𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐁𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄. It had been a rather shaky transition, putting her in school, and Jameson had, on more than one occasion, consulted various adults and specialists to try and discern what he should do to try and get Phoebe the help and guidance she needed in order to acclimate and pick up on social cues—he didn't know why she was the way she was, and she certainly wasn't about to tell him, but it was clear to him that something was off—but she was a fast learner and, now in her sophomore year of high school, she was doing just fine.

"You don't have to stay on the phone with me every time I walk over to the office, dad," Phoebe said, hoping that he couldn't hear her smiling on the other end as she pressed her phone up to her ear; most daughters would be exasperated at their father's hovering, but Phoebe hadn't known him long enough to feel anything but warmth whenever he did, though it could get a little overbearing at times, but it was nice to have a parental figure who genuinely cared.

She heard him sigh into the receiver and she immediately knew what he was about to say, unable to help herself as she mouthed along to the same speech she had been given since she had first moved in with him.

"Phoebe, it's not that I don't trust you," Jameson began, "But the world is a dangerous place, and you know I want to make sure that you don't feel as though you have to keep looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, and it's not like I'm trying to dismiss and excuse the actions of disgusting men as just a part of life and society, but I also don't want to act as if it doesn't happen and pretend like you'll be perfectly fine. It's a balance I'm trying to find, and I trust you, but I also want to make sure I'm doing all I can to keep you safe while letting you live your life. It's hard enough being a woman, imagine if you weren't white, or a trans woman, I would be even more concerned, please try to understand."

Phoebe had heard the speech so many times that it was a wonder that her father hadn't written about it and published it in an article, though considering the general topics he reported on, giving out the entire speech would be rather redundant considering. But she understood it all, he had raised her on all of his beliefs, and the only thing she was annoyed by was the slight insinuation that he didn't know she already understood.

"I know, dad," she said, giving him her usual response, "I've understood for a while now, I'm just saying."

He huffed softly, and she could hear him smiling as he said, "I know you do, I just like saying it. My door is open and I like to make sure everyone knows where my morals stand."

She grinned at that, taking a short hop forward before rushing around a particularly slow elderly couple, balancing easily on her platform sneakers, breaking out into a slight jog before slowing into more of a brisk walk, adjusting her backpack and jacket, always hating whenever they were tangled and slipping.

"I'm almost there," she said, stepping out of the construction walkway, pausing at the curb with everyone else, glancing at the street before deciding to just walk, the light turning when she was already halfway across.

"Okay," the man said, and from the sounds of keyboard keys typing in the background, it was clear that he wasn't going to hang up until she reached the building.

Rolling her eyes, Phoebe continued along her way, raising her head and looking up towards the familiar high rise building on 39th Street and Second Avenue, taking in the gleaming glass windows and bronze bugle statue glistening between the striking red Daily Bugle, growing larger as she drew closer.

"The protestors aren't here today," she commented, smiling when she saw the entrance open and free, which was how it was normally, but there were the occasional protestor groups holding signs with less than savory slogans, shouting things that she would never repeat for more than one reason.

"Thank God," Jameson called, "I really appreciate the Daily Show going out to interview them and try to get their perspectives. There's nothing cowards hate more than trying to prove their points. It's one thing to just hear your stupidity by yourself, it's another when the nation gets to."

"They're really funny, why can't you guys be more funny?" Phoebe asked, pushing open the double doors, shivering slightly at the blast of cold air, but quickly acclimating to the air conditioning, smiling at the receptionist as she made her way towards the elevators on the side.

"Because one of us has to be serious in order for them to make the jokes. And some of the reporters here are funny. Or they think they are anyways," he mumbled, and Phoebe let out a mix of a laugh and a gasp, telling her father to be nicer to them, they're trying their best.

"I wish they wouldn't say all those things about you, they're really mean," she said, frowning as she thought about the signs held and phrases shouted outside of the building, as well as the various death threats often slung her father's way.

"I wish they wouldn't write all those slurs for everyone to see," he replied, because her father had been doing this for so long that he wasn't phased by anything aimed towards him; he was a reporter, nothing about his job was ever truly about him, or that was what he explained to her anyways.

Phoebe hummed as she stepped into the elevator, nodding towards the people inside, pressing the button for the top floor, glad that there weren't many stops that she had to make beforehand, falling silent and listening to the sound of keyboard typing and soft elevator music, providing a nice ambience.

"Have a good day, Ms. Carisi," one of the employees called, stepping out on the last stop before hers, and Phoebe grinned, calling out a reply just before the door closed, giving them a small wave.

"Good to know they respect you," her father hummed, and Phoebe just laughed, knowing better than to give a smart answer while other employees were in the vicinity; it would be rude to them if they heard what she would have said.

Finally at the top floor, Phoebe stepped out, letting the others step around her, all rushing to their desks or the desks of their colleagues, immediately getting to work. Not being a reporter, she had an opportunity to take her time, taking a few steps forward, passing her father's administrative assistant, Eleonore Brant, just outside his office who gave her a kind smile, in the middle of a phone call.

"Hi, Uncle J," Phoebe called, poking her head into the open doorway, her phone still pressed to her ear, her tongue poking out between her teeth as she grinned at him.

Jameson laughed softly as he moving the phone closer to his mouth, speaking low into the receiver as he held her gaze. "Hi, Phoebe."

Phoebe's grin widened as she made her way into his office, skipping over to the bowl of mints that he kept to offer to visitors, helping herself as she draped herself on the seat, dropping her bag on the floor, pocketing her phone along the way, propping one leg up on the armrest, leaning her back against the other.

"How are you doing?" he asked, propping his elbows up on his desk, folding his hands together underneath his chin.

She softened, shrugging and giving him a pursed lipped smile. "I'm good. How are you?"

He groaned softly, rubbing his face. "Tired. There's still a lot of scandal surrounding the shooting and Hewitt, God help him, he's not listening to me about taking the time off. He's out right now, but he's going to come in soon. He's still hurt, so don't hug him too hard."

Phoebe perked up significantly, gasping excitedly, feeling her lips tug up despite herself. There had been a shooting at a high profile trial for a corrupt senator and one of the Bugle's reporters had been sent out to write a story and, unfortunately, had been caught in the crossfire. That reporter just so happened to be Phoebe's favorite, so hearing he was back filled her with excitement and concern.

"He's been cleared to come back to work, but I'm forcing him into short hours and he's not allowed back on the field until everything is in order, but he's been getting paid the whole time, so I don't understand why he won't just take the free vacation," Jameson explained, and Phoebe had to wonder the same thing; no matter how much someone could love their job, everyone needed a break.

Before either of them could say anything more, two pairs of high heels came stepping into the office, catching their attention. Phoebe peered around the edge of the chair to look, her father standing up to greet them.

"I tried, sir," Ms. Brant apologized, motioning towards the older woman who paid her no mind.

"It's alright, Ms. Brant, Mrs. Powell and I are old colleagues, I appreciate your efforts, she's a hard one to say no to," Jameson said, he and the older woman sharing a laugh, and Phoebe easily heard the strain in her father's tone, as could Ms. Brant, but the woman, Mrs. Powell, seemed utterly unfazed.

"It's Ms. Powell now, John, I've been free for almost a year now," she explained, stepping closer towards the desk, and Phoebe didn't know what this woman was trying to say, but she was certainly not thrilled about it.

"Oh, well, I hope you and Ethan are doing well with your lighter wallets," he said, trying to make light of the situation, sharing a quick look with Phoebe who desperately hoped that the joke wasn't ill-received.

Fortunately, Mrs. Powell merely laughed, just about to sit down on Phoebe before jumping back, realizing that the seat was occupied. "Oh! I am so sorry, dear, I didn't see you there! Uh, who is this?"

"This is my niece, Phoebe, I believe you two met when she first moved in with me three years ago," Jameson explained, watching as his daughter scrambled out of the chair to give it to the woman, instead going to sit on one of the couches, grabbing her backpack as she went.

"Oh! My, you've grown! It's lovely to see you again, dear," Mrs. Powell said, and Phoebe smiled, mumbling a soft reply before deciding that it would be best to excuse herself entirely, seeing the way the woman glanced back towards her father, as if signaling him to kick her out himself.

"I'm gonna do my homework, Uncle J," she called, giving him a small wave as she walked out, sharing a look with Ms. Brant who was never happy when she was treated as less than by people coming to visit with the editor-in-chief.

Phoebe sighed as she made her way towards the empty desk, setting her things down, thinking about how easily she slipped to calling him her uncle while in public. It had been his idea, figuring that it would be easier on her if everyone believed that she was simply his niece who had been placed under his care, rather than his daughter whom no one had ever heard of. The media had pounced the first few months of her arrival, but the news died as quickly as it had been born, and she now knew that, if they had known the truth, their lives would have been in utter disarray.

She understood why she had to lie, but she would be lying if she said it didn't upset her sometimes. After all, with all the weight attached to Phoebe Carisi, Phoebe Jameson would have been an opportunity for a fresh start, but it had been the name her mother had given her and her father had insisted she keep it, at least for the time being.

It had been three years and Phoebe was starting to suspect that she wasn't going to be changing her name anytime soon.

"Why the raincloud, Sunshine, you miss me?"

Shocked back to reality, Phoebe hardly registered her movements, unable to hold back the squeal that escaped her lips as she flung herself out of the spinning chair, throwing her arms around the giant of the man who stood a foot away, the blond laughing as he picked her up, groaning as he hugged her tightly, Phoebe forgetting her father's reminder as she squeezed him back, wrapping her legs around him.

"Oh shit, wait, ow," he cursed, immediately setting her down, and Phoebe felt as though she was doused with ice water, immediately starting to panic, though he quickly added, "No, it's fine, I'm fine, I just can't do that yet, but I'm fine, don't worry about it."

Phoebe relaxed slightly, moving to lean against his desk, tilting her head up at him. "How are you doing, Sonny?"

The blond groaned, raising his long arms above his head, stretching. "I'm ready to get back to work is how I'm doing, Sunny, but your uncle is dumb and cares about me and isn't letting me just drown myself in work."

Phoebe laughed as she looked up at him, the two just smiling at each other the way they often did whenever he was around, and after not seeing him since the shooting, it didn't take a genius to guess that there was going to be a lot more of it in the incoming days.

"Where's your chair, Sunny, don't you have homework?" he asked, moving to sit in his own, and she looked around, catching sight of it in the corner at one of the unused desks, quickly wheeling it back over.

It had been declared her chair when she first started working out in the floor rather than her father's office. What with him having meetings, she wasn't always allowed to sit in his office and do her homework, which sent her over to Ms. Brant's desk, though it was rather hard to work with her since she was extremely busy and, while kind and accommodating, it was rather difficult for Phoebe to share her space.

Then Sonny came around. He had just been promoted when Phoebe first arrived, one of the youngest reporters to do so, and he had quickly taken her under his wing when he had found her working on the floor, not wanting to intrude on Ms. Brant's space anymore, especially when she heard that her kids were going to be staying with her that evening because their babysitter cancelled—to this day, Phoebe still had yet to make eye contact with Betty and Bennett while in the office. He had offered Phoebe a donut and a space on his desk and, within an hour, the two had forgotten all about their work and were watching a TV show on Sonny's work computer at the risk of getting yelled at by Jameson.

Thus became the duo of Sonny and Sunny, Phoebe having been given the nickname by the other reporters who had noticed the shift in her disposition since meeting the man, and also because she had become his shadow of sorts, though everyone tended to be his shadow, what with him being so tall; either way, all reporters thought they were clever.

But Sonny had liked the nickname and Phoebe had liked Sonny, so she accepted it and the spot on his desk, and that was that.

"How's bed rest been, Sonny?" she asked, moving to her side of his desk, pulling out her homework and laptop, making sure she wouldn't forget anything she had to get done.

"Honestly, it was pretty nice, but after a while you get a little stir crazy," he explained, running a hand through his hair, "If I wasn't confined to the bed, I wouldn't have had an issue, it would've just been vacation, but the way I was living was utter hell."

"I'm sorry," she said, because she didn't know what else to say to someone who had been in the line of fire while on the job.

"Nah, don't be, I was getting paid the whole time, I shouldn't be complaining," he said, cracking his knuckles before powering on his computer, leaning back with a sigh as he waited.

Glancing towards her, he inclined his head. "How's school?"

Phoebe groaned, moving her arms behind her head and stretching, squeezing her eyes shut. "I get that I'm only a sophomore so I can't complain much, but it's hard, it's harder than freshman year, and I'm trying my best but the work is just a lot and I can't understand everything."

"You're allowed to find things hard even if others have it harder," Sonny reminded her, reaching out to tap her nose with his pen, grinning when she opened her eyes, giving him a sour look, "I'm sorry, Sunny, lemme know if I can help you, okay? You need a tutor?"

"No, 'cause it's honestly just that there's a lot of work, it's stressing me out," she explained, running her hand through her hair, getting worked up just thinking about it, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see Sonny's concerned expression head on.

"Talk to your uncle about it, maybe you guys can figure something out," Sonny suggested, and Phoebe nodded, because she knew that was a good plan, but she wasn't looking for suggestions, she was looking for someone to listen and be as dramatic and upset as she was, and Sonny was usually that person for her, but school was something he didn't quite understand.

After all, he was twenty-four, and while he was trying to put himself through law school with night classes, it certainly wasn't the same situation as high school, and Phoebe knew that, but she could still hope.

"Are you working a story now?" she asked, deciding to change the subject, not wanting to talk more about how hard things were for her, especially since he would get a front row seat to her struggle once she finally started on her homework.

"I'm picking up after some people for some low profile stuff, more about world news than local so I can just use the internet and whatever, just reiterations, nothing major, mostly for the short articles we do in that one section on the website," he explained, rubbing at his eye as he pulled open the tabs and windows that he needed, taking a steadying breath as he looked over everything, "Sokovia's still a hot topic, it's only been a few months since that, so I'll just keep everyone up-to-date. Your uncle's got a thing about criticizing superheroes, so it'll be good for me to practice writing a perspective I don't agree with, haven't done that since college."

Phoebe nodded in understanding, pursing her lips. Her father was known for his heavy criticism of all superheroes, and it was always confusing for her, what with his occasional positive comment on the actions of Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, Steve Rogers always on similar standing with Jameson on politics, and Tony Stark's philanthropic work making leaps and bounds in terms of helping the less fortunate. Despite all that, he was still more than happy to passionately critique the work of heroes and demand they be regulated.

Whenever she asked him to explain his reasoning, he would always take a few minutes to think, completely silent, taking deep breaths in order to keep his voice steady, and Phoebe always assumed it was because he was simply passionate about the topic; she never fathomed there could be a more personal reason.

"Because heroes don't exist. People fail, and while that doesn't mean you give up on people, you can't put all your faith in glorified vigilantes. Good intentions don't negate the consequences."

Phoebe couldn't argue with him there, she agreed that people should be held accountable, but she couldn't help but feel conflicted, what with her nighttime hobbies and general existence; it was a conflict of interest to say the least.

Speaking of which, as she went to start on her math homework—as it was review and, because it was formulaic, would be the fastest for her to finish—her burner phone went off. It had been programmed to emit a frequency that only she could hear, as her senses were heightened to a level that normal humans couldn't register; it could have just been set to a frequency that only young people could hear, just like the others', but she was prone to the occasional theatrics and she thought it would be fun.

Glancing over to Sonny who was now fully immersed in his work, she fished out the phone and checked the text message, sighing softly; it seemed she would have to finish her homework earlier than she thought.

from: Blue (5:02 pm)
We got a lead. Convene at 10.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

( 07.03.17 ; 06.30.19 )

God, I am having such a fun time rewriting this story, let me tell you, I've missed this story so much and it's just so nice to have everything back and like this. I mean, that interaction with Phoebe and her dad at the start of this? I'm gonna cry, I love it so much. And her and Sonny's conversation was so much nicer, I liked not having her mention Peter to him and instead just focus on their relationship and what happened to Sonny, I just...I'm having such a fun time writing this story, I have so much inspiration, let's hope it lasts.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!