Wives, it turns out, are a pain in the ass.
Meg regards the detectives in the room through narrowed eyes. Seems like Emanuel's little woman got tired of waiting for his miraculous return and had filed a missing person's report
The taller, lankier, detective—Darren Fitzgerald—holds a picture out to her. It's of Castiel and the woman Daphne. They're smiling and he's wearing an ugly green sweater. She doesn't take it from the officer, instead simply shrugging at him. "Looks like him," is all she offers.
"How long have you been his nurse, Ms...?"
"Masters," she replies with a slow smile. Of all the things she's stolen in her existence, this name is the most fun.
The detective raises his brow, while the other jots it down, and waits for her to elaborate.
"A few months. I arrived shortly after he did, I'm told." She glances over at her expressionless, silent, patient. "Happy coincidence," she adds with a toothy smile. "As you can see he needs me."
"So you have no idea of his past?" The other detective—who only gave her the name Simmons—asks, flipping through his notes. "Where he came from?"
Meg lets her expression turn faintly scolding. "It's not my place to question. A man's past is his own. Between him and God." On the bed Castiel fidgets. She flutters her lashes. "I only want to help those in need."
This time both of them smile at her in return.
Men. Such simple, easily manipulated, creatures.
With a soft sigh, Meg moves closer to Castiel and brushes a hand over his head, tousling his hair. "It's heartbreaking," she says, watching the way his dark locks poke between her pale fingers, "that someone can be so broken." She pauses, looking at the other two. "You are sure this...Daphne woman is as she claims to be? His wife?"
"I don't mean to pry into your work, gentlemen. It's only that I want what is best for the patients in my care and I can't have strangers, or even family and wives disrupting their care. Especially if they may be the reason behind the mental break," she added with an air of confidentiality.
The officers exchange a look. "Is there reason to believe his wife may have contributed to his condition?"
Withholding her opinion on anyone marrying an amnesiac that they found naked beside a lake, she only offers, "In cases of such extreme repression, family or lovers are often found at the root. Look, gentlemen, I'm not saying that this woman is in any way responsible for my patient's condition. I'm simply wanting to know all of the facts so that I can ensure his best possible care. Surely you understand that?" She gave them another placating smile. "We're all just trying to do our jobs."
"We just have a few more questions."
The urge to rip their throats out is a pretty strong one, but she simply plasters that fake smile on and nods. "Of course." The next forty minutes are spent answering questions, dodging others, and trying to make sure that the detectives weren't going to be a problem.
Finally, Simmons flips his notepad closed before nudging his partner. "We'll get out of your way now. Thank you for your time."
She lead them to the door. "It's been no trouble at all, officers. Always happy to help." When they were in the hallway, she added, "Do make sure to keep me in the loop."
"As much as you need to be."
Meg watches them until they're through the security doors before she makes her way back to Castiel's room. With each step she resists the urge to meet them in the parking lot and ensure that they can't return. She doesn't, because in the end any foul play will only cause more problems.
Back in the room she immediately goes to Castiel. His eyes are closed and his breathing is even. To anyone else he would appear to be sleeping. With a soft breath she returns to her seat bedside and picks up her magazine.
Between reading the latest celebrity gossip and smirking at trashy pics she peeks at him. He looks peaceful at the moment, with no tightness around his mouth or furrows on his brow and she wonders if maybe he's defeating the madness in himself.
She turns the page and silently cheers him on.