It was nearing midnight and Castiel had spent more time with Audrey than he had anticipated. Nevertheless, the time wasn't entirely spent immersed in conversation. In fact, they probably endured more stretches of silence than that of exchanged words. He wondered if she even had the ability to acknowledge such awkwardness caused by their severe absence of dialogue, seeing as how she seemed to be free of all inhibitions – a trait of hers he was quick to envy. He figured no, since she instead occupied herself with taking more photographs around her whenever words were not spoken between them, so she was not as mindful of it as he was.

Castiel could have sworn she took more photographs of him when he was not looking; it was difficult to miss, considering she had set the flash on. He now understood why some people found her conduct to be meddlesome.

"You're very photogenic, actually. I'm not the only one here who could be a model," she had said to him, when he had caught her taking another photograph of him. Was "photogenic" the technical term for good-looking? He hoped so, because he had replied with a earnest reply of thanks.

Eventually, they found themselves loitering on the Gapstow Bridge, with her leaning forward against the solid barriers and staring absentmindedly into the half-frozen pond, and with him leaning back against it to revel in the view of the city that winked a sleepless eye. It was then that they spoke again.

"What do you see?" she asked inattentively.

His eyes drifted upwards to the New York night sky. "Heaven," he answered. He had never been able to look above and not think about it.

He heard her chuckle softly, and murmur in an amused note, "Trust you."

She turned around and mirrored him, by looking up at the sky. After a long moment, she spoke again. "I see space. A big, big space. A void."

Castiel watched her while she spoke, and she didn't appear outwardly bothered by her rather bleak observations. She had said it with such composed conviction that it drew a sigh out of him.

His sigh didn't go without notice, and she immediately glowered playfully at him. "Don't you –" she released a melodramatic imitation of his sigh, "– me!"

He stared at her hard. "Your sense of disillusionment bothers me."

"Well I wasn't finished yet!" She gestured the sky with a theatrical flourish. "I see a void, with lots of glitter … a cheese ball, and an orange that only shows itself between the hours of 6AM and 6PM."

"And what does that make the Earth?" he asked amusedly, prolonging the metaphor.

Her puckered lips twisted around in thought. "Hm. Crumbs of a buffet smushed into one?" Delighted by her metaphor, she smirked at him. "That's quite poetic, isn't it?"

She looked away before he had a chance to even think of a response. Instead, they both gazed at the stunning panorama of the lively metropolis before them. It was like staring into another world. Central Park was like a chunk stolen right out of an old, traditional Christmas tale slammed smack in the middle of Las Vegas' less trampish older sister: the land of glaring, shameless advertising.

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"I'm tired," she said all of a sudden, startling Castiel out of his bizarre reverie.

"You should rest."

"Yeah," she responded vacantly, though not really listening. "I should get those photos developed by tomorrow afternoon."

"I don't need you to rush —"

"No, no!" she perked suddenly, as though her previous words were actually her musing aloud. "I need to get these other photos developed and presented to someone I work for." She began to frown, "Or I like to think I work for."

"You don't have a job?"

The thought of that being the case surprised Castiel. She dressed eccentrically, but she didn't dress homeless. She just looked as if she had fallen through several floors of designer outlets exhibiting their Winter collection (and survived) and walked out like that.

She seemed to dither internally for a long time before answering. "Creating art in general doesn't really qualify as a job, because we're not guaranteed any payment; there's no ongoing financial support. You can't get fired from being an artist, y'know?"

"You're a photographer," he reminded.

"It all falls under the same umbrella," she briskly concluded with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Photographers, musicians, filmmakers, painters, sculptors, fashion designers, what have you. If artists all stop creating one day, that's it, no money. No living. And there are so many of us, it gets competitive. Hence why I haven't secured a spot in a publishing agency, or a media production office. I'm just so sick of freelancing. I want to be under permanent contract."

Castiel nearly went cross-eyed. He didn't know what the hell she was talking about. He had no idea that the human realm of careers was so complicated. Unfortunately, it was obvious to Castiel that she expected the subsequent silence to be broken by him.

"Um," he hesitantly began, "I am sure your work is very good?"

She smiled at his apparent awkwardness. "You haven't even seen one photo of mine yet, Castiel. But, irregardless, sometimes good isn't good enough." She smiled tightly but her eyes were serious. "That's show business for you. It's full of corruption and prejudice, and sometimes people, whose work are of a less stellar standard, will get their foot in the door before the more talented ones."

"How is that possible?"

"Bribery? Extortion? Relations – of the sexual kind? General bias? You name it."

She spoke of it as if she knew it all too well. "… are you perhaps speaking from experience?"

"No." Her head fell back and she smiled miserably at him. "But I have a feeling it will happen to me one day. It's common, and I'm braced."

There was that world-weary attitude again!

"You are cynical," he concluded with a rather discouraged sigh.

"I am right," she amended sharply. "Unfortunately."

Castiel was in no position to contradict her, since there were still certain aspects of humanity he hadn't yet analyzed, this being one. Was everything about being human always so complex? Careers, relationships, having different tastes, or just being either male or female? This is why he had been at his wit's end as to why Anna tore out her grace and fell. There was so much difficulty in being human; though, Castiel assumed there must have been some sort of antithesis.

"Are you secure in your profession, Castiel?"

His eyes widened before he could stop himself. She regarded him with eyes wide with curiosity, and he couldn't help but stare back in the same way.

"It depends on what you mean by secure," he carefully answered, without breaking their arbitrary blue-on-blue staring contest. "If you mean the longevity I could achieve in my position, given that I follow orders, then yes, I am secure."

She frowned a little. "Do you enjoy what you do?"

Castiel visibly blanked, and he knew it was noticeable. He had never asked himself this question because it would raise doubt: a feeling that should forever be foreign to something as supposedly absolute and unadulterated as a messenger of God. But now that someone else had asked him that question, it had, inevitably, spawned a million more that couldn't be answered without reverting to his Brooding Angel™ mode that often lasted several hours.

Has he ever enjoyed anything? Can he enjoy anything? Was it currently a dormant feeling that could potentially emerge if provoked? Will he handle himself differently as an angel if he realized that he had never enjoyed being an angel?

Enjoyment: there was that antithesis he knew nothing about.

He came to a disturbing conclusion.

"It's all I know."

She seemed visibly disheartened by his answer as he was.

"You live to work," she observed with a note of regret. There was a hint of a pitying smile as she reached out and stroked the side of his arm. "Castiel, that's not what you're supposed to do, that's not how you're supposed to live. You're supposed to work to live," she emphasized with a few hand gestures.

The thing was, Castiel wasn't even alive, technically.

"I prefer security," he said.

Her smile tugged to one side as her eyes regarded him with sympathy. "I guess you're the sensible one out the two of us."

That's what angels were, weren't they? Sensible, unconditional, objective, logical. Castiel figured he constituted a rather corrupted angel, but a very naive human being.

All of a sudden, she threw her head back as she yawned. "And I would be the tired one!" she laughed.

Castiel nearly sighed with relief, as he felt the tension of the previous conversation disappear.

"You don't have to stay on account of me."

"Wasn't gonna. Listen, I'll go back to the Tree at Rockefeller Center tomorrow night –" Upon noticing his blank expression, she added, "– the big spiritless Christmas tree we were at before – and I'll give you a reprint of the photo, okay?" He was just in the process of tilting his head again when she grinned and patted him fondly on the arm. "Great! I better go before the taxis stop doing their rounds around the Park. It was great meeting you Castiel. Castiel, God, I love that name!"

"Goodnight," he bid, offering her a small smile.

"'night!" She paused from turning around and gleefully added, "And Merry Christmas!"

It didn't seem like the gentlemanly thing to do to just let her walk off on her own at this hour, even though Central Park seemed as menacing as a clean Sam Winchester.

"Audrey," he called out, walking briskly to reach her.

There was a glint of flattery in her eye, otherwise confusion, as she watched him recover his post by her side.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't think you should walk by yourself."

She smirked and looped her arm around his again. "Why Castiel, anyone would think you were worried about me!"

Well…

"Am I being transparent?" he asked, paranoid. She chuckled.

"You are unreal, Castiel. If you're not Patrick Bateman, who are you? Don't tell me – you're the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

He had no idea why she laughed out loud at his response, but he had to admit, he'd be lying if he said didn't enjoy it.

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