Just Muse Me: Quote
"Before I met my husband, I'd never fallen in love. I'd stepped in it a few times.">
Apparently being psychic, resurrected, and watched over by angels did not make her immune from getting the flu. The first time she noticed was when the headache came up, not a psychic overload type headache, but a dull throbbing headache that implied she would soon be scrambling for tissues. It gave her enough warning to go out and stock the house with tissues, juice, and aspirin before the fever struck.
She forbid Remiel from healing her magically until it became obvious that it was something potentially bad, like swine flu or something. He had other tasks to do, other things to expend his energy on, and she didn't need to be bogging him down by letting him fuss over her. After about an hour of arguing he finally agreed to go and be useful elsewhere, and she was able to bundle herself up in bed with a box of tissues to hand and a pitcher of water, a smaller glass of orange juice and a stack of secondhand novels she hadn't read yet. At least there was that; she could catch up on her leisure reading. It had been a while since she had been able to read anything for fun.
The sound of wings made her open her mouth to tell Remiel off, until her chin tipped slightly to one side, head cocked as though listening. "Castiel."
"Pamela."
She sighed. "He told you, didn't he."
"He was concerned. You have never been sick in the time that we have known you."
Of course he was concerned. Of course Castiel was even more concerned, as though this wasn't something that happened to a great many people in the year. Most people got better, millions and millions of them suffering no more than a week's inconvenience for lost work time and a few days of ache and stuffy head. Fever, if they were unlucky, and she thought she might be.
"It happens to most people at least a few times in their life. Nothing that a week in bed and a few hundred glasses of juice or water won't cure. Go. Shoo." Off Castiel's crestfallen, almost hurt look. "Love, I'm sure you have more urgent things you could be doing than watching over one fluish psychic..." No, he was still hurt. She reached out and curled her fingers around his, wishing she hadn't said anything.
"I wanted to be sure you were all right."
"I'll be fine. And in a better world, if there were no war going on, I would want you to stay. I would want you to curl up with me and baby me and bring me juice and fresh boxes of tissue and hold me till I felt better..."
His fingers slipped into her hair as he stepped closer, and she sighed and leaned against him.
"... I won't be that person who's distracting you, or clinging to you, or hanging off of you all the time. I am not a damsel in distress, and this is only the flu." Which she was telling herself as much as him, because she really did feel irritatingly bad, and he was there, and soothing. More soothing than anyone had ever been when she was sick, and she was a pretty easy invalid to take care of. Castiel's presence, en-vesselled or not, was a balm to her spirit. His touch made her headache fade into insignificance. "You have work to do," she mumbled, one last protest that she wasn't important enough for him to stay here.
His arm slid tight around her shoulders and she sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. He wasn't going to let her go and she didn't have the will to fight it out with him, not now, not when she barely had the will to argue to begin with. Remiel, perhaps. Castiel, no. Not really. His fingers combed through her hair and she closed her eyes and did feel a little better.
A lot better.
She didn't look up. "You did a healing, didn't you," she spoke into his suit coat.
"You were ill." A simple statement, if not an explanation. She did feel better, her head and even her chest by now felt clearer, her energy level had spiked back up and she felt better in a thousand little ways she probably wouldn't have noticed if she had healed normally. The sudden contrast made a difference. And still, it was magical healing, it was energy he shouldn't have expended on her. She balled up her fist and registered her displeasure and disapproval by punching his shoulder with all the force of a moth, brushing his coat. He looked down at her hand with some amusement. "Pamela."
"Castiel." Now she did look up. Did his vessel always have such blue eyes, she wondered, or was that a reflection of the soul within? If she were to choose a color for what he looked like in that one split second before her eyes had burned it would have been blue. White, with blue flame edges. Something like that. "For want of a nail..."
"I know the saying."
All right then. She'd made her point, and now she really was done arguing, she thought. Even if she wasn't sick anymore she settled back a little on the bed, tugging Castiel slowly with her. If he was going to take the time out they might as well make it a real time out, and rest. He smiled; she thought he would have chuckled a little, and sat on the bed with her. Even this moment was enough, just to be snuggled against him with the sunlight coming through her window and lighting patches of her bare legs, his black slacks. This moment was more than she had ever imagined any moment like this could be, better than any of the good times with Jesse or any three or five or ten moments combined. It was new to her, this feeling that she would have traded more than she could think of for more moments like this, just peace and stillness and the awareness of his presence nearby, loving her. The kind of moment that made her want to break out into musicals, and she was not a musicals kind of a person, not by way of singing them anyway.
It made her want to say it again, and she wasn't sure she dared after everything he'd already done, whatever it was he'd dropped just to be here because Remiel had said she'd had the sniffles. (Well, he'd probably made it sound more dire than the sniffles, but still.) So, instead, she just projected it through her fingertips as she stroked the curve of his shoulder, the fabric of his coat where it lay over his chest.
She felt his energy shift as he smiled.
Apparently being psychic, resurrected, and watched over by angels did not make her immune from getting the flu. The first time she noticed was when the headache came up, not a psychic overload type headache, but a dull throbbing headache that implied she would soon be scrambling for tissues. It gave her enough warning to go out and stock the house with tissues, juice, and aspirin before the fever struck.
She forbid Remiel from healing her magically until it became obvious that it was something potentially bad, like swine flu or something. He had other tasks to do, other things to expend his energy on, and she didn't need to be bogging him down by letting him fuss over her. After about an hour of arguing he finally agreed to go and be useful elsewhere, and she was able to bundle herself up in bed with a box of tissues to hand and a pitcher of water, a smaller glass of orange juice and a stack of secondhand novels she hadn't read yet. At least there was that; she could catch up on her leisure reading. It had been a while since she had been able to read anything for fun.
The sound of wings made her open her mouth to tell Remiel off, until her chin tipped slightly to one side, head cocked as though listening. "Castiel."
"Pamela."
She sighed. "He told you, didn't he."
"He was concerned. You have never been sick in the time that we have known you."
Of course he was concerned. Of course Castiel was even more concerned, as though this wasn't something that happened to a great many people in the year. Most people got better, millions and millions of them suffering no more than a week's inconvenience for lost work time and a few days of ache and stuffy head. Fever, if they were unlucky, and she thought she might be.
"It happens to most people at least a few times in their life. Nothing that a week in bed and a few hundred glasses of juice or water won't cure. Go. Shoo." Off Castiel's crestfallen, almost hurt look. "Love, I'm sure you have more urgent things you could be doing than watching over one fluish psychic..." No, he was still hurt. She reached out and curled her fingers around his, wishing she hadn't said anything.
"I wanted to be sure you were all right."
"I'll be fine. And in a better world, if there were no war going on, I would want you to stay. I would want you to curl up with me and baby me and bring me juice and fresh boxes of tissue and hold me till I felt better..."
His fingers slipped into her hair as he stepped closer, and she sighed and leaned against him.
"... I won't be that person who's distracting you, or clinging to you, or hanging off of you all the time. I am not a damsel in distress, and this is only the flu." Which she was telling herself as much as him, because she really did feel irritatingly bad, and he was there, and soothing. More soothing than anyone had ever been when she was sick, and she was a pretty easy invalid to take care of. Castiel's presence, en-vesselled or not, was a balm to her spirit. His touch made her headache fade into insignificance. "You have work to do," she mumbled, one last protest that she wasn't important enough for him to stay here.
His arm slid tight around her shoulders and she sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. He wasn't going to let her go and she didn't have the will to fight it out with him, not now, not when she barely had the will to argue to begin with. Remiel, perhaps. Castiel, no. Not really. His fingers combed through her hair and she closed her eyes and did feel a little better.
A lot better.
She didn't look up. "You did a healing, didn't you," she spoke into his suit coat.
"You were ill." A simple statement, if not an explanation. She did feel better, her head and even her chest by now felt clearer, her energy level had spiked back up and she felt better in a thousand little ways she probably wouldn't have noticed if she had healed normally. The sudden contrast made a difference. And still, it was magical healing, it was energy he shouldn't have expended on her. She balled up her fist and registered her displeasure and disapproval by punching his shoulder with all the force of a moth, brushing his coat. He looked down at her hand with some amusement. "Pamela."
"Castiel." Now she did look up. Did his vessel always have such blue eyes, she wondered, or was that a reflection of the soul within? If she were to choose a color for what he looked like in that one split second before her eyes had burned it would have been blue. White, with blue flame edges. Something like that. "For want of a nail..."
"I know the saying."
All right then. She'd made her point, and now she really was done arguing, she thought. Even if she wasn't sick anymore she settled back a little on the bed, tugging Castiel slowly with her. If he was going to take the time out they might as well make it a real time out, and rest. He smiled; she thought he would have chuckled a little, and sat on the bed with her. Even this moment was enough, just to be snuggled against him with the sunlight coming through her window and lighting patches of her bare legs, his black slacks. This moment was more than she had ever imagined any moment like this could be, better than any of the good times with Jesse or any three or five or ten moments combined. It was new to her, this feeling that she would have traded more than she could think of for more moments like this, just peace and stillness and the awareness of his presence nearby, loving her. The kind of moment that made her want to break out into musicals, and she was not a musicals kind of a person, not by way of singing them anyway.
It made her want to say it again, and she wasn't sure she dared after everything he'd already done, whatever it was he'd dropped just to be here because Remiel had said she'd had the sniffles. (Well, he'd probably made it sound more dire than the sniffles, but still.) So, instead, she just projected it through her fingertips as she stroked the curve of his shoulder, the fabric of his coat where it lay over his chest.
She felt his energy shift as he smiled.