That uncomfortable feeling which resembled that of the time he was considering disobedience - that taut feeling of holding one's breath for too long despite breathing perfectly - had returned. Though this was undesired, bearing in mind where he was, the blame lied on none other than himself.

He and Audrey had had their talk, and his doubts became nothing but bygones. In spite of this, here he was, in her apartment, snooping around, harboring only the uncomfortable feeling of guilt which can and always will be triumphed by his wayward curiosity.

Originally, the plan was to meet Gabriel and relay to him his most recent brush with Audrey in exchange for his input, but he had responded that he was busy. His exact words were "I'm gonna bring back fat Oprah!" to which Castiel, fairly fazed and not wanting to dignify that with verbal acknowledgment, automatically interpreted as a declaration of his unavailability. Stranded with the line that he would be free at night, this left him to his own devices for a few hours.

To the average human with hobbies, instincts and responsibilities, a spare few hours was nothing to prize. However, an angel who was "off-duty", as one may say; with one hobby (he'd prefer to refer his business with Audrey as a sort of "side interest" as opposed to "hobby") and a budding sense of instinct that was making progress as a result of this "side interest"; a spare few hours was a perilous thing in his possession, given these factors and his aforementioned curiosity.

Those windows of recreational opportunities would undoubtedly lead him to her, he wouldn't deny that. What he would deny was that he was more or less abusing his own power by doing certain things; reading her mind for one, prowling around her apartment was the next. But he just couldn't help himself. It was so easy!

Hence, the peril of these extra hours in his hands.

Her home was conveniently empty and ripe for exploration. He nosed through rooms without the slightest idea of what he was looking for. Perhaps, he reasoned, this was a method to familiarize himself with her more closely, albeit rather morbidly.

The kitchen wasn't very enlightening; neither were any of the three guestrooms. He did, however, find a Bible that had been hollowed out and filled with cigars, and the Qur'an which met the same fate to accommodate a bottle of cognac, to which he then assumed that that room in particular was reserved for her father. Another guestroom had even become a darkroom.

Naturally, there were framed photographs here, there and everywhere - some her work, some other's, some personal - and all he really learned from her personal collection was that her natural hair color was blonde.

He was examining a photograph of her and another man whose face, obviously out of spite, was veiled with a picture of Stephen Colbert's head, when he spotted it. There was the door in his peripheral vision, seducing him with its mere presence and purpose(s).

It was her bedroom.

Dwelling on earth with beings who were defined by whether they were oversexed or undersexed had become an influence, and now, Castiel couldn't regard a bedroom door the same way he would any other. It was curious how a bed-room aroused a much different impression to its literal and rather trivial definition. He recalled this first influencing him on a past mission, wherein Sam returned with tidings about a new victim and ended his grim account with "It happened in the bedroom", prompting a snort from Dean, which Castiel, at the time, was vocal to criticize.

Now, it would seem like the greatest violation to set foot in that particular room. A part of him seemed to relish this notion, as his body was willing its way towards her bedroom door.

Upon closer inspection, the door was ajar, and required only a slight nudging of his knuckles to have it open to his satisfaction. As soon as this move was done, there was a sudden rush of wind at his feet, and there was Rembrandt the cat, patrolling his master's only remaining room which had yet to be deflowered by the angel's unsought presence.

This admirable display of duty nearly achieved in bringing Castiel to his senses, nearly awoke his moral sense to provide him the wherewithal to rightly get the heck out of there, but as soon as the door had opened and Rembrandt had emerged, all surviving rationality was overwhelmed by the scent of her. Sugar, spice and everything nice, and something curiously provocative too; she smelled the way she tasted.

There was definitely no stopping him now.

Castiel shifted to one side in order to sidestep the cat, but Rembrandt followed suit, obstructing him. He shifted to the other side, and again, he followed. This happened a couple more times before they fell into an impasse, both parties gauging the other through narrowed eyes, until the angel was left with no choice.

The feline stiffened like a fainting goat when the man vanished suddenly. Then, there was a flutter of wings from behind, and when he poked his head around, Castiel couldn't help but smirk at the way his beady eyes widened at the sight of him.

He swept his hand in a shooing motion, and with a comical meow that sounded very much like a stock audio effect, the cat slid backwards as though it was being sucked by a vacuum cleaner, and the bedroom door slammed shut. Castiel gave the room a proud little smile, as though it were his only audience to appreciate his act of cleverness.

There was a novelty of being in her bedroom that kept him there longer than he would like to admit. Thankfully, the room provided more than this, as it happened to be the most illuminative of all her rooms.

It seemed that she roller-bladed, she's been to London, she's met Ben Stiller, she read David Sedaris, she's a huge fan of Grease, she collected cocktail umbrellas, she's a Mac, and there was the startling knowledge that, upon discovering a tiny carton of little wrappers in her bedside drawer, she liked to have some good, protected fun. His mouth made an 'O' of surprise as he jogged this drawer shut, pretending he never saw that but vowing to feel ashamed about it later.

A high school year book told him that she had graduated the same year as Sam. He also found a copy of The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin. He sneered privately at the thought of Darwin, then dimmed realizing that it was a text she likely credited. That was until he picked up the book and heard a rattling sound, opened it and found it hollowed out and filled with Skittles.

He didn't know whether to laugh or roll his eyes.

There was another stack of books settled next to her iPad. The Bible, in its intended state, and several other books to assist interpreting the Bible. Either he had become an influence or she was reviewing both sides of a potential debate and wanted to be intellectually prepared. He smiled. That was something to look forward to.

Her bathroom didn't tell him anything except that she was in a rush this morning, and her walk-in wardrobe ... the fact that it was a full walk-in wardrobe alone told him she liked fashion. Polaroids of her and her friends, posing and having fun, were blu-tacked along the edges of the wall-sized mirror.

His fingers had just begun to stroke the lipstick smudge that had been kissed onto the mirror when his head whipped up at the sound of jingling keys.

She was home.

He wavered on the spot. He should leave. He should leave. He should fly away right now.

Then why was he simply shutting himself in her wardrobe instead?

He pushed the doors open the slightest, forming a narrow gap he could spy through (at this point, Castiel chose to procrastinate feeling ashamed about everything), and in she came with a weary groan. Not far behind was Rembrandt, lithely padding in; his slitted eyes darted around the room, searching for the trespasser.

The honorable thing to do would be to just leave! Materialize elsewhere, right now!

But. She was taking off her jacket. Randy burlesque music began to play in his mind, but he shook it out, forcing it to a screeching halt.

The time to leave had never, ever been more appropriate!

The very familiar looking boots went flying somewhere as she kicked them off and down went her stockings.

He should really, really be leaving.

"Rembrandt, I had the crappiest day," she grumbled, as the feline curled around her legs, its head dipping vigilantly. "I was late for my interview - there's noway they're gonna hire me as their set photographer now; I was groped on the subway, and while that's nothing new, this guy's fingers were either covered in powdered sugar or cocaine –"

The skirt sunk to the floor. Why was he still here?

"I was hit by a car! Well, it reversed into me, they weren't even looking. Assholes. And I slipped over again! In the snow! I'm soaked and I'm freezing my ass off because of that. Let me tell you, I'm not wearing those boots again. Castiel was right," she mumbled miserably. Within his (known) presence, she wouldn't have allowed herself to sound so resigned.

"So now, I'm gonna take a bath." Rembrandt meowed urgently, which could have translated to "No, wait! You have to see this!". She shooed him, mistaking it for something else. "Yeah yeah, I'll review my stills later. Serenity now!"

And then she stripped off her sweater. A gasp escaped him at the sight of skin (even more so), and a hand flew up to cover his mouth when the cat cocked its head in his direction. Alas, he had been caught! Even from a distance and a lack of comprehensive sight, Castiel detected victory in the cat's eyes.

This was definitely the time to go! Audrey had already slipped into the bathroom, so there was nothing worth staying for.

Wait a minute, she was about to take a bath ... there was definitely something worth staying for!

Castiel mentally slapped himself. No, it was time to leave!

He opened the closet doors, willingly letting his presence be known to the cat, as though to boast his success in hiding. The cat hissed at him, and to his surprise, before he vanished, he did the same.

"And you're sure this doesn't have any of those suspicious additives? 'Cause I was watching Oprah today and she ate this muffin, and she, like, blew up into the size of a frickin' – have you seen Willy Wonka and Chocolate Factory? Like Violet! Violet Beauregard! She just whoof! Just like that, on air! Did you see it?"

"I did," Gabriel replied through a tight, self-incriminating grin, though this lady was too obtuse to perceive it as such. "That Gordon Ramsay..." he trailed off into an incredulous laugh, shaking his head.

From a booth across the room but still within earshot, Castiel observed this exchange between Gabriel and a customer with muted interest. He didn't know who Oprah was until just minutes before, when Gabriel grandly gestured the television, holding that pose until Castiel caught the drift of this motion in regards to the poor black woman on screen who had taken one bite out of a seemingly innocent muffin before beginning to inflate like a balloon, much to the horror of her live audience and the morbid amusement on guest Gordon Ramsay's face.

So that was what Gabriel, or rather, the Trickster, was up to today.

Finally, when the customer was convinced she would not undergo the same fate, she left Starbucks with her blueberry muffin in hand. Once she was out of view, Gabriel met Castiel's gaze and nodded vigorously with a wicked grin, and made an expanding motion with his hands, indicating that she would, in fact, undergo the same fate. Having no intention of adding to his joy, Castiel leveled his gaze elsewhere.

It had been an hour since he left Audrey's home, and between that time and now, he had felt obligated to redeem himself to, well, himself. He felt dirty. So, within an hour, he temporarily resolved world hunger and rescued a cat from a tree (this was especially done for the feline race as regards to Rembrandt). Ultimately, he didn't find it very redemptive. He still felt dirty.

But at long last, with Gabriel now seated across from him, Castiel was finally able to do what he had initially planned on doing earlier that day.

His report of his recent encounter with Audrey (the mutual one from the day before) was immediately responded with a mock cough comprising of a poorly hidden "Slut!", which earned Gabriel a very foul glare.

"You're wrong."

"Maybe," replied Gabriel, his tone intentionally cryptic as his eyes danced mirthfully, knowing this was likely to antagonize. "One of us must be."

"She is not loose," Castiel asserted. Internally, he was fidgeting, sensing that he may be rationalizing, but didn't allow this to betray him externally. "She is just... exceedingly comfortable with her sexuality."

As he spoke, he watched, with growing indignation, as Gabriel nodded with what was clearly abstract comprehension as opposed to sincere understanding.

"Uh huh, uh huh... Spoken like a true slut!"

Instead of allowing that to irk him, his gaze deadpanned. "My words, not hers."

"Oh, sorry," he relented, before producing another fake cough with an even more poorly hidden, "In denial!".

Castiel's eyes flared hotly. "You are wrong."

His droll grin suggested the questionable strength of Castiel's own confidence in himself, which threw him immediately. Gabriel's amused eyes held him captive for a moment, enough to make him realize his own uncertainties in the matter, but not enough to make that manifest itself.

Eventually, he was relieved of this shrewd gaze, as Gabriel resumed more thoughtfully. "If you ask me, what you two have is a circumstantial relationship."

"I didn't ask you."

Gabriel substituted what would have been a laugh for a pasted look of hurt.

"Hey! I'm just sayin', it's possible! You veer from your usual environment, which involves a lot of bloodshed, paranormal activity and a couple of alpha males, and then you pop up in a completely different environment, meet a completely different type of person - let alone a female, hellooo - maybe this whole thing is circumstantial!" Castiel's exasperated regard had progressively slipped into one of striking curiosity, prompting him to conclude. "Maybe you're only drawn to her because she's very different to what you're accustomed to. Like an alien!" Gabriel jolted suddenly and blew out a breath. "Is it just me, or is there a lot of irony in here?"

Castiel's gaze, now blank, dropped to the table. He was genuinely stunned by the potentiality of this theory. "I refuse to believe that," he said numbly.

"Ah, but you see the potential in that case, don't you?" Gabriel indicated with a point of his finger, his tone aggravatingly knowing.

As he began to contemplate, a conscious part of him ensured his eyes never met with Gabriel's, as he was alarmingly perceptive. Much more than Sam and/or Dean, though it shouldn't be surprising.

If the model wise-man was usually a senior citizen, Gabriel was the wisest of them all. Although he was still congenitally an angel, having rebelled from Heaven all those centuries ago and deciding to reside within (but not part of) the human race had advanced his wisdom in a way that Castiel could only envy. What Gabriel had lost in repute, he had earned in intelligence, sophistication and perception. He could but didn't need to read Castiel's mind to know what he was thinking, hence why he averted his gaze at this very moment.

Gabriel's theory should have been received with approval. The notion that this, what he and Audrey had, was just an extraordinary circumstance. A chance curiosity he was abandoning himself in - like the time he had taken shots with the late Ellen Harvelle - which he had yet to rise above. Considering where his duties were concerned, Gabriel's theory should have been encouraging. It should have served as a relief to know that this was a minor distraction within his main responsibility of keeping the state of the supernatural on earth in balance.

What he didn't want Gabriel to perceive was that it didn't. In actuality, Castiel disliked the idea of diminishing it as such. He felt something; he didn't know what, but the fact that he felt was enough to convince him that this wasn't just another curious little phenomenon on earth.

It seemed that the entire time he was thinking, Gabriel was doing similar, and once again, he began to demonstrate his admirable intellectual capacity.

"Hey... have you heard of the Goldilocks principle?"

Castiel frowned, anticipating a rascally grin to follow, but it never came. This meant Gabriel was serious, despite his playful tone.

"I'm aware of the story about Goldilocks and the Three Bears," he guardedly offered, pausing for a moment for that rascally smile to emerge, but it never did, "but I fail to see where you're heading regardless."

"Well, surely, you remember that the story involves Goldilocks, however without consent, trying out certain things within their little nest," his playful tone then dropped to one unexpectedly serious, "and finding that perfection, the ideal, doesn't lie within the extremes. Like the beds, the chairs, the porridge..."

Castiel nodded dumbly, trying to fathom his point. "The principle is simple and logical," he paused when Gabriel's eyes lit up indicatively, but when he did not speak, he resumed, "hence why it is a children's story."

"Exactly!" he locked his gaze with his, grinning, "It's simple, logical and very effective and very insightful, for you."

The suggestion in his tone was present but undisclosed. Castiel eyed him skeptically for a lengthy moment. "What are you suggesting?"

His willingness awakened a sense of ambition in Gabriel, demonstrated by the scheming grin that slowly emerged on his face.

"Okay - the Goldilocks principle usually applies to astronomy, so then let's pretend your pretty little squeeze is a planet in the solar system. How do you know if the planet is capable of "sustaining life" if it's the only planet you know within that universe?"

Once again, Gabriel proved himself to be decidedly perceptive, much to Castiel's dismay. He sensed comprehension in him, and smirked, his voice then dropping to a cunning lilt. "I think it's time you did a little social experiment. Go to completely different environments, meet completely different girls –" At this point, Castiel was grimacing already, "– and then you'll get a concept of where your social predispositions lie. You never know, this girl may rank as a ninety-nine, when who you'd truly desire would rank somewhere in the fifties, but you can't determine it yet since she's the only female you really know!"

Castiel quickly understood this all with growing panic. He really wanted him to stop making so much sense.

"But –"

"And! If you decide that you're still interested in," he made a dubious little sound, "whatsherface –"

"Audrey."

"– then consider my theory wide of the mark!"

So basically, extreme speed dating. And twenty chapters, huzzah! What has been your favorite so far?

Read and review :)