"Do not think the less of yourself for your ignorance. It is a weighty question," Strange said. "Many wise men have struggled to answer it. I am aware of none who have done so."
"Maybe I should do something, then," I said.
"Maybe I have a responsibility to try to limit the harm he could do."
"Or the good," Strange said.
I grimaced. "Do you really think he's going to do anything good, Doc?"
"It seems to me that he aided you and the Black Cat only this morning."
I sighed. "Yeah, he did. It's making it hard to figure out what to do."
Strange nodded. "If you like, I shall summon the authorities."
I thought about it for a minute more. Then I shook my head. "No. We had a deal, and he more than lived up to his end. In fact, without him, we would never have been able to pull it off. He's got twenty-four hours before I make any moves."
Strange got an odd little smile and nodded once. "I am glad to see that you are still a man of your word—as he is. Good never came of treachery. It wounds betrayer and betrayed alike."
The conversation—and his offer—had been a test, then. A lesson. Freaking wizards. Strange really needed to get out among the nonmystical crowd more often. Maybe go bowling. Put back a cold one or two. Watch a movie. But he's the Doc. He's pretty much all about the weird wizardry wise man shtick. And he was probably right.
"We just do what seems right," I said.
He nodded. "We're only human."
"Maybe you could do me a favor," I said. "Besides the wrist, I mean. The Rhino, ah… maybe it would be better if he woke up here, and you could call him a cab."
"Certainly," Strange said. "I am pleased to be able to offer you more conventional help."
I frowned at the unconscious Rhino for a moment. "How are you at fortune-telling, Doc?"
Strange followed the direction of my stare. "The future of beings like the Ancients is easily seen. They have no true sense of self-determination, you see. They are driven by their needs. Ruled by their impulses and fears." He shook his head. "The future of mortal beings, though, is generally imponderable."
"Stop dancing," I said. "Do you think he can straighten out?"
"He can, certainly. Though I sense there would be a very heavy price to be paid—perhaps one which would be too high." Strange shook his head. "The question is will he choose to do so. In the end, his future will depend upon his choices. Just as yours does."
I frowned and nodded. "I suppose I shouldn't expect much."
Strange smiled faintly. "Even should he dare to change his path to run along near your own, I think it would little change his attitude toward you."
"Gee. Why doesn't that shock me," I said.
Strange actually chuckled. "Let's get that wrist straightened out, hmmm?"
Mary Jane leaned into me and murmured, "He is going to be able to do"—she gave him a very mild, elegantly reproachful look—"something? This time around, anyway?"
Strange blinked at her, then at me, and let out a very brief, very quiet sigh.
I savored the moment.
"There," he said, a few uncomfortable minutes later. He had my wrist set, held stiff by layers of wrapped tape. "It's a simple fracture. Leave it for a day or so, and you should be fine, given your own exceptional recuperative capacity."
I sighed. "Thanks, Doc."
He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Of course. Is there anything else I can do?"
I blinked at him. "You know," I said, "there is. There are two things, actually."
His eyebrows went up.
"Doc," I said. "I assume your doctoring credentials are still good. You know, like, legal?"
"As far as I know," Strange said, his tone cautious. "Why?"
"And do you know if Wong plays basketball?"
"Excuse me?"
"Simple question," I said. "I mean, it's not brain surgery, is it? Does he shoot hoops?"
"I'm… actually, I'm not sure," Strange mused.
Somewhere in the background, Wong started whistling "Sweet Georgia Brown."
"Peter," Mary Jane said, smiling at Strange. "I'm sure you shouldn't press the good doctor. After all, he's done so much to help you already."
Strange looked helplessly at her and then lifted both hands. "Mercy, lady, I beg you. By all means, Spider-Man, just tell me what I may do."
Chapter 27
The gang wasn't loitering around outside of Samuel's apartment at eight o'clock on Monday morning. I guess it isn't exactly gang-hanging prime time. The doc and I took the subway and walked the last couple of blocks. He was wearing fairly normal clothes again, and had added an old bomber jacket to his ensemble, as well as an archetypal doctor's bag. Even in the "civvies," though, he didn't exactly fit in on the street. Strange… is. It goes deeper than just mystical mumbo jumbo and Shakespearean wardrobe. It's no one thing I can put my finger on, but Strange never seems to fit in much of anywhere, unless maybe it's in the middle of serious trouble.
It's probably one reason we get along so well.
I cruised up to the Larkins' apartment and knocked. Sounds murmured through the gap beneath the door—children running, talking, laughing, the tinny sound of a television playing one of those seizure-inducing cartoons, and the occasional sound of a strident, confident woman's voice. I heard rushing footsteps and then Samuel's little sister, the one I'd seen wheezing on my first visit, opened the door. She stared up at us for a minute, then slammed it shut. Her footsteps retreated.
A minute or two later, Samuel opened the door. The big young man glanced from Strange to me, then frowned like a thundercloud. "What."
I made a show of checking my watch. I didn't have one, since my wrist was still all bandaged up, but I didn't let that stand in the way of good drama. "You're late for school, Mister Larkin."
"That's real funny," Samuel said, his glower deepening. "You know the score. Office lady already got me suspended. I ain't there no more."
"Samuel," said the woman's voice. "Who are you being rude to?"
"Nobody good, Mama," Samuel said.
"Look, if you're more than two hours tardy, you aren't going to be eligible to practice tonight. We'd better get a move on."
"You deaf?" Samuel growled.
"Samuel Dewayne!" snapped the woman, and she came to the doorway. She was nearly as tall as her son, her hair was threaded with gray, and she wore a waitress's apron over a gray dress and comfortable shoes. She regarded me and Strange with a wary eye, then asked, "Something I can help you gentlemen with?"
"Hi, Ms. Larkin," I said. "My name is Peter
Parker. I teach science at Samuel's school, and I'm temporary coach of the basketball team."
"What do you want with Samuel?"
"Just to get him to school, ma'am," I said. 'We're already several minutes late."
She shook her head. "I thought he got suspended."
"Only if he doesn't get his vaccinations up to date," I said. "This is Doctor Stephen Strange. He's agreed to help with that."
Ms. Larkin pressed her lips together. "I don't have the money to pay you for this. You might as well go on."
"There's no charge," I said.
Samuel scowled and lifted his chin—maybe in unconscious mimicry of his mother, who did the same thing. "We don't need charity," she said.
"This isn't charity," I told her. "The doc here is part of a new neighborhood health program some of the action groups have kicked off. He'd have been here in a few more days, anyway, to get your kids looked after—he just started here, as a favor to me."
Strange arched an eyebrow at me, but nodded. "Indeed."
"Mmm-hmm," Ms. Larkin said. She was clearly skeptical, but she didn't push it. Instead, she just glanced at Samuel, as if waiting for him to speak.