Overwhelmed- Spider-Man

Going Backwards

"What the hell do you call this?" Chewing at his cigar, Jameson flicks through the folder sitting on his desk. "You've been in this business for eight years, Parker! It's about time for you to look at the quality of the photos before you hand them over."

"So you don't want them?"

"I never said that." Jameson grits his teeth. "I'll give you six hundred for all of them."

"There's eleven photos in that pile."

Jameson sneers. "And?"

"That's barely fifty dollars a photo, sir."

"Well, aren't you a genius?"

"Eleven-hundred. At least," Peter insists.

Jameson snaps the portfolio shut. "I liked it better when you were too afraid of your own voice to even ask me about your pay."

"You complained about me not having a backbone," Peter reminds. "You told me to stick up for myself."

The man lets out a breath, smoke fluttering through the busy office. "I'll give you twelve-fifty."

That is bargaining in the wrong direction. He'll take it.

"Aw, Mr. Jameson!" Peter beams, resting a head on his hand. "I knew you liked me."

"I never said that." Scrawling the numbers on a check, Jameson flares his nostrils. "Take this and get out before I change my mind."

"Have a good day, sir!" Peter skips to the door, turning to face Jameson as he backs out of the room. The man is flushed, angry lines popping in his forehead— typical Jameson.

His Spider-Sense blares, tingling at the base of his skull. Peter skids to a stop milliseconds away from flattening a pair of leather dress shoes.

"Oh! Peter!" Stumbling backward, Robbie Robertson fumbles with the papers in his hands. "I haven't seen you in a while. What are you doing here?"

"Working." His smile strains against his cheeks, fighting against the embarrassment of ending up at the same newspaper he quit working for years before. Backsliding cannot even begin to describe where his life is headed right now.

"Oh?" Robbie blinks away the surprise, smiling warmly. "Well, it's wonderful to have you back. I've missed seeing you around the office."

"I missed you too, Robbie. I'll see you soon?"

"Have a nice afternoon, Peter!"

Adjusting the camera settled over his shoulders, he pushes the button into the ground floor. "See you soon!"

The doors to the bullpen slide shut.

<><><><>

If the Bugle had a lot going on, then F.E.A.S.T. was in chaos. It was a good kind of chaos, though. Familiar. Just a lot of back and forth— paperwork to review, meals to prepare, clothes to wash. It's nice, the warmth and comfort of the hectic atmosphere washing over Peter like a blanket.

He slips into the gym, scanning over the crowd. There's a commotion in the corner, a group of grumbling, bedraggled men looking visibly frustrated. Just behind them, he spots Miles and Yuri struggling with a crumpled bunk bed.

He wanders over. "What happened over here?"

"The damn beds crumpled," Ernie— a regular, notorious for his grumpy disposition and blunt manner— grouses. "It's like the frame mode of tin foil!"

"That's weird. This is one of the newer beds, too." He scans over the frame, rubbing a finger over the metal. It falls apart at his fingertips. "Huh. I'm gonna talk to Gloria about where this bed came from, make sure it's just a one-off issue."