𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐁𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋. The first time she had gotten sick while living with her father—the first time she had gotten sick period, at least since she could remember—she hadn't known what was wrong, but considering that she had been under the care and training of the facility up until that point, it wasn't until she had been unable to so much as sit up for more than a few seconds before throwing up that she had to admit that something was wrong. Since then, she had been more attuned to whether or not she wasn't feeling well, but despite having been living with her father for three years, it was hard to break the habit of keeping her complications to herself.

The first time she had gotten her period had been a traumatic experience for all involved.

So, despite waking up fatigued with a strange sensation in her stomach and pounding in her temples, Phoebe forced herself out of bed and made her way downstairs, her blanket wrapped around herself, careful not to trip as she made her way down.

"What's wrong?" her father asked, in lieu of a greeting, leaning against the kitchen counter, blowing at the rim of his coffee cup, his other hand braced to keep him upright.

"Nothing," she mumbled, taking her usual seat at their small dining table, staring down at the plate of bacon, eggs, and toast, "Dad, I don't feel like eating."

"You have to eat, your body is going to get screwed up if you skip a meal, it'll think you're starving yourself," he said, walking towards her and poking her cheek, "Now tell me what's wrong or I'll force Hewitt to tell me."

"It's not about anything, I just feel weird," she whined, rolling her eyes; it was always frustrating whenever Jameson assumed she was keeping secrets from him; she was, but they weren't anything she would tell Sonny.

Jameson immediately placed the back of his hand against her forehead, furrowing his brow in concentration, and she huffed, slouching as she waited for him to finish his diagnosis of whether or not she felt warm.

"Do you want to stay home?" he asked, sitting down in his usual seat, and that question was never a bait to convince her to fortify herself and leave, but a genuine inquiry on her personal state, and she had to appreciate her father's patience; for a man with his temper, he always seemed terrified to lose it with her.

"No, I want to go to school," she said, because she only ever stayed home when he forced her, never when he asked, and he seemed to expect that answer nowadays, but he never stopped asking.

"Just call if you change your mind. I'm going to be in meetings all day and Ms. Brant is going to be with me, so if you can't reach me, just call Hewitt. I swear, I'm going to be need to pay him extra for babysitting," he said, adding the last part to himself, and Phoebe frowned, puffing out her cheeks.

"He's not my babysitter, he's my friend. I can take care of myself just fine," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest, continuing to stare down at her food that was getting colder as time went on.

"I know you can. And I know he is," her father said carefully, and Phoebe refused to dwell on it, instead just sighing and forcing herself to pick up her fork, starting to poke at her yolk, which was what she always did before she ate her eggs.

Seeing that there was nothing else to be said, Jameson went back to drinking his coffee, and, just as Phoebe was about to check that he had eaten, the toaster oven dinged, startling her and alerting him, Jameson walking to get his food, not noticing the way Phoebe's eyes screwed shut, the sound ringing in her ears, much louder than she had remembered it.

She had only been able to recover when her father sat down after placing the toast on a plate, grabbing the egg he had poached in the microwave as he went, placing it on top of the bread, his stomach grumbling in anticipation, a sound that was much louder than it should have been, even with Phoebe's heightened senses.

"I made all that bacon for you, you better eat it. Even one," Jameson said, motioning towards her food, raising his toast to his mouth, taking a bite, his hand coming back quickly to catch any of the pieces that fell.

She nodded absently, cutting into her egg and taking a bite before picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite. As she chewed, she picked up her toast, looking towards the butter that was on the counter by the toaster oven, whining as she pointed towards it with her other hand.

Jameson rolled his eyes as he made his way there, smiling as he stood and brought it over to her, handing her the knife he had used on his own toast. "Okay, lazy, are you sure you want to go to school?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," she mumbled, taking a bite of her now buttered toast, "I'll feel better once I wake up more, it'll be fine."

Her father didn't look convinced, but Phoebe didn't want to reason with him as to why she would be fine enough to not stay home; any other parent would have been incredibly confused by the scene.

Neither of them pressed the issue, instead going back to eat, Phoebe staring blankly at the wall while Jameson checked his emails on his phone. Or, rather, he started to check emails on his phone, but after getting upset at the first one, he put it away, not wanting to get in a bad mood so early in the morning, especially in front of his daughter; he never explained it, but he had an issue with letting his children know about his anger problems.

"I'm going to get ready," she said, taking her empty plate and utensils to the sink, leaving them for later before heading upstairs, grabbing her blanket as she went, wrapping it back around herself.

Stepping back into her room, she tossed the blanket onto her bed and grabbed her phone, stepping into her walk-in closet as she checked the weather, reaching for one of her usual shirts, only to pull back, whining as she rubbed her fingers against her sleep shorts, trying to get rid of the strange feeling.

She had worn the shirt before, so the reaction was not only unwanted, it was unexpected. Reaching out again, she took more time running her fingers over the fabric, fighting back the knee-jerk reaction to pull away, realizing that the strange feeling was nothing more than the actual texture of the fabric amplified to startling degrees.

Pulling her hand away, she rubbed it against her clothes, only to pull away again, biting her lip as her whole body tensed, shuddering as she tried to get rid of the prickling in her arms from the foreign feeling.

She wracked her brain to try and remember if something like this had happened before, but considering how uncomfortable she was, she figured it would be rather memorable. After a few moments of struggling, she came to the conclusion that, if she did, it didn't last long, and she could only hope that this wouldn't last long, what with her being unable to even touch her clothes without wanting to cut her fingers off.

"Dad!" she called without thinking, because she was a teenage girl with a father to call upon for help.

"Yeah?" Jameson called back, and Phoebe heard him running up towards the steps, "What's wrong, are you okay?"

Phoebe faltered then, her heart falling into the pit of her stomach as she sighed. When she first moved in, she had been more than fine to keep her secrets from him, and it had never been much of an issue for her. But there were times, such as these or when she was too tired from an excursion to function perfectly, where keeping her secrets didn't seem as worth it as it once had.

Right now, all it served was a reminder that she could never be a regular girl; she couldn't even ask her father for help because she had to protect him.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's nothing," she called back, staring at the clothes that hung in front of her, unsure of which ones would be fine for her to wear, "I'm just...none of my clothes feel good to wear."

"Are you outgrowing them?" he asked, now just outside of her door, and Phoebe wondered if he had knocked already, "Do we need to go shopping for new clothes, we already did that before school started, though."

"No, it's fine, it's just today, I'll get over it, it just feels weird now," she said, stepping out of her closet to open the door, finding her father standing behind it, "I think it's just 'cause I'm sick today, it'll be fine."

"Okay..." the man drawled, clearly unsure, but not knowing enough to say much else, "Well, I'm gonna go get ready, call if you need anything. And it's okay if you stay home today, it doesn't say anything about you. You have to listen to your body, if it's not feeling good, it's a sign you need to rest."

"I know, dad. Thank you," she said, moving to hug him, and Jameson wrapped his arms around his daughter, the two standing there for a moment before Phoebe pulled away, smiling before closing the door.

Moving back to her closet, she braced herself, having nothing else to do except to find clothes that she could touch, let alone wear. So, despite her discomfort, she forced herself to run her fingers over her clothes, shuddering as she searched for anything that she could stomach for more than a few seconds, needing to stop multiple times to shake away the feeling, stifling her screams.

"Phoebe," her father called, knocking on her door, "Are you ready to go? Did you even brush your teeth yet? Are you staying home?"

"Sorry, dad, I'm not staying home, I'm just...I think I'm just gonna be late to school," she admitted, and it was surprising for the both of them to hear; Phoebe hated being late for school even when it was accidental, purposefully being late was unheard of.

"Okay..." the man drawled, and part of him felt as though she would realize that she couldn't go to school while she tried to get ready.

Phoebe sighed heavily, leaning against the wall of her closet, her palms flat against the wall, though she pulled away after a few moments, the texture too rough to be comfortable. Fortunately, it wasn't as amplified, and as she continued along searching for clothes, the feelings began to subside, and while she didn't have complete control again, she managed enough to find clothes that didn't make her uncomfortable—an oversized silk shirt that she didn't recognize with sport shorts that were much too short for how cold it was.

With a sigh, she walked back out of her closet and into her bathroom, already wearing the clothes, having needed to check to make sure that she would be okay. She could hear her father brushing his teeth—she hadn't paid much attention, but while she could often hear him in his own bathroom due to her hearing, it wasn't usually as loud or clear as it was at the moment, though it fortunately wasn't deafening—and was glad that he was, unsure of how he would react when he saw what she was wearing.

Going through her usual routine, she was glad that she always used soap that didn't feel dry or catch once she was done, already finding it unbearable on a good day; if she used it then, she would probably cut her hands off right then and there.

"Phoebe," her father called, stepping out into the hall, and before the teen could rush to close the door that she normally left open when simply washing her face and brushing her teeth, he poked his head inside to see her, "Are you—"

The rest of his statement died on his lips as he stared at her, and the sophomore could only stare back, her electric toothbrush running idly as her hand stilled, her other hand tangled in her hair as she tried to finger comb it, not wanting to brush it and run the risk of her short hair fanning outwards.

"Wha—Um, Phoebe, why-why are you wearing my shirt? Are you even wearing anything underneath?" he asked, and while his voice raised uncomfortably at the last question, it was clear he was being careful at what he said next, and Phoebe had read enough of the articles he forwarded her throughout the day to understand why.

"I found it in my closet and it's the only thing that doesn't feel weird when I put it on. It's like my skin just doesn't want to wear anything else," she explained, raising a hand to scratch at the back of her neck, hissing as her slightly longer nails seemed to burn as they scratched, "And, yes, I'm wearing shorts."

Jameson blinked, clearing his throat as he glanced down the hall towards the stairs, nodding to himself. "Okay...well, it seems a little cold out for that, don't you think?"

"I tried putting on anything else, but they feel weird and I can't keep them on. Seriously, dad, I wouldn't wear this if I didn't want to. Not that there's anything wrong with people who do, it's just not what I want, but it's fine if other people want to and they shouldn't be mistreated for it," she rushed to add, knowing that her father would most likely try to forward her more articles about slut shaming if she didn't make her point clear.

He seemed to relax, as if remembering that they had the conversation many times before, and spoke freely. "Okay, so you understand where I'm coming from. Look, Phoebe, I'm not trying to tell you that you have less worth because of what you wear, and I'm not trying to perpetuate what men do by saying that you need to change because that's just how society is, but unfortunately there is reality, and while I'm not about to police you, I just don't feel comfortable with you wearing that and going out on the subway or walking by yourself."

"I know, dad, I'm not excited to go out either," she countered, her shoulders slumping in defeat, "I just don't want to skip school today, okay? And I don't want to show up halfway through it just when I'm feeling better. It doesn't feel right."

Jameson seemed torn, and it made sense; any parent would be ecstatic at their child's willingness to push through, but he had seen Phoebe work herself to the breaking point, and the last thing he wanted to do was pass on his workaholic tendencies onto his youngest; fortunately, his oldest had yet to display the more troubling signs.

"I'll drive you to school and, if you think you can change into other clothes, I can send Hewitt to bring you some. He's got something to do today, but I'm sure he can make a quick stop, his story isn't important and we weren't even going to cover it," he finally relented, reminding himself to send some emails to ask for opinions if he had made the right decision; it was days like these when he sorely missed his wife.

"Thanks, dad," Phoebe breathed, turning her toothbrush back on and finishing her routine, effectively ending the conversation.

"Sure, kiddo. I'm already late anyways, might as well have a good reason," he said, walking back towards his room to gather his things.

"But you're the boss, you can go in whenever," she called around a mouthful of toothpaste, wincing as her whirring toothbrush sprayed some directly into her eye.

"Yeah, tell that to Ms. Brant," he called back, and the two shared a light laugh, polite at most, but comfortable enough not to be awkward; they were family, after all.

Phoebe sighed as she took in her eclectic appearance; she couldn't see all of herself, but she had seen in her full-length mirror behind her door, wearing a button-up shirt as a dress, the shorts unable to be seen, she could hear Gabriel's laughter already. Still, it could have been worse, and as long as she didn't fall behind, she didn't see much of an issue.

Nevertheless, it was going to be a very interesting day.

º º º

By the time that she arrived, it was the middle of second period and Phoebe was glad that the hallways were empty, feeling out of touch in the clothes she was wearing; she was too tall to wear the oversized hoodies that she had seen smaller girls wear, and a button-up didn't seem like the right type of shirt to wear as a dress, but she tried to make it work with her longer socks, though her father looked ready to have a heart attack when he saw her leave.

Gabriel, who had been texting her during the drive over, had signed out to go to the bathroom so he could see her, and he didn't even allow a second of respect before laughing, the sound ringing through the halls, and Phoebe clapped her hand over his mouth, her ears ringing and expression contorted into a scowl.

"You look like you were just dropped off by your sugar daddy," he commented, tugging at her shirt collar, and she batted her hands away, crossing her arms.

"You know what's happening, don't mock me," she grumbled, glancing away before pointing at him, "And for your information, I was dropped off by my real daddy. Dad. Father. Ew."

Gabriel laughed harder as she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, but Phoebe quickly shushed him, smacking his arm. "We're gonna get in trouble, you idiot, shut up! I have to get to class, if you just wanted to laugh at me, you should've just waited until lunch."

"I wanted to see how you were doing, but if you think I'm not gonna laugh while I check up on you, find a new best friend," he replied, because he was Gabriel and, while a complete worrier, he knew when it was better to make jokes rather than show his real concern.

"I'll be fine," she said, raising a hand to rub at her neck, "But honestly this morning was awful, but I couldn't just skip out on school. I don't think I'm gonna be there at break today, though,the cafeteria's really loud and I don't think I'll survive."

Gabriel softened as he bumped his hand against her clothed arm, unsure if it would be alright to touch her bare skin. "Hey. If you ever need to go somewhere quiet, we can always move. Just tell me, I don't mind."

Phoebe smiled, glancing down at her shoes. "Thanks, Gabe."

"Sure thing, boss," he whispered, jerking his head to the side, "Now get to class, slacker."

She snorted, shoving his shoulder, and the two went their separate ways, Gabriel heading to the bathroom while Phoebe went to class, and she wasn't in any mood to try and run, but she hoped that Mr. Jewells didn't a make comment about her being late; there would be enough attention drawn to her with just opening the door, add on her clothes, it would be unbearable.

Fortunately, when she opened the door they were just turning the lights off to watch a video, and she was sent to her seat with little fanfare, and while she earned a few looks, both from her looks and simply being late, she was able to slip into her seat and get out her notebook.

"We watched a video at the start of class, then took some notes, and now we're going to take notes on the video. You can borrow my notes after class," Cindy whispered over to her, and Phoebe breathed out her thanks, relaxing slightly in her seat.

At the sound of a metal against linoleum, Phoebe perked up, fighting back her urge to turn around, wondering why someone was standing just as a Crash Course was starting—unless they needed to go the bathroom, though people usually raised their hands—but as careful steps started making their way towards her, she could fight the urge, turning around to see.

She blinked, furrowing her brow as she found Perry-Paul Parker crouched low to the ground, his hand on the tables beside him for balance, his bottom lip caught in his teeth as he glanced towards the distracted Mr. Jewells, his other hand clutching his notebook.

When he caught her looking at him, he startled, falling on his hip, and Phoebe fought back an eyeroll as she watched him scramble to his feet, rushing towards her, the two nearly hitting their heads, Phoebe having bent forward, wanting to ask him what he thought he was doing.

"What?" she asked, hoping that she didn't sound as impatient as she felt, having absolutely no idea why he wanted to talk to her; if he made a comment about her clothes, any concept of politeness would be thrown out the window, along with his glasses, and, possibly, him.

"Uh..." the boy began, and, after half a minute of whispered stammering, he simply, opened his notebook and tore out a page, wincing at the loud sound that caught everyone's attention.

Phoebe stared with the rest of the class as Perry-Paul placed the paper on her table before rushing back to his own, his face clearly red even in the darkness, and Mr. Jewells, ever the embarrassing teacher, went so far as to pause the video to address the scene.

"Do you have something you would like to share with the class, Mr. Parker?" he called, silencing the few snickers that filled the room.

As Perry-Paul worked to find his tongue and an explanation, Phoebe reached over to look at the paper herself, wondering why he had been so indiscreet about tearing out a note to give her; he could have just ripped it out and, at the very least, folded it up.

But upon further inspection, she quickly realized that it wasn't a note at all, but rather the class notes that she had missed. His handwriting wasn't perfect, and he seemed to be in a rush, but from the way that the corner of the page had her name instead of his, Phoebe realized he had taken the notes for her.

"He took class notes for me," she explained, cutting off Perry-Paul just as he was getting to that part of his explanation.

"Aw, that's so sweet," a senior cooed, which garnered a few more positive comments, and a rather dismissive one from Flash, which was a much better response than he could have gotten.

Mr. Jewells just sighed, a small smile playing on his lips as he moved to continue the video. "While I have to applaud your kindness, Mr. Parker, I'd appreciate it if you just give your notes to Ms. Carisi after class is over. Thank you for doing that."

"Yeah, thanks," Phoebe said, turning around, forcing herself to smile, and Perry-Paul smiled back, ducking his head, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

While the video continued, Phoebe copied down the notes. While he had taken them for her, she liked to write her own notes, but he had made enough comments of his own on the page to explain the lesson to her up to that point, and she had to appreciate his extra work; it was a new topic, and she had been afraid of slacking behind when she had been getting ready that morning.

She realized, with a start, that he was smart, which made sense given that he was in an AP course, but it filled her with a slight sense of inadequacy; it wasn't fair that a freshman could understand a new concept so much easier than she could; her gripe made no logical sense, but that didn't mean she couldn't feel that way regardless.

Still, she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, or resent it for helping her in the first place, and continued on with her notes, interpreting his comments and even copying them word-for-word, as if they were part of the lesson, tucking the page away in one of the pockets once she was finished; she'd hold onto it for studying purposes later on.

The rest of the class went by smoothly, and Phoebe was relieved to know that she only needed to worry about the notes for her first period class, though all thoughts of going there—or any thoughts at all—were interrupted by the ringing of the bell.

She hadn't been expecting it, too focused on copying down the notes on the board, and had been startled so violently that her pen was sent flying, her knee jerking against the table as she flung her hands up to her ears, nearly hitting her head against the table.

"Are you okay?" Cindy asked, placing a hand on Phoebe's shoulder instinctively, the freshman in the middle of packing up.

"Yeah, I'm fine, something's just going on with my hearing today," Phoebe whispered, acutely aware of Cindy's hand on her shoulder, the warmth of her hand passing through the fabric of her shirt.

"Okay," Cindy said, unsure, but Phoebe sitting up and giving her a shaky smile seemed to placate her enough, the girl heading out after Phoebe gave her a nod and a wave of her hand.

With a sigh, Phoebe pressed her palms against her eyes, groaning softly as she rested her forehead against the table, the cool metal calming the burning in her face. The ringing in her ears was subsiding, but it didn't fully stop, and she simply pulled her hands away from her eyes, making a wall with her arms, covering the top of her head as she waited it out, figuring that she could just wait through break before heading to third period.

The ringing was so loud that she hadn't heard the shuffling of someone next to her until there was a hand on her arm, jolting her up, vision blurry and heart racing. She calmed herself quickly, not wanting to explain why she was immediately on the defensive, but it took a few moments before she registered who it was.

"Geez, boss, I'm on your side," Gabriel called, hands raised in surrender, and instead of the wry smile she was expecting, there was only a furrowed brow and downturned lips, "You okay? I came to see if you wanted to stay somewhere else for break, then I find you here. There was some freshman packing up your stuff, but he ran out when he saw me."

Phoebe didn't pay much attention to his entire statement, caught on his first question. "The bell is so loud. But I was fine for most of the class. Perry-Paul Parker was driving me crazy, but it was just the same as usual, it wasn't louder, so it's getting better, and the seat didn't feel weird while I was sitting, so that's good."

Gabriel nodded, pulling up a chair, glancing over towards the teacher who had stepped back into the classroom, raising an eyebrow at them for a moment before simply grabbing his things and leaving again.

"Maybe you should go home," he suggested, "I would look up what's going on with you, but there's nothing about your old place on the internet, not that I could find anyways. But I can keep looking."

Phoebe sighed, rolling her shoulders, looking up towards the ceiling as she stretched. "I mean, you can try, but I don't know what good it'll do. Honestly, I can work through it, I'll be fine. If it gets really bad, I'll get Sonny to take me home, but I at least want to get through fourth period."

Gabriel sighed, shaking his head. "You need a break, boss."

Phoebe sighed as well, nodding as she looked down at their feet, knocking her shoe against his. "Trust me. I know."

º º º

Fortunately, Phoebe had managed to pull herself together before break ended, Gabriel's presence and understanding giving her the support she needed to continue on. Of course, he seemed more interested in her going home and resting, but that wasn't an option, no matter the lack of any real explanation she had.

"You do realize that 'force of habit' means nothing if you're dying," Gabriel had called, following her to the class they had together, walking through the near empty halls, beating out the swarm of students that appeared like locusts once the bell rang.

Phoebe hadn't responded to him, instead walking early into their third period class, their teacher surprised to see them, having just returned from their coffee run in the break room, and Phoebe apologized, starting to explain that they wanted to beat the rush, but their teacher waved them off, telling them that it was a smart choice and to never apologize for being early to class.

When the bell rang, Phoebe was prepared, though that only ever did so much to aid. Fortunately, while it was still louder than usual, it wasn't as jarring as the first bell, and she had recovered by the time they started to take notes, Gabriel squeezing her hand when she started, giving her a smile.

As class went on, Phoebe felt more comfortable in her own skin. She had nearly forgotten about the clothes she was wearing, though that hadn't bothered her as much as everything else that day, and the feel of paper against her fingertips stopped being aggravating; there were certain things that she couldn't stand to touch on normal days—manila envelopes were the bane of her existence and had been ever since her father first introduced her to one years prior—but with her heightened senses, everything seemed to be unbearable, but they seemed to be getting easier to stomach.

"I might call my dad and ask if someone can bring me a change of clothes," she said, packing up at the end of class.

Gabriel opened his mouth, letting it hang open as the bell rang, his gaze flitting between the ceiling to her, relaxing when he saw her expression contort into one of discomfort that lasted only as long as the bell. She had been doing much better as the class had gone on, and the glimmer of hope he felt only seemed to grow as time passed.

"Honestly, it doesn't look that bad," Gabriel said, reaching out to tug at the collar of her shirt again, laughing as she batted his hands away, "You should buy those oversized hoodies that those people wear, I think it'd look really good."

Phoebe hummed, shrugging as she closed her backpack. "I'll look into it. Dad didn't draw a line at this, so maybe he'd be fine with the hoodie, I'll talk to him about it."

"J.J.J.'s all about respecting women's bodies while keeping them safe, I'm sure you guys can work something out," Gabriel hummed, tugging his backpack straps onto his shoulders, "You should keep trying to get him on the Daily Show or get Trevor Noah on his. I love that guy."

"I want to meet him so badly," Phoebe gushed, the two heading out into the hallway, weaving through the sea of people, "Dad said that they might wind up at the same party sometime, and if he hears about it, he'll try to take me."

"What if they hire you?" Gabriel gasped, because he was fifteen and just because he knew better didn't mean he couldn't dream, "You could work with Trevor Noah! I mean, I know that he just started hosting, like, last week, but he's still so cool."

"Ratings are down right now ever since Jon left," Phoebe said, not quite sure how that would help their shared daydream, but Gabriel always found a way.

"So that means they're willing to take on anyone to see what could work, you could at least bring him coffees or something, they won't have to pay you as much, maybe you could just volunteer. I would get that man's coffee for free," Gabriel swooned, not paying attention as he bumped into another sophomore who was carrying a stack of books in their arms.

Phoebe rushed to help them, casting an apologetic smile their way before making a face at Gabriel who laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your battery's low, Gabe, stay focused. But if I wind up being able to meet him, I'll see if I can get dad to let you come along."

Gabriel shouted as he pulled her into a hug, and Phoebe kicked her legs halfheartedly, pretending to try and break free as he lifted her off the ground, some people glancing over to look at them for a moment before going back to whatever they were doing.

"This is why you have a codename and I don't," she hissed in his ear, and Gabriel threw his head back in laughter, Phoebe fighting back a smile as she shoved him down the hall, "Get to class, slacker."

Reaching her fourth period class, Phoebe was sure that she would make it through the rest of the day without much fuss, and she started thinking about whether or not she and Gabriel would do their rounds together that night; they had yet to become aware of another threat that wasn't in Hell's Kitchen, which was good for them, as they could start getting more sleep.

Unfortunately, as they were set out to work on their own, Phoebe felt a pounding in her head. It wasn't anything too major to begin with; it bothered her, of course, but she had worked through much worse during her rounds and nightly excursions, so it wasn't too much of a roadblock. But as she continued to work, the pain started to become more acute and severe, less of a general pounding and more of a precise stabbing.

She tried not to have a visceral reaction, not wanting to draw any attention to herself, but it was hard to continue focusing on her work, propping her elbows up onto her table so she could press against her temples. Not that her focus did much good, what with her having a hard time understanding what was sitting right in front of her.

"Phoebe, are you alright?"

Phoebe opened her eyes, not realizing that she had closed them, and looked up towards her teacher, wincing at the bright lights that silhouetted Mrs. Warren, the sophomore Physics teacher, who was frowning down at her. Ms. Warren was a generally kind teacher, but she wasn't one to give free passes to people who slacked off, and Phoebe felt a pang of fear, not wanting to get detention, though the fear was quickly replaced by pain, a hiss passing through her teeth as her hands jumped back up to her temples.

"I've been feeling weird since this morning," she explained, her eyes screwed shut, "I'm sorry, I'm trying to focus, I am, this is just hard."

Mrs. Warren glanced around the class, placing a hand on Phoebe's shoulder. "Maybe you should go to the nurse. Betty, can you go with Phoebe to the nurse, just make sure she gets there okay."

"Okay," the blonde said, standing up and adjusting her skirt, giving Phoebe a pursed lipped smile, waiting by the door.

Phoebe gathered her things, gritting her teeth as she fought against the growing pain, struggling to smile at Ms. Warren who gave her a small smile. With a sigh, she walked to the door, glancing over to Betty who looked rather uncomfortable with the entire situation, but wasn't about to be rude about any of it.

"Are you okay?" she asked, much more concerned than Phoebe initially expected, and it was rather comforting.

"I'll be fine," she breathed, "Thank you for walking me, I know that we have a lot of work to finish."

"No, it's fine, I hate Physics," Betty said, waving her hand, and Phoebe couldn't help but vehemently agree, "And, I mean, it's important that someone goes with you, I heard one girl collapsed on the way to the nurse, and that sounds really scary."

"Yeah, it does," Phoebe agreed, reaching over to adjust her backpack straps, sighing when the texture sent a shiver down her spine, "I should have just stayed home."

"Why didn't you?" Betty asked, tilting her head, "I mean, I understand not wanting to miss school. I work the morning announcements and there's this freshman that joined, he's honestly the worst, so one of us has to watch him. And you miss a lot if you miss just one day."

Phoebe nodded as she spoke, her interest piqued when Betty mentioned the morning announcements; her father had suggested Phoebe join, but with all that she was already doing, she didn't think it would be fair to join and not do her part; besides, it was either the announcements or AP Environmental Science, and she would much rather take a class than an elective.

"My da—uncle wants me to join the announcements," she said, just barely remembering to keep up the lie that she had been second nature to her at this point.

"Oh, please do," Betty begged, gasping excitedly, "Honestly, this freshman is so annoying, he never gets anything right and he's always asking me out. I mean, I get it's just the morning announcements, but it's what I want to do for a living, so you'd think they'd respect that."

As much as Phoebe found talking to Betty entertaining—the girl was rather chatty, but her voice wasn't grating and she seemed passionate enough—the pain was excruciating, and she was unable to sound as interested as she would have been as she spoke.

"You wanna be a reporter?" she asked, hoping that Betty didn't take offence at her tone which didn't match her feelings.

Fortunately, the blonde seemed to understanding, smiling up at her. "Yeah! My mom's the personal assistant to J. Jonah Jameson, and he told me that I'd have a spot working for him once I get out of high school. I still have to earn a top spot on my own, but it's really nice of him. I don't fully agree with him about superheroes, but he's a really nice guy."

Phoebe smiled, a warmth spreading in her chest despite the pain in her head. "Yeah, he really is."

"Do you know him?" Betty asked, perking up, and Phoebe faltered, wondering if she should tell her; it wasn't a secret that she lived with J. Jonah Jameson, but she didn't know if that would affect the way the girl would talk to her; it affected the way many of his employees talked to her.

Before she could even try to respond, Phoebe stopped dead in her tracks, a pained scream ripped from her chest, and she doubled over, nearly falling if not for Betty who caught her, sounding rather hysterical as she asked if she was okay, pulling her towards the nurse's office just a few yards away.

Fortunately, her scream seemed to alert the proper authorities, the nurse stepping out of her office a few moments later, stepping forward and helping Betty pull Phoebe into her office, the girl in question trying to help them along.

Phoebe sighed as she was set on the cot, the tension in her shoulders disappearing and the pressure in her temples subsiding. She frowned at the blanket that laid underneath her, but she was too tired to move it, and it wasn't so uncomfortable that she couldn't stand the feel of it.

Digging out her phone from her pocket, she sighed, opening it up to her contacts, groaning as it slipped from her hands and fell on her face. Picking it up again, she typed out a message.

to: Sonny (11:47 am)
Can you pick me up please
I'm supposed to text you

She thought for a moment then sent out another message.

to: Sonny (11:47 am)
It's not too big of a deal
take your time, I'm just
gonna be at the nurse

She groaned, setting her phone aside, looking over to the nurse who stepped into the room at that moment with a cup of water and sympathetic expression. Phoebe tried to give her a smile, but she was far too tired to try hard enough.

"Is someone coming to pick you up?" was her first question as she handed the cup over to Phoebe, pulling up a chair.

She nodded silently, taking a few sips before explaining. "My dad is in meetings, but one of his employees is coming. I told him to take his time, it's not too big of a deal, I'm fine."

That seemed to have the direct opposite effect that Phoebe wanted, the nurse furrowing her brow as she looked down at her, making a face. "From what Ms. Warren and Betty told me, it sure doesn't sound like you're fine. What happened, sweetie?"

Phoebe sighed, raising her hands to rub at her eyes, exhaustion overtaking her as she thought over everything that had brought her to that moment, starting from whatever days at the facility she could remember, then to appearing at her father's doorstep, and all the times she had toughed it out through all the times she had been sick; at least then, she knew what was wrong.

She sighed, dropping her arms at her sides, staring up at the ceiling. "I've had a very rough morning."

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

( 07.09.17 ; 07.24.19 )

I honestly didn't want to cut this into two parts (Ch. 5's and Ch. 7's are the special chapters and the special things need to happen then, Ch. 6's are supposed to be the filler chapters) but the chapter was getting far too long for my liking so, despite how much I wanted to keep it one chapter, it was going to be too long, and I didn't think it was fair to do that, nor did I think it was fair to just make scenes shorter and less detailed to fill up space, so I'm going to have to do it like this. I'm honestly so upset about it, but there's nothing I can do, I rewrote this story for a reason, I can't be lazy about it.

That little scene with Phoebe and Gabriel imaging what it would be like if she was hired on the Daily Show wasn't just filler, it was my way of reminding everyone that they're still young teenagers. Peter and Ned have their LEGO's, but I wanted to show the kind of idealistic excitement that some teens have, just daydreaming about possibilities such as meeting celebrities that they really like. It's just them having fun.

Writing pre-bite Peter is honestly my favorite thing, he's such a cutie, and I honestly love writing his little puppy-dog crush, especially since that there was a better reason for him to have it; of course, people can just get crushes on pretty people at school, but the idea of him liking her also because she was nice to him and him just wanting to return the favor is just...it's cute, okay.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!