1963-11-08 - It's crap. You're fired.
Summary: Peter meets with Lynette as she attempts to deliver treats to Eddie at the Bugle. JJ makes his rage known, only to be confronted by the boy from Queens.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
peter eddie lynette 

After the incident with the Fantastic Four and the Cosmonaut, things had been a bit weird for Peter Parker. At first was the 'walk of shame' from the Baxter Building, wearing a cast off t-shirt and some sweat pants and sneakers stolen from Johnny. So his uniform didn't survive the flaming crash of the space capsule, right now the loss of his costume is the least of his worries. Aunt May at least wasn't mad, thanks to a phone call from Sue mentioning how Peter had a chance to study with Reed Richards.

So ok, he lost a day and some of time. He missed some work, some school, his costume…. yet as he walked down the street towards the Bugle he couldn't help but smile a bit. Even as he reached where he had stashed his clothes he had a bit of a positive outlook about it. A smile playing on his lips as he changed sneakily into his usual attire, slinging his backpack over his shoulder once done. Hey, he saved a cosmonaut, darnit. So sure the FF helped but… it was nice to work with people that appreciated him.

Of course that's the moment as he reflects on that realization when he gets on the elevator. It's a warming thought that stays with him until those elevator doors open on the top floor of the Bugle building. Normally the sound of typewriters clicking and clattering away is enough to drown out any conversation one could hear from the hallway. Yet it's a testament to JJ's lungs that the first thing he hears upon exiting the elevator is the man's voice.

"You call this front page material?! I call it garbage!"


The Daily Bugle was a name to her. She knew it was a paper, now, thanks to her previous meeting with one of its employees. But still, it was just a building with people in. Said employee had left a mark, though, on the floofy-haired girl, and after dealing with her own work and studies back at the Cigar Factory, she walked from Harlem to Time's Square, hunting for its specific location.

A pause is taken into a shop around the corner, one that allows her 'color' to shop there. Goods are exchanged for currancy, and with a paper bag in hand of freshly fried donuts, the other holding to a large cup of joe, she enters and visits with reception. Visiting people was a bit easier, it seems, and up the elevator she rides, filling its space with that heavenly aroma of baked goods and black and pitch coffee. She is greeted with that powerful set of lungs.

Wincing, the tiny figure looks a bit lost for a moment, lingering by the exit and blinking once, twice, five times. She glances around before clearing her throat and slinking toward a desk, any desk, with a person sitting at it. "E-excuse me. M'lookin' f'Eddie Brock? S'he in t'day?"


The outer receptionist starts to protest, her hands already splaying as she prepares to just tell Lynette that she has no idea, or that he's not in, or that they don't have visitors. But the smiling young man in the Empire State sweat shirt smiles sidelong to her. "He's usually in around this time, come on."

The receptionist gives Pete an eyeballing but he holds up a hand. "I got it, Edith." And sure, perhaps he's acting a bit like a big shot with that manner, as if the junior photographer has some clout. But it's on his head really, so Edith backs off.

Stepping towards the door, he pushes it open and holds it for her. "His desk is over that way. C'mon, we sit together." And if the noise of the Bull Pen was loud with the outer door closed, now with it open they are positively inundated with the hectic chaos of a newspaper in full swing. People on office chairs are rolling back and forth as they confer on stories, typewriters click and ring with carriage returns, and conversations are had quickly and heatedly. Though still, through it all, Jameson's voice is the loudest.

"City Hall blows up. Aliens in Central Park. The Fantastic Four saves the city. And you come to me with what… City Council corruption? KID STUFF!"

Yet Robbie's voice is plaintive as he gestures at his boss. Supposedly they're in his office yet the door is wide open so everyone is privy to the conversation. "We got nothing new on City Hall, and nothin' on the Aliens. You want us to run a puff piece? Another editorial?"

"How about Inept Police Department Fails to Follow Up Missing Person case?" JJ growls, "Where are we on that?" He shoots an angry gaze at one of the reporters nearby who immediately wilts at the older man's gaze.


Quick to find Peter's face, the girl offers him a gentle, thankful, smile of her own. "T'anks." She beams, giving a nod toward Edith, and then following after the young man as he leads her through the chaos that is the news room. Obsidian orbs skip out, taking in everything they can, but it's obvious that the booming voice of the Editor-in-Chief causes each uneasy twitch on her expression. After arriving at Eddie's desk, she looks it over carefully, and sets down the bag, and the cup. "Hope he shows b'fore de coffee gets cold." She murmurs her worry, glancing to Parker and giving him another smile.

"Uh, hey. T'anks f'showin' me where his desk is. I take it y'work here, too?" The questions is rather rhetorical, after all. "Y'know a free-lancer named Peter Parker? Was gonna try talkin' wit him, too, at some point." A pause, she casts another glance toward the office where Jameson and Robbie battle it out. "Is-is he always dat loud?"


"Sure, umm, oh hey that's me…" Peter smiles as he looks around a bit and indeed… there's nothing on the desk to indicate that Eddie's been there today. None of his things are set out, the supplies are undisturbed, and yah his backpack and jacket aren't slung over the back of the chair. It's enough that it causes her escort to frown a bit. "Did you call him before coming over? He's usually been in for an hour or so already by this time…"

But those words are cut off abruptly as like a shark scenting blood, Jameson seems to 'sniff' out Peter's arrival.

"PARKER!" The voice reaches an all new level of anger.

And suddenly the man is out of the office. He's striding right through the middle of the Bull Pen. Hastily people wheel out of his way, chairs creaking and screeching as a good portion of the typewriters stop their clatter.

"City Hall Explodes!" The words are hurled like an ancient berserker hurling axes. "ALIENS EXIST, PARKER!" Three more axes. "The Fantastic Four Saves the City!"

And suddenly the man with the small moustache and buzz cut is _towering_ over Peter Parker. The veins in his neck and forehead throbbing with the anger that is almost a palpable thing in the room. "And /WHERE/ is my best photographer! Where are my photos!"

To which Peter looks up sheepishly, his eyes wide and then weakly he asks. "I'm your best photographer?"



"Oh! Well ain't dis a lucky day f'me." The girl beams toward Parker. Before she can speak again, he questions her first. "Huh? Oh, no. Don' know how t'get in touch wit him 'rectly. Jus' knew he worked here n't'ought I'd surprise'm. Seems like a man dat needs a good surprise once n'while." Before another thought passes her mind, the dragon bellows from its cave and heads their way.

Standing beside Peter, the equally short and scrawny girl just stares up in wonder, amazement even, at the towering example of work ethic and barber trust. Wide-eyed, she looks from Peter to Jameson, to Robbie, and then the room as a whole. She can feel the pressure building, flooding into the space rapidly. Her hand waves toward the desk, groping at air, until her finger brush over the bag's crinkled top.

Timidly, she offers out the cup, and bag, to the figure before them as if that might calm the tract-pumping rage of the man before them. She doesn't speak, simply offers.


Eddie has arrived.


Jameson's eyes blaze with that wild intensity as he /stares/ down Peter. And it's almost as if the man can summon up the words that come forth from the young photographer. "I uhm…"

"You WHAT Parker? WHAT sort of excuse can you POSSIBLY have for missing the stories of not just your lifetime, which is going to be REALLY REALLY short if you keep this up! But EVERYONE's lifetime!"

Yet acting like a rodeo clown, Lynette /dives/ in front of the raging bull by offering him donuts and coffee. Which does distract him for a moment as he rapid-fire grabs first the coffee and downs almost half of it in one swig, then grabs a donut and tears off a bit of it with his teeth. His brow furrows as he chews, and for a moment there's a brief glimmer of appreciation. But then it flees as he murmurs. "It's crap. Who are you? What are you doing here? You're fired."


The last couple of days have been both awesome and terrible for Eddie. On the one hand, he got a major scoop. On the other hand… specifically, his left hand? It's now down to just two fingers— thumb and index finger. His hand is all bandaged up, but the lack of those fingers is really quite obvious. Still, Eddie is dreaming of the Pulitzer he'll get for the terrorist attack story. As he heads into the bull pen, he hears Parker getting laid into: and hey, he forgets his hand hurts. His day is getting better and better.


Lynette looks puzzled at that. Not to being fired, but for the fact that they're crap. Looking at the bag, she opens it and gets one for herself, trying it out before closing it up and putting the remainder on Eddie's desk, where it originally belonged. "They ain't dat bad." She finds herself saying before realizing it. Mouth partially full, eyes bugging, she rolls them back up to Jameson and just waits. Then she looks to Peter, and back again. "Jus' de new girl. M'sorry f'Parker, sir. He was wit me." She then explains, a half eaten donut still in her grip.

"M'mom jus' passed n'Peter was wit me, at de funeral. I-I came in t'help 'm explain dat. M'sorry f'causin' y'trouble like dis. Don' be too hard on'm. Please?"


Jameson squints back and forth between the two of them. "What? What?" He leans forwards affecting a sad tone. "Oh I'm sorry. Your mommy died. That's so terrible. Did the aliens eat her? Did she explode in City Hall? THEN WHERE ARE MY PICTURES?!"

At that Jameson turns back to Peter full force and growls. "Tell your little girlfriend, Parker, that she's a terrible liar. No. Wait. Tell her on the train back to the cemetery. Because you're both fired. Get out. GET OUT!"

Which seems to settle the argument in his mind as it's then that JJ turns away and starts to stalk off back towards his office. "Somebody call the White House and then hang up. We'll run the piece about the Aliens coming from Canada and say that the President declined to comment. GET ON IT!" And suddenly it's as if the world's pause button is hit, letting everyone snap back into action. Typewriters start to clatter, people start moving again.

Yet it's amongst the rising chaotic crescendo of the news room that Peter stares after his former employer. His brow slowly furrows as his expression darkens and his frown just takes over his face. Jameson is almost to his office when he shouts. "Jameson, you're a jerk!"

And suddenly the silence is back. Only now it's total. As if everyone was afraid to move.


Even Eddie is stunned into silence by Peter's exclamation, halting by his desk: he saw Lynette, and raised his non-injured hand, and was about to say something. But what do you say when someone initiates Defcon 1 and the nuclear missiles are about to fly? Because that's totally what Peter just did. Eddie's mouth falls open and he stares.


Lynette furrows her own brows at first, both surprised,and disgusted, at Jameson's lack of empathy, lie or not. When he turns away, she sighs, allowing her breath to stop being held. She beam happily to Eddie, motioning toward the bag of treats she had brought for him, and her eyes go straight to the hand that is missing a few digits. Then, the tension returns. Turning her head, slowly, she stares at Peter before taking a few steps back, and back again, allowing herself to simply hide behind Eddie's arm.

"P-peter," she hums up then, trying to get the youth's attention. "M-maybe we should go, no? We-ah, we c'n talk ova breakfast or lunch? M'treat?"


And sloooowly Jameson turns around. Only no, Peter's not done. He surges forwards and suddenly it's his finger jammed in JJ's face. "I'm in school! I have mid-terms! I am trying to build a life! If you had just an ounce of self-awareness imagine the newspaper you'd be able to put out you… you… flat-topped paint brush upper lip mustache having… jerk!" JJ's eyes widen, but Peter presses on, "I _told_ you weeks ago that I wouldn't be around this weekend. I told you weeks ago that I had to take this time. And you fire me!"

Abruptly Peter drops his backpack down and reaches into it and suddenly there are photos flying /everywhere/ as he throws a manila folder at Jameson's feet. "Here, you can have this last batch. On the house. Because I am NEVER selling you another picture again you selfish… ASS!" And suddenly he turns and he's stomping towards the door, reslinging his backpack over his shoulder.

It's to the door he strides… through it. And then it /SLAMS!/ staggeringly hard that it jams into the frame.

And yet the silence remains even as the photos flutter down, paper rippling as they fall all over the room. Slowly. Very slowly. Jameson reaches down and picks one up, then cocks an eyebrow at it. He frowns and hands it towards Robbie then says levelly. "Run it. Page three."


There's a nod for Lynette at the smile, and a bit of a smile for her in return, but its sort of a grimace, as his hand is throbbing. Awkwardly, he pulls his backpack around and sets it down and digs out a pill case, taking a pill out and popping it into his mouth. All the while he observes the drama with nearly unbelieving eyes. No one talks to JJ that way. No one. "Parker, man…" he begins, but then he's stalking out, and even Eddie flinches a bit at how hard the door slams. As an aside to Lynette he murmurs, "What exactly is going on? Parker is like the favorite. … Was." Not quite true, but through green tinted glasses, Eddie thinks so.


Lynette jumps at the sound of the door. Her fingers even grip at the fabric resting on Eddie's limb for some added sense of 'security'. That dark stare rests on Jameson for ages, it seems, before she watches Brock take his medication. Moving with him, she helps with the bag, should he allow it, before taking a step back, and away, from his desk. "I-I dunno. Was jus' comin' in t'bring y'coffee n'donuts. Y'boss got de coffee, dough. T'ought it'd calm'm down. Was wrong. Got fired." She shrugs; she didn't work there anyway, after all. "He was screamin' 'bout not havin' pictures of de aliens n' Fantastic Four. Den, well, dat." She moves her finger toward the mess on the floor, and the door out.

Glancing back, she takes a deep, settling breath, and pouts. "Maybe I should go after'm. Was gonna talk wit'm 'bout Spider-Man, like I promised." She reminds Eddie, turning to face him now. "De hell happened to y'hand?"


Peter has left.


Reaching out to take one of the donuts, Eddie shakes his head slowly and lifts it up for a nibble, "Well I don't know what got into him, no one talks to JJ like that. Not even the Publisher. But.." He frowns then, looking down at his bandaged hand, "Did you see my latest scoop?" There's some pride there. He got a scoop!


Lynette glances around for a chair. If she finds one that's free, she pulls it up and next to Eddie's desk, but well out of the way of others to pass around or behind her. "I did!" She exclaims happily, worry still glimmering in her eyes as they move from his face and back to his hand. "Y'got me int' readin' papers again, Eddie." Nibbling her lower lip, she reaches up and rubs at the nape of her neck, disturbing some of the curls there. "Did-did s'mbody do dat to y'?"


"This… woman, Beatrice, can grow insects to giant size and control them. So she sent them against a town she thinks mistreated her: they killed a lot of people, and in the fighting, one of the ants got my hand. I'm lucky I have any hand left at all." Eddie shakes his head slowly, frowning, "But I got pictures, and wrote the story, and its a story that might make my career… but, I'm also maimed for life. Because a mutant is mad she got mistreated. Not to mention numerous people lost their lives— have you ever seen an ant rip a soldier in half? Its not pretty."


"I read what y'wrote. M'sorry it happened. It don' help no body, lashin' out like dat. Ain't right t'be mistreated, but…y'don' hurt innocent people." Frowning, she lifts a hand and rests it on his arm. Giving it a caress and squeeze, she pulls herself away and glances at his desk, then up to his face. "Honey, y'gotta call'em freaks, dough?"


"She is totally a freak: she's… not even human. She's more bug then she is human." Eddie shivers a bit, recalling her up close, "She was strangely… nice, I admit. Even put first aid on my hand. But still, she's a murderer and a monster, freak seems like the nicest adjective I can come up with. She said she'd rather talk to her insects then people: if she would just go away with them then, that'd be fine, but no, she sends an army to try to wipe out a town."


"Ain't right, s'all. I know dey more words out dere den dat. N'what y'doin' is dangerous. Y'might make de wrong people mad." She warns gently, her eyes going back to his mutilated hand and then back up to his face. "Why not jus' call her n'extremist? Mass-murderer? Reluctant recluse?" She prattles briefly before falling silent once more. "M'sorry. S'your job, n' I ain't tryin' t' question y'career. Jus', y'gotta be careful. De news is de truth, right? Y'suppose t'be unbiased, ain't y'?"


Eddie wrinkles his nose a bit and shakes his head, "Unbiased? There's nothing unbiased about the truth: the truth is the most biased thing in the world, it speaks to the real world. That said, there's plenty of editorial content in the paper." Not that his beat is in the Opinion section or anything like that. "You should see some of the stuff we publish, it can be quite… pointed. Sometimes being sensational is what sells the papers." He shrugs a bit then, "But thanks for your concern."


"Yeah. I-I guess so." The girl relents finally. Looking toward Robbie's office, and Jameson's, she returns her attentions to the bag of donuts and Eddie's desk. "I-I guess I should get goin'. Let y'get t'work." Standing, she straightens the length of her sweater like jacket and brushes out any trapped twists of dark hair. "Y'be careful, Eddie. I get t'talk wit dat Parker kid, I tell y'what I find out." She promises once more before turning and heading out of the bull pen.


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