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Meg isn't paying all that much attention to the goings on around her this evening. She meant to be, but she's nearly at the end of Cat of Many Tails, and it's very easy to get caught up in the solution to a murder mystery.

Occasionally, she reaches for one of the grapes in the bowl on her table, but for the most part, her attention is wholly on the book in front of her.

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Anna has been watching Meg for several minutes now, from a vantage point in the rafters.

So this is the girl her brother is so fond of quoting.

Hmmmmm.

It might be time to introduce herself.

A second later, Anna is sitting on the edge of Meg's table.

"Hello, Meg," she says, helping herself to one of the grapes.

Meg startles, looks up, and all but drops her book, all at once.

The woman who has just arrived at the table is not familiar at all.

"I'm sorry," Meg says. "Um . . . have we met?"

"Sort of," Anna says, taking another grape. "You were unconscious at the time. Well, close enough to unconscious, anyway. You were recovering from the effects of a car accident."

She looks at the cover of Meg's book.

"Oh, that's a good one," she says.

"The doctor's wife is the killer. There's a nice bit of a misdirect near the end."

Meg closes the book and sets it on the table, edges lined up neatly parallel.

"I hadn't actually made it that far yet."

And she doesn't really think this woman is here to talk about a book.

Call her crazy.

"Oh, sorry," Anna says, without bothering to actually sound sorry at all.

"So you're the much-discussed Meg."

Anna leans down a little to get a closer look.

"You're shorter than I remember you being," Anna says, after a moment. "But possibly I'm just used to factoring in that pedestal he keeps you on."

Possibly Anna's not good at remembering to factor in that she herself is taller than she used to be in Milliways.

But it's probably mostly the pedestal.

"What is it about you?"

Anna cocks her head, studying Meg.

"Oh, you're pretty. You’re very pretty, but he won't care about that. I gather you're smart, about some things anyway. And you're a believer, but my brother's known a lot of believers over the centuries.

"So what's so special about Meghan Margaret Ford?"

It's very uncomfortable, being studied like that. Meg would really like to get further away, but she's already up against the back of the chair.

(And she has no answer to the question.)

"Are you Anna, then?" she asks.

Anna smiles.

"Oh, has he mentioned me? How sweet."

To use a wildly inappropriate metaphor, it's like hearing that your ex-boyfriend has told his new crush all about you.

Flattering.

Sort of.

Okay, that smile is quite possibly the most unsettling thing Meg has ever seen.

And Meg has seen some unsettling things.

She finds the one remaining millimeter at the back of the chair, but her chin comes up a little, too.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't really have anything to say to you about Castiel."

Well, the smile vanishes, but the expression that replaces it is unlikely to be much more comforting to Meg.

"Oh, I'm not interested in Castiel right now.

"Don't flatter yourself, little girl. There's nothing you could tell me about him I don't already know. I knew Castiel when your ancestors' ancestors' ancestors were still primordial sludge.

"No, the person I'm interested in here is you."

"I don't have anything to say to you about myself, either."

"Everyone has something to say about themselves," Anna says, between grapes.

"No one's that humble."

"Maybe," Meg says, "but not to you."

She picks her now spoiled book up and slides out of her chair.

She's had quite enough, really.

"Excuse me, please."

"Not yet," Anna says, reaching out to catch Meg by the wrist, her hand closing over the bracelets and the hairtie Meg wears there.

At the touch on the hairtie -- a touch that is not quite the last one Michael might expect, but close -- a slim, long-fingered hand catches Anna by the wrist, grip firm and inexorable as granite.

"Ah," Michael says, her pleasantly neutral voice offset by the stark planes of her face and the bright green fire of her gaze. "'Ware thyself, little cousin. You overstep."

Well, now.

The Archangel Michael, or a version thereof at least.

Isn't that interesting?

That kind of firepower is hardly the sort of thing a normal human girl can call down, in Anna's world.

Meg Ford just gets more interesting by the moment.

Anna releases Meg's wrist, but makes no move to pull her own free.

"Hello, Michael."

Edited 2012-04-21 00:23 (UTC)

"Anna."

Michael makes no move to let go of the other angel's wrist, either. Not just yet.

"What business hast thou, here?"

"Oh, just saying hello.

"Meg and I have a mutual friend."

And Anna has heard so much about her over the years.

Anna looks down at Michael's hand.

"If it's all right with you, I was just leaving.

"So nice to finally meet you, Meg."

Well, the pleasure was all hers.

(And honestly, as glad as Meg is that Michael arrived, having a couple of angels squaring off a foot away from you is, a bit, like retreating from the fire only as far as the frying pan.)

Meg nods, once.

Edited 2012-04-21 00:43 (UTC)

"Belated politeness, mayhap," Michael says, taking a step between Meg and Anna.

"But it will serve."

Only then does she let Anna's wrist go.

Anna smiles.

"You do have to love lectures from older sisters, don't you?"

Anna's got a little brother who can look forward to one.

"See you around," she says brightly, to either or both of them.

And with that, she's gone.

"I devoutly hope not," Michael observes, turning at last to look at Meg.

She tucks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

"Do you want to sit back down? You look a little like you need it."

Meg nods.

"I think I do, yes."

Though it takes her another second to actually sit down.

"Thank you."

Michael could say 'think nothing of it' because, in the grand scheme of things, these last few minutes mean little enough.

And yet --

"You're welcome."

Every life, after all, is a gift of inestimable worth.

"Were you expecting her visit?"

"I don't know that I'd say expecting, but Castiel had mentioned that there was a possibility.

"And even if I'd been expecting it, I don't think I could have expected it correctly."

"A possibility."

Michael's eyebrows arch.

"I see."

"I gather they have a complicated history," Meg says.

To put it mildly.

Michael flicks her fingers in a swift, dismissive gesture.

"That, in its way, is neither here nor there."

Complicated is relative. But angels turning human and then back again is -- hardly in the common run of things.

"As their history can barely be said to involve you."

"Maybe not," Meg says.

She certainly wouldn't presume that she was.

Except . . .

"But right now it kind of feels like I'm being involved in something."

"Yes," Michael says, shifting to cross her arms over her chest.

"Which shows a great deal of carelessness on at least one of their parts."

She doesn't sigh, just curves her mouth in a wry, crooked smile.

"I think you'll be best served to keep the hairtie, not that you were thinking of taking it off. Just until this -- "

Here she tilts her head toward the position were Anna was standing just a few moments ago.

" -- situation is settled more satisfactorily."

Meg nods.

"I will."

She hasn't taken it off since the day Michael gave it to her.

"Thank you."

It's not exactly comforting, but it is, in its way, reassuring.

"Fear not," Michael says, the crooked smile smoothing away into an expression that is a great deal more serious.

"Shall I keep you company until you've had more time to settle?"

"I'll try not to."

Meg turns her book over in her hands.

"I . . . it's not that I don't appreciate the offer, but honestly, all I want to do right now is go home."

"Then I think you're settled enough."

Michael's gesture toward the door is quick and sure, on the off chance that Meg worries about offending.

"I'll see you home safe."

Not that it will take much, right now.

Meg stands again.

"Thank you."

For any number of things.

"Go home, Meg Ford," Michael says, instead of saying 'you're welcome' again.

"And be well."

And once Meg is safely returned to her own world, Michael vanishes.

She has other places to be.

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