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Southern Sudan, Fall 2008
It's a pretty simple room -- bed in one corner, dresser in another, desk in the third and door to the hall in the fourth.
The bed is neatly made. There are toiletries arranged on one side of the dresser; the other side holds a row of paperbacks, spines lined up, flush and precise, between plain metal bookends. The middle of the dresser holds a carved wooden box.
The there's a laptop on the desk, speaker for an MP3 player, and a picture frame with two pictures -- a man, about forty, with brown hair and eyes and (improbably) a handlebar moustache. And a boy, nine or ten, with reddish brown hair and his mother's smile.
The only thing on the wall is a bulletin board, above the desk. It holds a few other photographs, a postcard view of Montreal, three to do lists, and slightly cryptic advice, You cannot worry about every sparrow.
Dr. Meghan Marriner has called this room home for almost a month now.
She's entering notes into the laptop, back to the closed door, Beethoven (the violin concerto) playing on the speakers.
It's been a long, long day.
The bed is neatly made. There are toiletries arranged on one side of the dresser; the other side holds a row of paperbacks, spines lined up, flush and precise, between plain metal bookends. The middle of the dresser holds a carved wooden box.
The there's a laptop on the desk, speaker for an MP3 player, and a picture frame with two pictures -- a man, about forty, with brown hair and eyes and (improbably) a handlebar moustache. And a boy, nine or ten, with reddish brown hair and his mother's smile.
The only thing on the wall is a bulletin board, above the desk. It holds a few other photographs, a postcard view of Montreal, three to do lists, and slightly cryptic advice, You cannot worry about every sparrow.
Dr. Meghan Marriner has called this room home for almost a month now.
She's entering notes into the laptop, back to the closed door, Beethoven (the violin concerto) playing on the speakers.
It's been a long, long day.
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"Some days," she says. "I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I have days when I am far from doing well."
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Even him.
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(She wouldn't have asked anything like that, not when last he saw her. But it's been years for her, and things change.)
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"That would surprise you?"
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"I just . . . you're an angel."
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"We were created to be obedient. Not mindless."
"And even then, there are angels who have disobeyed. Though the repercussions are serious."
"In the end, we make our choices too. We have to take some things on faith, just like you."
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It makes sense.
"The days I doubted were actually a lot easier than the days I'm mad."
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Castiel pay attention to what humans say, and how they say it.
And Meg is not one to choose her words sloppily.
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Meg pauses.
"The first place MSF sent me was Sierra Leone. I wasn't even thirty, it was before Ned was born. And I knew, rationally, that I didn't really know what I was getting into, that I didn't know what to expect, for all that they tried to help me get ready. I knew that, but I'm not sure I understood it.
"The first six months were . . . I saw things, and I felt things, that I still don't think I could explain exactly. There weren't many days I didn't doubt. And there were times that I went beyond doubting and clear into disbelief.
"I was not a lot of fun to be around by the end of that mission. And I couldn't make Ed understand; he tried, but . . . I didn't have words for a lot of it, and I didn't try as hard as I should have. I still occasionally marvel that he didn't give up and leave.
"And then one I woke up on morning, and I thought . . . I can decide that there is no God, or that there is a God but He doesn't care, based on what I'd seen. Or I can decide that there is a God, and He does care, because, at the risk of overstating my importance in the grand scheme of things, because I'd been there to see it. Because people still go and try to change things, because people even when they're caught in the midst of horrors still live their lives and try to make them better.
"And of those two options, I chose the latter. It made more sense, somehow. Belief felt right in a way that doubting didn't."
Meg pauses.
"But there are still a lot of days I'm pretty mad at God."
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"There is no fault in being angry," he says when she is done.
That is a right afforded to humanity. Doubt and anger.
"Often the strongest faith can grow out of the most adverse circumstances."
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Nietzsche seems a slightly odd person to quote, or at least paraphrase, when talking to an angel.
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His face darkens a little.
"Though it often seems cold comfort for the one being tested."
Whether the hell is question is metaphorical or all too literal.
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She's seen a lot of them.
"And very often not being destroyed by them is based every bit as much on chance as it is on strength."
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He has watched for a very long time. And, unlike Meg, has not had the option of helping those he has seen.
He knows the path she chose has not been easy.
"But there is another part that is very glad," he adds. "That you have the will and the perseverance to help. Even when it is so difficult."
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"I'm a good doctor. And I'm good in a crisis, which is probably required to be a good doctor, really. And thanks to some time in a certain bar, I'm pretty acquainted with dealing with things outside of my confort zone or my normal. Those are gifts, right?
"The gifts I have, the gifts God gave me, I can do this. So it would be . . . ungrateful and irresponsible of me to not use them."
Meg pauses, then smiles very slightly.
"Which is not to say there aren't days I wish I'd been given other gifts."
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It's good, right now, to enjoy a bit of respite. He has a feeling he will not be getting much of that for some time.
"You are still an impressive knitter."
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"Well, there's that.
"I suspect Ed can track how difficult any given mission is based on how often I tell him to send more yarn."
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Everyone should have their own form of knitting.
"How long does this mission last for you?"
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"Do you know how long your mission will last this time, or does that all depend on the bearer of those capable hands?"
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He refrains from offering details. Lillith and seals and possible Hell on Earth are heavy burdens to place upon someone who is already working hard to preserve good in the world in her own way.
Castiel looks a bit rueful.
"I suspect a good deal of difficulty will be in convincing the owner of those hands that he is indeed capable."
"He is not as accepting as you are, I'm afraid."
Meg has rather spoiled Castiel for humans.
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He missed the months Meg was convinced she was insane and hallucinating, for one thing.
"Though I suspect whatever this is would test the limits of my acceptance."
What with the summoning angels to walk the earth again part and everything.
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His shoulders droop a little.
It's almost comical.
"It might. But you would be far less combative in your struggle to accept."
Really. Dean can be exhausting when it comes to trying to convince him to believe. And accept.
And to do what needs to be done.
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Meg can be pretty combative when she wants to.
"Whoever he is, and whatever exactly it is that you're asking him to do? It's a lot to ask of him, I'm sure. I tend to need time, with the big things, to think and process, and knit, before I can accept them. Maybe he does, too."
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He might be tempted. But even though bullets can't actually harm him, he'd prefer to avoid being shot again.
All the same, he nods.
"Time, unfortunately, is of the essence. But you make a valid point. I will be as patient as circumstances and my orders allow."
He shrugs a bit.
"I suppose it's worth remembering that Jacob is still well known to this day for wrestling with his angel."
Though, from the reports Castiel remembers from that time, Jacob had not wielded sarcasm with quite the same skill Dean possesses.
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Meg pauses again, and then smiles.
"If you forced to resort to wrestling, just make sure there's no one around to arrest you for it."
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