still we endure.

     “It’s not like we need them!” Jake yells this over the office, arms out, to a Gina who is Very, Very Rapidly tuning him out (”Okay, Jake,” she calls back, eyes already on her phone). As a result, he doesn’t quite notice the elevator opening, or the woman striding out of it. “They’re gonna say something stupid like -- oh, the suspect is a white male in his late forties, hur dur, like we haven’t already figured--”

    He glances at Amy, who has gone very silent. Her eyes have also gone very wide, and so when he spins around, there is already a wide smile plastered onto his face because he knows. He knows what he just did.

    “--Heyyyyy. You must be A-gent Pren-tiss.” His hands clap together. “Welcome to the Nine-Nine. I’m Sergeant Terry Jeffords--”

     “Hey, come on man,” Terry says. Jake ignores him.

      “--And it’s a pleasure. To meet you.”

but. we should. post-iw thread?

     “–I want a drink.”

     That’s the only – the ONLY – thing that will help her get through seeing the headline, the accompanying photo. Spider-Man, doing his best to save a ferry that’s been split in two? Being rescued by Iron Man? Great! Who wouldn’t want that! Who wouldn’t fucking want that!

      Fuck!

      May can only look at it so long. She tosses the paper onto the desk, rubs her temples with two fingers each. Her eyes raise to the sky; she blows out a storm of a sigh. 

      And after a few moments, and with considerably less frustration lacing through her tone: “Yes. It’s – good.” An idle wave towards the paper. “Thank you, Thea.” What the fuck. She needs two drinks. Six. “For – showing it to me.”

@7yrs for brucie

“hey, that’s MY teenage prodigy. get your own.”