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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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Castiel idly wonders if he will have to start venting regularly before all is said and done.
He's not sure if it's a habit he especially wants to cultivate. But he cannot deny that it has helped. He feels a bit easier about the situation.
"Do you often find yourself dealing with people like this? Difficult but capable?"
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"Not everyone is good at adjusting."
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"Are you difficult?" he asks after a moment.
He would not call Meg difficult. But he is not human. It is hard for him to see things as they see things.
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"Some people would say so."
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"Being difficult can be an asset."
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It may very well be the thing that helps Dean Winchester win this war. Just as it helps Meg serve those in need here.
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Meg smiles.
"And you know, you're always welcome, if you're in the neighborhood. And you need to vent."
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"I will come back," he promises.
He must admit that he feels better. Calmer. A bit more centered.
And it will be good to keep an eye on Meg.
"I will even attempt not to 'sneak up' next time, if you wish."
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Having her hands slip then would be bad. Then again, she's hard to startle in those situations.
"I'll look forward to it."
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But no unexpected appearances.
"I will look forward to it as well."
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"Security is pretty tight. And there could be slightly awkward questions."
Or very awkward questions.
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"I have faith you will devise a plan."
He smiles.
"Until then. Be well."
And with a rustle of wings, he is gone.