Forty-One

                                    

                                          
Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) by Nancy Sinatra
It wasn't a mistake, not in the slightest. The sergeant can admit that. It wasn't a mistake nor does she regret it... But it was wrong. It was wrong in so many ways. For numerous months, guilt has hovered over her like a cloud lingering, waiting to downpour. She feels guilty because she liked it. As much as she hates to admit it, she wanted Loki to touch her. Emerson had been starved of touch for too long and she simply needed to feel something. Anything. The sergeant thought she would be able to get over her sorcerer, especially after years. It's unbelievably hard when she lives in his home. Emerson sees pieces of him every day. His clothes, his relics, and even his dusty paperwork laying upon his desk. She feels guilty because she hasn't gotten over Stephen Strange yet nearly gave herself to another man. How could she have done that to Stephen? He doesn't--didn't-- deserve to be betrayed like that. Stephen was a great man and he deserved nothing but the best. Stephen had been nothing but kind to the sergeant and here she is spending too much time with a man he warned her about. God, she wishes she could talk to Stephen. 
With that thought, she scrambles off her bed, rushing to find a piece of paper and a pen. Maybe she would feel better writing it as if he would be reading it. It will get everything off of her chest. The things she wanted to say and never got to. Even the things she wishes he wouldn't know like how she cried herself to sleep for weeks, and how she could hardly eat or bathe. She could write about all of the things she has been holding in. After finding a pen and paper, she did just that. She wrote and poured her heart out onto the sheet of paper until it was full of ink and stained with tears. It was many pages later when Emerson felt she got everything off of her chest. 
Stephen Vincent Strange, 
I don't even know where to start. I know what I want to say but I don't know how to say it. Writing and expressing my emotions have never been a strong suit of mine. You, on the other hand, could be good at anything you set your mind to. You weren't just a Master of the Mystic Arts, you were damn near the master of everything. You were a perfectionist and never settled for anything less. I looked up to you, I really did. I still do. You were a great mentor and person and I am so glad it was you who helped me. I don't remember if I ever got the chance to say thank you or truly express my gratitude. Stephen, you saved my life. It may sound a bit extreme to you, but it's true. Without you and your help, my life would have been pointless. I had nothing left here for me. That was true until I met you. You are such a good person with a kind heart. While there were times you could be a complete asshole, there is not a single thing I would've changed about you. You were amazing. Scratch that, you still are amazing. 
I think about you all the time. I know, it's kind of weird and creepy. When you died I was in utter disarray. I couldn't eat or sleep or smile without you here. It's been five years and I still think about you every day. My heart will always have a spot for you. It might even be too big of a spot leaving no room for anyone else. 
You are so handsome and witty. The beautiful, silvery streaks in your hair always left me weak in the knees. Those absurdly sharp cheekbones will forever be engraved into my mind. The way you walked. The way you talked and the things you said. The way you held me. Even the way you touched me will forever be stuck in my head. I almost hate it. I want to be able to move on to someone else eventually. I don't want to constantly think about you and your shit-eating grins. I hate thinking about the sweet things you said to me. I don't want to think about how caring and gentle you were. I hate thinking about those alluring hands of yours that you loathed so much. I hate it all because I miss you. I miss you so fucking much, Stephen. It hurts. My heart hurts for you and everything you left behind. I'm trying my hardest to be okay. The New York Sanctum has been well taken care of. I only do it for you. All of your belongings that sit untouched on the shelves haunt me. They constantly remind me of you. It's like a constant nagging in the back of my head that only shouts your name. The entire sanctum causes images of you to flash in my mind. The need I feel for you is too strong. I need you, Stephen. I need you in my life.