license. This is despite not practising?”
“Yes,” Stephen lies, tongue pressed to his teeth as he smoothes down his trousers. “I wanted to keep doors open.”
“I see,” she nods. “Well, we are waiting for the license number and details to all match up on the system-” (a little magic could fix that) “-but we cannot reinstate you to your previous position, given the injuries.”
“I have made a full recovery-”
“Perhaps, but insurance says otherwise.” Jen places her hands on the desk, smiling at Stephen, “besides, you have been deemed ‘deskilled’ due to your extensive absence in neurosurgery. What we can offer you is the role in the Emergency Room team, we have an attending supervising who is very talented in her craft, and is willing to take you under her wing.”
Stephen bristles, his lips draw tight as he holds his breath to stop himself saying something regrettable.
“I was the leading expert in my field.”
“Was,” Jen echoes, “and then you had a car crash, had a spiritual journey, took some hallucinogens and returned over a decade later. You are lucky we even agreed to this interview, Stephen, you are a lawyer’s dream cash cow, you so much as glance at medical malpractice and negligence, even a blind lawyer will milk this place for cash.”
Stephen’s jaw tightens. Jen is unmoving, unwavering in her professional cheer and demeanour. Even Dormammu himself would break under such a veneer of polite happiness.
“I want my own office.”
“No.” Jen smiles, “you can eat in the staff room like everyone else. It’s good to build positive working relationships with your colleagues. Isolating yourself in an office is poor for teambuilding and morale.”
“Then I want a five grand increase to the salary.”
“You will be on the same salary as those of your colleagues until you prove your worth. Don’t like it? Susie and her ayahuasca spiritual retreat have a vacancy for you to go save the world again.”
Jen is unwavering, unbending. She knits her fingers together, resting her hands on the desk.
“There will be official reviews for potential salary increases, the criteria can be found in your staff handbook. If you have questions on how to improve your performance and likelihood of meeting requirements for a raise, I am more than happy to have that conversation with you at a more appropriate time.”
A silence hangs between them, one that Jen is well-versed in.
“I will e-mail over your starting rota,” she smiles.
“I can’t wait,” Stephen manages through gritted teeth, his knuckles pressed white against his flesh.