Gwen was (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ex_first621) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} rooms, |
Gwen was nearing impatience by the time Harry arrived, despite her certainty that he was in the allotted time-window provided. It wasn't that she was worried the agents would come inside or anything, but she had a feeling this thing with the hard drive was kind of heavy. She was always telling Peter that it wasn't his responsibility to save the world, and she thought maybe she gotten mixed up in that precise kind of scenario herself. So, she was totally heel-bounce nervous, even in the awing presence of the Gutenberg Bible, which was totally old and totally fairy tale, but still pretty impressive.
Luckily, Harry arrived before she could start thinking about the ludicrousness of religion as a way to pass the time. And despite her personal assertion that she was prepared for anything, she wasn't actually prepared for the Harry that walked through the door.
He didn't look any older than her.
She'd totally constructed a mental reality in which old-her was in her thirties, and she expected everyone she knew to be of a similar age, but Harry looked exactly the same age as her, and she gawped, open mouth and delayed witty retort to his criticism of her most epic of hiding places.
But she recovered, scoff and eyeroll, and she took the frappe and sucked on the straw too fast (total brainfreeze), and then she hugged Harry, unaware of weird clone things. "I'm sorry I didn't choose the Bahamas of hiding places. Jeez." She stepped back, rocked onto the heels of her chunky shoes. "Thanks for coming," and, "you're so not thirty."