He and Professor had a lot more in common than he'd anticipated.

As he watched him thread a needle of interest into his students and string them along the lecture, Castiel realized that this socially awkward man was most confident when he spoke of things he was truly knowledgeable of. Sound familiar? From his seat in the back row of a small auditorium, he could see the young group of about twenty or so students scattered across the two front rows, every head following Professor, unable to detach from his drawing power, as he worked the stage for an hour.

"He is so…" Turning to Audrey, he found her eyes glowing reverently. "… magnetic! Isn't he?" At no response, she looked to him. "Cas?" She matched his frown with her own. "What?"

"Do you believe him?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have faith in what he says?"

Her eyes flickered hesitantly, as if not fully understanding. "Uh, well, he's teaching, not preaching. Everything he says is scientific fact, so yeah, of course I trust his words."

"Have you ever trusted my words?" he asked. She mistook this inquiry as being affronted and inclined away from him a little.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Cas, but you're not really of a position where your words can just automatically be relied upon." She nodded towards Professor. "He's an accredited professor." She smiled satirically at him. "You do remember you're not a real one, right?"

"I am of a position where my words can be relied upon," he said. His sternness sobered her.

"Well then," she retorted in measured tones, "until you tell me what it is that you do, then your words only amount to Bible-thumpings to me. I'm sorry." There was a pause, entitling him a window of opportunity to tell her, and he actually considered it. The levity rekindled in her eyes when she grinned suddenly. "But I gotta say, if these kids could witness our discussions, I'm sure you'd manage to open up their minds as much as you've done to mine."

He blinked. Had he really done that? Her smile swelled in the tentative appearance of his own. Then, making a decision, he stood from his seat, and her smile fell.

"I have a question." His resonant voice carried across the auditorium, stealing all focus. "Were you planning to inform your students about the relevance of God?"

He ignored Audrey's hisses of "Castiel, sit down!" and its variants as she tugged on his arm, while the students exchanged disconcerted glances among them, wondering if this stranger was serious or was perhaps part of a possible "act" their professor had prepared specially for them. Had they noted Professor's bewildered expression caught mid-sentence, they would have concluded no.

"Uh, heh, no, for two reasons. One, I–I am only certified in the discipline of science and two, as a teacher, I must teach – as in, enlighten only the, ah, factual-based truths."

Castiel felt himself seize up with indignation. A stinging scowl seeped into his gaze without even frowning, and he only vaguely discerned the sound of Audrey's discreet "Uh oh".

Abandoning that and leaving Castiel hanging (or rather, standing), he turned his attention back down to his students. "Anyway. Back to, ah… y–yes! Yes, the intricate epistemology of the human brain. Remembering that the mechanical electrical activity of the billions of cerebral neurons we all possess somehow metamorphose into distinctive forms of subjective experience —"

"The word "somehow" negates your earlier pledge to enlighten only factual-based truths," he hogged focus again. Audrey was cupping a hand over the side of her face in second hand embarrassment.

"That–that's the point of tonight's class – Modern Science and its Mysteries," he justified tightly, sensing with distaste the proverbial spotlight being stretched to encompass the angel. "The reason why it's not part of the appointed curriculum is because it–its prevalent mysteries are irrelevant to the strict classroom syllabus, but uh, heh, that doesn't mean it isn't fun to discuss."

"There is the likelihood that a mystery is and always has been an impossible matter to be resolved through scientific methods."

"A–and in the same way, there is an equal chance th–that–that a mystery can and will one day be resolved through scientific methods!"

"You will not find it."

"So many people," he began, a pitying grin budding on his face, "in the past, have made that implication – that science has reached its limits – only for them to be refuted time and time again."

"I'm not insinuating that there's nothing to find, I'm saying that you would be searching for something unattainable."

His eyes screwed up with such bewilderment he appeared to be in pain. "Wh— I–I–I don't even know what we're talking about anymore!"

"I believe that neglecting to inform your students about the value of religion encourages them further down the path of misguided thought as they foster their scientific understanding."

As Castiel spoke, Professor had been pinching the bridge of his nose, clinging to his forbearance before it tore away from him completely. "A–and like most of your beliefs, y–you are mistaken!"

The room hummed with a dramatic "Ooooh" collectively issued by the students, who all whirled around in their seats to discern the damage. Castiel, glowering, looked to Audrey for the simple assurance of her presence beside him, but from the way she stared with studied interest at the ceiling tiles as she twiddled her ankles, she was clearly wanting her presence to be elsewhere.

"A–alrighty then, stranger," Professor's testiness curved his attention, and he watched as he moved to stand behind one of the two lecterns on the stage. He gestured the other. "Why don't you take the, ah, opposition and we'll make tonight's discussion a whole lot more interesting?"

The students beamed at each other, keen for this entire impromptu display. After a thoughtful moment, Castiel moved to exit his row to approach the front. But Audrey, dropping her deaf and mute act, stopped him, grabbing a fistful of his trench coat like a spoiled child.

"Audrey, let go of me."

"No!" she hissed, lowering her head in a feeble attempt to be inconspicuous. "You're not a real professor! You're gonna make an ass of yourself!"

Taking that literally, he confusedly responded, "How could I possibly —"

"Students! This is Professor Castiel from Columbia University," Professor formally announced. Immediately, there were girlish giggles and whispers of "I'm transferring!", which he silenced with a scowl.

"He is from the Union Theological Seminary."

There was instant silence, one so pronounced it practically echoed itself. The students stared at Professor as though he held all the answers, but their gazes became seduced by the mysterious allure of the man presently descending the stairs, a reputation mounting with every step he climbed down that he couldn't quite glimpse.

"That's right. Theology." As Castiel stepped onto the stage, Professor outstretched an arm to gesture him, drawing the climax to all. "Everyone. Meet the adversary." Once he took his post at lectern number two, meanwhile inwardly opining that he did not need to stand behind this accumulation of wood to address humans, Professor turned to him and nodded. "Would you like to launch us into it?"

"What's the topic?" he asked.

"Anything now," he replied. He drew in a pompous air. "Anything you believe in."

Castiel opened his mouth.

"He doesn't even go here!" taunted a voice. Students searched among themselves for the source. Castiel glared straight at Audrey across the room, who shrank in her seat, giggling.

Finally, stoic eyes back on Professor, he spoke. "God exists."

"There is no proof of that."

"Define proof." The responses were swift, less than one second each, but this had Professor hesitating.

"Uh," Professor fumbled with the definition, "proof is honest evidence, or–or an argument that helps establish the, uh, truth or fact of a, ah, statement."

"An argument is not material," Castiel pointed out. "In the same way the evidence of God's existence is not material."

"Those instances are mutually exclusive!" he dismissed, aghast as though personally offended. "By, by that logic, I could say that I…" he made a sharp, helpless motion of his hands, "th–that I have bunny ears, only you can't see them. And I can't provide proof for it because it's "immaterial"," he highlighted with air quotes.

"Thereby your logic," he willfully echoed the phrase, "every question, ambiguity and doubt can be answered by means of science and reason."

"Absolutely. Modern science is founded on the premises of materialism, reductionism and the randomness sewn into the very fabric of existence. Everything that can be found will be found through it."

At this, Castiel came up dry for words. It was difficult to progress directly from this point. Religion required a suspension of logic, and if he was not of a mind to do so, then this debate was already over.

"Limiting yourselves as no more than physical beings fortuitously conceived in this universe ultimately suggests that there is no fundamental purpose in your lives. With that ideology, it compromises the moral reinforcements set by humanity. Would you not be left with the notion of pointlessness once you've fathomed all facts of the universe and life as it is, having robbed it of its meaning, if any?"

Professor's dumbstruck face illustrated every other one in the room. "I… I–I thought you were supposed to be making a case for religion."

"I feel it's impossible to argue that with someone who is metaphysically disinclined." The room droned with low chuckles, though it hadn't been a conscious attempt at humor. He adjusted his stare quizzically. "Reality is nothing more than a world of solids, liquids and gases to you, isn't it? Nothing beyond the physical garners your belief, which is justifiable. Your body, of which you come to know and identify with, consists of matter. You grow accustomed to amounting matter with reality, in that the word "reality" becomes wrongly synonymous with the term "physical existence"."

Professor was noticeably stumbling to answer the question that had been lost well under Castiel's continued embellishment. When he failed to timely respond, the angel resumed.

"You seek to prove these physical realities. What about non-physical realities?"

"Don't exist."

"Is that so?"

"No question about it."

Castiel cast him a restrained look of pique. "Why are the ideas of spiritual realities and otherworldly realms of mysticism so easily dismissed and limited to superstition? And yet, your modern theories of twenty-six dimensional string worlds are considered plausible with further toleration?"

At its mention, he lurched in surprise. "How do you even – why are you mentioning this?"

"Not for any real reason other than to point out the scientific chauvinism."

The loaded answer made him grimace. "Hey," he leaned in his way furtively, despite standing before an audience of attending ears, "I allowed you over here to educate my students with religion," he reminded, poorly hiding the irony in his tone. "What are you doing?"

"By the act of addressing you and your students with religious discourse, I'd be provoking logical thought. Why bother if that train of thought does not even have the potential to draw to my favor?"

"Hey, it's hard to be completely neutral when its religion versus science," he argued weakly. "Science has its set of natural laws, and rules that apply in physics, biology, chemistry —"

"This is what is needed to be understood," he commenced emphatically. "When God designed the universe, transcendental realities such as heaven and hell immediately existed as much as those natural laws of science, and because those realities are supernatural, a word suggesting an attribute above and beyond scientific convictions, your natural laws needn't apply at all."

"But the question remains: do those places even exist initially?"

"Yes, immaterially."

Professor threw his hands in the air as he intoned, "And we're back to material!"

"Time is immaterial," he pointed out.

"Time isn't representing a mystical place."

Castiel stopped to mull over that for a moment. "If you are referring to heaven and hell, they are wrongly misconstrued as places. These are realities that a physical being cannot reach by any means of navigational aids. Heaven and hell are immaterial realities just as much as time."

"Time is proven," he contended. "Time is now, time is time." He pointed to his watch frenziedly. "Time!"

"What about the future? Immaterial, and nor is it proven, nor is it now. And what of emotions?"

Professor's confidence, which was being driven downhill by the surprise lead by how quick Castiel was, revived at the latter question. "Oh, emotions are physical. Experiences, memories and knowledge are all physical. All the ingredients constituting them are uh, up here," he said, tapping his temple.

"Knowledge of the brain does not equate to knowledge of the mind," he indicated.

Instantly wincing, he was reluctant to acknowledge that. "Wellllll … yeahhh…"

When there was a lull on both ends, Castiel swept a gaze across his audience, feeling their palpable interest and also the doubts he had set in motion in their minds. He peered down at the lectern and at the notes he didn't have, mentally striving to decide on a new route. Then, lifting his eyes, he let them fall to Audrey from across the room.

"Have you ever kissed anyone before, Professor?" he asked. She shifted forward in her seat, sensing her relevance.

"Of–of–of course I have!" he spluttered, harried by all these unexpected things being thrown at him. He was staring at the angel as though he had just randomly inquired about live poultry.

"Was it enjoyable?"

"Er, I guess?"

He turned his gaze to Professor. "Why was it enjoyable?"

"I was … I dunno, I liked her?"

"No, you misunderstand – why did it feel good? Why does attraction correlate to pleasure?"

"It just does."

Castiel's eyes flared in a rare display of triumph. "What did you say?"

"It just – hey! No, no, I–I mean, i–it's a chemical reaction! Yes! The, uh, act of kissing someone you are attracted to reacts chemically, and, uh, igniting, um, the, ah, censors in the cerebral cortex, directing you to, uhm, you know –" his hands whirled around each other, in a desperate motion intended to intercept some words, "– feel good!"

"Why does pleasure feel the way it does?"

"It just —" he scowled severely as he caught himself again. "Genome projects are still being done to this day to try to," he made a vague gesture, "figure that out. We already know why and how we feel and remember those things, the question remains as to why they feel the way they do."

Almost pityingly, he smiled, knowing that Professor fully knew how weak that argument was. "As I initially said: you won't find it, because among other things, it's immaterial." Now bearing the needle of interest, he gazed profoundly at the group, stringing them along towards his conclusion. "Transcendent of this reality, alike to the realities of heaven and hell, but on a much smaller scope."

The students nodded, otherwise numb with awe, while Professor looked like he was in danger of passing out. Thankfully, time was on his side.

"Uh, sir?" called out a timid voice. It was a student, raising an equally as timid hand in the air for attention. "Letterman starts in like, twenty minutes and —"

"Oh," he said, or raggedly choked out in relief. He swallowed thickly. "Right." He made a lax shooing motion. "C–class dismissed."

The students filed out, no longer buzzing with awe but with a joint desperation to arrive home on time for the monologue, until only three individuals remained. As they had left, Castiel watched as Professor drew himself to full height, as though physically mustering up all the dignity he possessed, before giving his notes a quick, straightening shuffle and then cramming them into his briefcase. Although he clearly did not want to, and for a second, Castiel didn't think he would, he strode over to him, chin high in the air in the sort of majestic manner he usually saw on an indignant Audrey.

"Well, I, um… I think it's fairly plain to see that I, ah, did not expect that from you." Castiel remained silent, trying to wring his thoughts without cheating. Pleased he was not being complacent about it, he resumed, his composure now more intact. "You have … beautifully … reconciled modern scientific judgments with theology. Just a faint reconciliation at its borders, but a reconciliation no less."

"So, what do you think?" asked a voice. Castiel looked over to find Audrey, leaning forward against his lectern, complacency etched all over her face on his behalf.

As though defeated in a friendly contest, Professor chuckled. "Me? I–I – after that, I'm not thinking at all." He smiled sheepishly as she laughed, before ushering them both to the exit.


The cab transported Professor away, Audrey waving at him as it pushed from the curb, his phone number in hand and promise for coffee at a later date in mind. Toying with the paper in her hands before tucking it away, she noticed his expression: pensive, but with a distant quality. It was as if his mind had traveled with that cab, returning to his body only when her arm tentatively touched his.

"Hey." He looked at her. "I'm sorry."

He studied her thoughtfully. "For what?"

Her lips smiled for his sake, but her eyes couldn't manage to. "You have one of those expressions on your face that warrants an apology." The corners of her lips drooped with guilt. "I shouldn't have pressured you into this, I shouldn't have sprung that on you the way I did. It's just that I see an old face and I get excited and – no, no, I shouldn't make excuses. I shouldn't have forced you to come."

"You didn't force me," he replied truthfully. "I wanted to be in your company. And I've come to admire your spontaneity."

Her smile was brilliantly sincere, and the nighttime didn't seem so dark anymore. "Thank you. And hey," she added with vivacity, "even if you feel intellectually defeated —"

"I was not defeated," he stated curtly.

"Okay," she rigidly retracted, "even if you feel intellectually enervated, I'm quite convinced that you proved yourself to be a worthy adversary. I don't think anyone expected that from you." His flattered ghost of a smile deflated to a frown, and it was apparently contagious. "What?"

"Is theology predominately regarded as the weaker contention?"

A pained look was promptly delivered to him. "Cas, I thought we made it clear that this isn't a safe subject matter for us. You don't wanna hear my opinion —"

"That's not what I'm asking," he cornered.

"Maybe you're not gonna get my opinion, per se," she amended, blinking drolly, "but there's always gonna be a bias to my answer."

"I expect nothing less."

Her face scrunched up in a display of childlike reluctance, before soberly submitting to his question. "Yes, it is. Science is looked on more highly than religion, because in general, facts are more relied upon than faith – logic over suspension of logic, and all that." She angled her head the other way, recovering her original point. "Now, what I meant when I said that I didn't think that any of the students, or Professor, expected that from you —"

"What is that?" he inquired.

"I'm getting to that – what I meant is that the way in which you presented your argument about religion and the suspension of logic, and the way you remotely deluded everyone into the sort of rational thinking that would unexpectedly lead them into a state of mind that held the little speck of faith they didn't know they had –" she took a huge, climactic breath, "– I have forgotten my point!"

"I imagine the forethought was to compliment me," he said, smirking faintly.

"Probably," she mussed her hair, confounded. Stiffly, she gestured forward, as though her point existed invisibly before her. "Yes. Yes, you, uh, did the above well." Pause. "Although… I think a lot of the instances you put forward were built on technicalities but – uh, that's giving my opinion; shut up, Audrey."

They basked in the humor of the moment, with him observing her with routine interest while she smiled humbly at the pavement. Almost coyly, she angled her head up to him.

"Hey, I have a question," she said, her ankle twiddling in what was undoubtedly a coy manner. "Why did you keep looking at me during the whole thing?" He looked at her as though mishearing, then into the distance. Now that he thought about it, he did turn a glance on her on numerous occasions.

"To assure myself of your attention," he answered.

The coyness manifested itself again in a smile. "Why?"

"You are why I pursued the debate."

"Really? And it wasn't because he hurt your pride?"

"That was also a motive. And I'd sensed he wanted to…" his brow lowered very gravely, "… encourage your mentality to concur with his."

A melodramatic gasp. "Not my mentality!" She then tried to vie with his facial expression of gravity, but giggled demurely, negating all seriousness. "But it does," she resumed. "Well… actually I share his outlook but I don't passionately favor it to the point of dogmatism." When his expression made little change, she smiled, cuffing him lightly on the cheek. "What are you so pressed about, huh? It doesn't mean that I don't adore our little talks! I'm all ears for you because you have something different to offer. You'll always have me intellectually, Cas; I only have brains for you," she joked, smiling as she cupped his face and kissed his cheek.

As she pulled away, however, his mouth thieved hers in a ravenous manner that struck stark contrast to the chasteness of hers. Feeling her immediate resistance – lead by surprise, not aversion – his hands drifted to possessively cradle her head against his, aiming to make it impossible for her to deny herself him any longer, his hold relaxing only when she finally abandoned herself to him. Their lips worked desperately, as though impatient to achieve something long procrastinated, while her hands encompassed his head to deepen the kiss as his own desirously strayed into the depths of her hair.

Opening his eyes very briefly to catch her lips from another angle, that is when he saw the bus. It passed behind her, imprinted with a vast poster. It was her photo, of him, that she had taken the night they met, photoshopped to have the Statue of Liberty in place of the Rockefeller Christmas Tree, and bearing the words "Manhattan 2013: a divine place to be! TOURISM AMERICA" in an imposing font.

She had whimpered against his lips when they stopped their urgent movements, opening her eyes to discern the problem. She followed his gaze over her shoulder, and then stiffened in his arms. Her gaze was not on him when she whirled back around, but instead was on the pavement, wide-eyed as though realizing she'd left the stove on. Then, as though he was the owner of the house she'd left the stove on in, she painfully leveled her eyes up at him, wincing when she found that his were already trained on her, in an expression of muted horror that demanded an explanation.

Offering a futile little smile, she spoke. "Uh, I can explain that."


I did the math and worked out approximately how many chapters I'd need to achieve this story's intended length. I wrote these twenty-nine chapters so far in ten months. I need to write another twenty or so in ten weeks. Oy. Ergo, here's me updating faster, so get them reviews in, because you know I'm an insatiable whore for them. :D

Read and review :)